An Age of Mist Read online

  Santori allowed his thoughts to quiet and gave himself over to the telling of the tale. His voice even took on a story teller’s quality, and sounded distinctly different than it normally did. It was richer, deeper. “With the first Red Moon, the Wraiths came from the underworld and they feasted on the flesh of living things, sucking the bodies dry of all but skin and bone. But the Earth once again rose in protection of its people. It revolted against the demons of the underworld and sent a rain of lightning to burn them. The lightning struck. It scattered the evil beings and caused a fire; a fire ignited not by humans, but by the land itself. People found this fire ignited by the land could drive away the Wraiths and they used it to protect themselves.”

  Asfyra snuggled closer as he spoke. “The wraiths were forced to leave when the night ended, but they drank in the mist and fog. They slaked their thirst on our protection, then retreated back to the world of the dead leaving mankind to fend off the even hotter, more dangerous sun that hung in the sky. For a time the land was scorched again. However, the mist poured forth, slowly but surely, out of the Heavenly Grottos in the mountains. Out of the heart of the earth the mist came, and before too many years had passed, the earth was once again covered in grey and the people protected, wrapped in their constant, cocoon of clouds.”

  He paused to see if his sister was still awake. She nudged him to continue and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  Santori kept speaking, telling the story passed down from generation to generation. “You see, Asfyra, the Hearth Fire we have protecting us today is the very same fire that was ignited by the Earth itself. It was ignited long ago by lightning and then kept burning constantly in the hearth of our kitchen by our ancestors in case of our need for protection again. All men keep a Hearth Fire burning in their home now, tending it, and never letting the fire go out. It burns eternally for our protection.”

  He continued, “Every few generations, the Red Moon rises and the Wraiths break free of their prison, the world of the dead. They return to quench their dusty, lifeless throats on our mist and find whatever living things they can to devour. But they cannot stay for long, not for more than a few hours of night, before they are summoned back to the underworld.”

  Santori hugged her tightly. “Hearth Fire is our defense. It is strong and born of the land, of life itself. Therefore it drives away the denizens of the underworld.” He kissed the top of her head. “Did you know that the name Asfyra means Fire in the old tongue?” he whispered the question to her. She nodded. Of course, she had been told by their parents before, but Santori continued nevertheless, “You are named for fire and fire protects us. You have nothing to worry about.” He got his first giggle out of her as she felt him poke her in the ribs. “All better now?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she replied with a smile and promptly closed her eyes to go to sleep. Santori closed his eyes and let her small breaths lull him to sleep as well. They were within the safety of the fire circle created by his father. They had oil enough to last the night, and the Wraiths could not penetrate their ring of Hearth Fire. All would be well. The legends were proving to be true, and that meant that the Wraiths would drink the mist tonight. Tomorrow all of Santori’s family, apart from Grandpa who was old enough to have experienced this before when he was a young boy, would see their first glimpse of the sun.

  * * *

  “The blood shall run, the screams shall echo. Ravenous, Ravenous, they come, they come.”

  -The Recorded Ravings of a

  Lunatic Following Odd

  Astronomical Occurrences

  Early in the Age of Mist.

  The Third Night

  Night had fallen over the isle, signaling the completion of one full day since the Red Moon had come, and Santori had yet to witness one of the fabled ‘sunsets’ that were spoken of in myth. The sun was still a mystery to Santori because the Wraiths had not consumed the mist the way the stories said they would. Nobody knew why, nobody cared why, the only thing that mattered was the Wraiths were gone and the sun could not penetrate the grey covering which protected the earth from drought. To add to the wonder everyone felt at their good fortune, the Purple Moon had risen as a sign of the abundance to come. It poked its colorful head between a break in the mist for a brief period of time. It was accompanied by the Red Moon, which normally gave warning, but in this case the old stories claimed its co-appearance with its mauve sister was a sign of even greater abundance to come, and its presence ushered in the festivals and music and most of all the feasting. Food had been prepared by one and all to celebrate surviving the previous night, and to rejoice for the bounty that was imminent.

  Music filled the cool, night air, and the dense fog that clung to everything in sight could not completely muffle the cacophony of sound. Dancing men and women whirled each other in and out of the mist, kicking their feet up to whatever tune was playing. Giggling girls and swaggering boys faced off in the eternal battle to impress those of the opposite gender while others ate from banquet tables loaded with food of all sorts. It was a combined effort of all the nearby villages on the isle. Santori’s family, and the other families, who were comprised of fisherman, hauled nets full of fish, crustaceans, and mollusks. They brought them to the festival while those from the interior of the isle brought baskets of potatoes, cabbage, kale, artichoke, and other assorted vegetables. The moist climate made crops such as peas, oats, barley, and especially mushrooms plentiful and farmers turned out their sheds and storages. It was enough for a hearty meal to be prepared.

  “Santori,” a plump girl named Veira from the next village over called out to him, “come dance with me.” She had rosy, red cheeks, full like the rest of her face, and was wearing a blue sash around her green dress. The thick mist in the meadow had drenched her hair completely and as a result she’d removed her bonnet letting the brown locks fall freely in a wild tangle. It was beautiful.

  Not accustomed to being asked to dance, Santori immediately grew flustered. Instead of agreeing to her request, as his heart yearned to do, his words failed him. His resolve caved in to the ever present anxiousness that accompanies all young men when faced with the possibility of dancing with a girl of their liking. Santori shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible. The girl stuck her lower lip out and pouted at his awkward refusal before the mass of twirling, dancing figures bore her away and she disappeared into the mist.

  If only he had the nerve to dance with her. Santori mentally kicked himself for his cowardice, and slipped into a dull depression. Every time a girl talked to him it felt like his tongue swelled up and impeded him from speaking clearly. Girls made him self-conscious. There was no way around the fact. It wasn’t the only problem preventing him from engaging in the night’s festivities however, there was more to it than just his lack of confidence. Something felt wrong tonight, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The moons to usher in the feasting were hailed with joy by one and all, but the brief glimpse he’d gotten of them through one of the nightly breaks in the clouds put a sick feeling in his stomach and sent a shiver down his spine. He went to the banquet tables in an attempt to avoid his dark ponderings and also to escape being confronted by any more dancing girls.

  The tables were laden with food. He chose to eat some of the Sweet Moss that had been gathered off of many of the trees in the area. It was abundant, and even when foraged, it grew back quickly in such a wet environment. To his left he noticed his parents arguing with Grandpa. It was an animated disagreement and he gravitated to it almost against his will. It was always a good idea to stay clear of his mother when she was in a foul mood, but somehow Santori ended up right beside them as his feet disregarded all his better judgment and brought him near.

  “Crazy as a loon,” he heard his mother burst out.

  “Calm down, Sarna,” his father responded, “you don’t need to insult him.”

  Santori’s mother rolled her eyes in typical fashion, and then shook her head in disgust. “He is always coming up wi
th a new tale, a new lie every time he speaks. First talking fish, then ghost ships sailing around the world of their own accord, and now claiming that the Wraiths are returning not to drink the mist but to feast on all of us,” she threw her hands up in annoyance. “It was a terrible night and a tiring day. We need this enjoyment, to forget and move on. We need this,” she motioned to the food and dancing surrounding them.

  Santori’s father nodded his head understandingly and looked about to voice some verbal form of agreement with his wife when Grandpa broke into a crazed muttering. “Ravenous, ravenous beasts they come. They feast on us, on us, on us.” His head wobbled back and forth on his chicken-neck and he wrung his hands desperately.

  People began to stare and whisper to each other. “He is ruining the night,” Santori’s mother stated. She stared firmly, penetratingly into her husband’s eyes. He nodded in agreement.

  Santori saw Veira barreling out of the mist towards him, linked arm in arm with one of her girlfriends. She was smiling and had a look in her eye that said this time when she asked him to dance she would not accept a refusal. In a panic he wracked his brain for any possible excuse to say no, to avoid embarrassing himself horribly in front of her, something he was certain he would do if forced to dance. None came to mind.

  “Will you please dance with me Santori?” Veira asked in a wheedling tone of voice. Yes. Yes, Santori thought, but all that came out of his mouth in response to her question was an uncomfortable wheeze.

  In a moment of fate both sets of his parents eyes settled upon him, just as he opened his mouth again to attempt an answer. “Santori,” his father spoke, “we need you to do us a favor. Please take Grandpa back to the house and keep him company until he falls asleep.” His tone clearly stated that it was not a question, rather it was a statement phrased as a query.

  Santori nodded in relief and took Grandpa’s arm as he began to gently lead him away from the table. He cast an apologetic look towards Veira and thanked his blessings that a perfect excuse had fallen right into his lap at the opportune moment. The girl smiled understandingly to say she understood he would rather dance with her, but instead had to escort his loony grandpa back home.

  Asfyra appeared out of nowhere carrying a Glow Lamp perfectly sized for a child and declared that she was going with them. Santori groaned inwardly but made no verbal complaint because she would get her way no matter what. Sighing, he took her hand and kept his light grip on Grandpa as they exited the meadow. Even at the slow pace they set due to Grandpa’s age, the noise and revelry of the night rapidly faded, smothered into silence by the endless grey of the fog that surrounded them. Asfyra held the Glow Lamp with a single blue fish in it, as high as she could in her small hand. It lit the trail home adequately.

  They gradually made their way to the house. Asfyra clutched tightly to Santori’s hand as if regretting her decision to accompany him into the night, so far from the safety of numbers and noise. The quiet stillness was broken occasionally by the rustle of something in the brush, or one frog serenading another in one of the various bogs that were prevalent on the isle. Grandpa muttered to himself at times in an indistinct voice, that try as he might, Santori had difficulty understanding.

  “Feast, heh,” Grandpa harrumphed, “all but the bones they take, all but the bones. They’ll see.”

  Santori felt a chill go down his spine. Grandpa’s stories always gave him the jitters, but from what he could understand of the old man’s mutterings, the warning sensation in the pit of his stomach only increased.

  “What is it Grandpa? What’s wrong?” Santori asked, hoping beyond hope that the answer would turn out to be one of his grandpa’s silly bedtime fables.

  “It’s not over, that’s what,” Grandpa cleared his throat in his usual fashion after speaking. He shook his head back and forth. “There will be blood before the night is over.”

  “Why Grandpa?”

  “The two moons speaking of feasting, yes?” The old man turned his milky white eyes on Santori, who could only nod in response. “Well,” he continued, “it’s not our feasting on food that it’s talking about.” He went silent for a second as Santori tried to understand where this was leading. His grandpa went on, “My grandpa, who heard it from his grandpa spoke of the Warning Moon and the Moon of Abundance together. Red to warn of danger, purple to symbolize bounty and abundance, but together it is different. Together they are an omen too terrible to ignore,” his head bobbed in agitation. “They are ravenous, that’s why the mist is still here.”

  Santori felt sick as he listened. That last they had seemed to be referring to something other than the moons. “Why is the mist still here, Grandpa?” he asked in trepidation. Indeed, the tales claimed that after the Wraiths came the mist should be gone.

  The old man paused and then whispered into the night between them, “Because the Wraiths are coming back. They were too hungry to slake their thirst on our mist last night, my boy.” His voice reverberated through the stillness and Santori could feel the danger. “They only feed every so often, but when they do, they don’t care at all for their thirst. Once they get hungry enough their thirst becomes only a secondary motivation and their hunger takes precedence.” A sinister silence followed his words.

  Santori gulped in horror. “You think the Wraiths are coming back? That they are still hungry?” his question felt thick coming off his tongue, so great was his desire for his Grandpa to negate it.

  “I don’t think. I know. The two moons appearing simultaneously speak of the ‘feasting’ drawing near. That’s their feasting on us, lad.” On cue a shrill wail pierced the stillness. Another followed it, and then a screech of some animal dying.

  “We must get to the Hearth Fire, Santori,” Grandpa stated in a rare moment of lucidity. “There is no time to waste.”

  “We can’t go home, we have to warn the rest of the people, our family,” Santori objected, not allowing his Grandpa to pull him in the direction of home.

  “My boy, by now they have discovered the terrible truth as well.” The old man cocked his ear to the sky to indicate the warning bell that was tolling somewhere in the distance. “Our only hope is to reach the Hearth Fire and hope to defend ourselves. Be a man, and make a man’s choice.” Grandpa stared piercingly into his eyes, “Think of your little sister.”

  Santori saw the truth in his grandfather’s statement and picked up Asfyra to speed the journey home. Grandpa, to his credit, kept up with the faster pace as best as could be expected and they arrived home not long after they had become aware of the Wraiths’ return. The trip from the festival had taken them nearly an hour, since the meadow where the festival had been was a central location between villages. His parents and sister could not be expected for some time yet.

  The house was dead calm, and the silence was fearful as the three of them entered their familial abode. “We must light the ring of Hearth Fire,” Grandpa instructed his grandchildren. Santori searched vainly for any leftover containers of oil.

  “We can’t Grandpa, there’s no oil to keep the ring ignited,” Santori responded desperately, “we used it all last night.”

  Grandpa replied in a dull voice, “Then we are doomed. The Wraiths can sense where living flesh is near. Without oil to keep the Hearth Fire burning to protect us, we will not survive the night.”

  “Wait!” Santori interjected excitedly, “Last night when I heard the warning bells and ran home, I tripped and landed right beside a stream of natural oil.”

  “Where?” His grandpa’s vice-like grip on his arm belied the apparent frailty of his ancient hand.

  “On the forest path,” Santori responded. “We can take a torch of Hearth Fire there and set up a Hearth Fire circle with the oil to defend ourselves.” His grandpa nodded in approval. They searched the house and quickly found an unlit torch. Santori stuck it deep into the Hearth Fire and ignited the pitchy end. They exited the front door and were met with the wailing they had encountered earlier. Santori cringed at the sound and sl
ung Asfyra up onto his back to enable them all to travel more quickly. Just as they were about to leave the front yard Santori halted.

  “Wait, Grandpa, what about everyone else? What will happen to them?” Santori’s conscience wouldn’t let him abandon the rest of his family to their fate.

  His grandpa looked at him grimly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Santori, but I tried to warn them earlier. They ignored wisdom and have chosen their own destiny.” A tear rolled down his wrinkled face. “I can only pray they find some other means of safety, while we look to our own.” Santori saw the truth in his grandpa’s words even while wanting to reject it. The choice to look to their own safety felt the same as abandoning the rest of his family. Would he ever see them again?

  He was not allowed to wonder as they set off determinedly towards the spring he discovered the previous night. The forest trail was a tangle of roots and spindly branches. Moss and lichen crawled up trunks and tendrils of fog curled and uncurled with a mind of their own around the trees. The torch flickered in the gloom and did its best to cut through the darkness but to no avail. Only the area within a hands length could be seen due to the mist, and so Santori walked only a step ahead of his grandpa with Asfyra’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His little sister’s rapid breathing in his ear told him how terrified she was. They wandered on, following the trail and searching the ground beside their feet for any sign of the oil stream.

  They rounded a bend in the trail and the flickering light of the torch of Hearth Fire illuminated their worst nightmare. A Wraith floated bent over near the ground, feeding on a body stretched out before it, an ill timed traveler that happened to be in the wrong place at the worst possible moment. The Wraith had a hazy, smoky quality to it, lending it the appearance of physical insubstantiality. It feasted on the throat of its victim with venomous hisses and the sound of blood and organs flowing into its mouth. A deathly kiss, its fangs were buried deep into the neck.