The Fog of Forgetting (17 page)

W
hen Frankie came around, it was with the familiar sensation of a bad headache. She was lying on a makeshift cot. Her poncho had been removed and was folded neatly under her head. A solitary torch burned a ways off. Her body ached all over. She groaned out loud. A movement in her peripheral vision turned out to be Louis, moving quickly to her side. He didn't say anything, but knelt beside her and looked into her eyes. The gaze that met her own was more worried than she would have guessed. A throb of anger returned. Not knowing what to do, she put her hands to her face and sobbed.

“Why do you want to kill them?”

“Didn't you hear me?” asked Louis. “I specifically told them
not
to harm your sister or your friends. Dankar doesn't want to hurt you or them. He wants to
help
you.”

Frankie raised her face from her hands, trying to read Louis's stare in the blurry light of the torch.

“Help us?” she asked. “How does attacking the Melorians help us?”

Louis sat down by her side, clasping and unclasping his hands.

“The Melorians have been at war with the people of Exor for as long as I have known. It is the way of this land. And tonight, more Exorian blood may have been spilled than any other. You've been unconscious for a while, and yet not a single one of my brothers has returned from the foray.”

Frankie glanced sideways at Louis. “How can Dankar help us?” she asked again.

Louis sighed. “Tell me what the Melorians told you when you came to this place. What did they say when you asked them to help you find your way home.”

Frankie scowled, trying to remember. Then, haltingly, she said, “They— well, actually, Seaborne, he's a friend. He lives in the cabin where you, uh, took me. He told us we couldn't. That it was impossible. The fog makes it impossible for anyone to leave Ayda.”

Louis grimaced. “That's exactly what I was told. We are all prisoners here, unable to pierce the blanket of fog that encircles this place—yet what is fog but water and air? And who has influence over water and air but the Keepers of the stones that rule those daylights? We are kept here because the Keepers
want
us here, not because it's impossible to leave.”

Frankie shook her head. “That's not the way he made it sound—”

“Bah!” Louis interrupted. “Rothermel has been telling these lies to his people for so long that they no longer know truth from tales. Tell me! What makes fog disappear?”

Frankie thought for a moment. “Sun—” she replied. “It burns fog away.”

“And who controls the fire daylights?”

“D-D-D-Dankar,” Frankie stammered.

Louis nodded, letting the idea sink in.

“So you're saying that Dankar is trying to burn the fog away?”

He nodded again.

“And that he wants to get us all out of Melor so that when the fog has lifted he can take us back—home?”

Louis nodded. “He cannot banish the fog until he has power over the other Keepers and their stones. So, it is to this end that we fight the injustice of those who seek to keep us here, hidden forever. He sent me to rescue you from your captors. I am to bring you and the others to Exor, where you will stay until the day of your, of
our
, liberation.”

Frankie listened closely. Louis's words dropped into her ears and floated in her brain. She was having trouble connecting what she heard and what she knew of the Melorians, yet some of it did make sense. And what Louis said about the fog; could it be true? Had they been lied to? But what about the Exorians? Those lizard-like faces. Their repulsive skin—like blisters that had been caked over with blood and hardened to scales.

“The Exorians. They don't seem like rescuers. The Melorians are afraid of them. I am, too.”

Louis weighed his answer. “Exorian warrors are highly honored for their devotion to Dankar. They can be careless; at times, impulsive. They believe that nothing and no one—including themselves—are more important than their duty to Dankar and the stone of Exor. They do not question. In exchange, they receive a great gift.”

Frankie stared at him blankly.

Louis spoke to her slowly, as if to underline the importance of what he was saying.

“Once an Exorian becomes a warrior, he is no longer alone. He becomes part of a brotherhood, bound by a single vision. The warriors think as one, act as one, live as one—for Dankar and his dream of freedom for Ayda. Their will is his to command.”

Frankie's expression froze. “
Bokor
,” she whispered. She pulled up her hood as if it would hide her. Her shoulders slumped.

“More French?” asked Louis, amused.

“I know this magic from my country. It is dark voodoo to take a person's will and control it.” She shuddered. “Dankar is a black sorcerer, a
bokor
. Those men are shadows, slaves to him.”

“You misunderstand,” Louis argued. “It is a great achievement to become a warrior in Exor. You make it sound like a curse.”

“
Wanga
,” Frankie hissed. “It is a curse. If you accept it, you are doomed from the moment it is laid upon you, and your soul will drain from you until you have no life of your own. My father told me of these things.”

Louis shook his head. “You're wrong. It's an honor, a gift. Think about it. To be free from fear and confusion, from …” He struggled to find the right word. “From wanting—” His face contorted, his voice dropped to a growl. “And missing what you can't ever have again, everything that's been lost.” He gave Frankie a terrible look. “Wouldn't you give anything to be free of those feelings?”

Frankie didn't know how to answer. “I want lots of things.” she said, finally. “For instance, I want to see my sister.”

Louis shook his head. “That is not what I meant. I'm speaking of greater longings—for things that can never be, that have passed beyond reach forever.” His voice sounded so hollow that Frankie's eyes darted to his face in alarm. She recognized what she saw there; she'd seen it on Evelyn's face a hundred times the past year.

Louis was homesick
.

“What is it?” asked Frankie. “What do you miss?”

Louis would not answer.

Day broke and there was still no sign of Evelyn, Chase, Knox, or Teddy, nor any returning Exorians. Frankie dozed off. The sound of grunting woke her up. It was Louis, struggling to carve a message on the trunk of a tree with the edge of his spear.

“Get what you need to eat quickly. We're leaving,” he announced.

“But what about the others?”

“Change … of … plans,” said Louis, breathing heavily from his efforts.

“I don't want to go anywhere without my sister. You told me they were being rescued. You told me they were coming with us.” A lump rose in Frankie's throat.

“I'm not happy about it either,” said Louis. He whipped the spear tip back into the tree in a fury. “Why would I be? Stuck alone in enemy territory, a four-day march across the Broomwash and the Exorian plateau would be enough, but no! I have to keep you alive as well.” He made the word
you
sound particularly hateful.

Frankie willed herself not to cry. She was pretty sure it would only make him more angry.

“Where are they?”

Louis threw the spear on the ground. “I dunno. Dead probably—”

Frankie's gut-wrenching howl cut him off.

“I don't mean your people, I mean … mine,” he added quickly, but it didn't help. Frankie kept wailing. Louis marched over and shook her roughly.

“Stop making all this noise! The Melorians might hear you!” he growled.

“Good!” she cried.

Louis sighed, then pulled her to her feet and brushed the twigs and leaves off her back. She was surprised to feel his palm give her two short pats between the shoulder blades, then he spoke to her in a normal tone.

“I'm sure your sister's fine—and your friends. The Exorians haven't come back because they failed. The Melorians must have escaped, which means they took your sister and the others with them. So now we've lost our escort and the Melorians are itching for a fight. We have to move fast. I want to make the Broomwash by nightfall.”

“What's a Broomwash?”

“The Exorian border. Keep your eyes out for water and food to gather. There's not much to be had between the Broomwash and the Dwellings.”

Frankie stared at him blankly.

“The Dwellings,” he repeated, as if this was self-explanatory. “Where the Exorians live. That's where Dankar is waiting for us, where I live.”

“Dankar is waiting for us?” she repeated stupidly.

“Yes.” Louis looked down at his feet. With an ominous frown, he lifted his flask and took several deep swallows.

Frankie was suddenly too afraid to ask any more questions.

T
he horses ran without tiring, their hooves beating a steady rhythm on the ground. The cadence and ceaseless movement made it hard for Evelyn to stay awake. She was so tired. They had ridden for hours, always keeping the mountains on their left. Earlier, their hooves had thundered across a wooden bridge, jarring her to her senses, but returned to the quiet, steady gait moments later.

As the sun rose, the children instinctively lifted their faces to meet it. Warmth spread through their sore bones and their spirits lifted. The horses caught new wind and broke into a fresh gallop. The land beneath them began to change; grassy hills grew larger, the valleys between them deeper. Calla slowed the horses to a walk. She turned up one of the hills. When they reached the summit, she dismounted. The children dropped off their horses, rubbing their backsides. Calla stood apart from them, surveying the landscape.

“Look—the Voss.” She pointed to a large lake shining like an oblong coin at the foot of the mountains, some distance to the north. “The Vossbeck flows southwest from the lake into my country. The Hestredes flows southeast into Metria. You can just see the head of it there.” Again she pointed, this time to a silver thread of water, barely visible, snaking through a valley to the right. “That is where we are headed. We shall be there soon.”

“Can we rest a little first?” asked Evelyn, as she sprawled on the ground. “I can't ride anymore.” The horses were grazing happily on the grass. Axl and Tar rolled on their backs. The sun was warm, tempered by a gentle breeze coming off the mountains. Chase felt his muscles relax. He looked anxiously at Calla, then at Knox, who hadn't said a word since they left the Melorians. Nobody mentioned Tinator, but his death lay between them like a heavy cloud.

“The horses will need water soon,” said Calla. “We cannot stop long.”

Chase cleared his throat. “Umm, Calla,” he began. “I'm really sorry about—”

Calla did not stay to listen. She walked purposefully to the horses and began to swipe the sweaty foam from their backs with the edge of her hand.

Chase threw himself down next to Knox and put his chin in his elbow. “I can't believe he's dead,” he muttered.

Knox didn't know what to say. How could he explain to Chase what this meant to him? If Tinator could die, that meant they all could—and it was his fault. He'd as good as murdered Tinator. It didn't matter how brave he'd been or how hard he'd fought. If he hadn't brought them all to this place—even if it was by mistake—Tinator would still be alive. Knox lay back and smelled the green smell of grass warming in the sun. His heart beat a heavy thud and the dull buzzing of small insects filled his ears. He closed his eyes. His body was battle-sore and his throat ached with things he wished he had told Tinator. How much he had learned from him. How much he respected him. The buzzing grew louder and solidified into a chord of sound. Knox listened, thinking that if electricity had a sound it would be this. Suddenly, as clear as a bell tolling, he heard Tinator's deep voice say his name, as if he were sitting next to him. Knox sat up with a jolt. He looked around to see if anyone else had heard it. No one else had moved. They all seemed to be asleep, except for Calla, who was leaning against her horse, looking out over the horizon. Knox shook his head to clear it. Maybe he'd just fallen asleep and dreamed it. But the voice felt so near, so real. Calla must have seen him move out of the corner of her eye, because she too, stirred.

“Everybody up!” she said. “We have another few hours to ride.”

They mounted their horses, walking down the slope of the hill at a gentle pace. Calla did not want the horses to run after eating, and the danger of the enemy was now lessened significantly. The rolling green hillsides flattened out. The grasses grew taller and more reed-like as the ground underneath the horses' hooves softened. Soon they found themselves traveling along the edge of a marshy estuary. Rivulets and small ponds of water stretched out before them. Great, swooping birds the color of glass flew up at their approach, angling quickly into the sky, then returning back to earth. Bright purple, orange, and green dragonflies skimmed the surface of the water. The horses seemed to know their way and picked out a firm path to follow through the marshland. The children sat lazily astride the horses' backs, lulled by the soft, warm air and the ever-present drone of insect life buzzing around them. Calla raised her right hand and halted them.

“This is the borderland between Melor and Metria,” she said. “In a few hundred yards, we will have left my country, but see how it changes little. Ayda never used to be a country of borders. When the power of the stones is unfettered and true, there are no seams between the daylights—they work in chorus for the beauty of all.” She scowled. “This is not the case in the northernmost region of my home, where my country meets Exor. The Broomwash it is called now, since all things green and tender have perished—swept away by Dankar's ire. It is a brown, forsaken land. Pray you do not find yourself there someday.”

Evelyn spurred her horse closer to Calla.

“What do Metrians look like?” she asked.

Calla shrugged. “Much like everyone else, I suppose, but it can be hard to tell. I have seen them only a few times in my life, travelers and messengers. Those I saw wore richly colored layers, but once I saw the hilt of a sword and the flash of other metal under their robes—so I know that some of them travel armed.” She was thoughtful for a moment.

“They wrap many long, beautiful scarves around themselves for protection from the sun. I have only seen them given as gifts of favor. My fath—” She paused and swallowed, the word stuck in her throat. “My father has several in our home. They are a wonder to hold: so light and delicate, but very strong. I tried one on once. I did not want to take it off—such a delight after the weight of this.” Calla pulled at the edges of her thick hood in irritation, then stopped as if she'd thought better of it.

“But Metria is a different land than Melor in many ways. It is very hot in the south—too hot for those used to the cool of the forest. The vegetation there grows without bounds. One leaf can measure the length of a man's arm, or so I am told.” She smiled vaguely to herself.

“Seaborne once lived in the great city of Metria. He has told me much of it. The sand on its shores is pink as the inside of the newest shell and softer than the most tender grass. They live in houses that have no angles and rise up from the ground like the cap of a mushroom. Their windows are open always to the warm air and the sea breeze and their roofs are blue and gold; from a distance, the city of Metria looks like a great wave from the deepest sea rolling east, glittering in the sun.”

“Go on,” Evelyn urged.

“Seaborne says Metrians travel by water. In the city, white bridges span avenues where boats navigate the rivertides. There are many high watchtowers, and beneath the city lie secret pathways to deep caverns, covered by water and known only to the families of ancient Metrians. In times of danger, the watchmen will sound the tower bells. The people then swim to safety in the caverns. I—I would like to see it for myself one day.”

“Is that where we are going?” Evelyn asked. “To the city of Metria?”

“I do not know. Perhaps. I have been told to take you to the enterlude of the Hestredes, in the north. That is all. Rysta and her people shall lead you thenceforth.”

Evelyn felt a slight surge of panic. “So you aren't coming with us?”

Calla slowed her horse until it walked evenly alongside Evelyn. “It is confusing to me that you still do not understand the ways of Ayda, despite what you have seen. Did I not just show you that there are no beginnings and endings here? Does the earth weep as the river, flushed with the winter's thaw, moves through it? Does the tree mourn when it loses its leaves? No. It knows that new leaves are borne from that loss. All that is comes from what was. The power of the daylights washes in and around us all, binding us as one. Even if our bodies were to part, I have not left you. The daylights that reside in me, reside in you; what parts of them hearken to Rothermel and the power of the stone of Melor will always unite us. There can be no sadness in that.” She pulled Teddy's body closer to hers, a heaviness in her voice competing with the conviction of her words.

Evelyn dropped back. In hushed tones, she repeated everything Calla had told her about Metria to Chase and Knox. The horses swerved right and began following a steadier path. The sun passed its midpoint and was now behind them, bearing down on their backs. They passed through the marshland and found themselves once again in green country, on solid land. Through the shrubby trees on their left, a small silver pond stretched out invitingly. Knox began to talk loudly about stopping for another break, and possibly, a swim.

“Those are your water daylights speaking,” said Calla. “Already the power of Melor is fading and your heart hears the call of Rysta's stone.”

“Rysta's stone or not,” Knox yelled, “I'm HOT!”

Before them lay a hill of some size, freckled with stone outcroppings and short, leafy trees. They rode through the shade of a deep ravine and along a dry riverbed. The horses' hooves clacked loudly on the loose stones as they walked. The air was rife with the sound of flowing water. Within minutes, the riverbed grew muddy and pitted with bracken. The horses stuck to the sides, climbing out onto the drier edges. They emerged as a group onto a flat, grassy plain that opened onto the widest river the children had ever seen.

The water moved rapidly, sun glittering across its rippled surface, and a fresh breeze bathed their hot faces. But this was not the only surprise. At least twenty small boats with brightly painted red-and-white sails were clustered in the middle of the river, some sailing back and forth lightly. A larger ship with two white, square sails was tied to a long ramp that jutted out into the river from their side of the shore. Dories lay beached alongside the ramp. Knox, Chase, and Evelyn stared at the sight, then at each other.
Boats! Boats that worked!

Calla checked her horse and brought them all around in a circle. She spoke firmly.

“I am here to entrust you to the care of Rysta, great Keeper of the water stone of Metria. You have come here by the leave and will of Rothermel. You will honor him by behaving in a way befitting a Melorian.” She dropped her voice an octave and growled, “Don't embarrass me!”

They had gone almost halfway to the shore when they were met by what appeared to be a large party of guards coming toward them on foot.

Calla dismounted and motioned for the children to do the same. As the guard approached, she bowed her head and raised her right palm, fingers gently splayed. The children mimicked her, following her lead.

The Metrians wore cloth boots and leggings. A flowing bluish-purple skirt with gold embroidery fell to their knees, swaying under a layer of light chain mail. They were as tall as Melorians, made taller by the domed, metal helmets they wore on their heads. Light brown hair flowed beneath the helmets to their shoulders. Curved, pearl-hilted swords were strapped to their skirts.

“Welcome to Metria,” said a man's voice, slowly, rolling the R. The man who spoke raised his palm in greeting. Calla grazed his fingertips with her own.

“We have traveled through the night after a long battle—” she began.

The leader stopped her. “Our Keeper has received word of your journey. She has given instructions: You are to follow me. She will greet you after you have eaten and rested, as she is eager to hear your story from your own lips. We will see to your horses, and to the hounds of Melor.” He nodded respectfully to Axl and Tar. “We are honored to receive them.”

“Thank you,” said Calla. “I am grateful to you and to the sister of Rothermel, but I must return to my mother as soon as the horses have rested. I do not require anything for my return journey. It may be far for these outliers to travel from Melor to Metria, but not for me, nor for the horses and hounds of Melor. I will take my leave as soon as they are settled.”

Teddy grabbed at Calla's hand with an anguished cry. Calla rebuffed him, pulling her hand out of his reach. The man registered the exchange silently, then nodded once.

“As you wish.”

The Metrian guard began marching toward the river. Reluctantly, the children followed. Calla hung back, walking slowly, leading the horses. About halfway to the river, she stopped and squatted on the ground. The horses bent to graze. Axl and Tar sat beside her.

“I go no further. Your fate lies with the Metrians now,” she said, turning her face away from the children with the pretense of watching a broad-winged bird hover over the river.

“What?” asked Knox. “You're stopping here?”

“Yes.”

They gathered around her, protesting noisily .

Calla looked at them coldly without answering. Her slingshot hung at her belt beside its satchel of carefully picked rocks; her bow and quiver were hitched up on her shoulder; the tips of her two hunting knives pointed to the ground by the soft, brown suede of her boots. At that moment she was more like an imaginary creature—half-fiercesome warrior, half-shrouded maiden of the wood—than the Calla they knew.

“But what about the domed houses and the white bridges?” pleaded Evelyn. “You told me you wanted to see Metria.” A strange desperate pain took hold of her; the broken thing inside her chest drove itself in deeper.

“Come with uth, Calla!” cried Teddy. He threw himself on the ground beside her and crossed his arms. “I'm not going if you're not going.”

The spell broke. Calla cracked the smallest of grins and ruffled his hair. She was back to being her usual self.

“Yes, I'm afraid you are. You will not dishonor my father and my kinsmen and the Great Keeper of Melor by being disobedient. You have been trained as a Melorian, you must act like one, even when I am not there to watch over you.”