Page 2

Into the Mist

Callum

She snarled at him, the frigid water distorting her features and bubbles rippling over her face.

Eyes black as the abyss studied his face.

Large, webbed hands, rough with thousands of minuscule scales, wrapped around his arms, crushing him in a grip of iron.

He kicked to reach the surface but was already far too weak, and this ocean creature was stronger than he’d expected.

His lungs burned.

Pale hair twisted over his eyes as he struggled to swim.

Like a fish on land, he didn’t make progress.

She shoved him down further and her blue lips curled into a smile revealing rows upon rows of serrated teeth.

Air left his lungs in a flurry of bubbles, his scream drowned by a savage shriek as she lunged. Ripping. Tearing. The water turned red with his blood.

She released him with a surprised sound, her mouth smeared with crimson.

A beat of her powerful tail and she was gone.

A deep chill wormed its way into his bones and settled there, expanding until it hurt to move.

Each kick and frantic push through the water sent icy lances through his skin.

He was sure he was bleeding out.

He burst through the surface, each gasping breath so cold it burned his lungs.

A wide expanse of blue stretched as far as he could see in all directions.

Dark clouds invaded the sky, scraping away the last bits of light until all that remained was the frigid emptiness.

Desperate for land, Callum paddled through the ocean, his body growing more weary with each stroke.

It no longer hurt—the pain turned to numbness.

Somewhere in his mind a warning bell chimed, a voice commanding him to push past this.

The voice noted the symptoms of shock and hypothermia with bored amusement.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Salt swallowed his vision as a wave rolled over his head and pushed him into a vast stretch of deep black.

You’re dying, his mind told him, as if he’d done it many times over.

He might have been afraid, except it was peaceful.

Almost like falling asleep.

His body jerked and he woke with a ragged gasp filling his lungs with air that he was certain hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The bed creaked in time with his hammering heart.

“Fuck,”

he groaned.

The incessant rocking of the damn trade boat and dim glow of lantern light gently eased his mind from the terrors of his dream.

Callum rested a calloused hand on his chest and counted each thundering heartbeat, inhaling and exhaling with measured control until the final vestiges of darkness faded.

He scrubbed at his face and sat up, his shirt sticking to his skin as he moved.

Humid air made his whole body stick together.

Barefoot, the smooth wood of the cabin prickling beneath his feet, he stood and stretched.

Voices above and next door filtered through the doors and the smell of bacon drifted from somewhere in the galley below.

Vaguely, he could make out the conversation his crew was having.

Something about savages. He shivered, but not from the cold. He could still feel the siren’s teeth against his skin. The rocking of the ship didn’t help either, each sway too eerily similar to the waves that had sucked him below.

With a sigh, he padded to the little mirror and washed his face with the cloth in the basin.

Then he took the razor from a small compartment and the sshk, sshk, sshk of the blade scraping the stubble from his face filled the confining space with the dull noise of routine.

Finish the mission, he thought.

Then it was only two weeks till his feet were planted in the soil of his home.

He caught sight of the bags under his eyes in the cloudy mirror, and his lips twisted in a grimace.

Raking his hand through his short hair, he cursed inwardly.

The pale strands were already tickling his ears.

He’d need to visit the barber when he returned. God, how he fucking hated the ocean. Hated the ship. And if he was being honest, hated the fish, too. He made a mental note to write his commanding officer and request only land-based missions for the next…well, forever. Cal was pretty sure that the biggest reason he was selected for this mission was because he’d learned a little of the Arryvian language.

He ran his fingers over the skin at his jaw, traced his cheeks, inspecting for stray patches.

Satisfied, he removed the neatly folded uniform from beneath his bed.

Callum grumbled and shook his head before taking up a second set of clothing.

This one was a softer fabric, darker colors of black and olive green designed for stealth in the foreign land.

Today he’d need that one—thank fuck he could finally get on solid land and off this godforsaken ocean.

Once dressed, he headed above deck in time to see the slightest hints of sunlight rippling over the waves, turning the gloomy mist grey as the dawn broke across the water.

“You look like hell, Cal.”

Callum turned at the familiar drawl, a honey voice that worked just as well on the men as it did on the ladies.

With that crooked smile on his lips and a gleam in his eye, Callum’s first mate could charm a sea snake.

Callum was grateful Jameson never used those wiles on him.

“Yeah, well I feel it,”

Callum replied.

Jameson stepped beside him and leaned over the railing, his hazel eyes scanning the horizon.

The land loomed before them, a foreign monster ready to eat them.

“More nightmares?”

His voice was measured, treading lightly.

“Seems like they plague me worse on the seas,”

said Callum.

“Have you considered meetin’ with a Seer or someone to fix your fuckin’ head? Gods know you need all the help you can get.”

Jameson smirked, straightened, and turned to face him fully.

He leaned against the railing with his hip and crossed his arms, the wind whipping his short brown hair around his ears.

“A Seer?”

Callum’s voice dripped with contempt.

“They’re all con men hopin’ for an extra penny and wouldn’t tell me anythin’ ‘cept what they thought I wanted to hear.”

“Don’t be a stubborn ass.

It might give you some insight’s all.

You haven’t had this much trouble sleepin’ since the war.”

“Surely you don’t actually believe in that bollocks.”

Callum’s eyebrows pressed upward into his hairline.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Jameson held the challenge in his eyes.

“We’re going to the land of the Arryvians, who’re rumored to be able to speak with trees and make crops grow.

If that’s true, then who’s to say there ain’t someone who can see in the future or speak with the gods?”

Callum waved his hand, dismissing the idea as if it were smoke in the air.

“Rumors.

Nothin’ more.”

Jameson stared at Callum for several moments before sighing and rolling his eyes.

“Fine, but you should at least talk to someone about these nightmares.

A doctor.

Blaine’s below deck.

Maybe you should ask him for a draft to help you sleep.”

“Right, he’s below deck gamblin’ away his hard-earned cash.

You’ll forgive me if I don’t allow him to be privy to my more intimate thoughts.”

Callum huffed and massaged his eyes between his fingers.

“I’ll talk to my brother when we get back, all right? He’s got medical trainin’ and has the skills to make me a sleepin’ draft, too.”

“Sure, one that’ll knock out a sandstrider,”

Jameson scoffed.

“You should see a real doctor.

Not a veterinarian.

Maybe a mind worker.”

“Why would I see a mind worker when I can piss all my troubles on you, old friend?”

Callum’s lips twisted into a smirk and he clapped Jameson on the back, feeling his chuckle through the military jacket.

“Well, maybe you need t’ get laid.

Then you’ll sleep like a babe.”

“Ha, right,”

Cal rolled his eyes.

“Like a widdle, teeny, tiny baby,”

Jameson pitched his voice high and mockingly, rocking his arms.

“Belly full of milk from those plump—”

“Fuck off,”

Cal punched his long-time friend and second-in-command in the arm and they both laughed.

“Colonel,”

a voice from above drew their attention and Callum’s smile faded as he straightened to meet the man.

“We’ll be ashore in the next hour.

Make your men ready.”

Callum squinted up to see the captain at the helm, his aged eyes glued to the misty horizon.

His weathered hands steered confidently as his greying beard billowed in the warm breeze.

The captain knew about their mission, but only the necessities, and he was paid well for his silence.

The rest of his crew, well, they kept their heads down.

They knew when to keep their mouths shut.

“Well, you heard the man.”

Jameson squeezed Cal’s shoulder and strode forward.

“We’re just lucky we weren’t delayed any longer.

Let’s get this done.”

Jameson dipped below deck to fetch the team.

Alone and glaring out at the fog, the trees now coming into focus as they approached, Callum crumpled the orders in his pocket.

Jameson had been right.

They were fortunate to have not missed their deadline despite the delay the storms had caused.

The thunder had lulled a beast from hiding, and the captain had to maneuver out of the leviathan’s path, which had cut into their trip nearly two days.

Those two days had kept him confined to his meager cabin until he knew the exact number of nails holding the floorboards together.

Seven hundred and fifty-two.

The order in his hand described the place in which they’d find the woman and her entourage and when she would arrive.

Below that, it listed her crimes against the Governor and his people, detailing shipment dates and contraband, as well as the names of the twenty-seven people who died.

Callum read over it again, ensuring he hadn’t missed a single detail.

Not that he needed to.

He’d memorized it days ago.

The mission was clear and he’d stop at nothing to see it through. For them.

Jameson appeared at his side, now dressed in the stealth uniform.

Theo and Mal materialized at his other side, two shadows moving on silent feet.

His team.

Theo would fit in with the trees, his umber skin and dark hair lending to easy camouflage in the shadows.

Mal, on the other hand, would have stood out like a flame, though his shock of red hair was tucked beneath a dark cap so only his freckles stood out against his pale skin.

Callum braced himself as the land grew ever closer.

Their rowboat scraped onto the shore and, silent as death, Theo and Mal tucked the vessel away from the official boarding dock, and the team slunk from the skiff into the dense trees.

The surreal wilderness offered him neither clean lines nor the strict order to which he was accustomed.

No metal, no squarely built structures painstakingly crafted from brick and mortar.

Instead, vines and leaves wandered freely through their surroundings, casting spider’s web shadows over them.

Massive trunks, some as wide as the houses back home, collected a world above their heads, each tree connected by a myriad of bridges.

He’d heard of the massive beasts that roamed the grounds beneath the Arryvian cities, but had never actually seen any.

Still, he didn’t dare lead his team into the shadowy depths of the jungle.

He found the hidden stairway, right where his orders had said they would be—carved into a massive tree with red and blue flowers, on the far right of the dock to Corsin.

The path spiraled upward around the trunk, guiding them higher into the canopy until the wood curved into an opening in the branches.

The entrance to the bridges.

Steps continued up and connected to paths higher above them where the birds squawked.

Callum followed the twisting vines and branches, Jameson not far behind, his company now hidden on the bridges above and below with their darts at the ready.

Their steps made the odd bridge bob and sway, sending leaves fluttering to the ground far below as they crept along the verdant cobweb that hung from colossal trees.

The incessant swaying of the structure challenged even his sure footing.

A primate with abnormally long limbs and a long, wispy beard whooped and hollered high above them, mocking their slow progress through the treetops.

A vibrant, violet lizard the size of Callum’s head crawled out from under the bridge, its scales glistening in the smattering of light.

It turned its head toward him, the reddish lips curled back, revealing serrated teeth. A second head joined the first. This one was darker, a row of tiny black nubs crowning it. As the small reptile pulled itself onto the bridge where he stood, he blinked in surprise. The heads were attached to one body.

A familiar birdsong pricked his ears and he listened for the cue.

Four calls.

Their target had been sighted.

He whistled a reply to confirm his position and continued advancing, but more hurriedly, locking the image of the lizard into his mind.

He memorized the small ridges of scales along the oblong head—heads—and made careful note of the number of toes on the strange reptile so he might add it to his records later.

Birds sang cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the invaders stalking through the trees among them.

The air smelled sweetly of flowers and rain, the unusual fragrances sticking in Callum’s throat like rotten fruit.

The heavy moisture in the air practically suffocated him.

It was an assault on his senses, much like the raucous bird calls and chattering primates.

All the vibrancy of their surroundings, after days on the sea with nothing but blue, was drowning him.

Obnoxiously colored flowers only made him miss his dusty dunes more than usual.

He signaled a halt when they reached the area the Governor had indicated on the map.

Callum had memorized each detail of his meticulous handwriting.

Each letter carefully curated in calligraphic curls.

Hatred burned in his gut as images of a newly widowed woman crossed his mind.

It was this Arryvian’s fault her husband was dead, and their target would answer for it if it was the last thing he did.

Too many children left without fathers…

The company made not a sound as they moved into position like clockwork.

Mal crouched in the overgrowth to the side of the bridge, his freckled face disappearing into the foliage.

Theo deftly squeezed his tall, thin frame into the large gaps of bark on the ancient tree.

Jameson, ever steady, remained by Callum’s side beneath the canopy of vines that covered them like nets.

They waited.

The Arryvians were just as the Governor had described.

One guard, a female companion, and the target.

She held a garland of leaves and flowers to her chest.

Her long white robes starkly contrasted with the vibrancy of the surrounding forest.

Her voice carried through the humid air, melodic and rich, dancing over the syllables of the language.

He recognized some words. Behiba. The sea goddess, charged with escorting the souls of the dead to the beyond. Mother.

This wasn’t a mere walk; this was a ceremony.

They were honoring one of their dead.

His eyes followed the unique marks that wove across the face of his target, an echo of the twining vines of the bridges.

The tattoos followed the curve of her eye socket, and one symbol adorned her forehead.

A single, dark line ran from her chin to hide under the front of her gown.

Her hair poured from beneath the pristine hood, a sepia cascade of curls erupting around her face.

A daughter mourning her mother; she didn’t look like a criminal.

Callum shook the thought from his head with a violent jerk.

Many criminals looked innocent at first glance.

He aimed his blowgun at her shoulder and it let out a sharp puff.

The dart whistled as it sped toward her.

A string of colorful curses in their melodic language broke the spell and birds shot through the air in an explosion of feathers as she fell.

Her bodyguard fell, too, his hand reaching toward the lady’s maid rather than the target, his bronzed cheek collapsed on the tangled green webbing of the arboreal bridge.

Her escort, a fine-boned wisp of a creature, slumped over her mistress, her small body faithfully protecting her undeserving charge—the criminal he had been sent to capture and bring to justice.

A wicked surge of satisfaction warmed his gut, seeing the target felled, just as she’d put down so many innocent lives.

A soft moan fluttered from the woman’s petite companion, umber fingers searched for the poisoned dart stuck in the target’s side before falling limp.

The bridge shifted as Cal’s team joined the unconscious Arryvians.

Theo began removing items from a med kit at his hip and knelt beside the male guard.

Carefully, Callum rolled the escort from the target.

Dark eyes flashed as the target slashed the sharpened point of a hardened wood blade upward.

The weapon cut through the fabric between the plates of his body armor, biting deep under his ribs.

Swearing under his breath at the sharp pain, he twisted, rolling around her as he positioned himself behind her and hooked an arm around her neck.

Though small, the strength with which she fought surprised him.

The wound sent a nagging twinge through his chest with each breath.

He wondered, as he restrained her, how she was able to stay conscious so much longer than the others. The sedative should have taken nearly immediate effect.

“You are under arrest,”

he growled in her pointed ear.

“You will be taken to Durask where you’ll be put to trial and sentenced for the crimes you’ve committed against the Governor and his people.”

His voice remained even and authoritative, despite the aching wound.

He’d been through much worse, and they still needed to get back to the ship without being caught.

Every moment they remained here increased the likelihood of discovery.

With a grunt, he pulled another dart from his bandoleer and stabbed it into her shoulder.

Two doses had better do it.

Still, she resisted.

Disjointed words in her language poured over the forest floor.

She jabbed her elbows into his stomach, striking the armor uselessly, kicking and twisting, each strike growing weaker as the poison finally overtook her.

She went slack and fell against him.

Her fingers, at first, dug into the moss covered bridge, and melodic whispers poured from her lips, until both fell still.

Tiny buds of green and gold rose from the mossy bridge to kiss her hand, their vining tendrils reaching and probing. Callum snatched her hand up, halting the sudden mysterious growth.

Her dark eyes met his, her pupils wide, burning with anger, burning with resistance.

He expected to see the fear and resignation of an ensnared beast.

Instead, he saw bold defiance rooted in those deep eyes.

Had the circumstances been different, that glare might have earned his respect.

Her lips twisted, baring her teeth, and the inkling of respect vanished.

He snapped the metal shackles around her wrists. She wasn’t brave; she was wild and unyielding, too feral to accept that she’d lost. His orders were clear. He reminded himself of the names, the faces, the casualties. His gaze hardened as he met the seething hatred in her eyes. He hoped his smirk was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed and her body fell limp.

A small, carved totem hanging from colorful beads dropped from her listless fingers and hit the soft bridge with a quiet thud, clicking beads crying out in dismay.

Callum scooped up the tiny trinket and held it to the light.

It depicted a mermaid with her tail and hair twining together, but the wood had been worn in several places.

He imagined a thumb had rubbed over it until her skin had polished the wood.

Again, the nagging sense of wrongness returned, prodding his psyche.

He shook it away, and instead visualized the young reddened eyes of her victims’ loved ones weeping for their loss.

This was right.

This was justice.

Theo finished checking the Arryvian guard and the other female, ensuring their pulses were strong while Mal kept watch.

As Theo tended to them, Callum studied the handprint in the moss on the bridge.

The small plants had bloomed vibrant buds of flowers that smelled strongly of honey and something sharper he couldn’t place.

Jameson knelt beside him, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

Then he spied the bloody wooden knife on the bridge beside the handprint, and his gaze darted toward Callum.

Callum sighed and straightened, placing the totem in his pocket, and shook his head at the silent interrogation.

He was fine.

He would deal with the wound later.

They didn’t have time.

But Jameson rolled his eyes in retort and waved Theo over.

Theo assessed Callum with a frown when he lifted his arm displaying the stab wound where crimson blood stained the dark fabric of his shirt. Theo gave a curt nod and brought his medical supplies to where Callum stood while Jameson stepped toward Mal, giving space to the medic while his sharp eyes scanned their surroundings. More than once, Jameson’s gaze lingered on the three prone bodies on the bridge.

Callum stifled a hiss behind his teeth when antiseptic scorched the bloody gash, and his lips drew tightly together from Theo’s expert ministrations.

In no time, the wound was dressed well enough to make it to the ship, where he could receive proper care.

For now, this would have to do.

When Theo nodded, Jameson motioned to Mal, and Callum hefted the woman over his shoulder, her dark hair hanging by his knees, and silently signaled to retreat.

The journey back to the ship was, thankfully, uneventful.

Callum’s side throbbed, and the warmth of the woman’s body seeped through his shoulders and chest, making the oppressing heat of the day that much more unbearable.

Once they had boarded the vessel, prize in hand, Cal placed the woman in his cabin where the doctor could look her over once she awoke.

Then the interrogations would begin.

As the ship pulled away from the bold green land, he settled on the deck and sketched the animals he had seen, immortalizing them in charcoal.

The two-headed lizard and the gangly primate took up two of the five pages he had drawn in the last few hours.

The other pages held strange aquatic creatures he’d seen on the journey there, as well as the other discoveries he’d collected during his travels.

His worries diminished with each passing stroke of the charcoal across the page.