Page 38 of Aubade Rising
“What about you? Did you always want to be an academic?” He turns the question back to me.
I pause. Being an academic was the most success I was permitted to ask for, even then many would say I’ve pushed too far. I should retreat into the background, quietly move on with my life and settle somewhere out of the spotlight. I’m tempted to be honest with him, to tell him that being an academic is a means to an end; it doesn’t fulfil or satisfy me the way teaching would him. I have bigger, grander dreams and more ambition than I know what to do with. I’m not wholesome and selfless. I want power and I think our world could be so much better if I had more of it.
But that’s not what Eskar wants to hear right now. Not what he needs. So, I tuck that private, ambitious part of me away, no longer smothering it but not letting it grow and respond, “It was always my dream growing up but I suppose sometimes we outgrow our dreams.”
Chapter 36
The Haag. An inscrutable moor obscured by heavy fog, which forms the boundary between Trevesiga and our neighbour, Aiche. Practically impossible to navigate, it extends from coast to coast cutting off all contact between our kingdoms. The mists are dank and murky, visibility non-existent and we now stand on its edge. Leaving the security of civilisation behind so suddenly was a wrench, despite how unwelcome we were in Tanwen. Already I can feel a soupy dampness in my clothes as the mist envelops us.
Historically, the mists used to be less opaque and more transitory, appearing and disappearing on a whim, likely tied to the properties of the minerals and precious gemstones running through the land. The Haag was mined for rare earth metals providing the clans that occupied them with a small fortune from trading. But some years ago, they became a permanent fixture, severing ties with Aiche and forcing the people of the moor to relocate to border towns and villages. The deposits are now lost: mining is impossible when working nearly blind.
Despite the lengthening days, not enough sunlight penetrates the fog to allow me to channel. Not that I would be much use if we ran into trouble but I hate feeling vulnerable. I clutch my remaining magic close; it is my last resort. I can tell Eskar feels the same. I warned him about the Haag’s barren lands when he insisted on coming with me.
There’s plenty of water but it is putrid and stagnant. We stumble across a few ponds in the first few days, but learn to avoid them once we realise they turn into dangerously deep bogs. The quick-mud pulls you in deeper if you tread in thewrong place; it’s caught both of us out a few times. I lost one of my overboots, sunk under the surface with no hope of retrieving it. Several times we accidentally disturb the noxious bubbles of bog-gas floating on the surface. The first time the smell turned my stomach so violently I vomited, wasting a meal.
Our original plan was to stick to the mining tracks; however, the undergrowth means the old maps I spent so long scrutinising back in the capital are redundant. We struggle on, using the method of orientation Haelyn taught us. Locals in Tanwen rely on it when the mists come crawling towards the town’s boundaries. One of us can move at a time, directed by the other’s compass bearing. Provided the one with the compass remains in place and waits, we should be okay. It’s not perfect but should enable us a semblance of awareness of our location and prevent us from getting too lost. We’re aiming for one of the largest mines, the name long forgotten, but it should be a three-day walk north-east of Tanwen. With the detours round the bogs and slow progress through the fog though, I think we’ll be here for longer.
We keep quiet at first, as the mist does strange things to sounds. Every squelching footstep in the mud echoes and the scraping of bracken sets my teeth on edge. We could be alone or we could be being watched – we have no way of knowing.
We walk further than planned on the first night because there is nowhere dry enough to stop. Finally, under the relative shelter of an old, mouldy elder tree we give up and try to rest.
It’s not cold which I’m thankful for as no fire would stay lit here, but the dampness pervades every fibre of our clothes and leaves our skin slick. I crave the salty ocean breeze on a warm, summer’s day, or the crackle of a fire in my cosy lounge back at Chi An Mor. – anything but the muggy swamp we find ourselves in. Wary of animals or people lurking out of sight, we set up shifts but sleep doesn’t come easily.
The next morning and the one after are more of the same.
On the fourth day, in the late morning, the fog darkens. An eerie splattering and howling builds behind us. Fear lances me. I look back towards Eskar who’s holding the compass. He’s blurry and indistinct; this visibility is worse than we’ve experienced so far. He shouts my name. At least I think it’s my name – the mists reflect the noise back at him before I can make it out.
Now I can’t see his eyes, or the rest of his face as the fog descends, separating us. The roaring increases and I run back towards him. Every part of me protests at running towards the sound of danger. My lungs fight to extract air from the thick mist around us. I trip, stumbling to the ground and a flash of pain radiates through my shin.
Eskar’s given up holding his position and crashes through boggy water. The sound of him gets nearer though I can barely make him out until he thuds down in front of me and pulls me against his chest. Adrenaline pulses through me and the pain in my leg dulls. I peer over his shoulder to see a black fog coming closer, cloaking the ground and turning day into night, bellowing and hissing. I huddle tight into Eskar, clinging to him and close my eyes.
The darkness is complete. I sense it enveloping us, even with my eyes squeezed shut. I gasp as it hits, ice cold pellets raining down on us. Hail – that was the noise. The stinging balls of frigid ice pepper any exposed skin and Eskar takes the brunt of it, encircling me and tucking me under his coat.
We ride out the hailstorm, clinging together, ears overwhelmed with the racket. Eventually, a dim grey light returns and the hail changes to a fizzing drizzle, raindrops sibilating on the icy ground cover, hissing as they hit the balls of hail. The bogland is white and blends indeterminate from the sky. All bracken, tree stumps, boulders are erased beneath an undulating, monochrome landscape.
Eskar’s face is stricken, shards of ice cluster on his furrowed eyebrows and his eyes swirl with regret.
“I’m so sorry,” he pulls me tighter. “I dropped the compass.”
Chapter 37
Losing the compass is a bitter blow. Without it, we have no way of finding the mines, or even our way out of the thick fog that remains after the hailstorm. I smother my rising panic, pushing it down from my throat into my stomach. Eskar’s eyes are wide, his grip on my forearms is like a vice.
“We’ll retrace our steps, you didn’t run far. We might be lucky…” I venture hopefully, voice echoing. Staying together, arms linked, we walk blindly into the fog. After a couple of minutes, it’s clear the further we walk, the more adrift we’re becoming. I pull us to a halt and grab the map Howl sourced from Pentargon library to help us. His neat annotations litter the paper but I work out we should have seen some sign of the old mines by now – we must be nearly on top of them. I refuse to come all this way to abandon the expedition empty-handed. Tucking the map away, we decide to keep walking onwards with what we think ought to be sunlight on our backs. This will keep us heading roughly east and we should find the mine eventually. From there, and once we have the serpentine, I reason that we’ll walk into the sun as it sets and find our way home. It’s far from perfect but having a plan helps keep our panic under control.
Eskar hears it first – a loud slurp of a boot being heaved from a bog, too loud to be an animal. He looks down at our feet, currently standing on thick moss. Heavy silence follows. More wary, we continue, adrenaline rushing through my veins.
A few hours later, it happens again, closer this time. Eskar’s hand rests subtly on the hilt of his jagged hunting knife; there’s someone out there. We can’t rely on our magic in the mist. If we burn out, neither of us will be able to channel again.His weapons are our only option. We regroup, neither wanting to stray far from the other as we make our way through the moorland. There’s little daylight left and we take care when finding shelter, trying our best to ensure it’s somewhat defensible.
The noises continue sporadically through the night. We’re being stalked. Hunted down. And now we’re sitting prey. Neither of us sleeps. Sitting with our backs to each other, we keep vigilant watch, flinching at every shadow and wisp of mist.
The cool morning dew provides a slim chance at finding out more information about our trackers. Wet footprints are scattered round our camp, some coming within a few feet of us but for now we’re alone. We press on, blindly looking for a marker, anything we can use to find ourselves again on the map.
There’s no sign of the old mines, just endless empty moorland. I’m beginning to doubt our bearings; we should have seen signs of excavation by yesterday at the latest.
When I mention this to Eskar, we pull out the map and lose focus of our surroundings for a moment. It’s long enough for us to be surrounded.
A group of at least ten appear through the mist. Their faces, murky at this distance, but their weapons are clear.
