Where The Fog Devours

The Crossing: a yearly event that has been around for millennia, so long ago that no one remembered how it came to be. All written records had vanished into thin air as if it had never been recorded in the first place, rumors swept across the streets time and time again speculating the starting point and disappearance alike. Village elders would recite the perpetual legend at the monthly Runefire to remind the people of the urgency and danger that threatens their lands.

The elders, seated to one side of the tall, dancing flames, would be silent, passive as their eyes track their people. Most of the greeting festivities would be done with and everyone young and old would surround the pyre bouncing in their seats, wide eyed and expectant no matter how often their legend was told. In no time all would be quiet as the wind whistles through the trees and the burning wood hisses its whispers; it was time. One elder would start, chest rising and voice thundering across the festival clearing, reciting the well-known knowledge. There they would once again speak of how a long-forgotten ruler meddled into dark sorcery of which he knew little but for which his greedy and power-hungry soul yearned. How he made a deal with the creatures in the shadows. How he betrayed those same creatures when he was dissatisfied with the outcome. How the creatures of the dark, monstrous, vicious, ruthless, tore him to shreds and cursed his kingdom. Now they come out once a year for a moon’s cycle to haunt the lands, yet nobody has ever seen these creatures or lived to carry the story back; for they hid within a dark and thick fog whose wispy tendrils reach outwards as if alive and conscious. For many years, the kingdom’s people stubbornly fought back in any way they could which resulted in a significant loss after which the elders of the remaining villages forbade anyone from leaving the community.

‘This is why,’ one of the elders spoke stiffly, ‘we enforce such strict measures nearing the sixth moon cycle. We were blessed with runes a long time ago that are able to protect those who wield it and despite their history being lost we owe our existence to them.’ The runes carved into the trees and earth surrounding the village created some sort of barrier between us and the deadly fog that no one understood. Everyone has crowded said runes the illuminated jagged markings which extended outwards, an invisible light felt more than seen.

Kyra was captivated from her days as a young child, knowing the tale word for word. She had once dreamt of running into the swarming tendrils to find answers to all the unknown answers and even lifting the curse herself. Dreamt that the wisps were playful and would twirl around her smooth copper strands, maybe they would fly around her as amazed emerald eyes sparkled with admiration; the little girl laughed at the idea of the dark smoke fluttering along her pale arms as if they were tattoos coming to life.

Those had only been childhood fantasies whereas she was a woman grown now and she could not continue such childish thoughts. There were more pressing matters to worry over such as her botanicals and creating various remedies to sell in the neighboring village. The Crossing was due soon and she has been determined to prepare an extensive batch of remedies so that there would be minimal need for coins when the fog sets in.

Bustling through her modest cottage she seamlessly shaped the needed plants as the cool breeze combed through the leaves and along her skirts. She moved with grace and finished by sundown. With a huff she lugged the last basket into her cart, ready for an early morning ahead, and moved towards the stable where her loving mare awaited. Willow, the chestnut beauty, raised her ears when Kyra approached giving her a snort before moving back to her hay. She had been a gift from her parents and became her beloved companion, forming a close bond through the years while joining her owner on all her excursions.

Morning came quickly with the first rays of sun creeping above the horizon to greet the woman who was already securing the chestnut beauty to the cart with a furrowed brow and deft fingers. No time was wasted for Kyra to jump onto the rickety cart, moving the band toward the rune covered village edge. She settled into the gentle sway and clopping of hooves, only slightly tense once the rune carvings pass them by. There was still a couple of days before The Crossing wrapped across the lands, there was enough time. With increased vigor, she drove their small company along the winding path bordered by vast grasslands rippling beneath the wind’s embrace.

The journey passed in the blink of an eye whereas her stay in the town stretched longer than expected yet no less successful. Luck had been on her side as there was quite a demand with preparations; villagers had flocked to her from all sides, after the first couple of days, a sea of faces and hands demanding her attention along with the continuous orchestra of voices.

On her way back she lost track of time when passing a small market just outside the village. Kyra perked up as a smile stretched across her rosy cheeks, how she loved to explore fairs and markets. Fortunately, there was a stable to the side that offered care and shelter to the animals, no sooner had she paid the keeper a coin before she was prancing towards the first of many stalls. Fiery hair whipped at her back as she skipped from one stall to the next, twirling around other patrons and dancing her heart out in the open center. The elated women had completely lost track of time too engrossed in the festivities to note the descending sun. It was only when the last rays of sun momentarily blinded her that she realized how late it had gotten and with the fog setting in any day now she should be bounding along the cobbled path with haste.

Rushing to the stables, she scurried to get everything moving. Practiced movements made quick work of all the bindings and as the last bits of oranges and purples faded away, they were hurriedly clattering along the way, only slightly hesitant of the old cart’s endurance. With the sun now completely set and the crescent moon keeping her light to herself, there were little to go on but to trust that her beloved mare might know the way. There were little troubles to be dealt with before Kyra noticed how the cart creaked and jolted excessively, as she leaned over to inspect the path closely in the dark night, she discovered large rocks jutting from the ground with larger boulders framing the edges of the narrow path. Those weren’t there a few days ago. They should not have been there at all. Her face paled and she froze with the realization, they were not on the right path. Goosebumps rose across her arms towards trembling hands which gripped the reins and brought her companion to a halt. She racked her mind, trying and failing to figure out where she went wrong, it was meant to be a simple trip back. Stood up right she stretched every which way for a hint of familiarity, but the rocky earth and scattered trees gave her nothing but silence, even the animals and insects were nowhere to be found. Tears are filling her eyes as her heart races. Struggling for a solution she silenced her whimpers and urged the placid mare forward; they could try to find some sort of shelter for night and move on during the daylight. She nodded to no one in particular, determined to get through the night and find a solution in the morning. Following the winding path at a slow walk, wide eyes searched for somewhere relatively sheltered when her breath hitched. Not far from the path stood immense rocks, slanting outwards as if they were plants spreading their leaves. It was their best option. As she maneuvered the both of them across the rough earth, her mind went wild with thoughts of wild animals or bandits coming across them while they slept. She thought it best to move them behind the large stone so as to be out of sight from other travelers yet she threw glances over her shoulders the whole time and in the end her chestnut friend was tied to the corner of the cart with enough slack to rest comfortably whilst the same cart formed a barrier to the outside world. Kyra laid down in the back of the cart with her thin cloak draped across her body as a barrier preventing the cold breeze from penetrating into her bones; she laid there gazing up into the star-filled sky one last time before closing her eyes, hopeful yet apprehensive of the night ahead.

A fitful sleep plagued Kyra, tossing and turning with furrowed brows. She had not slept long before shivers encompassed her frame and the hairs on her arms stood at attention with mutters and groans escaping her parted lips. As she laid there in her troubled sleep, thick, black fog slowly rolled in through the trees. Tendrils of smoky wisps rolled across one another where they fought to envelop everything in their way. When the tendrils neared their impromptu campsite, Willow snorted and wheeled about, pulling at her halter to get away. The fog was curling along the thin wheels of the cart when Kyra shot up with a shiver, whipping her head about. She was quick to jump to her feet with a cry of alarm when she noticed the swirling vapor crawling up the cart’s sides whereas Willow was rearing erratically, and the feeble wooden cart could not withstand her strong jerks. The wood splintered as the mare took of running through the sparse fog looming off towards the road. Stood atop the cart with dark strands teeming over the edges, Kyra was at a loss. It was too late to run, her partner was gone, and she has already been surrounded by the dense fog that has built up to her waist by then.

She stood shaking, not knowing what to do when a deep, booming chuckle broke through the coiling clouds and her head jerked towards the noise, but she saw nothing. Strained eyes rapidly searched for the cause but kept coming up with nothing. The chuckling laughter came closer with each second that passed while Kyra’s hackles raised.

‘Why so scared, little lamb?’ a deep voice asks filled with amusement and sickening pleasure.