Chapter 16 - A Forest of Silver Mist (1)

Standing at the edge of the forest, Midhir found himself faced with a cold wind, and an unmoving mist glimmering silver and blue under the canopy of the trees.

He had followed Lilla’s tracks all the way here, to the edge of the forest. It had been surprisingly easy, mainly because she was clearly dragged across the ground. Or perhaps she had dragged herself across the ground. Either way, the tracks were easy to follow.

The cold wind made him shudder as he looked at the unfortunately extremely familiar mist. It was identical to, if not slightly less thick, than the mist covering the thirteenth district of An’Larion.

“The Veil is torn.” He said to nobody. His voice echoed in the forest, reaching his ears as a distant whisper.

…torn torn torn torn…

Unnerved, he took a few steps back.

This was beyond him. A challenge he knew he couldn’t overcome. He needed his sister. Or somebody else who could repair the Veil. A blade couldn’t harm spirits after all, and it certainly couldn’t heal reality itself.

He turned around with a heavy heart and hurried to the airship on the other side of Lohssa.

The airship was at the same spot it landed the day before, though it looked a lot worse for wear. The back side of the ship, and the large crystal sticking out of it were covered in mud and dirt. The right wing of the ship was closed, and under a protective wrap, but the left wing was half open, with visible damage to the cloth.

“You don’t understand!” Alistair’s enraged voice reached his ears. “We must call for reinforcements!”

“And I’m telling you that we can’t take off!” The captain of the ship retorted. She was leaning down from the deck, while Alistair stood next to the ramp, on the ground. “The storm-“ She paused as she noticed Midhir approaching. “Your friend will understand I’m sure-“

Midhir cut her off. “If this ship can fly, it must. Now.” His gaze locked with hers. “The Veil is torn in the forest.”

The captain’s eyes opened wide, while Alistair visibly flinched. “What?” he hissed. “Torn,” he repeated carefully. “Not damaged, but torn?”

Midhir nodded. “The silver mist from An’Larion’s thirteenth district covers the forest. It’s not quite as thick yet, so it must have happened sometime yesterday.”

“The storm.” The Captain punched the railing as she turned around and paced the deck. “Damn all under the cursed sun!” She shouted with a thicker accent. “We can’t fly, not before we repair the left wing. I’ll use a sending stone, let Solus Academy know what’s going on.”

Midhir gritted his teeth. “How long would it take for another ship to arrive?”

The Captain paused for a split second. “Considering all preparations needed to fly above these mountains? I’d say at least midnight – if they risk flying in the dark. I wouldn’t,” She shrugged. “So tomorrow noon is the most likely answer.”

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Alistair clenched his fists. “We’ll all be dead by then.” He whispered.

Ignoring the cold shudder his words invoked, Midhir shook his head. “No, we won’t.” He looked at the captain. “How long until you can repair the wing?”

She pursed her lips in contemplation. “Sunset, if nothing goes wrong.”

“Then we pray that nothing goes wrong.” Midhir turned to his classmate, who had begun pacing nervously.

“Alistair,” he called out to him. The young noble didn’t seem to hear his words. He was lost in his own mind. “Hey!” Midhir grabbed his shoulder, prompting him to finally snap out of it.

“What?!” Alistair shouted. His face was twisted with a mix of anger and fear. Panic was setting in, because he had seen the remnants of what a tear in the veil could do. The dangers of such an event must have been told to him from a young age, considering the history of Bareon and the Orlein bloodline.

“We need to buy time until help arrives-“

“How?!” Alistair shouted, shaking off Midhir’s hand. “We’re students! There is no buying time with the Veil! You know that – you know what the thirteenth district looks like!” He pointed at the forest up north. “The only way to stop what’s coming is to repair the damage. Can you, Midhir?” His voice rose with each word he spoke. “Do you even know what’s needed to heal a rift in reality itself?!”

Midhir met his panicked gaze. “Yes, I know.” His words seemed to act like a bucket of cold water spilled over Alistair’s head. “Now, I’m not saying I can repair the tear, but I do know what’s needed,” he quickly added.

Alistair stared at him blankly before he let out a sigh. “Of course you can’t,” he muttered in a defeated tone. “You’re not strong enough – none of us are.”

He wasn’t wrong. Midhir, or any of them for that matter, were too weak to repair a tear in the veil.

“Yeah, but we’re still alive, and these people need our help.” He pointed at Lohssa. “I can see a crowd by the old monument in the centre of town. Go and help them, worst case scenario we’ll have to leave the town by foot and wait until someone capable of repairing the tear comes.”

Alistair seemed hesitant still. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough.”

“Your ancestors walked away from Bareon when the city was overrun,” Midhir reminded him. “They didn’t wait for death to come and take them. I think they show us a good example.”

Alistair looked at his hands for a few seconds before lifting his head to meet his gaze again. “I suppose so,” he said with a grimace. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

“Nor should you.” Midhir turned towards Lohssa. “Let’s go check on Willow and Arwen, then see how far we can get before the mist rolls out of the woods.”

The villagers had gathered around the Stone of Passing at the centre of Lohssa. The Mayor was standing in front of the white stone, trying his best to calm the population. Arwen and Willow stood out from the townsfolk both with their demeanour and their clothing. The Academy’s uniform was easy to see in the crowd.

The girls were standing on the other side of the Stone of Passing, talking in a low voice when Midhir and Alistair arrived. Arwen immediately scowled as soon as she saw them.

“Why did you send the Mayor to me?! Convincing the healer was difficult enough already,” she angrily whispered. “And where were you? It’s been over an hour!”

So he hadn’t told her. “There’s a girl missing,” his words caused Arwen to reel back. “Lillia, the sister of the boy who got wounded yesterday.” He glanced around to make sure nobody was close enough to eavesdrop – there was no need to cause even more panic now. “Her room was completely thrashed – like yours was last night, and I followed her tracks to the woods. She’s somewhere in there. In the mist.”

“By the Daughter and the sun…” Willow shot a glance at the church. “Is she…” her voice faded.

“Dead?” Midhir asked bluntly. “I don’t know. I didn’t enter the woods – not yet.”

“What do you mean not-“ Alistair’s words were cut short by the sound of a galloping horse. Everyone’s gazes turned east to a man on a horse.

“Stay away from the Stone!” Lonan’s panicked shout reached their ears. “Stay away!”

image [https://drive.google.com/thumbnail?id=1AE26oxRJ1VLUwn9TY2qt61ati41Cd6bv&sz=w2400-h400]