Chapter 17 – A Forest of Silver Mist (2)

“Stay away from it! Move!” Lonan’s desperate cry echoed in the silence. For a split second, nobody moved.

Arwen met Midhir’s gaze. He could see the question in her eyes. He nodded, then drew a deep breath to shout.

“Everyone!” Arwen’s voice rang like a bell, enhanced by her crystal staff emitting a soft, golden glow. “Please start moving towards the airship. Be calm, there is no need to rush, but please start moving.”

“Help me out.” Alistair told Willow before running towards the airship. “This way people!” He shouted, “Follow her please!”

Put on the spot, Willow froze only for a split second before a smile settled on her lips. She walked towards the airship with a brisk pace, waving towards it occasionally. “Follow me please!”

As the crowd slowly began to move away from the Stone of Passing, Lonan finally arrived at the town. He was panting, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he arrived by Arwen and Midhir. “What are you waiting for?!” He asked in a panicked voice. His eye was wide open as he constantly glanced at the Stone.

Midhir pointed at the crowd first, then folded his arms. “What happened?” The man had left the town at dawn with the intent to investigate some distant altar or monument to the Old Faith.

“The mist happened!” The man hissed, “What else? The Veil is torn, clearly.” He pointed at the forest. “And you had the whole village gathered around this!” He pointed at the Stone. “It was created to lead the souls of the dead to the afterlife – it’s a passage for souls. Spirits. It works both ways.” He paused. “Uh, probably.” He added with a hint of uncertainty.

“Probably?!” Arwen cried out. “You had us make all these people move to the airship on a ‘probably’?”

“I’m almost certain I’m right!” Lonan protested. “I couldn’t live with knowing I could have saved them but didn’t because I might be wrong. It’s not worth the risk!”

While the two of them continued to bicker, Midhir turned his gaze northward.

The thought tugging at the back of his mind, one that he had been suppressing so far, resurfaced. It usually took more than just one single night for the Veil to be torn badly enough to let spirits from the other side to pass to their world.

Had she and the Lustrous Blademaster not healed the Veil properly at all? Was it still slightly torn when they were done? He shook his head in disbelief. It couldn’t be, she wouldn’t do such a huge mistake. Unlike many, the Crown Princess was renowned for her ability to see the veil itself whenever she wished. She could see it, like Midhir could see his hand – if it was damaged, she would know.

So what had happened?

“We should get going too.” Lonan’s voice pulled his mind back to the present. “I wish there was something that could be done, but…” He shook his head. “My heart bleeds for these people – Lohssa was a beautiful town.”

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Midhir clenched his fists. “Lillia is still there.” He hissed, his gaze lingering on the forest. “Lonan, you’re a historian. What caused the Bareon disaster? Was it the mist itself?”

The historian hesitated. “No, the mist is nothing more than a symptom. It was the spirits within it. And the army of the dead that marched with it. Why?”

He shook his head. “I’m trying to think.” He sighed.

The townsfolk was far enough away from the Stone of Passing that he felt comfortable leaving as well. “Let’s go meet up with the others first.”

The people gathered on the other side of the airship. Midhir avoided approaching them too much – he didn’t want to explain why he hadn’t gone after Lillia yet. Instead, he and his classmates gathered on the deck, watching the mist slowly rolling out of the woods.

The captain walked out from the lower deck, with a backpack in hand and a cloak wrapped around her shoulders. “We can’t fix the wing before the mist reaches us.” She stated, pointing northwards. “Lohssa will become another Bareon, and there is nothing to be done. No airship can land in that mist.”

Alistair’s head jerked towards her. “What do you mean? You called for aid, and said they’d be here by tonight, tomorrow the latest!”

The captain shrugged. “I mean, I said that, but the mist wasn’t creeping closer.” She shook her head. “This plateau is the only place an airship can land. Either they’ll have come with horses or walk. You can’t expect anyone to do that while spirits run amok, and the dead walk the land.” She shot a meaningful glance towards Lonan.

Her words were met with silence. Alistair’s shoulders dropped as he leaned against the rails, his head hung low, and his gaze lingered on the ground. Willow stood silently – she was a resident of An’Larion, having lived a life far from the horrors of the Veil, and only having a surface knowledge of the Bareon disaster.

Arwen tightened her grasp on her staff. “I know none of us can fix this,” She whispered. “But can’t we slow it down?” She looked at Midhir, then Alistair. The latter didn’t move at all, seemingly unaware of her words.

Midhir closed his eyes. He could try, he knew the weaves of spiritual power required to heal the Veil. “Alistair.” He grabbed the young noble’s shoulder and forced him to turn towards them. Seeing those empty eyes, he felt rage boiling within. How dare he give up now, when Arwen of all people was still trying to find some way to help – to fix things.

“Get a hold of yourself!” He hissed, “It’s easy to talk about what a noble should do, now back up your words! I need your help – all of your help, and you will help me!” He hissed, shaking him back and forth.

Alistair blinked a couple of times. “There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. “Sorry, Midhir, I suppose I’m no different than my father.”

“Stop making a victim out of yourself.” Arwen’s sharp voice rang. “It’s not your home that’s being destroyed. You’re an onlooker at worst, and someone who is trying to help them at best. Which one is it?”

Alistair bit his lips, drawing blood. “What do you want from me?”

“We’ll hold the mist back.” Midhir said, drawing his sword. “I told you – I know the weaves needed to stop this. I can’t do it alone though, you know how weak I am when it comes to crystal manipulation.” He turned at Arwen. “I need your staff.”

Once again he found himself staring at the silver-blue mist. Quite a way behind him, to his left and right stood his classmates. If he shouted, they might hear him. He would have preferred not to stand here alone, but there was nothing to be done.

He took a deep breath as the mist rolled closer.

“I really hope you are right about me, sis.” He whispered, raising Arwen’s staff before striking the ground with its haft.

He closed his eyes and summoned the thread of spiritual power within him.

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