THE FOG WOULD NOT leave. It was not as deep as in the woods, Baard thought, but deep enough to bury the village in eternal twilight. The people stayed mostly indoors, wondering what was happening and shuddering at strange noises slithering through the gloom. They only ventured outside to fetch water at the well, to see to their poultry and livestock, or to get vegetables from their gardens. The common oven had grown cold: nobody wanted to risk baking outside, and people made flatbread on their hearths.
The nights plunged the village into yet deeper darkness. Fierran and the dogs howled madly to the screeching of cats, bawling of cows, and screaming of horses. But that was nothing compared to the growling, hissing, clicking, and groaning coming from outside the village.
The mornings brought only a little more brightness, as if the fog had suffocated the sun and made it plunge dead into the sea. What was worse, the fog seeped inside the houses, making everything dark despite a blazing hearth and flickering tapers; the fog seemed to devour the light of the flames. People also complained that their eyes stung, but that never bothered Baard.
What did bother him, though, was that he hadn’t seen Diara for two days. Hareth had called on them and told Baard that their father, Mayor Corwyn, had scolded her for visiting Baard’s hut when the fog had come and locked her up in her room. Following Diara’s instructions, Hareth brought food snitched from his father’s pantry along with the bad news, but that hardly made Baard feel better.
The morning of the third fog-shrouded day found Baard standing by the window, whose shutter he had left ajar, wondering when he would see the sun again. Elya sat on Mother’s side of the bed, Fierran sitting beside her, his head in her lap. Mother wheezed from her sleep and occasionally uttered a gurgling cough that threw an icy blanket over Baard. Father lay on the bed beside her, snoring, murmuring, and flailing his arms in alcoholic dreams.
Then Fierran stood and quivered, staring at Elya as if he wanted to tell her something. Elya lowered her head so her nose nearly touched his snout and murmured to him. He nuzzled her face and uttered soft growls. Elya murmured again. They often did that, making Baard wonder if they could truly understand each other—and whether Fierran was merely a tamed wolf. He could only see their black outlines in the castrated light of the fire, which made the scene even eerier.
Elya stood, walked to the door, and groped for the bar.
“What are you doing, sister?” Baard asked.
“Ruah wants to visit us,” she replied as she lifted the bar. “I’ll send Fierran to fetch her and accompany her through the fog.”
Baard wondered how she could know Ruah’s intentions, but he decided not to ask. Too many strange things had been happening, and he didn’t have the energy to wonder about all of them. He had long known there was a link between the soothsayer, the wolf, and his twin sister, a magical triangle that had gotten stronger and stronger. He was almost getting used to it, although at times it made him jealous. They were twins, and while they loved each other, Elya seemed to be closer to a wolf and an outland soothsayer. But perhaps it was for the better: Baard had no time for magic.
“I think we will learn something very important today,” Elya murmured as she let the wolf outside and shut the door again.
He wondered what it could be . . . and how she knew. Had her Might grown so much she could predict future events? Ruah had that ability, and although he had thought she had gained it through spells and potions after becoming a soothsayer, Elya had once explained it was the other way around: Ruah had become a soothsayer because she had discovered her powers of precognition and wondered what other talents the unknown corners of her mind were hiding.
Elya left the door unbarred, walked back to the bed, and circled it to reach Father’s side. She walked swiftly and graciously in the darkness, while Baard had been shuffling and stumbling around the hut for three days. But then, she had lived in darkness her whole life and knew the hut’s layout perfectly.
Elya bent over Father and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, dear Father, we’re about to have a visitor.”
Father groaned and coughed. Then he sat up. “Who?” he asked in a gruff voice, rubbing his temples.
“Ruah, Father,” Elya said in a weak voice.
“I don’t want that woman in my home,” Father said. “She has been giving your mother her putrid potions for weeks, and look at her. I wouldn’t wonder if she was poisoning her. People say she is a witch!”
“Calm down, dear husband,” said Mother, who had just awakened. A fit of coughing racked her body. When it passed, she said, “I would be already dead without Ruah. She brings me so much relief.”
“She is wonderful, Father,” Elya said, her voice ringing with admiration. “Besides, I think she’ll bring more than just a brewage for Mother.”
“It’d better be food,” Father grumbled, his voice brimming with resignation. He stood and walked to the table, sitting down heavily as if he expected a banquet in his honor.
Elya circled the bed and sat beside Mother again. Baard turned back to the window. He could only see the outline of the maple tree that grew in front of their hut. Everything else swam in darkness.
“Putrid fog,” Father grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Nobody replied, and only Mother’s wheezing and the cracking of the struggling fire disturbed the silence. Time seemed to freeze in that gloomy room.
Baard fed a few logs to the fire. He was about to check on Whitecap in the stable when Elya said, “Here they are.”
For a moment, he heard nothing. Then he perceived the light tapping of animal feet, followed by a bit heavier yet slight footfalls. Elya sprang up and hurried to the door. Fierran trotted in, followed by Ruah who held a wicker basket in her hand.
Ruah hugged Elya with her free hand, kissed her forehead, and said, “It’s good to see you after three days, my dear. I would have come much earlier, but . . . Ah! These days were the first days of my life I regretted not living right in the village. Not even the wards I set around my house made me feel safe.”
Ruah turned to Baard. She looked so strange, with those large, deep-set eyes invisible in the gloom, yet radiating an intense energy that seemed to bare his soul.
Unnerved by her unseen gaze, he stammered, “G-g-good morning, Mistress Ruah.”
“And to you, young Master Baard,” she murmured slowly, as if she didn’t know what to say. “And to you.”
She stood there staring at him for a few more moments, and Baard wondered what was happening. He was relieved when she turned to his parents.
“Good morning, Master Thon,” she told Father in a stern voice. “I brought a pie.”
She set the basket on the table, and Father only grunted as he stood to rummage through it. Baard thought he would die of shame. How could grief and liquor have turned a hearty, smart, and hardworking man into such a ruin in so little time?
Father fished out the pie, set it on the table, and broke off a large chunk. Without a word he sat down and stuffed most of the chunk into his mouth. The pie smelled of herbs, mushrooms, and even bacon, but Baard’s stomach was suddenly upset. He resented Father for what he had become; instead of giving support to his wife and children, he was a burden and embarrassment.
Ruah turned to Mother. “And how are you today, my poor dear?”
“Much better, dear soothsayer,” Mother replied, trying to sound strong and cheerful. “The ointment has eased the pain in my chest.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Ruah said, sitting on the edge of Mother’s side of the bed. “I’ve brought you more, and a brewage, too.”
Elya sat beside Ruah, and Fierran came to join them. He growled softly with pleasure when they each scratched him behind one ear. Then he fell quiet, and for a while, only the crackling of the fire, Mother’s wheezing, and Father’s noisy chewing were to be heard.
Ruah looked at Baard again, and again Baard thought she stared straight into the depths of his soul. He had often felt left out when Ruah and Elya were together, for the soothsayer usually seemed to see him as little more than Elya’s companion. He had occasionally caught her giving him a quizzical look, though, but it was usually a mere glance he never wondered about. So why did she scrutinize him like this today?
“The fog is soon going to leave—but most of us will not see any better than now,” Ruah said, looking at Baard again. “And eerie things are only beginning to happen.”
While Elya nodded as if she understood, Baard only gawked. The soothsayer made even less sense than usual today, but he wished she was right about the damned fog leaving. He needed to go logging to bring wood to the village and food to their home. And he hoped that once everything was clear, Diara would be allowed to leave the inn. Why would Ruah say that most people wouldn’t see any better once the fog was gone, though?
“The village council is about to meet,” Ruah said. She looked at Baard again, as if the news was for him especially. “I thought you would like to know.”
The meetings took place in the inn’s common room, and all adults could attend, although only Mayor Corwyn and the councilors—Hanz Butcher, Harron Blacksmith, and Ruah the soothsayer—could speak. Baard had attended one meeting shortly after he had turned eighteen, about half a year ago, and as he had nearly fallen asleep from boredom, he had never been to another one. He would go today, though. He craved to leave the hut and hear what people thought about the fog and the noises. Most importantly, it could be his chance to see Diara.
“This meeting will be like no other,” Ruah said, rubbing her eyes. “Just like the rivers of our lives won’t flow the way they had flown until now, just like Icecreek and the whole realm of Thorstorm won’t be the same place as it used to be.”
Baard hardly listened, his mind drifting to Diara. He hoped she would be there, and that she would sit near a fire so he could at least see the outlines of her face. Although she was a few months short of eighteen, she was allowed there, as the mayor’s daughter. He hoped that Corwyn would let her leave her room.
“We will surely come, won’t we, brother?” Elya said.
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Ruah’s shadowed eyes gave Baard another penetrating look.
“Yes, yes,” Baard said.
“And Fierran and Father will keep Mother company meanwhile,” Elya said.
Animals weren’t allowed in the common room, and Father probably wasn’t either. In any case, he had long lost interest in the village affairs. Not even the fog seemed to concern him, and he went on as usual, spending most of the time sitting or lying beside Mother and only leaving the hut to go behind the stable to his stash of liquor. He had dozens of bottles of plum brandy, which he had exchanged with a peddler for Mother’s wedding dress, and a few jars of mulberry gin he’d stolen from the inn’s cellar.
“Very well,” Ruah said, standing up. “Let us go, then.”
Baard went to the door and opened it for Elya and the soothsayer. Fierran followed them as if he wanted to go with them. Ruah put her hand on his head, and although she said nothing, he sat down with a thin whimper.
“Wait for me here, darling,” Elya said, letting the wolf lick her hand.
They left the hut without saying goodbye: Mother had fallen asleep and uttered gurgling snores, and Father had leaned back in the chair, tilted his head backward, and stared into the fog as if eating had exhausted him.
They took Elya between themselves, hooked their arms under hers, and headed for the inn. The street was silent, and the outlines of the buildings seemed to sneak up on them as they walked. Baard thought the fog had thinned, though, and he wondered why Ruah didn’t comment on that. Was it just his wishful thinking?
The square was empty, but the common room’s long, oak benches were already occupied. A huge fire roared in the fireplace, torches blazed in sconces on the walls, and candles flickered on the long tables. And yet, everything was blurry and dark: the windows were shuttered against the fog, but the fog had entered in any case, eating at the light.
Baard scanned the room. He saw Diara’s outline beside Hareth’s at the main table, her neck craned, her head turning left and right. He waved to her and she waved back, hesitantly as if she wasn’t sure it was him. It was as though they stood atop different mountains, separated by a wide valley.
“I’ll see you after the meeting,” Ruah said, squeezing Elya’s hand and giving Baard another penetrating look.
She walked to the main table to sit with the councilors, and Baard led Elya toward the back of the room, where the benches weren’t so crammed. As they walked among the tables, he noticed that people rubbed their eyes and complained about how they stung. Elya never had such problems, which wasn’t surprising because her eyes were always closed, but why was he unaffected? Had his lack of discomfort been the reason why Ruah had stared at him?
They sat on a bench occupied by Widow Margor. Baard was about to greet her, but she seemed to have fallen asleep in the stuffy, smoky darkness.
A silhouette rose at the main table. Baard recognized Mayor Corwyn by his wide girth. “Never before have we experienced anything like this, neighbors,” the mayor said in his loud, self-important voice. “And to get to the root of the mystery, we have to examine what we know about the monsters.”
Elya uttered a silent curse, and Baard rolled his eyes, although a lecture was to be expected. The mayor loved giving them and prided himself on being the descendant of the realm’s chroniclers. Besides, he probably had nothing else to talk about because the fog must have puzzled him as much as it puzzled everyone else.
The mayor cleared his throat. “Prior to the invasion of the Wrathlords, which is also known as the First Wrathlord War, or Calamity, and which happened nearly a thousand years ago, only three races lived on this island. Elves and Daemorcs were native to this place, and humans had come thousands upon thousands of summers before the invasion.
“The humans mostly lived in the Seven Eastern Cities. The Daemorcs lived in the west, while the elves lived—and probably still live—in vast forests beyond the Harshwind Mountains, which run through the middle of the kingdom. Also, there had once been dragons in the mountains, but they had probably long gone extinct.”
Baard thought he heard Elya giggle.
“In Year One of Calamity, seven Wrathlords from the empire’s Wrathlands invaded our kingdom, each with an army of undead troopers, or Corpsentinels. They took over the Seven Eastern Cities and forced the survivors to the Daemorc-infested western coast. There the people founded a new capital, Esgardia. Most humans are believed to have died during the war, however. Those who were slain by the Wrathlords became cannibalistic undead, known as Gravelackers, which plagued the island for centuries to come.
“Alas, little is known about what truly happened during the war, and we can only speculate why the humans gave up so fast. And why the Wrathlords didn’t take over the whole of Thorstorm. The reason for this uncertainty is that, about a century after Calamity, King Erikher the Second ordered all historians to be killed and all chronicles to be burned. Calamity became Forbidden History.”
The mayor cleared his throat, nervously, as if he wondered whether he had said too much. “What we know all too well is that the Wrathlords’ unclean presence brought on eternal fog, converting the eastern part of the island into the new Wrathlands. Another tragedy is that the Daemorcs—who first slayed anyone who crossed their territory, be it human or monster—later joined the Corpsentinels and became the Wrathlords’ subjects. They had left humans mostly alone for centuries, settling in and around Grimwood. But they might rise in these strange times.”
A murmur rose around the common room. Widow Margor lifted her head and peered at the mayor with a frown. Baard wondered when she had woken up.
“Legends say that our goddess, Aganope, fell into an eternal sleep during those turbulent times, abandoning humans to their fate and becoming the Sleeping Goddess,” Corwyn continued. “Another known fact is that in the year 639 After Calamity, the Wrathlords began to squabble over territory. The disputes escalated into a full-blown conflict, which became known as the Second Wrathlord War. The war raged for thirty years, and four Wrathlords were killed. The remaining three Wrathlords declared a truce and carved up the Wrathlands.”
As the mayor kept speaking, Diara stood and crept toward Baard, making his heart drum with delight. She sat on the bench beside him. “Long time no see,” she whispered.
“Yes, I heard you were imprisoned,” Baard whispered back.
Diara giggled and Margor harrumphed, and they fell quiet. He only half listened to the mayor, who finished his lecture by saying that ancient legends seemed to be walking through the fog.
Hanz Butcher stood next. While all his family was tall and fat, he was so short and thin that the fog seemed to float through him. He spoke for a long time, mostly lamenting the death of the sheep, but said nothing worthwhile.
Harron Blacksmith, a mountain of a man who didn’t bother to stand, for he was taller than the butcher even when he was seated, said it was a blessing the harvest was over and the crops were in the silos. That got him a murmur of agreement, but everyone laughed and jeered when he added that the fog was probably smoke from a monstrous wildfire.
Then Ruah stood to speak. “The fog is the curse from the Wrathlands,” the soothsayer said. “And while it will soon depart, its lingering effects might obscure the flow of the rivers of our lives forever.”
“Stop speaking in riddles, soothsayer,” Harron Blacksmith snapped, sounding like a rolling thunder. He had no love for Ruah, perhaps because she was the first outlander to ever sit on the council. Or because he thought she was a witch.
Elya shifted and murmured. She hated it when people treated Ruah with disrespect. Baard patted her forearm to soothe her.
“The fog is just the beginning,” Ruah said. “I see Daemorcs and Corpsentinels creeping upon helpless people and—”
“There are no such things,” the blacksmith interrupted. He had probably wanted to say it during the mayor’s speech, but he hadn’t dared. Even now he sounded sheepish yet convinced. “They are either legends, or they have long ceased to exist.”
Elya harrumphed and shook her head.
Ruah said nothing, and although he couldn’t see her face, Baard guessed she was smiling at the blacksmith. She always met criticism with a patient smile that suggested she knew more than her opponent. And she probably did.
“If the monsters are dead or gone, was that you growling in the woods behind the village last night, Master Blacksmith?” Ruah asked.
People laughed, for they called Harron a bear because of his rumbling voice.
Diara also chuckled. She looked stunning in the candlelight that danced on the smooth, tanned skin on her face and in her dark eyes—
Baard gasped.
He could see her! He saw her perfectly in the candlelight, the dimple in her cheek and every single eyelash. It could only mean the fog had left the room. Had it also left the village? He looked around. People stopped rubbing their eyes, but they didn’t show any signs of realizing that the fog was gone.
He was about to whisper to Diara about it, but Ruah spoke again.
“I am telling you that the fog is just the beginning of our troubles, and there might be no end. It is a curse, a curse of a Wrathlord. There is only one person in the whole realm of Thorstorm who can break the curse. And that person . . . is sitting among us.”
“This is all outlander nonsense,” the blacksmith growled. “Hilts and blades! All Blizzardshorers are weird! They have to be, living so close to Grimwood.”
Nobody paid him any attention, and everybody murmured and looked around as if to guess who the soothsayer had meant. Ruah turned toward Baard’s table, all her attention blasting toward him. He could almost sense the tendrils of her Might creeping into his soul.
Her gaze was so strong and unnerving that he stood and exclaimed, “I think the fog is gone. Can’t you see much clearer now?”
The mayor shot to his feet and leaned forward. “Is that you, Baard Thon?” he boomed. “How dare you speak up during the council, you of all men, barely a man, and a penniless son of a drunken thief?”
“He must be telling the truth,” Ruah snapped. “Just open the door and the shutters!”
The people who sat closest to the door and the windows stood to do her bidding. Baard’s soul filled with glee when the daylight poured in. A cloud covered the sun, but the day was clear of fog.
“I told you!” Baard exclaimed happily, forgetting that the meeting hadn’t ended. “It’s so beautiful!”
People walked to the windows and a few stepped through the door. They all spoke at the same time, and Baard couldn’t make out what they said. When he looked at Diara, she peered outside with a confused look. Her eyes were red, the rims crusted.
“Baard, you putrid liar!” a man shouted from the door.
“The boy has lost his mind!” added another.
“What a bad joke, Baard Thon, may the Wrathlords take you!”
Baard’s heart filled with dread. “What are you talking about?” he shouted. “Can’t you see that the fog is gone?”
Tears stood in Diara’s eyes. “Baard, what are you saying? The fog might have thinned, but it’s still there, isn’t it? I still see only outlines.”
Baard’s dread grew. He was about to reply when the mayor roared, “You will pay dearly for this, Baard Thon! But now, everybody shut up!”
The uproar subsided, and the mayor cleared his throat to speak. But Ruah beat him to it.
“I believe Master Baard!” the soothsayer exclaimed. “And so will you. The fog is truly gone! But it has damaged the eyesight of all of us, and only the twins are immune to its effects. Elya isn’t affected because she was born blind. And because she was born blind, her twin brother will have his sight until the day he dies. That is the Law of Equilibrium, the only law that pertains to all creatures and races.”
The meeting turned into chaos. Most people shot to their feet and shouted. Some accused Ruah of witchcraft, others called Baard a liar, while most bemoaned their fate and urged Ruah and the mayor to help them.
Then the sun struggled through the clouds and poured its golden rays into the room. The ruckus increased, but the tone changed completely.
“I see the outline of the sun!” a woman shouted from the door. “The fog is really clearing!”
Baard didn’t understand. The fog was gone, and the day was as bright and sunlit as could be. The sun was so strong it would burn his eyes if he looked straight into it. Was he in a nightmare?
The sun hid behind another cloud, and the people groaned in dismay. Many screamed in panic.
“Oh no, the fog is back!” the butcher squealed from the main table.
“You fool!” the mayor screamed at him. “Where do you think it would come from so fast?”
Elya stood and screeched, “Everybody shut up!” For a moment, she was the angry child again. “Shut up! Shut up!”
The people quieted and stared. Nobody had heard her scream in nearly a decade.
Elya fidgeted as if she were also surprised. In a much lower voice she said, “I’m sure that our soothsayer has an explanation.”
People scowled and murmured, but they turned to Ruah. When the soothsayer started to speak, the silence was absolute.
“This is the reason I came to Icecreek all those years ago: I heard a prophecy of a logger from the north fighting the Wrathlords, and I sensed the prophecy would be fulfilled during my lifetime. Then Baard and Elya were born, and I started to guess it was they who had drawn me here. Now I have no doubts.”
The soothsayer craned her head and peered toward the windows. “The fog hasn’t come back: it is a normal, ordinary cloud that has plunged our world back into darkness.” She glanced toward Baard. “Isn’t that right, Master Thon?”
“Y-yes,” Baard stammered, still wondering whether he was asleep. The past three days had been so bizarre they seemed to be a prolonged dream.
“It seems that we can see a little when it’s sunny, but our sight leaves when a cloud comes,” Ruah said. She turned back to Baard and peered at him as if he were far away, although he could see every strand of white in her hair now that the door and the shutters were open. “Baard is the only person in the kingdom unaffected by the effects of the fog. He is the only person in the kingdom who can see well under any condition. And he is the only person who could see in the Wrathlands, which are always misty and where the sun never shines.”
Baard gulped wondering what she would say next. What would he do in the Wrathlands? Everyone’s eyes flicked between him and the soothsayer, peering and squinting. Ruah was quiet for a long time. A fly buzzed near Baard’s table. Widow Margor coughed.
Ruah inhaled and said, “Baard is the logger from the prophecy. He is the only person who can kill the Wrathlord, break the curse, and give us back our eyesight.”