The Fog of Forgetting (14 page)

F
rankie came to with a blinding headache. Her temples throbbed in time with a strumming pulse of green, which was all she could see behind her closed eyelids. She opened her eyes, but her vision did not return. Cold seeped through the back of her poncho; she was lying on something hard and smooth, almost wet. She reached out tentatively to feel around her in the darkness. The air smelled dank and earthy. She sat up and hit her head on something hard. She reeled back in pain, eyes smarting, and tried to remember the last thing that had happened to her. Teddy was missing. The outline of the cabin against the sky. Then a dazzling light and a green flash. Maybe she had been hit by something and knocked out and the others thought she was dead. Maybe they had buried her alive!

“Help! Evelyn—Chase! I'm not dead!” It hurt her head to yell so loudly, but she had to get their attention.

She heard footsteps approaching. She yelled louder. A great scraping sound could be heard, followed by a piercing column of light and a
whoosh
of fresh air. Frankie covered her eyes against the sudden glare.

“I'm alive, I'm not dead!” she called out in relief, looking through her fingers.

It was hard for her to make out anything in the bright light, just moving shadows. An arm reached into the space, groped around for a moment, then caught her and pulled her roughly out onto the forest floor. She lay facedown for a minute, reassured by the clean smell of the moss and pine. She rolled over expecting to see Seaborne or Evelyn. Instead, a blurry, round face of an unfamiliar man swam into sight. She tried to focus her eyes, instinctively reaching for her knife under the poncho.

“You won't find it there,” the man said.

Frankie blinked. Her head was still pounding.

“Sit up; you'll feel better.”

“Where am I?” Frankie asked, doing as he said. Immediately, she felt some of the pressure drain from her head and she opened her eyes. The man came into focus more clearly. It was impossible to say how old he was, since every adult she had met on Ayda seemed roughly the same age, but she thought he looked younger than Seaborne. He was very tanned, almost burnt. His head was shaved bald and his eyes were a dark and unsettled blue beneath sand-colored eyebrows. He studied her for a moment and swung his arm up as if to strike her. She cowered.

He jerked the hood of her poncho up. “You'd do well to keep covered up when the others return. You'll be the worse for it if you don't,” the strange man warned. “Dankar wants you alive; that's why I'm here. But there's only so much I can do. Exorians aren't exactly reliable when it comes to Melorians.”

Frankie shivered. Dankar? She'd never heard that name, but by the biting way the man said it, he didn't sound very nice. She glanced around at the forest, its dappled light and green canopy familiar and home-like to her now.

“I'm not really a Melorian,” she whispered, feeling a little guilty. “I'm just dressed like one.”

“I know that,” the man replied. His eyes took on a strange light. “You are an outlier. You come from beyond the fog.”

She nodded. “Where is everyone? Where's Evelyn?”

The strange man blinked and stood up. He was not as tall as a Melorian, and was dressed only in long, tan-colored shorts.

“We're still in the forest. We hid you until it was safe to move.”

Frankie looked over her shoulder at her hiding place. Above her loomed a wide rock shelf; at the foot was a small hole carved into the surface leading to a larger cave. From the look of it, she had been put there and the opening covered by another rock and some branches, that now lay scattered about. The man spoke again, startling her.

“The others will be back soon and we'll have to get moving. You'd better drink this.” The man held out a glass vial of a clear liquid.

Frankie felt a trickle of fear. She tried to think. Where was she? How far from the cabin?

“Go on, drink it.”

She eyed him warily, not moving.

“Don't be difficult,” he sighed, shaking the vial at her. “Would I go to all this trouble to hide you if I intended to poison you?” He took a sip and then rubbed his bare stomach theatrically. “Mmmm.” He pushed the vial at her. It looked like water.

Frankie was suddenly aware of how thirsty she was. Her throat burned. She took the vial from him and took a sip; the liquid tasted sweet and tart, like lemonade. She tipped her head back and guzzled the whole thing. The pain in her throat and her head went away instantly. She gave the empty vial back to the man and studied him from behind her eyelashes. He had an odd way about him; his appearance was off-putting, but his manner seemed somehow normal and familiar; more so even than the Melorians, or Seaborne, for that matter. Her fear subsided a bit and she decided to ask him some questions.

“What's your name?”

“That is no concern of yours,” he answered gruffly. “All you need to know is that you are now the property of Dankar and will do as he commands.”

“Dankar?” Frankie questioned.

“The lord and ruler of Exor,” the man replied, matter-of-factly. He moved to a tree and gave her a queer smile; then, he picked up a large, fierce-looking spear and leaned on it. “Dankar has a fondness for travelers. He is anxious for news from your lands. I hope, for your sake, that you will provide it for him.”

“What news could I give him?” Frankie asked, shrinking back against the rock ledge. “Nobody tells me anything. I'm only nine.”

The man stared at her; he tightened his lips. “Well, you'd better think of something.” He fiddled with his spear, impatient, then growled to himself. “They must be done with them by now. There weren't that many. I wonder what's keeping them?”

Frankie's chest tightened. “What do you mean,
done with them?
”

The man turned on her, his blue eyes darkening: “Done with the Melorians. Once they have been fragmented, we will take you and your companions to Dankar. He is waiting for you all.”

Frankie's eyes blazed. “Fragmented?”

“Never mind.” The man shifted his eyes away from hers.

“You mean you're going to hurt them, don't you?” cried Frankie, trying to stand but wobbling a little. She put her hands on her hips. “You won't. They are great warriors, and Tinator will protect them!”

“Like he protected you?” The man laughed. “I don't think so. You will see your little cohort of friends again, I assure you of that.” He stopped and pondered Frankie with the same strange gleam. “That is, if they don't anger the Exorians.” He took his spear and thrust it deep into the heart of the tree. Above them, the branches groaned in the wind. “Rothermel will not be able to keep you to himself this time.”

A shout and a rustle brought her captor to attention. Out of the forest undergrowth a group of three men emerged carrying long spears like the one the man had stabbed into the tree. Frankie gasped in dismay. They wore the same long, tan shorts as her captor, but the visible skin on their faces and torsos was tough and cracked and covered in dark, sore-looking mottled patches, like scales; one of them looked directly at her, showing bloodshot eyes that blinked heavily beneath swollen eyelids. The hide-like skin covered his lips, making his mouth barely distinguishable until he opened it to breathe and revealed a healthy, pink tongue. The contrast was frightening.

Frankie retreated further into her hood and kept her eyes on her captor. He had skin, lips, and eyes that looked human. He seemed to be in charge of the other ones, the ones he called Exorians. Maybe the other man wasn't an Exorian? Either way, he had told her the Exorians were the enemy of the Melorians and wanted to kill them. She needed to warn Evelyn and the others. Frankie explored the area with her eyes, looking for some way to escape, but before she could come up with a plan, the man yanked his spear out of the tree and crossed over to her.

“Get up,” he said. “Time to move.”

“Where are we going? You said my sister and my friends would be here.”

“We're headed north. We will catch up to them then.”

Frankie stood, her legs shaking. She felt very small and very alone. The man stared at her impatiently. She glanced over at the three Exorians, with their grotesque, baked skin. Like reptiles. Her lip quivered.

“Please don't take me to Dankar,
please
,” she begged. “Take me back to my sister. I don't know anything. She knows more than I do. Everybody knows more than I do. I—I'm afraid!” Hot tears welled up in her eyes and brimmed over. She tried to wipe them off quickly so he wouldn't see, but the man slapped her hand away. He stared at her, then bent closer with his finger extended and caught a tear as it dropped off her chin. He studied the tip of his finger for several moments. When he looked up, she saw a strange, distant look in his eyes.

“Do not waste your body water,” he said, more gently than before. “You will need it later.” He turned to go, then half-turned back to add, “You are very young. If you become tired, you may rest. Your sister has also moved north. You will see her soon.”

Frankie rubbed her face with her palms. She felt a little better.

“Can I walk with you, at least, not with …
them?
” she asked, indicating the three Exorians who stood several yards away. The man said nothing but nodded once. The Exorians moved to the front and used their spears to savagely beat a path through the woods. Frankie and the strange, nameless man followed.

E
velyn and the boys soon found themselves standing in a dappled forest, even more vibrant and bright than the one they had just left on the other bank of the Vossbeck. Sunbeams shone through the canopy in columns of bright light. Dense thatch collared the taller trees and whorled purple flowers grew in tight bouquets at their feet.

Knox's ears twitched with the sound of small game moving, sudden rushes of leaves, a broken twig. It was as if every living thing in the forest was speaking to him at once: tuttering and twittering and calling. Even the wind moving through the trees and the sun coming down in great shafts suddenly seemed to make sounds, brushing and whirring and beating. He clamped his hands over his ears, but he couldn't muffle the noise. It was as loud inside his own body as it was outside. Every small motion or reflex drew his attention, even the sound of his own eyelids grazing the surface of his eyes. He couldn't shut anything out. The effect was dizzying. The ground bucked and sank beneath him; his knees gave out. He shut his eyes and held himself still, thinking he might be sick if he moved any more. The sounds within him began to blend with those of the forest until there was no division between the two. Knox wondered if he would ever be able to move again, or if he would want to. A light hand on his shoulder quieted the noise and, in its place, he heard a low, steady voice.

“Your daylights are tuned to the earth, Knox. They speak loudly when their Keeper is near. They will soften now.”

Knox lowered his hands from his ears. His eyes opened to meet the gaze of a man kneeling in front of him—the oldest person he had met on Ayda by far. The man's eyes were a vivid green and set deep beneath an imposing ridge of ash-colored eyebrows. His skin was the familiar deep brown of a Melorian, but it was marked by thick lines that crenellated the corners of his eyes and mouth. When he removed his hand from Knox's shoulder, Knox missed the weight of it immediately.

“Is he okay?” Knox heard Chase ask. His brother's face floated into view.

“He is fine,” the man replied. “It would appear your brother is a Melorian in the making.”

“What happened?” asked Chase, looking at Knox.

Knox suddenly felt embarrassed. He wanted to tell Chase about the sounds and the feeling he had of being part of the forest, but couldn't. He shrugged.

“I dunno, I just felt kind of sick.”

The man peered into Knox's face once more, then stood up. He was staggeringly tall and dressed like all Melorian warriors except for the addition of a thick metal belt circling his waist that was buckled by a large sand-colored stone set into a silver oval. The man held a faded leather helmet in one hand. He was otherwise unarmed.

“I am Rothermel, Keeper of the forest of Melor and all the beings therein. Welcome to the Wold.” The man lifted his hand in what was now the familiar open-palm greeting. Each child lightly touched their fingertips to his. Rothermel's green eyes held their gaze for several moments. When he reached Evelyn his forehead creased and a shadow fell across his expression. He spoke directly to her.

“Your loss saddens me. Come, you will tell me of it.”

Rothermel led the company, grown larger now by several more fully armed Melorians, through a wide arch cut into the brush and into a round dell encircled by flowering branches. In the center rose a pitted hump of granite onto which Rothermel lowered himself.

“Sit, please. Nothing will harm you here,” he assured them.

Evelyn and the boys sank to the ground; the Melorians massed behind them, standing. Tinator stepped out and quickly relayed everything that had happened to them, including Frankie's disappearance, Tar's injuries, and their flight from the
tehuantl
. Rothermel kept his head bowed, listening closely. As Tinator finished, the Keeper sat motionless for several long minutes, during which Evelyn thought her heart might explode. When she was about to cry out, Rothermel raised his head and met her tense gaze.

“The course of events since the arrival of these outliers fills me with misgiving. The eyes of my sister's spies tell me that a band of Exorians was seen several days ago moving swiftly southeast from the Broomwash into the northern borders of Melor. It appears that Dankar was aware of the presence of these children almost from the day of their arrival—if not before—and set his plans into motion with haste.”

Mara stood, hands clasped at her waist. She presented a slim, solemn figure, her scar a sickening reminder of what the enemy was capable of.

“Good Keeper,” she began, “I have spent each footstep of our journey pondering one question. I cannot think what value a small girl might offer to Dankar, unless to be groomed as a slave-bride. The girl, Frankie, is young, barely out of babyhood. If this is his intent, then Dankar has fallen even deeper into blackness.”

“I cannot pretend to know Dankar's thoughts,” Rothermel replied. “I can only judge his actions, past and present. Not so long ago by our measure, another boat was cast mysteriously on our shores, in Metria. In it was a wounded man and a boy escaping a war on the seas beyond the fog. The man and boy did much as you have done, leaving their boat and walking inland to find aid. Before help was found, they were set upon by Exorians. The man was killed, but—strangely—the Exorians kept the boy alive. En route to Exor, the kidnappers and their captive were overtaken by a large guard of Metrians and the boy was saved. That boy is the man, Seaborne, who stands with you today.”

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to look at Seaborne.

Seaborne made a face. “Now you know my fog story.”

“Two questions remain that have puzzled us since,” Rothermel continued. “Why was Seaborne's boat able to penetrate the fog, and how did the Exorians have knowledge of it? As you can see, these are the same questions we now face. To my mind, only a few answers exist. The first is the most likely: Dankar has found a way to bring outliers to our shores for a reason we have not yet discovered. His experience with Seaborne has shown him that we will protect them, especially when they are young and defenseless. Perhaps he thinks I will challenge him directly for the freedom of your sister as my sister did for Seaborne in Metria.”

“Won't you?” blurted Evelyn.

“I know it is what you would have me do,” Rothermel said after a long silence. “But the truth is, I do not know if I am strong enough to win, and to lose would be perilous to the stone of Melor and all those bound to it. If I should fail and the stone of Melor fall into Dankar's hands, my people and lands would be enslaved—or worse.”

“Worse?” interrupted Knox, uncomprehending.

“My sisters might be compelled to come to my aid and all of Ayda—” Rothermel shook his head; his voice trailed off into a whisper. “It could be the end.”

“The end of
what?
” asked Evelyn.

Rothermel's gaze traveled past her head, seeing deep into the forest beyond.

“The end of Melor, most certainly, but also of Ayda, and perhaps even beyond that; it would not be wrong to think it could be the end of all things, for Ayda is true home to the five great stones. All things that occur beyond the fog are reflections of what happens here. Like mighty pebbles dropped in a pool, the stones send ripples out to the far reaches of our shared world. They echo and resound in every living thing. Dankar does not grasp the true meaning of this. He seeks only power and control for himself, alone; but the stones' real value lies in their ability to balance one another. It is only by working together that they may preserve life.”

“But I don't understand! What does Frankie have to do with all of this?” Evelyn pressed her fists into her temples, trying to stay calm.

“It is likely that the Usurper sent a raiding party after all of you, but was thwarted by the presence of so many Melorian warriors—and of those, so many descended from the ancients.” Rothermel traced the seam of his helmet with a weathered thumb. “It would be like Dankar to try, then, to pick you off, starting with the younger and most vulnerable among you. He would know it would roil my blood. He plays a dangerous game. He wishes to stir the daylights of my people, as one would stir the embers of a dying flame.”

“Pick us off?” repeated Evelyn, horrified.

“I do not think he intends to kill you, if that is any comfort, nor do I think he chose the girl-child for a specific reason, except that she had the least protection. It is likely he would have done the same with any of you, had he been given the chance.”

Rothermel glanced sorrowfully at Evelyn.

“After the Great Battle and the loss of the Fifth Stone, life on Ayda has continued for one reason: There are three of us and only one of him. It is a fragile state. Dankar must never be allowed to possess another stone—and for this reason alone I would not risk open war. Not even for the sake of your sister.”

“How can you do nothing? She's just a little girl, and she's all alone!” A sob caught in Evelyn's throat.

Mara grabbed Evelyn by the elbow, silencing her.

Rothermel donned his helmet. “The fire stone of Exor and those under its sway are very strong. It saddens me to hear of the cooperation of the
tehuantl
, for they are a noble breed. Dankar must be gaining strength. We will remove further into the Wold. When, and if, the girl is seen by any of the scouts I have dispatched, we may then construct a plan for her rescue.”

Chase and Knox came closer to Evelyn. Her face was haggard.

“I'm going after her myself if they won't,” she whispered.

Chase frowned. “We don't know where she is.”

“You don't understand; I
have
to,” said Evelyn. She covered her face with her hands, whispering. “My father told me to take care of her. It was the last thing he ever said to me.”

Knox swiped clumsily at Evelyn's arm, in an attempt to be comforting. “We'll figure something out.”

“Figure what out?” asked Calla, who had crept up silently beside them. “You would all do well not to think yourselves wiser than Rothermel. What has happened is terrible, but he has seen worse. He does not treat this disappearance lightly, nor does he think of himself in this matter—only of his duty and his charge,” she chided them, looking straight at Chase. “As the eldest, it might serve you well to do the same.”

They followed Rothermel and the Melorians out of the dell and headed northwest, or as Rothermel had said, deeper into the Wold. Teddy walked with Seaborne, a few paces behind. The forest around them appeared to be growing younger. The immense trees and broad-reaching limbs thinned, and they were now in the midst of chest-high yellow-flowered brush and smaller birch and elder saplings. The ground felt spongy underfoot, and, in places, muddy. Amidst the grass, Knox saw patches of deeper green, low-lying foliage and small clusters of bright blue berries. He stooped down to pick some, turning around to show Evelyn.

“Blueberries?” she asked.

“Looks like it to me,” Knox replied.

“Show Chase.”

Chase was right behind her and took the berries from Knox. He sniffed them, gave them back to Knox, and shrugged. “They seem all right—but don't eat them until you know for sure.” Calla's comment about being the eldest was still ringing in his ears.

Knox gave him a wry grin. “Only one way to know for sure!” He tossed one of the berries up into the air and moved under it, his mouth open and waiting. A strong hand shoved him to the side. The berry fell harmlessly to the ground.

“We do not pick, hunt, or eat anything that lives here.”

Knox, embarrassed, asked roughly, “Why not? The birds are eating them.”

Tinator answered without breaking his stride. “This part of the forest and that which we are about to enter mark the site of a battle. It was here that many ancients met their death in the Great Battle. In honor of their memory, Rothermel has granted perpetual springtime to this glen. All that live and grow here may do so unmolested. No unnatural or untimely death may seek them. Should one challenge this decree, they do so at their own peril. Eating those berries would only sicken your heart and cast your mind permanently into shadow.”

Knox looked down at the rest of the berries in his hand and threw them into the bushes. Evelyn pushed past him. Within minutes, the landscape changed again. This time, it felt as if they were entering a forest so very old it was already a memory of itself. Across a wide, broad plain, rows of gnarled trees, bare but for coats of gray, dripping moss, rose against the sky. Knee-deep grass grew in hillocks and the air was dense and stank like rotting vegetation; it penetrated their clothing, driving a swampy blackness straight into the depths of their chests.

“What is this place?” Evelyn cried out in distress, rubbing the spot over her heart.

This time, Calla answered. “This is the deathfield. It stands to remind us of what we have lost and what we have yet to lose should Dankar ever gain the stone of Melor.”