What the Mist Harbours

The ground shifting beneath their feet, some could only pathetically lose balance. Others began to glance around them in panic.

“A divine punishment?!”

     And others stood still stubbornly, their prayers only getting more intense. The High Priest, as for him, didn’t even turn his head. He merely listened, his features tense.

     Flames began to gnaw on the boards under Lucrecia’s feet. Though it was the smoke that would get the better of Gretel first. Hers eyes watery, coughing, she was already getting her vision blurred. She barely caught a glimpse of the many figures forming from the rubble before her consciousness slipped away.

“At last… At last…”

     If the madness emanating from her entire being made it hard to distinguish, Lucrecia’s last words concealed a hint of relief.

     And then, the flames reached her. Her white dress flared up as a dry leaf.

     Henox, as for him, slowly raised a piercing gaze. The silhouette leant against his back had faded. Anyway, in his current state he wouldn’t have heard her.

     The fog was dissipating all around. In reality it was accumulating in wisps, percolating through the interstices of the earth, of rocks aggregating in multiple places to shape golems. From these emanated something far less harmless than the little puppets who had bid farewell to the sorcerer and the little fairy. From these transpired a kind of latent anguish, a resentment.

     The biggest of these beings was still knelt when with a flick of his hand he swept away the cluster of charring wood, sending in the air debris as well as flames.

     Petals of the wreath Lucrecia wore were already blackening, cowering on themselves when the floor gave way under what could be guessed from the shape of her feet.

     Her hand released the little fairy, letting her fall in turn.

     The debris of burning wood imbedded in the surrounding houses. Shattering windows, ramming roofs.

     Henox’s power had no limit in places like these, where souls of the deceased floated abundantly in the air. So much so that they became visible to the living’s eyes, in the form of a stagnant mist.

“It’s the goddess’s wrath which falls upon us!”

“It’s her love!”

     Screams, frightened glances, fulfilled smiles.

     While the golems began to chase the inhabitants, others got after houses, tearing off sections of walls before sending them fly. Though the sluggishness with which they moved allowed the villagers to flee. Nevertheless, to the ones trying to. For some were simply remaining perfectly still, reaching their arms out towards the stone giants as if they were witnessing a miracle. The rocky hands then grabbed them bluntly, tightening their grip… Until breaking their bones.

     In all this cacophony, among all these filthy noises, the High Priest stood in front of what remained of the heap of scattered wood. He was there, powerless, his expression a mix of disbelief and despair.

“Why…?”

     He prayed for the silence to return, for the screams to subside. Meanwhile, he dreaded it. For when the silence would return, it would mean there was nothing left to destroy.

“If things keep going like this… Then…”

     Behind him, footsteps had enclosed. Impossible to perceive among all this chaos until a voice raised.

“What do you think? With the whole village being gifted her as an offering, Kishar should be able to feel the love you harbour for her, right? Thanks to me, you don’t even need to stain your hands any more.

     As he heard the sorcerer’s voice, the High Priest turned around to face him.

     Henox leant forward, picking up the dagger that had been abandoned on the ground in the confusion.

“Desphia will disappear even before the end.”

“Stop it…” Oswynn breathed, his eyebrows trembling. “The village has to survive… Life has to last here, otherwise… otherwise what would all of that have been for?”

***

Up and down. Down and up. Slow, regular. The moves were lulling her, encouraging her to keep her eyes closed.

     This, until she retrieved hearing.

     She was filled with dread even before opening her eyes. Screams, flames’ crackling, stones crumbling, everything was blended.

     Gretel’s heart tightened before opening her eyelids.

     Her hands found the cold contact of the ground, her eyes a stony hand which had just grabbed by the back of his hood an old man too weary to continue fleeing. His eyes were wide open, he was shaking like a leaf.

     The little fairy immediately straightened up as best she could. She was on the top of one of the golems’ heads.

     Slowly, the latter rotated his arm, seeking to hang the old man above the flames of one of the roofs which had ignited. The poor devil had started to wiggle like a caterpillar.

“No! Don’t do this!” Gretel cried out. “Let him go!”

     She got down of the golem’s head until managing to perch before one if his big black eyes. Trying to draw his attention. Vainly.

“It hurts him!! Put down the old sir!”

     The burning stench was beginning to hit her nose.

     Fool. How dumb she was to believe being able to do anything. She was too small, too insignificant to have any sort of influence.

     Still… A thin hope was left.

“Sir Henox…!”

     He alone could end all of this. Where was he?

     Her eyes looked for him, frantically, until catching sight of the back of a man wearing a goatskin. He stood before the High Priest. He got closer to him step by step. Directing at him the end of a dagger already stained with blood.

***

The High Priest’s words hadn’t stopped him at all. To answer it was futile, a loss of time he wouldn’t grant him.

     Instead of it, he stepped closer.

     Oswynn recoiled. He stumbled against what one day had been the head of a wooden horse. And fell backward.

“If you do this, all that the villagers did will be for nothing.”

“It had always been vain.”

     What greatness of soul he had to answer him!

     Sat, Oswynn held himself against his hands.

“No! No, it’s impossible! Nor Desphia nor the world can disappear!!” He shouted. “Otherwise… what was it for…”

     While Henox slowly leant over him, the High Priest’s voice was not louder than a whisper. His irises quivered. The thought of his own death frightened him, of course, but there was something even stronger.

“…what was it for to make this village prosper at the cost of all the harm done to him?”

     His fingers grasped the ground.

“What were for all the teardrops he had to shed for us?”

     In a prompt gesture, Henox plunged the blade towards Oswynn’s heart.

“Stop!!”

     A voice cried. Soft, pleading.

     A blink.

     The dagger had sunk to its handle.

     Though instead of a heart, it was in a stack of cookies that the blade had sunk.

“Don’t do that! Don’t hurt him!”

     Gretel had found them, she had crept up on the High Priest’s legs.

     The absurdity of the situation froze Henox.

     Slowly, he removed the dagger. But it was solely to chase the biscuits away, crumbling them.

“Don’t get involved. Move aside. Unless you want to get squirted with his blood.”

“No, I refuse!” She exclaimed at once.

     He could have chased her away with a flick. Nothing should give her the boldness she had.

     He made a face, grimacing.

“Why persist to protect him? The world will be a better place without a man of his kind. You almost got burnt with that other girl because of him.”

“Burnt…?” Oswynn repeated.

     He seemed to not understand. Be that as it may.

“Yes, burnt. Reduced to ashes. Lucrecia had brought Gretel with her. I guess that was as well under your guidance.”

     But the High Priest widened his eyes.

“No… No, Lucrecia wouldn’t have…” His words came with difficulty. “Not another creature…”

“Life is precious!” Gretel interrupted. “I don’t want to see other persons suffer, even if they didn’t behave.”

“…”

“Let’s leave this village, okay?”

“These people had spent years torturing a phœnix. A creature naive enough to grant them his trust. A creature whom death wouldn’t even deign to free him from his misery. Is it these kinds of people you want to protect?”

     Gretel clenched her little fists, lowering her head.

     Then, she sought the sorcerer’s gaze. She seemed saddened, but she didn’t doubt.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I would like to protect them. But I am sure there is someone that would like to, someone who would be sad if something happened to them.”

     He said nothing. He didn’t react at once.

     Sometimes, Gretel was much more perceptive than she should have been.

     Finally, Henox reached out his hand towards Oswynn. Though instead of trying to injure him, he simply retrieved the little fairy he placed over his shoulder.

     Then, he straightened up.

     Around them, the golems stood still.

     While the sorcerer turned away from the High Priest, his stone giants put down the villagers they were holding, the roofs they had just ripped off. Before falling apart, reverting to ground.

     Henox stopped only a moment before leaving the village. Just long enough to utter last words.

“ ‘Prevent them from doing this. Prevent them from harming each other.’ It’s what asked me the creature you hold prisoner. Though listening to him wasn’t my intention.”

     His mouth was half-opened. A tear had just rolled down Oswynn’s cheek.

     The High Priest’s pale eyes expressed his pain better that any of his words would have.

     This wound was maybe the most human part he had left.

     Afar, among the ashes, laid Lucrecia’s hairpin.