Chapter 16: Prayers to Serya

 I.

What had started as a run became a sequence of long leaps. Each step pushed Alex just another foot off the ground and another second closer to Spavia. After each jump, Alex stole a glance back at her four-legged companion. He had no trouble keeping pace, his body almost gliding over the ground. It was as if he were running on the air instead of the ground. A fact that didn’t surprise her, considering what he had displayed during their fight. As they crested the hill outside of Persal, Alex turned back again. Her leap had put her a stone’s throw down the hill. She turned to look at the dog. His figure stood vigilant over the hill’s summit, his head turned toward the town. He cut the figure of a watchful guardian rather than a remnant. He was a strange one.

“You like it here?” Alex walked up the hill, sharing the view.

A low growl.

“It is a nice town,” she said, her eyes moving toward Liz’s house on the town’s perimeter. “That’s why we have to protect it.”

The dog flicked its head toward the bottom of the hill.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They continued their run.

The familiar hilltops outside Persal passed by in the blink of an eye. The winding turns of the road and the sign leading to Krausben blurred past. With each leap, Alex kept an eye on every tree, every branch that might bar her path. She wasn’t under any threat of going off the side, since she was going inland, but she could never be too careful. Visibility was low, just like any fog, but the veil brought on by a mistswell wasn’t normal. It wasn’t a cloud passing over the island. As the boundary between Sea and Shore blurred, its vapors became visible. The larger the mistswell, the more deranged the environment.

Alex stared ahead as the path slithered away from her like a snake. It maneuvered into the forest and out again in pursuit of the horizon. It crested hills and fell into newly formed valleys. She was fairly sure that the route to Persal didn’t drive itself off of a cliff. She clicked her tongue, skidding to a stop. A dust cloud rolled into the air, expanding outward as it travelled. Alex tried to bat it away only to make matters worse. The thickening blanket of dust and dirt attacked her. She coughed, stepping backward. She didn’t watch where she was going. Actually, it probably didn’t matter.

The ground fell out beneath her.

She fell backward. Her hand fell on the hilt of the blade at her back. She threw all of her weight forward, stabbing the sword into the ground. Her slanted body hung over a newly formed crevice beneath her.

Alex hated mistswells. She couldn’t help her instinct to bat away the dust. The last thing she expected was for it to start strangling her. She huffed, pulling herself up.

“Yeah, don’t help. It’s fine,” Alex said as her hands hovered over her jacket.

She was about to dust herself off. Lesson learned. She shook her head.

The dog barked.

She closed her jacket over her mouth. Looking down at her feet, the hole didn’t look natural. It was a painting. The color of the path shifted from an earthy brown to a dull yellow. The grass at her feet retreated into the ground. When she turned to look, only the black impressions of grass remained. An approximation of grass on a black-and-white canvas.

The world, the Shore, ebbed away with each passing moment. The longer they took, the worse things would get.

The lingering fog was like the fog that night at the Verconis manor. The wispy fog that crawled out from the forest in the back. However, it hadn’t been this bad. She had read reports from up north near the Boreal Lands about mistswells like this. They had the capacity to alter reality on a large scale. It was unheard of on a havencrop isle.

“Wait.” Alex placed a hand to her chin.

She didn’t need to head to Spavia. Heading to Spavia would only waste time if her hunch was correct. Krass was there. If she trusted them to hold their own, then she had to get to the Verconis manor as soon as possible. Whatever was behind this was behind the Verconis manor. It was either there, or close by.

No, not the manor. She had to go to the shrine behind it. Whatever was causing this was there. In her experience, eidolons didn't cause mistswells on their own. Eidolons themselves manifested as a fog, but that was the nature of their existence. They didn't warp the world around them and drown it in the Sea.

“Dammit,” Alex clicked her tongue. “It’s too soon, but whatever.”

She clutched the hilt of the sword in her hand.

The dog barked again.

“You alright?” Alex said, looking from her blade to the dog.

He was staring at Persal. Or, where Persal might have been had the path not chosen to take an inky detour by itself. With the mistswell the way was, that might as well be straight up for all Alex knew. The dog turned his head toward Alex.

“You really want to head back there, don’t you?” Alex scratched the back of her head. Her eyes trailed into the sky.

Thin lines reflected the sun’s light. They inched forward like a weaver’s thread. Slow and steady as they descended. On their ends were small spheres. Spheres with legs that carried the thread down.

“What is that?” Alex mumbled.

Her eyes widened.

The thread tightened.

It flew straight at her.

Alex slashed the air. The thread slid along the tip of her blade before thrusting at her neck. Alex dropped the blade and leaped back.

The blade screamed as it clattered to the ground.

“Alex, I was having a nap!” it yelled.

“Sorry, old man! We’re in a bit of a situation!” Alex talked to the sword.

“Old man,” the sword huffed. “Wait, why is there a remnant? Why are we in a painting?”

“Long story!” Alex flipped backward, dodging the pursuing thread. “I have to—”

Black tendrils ripped through the air. They flew past the thread and gripped Alex by the ankle.

“Huh?”

Was this a betrayal?

Well, it was her fault for trusting a remnant.

Something about him seemed different.

The canvas world flew past Alex as she drifted past the talking sword. She clutched the hilt and went to slash the tendrils.

She stopped short.

The dog leaped into the air, catching her.

“Oh, that was your plan,” Alex sighed in relief. “Not bad, pooch.”

“Why is a remnant helping us!?” the sword asked a very poignant question.

“I don’t have time to explain, Cal.”

‘Cal’ sighed.

The dog retracted its tendrils as Alex lay on its back. He stared at the transient thread in the air. Then, he dashed forward. Each step he took, a splotch of black ink followed. Alex grasped the tufts of the dog’s ‘fur’, if she could call it that, to retain her balance. Her eyes traced the sides of what was once the forest trail. The trees decorated with red autumn leaves were paper thin, their branches slaves to the gentle wind. The mountains off in the distance were little more than theatre props. The world was changing, and fast.

“I don’t know if remnants can sense each other, but I’m trusting you to take me to the one who's causing all of this,” Alex frowned.

He wanted to go to Persal.

She had to offer him something.

Somehow, she knew the dog understood her.

“If you take me there, then you’re free to go to Persal.”

The dog narrowed his yellow eyes.

It was a gamble. All of this was a gamble. Nothing was guaranteed. Not in this life, or the next. She had to take a chance on this remnant if she wanted to find the Verconis manor. She grasped the dog’s ‘fur’ in one hand and the hilt of her sword in the other.

He howled before leaping into the air. Then, a splash.

He didn’t leap into the air.

He leaped off of it.

The thread couldn’t catch up.

Alex prayed she wasn’t too late.

II.

The villagers of Persal were frozen as stiff as the painted mountains on the horizon. The streets were hardly visible through the thickening vale of fog. Mothers held their children close, and fathers braced themselves with pitchforks.

“Mom, I'm scared.” “What is that?” “What's going on?”

A cacophony of voices echoed through the fog-filled streets. Liz stood at the helm at the path leading out of the village. A road she often walked without a care in the world. Now, what was supposed to bring comfort and safety brought only panic. Hills rose along the painted path, soaring high into the sky then dipping down into an inky abyss.

Aria stood at Liz's side, narrowing her eyes at the shifting path. “This is really bad.”

“This is the mistswell’s doing, isn't it?”

Aria nodded. “When it starts, the road might stretch or you might end up back where you started.”

The veteran Pathfinder pointed to the air. Liz followed her finger skyward. Liz gasped. The blue sky was gone. It had become a yellow-stained canvas. It shimmered with the sun's reflected light. Strange lights with thin tails maneuvered overhead. They weren't flying; they were swimming through the air. Was Liz underwater? She took a deep breath. No water filled her lungs. She exhaled.

“Everyone, calm down!” Arula's voice pulled the crowd’s attention. “Please, we'll continue on our way to my manor. The Pathfinders will guide our way! It's why they're here.”

“Easy for you to say,” Aria mumbled out of earshot. Liz was, unfortunately, close enough to hear the disheartening words. She locked eyes with Liz.

Aria sighed, then clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone! We got a wagon coming for the children and the elderly!”

The villagers chattered amongst themselves. Arula'a declaration brought some semblance of order. Their anxiety didn't vanish. They moved forward down the road. Liz turned toward the sound of squeaking wheels. Then, almost on cue, a huttie snorted into Liz's face.

“Oh, Baqus!” Liz said as she rested a hand on the huttie’s head. “Is she going to be alright?”

“She’ll be fine. Odette here is one of a kind!” Baqus slapped Odette’s rear. Liz looked past Baqus and into the wagon. A little boy stood behind Baqus with a wooden figure in hand.

“Woodman, here to save the day! Kwoosh!” The boy walked a wood figure across Baqus' shoulder. ‘Woodman’ jumped into the air, flailing his arms left and right to bat away an unseen evil.

“Stop annoying the nice driver!” a woman, presumably the boy's mother, spoke. She struggled to stand up, leaning on the sideboard for balance. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's fine, madam.” Baqus raised a hand. “Let the boy play. It's no bother to me.”

Baqus turned his attention to the villagers, then clapped his hands. “Alright, there’s not a lot of room, but you heard the lady! Come on, get in the wagon!”

The crowd began to thin. An elderly couple moved forward with one of the other Pathfinders aiding them. The Pathfinder himself was an older man, around the same age as her father before he vanished. The scars coating his face and arms told their own story. He wasn’t panicking. In fact, it seemed this ordeal was routine. Liz remembered her father talking about his colleagues. A popular phrase he often said was ‘a Pathfinder is either their scars or their age, but rarely ever both’.

“Next!” he said.

A group of kids piled onto the wagon. A boy pulled one of the girls’ hair, and then the girl planted her elbow in the boy’s face. He cried. The older Pathfinder sighed, separating the two before placing them separately on the wagon. “You’re on the left.” He pointed to the boy. “You’re on the right. Don’t touch each other.”

“Okay, Grandpa.”

“I am not a grandpa! Shut up and sit down.”

“But your hair is white! That means you’re old!” The boy pointed.

“Yeah!” The girl joined in.

The children laughed and the man sighed.

He felt like their father more so than a Pathfinder.

“So, Arula, was it?” Another one of the three veteran Pathfinders spoke up. She wore a cap over her head. Baggy pants that almost dragged on the dirt. “Not sure how we’re going to navigate the mistswell to the manor. These things get more dense the more time passes.”

“I see,” Arula nodded. She was in charge of the situation, and it seemed like she wasn’t sure how to deal with it. “Oh, Miss Lizbeth, can I get your help?”

“What?” Liz pointed to herself. “Me?”

“That is your name, isn’t it?” Arula smiled.

Liz wasn’t sure why she was calling on her. Aria was more dependable. In fact, there were four Pathfinders here that could be of more help. However, Liz wasn’t in any position to really refuse. The severity of the situation prompted quick action. If there was anything Liz could do to help, she would do it. “What can I help with?”

“You’ve spent a lot of time in and out of Persal, right?” Arula asked.

“Yes,” Liz nodded. “I know the woods like the back of my hand. But, well… I’m not sure how helpful that will actually be.”

“Mistswells have varying density,” the hatted girl said, pushing up her glasses. “If we can find an area with low density, we may be able to find a landmark.”

Liz sighed. “I understand what you’re saying, but shouldn’t you be doing this, Arula?”

Arula was silent.

Arula should know the way to the Straconis manor better than Liz. She had never visited it personally. She knew the route that led there, as well as the different nooks and crannies of the woods nearby. It was where she had spent a lot of her time as a child. Jumping from rock to rock, picking up frogs and fish in the streams. Her dad always encouraged her to explore.

“I haven’t ventured that far from the manor,” Arula said. “In fact, walking down to Persal is a bit of a trip for me. I may be able to speak to crowds, but that’s all I’ve ever been able to do.”

“Lady Arula—”

“Arula.”

Liz sighed, “Fine, Arula. I’ll help. I will do what I can, but I can’t make any promises for our success.”

“Alright, now we just—”

Liz’s breath caught in her throat.

A scream scared her stiff.

A bloodcurdling scream.

Black pooled onto the ground as the crowd dispersed. A boy lay at the crowd’s center. It wasn’t blood. It looked like ink.

“What the?” Liz mumbled.

“Clear away!” Aria yelled as she ran past Liz toward the center.

A person stood there in the crowd. It wasn’t a person. It looked like one. Its form was black, a silhouette of what should have been. Its form blurred and undulated. A thin line refracted the painted sun’s light. Five glints of light hovered above the figure. One at the ‘head’, two at the arms, and two at the legs.

“M-my husband! He killed my…” an older woman yelled, pointing to the silhouette. It approached her, stepping on the air as if it were solid. “No, my boy. Please!”

Thunder clapped.

Lightning ripped through the humanoid shadow’s back. It turned toward Aria.

“M-mom?” the boy mumbled, stretching a hand toward his mother. Liz watched was the wound slowly closed. It was Serya’s blessing at work.

“You’re alright! Bless Serya!” The mother hugged her son.

The silhouette rippled like the surface of the water, floating toward Aria. It reached down, grasping the bloody pitch fork. The weapon used to strike his own son.

“What is that?” Liz mumbled.

“The remnant’s power at work.” The hat-wearing Pathfinder looked to the sky. “Watch for strings!”

Liz looked up.

They descended like rain. Small orbs bobbed through the air. No, those weren’t orbs.

They were spiders.

Crawling along the air, carrying with them silken webs.

Webs that wove into the skin, turning people into strange shadows.

“Everyone, spread out!” Aria yelled.

Arula yelled.

Liz pivoted.

One of the sphere spiders sat on her head. A string fastened itself to Arula’s scalp. She rose into the air as darkness spread through her form. The whites of her eyes shifted into a deep black. Her arms hung low, stretching toward the ground. She opened her mouth to scream. No noise came, only a flood of black smog.

“Arula!” Liz stretched her hand toward her.

“Idiot!” Aria’s voice called out as Liz found herself on the ground. “Stay behind me!”

“B-but Arula! She’s—”

“You touch her, you’re ending up the same way!” Aria stood as a bulwark between Arula and Liz. “Vlad, protect the wagon! Melania, see if you can cut the strings!””

Melania’s hat fell to the ground. Cat ears twitched atop her head. She brandished two knives. “Got it!”

Vlad, the older Pathfinder at the wagon, brandished a longsword. “Easier said than done, kid!”

Liz stood behind Aria as Arula’s body ascended into the sky. More of the web extended to the ground.

They couldn’t run.

If it was this bad here, then what was going on at the Verconis manor? With Alex? Spavia? Were they okay?

Liz prayed to Serya for their safety, as well as their own.