Magistaire Chronicles: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 18

Ayko ruffled his hair, his frown deepening. How could that Songstress expect him to take so much bad news all at once? First, Chestplate supposedly burns down Maywood, and now he's lost Haze? Two rights were enough for the Songstress to gain his trust, but it was still unfair. Little Miss Eerie Eyes could have at least come with him; maybe then he'd have been spared the trouble of tracking Haze down.

"Your affairs are not my affairs," that Songstress had told him before she got up and left.

As true as that might have been, Ayko was almost sure that was just an excuse for her to go and sit on her ass elsewhere.

"Haze!" Ayko called out, cupping his hands. He received no reply for the thousandth time.

Ayko cursed. He had only stepped into the bushes to relieve himself, and then the mist closed in, making him lose sight of his friend, her, and everything else—the mist draped over the sky and seemingly the air itself, turning the surrounding foliage to shadows.

"Haze!" Ayko shouted again, his brow twitching in annoyance. "Gods!" He looked up at the blanketed sky. "Does this amuse you?"

He clenched his jaw and sprinted ahead, his gasps for breath growing more desperate. Rows of trees lined his peripherals, again and again, never growing or shrinking in number. Squelching beneath his feet were rotting Ovlos, whose juices remained pooled on the snow.

Ayko jogged and then stopped. He looked around and laced his fingers atop his head. "I'm going in a godsdamned circle," he huffed. "Damn it! I won't be trapped!"

He ran again, over and over, panting until his throat was raw. He shouted obscenities all the while. Ripping his sword from its hilt, Ayko hacked away at the air, hoping the mist would disperse, but to no avail.

"Damn!" He plunged his sword into the snow. "If that won't work..." He sheathed his sword and knelt, digging his fingers into the earth beneath. "I'll tear a hole into the world if I must!"

Ayko shoveled the semisoft dirt with his hands, chucking it behind him. Lumps turned to mounds, and the ground soon swallowed the young man whole, save for a single tuft of hair. He bellowed a triumphant laugh—gone was the snow, and instead, dirt and rocks glittered faintly with crystalline flecks. Beneath his feet, however, was nothing but rocks, a sheet of earth resembling cobblestone.

"Shit." Ayko smacked his lips and prodded it with his sword, to which sparks jumped from it. The young man's nostrils flared. "Break, damn it!" He roared, rearing his sword above his head and plunging it down.

The ground screeched, and a glow made him shield his eyes. Etching itself onto the stone was a magic symbol, faded but readable: Zephyriere, it read.

A gust shot from the ground into Ayko's chin, launching him into the air. With a thud, he crashed onto his back, bumping the back of his head. "Again with the wind," he groaned, rubbing his newly-formed knot. "Of all the places those supposed ancients could place a rune."

Ayko shook his spinning head and rose only to fall back down. "Fine, fine," he grunted. "I'll give it a break."

Boredom gnawed at Ayko as he sat cross-legged atop the snow, pouting with his arms crossed. Death was the only thing worse than him sitting on his arse watching the mist blow back and forth. The snowflakes, colored black by the Haze, slowly twirled to the ground, some even kissing his face.

"Must be nice," Ayko grumbled, watching more flakes fall. "To see above this hole of The Inferno."

He shut his eyes, but his brow twitched incessantly. Any semblance of something living aside from himself, be it benevolent or malevolent, was all he asked for. Time flew, however, and the gods blessed him with no such thing–only the howl of biting wind and the chill of more snowflakes dusting his face.