Eon

Chapter 10

The morning fog spread across, casting across mountains and hills, a billowing essence floating onward with mindless ambition. The threads of wispy smoke ascended over the chasms and ledges, down to Far-Sky who sat at ease. The farmers watched as the fog sped past them. They willingly mingled with the disease, contorting and twisting, becoming one with the fog and in doing so becoming one with Eon's rising day. The essence continued, not flowing through the streets but ignoring them altogether, fashioning into a thing so utterly dominant that all vision died.

Carson had been using a crane mechanism to alter the flow of the waters of the wooden aqueducts above to filter into his circle of nature when the fog came. He watched it dreamily, letting the sensation of hopelessness wash over him and reinvigorate his passion for Eon. He watched it roll under him, under the ladder with the thin steps he had been using, and in that moment he felt as if he were floating, drifting on the gloom. He watched it all underneath his canvas mask and dirty, stained clothes. His hair was wiry and the beard now thick. It had been a week now. One, long weeks of bliss.

The lights within Far-Sky fought back the fog in vain. The fires twisted against the nether but they were easily surrounded and so became obsolete in their purposes. The Cheson wandered the city, unable to work as they normally did, watching the fog-wonder fill their houses and abscond with their streets. Even the little children were quiet, watching the fog with wide eyes and spectacular grins. The religious natives thanked Eon for her bounty and kneeled down in the middle of the city, raising their hands and standing absolutely still so that they seemed like cast-away statues of some earthly cemetery.

Carson looked away from the fog, into the forest that surrounded them. And yes it was as if the fog itself had come from said forest, as if some doomsayer had prophesied within the canopy of green and purple and brought forth the occurrence. But inside the forest things moved in random directions, darting, spying. Carson peered forward. The movement he had seen seemed was borne out of nightmares. Strange things were out there, with pale eyes and odd reflections whose backs were filled with sharp shapes of ill-intent.

The longer Carson stared forward, the more animated the tree-line seemingly became. Was it perhaps animals who played with his imagination? Insects? It was hard to tell. As he continued to look forward, he saw it. It was a Cheson, or so he thought, hiding amidst branches and ferns. The thing was ragged and cloaked, his oddly-shaped face hidden underneath dirty-green cloth that hid the unknown within the forest itself. Carson's face became animated, terrified, but some odd fascination kept him at bay.

Slowly he stepped down the rungs of the ladder. The aqueduct above him dripped with precious waters. Carson turned to alter the flow of the waters to circulate back into the city, but then he decided not to. The waters were everywhere, at every turn and every corner. It was folly to think that such a small waste would amount to anything. His curiosity wrenched him forward as he proceeded towards the thing within the forest. It did not move. It seemed as curious to look upon Carson as Carson was to see it. An odd game of trust occurred then as the human melded with the fog and began floating towards the forest-line.

He was now a few strides away from the unknown. The thing continued to keep still. Carson thought of calling out to it, but his mind was weak. His tongue slipped and he could not utter a word. Dreams came to him then, placating him, subduing him. The thing dipped slightly, as if he were dodging some projectile thrown from afar, and then it disappeared altogether, but not before Carson spotted the rifle strapped to its cloaked back which had a strand of green cloth attached to the nozzle. Carson took in a sharp breath, fear suddenly coming to him, urging him to leave this place.

As he returned to the village Carson's only thoughts were that of the Silent and his pale as death eyes that seemed to look beyond the soul.

He approached a farmer cultivating his own circle. The native was of lean proportions and his hands were worn with the long hours of the work asked of him. The farmer turned to Carson and smiled the native's slight smile. The fog was passing now, over the mountains behind Far-Sky and into oblivion. Thin rays of sunlight passed through the veil of dark clouds above creating shafts of uncertainty.