The Isle in the Mist: Chapter 1

Ola drew the heavy fur off her body. By the light of the moon she rolled to the side of her sleeping mat and listened for life in the night. All was quiet. She tiptoed towards her father’s room. As expected, the light of the fire remained lit, the flames flickering in the soft breeze. She soundlessly opened the door wide enough to allow her into his chamber.

“Ola, it’s late. What is it?” said Vasser without looking up from his paperwork.

“Can’t sleep. I can’t keep the whispers out of my head.” Ola dropped into the couch by the fire and stared into the dancing flames. “I thought actual voices might help, and, well, you never sleep.”

Vasser joined her on the couch, “do you really think trade agreements will help you? I half think that’s where the whispers come from — tedium.” They both laughed, but their hearts weren’t in it.

There was nothing that seemed to help her these days. Not training, not shadowing her father, not her studies. There was a constant hum, just out of range, with a rising urgency. As if someone was trying to tell her something important from the other side of the camp.

“Your mother would be proud of you, you know?” Vasser said. “This doesn’t happen to all of us. One day you will see it as a blessing, and learn to manage the curse.” Vasser pulled his daughter under his arm as they both lost themselves to the flames.

But they were not the only ones awake that night. As the two royals sat lost in their own thoughts, a pint-sized pixie pushed the window covering aside in Ola’s room, and tumbled in through the opening. Grumbling as he picked himself up, Driscoll wondered why it had to be him to scale the side of Slavaski Castle on the coldest night of the year.

Couldn’t this wait?

The Castle was made from volcanic rock, making it smooth and difficult to climb. If that wasn’t enough, the protective mist around the castle sliced into his skin. Needless to say he was barely holding his insides inside anymore. Yet, this was orders — Lord Tenebaris wasn’t one to make empty threats.

Driscoll scanned his surroundings — Ola wasn’t here. Creeping towards the door, he found the same path of light that Ola had just taken.

Shit!

He strode back to the open window in Ola’s chamber and summoned his second. At length, Cyrian’s bloody fingers curled over the sill, begging Driscoll to pull him in.

“Quietly now, Cyrian. She is with Vasser in the next room. I need you to pull him back so I can roll her out of the way. Got it?” Cyrian nodded in affirmation. He wasn’t much for talking and was more concerned with the amount he was bleeding. Together they ghosted towards the open door, entered the room and drew near to the hearth finding them asleep. Cyrian pulled Vasser back as Driscoll moved to roll Ola out of the way. Holding her body close he began to shake softly, his cuts began to close and his skin lightened in tone. His hair grew longer from his head and changed to a light turquoise. Before long, he was the spitting image of Ola. Carefully, he fit himself into the cavity Vasser’s body created.

Cyrian lowered him back down and moved to snatch the true Ola from the mat. She moaned in her sleep, flicking her wrists at imagined monsters. Threatening to wake, Cyrian murmuring incantations to deepen her sleep. With her in his arms, he padded out of the chambers.

After the most grotesque sleep Driscoll could remember, the sun broke through the mist and Vasser’s staff began to enter his chambers. Keeping still through a variety of gasps, pokes, and pinches — someone with authority was finally called.

Ivan rushed into the King’s chambers. His brown vest unbuttoned and his close cropped navy hair disheveled from sleep. Janus, the King’s chamber man, had woken him sharply only moments ago. As he had caught from Jan’s mumbling, blood was in fact everywhere, and it would in fact stain, but it wasn’t until now that he understood where the blood had come from.

The King’s throat had been opened, and his blood had cooled on Princess Ola’s placid face. This twisted image of fatherly love would no doubt scar her, Ivan would have to be the one to step in for her sake. Thoughts of the duties that he would have to assume in the King’s stead threatened to overwhelm his grief, but one thing pushed it all back — how was the Princess still sleeping?

As if on cue, Ola stretched from underneath the blueing arm of her father, grabbed his hand and pulled herself closer into her father’s embrace. “Good morning, Ivan,” Ola lipped out groggily. Opening one eye at a time, she pulled the stringy hair from its dried place on her cheek. “It is unfortunate that Father had to die.” Her hair seemed to pull back into her scalp, her ears elongated, and her chin reached for her chest into a point. A tired smile opened on the stranger’s face bearing the pointed teeth of a pixie.

“Really this was not my idea. Kidnap the princess, kill the king, etc. It’s a little played out, in my opinion. But Lord Tenebaris has a little flair for the medieval.” Driscoll yawned and extricated himself from the corpse he shared the couch with.

“He wanted me to tell you that you don’t have the support you think you do. That the elves have not been respecting the trust we placed in you to lead. Orcs, Vampires, Trolls. All of us. He wants to revisit the arrangement.”

Driscoll walked towards the window and turned towards his death. He stepped out and coloured the mists red.

“I am sure you will hear from him soon,” whispered a voice in Ivan’s head.

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