The Immortal Calamity

“I do not understand why you insist on taking the children,” Orias said as we packed our wagon with supplies, “General Izmos said he would protect them and they would be his honored guests. The general is a man of honor. Even if the mission fails, he will not treat them badly.”

“Forgive me if I do not trust a man that took in a traitor as one of his captains,” My father said gruffly as he shoved a box of food into one of the compartments of the wagon.

Orias’s face turned red, and he looked like he was about to shout something when my mother brushed past him carrying another box. He looked at her for a moment, then at the ground sullenly.

“I am better at glyphs than my dad,” Charly boasted while lugging books that had been confiscated when we were caught. He carefully stored each one in a compartment he claimed for himself. “If you need people skilled at glyphs to keep the mist off of you, then you want my help. The others are not helpless either. Donte is my dad’s personal squire, and Wren is… Wren.”

I shook my head at Charly’s near slip of the tongue. With a sigh, I looked up at the first rays of dawn chasing away the shadows of the night before. Around us, nearly a hundred soldiers were packing saddlebags onto horses and loading two other wagons full of food and medical supplies. Ten empty wagons would also be following us to carry any sick we found.

According to General Izmos, each and every soldier here was an elite that was either capable of using glyphs or had an innate talent.

I felt a surge of murderous intent well up within me when I saw the two soldiers Istvan and Ferenc were also part of the group. Just because we were working together, did not mean I had forgiven them.

Istvan looked up and met my gaze. He started shivering uncontrollably for a moment. The memories of whatever I had done to him frightened the hardened soldier to his core.

Orias saw me glaring at Istvan and massaged his temples with his hands. “The decision is yours, but I cannot order my soldiers to give your children any special treatment. We will not slow down our rescue mission for them.”

“If anything, you are slowing us down,” My father grumbled, “Where are our weapons?”

Orias pointed to a nearby crate. “I was surprised when I saw you were not using your famous blades. Has your quiet life away from the battlefield left you with too much money? Why did you change to something so gaudy, and why do you have a gemstone mounted in all the weapons? Even the crossbow has one.”

“Don’t worry about it,” My father replied, handing out the weapons. He stood in front of Donte last, he hesitated for a moment, looking down at the boy. After a moment of silence, he presented the hilt of the short sword to Donte. “I think it is time you held onto this one for good. you are ready for a real blade. It is yours now.”

“Mine?” Donte remarked, his eyes wide. A great, big smile stretched across his face.

“Always remember, a blade is not just a tool for killing. Your sword is an extension of yourself. Use it to protect what is dear to you.”

“I will! I promise!” Donte replied. his hands shook slightly as he took the blade from my father. The metal rang as he pulled the sword from the sheath. Donte admired the blade, his eyes sparkling.

My dad leaned down to whisper to him so that Orias and the other soldier could not hear. “When you press down on the gem, this blade becomes invisible. Do not do it now!” My father said, quickly stopping him. “It does not just become invisible though. When activated the sword becomes longer and slightly curved. When we are away from the soldiers, I will show you how to use that to your advantage.”

Donte nodded excitedly. He clutched the sword with all his might, holding it tightly as he marveled at the gem.

My mom finished packing the last of the supplies before walking over to me. “Your father must be worried if he actually gave up one of his swords.”

“I do not like this. Even if there are survivors, we are walking into a Demonkin nest. We should be blockading the perimeter, not marching in.”

My mom placed a hand on my shoulder. “They will not have all turned into Demonkin yet right?”

I nodded. “The process takes time. A week or two on average for a person to fully mutate after exposed to blood mist.”

“Then it is simple. We get in, save as many people as we can, and get out before our time is up.”

“It is never simple,” I spoke, “For a mist that large to form, there must be at least ten thousand Demonkin within the kingdom’s borders. Any fight we take will attract other Demonkin from the nearby area. We make too much noise or a Demonkin has time to call for help, we could easily find ourselves surrounded.”

“Ten thousand…” my mom muttered quietly, “Be honest with me. You have seen this before. After a week, how many Demonkin will there be?”

I paused for a moment. “Without a Demon guiding them, the Demonkin will rampage mindlessly at first. Since they were mostly born in the major cities, a lot will have died by their claws. Once a person is fully affected by blood mist, the Demonkin no longer attacks them. Only about half survive the mutation process. So, my guess is over one hundred thousand.”

“Over one hundred thousand Demonkin… Are there really no survivors when you are affected by blood mist?”

“Some survive naturally, usually children. About one percent of the infected can fight off the sickness caused by blood mist, but they are usually half mutated in some way.”

“Is there really nothing we can do for them?” my mother asked.

“There are methods of treating blood mist, they are all recorded in the church records. Some include the same methods we used to treat those suffering from the drug. The problem is all of them require special medicine or people with a rare ability. Even if we had the personnel and supplies, we cannot scour a kingdom full of Demonkin for the sick in less than two weeks.”

“We have to try,” my mother replied firmly, “Even if we can only save a few, it is our obligation to save those few. That is what it means to be a knight.”

I looked down at the ground, feeling a lump in my throat. I had already given up on everyone inside the mist without even trying. I clenched my fists as I remembered the pile of corpses the guardian had shown me.

I will be better! Just because it was dangerous did not mean it was not important. No more will die because I did not try.

“You are right mom. We will save everyone we can.”

 

 

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“Everyone, keep your horse under control!” Orias commanded.

After nearly three hours of travel, the stallions had suddenly become restless. They fought against their riders, trying to turn and run.

We had not reached the mist yet, but we were close. The horses knew it and so did everyone else. Every cell in our body was screaming for us to turn around. The air was heavy and seemed to prick at our skin. Sharp little pain, like getting shocked by static all over our bodies.

The air even smelled wrong. It smelled both metallic and rotten at the same time. The stench of both rotten corpses and fresh blood seemed to follow us no matter where we went.

“Your stallions are really well trained,” Orias said, looking over at our wagon. Mordere and Mitis trudged along, completely unconcerned by their surroundings.

“Just be careful of the brown one. He bites,” I replied

Mordere neighed angrily, struggling against his reigns. I was happy to be on top of the wagon and not in front of him or he might have bitten me right then out of spite.

“Please, do not rile them up,” My mother said, fighting to hold onto the reigns.

With so many soldiers around I was not able to control the two stallions directly. It was important to keep up appearances in front of the unfamiliar soldiers. Normally, Mordere and Mitis did not need much in the way of directions, so it was not a problem unless the stallions got restless.

Donte, Charly, and I got enough strange glances from the soldiers as it was. Three children stood out among the procession of one hundred elite troops. We did not want to attract any more unwanted attention to ourselves. I did not trust any of these soldiers if my secret was discovered.

I leaned over the side of the wagon to peer through the small window. Inside Charly and dad were both hard at work drawing complex images in a new book. They had been at it for hours without a break.

“How are our only lifesaving glyphs coming?” I asked curiously.

Charly laid down the ink brush carefully and flexed his hand to stop it from cramping. “I forgot how hard it was to make these. I had gotten too comfortable using our bracers lately. I wish we could use them to protect us here as well.”

“These runes work better,” My dad said simply, “Your bracer only makes fire and explosions. So, unless you want to burn everything down around us, we have to keep working on these.”

Charly grimaced as he picked the brush back up. “I know.”

“Don’t make any mistakes. One wrong brush stroke and we all become horrible monsters,” I said.

“I know!” Charly shouted back, “Go bother someone else! I am busy.”

I stuck my tongue out at Charly before leaving them alone. I trusted their work, but I hated relying on it. If I had enough power, I would be able to resist the mist naturally. Without power a single mistake could lead to death… or worse.

Orias and his soldiers managed to get their horses under control. It was a testament to their training that the soldiers could force the horses to take even a single step forward.

With every step, the prickling pain on our skin became sharper and more painful. The stench got worse. An ominous feeling rose up within my chest. The feeling that everything was wrong and unnatural.

The soldiers had grown silent, and even the horses were quiet now, but we kept moving forward. The only sounds were the creaking wagon wheels and our own heartbeat.

We could see it now in front of us. A curtain of red that stretched into the sky. The mist moved and stirred as if it was a living creature. In some places, the mist looked like a massive skull; mouth open and screaming. In other places the mist would swirl into two eyes, watching us with a smile. Thousands of faces all with different expressions looked down at us from the mist as we approached.

I could see my mom shiver as she gazed up at the faces. I placed my hand on hers, hoping to comfort her. The shivering did not stop, but she gave a forced smile before pulling me in close. She held me tight as we moved closer and closer to the horrible blood mist.

The closer we got, the more the mist swelled and moved. Red tendrils reached out to welcome our approach.

Plants withered in seconds after coming into contact with the tendrils of mist. After withering, a bright red glow spread across the veins of the plants. The trees lost all of their leaves and grew large, blood-colored vines. Flowering bushes turned into masses of thorns. The grass transformed into blades as sharp as any steel. Within minutes, everything was transformed into a horrible hellscape.

This was the blood mist. The Demons’ declaration of war.