Mist Rising by Eve Langlais

Chapter Forty-Seven

“I don’t seewhat’s so urgent,” Venna complained as Hiix dragged her from the library next door. “I was reading the most interesting thing about the King who introduced aqueducts to farming.”

“I can’t tell you. You need to see,” Hiix declared as she brought Venna to stand beside a kneeling Agathe.

“See…what? Oh, my.” Venna’s tone changed. “Where did you find these?”

“Hiding in plain sight.” Hiix waved a hand to the stripped and discarded shells.

“These explain so much,” Venna mused aloud.

“Really? Because I thought it just complicated things,” Agathe grumbled. One image in particular continually drew her gaze, the most disturbing one, which Venna ignored to point at the portrait.

“That’s the first King with his crown.” Venna pointed.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because there is a sketch of him in the accounts, which also describes him as having glowing eyes and wearing a crown set with a stone.”

“Do Kings have glowing eyes?” Hiix asked.

Venna rolled her shoulders. “Never met him so couldn’t say.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Hiix chided, while Agathe studied the face more closely. The jawline, the brownish-blond hair, the eyes boring into hers. She moved away from it and pointed to a different one. “Why would they hide this one? It’s obviously not real.”

The painting depicted a mountain jutting into the sky, a path winding around it, with people—some riding horses, others on foot.

“Why can’t it be real?”

“The mist.” Spoken with disparagement.

“What about before the mist? After all, didn’t you say the general knight told you there were other Kingdoms?”

“Yes. Meaning there had to be a way to travel to them.” She gnawed the end of her thumb.

“Any path into the Abyss is obviously long gone. And a good thing, too. Nothing good will come from wandering around in the mist.” Venna hugged herself.

“Do you think any of the other Kingdoms survived?” she asked.

Hiix shrugged. “Guess it depends on how well they repelled the mist.”

“Look at this.” Venna drew their attention to a new image. It showed a field of golden fronds, the sun muted by a heavy haze. Grouped as if by colorful intent, four men in silver armor sat atop steeds, helmeted and obviously in charge. People carrying sacks over their shoulders milled in a group, their eyes varying shades of purple.

“Proof they’ve sent soldiers before to round up the Blessed,” Hiix noted.

“There is something odd about them, though,” Venna mused, head cocked, observing them.

“This is very pretty,” Agathe murmured, her gaze caught by a body of water, still and yet dazzling with brilliance, ranging from a dark mauve to a light violet that shaded into white. The pool of liquid was surrounded by white stone, carved with intricate whorls. A single person knelt, most likely a woman given the silvery hair hanging down, covering her features. Her white robe spread around her in a perfect fabric puddle.

“It looks holy,” Venna whispered. “There is a tranquility to it.”

“It’s not real,” Hiix retorted. “But I am curious about this one.” She pointed to a fourth that, at a quick glance, appeared to be covered in a haze.

Or a mist. Once she began looking, Agathe noticed something interesting.

“Grab the painting of the field.” She shoved the other one away that Venna might slip in the golden wheat one with the soldiers instead.

The contrast proved stark. She pointed. “This is the same field.”

“It looks sick,” Hiix summarized as they stared at the misty canvas.

The foliage no longer thrived but rather twisted, the golden stalks now brown with seemingly benign wisps emerging from them. With carnivorous intent, judging by the rabbit being squeezed bloody. The artistic detail was incredible.

“The mist did that,” Agathe surmised.

“It must act like a poison.” Again, Hiix went to the heart of the matter.

Which only served to highlight the bleak factor. “How are we supposed to stop it?” This wasn’t something she could kill with a knife.

“With the Blessed.” Venna drew them to the next jarring painting. It showed Shield Soraers in battle against monsters, and every single one of them had varying shades of purple, glowing eyes.

“The Soraers were Blessed?” Hiix’s jaw slapped off the floor.

“So it would appear.” Venna nodded sagely despite having only just discovered it herself.

“If they are the warriors we need against the threat, then how come the King collects them instead?”

“I don’t know. But here’s the men.” Theirs showed a similar battle scene, minus the glowing eyes. For them it was their weapons that shone, reminding Agathe of their trek up the path, Baer’s big hammer glowing.

But the answer she’d been seeking—and dreading—was the last painting. The King from the portrait placed a hand on a kneeling woman’s forehead. His eyes were closed, lips parted as if in rapture. The stone inset on the crown on his head glowed white. The one he touched? Might have been having an orgasm. She certainly didn’t seem to mind it.

The detail didn’t stop there. To his left, more young women, their eyes a vivid purple. To his right, women all at least a decade or more older, their orbs a dull brown.

“Behold, the before and after,” Agathe muttered.

“I want to know why the guys stay young, but the women look like they’re a few decades older once he’s done,” Hiix grumbled.

“Because he obviously takes more from the women. Drains them dry. It’s why these paintings were hidden. They prove I was right,” Agathe stated. “The King steals their magic and life.”

“To protect the Kingdom,” Venna offered weakly.

She pointed to the painting of the fighting Soraers. “Apparently, we already were, and he took the magic from us.”

Frustration boiled, and Agathe strode from the art gallery and into the conservatory, where she paced in front of the statue. Rather than allow her time to simmer, her Soraers arrived bickering but joined together to badger once they reached Agathe.

“You going to sulk?” Hiix cajoled.

“I’m angry.”

“When aren’t you?” Venna uttered with a long-suffering sigh.

“Can you blame me?”

“Not saying you can’t be mad, but can you focus it on more important stuff like what that magic the King steals does? Where does it go? How is it protecting us?” Hiix hammered.

“The problem is it’s not protecting us anymore.” Agathe snorted.

“Because the monsters figured out our weakness,” Hiix sagely pointed out.

“Argh. This is so frustrating.” Whirling, Agathe slammed her hands on the statue, needing to hit something. Again. Again. Thud. Thud.

Crack.

Her mouth rounded into an O of surprise as the statue tilted but didn’t fall. A mechanism held it partially in place.

As to what it did… She crouched down to see a hole covered by the moving statue.

Hiix was the one to say it aloud. “Um, is it me, or is that a secret staircase going down?”

It left Agathe only one thing to say. “Let’s check it out.”