by M. R. Timson
in Issue 141, October 2023
The waters of the strait were as clear as glass. There was hardly a grain of sediment blocking Epona’s view of the rocky surface, perhaps hundreds of feet below. It was a whole other world down there, with its peaks and valleys, its forests and tundra—its fauna too. Not just schools of fish and scuttling crabs, but the enormous forms of the predatory hulks, drifting in their daylight slumber. Were one of them to wake, they would swallow the boat whole.
“Don’t worry,” Thana said as she pulled back on the oars. “Nothing in this world can wake a sleeping hulk.”
“Nothing but the moon,” Epona said, repeating Thana’s own
wisdom back to her.
“Nothing but the moon,” Thana said, smiling. “Which is why we must reach the island before the sun sets. Here, you’d best take over.”
She put the oars down and rose to her feet, the small boat pitching left and right as she distributed her weight.
“Careful,” Epona said. “I don’t want to have to fish you out.”
“I’m not as frail as you think,” Thana said, lifting the hem of her grey robe as she stepped to the other side of the boat. “I rowed for a good hour, didn’t I? Now it’s time you put those muscles to work.”
“Aye aye, captain,” Epona said, saluting, and she edged over to the prow, taking the oars in her calloused hands.
“There can’t be many princesses who know how to row,” Thana said, settling herself into the back of the boat.
“There can’t be many princesses who can swing a sword, either,” Epona said.
The rowing was easy. She put her muscular arms to work like the gears of some mighty machine, imagining herself as one with the sculling oars as they rose and descended through the water. She regretted letting Thana take a turn—her companion’s arms were shaking with the exertion—but she had insisted on doing her part. Thana’s real part, Epona knew, was yet to come. Though the waters of the strait were crystal clear, the air around them would soon be anything but. Epona felt she could row them across the whole ocean with the strength in her muscles, but no physical prowess would best the encroaching fog.
“Don’t worry,” Thana said, her eyes briefly closed against the sun. “I have the strength for what’s ahead.”
Epona let her companion sleep. The mainland had disappeared from view about an hour ago, and now, as the fog began to close, the world around Epona began to vanish. It was no longer possible to tell the difference between sky and sea. If it wasn’t for the feel of the water pulling against her oars and the sound of it lapping against the sides of the boat, Epona may as well have been rowing in a void, the only object in a featureless universe. But still, the light was fading, and as the fog began to creep in she leaned forward and prodded Thana awake. Her companion startled, her fingers fumbling for her staff. She looked around at the fog; there was a green tinge to the approaching dusk.
“You should have woken me sooner,” she said, pulling herself to her feet.
“It’s not dusk,” Epona replied. “I was going to let you sleep a little longer.” She had not heard this querulousness in Thana before. It unnerved her.
“We still have time,” Thana said. “But I must start now. Don’t stop rowing, no matter what.”
Thana stood and placed her staff firmly into the keel of the boat. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, and began to chant. Umna elixis aureate, she repeated. The orb at the top of the staff glowed with a pulsing light. As Thana continued her incantation the glow pushed out from the orb and ascribed a thin line of light through the fog. There was a flash, and the light shot over Epona’s head and beyond the prow. She turned, straining to look behind her while maintaining her momentum on the oars, but she couldn’t see where the light went. She felt the boat shift, its direction altering without any effort on her part. She kept rowing, because that was what Thana had told her to do. And she trusted Thana—with her life and that of her whole family. So even as the boat began to turn around and seemed to double back on itself, she kept rowing. Looking up, she could see they were following the light, which angled left, then right, then left again in a seemingly arbitrary pattern. Epona thought of the hulks, imagining the slumbering leviathans slowly waking and rising from the depths, sensing the presence of something alien in their waters—something to be pushed and prodded and tipped. Warm bodies to be devoured. They were surely heading back towards the mainland now; the light had taken them in circles. Her arms were tiring, the water seemed thicker and the oars heavier than before. She would exhaust herself soon, and then night would draw its veil. And they would be lost.
“Thana…” Epona said. “Thana…”
Her oars hit something, something solid rising from the water. Her heart stopped, her left hand dropping the oar and reaching for her sword.
“Epona,” Thana said, her voice cutting through the still air with its usual confidence restored. “We’ve arrived.”
Epona spun around. The fog had lifted slightly, permitting her to see shallow waters and a sandy beach.
She pulled the boat—Thana and all—onto the shore, her feet sinking into the wet sand with every step. “My lady,” she said with a wry smile, offering Thana her hand.
“We must always be mindful of protocol, your highness,” Thana said, but she took Epona’s hand anyway, her legs shaking as she stepped onto solid land. “Too much time spent at sea,” she said, but Epona could feel her companion leaning into her as they made their way up the beach.
“I thought you said the fog would lift when we reached the island?” Epona said.
“It will,” Thana said.
“And the welcoming party?”
“They know we’re here.”
Epona nodded, but her hand was drawn again to the pommel of her sword. She could not see more than three or four metres in front of her. Dune grass scratched her bare legs as they approached the end of the beach. She heard a faint whispering, and all around her she could see dark forms in the fog, patches of grey in the white clouds. She began to draw her blade from its sheath—slowly, quietly. “Thana,” she whispered. “Stay close.”
The shadows were all around her, coming from every direction. The tip of her sword was almost free when Thana grabbed her hand. “Stop,” she said.
The face of an elderly man emerged from the mist, a grey cowl wrapped around his head. “Welcome,” he croaked. Epona sheathed her sword. “It’s all right,” Thana said. “He is one of them.”
Several more faces began to appear, each one cowled and trailing a body hunched so far over it was nearly perpendicular to the earth.
“Greetings,” Thana said, raising a hand. She was beaming, her whole body had relaxed compared with how she had been on the boat. The old men looked up at her; their wrinkled faces were not unkind, they were expressionless. Their eyes were almost hidden under folds of loose skin. “I come once more to seek the council of the sages,” Thana said, and Epona thought: these are old men, you are speaking too fast and too quiet for them to hear.
“I thought you said we would be welcome,” Epona whispered, edging close to her companion. “That they know you?”
“They do,” Thana said. “And we are.” She seemed irritated. She stepped away from Epona and moved closer to the men. “It is I, Thana,” she said. “Lady Thana of the Grey Shore.”
A moment or two passed where Thana’s words floated in the air, as insubstantial as the droplets of moisture that hung in the mist, but then the old men nodded and smiled, their faces wrinkling up further into indistinct masses of folded skin.
“Welcome, my child,” one of them said. “Welcome, Thana.”
“This is my companion, Princess Epona of Brython. We seek your counsel on a matter of some urgency.”
The old men turned their attention to Epona, in particular to the hand that still gripped her sword. She relaxed her fingers and let the blade slide back into its holder. But something about the situation made her palms itch for the feeling of the leather strap wrapped around the hilt of her weapon.
“Come this way,” another of the old men said, and they shuffled around and started to disappear again into the mist. Thana followed. “Come on,” she said to Epona, without looking around. “Quickly.”
The fog began to lift a little as they moved off the beach, and Epona could see stout trees rising on either side. She wanted to talk to Thana, but there was room only to walk in single file and, besides which, her companion seemed to have little interest in conversing. Epona picked up a familiar scent to her right, and turned to see a blossoming snowberry tree tangled in the firs. She was reminded of home, and of her family orchard where the trees were cultivated. Her family: hundreds of miles away wilting under the effects of an incurable disease. The sages were the only ones who could help her, Thana had said. Epona had to believe her.
They walked on, deeper and deeper into the forest, until they came to a large clearing. Epona could see six or maybe seven metres ahead now, but no further than that. She could make out two lodges, each raised on stilts clear of the forest floor, and torches on stakes burning at irregular intervals. The old men led them to one of the lodges and stopped outside the steps that led to its door. Epona had seen the remains of campfires and a scattering of cooking utensils on the ground as they neared the building. The old men gestured towards the doorway. “We will consider your request,” one of them said. Epona had no idea if he was the one who had spoken before. She could tell neither their voices nor faces apart. Thana nodded and placed a foot on the first step.
“But we haven’t told you what we want,” Epona said, and she could feel Thana’s glare burning into her from the first word.
“They know exactly what we want, your highness,” Thana said. “They knew before we arrived. They knew before we knew. They are the sages.”
The old men nodded in unison, their heavy heads hanging so low to the floor they looked as if they might topple over. Epona could see no understanding in their eyes.
“You must rest now,” one of them said, and the others murmured agreement. Thana took Epona by the arm and led her into the lodge.
The inside consisted of one room, long and narrow and furnished only with three folded bedsheets and some pots and pans scattered around a stone firepit.
“Not quite the royal bedchamber,” Thana said as she dropped her belongings on the wooden boards.
“I don’t trust them,” Epona said. “There’s something wrong”
“Epona,” Thana said, squeezing Epona’s shoulders. “Their ways are strange—perhaps even unsettling—but they are the wisest men in the world. They were born before the first king wore the first crown, and they shall not die until the race of men itself has passed away.”
“But they are men all the same,” Epona said. She shook Thana’s hands from her shoulders. “They have no idea why we’re here.”
Thana smiled and turned away. “I’ll start a fire. I’m sure they’ll bring us food in a while. Then we will rest, and when the time comes you’ll see, as I once did. The sages know all, and they are the ones who will save your country.”
Epona placed her pack on the floor and unfurled her bedroll. “There’s writing here,” she said, tracing her fingers along rough indentations in the outer wall. It was not a language she understood, but she could see the recurring patterns of a strange alphabet carved into the wood. The more she looked, the more of it she saw. “It’s all over the wall. Can you read it?”
“Hold on.” Thana had just captured a spark; Epona could hear the crackling of kindling behind her and smell the burning leaves as the fire took hold. There was a weariness in her companion’s voice, as if Epona were being humoured.
Thana brought over a torch, the flame drawing flickering shadows in the dark. Epona held it for her as she crouched and angled her head in the direction of the marks. She traced her fingers along the wood, running from right to left and following every tail and every swirl.
“Can you read it?” Epona asked again.
“Of course I can read it,” Thana snapped. “But it’s dark, and we need to eat. This isn’t important, Epona.”
“I want to know,” Epona said. She scratched her arms, feeling a strange itch somewhere deep under the skin. She must have brushed up against some irritant on the walk from the beach. The door was still open at the end of the lodge, but with the fog still low and the night having come on, she could see nothing but a black portal, as if beyond the confines of the building the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist.
“Green… moon,” Thana said. “Something about once a month, being under a green moon.”
“Something?” Epona said, holding the torch closer. “I thought you said you could read it?”
“I can read it,” Thana said, groaning as she pushed herself to her feet. “But it’s difficult in this light, and the characters aren’t clearly inscribed. We need to eat and then get some sleep.”
She moved back to the fire and began unpacking the last of their provisions. Epona held the torch close to the wall and looked at the writing. The characters seemed clear enough to her, even if she could not read them herself. “Have they forgotten about us?” Epona said.
“They never forget,” Thana said. “They do what is most important, at all times. As I told you, these are the wisest men in the world, and they are the only ones who can help you.”
In her dreams, Epona found herself walking among the stilted long-houses of the sages” village. She was walking to somewhere she knew was important, but she seemed to be stuck in a loop. The few features she could make out through the dense fog repeated themselves—the same collection of pots and pans around a smouldering fire, the same books splayed on their spines in the mud, the same wrinkled faces peering from the same windows. No sooner had she passed one of these features then it began to reform itself out of the fog ahead of her. She upped her pace, broke into a run, changed direction, but none of it mattered. There was no way out. She was sweating, despite the cloying cold of the mist’s tendrils, and she could hear a whispering, something circling around her. The sages stared at her. There was fear in their eyes. There was something drawing close. There was something in the fog.
She woke with a start, her hand instinctively reaching for the knife strapped to her leg. The fire was out, the last wisps of smoke curling towards the ceiling like an ethereal grey rope. A muted daylight had crept into the lodge, the fog still visible through the open door. “I had a strange dream,” Epona said, rolling over and reaching for Thana.
But she was alone. Her companion’s bed roll was empty and her staff lay next to it. Epona scrambled to her feet and called out Thana’s name. She was not in the lodge, and it was most unlike her to go anywhere without her staff. Epona pulled on her clothes and strapped her sword to her belt. The sound of her blade being drawn was all the reassurance she needed to proceed.
There was a strange silence outside. No birds were singing, no wind was rustling the trees, no sounds of life drifted over from beyond the porch. The daylight did little to illuminate the village. The sun was smothered behind thick fog, so much so that Epona could hardly locate the orb in the sky. The light was diffuse, as if it did not come from one point but from many. She could make out a wide avenue and lodges like her own rising on each side. She proceeded slowly, heading left. It was impossible to get her bearings. She had no idea if she was heading deeper into the village or out towards the trees. But then something larger and darker loomed ahead of her, a pyramidal shape rising up and disappearing into the obscured sky. She felt rivulets of cold water creeping down her back and began to shiver. “Thana!” she called out. “Thana!”
The pyramid was large and squat. As it emerged from the swirling fog, she began to see indistinct shapes crawling about on its surface. The stonework was old: the blocks were heavily chipped and broken, and as she drew near she saw there were large pieces sinking into the mud around the perimeter. The ground inclined down towards a ramp that sloped into the innards of the structure. The shadowy forms on the ledges began to cluster, and she heard the sound of feet scrabbling for purchase on slippery stone. It was the old men, she realised, the sages, massing on the sides of the pyramid and craning their heads towards her. She could hear their whispering swirling in the wet air.
“Epona. What are you doing here?”
It was Thana, standing behind her as if she had never been away. “You vanished!” Epona said.
“The sages called on me,” Thana replied.
“You should have woken me. I should have been there.”
“You can put your sword away. There’s no need for that here.”
Epona looked down at her arm as if it were the limb of a stranger. She was holding the blade up, her fingers gripped tight on the handle, her biceps tensed.
“Put the sword away.” Thana said again, and Epona sheathed the blade. Thana took her by the arm and led her from the pyramid, the dark shapes slipping back into the mist as Epona twisted her head back around to look. “They are particular in whom they will converse with,” Thana said in a half-whisper. “Their ways are strange, but we must attend to them if we are to gain their assistance.”
“And the mist?” Epona said. “You said the island was surrounded by mist, but that it would lift when we reached the shore. Why hasn’t it lifted? And why was the moon green? Where is this island, Thana? How can we know we are safe here?”
Thana squeezed Epona’s arm and smiled. “I doubt even the sages can control the weather. The moon’s colour is an atmospheric illusion, nothing more.”
“But the fog, Thana. You said it was how the island protected itself. Protected itself from what?”
“From people like us, of course, from outsiders,” Thana said. “It will lift, Epona, and if it doesn’t, then it is because the sages wish it this way.”
“They have no control over it,” Epona said. “I can tell.”
They passed another pile of books, part-blackened by a now-extinguished fire. “Why is their village in such a mess? Was it like this last time you were here?”
“Their ways are strange,” Thana said, repeating the same mantra as before. “Here we are.” She took Epona by the hand and led her towards the steps to one of the lodges. The buildings were all of the same construction, and the fog would have made it difficult for anyone to get their bearings, but Epona could clearly see this was not the lodge in which they had been staying. The skin of a large animal was drying on a rack near the door, and the bottom two steps were split in two. Thana simply lifted her foot onto the third step, pulling Epona with her.
“This isn’t ours,” Epona said, refusing to move another inch. Thana looked back at her, then up at the lodge.
“Quite right,” she said, and she stepped back down again. “My mind was far away,” she said. But Epona had seen the look of panic in her companion’s face.
When they arrived at their own lodge, they found one of the old men hunched by the firepit, cooking the haunches of an unknown animal. He smiled as they entered, his few remaining teeth stained crimson, and kept turning the carcass. His gnarled old hand hovered just a short distance above the flames, but he didn’t seem to feel the heat.
Thana walked straight over to the fire and sat beside it. Epona stood by the entrance, watching the reflection of the flames in the sage’s long knife. The blade was blunt—he had to saw through the meat to cut a slice. “Ask him about the writing,” Epona said, stepping further into the room. “Ask him why it’s there.”
Thana had just picked up a wooden plate and was accepting a raggedly cut chunk of meat. Epona waited a few moments for a response, but Thana didn’t seem to have heard her. “Thana,” she said, walking over to her companion. “Ask him about the writing.”
Thana swallowed and put the plate down. “What writing?”
“The writing on the wall,” Epona said. “About the green moon.”
Thana nodded effusively. “Ah, yes, the writing,” she said. But Epona felt her blood run cold. It had been only last night that they had discussed it. How could Thana have forgotten? She had the finest mind Epona had ever encountered. She could recite whole books having merely glanced at their pages. Yet it was clear to Epona that Thana had no recollection of the writing she had tried to read less than twenty-four hours ago.
“The green moon,” Epona said. “There was a green moon when we arrived. Ask him why there’s writing on the wall about a green moon. Ask him what it means.”
“You should eat,” Thana said, taking another bite. “Sit.”
The old man had finished slicing the meat and was making a halting turn away from the firepit, knife still in hand, animal fat dripping from the coarse blade.
“Thana,” Epona said, walking over to the fire and standing in front of her companion. “Thana. This is important.”
Thana was holding the plate at an angle, the meat sliding slowly towards the edge. She had grease around her mouth, shining in the light of the flames. “The sages will have our answers, Epona. Nothing else matters.”
The old man was ambling towards the exit, his cloth-bound feet striking the creaking wood with an irregular rhythm.
“There’s something wrong,” Epona said, kneeling down next to Thana. “There was a green moon when we arrived, wasn”t there? What”s so important to them about the green moon? Why are they writing about it on the walls of their houses?”
“Epona.” Thana reached out a hand and grazed it down the side of Epona’s face. “I know this is all strange to you, but all you need to do now is sit and eat. When we wake tomorrow. This will all be over.”
Epona looked up at the sage dragging his ruined body through the doorway. Then she looked down again at Thana, searching her eyes for the wisdom she had always seen there.
“Trust me,” Thana said. “This is the last time I will need to ask that of you.”
The old man was on the steps, soon to be lost in the darkness and the fog. Hundreds of miles away, Epona’s father and his kingdom were succumbing to the ravages of an incurable plague. She had no idea if any of her family would still be alive upon her return. And here, here was her last chance, her only chance, to save them. She just had to hold her nerve. She had to have faith.
She picked up a wooden plate and sat down to eat.
They were still a foot or two away from her when she woke. They’d crept up the steps and most of the way towards her with surprising stealth for such ancient legs, but Epona had been in only a light sleep, her mind still bobbing on the surface of slumber, refusing to plunge into the depths. They stepped on one creaking board too many, and then her eyes opened and she saw them, the sages, five of them, each clutching a long knife, their hunched forms outlined in the dying embers of the fire.
Epona rolled to her left, lifting her knee as she pulled herself up and taking hold of the dagger strapped to her calf. The men fell on her, plunging their blades towards her chest, but they were slow, she evaded their strikes and kicked one of them to the floor, his knife clattering away on the wooden boards. The others turned on their creaking legs and lifted up their arms again.
“Stop,” she shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
They didn’t listen, they came shambling towards her, their arms shaking with the weight of their weapons. She landed another kick on another of them, planting her sole squarely into his chest and sending him flying against the far wall.
“Drop your weapons,” she said, but they took no notice. She couldn’t understand it. Their bodies were quivering with exertion; she could have crushed them in an instant if she’d wanted to, yet they kept coming, and the first one she had felled was already scrambling about for his knife.
“Enough of this,” she said, and in a rapid series of movements she disarmed each of the remaining three in turn, snapping the wrists of the first two before lifting the third clear of the floor and driving him against a wall.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried. “Where is Thana?” The old man was so light, his limbs so thin, it felt as if she could break him in two. “Why are you doing this?”
“The green moon,” the old man whispered. “You come under a green moon.”
“Who comes?” Epona shouted. “Us? You’re talking about us?”
“We forget,” he rasped. “The fog comes and we forget. The writing on the walls told us, warned us. Beware of the thing that comes under a green moon. You take from us our very selves!”
“I’ve never been here before,” Epona said. “Do you understand? This is the first time I’ve been here. I’ve taken nothing from you.”
She could feel blood pounding in her ears, the muscles in her arm tensed. “Where is Thana?” she said. “Tell me what you’ve done with her.”
“There is something here that neither of us can see,” the old man whispered, and then he went limp. Epona let him drop to the floor and looked about for her sword. It was only then she noticed that she had forgotten to take her belt off. She had been wearing the blade in its scabbard the whole time.
She marched outside just as the sound of an explosion ripped through the air. A fiery glow expanded through the fog, something white-hot and incendiary tearing into the night. It was followed by another bang, and then another. Epona and hurried towards the flames, sword drawn, half-crouched and ready for the worst.
The explosions were coming from the direction of the pyramid, but despite their brilliant flares it was still difficult to see anything. The fog was thicker than it had ever been. Epona could see nothing of the ground or the sky, just a blackness turned grey and yellow by the violence of combusted air.
She raced towards the source of the explosions, leaping over the muddy ground with no senses to rely on but touch. It was as if she were moving through the blackness of the void, as if there was no up nor down, no sky nor land, just the light, the burning, throbbing light of the flames that pulled her on.
The pyramid came into view, its edges outlined by smouldering fires. A familiar odour assaulted her nostrils: the smell of burnt flesh. A figure was striding over to her through the flame, tall and leaning on a staff.
“Thana,” Epona called out, but she didn’t lower her blade. She could hear whispering around her, coming from all directions as if she were surrounded. “Thana,” she called again, more urgently. The figure was still striding towards her; the top of the staff was glowing a violent red. Epona began to back away. “It’s me, Thana. It’s Epona.”
Her companion drew close enough so Epona could see her face. Her eyes were wild, her mouth partly open as her tongue awaited the last syllable that would loose her command.
“There’s something in the fog, Thana,” she said. “It’s changing us, ruining our senses. Thana, whatever it is you’re about to do, you can stop it. You’re safe, Thana. You’re safe.”
Thana brought her lips a little closer together. She was shaking, her hand slipping on the staff. “Thana,” Epona whispered, holding out a hand. “It’s me.”
Thana’s eyes darted to Epona’s open palm, but then quickly moved to her other hand, to her sword, held high in readiness, sharpened point glinting in the flames. Epona dropped the weapon and took Thana’s free hand in hers.
“Thana,” she pleaded. “You are the wisest person I have ever met. Whatever it is that has taken the sages’ minds, it cannot take yours. It cannot. Fight it, Thana. Remember who you are.”
For a few dreadful moments, Thana’s eyes remained vacant and sparks flew across the top of the staff, but then a tear crossed the threshold of her eyes and she cried out, collapsing into Epona’s arms. “We must leave here,” Thana said. “The sages have summoned something, something beyond their control.”
“It’s all right,” Epona said. “I know the way.” She lifted Thana over her shoulder and marched towards the tree line.
The fog closed around her like a heavy curtain, the peaks of the trees vanishing into the swirling grey. She kept walking in the same direction, but minutes passed and she was still not there. She looked down at her feet and saw the charred corpse of a sage. There was a voice at the limit of her hearing, a hateful whisper. She had the feeling something was drawing near, that at any moment it would be so close as to be upon them. She stopped walking, blinking away the moisture that was forming heavy droplets on her eyelashes, breathing heavily from the exertion. She had been spun around somehow, been led back towards the pyramid without knowing it. She struck out again, but the result was the same. But then she smelled them: the snow-berry trees. The aroma lifted her heart, pulsed new strength through her muscles. She followed her nose and marched towards the scent, and she would not be turned around this time. She found the treeline and pushed on into the forest.
She looked down and saw the path emerging beneath her feet. Her heart pounded. “We’re almost there, Thana,” she whispered. Around her, the fog’s tendrils writhed like snakes. The distant voice became closer and angrier, but nothing stopped her.
But then they reached the shore, and she remembered that it was night. The boat lay where they had left it, waiting only for the rhythm of her hands on the oars. But she knew what was out there in the water: the wakened hulks. They would never reach the mainland alive.
She knelt on the wet sand and lowered Thana down. The voice in the fog seemed to be laughing at her, the tendrils of mist swirling in jubilation.
“Show yourself!” Epona shouted. “Show yourself so I can kill you!” She pulled out her dagger and sliced the air. “Come out and fight me. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill everything on this cursed island.” She stood, swiping and slashing at the air, feeling a deep well of anger brimming over, a sudden fury, a pounding desire for blood.
“Epona,” Thana croaked. Epona spun, dagger raised high, and for a second or two she didn’t recognise her friend, for just a moment she wanted to plunge her blade into Thana’s breast. “Shut your ears to it. Sit with me. Hold my hand.”
Epona dropped her weapon and knelt next to Thana, wiping away the tears that clung to her eyes. “I would never hurt you, Thana,” she whispered, clutching her friend’s hand in hers.
“I know,” Thana said. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling. She let go of Epona’s hand and pushed her staff into the vacant fingers. “Do you remember the words of power I spoke on the boat?” she said.
Epona thought back. “Umna elixis aureate.”
“That’s it,” Thana said. “We’ll make a mage of you yet.” She wrapped her hand around Epona’s. “Together with me,” Thana whispered. “We must use all our strength.”
Thana began her chant, and in a quiet voice Epona joined in. Nothing happened at first. The fog was so close Epona could hardly see beyond her nose. But then a weak flash of light flew out from the orb atop the staff. The light grew in strength, but with it the voice in the fog became louder and angrier. Epona found her mind filled with visions of blood and hate. She lost track of where she was in the chant, fell out of time with Thana, swapped syllables around.
Thana took Epona’s other hand in hers. “Concentrate!” Thana said. “Think of your father and mother, of your brother. Remember why you are here!”
Epona gripped Thana’s hand. She thought of her family, and she thought of Thana, too. She would not let them die on this beach. She would not let this evil take everything from them. She resumed the chant, and the light from the staff grew brighter and started to expand around them, forming a protective sphere of luminescence. The fog was pushed out, the voice driven into the dark.
“Keep chanting. Do not stop,” Thana said, and Epona did as she was told. She gripped the staff and she gripped Thana’s hand, and she felt her companion’s power flow through her. She repeated the words of the spell, without pause or slip or variance in tone, for all the dark hours of night. When it was light enough, she stopped chanting and carried Thana over to the boat. Her companion was unconscious, but alive. She unstoppered a waterskin and washed the blood and grime from Thana’s face and hair, and then she laid her companion in the boat and pushed the vessel off into the water. She drove the oars into the waves, letting the strength of her arms take over and feeling her mind relax. The island began to disappear into the fog, and with it went the sages, the spirit they had summoned, and what remained of the ancient wisdom of men.
©October 2023, M. R. Timson
M. R. Timson lives in London, England. His stories have appeared in Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, Sorcerous Signals, and previously in Swords & Sorcery.