An Old Friend
The people of Ahawai kept their heads down as they shuffled in the streets, not even so much as a nod of acknowledgment sent our way, though a few cast odd glances at us, like we were exotic creatures to be avoided. I was used to feeling like a stranger, but this was different. It wasn’t fear, nor revulsion. They pitied us.
“I say, maybe it is the fog we should be afraid of,” declared Rorian. “Everyone seems so depressed. It’s like they’ve all just come from a tragic funeral. Oh, a hundred pardons! I didn’t mean to be so offensive.” He leaned closer, in the manner of a confidant. “You know, I get a little sad when there isn’t enough sun, so I understand.”
Still, there was some small comfort in seeing faces, even unfriendly ones. After the empty park on top of the hill, I had started to worry the town was abandoned entirely. But there were plenty of citizens, and they were fisherpeople through and through: the men and women had weary, hardy faces shaped by ocean wind and salt, and they were broad-shouldered, backs wide like anchors, arms thick as logs, wearing rough overalls, straw hats, and black boots, milling about in silence, hauling baskets of tuna, clam, and lobster. Even children were working, tagging alongside adults with blank stares. A young girl tilted her head at me, pointing and opening her mouth to speak before her mother whisked her away with an admonishment.
Rorian trudged on, head held high, but I could tell his smile was wavering. He led me around a street corner and onto a wide-paved road with verdant trees instead of power lines, where the houses were fancier, though every shade was drawn and every porch was vacant. Oceanside Avenue, a signpost read. We stopped before a home in the center of the block, a red sedan parked out front. The car was a clear sign of wealth; I hadn’t seen many other autos in Ahawai, and the few that I did spot were banged up clunkers.
Rorian opened the unlatched wooden gate. A stone path cut through a small grassy lawn, leading to a two-story family home painted a calming shade of sky blue. He rapped lightly on the door while I waited a few steps behind, unnerved by the silence and emptiness. Tranquility was not to be mistaken for safety; lions still feasted at watering holes.
“Manaha! Hello!” Rorian called out. After no response, he looked back to me. “It’s about dinnertime. Maybe they’re in the kitchen and can’t hear me.”
He knocked on the door a bit louder. “Manaha! It’s me, Rorian Holt!” He turned back again with a shrug. “Looks like no one’s home.”
“They’re home,” Vyxtarion answered, imperceptible to Rorian as always, but clear as could be from within my mind. “I can feel them inside, four warm human bodies.”
“Keep knocking,” I suggested. Around us, the sky was darkening with the setting sun and slowly getting thicker with fog.
“Rorian Holt, here to discuss business and trade for my paper!” He stopped his hand midair as we heard the loud clack of a deadbolt, and after the fiddling of another sliding latch, the door creaked open just a tad, revealing the frowning face of a man with walnut-wood brown skin, beard streaked with gray, black eyes narrowed.
“Rorian! What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Rorian scoffed incredulously. “My good man, you invited me! You sent me that letter, not even a couple months ago.”
“Yes, but—” Manaha clicked his tongue. “It’s not a good time. Oh, I can’t believe you’ve come now. We’re a bit… busy.”
“Busy! Too busy for us to come in? I’ve a killer story to share with you. You wouldn’t believe what happened on my journey here.”
“Who’s she?” Manaha jerked his head towards me. “Is she your bodyguard or something?”
Rorian chuckled. “Funny you should say that. That’s exactly—”
“My name is Yohei Ming,” I cut in. “And where I come from, we usually invite guests inside when they come for a visit.”
Manaha glared at me and slammed shut the door.
“Oh, that’s just rich. Yohei, did you really have to say it like that?”
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Did your parents never teach you manners? Please, thank you, would you kindly?”
I crossed my arms. “My parents taught me to speak my mind and nothing less.”
“Gentleness,” Ithreniya urged.
“Not you too,” I muttered under my breath, just as the door swung back open, letting light spill out onto the porch.
Manaha waved us in with a tight-lipped smile. “Come in. We were just working on dinner. I’ll have Nalani set out two more plates.”
“Thank you, thank you, Manaha! It’s such a pleasure to see you again after so long.” Rorian grabbed his friend’s hand warmly before marching into the foyer.
“Yohei,” the man said by way of greeting. He gestured me inside. “My name is Manaha Palea. Please come in.”
I nodded, eager to be inside and away from the fog, despite the inhospitality shown by our host. Framed family portraits hung in the hallway: a proud Manaha, next to a round-faced woman with kind eyes I presumed to be Nalani, and their two pudgy, smiling children. Visibly a shoes-off household, I reluctantly took off my boots and deposited them beside the other footwear. Ithreniya and Vyxtarion flew excitedly between the three of us, still unnoticed beneath their glimmer.
“I wonder what is to be served?” Vyxtarion mused. “Offal would please me.”
“Honeyed fruit!” Ithreniya countered.
Manaha guided us down the hallway and into a dining room dominated by a wooden table large enough to seat at least eight people comfortably. The carpets were clean, the wood floor unblemished, and even the air had a pleasant sweetness to it. Large potted plants filled the empty space, while a piano and cello waited in the corner of the room, music stands holding books flipped halfway through. The instruments clearly saw frequent use. A television screen hung high on the wall and played the local news, though it was muted, so the two newscasters were only flapping their mouths. Mayor Kaneha urges steadfastness, says everything will be just fine, read the news ticker on the bottom of the screen. The family’s wealth and comfort provoked envy within me, which I struggled to clamp down on and ignore.
“May I get you two anything to drink? Tea, perhaps?” A woman in a blue flower-patterned dress lingered by a doorway.
“Nalani! How are you? Tea would be wonderful, yes.” Rorian looked at me expectantly.
“Tea. Please.” I watched as Nalani hurried off to the kitchen, noting the shortness of her breath and the poorly-masked tension creased in her face. A piano nocturne began playing in the kitchen over a radio, undercut by the clinking of dishes and creaking of cabinets as she prepared the tea.
We sat around the table, Manaha at the head, nearest towards the kitchen and hallway, and Rorian close by. I settled nearly opposite our host, tossing my bulky backpack in the corner of the room, and continued to study him. Either Rorian was ignorant to the tension in the house or I was being paranoid.
Vyxtarion and Ithreniya tested Manaha in their own way, circling around him at eye level, but he said nothing about neither a butterfly nor a flying worm in his house and instead began cursory formalities.
“How have you been, Rorian? I think I last saw you in Renne, at Senator McMillan’s dinner.”
Rorian slapped the table. “That’s right, my good friend! We sat near that General. What was his name again? Dreadful fellow, wasn’t he?”
Manaha cracked a genuine smile. “He was. He had this terrible laugh.”
“It sounded like this.” Rorian mimicked the Rennian General’s laugh, which sounded like the faltering gasps of some poor dying roadkill. “And all he wanted to talk about was how fares the War, what new abomination the Enemy had conjured… dreadful, simply dreadful! I hardly like to think of such things.”
“Yes, I recall. I wanted to speak of other topics as well.”
“Oh, of course. I felt like bashing my head against a wall trying to get him to shut up. Some people just yammer on and on and don’t know when to quit!” He furrowed his brow and cleared his throat. “But enough of all that. Tell me, how are your daughters doing? Are they home?”
“They’re in their rooms, studying. Malia is fourteen now, Kaleah eleven. They’re the light of my life. I couldn’t be more proud.”
“Amazing. I’m happy for you, Manaha.” The two men shared a moment, Rorian beaming, Manaha’s eyes flickering with pride and hope. I drummed my fingers on the table, bored.
“Tell me about this fog,” I demanded.
“Beg your pardon?” Manaha twisted his face in confusion.
Rorian looked at me quizzically. “This again? Really?”
“Ahawai seems to be covered in fog. I’d like to know more.”
“There’s nothing to know,” said Manaha. “It gets foggy in the spring.”
“Liar!” Ithreniya declared. “He’s scared. Scared!”
I nodded, temporarily satisfied, but still wanting. The man was hiding something from us. I had to know, even though his dislike of me was plain and it seemed unlikely he would be so forthcoming. Not without some pressure, perhaps. I always preferred to speak directly.
Before I could confront Manaha further, Rorian spoke up. “Yohei here is really a spectacular person. A warrior, if I’m not mistaken. I mean, look at her.”
It was my turn to stare at Rorian quizzically, but he kept going, undeterred.
“Furthermore, she is a hero! She saved my life, which is why we are travelling together. I owe her a debt, I feel.”
Manaha leaned in, genuinely curious. “Go on.”
“Well, it’s not my story to tell. Go ahead, Yohei.”
I took a moment to gather myself, feeling a bit hot from the sudden turn in conversation. What was the point of boasting? I was no hero. But I chose my words carefully. “I was headed south when I chanced upon Rorian. He’d been beset upon by some type of Underworlder I’d never encountered before. I have some experience fighting them, so I was able to dispatch it simply enough. Here, I took a trophy of it.”
I placed the smooth white mask on the table. Manaha jerked back, gasping in surprise.
“But that’s—how did you get this?”
“I already told you. The Underworlder was wearing it.” I thought for a moment. “A legless skeleton in a black cloak. It could fly, it wore this mask, and it carried a censer which produced a fog that threatened to put me to sleep.”
“You defeated a dreamwraith? But that’s impossible!”
I raised an eyebrow. “A dreamwraith?”
Manaha visibly deflated. “I’ve said too much.”
“No. You haven’t said enough. What’s happening here?”
Rorian put a hand on his friend’s. “What’s going on, Manaha? Is something wrong?”
“We’ve been tricked!” Vyxtarion flew back into the room from the kitchen. “There is no dinner or tea being prepared and the woman is gone! I sense bodies approaching… it’s a trap!” He stopped before Manaha, crystalline crown brightening into an azure glow that only I could see. “Deceit must be punished by death!”
“Even if you killed one of them, that doesn’t mean—” Manaha looked down, muttering to himself, calculating. “The risk is still far too great…”
“Tell us the truth!” I demanded. “You kept us here for a trap, didn’t you? Who’s coming for us?”
He blanched. “What? But how could you know?”
The doorbell rung in unison with a violent banging on the door. “Ahawai Police!” A voice boomed. “Open up!”
“Just stay here!” Manaha shot out of his seat, hands motioning for us to stay calm. “Look, you’re not in trouble! Just cooperate with them. And put away that mask! Do not talk about the dreamwraith at all!”
I snatched the mask back as he darted out of the dining room towards the front door, but not before a sudden clamor erupted: the shattering of wood, stomping of boots, and violent yelling. Manaha yelped as he was pulled out of sight, and officers dressed in black tactical wear rushed forth, stopping at the precipice of the room. Batons, tasers, pistols, radios, cufflinks, and gas masks adorned their belts. There were at least eight of them, spreading out to block our exits into the hallway or kitchen, but from the shuffling of boots and quieting of Manaha’s cries, I could tell there were more just out of view.
One of them stepped forward, a clean-cut man with gray hair and a flat, square jaw. “I’m Captain Lei. I’m going to need you two to come with us.”
“What is this? What’s going on?” Rorian sputtered.
I locked eyes with Lei, unblinking. He spared a single glance at Rorian, and finding him unthreatening, brought his gaze back to meet mine. I was surprised that instead of the disdainful glare of a cop eager to exercise his authority, he had the tired, beaten eyes of a public servant pushed too far. It made little difference; it was clear he and his goons were here to menace us.
“I’m going to escort you two to the station for processing,” he explained. “You have rights that will be respected as outlined in the Constitution of Akinalili. Am I understood? Now stand and put your hands up.”
“Well, this is just outrageous! I’ve never been treated this way before. I’m a citizen of Renne, I’ll have you know,” said Rorian, but he stood and held his hands up all the same.
Captain Lei pointed at me. “You, stand up, now.”
I stood slowly, pushing the chair far behind me, feeling the carpet with my toes, rolling my shoulders back.
“Now put your hands behind your back. We’re going to cuff you before we take you in.”
“This is absurd, just absurd!” complained Rorian. “I want to have a word with your superiors as soon as I can!” Yet he still put his hands behind his back, sniffling with a discontented moan.
I stretched my foot out, pulling my backpack closer and kicking it under the table.
“Stop moving and put your hands behind your back.” Lei narrowed his eyes at me, sensing my defiance. “Do it now!”
“No.”
“Do it, or we will force these cuffs on you!”
“No. I will never be put in chains or locked behind a cage. My people made that mistake once. Never again.”
The gears were turning in Lei’s mind, but he had no time to think. “You leave me with no choice,” he snapped, flashing a gesture at his men. Four officers detached from the crowd. Two of them dangled silver cuffs, and the rest of the cops put a hand on their pistols. A vain attempt at intimidation.
“Council.” I glanced up to my two loyal guardians, who were floating above Captain Lei, near the ceiling. “Do we fight our way out of here?”
“Yes!” said Ithreniya.
“Beat into these fools a lesson they’ll never forget,” cackled Vyxtarion.
“Then it’s settled.” I cracked my knuckles, feeling the keen vitality of Vyx’s battletrance rush through me, honing my senses and clearing my mind of doubts. I picked one of the officers out of the four that stepped forward, the biggest among them: a giant of a man towering six foot five, arms thicker than my head. He was already moving towards me, his initial step in harmless slow-motion.
“You’re first!” And I charged.