Illusions of the Mist

  Illusions of the Mist

  The Story Collector's Almanac, Volume 1

  E.S. Barrison

  Published by E.S. Barrison, 2022.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ILLUSIONS OF THE MIST

  First edition. May 22, 2022.

  Copyright © 2022 E.S. Barrison.

  ISBN: 979-8985363432

  Written by E.S. Barrison.

  Copyright © 2022 by E.S. Barrison

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  E.S. Barrison

  www.esbarrison-author.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Content Warning: This book is rated 16+ due to violence, sexual content, and language.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Illusions of the Mist/E.S. Barrison. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 979-8-9853634-3-2

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Foreward

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedicated to Grandma Rhoda & Grandpa David

  These characters, this series, it’s all for you.

  al•ma•nac

  a publication containing astronomical or meteorological information, as future positions of celestial objects, star magnitudes, and culmination dates of constellations.

  Stories. That’s what everything has always been.

  That’s what it always shall be.

  They say to understand who we are, who we shall be, we need to understand our tales.

  I understand that more than anyone.

  Shortly before my twenty-first birthday, I met a mysterious woman in black: Caroline Elisabeth Walsh, the Eighth Member of the Council of Mist Keepers, affectionally known as the Illusionist. She told me a truth that nearly broke me: I would join the Council of Mist Keepers, the Gods of Death, and give up the life I’d always known.

  But I’m not here to tell my story.

  It feels as though an eternity has passed since I first learned of the Council of Mist Keepers. Perhaps that is because the mist has granted me the ability to see stories and understand the past. My head hurts every day, and I question who I am when I’m swarmed by the voices of other people.

  But I ground myself with these stories and remind myself that the Council of Mist Keepers is merely a group of humans. They are not as powerful as the stars. They’re human, just like me. It is my job to understand their past, their present, and their future. Perhaps then I can protect those I love and those to come.

  I’ve made it my duty to record their stories, starting with my former teacher, Caroline Walsh. Because no matter where I go, where I run, or how many stories fill my head, I know one truth.

  I am the Story Collector.

  And you cannot hide your story from me.

  - Brenton Rob Harley

  Ninth Member of the Council of Mist Keepers

  The Story Collector

  The sky turned green during the Night of Firefraught Lights. Once a year, the entire town of Arfiskeby gathered on the pier to watch the lights dance while welcoming the grip of winter. They danced beneath the stars, enamored by carnival games and peculiar masks, while singing songs to their goddess, the Constable Gelida.

  Everyone celebrated.

  Well, everyone except for Caroline.

  Rather than join the festivities on the pier, Caroline ventured to a secluded cliff on the east side of town, where not a single fire burned. Neither her sister nor brother wanted to join her, and that was fine by her. Caroline savored the dark, letting it gather over her body. Her father wouldn’t be happy that she went to the cliff alone, but she didn’t care.

  Every day, she ventured to this clifftop, waiting for the fishing boat carrying her mother to return. Her mother promised that they would return on the Night of Firefraught Lights after a month of sailing and harvesting fish from past the permafrost. They called the land beyond the permafrost the Helvidim, where the Constable Gelida sent all those who did her wrong. At night, Caroline prayed the Constable would be kind to her mother, and they might return with a wealth of fish to feed the town.

  She unraveled the fishing net she kept behind the rocks, combing out the knots before casting out into the water. In one year, I shall get to go out to sea with you, Mama. Caroline smiled as the net floated into the water. It had been an obsession of hers for years: she would join her mother on the boat, and as a team, they would catch fish for the town.

  One year. She could count the number of days now.

  One year.

  For now, Caroline gripped the rope and waited for whatever fish the Constable blessed her with that day. Some said on the Night of Firefraught Lights, the largest fish came out to play. Perhaps if she caught one, they’d allow her onto the boats early.

  The elders of the village said only those who had surpassed their thirteenth year could go on the boats. Her older sister, Victoria, had that privilege, though she despised the way the water rocked the boats. Caroline yearned for that opportunity, though, ever since she first snuck onto a boat at the ripe age of eight years old. Her mother discovered as they neared the permafrost, forcing the boat to turn around and return her home.

  The lecture that followed still occupied Caroline’s mind as she lowered the net into the water.

  “Caroline,” her mother scolded, “I have told you once, and I shall say it again: the Constable cannot save children from the bites of frost. If you were to fall into her consarn arms, she would send you home on the arms of a snowflake...but you would no longer be you. You would be a drop of snow. We cannot lose you to the Constable’s arms. So, I implore you to stay here, my child, until your thirteenth year comes alas.”

  It was a dramatic speech, but Caroline held her mother’s words close. While she didn’t believe most of the preacher’s sermons, she still quivered beneath the Constable’s gaze. The Constable’s existence remained an unarguable fact, as every morning, the fog rose over the sea, warning Caroline of the horrors on the waves.

  Perhaps her sister was right to stay away from the sea. But Caroline longed for the adventure, the one that her mother took by boat each day. Her mother always returned, no matter the weather or the density of the Constable’s fog. Caroline believed her mother to be more powerful than even the Constable.

  To Caroline, her mother commanded the sea.

  She tugged at her net and scowled in disappointment. Once again, not a single bite. The lights from the festival shimmered in t
he distance. Cheers echoed. They are most likely scaring off the fish.

  After a few more rounds of casting out the net with naught a fish to show for her trouble, Caroline refolded her net and started her descent down the cliffside. She eyed the sea one last time. Not a single boat graced the horizons, only the fragile mist of the permafrost.

  Mama should have arrived on the horizon by now. Where is she? Caroline glanced at the net in her arms. Perhaps she could impress her mother before the boats returned.

  Caroline hopped upon a rock at the bottom of the cliff, ignoring the waves that thrashed against her shoes, and cast out her net again. She held her breath, waiting for any signs of fish or life.

  She could only pray for the Constable’s help as the Firefraught Lights reined above her. They glimmered in response to her prayer, and in the distance, another cheer roared from the festival in the distance along with the final utterance.

  The net thrashed.

  Caroline whooped to herself, then wrung her hands through the net. She laced the rope around her hands thrice and positioned herself on the rocks. With a grunt, she tugged on the net.

  It didn’t budge.

  “What in the Constable’s name is happening?” Caroline asked. She positioned herself again and once more tugged on the net.

  Nothing.

  She cursed the Constable under her breath, then tried one last thing. She wrapped the edge of the net around her entire body, then, with her whole weight, she ran back toward the path, dragging the net behind her.

  Whatever she caught thrashed about, trying its best to escape. Caroline didn’t dare look, only listening as what had been trapped dragged onto the shore, then hit the rocks.

  She heaved and collapsed against the rocks. Her heart raced. Did she dare look at what she caught? Mama does not fear her fish. Neither should I.

  Caroline slowly turned her head towards the shoreline.

  A shimmering fish the size of a man lay on the rock, its gills opening and closing, mouth ajar. Its silver eyes stared at her without blinking.

  Caroline backed away and screamed, “Papa! Papa! I need to show you something! Papa!”

  Caroline found her father, brother, and sister down by the pier celebrating the Night of Firefraught lights. Masked patrons threw fire in the air, painting the sky in an array of colors while dancers spun amid the multicolored snow. Caroline pushed past them all, tugging on her father’s hand and leading him with her siblings to where she caught the fish. She gripped him tight, wrapping her small hand around the ruby bejeweled ring on his finger.

  The moment her father saw the tremendous silver fish, he released Caroline and ran off to the pier again. Her siblings, Victoria and William, gawked at the beast. No one spoke, each of them taking a moment to pray for the soul of the fish as it traveled into the arms of the Constable Gelida, as per tradition. Usually, it was a solemn moment, but Caroline couldn’t refrain from the excitement budding in her chest.

  I caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen! I can’t believe it!

  Her father returned with the mayor of Arfiskeby and the well-regarded Priestess Abernathy about an hour later. An entourage from the festival followed close behind them, still decorated in animal masks.

  Caroline raced to her father’s side, once again wrapping her hand around his ruby-ringed fingers. The priestess knelt beside the fish and pressed her fingers above its eye, then smiled. “It is a coruscaish.”

  “Is that not a legend?” the mayor asked.

  Caroline peeked past her father at the fish. A coruscaish. Her mother once told her of these fish. The story said that the Constable Gelida rode on the back of glistening fish on summer days. She called them the coruscaish for their glistening skin and silver eyes.

  “Do not deny what the Constable has given us. It is our blessing for the year.” Priestess Abernathy rose. “We shall feast on the coruscaish, and it will grant us prosperity for years to come!”

  The crowd cheered.

  Priestess Abernathy turned towards Caroline. “And to begin this wonderful feast, on this glorious Night of Firefraught Lights, it is tradition that the one who caught the coruscaish will make the first cut.” She removed a dull fishing blade from her long robe and handed it to Caroline. “Go along, angel.”

  “Right now?” Caroline asked as she took the blade.

  “Yes. We must sacrifice any large fish at once, so its soul may return to the Constable Gelida again.”

  Her father nudged her. “Go on, dear. It is your first catch.”

  Caroline glanced at him, taking in the kindness in his blue eyes, then glanced at her siblings. Victoria stood with her arms crossed, glowering at the fish, while William gazed in utter amazement. He smiled at Caroline.

  “Okay.” Caroline turned back to the fish and approached it. Her fingers trembled as she raised the blade over the fish’s stomach.

  Then she jabbed the knife into its body.

  Silver blood pooled from the fish’s body. The crowd whooped again.

  Caroline watched the blood beneath the Firefraught Lights. The stream of silver dripped off the rocks and into the ocean. As more and more pooled out, it turned red.

  Priestess Abernathy rushed to Caroline’s side. She gasped, took the knife from Caroline, and leaned over the fish.

  Caroline watched in horror as the woman peeled back the fish’s skin. The scent of rotting meat filled the air.

  Restraining the urge to vomit, Caroline focused on one of her mother’s lessons. I know the fish smells bad, Caroline. Instead, focus on your favorite smell. Keep it right there…then you won’t smell it anymore. That is your essence.

  She inhaled a few times, recalling the way the waves rolled across the sea, and the scent vanished.

  But the sight did not.

  The priestess remained hunched over the fish, hands trembling as she spoke, “Oh for sard’s sake, Constable. Not tonight.”

  The mayor approached. “Mam, what is it?”

  The priestess reached into the fish’s body and removed an object.

  Caroline’s stomach dropped. Her entire world spun at the mere sight.

  The priestess held a human arm.

  And upon the hand sat a ruby-encrusted ring that belonged to Caroline’s mother.

  The entire town came together to mourn Caroline’s mother. They built a funeral pyre for the dismembered arm and sent it out to sea, mourning the late Katherine Walsh. Caroline stood there without tears, holding her brother William’s hand as he sobbed, and her sister bowed her head in dismay. Their father hadn’t said a word since they found the arm. He slept most of the days and spent his nights wandering the streets. When home, he did not dare look Caroline in the eye.

  Really, the entire town looked at her differently. People shied away from her as she walked in the street, and one man went as far to spit in her face. But she kept her head high. It wasn’t her fault that the corucaish ate her mother.

  Mama can’t be dead, she reminded herself. The Constable Gelida wouldn’t be that cruel.

  As the funeral pyre floated out to sea, Priestess Abernathy chanted, “So it says the corucaish are the sole steeds of the Constable. If they have indeed eaten one of our own, a dark time is upon us. Today, we mourn Katherine Walsh, but tomorrow, we prepare. We shall not sit idly by and wait for our death.”

  “But what of the girl who found the corucaish?” someone shouted.

  Caroline raised her eyebrow. Why should they blame her for the corucaish’s actions? She merely caught the beast. Should they not celebrate her discovery? She found the bad omen before it snuck upon them.

  “Yes! She found the beast! She must be punished!” another person added.

  “We can have the lead blocks ready by morning and drown her before the curse of the corucaish takes shape!” a third person remarked.

  “Now, now!” Priestess Abernathy held up her hands. “I believe the child has suffered enough. She has lost her mother to this beast, after all. It is not her fault the beast
made its appearance.”

  Caroline clenched William’s hand tighter. But Mama isn’t gone. I’ll find her.

  The priestess’s words quelled the uproar. They finished the ceremony in silence, watching as the pyre glimmered against the dark daytime sky. Once the pyre vanished on the horizon, Priestess Abernathy pressed her lips to a ram’s horn and blew a final goodbye to the deceased.

  Caroline stood at the edge of the water with her family as the townsfolk took their leave. No one spoke, the heaviness like a cloak on their backs. Her father left the shoreline first, with Victoria on his heels, trying her best to comfort him. Caroline stayed, still holding William’s hand.

  Mama can’t be gone. Her mother was one of the greatest fishers in Arfiskeby. Perhaps the best in the entire nation of Heims!

  She couldn’t have fallen off her ship.

  She wouldn’t have let a fish eat her.

  “What are we going to do without Mummy, Caroline?” William sniffled.

  Caroline glanced at her brother. She placed an awkward arm around his shoulders. “I do not think she is gone.”

  “But the priestess said—”

  “I refuse to believe she is gone. Will, I promise, I will find her.”

  “How?”

  “I will sail out to sea, I will hunt every fish, and I will slaughter every monster until I find her.”

  “You are going to be a fisher like Mummy?”

  “I will not just be a fisher.” Caroline smiled at her brother. “I will be the best one ever.”

  The day after her mother’s funeral, Caroline took her net to the same place where she’d caught the corucaish. A few townsfolk tossed glares her way as she walked, but she kept her head high. It didn’t matter to her what they thought; she would become the best, even if it took years.

  At the edge of the cliff, she tossed out her net and waited. She waited for hours, counting the blessings in the stars while twiddling her thumbs. When she reeled in the net at high noon, not a single fish graced her presence.