By Kuronue-chan
“Selling furs, son?” an old woman asked, peering at the teenage boy behind the booth’s table. Used to people calling him that, Sabin Duvert nodded. The old woman began to stroke the pelts that Sabin’s mother had so carefully laid out on the family’s small table. Sabin studied her features carefully; she didn’t look like most of the other customers. She was dressed all in rough-cut dark robes, with wild, frizzy grey hair that fell to the small of her hunched back. One of her eyes was a pale milky color, obviously blind, and her mouth puckered in where she had lost many teeth.
“These are very nice, boy. Where are they from?” the crone asked, bony fingers playing over a fox skin.
“Outside of St. Laurent du Pont, ma’am,” Sabin answered, always the polite young man.
Suddenly, the woman snatched Sabin’s wrist, twisting it painfully as she dragged him closer to her crumpled form. Short gasps wheezed through her shrunken mouth before she found the air to whisper, “St. Laurent du Pont? Not...not the woods, boy?”
“Yes, the woods outside the town. My family lives in a cabin there.” Far from being frightened, Sabin waited expectantly for a superstitious tale about ghosts and ghouls. Hopefully it would be a good one...
Letting out a small shriek, the old woman back away, releasing Sabin’s arm and tossing an odd white powder on both the teenager and the family’s booth. “Monsters! Men with eyes of flame! Women with scales covering their bodies! Great hulking fiends that are neither man nor beast!” Grasping a crucifix from under her robes, she muttered something that sounded like a pagan prayer.
Sabin, meanwhile, had discovered that the powder was something similar to ground-up communion wafers, and was now wracking his brain to remember this particular legend about his home. It didn’t match up with any of the stories his mother had told him; in fact, most of his mother’s tales centered around faceless demons of the night, nothing so definitive as “women with scales covering their bodies.”
The woman grasped Sabin’s wrist again, dragging him towards her. “Stay away from the foggy meadow,” she whispered, obviously believing that she was giving him a very important bit of information. “Promise you’ll stay away from the foggy meadow,” she demanded.
Sabin quickly agreed, and the crone released his wrist and hobbled away, still muttering under her breath. As soon as she was out of sight, Sabin shook the powder from the furs and dusted the surface of the table. His mind raced as he thought about any tales he had heard about a “foggy meadow.” He was drawing a complete blank.
A shout from a few stalls down caught Sabin’s attention, and he leaned forward to see his father carrying a roasted chicken for lunch, followed by his mother, who held a bundle in her arms. Waving, Sabin pulled a cord that curtained off the stall. Moments later, his parents entered from behind and sat down on the blanket that lined the ground inside the stall.
“How’re sales this morning?” Sabin’s father, Kurt, asked,
tearing the chicken with his hands and handing a leg to Sabin. Kurt and Thelia,
Sabin’s mother, had spent the day trading furs for supplies for their cabin in
St. Laurent du Pont. It had been Thelia’s idea to set up a booth in
“Fine. One woman bought six pelts; a businessman bought the wolf hide for his guest. A tailor purchased more than half of the rabbit skins to make a coat,” Sabin replied, chewing on a chunk of bread that had been offered to him by his mother. He did not mention the old woman, knowing full well how Thelia would respond to a story like that.
“Fetch a good price?” Kurt queried, shaking his head as Thelia offered him bread, much to her chagrin.
“The merchant tried to haggle me down on the wolf skin, but I stuck with my original price,” Sabin smiled, holding up a leather pouch that was laden with coins.
“Good boy!” Kurt cried, rubbing Sabin’s head and causing the boy’s untidy brown hair to become even wilder.
The family ate in silence for the next few moments. Sabin, upon finishing, looked from his father to his mother with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “May I go to the library?”
Thelia started, then looked around at Kurt. “I don’t think it’s a very good...”
Kurt cut her off. “He’ll be fine. We’ve been here for three days. Let him go.”
Thelia looked stern for a moment, and anyone could see that she was highly irritated. Glancing from Kurt’s decisive face to Sabin’s pleading one, she sighed bitterly and waved her hand. Sabin gleefully sprang to his feet and threw a deer hide bag over his shoulder; he was halfway out of the booth before Kurt called for him to wait.
“Be back before sundown,” Kurt warned. “And here,” he added with a smile, reaching into Thelia’s package and tossing Sabin a warm raisin bun.
*
As soon as he arrived, Sabin asked the librarian if he knew of any books with St. Laurent du Pont in them. Soon he was sitting in a corner with a tall stack of books. To his disappointment, most of them were atlases that merely marked the village’s location. One small leather-bound volume, though, looked promising.
After a short inspection, Sabin discovered that the book was
actually a journal. The inscription in the front cover gave the name “Henri St.
Just.” It was soon apparent that St. Just was a traveler who enjoyed unusual
tales. The first twenty pages told of his journeys around
--
I arrived in the town of
April 29
After talking to an old man, I have ascertained that most
of the ghostly appearances appear about fifteen miles away, deep in the forest.
He warned me to stay away from a meadow though, one that was constantly covered
in mist.
May 1
I reached the meadow this afternoon. As was described, it
is permanently covered in a grey fog that limits vision to mere meters. I have
not yet discovered anything unusual in the clearing besides the mist. The
constant cover does seem supernatural, though. I will wait here two days.
May 2
I heard strange noises coming from the center of the
meadow last night; it sounded like a form of speech, but it was in a language I
have never heard before. These noises awakened me, and I rushed into the mist
to find their source. Unfortunately, they were gone before I moved close enough
to see the creature making them. I will try again tonight, should the noises
begin again.
May 14
I am currently in
--
Under the May 1st entry, a crude map had been drawn, showing the location of the meadow. Cross-referencing with an atlas, Sabin found it to be about twelve miles from his home, in a region he had little explored. Pulling a sheet of paper, a pen, and an inkpot from his bag, he quickly began to make notes.
Several of the other volumes, some of which were collections of travelers’ tales, while others were anthologies of articles, contained similar stories of a meadow near St. Laurent du Pont. Sabin’s curiosity was peaked. When he returned home, he would certainly see for himself whether the “foggy meadow” truly existed.
*
“Sabin! Sabin, wait!” the girl called, panting. Ahead of her, she could see the back of the thin young man flick in and out of the shadows of the forest. She pulled up her skirts to her knees and continued to run after him, careful not to trip on tree roots. She didn’t see why they had left the horses a few hundred meters back.
Renee was breathing hard by the time the brown-haired boy slowed. Sabin turned around with a sheepish grin and offered the girl a hand over a fallen log. Together, they walked the last steps towards a clearing in the forest. As the trees thinned, Renee gasped.
“It really is here!” she said in wonder. Before them was a meadow of undeterminable size, covered thickly with grey mist. Though the afternoon sun was shining brightly, the light in the field was pale and weak.
“Wow,” Sabin breathed. He turned to Renee, his eyes bright. “Would you like to go in?”
She gave him a half-smile. “Are you sure there aren’t giants in there?”
“No,” he answered truthfully, grinning. Grasping her hand, he led her into the fog.
Inside the damp cover, the light from the sun was nearly obliterated, causing a perpetual twilight. Sabin and Renee walked further and further in, wondering between themselves how far it was across the meadow. Suddenly, Renee stopped. “Sabin, look!” she hissed, pointing at the ground. Instead of the springy grass that has covered the earth when the two entered, the ground was now a hard, cracked, dusty sheet with plants working their way out of it that were completely foreign to both people.
“I wonder what this is?” Sabin mumbled to himself, bending to pluck one of the wide bluish leaves from a scraggly bush. Before he could touch the bush, Renee’s grip on his hand became very tight.
“Do you hear that?” she whispered urgently. And indeed, there were voices on the air, though faint yet. “We should go back!”
Sabin knew she was right; they should go back. His curiosity, however, refused to let him. It was soon apparent, however, that the other voices were aware of Renee and him. Silence fell, so that the fog became stifling.
Not very far away, a very rough and throaty voice abruptly said, “I know I heard something. I’ll be back.”
Whatever it is, Sabin thought, it has a gait that I’ve never heard before. Indeed, the creature seemed to be taking extremely long, powerful strides towards the two. It sounded like it was well over six feet tall and of great mass, but it carried itself lightly. Sabin was puzzled.
As Sabin was musing, Renee screamed. Out of the fog, the mysterious creature was emerging. At first Sabin thought it was a disfigured human. But as it came closer, he made out a wolf’s head and tail; indeed, it looked as though a man and a wolf had been expertly fused together. The creature walked upon its toes, though it was slightly bent over; it seemed to be trying to find the balance between walking on two feet and walking on four. It paused upon seeing the two humans, and Sabin could just barely make out its nose vigorously sniffing the air between them.
“What is it?” another voice, a woman’s, called from the mist. The half-wolf didn’t take its eyes off of Sabin and Renee as it barked back, “People.”
Renee was crying from terror. She hid her face in Sabin’s sleeve as the wolf came closer, sniffing as he went. Sabin was fascinated by the wolf/man. He reached out, as if to touch its muzzle, its ears, to convince himself that it was no trick.
“Where are you from?” the wolf asked, a strange note in its voice. It was staying out of reach, far enough away to avoid the swing of a sword if need be.
Sabin, finding his voice, stuttered, “St. Laurent du Pont.”
The wolf’s ears tilted forward sharply. “St. Laurent du Pont? What nation is that in?” it asked, excitement creeping into its harsh voice.
Renee whimpered as Sabin took a step forward. “
The creature yelped happily. “Really? How long ago did you leave? Why are your clothes so strange?”
Sabin’s brow creased in confusion. “We’re still in
The wolf tilted its massive head quizzically. “What is the year? 1638? 1639?”
Sabin blinked in surprise. “No, 1870.” Renee pulled on his sleeve, trying to make him retreat with her. He ignored her.
The wolf moaned. “How...how is that possible? It was not even 1637 when I left. We’ve not been here that long...”
Sabin licked his lips nervously. “What are you?” he asked timidly. “You speak with a man’s voice.” Once again he lifted his hand as if to touch the fur that was exposed where cloth ended.
The wolf raised its upper lip in a half snarl. “Because I am a man!” Sabin looked shocked at this outburst. Calming down a bit, the creature sighed. “Ambrose Maurlias.” He began to extend he hand before he realized he was offering a clawed, fur-covered extremity that was more paw than hand. Shaking his head sadly, he withdrew the hand and sighed again. “What you see is the result of werewolf bite.”
Renee let out another small cry, but Sabin’s entire expression lit up. “A werewolf?!” He stepped closer, but Ambrose let out a small snarl. Stopping, Sabin bowed. “Sabin Duvert. I’m sorry, but I’ve never met a werewolf before. I was under the impression that they became full wolves, not...like you,” he added, slightly apologetic. “But really, this is quite exciting! A werewolf!”
Ambrose’s nose twitched. “Odd kid.
Wait, you said you came into the Mists from a meadow in
Behind Ambrose, other shapes were starting to emerge. An extremely pale girl, one who looked like she was blending in with the fog, came first, followed by several other men and women, each with different inhuman characteristics. One had the appearance a fair and beautiful creature, with pointed ears and unnatural grace; another was partially twisted into something vaguely evil and parasitic, but looked like his transformation had been cut off midway. Yet another had the haunted look of someone who sees spirits and auras that others are blessed to be blind to. Sabin stared at each with such delight that they were taken aback.
Renee’s tugging on his sleeve became more insistent, and she came up behind him and whispered, “Sabin, please...”
Ignoring her again, Sabin answered, “Yes. We walked in not five minutes ago. The exit’s that way.” He pointed behind him. “But what are “the Mists” you mentioned?”
The pale girl cleared her throat before speaking in an airy, whispering voice. “The Mists spring up occasionally; anything can happen within them. Sometimes you can end up in a completely different place than where you started from.”
“Like nineteenth century
The girl was becoming more and more grey and unsubstantial by the moment, Sabin noted, as though she were starting to become one with the fog. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how the Mists work.”
“I can show you the way out, if you’d like,” Sabin said helpfully. Renee, who had buried her face in his back, shook her head violently.
Ambrose stepped closer and sniffed Sabin again, lupine eyes dilated in the low light. “Yes. Please do.”
The group walked in relative silence for a few moments, until Sabin spotted the outlines of the trees that marked the edge of the meadow. “There! Those trees!”
“Where?” Ambrose called. He had fallen behind somewhat.
Sabin glanced back; the werewolf was barely visible. “Straight ahead! Just keep walking!”
Sabin and Renee emerged into the blinding late afternoon sun. In the light, the tear streaks running down Renee’s face were plainly visible; she was, after all, only a small town girl, even if she was slightly more adventurous than the rest. She broke away from Sabin and curled up at the foot of one of the trees.
Sabin, meanwhile, called back into the mist for Ambrose. There was no answer. He ventured back into the fog a short while before he came back. “They’re gone,” he whispered, wondering. Renee sniffled.
Suddenly realization dawned in Sabin’s face. “Renee, did you touch anything while we were in there? Besides me, of course.”
“No!” she cried, obviously distressed. Sabin noticed this for obviously the first time, since his expression was abruptly horrified.
“Renee, I’m sorry!” he cried, sitting down next to her. “Look, they couldn’t have hurt you, they were only reflections!”
She stared at him dubiously. “H-how could you know th-that?” she sniffed.
“We were never actually in the same place, you see. The mist played with our minds. Ambrose and us, we could see and hear each other, right? But that was it! Didn’t he see the way he kept trying to smell us, and how he looked perplexed every time? He couldn’t smell us because we weren’t actually there with him!” Sabin explained. It was becoming clear to him now. “It was an illusion, like a mirror trick. They couldn’t have touched us if they wanted to. They passed out of the mist of their side like we passed out on our side.”
The girl hiccupped slightly, then used her sleeve to wipe away the dirty streaks of tears. “Really?”
Sabin smiled down at her. “Yes.”
Renee looked at the boy for a long moment. “Sabin?”
“Hm?”
“I believe you when you tell my stories. I enjoy listening to your tales. I support all these things you do. But please, never make me do something like this again,” she said quietly, tears starting to form again.
Sabin swallowed quickly. “I won’t,” he promised. Standing, he helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go get the horses.”
He looked back over the foggy meadow. A chance meeting, that was all it had been. Sabin regretted that the
encounter had been so short. The werewolf and his companions, were they really
on another side of reality? In another world? Then how
did he know about
“Sabin!”
He swung around to face Renee. She still had tear streaks on her face. She was waving at him from five meters away, calling him back to where the horses were tied. Sighing, he gave the meadow a final glance and followed after her.