Chapter 3: Let There be Fog

My sheathed right hand rests heavy upon the rough iron handle of the tavern door. A shadow passes in front of my eyes. In front of or internally? Suddenly I’m tired, contemplating heading back & crawling into bed.

I look back at the meandering trail I’ve left with my sojourn, including a few drifts I’d stumbled into. Don’t remember that happening. As though I’d simply walked in my sleep all the way up the hill. I am so tired!

Aegenwulf nuzzles my left hand, looking up at me with a quizzical whimper.

I turn back to the door. Hearing Alyx’s throaty tones, I pause….

“The world’s gone dark in this pit of Hades.

All is stark & our movements are bradys.

The world so cold, my friends I’m afraid it’s

gonna be a long arctic night.”

Their voice is so haunting, I stand frozen in time, longing to hear ever so much more….

“Yet touch my hand & somehow it’s warm.

E’en in this land a bond can be formed.”

A longing for that bond is what finally moves me. I swing open the rough wooden door to our makeshift mess hall & tavern as Aegenwulf bounds through. My right hand remains on the handle of the open door as he leaps into the arms of my best friend, Akshita, & begins slathering her with kisses.

“Evans! What kept ya?” she laughs, squirming beneath his slobbering tongue. “We thought maybe ya picked up an extra shift at the mine.”

“Nah, I’ve seen enough splosh for the day.” I pause as I close the door slowly, thinking long & hard about what I want to say next. “Just had some things to take care of.”

What those were, I’ve no clue. C’mon, man! Remember! Fifteen minutes out there, maybe more, & I’ve still got nothing! An hour & a half doesn’t just disappear.

I turn & take the empty seat saved for me at the table before anyone gets a good look at my face. What do I say? What do I do? I think to myself, ducking & obscuring as best I can while removing gloves & shedding my coat over the back of the chair. We try to keep the temperature inside around thirty degrees as the Fahrenheit goes. Balmy for what we’ve become accustomed & far too warm for heavy gear.

“Didja gitchya some time out on tha ice?” Ichthyan loved fishing, hence, the nickname.

“If I had, would I be here gabbin’ witchyou?” I querulled playfully, thankful for the respite his question offered. “Nah, though I thought about it. But if I’da gone, I’da been there all night, questing.”

“Didn’t you quest just a couple o’ weeks ago?”

“Ya, I guess,” I answer noncommittally. “I donna think it took.”

“I barely remember,” I add quietly to the emptiness beside me, attempting to conjure some recollection of it through the tattered cobwebs of my brain.

Forgetting the moments of a quest night is not surprising. You’re out on the ice, usually in a shelter, setting before a hole with your line dropped through & nothing but a few pints to carry you for sixteen hours or more, all the while searching within yourself for something you don’t remember you’ve forgotten. Honestly, they’re not much different than a twelve hour shift on the splosh line. After a while, they all tend to blur together.

Rationing those pints is often the most significant thing a questor takes from the night.

Speaking of pints, “Have you ordered yet?”

“What’s with you?” Akshita asks. “There hasn’t been anything to order but basic grog & gruel for at least a week, & Alyx just brings those around to the tables when she finishes a song.”

“And Dorda won’t have anythin’ much worth drinkin’ ‘til at least a month after the next supply run returns,” Ichthyan adds glumly. Dorda is the chief cook, brewer & bottlewasher for our little community. She may be the most important factor for maintaining our sanity up here. Seems she can make anything ferment, some more tastily than others, of course.

Right on cue, Alyx finishes with their song, rushing behind the bar to grab some grog for our table & another that appears to have finished. Judging by their behavior, that table’s been here awhile.

“Any a’ ya hungry?” they ask. “I know it’s the dregs, but Dorda still manages to make it somewhat palatable.”

“It’s better than nothin’,” I reply. “And I am kinda hungry.”

Akshita nods her assent, but Ichthyan responds with a robust cheer, raising his newly procured pint, “Nah, I’m off tomorra. Goin’ fishin’! Lookin’ forward to somethin’ fresh & edible! Salut!”

Even with Dorda’s craft behind it, the grog doesn’t seem worthy of such an exclamation. But we all join as cheerily as possible. The other tables respond in kind with various levels of drunkenness, crying out their congratulations & begging for another song & pint.

“Awright, awright!” Alyx acknowledges. “Jus’ let me take care o’ these few bit o’ noshes. But it’ll probably have to be the last for tonight. Remember, there’s a fog rollin’ in.”

Fog is a serious matter for us. It always comes in from the south & departs to the north. The southern warmth causes it to rise & only the icy chill seems to make it fall, a chill even deeper than we experience here. It’s no old-timey fog either, one that’s simply eerie. These fogs carry sickness & death with them. Just a few minutes can take a person down & leave them lost forever with no one to find them.

Even Aegen, lying at our feet beneath the table, seems anxious at the word of it, shifting & whining uneasily.

With our hands filled with the heady warmth of drink, I find myself glancing around the table. Three of us? I think to myself. Is that right? Somehow it feels wrong, as though there used to be more. But I can’t think of anyone missing, no one sick, dead or still at work.

I turn to Akshita. “So, what are you doin’ tomorrow?”

“Same as you,” she gives Ichthyan a look as though to ask, What’s with him? “Goin’ ta work. Should be around 10 when the flog clears out. Don’t tell me ya forgot we’re both on the chart.”

“O’…,o’ course,” I stammer. “I meant, what are your plans after?”

“Probably sittin’ here with the lot o’ ya’all, sippin’ on a couple o’ crap pints! Why, were you plannin’ on askin’ me out?”

“No…, no…, I don’t know,” I continue stammering, dropping my eyes to the table in front of me.

“O’ course not,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “Stupid twit!” Her face is turned away such that I can hardly hear her. Nah, couldn’t be what she said, ya stupid git! I think, mentally kicking myself. Ichthyan looks toward her sadly, almost with pity & a shrug of his shoulders.

Alyx returns with our gruel. It nearly has a kind of smell to it—not sweet, not savory, neither salty nor bitter nor tangy nor rank—just something a bit ineffable. We lift it to our mouths on the small planks we use as spoons. Yeah, tastes pretty much the same. We never allow it to set too long on our tongues. Our stomachs are where the need lies.

Alyx returns to the imagined spotlight & declares with a flourish, “Okay, last song! What’ll it be?”

The patrons all join in a semi-stuporous roar. We all know what it will be. It’s a bit of a tradition, our anthem, our favorite tavern shanty. Alyx is enthusiastic & inviting. They know how to end a party. “Everyone with me!”

"They sent me here on a cold November,

'n wingless flight & trackless express,

No passage back, I’m here forever,

With you, me mates, to evanesce!

Yet found I here me chums aplenty,

Pals ye are & heaven sent,

Open wilds & sky abo’ me,

Here I gladly pitch my tent!

Ah, me friend, I hardly knew ye,

Now it seems I know ya less,

With this very passin’ hour,

It 'ppears ye do but evanesce.

And so, my friends, don’t leave me sober,

I should not impose ‘pon thee,

If the morrow finds my yonder,

Have another pint on me!"

'Course, by then ye won’t remember,

Who I was or e’er I be,

Raise your glass & drink it an’way,

Tell the barkeep, it’s on me!

It’s who we are. The forgotten. Those who receive consideration only because we supply what they require. They never wanted us. But they do need us. So, this singing makes us smile & laugh & cheer.

As the guests reclad themselves & stumble to the door, Alyx comes to clear our table. They are the only one who will remain through the fog, ready to minister to any who might find themselves caught out in it & able to make it here. Even Dorda will head home to make preparations for the morrow. In the meantime, they shall tidy & sleep.

“Be careful out there,” they caution us quietly. “Head straight home, don’t dawdle. Somethin’s wrong, I can feel it in ma bones.” I don’t know why they take such an interest in the three of us. But we each nod our agreement.

I hit the door with Aegen & can tell the temperature has dropped to around twenty below, just as I thought it would. No front has come through yet, but now I can tell that one soon will. Alyx watches us off before closing the door & settling in. The four of us walk together down toward the bay. Akshita splits off first toward her cabin. She says goodnight with a bit of a disappointed frown. Ichthyan returns a knowing glance. Then Ichthyan heads toward his hovel to prepare gear for the morrow.

“It’s just the two of us tonight, Aeg,” I say to my final companion as we approach the cabin. “You should probably spend the night inside, dontchya think?”

He leads me in once I’ve opened the door, turning & looking happy to be with me. I flip the light switch & play with him a bit before shedding my outer clothing. I hear the wind picking up outside. I’d say the front’s about here. Gonna be cold out there. Minus fifty or sixty at least, maybe lower.

I look at my gear, still leaning against the wall next to the door. Nah, don’t think I’ll go tonight. I can quest another time. I’m not really hungry, either. Think I’ll skip the pub & just go to bed. Tomorrow’ll come early.

I glance through the window. I can see a fog beginning to roll in. Not too early, I guess. Looks like it’ll probably be around ‘til about 10. Hope Ak & Ich are home. Wouldn’t want them out in this. Be safe, my friends.

I flip the switch & walk to the bed, giving Aeg one last playful scratch behind the ear before climbing in.

Ever have that feeling of déjà vu? I think to myself as my head hits the pillow.

*****

Glossary:

Alyx: (Greek) defender of the people. Alyx Baby Name Meaning, Origin, and More (allthingsbabynames.com)

Bradys: (Greek) slow; (medical word-forming element meaning) slow, delayed, tardy. brady- | Etymology of prefix brady- by etymonline

Akshita: (Sanskrit) unbreakable, indestructible; associated with strength, resilience & determination; symbolizing hope for a strong & unyielding future. Origin of the Name Akshita (Complete History) - Lets Learn Slang

Splosh: accumulated snow that has begun to melt & become slushy. Other Words for "Snow": Synonyms, Adjectives, and Wintery Vibes | YourDictionary

Ichthus or Ichthys: Greek for fish; Christian symbol & acrostic for “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior” or “I ēsous Ch ristos th eou hy ios s ōtēr” (Іησους Χριστος Θεος Υίος Σωτηρ) Ichthus Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Webster & Fish (Ichthus) as an Ancient Christian Symbol -- Early Christian Symbols of the Ancient Church (jesuswalk.com)

Dorda: a brand of double chocolate liqueur; girl’s name. 75 Baby Names Inspired by Alcohol, Cocktails, and Spirits - FamilyEducation

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Here are the first two chapters:

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