Mist Rising: Mist and Mirrors, #1

By Eve Langlais

The mist is rising so lock your doors and stay inside, for the monsters have returned.

On a dark and ominous night, at the edge of the Abyss, Agathe rescues a baby from a monster that should have been extinct. Gravely injured in the process, the elderly Agathe is rewarded by having her youth restored.

But that's only the start of the strangeness.

The child she saves is far from ordinary. Belle has a unique and wondrous magic that must not fall into the wrong hands. Like those of the King.

Everyone knows the monarch steals those they called the Blessed—those with the purple eyes. Supposedly, they are the only thing standing between the Kingdom and the rising mist.

As far as Agathe is concerned, they're victims of the King's lust for power. What is the King really doing with the Blessed and their magic?

To discover the truth, Agathe must insert herself into the court of the enemy. Unfortunately, things are worse than they seem.

Can Agathe embrace destiny and not only save herself but also the Kingdom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eve Langlais
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781773842356

Eve Langlais

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Eve Langlais is a Canadian mom of three who loves to write hot romance. Her twisted imagination and sarcastic sense of humor tend to heavily influence her stories with giggle worthy results. As one of the authors in the Growl anthology, you can be treated to her version of romance featuring a shapeshifter, because she just loves heroes that growl--and make a woman purr. To find out more about Eve please visit her website or find her on Facebook where she loves to interact with readers.

Book preview

Part I

Foundling

Under a trio of suns lies the Kingdom, a lush mountaintop valley ruled by a King whose face has never been seen. A peaceful place with a shrouded past about to be shattered as long-lost secrets come back to haunt—and kill—them.

Chapter One

A prophecy, foretold centuries ago and mostly forgotten, commenced its deadly course on a dark and foggy night.

Bong.

Agathe’s snoring abruptly ceased and turned into a snort loud enough that it jerked her awake. She lay on her pallet, stuffed with so many raked leaves her body sank into it like a cloud, and listened.

Heard nothing. She must have imagined the noise. She rolled to her side and began breathing deeply for a return to sleep—

Bong.

Her eyes shot open. Not a dream then, even as the ringing of the bell proved surprising for many reasons. First and foremost, because the Abbae rarely got visitors. Built into a cliff face overlooking the Abyss, the journey to its crumbling walls was a treacherous, several-day hike that few bothered with. Why would they when easier-to-reach and better-equipped places existed? Only the most desperate ever ended up at the Abbae, known as The Ninth Shield. It didn’t have a fancy name. Nothing in the Kingdom did.

Purpose. That was all that mattered. The Abbaes of the Shield existed only to defend King’s Valley atop the mountain. It held all of civilization in its cities, towns, and hamlets.

Of the nine Shield Abbaes, only a handful remained active. There was nothing to defend against anymore—there hadn’t been in centuries.

Bong. The bell sounded again, and Agathe could almost swear she heard impatience in its tone.

Who is that ringing this time of night? Few people ventured out after dark, and even fewer this close to the Abyss. The Ninth Shield sat at the end of the road. There was nowhere else to go but down, and that was certain death. The world consisted of the mountain and the Abyss, with the last stop on the way down being this Abbae, the Ninth. Only the most desperate ever made it this far.

Finding out who stood outside involved much creaking. Agathe roused from her pallet, her joints aching as they did every time she lay in one position for too long. The discomforts of age. Yet she had a job to do, even if the task of gatekeeper should have gone to a younger acolyte. Compared to the other remaining Soraer, Hiix and Venna, Agathe was the most agile one left. These days, with their low recruiting numbers, most of the Shield Soraers chose to serve in the Abbaes closest to the rim, giving them easy access to King’s Valley with its many towns and amenities.

No one saw the point in replenishing diminishing acolytes so far from the lines of supply. There was no profit anymore in delivering goods on what was a four-day round trip to a handful of people. Agathe and her two remaining Soraers did the best they could, even as they grumbled about those in charge who had clearly forgotten their core directive: to guard the King’s Valley against the Abyss.

There be monsters hiding down there.

Not that the citizens of King’s Valley ever saw any. The mist made sure of that. The mountain spire, the top cradling the valley, jutted upward from a fluffy expanse, the mist much like a cloud, thick and impenetrable. It could have been only a few hand spans deep or bottomless—no one ever lived to tell. The old stories claimed the mist used to rise at night and bring terrible danger with it.

Bong.

Who is at the door?

For a moment, Agathe clutched the neckline of her nightgown and wished whoever rang would go away. A part of her really just wanted to ignore the whole thing and return to bed. She was too old to be dealing with strangers at the gate in the middle of the night. Nothing good ever happened at this hour. She’d lived long enough to know that. Only death ever knocked this late.

Still, she’d lived a long life and wouldn’t leave it a coward. Nor would she shirk her duties.

I’m coming! She reached for a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. She also let her hand hover over the pommel of the sword gathering dust in a corner. In all her decades of guarding the Abbae, she’d never encountered any threat. The legends of monsters were thought to be fables. Or if real, then extinct.

The worst creatures they’d encountered were the tarrodax, flying beasts that thought small children were tasty snacks. A pity they didn’t go after just the bratty ones.

She tucked the shawl over her head, covering her gray hair, wisping from its many braids—strands gone thin now, compared to the lush mahogany waves of her youth. She slid on her slippers—the footwear she wore the most often these days due to comfort.

The bell didn’t ring again. Perhaps whoever it was had left. Wishful thinking. She couldn’t go back to bed until she checked.

Agathe stepped out of the room by the gate—hers now for more than fifty revolutions of the world. She’d been in her third decade of life when tragedy hit…a horrible accident that claimed her family. The memory was staggering. The intense grief had brought her out of the valley to follow the winding path down the cliffs. In a daze, numb with grief, she knew of only one way to stop the pain: let the Abyss take it and her.

Only as Agathe reached the end of the King’s Valley and stood on the rim of their world had she hesitated.

Was it the right thing to do?

No one would miss her.

She was all alone.

You don’t have to be alone. A voice had spoken to her, not out loud but in her head.

The very idea of caring for someone else squeezed her heart. She couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She had nothing to live for.

Don’t jump. You have a purpose yet. Those words had burned themselves into her soul, and even now, decades later, the idea that she could be important seemed ludicrous. Born a simple serf who’d married a man she loved and had children—only to lose them all—how could she have a purpose?

Will you serve me?

Who are you? she’d asked, not expecting an actual reply.

I am Niimweii. Goddess of the Shield.

The memory of that powerful reply still shook Agathe to the core.

Chapter Two

A GODDESS HAD SPOKEN TO HER!

A much younger Agathe had dropped to her knees, trembling, not so much with fear but with awe. Forgive me, Goddess. I did not know.

Will you serve me?

Yes! Why not? If Agathe didn’t choose death, then why not a focus beyond that of knowing she’d never hear her children laugh again? Or have her husband drag her close to whisper, Meet me in the barn.

You may start by choosing to live.

Agathe stepped away from the edge that led into nothingness. But then had no idea what to do next.

The Goddess sighed. Follow the path to the bottom.

Agathe had set off, and by the end of a two-day hard march, she arrived just as the suns set. The end of the road was low enough that she could discern the mist below, swirling and shifting. She turned from the edge to the Abbae built into the mountain with its massive door banded in metal and the knotted pull of its bell.

She’d hesitated before ringing it, wondering if the Goddess would speak to her again then decided it didn’t matter. There was a place for her here. A second chance to see if life could still have meaning.

A tug of the rope rang the bell. The door had opened, and Agathe found herself greeted by the Maeder herself, recognizable by her long mauve robes, lint-free and unpatched—how luxurious. Her mantle swept from her gray-haired crown to the floor, a lacy legacy that told the story of her life and the Abbae she ruled.

I’ve been expecting you, the Maeder had said.

And from that day on, Agathe waited to fulfill her purpose. And, in so doing, found peace among the Soraers. But she’d always wondered if she’d imagined the Goddess speaking to her. If she’d wasted her time waiting for this moment, this awakening in the night. Surely, she’d grown too old to make a difference.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she made it to the courtyard, if it could be called that given it wasn’t open to the sky. It appeared darker than usual because Soraer Hiix forgot to swap the dead solarus stone for a fresh one.

Hiix, you lazy sow. You know it needs to sit in the suns all day! Soraer Venna had scolded, wagging a finger. Her rotund figure had lost some girth in the last few months. They were all thinner than usual, making their wrinkles more pronounced. Blame a bland and restrictive diet. And maybe their age, too. The passing of decades might have taken their toll.

At the chastising, Hiix rolled her eyes and sighed. I forgot. It’s not that big of a deal. Not like we’re planning to stay up late. I’ll charge it tomorrow.

Left unsaid was the reason Hiix had failed to charge it. Her knees were swollen again, meaning climbing the ladder to put the stones on the charging ledges taxed her, but she wouldn’t admit it.

Venna knew it, however. All of them had been at this routine for as long as they could remember. Why bother changing now? Every day, they did the same thing: rose at dawn, did chores, went to bed.

Agathe should note that the bed part was actually welcome at her age. Which was why she didn’t appreciate the interruption of her communion with her pillow and mattress on that chilly and—unbeknownst to her—fateful night.

Her gnarled fingers worked the latch, and the door stuck for a moment because of the moist evening air. She heaved it open with a groan and met the mist’s wet kiss.

The sight of it frightened, and she slammed the door. The mist had never risen this high before.

Agathe wondered if she should wake her Soraers. Surely, this was big news…if she didn’t imagine it.

She bit her lip. Had she seen mist? Yes meant she should keep the door closed. But then what of the person or persons outside? They no longer rang the bell, but they couldn’t have gone far.

Hello? A tremulous query that barely rose above a whisper.

Open the door.

The voice was inside her head. What did it mean?

You swore to obey.

The command had her blinking. Goddess?

Was she really going to question? She swallowed hard and tugged the door open. Immediately, the mist was everywhere, a thick band of white and gray, obscuring everything. She glanced around but couldn’t see much. The two lights flanking the door barely penetrated the swirling fog. It even concealed the wide ledge with its many-limbed tree, an ancient cherrapl that still produced fruit season after season.

Despite having never met any monsters, Agathe suddenly remembered every single story that warned of dangers when the suns set. In the fog, especially. It was why people still superstitiously sealed doors and shuttered their windows at night. If the legends were true, the mist had climbed the sheer cliffs back in the day, and some nights, it boiled up like a storm, spilling over the rim of the mountain and into the bowled valley. With it came nightmarish monsters, which explained the King’s edict: Thou shall not go outside after dark. Not that people obeyed it much. They’d long ago lost their fear of the night.

Agathe blinked as she looked around the area outside the door. The bell-rope dangled with no one around to tug it. Had they gone back up the long path, or did they conceal themselves in the mist?

Why hide unless they meant harm?

Get back inside, her sense of self-preservation screamed.

But that other voice, the one she’d not heard in decades, offered a different command. Wait.

Wait for what? Agathe knew she shouldn’t question the Goddess; however, she was old and had waited a long time. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so quick to agree.

It is time for you to fulfill your destiny.

Took long enough, Agathe grumbled and then winced as she waited for the Goddess to smite her.

When it didn’t happen right away, Agathe’s eyes and ears strained to penetrate the fog. Did something lurk? Would a monster lunge from the mist and swallow her whole?

Whaa.

Agathe blinked. Had she heard a cry, or did her imagination play games with her?

Another mewling, plaintive sound drew her from the Abbae’s threshold out onto the ledge, where the winding path down from the mountain ended. The mist hung all around, pushed back only by the light shining from the globes on either side of the door.

The fog, thick and unrelenting, didn’t allow her to see a thing. Such a change from the daytime when the mist hung low enough to seem like a cloud in the Abyss and the sky was blue for as far as the eye could see.

She grabbed a torch from inside the door and thrust a solarus stone into its cage. By waving it ahead of her, it parted the fog for her to advance. The moist air quickly closed in behind her.

Hello? Her voice quavered as she made herself a target. It had been a long time since anything from the Abyss had attacked, and despite the exaggeration, it had been only an oversized cave spider—nothing to be afraid of.

But if nothing in the mist was dangerous, then why were there Nine Abbaes of the Shield guarding this path?

Were being the keyword there. All but a few of the Abbaes had gone out of business because no danger lurked anymore. Agathe should stop being a coward.

There’s nothing to fear.

Still, she really wished she’d brought a knife. Or that sword.

Waving her torch, Agathe cleared the area around the door. Nothing and no one. She was about to give up and return inside when she heard it again.

"Whaa."

Having suckled a few, she knew the cry of a baby. She couldn’t ignore it.

Torch held aloft, Agathe made her way to the tree that clung stubbornly to the edge of the flat ledge. Its fat trunk could have hidden any number of things. Still, she had to look. She placed a hand on the gnarled bole and mouthed a quick prayer for strength before daring to slowly peek around.

At first, she saw nothing, the torch barely penetrating the fog. Even waving it around did nothing to dispel the thick mist. Her disquiet grew.

The air felt heavy, full of portent. Danger.

She should go back inside.

Not yet.

As if brushed aside by a ghostly hand—or a god—the mist parted, and she saw it on the ground. A bundle with a face.

Agathe couldn’t have said who was more startled. The baby’s eyes widened, and its mouth opened. Agathe expected to hear it yell.

Instead, the child smiled.

And Agathe knew she’d found her purpose.

Putting her torch down gave her the two hands needed to pick up the babe from the ground. Agathe stared into the chubby-cheeked face with its thick-lashed eyes. How did you get here?

Obviously, the swaddled baby didn’t walk. Someone had abandoned their child for Agathe to find.

Not unheard of. It happened quite often in the King’s Valley. If someone had a female child they couldn’t keep—born out of wedlock or one mouth too many to feed—they gave it to the Soraers of the Shield, which was better than families with superfluous boys, who sacrificed them to the old pagan gods.

Was this child an offering to the Goddess? And if yes, then why here? No one ever made the trip to this forgotten place—unless they were desperate.

Agathe cradled the child to her chest and felt a sense of rightness, as if the missing piece of her life had finally fallen into place.

She whirled to return to the Abbae, only to pause as the mist closed in against her. She’d need her torch, or she might get lost. Holding the baby in one arm, she crouched to grab it, her joints creaking. No sooner had she stood than she cursed as the light on the end went out.

The fog practically soaked her with moist glee as it surrounded her. She was blind for all intents and purposes, but she also knew this ledge. She’d guarded it long enough. She’d use the tree to guide her in the right direction. Her fingers felt the bark and looked for the marks on it, the arrow and symbol showing the path going up the mountain. Orienting herself by it, she took her first stride with confidence, the next with a little less surety. By the third, she shuffled. Surely, she should see the light by the door by now. The stone within the glass globe should last until morning. It had absorbed the pale suns’ rays for most of the day. Then again, so had the rock in her torch, and it had extinguished without even pretending to fade first.

What if she moved in the wrong direction? How to tell? The fog pressed in all around her, and turning to look behind, she couldn’t see the tree. No keep. Where was the edge?

She inched more carefully, and a good thing, too, as her left foot came down and began to slide before she caught herself.

She’d found the cliff.

If she did a half-revolution and walked straight, she should hit a wall. She turned and moved again.

Teetered shortly after on another edge.

Don’t panic. She must have veered. Off she shuffled once more. Again, she almost slipped off.

It made no sense. While, at the same time, Agathe recalled the stories. The fog played tricks on minds.

Some said it was the evil spirits trapped in the Abyss below, rising as a mist to cast their displeasure. It was as good a theory as any. And useless right now.

I want to get back inside the Abbae, she muttered out loud before closing her eyes. She took a breath before uttering a soft prayer. Niimweii, help your servant. And if not me, then at least show me how to bring this child to safety.

A breeze caressed her cheek, startling her, mostly because she’d expected a voice. She swayed on her feet, only to realize that she stood once more on the edge. She stumbled back, and the light wind tickled again, almost saying: This way.

She turned to see it pushing the mist aside, parting it so she could see the soft glow alongside the Abbae’s door.

Thank you, Goddess. For Agathe did not doubt that this was the answer to her prayer.

Baby held tight, she ran for safety, knowing the fog could return at any moment.

She’d almost made it when something emerged from the fog, a long, sinuous shape that tripped her!

Chapter Three

Something knocked Agathe from her feet. She did her best to shift and hit the ground on her side, managing to shield the child, but she couldn’t hold on. Her arms loosened, and the baby rolled free.

Not that Agathe cared as she dealt with the sudden burst of pain in her ribs. Probably broken. It certainly hurt to breathe. Lying on the ground and moaning about it wouldn’t save her from the thing wrapped around her ankle, dragging her toward the Abyss!

No, Agathe screamed as she kicked, loosening its grip. Forget the sharp stitch in her side; she’d left the baby on the ground. She popped to her feet just as the tentacle shot at her like a whip.

Agathe’s old bones protested the sideways dive. The ground wasn’t kind when she hit. It was the other side of her body, at least. Not that it helped. It still hurt. She’d be bruised in the morning.

If there was a morning.

Rising, she cursed herself for complacency. She should have brought her sword. Regardless that it hadn’t moved in a long, long time—not even for training. All she had were her hands and wits now, plus the memories of lessons from decades ago.

This won’t end well, she muttered just as the tentacle once more shot from the fog. She managed to punch it and divert whatever it planned. A victory short-lived, as a second appendage snuck up, wrapped around her ankle… Yanked.

By the Goddess! Agathe yelled as her bottom hit the ground hard. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Didn’t this monster understand that she had a purpose? She’d not waited this long only to have it taken from her.

Old didn’t mean her body had forgotten the movements of her youth. She belonged to Niimweii, the Shield Goddess. The Goddess of Battle. Part of worshiping her was learning the intricate dance that dealt death. It didn’t matter that she’d not had any true adversaries in her life; she had still trained.

And that knowledge bubbled forth.

She twisted and, with her hands clenched together, clubbed the tentacle hard enough that something squished. It pleased Agathe to hear a high-pitched squeal. Even better, the monster loosened its grip on her leg, and she scrambled from it.

Turning to the baby, illuminated by the single globe by the door, Agathe had a moment of horror as she saw a tentacle pausing over the child, quivering and turning side to side as if scenting the air.

As it began to descend, Agathe dashed for the appendage, knowing she wouldn’t make it in time—which was when Hiix appeared, curly gray hair in wild wisps around her head, her robe sagging off one thin shoulder. But she had the strength to swing a hammer—the one from the kitchen, used to tenderize meat. It flattened the tentacle. Venna then stepped in and, with a dipping slash of a butcher knife—usually used for chopping vegetables—separated it.

The loss of it drew some major bellowing from within the mist as ichor spurted, putrid and gag-worthy

Grab the baby and get inside, yelled Agathe, drawing their gazes to the bundle on the ground.

What in the Goddess…? Hiix muttered.

Venna yelled, Behind you!

Agathe ducked as her Soraer threw her weapon and sliced off the tentacle reaching for Agathe. The knife clattered to the ground. Agathe scooped it up, clutching the hilt. It felt good to have something to fight with, even as the monster disappeared.

Agathe doubted it had left. There was a stillness to the air, an ominous portent.

Get inside, was her soft command.

Hiix bent to grab the baby just as the monster attacked!

Tentacles shot out from all around them as if the mist itself were creating them. Or perhaps dozens of monsters surrounded them.

One or a hundred, it didn’t matter when they fought for their lives, three women past their prime, former soldiers in an army that never had more than basic training. Were never once deployed. When the time came to fight, they barely remembered how, and their muscles protested the abuse. But they did discover one thing they had in abundance: courage.

Adrenaline smothered the aches and pains, gave them strength. Back-to-back, they parried and swung, kicked and sliced. No matter how many times they struck or diced a piece, they couldn’t gain the upper hand.

When a tentacle began dragging the blanket holding the baby, Agathe uttered a battle cry and charged