“Wake up, Artemus,” a voice whispered. Though unrecognizable, the voice was soft and soothing. “Wake up,” it repeated, firmer.
Artemus struggled to open his eyes. He had been tracking a pack of wolves that were ravaging the local cattle in Lunnon and hadn’t managed a good night’s rest. His eyes remained stubbornly closed.
“Wake up!” the voice shouted, right next to his ear.
Artemus rose to his feet. His left hand came up to guard his face and his right grasped the hunting knife holstered onto his belt. He dragged his right leg behind to support his weight. He then squatted into a fighting stance, prepared to fend off whichever rogue thief sought to plunder his weapons and purse.
But rather than a thief, he found that a deep, white mist had surrounded him, clouding his vision. His hands fell, and his shoulders relaxed. “What is this?” he asked.
“Wake up, Artemus,” the voice, which sounded feminine, repeated.
The mist surrounding him slowly receded and revealed a woman cloaked in pearl-white robes lined with gold. Her hood was pulled low enough that he could only see her pale cheeks and tight lips. She held a large silver key, which was emitting a glimmering blue light.
“Who are you?”
The mist returned, engulfing him. The white haze blinded him and completely obscured the woman.
“WAKE UP!” a manly voice screamed.
Two hands grabbed Artemus’ shoulders, and aggressively shook him back and forth.
He struggled to free himself, but his body refused to listen to his commands and remained unmovable.
The shaking stopped and with it, control returned. Artemus blinked. His body was on the cabin floor.
His best friend, Xedho, leaned over him with a concerned look. “Are you all right, Arty?”
“The woman in the mist.” He groaned, sitting up quickly. “Where—”
“Woah! My wife’s herbs must be taking effect.” Xedho gestured for Artemus to lay back down. “Take it easy. You’ve been sleeping for three days. You shouldn’t make any sudden movements. You’re still healing.”
Artemus noticed bandages wrapped around his arms and midsection.
“Those are fresh,” Xedho said, clearly catching his gaze. “I did them myself this morning. You’re lucky to be alive. How did you manage to kill an entire pack of wolves anyways? There must have been at least a dozen of them.”
Artemus furrowed his brows. He couldn’t remember ever finding the pack, let alone killing them and making it back to the village.
“You don’t have to answer that right now. You can tell me later over a drink. I could use your help rebuilding my old oven.”
The idea of a chore caused Artemus to cast an incredulous look at his childhood friend. “You can’t be serious.”
“You owe me for staining my floors.” Xedho winked.
Small, booted feet thudded on the floor before a child burst into the room. “Uncle Arty! Uncle Arty! Tell me again about how you beat up all those wolves!” Pirrus jumped on top of him and pretended to bite his neck. “Because I’m a wolf! Arrrrr!”
After forcing himself to his feet, Artemus chased Pirrus around for a moment. He grabbed him and raised him to the ceiling. “Now I must vanquish you like the other wolves!” he shouted.
“No!” Pirrus squirmed and giggled, trying and failing to bare his teeth at Artemus.
Xedho sighed and grabbed Pirrus from Artemus. “All right, that’s enough, little guy. It’s time for bed.”
“Wolves don’t sleep!” He wiggled around until Xedho let him down, then ran to his room. “Awoooooooo!”
“No running in the house!” Xedho yelled after the boy. “Sorry about him. I’m not sure who raised him.”
“No, it’s okay.” Artemus stretched, winced as he pulled at new wounds, and walked outside.
A few minutes later, Xedho followed him outside with a tray of tea for them both but Artemus had gone, leaving the kitchen door wide open.
Artemus sat beneath the boughs of a gnarled tree, gazing at the moon and basking in its tranquility. He envied it, not for its light but because it worked alone. It didn’t concern itself with the opinions of others. Artemus spent most of his time in the mountains and woods around Lunnon, hunting and fishing. He liked it that way. A village can’t judge a man they do not see.
The world around Artemus was eerily still, save for the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees. Yet within him, a tempest of anxiety and apprehension raged.
The memory of the lady in the mist clung to Artemus like a thick fog, refusing to dissipate despite the passing of time. Her presence weighed on his soul like an invisible burden, leaving him trembling and disconcerted. His heart thundered in his chest like a frantic drumbeat, a physical manifestation of the unease that gnawed at his mind.
As he gazed up at the stars, their twinkling light offering no solace, Artemus couldn’t help but wonder at the significance of his dream. Was it a warning, a portent of imminent danger lurking on the horizon? Or was it merely a manifestation of his deepest fears, a ghostly reflection of the doubts and anxieties that plagued him?
Xedho appeared beside him, offering a steaming cup of tea, but Artemus remained lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the endless expanse of the night sky. When his friend spoke, his voice seemed to come from a great distance.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Artemus maintained his line of vision.
Xedho turned to him. Artemus had never had an amnesic episode, so he understood that the experience was taking quite a toll on him. “Hey, I appreciate all of your help with the bakery. My family enjoys having you around, and with the new oven, we can make twice as many batches as before.” Xedho gave a reluctant smile, “You haven’t tried your tea.”
“Do you ever get bored?” Artemus changed the subject.
“Bored?”
“With the bakery. Don’t you think there’s more to life than just making bread?” He turned, staring directly into his eyes, “Why do you do it? For what purpose?”
Xedho was perplexed by Artemus’ odd behavior. He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“I like the way it smells. I love the way it tastes. But most importantly, I love the face Pirrus makes when he bites into a fresh loaf.” He put a hand on Artemus’ shoulder. “What has gotten into you? You haven’t been yourself since that night.”
Artemus slammed his tea cup down, spilling the contents onto the ground. “I said I’m fine,” he snapped at Xedho’s concerned expression. He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the cabin, his thoughts a maelstrom of confusion and fear.
Xedho watched him go, his usually gregarious demeanor replaced with a solemn silence. Something was clearly bothering Artemus, something deeper than the usual trials of life in their small village. And as he stood there, lost in thought, a sudden flash of light filled the sky above them, illuminating the world in a warm, golden glow.
Artemus and Xedho shielded their eyes, the orb of light wriggling like a worm in the sky just above the forest, north of the town. Unease grew in their guts as the orb quickly vanished.
“What in Divine’s name was that?” Xedho exclaimed, still squinting at the spot where the orb had been.
Artemus pulled his hunting knife from its sheath and began walking towards the woods where the strange phenomenon had occurred. “Wait, you’re not going out there, are you? What if there’s some sort of monster out there?” Xedho called after him, his voice tinged with concern.
“I bet it bleeds,” Artemus muttered, his body feeling pulled towards the source of light. He hoped it held the answers he was seeking.
The strange dream of the lady in the mist, combined with the sudden flash of light, was too much of a coincidence for him to ignore. He didn’t know if he was so keen on entering the woods because he wanted a distraction, or if in fact the events could be connected somehow. But one thing was for certain: he needed to find out.
Artemus wasn’t afraid of entering the woods at night. His father had been a master hunter who taught him everything he knew from a young age. Most in Lunnon travelled in groups of ten to twelve men with their hounds and fancy horns, but his father had believed that a real hunter surrendered himself to the environment. The two spent many early mornings capturing fish with their bare hands. They donned wolf fur and crawled around stalking elks.
“The Lunnon Lunatics,” the villagers called them, but they had still respected his father for his skill.
When he’d turned sixteen, strange men had come searching for his father. They requested his help with an unusual hunting expedition. His father gifted him a hunting knife that Artemus still carried around and instructed him to watch over it until he returned.
Twelve winters had passed since that day.
Trekking deeper into the forest, Artemus searched for clues on what created the flash in the sky. He reached the section of forest where he’d previously set up several snares.
Traps are the tools of lesser men, his father had loved to say.
Nothing looked out of place for Artemus. His destination was near the western edge of the copper mines.
The Village Guard had probably spotted something as well. They had an outpost near the entrance to the mines they used for training recruits. It had been nearly an hour since the flash of light and—judging from his current pace—he was getting close to their location.
Artemus noticed some felled beech trees near the gate. Beyond the pile, a possum dragged something in its mouth. The sound of twigs breaking scared it as he approached, and it ran off.
Artemus was unnerved by the abandoned meal; it was a bloody, severed arm that had been cut clean at the shoulder. He recognized the chainmail sleeve and thick green cloth as those of the village guard.
Artemus ran towards the outpost. Lunnon’s Village Guard was a formidable group of men sworn to safeguard the people. He and Xedho had joined the crew when they were eighteen, as was the requirement. The men were the toughest he had ever met, second only to his father.
Anything that had taken one of their arms and lived to talk about it had to be lethal.
As he neared the compound, Artemus counted seven dead bodies scattered in front of the gate. Several had their guts spilling out., some were decapitated, and more still had eye sockets that were nothing more than smouldering black holes.
Artemus was no stranger to exploring the insides of living creatures, but even he was taken aback by the ghastly sight before him. A once-armored guard, now armless and lifeless, lay motionless on the ground. A pang of recognition hit Artemus as he realized it was Dunstan, a boy he had played with in his youth.
Virgil was nearby, but it was clear that he had suffered a different fate. His throat had been mercilessly slit, a gaping hole now marking the spot where his head once rested. It was a gruesome wound, one that made Artemus’s stomach churn.
The headless body impaled on the wall was unmistakable. It was Ivar, the leader of the Village Guard, who had taken Artemus under his wing when his father disappeared. Ivar had been a tough, demanding mentor who demanded nothing short of excellence from his subordinates. Yet beneath his stern exterior, Artemus had always sensed a kind heart. Seeing him in such a brutal state was a tragedy beyond measure.
Artemus collapsed to his knees and held back a violent retch. He was as paralyzed by fear and he felt as helpless as he had been in the dream.
A scream pierced shattered the silence. It had come from the south.
What is someone doing there at this time? Is it a trap? Could it be the same group who attacked the Village Guard?
“Help!” someone called.
The blood-curdling cry for help pierced the silence, and Artemus’ heart skipped a beat. It was the same voice that had haunted his dreams for weeks—the lady in the mist, her face forever etched in his memory.
With a deep breath, he willed his legs to move and charged towards the source of the scream.