When the mist touched the trees their leaves withered and fell. Flowers turned brown and shrivelled back into the bare earth. Rocks turned to dust and rivers dried up. When the mist touched the skin of those too slow to escape it, it began to itch and burn. Their screams could be heard echoing around the valleys. Women hugged their children close, covering their eyes and ears against the oncoming wall of white destruction. They watched as their whole world was slowly erased, one living thing at a time.
And then, when the remaining humans had prepared themselves for the worst, the mist stopped.
III
It was dark as Rhi walked home. His path was lit by the light spilling from the few houses he passed. If he had looked through the windows he would have seen families gathered round fires tucking into dinner, wrapped in wools and furs to further guard against the encroaching cold. He wished he’d remembered his hat and mittens and wrapped his arms tighter around the book and his chest. At least in the village it never took you long to get anywhere.
His feet had walked this journey a thousand times, and it was just as well, because his head was in no state to guide them. His mind was racing with contradictions and possibilities. Did Baba really remember what the world had looked like before the gods sent the mist? He was older than anyone else by many years, everyone knew that, but for him to still remember the outside…well, that would have to mean that the stories exaggerated how long the mist had been around. And if that’s what had happened, then why? The legends would only have been passed down through a handful of generations, not enough to naturally distort them so far from their original state. Did that mean that someone had purposefully set out to deceive them? And if that was so, did that mean that the tales about the mist being harmful were also exaggerated?
It was that final thought which bothered Rhi the most; why would anyone want to keep the entire village living in fear of venturing further than a few minutes from home? His mind remained distracted until a large, dark shape flew at him out of the shadows. He instinctively flung up his arms to protect his face and the heavy book he was still cradling fell to the ground. Rhi grabbed handfuls of steely grey fur as he fell backwards, curling his head so as not to hit it on the stone path. But bringing his head forward meant moving it closer to the creature’s jaws and his nose was instantly met with a flurry of licks and kisses.
“Get off me Tig!” he spluttered, the sound of his voice bringing further affection from the excited dog. He shoved her to one side and sat up. Tig circled around him, whimpering happily, her tail wagging so hard she lost her balance several times. Usually Rhi took her with him to tend the sheep - she had been trained to guide them through the fields and keep any that would stray away from the mist - but today they had been penned close to home and he hadn’t needed her. It was a lonely job and he was always glad of her company. Today he had probably missed her just as much as she was showing that she had missed him. Rhi pulled her close for a cuddle and kissed her head.
“Come on soppy,” he smiled, “let’s go home.”
Tig gave a little bark of agreement and jumped up. She was only a young dog and had yet to learn to act her size. By far the largest hound in the village, she could easily stand with her front paws on Rhi’s shoulders. Her wiry, dark fur gave her an ominous look which wasn’t helped by the grizzly beard around her muzzle and the dark black eyes hidden under thick, shaggy eyebrows. The one redeeming aspect which showed her good nature was the lolling pink tongue which seemed a permanent feature hanging out of the side of her mouth. She gave Rhi a playful nudge as if to hurry him along and turned, rather neatly for one of her size, back towards the house.
It was then that she noticed the book that Rhi had dropped. She gave the leather-bound tome a good sniff and tried to nibble one of the corners. Rhi pushed her away and picked it up, tucking it under one arm this time. He hoped he could sneak it into the house without too many questions. His brothers and sister, he knew, would pelt him with questions that he either couldn’t, or didn’t want to answer.
Checking quickly that no one was around to see him, he tiptoed to the back of the house. At this time of day he didn’t expect anyone to be in the bedroom, but he paused and listened for a while just to be sure. When he was satisfied that he wouldn’t be spotted, he leaned through the window and dropped the book onto his bed with a muffled thump. Rhi hastily pulled a handful of blankets over the top to hide it, then he signalled for Tig to follow him and walked back around the front.
Rhi and his family had one of the bigger houses in the village, with separate rooms for cooking and sleeping. The main room was roughly square and contained a stone fire pit in its centre. Around the edges were wooden shelves laden with various tools, a few pots and pans and several small statues of the gods. Across the room was the doorway to the bedroom. All six members of the family slept in there; Rhi and his parents and in one of the two beds, the younger children sleeping on stacks of pelts and fleeces on the floor. It was cramped and Rhi often lamented the lack of privacy, but it was better than the situation some of the other village children found themselves in. At least it was always warm.
When Rhi finally walked through the front door his stomach gave a loud rumble. The room was filled with the scent of lamb stew and he could see it bubbling away over the fire in one of his mother’s heavy black pots. Apart from that, the room was empty. He grabbed himself a bowl and a spoon from a shelf and knelt next to the stew. He scooped a hefty portion into his bowl and folded his legs under him as he prepared to tuck in. The dog had retreated to the corner; she knew better than to lurk around the food and she would get hers later.
Rhi closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the heavy scent of broth. He loved the smell, and the quiet and the darkness seemed to enhance it. Rhi relished the stillness; in that way the life of a shepherd had always suited him. He had never understood the other boys who had felt the need to be always moving or shouting. Sometimes in the summer he preferred to camp in the field at night, with only the sounds of the sheep to intrude on his thoughts.
“You know it doesn’t hurt you to wait for the others.” His mother’s voice, interrupting his peaceful reverie, was more amused than angry. She dropped a freshly baked roll into his lap and ruffled his hair as she walked past, a gesture Rhi had long outgrown. Before he could reply, the room suddenly burst into life. His brothers tumbled through the door, bickering and poking each other like usual. They fell into place next to Rhi and grinned cheekily at him, grabbing their own helpings of stew and bread. Their ruddy faces were streaked with mud and there was straw caught in their dark curls. Rhi guessed they’d been wrestling in the barn again, a suspicion that was confirmed by the weary look on his father’s face.
The conversation flowed around Rhi, but he hardly contributed, hoping that his family would just assume he was tired. Because of his chores he was up and out well before the others, so it wasn’t unusual for him to be a little distant in the evenings. Often he would go to bed as soon as supper had finished, leaving his brothers and sister to creep around him when they were finally ready for sleep. It was part of the reason why Rhi had the bed under the window; it was the furthest from the doorway so that he wouldn’t be disturbed. It also gave him a way to sneak out without anyone noticing - something he had started to do more and more as he grew towards adulthood.
Rhi finished his stew and gave an exaggerated yawn. He stood up and headed for the door, hoping to get a few hours alone to study Baba’s book. He itched to explore its pages, rediscover the places and creatures Baba had talked about, especially now that he could really believe they had once existed. However tonight he was out of luck; his father looked up briefly from his own dinner to explain that he would be in soon too.
“I promised Gellard I would be over early tomorrow to help with the harvest,” he explained. “He can’t manage so well on his own now. The cold is coming quickly this year, I can feel it.”
Rhi, more meditative than most and so more sensitive to subtle fluctuations, had felt it too; something in the air seemed different. It made him wonder if it was more than a coincidence that he was handed this book now, or if Baba had felt the need to prepare him for whatever was coming.
“I’m sure we could use a few more hands,” his father continued, eyeing his other children expectantly. Their faces fell at the thought of an early start and less time to play. When his gaze turned to Rhi, his son shook his head.
“If the cold is coming sooner, I need to get to work fixing up the shelter. The winds last year have weakened the roof, I’m not sure it will hold out against them again. If I get the flock out early, they’ll have settled enough for me to get to it before it gets dark.”
His father nodded, pleased to see that Rhi was taking his role seriously, and returned his attention to the stew. Seeing an opportunity to leave before the conversation reignited, Rhi slipped away into the darkness of the bedroom. There was a bowl of water on a stand in the corner, illuminated by the silver streak coming through the window. He splashed some on his face and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Taking a mouthful, he swirled the water around his cheeks, washing away the last remnants of lamb and spices. Rhi climbed onto the bed and pulled the heavy woollen blankets around his shoulders. He slipped the book beneath the frame, making sure it was far enough back that no one would see it. Then he let his arm fall over the side and stretched his fingertips to caress the edge of the heavy tome. By the time his father entered the room, Rhi was asleep.
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