Chapter 2: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fog

  “BEEEEEEEEEP!”

  Beep’s screams echoed in Frelka’s ears. The smell of blood was thick. Too thick. They had gone too far!

  ~~

  “We’re making good progress with our battles so far, ja,” Frelka said, finishing the last bite of his morning meatcube. “We hardly haff to run back to da gate anymore. I think it may be time we consider pushing further into da fog.”

  The three of them sat in one of the local bars as they prepped for the day of battle ahead of them.

  “Yes,” Beep responded instantly. “Beep is ready to push further. No one will defeat Beep!”

  Frelka smiled at the eager Hive, his long, narrow face and close-set eyes shining with determination. He was always quick to agree to anything Frelka said without hesitation. Always eager to earn his title as a swordsman.

  Shryke, on the other hand, looked decidedly less enthusiastic. “I don’t know,” she answered, her voice low as she stared intently at the last couple of bites of her meatcube before placing it down on the plate in front of her. “I know we’ve gotten better, but we still have to run to the gate for rescuing pretty frequently. I mean, yesterday alone we came back three separate times, and that’s not counting the times we had to come back to rest and recover before heading back out. Why risk more right now?”

  Frelka nodded in acknowledgement of her words. “That is true, ja, but we are still getting stronger. Und we haff bedrolls we can take with us if we need to rest out in da field. Und there are small hills throughout da fog that we can climb if we want to rest above it. Plenty of alcoves to hide in if we decide not to, ja.”

  Shryke persisted, “Okay, sure, but stronger doesn’t mean invincible. If we run into a group of them too far from the gate, things could go very poorly, very fast. And I don’t know about you, but I like having all my limbs…and my life.” She turned to Beep. “I mean, Beep, didn’t you almost lose your hand the other day?”

  “Beep does not remember this,” Beep said, feigning ignorance…poorly.

  Frelka spoke up. “Look, I get your hesitation, but we are stronger, and we’ve yet to see another Fog Prince since da von Beep spotted a few weeks ago, und da Cats we saved up from mining all that copper are starting to run low. If we’re not careful, we’ll be back out there, mining away. Und while Frelka is not opposed to using his large muscles,” he added with a flex, “I would prefer to use dem against our enemies, not rocks.”

  Shryke looked up at Frelka. He knew she still struggled with the hopelessness of being stuck in Mongrel, but his larger-than-life demeanor always seemed to bring her around. Her eyes darted from Frelka, to his muscles, to Beep, to his scavenged katana, down to her hands on the table. After a few minutes, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Ah, what the hell? Why not? If Beep thinks he can survive, I should be fine. But if we end up running back to the gate again, you owe me drinks.”

  “Deal,” Frelka agreed.

  With that, she stood from the table and began walking toward the gate, the rest of her morning meatcube left lying on her plate.

  As they left the eastern gate, they began their descent down the usual hill where a sacrificial site had been set up no more than thirty yards away. They had been slowly picking off the Fogmen that hung around the area guarding those they captured and tied up on poles for the Fog Princes.

  Despite the work they had been doing, there always seemed to be more. More Fogmen, and more travelers. Every night, everyone in Mongrel still went to bed with the sounds of captured travelers being eaten alive.

  Frelka clenched his jaw as his anger surged. He swore he’d give the people of Mongrel nights of silence.

  It was as he had this thought that they came upon the usual encampment, only to find it relatively empty. Five Fogmen hobbled around the camp, wounds from prior battles still not fully healed.

  Frelka held up his hand and stopped the group on the other side of a rock from the encampment’s clearing.

  “Seems there are only five of them...und most are still injured, ja,” he said, looking at Beep and Shryke.

  Shryke frowned. “Are you sure about this, Frelka? They’re still dangerous. Are you positive you don’t want to lead them back closer to the gate just in case?”

  “Are you kidding?” Frelka whispered enthusiastically. “Five is nothing! Frelka could take out five on his own! They’re just naked Hive with iron sticks for weapons. Their true danger lies in their numbers. This will be da perfect warm-up!”

  “Beep,” Beep said confidently.

  Shryke shrugged in resignation and unsheathed her rusted glaive. “If you say so. Okay, let’s do this. I’ll start on the right. Beep, you go to the left. Frelka, you good with taking the center as usual?”

  Frelka smiled. “Frelka was made large for a reason, ja.” He pulled Falling Sun from his back and prepped for the charge.

  He loved this part. The anxiety before a battle. The feel of his body as his blood was pumped faster to every muscle. It made him feel strong, stronger than he already knew he was.

  “Ready…” he said quietly, “Go!”

  On his signal, the three of them charged out from behind the rock and toward the Fogmen.

  Beep, already becoming much faster than the other two, reached his enemy first and began slashing at his target. The Fogman blocked his initial blows and retaliated, only to have Beep block its overhead swing with his blade. Holding it horizontally above his head, Beep knocked the Fogman’s stick up and away, finishing the creature with a quick slash through its thin stomach. Calling them “stomachs” was a stretch considering the Hive abdomen was little more than skin covering the spinal cord between chest and pelvis. Regardless, Beep’s slash managed to cut through it, leaving the Fogman in two pieces on the ground.

  “Beep wins! Haaahahahabeephaha!” he exclaimed.

  “Beep, what the fuck did I tell you about war cries while we’re in the fog?!” Shryke snapped as she severed the leg from her Fogman, leaving it to try and crawl away, a blood trail mapping its futile escape attempt.

  “Beep,” he responded.

  Frelka, fending off the advances of three Fogmen, swung wide at the group, slashing the first two across the chest before being blocked by the third. Not enough to kill, but damage, nonetheless. Using the momentum of his swing, he tucked and rolled to get on the backside of the center Fogman, slashed down on the tender area where the neck met the shoulder, kicking the corpse and sending it crashing limply to the ground.

  The final two had just turned to face him when a blade and a glaive simultaneously stuck through the chest of each of them, Beep and Shryke using the distraction to finish them off.

  “What did I tell you, Shryke?” Frelka boasted as she walked over to finish her first target. “This battle was nothing more than a warm-up, ja! Come, tell Frelka, did you even get hit?”

  “No, I did not,” Shryke admitted, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not right to worry. As you said, these are just five, and they were injured. What happens if we meet a group? Or what would we have done if a group descended upon us as we were fighting these five?”

  “Beep kills them!” Beep shouted.

  “No, Beep dies,” Shryke corrected. “Or worse, is captured and eaten!”

  “Beep,” he winced.

  “‘Beep’ is right,” she continued. “Look, I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s parade or be a downer, it’s just that I’ve lived here longer than any of you. I know the dangers that await us. I’ve heard the stories. Seen faces walk into the fog that never walked back out.”

  Frelka placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I understand, Shryke. Don't worry, if we get overwhelmed, we can always make a run for da gate. This Frelka promises you.”

  Shryke sighed before reluctantly nodding her head, and they pressed forward.

  ~~

  The fog was dense. Mongrel was built on one of the hills that escaped the fog bank, so the encampment they had done their training in was barely “in” the fog. As they pressed through now though, Frelka was reminded of his first day in the Foglands.

  No sky to speak of. Hardly any ground. If he hadn’t been able to hear the light footsteps of Shryke and Beep, he could’ve believed he was completely alone.

  They had been walking almost aimlessly this way for about an hour before Shryke said, “Are you sure we’re even going the right way? What if we’re just walking in circles?” She paused, the implication of her last question sinking in. She gasped. “Do you know how to get back to Mongrel from here? Oh gods, we’re going to die in this hellhole!”

  “Calm down,” Frelka said. “Frelka has very good sense of direction. I know exactly how to get back to Mongrel. If we ne–”

  The sound of screams cut him short.

  “Oh gods! Why?! Someone, help!”

  The group quickly crouched and crept towards the screams of pain. As they got closer, the light of torches began glowing through the fog.

  They were near another sacrificial area. They heard the squelching and ripping before they saw the silhouettes in the fog.

  “Are they being eaten?!” Shryke hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. “The princes aren’t supposed to come out until after sunset. What are they doing out right now?!”

  “They are no Fog Princes,” Beep whispered, pointing toward one of the pikes.

  As Frelka focused, he could just barely make out forms in the fog gathered around a pole, their hands braced against the figure tied to it as their heads moved back and forth, tearing flesh from their victim.

  “How can you tell?” Frelka asked. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “Beep can explain later,” Beep said hurriedly. “Now comes fighting.”

  Before Frelka could respond or stop him, Beep dashed out towards the Fogmen. Frelka and Shryke looked at each other before hesitantly running after him. By the time they had caught up, Beep had already killed two of the Fogmen before being noticed. He was now using his speed to his advantage, cutting the ropes of the prisoners tied to the poles.

  Frelka had no time to tend their wounds or assist, he quickly jumped into the group chasing Beep and started swinging wildly. There had to be at least thirty Fogmen in all–enough to make up two roaming parties! What had Beep gotten them into?!

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  Frelka could feel Shryke’s fear as she dodged and jumped out of the way of tackling Fogmen, slashing downward to deflect or kill as they charged. They had each taken their fair share of blows before Frelka realized what it was Beep was doing.

  He was just getting ready to call the retreat when the prisoners Beep had been cutting down joined the fray. Seven of them quickly rushed into the fight–their savagery only matched by their desperation and grief.

  They had all been stripped of weapons, so they tackled the nearest Fogmen and began slamming their heads and biting at their necks. Whether an ironic sense of justice or just the quickest way they had to kill them, Frelka wasn’t sure, but once they had killed their first few, they grabbed the iron sticks from their captors and began beating back the horde.

  A few minutes later, the battle was over.

  Frelka was just about to sit down, his breath coming in ragged gasps, when one of the prisoners, a man dressed in orange robes with shaggy brown hair and a mustache that dipped all the way to the edge of his chin, approached him and said, “Are you daft?! Don’t sit down here! You’re practically begging them to eat you at that point. We have to get as far away as possible, now!”

  Frelka nodded. “Can your men run?”

  The man looked around at the surviving prisoners. “They’re not ‘my men,’ but it looks like three of us might have difficulty keeping up. Might be best to just leave them and make our escape while we can.”

  Frelka shook his head, “No one gets left behind today, ja. I will carry two of them, Beep will get da other. Come now, follow me!”

  ~~

  Back at the bar, the group sat, laughing for the first time in what seemed like too long.

  “Beep,” Frelka said, “in da fog, you knew da Fogmen weren't Princes, but all I saw were silhouettes in da fog. How is that?”

  “Because Beep is not Hive Prince,” Beep answered matter-of-factly. “Beep is lowly Hive Worker Drone, as are the Fogmen. We all have thin and narrow heads, like this,” Beep gestured to his own head, outlining the edges with his hands.

  “Hive Princes, on the other hand, have heads more similar to you humans: rounded with prominent posterior antenna.” He gestured to Shryke’s head, mimicking an antenna coming from the back.

  “Finally, there are Hive Soldier Drones. These Hive have wider heads, their eyes set further apart. Like someone took Beep’s face by the eyes and pulled outward.” As he said this, he brought his hands back to his own head and pulled outward from the center.

  Frelka raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know such a hierarchy existed in da Hive. How interesting. I’ll keep this in mind.”

  Beep nodded and the man Frelka had spoken with in the fog, Stitch, raised his mug in the air and said, “To Frelka, Shryke, and Beep. Without whom we’d all be sitting in some Hive’s stomach about now.”

  “Here here,” came the applause from the other six survivors.

  Frelka lifted his tankard in appreciation as Stitch sat back down in front of the three.

  “So,” Shryke said, making no attempt to disguise her disgust. “You Holy Nation?”

  The man grimaced at the accusation. “Well, yes ma’am…and no ma’am, we ain’t,” he said. “‘Bout the opposite, actually. How’d you know we was from the Holy Nation though?”

  Shryke pointed at the man’s garments. “Holy Nation scum are the only ones I ever see wearing those orange robes you’ve got on. If I hadn’t been so shaken in the fog, I likely would have run you through then and there.”

  Stitch held up his hands and gave a reassuring smile. “Well, I’m certainly glad you didn’t. Truth be told, I’m a Holy Nation Outlaw. Same as everyone else. We weren’t all traveling together, but we’re all on the same journey: escape the Holy Nation…that is, until we hit that damned fog.”

  Beep raised his eyebrows and said, “Beep remembers hearing ‘Holy Nation’ from his time in the Hive. Not good things. Mean people. But that is all Beep knows.”

  Shryke scoffed, “Bout all you need to know Beep, especially for someone like you. Or for anyone other than someone who looks like Frelka or Stitch here. The Holy Nation are a bunch of egotistical zealots who think that their God was split into two beings: Okran, the God of light, life, and all that is good with the world, and Narko, demoness of darkness, the dark counterpart of Okran. It is her that tempts man to sin and debauchery, and her from whence all dark and evil things spawn, including Shek, Hive, women, the starving, the poor, and most of all, Skeletons.”

  Stitch nodded, “Yup, she’s bout got the right of it. But even someone like me ain’t always safe, as my current predicament indicates.

  “I was accused of being corrupted ‘cause I allowed my wife to choose what she wanted me to buy her for gifts and food. I gave her freedom instead of dictating her life. For that, I was going to be sent to Rebirth. It was only by luck that she and I managed to make it out of Stack in time.”

  Noticing the question on Frelka’s face he responded, “She was captured and taken somewhere else. Likely dead by now,” he finished, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve tried to push it out of my mind, and in the fog, I was so focused on getting away from those things that I forgot. I can’t believe it, I forgot my own wife.” He placed his face in his hands and began sobbing.

  Shryke reached out and placed her hand on the man’s arm. “Look, no one blames you for that. I think anyone would have been surprised if you had remembered her. You were listening to the crunching and squelching of flesh being torn from bone just a few feet from you, how could you have thought of anything else?”

  Her reassuring words seemed to deepen the man’s depression as his sobs became more intense and he let his head fall to the table, his body now racked with sobs. Beep looked over at Shryke and said, “Perhaps describing what likely happened to his wife was not the best form of comfort?”

  Shryke blanched at the realization, and Frelka grabbed the man at the shoulder and shook him gently, “Tell me Stitch, do you know where they took your wife?”

  The man’s sobs slowly subsided as he lifted his head, snot and tears soaked equally into his mustache, his eyes swollen and red from the intensity of his grief. “N-No-Not exactly. I know they were further north than we were, but I couldn’t say how much further or if they even stayed that way. That’s just the last I saw of her.” He paused as choked gasps caught up to him. “What. Does. It. Mat. Ter. Now? She’s. She’s…”

  His head slumped back to the table and the man continued to sob.

  Frelka looked to the other two, nodded, and looked back to the man. “Stitch, we may not be able to save your wife, but we will avenge her! Tomorrow we will return to where we found you und head north in search of da camp they are holding her. If, by miracle, she is alive, we will bring her back to you. If not, we will rain down vengeance on dem, ja.”

  The man made no move or response, but Frelka noticed a slight decrease in the intensity of the man’s sobs. With that, the three excused themselves and retired for the night.

  As Frelka laid in bed, listening to the nightly screams of the poor souls taken by the fog, he prayed that Stitch’s wife was not one of them.

  ~~

  “There,” Frelka said as they approached the glowing torches in the fog, “this has to be it!”

  It had been almost thirty minutes since they had left the area they found Stitch in, but it was the first encampment they had come across, and it was roughly north.

  “I don’t hear any screaming,” Shryke said. “Could go either way. Let’s move in. Carefully!”

  They crouched down and slowly crept their way into the encampment. Blood-stained remnants and bones littered the ground all around them. If Stitch’s wife had been eaten, there would certainly be no way of telling.

  Once they had gotten into the center of the encampment, Frelka stood up. “It seems this place is empty, ja.” He glanced up at the remaining light shining throughout the fog. “Und it’s getting dark. We should probably start heading back now. We will have to give Stitch da bad news.”

  As they turned to start making their way back, Frelka heard a grunt from behind followed by a scream. As he turned, he saw Shryke on the ground, with a wide-headed Hive on top of her.

  “Beep! Fog Heavy,” Beep squeaked. “Very tough. Very stupid. We should grab Shryke and run!”

  Frelka shook his head, “We will kill this one at least. I told Stitch we would avenge his wife, und that is what we will do.”

  He charged in and tackled the Fog Heavy off Shryke. The Heavy rolled off and back up to its feet, hissing at Frelka as it lashed out with its club. As opposed to the Fogmen, who were equipped with simple iron sticks, the Heavy seemed to have a rudimentary club. A symbol of its status perhaps?

  It lunged and Frelka held his sword up to block, but the creature went low and smashed into the side of Frelka’s leg, shattering the bone. Frelka fell and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt fear. Thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Beep and Shryke quickly took up arms on either side of him. Despite their numbers advantage, the Heavy put up a tough fight. “Stupid and tough” though it was, it was smart enough to know that hitting an enemy’s legs made it harder for them to run. It continuously lashed out at Beep’s and Shryke’s legs, attempting to cripple them as it had Frelka.

  After a few minutes of traded blows, the Heavy’s club fell to the ground. It hissed at the two enemies in front of it, both of its arms dangling impudently on either side, courtesy of Shryke’s glaive, and made a dash into the fog.

  “You won’t get away! There will be retribution!” Beep screamed as he ran after the creature.

  “Beep, wait, stop!” Shryke shouted before running after him. She shot a quick, concerned look at Frelka as she left.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Frelka said as he finished splinting his leg. “Go after Beep! He is tvig and breaks easily.”

  With that, she disappeared into the fog.

  Frelka crawled to a nearby pole and tentatively stood up. Slowly, he tested how much weight he’d be able to put on his leg. He wouldn’t be running marathons, but he should be able to hobble back to Mongrel once Beep and Shryke returned.

  As he stood against the pole, praying that nothing saw him, he heard a sound in the distance.

  “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!”

  Beep came dashing out of the fog with Shryke fast on his heels.

  “We have to get out of here. Now!” she screamed. “The damned Heavy ran us into a roaming patrol!”

  Frelka frowned dread gripping his stomach. He steeled himself and said, “I cannot run like this. You two go without me. I will crawl to da shadows und try to stay hidden.”

  Beep quickly turned on one of his twiggy legs and ran back to Frelka. “Then Beep will carry you!”

  With an impressive burst of strength, Beep grabbed Frelka around the waist and lifted with every ounce of strength in him.

  Frelka thought he might have felt a slight upward force as Beep gave up and said, “Then Beep will fight!” He drew his sword and stood in front of Frelka, facing the fog in the direction they had come from.

  Before either of them could object, the horde was upon them. Fifteen Fogmen poured out from in front of them, swarming the three.

  Frelka braced his back to the post and drew Falling Sun. He tried to swing, but the weight of the blade dragged against his injured stance. He staggered, his balance giving way. Before he could react, he hit the ground hard.

  Then he felt nothing.

  ~~

  “BEEEEEEEEEP!”

  Beep’s screams echoed in Frelka’s ears. The smell of blood was thick. Too thick. They had gone too far!

  Frelka jerked his head up and desperately looked around the encampment. To his left he saw Shryke tied to a pole, her face frozen with fear. As he followed her gaze, he saw why: a swarm of eight Fog Heavies were spaced around one of the poles. They were on their knees, bowing repeatedly toward the pole. As Frelka looked, he saw a Fog Prince feasting on one of the captives tied to the pole. Feasting on Beep!

  Despair struck through Frelka’s stomach as he watched the Fog Prince slowly biting and ripping the tough keratin that made up Beep’s left leg. Only the prince feasted as the Heavies around him all continued their ritualistic worship of their leader. Frelka looked around for something–anything–that would help them out of this situation. He found nothing.

  He looked back to Shryke, tears streaming down her face, but otherwise frozen in place, she was too in shock to even think, let alone fight or run.

  Gods, is this really the end? Will I be the first Frelka in my entire family to fail his journey? Will I bring about the end of our bloodline?

  The despair had all but consumed him when he heard a rustling to his right. As he looked up, expecting to see another Fog Prince coming to begin his meal or a roaming hoard heading towards him, he felt a sudden sense of hope. Stitch and the other six they had freed were silently stalking towards the group of Fog Heavies. Stitch placed his finger to his lips, telling Frelka to keep quiet before they pressed on.

  In the fervor of the creatures’ worship, they failed to hear the group that was creeping up behind them. In one swift movement, seven daggers struck from behind and tore at the flesh of the necks of each Heavy worshipping around the prince.

  His dinner interrupted, the Fog Prince turned to face the group. Three of the outlaws jumped on the remaining Heavy before it had a chance to rise, but the Fog Prince was able to draw its blade and counter the oncoming attacks from the other four.

  If the Fog Heavies were “very tough” and “very stupid,” the Fog Prince was a tactical and martial genius. There was certainly a high form of intelligence to its savagery. It slashed and dodged past multiple daggers as the entire party swung and stabbed at him. Just as one blade was headed directly for its heart, it jumped backward, its entire body spinning in the air. As it landed, it used the momentum of its spinning to push itself back to its feet before slicing through one of the rescuers.

  One blade caught the side of its leg. Then another. The prince fell to its knees, but it didn’t give up. It grabbed one of the outlaw’s blades with its hand, pulled him toward it–blood streaking down its arm–and bit hard into the man’s neck, sending blood spraying outward.

  Then a blade struck at it from behind and the Fog Prince fell to its side: dead.

  “Good thing we came lookin’ for ya,” Stitch said as he strode over to Frelka. “Any later and Beep here may have lost more’n just a leg!”

  Frelka opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly found it hard to focus. His head became heavy. As his vision dimmed, he saw the other survivors tending Beep’s wound and cutting him and Shryke down from their poles.

  They had been saved!