Lost In The Fog (Short Story)

Source

Everything reminded Ylon Tahl of fog; the taste he got from a stiff breeze; the feeling of sand in his teeth; that weightless sensation that came from riding a speeder; everything.

The meeting with the Confederation had gone well, Ganni Tahl had spoken like the war lord he was; humble, yet strong. Laughing in the face of a few tons of steel that made the walls of their base, and the double-barreled hell that mounted them. The ship beyond the walls was immense, even as they rode away from the settlement, the shadow loomed over them, covering their journey and it too gave the sensation of coming out of a fog binge. The darkness of it all quickly turned to light, that craving to go back into the shadow. Ylon just stared at the back of Ganni Tahls speeder and at the dust storm it whirled up behind it.

The army was camped out, and the dust ahead had almost completely settled. The sun was high in the sky, but Ganni commanded his warriors to wait until the sun was further along. "We want the sun at our backs while we fight!" He told his chiefs, who then went to tell their own subordinates. The tent cleared out quickly and the only ones left were him, Ganni, and a handful more of his security. Ylon kept quiet for the longest time until he heard Ganni speak; Ylon couldn't make out the words and couldn't seem to focus his mind. "Ylon!" Ganni finally shouted, which completely called his mind back to Kah-Vita.

"Yes, brother." He mumbled, but he meant to shout with as much ferocity as Ganni could muster. Ganni said nothing, he only stared at him silently. His eyes were piercing and then he got to his feet slowly, maintaining his stare.

Ganni reached the chair that Ylon was sitting on, and all Ylon could do was stare back, looking up at him he wanted to speak, but couldn't find his voice; he didn't know what was going on, or what Ganni was trying to do. Some of the others in the room turned away, pretending that they could see nothing, and some; the bolder of the few. S'Vide Feri, particularly. Continued to stare, as if his eyes could defend against some invisible assailant, waiting to strike their leader.

"Stand, brother," Ganni said quietly. His whispers were almost as powerful as his bellows. Intimidation was how he managed to lead their army for so long; how he, the younger of the two skipped past Ylon to take their father's seat. Even S'Vide Feri turned away, as Ganni continued to stare in silence. He was far too close for Ylon to stand up straight, but he tried anyway. As he got to his feet he hunched and slouched slightly, trying to not shove Ganni out of the way. Not that he would have budged. He was small but immovable, the fact that he was shorter than Ylon didn't make a difference. Height meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, power had a way of showing itself regardless of build.

Ylon could feel his brother's hands on either side of his head before he noticed the movement. With a few steps backward, Ylon had to follow; not wanting to be dragged. Ganni was in the perfect position to press his thumbs into his eyes, for whatever reason he chose. Ylon watched as they hovered in front of him and all he could do was focus on the small grooves at the tips of them, the pattern, potentially the last thing he would ever see. Would he fight? Could he? A voice in his mind told him that he shouldn't. Just take what is coming.

Gently, he could feel his brother's thumbs land on the top of his eyes sockets. Once they reached his skin he could feel his eyelids raise from the top. "Have you been smoking fog this morning?" Ylon would have shaken his head if he had the strength in his neck to pull away. "No, brother. I wouldn't. Not now, not before this battle." Ylon could hear himself grovel, could hear that weak small voice of his. "Is that right? It wouldn't be the first time." Ganni stared into his eyes, not to talk with him, but to inspect him. Before he threw him back and unhanded his skull.

"No, never again," Ylon said. To which Ganni slapped the top of his arm, a few pats of reassurance. "Good. I'm sorry for doubting you. You know that today is important, as does everyone. Today, we reclaim our position. The head of the packs, the clan of clans." Ganni said while turning back to the rest of the room, he started to pace back and forth and one by one, everyone in the room turned to him. "This will be hard, they are dug in well and will give us a tough fight, a hard fight. It will result in our return to power or will give us all a good death. I have many who I wish to speak with, and if today is to be my last, I know they will all greet me as a friend." The room cheered, all those gathered had eyes only for Ganni Tahl and reveled in the idea of reuniting with their own friends and family. "I want Sutork alive, he is the head of their band and will make an excellent trophy." S'Vide Feri stepped forward. "If I can deliver him to you, I will. I make it my goal and will give myself to achieve it!" He shouted, to which everyone in the room unanimously agreed. "Good! We are all ready, the sun is almost at our backs, we will fight clear, and they will fight silhouettes." Everyone let out another cheer that almost rattled the fabric of their tent. "Are you ready brother?" Ganni asked, and Ylon stared for a moment, silently. Then he let out a war cheer that was louder than all of the other voices combined. "I will expect to hear that cheer many times in the coming battle, it has always reminded me of the old story of War Lung!" Ganni shouted, smiling, thirsty, ready to smell the blood of The Confederation, mixed with the scent of melting speeder tubes and glassed sand. "Come! Prepare yourselves, mount your speeders, and ready your weapons!" Ganni took charge out of the tent and was quickly followed by Ylon and all of the rest.

Outside, the hordes had gathered, and everyone was waiting for word, most likely they heard the cheers from inside. Ganni stood and stared them all down and let out a war cry that would wake the dead.

He continued his charge to the side of the tent and mounted his speeder to the chorus and echo of countless other war cries. They were rallied and ready, and surely the Confederation could hear them even from this distance.

Ylon was on his speeder and he and the others followed Ganni, who slowly maneuvered his way through the maze of warriors, tents, speeders, and equipment. The engines all came to life as everyone else in their force mounted their own. Ganni crawled to a halt, just beyond the lines of their army, and slowly, the other chiefs came forward and stopped. As far as the eye could see, Ylon watched as they all readied themselves and got to their positions. Behind him, the dust storm was blowing and with each break through the wall of sand, Ylon could see that all those people who were on their feet, were now on their speeders, all aiming forward, all waiting for word. Looking ahead, the base lay across a waste of sand; it loomed in the distance, impenetrable.

Ganni stood up on his speeder and turned to look at the army that would see it destroyed. "They are laughing at us! They thought the clans had finished! They have never seen The Hands of Tahl!" He let out a war cry, animalistic in nature and he howled to the sky, followed by Ylon and a mass of noise from everyone else. It was louder than an explosion, louder than a thousand engines. His spine shook with goose bumps as he joined his voice to the many others. Ganni jumped into his seat and hit the throttle, speeding ahead of everyone else who was still stationary. Ylon hit his own and managed to catch up and with the howls of the others behind and the engines growing louder, he turned to see the entire line move with them. Some were fast, overtaking him and some even threatened to overtake Ganni Tahl himself. The dust was kicking up and as they reached the walls of the base they were almost riding blind.

He could hear an explosion. The green bolts of the turrets made contact with a speeder to his left. He watched green strike through the dust, colliding and turning red with flames. Traveling back and forth, finding a path as best he could Ylon could see the wall. He readied his explosive pack and threw it up, hoping that he would hit a turret. He heard screaming, and saw a blast, but had no idea if it was his own, or someone elses. Gunfire could be heard in all directions, some on speeders let off their own shots, while those mounted on the walls returned fire. Traveling back and circling around, he looked up to see more green bolts, now firing overhead. Turret! He threw another pack and within a moment of striking the green bolts turned red. "One turret down!" He shouted, howling after he did. Explosions, screams, gunfire, howls, engines, dust, wind, sand, shrapnel. Flakes of destroyed speeders showered him and he continued to ride, circling back and forth, dodging and weaving other speeders; which had become much easier now. The dust wasn't as blinding as it had been and he looked around him, now able to see meters ahead of himself. Did everyone retreat? He wondered. Green bolts continued to fire through the storm and the odd scream could be heard being eaten by another explosion.

He threw another pack and watched as the blast went off moments later. Ylon could see a person above him, wailing, kicking, and fighting the air before thudding against the ground. "Ganni!?" He shouted, coughing from the dust storm that had become smoke. "Are you with me brother!?" He shouted again as another coughing fit came through. "What will we do!?" He heard a voice in the void. "Fight!" Another shouted. "Fall back! Regroup!" Ylon couldn't focus.

In the smoke, he could recognise the taste of fog. Scrap heaps and burning bodies made up that sick and familiar scent. He heard the engines recede and watched the walls appear through the storm. Unscathed; no worse for wear, other than some scorch marks. People still remained atop them, firing blindly into the crowd. He watched as more and more heaps appeared on the ground, crawling, dead, writhing. Warriors all; being eaten by the sand. Burned, gruesome, wailing, and crying. He would notice a body part, then a person. See a person and then a wreck. See the place eyes should be, or the place a leg should be. He continued to ride back and forth, but, he slowed to a halt when he recognised a cloak.

Stopping beside the piece of fabric he shook his head, hoping that someone else wore a similar one to his brother. It was just a cloak, blood, an arm, a wreck. Then it moved, not by the wind, but against it. It was crawling. "Ganni?" He could hear the battle still, but it was quieter now. An arm reached out from beneath it, he dismounted his bike to help. Pushing the cloak back, he could see the back of his brother's head. Ylon pushed him over onto his back and he was light. He was one arm, half a torso, and part face. He didn't speak, but he was still alive. Ganni's remaining eye just stared. Ylon's blood ran cold as he looked at this creature. It gurgled and bled, made no noise of pain. Ylon un-holstered his blaster, he didn't care if he was shot, the dust storm was almost completely gone now and he didn't care that he had no cover from the settlement. He aimed his blaster at Ganni's head. "I'm sorry brother." He said before firing, ending his misery. But, Ylon's misery was just beginning.

He looked around and the blood was so thick on the sand, that he swore he was in the sea for a moment, it glistened against the sun and he would still see the odd green bolt or blaster fire. Faced with two options, he could stay and die on this field like Ganni would have wanted, or he could get on his speeder and leave. Gather what remained of their army and start over. A shot came flying overhead and exploded just beyond him, Ylon flinched at it and without thinking, he knew he didn't want to die.

On his speeder once more, he took off toward the encampment. Then past it. Past the dying, the injured, the sad, the angry, the dregs of this last stand. He headed for their base, where he felt safe, the place he missed, to the bit of fog he had stashed for times like this.

The months rolled on, and the house of Tahl had never looked so different. More of The Hand of Tahl, the survivors of that battle dripped through the doors into the subterranean fortress built by his ancestors. The fog that filled the halls was dense and sometimes he was reminded of riding his speeder through that storm. Eventually, it would clear and he would get angry at the site of fog fiends; woe incarnate. He would kick them out, regroup, rebuild, continue the line, and re-forge the army. But, fog would help him forget until all that was left was the idea of getting more fog.

Ylon died on that field and sometimes he would get a glimpse of a ghost in the mirror; eventually, he saw that ghost less and less.

End
This is a short story and kind of a continuation of the events that took place in, This Post. It had been nice doing these short stories which have been a great exercise and a great chance to do some world-building.