I am known as Xiomara, a warrior from Akoni Farrin. I was summoned to Tarman Farrin, a land mass to the west of us. When I returned to Akoni Farrin, my clan leader insisted that I record everything I experienced while on Tarmon.

Going anywhere near Tarman Farrin has always been considered a death mission. No one who ventures into the thick fog surrounding Tarmon has ever returned. Actually there has been no one in my lifetime who has even tried it, not until now. But there are legends passed down from previous generations, stories that are hard to believe. No one really knows whether they’re simply far-fetched tales or stories shared in the guise of imparting hope. Hope is a forgotten commodity. How can there be any hope with Casimer ruling this god-forsaken world.

There has been so much mystery surrounding Tarmon that no knows exactly what the land mass is about or if anyone inhabits the place. Fear dominates my clan at the very whisper of what lies beyond the fog. I don’t blame them. The same terror used to overwhelm me too.

Although I still couldn’t believe that I actually made it back home, sitting at my driftwood table within my shack, I began to document everything I’d been through. My clan leadership gave me some precious parchment paper and a quill pen to scribe my encounter. I’d never been offered this so freely. Paper is rare and is usually stolen from farrins where trees grow well. Whatever is taken from another land mass is stored and guarded carefully. Sometimes it’s sold or bartered for services or goods, but it is never offered liberally.

Our Akoni Farrin High Leader, Ngangi, summoned me as soon as I returned. As the bottom of my boat scraped the rough sand of our farrin, I saw some warriors coming for me, running toward me on the beach. I remember being assisted from my vessel, hurried from the shore by the impatient arms of some of my fellow warriors, pushed along with determination across the barren sand and dirt of our farrin, on to the rock encasement that protects our dwellings from the worst winds. They ushered me into the High Leader’s shack. The other members of the clan leadership were all there waiting for me. They were seated on thick fur mats while I stood before them. Their expectant stares unnerved me.

Although I tried to speak, I couldn’t. My mouth opened but nothing came out. It was like my vocal chords had constricted and were sealed shut. Perhaps it was the trauma I’d been through; the shock of seeing all that I did that gripped my mind and held it tight. Question after question was hurled at me for quite some time. They demanded, they insisted and threatened if I didn’t answer. I honestly tried but I could not get my throat, tongue and mouth to utter one sound. Finally they stopped pressuring me to speak but they demanded that I write down my experience so they could know what took place. Everyone was curious, afraid yes, but they were desperate to know anything.

I understood their fear. With the constant warring that takes place between the farrins, the thousands of islands or land masses that make up our world, to know anything about the island so full of mystery was paramount to my clan members. Our clan leadership wanted to know if another clan occupied Tarmon. They demanded to know whether the occupants of the land mass were friendly or hostile.

As far as we knew, none of our warriors on guard duty had ever seen any movement or war parties come from the thick fog. But the possibility of attack was still a concern and we always stayed vigilant.

My friends have hounded me for information and I really owe my experience to them. They were the ones who mourned my death before I even left. They are the ones who accompanied me on my journey toward Tarmon and bid me goodbye at the edge of the mist, before I vanished into the thick fog without them. But I still can’t speak. Perhaps I’m still too traumatized. So, with the quill in my hand, an ink bottle to my right, and precious, costly parchment paper on the table, I began to document how it all began.

The dream came two weeks ago. Night visions were unheard of in our world. Apparently hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago, people did dream but they stopped. The wise ones believe it is due to the constant grief, sorrow and suffering we endure, rendering our minds incapable of imagination. Never having had a dream before, when it came, it shook me to the core.

During the night vision, fog filled my mind’s eye and I knew immediately where I was. I was sitting in my vessel on the vicious, angry waters of the Talulah Sea. I’d traveled far from my farrin and was situated much too close to Tarmon Farrin. I’d never ventured so near before. There were two other land masses between my home, Akoni Farrin, and where I found myself, Tarmon Farrin.

In my dream, I sat still in my vessel, not rowing and not struggling against the normally vicious waves. I didn’t know why I was there and confusion swirled around me as I stared at the wall of fog before me. Mist and water vapor blotted out the mystery land mass that lay beyond. The vicious wind that was blowing didn’t have any effect on the fog, something I’d never before witnessed. The fog slowly shifted, the mist gently undulated and hung casually in the air as though it ruled the atmosphere. I could feel the strong wind pushing my vessel and yet my boat didn’t turn like it usually did when pummeled by the gusts. Being so close to the revered fog, I gained a new respect for it. I wondered what kind of power it yielded to resist the strong winds.

Slowly, I began to make out a shape in the mist and my fear mushroomed. I was tempted to row backwards, get away, but when I looked down, there were no oars. My vessel was empty except for me. Looking back toward the fog, I noticed a face appear. The sight mesmerized me and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Then it spoke. “Xiomara.”

Reverberating through the water vapor filled-air, the sound waves touched my skin, causing it to tremble. The sensation penetrated through my thick leather jacket and my leather-hide pants. I folded my arms for protection but I still felt very exposed.

“Xiomara,” it said again, causing my skin to tingle once more.

“Yes,” I finally answered.

“I’ve been watching you. I know you. You’ve been chosen.”

The fog-man’s words frightened me. “Chosen for what?” I asked.

“Chosen to come.”

It felt risky to answer but I didn’t know what else to do. “To come where?”

“To visit me.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m from Tarmon Farrin and you are being summoned.”

“But why me?”

“You’ve been noticed. You’re a mighty warrior, a fearless woman, one who sees beyond what others do.”

I started thinking of the fiercest warriors on my farrin. I felt insignificant in comparison. Sure, I knew how to wield the deadliest weapons available to us, we all did, and I could kill as easily and as viciously as any of them. As soon as a child was able to walk, we were placed in battle training. But to think that I’d been noticed amazed me.

Fear invaded at that moment and I asked, “Are you part of Casimer’s army?” To trust the mist was dangerous. This apparition reminded me of Casimer’s wraiths and they were treacherous and cruel. They were called the Tonrar and they had the reputation of killing people caught on their own through mysterious ways. To be alone when the Tonrar visited a farrin and advanced was dangerous. I checked my belt for any weapon but found none. I was very much alone with no way to defend myself. Not that a weapon would help against the wraiths.

“No,” the face answered.

“Then who are you?” I asked tentatively.

“That’s not important.”

“Who sent you to me?”

“I’ve come on my own.”

I wasn’t sure I should be conversing with the fog-face. But I rallied some courage and asked, “But who is summoning me?”

“Someone who has need of you.”

The vague answers were infuriating and yet the intrigue I felt outweighed the frustration. My fear slowly gave way to curiosity. “Why does this one need me?”

“You have a strength that others do not. You question what others take for granted. The desire you have for truth is commendable.”

“What is truth?” Nothing in my world made sense anymore. The mist man was right. I was questioning many things but I couldn’t voice them. I’d be considered a traitor if I did. I’d be strung up by my ankles, flogged severely, tortured and cut to pieces with the whole clan watching and cheering. If my clan didn’t kill me, Casimer would and that would be even worse. He was a ruthless ruler who enjoyed causing suffering. There was no sense in bucking the system. So truth or no truth, I did what I had to do. I needed to survive so I kept my mouth shut and kept my questions to myself.

The face in the fog began to chuckle. The sound was so foreign. No one laughed, not if they could help it. Our world has too much loss, too much grief and sorrow. The lust for war is the main fuel that drives the clans. Laughter is for children, for ones who haven’t been scarred too deeply yet.

After he finished laughing, his serious expression returned and he said, “Will you come?”

“What you ask of me is to throw away loyalty to my clan as if it is nothing. No one returns from Tarmon, we know this. They will not let me go to such a wasted death. They can’t afford to lose a warrior.”

“They’ll allow you to come.”

“How do you know?”

“Some of the clan leaders are also receiving dreams this night.”

I stared at him, shocked that he’d know this. I wondered whether this man in the mist was the one giving me this dream. Did he have the power to invade people’s sleep? I didn’t know what to think and felt desperate to know who he was, who I was dealing with.

“You won’t know who I am until you come.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” I asked, fear threatening to override my courage.

“This is a dream, remember?”

“Yes.”

“This is what you’ll do. In the morning, you’ll go see your Akoni Clan High Leader, Ngangi, and tell him your dream. You’ll explain that you’ve been summoned to Tarmon Farrin and that you’ll be given safe passage. He won’t resist you.”

“All right.” The fight was out of me, replaced with excitement at the possibility of traveling beyond the mist. I’d often thought of exploring it but the deadly rumors and mystery surrounding the fog-enveloped land had always stopped me.

“You’ll come in two days time. We’ll prepare for your arrival. Allow your closest friends to accompany you to the edge of the mist. They will row their own vessels and stay back a stone’s throw. You will stay in the lead and when you have said your goodbyes, you will row ahead into the fog and vanish from their sight. They will need to return to Akoni Farrin immediately.”

“Will I survive?”

The face in the fog chuckled again, sending waves of sound that vibrated my body for the second time. “Yes.”

I still didn’t know if I could trust the mist. The tales of death by the mist’s evil wraiths didn’t give me much hope of ever returning home again. Of course that was all speculation based on stories passed down from previous generations.

The face in the fog said, “We’ll see you soon.”

That’s when my eyes opened and I realized I was lying flat on my back on the grass mat in my shack. I was aware that something extremely significant had taken place. Immediately I thought of how to brooch the subject with Ngangi, our High Leader.

I got up, grabbed a piece of dried meat, my breakfast, hanging from the braided cord strung between two walls, and walked to the door. Before I opened it, I stopped and agonized how I’d explain this to Ngangi.

…To Be Continued…

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