Free Prince of Fog: Book One by Y. M. Rinde Page A

table. He carefully lifted a chair and sat down beside the bed. He pulled off the leather vest and the clean white shirt he was wearing, revealing a pale lithe body underneath. His skin had raised goosebumps, but he ignored the cold. He set his clothes haphazardly down over the cloak, then reached down to pull off his dark boots and socks, rolling up the bottom legs of his pants. The little boy couldn’t help but stare quietly. Charce still had the bearing of The Prince despite his disheveled state.
    “I’m starting.” Charce nodded over his shoulder to the little boy who nodded back quietly, watching and waiting with rapt attention.
    Charce lifted and placed both hands above the sickly woman’s head, closing his eyes and breathing in and out deeply. The steam that had been following him as he walked slowly coalesced into a tight ball between his fingertips. The ball of fog softly flowed down and encase the woman until she was wrapped in a grey cocoon.
    Charce’s brow beaded with sweat. He was sweating profusely now, creating a small puddle on the ground beneath the chair. The cocoon continued to hold its form, though the fog shifted and swirled around. It was seeking for something.
    Seconds bled into minutes which bled into hours. The boy sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. Charce continued to hold his position, though his arms were now shaking from being held up for so long. His eyes were still closed, a deep crease on his forehead as he concentrated on his breathing.
    A loud scream came from within the cocoon three hours later. Charce started in shock. There was a thud behind him as the boy hit his head against the wall. Charce’s brows knitted even more and he brought his hands closer to the cocoon, as close as he could without touching the woman. He had to hold it back. The screaming intensified, like a banshee shrieking into the night.
    “What’s happening?” The little boy cried out from behind, unable to bear the awful noise. Charce couldn’t answer as he fought for each breath. “Please make it stop! Mum sounds like she’s hurting.”
    Charce took a deep breath and clenched his hands into fists, so tight that his fingernails dug into his palm. Blood dripped out, crimson resting on the grey fog cocoon. He couldn’t give up now. The energy in the air tremored as more and more of his blood mingled with the cocoon. It seemed to take on a pulse of its own. Charce’s whole body was shaking and the thumping of the chair legs fought with the shrieking inside the cocoon.
    “AHHHH-” The cry was cut off suddenly. The fog cocoon dissipated, going back to swirl around Charce, revealing the lady underneath. The black boils on her skin were gone, instead she was covered by Charce’s blood. Red rivulets flowing down to the black damp bedspread beneath.
    Charce fell back against the chair, panting heavily, his eyes wearily opening, green hazed with exhaustion.
    “Mom’s cured!” The little boy cried out, immediately rushing forwards to the bed.
    “Wait.” Charce held out his arm.
    “Ouch!” The little boy recoiled from the heat.
    Charce leaned forward, bringing his face close to the lady, green eyes focusing in intensity, searching for that spark of life in them. But no matter how much his eyes darted from the woman’s eyes to her throat to her chest, there was no movement. His own eyes became hollow as the seconds ticked by, realisation dawning.
    “She’s gone.” Charce whispered quietly, his body stiff as he looked down at the lady.
    “W-What do you mean she’s gone?” The little boy frowned, stepping forward cautiously. “She’s there, isn’t she? And all those yucky boils are gone!”
    “I was able to get rid of the illness, but I wasn’t able to save her.” Charce stood up, pulling on his clothes as fast as he could, and then shrugging his cloak on, lifting the hood over his face. “She tried her best. You should say goodbye to her, and then… come with me.”
    “W-What?”