The Magus of the Milliaster Mists
On to stranger places and worlds. I made out on a merchant ship for the Ashatalrus Nebula where I was to take an interest in local stories of the miners. As everyone knows, miners have ages old stories that they entertain each other with for generations at a time. Arriving at my destination, I took up lodgings in an old shanty town inn on one of the nameless asteroids. There, I wandered from one bar room to the next, interviewing the miners and workers with the intent of writing a book about their fabulous stories - as entertaining as any old mariner's tale.
The towns were poor and dilapidated - relics of a spacefaring empire in the decline. Families struggle to survive every day in the most dangerous of conditions. Here, brave souls would put on space mining pressure suits and venture forth into the asteroids for twelve hour shifts at a time, striking for the basest of ores to be shipped off by some rusting tanker ship to another planet. Collisions with floating debris, erroneous calculations, pressure concerns, and lack of oxygen would take their daily toll on the members of these communities. Like the coal miners of old, and the deep pearl divers, these poor souls suffer a variety of mishaps and ailments for a pittance in return. Yet, in these bars, late at night, a warm life would erupt in frenzied songs and dances, drink in hand, thumbing their noses at the coldness and emptiness of space that they had, for yet another shift, defied.
I quickly became known as "the writer", jotting down as many of their tales and adventures that I could listen to. Stories of daring rescues in the nick of time, miners striking it rich on their own and now living in splendor, tales of sacrifice and loss for the lives of others. And, of course, I regaled them with tales of my own. Adventures which you, dear readers, will be most familiar with. The sights and splendor of the Great Silver Sea of Glooph, the serenity of a planetrise on Filji Baffoo, the subtle light of the great stained glass window of the Great Khun Gebal, and my own harrowing adventures on the Lava Plains of Monusius Kraktorum. They were warmed to me by these stories and adventures, crowding around late into the night, their creased faces lit up by the reddish light of a dim glowglobe.
And then, of course, after I had been taken into their confidence and shared their drink, they told me of the Magus of the Milliaster Mists. They said that, at times, a strange gaseous glittering mist would descend upon the asteroid belts and save the life of those in need - gracing them with another chance. Stories of men, accidentally cast adrift, and running out of oxygen, being saved by the mist and what lay within. It has been happening for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. No one knew. But they all agreed that there was an old man that lived in the mist and that he looked kindly upon these hardworking folk. He would sometimes grace a fellow in need with a pocket of gold, or give another a treasure ship that had been lost in the eons of history. So many fanciful tales surrounded this story that I decided I would have to investigate. A few days later, I had secured a position as an official record keeper that would work side by side with the men. I would not be digging, but I would be keeping track of the men going in, oxygen expenditure, and the ore coming out.
The smell of old leather and rubber and the sweat of a thousand men filled my nostrils as soon as I donned one of the old spacing suits. Since I could not afford to possess one of my own - like most of the poverty-stricken miners - I had to make do with company property. Indeed I was as nervous as could be, putting on these mere rags that would protect me from the coldness of space, with it's heavy scarred helmet and plastic faceplate. The whole thing was covered in a fine reddish dust of metal ore that I was told was dangerous to breathe for too long a time. Yet, once again, I was determined to see things for myself.
The grueling shifts in the tight enclosed spaces, twelve hours at a time, were enough to drive me to exhaustion - and I was not one with a drill or axe, hefting away without stop at these tough crags. But the view, dear readers! The view! That alone, I confess, was worth the toil in these places - walking in the open splendor of the stars. Even in the deep shafts, many of the tunnels were pitted with random holes that opened up on the vistas above. I had all the eyes of a newcomer, bedazzled with the beauty of a new job in a beautiful place, forgetting how cold and cruel nature can be. The balance of it had not yet fully sunk into my mind. Maybe the miners understood, or maybe they had just been jaded with a lifetime of hard work that they no longer saw any beauty in it. And, of course, I could forgive them of that. I knew that my position was merely temporary and had the luxury of only lasting a little while - whether or not I would ever come across these Milliaster Mists.
But, for the moment, work. And work I did. Days and weeks passed. I was becoming one of them. Even my perception of the great panorama above and around me was starting to change, fading with every passing stale breath of air in my tanks that smelled like grime and rust. And yes, I saw men float away uncontrollably when they were hit by flying debris from a blast, or men that forgot to look at their gauges and had run out of air in some deep shaft. Even a bad snag on a suit could be a danger, letting the life bleed from it quickly in a puff of steam that meant you only had seconds to slap on a quick patch before it was all over. Three times it happened to me, and I will never forget that feeling of decompression, like a thousand ants scurrying over my naked skin as the air started to trickle out so quickly that I could see my life flashing before me on the cinematic paradise above. After the first time, I never again grumbled about the stale taste of tanked air.
And then, two months after I had endured this travail, I was looking over my notes as I was standing above an open pit mine on a particularly large asteroid, thinking to myself that I just should start arranging for my traveling on to a new place. I had become weary of the whole adventure. The men had said that these happenstances occurred years apart from one sighting to the next. And this mining bet was enormous - so far that one could not even see the end of it here in space where no haze obstructed the view. I felt that my chances were almost exhausted, and I did not wish to have to wait a lifetime to witness a single event that might not even occur next to me. Maybe my latest adventure would be the looking of one thing, and finding another tale instead. How often had that happened to a hardy adventurer, finding another treasure instead of the intended original? Only, some men are wise enough to realize the treasure when they had found it and cease to look for the other. And some would continue until their demise, never understanding, or recognizing what it is that they had achieved in their quest. My adventure, I thought, would be the telling of a small but unimportant section of the universe, and their treasured dangerous way of life. A tale worthy of being told.
In fact, I had become so engrossed in my rationalization of this kind that I failed to see and hear the warning signal from the blast-men who were about to blow up a section of tunnel. Normally, due to the slight gravity of these pebbles floating in space, I would have to harness myself down to a rock behind shelter, or the shockwave would blast anything that wasn't secured deep into space to float in an eternal sleep, or come crashing down hard against another crag at some later date, sometimes to be found years after by yet another mining party.
I was lifted off of my feet. Thrown clear off of the ground upon which I was standing, sailing far above. My clipboard went flying with me, ripped from my fingers as I witnessed the ground falling away. Space is soundless, of course, and the only thing I heard was my own scream of desperation after I realized what just had happened. Arms flailing wildly at the nothingness that surrounded me, I was doomed. Doomed. Just another tale for these friends I had made, to pass away the time in a bar on an unnamed rock floating in space. There are such things as rescue ships, of course, but in space there is very little room for mistake, and even smaller room for chance. By the time a rescue ship would be launched, I would be so far away that none could see me. A speck in the vast expanse on all sides. And that was, of course, assuming that somebody had seen me blown clear from where I had been standing. With no sound, there are no warnings from a person's voice. And by now, I would be well out of radio range. As far as I could tell, it was all over. The chatter that usually filled my helmet with grumbles and laughs and the noise of life was now only a dim fading static. Still, I called out for help, hoping that some passing crew might hear me. But none replied.
And so I floated for a few minutes, facing the hard reality that it might just well be all over. I noted, with some amusement still, that my clipboard was still sailing next to me, just in reach. I fretted about not having had enough money to buy my own suit, for most of those come equipped with little rocket packs. Not enough to travel far, but enough to give one a little more chance if coming across something that might help in a situation such as this. Yet, with hundreds of thousands of miners to suit, the company had no money to equip all the standard suits in such a way. One of the risks of being in the trade, it was just accepted as part of the deal.
It was then that I noticed a fine haze starting to coagulate around me. A pinkish hue that seemed like dew. Could this be the end? A thickness emerged from it, like walking into a foggy morning on another world. And at that point, I remembered why I had come in the first place...The Milliaster Mists.
Yes, my friends, it was. How odd that I would witness it by becoming one of it's many stories. Within seconds, I seemed to be floating gently towards a glowing blue light. All around me was a nebulous glow of pink and yellow and gold, lighted by some unknown force. And then, I was standing on sold ground once more. A soft blue terrain that felt comfortable and warm to walk upon. I was walking on a strange kind of asteroid. Yet, I couldn't see anything else around me. Slowly turning around to assess my new surroundings, I caught sight of a strange brighter glow up ahead. Amazed, and still a little shaken by the whole experience of my near-demise, I started walking towards it, a little apprehensive of what I might find.
Dear readers, by now you must know that I never travel anywhere without my trusty camera. It is, of course, part of the telling of all of my tales. I have it on me at all times - even in space. Yes, at my side, hanging from my belt, was my trusty little camera which had helped me tell so many stories before. And yet another great adventure would come to pass in which I was going to capture in words and on film. Knowing this to be a special moment in time, I pulled it out and turned on my flash to capture whatever I could in the dim and glowing light around me - enough to clarify my path but not enough for a quick picture. I rarely use flashes, preferring the subtlety of natural light. Sometimes though, one needs to rely on the light of one's making if the situation arises. I felt that this might be just such a moment.
The glow ahead was getting brighter with every step, and I felt an ease settle over my soul. I was in a strange place, yes...a place of myths and legend. Yet I had been saved. Why? I was grateful, of course - more than grateful, you can imagine. But I still wanted to find out why, and who was behind this...or what.
And then, after a few minutes of wary walking, I saw some dim shapes ahead of me along the rise of a ridge. Slowly, I walked up towards them, unable to make out their shapes. The mist was shifting and glowing, swirling around in phases that entranced the eye, like a tempest of color. The path was smoothed, yet I saw no other footsteps in the fine dust that coated the ground at various stages. Finally, reaching the top of the little hill, I put my eye to the camera and took a picture of the dim shapes before me, as if they would clarify in that spectacular moment.
And they did.
As the light illuminated the area, a great show of sparkles and strange auras flashed around me like a fireworks display. Soft gentle glows and poofs of light particles shot out from around me to illuminate the wonderfully alien picture before my eyes. There, standing behind some strange vegetation, was an old kind of man...or creature. Gentle eyes staring at me as his hand swept up gingerly in the air, producing this spectacle to welcome me to his home. My eyes widened, stunned with the beauty and unusual aspect of this scene. My flash had startled a seemingly inoffensive gentle creature to my left. The old man smiled and I slowly put my camera down to let it hang from around my neck. He motioned with his hands at his bulbous head - his strange blue body seeming to be just a friendly massive blob of some kind - and then he pointed at me. I took it to mean that I could remove my helmet. Well, being the beneficiary of his actions that saved my life, I took to trust him and his kind smile. And so it was, with just a hint of hesitancy, that I removed my helmet.
The air was sweet and soft. Clean. Warm. The little caterpillar creature scurried over to his side and hid behind him, peeking out curiously at me. "I am the Magus of the Milliaster Mists," he said through that trumpet-like protrubance on the top of his head. A voice that was sage and genteel with the passing of ages, "welcome, my friend. Please, do not be afraid. I wish only to talk. I do not wish to harm you." Not quite knowing what to say, I told him my name and thanked him profusely for his rescue upon my person. He was quite soft in his gestures, telling me that Mip, his little familiar, was unused to company. He bade me sit down on a rock, shaped like a seat for a human form, and conjured up some tasty fruit for me to eat as I relaxed in this environment. Smiling, he recounted how he had lived throughout the ages, sleeping for decades at a time, even centuries, as he traveled from one place to another, always to return home here for a while. He alluded to being part of some ancient group of guardians that roam the universe and try to right wrongs, doing good at every turn, and learning wisdom from it. As he spoke, images weaved in front of my eyes in the air, coming from the strange device on his head, as if his words were alive with the history which he recounted. Then, he asked me about myself. And, of course, he was delighted in my numerous adventures. He listened silently as I told about the Swamp of Farbish Nork, and the Gnomes of the Blue Ether, and all my other travels that I had enjoyed. The sweet air and fruit that I relished while I spoke seemed to make the length of time pass without any moment at all, and yet I felt that I had been there for many days, telling of all my adventures and tales. Sometimes his eyes would light up at a particular place or name mentioned, as if he was familiar with these things. And, no doubt, he very well may have been. The Magus seemed to chuckle softly as I told him how I ended up in his mists because I was seeking him out.
After I was done with my stories, I asked him about the miners. He told me that they had been there for so many years, and when he had returned for a time in this place, he would do anything he could to help those in need when his attentions were not distracted by the difficult incantations and recitations and tasks of the guardianship that had been imposed upon him. The stories of pockets of gold and lost ships granted as tokens of appreciation were all true - appreciation from the Magus for the telling of a good tale. Producing a voluminous tome from the air, he showed me how he had written down all the stories from his travels as well, and the stories from those he had rescued. Then, he explained to me that one day, these anecdotes would contribute to the stream of great knowledge in some way, about the greatness and preciousness of life. His calm voice was one of that dedicated to a job worth doing at a slow pace in time. And then, he bade me rest a while as he began to write in his book once more. His soft and warm fingers touched my forehead as he thanked me for everything, telling me that I would rest now and that he would try to look for me yet again in another place and another time. A smile spread on my face as I started to succumb to sleep. And then caved into it altogether.
Voices surrounded me. I opened my eyes to the darkness of an asteroid. Hard and cold rock under my suit. Lights surrounded me suddenly - miners. I was back. Back where I had left. They were so ecstatic that I was still alive. From the restfulness of sleep, I was suddenly rushed into the hectic recovery process. Carried on a stretcher (though I insisted that I was perfectly fine and healthy) to a ship, interviewed, examined, and given a clean bill of health. And once more, I found myself in the town, sharing the mead and telling a new tale. And around my neck, I had found a golden pendant with encrusted jewels in a writing I had never seen. A small scroll in my pocket, from the Magus, expressed his thanks once more, and bid me to accept the gifts he had given me - a treasure in diamonds and opals with which to travel once more and collect even greater stories. A small lump in my other pocket produced those precious stones in a soft silk bag. By now, everyone had heard of my rescue by the Magus of the Milliaster Mists, and everyone was flocking to hear my story. I was, of course, going to leave soon to travel to a new place, but everyone wanted me to stay for a while longer so that they could hear the tale told over and over again, asking about every detail. And then, to thank all of my friends for their concern, and to pass on the legend for all time, I counted out ten diamonds and ten opals, giving them to the mayor of the town in front of all. I told them that it was a gift of the Magus, and that they had his blessings, and that he told them to have this as a token. I know the Magus would have approved with his gentle ways to make the lives of these people a little better. And I also wanted to leave my own token of generosity for those that had took me in as one of their own.
And then, wiser, more careful and even steadfast, I made my way into another story.