Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter VII

Vara

Vara awoke to an empty, treacherously angry stomach. She grimaced.

Eggs. She wanted eggs. And fresh milk.

Soon enough. It was still too early to venture into the mess hall—she could tell by the light behind her eyelids. If she didn’t think too hard or for too long, she could get a bit more sleep. Hands, but her legs were cold. She shifted, searching for a softer bit of bed, and reached for the blanket. Instead, her arm brushed something hard on her hip.

Her knife. Why would she be—

Her eyes flew open. They found not the stone ceiling of her bedroom at Torfell, but a leafy green canopy backed by sapphire sky. Her heart stuttered as the last two days—three days?—surged to the front of her mind. Half stunned, she blinked away the beautiful lie and recounted what had actually led up to this moment. Umber, wolves, river, Laregan. And now they were on their way home.

To Tor. To tell Osper and Yorian about Umber. Today.

The truth was so jarring that it took her a moment to notice the Stranger.

A lank, coarse figure, the disagreeable man was on his feet, staring at the forest to the west. At the sight of him, his brazen questions about her inability to heal—Why so long? How? How many? And since then? Is that true? Were they really accidents?—stung again, pricking like a reopened scab. The wash of fury was quick and intense, and she would have rolled away to put more distance between them, but something stopped her. It was still dark, yet not dark enough to hide the grim recognition in his eyes. He didn’t strike her as easily spooked, so as she watched him lower himself to the ground, a faint sense of dread overcame her. He was breathing heavily.

“Keep very still.”

Vara swallowed, wide awake. “Wolves?”

He hesitated. “Worse.”

What could be worse? On the other side of the fire, Leith yawned raucously and started saying something about reaching Tor by midday. Vara sucked in a breath. The Stranger bounded over and clamped a hand firmly over his mouth. Leith struggled only briefly. The Stranger froze, waiting.

At first, nothing changed. The forest was as still as they were. Then came the steady, plodding steps of many feet. Underbrush crackled and hissed as bodies brushed past it, one after the other.

Umber. It had to be. They had seen the fire. They were coming for vengeance. That would certainly be worse than wolves. For me.

She rolled onto her stomach and took to all fours, ready to spring. She wanted to run. The Stranger shook his head and gestured sharply for her to stop. He was out of his mind. She wasn’t going to wait to die.

“I will lead them away,” he insisted, voice low. “When the way is clear, climb a tree. And, for the gods’ sake, stay there.”

He waited, staring at her. He wanted assurance that she would obey. Vara nodded once, if only to end the stalemate. But she would run if she had to.

The Stranger released Leith and unfolded to his full height, now in full view of whoever was approaching, then bounded out of sight. The speed and precision of his movements sent a belated jolt through her, head to toe. One moment, he was there—then he was simply gone. She looked over at Leith and saw her own wariness mirrored in his eyes.

No one can move that fast. Yet the Stranger had.

But there was no time to discuss the matter. The plodding footsteps at her back shifted into a run, and it required every drop of restraint she had earned over the years to stay flat on the ground, as the army of people charged past their small camp. She covered her head on instinct, but no arrows whistled overhead and no swords were even drawn. Besides the thunderous footsteps, the pursuers were strangely silent and, once those had faded, it almost felt as though she had imagined it all.

Leith cursed softly and Vara looked up. He was gripping his side where he lay, his face ashen. Somehow, between the river and now, he had gotten injured. He wasn’t one to complain, so she could trust that it was serious. It seemed the Stranger’s plan for them to hide in the trees was the only way. Vara hissed to get his attention and pointed upwards. He nodded with effort, and they converged towards the nearest tree with enough knots for climbing.

At its base, Vara’s nerve almost gave out. They'd be exposed for a moment, no matter what. They just had to hope that there wasn’t a second group of pursuers. Leith gestured for her to go first, still holding his side. As she clambered up, she saw more figures shrouded in the dawn fog. The cover of darkness was all but gone—they needed to be quick. Once in the tree, she straddled a branch and hooked one arm around a smaller limb for leverage. Hand shaking, she reached down.

“This side,” she mouthed, directing Leith. She looked to the west. The shapes were coming closer. “Quick, quick!”

He took her hand and started to climb, the pain plain on his fiercely freckled face. Hands, he was heavy. But she had him. She had him. And she didn’t think the others had seen them. They hadn’t started to run.

At that very moment, the smaller branch, in the crook of her other arm, snapped. She gasped and drove one foot into the trunk, stopping her own fall. But the violent motion broke their hold. Leith hit the ground, flat on his back, and lay still. Vara bit back her cry of shock.

Beyond the boughs and leaves of her tree, the nearest figures turned, all at once, and faced the commotion. A man with a shadowed face seemed to look right at Leith’s fallen form, but his dead gaze bounced away. Vara had begun to hope against reason that he hadn’t seen it—then something sparked in the man’s eyes, a flash of recognition so intense that it could not be his own. Almost at once, the same spark appeared in the other faces and the band of people charged as one, though no orders were given.

Terror and dread weighed heavy on her. She had never been so afraid—not before, during, or after the war. She wanted to stay in the tree and hide. She wanted to shut her eyes.

But, below her, Leith groaned.

No warrior of the Seven would abandon a comrade while he lived.

And his fall had been her fault.

She had taken the oath. 

All men die. We choose the time. We choose the place.

Vara swung down, out of the tree, and landed as the first attacker arrived. He careened towards her from the dawn-lit fog, arms and legs jerking haphazardly. She unsheathed her long-knife and nearly severed his head in the same upwards stroke. A shower of blood hit her face and neck, strangely cool and gentle, like summer rain. He toppled. Another came at her, and another. They were disorganized, clumsy. None cried out or protested their own deaths in any way. She cut through them and their flailing limbs with little resistance. But they began to flank her, kept reaching towards her, stretching their hands out. They were trying to touch her.

Something darted between the trees on her left, fast as an arrow. Several of the attackers on that side fell. Another shadow, as quick as a striking snake, passed to the right. Again, several attackers on the right flank collapsed where they stood. But this time, she found the shape of a man in the shadow.

In her distraction, one of the attackers finally grabbed her wrist. The grip was so cold that it burned, and a terrible pain burst forth from where their skin touched. Vara screamed and tried to pull away, but she no longer knew where the agony was coming from. Piercing cold rippled up her arm in a single spasm and, when it reached the base of her skull, her vision went dark. Her thoughts caved in. All sound was sucked into a roaring, raging silence. She tried to reach for a handhold or wall, but there were none.

Something writhed and wheeled towards her in the blackness, reaching for her from the mire of another world. It latched onto an edge of her, as sticky as honey and overwhelming like thirst. She screamed again, but there was no sound—just cold and fear. Thorny darkness folded over her. It was squeezing her. Crushing her. It was impossibly strong. It would win out eventually.

Not it. He.

Unbidden, the Hunger at the back of her own head shrieked to life. It swelled to a monstrous size, overtaking her mind and pushing the intruder out with sheer force. The sharp blackish tendrils of the Other One pulled back and released her. The pressure eased.

She’d never known what freedom was until then.

The waking world clarified slowly, as if through a dark tunnel. She heard the soft gurgling of a very small stream. The sky overhead was now wide open, unbroken by trees, and she stared up at the spinning clouds, willing herself to stay conscious. A pitchy hum whistled in her ears. Heat dribbled down the side of her head. High above, a black bird circled and screeched.

She was lying on her back in a creek bed, her limbs thrown into twisted and unnatural positions. Rocks stuck into her every which way. She tasted blood, wiped her face with a trembling hand, and found that she was covered in mud. Bruising marks on her arms and scratches on her hands told the story of a struggle she didn’t remember. How had she gotten—

Sloshing, uneven footsteps approached, snapping her out of her thoughts. She’d finally lost her knife but picked up a stone. She got onto her side then onto her knees but could go no further. Blurry figures began emerging from the trees on all sides now, approaching with a kind of aimlessness that she didn’t understand. It made her stomach twist.

She could no longer hear Osper’s voice. She couldn't even remember it.

A bird screeched again, this time much, much closer. With a rush and a thrum, something of unspeakable weight landed behind her, splashing into the creek. The ground trembled. A gust of wind blew past her. Her would-be attackers stopped in their tracks, their unseeing eyes still fixed on her. A new set of soggy footsteps—decisive and unhurried—came from behind. Thick, black robes swept into view and hid the creek in front of her.

“You’re no Tareth,” said a pleasant, measured voice. “But far more interesting, I must say.”

Still struggling against a faint, Vara lifted her gaze with great effort. The newcomer was clad entirely in black, and had a shocking, snow-white head of close-cut hair. He took a knee, as if to see her better. He was wiry and lean, almost boyish, with a narrow face and a sharp nose. Any other day, she would have seen him as a child, but there was a cruelty behind his mouth and a coldness in his grey eyes—

His eyes.

Vara blinked, stunned. He had her eyes.

Quick as lightning, he caught her wrist, the same wrist that had been burned earlier. And in exactly the way that water flows along the same paths once they are found, the swirling darkness sped up her arm and back into her mind.

And now she understood. Her earlier escape hadn’t been due to some hidden strength within her. He had only happened upon her then. She had been merely lucky. This time, he knew exactly what he wanted. In a flurry of meticulous, methodical maneuvers, the Other One began picking her apart in a place she hadn’t known existed until just that moment. The tunnel of her mind began to close, folding in like the deep slumber of illness. It happened too quickly for her to react. And she wouldn’t have known what to do. She just held on for as long as she could, as the sound of the creek slipped away. The last thing she saw were his pitiless, ancient eyes. Her eyes.

Then, with one final rending, she tumbled into the black.