22 #2
The woman’s nose was tucked into her child’s curly hair. The little boy—perhaps only three or four years old—was holding on just as tightly. “Th-thank you for saving us,” she sobbed. “We’ll find a way out. Please help the others. It’s h-horrible downstairs.”
I peered down the stairs and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Maker, it was horrible.
Smoke billowed up from the first floor as flames licked at the walls.
The innkeeper’s voice cut through the din, barking orders as he tried to usher people outside.
But the Corrupt were everywhere—gray, twisted shapes lunging at anything that moved.
One of them had an old man pinned against the bar, its claws digging into his shoulder as he struggled.
Another tore into a middle-aged woman, her cries of pain fading into unintelligible moans.
“We can’t save them all,” Erebus noted grimly, surveying the chaos below.
“But we can save as many as we can,” I said, gripping his arm.
“I know.” He put his hand over mine, giving it a quick squeeze. “To the end, Shadow Weaver.”
We moved as one, winding through the chaos, striking down the Corrupt wherever we could.
Erebus’s sword found flesh again and again, blade slick with blood that smelled of rot.
I tried to stay out of the way, but it was impossible not to act.
There were too many Corrupt, too many injured, dead, or dying people.
I nearly tripped over a bearded man at my feet.
He was alive, barely, and trying to crawl toward the exit.
“Let me help you,” I urged, grabbing his elbow. “We need to get you to safety.”
When he looked up at me, I gasped.
He wasn’t bearded; that was a fabrication my mind had conjured to make up for what was lacking. Half his face was gone, ripped off by the claws of a Corrupt. The man tried to speak, but he couldn’t. His eyes went wide, his hands gesturing erratically.
“I don’t understand,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”
I stumbled, falling backward on a broken chair, just as a Corrupt leapt for me.
It hunched over the man, tearing into him.
I clamped a hand to my mouth in horror, refusing to distract Erebus.
He was busy fighting not one but four Corrupt.
My sword had been lost during the fall; it was too far away to be reached.
I fumbled for one of my daggers, praying that they hadn’t been lost in the chaos, too.
The Corrupt turned, leering at me with red eyes as blood dribbled from its chin. It felt as if Raelion was in there somewhere, staring right at me.
“I hate you,” I grated out, hands trembling in anger. Mercifully, I still had two daggers left, and they were about to be in this creature’s throat. “How dare you?”
It snarled, reaching for my legs with its blood-soaked claws.
Just as our shadows, shockingly, burst into life.
They surged from the fire, the hidden corners, the depths of the pooled blood, lashing out like saviors with a vendetta.
They dragged the Corrupt away from their victims, crushing them against walls or tearing them apart limb from limb.
But for every Corrupt we killed, it felt as though two more appeared.
And the fire was spreading.
Heat seared my skin, and the smoke clawed at my throat, making it hard to breathe.
Somewhere in the chaos, the innkeeper’s voice fell silent.
We reached the inn’s front door just as another Corrupt burst through it, its jagged teeth snapping at us.
Erebus raised his hand, and the creature froze, its body twisting as shadows wrapped around it like chains.
Erebus gritted his teeth, and with a flick of his wrist, the shadows tightened, crushing the thing’s neck with a sickening crack.
I commanded shadows to protect the woman and her young child as they rushed to escape, cloaking them around the pair like a protective shield.
I could feel more shadows pooling at my feet, ready to strike.
“The shadows,” I began breathlessly, concentrating as more villagers escaped. “How are we able to use them in reality like this?”
Erebus’s chest heaved, too. His face was splattered with crimson blood, lips pale and tense. “It must be the combination of death and demons—it’s drawing out our magic. But it’s… wrong. Magic like this isn’t meant to exist outside of the Dream Realm.”
I wiped my face, thinking it was damp with sweat, but my hand came away bloody. I hadn’t even realized I’d been hurt. Or maybe it wasn’t my blood. “We need to be deliberate when using the shadows,” I said carefully. “Otherwise, they’ll think we’re…”
“Villains,” Erebus supplied. “I know.”
Outside, the night was chaotic. The villagers who’d escaped the inn ran in all directions, their screams echoing in the darkness.
More Corrupt stalked the streets, drawn by the commotion, their twisted forms illuminated by the firelight.
We shot a few shadows toward the biggest Corrupt, killing it before it could strike.
Fortunately, the darkness and general havoc hid the nature of our powers.
Otherwise, we’d have been deemed just as monstrous.
“We can’t waste our time killing every last Corrupt,” Erebus said, his voice rough. “Better to protect the survivors and make for Istralla before this entire village burns to the ground.”
I hesitated, my gaze sweeping over the village. People were still running from imminent death, still screaming. But he was right—we couldn’t fight all the Corrupt. And the majority were either dead, dying, or scrambling to escape through the forest.
“The horses,” I suggested quickly. “Let’s gather who we can.”
The stables were a blur of motion and noise.
The horses were spooked, rearing and kicking in their stalls, their terrified whinnies adding to the cacophony.
Erebus moved to calm them, murmuring soft, soothing words to his mount.
I focused on mine, coaxing the trembling creature out of its stall.
My hands shook as I tightened its saddle, my pulse roaring in my ears.
The smell of smoke and blood was everywhere.
The cries of the wounded and the wails of grief echoed into the night as we gathered the survivors.
My legs ached, my hands were numb, but there was no room for weakness.
“We head for the capital,” Erebus called to the huddled crowd, his voice cutting through the din like steel.
The survivors peered up at us as though we were their final hope.
Even the guards who had previously questioned us were staring at us as if we were the sun.
“Stay close and stay quiet. Anyone who falls behind risks drawing them back to us.”
“We’ll guide you, and we’ll protect you,” I added, instinctively touching my throat when I felt some of their curious stares lingering a breath too long.
The neckline of my nightgown mostly concealed Raelion’s mark, but being in front of a crowd made me feel naked.
As though everyone could see it regardless. “But we need to go now.”
The crowd murmured their agreement, their faces pale and drawn in the flickering firelight.
Some clutched hastily packed bundles; others gripped makeshift weapons they’d scavenged in the confusion.
I glanced at Erebus, and we exchanged a look—one of determination and fear, too.
This wasn’t how we’d wanted to descend upon Istralla, but we had no choice.
We couldn’t hide now.
We set out into the night, a column of survivors stumbling along the narrow dirt road.
Some rode horses, others sat in carts. The air was heavy with smoke, the scents of charred wood and blood clinging to everything.
The darkness pressed in from all sides, alive with imagined threats.
Erebus and I remained at the front, our weapons drawn, our senses sharp.
Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a branch sent my heart racing.
Behind us, the villagers moved as quietly as they could, their whispers hushed and anxious.
Our shadows had ebbed, no longer available to use, which made me even more nervous.
The road seemed endless, the forest stretching on for miles.
But as dawn crept into the sky, painting it with pale streaks of gray and pink, a calm began to settle over us.
We had yet to see any new Corrupt, so many assumed we were safe.
And as noontime passed, leading way to late afternoon, the trees thinned and the spires of Istralla finally came into view.
The villagers behind us murmured softly, their spirits lifting at the promise of protection and shelter.
Istralla was even more beautiful than I remembered.
In the dream I’d shared with Erebus during our first quest into Erebus’s memories, the city had been distorted at the edges, half reality, half truth.
But now, in person, it was a shimmering feast of white and gold buildings, delicately wrapped in the tantalizing scents of roses and the sea.
From our vantage point, the city looked pristine, unmarred by the horrors we’d just faced.
Istralla’s golden gates loomed ahead, their inlays sparkling in the late afternoon light.
Groups of travelers converged near the entrance, clutching their worn cloaks and murmuring excitedly among themselves.
A row of Light Legionnaires, clad in pristine armor polished to dazzling perfection, stood like statues near the gates, golden masks affixed and spears resting against their shoulders.
As the people from our village approached, they were handed small vials, the liquid within a bright, shimmering gold.
Elixir, likely. Though it appeared far more delectable than the contents of the vial I’d sniffed from the innkeeper’s pocket.
The guards gestured toward the festival banners fluttering beyond the gates, their voices warm, welcoming.
Erebus and I exchanged a glance.
Would it really be that easy? Or should we try to find a more secluded entrance?