Dream By the Shadows

Chapter 1

In the Kingdom of Noctis, to dream was to die.

Dreams weren’t golden reveries, decadent celebrations, or flights with soft, outstretched wings into a sea of clouds.

Dreams were death, decay, rot. A wicked haze of illusion in the hands of a devil.

But I, either bravely or foolishly, was unafraid of what I couldn’t see. And it was all because of him.

The Shadow Bringer.

For years, he had been a phantom in my head.

A menace under the floorboards. A ghost in the cellar.

A creature who haunted others, lurking in the shadows of every dream but never daring to hurt me.

The Shadow Bringer and the fantasies he ruled over had been a temptation.

A promise of adventure in the darkest, loneliest of nights.

Until my sister died.

“If you follow Eden’s path, you’ll become a monster, too,” my mother warned, cradling my face in her too-cold fingers.

“Remember this day and what happens when the elixir isn’t taken.

To dream is to die.” Her thumbnail was chipped; I tried not to flinch as it scratched my cheek.

“Eden’s soul is with the Maker. Spare no tears for the demon lying in the coffin. ”

The demon.

But what did a demon look like? Feeling nauseated, I peered down at Eden’s body, trying desperately to convince myself that my sister’s soul was, in fact, somewhere else.

That the thin body in my sister’s coffin wasn’t actually her.

There were no flowers in her tangled dark hair.

They didn’t blanket her in white, nor did they try to conceal the fading shadows under her eyes.

Her coffin was a crude box of splintered wood, her burial clothes dirty and torn.

There was blood in places I couldn’t help staring at—under her nails, seeping from the corners of her mouth, and lining the edges of her bare feet.

Her lips were upturned in the parody of a smile, her unfeeling hands clasped in the mockery of a prayer.

Villagers from Norhavellis surrounded us, eyes bright with both curiosity and condemnation.

“Corrupt,” they damned.

“The Shadow Bringer killed her,” they hissed.

“So young. Just fifteen.”

“Poor thing.”

“What a shame.”

Mother steered my little brother and me away from the growing mob, shielding us from the worst of the comments.

Her face was a pale, emotionless mask, but her hand trembled atop my shoulder.

Villagers often maligned her as too rigid, even heartless.

But where they saw something hollow and unfeeling, I saw strength.

While her tears had dried hours ago, my father’s had not.

Right by Eden’s coffin, Father sank to his knees, tears streaming into his unkempt beard.

“My girl,” he wept, clawing his fingers into the ground. He tore up pieces of grass, crushed them between his hands, and threw them senselessly into the wind. “Maker save us.”

Elliot looked up at me, lower lip quivering.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, giving my brother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”

It’s not going to be okay. It’s never going to be okay again.

Still, he nodded solemnly, believing me.

Before Eden’s coffin was lowered into the late-spring ground, the Light Legion commenced their questioning.

“When did the shadows first appear?” a sharp-tongued legionnaire asked.

His golden armor, adorned with a sweeping crimson cape, was a bright mark against a lifeless sea of gray.

He wore a metal mask, as the other legionnaires did, and only his eyes and close-cropped hair could be seen. “And how long was she afflicted?”

“The shadows first appeared last week,” Mother answered simply. “From what we gather, she was afflicted for less than ten days.”

I bit my tongue. Eden had carried the marks for over a month. She had convinced us she wasn’t sleeping well and simply covered them with a bit of pressed powder. By the time the Light Legion arrived, the marks were ink black under eyes bright with malice.

“What crimes were committed?”

“She took a dress from the tailor.” Then Mother added, mouth in a tight line, “It was promptly returned, however.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all.”

Eden had stolen a dress, but she’d also destroyed our remaining elixir vials, slammed a pillow over my mouth while I was sleeping, wandered Norhavellis in the depths of the night, and been caught eating a rat from our cellar.

She’d been imprisoned shortly after that, locked in the village’s makeshift holding cell with vermin blood still dribbling from her chin.

The legionnaire continued with more troublesome questions. Questions my mother and father stumbled over.

“You had enough supply, didn’t you? Why was she the only Corrupt in Norhavellis this season?”

Mother’s hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t know.”

“Was she not given the elixir?”

“She was given plenty,” answered Father this time, voice cracking with despair. “We gave her everything we had.”

“Well, then—”

“Will this affect our status as Absolvers?” Mother asked sharply.

“No,” the legionnaire said simply, much to the visible relief of my parents. “You will still be allowed to distribute elixir on behalf of the Light Bringer. It is clear you strove to uphold your sacred duty; you will not be punished for this tragedy.”

A deep rumble halted the legionnaire’s interrogation. A storm, quickly approaching, cast a dim shadow upon his golden armor. And as the rain began to fall, the sickening feeling in my stomach turned into something else. Something angry and foul.

Rain fell harder, seeping into our clothes and chilling our bones.

And Eden was swiftly buried in her box of splintered wood.

Later that night, I crawled into my bed and finally allowed myself to feel. I bit down on my sleeve, letting my anguish run fast and deep. It had been my idea—not Eden’s—to dream.

Only once, I had begged.

Eden had considered my request seriously, sipping from her mug of steaming apple cider as she glanced at the vial of amber liquid in my hands. “They check the vials every day,” she whispered. “They’ll know we didn’t take it.”

“We can pour it out the window.”

Eden shook her head, her smooth braids like snakes upon her nightgown. “The snow would stain,” she said, ever logical. Ever perfect. “And they’d hear the window opening.”

“Down the floorboards, then,” I insisted. “There’s that crack, over there—”

“If we missed, they’d smell it on the wood,” Eden interrupted. “Not to mention that’s a waste of perfectly good elixir.”

I rolled my eyes. “They have more. They always have more.”

A loud, drawn-out squeak from the stairs made us freeze. I swapped the vial of elixir for my own mug of cider, taking a hasty sip even as it burned my tongue.

Another squeak. Another footstep.

Eden stared at me in horror.

“Eden? Esmer?” called a soft, hopeful voice. “Are you still awake?”

“Elliot,” I said in a huff, rising to peer down the rickety stairs leading to our bedroom.

Sure enough, there stood our five-year-old brother, holding a book and smiling sheepishly.

His large brown eyes, a mirror in color to his messy curls, were luminous even in the dim candlelight.

People always told me that I looked more like him than I did Eden.

Our eyes were fiercer, our hair less tamed, our builds a bit taller and ganglier.

Eden, on the other hand, was all smooth, silky hair and delicate features—something that boys from the village were starting to notice. “Go back downstairs.”

“I wanted to read some stories together,” he said with a shrug. “If you were still awake and all.”

“More Dream Weaver stories?”

He nodded, squeezing the book to his chest. “Uh-huh. Was thinking the one where Nephthys saves the sea dragon from a nightmare. Or when Lelantos teaches dreamers how to fly.”

“Those are lovely stories,” Eden chimed in. “You should—”

“Have Mother read them with you,” I finished, giving Eden a pointed look.

Elliot frowned. “She didn’t want to.”

“Father, then.”

“He’s busy.”

“Well, we were just about to go to sleep.” To make my point, I sat back in bed. Unfortunately, I moved a bit too erratically, and the cider sloshed over the edge of the cup, burning my hand. “Ouch,” I grumbled, pressing the affected skin to my mouth. “Elliot, just—okay, fine. Come here.”

Elliot plopped into my bed, jabbing me with cold feet and a skinny elbow as he opened the book he was carrying.

It was in quite the deplorable state, pages velvet soft and spine crumbling from years of enjoyment.

My bed was too small to properly fit three, but I made room for Eden, too, cocooning us all in my least scratchy blanket.

Winter always found its way into our bedroom, clawing up from under the floorboards or squeezing its frosted body through the walls.

I fought against the urge to shiver, wishing that I could turn the pages of the book without stiff, clumsy fingers.

“Oh, she’s my favorite,” Eden noted, peering at an illustration of a silver-haired woman dressed in a gown of silk and starlight. “Theia, Weaver of the Future,” she said reverently, pronouncing the Weaver’s name with careful respect. “She’s beautiful.”

“I suppose,” I said with a sigh, then flipped past Xander, Weaver of the Present, to a man with long ink black hair adorned with a crown of bones. “But Somnus is far more interesting.”

Eden scoffed. “What can the Weaver of the Past do? Theia would give us dreams of our futures. That’s what counts the most.”

“Like what we’ll have for dinner tomorrow,” Elliot chimed in.

Eden’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “Or who our friends will be.”

“Or our enemies,” I added.

“Who we’ll love. Who we’ll marry,” Eden suggested.

“How we’ll die,” I countered.

The thought hung heavy between us.

But only for a moment.

Elliot made an impatient sound. “Hurry up; I want to read the stories.”

Eden laughed, the sound as clear and sweet as a silver bell.

We were similar in some ways, but different in the ways that counted.

Where she was graceful, I stumbled. Where she was smart, I was dull.

Where she was kind, I was selfish. Her goodness came naturally, and it couldn’t be replicated.

Not even by her thirteen-year-old sister.

Eden flipped to the next page. A warrior, glistening with the flames of a thousand suns at his back, stared up at us, defiant and taunting. Fenrir, the Fire Weaver. The next page held Nephthys, the Water Weaver, her dark blue hair crowned with shining jewels.

“I wonder what it’d be like to dream,” Elliot said. “Do you think I’d be able to visit Nephthys’s castle by the sea? I want to see what a purple sky looks like, too. I bet it’d be strange, and one of the Weavers could teach us, like they used to, and—”

“Is that all you want? To see castles and purple skies?” I teased, pulling the blanket tighter around our shoulders. “Think of what you could do. Or be. If we dreamed, we could learn to fly across those purple skies. Travel across the Dream Realm in a blink if we wanted.”

“That would be amazing.”

“It would be, wouldn’t it?” Eden said, thumbing her jaw. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like, too.”

I flipped the page this time, past Ceres, the Earth Weaver, in her emerald forest and Lelantos, the Air Weaver, on his mountain, to a masked man wrapped in gold, sunlight spinning from his hands.

His radiance filled his page with bright, shimmering waves, washing over those who worshipped at his feet.

Mithras Atrelle Tethebrum, our sovereign and holy Light Bringer.

“The Light Bringer!” Elliot exclaimed with a toothy grin.

The next page depicted the seven Dream Weavers in battle against the Shadow Bringer.

It was the final confrontation before the Weavers disappeared and Corruption slid over Noctis like a black cloud, leaving the Light Bringer to carry on alone.

The artwork exploded violently with shadows, blood, and demonic beings devouring dreamers’ souls.

The Shadow Bringer sat hunched in the middle of the page, teeth sharp and dripping with gore as he tore apart a Weaver with his claws.

Black horns sprang from his skull-like face, framing hideous red eyes.

“I don’t like this page very much,” Elliot grumbled, squirming deeper into the blanket. “What about the one where—”

A noise sounded from below, much like the heavy creak of boots on a wooden floor.

Father.

“It’s bedtime, Elliot,” Father called. “Leave your sisters be.”

Elliot sighed dramatically, plodding downstairs to the room he shared with our parents. As the door shut behind him, wind snapped against our sole window, rattling the glass. An omen, maybe. But if it was, we missed it.

Or decided to forget.

“We should go to bed,” Eden whispered, reaching for her vial of elixir. “I’m cold.”

I bit the inside of my mouth. It was now or maybe never.

“What if we didn’t take it—just once?” I made a face at the vial in her hands.

“We’ll say a prayer to the Weavers. They could hear and protect us.

” I barreled on, knowing if I stopped talking, I’d lose the courage to continue.

“If it’s scary, we won’t do it again. We can take the elixir like we always do. ”

Eden bit her thumb, considering. “Is it truly worth it, though? We could see a demon.”

“Then we will do what we’ve been taught. Run and force ourselves awake before the demon can touch us.” I threw off my blanket, a wicked plan forming. “Let’s pour the elixir in our cider. The color will hide it perfectly.”

“Only once?”

“Only once,” I agreed. “Think of what we’ll see in the Dream Realm, what we’ll do.”

But once became a word forgotten.

At first the dreams were beautiful, bursting with adventure and wonder.

The visions made us feel alive, as if we had a purpose beyond our desolate village in the middle of the woods.

They gave us nights to cherish after dull, chore-filled days and our mother’s tedious rules.

But one day, for Eden, the dreams weren’t any of those things.

They weren’t beautiful, lovely, or safe.

They became what we were warned against: dark and festering with the Shadow Bringer’s demons.

Her Corruption came quickly.

Too quickly to prevent.

Alone after her funeral, I stifled a scream into my pillow, sobs racking my chest. I was selfish. Horrible. Unforgivable. The Shadow Bringer hadn’t been real—not truly—until he was.

And by then it was too late.