Chapter 24
I can’t remember when I stopped screaming.
Something wet pressed against my cheek, reeking of dead fish and rotting wood. I sprang up, horrified—only to find mud dripping from me. Cold, slimy, foul-smelling mud. It coated the side of my face, crawled down my neck, and burrowed itself all over the folds of my clothing.
Great.
I wiped it from my eyes, trying to focus on the dimly lit landscape that surrounded me.
From what I could see, I sat before a dark pond, its edges webbed in cattails, haze, and scum.
A shadow of something splashed atop the water before disappearing again, impossible to see below the surface.
At the sound of someone spitting, I whirled around.
Dull gray eyes met mine through the mist.
The Shadow Bringer coughed, flicking mud from his gauntlets in disgust.
“My power is beginning to fail,” he muttered. As if to demonstrate, he opened a fist, scowling as a small shadow appeared. It quivered pathetically before vanishing in a puff of smoke. “I will soon have nothing.”
“How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know.” He made a frustrated, violent sound. “It was a mistake to take us here. I should have taken us back to the castle and started anew.”
Erratic splashing of a large, unknown creature sounded again over the water.
I shuddered. “I’m really not looking forward to that demon finding us.”
“You want it to find us?” The Shadow Bringer gave a small, dreadful smile, catching me off guard. “We can find it ourselves.”
“And how do you propose we do that, Shadow Bringer?”
“We find my past self. If we can find him, the demon will surely follow.” His smile slipped, discarded like an ill-fitting mask. “Something about this place feels familiar. I think there is a village beyond the mist.”
“A village, out here? Are you sure?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Mostly.”
I sighed, eyeing the forest and the strange, clouded pond. A cottage, filthy and falling apart, stood at its edge, but there were no other signs of human life. No lights, no voices. Only the sound of water lapping against mud and the occasional splash of some creature in the pond. I shivered again.
“Lead the way, then.”
And he took my hand, guiding me forward.
There was not a village beyond the mist. There was an entire city beyond the mist.
Built from luminescent stone, a large city sprawled from the forest, fading into the distance as it trailed along the edge of a sea.
A lively wind, rising from the water and swirling through the streets, dusted the air in salt, citrus, and something nostalgic and sad.
I lingered for a moment, trying to place the particular scent, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished into the night.
I glanced at the Shadow Bringer, who was analyzing the city, his expression unreadable.
The shadows that had lived within his eyes were broken, stripped away with the rest of his power.
“Do you know where we are now?” I asked.
His mouth opened slightly, as if he were tasting the seam of some long-forgotten memory. “Istralla.” Then, more confidently, “This is Istralla.”
“The capital of Noctis,” I murmured, looking around with a new sense of purpose.
While this wasn’t how I’d envisioned seeing Istralla for the first time, it felt wonderful nonetheless, watching as the city sparkled with promise and light.
But the longer I looked, the quicker its fine edges began to unravel.
Some structures made sense—sprawling cottages, an open-air marketplace, dress shops—while others twisted into bizarre shapes and sizes.
All around us, buildings shifted into trees, trembling between forms at the edge of our vision, as others faded in and out, disappearing and reappearing in time with our breathing.
The twisted beauty of a dream, I supposed: half reality, half but a shadow of truth.
I started to comment on this observation, but the Shadow Bringer was no longer at my side. Whirling around, I scanned the forest and the city’s edge. Had he been forced out of this dream, somehow?
Then, there he was, waltzing into what appeared to be an inn.
“Are you kidding me?” I seethed, hurrying to follow.
The inn seemed rather nondescript in comparison with Istralla’s more extravagant buildings, filled with regular-looking people gathered around regular-looking tables and the warm glow of a hearth at its center.
The Shadow Bringer was easy to spot, a smear of darkness amid colorfully dressed patrons.
“I take it you have some kind of lead?” I asked under my breath.
He ignored me and stalked toward a noisy group of men, glaring daggers into the deepest parts of their souls as they laughed around ale and a half-eaten roast.
“Begone,” he snarled, seizing a dinner knife and holding it under the nearest man’s chin. “You have no place here. Leave, and I will spare your throats.”
I sucked in a breath. He was hopeless. An utter fool. Without his powers, how could he antagonize an entire crowd of people—some of whom were armed—and survive? Dream or not, a battle was still a battle.
Taking a step back, I ducked behind the largest man I could find, his belly spilling over the table at which he sat. If I hid, maybe I could avoid being associated with the Shadow Bringer altogether.
“My companion and I have need of your table,” he added, gesturing to where I hid.
I recoiled, waiting for people to start staring.
Or attacking. But the men didn’t so much as glance up from their food and drink.
Irate, the Bringer continued, lowering his voice into a deadly command. “I will not ask a second time.”
Still, the men refused to move. They continued joking and carousing, drinking heartily and laughing deeply. I watched, mildly amused as the Bringer’s expression slipped from disbelief to utter fury.
“I warned you,” he said simply, slamming the knife’s hilt into the man’s skull.
Except it didn’t slam, exactly.
The hilt bounced harmlessly off the man’s head, no more a threat than a push from an infant.
The man reached up to pat the spot where the Bringer hit him. “Aye, boys, I’m thinkin’ there’s a bug flyin’ round here. Just bit me on the head!” The Shadow Bringer tried again, throwing his full weight into the swing. “Aye, ouch! It just ’appened again!”
His companions gave a pointed look about the room, laughing wildly.
“Mate, there ain’t any bugs flyin’ round here.”
“No, I swear it! The spot’s itchy an’ everythin’,” the man protested, much to the hilarity of the others. Huffing, he pointed dramatically at a fly buzzing around the ceiling. “See? See? There it is!”
Another man chimed in, jabbing him playfully in the side. “More like yeh’ve drank too many ales for that thick skull of yours to ’andle.”
“Aye, shut it,” he responded, shoving himself away from the table—nearly colliding with a visibly disturbed Bringer—and stormed out of the inn. His companions followed shortly after, quickly downing the rest of their ale on the way out.
After a short pause of his own, the Bringer sat down, selecting the most shadowed part of the table to sulk.
“No effect, huh?” I asked, sitting across from him. On my way over, no one acknowledged my existence. Not one person looked up, even if I nudged their back or waved my hands in front of their face. “It’s like we’re ghosts.”
The Bringer grunted in agreement, steepling his hands under his nose. “Some dreams are like that. It means that these patrons aren’t real; they’re merely figments from the dreamer’s imagination.”
“Your imagination, then?”
He ignored me, instead sweeping his hands across the table to grab an empty cup and plate.
“I think we have more important things to figure out than feasting on imaginary dream food.”
He shot me a withering look. “Do we, now?” At my confused silence, he touched the edge of the cup, concentrating as it filled itself with a ruby-red liquid.
Wine, likely. Or the blood of his innocent prey, I thought darkly.
At another touch, the plate—and then several more—bloomed with fresh fruit, seared meats, and a slice of mysterious dessert.
“Go ahead, figure out your important things. Then you can watch me eat, if that’s what you would prefer. ”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t want any of your food.”
“Good. Because I did not offer you any.”
Insolent bastard.
“How is this allowed, anyway?” I asked, gesturing at his admittedly delicious-looking treats. “I thought you couldn’t use your powers.”
Selecting a cut of lamb, he took his first bite, frowning slightly as he chewed. “If an act of creation does not disrupt the dream’s purpose, then it is allowed.”
As I watched the Shadow Bringer eat, slightly amused that he was now able to eat through his half-broken helm, I wondered at the point of it all.
Was it for the sake of normalcy, to eat and even sleep in a dream?
It made sense, I supposed. If I had been locked in a castle for centuries, maybe I’d want to keep human habits, too.
He brought the cup to his mouth, drinking deep.
But when he brought the glass away, sensuous lips flushed with dark liquid, he still wore a frown.
“For someone eating food fit for a king, you sure scowl a lot.”
“Envious, are we?” he asked, taking another sip. Still, the scowl stuck.
“No. I’m not hungry,” I protested, crossing my arms. Just as my stomach unleashed an absolutely pathetic growl. An instinctual reaction at seeing food, probably.
The Bringer’s mouth ticked up, taking pleasure in the fact that he’d caught me in a lie.
“Suit yourself,” he drawled, leaning back to glare at the ceiling and finish his wine, which refilled itself whenever the liquid dropped too low. “I will continue relishing my ‘food fit for a king.’”