Chapter Thirty-Four #2
I sank deeper into the blackness. New visions crossed my mind—places and people I did not recognize—strangers with yellow eyes. They smiled at me, and the world around me swayed, as if on the tide.
But as quickly as it came, the vision vanished. I saw a man run through the mist, children behind him, their faces pale with terror. They fled the burning castle on the top of the hill, disappearing into the chamber beneath tall yew trees.
A gray-eyed boy stood at the edge of the mist, facing down the red light of a Scythe and a mountainous man whose cloak bore the Rowan insignia.
I saw the castle aflame, reduced to ruins. Suddenly my mind was filled with visions of hundreds of children—their veins dark as ink—screaming as they were thrown into an inferno. I saw the mist darken, its tendrils reaching deeper and deeper, choking Blunder off from the rest of the world.
Centuries of rage boiled in me, time marked by neither sun nor moon. Hatred poisoned my blood and I lost myself to the dark, my body twisting—bones snapping—claws scraping—eyes narrowing, until my body, monstrous, mirrored the hate in my heart.
Animalistic, a creature of the dark—powerful, vengeful, and full of fury.
The last thing I saw before I opened my eyes was a small girl, timid as she peered into a looking glass, her black eyes glazed with fear.
“Do you have a name?” she whispered.
I smiled at her, memory tugging at the corners of my ancient mind. The strange magic, the same beautiful wonder, of the children I once knew. They called me a King’s name once , I said, my tail flickering. But that was a long time ago.
“What shall I call you, then?”
Nothing, child , I said, crawling back into the blackness. I’m just the wind in the trees, the shadow, and the fright. The echo in the leaves… the nightmare in the night.
I snapped awake with a cough, my mind filled with Ravyn’s voice.
Elspeth! he shouted. Goddamnit, Elspeth, hold on. We’re on the stairs. His voice was shaking. You don’t have to do this alone.
Hauth Rowan stood above me, gripping my chin. “There you are,” he said. “Not dead after all.” Confusion crossed his face. He furrowed his brow, leaning closer to me. “What’s wrong with her eyes, Orithe?”
“Her eyes, sire?”
“They’ve gone yellow. Like some kind of cat.”
Orithe approached, his metal claw tracing my cheek. “Strange,” he said. “They were dark only a moment ago.”
We looked up at Orithe, the corner of our lips curling, as if tugged by invisible string.
When Ravyn tried to call out to us, we clenched our teeth, banishing him from our mind.
Don’t try to save us, Ravyn Yew , the Nightmare and I said, our voices melding in a strange, echoing dissonance. We cannot be saved.
We struck without fear.
Orithe’s eyes bulged and he recoiled. But it was too late. The Nightmare used all our strength to rip the bladed glove off the Physician’s hand—bone snapping and skin sloughing.
Then we shoved it, full force, into his throat.
Orithe let out a gurgling scream, blood spraying onto his white robes. He slumped to the floor, shock and fear the last things to pass across his milky eyes before he was taken by the great stillness, his blood the final sign of life as it dripped, unbidden, from his veins—dark, magical, and final.
Hauth jerked back. “Stop!” he commanded.
We smiled, and when we stood, the world around us faded, time and space, Prince and King, child and spirit. All that remained was magic—black as ink.
Powerful, vengeful, and full of fury.
Our voice dripped oil, Hauth fixed in our gaze.
We stalked him, pinning him in the corner of the room.
“They came in the night,” we said, “the black and red horde.
They burned down my castle, put my kin to the sword.
The usurper was crowned, though my blood had not dried.
But he did not account for the turn of the tide.
For nothing is safe, and nothing is free.
Debt follows all men, no matter their plea.
When the Shepherd returns, a new day shall ring. Death to the Rowans…
“Long live the King.”
Hauth’s cheekbone shattered beneath our hand. He crashed to the floor and moaned, his face leaching color, blood spilling out his mouth.
I looked down at him, pitiless. This is the end, isn’t it? I murmured, darkness creeping across my vision. I go now. And you—you remain.
It was inevitable , the Nightmare said, his voice louder and louder. This is your degeneration, Elspeth Spindle. Nothing comes free.
The air around me thinned. I blinked, trying to stave off the darkness, like a child fighting sleep. Promise me you’ll help Ravyn. Promise me you’ll save Emory.
It’s time, dear one , he purred, lulling me to rest.
Promise!
He sighed. I promise to help the Yews in all their endeavors.
I closed my eyes, a final whisper escaping my lips.
The story—our story. The Nightmare’s and mine.
“There once was a girl,” I said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…”
The last thing I heard before I was buried in darkness was the Nightmare’s silky laugh, wicked and absolute. The girl, the King… and the monster they became.