Chapter 24 Lore
TWENTY-FOUR
Lore
I DRAGGED MYSELF across the rocky beach, each pebble and piece of driftwood digging into my palms and knees, as I fought the receding tide.
Being attacked and nearly eaten by a serp-i-corn wasn’t one of the fears I’d had while living in Bellington.
Now I had a new nightmare to add to my growing collection.
I also really needed to reconsider what I read from now on.
Maybe adding some boring fiction wouldn’t be the worst idea.
I doubted Lord Stoic would have had to worry about the uni-pus.
Pain shot through me that had nothing to do with the cold or the rocks.
I still couldn’t accept that he was gone. I knew he was immortal, but the last conversation we had kept nagging at me. Was his immortality tied into his ability to wield his powers? Could he somehow survive without breathing underwater?
He’d admitted that his magic wasn’t behaving normally.
But he hadn’t told me how bad it had gotten. Knowing Lord Stoic, he probably kept the worst of it to himself, trying to sort out the facts on his own.
He was absolute crap at being a team player.
It was possible that the Liber Noctem had waited until he was drained to use the serp-i-corn to defeat him in an attempt to get me alone for the next test.
A powerful wave surged over me, its force sending me tumbling once more as it broke against my body.
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but the sharp sting of the seawater made my eyes water and burn. Cursed ocean.
My trousers, sodden and heavy, clung to my legs like seaweed. My cream-colored tunic was now translucent and revealed exactly how cold I was.
And I was fairly positive sand had found its way to places it had no business exploring without a proper commitment first. The only positive was that the belt and the phoenix tear contained within the pouch had survived.
I felt raw on all levels. Physical, emotional, and definitely psychological.
If this was the Liber Noctem’s dark magic at play, I hated to admit it was taking a toll. But I couldn’t let it dim my light, no matter how dark and dreary the path got. And this path was definitely dreary.
I needed to work extra hard to find a silver lining.
I closed my eyes and could almost hear my mother pressing me and Fable to find the positive. I pretended they were all here now, and it gave me an added boost of determination and strength.
I heaved myself up onto my elbows and scanned the horizon for any signs of life. Beyond the strip of shoreline where I was gracefully sprawled like a beached whale, the land was dark, the kind of deep, enveloping darkness that swallowed all light and sound.
The water’s icy chill seeped into my skin, but that wasn’t what made me shudder. The moonlight barely illuminated the deserted shoreline, casting long, creepy shadows that danced with the rhythm of the waves.
It was horribly eerie.
I pushed myself to my feet, my boots sinking into the cool, damp sand, and felt the oppressive emptiness around me.
Sloth’s energy had been palpable and without it I felt like I was missing a part of myself. It was strange how quickly we adapted to someone else’s presence.
With him by my side, it had been easier to ignore the fact that we’d traveled to a realm literally built from nightmares and were embroiled in a deadly game that could unleash them on the world. My family. My friends.
I squinted into the night, desperate to spot a familiar shape against the crashing waves. But there was nothing—no shadow cutting across the moonlit sand, no outline of a figure moving toward me with reassuring strides.
My chest tightened with a painful throb of fear and denial.
The haunting lullaby of the ocean was broken only by the wind’s mournful whistle, but no sounds of the prince emerging from the darkness joined the song.
I scanned my surroundings, but it was useless. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction and had no idea what waited for me above the shore.
It was best to hunker down until daybreak.
Shivering, I padded across the beach and dropped onto a fallen log.
I stayed like that for hours, shuddering in place, watching the waves ebb and flow, and there was still no sign of my faithful companion.
Total secondary character behavior. He’d hate that.
But I had few options without light. It wasn’t prudent to go racing into a dark… forest? Vegetation? Jungle? Portal into some new fresh hell?
I had no idea. Which was why staying put was the wisest decision. I’d had enough excitement for one night anyway.
I kept replaying the last moments we were together, trying to pick it apart.
He’d clearly been pleased to stay with the sea monster, but I couldn’t understand why.
If he hadn’t solved some clue, then maybe the Liber Noctem had twisted his thoughts, so he’d welcome death instead of fight it. It was an abysmal thought.
When I’d exhausted every reason why he’d choose to stay with the monster, I tried to think of stories to entertain myself, to stop the fear from invading my senses, and failed.
I was frightened.
And it was exactly what the Book of Nightmares thrived on.
I wanted to be brave and fearless, but I was just a librarian who never expected to end up in a story.
Let alone create one. Not that my magic was behaving the way Sloth had believed it would. That kept nagging at me, but it was hard to know what was odd and what wasn’t when I didn’t know I’d even had magic a week ago.
In all my fantasy adventure stories, this was around the time the characters faced their inner fears. And that took some serious self-awareness.
Temet nosce. Know thyself.
Fable and I had more than one lively debate with our parents around the dinner table regarding the power of knowing thyself in fiction.
It was where true growth began after false starts.
To really know oneself, the character had to acknowledge every dark, mangled part of themselves as intimately as every light, joyful aspect.
That was when true mastery of introspection happened.
If we remained unaware of our faults, we could never hope to improve or grow. Perfection was not only impossible; it was boring.
Why live up to impossible standards set by others?
Or feel bad for not achieving something no one can?
I was always a fan of imperfect characters; it made their pursuit of either learning to change or accepting their flaws all the more interesting.
I knew what I feared and what I needed to face.
My fear of never finding true, passionate love. Never being loved wholly by someone else or giving that kind of love to someone.
Maybe the biggest romances in my life would always be fictional.
I had to trust that I was enough, that I didn’t need fighting skills to win this battle. Or a grumpy, immortal prince to slay all my dragons for me.
I could depend on the strength of my mind.
I just had to have complete trust and faith in myself. I was the heroine in my story, and I was more than enough.
It was much easier said than done. Especially while stranded on an abandoned beach that I was pretty sure was known as the Isle of the Damned.
Pushing that sparkling nugget of joy from my mind, I scanned the shore again. Ever hopeful.
Nothing changed.
I pulled the phoenix tear from the belt pouch and closed my fingers around it.
The stone warmed under my touch.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated, trying to establish a deeper bond with the stone, hoping to awaken the magic it held.
Time seemed to slip away, the world around me fading until I felt the first gentle stirrings of my magic flickering within.
It felt like tiny sparks igniting in the dark.
Instead of letting my power surge forward all at once, I carefully imagined a thin tendril separating from the main flow, a delicate shadow ribbon unfurling from the rest of my power. I was a dreamer; I had to remember that above all else.
Anything I imagined could be real. I just had to believe hard enough.
I didn’t want to shift stories; I only wished to call forth a single shadow.
When I finally opened my eyes, excitement bubbled within me.
In the center of my palm, a small shadow creature squirmed and twisted, its form reminiscent of a baby snake made of pure darkness.
There was a playful energy about it, almost like it was wagging a tail that wasn’t there. I instantly fell head over heels in love with the peanut.
“Aren’t you the cutest,” I cooed to it.
The little shadow creature coiled itself around my wrist, its touch as light as a whisper. I laughed as it wriggled over my palm, loving its personality.
I swore I heard a soft, contented purr emanating from its ethereal form as I hugged it close. I wondered if it was born of my loneliness or if I’d had the power to draw it forth all along. No matter the how, I was thankful for its company.
After teaching it some tricks, like bolting down the shore to spy for me then racing to report back, I decided to name it Theodore, Teddy for short.
We practiced controlling my magic for hours.
I’d send Teddy back to the rest of my magic, then I’d call him out again. By the end of the night, I felt more confident in my control over my magic. There wasn’t a lot of it, but I had enough to aid me.
I just needed to work with it instead of fighting against it.
And one of the biggest hurdles I kept facing was not fearing it.
Teddy was helping more than the little shadow pet could ever know. He was opening a true bond between myself and my magic.
It was hard to be afraid of the shadows when they purred.
I was in no way a master dreamweaver, but I had more basics down, which was more than I could claim a few hours ago. Now I just needed time to practice.
Together Teddy and I sat and watched for any movement along the beach.
“Sometimes I used to walk to the cliffs back home,” I said. Teddy curled around my wrist, excited for a story. “I’d go right before twilight, when the sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting a golden glow across the water.”
Our family called it magic hour and it felt like it truly was just that.