A son would not dream when he should be working to provide.
A son would not let his parents die!
I shook my head. “That dream depicted them cruelly.”
He smiled again, but it felt cold. “My dreams were always that way. They would begin one way and twist into something else by their end.” His hands clenched at his sides, shadows twining between his fingers. “That is how I first learned to manipulate them.”
“And by being able to manipulate your dreams, you thought a Weaver would notice you. You thought you’d be chosen,” I said.
“Only the most exceptional dreamers could generate a dream of their own will. And I was one of them.” His voice chilled as he continued, slipping into something lifeless and bitter. “But months passed, and no Weaver ever took notice.”
“Because your power stemmed from shadows and not something simpler, like fire or water?”
He nodded. “And when my parents learned the truth of my powers—that they were grounded in shadow, and not an element or a time construct—they began to despise me. They said I was evil. A cursed child, sent to ruin them. And in a way, I did.” He fixed his shadowed gaze on me. “In my time, families with wealth and power hired dream interpreters. Sometimes dreams were simple in meaning.Sometimes not. An interpreter ensured that the Maker’s message was clearly heard and followed.”
“Interpreting sounds like an incredible amount of responsibility,” I said.
A cold half smile. “Indeed. And if the dream’s interpretation was incorrect or ill received…” He drifted off, and my imagination began to wander to dark places. Places where the dream interpreter was shunned or even killed.
Eventually, he continued: “My mother and father interpreted dreams for a wealthy family in Istralla. They were well-known for their interpretations, always clever, precise, and true. They eventually caught the eye of the king.”
“So they began interpreting the king’s dreams?”
“For a time. And for a time, we lived in luxury, with our own wing in each of his palaces. But it’s a funny thing, wealth. Power. They destroy as easily as they create.” He laughed, the sound cold and miserable. “Our new status destroyed my mother and father. As I grew older, they consulted me for answers. They told me the Maker had dulled their vision, but I think they just grew complacent. Lazy. So they came to me. Even in their hatred, they relied on me. A child of darkness, secretly interpreting the dreams of royalty.”
A ripple of cold crawled over my skin. I didn’t like where this was going.
“One day, I was asked for my opinion of the king’s dream. In his dream, he saw a great, blazing sun and a shadowed moon. At first, the dream was peaceful—everything in perfect balance. But as the dream went on, the moon crept closer to the sun, ate it, and became something else. Somethingother. A thing made evil and cruel.”
“That’s horrible.” Shuddering, I pressed my hands to my side, willing them to warm.
The Shadow Bringer walked closer to the edge of the balcony. For the briefest of moments, it appeared as though he wanted to fly into the Nocturne’s depths.
Then he sighed, shaking his head as if to clear it. “The king’s dream wasn’t a simple nightmare. Nightmares are personal; they uproot the dreamer’s deepest fears. His was a vision of the future. A warning. After the moon ate the sun, it bathed the land in darkness, swallowing all light. The king saw this happen. He also saw something emerging from the dark: two swords. One white, one black.”
A staging of the dream appeared from the Bringer’s hands, formed by shadows of every size, color, and texture. I watched as the storied king rose from between his fingers, desperately swinging the twin swords against an unconquerable evil. It was a violent, hopeless fight. One I never wished to see again.
The king’s swords shattered before a single blow was ever landed.
The Shadow Bringer went on. “The sun represented the king, and the moon represented a great demon. The dream’s warning was complicated and deadly. It warned that the king would be Corrupted by evil, and someone would seek to defeat the king using two powers: justice or logic, the white sword; and war or deceit, the black sword. But neither would suffice.”
In the shadowy reenactment, the king’s mouth widened in a silent scream.
“The future would come to pass regardless,” he said.
With a clench of the Shadow Bringer’s fist, the king was put out of his misery.
“That dream was intended to warn the king of his demise. It washisresponsibility to recognize the impending evil and to prepare for it in different ways. When I gave my opinion of the dream, it wasn’t well received. My parents chose to tell the king a different interpretation—one that veiled the dream’s warning into something more palatable. But someone close to the king had overheard my original interpretation.” Absently, the metaled ends of his fingers flexed open and shut. “The king was furious. He condemned my parents for their deception. Banished and starved them. They died of disease within a year.”
“What happened to you, then?” I whispered, horrified. An imageof him sprang up—of a young Erebus, desperately trying to feed his parents with food that never satisfied. A nightmare meant to trap and destroy. “You were just a child. You interpreted as you knew how.”
The Bringer saw the look on my face. Saw the other questions lingering there.
Were you punished—like your mother and father? Were you left to a rotting shack in the forest, left to starve?
“I wasn’t punished for their crimes.”
“Why?”
