Dry grass rustles beneath our feet as we trod through a dense copse of trees within the dark forest. The night air is cool, the moonlight soothing. Though I use small bits of my magic daily, it’s been a while since I’ve unleashed it enough to feel settled in my own skin.
“I kind of miss this,” Neris says beside me.
“My magic bullying me?” I ask.
She chuckles. “In a way, yes.”
I nudge her hard with my elbow, and she yelps through her laughter.
“No, just heading to the forest with you. It gives me a chance to pretend that we’re getting out of here.”
“Neris, don’t start.”
Small wisps of smoke billow into the air up ahead, and the alluring aroma of savory spices that drift toward us almost has me salivating. “Smells like a feast,” Neris says, reflecting my own thoughts.
“It does.” I inhale deeply, wishing that dinners at home smelled this delectable.
Scattered beams of moonlight shine down through the trees to illuminate our way. Soon, the flicker of orange in the darkness catches my attention. What if it’s Peacekeepers or some other faction of soldiers?
“We should turn?—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence before a heavyset man leaps out from the bushes as we’re about to approach. I hold up my fists, ready to call my terraforging when Neris shouts, “We’re unarmed!”
The man lowers what looks like a butcher’s knife, and I find myself unable to exhale fully. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s hard to trust anyone these days.” He tucks his butcher knife into the back of his pants while my heart hammers. “We’re just traveling through here. Do you …” He gestures in the direction he’d just come from. “Want to join us for dinner?”
“Yes!” Neris exclaims at the same time as I say “no.” She tugs me into the clearing after the man. “Then you’ll have some fuel for your terraforging,” she whispers to me.
Before long, Neris and I are sitting around the fire, shoveling savory brown broth from the mutton stew into our mouths as the travelers take turns telling stories. I can’t help but think what we’re doing is foolish, but as I’m about to try convincing Neris to leave, an emaciated lad stands in front of the roaring fire and begins a tale in a surprisingly deep voice.
“In the days before the release of the Underling Prince, the Enchantress Queen, Enidwen, gathered followers from far and wide. One by one, Dreamwalkers, Healers, Sorcerers, and Wielders—especially the Flame and Shadow Wielders—signed their souls away to Enidwen. Days later, the enchantress would unwittingly relinquish her own soul to the Underling Prince. When chaos bled into Enidwen’s being, so too were her followers tainted.
“Darkness encroached on the followers, and they found themselves bound to and by the shadows. Few embraced their newfound powers, honing them, learning to hide within the same darkness that threatened to pull them under. The shadows emanated from within them, slithering along their skin, blackening their veins, as though wiping away their humanity. They flirted with death and manipulated mankind; they bent reality and brought terror upon the realm. Feared and revered, they became known as the Basduunai. Death bringers.
“Even after Enidwen was vanquished by the Heirs, the Basduunai continued their reign of terror. Some say they still walk among us, stalking us in our shadows, hiding within the umbrella of the full moon. Some say they haunt our dreams, waiting for a moment of weakness to take over our minds, to bring madness upon us, to compel us with puppet mastery. They lie in wait, patiently, to rise from the darkness and revive Enidwen’s mission. Some say they seek to awaken chaos?—”
A high-pitched whistling sound followed by a nauseatingsquelchfills the air as a bolt lodges itself in the young man’s stomach. Screams resound and everyone tries to flee … in vain. My eyes fixate on the storyteller, his lifeblood seeping into the earth below.
A cold shiver runs through me, and I swear I see that damn tattered, grey cloak again.
There’s an echo of laughter, and my head whips toward it—toward a pair of red eyes glowing between the trees and the sensation of heat kissing my face. The scene before me disappears, replaced by a form cloaked in black, wielding a flaming axe.
She strolls through the blood-soaked forest. Past Neris, facedown. Dead. All the travelers. The Peacekeepers.
Call to me and spare your friends this fate, a voice says.Choose the Forge. Choose Fury. Fight with me and I will smite the Purists that dared to shatter your soul.
A blast of heat hits me until another voice speaks from elsewhere, sending ice skittering across my skin. Her voice rattles like bones in a bag.Resist. Run.
“Winnie,get up, dammit! What is wrong with you?” Neris shouts over the commotion as Peacekeepers apprehend several of the travelers. I’m back in the forest, a blur of black militia uniforms attacking the civilians.
No voices. No signs of red eyes or cloaked figures. My entire body shakes, my legs leaden. But Neris tugs me away from the horrifying sight, from the screams of fear. From death.
Why am I always running from death?
Why do these visions choose the worst possible times to plague me?
Our feet pound against the forest ground as we run.
Another high-pitched whistle sounds behind us only to end with a dullthud. My heart leaps, but neither of us has been hit.
