He thought at first to visit Josue, to seek the help of the gods for the first time in his life. Magic and divinity had never been at odds with one another, although some priests taught the idea that no man or woman should have the power of shapers or walkers that mimicked what the gods could do. The two had separated not out of strife, but by simple deviation as one pushed the confines of science and the other found comfort in faith and guidance. No doubt Father Josue would provide Ander with guidance and wisdom, and perhaps even answers. He would have some way of leading him away from what he had always known was a destructive path, and show him how to release his obsessions and seek something more fulfilling. The process might take years, but in the end he would be wiser for it, and his nights would no longer be troubled. Josue would help him find peace.

  But peace was not something he wanted, and so when he came to where the path split between the mountain roads and the descent into the valley, he took the latter. He needed the wisdom of someone who had devoted himself entirely to a cause, who had put his very being into something, and then found doubts when brought to the brink of everything he thought he wanted.

  Ander had met other deserters before. Men and women fled the war for all sorts of reasons, but cowardice and fear were not things he knew in Draven Gree. The young captain was steadfast and battle-worn, like so many before him and so many to come, but he had been touched by the war in a different way.

  His old friend greeted him at the fence, inviting him in with a gesture and a few amiable words. Ander could see that he hadn’t slept that night. He would want to know about the demon, but followed the rules of friendship and courtesy by offering him a cup of wine mixed with herbs and water. Ander accepted and the two took chairs by the open window, warming themselves with drink to stave off the cool mountain breeze that reminded them winter was not far off.

  “Is it contained?” Draven asked at last when all polite formalities had been satisfied.

  Ander shook his head. “I made a mistake, Gree.”

  Draven sat forward, his face drawn with concern. “What do you mean?”

  “The vessel… there’s something there. Someone. I think there’s someone there.” He told Draven about what he had seen, and what it meant. The other man sat in silence, listening without judgement or opinion, only nodding on occasion to mean he understood. When Ander thought he had nothing else to say, his friend’s silence managed to push him to explain even further.

  “I’ve been hunting this demon for a long time. I’m sure it’s the one. It took something precious from me, and now I’m not sure I can take my revenge.”

  “Is she dangerous?”

  She. The thought of the woman and not the demon that possessed her tugged at Ander’s chest. “The demon, yes. I’m not sure about…her. I’m not even sure she’s conscious.”

  Draven pulled a long sigh and rubbed at his unshaven chin. “What did she take from you?”

  Ander stared at him for a moment, then pulled the cuff of his sleeve away from his right arm. A thin black band was tattooed around his wrist – a mark of marriage. Draven only nodded. There was a long silence.

  “Tell me about Fort Legend, Draven.”

  He knew the name from whispers, not all of them from the waking world. Fort Legend was an enigma. It had been built in the middle of pure wilderness. The location was not defensible, nor did the surrounding area hold any strategic value. No one, king or conqueror, had ever claimed the land before and it was unlikely anyone would try for some time. There had been no battles at Fort Legend, nor had there ever been a siege attempt by enemy forces. Travelers avoided the fort as best they could, though no one could really explain why. No one went to Fort Legend unless ordered there, and those who came out again were always to be feared.

  Ander had never asked Draven about his past before, but insight and whispers from his journeys to the Otherworld had made the link not long after their first meeting. It was more than a guess—he was certain of the connection. Fort Legend was the haunted look in Draven’s eyes, and the weight that bent his shoulders forward. It was the quickness in his arms when he drew his weapon at the slightest foreign sound, and the pause before he swung his blade. The name had been on Ander’s mind for some time, though he knew not why, and now seemed like the only time to ask, as though he might not have another chance.

  The man leaned back and sighed, his expression drawn with fatigue. He took a pouch from his breast pocket and turned it over in his hand. An iron ring tumbled into his open palm. Crudely made, three faces stemmed from a single head, each twisted in agony, a different colored gem placed in each mouth. Ander had never seen it before. Draven took the ring between his fingers and turned it over thoughtfully.

  “We were soldiers, Ander. Soldiers take orders. Very few were transferred to Fort Legend to be trained there, but everyone knew what it meant. You were the elite—the very best, without question. We were trained to be the most efficient killers, weapons that would devastate the elven armies, but it was so much worse than that.

  “Old men ran the fort. Alchemists. Not generals, not warlords—men of science and magic. They gave us these little vials of black liquid and we drank them without question. The first weeks were painful, but the results came soon after that to those who survived. The speed, the strength—reflexes and instincts far beyond anything- anything I…” He inhaled sharply. “We were like gods, Ander. You’re the only man I know who might understand the feeling of it—beyond lust, beyond need or desperation, beyond ecstasy. I took down entire armies in mere minutes.”

  He let his head fall back, the veins of his neck bulging outward as though they might burst. Ander began to speak, but Draven waved him quiet and sat forward again.

  “I’ll admit I thought him foolish when Nikil first expressed his doubts toward our cause. I don’t think I cared anymore, or at least I didn’t want to. He won me over, though, and Varric too. We’d volunteered for the war together, trained together…yet when we decided to see the source of these potions for ourselves, I was ready to deny everything and turn them in. I was that far gone. I thank the gods for Varric, who beat me senseless and returned my mind to reason.

  “I don’t remember how many elves there were in that room. I don’t think any of us counted. There they had been all that time, bound and gagged so we would never discover them, most mutilated so terribly they couldn’t be called elves anymore. And weak, too weak to move when we approached, though I’ll never forget the fear and dread in their eyes.” His hands were trembling and Ander saw true terror in his expression. “We gave each of them a blade to the temple—it was the first mercy I had offered anyone in years. Varric was a fool for insisting we take the she-elf, but she was still whole. She would live, unlike the others. Something about her blood—they harvested the others for their organs and other parts, but this one had been laid out on a strange table, her veins opened just enough so that she would survive the slow drain. Varric carried her out with the strength her own blood had given him, and we all got away that night.

  “That was never going to be the end of it, of course.” His smile was wry and bitter. “We hid in the wilds for weeks, going deeper into those woods than anyone had ever dared before. Nikil is still there, if he lives. Varric and his she-elf were together for some time, then they parted and he went on to the coasts. I hear word of his comings and goings now and then, but we agreed never to make direct contact. He’s joined the elves in the war. I came here to Delving Vale, trying to forget. But they hunt each of us to this day. One day the war will stretch its ugly shadow far enough to find me here, but by then I’ll have taken my wife and my children just a little bit farther.”

  Draven leaned back again, his eyes wild and staring as though he were experience the fresh shock of what he had just described. Ander let the silence linger for a long time, knowing there could be no words of comfort or encouragement to give him. Silence was his only gift; silence and his own lack of pity or verdict.

  The soldier took a deep, slow breath. “Sometimes you want something so badly—things appear to fall into place so perfectly that you don’t allow yourself to see the flaws. It takes something far more important or more terrible than your goals to pull you away from the wrong path.”

  Ander nodded and rose from his chair, clapping his friend on the shoulder. As he reached the doorway Draven called after him.

  “What was she like, your wife?”

  Ander took pause and let his shoulders drop. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to face his friend—perhaps his only true friend—when he admitted the truth.

  “I don’t even remember her name.”

  It was almost nightfall two days later when he returned to the cellar. The last few rays of light beamed in through the window and fell on the girl who sat in her magic cage, watching the entrance as though she had been waiting all along. She watched as Ander entered and, ignoring her, went immediately to the table at the far edge of the room and began looking over his papers. It was the first time he had ever reread any of his notes. He combed his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily, convincing himself that he must have missed something. He did not let himself look at the girl.

  It was she who broke the silence. “You’re awake. I’m surprised. I know how you like to dream.” She sat up, arching her back in a slight stretch.

  Ander could not contain his sigh. “Don’t speak as though you know me.”

  She smiled her sly smile. “Why not? Don’t you remember? I do know you, Dreamwalker.”

  Ander let the pages in his hands fall to the table as he turned. His movements were stiff and slow, and his eyes sunken from lack of sleep. He had tried to sleep without his draughts or brews and would not let himself believe that his body had forgotten how. “How do you know that name?”

  She shrugged. “I know your kind. You dwell on things that have already happened, or things that might. You spend your short years, and yes, they are always very short, walking in worlds that humans were not meant to touch and seeing things not meant for your eyes.” She broadened her smile. “You are a fleeting people, with no true purpose to the world. Yes, I have known many of your kind. You are all the same.”

  “That is quite the description.”

  “And only a scratch on the surface. I know all of you. Not one of you is without a loss that drove you to your path. Who did you lose, I wonder? My long nights are filled with questions.”

  “The answers to which are none of your business.” Ander turned back to his papers. His hands pressed down over the words with enough force to turn his knuckles white. This was the demon, right in front of him. The object of his obsession and his torment for so many years was finally within his grasp, yet he could not bring himself to reach for it. Was it guilt? Was it mercy? Surely the demon deserved neither.

  The girl's voice persisted, each syllable ringing in his ears. “Perhaps they are. A parent, perhaps, or a lover?” She never took her eyes from him. Ander could feel her watching, though he could not make himself turn. She - it - would not break him so easily.

  Ander closed his eyes. “Perhaps you should try sleeping instead of wondering about my affairs.”

  He heard her laugh, the sound low and mocking. “You must know that I do not sleep. So I ponder, and you are the most interesting thing about this quaint village. Did you know I’ve been here for months? I was drawn to you, Dreamwalker. I heard your sweet screams as you called out in your sleep.” She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “Mmm… I can still hear them.”

  Ander did not respond at first. He closed his eyes, remembering the black shape from the Otherworld in his mind’s eye. Was this thing before him the girl or the demon? He looked at her at last, searching for any sort of answer in that defiant stare. The urge to strike and to kill rose and then vanished. The ease of revenge passed him by in a fleeting moment he barely noticed. He decided to take a chance.

  “Then we are three of a kind. I can hear both of you.”

  The girl’s mocking expression melted into a frown. Ander resisted a smile, but the rush of elation washed over him, driving away the exhaustion. His bluff had been correct after all.

  “Something wrong? I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He was right. He knelt close, staring at her now like a wolf preparing to lunge. There was something beneath the surface, something he had missed before. Layers of doubt fell away before his eyes like the waters of a receding tide. The eyes, her eyes—there was something there. The impossibility of it all fascinated him and urged him to continue. The driving need to end the demon once and for all had been stifled by a new obsession. “I am not. I can hear the both of you now, screaming at each other from the inside.”

  He reached forward and tapped two fingers against a symbol beside her eye. The girl flinched and turned away.

  “Liar. Don’t touch me. You Dreamwalkers are all alike, twisting lies from spirits and trying to make the waking world what you want it to be.”

  “That may be so, but not all the time. Will you tell me your name, girl? Do you even have one?”

  They were struggling now, not just through words but through display of power. A faint humming sound emanated throughout the room. Both lashed forward without moving an inch, testing their strengths against one another in a battle few had the ability to recognize. Once, Ander might have allowed the challenge to consume him, pressing forward with everything he had until he was lost in the euphoria of raw magic and pure will, but today he remained a steady force, silently victorious over the girl's own lack of restraint and the demon's failure to regain its full hold.

  The girl snarled, growing more desperate. “You know my name. You’ve been shouting it to the dark for two decades.”

  Ander shook his head. “That is not your name. It belongs to the demon, but not to you.”

  “Don’t start this, Dreamwalker.”

  “The sooner you accept that the sooner I will set you free.”

  She clenched her fists. Ander saw the glow of the cage-runes flicker and fade. He placed a hand over the markings, lending his own strength into them. The thought of actually releasing her never crossed his mind; she was far too dangerous. The idea of it, however, seemed only to strengthen the presence of the girl and further suppress the demon within.

  “You wanted to talk about knowing me, so let me return the favor. You and I both know these bonds have no real ability to hold you back. I’ve exhausted my energies for days trying to maintain them and I know you know that. What is holding you here, then? It’s you, girl. You’re not the demon they brought in to me.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Deciding to be bold, Ander cupped her face in his hands, tracing the tattoos with his thumbs. “These have been your cage, girl, but you’re the cage now.”

  The glowing runes began to pulse. A ringing sound emanated in the little room, growing louder by the second, drowning out all other sensations. Ander clenched his jaw, forcing all his power against hers, knowing he would collapse if he lost even a second of concentration. Sweat streaked down his face, stinging his eyes, but he never flinched. The girl cringed and tried to pull away from his hold.

  “Look at me.” He shook her once. Muscles, sinew, skin—his entire body screamed at him as he struggled to match his power to hers. The air in the room had become hot and thick. “Look at me!”

  The ringing escalated until he heard a snap, like the shattering of glass. The runes on the floor and walls were in pieces, reduced to meaningless black lines burned into the wood and stone. The air was cold again and the girl was gone. Ander gasped as though he had been holding his breath, falling back on the palms of his hands as exhaustion overcame him. He looked around, his ears still ringing and his head swimming, drunk with power. She could not have gone far.

  The wind whipped rain-drenched hair across her face but she did not care. She lifted her head and looked up to the sky, her eyes hot from the tears that mixed with water and streaked down her face. Then she screamed. It was an animal sound – one of deep inner pain and rage and loneliness that very few experience. Instinct was all she knew and she gave in willingly. Thunder rolled across the sky. Far in the distance a pack of wolves answered her call with soft howls. The girl sank to her knees on the rain-soaked ground. She stayed there until the sun began to rise.

  Ander approached with caution at first. A part of him still wanted to see Ambrosine, the monster he had hunted and could destroy so easily now if he allowed it. This girl had the same powers and the same spirit inside of her. The only difference was who held control. He fought against the urge and knelt beside the girl, staring at the sunrise with her. For a long time they both kept the silence.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she whispered at last. There was a tremble to her voice.

  “If I meant you any harm I would have caused it by now. No, I’m not going to kill you.”

  The girl ducked her head, hiding the relief in her eyes. Ander tried not to look at her, both out of courtesy and his own need to convince himself of the difference between this woman and the thing that he had been hunting for so long.

  “Does it hurt?”

  She nodded. “Everything is sharp. My footfalls are heavy. Even breathing is—how is it I do not forget to breathe?”

  “Trust your body, you aren’t used to having it to yourself. Some things will come naturally, like breathing. There are needs you don’t have in the spirit world, which is where you’ve been held while you were dragged about. Do you know how old you are? How many winters have you seen?”

 

1 2 3 4