David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

“You would do well to listen to John,” Melody said as they walked down the hall, passing by soldier after soldier keeping guard. “Even if it seems rather … unnecessary. The future is always chaotic, and the skills you end up needing may surprise you.”

“You think I will ever lead soldiers in a fight?” Nathaniel asked. It sounded stupid to his ears. Surely Melody didn’t think differently?

“Wars have caused stranger things,” Melody said. “And a war is coming; have no doubt on that. You’ve seen the visions. You know what approaches.”

Even harder now did he stare at the floor. Of course, she mentioned his visions. Why did she always have to mention the visions? Could she not see they terrified him? Could she not just let him be instead of dragging him into stupid conversations and asking stupid questions?

“I guess so,” he mumbled.

They were almost to his room now. Desperate, he silently begged that she would leave him be when he got there, but he knew she wouldn’t. She’d come to him for a reason, and just what, he’d soon discover.

“We’ll need to make preparations soon,” Melody said, making it sound no different from if they were preparing for a picnic. “Perhaps bring in some more mercenaries from the south. John’s men will help, but they won’t be enough. I fear nothing will be enough. If only we knew more of his arrival…”

They were at his room now, and he tried to let go of Melody’s hand so he could open the door, but she refused. Instead, she opened it for him, then stepped inside after.

Waiting for him on his bed were the bowl, silver chains, and various gems of the chrysarium. The very sight of it made Nathaniel’s stomach clench.

“Grandmother?” he asked.

“We need to know,” she said, walking over to the curtains and pulling them shut to darken the room. “Too many questions, too many threats to Luther’s plan. We have to know anything and everything that we can.” She turned to him. “You’ve been blessed with the sight by our beloved Karak, and such a blessing cannot go unused. It is a sin to take the gifts we’ve been given and bury them deep in the earth to remain hidden forever.”

“I don’t want to,” he said, first quietly, then louder. “I don’t want to!”

“You must!”

She reached for his shoulder, and he yanked away.

“I’ll tell Mother!” he shouted at her, and this finally seemed to make her pause. His grandmother’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly he felt very young and very alone.

“You won’t,” she said.

“Why not? I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Because deep down, you know I’m right.” She took a single step toward him, her body shrouded in shadows due to the heavy curtains. “Because you’ve seen his face, haven’t you? Never the same, except for the eyes, those burning eyes. Even thinking about him makes you scared, doesn’t it? Well, he makes me scared, too. He’s old, as old as mankind itself, and we must prepare for his arrival. We must be ready . This city must be made righteous. It must be made faithful.”

She pointed to the chrysarium.

“Karak’s voice waits for you in the darkness. Do not deny the power of our god. The coming days are the prelude to the fated hour. This is your chance, Nathaniel. Your chance to be something special. Your chance to change the fate of the entire world.”

Every word she said put a weight on his shoulders, and he felt it settling, felt it pushing down at his resistance. Was he really so important? These visions, if Karak had chosen them for him … did it mean he was special? As special as his grandmother claimed?

“I don’t understand them,” he said.

“Just try,” she said. “And even if you do not, I and those I serve still may.”

Slowly, Nathaniel approached the chrysarium as if it were a snake that might bite him. It’d been several weeks since he last succumbed to one of the visions, at least while awake. His dreams, on the other hand, he never remembered come morning, but every time he awoke, his heart was racing, his hands shaking, his body covered with sweat. The very idea of seeing whatever it was, of whatever his mind somehow blanked out, terrified him to his very core.

His fingers touched the bowl, and he was surprised by its warmth. Swallowing down a dry lump in his throat, he leaned closer, staring into the very center of the slender bowl. Beside him, Melody began to pray, her words spidery things that made no sense to his ears. The gems rattled, glowing from their centers as if an infinitesimal fire had begun to burn within them. Melody’s words quickened, the darkness in the center of the chrysarium deepened, and then the gems lifted one by one into the air, stretching the length of their thin silver chains. Nathaniel felt himself being pulled into it, felt his mind giving in to whatever power resided within the gems and the words his grandmother spoke.

The shift was harsh, a jerk that made his very mind ache. He saw not the bowl, nor the darkness, but instead a great chasm. It seemed to go on for miles on either side of him, and the fall down was so great that the few trees growing at the far bottom looked no bigger than tiny green dots. Water flowed down there as well, a meager river that seemed almost mocked by the grand size of the chasm.

Even in death, the faithless may be made to serve , said a voice, and it rumbled across the very sky like thunder. Nathaniel found himself unable to look away despite the great distance of the chasm and the fear it put into his gut that he might fall. Down there, he saw movement, just the faintest hint of it, like observing ants, only even smaller. What it might be, he didn’t know, but the movement continued, becoming vague shapes crawling up both sides of the chasm. Time passed, and while he was aware of its passing, it still seemed like the minutes were but seconds vanishing with each breath he took. The vague shapes gained clarity, and he saw they numbered in the thousands.

They were rotten, broken, bone and flesh, and they were dead.

Higher and higher they climbed, and Nathaniel realized they would soon reach his side of the chasm, their skeletal fingers reaching up toward the top, and he let out a scream of terror. Compared to the voice that had spoken before, he felt miniscule and worthless, but it seemed the very sky recoiled at the noise he made. Clouds swirled, the sky turned red, and suddenly he stared into the face of a man on the other side of the chasm, only the man’s face never remained the same, the nose shrinking, the lips widening, forehead deepening, only to reverse as his cry continued to echo throughout the dreamscape.

Even in death … said the man, and Nathaniel wanted to hear no more. He begged for safety, for escape, for anyone to stop the being on the other side of the chasm, and then he felt himself flying. The world passed beneath him as if he were a bird, and for a brief moment, he thought he caught sight of the glow of the chrysarium’s crystals at the edges of his sight. Then his movement stopped, and below him was a great building, shaped as a black spire rising out of the cracked earth. He fell through its ceilings until he was in a small, cramped room full of books, desks, and a lone bed.

All sound ceased but for the turning of a page. Then another. There was a man at a desk, and he wore black robes. His head was bowed, his long hair gray. Hovering above him, Nathaniel stared down, confused as to who he saw and why.

“We save this world by healing it,” said the man, and he sounded tired, very tired. “Not with fire, not with destruction.”

Nathaniel felt an impulse, and he obeyed, reaching down to touch the shoulder of the man. Just before he could, the chair turned, and in the chair was a dying man, his throat cut. Despite it, still he talked, even letting out a laugh.