James Davis - The Restless Shore

Uthalion slowed ahead of her, and she shook her head, watching the lantern as Vaasurri moved on, scouting the path ahead. Brindani stood close, his back to hers, watching the path behind. Catching her breath, Ghaelya leaned against a nearby tree and whispered an old rhyme.

“Little nightmare let me be; leave my name from off your tree.”

“What was that?” Uthalion whispered, and she felt foolish for being heard playing at a child’s game.

“Nothing, just an old story my mother used to tell us,” she replied, smiling nervously at the memory and eager to purge herself of its childish nature. “She said the kaia was an old beast, from the other plane, once a mere serpent, charged by foul gods to devour the children of the genasi. But a clever child, unafraid of the serpent, had fought back, tricking the kaia into the burning light of day. Frightened, it had retreated into the deep forest to hide. But when the Blue Breath of Change came, the hungry kaia followed us. It hid in the dark and gave birth to nightmares that were sent to spy upon the genasi children.

“Those they could not frighten were left alone, safe in their beds. But those that cried out and hid beneath their blankets until dawn … those children had their names carved into the trees of the kaia’s forest, so that it could read them and know which ones were safe to eat.”

Ghaelya thought back, having never cried out when the nightmares had come to test her. But she had scolded Tessaeril many times for being scared. Ghaelya had been the brave one, fond of teasing her sister about the kaia-trees, but in reality she had only been better at hiding her fear. Though she’d grown out of the tales quickly, she never forgot the Mother of Nightmares. Watching intently for Vaasurri’s return, she whispered to Uthalion again.

“Have you ever seen it?” she asked.

“Gods no, and I thank whatever gods that have pity on me for that,” he answered swiftly. “But I’ve been chased, had a close call or two….”

Vaasurri rejoined them, holding the swinging lantern close to his face. His return interrupted Ghaelya’s thoughts of being pursued by the kaia. The howls of the dreamers had ceased quite some time ago, and she’d nearly forgotten the danger that had driven them into the night in the first place.

“There’s a spur up ahead,” the killoren reported. “We can rest there a moment and get our bearings, then we’ll see if we can slip through the thick of it before morning.”

The forest floor sloped up slightly as they made their careful way onward. The rock spurs were the namesake of the forest, massive uprisings of smooth stone, curled into figures like sharp claws that gouged at the sky. Rock, flowing like water, had made the strange formations, twisted from beneath the soil in the foothills of the Akanapeaks and surrounded by floating islands of trees. The spur they approached was small in comparison to the others, standing only twice as high as the tallest trees in the forest.

Climbing the base of the towering rock, Ghaelya kept an eye over her shoulder, expecting the shiny gleam of the dreamers’ eyes to come bounding from the forest’s edge at any moment. She sat watching the clump of shadows the trees had become, her eyes nigh useless in the deeper dark of the wild, far from the constant lights of the city. She’d taken that light for granted, confident in her ability to take on anything and anyone that threatened her even in the lower districts of Airspur. Blades shining in lamplight were little threat compared to teeth in the dark.

She resisted the urge to light her torch, hungering for light as they waited for Vaasurri in the dark. Uthalion paced behind her, staring south into the smooth blanket of velvety blackness beneath a ceiling of stars. Brindani crouched nearby, his vision only slightly better than her own.

Her readiness to move on competed with the tired ache in her legs and the weary shaking of her hands. She closed her eyes once, drifting off for a heartbeat, just long enough to hear the faint edge of the constant song in her dreams. Her eyes fluttered open, a sharp edge of guilt twisting in her stomach at the sound of the ethereal singing. It swam to her, Tessaeril’s voice inexorably sliding through her thoughts as if her sister were lost underwater, far from the surface and drowning.

Brindani touched her shoulder, and she gasped, not realizing she’d held her breath.

“We’re ready,” he said quietly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, the ache in her limbs forgotten amid the weariness of her heart. She refused to let the others see her weakness. “Let’s go.”

Descending from the spur, she glanced again over her shoulder, fresh guilt now joining the dreamers in their pursuit of her.

24 Tarsakh, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

Airspur, Lower Districts

Ghaelya’s eyes fluttered open. Sitting up slowly in the dark, she found herself alone in the Jinn’s Favor , a favorite tavern in the lower districts of Airspur. Her stomach turned, and the night’s drinking made her neck feel boneless, her head unimaginably heavy. A faint singing floated through the air. She pushed herself away from the bar and stumbled through the empty common room to the door. She leaned on the jamb and peered out into the dimly lit streets.

A group of hooded monks passed by, humming and chanting their strange songs. She shook her head in disgust, immediately regretting the movement, then fixed a glaring eye upon the backs of the monks as they continued on their mysterious rounds. They called themselves the Choir, and were servants of some unknown goddess- she’d heard them reference ‘the Lady’ on occasion during the sermons they’d read in the squares and streets.. She cared little what they did or who they worshipped, but their singing bored into her skull like a knife.

Their presence disturbed the powers high above in lofty towers however, and for that she’d raised at least one glass to the monks’ health, even though she tired of the haunting songs and wished they would move on. If not for the peace of fewer headaches, then to loose the Choir’s powerful hold over her sister.

Not yet fully trusting her balance, Ghaelya fell to her knees in the alley and crawled toward the glow of the street lamps. Ascending the various layers and levels of the city, she regained-unfortunately-a measure of her sobriety back and found no friend or acquaintance that might allow her an uncomfortable stretch of floor until morning.

Turned out on the street by every so-called friend she had, Ghaelya made her slow way, leaning on walls and high railings, to her family’s home. Their small tower in the middle-airs of the city was modest compared to the suspended mansions and estates high above, but their family’s status was cemented due to her mother’s distant relation to the Steward of Fire. Their coat-of-arms bore the mark of a candle’s flame for all to see, on every wall, door, and window.

Ghaelya had relished the look on her mother’s face when she’d turned to the guiding element of water to shape her destiny. Though she’d been born into the spirit of fire-she occasionally felt the heat of flames burning in her blood-she resisted the urge to manifest the “family flames” as she called them, leaving that duty to the more complacent Tessaeril. An annoyance to her family, Ghaelya had never been forced into a fine dress or made to attend the boring gatherings of the wealthy and delusional.

Placing her hand on the flat metal panel above the doorhandle, tiny runes flared blue in recognition, and the lock clicked open. Falling inside, she slammed the door with a wince and leaned against the wall, waiting for the yelling to start. It never came, and she raised an azure eyebrow in surprise. A slow intake of breath made her peer blurrily to the end of the hall where her sister stood with arms crossed.