James Davis - The Restless Shore

The beast in the Spur, the teeth and the eyes, the twisted tail, and the wheezing hunger rumbling in its hot breath-that had been real, not some figment in a dream. She imagined Tessaeril being taken through the forest, running from the kaia, standing where she stood. A sudden cold dread raised the hairs on the back of her neck as she turned toward the Spur.

The grassland rose higher and higher until it met the edge of the distant forest. Its leaves seemed on fire in full sunlight, and beyond them, towering above the tree tops was the Spur itself. The central stone of the forest was farther west than her journey had taken her, its curling top hazy through the clouds that gathered around it. Dots rose and fell on the wind, birds that had taken up residence on its sides. It was an exact image from her dream, and she had little doubt that Tessaeril had stood in the same spot and looked back before moving on.

She started at the approach of Vaasurri and Uthalion, collected herself and checked her meager pack. Uthalion wordlessly handed her a waterskin as he passed and moved toward the long sloping path into the broken grassland beyond. Seeing him in the light for the first time, she couldn’t say he was particularly handsome, but nor was he ugly, for a human. His face was rough and lined, his eyes piercing, confident, and strong. Curiously, despite his previous objections to helping her, he did not seem inclined to wait for anyone else, pressing on in the lead with nary a gesture or even a harsh word.

Before she could take a first step to follow, Brindani passed her as well, his head down and his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. Neither of the men acknowledged her or each other.

“Worry not,” Vaasurri said and stood at her side. “I’m sure in a few days you’ll be hard pressed to shut them up for all their chatter.”

She smiled briefly despite herself and fell into step beside the killoren.

“Tell me more about this Choir,” he said at length as they descended. The land revealed its soaring cliffs and perilous drops, a massive field of shattered green and sparkling crystals.

“Little to tell really,” she sighed. “Though I expect they are less the men they present themselves as and more … well, something else. They appeared in the city streets one day, only in the lower districts, with bandages around their hands and dirty robes. Their every movement, their smell, and the places they would frequent, made them seem little more than beggars. But their voices …

“I was sober the first time I heard them singing, and the sound chilled my soul. It was like messengers from the gods pronouncing some judgment upon all who listened.” She shuddered at the memory. “After that, I avoided them at all costs, wishing they would move on as quickly as they’d arrived. But then, as they enthralled groups of those that found some kind of hope in their songs, Tessaeril began to listen as well.”

“Did she go with them willingly?” he asked.

“What are you implying?” she returned sharply, but she calmed herself, seeing genuine curiosity in the killoren’s eyes, “I’m sorry. No, I don’t believe so. Their songs are strange, very … persuasive. They escaped the city with a dozen other citizens without alerting even the sharpest-eyed guard.”

Vassurri nodded and seemed to consider the tale as they journeyed deeper into the Mere-That-Was. Occasionally she glanced over her shoulder, expecting at any moment to find the dreamers-or even the Choir themselves-bearing down on them, calling her name. She’d expected the killoren to press her on the subject and was relieved that he did not. She was still trying to work out for herself why the Choir would come back for her. As the day wore on, and the sun neared the western horizon, she feared the evening’s dream would be stronger. She found herself both dreading and looking forward to the strange nightmare and the bewitching song.

“Perhaps I shall learn more tonight,” she whispered, watching the sun slowly turn a deep orange.

“Pardon?” Vaasurri said, overhearing her.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” she answered quickly, still not entirely comfortable with the idea of sharing her dreams with anyone else. “What about Tohrepur?” she asked. “Has Uthalion ever mentioned …?”

“Not much,” he said as they looked to the human, still in the lead and forging a winding path through the towering crystals. “He’s not usually one for speaking about that part of his past lightly or at length.”

“So I gathered last night,” she said, recalling his argument with Brindani. “It’s something he and the half-elf have in common.”

Uthalion stopped at the other end of a natural bridge of land, both sides of which dropped down into the shadows of the lower plains. He paced out an area, on the southern side of a hill, and let his pack fall to the ground. The sun had just dipped into a deep red edge on the western horizon, and the sky was beginning a slow purpling toward twilight.

“We’ll rest here,” he said, studying the area as Ghaelya surveyed the hill and cast yet another worried glance to the north. “Cold camp only, and we’ll break before dawn … make as much distance as possible between us and them before hitting the Wash.”

The statement reassured Ghaelya as she knelt in the grass and eased her legs, but she kept a nervous hand on her sword all the same. The dreamers had surprised her more than once with their speed, and she wasn’t quite ready to trust being out in the open after dark.

“I should start a fool’s fire,” Vaasurri said and shouldered his pack again. “Draw them off if they get too close, and the smoke could help cover what scent we’ve left behind.”

“Your ears will serve us better here,” Uthalion said. “I’ll take Brindani with me, and we’ll set the fire.”

Brindani paced at the edge of the site, staring west and keeping his head low. Vaasurri reluctantly nodded and rejoined Ghaelya. The human took what supplies he needed and turned to leave, though Ghaelya noticed Brindani took his pack, refusing to let it get more than an arm’s length from his shoulder.

“We’ll be back soon,” Uthalion added. “If anything happens light the last of the flash-torches. We’ll spot it easily in the dark.”

With that, the two set out, quickly disappearing among the hills and the crystals. Ghaelya watched the last of the sunlight slowly drain away as she chewed absently on dried fruit and a strip of salted venison. She tasted neither, her gaze darting at every sound, and her pulse jumping at every imagined movement. Scarcely a night had passed in several days when she hadn’t been running or hiding from things in the dark. And when she had managed to sleep, the dreams had left her restless and shaken.

Any rest at all, she reckoned, would come uneasily and be spent fitfully. When Vaasurri mentioned taking first watch, she pretended not to hear him, listening only for the haunting howls of the dreamers and the beguiling voices of the Choir.

7 Mirtul, the Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR)

The Akana, North of the Wash, Akanul

Moonlight stretched dim shadows across the ground as Uthalion eyed the dark edge of the cliff on his left, its sheer drop disappearing into an endless ocean of black. Taking a deep breath, he beat back the imagery of teeth and tentacles swimming through the inky expanse of shadow, tore his eyes away from the limitless fall, and focused on the task at hand. Brindani remained in the lead, his half-elf eyes more suited to the pale light of the rising moon, though his occasional stumbling too close to the cliff made Uthalion more than a little nervous.