Of Lake and Shadow

  O’ children of Avonmora, step lightly. Open thine eyes wide—let fear and wonder be thy guides.

  Guard well against the return of the ancient evils forewarned before the Gathering, before even the Time of Tyrants.

  The withering darkness cannot be held at bay forever.

  And what, I ask, are ten thousand years—what a hundred thousand—to a being untouched by time’s decay?

  — Calvandrel, “The Inked Seer,” Faune’s Fateful Children: The Collected Letters from the Gathering

  Gasping in shock, Aehyl burst through the crystalline surface of Lake Silverfinn.

  Her heart pounded. Her mind raced.

  How had she gotten here?

  The last thing she remembered was Vistadora, spending time with Draefus, maybe dragging herself to bed in the early morning hours.

  Had she drifted into sleep without realizing it?

  This had to be a dream.

  And yet… everything was too vivid. The water too sharp and cold against her skin. The air too crisp.

  She ducked back beneath the surface, hoping the shock would jolt her awake. But when she emerged, sputtering, her sigil burned, flaring with sudden, stabbing heat.

  Wiping the water from her eyes, a creeping panic bloomed in her chest.

  This wasn’t just a dream.

  She was here for a reason.

  But what reason?

  She stared into the rippling reflection on the surface of the lake.

  Something bright and massive darted beneath the water, just at the edge of her vision. Startled, she spun—

  —but there was nothing. No trace.

  Her breath came too fast. She closed her eyes and forced herself to slow it, inhaling until her heartbeat began to steady.

  Then, with deliberate calm, she turned her gaze back to the water.

  And froze.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The reflection had changed.

  The face staring back was no longer hers.

  Platinum hair streamed like ghost-light down her shoulders. Her skin had paled to an unnatural hue. When she lifted her hand, talon-like claws glinted at the end of each finger.

  The reflection grinned.

  Then it winked, its eyes flashing with wicked light.

  Aehyl recoiled with a cry, stumbling backward in the shallows. Her foot slipped on the soft lakebed and she plunged again beneath the mirror-like surface.

  Her sigil ignited, throbbing with cold fire.

  She came up gasping, but the lake was gone.

  Now she stood in a forest of towering oaks and yawning shadows.

  It was darker than any forest had a right to be.

  Unnaturally so.

  There were no crickets droning, no nightingales calling, no owls watching from above.

  Nothing.

  Why was she here again?

  Ahead, a ghostly figure moved low through the underbrush—pale, quick, and silent.

  Aehyl crouched behind a holly bush, the cloying scent of azaleas thick in the air.

  She was dressed for the hunt, cloaked in camouflage from head to toe, her small hunter’s knife clutched tightly in her hand.

  Strong emotions stirred—rage, fear, hatred… pity.

  Each wrestled for control.

  And yet, somehow, she remained calm.

  Utterly still.

  Utterly focused.

  She followed in silence, shadowing the figure through the darkened wood.

  The world shifted again.

  The trees thinned.

  A glade.

  Suddenly, the translucent figure jolted violently. A silent impact struck her midriff.

  A wraith bolt.

  It hit with such force that she staggered backward and collapsed into the tall grass, vanishing from sight.

  Reflexively, Aehyl surged forward, breaking cover and rushing into the glade.

  The clearing was small, no more than twenty feet across, half as wide, enclosed by thick brambles and stillness.

  At its center, sprawled on the earth, was a skeletal figure. Half-real, half-rotted. Its limbs trembled. Black ichor gushed from a jagged wound in its abdomen, and brittle fingers clawed at the injury in vain.

  Vectra.

  She stared at Aehyl in astonishment, her dry, crimson-streaked lips twitching in pain.

  “Find her!” she rasped. “Find Shali!”

  With a final, pained shudder, Vectra snapped the projectile still lodged in her torso.

  Her scream tore through the night.

  From above, hundreds of color-shifting figures dropped from the trees, surrounding her in a tight, merciless ring.

  Retractable talons snapped outward from their long, spidery hands.

  “No escape,” they rasped in chilling unison.

  Aehyl collapsed, her limbs weak and trembling.

  The chant continued, rising and falling like some dreadful dirge. She screamed with them, howling on the forest floor, lost amid the ruin of her fallen sister.

  She fell to the madness, and the black blood covering her seeped deep into her skin, saturating her soul with its wickedness.

  “Aehyl, Aehyl, wake up, girl,” her mother’s voice cut through the darkness, tight with panic and close to tears.

  With a gasp, Aehyl jolted awake.

  Relief swept over her as she realized: it had only been a dream.

  Philia rocked her gently in her arms, whispering in soft, cooing tones. “It’s all right, young one. You are safe. You’re home, in Vistadora.”

  Aehyl buried her face in her mother’s chest and wept.

  “One minute I was in Lake Silverfinn, staring at… I don’t even know what. And then I was in the forest. I saw her, Mother—Vectra. She was in agony, and I could do nothing. By Faune, she was tormented!”

  She had always been strong. Since her father’s death, she had never let herself break.

  But now she wept like a child in her mother’s arms, helpless and afraid.

  She didn’t see the grim look that darkened Philia’s face.

  Nor the faint flash of stormlight that flickered through her eyes.