Dreamer: The Eighth Key book 1

The Shattering of a dream

Diraimeir never thought a simple color could be so bright. The sun’s glare off of the ice? Sure. That was only natural. But color as simple as green? Yet here it was, a lush forest full of fresh shades so brilliant that couldn’t possibly be named. His eyes could not fathom what was before him. It was far too vibrant to be the all-white world he had grown accustomed to.

He was not home anymore. That much was certain. Gone was the quartz cathedral with its angelic hymns. The frosted spires of his city were nowhere to be found. Diraimeir recognized nothing at all. Forever winter became an eternal spring.

He’d never seen such an enchanting place, nor had he ever had the honor of knowing the smell of the soft sweetness of budding lilac and honeysuckle. Admittedly, this was someplace far away from where his people lived. Nevertheless, here he was, basking in the sphere’s radiance. Through the holes in the canopy, the sun caressed his face.

 Onward the Illitar’s feet carried him through a vast, untamed wilderness. He picked his way down an overgrown deer trail. The out of the ordinary place was, in fact, home to the Goddess’s blessed woodland creatures. Beautiful life songs from birds were a delicate symphony abuzz around him, the performers of which carried on without any care toward Diraimeir’s passing. Gya’a be praised!

This place was just so wondrously calm and peaceful. It was not harsh or unforgiving like the snowfields of Cidraedell. Diraimeir felt like he walked within a dream from which he had no desire to wake. The small nymph wandered aimlessly, letting his feet lead him idly wherever they willed him to go. This feeling was so euphoric; it imprinted upon him like an echo. Alluring. So much so that the singing of the birds ceased, and the buzzing of the insects vanished altogether. He walked on, blissfully unaware, the façade still in play before his eyes.

  Yet Diraimeir was not afforded that luxury. He felt compelled to move towards a small clearing just ahead. There, in its center, sat a circular reflection pool waiting for the likes of him to disturb its surface.

 Small but deep, the pool could have once been an old well. Upon peering into it, something about the water within appeared off. The water was as still as glass, nearly silver in color but faded into deep inky black in its middle. It teased the heavens; the sun could never hope to reach to the bottom of it. Only enchanted moss, holding a most ethereal glow, sparkled within its depths like tiny fireflies. 

As Diraimeir stared down at his reflection, it began to twist and distort before it settled again. Now, his reflection resembled a familiar face in the water, but it was certainly not his own. Where his soft, pale, purplish-gray skin and a shock of wavy white hair should have been was a replacement. A body of smooth copper-like skin coupled with a mop of unkempt chestnut brown hung just above the shoulders, stood. Green eyes stared up at his usually icy blue hues. Those reflections held a much more feminine form than his own.

This other creature copied his every movement. Unnerved, he began to stare down at his hands. He was not in his own body! It was nothing but a vessel, and he was not in control of his motions.  Diraimeir wished to retreat, but he could no longer will this one off the course that it was so intent on taking. With ever-growing clarity, he realized that he was now merely on the inside, looking out at everything. The vessel holding his soul stepped over the edge of the pool and began to sink. For the first time since his waking, Diraimeir felt a panic swell in a band around his chest as he was surrounded by the cold. Water rushed around his ears and stifled his hearing. He felt heavy as he faded into the tangibly inky darkness.

The water underneath him began to swirl with patches of fading colors here and there. Soon, soft aqua light emanated from underneath his body. A wave of numbness blanketed Diraimeir’s panic. The water inexplicitly thinned to air as he sunk deeper through the well. When Diraimeir’s feet lightly landed on solid ground, it was as though he had never been in the water in the first place. His hair was dry, and his clothes hung normally on his frame. Her frame... His identity still confused him.

He’d landed in the center of an extensive cavernous series of paths. They lead off in every direction imaginable, ending at the mouths of other entrances and sunken ruins by his guess. He could see the last little bit of magic, manifesting as a faint light, leave him now. High above him hung an upside-down lake with waves crashing over the stalactite covered ceiling. A rain of salted sea spray fell periodically around him in a fine, refreshing mist. The spell must have done well. He was safe though he did not know where the enchantment had come from. All around this place was silent, save for the sound of the breakwater. 

He’d barely settled when his feet chose a path, and he was off again. Diraimeir climbed upwards until that path eventually evened out. He took note of green and blue lights flickering in the windows of many of the ruins as he passed by. He was also able to pick out movement. If he were capable of it, he would have shuddered. This deep, dark place, with its musk and dank, was so hard to get to that it should not be capable of sustaining life. He cursed mentally. His world had always been so small, and he knew nothing about things that lay far beyond the Cidridian boarder. Hell, he hardly knew anything about things outside of Illustrae at all. Perhaps this was normal for the rest of the world.

 This sunken metropolis was full of decay and the smell of death. What purpose did the lights serve? Diraimeir drew closer to the center of the seemingly abandoned city. He saw shadowed forms moving, mimicking the typical signs of life soundlessly. Again, the nymph noted that this body’s presence was not recognized, almost like he, himself, was nothing more than a shadow.

The trail weaved between old buildings tirelessly, eventually coming to an end on the highest part in the cavern before splitting off in several more directions. The spot in which he stood made a reasonably decent vantage point where he could see the full layout of the city. A bigger picture immediately stamped into Diraimeir’s mind. Of this Goddess forsaken place in the splendor of its past. From here, he could see the roads snake downward, countlessly branching off like tree’s limbs as they lead on to extraordinary places and beyond. In front of him rose a magnificent citadel, several lesser temples, and at least one large courtyard that housed a localized bath. It was enough to take his breath away. He could see it now as a living hub with many weak, colorful lanterns lighting the main thoroughfares. Looking above the landscape, Diraimeir saw large holes in the cavern ceiling where entrances through the water were visible via blue shafts of light, and he felt a sense of familiarity.

When Diraimeir set off again, his feet instinctively turned down one of the smaller paths to his left. It widened shortly after it began. His body stayed somewhat reassuringly on what he could consider being a high road with many mansions lining its course. Then it veered off and to the west of a dome, carved into the very rock of the cavern wall for a mile and a half. The walkway spiraled down to a series of once-ornate bridges leading into the Citadel’s massive complex. Running water could be heard, hidden away far below them. Diraimeir thought maybe this too might have only been an echo of what once existed considering how high up he was. The rock below the road could have very well been carved out by an underground river once upon a time, but the air here seems more stagnant then the rest of the cave he had navigated. Perhaps there were still some remaining pools from the old river left out of sight. Initially, he recalled a similar place that he must have read about in his studies. Still, the thought fled with a waft of equally invasive stench that nearly caused his stomach to overturn. What was that?

The Citadel grounds were offensive to all of his senses, with not even the movement of a shadow left to lead the way. Diraimeir’s feet, thankfully, did not take him close enough to the edges of any of the bridges to get a decent look below. He already had an inkling of the rot that existed down there.

Upon the bridge, the sight of massive towers of ochre biotite encrusted a beautiful crystalline stone that was the natural color of his skin rose towards the ceiling. The connection of the spire to the cave’s ceiling held it up right where other structures no longer could stand. Only one entry into the building was visible.  It was lit eerily by a series of illuminated purple tanzanite lamps that were hanging down along either side of a small staircase connecting the walk to a shallow veranda.

              He felt like he was shrinking with each step farther in, making his body seem lighter. Even the massive stone doors of the sanctuary, upon his push to open, were undoubtedly lighter than they had any right to have been. The excitement started to fill him, adrenaline rising to sickening levels. His other-self… This person he was in… He was here to serve some wonderous purpose that he couldn’t begin to fathom. Worry seeped through the excitement, though, as he went inside. Diraimeir didn’t understand what was going on.

Passing faded tapestries, which were just barely clinging to the walls, Diraimeir moved down a vast, dark hall. Each step was marked by an ethereal echo, almost like an alarm. Each breath seemed like a sigh that floated on forward, managing to sing out in the great room at the corridor’s end. Past this and beyond were rows upon rows of small platforms. One could only assume that space had been a gallery of some sort though it was now void of pottery or statues. His body swiveled sharply to the left, stopping in front of a peculiar looking portrait. At first glance, it had appeared to be of a dark-haired fae-faced beauty. But as Diraimeir neared it, the image distorted into a tangle of flora-less trees. Their gnarled branches twisted out to snag any road-weary traveler away from the lonely road woven down its center. Though it disturbed him deeply, his hand brushed a damp door cloth aside and stepped up into a corridor hidden behind it. The passage contained steep spiral stairs that jutted up unevenly. If he had control of his movements, he would wonder if he was even able to keep his balance during the rickety ascent.

The climb ended upon a meager landing just wide enough to stand on. Standing before Diraimeir was a tarnished silver door of wrought plants in the form of ivy and flowers, the likes of which Diraimeir had never seen before. It was both exquisite and magnificent, surely hiding a treasure behind it! This door, too, was opened quickly enough with a bit of effort and a gut-wrenching screech. 

Inside was a bedchamber belonging to a wealthy elite, long dead. Even in the dark, it was grand. The well-sealed door preserved the contents of this room better than anything he’d seen in the city.  Large granite pavers lined the floor, pure white quartz inlay some sparkled with the same floral designs on the door. Four large pieces of furniture dominated the space. A vanity and deteriorating cushion lay closest to where he stood, followed by a large wardrobe, and a soft-looking bench on either side of the room’s only window.

 The most significant piece was the sizeable canopy bed directly across the room from the doorway. But it wasn’t the bed that was interesting. The not-at-all ancient person lying on it was what captured his attention, and with a flicker of horror, he realized why.

The coppery tang of blood hit his nostrils. In a city of ancients, they’d stumbled upon a fresh corpse. With that, the dream faded away.