Dreamer: The Eighth Key book 1

Running Free

The game was afoot. Thistale was on her way north with a handful of others, Sumrian and Anmarite included. She had little time to prepare though she had been able to sleep in the most wonderful bed. That was always how these things went, right? She found this sort of thing kind of funny. Just a few nights prior, she was alone with just her thoughts and only had the dark to keep her company. Now, her world was full of voices. Of sounds! On a handful of occasions, she could have sworn she had even been able to see color once again. Color! Can you even imagine it? The very thought of potentially regaining her sight set her heart aflutter. She spent far too long in her dark, bland world.

They were not as rushed as she had initially thought they would be. Maybe, Thistale had even rushed herself with her eagerness to go. She wanted to get as far away from Bardridor and its ash-filled air as she possibly could manage. Anmarite met her, not at the carriage that promised to whisk her away, but one of the staircases of spongy volcanic rock within the compound. “Thistale, my dear, we must speak before we go.” She announced, making her presence known before she took the Draconic’s hand in hers and laced their fingers together. “You look happy. I do not want to alarm you, but I feel I must give you a warning. By the end of your trip, I believe that man will have cause to betray you. Not just us. But you. I would hate for anything to tear you away from me.”

“Sumrian?” Thistale frowned.

“Yes. You must be on your guard. You must stay by my side. Do you understand?”

“I think so… But… Why? Why would he try to be-.” Thistale was cut off mid-word. The tightening of the fingers around hers told her not to argue. Anmarite wouldn’t accept anything but obedience.

“Trust me.” The whisper sent shivers down Thistale’s spine. Just the way it was said was enough to promise prying into things would be a bad idea. Anmarite’s grip tightened even more, squeezing Thistale’s hand so hard that she could feel her heartbeat in her numbing fingers. Like she was promising to break it, Anmarite pressed once more as she smugly eyed Thistle.

“Yes, my Lady.” The Draconic said quickly, arm shaking. It took every ounce of restraint Thistale had to keep herself from pulling it away.

Anmarite smiled wickedly. “Good girl.” Her tone dripped in mock adoration for her new pet. The best puppet was one who could follow orders blindly. No pun intended. “Do not forget, he was one of the very people who put you away. He left you in the dark. You can’t trust a man who’s done such a wrong.” Those words were meant to bruise her.

Thistale should have known better deep down within her heart. Her sight. Her state of mind. All this was handcrafted to be Sumrian’s fault so that she would bend to the Bardridian regime when they found a use for her. Thistale did not know it yet, but Anmarite would undoubtedly use that to her advantage. The girl would undoubtedly be Anmarite’s in the end, willingly or otherwise. Thistale only remained as Thistale because she had not yet outlived her use. She was already becoming aware of this.

Before they left Holt’s Peak, Thistale collected as much information about Anmarite as she could from anybody who would talk to her. Not a lot of people these days could recall just exactly who Anmarite was, and it seemed she preferred to keep it that way. Thistale was told that in the days before the Goddess’s fall, Anmarite became the youngest general Bardridor had ever known and that she was an unseen hand. Some said the woman was working in the shadows as she pulled the country’s military-like puppets on a string and that Thistale should never cross her. Not even Bardridor’s officials nor any other within her ranks knew even a shred of Anmarite’s sketchy sounding background. The only information of actual value Thistale learned was that only Anmarite had such power in the city. Her word was absolute. Even the maidservants said that any deviation from Anmarite’s will would result in misfortune. Ill tidings would befall them and their loved ones.

 She certainly has the coin to toss at the feet of the ruling class. They are all afraid of her. How has she commanded absolute loyalty? If only everyone knew how much of a snake in the grass she really is. They are all chess pieces to her. I don’t want the same fate.

“Come, my dear. It’s time to leave. Remember what I said, child.” Anmarite said smoothly, letting go finally and leaving a deep red mark in Thistale’s skin.

The carriage ride was awfully slow. In all seriousness, they could have walked faster than the pace the caravan set leaving the capitol. Sumrian was all too happy to voice this, making Thistale roll her eyes. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the floor of the cabin, which he shared with both Anmarite and Thistale, with the impatience of a child. “Can’t we go any faster than this? At this rate, it will be winter again by the time we get down the mountain.” He said sarcastically. “Why do we have to take the whole counsel with us, anyway? They are better off staying home to lick their wounds. Or their coffers.”

“Stop pouting. It’s very unbecoming for someone your age.” Anmarite smirked. Much to everyone’s delight, Sumrian said nothing more though the look on his face displayed absolute annoyance. “You are welcome to get out and walk yourself if you are not satisfied.”

The roadway down from Holt’s Peak snaked off towards Three-points, a crossroads sitting on a small flat a few miles above the base of the Bardridian mountains. The way was uneven and uncomfortably narrow. Dull grey chipped rock on one side of the road climbed up in a chiseled arch and covered it as if to shield travelers from numerous rockslides. The sharp drop of its other side was stark in contrast. If Thistale only could look outside the carriage’s left window, she would not see the road they were on at all. Only the immediate drop. Thus, there was a need to be slow and careful. These carriages were loaded down with people and goods, far too wide for recklessness brought on by needless haste.

On the other hand, the view coming down the mountain offered a glimpse of a tremendous sparkling sea far off along the horizon. The charred landscape was dotted with minimal color otherwise besides grey, holding a hauntingly desolate atmosphere to it. It was pretty in its own way.

              Occasionally the caravan passed pillars of steam, which originated from open fissures in the rock below. This part of the world had always been seismically active, though the activity as of late has upped by at least tenfold. Pools of ever reheating lava could be seen in places where the earth had cracked under pressure. There were continually shifting fault lines that ran numerous under the earth, creating conduits that came and went overtime. The ground often quivered yet not always aggressively. Luckily, the majority of the tremors had not been too disastrous, people were able to live mostly unaffected by them. Plus, all this activity made the kingdom rich in ore, gemstones, and other precious minerals. Money certainly made Bardridor much more bearable.

The air became sickly sweet as they neared Three Corners, where the road split off into different directions. There was a separate route leading toward the coast that would have made the trip much more manageable. Another continued to follow along the top of the current ridge before venturing deeper into the mountains. The terrain now allowed for that road to widen and gradually become less steep. Unfortunately, taking the easy way with their current pace wouldn’t have saved them any time whatsoever. It would have meant that the caravan would have to go miles out of their way in favor of better roads.

 That simply would not do! Anmarite was adamant that they stay on the course they were on. From thistale’s understanding, it was far less traveled. And, therefore, much less dangerous. She told Thistale that taking the ridge would aid in the secrecy of their travel. She’s got the final say anyway. Deeper into the mountains, it is.

The caravan met not a soul on that thin winding road “We could have stopped to set up camp several times over by now. The hour has grown late, and I don’t think where we are is going to do us any good. It’s too rocky.” He complained, mimicking even Thistale’s thoughts. The carriage was being jostled too much, and it was making her exceedingly uncomfortable.

 Darkness swallowed the mountainside, creating night much earlier than the land below. Still, Anmarite insisted on pushing on as far as they could. Despite the counsel’s constant whining, Anmarite forced the caravan to continue. This was clearly no place to stop anyways. Thistale thought. Rockslides or inclement weather could catch us suddenly in our sleep in an instant, and then where would we be? At the bottom of a ravine or buried under ash and rubble, I’m sure. There was simply no way she would risk that. “We should press on. Lady Anmarite surely knows this road better than us all.”

The sun had long since fallen, and the early-morning hours crept past before the line of carriages made it down into the crest of a more forgiving valley. The very canyon in which one could pass through the mountains without going under them had been cut hundreds of years before. Only when Thistale actively begged to stop did they make camp. Arriving in Xune’s grasslands and beyond only took a few hours more from where they were anyways, and the Bardridian nobles were getting on her nerves.

Bardridian tents were rather extravagant and took a while to build. Even more so in the dark. There was no sleeping on the ground for Thistale nor any other. Platforms had to be pieced together, followed by setting up poles to hang thick woven cloth. The tent’s interiors were low but wide and strung with elegant hanging sheers to divide up individual sleeping spaces. A thin and elongated lantern was placed in each of them, illuminating everything in the magenta tinted light created from burning Twistroot oil. Each bed was comprised of soft pallet like mattresses upon inch risers, holding all the warm comforts of those within the capitol’s most elegant buildings. Pillows and silks were strewn everywhere. In the center of each tent complex, a small hole in the canopy was cut above where a brass brazier sat. Obviously, this was done to help filter out smoke. The set up allowed its occupants to keep warm better as the dark in the valley brought cooler temperatures then what any of them were typically used to.

The shadow of the mountain cast an unreasonable amount of darkness upon this valley in particular. Otherwise, it would have made a fantastic site for a town. That being said, this area was as barren as they come. Not enough light found the ground during the day to be able to cultivate or sustain greenery. Perhaps in that aspect, it was the perfect place to settle in for some good rest. It was almost a guarantee that no other would disturb Thistale or her traveling mates unless they came down from the very city they left behind.

Thistale was told so as the group began to set up the rather extravagant camp, but she did not put much trust in it. She may not have been able to see much but the occasional blur or shadow, but her other senses more than made up for that. She could feel the surrounding emptiness enclose in on her. The shadows, real or not, played with the light in her tent’s center like they were mocking her. She felt each sigh of breath as the lamplight dimmed in all the other shelters around her, one by one, till most were extinguished. It hadn’t felt natural. Though Anmarite was a few feet away, she could feel an unmeasurable distance between them. Anmarite must have felt her unease. The warm palm of Thistale’s current companion fell upon her shoulder, giving her a start.

“Be still. The shadow is not your enemy. Honestly, you have nothing to fear.” Anmarite said in a low whisper as not to startle her any farther. “It has ever been our ally, Thistale. I know it doesn’t seem like it now. Give it some time. That darkness will be your saving grace if you allow it to.” Considering Thistale had been under a mountain for years, it was a wonder that she had not succumbed to it already. “Darkness like this will only serve to aid in our safe passage as we work for the good of all. You will see that in the end. Let it be a refuge.” She moved to sit next to Thistale’s side, pulling the Vale’s head down into her lap. She gingerly stroked through Thistale’s soft golden curls. “Why do you fear the dark so?” Anmarite cooed.

Thistale’s eyes closed. “I was left to it for so long… Days have gone uncounted. I can no longer tell the passage of time. The year or day. The dark. It moves around me. I am certain it will swallow me without any remorse. And I will pass out of memory forever thereafter.”

“Do not forget who you are, my sweet. Keys cannot be swallowed. Nor can they be forgotten so easily.” At least not by the tide of misfortune that Anmarite wished to flood the oncoming days.” You have nothing to fear while you are with me. I will be here every waking step with you. This is my promise. Just as I spared you from your solitude, I shall spare you in this. Just do as I say, and I will ease your burdens.” She replied with silver upon her tongue, a threat masked by sweetness. Thistale still did not believe her.

Thistale sightlessly stared off towards the light at her feet. “I trust you, my lady. I do…” She muttered unconvincingly as she fell back upon her pile of blankets. Thistale drifted off into a deep sleep immediately as though she had fallen under a spell.

                                                                                      *

 Once the Draconic started to snore, Anmarite sighed. Troublesome creature. Men are much easier to deal with. She removed herself from the woman’s bed and sneered. She couldn’t believe the woman next to her was acting so… So naïve. So easy it was to wrap others about her fingertips and twist. No matter. There was more work to be done. Thistale had been right on the mark about those shadows. Servants of Anmarite to be exact, carrying out her will with precision.

The caramel-skinned woman cloaked herself in a deep red chaplet and slipped out into the night. Not before she blew out the light of all the lamps around Thistale first. Sleep well. The witch thought. This will be the last peaceful sleep you shall ever know.

Anmarite was not foreign to this valley. She knew it like the back of her hand or the curves of her own face. Her feet needed no help to pick her way across the ground safely though it was still hard to manage. She’d spent a fair amount of time out here since her childhood. Even more so in recent days. Why? To prepare for the oncoming storm she would use to e*****e all of Sharn, of course. Nay. The world. Oh, she had such excellent plans. Anmarite had a purpose. She would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, so help her. Even if that meant she would risk tearing this dying world entirely apart because of it.

Anmarite hiked up her skirts before she began to trudge through thick ankle-deep mud along the banks of an ash washed stream, affording her cover to her passing. Just ahead of her was a shallow cave, its entrance hidden by a large fallen boulder. An oddly spicy smell radiated from it. Like rotting ginger and saffron, it was the scent of a specific oil she loved to use in her workings. Anmarite was not fazed by the stench in the least. She had already grown quite accustomed to it in the many hours she spent setting the cave up for her conjuring. All around her, her whisp-like servants swirled in and out of existence like a dizzying haze of ever moving insects over a carcass. They seemed to cross effortlessly into the ethereal plains from whence they originated from. 

With a snap of her fingers, hundreds of candles that were melted nearly down to the quick came alight. An eerie pale glow cast around her. Pouches of various dried herbs hung from the ceiling for safekeeping, swinging slightly from the little bit of wind her shadowy minions created in their play. Scattered across the dirt lay several piles of things like wood and bone, along with a hand-dug pit lined with chunks of rock that sat to the farthest end of the most protected area of the cave. Above this, a tarnished old pot sat precariously on an old iron platform that looked as though it would give out from the rust eating away at it. Anmarite refused to replace it, though. She had used this set up ever since she had first begun to dabble in magic. It always proved reliable.

Her attention took her from that to a particular pile of bone off to her left. It had been arranged upon an ornate cloth, scrubbed to a subtle sheen, and kept in miraculous condition. Anmarite knelt down beside it, plucking a skull cautiously up between two hands and brought its eyeless gaze to hers. “Soon, my love. I won’t let you down.” She whispered to it, touching her lips to its bare crown. As she set the skull back into place, she paused. Something’s off. The more she viewed the entire arrangement, she could tell her precious bones had been moved, even if it was only by a few centimeters. But… How can that be? There weren’t any tracks leading inside. Nothing at all to suggest that another soul had been within the walls of her little lair. Anmarite shot up, going over everything down a mental checklist. Nothing was missing so far as she could tell. Was she overthinking things? No. Someone definitely moved the bones. And only them. Nothing else has been tampered with.

An almost feral growl escaped Anmarite’s lips as the candlelight around her flickered before dimming to near extinction. If someone knew her secret, she was going to have to hurry! Herbs and water were quickly tossed into the old pot. Then a fire was kindled, and the concoction inside was brought to a raging boil within minutes. The cave began to fill with a cloud of smoke so thick that it made the Witch’s eyes water. All according to plan. Within this smoke, several dark figures formed. Almost like her shadows, really. But these were quite different. These new beings elongated and stretched in the haze like taffy, becoming thin, fluffy looking wisps which shot forth from the cave wildly as they set out to do Anmarite’s bidding. Their target: Any and all of the Goddess’s precious Keys.

Thistale, in particular, would receive the brunt of her plotting. If any other Keys were to be found, it would serve as a bonus for her. She needed to locate them all as well as entice them into coming to her in due time. At least the ones that were embedded in the living. If this could do just that, then she had her work cut out for her. The Keys could be anything, really.

                                                                                      *

Back in the camp, under the stillness of the night air, Thistale stirred and tossed onto her side with a pained groan. One of Anmarite’s wisps entered her tent through the hole in the center of the canopy. It assessed Thistale as it churned above her in her slumber. Long tendril-like fingers graced her chin to tip her head back. When her parched lips parted, the wisp waited for her to inhale it. Like a deathly chill, it slipped into her body as naturally as possible. Seeping into her lungs and her heart before it soaked up her subconscious thoughts. The wisp worked to arouse terrible, frightening visions in her. Her sweet dreams twisted and told her that all the others around her, save for Anmarite, were aligned with some sort of evil. She dreamed of Sumrian. Of faint faces she’d never yet met before and of death. Her death.

Such a dream was unnaturally vivid. Thistale had not dreamt in such detail since the loss of her sight years ago. Was she to receive it as an omen? Or was it nothing more than just a dream summarizing her worry? Thistale shot up in the dark in a fit of panic as beads of sweat dripped down her forehead, she tumbled plum out of her bed. For a brief moment, she was fooled into thinking she was still in the dream and tried desperately to wake herself up.

“Thissssstale.” A long sigh of a whisper brought her out of any remaining thoughts of sleep. The woman’s head snapped towards the general direction it came from. Had she not known that voice, she would have screamed b****y murder. Instead, she shot a rather nasty look into the dark.

“Thistale. We should go now. While that woman is gone.”

“Why would I want to go anywhere with you?” She countered, snapping at him. Sumrian just scared the living daylights out of her. She rubbed her face in annoyance. “It’s early, and I want to go back to sleep.”

“Shhhh!” Sumrian took her hand to give it an insistent tug. “Hurry up. We don’t have any time to lose.” He looked over his shoulder at the open dark behind him like Anmarite would somehow magically appear beside him. Clearly, that did not happen, nor would it. Her cave was quite the distance away, and even then, Anmarite was far too busy with her secrecy to be rushed. “We still have some time.” Sumrian pulled Thistale’s wrist once more, prompting her to rise though she stalled him still. Thistle snatched her arm away from him defiantly when she was on her feet, the seeds of mistrust from the dream still fresh upon her heart. “What are you doing, woman!? Did you not hear me? We need to leave now while we still can! Do not let that Witch talk you into following her blindly!” Sumrian protested, bringing her hand back between his again softly. “Please… Thistale… I’ve got a lot to be sorry for when it comes to you, but… But have a little faith in me, like back when we were young.”

Thistale just needed to think for a moment. With this timing, I wonder if my dream was, in fact, a warning. Its bizarre Sumrian is trying to pull something like this after Anmarite specifically said he would try. Maybe she knows something. It’s probably safer to stay put. Then again… Perhaps being far away from her is best. That woman frightens me. This could be a coincidence.  And even if it was not, she had not yet cleared that possibility.

 “I am not giving you a choice anymore. I will apologize to you later somehow. We don’t have time for this.” He told her. Sumrian had already gathered a few essentials for travel as quickly as he was able to before coming to fetch Thistale. His early thinking abled the pair of them to take off as soon as they could. He had her wrist in a vice grip, though she gathered it was out of fear and need based on how his hand trembled. No matter how she pulled, he would not let her go.

Thistale was so shocked by how he was acting that she found she could not argue with him. Several times, she tried to yell at him or raise the alarm, but it was lost to the wild howling winds rushing through the valley. Hurrying over the terrain fast enough for Thistale to stumble often, Sumrian also seemed quite used to this area. The closer they got towards the pass, the safer they were from harm. From Anmarite and any of her minions. The terrain was slow to change beneath their feet as it became less rocky but muddier, sucking their footwear into puddles of thick damp ash. Thistale scrunched up her nose at it in distaste.

Sumrian cursed faintly under his breath., turning to the Vale and placed his hands on her hips. “Hold on to me tightly.” He demanded. Sumrian pivoted, plucking the thin woman as best as he was able to out of the muck and proceeded to carry her, bridal style, towards some much drier ground. It must have rained heavily not too long ago. The smell of the downpour lingered on the air. Thus far, nothing had the time to dry out. Even now, a fine mist fell, it was manageable though it whipped about them. From the feel of it, they could have been in one of the many old riverbeds that started to fill this time of year with snowmelt from farther up into the heart of the peaks. The lack of light made it hard to tell for sure.

This night felt like it lasted forever. Partly because Sumrian and Thistale had been walking for hours after finding a forgotten footpath that wound steadily through the cliffs and off in the general direction they wished to go. And partially because the sun had to rise high over the Bardridian mountains before it had any weight upon the earth bellow. By days break, they could see Bardridor’s Pass itself in the distance.