Dream by the Shadows: Part 1 – Chapter 15

The legionnaires didn’t trust me. That much was evident.

We had been traveling for hours, but they remained silent, sullen, and wary. Not a single one of them tried to speak with me. Earlier, Mithras had divided his force into thirds: one third was commanded to monitor Norhavellis until the new kingdom-appointed Absolvers arrived, another third was tasked with escorting the Norhavellis Corrupt to Citadel Firstlight, and the last third, the unlucky few, were meant to take me to the Tomb of the Devourer—where the Shadow Bringer’s body was kept. It was similar to pulling teeth, watching the legionnaires decide amongst themselves who would be traveling with the majority and who would be forced to accompany me.

Wicked rumors meandered among them—whispers that I was Corrupt and might change into the Shadow Bringer himself, ravaging our small party before anyone else in the kingdom knew otherwise. If that happened, they said I would spread Corruption like a ravenous, open-mouthed fire. I would not stop, the legionnaires claimed, until Corruption consumed Noctis whole.

Pleasant.

Dusk settled in as we rode, tickling our hair and necks with a cool, pine-scented breeze. Something shifted in the Visstill, too; nighttime sounds bloomed in the shadows as wind wended itself through the ancient trees, whooshing between bough and root as though the land was its hollow plaything.

The Light Legion set up camp in a crescent-shaped glade, murmuring furtively amongst themselves as they gathered firewood, righted their tents and bedrolls, and tended to the horses. Before long, armor had been carefully removed, hastily wiped down, and the group was largely nestled around a roaring fire, lounging in matching tunics and woolen pants.

I prodded the ground with the toe of my boot, still bound and relatively unsure as to what I should be doing or where I would be sleeping. At the rate I had been ignored—or suspiciously glared at—it was likely that there wouldn’t even be a place for me to sleep. Feeling miserable and out of place, I wandered to the edge of camp, slumping into the curve of an unearthed tree root.

Silas, likely ordered to watch me lest I make a run for it, stepped from the fire to join me.

“All the way over here by yourself?” he asked, kneeling next to me. His face, a deep, beautiful brown, was freshly scrubbed, and his eyes, typically gentle, were sharp despite his casual tone. Earlier, while the other legionnaires were occupied with setting up camp, he made an effort to speak with me. He wanted to shed light and optimism on Elliot’s future at Citadel Firstlight, but I was too uneasy to give him my full attention.

But now, in the lonely, lengthening shadows of twilight, I wanted to talk.

Or maybe I was just too tired to care anymore.

“I wasn’t about to make a run for it, if that’s what you’re implying.” I raised my hands, still bound by rope. “Wouldn’t make it far, anyways.”

Bound hands made things difficult. Walking, running, avoiding obstacles—but especially moving through a forest such as the Visstill. I had learned that truth quickly enough when I was sent to relieve myself earlier, tripping over a branch but unable to catch my balance. I didn’t have access to a mirror, but I was pretty sure my face was scratched and my hair was a mess.

“Ah, hell.” Silas had been smirking, but the expression slipped. “You’re an enigma—and a perceived threat that we all bore witness to. We have to remain cautious.”

“Right,” I said, sighing. As quickly as I had felt like talking, I wanted to be alone. In fact, something had been bothering me. Something that I was just beginning to realize. “Mithras said I interrupted your ‘sacrificial ritual’. What does that mean?”

Silas took a swig from the flask at his feet, clearing his throat. He looked out at the fire. “We cleanse the world of the Corrupt, and, in doing so, we reunite their souls with the Maker. It is our duty. Our holy task.”

“I know that. The Light Legion has collected our Corrupt for years. We’re taught that you bring them to the Light Bringer to be purified.”

“Well, those who survive the journey are kept at Citadel Firstlight to fulfill various duties to the kingdom. Farming, mining, tending to elixir production—all monitored closely, of course.” He added, voice low, “But yes, once their sentence is fulfilled or they become too violent, purification occurs. It’s necessary to save their souls.”

“I’ve never understood why a soul can be separated from the demon that claimed it, but the person must die for it.” People like Mother and Father. I drew my knees to my chest. “Or why Mithras can’t save the soul of someone who died of Corruption prematurely.”

Someone like Eden.

Eden died before the Light Bringer could cleanse her. If her soul was truly lost, wandering through some endless abyss for eternity, I didn’t want to think about it. It was too cruel a fate.

“You condemn the Light Bringer as though he is the cause of Noctis’s Corruption. He is an extension of the Maker’s grace and mercy for us, not your enemy.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, forcing myself not to snap. The Light Bringer was not merciful , but Silas was my only chance at getting any of my questions answered, and I needed to remain composed. Even if I was burning on the inside. “But the ritual, the smoke, the song—you put all of us to sleep. For what purpose?”

“Questions, questions,” Silas teased, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. When I didn’t smile in return, his slipped away. “The sleeping smoke is merely a precaution we take for groups of that size. It allows us to safely bind the Corrupt in preparation for their journey to the Citadel, or, if they’ve proven themselves too far gone, Lord Mithras will purify them on the spot. It’s more humane if they are sleeping and do not know the purification is coming.”

I remembered the smell of that smoke. Its cloying sweetness, wet earth mingling with the dried leaves on a warm forest floor. Its comfort. Its promises.

“But we were all put to sleep—even those of us who weren’t Corrupt.” My voice began to rise in severity, hinting at the turmoil roiling underneath my trembling facade. “Who is to say that you wouldn’t have harmed people who weren’t fully Corrupt?”

“Lord Mithras can tell. When we rode through Norhavellis, he sensed the villagers’ nature.” He paused, deciding whether or not it would be wise to tell me more. “We were tasked with assessing the village after your family was secured, but they attacked before we could.” Silas trailed off, looking back to the fire. “They were vicious. It is overwhelming how quickly the afflicted can fall into Corruption.”

Overwhelmed myself, I followed his lead and looked into the flames.

“Many of us have had Corruption in our own families,” he said, continuing. “We’re familiar with it in ways I wouldn’t wish upon our worst enemies. And we definitely have an enemy or two.” His smirk was back, but it felt empty. “Your fate will ultimately help us defeat the Corrupt. Maybe even save a few in the process. Some legionnaires may hesitate to approach you, but it’s only because they’re afraid of what you might be.”

At my silence, he faltered.

“Esmer. There is—there was— no other way. Our way is humane.” He hesitated, made as though he wanted to touch my arm, then drew his hand back to his side. “In Istralla, alleged Corrupt are brought to us before we even need to take action. We don’t have to hunt them like animals. There has never been a battle like what happened last night.” He added, taking a quick drink from his flask, “Last night changed everything. The Shadow Bringer isn’t supposed to be roaming dreams with someone like you by his side.”

Silas offered me his flask, holding it steady so that I could easily partake. It was a warm, bubbling cider, and it instantly eased some of my tension. “You really could see me in that dream, then.”

“It—yes. Yes, we could. The sleeping smoke gives the Light Bringer and his followers the ability to walk between reality and the Dream Realm. He was in the middle of purifying the most severe Corrupt when we saw you.” He raised his face to the sky, closing his eyes. “I’d ask questions, but Lord Mithras has already decided your fate. Nothing you tell me can change that.”

“And my fate, then, is what? To be locked in the Shadow Bringer’s tomb?”

Silas kept his gaze from me. “That’s the gist of it. Lord Mithras will tell you the rest.”

It felt strange that he was revealing all of this. Perhaps it was because I was going to die soon. The dead were quite efficient at holding secrets.

Mila joined us, red hair full and immaculate despite our long journey, and leaned against another upturned root. It was a massive thing, nearly reaching her shoulders. “Silas, Esmer is probably starving. Did you think to bring her any food?”

“I’m not hungry,” I protested, but then, as if on cue, my stomach let out an unnatural growl. When had I last eaten? Yesterday morning?

Mila looked proud of herself. Silas looked mortified.

“See?”

“Let’s move closer to the fire then,” Silas said, unfolding himself from the ground. He offered me a hand up. “There’s plenty of food and drink.”

“Well, I’m not sure if that’s the best plan,” Mila said, trailing off. She rummaged through a pack at her side, fishing out a canteen, some bread, and a roasted duck leg wrapped in cloth. She handed them to me, giving me a sad half-smile. “For our unexpected enemy.”

“Thank you,” I managed, taking a bite of the duck leg. The rope was just loose enough for me to eat, though it wasn’t comfortable by any means.

“Lord Mithras says we’ll arrive at the tomb within two days or so.” Her eyes glittered in fascination. “It’s a strange place. You’ll feel its presence before we even arrive.”

I frowned, mid-bite. “And then what happens?”

Silas and Mila exchanged glances.

“Well—”

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough. We do enjoy the drama, the mystery.”

“You mean you enjoy it,” Silas snapped, then turned to me. “Lord Mithras will explain soon. Nothing he does is without purpose, including your sentence.”

Mila bounced back to the fire and returned with more food and drink, her arms overwhelmed with a jug of steaming cider, two jars of smoked pine nuts, and bits of roasted poultry. All from the village, I found out—small gifts for their Light Bringer. We ate hungrily, licking the salt from our fingers, and relaxed into a somewhat regular pattern of conversation as Mila and Silas traded stories of their travels. I eased into the conversation, thoughts of Corruption ebbing from my mind the longer we spent together, and even managed a smile at one point.

A smile.

As the fire burned low, the legionnaires began the whispers of a song, their voices growing louder and more haunting as it looped, repeating for a second time.

They moved into a few other songs, some spirited, some somber, but I kept thinking of the first. It had a strangeness to it, that song. It made me feel uneasy, exposed.

I didn’t like it at all.

As the legionnaires sang, distracted, Mila slipped me a vial of elixir. “From the untainted stores, don’t worry,” she said, a soft smile upon her lips. “Lord Mithras’s power shields us, so legionnaires don’t use it. Still, doesn’t hurt for you to feel safe.”

So that’s why Elliot and I were denied elixir? Because Mithras’s very presence was supposed to protect us? I shifted, a shiver coursing down my arms. It made my hair rise. Because even with the elixir, even with Mithras’s protection—three times I had dreamed.

“They could have told us that earlier. My brother and I were denied it by two of your legionnaires.”

“Likely trying to prove a point, the fools.” Mila shot a look of annoyance at what I assumed to be the guards that had watched over Elliot and I—I didn’t recognize them with their masks off—and looked back at me, her smile returning. “Lord Mithras should have assigned Silas or I instead.”

Silas groaned. “Right. Could have probably avoided this .” He motioned toward his leg, which was bandaged from where the Corrupt had clutched at it. “That Corrupt was stronger than most. Could have been a legionnaire, had the timing been right.”

“Perhaps,” Mila drawled, then fixed her attention to me. “They seem to be losing interest in their songs, and I’m exhausted. Let’s get you ready for sleep.”

I politely declined to sleep where Mila wanted me to—sharing her tent—and nestled back against my tree root. We weren’t friends , I reminded myself. And it felt more comfortable, somehow, being in the open air.

The legionnaires were unbothered by my choice; two legionnaires stood guard along the camp perimeter at all times, watching me and the woods for signs of anything unusual.

I arranged my rope-bound arms over my knees as best as I could, trying to appear nonchalant and insignificant. Between my connection to the Shadow Bringer and his demented world, my involvement in an entire village’s damnation, and my fate to likely rot in the Tomb of the Devourer—it was too much to handle, too much to comprehend. I settled my face in my hands, trying not to cry. What purpose could I possibly have in this?

Surely there had been a mistake.

Eventually I dozed off, lulled by wind threading through the branches above me.

But something began to feel wrong.

I woke to an extinguished fire, embers cold and dark. Light threaded from the sky, escaping in part from the moon. It danced with shadows cast by twisting storm clouds. It fell over the legionnaires, who were sleeping and silent. All of them. Even those who had been assigned the first watch. Only the wind, whispering through the Visstill, and swirling clouds, racing past the moon, made any motion or sound. The wind picked up, hissing through the trees and bringing with it the smell of rain and wildflowers crushed underfoot. It forced the clouds to part as it whooshed through the sky, revealing—and then concealing—the moon and stars. It made the scene confusing and dream-like.

But when I tried to stand, I only fell backward.

Sinking.

Sinking.

Sinking.