A Legacy of Nightmares

by J. M. Wallace

  She began to cry, before falling into a fit of coughing. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, as she struggled to settle herself. When she took her arm away, the sleeve was coated in blood. As she spoke, her voice cracked, “His guards... They forced a black liquid down my throat. They’ve poisoned me. I could not fight them, Sorin, I tried. I swear I tried.”

  “I know, Brina. I know you did.”

  “And Shaye, oh Fates, did you see what they did to her? It’s my fault. I just stood there like a stunned fool.”

  Sorin spoke with all the sincerity he was feeling, “It wasn’t your fault. Look at me.” She looked up at him with wounded eyes. “It is not our fault. It is his.”

  “Shaye thinks she can handle things on her own, but she can’t.” Brina looked around for anyone who may be lurking in the shadows as she spoke.

  “No one is here—the guards will not enter the tent without Bastian or Umbra. And I believe both are done with me for the time being.” He had to ask, “Is Shaye alright?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that anymore.” She coughed again.

  Sorin was concerned—her skin was pale, and sweat was beading rapidly on her brow. We’ll be lucky if she even lasts the night, Sorin thought with despair. He would need to keep her awake.

  “Shaye is stronger than she wants to admit.”

  Brina laughed weakly, “You’ve got that right.” Her eyes began to flutter shut. The poison was taking its toll on her.

  “Listen to me, Brina—I need you to believe in your own strength right now. Shaye needs us... She needs you. We’re going to get you help. Do you understand me?”

  Her face hardened, and she sat up straighter now. “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand. Just tell me what you need me to do. But make haste, I am not sure how long I have.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shaye

  Shaye was struggling to fall asleep. She feared what she would once again find in the dark corners of her mind, especially now that she and Bastian were magically connected. The tether between them was a constant ebb of power, like a leash. Shaye squeezed her eyes shut in the darkness, willing herself to forget Bastian; to dream of better things.

  Erebus shifted beside her, his large body splaying across half of the bed. The hound had wandered in sometime in the night, helping himself to a spot at her side. With Brina missing, Shaye welcomed the familiar presence of the Black Shuck. He nuzzled his sharply pointed snout under her arm, and she relaxed enough to drift back to sleep.

  She had expected to find herself in a nightmare, but this time her mind took her back to the library in the Winter Palace. It was startling to be in the dimly lit comfort of the room, rather than in the ballroom full of bad memories, downstairs. Shaye tiptoed through the library; it was profoundly quiet, and she reveled in the peacefulness of it. It was a welcomed change from the usual settings of her dreams, which consisted of a bloody ballroom and the screams of the old king’s court. She breathed in the scent of the dust-covered books. The last time she had felt this sort of peace was when she had danced with Sorin in this very room.

  She was aware she was still in her dream as she closed her eyes, trying to recapture how she had felt that night with Sorin holding her in his arms; she thought of the way his lips had felt on hers when she had kissed him. It had been the first time she had let herself act on the feelings that had been slowly building between them. Now she couldn’t stand the thought of a life without him.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was still in her dream, but she was no longer alone. A woman stood before her, with long hair, the color of leaves in the fall. Her eyes were warm and wrinkled softly at the edges with the first signs of age. Shaye recognized her, though she could not believe what she was seeing.

  “Mom...” Shaye took a step toward the woman slowly, worried that if she moved too quickly then the mirage would vanish. It had been a long time since she had last dreamt of her mother—other than in the malicious visions Bastian had given her of her parents’ deaths.

  “M’lo.” She used the term of endearment that Shaye had forgotten until now. Yrlissa Wistari held her arms out for her daughter.

  Shaye was frozen in shock and confusion. “This is a dream. You aren’t really here.” Shaye was afraid if she blinked her mother would disappear, and she desperately did not want that to happen.

  “I am not part of your dream, Shaye. I am here because you need me now, more than ever.”

  “You can’t be here. You’re dead.”

  “I am gone, Shaye, but the ways of The Mother are mysterious. I am here because of the power you hold.”

  Shaye hung her head in shame. “The black magic.”

  “No, M’lo, not the black magic.” Yrlissa closed the gap between them, taking hold of Shaye’s inky black hands. “You hold power greater than sacrificial blood magic. The magic of Asterion courses through your veins always and forever. Nothing you do will ever change that. I am proof of it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “From the land you are born, and to the land you return.” Yrlissa spoke the words that Mavka had prayed over the body of the sacrificed Forest Dweller. Shaye’s mother spoke gently, “You are able to see me now because of your connection to the land; but we do not have long, and there is much to show you.”

  The air around them shimmered and the old library faded away. It was replaced with a white stone temple. It was unlike anything Shaye had ever seen—held up by shining columns grooved with carvings of leaves and vines. The aroma of mint and blossoms filled the air, and the sun shone down through the columns, illuminating the statue standing high above the altar.

  More stunning than the architecture of the temple, was that statue. It towered above, sculpted of the finest marble in the shape of a woman of immense beauty. There was a soft smile on her marble lips, and her gaze peered down below to where Shaye and her mother stood. Magic shimmered all around them, and Shaye turned to her mother, stunned, “Where are we?”

  “We are in The Mother’s temple. This is where our people once came to worship her. It has long since been replaced with the forest you know as the Raven Wood.” Yrlissa sat on a white stone bench and gestured for Shaye to join her.

  The women sat side by side. Shaye had never noticed how much she looked like her mother, with the same autumn-colored hair and feminine features. She had been a child when her parents had been taken from her, and all she had been left with were faded memories. Shaye was terrified that this dream would slip away from her at any moment, and she clung tight to the magic she felt encircling them.

  Yrlissa was thoughtful as she spoke, as if reciting from a tale that had been told to her many times: “Long ago, the Magi were split into three clans; they were believed to be descendants of the brothers Leto, Roth, and Pris. Pris and Leto’s clans held the land in North Asterion, but there was tension between the two. The children of Pris wanted to find and control the relics left behind by their ancestors, but it was too great a risk for one entity to hold that much power. Their greed tore them apart, ultimately leading to their own downfall. Innocent people were hurt and the clan of Pris was forced to disband.”

  Shaye scoffed, “Seems Bastian could take a lesson or two.”

  Her mother laughed—it was a warm sound, just as Shaye had remembered. She took Shaye’s hands again, unphased by the ugliness of her marks. “Bastian would do well to heed the mistakes of his ancestors.”

  “He comes from the clan of Pris?”

  “Yes. He hails from one of the prominent families of that time. They were Shadow Dancers as well. The Obsidian stone they held was once meant to be used as a means of protection, but once Pris chose vengeance it was cursed with the dark blood magic you have witnessed these last weeks. Bastian’s family is deeply rooted in that darkness, and it gives him the ability to harm, rather than protect. As you have experienced firsthand, he is able to poison the mind.” There was sadness in the way she spoke of Bastian. Shaye squeezed her hands in reassurance, an
d Yrlissa continued, “I know that you cared for the boy.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “It is alright for you to grieve the friendship you lost.” Shaye could sense regret in her mother’s next words. “What I am about to show you will bring you pain—please know that I do not relish the thought. I had hoped it would not come to this.”

  She waved a delicate hand, and bright magic closed in around them. When the light faded, they were in a village. Shaye recognized it as the Druid village she had been born in, where she had lived until her parents met their end. Smoke billowed from the houses around them, and there was distant shouting. Shaye could see Druids in the distance, being pushed to their knees before men in sickly green cloaks—Shaye would have known those cloaks anywhere. They were the same uniforms that the Nefari army now favored.

  Shaye looked at her mother, bewildered, “Nefari? I do not understand. It was Allerick’s men who destroyed the village. It was he and his men who killed you and father.”

  Yrlissa placed a warm hand on Shaye’s cheek. “M’lo, Bastian has manipulated your memories. It is the power of the Obsidian... The curse of his bloodline.” Her eyes were filled with sympathy. “Shaye, what I have to show you... It will not be easy. But you need the whole truth for what is to come tomorrow, when you wake.”

  Shaye followed her mother into a small house. It was one of the few left standing in the small village, and Shaye paused at the little garden, which had been trampled in the assault. She could remember playing in that garden as a girl; teasing the Fairies who made their home there, as her mother tended to the flowers and vegetables.

  Her mother led her silently inside the house. Shaye looked around at her childhood home. The walls were adorned with small paintings of flowers and stars—paintings that they had done together. Some of the flowers were crooked and smeared, the work of a five-year-old Shaye. Books were piled all around on the small hand-woven rug her father had gifted her mother with as a wedding present.

  Her father’s pleas drew Shaye’s attention to the back of the room, near the table where her family had shared their meals. “You are too late. Please, Baal, leave us be.” He was on his knees in front of a familiar man, who was flanked by Nefari guards. Bastian’s father, Baal, sneered as he looked down at her father.

  “Tell us where it is, Caldor, and I will leave you and yours to live out the rest of your wretched existence.”

  “I have already told you, we do not know where it is. It has been missing for decades.”

  Baal struck her father in the face. Caldor did not move from where he knelt, his strong body holding steady under the force of the blow. He spat blood at Baal’s feet, and stared defiantly up at the evil man. To Shaye’s horror, Baal waved a hand lazily in the air, snapping her father’s neck with his magic. It happened so suddenly she did not have time to react.

  Yrlissa placed a hand on her shoulder. “It is all in the past, Shaye. There is nothing you can do.”

  Shaye’s eyes welled with tears. “He killed him like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.”

  “I am sorry to do this, Shaye, but there is more I must show you.”

  Shaye held a hand to her heart as she looked at her father one last time before the room faded from view. The shift in scenes was disorienting, and Shaye gripped her mother’s arm to steady herself. They stood in a field, the Druid village within sight, and Shaye could see her childhood home burning in the distance. The sturdy roof gave in to the flames, burying her father’s body in the rubble. Yrlissa grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. Shaye turned her gaze to where the memory of her mother stood face to face with Baal and a young version of Bastian. Shaye would have recognized his thick, dark hair and warm brown eyes anywhere.

  Yrlissa turned to Shaye, “I am here with you. Hold onto that; this is a memory, but I am here, beside you now.”

  “Mom, I don’t understand. Bastian already showed me what happened.”

  “He showed you what he wanted you to see. It was the only way to fuel your anger so that he could control you. This is the truth.” She nodded to where the memory was taking place.

  Baal tapped his foot, impatient and brooding. “Yrlissa, your husband is dead and my men are hunting your daughter as we speak. Tell me where the Stave of Leto is.”

  Yrlissa, or rather, the memory of her, spat at his feet and held her hands out to call on her magic. “You will not succeed. It is already in Allerick’s hands. Your reign of terror is over, here in Asterion.” She smiled as the ground quaked beneath them.

  Baal had the good sense to look nervous at the power Yrlissa was calling upon—the same power of the land that had answered Shaye’s call before. Only, her mother had mastered that power. The ground opened between them, revealing the rocks and dirt deep in the earth, and Baal stumbled back, pulling Bastian with him by his collar.

  Bastian bared his teeth at her from across the broken land. He looked to his father, awaiting orders. Before Yrlissa had a chance to run, Baal gave a nod to Bastian. He stepped to the edge of the crevice, raised his hands, and began to chant, “Ble-her, ble-her...” His magic reached out, closing the gap between him and Yrlissa, who stood frozen in place.

  Blood began to drip from Yrlissa’s eyes and nose. She gasped for air, unable to catch her breath as blood bubbled up through her throat. It pooled from her mouth, and she fell to the ground. Yrlissa was dying, though she did not give them the satisfaction of looking defeated. She looked up at the evil Sorcerers standing before her and smiled, before drowning in her own blood. They may have beat her, but they were walking away without the relic they had come for. Still, to Shaye’s horror, Bastian looked satisfied with his work as his father patted him on the back. Baal then led him away from Yrlissa, and away from the Druid village they had slaughtered.

  Shaye wept at the scene of her mother’s death. She had known that Bastian was a monster, that he had let darkness consume him... But she had never fathomed that it was his hand, his magic, that had ended her mother’s life so brutally and mercilessly. Anger surged through her, and she tore her hand away from her mother’s.

  “I will destroy them all.”

  “M’lo, no.” Yrlissa pulled Shaye into a warm embrace, whispering into her hair, “Hatred and anger are not the way. Greed is a powerful thing. It makes men do things they never thought themselves to be capable of.” She pulled back and looked into Shaye’s red-rimmed eyes. “Baal allowed that greed and hate to swallow him whole. He passed that onto his son—an innocent boy who never knew any better. You are different. You were born a protector; and like your ancestor Leto, you must forgive if you are to succeed.”

  “How can I forgive that beast? After what I have just seen, how can I forget? I have spent my entire life surrounded by men who use violence and call it a means to an end. Baal, Allerick... Bastian. They have all spilled innocent blood in the name of their own beliefs. How can I be expected to forgive them all, when it seems that there is no one in this damned world who chooses to take the righteous path?”

  Yrlissa smiled sadly and the field faded away, replaced with the ballroom on the night of the massacre. Shaye watched herself, standing helpless in the middle of the chaos. Her small hands were shaking, and tears were streaming down her face as she watched the massacre taking place. A boy ran to her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away. As the memory of the children passed her, she saw his eyes. They were deep blue, like Sorin’s; no, they were Sorin’s. Shaye held a hand to her mouth as the memory played out.

  “It was him. It was him all this time. I knew it. Deep down, I always knew.”

  “Yes, M’lo. It was the mortal boy who heeded The Mother’s call and saved you that night; but, you already knew that. I need you to look again.” The vision began again, this time from the beginning, before the slaughter had started. “This is what both you and King Sorin need to know.” Yrlissa pointed a graceful finger toward the main doors of the ballroom.

  Shaye focused this time, not on her childhoo
d self, but on the men who were congregated by the doors. Allerick’s men burst into the ballroom, plowing through the party goers. The rebels filed into the room, without striking a single person. Shaye was shocked to see that their weapons were not even drawn. Allerick stood at the head of them, the resemblance between him and Sorin was striking. His dark blue eyes surveyed the crowd, until they found the old king. King Idor was sprawled out on his throne, drunk with wine, and a half-naked Magi woman was fawning over him on his lap.

  Allerick shouted to the slothful old king, “King Idor! You have abused your power, and worse, you have abused your people. You sit here on your gilded throne, far removed from the suffering of the mortals throughout your kingdom. Your favored Magi are free to terrorize innocent men, women, and children. It ends tonight. You are now under arrest.” Allerick gave the signal for his men to move on King Idor.

  Shaye did not remember any of this. Her nightmares always began in the midst of the attack. She watched intently, scanning the crowd. Her eyes fell on the doors, seeing what her mother had intended all along. The doors were being locked, but not by Allerick’s men. Two mortal men, men she recognized as lords of the court, slipped through the crowd, and clicked the locks into place.

  “By The Mother...” Shaye whispered in horror.

  “There is more to be seen.” Her mother gestured to Duke Brayham, who stood meekly in the corner. Baal stood behind him, dressed in all his finery. He leaned in to whisper into the duke’s ear, and the rosy-cheeked man nodded, dabbing his sweaty face with a kerchief. He dropped the kerchief, and a second after it hit the floor, a scream rippled through the air.

  Shaye turned to where the scream had come from, just in time to see a courtier fall to the ground. The man who had stabbed the woman was not one of Allerick’s rebels. It was one of Duke Brayham’s private guards. Shaye’s stomach dropped as all hell broke loose. King Idor’s guards and court-appointed Magi turned on the rebels, who could do nothing but defend themselves. Shaye shook her head in disbelief.