A Legacy of Nightmares

by J. M. Wallace

  The room faded once more, and Yrlissa and Shaye were once again alone, back in the library. Shaye breathed in the scent of the books, trying to regain her train of thought and ground herself after such a jarring change in scenery. She had to remind herself that she was safe here, that what she’d just witnessed had already come to pass.

  She turned to her mother with tear-filled eyes, “What am I to do with all of this? Why are you showing me this, now?”

  Yrlissa raised her chin. “Because you are lost. With each use of your dark magic, you risk losing another piece of yourself. I need you to know the entire truth so that you can move on. You and Sorin both deserve to know what happened in the past, so that you can understand it, and heal from it.” Yrlissa was pleading with Shaye, “The past is just that. You have all the facts and can put it behind you now. You can heal... Together.”

  “Heal? How can you say that? After what the Nefari have done? After what I have done? There is no coming back from that.”

  Yrlissa took Shaye’s face in her hands—they were cool on Shaye’s skin. Her mother’s lips trembled as she spoke, “Forgiveness is the only path. You must forgive Bastian for his misguided beliefs. You must forgive the mortals for their misguided fears. And more than anything, you must forgive yourself for the part you have played. Once you do that, you will find peace. The nightmares will no longer control you. They will no longer fuel you. And once that happens, Asterion will stand a chance at surviving what is to come tomorrow.”

  “Bastian will make me kill Sorin tomorrow. I—I cannot fight the power he holds over me.”

  “You can and you will. Your father and I believe in you, but we need you to believe in yourself. Tomorrow you will fight harder than you have ever had to fight before. But you will do it through love, not hatred. It is the only way.” Shaye did not feel as sure as her mother sounded.

  Shaye crossed her arms over herself protectively. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

  Yrlissa hugged her tightly, and Shaye closed her eyes as warm tears fell down her cheeks. Her mother whispered in her ear, “May The Mother guide you.”

  When Shaye opened her eyes her mother was gone, and she was once again in the dark war tent. Erebus snored loudly at her side. She turned toward him and clung to his large body, rubbing her black fingers through his rough fur. No matter what the morning brought, she was determined to make her mother and father proud.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sorin

  Sunlight leaked through a small tear in the tent. Sorin was glad for the break from the darkness. His eyes burned, and his head throbbed from yet another night with Umbra. She had arrived sometime after Brina, and Sorin had done everything he could to keep Umbra’s attention on him, and away from Shaye’s best friend. Umbra had not taken kindly to the insults he had spewed her way, in an attempt to protect Brina, and she had been more malicious than ever.

  He and Brina were alone now in the tent, and he could hear the Nefari army readying for battle. Shouts and the clanging of weapons drifted to Sorin’s ears. He searched the space to find Brina laying still on the hard ground. She had been sick all night, but now she did not stir.

  Sorin’s heart dropped at the sight of the woman lying alarmingly still. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. “Brina...” His voice grew more urgent as he called to her, “Brina, wake up, please, wake up.”

  She stirred; it was a small movement, as she tried to turn her head to him. Relief washed over him. Her voice was hoarse as she answered him, “Sorin... I can’t...”

  “Save your energy. I’m going to get us out of this.” Sorin pulled at his restraints and looked around for anything he could use to free himself. Bastian would be sending for him soon, to take him to his execution. As afraid of death as he was, he was more afraid of what it would do to the woman he loved. He did not doubt that Bastian would order her to carry out the execution, and Sorin knew that she would never forgive herself.

  Sorin let out a frustrated groan, “I need to get out of this damned chair.”

  “Perhaps I can untie it?” Brina moaned in pain as she tried to crawl to him.

  “They’re enchanted. There is no way you will be able to untie them.”

  “We could cut them?”

  Sorin shook his head. Bastian had been clever in keeping the tent empty of anything, save for the chair he sat in, and the table nearby. If he could break the chair itself, then perhaps he could wriggle his way free. He rocked hard in the sturdy chair—pausing only when he made a loud noise at the effort and looked around to the tent’s entrance to see if the guards outside had heard. To his relief no one came. The bustle of the camp had drowned out the sound of his attempts. He threw himself side to side again, harder this time, until the chair fell over to the side.

  His face hit the ground hard, blurring his vision, but the chair remained intact. Sorin used all the strength he could muster, trying to break the chair on the ground, and prayed for a miracle. A low growl rumbled from the corner, and he froze. A shadowy creature slinked out from the darkness. A sliver of sunlight cut through the tent, casting a glow onto the shadows that made up the beast’s body. The shadows shied away from the light as if its body had trouble holding form. Much like Umbra’s did. Sorin wondered if they both hailed from the same place.

  Bastian’s Black Shuck stood nose to nose with him now, and Sorin stilled. He knew Bastian would not allow the beast to kill him where there was no audience to witness the Asterion king’s destruction. Bastian was a showman, and this would not be his style. But that would not prevent the hellhound from doing a number on him beforehand. Sorin steadied his breathing as the Shuck stalked around him to where one of his arms was tied to the chair.

  With one swift gnash of its teeth, the canine tore the ropes from his arm. Sorin sat in place, stunned as the beast went to work, removing the rope from his other arm and legs, freeing him completely. He scrambled back in the dirt to where Brina was laying, shielding her from the attack he expected would come next. To his surprise, nothing happened. The Black Shuck sat down in the dirt, and looked at Sorin expectantly.

  Sorin was baffled. “Is this some sort of trick?”

  Brina spoke for the Shuck, “His name is Erebus. And I believe he has just changed sides.”

  “How is that possible?”

  She tried to sit up, and Sorin lent her a hand, pulling her into his side so that she could lean on him for support. She smiled at Erebus. “Because Shaye is kind and Bastian is not. It seems Erebus is more taken with her than I thought.” She reached out a hand, and Erebus stalked over to her, nuzzling his face into her touch. His shadowy body vibrated like a cat purring in pleasure.

  “He is not the only one.” Sorin thought of the hateful glares the two guards had shot at Bastian when he had punished them. “The guards... The ones who were assigned to keep watch over the Stave—how loyal are they to Bastian?”

  “It is hard to say, I do not know much about them. All I know is that they have never harmed Shaye. Most of the guards who have spent time with her have even become friendly in their interactions. I do believe the twins who are assigned as her personal keepers have given Shaye a declaration of loyalty of sorts; though she would not give details, for fear of being overheard.”

  “Do you think you are strong enough to find the twins?”

  “For you and Shaye, I will try.”

  “Go to them. See if you can indeed turn them to our side, and ask them to get you the antidote. Then find the others. Mavka, Bron, and Ingemar will be nearby, I have no doubt.”

  Brina nodded, and kissed Sorin on the cheek. “May The Mother keep you, King Sorin.”

  “And you, Brina.”

  Sorin helped her to her feet, and Erebus offered support as she stood. The three of them left the tent together out of the back, tearing it more so that they could fit through. Sorin followed behind; he was a wreck, and knew he would not make it through the camp unnoticed. He parted ways with Brina, who limped off with Erebus foll
owing her obediently. Sorin hoped they would make it in time. He felt guilty about leaving her on her own, but knowing that the ferocious canine was at her side made him feel better.

  Sorin ducked into an empty tent, in hopes of finding clothes that would shield him from recognition. It was odd to him how bare the tent was. There was nothing more than a neatly made bed and a trunk. He had spent enough time in the Asterion military barracks, and camping with the Mortal Knights while on patrol, to know that this was vastly different from the way his men lived. In an Asterion soldier’s tent you could find playing cards or various other games to pass the time.

  When he had been sent to Skag with Bron, Anik, and Elijah, his own tent had been piled with books and letters from friends and family back home. Elijah had brought with him a guitar for strumming on cold nights, and even Bron had brought his favorite wine. In contrast, this tent showed no sign of the man who lived in it. There was nothing to set him apart from another. Did they really enjoy living this way? Living without any small comforts or reminders of home? Sorin could not help but wonder if it was their own choice, or if it was a result of Bastian’s need for complete devotion and obedience. If his men were distracted with comforts and comradery then there would be less room for mindless loyalty to him. It was a dictator’s way of thinking, and would make sense, considering the sort of leader Bastian was.

  Sorin opened the plain trunk, and sifting through the contents inside, he found a dark green cloak. Not his style, but he shrugged, putting it over his clothes and raising the hood to cover his face. The fabric was roughly woven, and he was looking forward to getting it off of him. He couldn’t imagine how the Nefari could stand to wear the uncomfortable garments, especially with the days growing hotter. Sorin smoothed out the robes—wearing the clothes of his enemy made him cringe. He left the tent with the intention of making it to the tree line, where he hoped the Forest Dwellers were lying in wait for the battle that would soon begin.

  The sun was rising higher above the hill, and he knew the Nefari guards would soon notice his absence. He ducked behind the tents leading back to the forest line, walking casually so as not to draw attention. The trees were within view now and he sped up his pace. He just needed to make it across the open space separating the camp and the forest. As he rounded the corner, he slammed into a large, hard body. He looked up into the face of an angry Orc. It snarled at him, showing large yellow fangs dripping with saliva. They really were a disgusting bunch.

  “Apologies.” Sorin bowed his head and stepped aside, but the beast grabbed him by the collar. Sorin’s hood fell from his face, and the Orc roared in recognition. Sorin cursed the Nefari whose tent he had raided for not having a weapon for him to steal. It had been a long time since he’d been without a sword strapped to his side or his back. Without one, he was defenseless against the Orc’s brute strength.

  The Orc’s voice was deep and throaty, with a thick accent Sorin could barely understand. “Look at what I’ve caught... A runaway.” It bellowed out a laugh as its friends joined them. Four massive Orcs surrounded Sorin, each foaming from the mouth, and squinting through their beady eyes.

  “Listen fellas, I see you’ve got your hands full, what with the upcoming battle and all. So, I won’t keep you—” He tried to pull free of the Orc’s grasp, but it was no use. These beasts were known for their monstrous strength and stupidity. Though Sorin could not match them in muscle, he could outmatch them in wit.

  One of the Orcs lifted Sorin up by the collar of his cloak, dangling him above the ground. It snorted in his face, and its sour breath filled Sorin’s senses as it spoke, “Master will reward us for bringing you to him.” The other Orcs grunted in agreement.

  “Ah, but I am already a king with vast riches. Let me go, and you may name your price.”

  The Orc looked Sorin up and down. “It does not look like you have anything to give us.”

  Sorin wanted to roll his eyes, but held back for fear of offending the goblin-like creatures. “No, not with me now. But I promise to send for whatever you desire.”

  While the Orcs contemplated his offer, Sorin wracked his brain for a way to escape if they chose not to fall for his bribe. It was empty in this part of camp, save for the gang surrounding him. There were no witnesses, but also no weapons within reach. The group of Orcs began to argue in a language Sorin did not understand. The smelly one holding him seemed to be outvoted.

  The Orc relented under the pressure from his friends. “They do not want to wait for a reward. They want a prize now.”

  Sorin cursed under his breath, before the Orc dropped him on the ground. He felt his shoulder pop on the impact. He sucked in a breath between his teeth, and winced at the pain as the Orc dragged him by his leg through the camp. There was no use struggling to free himself from the intense strength of the grip. Nefari soldiers stepped aside to let them pass, as they made their way to the highest point on the hill that overlooked the valley below.

  The Orc dropped Sorin’s leg and bowed. Bastian stood before them in a black studded tunic with the Stave of Leto strapped to his back. On his head he wore a crown of smooth obsidian, similar to the one in the pendant he wore around his neck. He smiled when he saw Sorin lying wounded in the dirt. The Orc stood, eagerly waiting for his reward, but none came. It huffed as Bastian dismissed it with a careless wave of his black hand.

  Sorin chuckled, and shouted at the Orc’s back, “Should have taken my offer!”

  Bastian quipped, “Sorin. Nice of you to join us.”

  “Always aiming to please,” Sorin sneered at the arrogant man standing before him. Bastian acted as if he had already won this war, but Sorin had faith in his men and their plan. They would not give Asterion up, even if Sorin was not there to stand with them.

  “Let us continue as planned, then.” Bastian snapped his fingers and Shaye stepped forward. She looked every bit the fierce warrior Sorin had always known she could be. She was stunning in a silver dress coated in glittering armor. The bodice was beaded similarly to the gown she had worn to Bastian’s ball. Chainmail began at her breasts, running up to her neck, with a sheer silver cape attached at her shoulders. Black lines marred her skin, but her warm autumn hair still shined in the light of the dawn. It was braided back and topped with a crown to match Bastian’s. Sorin knew in his heart that this was still the woman he had come to love over the course of their journey together.

  He was surprised to see the Sword of Roth strapped to her side, gleaming in the early morning light. Her chin was raised as she stood obediently at Bastian’s side; but Sorin did not miss the glimmer in her eye as she looked down at him, or the wrinkle of worry on her brow. Sorin smiled gently up at her. Whatever came next, he did not doubt that she was still fighting for Asterion; still fighting for him.

  Bastian, too consumed with his self-importance, did not note the exchange as he turned toward the valley below. “Your general has arrived with the cavalry, Sorin. Would you like to see?”

  When Sorin did not respond, Bastian hurried to him, grabbing the back of his cloak, and dragging him to the edge of the hill. He kicked Sorin in the back of the legs, forcing him to his knees for the Asterion army below to see.

  From here he could see his men, the soldiers he had grown up with, readied below for battle. Their armor glimmered in the early morning light. It was a significant show of force, but Sorin knew that their total numbers were far greater than what currently stood in the valley. Under General Tyrell’s orders, the rest of the force would be flanking the sides of Bastian’s army now, staying out of sight until the right time. He suppressed a smile. Sorin was careful not to give anything away to Bastian—the element of surprise was vital if his men were to gain the upper hand.

  Sorin looked up at Bastian. “It is not too late to stop this madness. Order your men to retreat into The Beyond, to live in exile.”

  Bastian struck him in the face. The blow stung, but Sorin had seen it coming, and had prepared himself for the assault. He spat blood into th
e dirt at Bastian’s feet. Bastian was running out of patience, and Sorin was enjoying it. Seeing Bastian lose his composure felt almost as good as when he had been pummeling him in the tree line. Though Sorin would rather be beating him to a pulp, he’d take what he could get. He glanced back to see the Nefari army standing on the hilltop with them now, awaiting their orders.

  Bastian addressed them, “Brothers and sisters. Today is the dawn of a new era. One where only the worthy hold the power. Where the weak kneel at our feet.” He pointed to Sorin on the ground, and shouts sounded from the power-hungry men in the crowd, fueling Bastian on. “For too long we have been at the mercy of mortal men. Men who were not born to rule the ancient power of Asterion. Today, we take back what is ours, even if we have to spill every last drop of mortal blood in this Mother-forsaken country.” The Nefari army went wild, stomping their feet into the ground, and clanging their swords against their shields.

  Shaye stood silent and unmoving, but Sorin noticed her hands clenched at her sides. As Bastian continued to rile up his men, she inched closer to Sorin and whispered, “Did you see Brina?”

  “She got away. I sent her to find help.”

  The tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she let out a heavy breath. “This is not over Sorin. I need you to trust me.”

  “I have trusted you since the first moment I saw you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shaye

  Bastian finished his speech as the sun dawned on the horizon. Shaye knew what was coming next—she had been awake for hours readying herself. She’d practiced calling on her power, engulfing her mind with it. She hoped to be able to block Bastian out. Repeatedly, she built a wall up in her mind, locking it in place, and lowering it again. She wasn’t sure it would be enough, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing.