Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1)

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “You are quiet this evening, Cole,” Harri observed. “How are you feeling after your first day in the Spiritwood?”

  “It is... different to what I expected,” Cole admitted, trying to keep from glancing up to search once again for webs in the branches above them. “I expected dangers, some sort of foe we would need to face. But this place... it just seems to sap the life from you. I feel unwelcome, oppressed even.” He shivered again. “I don’t know which is worse.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Cole,” said Harri with a rueful smile. “If we take the wrong path, or even the right path at the wrong time, then we will not lack for foes. We’ve been fortunate so far, let us pray that our luck holds.”

  Cole glanced up at the young hunter, standing in the flickering orange glow of the campfire, as he prepared to take the night’s first watch. “A few days ago, when we were still riding towards the fens, you said that taming these woods is the hunters’ duty,” he said. “It seems more like a great burden to me.”

  “Duty and burden are two sides of the same coin,” said Raven. Cole looked across to where she sat, on the other side of the fire. She stared distantly into the dancing flames, her expression unreadable.

  He slept fitfully that night. The chill night air was one problem. Even wrapped up in as many layers as his pack could muster, it still seemed to penetrate through to his flesh. His nose, the one part of his body exposed to the outside world was numb; a small icicle that made his brain ache behind his eyes.

  Another problem was Grume. While the little boggit had taken great pains to make clear the utter disdain in which he held the human race, and the three nearest specimens in particular, he had insisted on sleeping beside him, pouch and all. Initially, Cole was glad for the little warmth an extra living body generated, but the little creature was not a considerate bedfellow. Tiny, sharp hands and feet continually dug into his sides as the boggit made himself comfortable. Then, when he fell asleep, his high-pitched snores cut through Cole like a knife.

  He was almost at the point of finding the nearest cliff to hurl the creature from, when sleep took him at last.

  Disturbing images filled his dreams. He was back on the Crag, kneeling on the bridge that led to the Elder’s solar, Brother Merryl lying limp in his arms as the last of his life bled out onto the flagstones. There were enemies at the gates, pounding on the portcullis with mailed fists. Coming for him. He looked back down at the body in his arms, but instead of the old Brother’s face he saw Harri. His face was pale and still, but his body was a bloody ruin, ripped and shredded by ragged wounds.

  He dropped the corpse in fright and ran for the solar, launching himself from its walls. For a long time he fell, but before he could hit the water he spread his arms and suddenly was flying, soaring above the waves. As he flew, he saw a speck below, keeping pace with him. He drew closer, and saw it was a large bird of prey, an eagle. They flew together for a time, and he laughed aloud at the thrill of it. Suddenly, the bird screeched and burst into flame. He looked on in horror as its charred corpse plummeted into the waves with a hiss.

  Then the ocean became a desert, a great expanse of burning sand that stretched away in every direction as far as the eye could see. The bird’s body was still in the same place it had landed, but when he drew near he saw that it wasn’t an eagle after all. It was a crow, its feathers merely black, not burned. The creature still lived, but that was unlikely to be the case for long. It hopped disconsolately among the dunes, lost and dying beneath the glare of the merciless sun.

  Darkness fell suddenly over the desert, and when he looked up he saw a gigantic tower looming above him; black and wreathed in green fire. As he approached it, a dark portal yawned open in the flames. He stepped inside and found himself in a great hall, in the middle of which stood an onyx throne. He started towards it, before the sudden feeling came over him that he was not alone. A voice behind him whispered “It’s almost time, Cole.” He whirled around to come face to face with Cas. The sight of his friend was a relief, even in this place, but it saddened him as well. “You’re dead,” he gasped. Cas smiled sorrowfully and shook his head, then pointed towards the throne. “You have to hurry,” he said. “The sleeper wakes.”

  The words were still ringing in his ears when he awoke. It was pitch black, not yet dawn, and at first he wondered what had disturbed him. Just then there was a cracking sound behind: a twig being snapped in two. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. A few moments later, there was a rustling of leaves. Something was moving through the forest.

  Cole lay still, hoping that whatever it was had not yet seen him, but his eyes searched frantically around the camp. Harri was nowhere to be seen. Was it the hunter he could hear prowling the undergrowth behind him? The next sound to reach his ears, a beast-like snuffling, quickly put paid to that notion.

  With a silent groan of frustration, Cole recalled leaving his sword leaning against a fallen trunk as he laid out his bedroll that evening. What should I do? He wished he could ask one of his guides. Was it better to lie still, or make a dash for his weapon and hope he reached it before whatever it was stalking the forest? Should he call out and try to wake Raven, or would that bring the beast down on top of them both before they could react? Every option seemed like the wrong one.

  At that moment the clouds parted. In the moonlight he caught a glint of metal in the trees in front of him. As he stared, he saw the silhouette of a man crouching among the shadows. Harri was as still as a statue, his bow held out in front of him. His right hand had drawn back the drawstring, holding it steady as he aimed along the shaft of the arrow. With the smallest movement, his fingers straightened and the arrow flew into the woods behind Cole, finding its target with a dull thud.

  There was an inhuman screech and a commotion in the undergrowth as something unseen thundered past. Raven was awake and on her feet in a heartbeat, her short blades dancing in the moonlight. Cole took that as his cue to do likewise, scrambling out from under his mound of blankets and lunging for his own sword.

  “Stay close, Cole,” Raven told him. Just then, Harri stepped out from between the trees, and she turned to him. “What was it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Harri replied. “A bärgeist, perhaps, or a nightstalker.” He held up his fingers, and Cole could see the dark stain on them. “There’s more on the ground back there. A lot more. I fancy that whatever it was will not live to see the dawn.”

  “It came so close to our camp.” Cole shuddered involuntarily. “Will there be others?”

  Harri frowned and peered into the forest. “Perhaps, but unlikely. A larger group would have been bolder, attacking us at once. Likely it was alone and came close out of curiosity.” He smiled reassuringly. “It may have simply passed us by, but better not to take the chance. Its cry should scare away any other beasts, and anything more dangerous will have a bloodtrail to follow to a fresh kill.”

  “Or it could follow the trail the other direction and come upon us,” Cole pointed out.

  “Go back to bed, Cole,” said Raven softly. “I will keep watch after Harri. Nightstalkers can be dangerous if they catch you alone and off-guard, but that won’t happen while we keep our wits about us. Just get as much rest as you can. You will need it on the morrow.”

  Still doubtful, but feeling a little comforted by her words, Cole climbed back under his blankets and tried to calm his mind. This time, his sleep was blessedly free of dreams.

  A few hours later, they rose with the dawn. If supper had been meagre then it was a feast compared to their breakfast. Raven’s expression was apologetic as she handed a dismayed Cole a small handful of dried fruit and nuts. Grume complained bitterly as he dropped a portion into the pouch, and in truth he was little happier himself. Their water supplies were even lower, and after less than a mouthful to wash down this humble repast, Cole’s flask was dry.

  “Don’t be too concerned,” Harri told him, after draining his own. “There is a place we can refill our flasks not too far from
here.”

  “And what about food?” Cole asked, as his stomach rumbled.

  Harri frowned. “That is harder to come by. I can hunt if we grow desperate, but that would delay us, and most of the game in the forest is unpleasant to the taste. The nuts and berries we could find are bitter, and those that are not are poisonous.” Cole was downcast, and at the sight of it, Harri forced a lighter tone. “We knew it would be thus, though, and we’ve been careful to ration our supplies already. When we reach the road we may encounter a caravan we can trade with, but even if not, what is in our packs should see us safely out of the forest.”

  Cole turned to Raven. “And after that?”

  “Let us get there first before we worry about that,” she cautioned.

  A few miles later they found the place Harri had spoken of. As they walked, Cole became aware of the sound of rushing water, and a short time after that he was staring down at the Ymbral. A bend in the river that bisected the Spiritwood had brought it close to their own path. The three of them stood on one bank, as the dark waters rushed swiftly through a deep cleft in the ground twenty feet or more below them.

  “I’m guessing you have a way to get water that doesn’t involve you holding Raven by her ankles?” Cole asked.

  Harri grinned. “That would be quite a sight, but no, we needn’t resort yet to such measures.” He walked to one of the trees standing nearby, which seemed almost identical to all the others around them, and dug around in the earth at its base. “Here it is,” he said to himself, hauling a cloth bundle from the ground.

  Harri parted the cloth, revealing a small wooden bucket. “Even the buried treasure is worse in the Spiritwood than anywhere else,” said Cole, disappointed.

  “Oh, in the right circumstances this is far more valuable than gold.” The young hunter unpacked the rope they had used during their climb the day before, and tied one end tightly to the bucket’s handle. Satisfied it was secure, he tossed it into the raging river below. When he pulled it back up a few moments later, it was filled with clear, ice-cold water. “There are a few caches like this on both banks,” he explained, and he poured the bucket’s contents into Cole flask. “Having a supply of clean water to hand can help a hunter stay on patrol for as long as his food lasts.”

  He repeated the process half a dozen times. The first time their flasks were filled, he encouraged them to drink them dry again, before filling them once more.

  “Why don’t we take the bucket with us?” Cole asked, after Harri had carefully wrapped it up again and put the bundle back where he had found it.

  “Because one day a hunter would come upon this spot expecting to find it, and discover an empty hole instead. That could be the difference between his living or dying.” Cole’s cheeks flushed at the brusque tone.

  That afternoon, as the shadows lengthened and the winter sky began to darken, Cole got his first sight of one of the creatures of the Spiritwood. The place where they had stopped to gather water was far behind, and the course of the river had carried it away from their path. Silence had once more settled over the forest, broken only by the quiet rustling and crunching their feet made going through the debris on the forest floor.

  Cole caught a glimpse of movement to his left. As he turned his head, another root appeared beneath his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground. He stood and brushed the dirt from his front, ignoring a volley of profanity from the pouch at his hip. When he looked up, he saw a pair of yellow eyes watching him curiously from a nearby tree. It was over a dozen feet away, but even at this distance he could tell they were vaguely feline in shape and appearance.

  At first, Cole thought that the eyes belonged to the tree itself, but as he stared he was able to make out a faint outline of a thin head and body, near-identical in shade to the trunk against which it was standing.

  Raven joined him to check if he was unhurt after his fall, then glanced over to where he was staring. “Cole, don’t move,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “What is it?” he hissed back.

  “A slink,” said Harri behind them. The hunter had followed after Raven. “Devious creatures. One on its own is nothing to worry about, but I wouldn’t like to encounter a larger group.”

  “Should we attack?” Raven asked.

  Harri shook his head. “Doing so might attract others. Better to leave it alone, I think. For the moment it is trying to decide if we’re a threat.”

  The creature appeared to lose interest at the sight of the three of them standing together, and the yellow eyes closed. Cole saw a faint ripple of grey and black as it melted away, its body seeming to flow around the trunk until it disappeared from sight.

  Cautiously, they resumed their journey through the forest. Unable to help himself, Cole glanced back, then hurried to catch up with Raven and Harri. Staring from the trees, silently watching their retreating backs, were two pairs of yellow eyes.

  Following their encounter with the strange creature, Harri set a faster pace. Their trek became a march, as he attempted to put a number of miles between them and that spot before finding a place to camp for the night.

  “Will they follow us?” Cole asked Raven, breathing heavily. The bulk of the pack on his back and the speed they were walking were taking their toll. The weight of the boggit slung to his hip was not helping, either.

  “They might,” Raven admitted. “Slinks can be hard to predict. Hopefully we appeared threatening enough that they’ll seek easier prey.”

  They eventually stopped when the moon was high in the sky above them. In the summer months it would no doubt be hidden behind a thick canopy of leaves. Even now, the trees were packed closely together, their branches intertwining like grasping fingers. Yet silver shafts of moonlight penetrated the boughs, bathing their camp in an ethereal glow.

  Unlike the previous night, Harri forbade them from building a fire. This time Cole did not argue. During their march that evening, the hunter’s mood had changed. Gone were the light jests and relaxed manner. He seemed sterner. Wary. It hadn’t escaped Cole’s notice that as they walked, his hand had rarely strayed from the pommel of his sword.

  Cole wondered if he was seeing Harri as he was when he came to the Spiritwood alone. Whether his earlier demeanour was due to having companions come to this place. Or one in particular, he thought, looking across to where Raven was arranging blankets to sleep under. Sometimes, when Harri didn’t realise he was being observed, Cole caught the hunter stealing glances at his guide. Cole remembered the dream he had visited that night at the peat collectors’ cottages, and smiled to himself.

  With no fire to cook with, supper that night was even more miserable than before. Another handful of dried fruit and a hunk of salted beef. His throat was so dry after joylessly chewing it, he drained half his flask to wash it down. It didn’t seem as though water would be hard to come by. The meal concluded, there seemed little else to do, so he crawled into his bundle of clothes and blankets and fell soundly asleep.

  Cole woke some hours later, his bladder full. He squirmed uncomfortably beneath his blankets. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea after all to drink half his water at once.

  Seeing little choice, he braced himself against the cold and dragged himself out into the open air. After a moment’s thought, he twitched a corner of the blankets aside, so as not to smother the little boggit as he slept. Raven was still asleep also, as far as he could tell; her head was hidden in the folds of her own blankets, and she’d made no movement as he got up.

  The sudden chill seemed to seep into Cole’s bones, and he began to shiver uncontrollably. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and crossed his arms, hoping to create a pocket of warmth. Taking as much care as he could to make no sound, he crept a short way into the forest. After emptying his bladder behind a tree with a long sigh of relief, he carefully picked his way back to the camp.

  I must have woken her after all, he thought, as he stepped out from the trees. A figure was standing between the bed
rolls, with its back toward him. He was about to call out, when the words of greeting died on his lips.

  The undergrowth near Raven’s bedroll parted, and... something emerged. Its flesh had a deathly pallor, as pale and cold as the moon. It crawled on all fours like a beast, but its limbs resembled those of a scrawny man. All apart from the fingers, which were unnaturally long and thin as bone. As it crept into their camp, its movements were strangely uneven. In an inhuman, twitching gait it crabbed closer to Raven’s bedroll, head bent low towards the ground. There was no sound as it stalked closer.

  Cole took a step backwards, his brain frozen in panic. A twig snapped beneath his foot. It was a small sound, but in the deathly silence of the night it seemed to echo around the forest like a peal of thunder. The two creatures twirled to face him, and he let out an involuntary gasp. Their faces were smooth and featureless. Thin wisps of grey hair clung to their skulls, but below that was nothing at all.

  “To arms! To arms!” The sudden cry rang out across the camp. Raven erupted from her bedroll in a maelstrom of flashing steel. Her first flurry took the head from the standing creature, and it crumpled to the floor with a gush of blood as black as midnight.

  Two, then three other creatures burst out from the undergrowth, nightmares of jerking, shuddering limbs. There was a piercing shriek that seemed to penetrate directly into his brain, and Cole’s hands flew protectively to his head. The force of it made him stumble blindly backwards, and the ground rose up to meet him.

  The battle in the camp continued to rage as Cole clambered unsteadily to his feet. Raven was surrounded on all sides by the creatures. She was a whirlwind of steel, her blades spinning and hacking at all around her. But she was surrounded on all sides by strange foes, and it seemed but a matter of time until she was overwhelmed. Cole’s eyes searched between the trees desperately. Where is Harri?

  Cole saw his sword lying near his bedroll, where he had left it. He was about to dive towards it, when a tiny noise behind made him turn.