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

by Alan Ratcliffe

  Raven simply looked up at him, sadness etched into her features. That stung him more than a slap to the face. And so, after a brief discussion, he tried again. This time, a new idea had come to him. It seemed preposterous... impossible, even. But it might be the only option left to them.

  And now, as Cole knelt down on the forest floor in the midst of the conflagration, it seemed as though there might be cause for hope after all.

  The question was, where to begin? It needed to be small, he decided, but also something that he knew well. He racked his brains for a few moments, before the perfect answer came to him. Once again, he spread his palms open in front of him. This time he closed his eyes, to help him remember.

  Growing up on the Crag, he had owned no toys, no mementoes, no books of his own. Without ever having the chance to experience such things, it did not occur to him to question their absence. It was the only way of life he had ever known.

  Yet, not sharing the Brothers’ beliefs, there was an emptiness to that existence that he’d never really been able to identify. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d acted out as he had. His transgressions had seen him regularly banished to the draughty garret at the top of the keep’s highest tower. His stays there had been lonely. All but one.

  It had been three summers ago. By this time he was used to the periods of temporary confinement, but the loneliness and boredom of isolation still rankled. For two days, in the tiny garret-room he had whiled away hours lying on the bed, counting the bricks of the walls and ceiling-slabs, until he knew their number off by heart and had given names to half of them. He had spent hours more pacing the floor, or studying the cracks between the flagstones, just for something to occupy his mind.

  When the creature had landed on his windowsill, he noticed it immediately. A tiny shape, it sat there slowly opening and closing its wings, as if unsure of its new environment. Cole approached it cautiously, afraid of scaring it away before he could examine it closely. He crept nearer, step by step, until his shadow fell over it. The creature was aware of him, he thought, but it seemed not to care. In the keep library was a book detailing the native fauna of the north, and he recognised it readily enough. A hawkfly, with tawny wings shaped to look like feathers, its snout curved and pointed like the animal from which it took its name.

  It had stayed with him in that garret for a day and a night. He never knew from whence it had come, or why. Hawkflies were most often found in meadows, where they preyed on the miniscule midges and gnats that gathered in summertime. Why this one had decided to fly out to sea, he could not begin to guess. But he was grateful for its presence and befriended it, after a fashion. It had flown away when old Merryl had climbed ponderously up the spiral steps to bring him back down to the keep. But in that time he had become quite familiar with the little creature.

  As Cole remembered, he felt something tickling his palms. He opened his eyes, and had to stifle a whoop of celebration. A nut-brown hawkfly sat perched in his hands, its antennas waving curiously about its tiny head. It did not seem bothered by the fires that still raged around them.

  “You will probably never realise this, little fly, but today you saved a man’s life,” said Cole. Still cupping the hawkfly, he climbed to his feet. It might have been his imagination, but he felt as though the air was less of a furnace than it had been previously. “You see, in all the times I have visited the dreams of another, everything I have seen there has been conjured from their memories, their thoughts,” he went on. “I’ve been able to walk among the pictures from their past, touch them even, but no more. It never occurred to me that I might be able to create something here from my own memory. Perhaps I couldn’t, until now. When I needed to.”

  Gently, he placed the little fly onto his shoulder. It seemed quite content. He paused, taking in the burning trees all around him. “Logic tells me that it is harder to move a mountain than it is a grain of sand, but I wonder. I’m not certain there is a place here for logic.”

  Cole held his hands out in front of him, and concentrated again. He pushed out with his mind, just as he had before when bringing the hawkfly into existence. He stared intently at the flames, until it felt as though his brain would be squeezed out through his ears.

  And then, slowly at first, the crackling fires began to recede. As he continued to push outwards, he felt his power swell, as if feeding on itself. It became easier, the flames dying out faster and faster until every last red tongue had been extinguished. All that remained were charred tree trunks and scorched earth around them. Out of curiosity, he placed his fingertips against the ashen bark of a nearby tree. To his surprise it was cold to the touch.

  Now that the flames had died, taking with them the sound of crackling and popping wood, the forest was filled with the noises of the battle he had heard earlier. He listened for a moment, gathering his bearings, and then ran off through the trees in the direction of the fighting.

  It didn’t take long to find Harri. The hunter was only a short distance away, surrounded by foes. The shapes that assailed him were blurry, indistinct. They moved like shadows, but seemed to be armed and wearing dark plate. Harri wielded a broadsword and was laying about him on every side, screaming incoherently. The sound of his sword beating against the blades and armour of his foes rang around the forest, but Cole could see that he was fighting a losing battle. Every time he dealt one of the shades what should have been a mortal blow, it dissipated like a puff of smoke, reappearing somewhere else around the raging hunter. Harri had begun to stagger with exhaustion, and the creatures bore down upon him hungrily.

  Cole didn’t panic. He stood his ground just outside the ring of figures, none of whom had yet noticed his presence. Again, he held his hand out before him and focused his mind. It came to him more easily this time. A wave of energy seemed to emanate out from him, scattering the black forms before it like ashes in the wind.

  Harri looked around, momentarily baffled. Then, he caught sight of Cole and charged, sword raised, screaming like a wounded beast.

  This time, Cole panicked. He didn’t dare try his new-found powers against Harri, here in his own dream. Besides that, he didn’t have the time to do so. Mere seconds after the wraiths had vanished, the furious hunter was upon him and swinging his heavy blade in an arc towards Cole’s neck.

  Cole dived desperately backwards, rebounding off a tree trunk a heartbeat before the steel broadsword chopped deep into the bark where he had been. He staggered away, his boots kicking up flurries of black earth and forest detritus. Behind him, he could hear Harri’s footsteps crashing through the trees, and the swish of his blade. The hunter continued to yell, throwing a torrent of obscenities at his retreating back.

  Cole had often wondered what would happen to him if he died during one of his sojourns into the dream-realm. Would he die in the real world as well, or merely awaken in the same spot he had been before? With the frenzied hunter fast on his heels, Cole quickly decided he didn’t want to find out.

  Then, without warning, his foot caught on a protruding root or some other unseen obstacle, sending him plunging face-first to the ground. Harri was on him in an instant with an exultant roar. He swung his sword towards Cole, who rolled one way and then the other to dodge the strikes. Unperturbed, Harri lifted the broadsword high above his head, ready to deliver the killing blow. As it came down, Cole desperately raised his arm, and pushed again with his mind. This time, a steel blade appeared from nowhere in his hand. With a loud cry he was only vaguely aware of making, he used it to block the hunter’s blow and send him reeling into the undergrowth.

  Cole leapt to his feet. By the time Harri re-emerged, the bloodlust still filling his eyes, Cole had dropped into the defensive stance Raven had taught him. With another bellow, Harri charged. This time, Cole was ready and easily deflected the first swing of the hunter’s sword.

  He didn’t know how long they stayed there, locked in battle. It felt like an eternity. Facing a flesh and blood foe seemed to have helped the berse
rk hunter find new reserves of energy and he fought like a demon. In a straight fight, Cole knew he could not beat Harri, either in this realm or the real world. The hunter was too strong, too skilled. Fortunately, it was not a straight fight. He didn’t wish to harm Harri, only defend himself against his onslaught, which he soon found he was just about capable of doing. The broadsword Harri wielded was a fearsome weapon, but heavy. The hunter held it in both hands, putting great power into every blow. But it was ponderous to swing, each strike telegraphed by the movement of his hips and shoulders. Thanks to his training sessions with Raven, Cole found that he could easily raise his own weapon in time to protect him, or dodge out of the way before the blow arrived.

  Even so, after a time Cole began to tire. His shoulders ached from deflecting Harri’s attacks, each one like a hammer blow. Gradually, Harri’s strikes became less frequent however, and his breathing was ragged. Their fight became a race of endurance, seeing who could outlast the other.

  Eventually, it was Harri who sank first to his knees, gasping for breath. With the last of his strength, he threw the broadsword aside. Sighing with relief Cole, lowered his own weapon. He was unsure how much longer he could have lasted, or what might have happened had he been the first to yield.

  Harri’s head drooped towards the ground, his shoulders hunched. Cole knelt down in front of him, but the young hunter did not acknowledge his presence. On a sudden impulse, he placed his hand flat against Harri’s chest, above his heart. He tried to exert the same force he had used before the quench the flames and dissipate the shadow warriors. As he did so, he felt something leave Harri, and travel along his arm. He didn’t know what it was, but it chilled his flesh, leaving goosepimples on his skin. His arm tingled.

  “Cole?” Harri lifted his head. The hunter stared at him, confused. His steel-grey eyes were calm once more. Whatever force had been driving him, possessing him with madness, had been lifted. “What are you doing here?”

  Cole retracted his arm. “Raven sent me. We were attacked in the forest by soulcreeps, and you were wounded. We had no way to treat the venom, and you fell into a fever. The healer treated your wounds, but the fever wouldn’t lift. I wasn’t sure I could help, but Raven asked me to try.” The words tumbled out of him.

  “Healer?” Harri scowled, trying to remember. “There was a man, on the road. He mentioned a village, did he not? So strange.” Suddenly his eyes opened wide. “Cole, there is... great... danger...” Harri’s hands flew to his head, his eyes screwed tightly shut in pain. He cried out, and fell to the ground.

  “Harri, what’s wrong?” Cole reached out to the young hunter, but was pushed away. Harri began to thrash in the dirt, clutching his temples.

  “Tell... Raven...”

  “Tell her what?”

  Harri gasped. Cole could tell that every word pained him greatly to utter. “Tell her... fair...”

  “You said that before. I don’t understand.” He looked desperately around at the forest, but there was no-one to help them, not here.

  Harri looked up at him with anguish in his eyes. “Fair... Laur...ren.”

  Cole stared at him confused. “Lauren? We’ve met nobody of that name so far.”

  “Tell... her.” Harri gave a strangled cry, and faded from sight. As he vanished, the forest began to collapse in on itself, in a tidal wave of trees and dirt. Cole did not linger, severing his link with Harri’s dream without regret, glad to be away from that place.

  When he opened his eyes, he found himself back in the healer’s room. He was squatting on the floor beside the bed, the crystal pendant still clasped in one hand. Harri lay on the mattress, unconscious. But Raven was no longer holding down his arms. The young hunter was still. “Is he...?” Cole began.

  Raven shook her head. “The fever broke,” she said softly. She laid a palm on Harri’s brow. “He is cooler now. I think the danger has passed.” She looked at him, her eyes glistening. “Thank you Cole. I don’t know what it is you did, but you brought him back.”

  Suddenly, the atmosphere seemed stuffy and oppressive. “I think I need some air,” he said. With an apologetic smile, he stood and left the sick room. As he made his way to the door, the healer glanced up from his work questioningly, then started as he saw Cole’s pendant. He followed Cole with his eyes as he went to let himself out, but otherwise made no comment.

  When he reached the street outside, darkness lay over the village. They had been inside the healer’s house tending to Harri for a whole day. Possibly even two. Cole had no way of knowing for sure. Time moved differently in the dream-realm, and often he felt disorientated when he returned to the real world.

  He looked all around him, but there was nothing unusual about the village that he could see. There were a number of low, timber buildings. Lights burned in some of them, casting shadows onto the cobbled streets. Next to the healer’s house was a small garden. At first glance it seemed overgrown, but gradually it dawned on Cole that it was actually very well-kept, just cramped. A profusion of different herbs and plants tumbled over one another. Many had succumbed to the first frosts of winter, but a few hardier blooms remained. Some he recognised, again from the illustrated tomes collected in the Crag’s library. Medicinal herbs, mostly. There were many more, though, that he was unfamiliar with.

  On the far side of the village, looming above the wooden roofs, was a much larger structure. A manor house of some kind. Unlike the homes of the villagers, its windows were dark, its features shrouded in shadow. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, gazing upon it made him feel ill at ease.

  Above the village, the full moon hung high in the sky, bloated and red. “A harvest moon,” he mused.

  “Too late in the year for a harvest.” He turned, and saw Raven emerging from the doorway behind him. “When I was growing up, we called it a blood moon. An ill omen, it is said.”

  “By whom?”

  “The superstitious, mostly.” She smiled. “The sorts of folk who see ill omens wherever they look. I came out to thank you again, Cole. Harri will recover, I believe.”

  “Has he woken yet?”

  “Not yet. Soon, hopefully. What was it you did, anyway?”

  Cole hesitated, before deciding to tell her the truth. He told her about the burning forest, the hawkfly... even the shadowy warriors and his battle with Harri. Raven listened to it all without interrupting, her expression thoughtful. When he was finished, for a while she stayed silent. When she eventually spoke, her voice was quiet. “I still don’t understand this... ability of yours, Cole, nor why you have it.” She shifted uncomfortably and stared off into the distance, beyond the village roofs. “But what you can do, it scares me. Your power seems to be growing and I’m not sure even you know what you’re capable of.” She sighed. “I’ve tried to keep an open mind, to keep my thoughts to myself. But the truth is, I’m afraid of what you might become.”

  “Become?” he echoed, grinning. “Why do I have to become anything? I’m the same person I was yesterday, and the day before that. I’ll still be the same tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps.” Raven hugged her arms about herself, as a chill wind gusted suddenly. “But everyone walks a path, Cole, whether they know it or not. I wish I knew where yours leads.”

  He had no response to that. He wanted to comfort her, assure her that he would not change, but he was afraid the words would sound hollow. Did he even believe it himself? It was not something he had stopped to consider before, but he was already a very different person now to the Cole that had lived a peaceful life at the Crag barely a month earlier. The thought was peculiarly disturbing.

  Raven turned to go back into the healer’s house, when he suddenly remembered the young hunter’s strange message. “Wait, Harri asked me to tell you something,” he told her. “It seemed important to him, but I have no idea what it means.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He mentioned a woman, I think. Lauren. Fair Lauren, he called her.”

  At first, Raven sim
ply frowned as she contemplated the words. Then her eyes flew wide and she grabbed his shoulders urgently. “Are you certain?” she demanded. There was nothing soft about her voice now. “You could not be mistaken?”

  “I’m certain,” he blurted, alarmed by her extreme reaction to Harri’s message. “It seemed to pain him to speak the words, but they were clear enough. Do you know who he is talking about?”

  “We cannot speak of this here. If Harri is right, then we are all in grave danger.” She peered suspiciously at the houses around them. “We must assume that we are being watched.” Abruptly, she let go of his arms, and turned to go back into the healer’s house.

  “Where are you going?” Cole asked, perturbed by her warning.

  “I can’t leave Harri alone, not before he wakes. I will stay by his side and make sure that no harm befalls him. Hopefully by morning we will be able to leave this place.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Just be careful. Harri may be mistaken, or even if he is not then I am uncertain what dangers we may face. Keep your sword by your side, look around if you must. But Cole... trust no-one.” With that, she was gone, leaving Cole alone once more.

  But not for long. Just as he was pondering his next move, a familiar lantern bobbed along the otherwise deserted street toward him. “Is that young master Cole, I see?” The voice that reached him was that of their guide.

  “Hello,” he called back. “Emmett, isn’t it? What are you doing out this late?”

  The older man chuckled as he reached him. “I could ask you the same question, young master,” he said with a grin. “I merely came by to check on your friend. You’ve all been the talk of the village today. Old Crabtree’s fair eaten up with curiosity to find out what’s going on.”

  “He is recovering,” Cole told him. “He was taken with fever, but the danger seems to have passed. It was kind of you to come by.”