by Travis Peck
Chapter Twenty-Two
THE HIGH MORNING SUN glared through her closed eyelids and brought Moira awake. She had first woke in the early morning on the floor in a tangled heap of bedding and had moved back to the bed. Fortunately, no one saw her like that, or she would have been confined to her bedroom for fear that she was ill. Her muscles ached and her joints were stiff as if she had spent a long day or two riding Helia across rough country at a full gallop.
Her head ached again but nowhere near as bad as it had a few days ago. It was worth it. Moira had done something meaningful in the ravinor dream at last. She had spent years only witnessing and never acting, but now she knew that she could affect what happened there. She had saved a dozen souls from turning. Moira regretted that it had taken her this long before doing so, but she shook her head to clear such self-destructive thoughts away. She focused her attention on imagining what might be possible to achieve in the dream. She almost wished she could go back into the dream right this moment. Well, almost.
Moira had never been this exhausted. Though her body was sore and tired, her spirit soared with new purpose. The thrill of rescuing those people would stay with her for as long as she lived. She just hoped that she was capable of adding more to the tally. Moira mused over just how far she could take it. It would be impossible for a single person to see every soul’s battle for survival, what with the number of attacks growing daily, but what if she could save everyone in each dream “cycle,” for lack of a better word.
If only she had a better idea of what she could do there. She may have been able to save everyone from Deepbrooke from turning. Moira lamented over that possibility, and would for the rest of her life. But the regret gave her a well of purpose to draw from if she ever felt unsure of the path ahead.
Her stomach growled and brought her back to her immediate needs. All the exertion in the dream had translated into the waking world and she was famished. Judging from the height of the sun in the morning sky, she had certainly missed her father and mother at breakfast, but Moira knew she could go to the kitchen and there would be plenty for her to eat there. And she would take full advantage of not having her mother tssking at every mouthful beyond what she deemed wise for her daughter to consume. Moira usually ate sparingly of her own accord, but this morning, she knew her body needed more food to replenish all the energy she had lost.
Moira donned a clean riding dress, which was her usual garb in case the opportunity presented itself for some equine sport, and made her way to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a plate for her on top of the stove with a towel covering it to keep the contents warm. No one was in the kitchen at the moment. The cook and her assistants were likely taking a short respite after breakfast had been served and cleaned away before they started to prepare lunch.
The main kitchen of the Geryn estate was always busy. Aside from the fare for the Geryn family, and the staff who worked in the manor, meals were also provided for those workers and other employees who resided on the estate, the unmarried ones at any rate. The married couples might partake of the lunch-time meal, but those with significant others and young ones were more likely to eat the first and last meal of the day at their own homes.
A generous portion of scrambled eggs, bacon, and some sweetbread filled her plate. She spread some butter on the warm sweetbread and it began to melt, enticingly so. Her stomach rumbled, and she tucked into her breakfast with a will she normally did not possess for the first meal of the day. As she finished eating, Moira heard horses galloping outside. She put her plate in the sink and dashed out into the courtyard to see if it was Daeris returning from his patrol.
Daeris and two other guards, Illion and Geff, stopped their mounts right in the gravel drive that led to the manor’s main doors. Her father was already outside to receive the report. Prayg was there too, seeing to the horses. He gave the three mounts pats on their snouts and led them away as soon as their riders had dismounted. Despite her brisk pace, Daeris was in the middle of relaying his findings by the time she made it within earshot of the conversation.
“—is no more. We have word that the village is completely abandoned and partially burned. There are signs of ravinors between here and there as well. One, maybe two days out from the manor. We should keep patrols out at all times and man the perimeter towers day and night,” Daeris said, making his recommendations.
Her father nodded in approval at the suggested course of action, but his brows furrowed with the unfortunate tidings. “As you see fit.” Moira knew he trusted Daeris implicitly in matters of defense—as did she.
Daeris turned with the two guards at his heels and made his way to the barracks, where he would be planning the patrols to ensure they would be given ample warning of any impending ravinor attack.
“Well, Mole, I trust you heard all of that?”
“Yes, Father,” she answered. “Do you think they will attack?”
“It is too early to tell, but we shall have a plan ready if they do. We have been left unmolested here for a long time, so perhaps we are in for a raid or two,” her father said, guessing.
Ravinors were like so much bad weather. You could only have so many lovely days before a storm was bound to bear down on you, Moira thought—she believed she had heard Prayg say that once before. She remained optimistic, still high-spirited from her successful foray into the ravinor dream. If ravinors did attack and any of the guardsmen were infected, she might be able to save them in the dream. She gloried in the possibility, not of an infected guardsman, of course, but that she might be able to make a difference.
Her father stared at her askance as she had been lost in thought. “I’m not afraid, Father,” she answered before he could ask. “I know we will be safe here.”
Lord Geryn nodded and said, “Indeed, Daeris will keep us safe, and then we will be done with this threat hanging over our heads.” Her father hated waiting for unpleasant events or tasks, and much preferred to deal with them straightaway so he could put his mind to work elsewhere, instead of dwelling on the same problem.
Moira was of the same opinion and knew she had to find something to occupy herself for the rest of the day. She looked to her father and he smiled. He knew exactly what she would ask of him.
“I’m sure Prayg would appreciate your help, Mole.” He grinned at his daughter’s predictable behavior.
She kissed him lightly on his cheek, the long whiskers of his beard tickling her lips. Then she made her way to the stables, waving happily to her father, who was striding over to the barrack’s door that Daeris had just entered.
Moira opened the stable doors and saw Prayg rubbing down one of the mounts that had arrived back home with the captain. With no words necessary, she began to tend to one of the other mounts, this one a chestnut stallion that was still slick with sweat. The two disparately aged equestrians worked side by side in silence, even the simple act of handing one or the other a particular brush was done without words. The three mounts were soon taken care of, with each horse returned to its respective stall. The steeds were happily munching on the special mixture of oats, hay, and grasses that was Prayg’s secret recipe for them to quickly regain their strength.
They shifted tasks from tending to the horses to seeing to the tack. Moira found a strap on one of the saddles that needed repairing. She fetched the needle and string and began reinforcing the stitching. As she sewed, Moira took some satisfaction knowing that her mother would have apoplexy if she saw her enjoying this form of sewing over the kind her mother forced her into whenever she got the chance.
Once she completed that task, she oiled a saddle. It was beginning to crack in a few places, and that would not do. Prayg gave her an appreciative nod. She knew that the old man’s hands were starting to pain him after a long day’s work, and rubbing oil on the saddles was one task, in particular, that caused him grief. She was happy to do it. Prayg had been like a kindly grandfather to her for her whole life. Never once had he commented on, or seemed bothered by, her facial scarring. The m
an had taught her so much over the years that she believed she could run a small stable by herself with all that she had learned.
Moira had always gravitated toward horses. Even if her father didn’t own an empire-wide renowned stable, she would still have loved any broken-down old nag as much as she loved her fine-bred Helia. When she worked with horses, she did not have to second guess any affection shown to her. Unlike her dealings with humans. She knew she was no beauty, just as she was aware that she was wealthy beyond what she could ever possibly need. But she was also at the age when many of the young women she had grown up with were engaged to be wed. She knew that any suitor she would have would be more interested in her wealth than in her.
Moira shook those thoughts away, she had more important things to worry about with the immediate ravinor threat, not to mention the ravinor dream and her newfound ability to help people who were unlucky enough to be forced into it. She had enough to deal with now than to go borrowing trouble that she did not have to worry about yet—and couldn’t change anyway.
Before she knew it, all the tack was cleaned, oiled, repaired if needed, and hanging neatly on hooks on the wall, ready for the next use.
As soon as she hung up the last saddle, Prayg spoke. “Helia could use a bit of a run if you are of a mind to, my lady.”
Moira grinned.
“Don’t be too long and do not leave the estate. Best go to the south,” Prayg said, this time a hint of steel in his normally relaxed voice.
Moira nodded. “I will. Don’t worry. I don’t want to meet a ravinor, and neither does Helia.”
Satisfied his charge was properly warned, Prayg gathered up some horseshoes that needed to be repaired and left to take them to the estate’s blacksmith.
Helia greeted her with a neigh and stamped her hooves enthusiastically. As always, Moira gave her horse a few carrots and prepared her to go for a ride. Moments later, the two shot out of the stable doors and down the path to the south. Moira would not disobey these commands. This time she had no intention of being out too close to dark.
Riding always put her mind at ease and this ride was no exception. Moira was able to relax from the smooth motion of Helia’s fast gait. No thoughts of ravinors or the dream entered her mind until she, and a contented Helia, returned to the stables. She rubbed her horse down and made sure that she had plenty of water and hay in her stall. Moira had more than enough time to get bathed and then prepare herself to face another dinner. At least for this night’s meal, Daeris would be present, so her mother and Lara would be less apt to be outright rude to her and Evin.
She bathed and the hot water soothed her sore and aching muscles. Moira sat in the tub, luxuriating in it as her soreness dissipated. Once the scalding water cooled to merely warm, she scrubbed herself clean with some scented soap, rinsed, and then toweled off. She tied a towel around her hair, slipped on her robe, and scampered down the hall to her bedroom. The warm day was cooling fast, and she had goosebumps on her skin as she slipped into her room.
After she was dried, dressed, and ready, she noticed it was much too early for dinner. Warnings of ravinors in the area certainly had made her more cautious on her ride and she had cut it shorter than was necessary. Moira refused to go down for dinner early. She thought for a moment that she heard voices coming from the entry, but dismissed it from her mind. No doubt, some workers were talking down by the front door. Surely no visitors were expected at the estate tonight.
To pass the time, Moira read several chapters of her book, but a slight twinge in her stomach reminded her that she had not had anything to eat since her late breakfast. Perhaps Father was having a bit of a snack in his den, she thought. She put her bookmark, a decorated slat of silverwood with her initials engraved in it, back into the book, closed it, and set it on her reading desk. Then Moira left her room to see about having a snack with her father.
As she approached the den, she heard louder than usual noises coming from behind the closed doors and was curious about the merriment. She opened the door and froze. There were guests. She made an unladylike squawk, ducked back out of the door, and ran up to her room with her heart pounding fast. Moira liked to be informed whenever there were guests at the manor so that she could wear her veil to cover her scarring. But it was not that alone that had caused her heart to lurch and shocked her into fleeing away so abruptly.
Lerius was in her house. The Lerius…of the ravinor dream. He seemed even more handsome in the waking world, but to her cloudy eye, Moira noticed the strange glow still surrounding him. Questions raced through her head. What if he recognized my voice? Had he seen my scarred face? She blushed with the knowledge that she was worried about that when she was able, at long last, to meet someone who had been in the ravinor dream with her. That had never happened before, and here she was dreading that he had seen her scarred face without her veil on. Foolishness!
Moira paced about her room. She had never felt so anxious in all her life. She paced and paced—then paced some more. Her stomach was in knots, and she cursed herself for three times a fool. By now, it would be dinner time, and no doubt, the guests would be joining the household for the meal. But she just couldn’t bring herself to go back down. She knew she should put on her veil and go back down to dinner, but she was mortified at her earlier less-than-mature display to stomach further embarrassment.
She admitted to herself that, aside from her interactions with Mother, she had gotten away with acting the child for a bit longer than was strictly acceptable. Her father had indulged her, and because of her affliction, she had never sought to refine her appearance and behavior in front of a young man. All the young men on the estate treated her with respect, albeit forced respect, and so would overlook her oddities. She was not used to having a bachelor under her roof who had not come there solely to ingratiate himself to her as he sought out her father’s wealth and influence. And never before had that bachelor been someone she had met, or at least seen, in the ravinor dream.
She tried reading to distract her mind from Lerius being in her home. But she never quite managed to get into the subject of the Zhurakite Sultanate again. Her mind kept re-enacting the last part of the dream when she had shouted the young man’s name. She did not recall feeling the hum of power that had preceded the first time she was able to communicate in the dream, but she could not be sure if her attempt had been successful.
Regardless, she was glad—elated—that he had survived. Finally steeling her will enough to face the dining room, despite her embarrassment, Moira grabbed her veil and put it on. Checking herself in the mirror, she was satisfied that it covered all of her scarring. Her cloudy eye stared back at her, but she resigned herself to forgo hiding that. Besides, she would like seeing the glow about him that only her afflicted eye could detect.
Smoothing her dress and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she glanced outside before going down to eat. The sky was dark, and only a few clouds could be seen by the light of the moon. She hoped she had not missed dinner completely. She turned to walk out of her room when she felt an eerie sensation that someone was in the room with her. Moira whirled around in panic, the fear threatening to overwhelm her in the form of a scream.
She felt more than a little foolish at her reaction when she saw that she was alone. She could not shake the feeling, though. It felt like the hum of power in the dream, only this time it was not emanating from her. Then she felt the brush of something against her mind. She remembered that feeling all too well. It was the Shad—
Moira fell to the floor, limp and unmoving, but still breathing. Her soul was yanked back into the ravinor dream against her will.
***
Her eyes opened. She was in the tall grassy field, but this time it was night in the ravinor dream. The sun that normally illuminated the landscape was gone, but the moon that had replaced it was large and bright. Moira was lying on the ground as if she had just collapsed there. Once she regained an iota of awareness, she immediately groaned at the stifl
ing presence of the Shadowman that was all around her. Though not physically there, she felt the pressure of him surrounding her to the point that she could barely breathe.
“I FOUND YOU.”
The voice reverberated in her formless ears like a thunderclap.
“HOW DID YOU FREE THOSE SOULS?”
Her dream body cowered against the ground at the force behind the question. Moira did not answer. She didn’t know how she had done that any more than the Shadowman did, apparently.
Shadows around her began to swirl and coalesce into a vaguely human shape. Once united, there were still wisps and tendrils of darkness that moved of their own volition about the form of the Shadowman, much like underwater plants swaying to the unseen currents of the deep. Moira shuddered with revulsion, not from the smoky black presence of the Shadowman, but from the feeling of hate and dread that burned within the man-like creature.
As in the hallway, this manifestation that the Shadowman used in the dream towered over her at more than twice her height. The creature had been frightening enough while she was observing him unseen as she floated over the endless hallway, but now, directly confronting him, Moira had a newfound respect for those souls that managed to elude him for so long. She quailed before the hulking, hate-emanating, and shadow-wreathed figure before her.
She tried but failed to look into the cowl of shadow that surrounded his face. Or where his face should be. Part of her was glad. She did not want to look upon the true form of this creature. Maybe he had no physical form but only existed in the dream? Moira knew she was ignorant of this place despite her many years of witnessing here. But she knew of nowhere else that she could get more information. Mon Lyzink had never published any findings about a dream of any kind, so in this case, she was on her own. Even more alone now, having been snatched out of the waking world. She knew that she had to leave as soon as she could but did not know how.