The Dream Hopper (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 2)

by Shawn Mackey

  I saw no evidence of war. I left the muddy shore, sword in hand, and set out to search for any signs of life. Even a mangled corpse or a pile of bones would set me at ease. The wind’s howl had a trace of malignance that felt more terrible than the bank of white mist at my back. I would have preferred to stumble into the nightmarish war rather than this desolation.

  I clutched the sword even tighter, hoping its power lay in the blade and not its wielder. Though it didn’t feel foreign in my hand, and I had a bit of confidence, I still feared whatever I was about to face was far more powerful than my meager resolve. I set out for answers, while I knew, even without Lina’s warning, that something here wanted battle, specifically with me.

  I carefully studied my surroundings, scanning every direction for some kind of movement. After an hour of pacing through patches of dead grass and kicking ashy dirt clods, I concluded the tiny landmass was barren of native life. However, I was utterly certain something was on this island. The search could last forever, and I would still be convinced.

  I paused several times to listen to distant noises. Whether a twig snap or a swift rustle of leaves, I looked frantically and saw no sign of movement. Perhaps the wind itself was the entity that wanted my blood, and with the passage of time, would likely take my sanity first. If some poor fool were to actually appear and challenge me, my current frantic state of mind would leave one of us dead in an instant.

  As I tried to imagine my foe in a tangent form, I tripped on a loose rock and smashed my forehead into the moist ground. I had dropped my sword and sifted through the piles of dead leaves to find it. I did, as well as a few bright white stones. They were splintered and weightless. I dug a hole and hit another stone a foot deep. This was much larger and appeared to be the remains of some kind of pillar. I tapped my knuckle against its side, and upon hearing the hollow thump, realized it wasn’t made of stone, but rather was the tip of an extraordinarily large bone.

  I ran onward as the wind’s cry grew to an unbearable pitch. The trees seemed more verdant, and I quickly found myself waist high in weeds. I felt a great sense of relief as I cut through them. The incessant howling had grated my nerves beyond the point of agitation. I would have done anything to find its source and stop it by any means.

  The weedy growth cut short to a dirt clearing. The trees swayed heavily at each burst of wind. A large rock took up most of the area, and upon closer inspection, appeared to be smoothed down. As I walked around it, the boulder seemed to be a structure rather than a natural formation. My observation proved to be correct. On the other side was a gaping hole, more of a makeshift gateway than a pathway underground. The interior was pitch-black, and I doubted light would be able to penetrate it, even if directly exposed.

  As I went to step inside, disregarding any caution in my brazenness, a massive gust of air sent me tumbling backward. Without second thought, I rose to my feet and fled. The great gusts of wind no longer smelled of the salty lake, but of fetid breath. I clung to a tree, sword in hand, waiting for the behemoth to emerge from its lair. I had been stricken with a paralyzing fear, unable to do anything but stare unblinkingly ahead.

  A small rock struck me across the temple. I was far too agitated to be dazed by the blow and instead darted my head in its direction. As I spied a small figure behind a nearby tree, it crouched down and let out a hoarse croak. I mistook the sound for a sign of fear and went charging headlong with sword raised. When it left its hiding spot and strode into the open, I halted in my tracks. I had expected a man, but had found something that defied my senses.

  The similarity between this being and a man was that both were bipedal. He, and to refer to it as such made me shudder, stood with an arched back and stepped with a leering gait, as though it would have preferred to walk on four legs. I initially mistook his wolf mask as an actual head, though the lower jaw exposed otherwise. A bubbly slaver dripped from his fanged mouth, down his toad-like neck, decorated by an eagle talon strung from a little rope. He held onto a sword much like mine, though I suspected his blackened claws would have been a formidable weapon on their own.

  He circled around me, the massive hooked talon on his large toe clicking with each step. His forked tongue licked his upper row of teeth, and his lips rubbed hungrily together. I could only sum up my nemesis as the offspring of a feral canine and primordial reptile, whose savagery had made it too destructive to claim heredity from either species, and instead, had been forced to become a twisted parody of a man.

  I would not let my eyes deceive me. This was no hybrid, nor some hideous regression of man. I faced the horror of horrors, an entity more caustic than the very essence of violence. Traversing through the chaotic world of dreams for an eternity did not prepare me for my encounter with Lefnir.

  I felt as though cutting down this monster would redeem every injustice; past, present, and future. Lina had made a grievous error in her twisted copulation with Lefnir. It tainted something pure and allowed that black puddle of ooze to fester and spread its corruption. Two worlds had felt its touch, one physically and the other spiritually. I intended to vindicate both.

  “What’s yer name, boy?” he croaked. There was a familiar rasp to it.

  “Lefnirkin,” I replied.

  “Ya don’t look like a son o’ mine,” he said with a wheezy chuckle. He licked his black lips and asked: “On second thought, ya got a look in yer face. And yer sword looks like somethin’ I seen. Ya got a name more specific? Who yer Ma?”

  “What’s it matter to you?”

  “Not ta me, fer I meant to suggest ya best turn back to er skirt. Why ya posed like a soldier? Any son o’ mine knows I’m more butcher than warrior. I kill to eat, boy. Anythin’ soft nuff for a sword cut tis good enough ta slide down the ol’ gullet. Ya sent here ta bate ya Pa’s hunger? Can ya hear it growlin’ from ya Ma’s tit? I neva seeded a broad dat lacked a hefty bosom for my boys ta suckle. They call it Lefnir’s Gift.”

  “I’m here to kill you. That’s all.”

  “No sport in killin’ what tis already dead. Ya as empty o’ mind as me? Some cur yankin’ our strings. What ya say?”

  “Raise your sword, Lefnir. Or would you rather I cut you down again without a fight?”

  “Tis startin’ to make sense. Ya sound like fever-brained Vargrim’s boy. Aye!” he croaked, crouching as though ready to pounce.

  He continued to ramble in a language I didn’t understand, poised to fight. His inane babble seemed the sign of utter madness. In the end, I’m not sure what stood before me. I only know that it was a shadow of its former self.

  “I killed all them cunt-nibblin’ spawns o’ mine, and saved ol’ Torgos from dat heady monster with all them screams. Lot o’ fools. Got back in their good grace and they fell for my tricks easier than a hot knife through a baby’s belly. Ya can’t recall any of it?”

  “No.”

  “Then ya no son o’ mine! But ya no son o’ Vargrim neither. Somethin’ wrong? Or jus’ as planned? Aye! Makes sense! Ya cravin’ a lady’s flesh. And confrontin’ me wit Vargrim’s blade. Where ya get?”

  “Lina.”

  “Curse my scattered mind! Aye, rememberin’ the wager now. Almost fell fer one o’ my own tricks!”

  “What?”

  “Yer lookin’ at yer future. Yer no son o’ mine. Ol’ Lina sent ya here to kill me. Or maybe me ta’ kill ya? It don’t matta’ a bit.”

  He charged and met me with a single leap. I managed to parry his sword, but lost my footing and stumbled. His left hand slashed my chest mid-fall. He gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and swung again. My next parry prevented a fatal blow. The force caused my own blade to scrape my cheek. Lefnir howled mockingly, and in that brief moment of vulnerability, I planted my heel into his knee. He let out a screech and fell to my right. I quickly got to my feet, as did he.

  His relentless attacks were wearing me down. He tore open my leg with his hooked toe and followed up with a swing toward my neck. I ducked my head just in time and thrus
t my sword forward. It pierced his chest deep enough to cause him to reel backward. I expected a few seconds of respite, but was met with another slash. Too slow to parry, the blade cut across my chest.

  I was still standing. Lefnir circled around me like a dancing buzzard, cackling and jumping around in a fit of boundless mirth. My hands gripped the hilt of my sword, channeling any remaining strength in my ravaged body. As Lefnir reeled in for the killing blow, I aimed for his neck. The blade cleaved his head from his shoulders. His sword plunged clean through my chest and out my back. I dropped my weapon, no longer able to stand, and pulled out Lefnir’s sword with a final frantic burst of energy.

  I lay sprawled out in a pool of my own blood, sucking in breaths. I turned my neck to the side, and through cloudy vision, saw the lifeless head of my enemy. The wolf mask had fallen off, exposing his true face. Just before everything went black, I saw those bulging eyes, far too large for so small of a skull, and their dilated pupils. It was a hideous sight, made all the more gruesome that they looked remarkably human.

  In that long state of unconsciousness, an inexplicable thought shook me awake. I rose like a mindless automaton, my body still grievously injured, though the pain had dulled to a minor annoyance. Lefnir’s corpse was gone, leaving only a thick trail of slimy blood leading to the entrance of that yawning cave. I turned to depart the site of the bottomless pit. There was no need to explore that darkness, for I had spent long enough inside. I felt a gnawing feeling of debt, the need to pay tribute, so I tossed my sword into the gaping chasm, instantly ceasing the behemoth breathing. Seized by an unbearable dread, I rushed back to the shore. As I rowed the boat off the island, my head frequently peered over my shoulder, expecting to see an immense beast emerge and engulf the entire lake.

  I expected to find Lina on the shore, since she had mentioned staying a short distance. The entire area was vacant. Not even the mist remained. I left the boat where I had found it, and then the warm lake far behind. The water had stung my wounds, but at least cleaned a bit of the blood off.

  I followed the riverbank into the forest. I initially thought I was retracing my steps back to Lina, yet the surroundings seemed much different. The trees looked fresher, more colorful and young. Patches of pink flowers swayed with each gentle breeze. I turned my head to find a butterfly peering from behind a tree. Upon closer inspection, its body was like a tiny man’s, a glob of clear honey dripping from its hands. It blinked its red eyes, and as I stepped forward, it darted further into the wilderness.

  I continued in its direction and shortly wandered onto a clean path. My wounds ached terribly, and I was seized by a wave of dizziness. Still, I walked the path, in search of the boon I was promised. At this point, I would have settled for a healing balm and a deep sleep. I could not rest, for my aching limbs, numbed gradually to the pain, continued to the point of exhaustion. As my face collided with the dirt, I heard the faint sound of trickling water.

  Off the path to my right, I saw a small pond and the outline of a slim figure. I crawled in its direction and soon realized that the form was a young woman. She knelt in a bed of pink flowers, her blonde hair glimmering like a tiny sun. I crawled at a faster pace, worried that this woman was a mere mirage. As I neared, her soft humming filled my ears and rejuvenated my senses like a miraculous panacea. I stopped a few paces away, careful not to alarm the girl I had seen in many dreams. One look in her eyes would rekindle my lost memories, and as tribute for my toils, we would consummate our love in this bed of flowers.

  “There’s no need to sneak up on me. I was about to bring a basket of flowers home for mother,” she said.

  I reached out and stroked her shoulder. The pink flesh was warm and soothing. She reeled back, as though my touch was a dagger bite, and turned around to face me. Her eyes went wide, mouth agape, throat seized by an innate terror so overwhelming that it swallowed her scream.

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