continued, turning with a grave look in his eyes. “There will b* little time to rest and no incentive to do so… There are worse things in the dark than those dreamers.”
“What things?” Brindani asked. But the human kept moving, checking his pack as Vaasurri prepared a small lantern filled with glowing green moss. The light barely lit the grove but was bright enough to be spotted and, she assumed, followed through the dark. Uthalion approached and handed them short shafts of wood, the tightly bound rags at their ends stinging her nose with an acrid, chemical smell.
“Keep these dry no matter what,” Uthalion said, drawing forth his own torch. “Be ready to stop when I stop or run when I”
“What things?” Ghaelya interrupted, repeating Brindani’s question. She respected the human’s urgency, but
did not like being kept in the dark. He paused a moment, long enough to match her stare.
“One thing actually, the one we heard earlier when yon left the grove.” He sighed and turned away as Ghaelya recalled the ground-shaking roar, the memory helping to blot out the sound of the dreamer’s alien singing. She stared into the darkness as Vaasurri approached the grove’s edge, his little lantern swinging in his hand. The heavy blade at her side seemed suddenly very tiny compared to the beast she’d imagined in the aftermath of that roar-Uthalion fell in step behind the killoren and turned sidelong to her, a caution in his voice that would have rooted her feet to the ground if not for the distant howls of the dreamers to the north. “We’ll be descending into its territory, passing through as quick as we can, hopefully before it senses our presence. We call it the kaia.”
************
They kept a steady pace in the dark. Ghaelya’s eyes fixed on the faint glow of Vaasurri’s lantern, afraid that if she blinked or turned away for a moment it would disappear and she would be left to fend for herself. The land sloped downward, so steeply at times that the trees were all that kept them from tumbling down into a boundless maw of shadows. The night closed in around them like a shroud, their footsteps echoing off the close trees and the canopy overhead as if the killoren led them underground instead of through a forest. Briefly, in the twinkling light of the stars, Ghaelya caught sight of the Akanapeaks to the west, before the trees obscured their slopes once again.
She fought to rein in her sense of claustrophobia, feeling buried in the vast interior of the Spur, lost and dependent on the dim light in Vaasurri’s hand. Focusing on the lantern and keeping her feet moving helped keep
her mind from Uthalion’s mention of the kaia, but childhood memories came racing through to fill the gaps in her imagination. Once, when she and Tessaeril were young, their mother had told them tales of the legendary kaia, the Mother of Nightmares.
Shivering at the idea, Ghaelya gripped the foul-smelling torch tighter. She hoped that Tessaeril had been taken this way during the day. Her sister had always been afraid of the dark.
Her mind drew shapes upon the darkness where she expected to see things prowling or lying in wait for hapless passersby. The shapes moved and shifted, seemingly of their own accord, and she ignored them as much as she could. But they always returned: silent silhouettes dancing to some mad tune, the bogeymen of frightened children.
Uthalion slowed ahead of her, and she shook her head, watching the lantern as Vaasurri moved on, scouting the path ahead. Brindani stood close, his back to hers, watching the path behind. Catching her breath, Ghaelya leaned against a nearby tree and whispered an old rhyme.
“Little nightmare let me be; leave my name from off your tree.”
“What was that?” Uthalion whispered, and she felt foolish for being heard playing at a child’s game.
“Nothing, just an old story my mother used to tell us,” she replied, smiling nervously at the memory and eager to purge
“What things?” Brindani asked. But the human kept moving, checking his pack as Vaasurri prepared a small lantern filled with glowing green moss. The light barely lit the grove but was bright enough to be spotted and, she assumed, followed through the dark. Uthalion approached and handed them short shafts of wood, the tightly bound rags at their ends stinging her nose with an acrid, chemical smell.
“Keep these dry no matter what,” Uthalion said, drawing forth his own torch. “Be ready to stop when I stop or run when I”
“What things?” Ghaelya interrupted, repeating Brindani’s question. She respected the human’s urgency, but
did not like being kept in the dark. He paused a moment, long enough to match her stare.
“One thing actually, the one we heard earlier when yon left the grove.” He sighed and turned away as Ghaelya recalled the ground-shaking roar, the memory helping to blot out the sound of the dreamer’s alien singing. She stared into the darkness as Vaasurri approached the grove’s edge, his little lantern swinging in his hand. The heavy blade at her side seemed suddenly very tiny compared to the beast she’d imagined in the aftermath of that roar-Uthalion fell in step behind the killoren and turned sidelong to her, a caution in his voice that would have rooted her feet to the ground if not for the distant howls of the dreamers to the north. “We’ll be descending into its territory, passing through as quick as we can, hopefully before it senses our presence. We call it the kaia.”
************
They kept a steady pace in the dark. Ghaelya’s eyes fixed on the faint glow of Vaasurri’s lantern, afraid that if she blinked or turned away for a moment it would disappear and she would be left to fend for herself. The land sloped downward, so steeply at times that the trees were all that kept them from tumbling down into a boundless maw of shadows. The night closed in around them like a shroud, their footsteps echoing off the close trees and the canopy overhead as if the killoren led them underground instead of through a forest. Briefly, in the twinkling light of the stars, Ghaelya caught sight of the Akanapeaks to the west, before the trees obscured their slopes once again.
She fought to rein in her sense of claustrophobia, feeling buried in the vast interior of the Spur, lost and dependent on the dim light in Vaasurri’s hand. Focusing on the lantern and keeping her feet moving helped keep
her mind from Uthalion’s mention of the kaia, but childhood memories came racing through to fill the gaps in her imagination. Once, when she and Tessaeril were young, their mother had told them tales of the legendary kaia, the Mother of Nightmares.
Shivering at the idea, Ghaelya gripped the foul-smelling torch tighter. She hoped that Tessaeril had been taken this way during the day. Her sister had always been afraid of the dark.
Her mind drew shapes upon the darkness where she expected to see things prowling or lying in wait for hapless passersby. The shapes moved and shifted, seemingly of their own accord, and she ignored them as much as she could. But they always returned: silent silhouettes dancing to some mad tune, the bogeymen of frightened children.
Uthalion slowed ahead of her, and she shook her head, watching the lantern as Vaasurri moved on, scouting the path ahead. Brindani stood close, his back to hers, watching the path behind. Catching her breath, Ghaelya leaned against a nearby tree and whispered an old rhyme.
“Little nightmare let me be; leave my name from off your tree.”
“What was that?” Uthalion whispered, and she felt foolish for being heard playing at a child’s game.
“Nothing, just an old story my mother used to tell us,” she replied, smiling nervously at the memory and eager to purge
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