Twenty-Six:
Nightmares and Dreamscapes

This street looked familiar, though he didn't know if he'd ever seen it before. A courtyard of fawn-coloured stone lined with a vibrant kaleidoscope of flowers. Statues stood solemnly flanking a portcullis through which the front drive led away from the magnificent castle before him. A fountain splashed merrily from an alcove. In other circumstances it might have seemed a calming place, but it wasn't. For the first time since these visions had begun, he saw other people—workers in coveralls, strangers in elaborate clothing and a disgusting excess of jewels, men in red jackets standing guard. He would have welcomed their presence, but they didn't seem to see him. It was as though he didn't exist. Was this still a dream, he wondered, or something far worse? He sucked down a shaky breath of sea-scented air to ground himself. Ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm his breathing.

With a rattle and the faint scratch of metal against gravel, a carriage raced up the drive and slowed, slightly too late, to a stop before the enormous staircase. The ghost started, curious, toward the carriage...and froze as the door opened. It was him—the man with the gun. Except something seemed different about him; the storm that had seemed so barely contained within him had quieted. He looked...happy. Mischievous, but happy. It did nothing to soothe the ghost as he crept forward, trying to keep out of view. But the man never looked his way. As with everyone else, he was beyond being noticed.

The man hurried up the stairs, stopping briefly to speak with a woman at the top. The ghost followed at a slightly more reserved pace, intrigued but also wary, stopping often to keep a reasonable distance between them. Through hallway after hallway he followed the man. The gilt-framed paintings lining the walls were oddly blurry; the sunlight had a watery haze that didn't seem natural. But the man didn't seem to notice any of this. He walked on, humming an odd tune to himself. The ghost didn't understand. Did none of this seem strange to him? Couldn't he see...?

A high-pitched shriek of delight shattered the quiet. Not two seconds later, a tiny girl had thrown herself at the man, frail arms wrapped around his waist in as tight of a hug as she could manage. She chattered, her words excitable and unfamiliar to him. And, though the man didn't exactly hug her back, he didn't seem to mind her affection, gently stroking her hair as he replied in the same strange tongue.

The ghost crept closer, confused, as the man laughed at something the girl said. Their language felt familiar, like he should have understood it, but he didn't. It was like hearing someone mumble in a crowd: a fumbled clash of syllables that meant nothing to him.

But it didn't do anything to ease the awkward tightness in his stomach as he watched them talk. The ghost felt like an intruder. It didn't matter than he didn't understand. Something about it felt...wrong. Perhaps it was the gentle camaraderie, an almost familial sense of pride, in how they addressed each other (or maybe it only seemed familial for both the man and the girl had the same blue eyes). Perhaps it was merely something else, something he couldn't place, that made him want to leave. But he has nowhere else to go. No one could see him; no one had talked to him since the door had. And now...he didn't know what to do.

Clearly the man had some relevance to his missing memories. What else could he do but stay?

The ghost followed as the man took her hand, carefully guiding her down the hall as they spoke. The girl nodded once, overly enthusiastic, and smiled brightly, attempting to tug him onward. Her elaborately curled hair has started to go flat, curls falling from their style and into a chaotic mess—she looked as though she'd been crawling about in a garden before she'd found the man. And, now that they walked together, she didn't seem able to keep from chattering to the man about anything and everything that came to mind.

They didn't get far. A footstep on the thick carpet behind them caught the edges of the ghost's attention.

"Reaver," someone called gently from behind them. As one, the trio turned. Immediately the little girl released the man's hand launched herself at the newcomer—a woman who glowed like starlight made mortal. A small smile lit her scarred face; indulgent, warm. She picked up the girl as she reached her, lifting her into her arms effortlessly. But it was the man she addressed as she added: "It's good to have you home."

The vision was ripping away from him, shredding apart as realisation swept over him. Echoing into a blur. A growing shadow. And a whisper of a memory called to him:

"—not a future waiting for you—that future is lost to you. Abandoned—"

Darkness devoured everything around him. He could feel he wasn't alone. Something was there, seething in the dark. Serpentine and ravenous, desperate to consume him. The more he tried to cling to the few memories he had, the angrier the beast seemed to get.

"Victoria! Get me out!" The shout left his throat raw. He didn't know how he knew the name, but it felt right—like she would always come for him if he needed it.

The beast howled, furious and rabid. There was no escape. Nothing he could do but let it consume him once again.

The arse-kissing was beginning to annoy her more than the monsters on the road had. Victoria stood there, stone-faced as she struggled to keep from cursing as the higher-level officers fawned over her and thanked her profusely for "gracing them with her presence". Major Thompson, the man in charge of running Northward Fort, was the worst of the lot. In a way, she supposed, it was understandable—she was their Queen and some people viewed that with remarkable levels of honour. Mostly she wished she could just leave. There wasn't time for this. If the Corruption or the Temptress caught up with them because some pompous prick cared more about posturing than anything else… Victoria swallowed a frustrated breath; tried to refocus.

The soldiers from Stonehaven had parted ways with them upon arriving, off to fetch food, medicine, and other supplies they desperately needed. Victoria had left Theresa in charge of instructing the fort's Quartermaster about what they needed most before making Rhys and Nergüi promise not to allow anyone to see Reaver in his current state. It was partially to spare his ego and her own—there were enough wild rumours about the both of them that adding "they were travelling together!" to the mix was not something she wanted to deal with—but it was mainly to spare his life. Reaver had made a lot of enemies and many more people loathed him entirely. All it would take was an angry soldier sneaking in and stabbing him or shooting him to end him for good. That was a risk Victoria wasn't willing to take. She sorely doubted he'd get yet another another chance at life.

Scythe, however, had come with her. She'd asked him to. He was stubborn, pragmatic, intelligent, and not willing to tolerate fools; where those traits had irritated her upon first meeting him, she was now thankful for them. If anything, she was counting on him to see through the bullshit of bureaucracy if only to keep them from being furtherly side-tracked. So far he seemed content to observe instead of interact, watching everything with a sharpness the other men seemed to find eerie.

Victoria tried to brush them off, stating she needed to check on how the cart was faring, but the officers would hear nothing of it. After repeated attempts of theirs to get her to stay at Northward for a few days, she finally was able to escape when a young cadet interrupted to inform them of a problem with two of the outlying farms.

Hurrying out into the hall before anyone could stop her, she closed the door behind her and ducked into a nearby alcove. With a sigh, she slumped; rested her forehead against the cool glass of the alcove's window. "Why did I accept this job?"

"We do not undertake such things for our own benefit, but for the benefit of those we love," came Scythe's quiet voice from behind her. She hadn't heard him follow her and barely avoided visibly starting in response. He seemed to neither notice nor care as he continued on: "I propose we leave immediately."

Victoria frowned, slowly pulling away from the window. Unease crept through her. She tried to push it away as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Why? More importantly, where will we go?"

"I recalled a memory, I believe it will help us. As to the why...can you not feel her? The Temptress is not far now. We must get to the Willstone before she does...or before she finds us. The edges of our world are crumbling as the Corruption struggles to break through. I do not wish to chance his arrival, or the arrival of anything else, as consequence of our hesitation."

She considered, uncertain. They'd been on the road for so long...it would be nice to have a break longer than it took to sleep—warm baths and soft beds called to her. But Scythe was right. Their negligence to act could impact everyone; could destroy everything. A few more days discomfort was worth saving everyone, wasn't it? "You're certain you know where we're going?"

"I would say it...is an accurate guess."

"We'll chance it. Let's go."

No one tried to stop them as they hurried through the fort's narrow halls. Workers and guardsmen alike moved out of their way, alarmed and obviously confused. Both of them ignored it. She made a conscious effort to not look too guilty or like she was up to any trouble as they walked. Walked a little faster just in case Major Thompson or one of his ilk had tried to follow them. It almost felt like they were running from their problems, but Victoria didn't want to chance getting convinced to stay at the fort.

When they reached it, the cart was mostly prepared, a few remaining supplies lingering just beyond the door. Nergüi and Rhys had taken it upon themselves to begin loading their new supplies, leaving Theresa to rest in relative peace. Fortunately, no one had thought to unhitch Satyr.

Scythe hopped into his seat on the driver's bench as Victoria grabbed the last two sacks, lifting them easily despite their weight.

"Go!" she hissed to the girls, ushering them into the back of the cart. She handed over the sacks once they were inside and ran to her seat, ushering Satyr into motion before she'd even fully sat down. She could hear shouts of alarm from the back and added, "Close the door!"

They left Northward at a gallop, exiting the fort's portcullis just as a shout and the clatter of running feet made itself known behind them. They barrelled down the road into the wilds, following the edge of a clifftop with only minimal regard to how quickly they were going. A passing patrol of soldiers leapt out of the way, cursing and questioning what, exactly, they thought they were doing, but no one actually moved to stop them. Victoria wouldn't have stopped even if they'd tried. She guided Satyr along what Victoria assumed were battlements until the road forked. At Scythe's direction, she nudged Satyr to the right until they were travelling in open country once more.

"Sorry about that," she called to both Theresa and the girls. She had Satyr slow to an easier pace once she was certain no one was going to follow them. The shade of the trees and the cool breeze felt wonderful against her skin.

"What happened?" Rhys gasped, clearly beside herself.

"She has an aversion to politics," Scythe replied wryly before Victoria could offer an explanation.

She choked on a laugh as Rhys let out a note of confusion. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theresa's lips twitch, though whether it was the start of a smile or a frown was beyond her.

Farms and little cottages greeted them from the roadside, looking oddly matched beside the occasional Old Kingdom ruin. Some such ruins even looked as though they'd been repurposed by the land's current occupants, awkwardly turned into granaries, sheds, and stables. At one point they stopped to trade some of the grains Victoria had gotten from the puck in Thorndeep for a basket of an old farmer's apples—and so Victoria could pet the farmer's sheepdog—before setting off again.

The gentle hills slowly became steeper and only a touch rockier. The occasional dwelling vanished entirely as ancient trees, their gnarled trunks almost as thick as the cart was wide, began to crowd against the dirt road. The air became sharper, crisper with cold. As the shadows deepened into dusk, Nergüi offered each of them on the driver's bench a thick, fur-lined cloak; Theresa was the only one to accept. It felt odd to drive in the dark, but neither Victoria nor Scythe wanted to chance lighting the lamp. If the Temptress truly was closing in on them, it was better if they were but another shadow. A wraith in the darkness.

Stars twinkled to life above them, glittering like diamonds. The air had a deep, earthen smell—like petrichor but muddier, warm with growing things. Pine trees reached out to gently brush against the top of the caravan. Despite the clear night, a faint shimmer of mist curled about the ground before them. Every once in a while, Victoria thought she saw movement amongst the trees, but nothing was ever there for long. Other than the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of wings, there were few sounds but Scythe's occasional, very quiet instructions. A couple hours after sun down, after a quick meal at a rest stop, both Rhys and Nergüi curled up on the floor of the cart and went to sleep. Neither Theresa nor Scythe gave any indication they would like a rest and so Victoria pushed Satyr on.

They were steadily gaining elevation. The temperature dropped quickly, beckoning a chill more suited to the middle of winter. Frost bit into the air making Victoria's nose and fingers prickle painfully. Each breath came as a faint mist. But the winding road kept going on and on. Shivering slightly, Victoria huddled deeper into her coat. Satyr's hooves crunched slightly against the partially frozen ground. If we keep this up, we run the risk of freezing, Victoria thought with a shudder.

At one point, they passed a small logging camp along the side of the road; their campfire little more than embers and a large, fluffy dog watching them carefully as they passed.

Moonlight glinted off snow in the distance. Victoria slowed Satyr as they approached, worried about hitting a patch of ice. The last thing they needed was to get this far only to lose Satyr at the last minute. She didn't have long to ponder that dreadful thought, however. A glow had started to form up ahead—warm and golden. Like the sun, except...it couldn't possibly be dawn yet. Satyr didn't seem tired enough to have travelled through the night. And Victoria seen no other signs of its approach.

Wary, she guided Satyr up one last incline. The mountains towered over them, ancient titans barely paying mind to the feeble creatures at their feet. A tiny stone building sat before them. It looked like it had been build in a single, small room, though a tall, crooked tower rose from the roof like an accusing finger. A single stained glass window sat above a door that was half-blocked by rubble; golden light spilled welcomingly from both the door and window, cutting through the night. Only a couple frost-touched trees had dared to creep close, the vegetation keeping a respectful distance from the ruins of...whatever this place was. From her right, Victoria heard Theresa give a quiet hiss of surprise.

"We are arrived," Scythe observed. Victoria felt the Crawler flinch in response.

She pulled Satyr to a stop. This was the most innocent-looking of their locations thus far, and yet...it unnerved her the most. The too-still serenity of it seemed unnatural. Strange that peace was more threatening than an actual threat these days. It didn't help that she felt like she was being watched, though whether it was by the Temptress or one of the Heroes of old was yet to be seen.

"I did not expect to encounter the Prism so soon," Theresa said quietly as Victoria helped her carefully down. The snow was still crisp and powdery-enough to keep them from immediately slipping. But, even with Victoria's assistance, the descent earned a brief wince from Theresa.

"I did not expect to remember it," Scythe answered with what sounded like a smile. To Victoria he added, "Prepare yourself. I do not know what Sol may have planned for you, but it is unlikely to be a simple task."

Victoria hesitated. Nodded minutely. "I understand."

She made her way into the back of the cart. Nergüi roused slightly as Victoria opened the door and Victoria bid her to go back to sleep. After a cursory check to see if Reaver's condition had improved, she buckled herself into her light armour and weapons. She started to leave and remembered the staff she'd brought for Theresa at the start of their journey—the seeress hadn't needed it in a while, but she felt better at the thought of Theresa having extra protection. She tried to ignore the sight of Reaver's walking stick lying beside it as she retrieved it.

"Here," she murmured, returning and handing off the staff to Theresa. Someone had made a campfire, filling a small area of the clearing with warmth. Satyr had been unharnessed and had settled in for a good rest beside an ancient, toppled pillar.

Theresa started to protest, stopped, and accepted the staff. She paused once more before she said: "I cannot pretend to know what Sol will have you face, but I doubt he'll go out of his way to sabotage your progress. He wants the Corruption destroyed as much as we do; perhaps more than his fellows have."

Her words weren't the motivational speech Victoria might have hoped for, but she appreciated them nonetheless. She couldn't help but be nervous. This was the first Willstone she would have to collect without Reaver at her side. After the pain of the previous ones, she wasn't sure she wanted to see just how much this one would hurt her. But it was the last, and that was a victory if she'd ever seen one.

She tried to offer Theresa a hopeful smile, but it came out as an awkward sort of grimace. With a deep breath, she started for the Prism's entrance. Rubble covered the ground around it; she wondered if it had once been larger. Or more ornate.

"A moment," Scythe called as she crouched to ease under broken stone at the door. She turned to find he had pulled his golden armour back over his blue robes. His scythe rested in his gauntlet-covered hand as he approached.

"There's no time," she said quickly. If he doesn't think I can do this...

"We must be quick," he agreed, offering nothing further. He gestured towards the door as if to say he would follow once she was inside.

She bit back a query, unsure what to say. At the last second, she nodded and they both made their way into the remains of the Prism.

AN: Just as a heads up, this will be the last update until December as NaNo will be taking up all my free time next month. I hope all of you have a nice spooky time of year and a great autumn. 3 See you soon!