The dark was as warm and as close as velvet. Nike moved through it, gliding on tides and eddies and currents of black.
Below her, lights formed a river through ashen trees. She tasted blood, and it was sweet. The lights were her children, and they were sweet as well.
Then she was no longer one with the dark. It was coalescing below her, drawing away, rounding and curling. The lights became gleams and reflections on the orb of dark, and the orb itself became an eye.
The rolling eye of a deer. Bones crunched between her teeth. Blood, raw and vital, filled her mouth. Somewhere, a flame flickered.
A raven screamed.
A crawling itch on her arm, and she looked down to see a small red blister rising on her skin. She scratched at it, and the blister ruptured, weeping oily pus, and the itch grew.
It was maddening. She scratched harder, and harder still. As the wound grew, the itch grew. Clots of tissue and fat, strings of veins, cords of tendons, were torn out of the wound as she scratched and dug deeper.
She had reached bone when she realized it wasn't her arm, but her mother's. Her mother, who lay dead on the floor of the larder, flies crawling over her face. Nike recoiled in horror, then turned her head toward the door into the kitchen as her father stumbled in.
Bryce's eye sockets were boiling with maggots, and a worm fell from his lips as he smiled at her.
"Hello, Pup…"
Nike woke with a start. A face loomed over hers and, still in the confusion and delirium of sleep, she swung up and hit it.
Pain shot through her knuckles as it collided with Alistair's nose. He fell back from the crouch he had been in at her side and sat hard on the ground, his hands flying up to his face.
"Ow! Ow, ow…!"
"Alistair?"
She sat up, looking around. The fire had burned down to coals, and the stars still glimmered overhead. The soft whisper of wind could be heard rustling through the grass.
Most of the camp still slumbered, though Nike could see the faint outline of Sten, still sitting by the river. He had moved only to eat at the evening meal.
"I think you…yes, I'm almost positive you broke my nose," he said with a weak chuckle.
"Well what possessed you?" she asked, then reached for his wrists. "Here, let me have a look."
He moved his hands away and she could see a thin trickle of blood from one nostril. "It doesn't look bad," she said. "If it is broken it's at least straight. Why did you do that? If I'd had a dagger in my hand-"
"You were thrashing," he said, gingerly mopping at the blood with his fingers. "Having a nightmare."
The dream, momentarily banished by her surprise, leaked back into her memory in fits and starts. "Yes," she said softly. "I suppose I was."
"Was it about the archdemon?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. She could only remember her parents, digging into the meat of her mother's arm and her father-
She shuddered, then recalled the darkness at the beginning. The dark, and how she swam through it, reveled in it.
"I think perhaps, at the beginning, but it's hard to recall," she said, then fixed on him as something occurred to her. "Why would you think my nightmare had anything to do with the archdemon?"
"It happens to all Grey Wardens after the joining. The nightmares, I mean," he said. "They start off slow but they can get pretty awful. But don't worry, they don't last forever. You learn how to shut them out."
"Why would Grey Wardens have such nightmares?" she asked.
"Well, it's part of the whole Joining thing. The darkspawn- the archdemon can speak to them, through the Taint."
"Are you saying we can hear it? The archdemon?"
He nodded. "Yes, that's what the nightmares are. The archdemon talking to its darkspawn. Some Wardens even learn how to understand what it's saying, though I haven't ever spoken to one who could. I certainly can't, and I don't think that Duncan could. But the nightmares-that's how we know this is a true Blight. If it wasn't out there, talking to the horde, there wouldn't be any nightmares."
Leaning forward slightly she raked her fingers through her hair, grimacing again at how greasy it felt. "This is wonderful," she said sarcastically. "It's not enough of a nightmare, what we're facing, I need actual nightmares to plague me as well?"
"I know, it seems like kind of a bum deal," he said. He gave his nose a gentle prod again and then gave her a weak smile. "It's not bad enough we die young, but to have nightmares to deal with-…what?"
He broke off as she dropped her hands, staring at him.
"Die young?" she asked, and even in the dim glow of the distant fire coals she could see him pale a little.
"Uh…did…did Duncan not tell-"
"Duncan told me precious little, Alistair," she said angrily, keeping her voice low only out of courtesy of their sleeping comrades. "What exactly do you mean, 'die young?'"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I just thought that you knew. We can talk about it in the morning if you want."
"We can talk about it right now before I really do break your nose," she warned.
"All right, all right. The Grey Wardens, it's a lifetime commitment, that you know. Most Wardens die young just as a matter of course- it tends to happen when you keep throwing yourself into battle. But at some point-usually after years, so don't think it's going to happen next week or anything- the nightmares start up again. You start to hear voices, whispers. This is the Calling."
"And it's fatal?"
"If you leave it long enough, yes. You eventually just break down, fall ill, and die like anyone else exposed to tainted blood."
When their veins go black…
"What do you mean, if you 'leave it long enough?'" she asked. She was still speaking softly but her voice was getting harder and harder with her anger. Her head was swimming with this news.
"Most Wardens don't just leave it," he said. "It's tradition; ritual, I suppose. When a Warden hears the Calling they put their affairs in order, and then go down to the Deep Roads, alone. There, they slay as many darkspawn as they can until…"
"Until they're killed," she said flatly, and he gave a weak nod.
"How long?" she asked after a long moment, her voice thick with venom.
"Nike, you have enough on your mind right now-"
"How long?" she asked again, glaring at him.
He gave a helpless gesture. "Most of the time it takes about thirty years after the Joining."
"Most of the time?"
"It…varies. The more interaction the Warden has with the darkspawn the shorter it seems to be, before they hear the Calling."
She gaped at him, then shut her mouth with a click. "You mean, like if that Warden is fighting a Blight?"
Alistair didn't respond, only looked down a bit, almost absently mopping at his upper lip again although the bleeding had stopped.
"This is fantastic," she said furiously. "Just bloody fantastic! I was conscripted against my will, have a bounty on my head, need to find some way to fight this Blight alone while being hunted the whole time, and now you're telling me that's not enough. I need to have horrible nightmares to boot, and then just bugger off down to the Deep Roads to be torn apart by darkspawn after I start losing my ruddy mind!"
She half expected Alistair to mumble some commiseration or apology, but instead he looked back at her.
"You're not alone," he said.
She felt a stab of guilt. Of course she wasn't alone in this. Alistair had the same bounty, the same sword of the Calling hanging over his head. It wasn't fair to be taking this out on him.
She didn't speak. Instead, she tossed her blankets aside and grabbed her pack, her quiver, and her bow. He rose as well, brows knit.
"Where are you going?" he asked warily.
"I'm not getting any more sleep so I'm going to go have a bath," she said tersely. "Unless there is some Grey Warden secret you haven't told me that makes my skin melt off when bathing?"
She didn't wait for an answer and he didn't give one. She only snapped her fingers for Holly and trudged off into the dark to find Morrigan's mill pond.
The sky was just pearling with false dawn when Nike slipped into the waters of the mill pond, a rush of goosebumps flaring all over her body. The water was mountain-cold.
Holly, laying on the shore next to her bag and dirty clothing, watched her with a big, expansive yawn.
Scrubbing her red hands over her face, Nike took a breath and ducked down into the murk to wet her hair. She wished she could just sink down and down and never come up again. Being a Warden had merely sounded like a death sentence before. Now, knowing it was a literal death sentence, she felt both burning with fury and numb of any feeling.
She was never going to see Highever again- not as a Cousland, any way. Even if they somehow stopped this Blight, and she was able to take her vengeance upon Rendon Howe, it would never be her home again.
Rendon Howe.
All of it was his fault. If he hadn't betrayed her father and killed her family…
Breath was growing far too stale in her lungs. Opening her eyes to the cold dark again she surfaced with a gasp, swiping water and damp hair away from her face. She began to bathe briskly, as grateful for the little cake of soap that Adaon had left in her bags as she had been for the parchment and quill.
She was shuddering, blue-lipped, when she finally left the pond and started to dry and dress. Holly had dozed off again, but as Nike began to pull on her boots, the mabari's head suddenly lifted.
A faint distant voice was calling. Nike froze as still as the mabari, listening. The distant sound of breaking wood, laughing voices, and then that voice calling again.
"Help!"
Nike hurriedly finished with her boots, trying to gauge how distant the sounds were. She didn't think it was wise just to run into Maker-knew-what on her own, but it would likely take far longer to get back to camp and get the others, and by then whoever it was who needed help would likely be beyond it.
Stringing her bow and slinging her quiver over her shoulder she touched Holly's head. The mabari was on her feet now, tense.
"Go get the others. Take the bag," she told the hound. Her response was a reluctant side-eyed look and a soft growl.
"I know, but I'll be smart. Go and get the others, hurry."
As Holly picked up the pack and then turned and rushed off into the dark back toward camp, Nike started toward the voices. She fell almost instantly into her hunter's steps, crossing through even the tall, young wheatgrass with only the faintest whisper of passage.
Past the millpond and the old, crumbling mill, she found the remains of a stone fence that seemed to run along her path. Hoping for a better view in the dim dawn, she stepped up onto the stones and hurried carefully along them, searching the shadows.
"Please, just leave my…just leave my boy…"
Men's laughter, harsh and sharp. She was getting close. Slipping off the fence she passed the hut to which the mill had once belonged. Little remained of it save some scorched posts and old cinders- it seemed to have burned down years before. A few orchard trees, long gone to wild, gave her cover as she crouched and moved closer.
A small camp with a large wagon had been set up at the edge of the abandoned dooryard. A pair of large Marcher mules were tied nearby, as well as some saddle horses that didn't look as if they belonged to the wagon. Casks, crates, and various bundles and bags had been cast everywhere. Some were broken, and at least one of the casks seemed to be leaking. From the smell on the early morning air, it had been filled with some strong mead.
Two dwarves and six human men were there, shadows long in the light of the campfire. One of the dwarves looked no more than a boy, without a single beard hair on his chin. In the light, his pale hair almost seemed to glow. Two of the men were up on the wagon, tossing boxes out of it with random carelessness. The others were prying open crates that had already been thrown out.
One was holding a half empty pack of some kind in his hand. The other was wound in the tunic of the young dwarf. The boy was reaching for the pack, making frustrated sounds. Littered around their feet were small glass vials and pouches filled with what looked like powdered pigments. Several of these had spilled, and the pigments glittered around the human man's boots.
"Your boy is going to get his bloody throat slit," the man holding the boy said. "He touches me again, and I'll kill him."
He threw the young dwarf back, and the older managed to catch hold of him, restraining him as the boy got to his feet and tried once more to go after the stranger.
"Bag?" he said with clear frustration. "Bag!"
"No, no my boy, just stay still now. Stay still," the elder dwarf whispered fearfully.
The human man dug into the bag again, tossing out more vials and pouches and what looked like rags. The boy struggled forward again, and again his elder hauled him back.
"Nothing but a kid's paint pots," the human snorted, then noticing how much the kid was struggling he grinned, dangling the pack out toward him. "This what you want? This what you want, boy? Can you jump? Can you-"
Nike sent an arrow out, and the human man howled with surprised pain as it sank into his forearm. He dropped the bag, and the boy immediately dropped as well, grabbing hold of it. "Bag!"
"What are you yelling about?" One of the men up on the wagon asked, distracted by the shout.
"We're under attack!" the man who'd been shot said in a pained, high pitched scream. The others dropped what they were doing and drew swords, looking around. Nike, who had ducked into the shadows of one of the house posts, remained still.
"What? I don't see no one!"
"Are you bloody well kidding me?" the first fellow said, turning toward him. "I've got an arrow in my arm!"
The young dwarf, his bag now safely in hand, began to scoop up the discarded pots and pouches and vials at the shot man's feet. He was mumbling to himself again, and Nike couldn't make out the words, but he sounded both pleased and oblivious of the man standing right over him.
Furious and in pain, the first fellow focused on him and lifted a foot to stomp on the dwarf's big hands. Another arrow appeared in his ankle and he screamed again, stumbling backward.
This time, his compatriots saw the shot. Nike didn't think they'd spotted her, but they knew now where she was shooting from.
Swords were in hand, and more than one of the men were heading her way. The first man was still screaming and cussing on the ground. She ended the screaming by planting another arrow in his gaping mouth.
The men heading her way shied back a little, turning to stare at their companion as he gurgled and collapsed.
"Not another step!" she called out. "Filthy bandits- I'll serve you all the same! Get on your horses and get out of here!"
The dark, murderous looks in their eyes as they turned back toward her gave her no doubt to their answer.
"As you wish it, then," she said amiably, drawing her string back to her ear and aiming at the throat of the closest bandit. "Have at!"