He had to reach her, to save her!
Oblivious to what was happening around him, he began running towards her, but it felt like he was running through molasses. The blood and mud sucked at his boots, threatening to pull him down. He stumbled onward as fast as he could, violently knocking aside anything or anyone that got in his way with his shield, determined not to stop for anything. Up ahead, she was galloping, galloping towards the forest, shouting for him to come and save her.
After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the fringes of the battle, where the grass was free of blood. But still, he made slow progress, as though something was preventing him from getting to her. He looked ahead. She was still riding but had still not reached the trees. Then, to his horror, he saw a looming black shape, a formless, threatening shadow, swooping through the sky behind her like a murmuration of starlings, driving her frantically onwards as she tried to escape it.
Terrified he would not get to her in time before the nameless horror caught up with her—which he knew in his bones meant death—he shouted, “I’m comin’, Olivia. Wait for me. I’m comin’!”
But all that came out of his mouth was a rusty croak.
He tried to run, but it was impossible. The ground was pulling him down, and all the while the dark shadow pursuing Olivia was getting closer and closer to her. However hard she rode, she could not shake it off. Even as he stumbled forward,it descended on her and engulfed her in its impenetrable darkness.
“Nay!” he shouted, hearing a stifled, agonizing scream that shattered his heart.
He threw down his weapons, and at last, he could run! He sprinted as fast as he could towards the darkness. As he approached, the shadow lifted off her and flew away, and all he could see was her body lying on the ground.
He skidded to a halt by her side, fell to his knees, and lifted her into his arms. “Olivia, I’m here! I’m here—ye’re safe!” he told her urgently as he looked down at her pale beauty. Her eyes were closed, and he thought with dread that he was too late.
Refusing to accept it, he shook her gently, praying she would wake up. “Olivia! Olivia, wake up, please!” he begged.
She opened her eyes, and relief flooded through him.
“Thank God, thank God,” he murmured, lifting her into his arms and pressing kisses of joy to her face.
Her big brown eyes locked onto his, and he saw they were full of tears and sorrow.
“Edan, ye didnae come in time to save me,” she whispered. Her eyes began to close, and he watched the light slowly die within them, until finally, she lay still in his arms.
“Olivia, wake up! Dinnae leave me. Wake up, ye cannae die! Live, I tell ye. I love ye, Olivia!” he sobbed, feeling as though a giant hand had reached down and torn his heart out of his chest.
He cradled her lifeless form to his chest, knowing he had failed her, that it was his fault she was dead. He looked to the heavens, cursing God, crying out in despair, “Nay, nay, nay!”
He sat bolt upright in bed, unable to catch his breath in the stifling dark, panic coursing through him, the tangled sheets soaked with his sweat. It took him several long moments to awaken properly and realize where he was. Slowly, he brought his breathing under control and sat with his head in his hands, trying to regain his senses.
“Just another bloody nightmare,” he murmured to himself.
But even as he said it, he knew it was not true. The first part of the dream had been as it always was—with him caught up in an endless battle. But the second half was new, and in its own way, it was even more terrifying. The dreadful feeling of loss he had experienced in the dream when Olivia had died in his arms still felt real. He could feel her, smell her, hear her voice, and see the light dying in her eyes.
Feelings of loss and guilt and failure permeated him, hanging over him like a dark cloud. He recognized them as the same feelings he had carried with him ever since he had failed to save his father on the battlefield, a manifestation of his fear of losing that which was precious to him.
That fear was the reason why he had constructed a wall around his heart—to protect himself from the pain, which he never wanted to feel again.
Going back to sleep was usually an impossibility after one of his frequent nightmares, and tonight he did not even want to risk trying, for fear of repeating the last one. Knowing it would be yet another sleepless night, he got out of bed and lit a candle. He dressed hurriedly by its flickering light, trying to push away the heavy feelings pressing on his spirit.
The only solution was to go for a walk and try to shake off the bleak mood that had overtaken him. Deciding he would go up to the battlements and let the cold wind blow away the vestiges of the nightmare, he left the room noiselessly and set off through the castle’s dimly lit corridors, heading for the roof.
He padded wearily up the winding tower steps and eventually emerged onto the broad stone walkway and into the night’s chill. The sky was dark and overcast, with clouds scudding across the face of a half-moon. He turned to his left and stopped dead in his tracks.
Up ahead was a pale figure. He squinted, trying to make it out. It appeared to be a woman wrapped in a long cloak of some kind. She was standing by the battlements, looking out over the wall to the darkened landscape beyond.
Christ, is it a bloody ghost?
His heart clenched with fear. The old castle was supposed to have several bogarts, although he had never seen any of them.
But there’s always a first time.
He stepped backward, and he must have made a noise because the woman, ghost, whatever she was, started and turned towards him. Moonlight illuminated her features, and he realized with shock who it was.
Olivia?!
