Page 122 of Memory of Ashes

He stopped when he was sure he’d outrun the creature, panting as his lungs burned. Its wails echoed in the distance.

Something moved in his peripheral vision. He froze, trying to quiet his breathing.

Shadows emerged, enveloping him.

Something caught his arm. He couldn’t see what it was, but its grip was firm, and he struggled to break it. He pushed at it with his power, surprised to find that he still had it, even down here in the darkness. He pushed aside any fear and took his stance, ready to face the darkness and its inhabitants.

The figure screamed and disappeared back into the shadows. A pale blue glow pulsed beneath his skin, tracing a web through his veins. He raised his arm, tracing the glowing lines with his fingers as they began to fade.

What was happening to him?

The wailing jolted him back to his reality. It echoed eerily in the distance as he moved in the opposite direction.

The black sky stretched endlessly above him as he travelled, searching for somewhere to rest. The creatures had stopped their pursuit, but their whispers haunted him, trailing behind. At first, they had been little more than a hum, the gentle buzz of an insect’s wings. They grew louder. Their words were unrecognisable, muffled, in hollow breaths. The droning whispers passed through him like a gust of cold wind that sent shivers down his spine.

He was losing his mind.

He was alone, yet constantly aware of eyes watching him and creatures waiting in the shadows for him to stop. He would glimpse movement from the corner of his eye, only to turn and find nothing there.

Everywhere looked the same: barren and flat, with the occasional mound of rocks that he’d begun using as markers, only to discover he’d passed the same ones repeatedly.

Was this to be his existence? How long would he be here? Forever?

The faces of those he’d hurt, those he’d killed, came to him. Was it their whispers that taunted him?

Over centuries of fighting, he’d taken the lives of many men. Many of those deaths he was ashamed of. He was raised to fight and to follow orders without question, and he had done so. That was why he was here.

There were too many faces to remember, but the one that stuck in his mind the most was his father’s. It hadn’t been a mistake; it had been the only way to stop him, to halt his bottomless cruelty. He had accepted his control over the years, done everything he’d commanded, but his violation of his mind had been the ultimate betrayal. Tiryn had treated him no better than the monstrous beast he kept as a pet. To his father, Casyl had been nothing more than another creature to control.

He continued, the screeches urging him onward every time he stopped. There was no respite. No sleep in the Shadowlands.

His legs carried him onwards as he walked without end or any sense of direction. Time lost all meaning as his steps in the sand disappeared behind him. Days and nights were the same in the darkness.

The creatures persisted, becoming his constant shadow, keeping out of reach. At first, he’d thought there’d been many, but they’d faded into the darkness. One remained, tenaciously stalking his every move.

It was always watching, always waiting for him to stop. Sometimes he caught glimpses of it before it disappeared between the colourless dunes. He feared it. He hated it. It became an obsession.

It was hard to tell how long he’d been down there. The whispers had become background noise. They had unnerved him, but the constant, repetitive sound was now as familiar to him as the sounds of his own body.

Shrieks and howls continued to jar him.

One day, or what he assumed was day, he stopped. Exhaustion draped over his shoulders. The weight of it made his bones feel like lead, pulling him to the ground.

The sand cushioned his knees as he slumped forward, palms sinking into the fine granules.

Trembling washed over him, caressing his shoulders and travelling down his arms until it reached his hands.

The sand beneath him began to change. Its colourless grains blackened, spreading out like tentacles around him.

When he lifted his head, it was before him.

The towering shape of smoke loomed over him; its trailing wisps swirled and disappeared into nothingness. The creature had finally come for him.

Slowly, he rose to face it, exhaustion replacing his fear. He would run no more.

As it moved towards him, its black shroud of smoke swayed in the windless sky, revealing what lay beneath. Its true form. Skin hung from its bones, trailing like a torn sheet. His own skin crawled at the sight.

Then he saw its eyes. Cold, like shards of ice, they pierced him.