Page 195 of The Edge of Darkness

I turned, eyes wide in the darkness, trying to decipher a form or a face.

Nothing.

“Show yourself.”

Silence.

I lifted my foot and took a step. When my toes hit the ground, a light flickered to life in the distance, so small it must have been a single, flaming candlewick. With every step I took toward it, the ground grew warmer . . . and then it became wet. My feet slapped on the stone, squelching against a mysterious liquid that felt slightly too thick to be water.

As I neared the candle, I stiffened. It was tipped over on its side, as was the gold chamberstick that held it. The candle itself was red, the wax forming a puddle beneath it that resembled blood. I knelt and reached down to stand the chamberstick and candle upright, and when I did, the flame pulsed, illuminating the immediate area. I sucked in a breath, realizing the candle wasn’t dripping wax. It was, indeed, dripping blood, and it had bathed the ground and my feet in crimson.

A cold panic washed over me. So much blood—seeping between my toes, glinting in the candlelight. It reminded me of the day my parents⁠—

No. No, no, no . . .

The slick black stone under my feet suddenly shifted into wood-paneled floorboards, and I stumbled backward, gasping for breath, blinking at the familiar scene, knowing whose bodies were lying in my peripheral vision. When my boot met something firm yet soft behind me, I knew what it was. Unable to help myself, I turned and stared down at the blood that spilled from the hole in my father’s chest. Watched it soak through his shirt and flood the wood floors. Then, my tortured gaze drifted to my mother, to the angry slice that marred her chest. Her blank stare was fixed on my father, her lifeless hands still clutching her fatal wound.

My pulse quickened.

“Steady.” A mocking voice came from the darkness. The same voice that had come to me before, in my nightmare.

I found my footing and whipped my head up, scanning the dark dreamscape. A glance back down revealed that the wood floor had vanished, and polished stone shone back at me again, no longer coated in red. The blood on my feet, however, remained—like a stain on my very soul.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“Right now, nothing more than a figment of your dream.”

I wouldn’t exactly call this a dream. It was starting to feel more and more like another one of my nightmares. “Why do I keep encountering you like this?”

“Because we are connected, you and I.”

His words unsettled me. “What do you want?”

He released another laugh, amused and cold-hearted. It flooded through my mind and under my skin.

My hand twitched at my side, searching for the cold kiss of my blade . . . and finding nothing but air. I curled my empty fingers into a fist and reminded myself that I didn’t need my sword for every battle. That I was a weapon.

“I would like to meet you, face-to-face,” he said.

I weighed my next words carefully, but did not have time to speak them.

The candle flame shot into the air, revealing a large tapestry several feet away, suspended in the dark. The image was monotone, woven with shades of brown and white and gray, depicting a barren landscape, littered with rocks and boulders. Yet, in the center, stood the lone remains of a tree, dead and twisted, its petrified branches curling downward, toward the earth.

“What is this?” I asked.

“The place where you can find me,” the voice answered.

I stared at the scene in the tapestry, recognizing the tree, but wary of trusting anything in my dreams anymore. Each time before, there had been an attempt to penetrate my mind. Half of me was hesitant, the other half was itching for answers.

The presence lingered, as if watching me from afar. Waiting for me to make my move.

To port.

Whoever this voice belonged to, I knew they wouldn’t stop this harassment until I put an end to it—face-to-face or otherwise.

So, I focused on the gnarled tree, and disappeared.

The stale scent of parched earth greeted me as I steadied myself with a hand against the cracked bark of the tree. I blinked as my eyes adjusted. The moonlight was bright, illuminating the land I’d ported to. Crumbling hills lay in the distance, capped in silver light. Dirt and jagged stones pressed into the soles of my blood-stained feet. A terrible screeching sound tumbled through the air on a warm breeze from somewhere beyond. It grounded me—brought everything into focus.