A Fever Dream

CHAPTER 28. Pale Moon Rising

The stormy wind rocked the bridge, connecting Neversnow to the secluded pastures on the other side of the cliff. It swayed back and forth like a cradle. And I stood in between them both with a heavy suitcase, undecided.

I tried to calm down, taking big gulps of air that smelt like ozone.

But the moment I stepped onto the bridge, a harsh reality gripped me and pulled me under.

A cruel swish of the wind knocked me out of breath. I was falling, and falling, but only for a moment. The water parted, and at the contact, its surface felt solid like ice.

Sault filled my nostrils and hurt me as I gulped in. In the murky blues, I could see strange fish staring at me with black indifferent eyes, silver scales glistening like diamonds, inviting me further and further below. And I knew with dead certainty that soon I would reach the bottom. And that once I do - I'd never see the sun again.

But then there was a grip on my collar, strong like a force of nature and I was being pulled up.

I gasped and pried my hand off the railing, jumping back and sliding on the mud. My suitcase rolled aside. I brushed cold sweat from my forehead.

I was standing on the solid surface. Everything that's just happened was someone else's memory. Someone else's fall.

And surely I knew whose.

Elliot must have fallen from this exact bridge at some point in the past.

For a couple of heartbeats, I just stared at the fog, which started creeping down the hills. How frightening it must have been for him to find himself in dark water like this.

Or maybe he did not fall, I thought suddenly, as another idea popped up in my mind. Maybe he jumped with a purpose. Maybe he did not want to be saved.

I shook my hand. The wind was getting stronger, lifting up the locks of my hair over my head.

"Come on, boy." I rubbed my clammy hands together. "We're not going to fall this time. Even if that's what you'd like to do."

It wasn't clear if I tried to soothe myself or him and for anyone watching, I must have looked mad. But no one was watching.

And if we fell - no one would save us.

I grabbed a suitcase and took another step toward the bridge, biting my tongue.

It creaked but didn't rock as much as I expected, and I put my whole weight onto the wooden beams.

I swore to myself that if I reached the other side I would leave the Summer for good. And before my consciousness caught up with what I was doing, I squeezed my eyes shut and ran forward.

Hair whipped in my face, and the rough metal of railings slid across my skin as I focused all my attention on the click of my shoes. When I felt the solid ground beneath my feet, I dared to open my eyes and look around.

The bridge was behind me, fog already coating its silhouette, making it look like a ghost of a pirate ship.

It did not look so scary now that I was on the other side of it.

In any case, I thought with frightening clarity - should I need to, I could always jump off it.

Soon, the fog got chased away by another wave of rain, as I ran towards towering mountains.

I found a half-hidden path amidst the bushes and thick brushwood, and trailed it up until I saw a house, nestled under the mountains.

It looked as old as the hills around it. There was no fence except for the outline of the shadow that fell from the rocks in a perfectly round shape. The lonely haystacks and the scarecrow next to the house looked worn down and unattended. An empty pot dangled from a branch on a nearby tree.

Kneading the dirt, I crossed the yard and stopped at the moss-covered door with a rusty handle. I wasn't keen on getting acquainted with its owner but there was no choice.

I knocked three times before the door silently opened. In the doorway stood a tall man who seemed to have been painted in shades of gray— gray was his worn linen shirt, gray were his baggy trousers, his thick beard, and his deep-set gray eyes looking at me inquiringly from under frowning bushy brows. Even his face, lined with wrinkles from years gone by, also seemed to have a slight grayish shade. Around the neck of the recipient of my letter hung a necklace most curious, made of pieces of different stones, interspersed with fangs of animals and some incomprehensible objects, the origin of which I preferred not to think about. He even smelled somehow gray, as if from a room that no one had entered for a long time.

I took a step back. There were no horns, but there might just have been amidst his messy gray hair.

"M-master Willowfright?" I cleared my throat, reading his name from the back of the envelope.

"And who are you?" His pale eyes peered into mine. "It's not often someone visits me here."

"That's a shame," I murmured, handing him the letter. "My name is Aster Linden. I've got a letter for you. From the prince of August."

His facial expression shifted to something akin to suspicion. I did not blame him. Maester paid me little attention as his kneaded fingers clenched the parchment.

Lighting crossed the sky and I sniffed ozone in the air. A hundred years have passed when his eyes finally reached the end of the paper and he looked up at me, unreadable emotion in his eyes.

"Smells like the end of the world, don't you think?" He scrunched his nose.

I didn't get the chance to reply, as he turned and disappeared inside, leaving the door half-open. If that was an invitation to come in - I chose to ignore it. He went out a moment later, with a gray woolen coat on his shoulders. It smelled distinctly like sheep in the rain.

"We need to hurry," he locked the door, put the key in the folds of his coat and rushed past me into the wall of the pouring rain.

I ran after him.

"What was in the letter?" The wind stole the volume from my voice. "Where are we going?"

The old man threw me a look over his shoulder, never slowing his path.

"Lead me to the boy."

"The boy?"

"The one who had written it."

But it didn't look like he needed me to lead him anywhere - he was moving with far more speed than I and was way ahead already.

I finally caught up with him on the hill from which overlooked the bridge, slick from rain. I shuddered.

"I am not crossing that thing again."

The wind billowed his sheep coat, like a sail.

"We do not have time," he said grimly. "Resurrection must be done before the pale moon rises."

"Wait a minute," I stopped to catch my breath. "What are you talking about?"

"No time to explain the details of magic works to the mundane." As words left his mouth he was already sliding down the hill and rushing towards the bridge. My heart beat wildly in my ribcage. Was it Elliot, somehow, listening, excited?

"Wait! So that's what was written in the letter?" But he didn't turn, nor stopped. As I turned to follow, I saw the Narjar castle way ahead. It was visible from the height where we were at. Through the curtain of rain I saw that the royal road was blocked by rows of people, and carts and horses - all moving towards the castle in a wide procession. Excited to attend the coronation despite the wretched weather.

My heart fell.

I ran down the steep hill, landing hands and legs in the mud, and squinted my eyes to see my companion already in the middle of the bridge, crossing it with cheer in his steps. Once again, I contemplated jumping.