Shadow Sun (Nevermor #3)

The Beginning

Once he was sustained, he sat back, turning his eyes to the crater he'd woken up in. Had he made this impression in the earth? It was broken down as if he had fallen into it, his dead weight having made the soil collapse. Further on, where had this foliage come from? Hadn't the earth been barren when he had first opened his eyes? And yet this oasis had sprung up around him simply because he had wished for water and shade.

This is unreal, he thought to himself. Either I'm dead or dreaming. There is nothing else.

A spiral of strange whispers caught his attention, and the glowing orb came near him again, moving more swiftly this time so that he could scarcely keep his eyes on it. Because of the way it was moving, he shrank back, wary as he sensed its agitation.

"What are you?" he asked to it confusedly. "Are you a fairy or something?"

He tried to focus on the orb of light, and his peering suddenly allowed him to see into it. There was a small naked creature inside with golden skin and hair—a slender female with wings like glass. She landed on his knee but didn't respond, simply peering at him as if she didn't know what he was either.

"Where am I?" he tried. Finally, she responded in a whispery voice—but instead of hearing her words, his mind was opened, and the last events of his life rushed back.

He had been somewhere else, far away—a gray, dismal place. There had been crying, a girl's scream, the threatening tones of a man and the shrill protests of a group of boys. He remembered being angry, and then—

The memory of it made his head hurt and his heart ache. He didn't need that pain.

"No," he gasped, wincing. "I couldn't— I can't..."

He put his hands to the sides of his head, cringing at the images that flashed across him. There was blood—streams of it. He had lost everything, and it had happened much too quickly.

The boy lifted his pounding head and saw the fairy there before him, still sitting on his knee. She peered toward his face with eyes like black holes, observing his torment, and as tears came up, he realized that he would die from the pain and sorrow inside him unless he reached out for help.

"Please," he groaned, looking at the fairy earnestly as his vision began to swim with tears. "I can't take this pain!"

He did not have to explain himself any further. His cry for help was all she needed before she shot toward him, put her tiny hands against his forehead, and soon the boy had slipped into unconsciousness again. A lone tear ran down his face, splattering on the dewy grass below. Above, the clouds stirred. A light rain began to fall across the desert.

3

The third time he awoke, that painful memory, as well as his emotion toward it, had been drained. He no longer heard the screams—no longer saw the blood. His mind was free of it, and finally, despite the ache in his body, he was able to rise beneath the sheltering leaves that were bent over him, looking at his face with concern.

The boy stood up, stretching his tired muscles. He ran fingers through his blond hair, feeling how it was caked with dirt and oil. Perhaps he needed the water for more than a drink.

He looked down to examine himself then, seeing how his clothes were worn thin, the leather of his boots old and cracked. His shirt was partially untucked and there was a thick stain along the bottom of the cloth, red-brown in color, but it seemed old—faded, like his memory. He raised the edge of his shirt, noticing a scar that trailed across his abdomen just beneath the bloodstains. He ran his fingers across it tentatively, staring at the angry mark.