**Author's Note: Before you read, I just wanted to say that I've set up a blog post to announce preorder details for this book, which will be released on Feb 11th. So please check out my blog: projectnevermor.wordpress.com**
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Forsaken Dreamscape
copyright 2013 Lani Lenore
Chapter Four
1
Black over black, Wren was in a world without light or sound – the abyss of unconsciousness. When her vision finally cleared, she was peering down a stretch of dark beach, but she was not coherent enough to question it. She was dreaming.
This place seemed familiar and yet so different to her now. The water was as dark and thick as blood. The sand was sharp black gravel. Though the pointed edges pricked her bare feet, she walked for a while, barely able to balance on her own legs.
She knew that she was searching for something, but it seemed like a fruitless task. She was alone here. There was no eerie hum of a flute as she’d heard in the past, only the wind whipping around her ears. The roaring ocean waves were the only things that were alive. A rain of ash clouded her vision, and she could not see the island for the haze.
Is this death? she wondered. It was certainly not the world she had sought so desperately.
Moving on, she was able to see a form in the distance, set off against the light of the moon. Someone was standing there, dressed all in black, and she was certain that it was a boy. She reached out for him – called his name.
“Rifter?” He didn’t move – didn’t seem to hear her at all. She continued on, moving closer, picking up her pace. “Rifter, please look at me!”
The dark figure shifted, finally hearing her plea. When he turned to peer over his shoulder, she saw only his eye, and it was enough to send her flailing backward, stricken with fear.
Fire!
The wicked amber eye saw her as well. It pierced her – saw into the depth of her soul. Wren could not breathe, desiring nothing but to get away so that it could not see her.
It's HIM! The Scourge!
With a gasp that nearly choked her, Wren was jolted awake, her lungs heaving, her heart in her throat. There was a cold sheen of sweat on her skin, chilling her as she fought the drowsiness from the medicine. Her plan had worked and she had dreamed, but now she struggled to stay awake. She did not want to go back there.
Was what she'd seen real? Had she been walking in Nevermor, or was it merely a dream brought on by her memories? She couldn't say, for she’d not had a dream in so long that she’d forgotten what it was like. There was no way to know, but it left her feeling weak and horrible, nauseous.
That was not the place I remembered.
No, it could not have been Nevermor that she had seen, and she was anxious to convince herself of that. It was some misconstrued image projected by her own mind. Her dream was because of the asylum, because of what the doctor had said to her, and because of Adele. They had all ruined her once-precious dream.
Despite how her heart was pounding so harshly within her, she supposed she should have been glad. Even though Nevermor did not look as she’d expected – though her tormented mind had twisted it so – she might have been relieved that she’d finally managed to dream after so long, yet all she could think of was that fierce eye staring at her, burning into her soul.
She laid there in the dark, detached, fearing what sort of trouble it would bring.
2
Deep in the night, the barking of dogs jolted Wren out of her catatonia. The hounds in their pens outside were making a terrible fuss – growling and thrashing, baying like wolves on the verge of a territorial war. It was enough to pull Wren from her bed on unsteady legs that took her to the window, where she could peer through the bars and down to the yard below.
Beneath a new moon, the night was black as pitch. Wren could not see anything that might have disturbed the dogs, but she could hear their continual din.
What has gotten them so upset? she wondered sleepily, still a bit drunk from the overdose.
Something had disturbed the dogs, but perhaps it was nothing to worry about. It might have been a stray cat that had managed to get itself inside the walls. Even if there was an intruder in the courtyard, she knew she was safe in the ward. There was no need for her to fear anything of that nature.
She was about to turn away, back to her bed to ponder her dream for the rest of the night, when a horrible chirping cacophony began to spiral down the hallway, flowing in and out of the cells then looping back again. Wren froze in her step, pushing back her tangled curls as if it would make her hearing sharper. Something had disturbed the birds in the aviary, which was much closer than the dogs. Wren stood there, fearing to breathe.
It’s closer… What is happening?
Gradually, the cells of the female ward came to life. Inmates began to scream and cry, most for sheer bewilderment. Wren was likewise lost in confusion, but just as quickly, a thought settled in which lifted her heart. Instead of fear, she was filled with hope and relief. There was only one possibility in her mind: the thing she’d been waiting for all this time.
Rifter! He’s finally come for me!
She’d managed to dream and he had seen her, despite whatever else had. That eye… But it didn’t matter. He was here! He’d come to take her home!
In spite of the terrible sounds around her – the orderlies and nurses shouting to each other, the screams of the other patients as they scratched at the walls – Wren had a hopeful smile on her mouth as she approached the door. She knew that at any moment, the way would open and Rifter would sweep in to deliver her. She was on the verge of tears, desperate as she was for it – but stopped short when a quick movement within the stone room caught her eye.
She became still, her pleasant thoughts gone. Peering around, she saw no more movement, but she knew she had seen something – and she knew exactly what it had been. It was the quick dash of an unknown shadow.
The shadow mimic… It’s here!
Feeling a cool patch of air drift over her, Wren glimpsed the foreign shadow as it darted across the wall. She turned swiftly, trying to catch sight of it, but it was gone again in an instant, disappearing into another shadow.
She was shaken, especially knowing that it had attacked Adele, disturbed further by the noises from the ward outside, but there was nowhere else for her to go.
Don’t be afraid, she coached herself, but her heart was insisting otherwise. Be firm.
“I know you are there,” she called finally, gathering her bravery. Shadows did not have physical ears, but she knew they were capable of understanding. “Come out. Whose shadow are you?”
Shadows – or these imps called mimics – were fickle creatures, and certainly capable of violence when unattached. She could not tell if this one had shape or not, but she remembered that Adele had said it had been in the form of a boy.
A boy…? Rifter? Had it been him all along?
When the shadow finally revealed itself again, long enough for her to see it zip by, it retreated to the wall behind her. She turned to see it waiting there beside her own shadow, unhidden and boldly displayed. Finally able to have a good look at it, she could only stare. It did not belong to anyone she recognized.
The black-as-night shadow stood next to her own, arms at its sides, fists clenched. The shape of the body was tall, broad across the chest, and certainly not belonging to anyone in the female ward. The head was hidden by the form of a wide hood, and she could not recognize him. All she knew was that it could not have been Rifter. The body was too developed, almost that of a man rather than a boy. Rifter had sworn never to age. He had been the same for a hundred years, according to him.
Who could it be?
“Did you come from Nevermor?” she asked carefully, praying that he would attempt to give her a sign. “Someone sent you after me, didn’t they?”
As Wren watched, only now second-guessing herself in her attempt to be civil – the shadow opened its eyes, two holes that gave way to light in the mimic's face. What was it thinking? Wren considered this and the shadow came to attention, snapping its head up. In a quick movement, it had reached toward its boot and pulled something into its hand. She watched as the object was lifted for her to see, and she was left examining the dark outline of a short dagger.
“A knife?” she asked, feeling that she had gone pale. “You've come to–”
…to kill me. She remembered the cuts on Adele. Had the mimic confused one girl for the other when they’d been chasing it down the halls, or had it attacked Adele for simple enjoyment before now turning to her?
The shadow did not respond to her inquiries – did not wait for her to react. It charged forward at Wren, coming away from the wall as a corporeal shape – a figure of pure darkness. It wanted her blood, and she knew that it was more than capable of taking it.
Frantically, she began to think up a way to escape, but the cell was tiny. She did not know which way to go.
Making a swift decision, she darted into a corner as the shadow rushed by her. She could feel its coolness against her skin, and yet it made sweat rise on her flesh. She couldn't think of anything except getting away, but she knew in the back of her mind that she could not escape it. She had no idea of how to fight it off. She had tried once to fight off a similar being and had failed miserably.
In a frantic rush, she went to the door, even though she knew there was no handle on this side. She put her hands to the bars of the window and gave it a vicious tug, but as she had known, it was locked.
“Help! Someone help me! Please!” she screamed, beating against the door, but that did no good. Her voice only blended with the shrieks of the other inmates in the halls.
The mimic was not fazed by her plea. It only backed off enough to raise the silhouette of the dagger, lashing out in a swipe that she had barely seen, and crossed her forearm with the blade.
Wren cried out in surprise as blood emerged from the gash in her flesh. Pain bloomed like a flower, pulsing over her skin. She flinched and gripped her wounded arm, looking up at the shadow, which tilted its head coyly at her as it watched the blood rise. It did not repent. It raised the knife again.
Why? What will it gain?
Wren threw herself out of the way and fell back onto the bed, forgetting the discomfort.
This can’t be the way it ends! But there was nothing for her to do.
Shielding herself from another blow with her arms over her head, she was surprised when no more attacks fell on her. She winced, waiting, and yet she was not stabbed or otherwise cut open. Laying there, vulnerable, she dared to open her eyes –
The shadow was nowhere to be seen. It was not in her vision, yet it could have been anywhere. It could have slipped inside another shadow as small as a crack in the wall.
Or maybe it has finally happened, she thought suddenly. Maybe I have finally slipped into madness like the rest of them. This shadow… Perhaps it was never there at all.
Her head was spinning, but she tried to focus on that possibility. Had she imagined the uprising? The shadow? Outside her room, there was still chaos. She had not imagined that part of it. The disturbance in the asylum was real.
She pulled herself off the creaking mattress and moved toward the cell door to peer out – and just before she had reached it, there was a click as the lock was released and the door swung open.
On the other side, an inmate that she wasn’t sure she recognized – a laughing, frizzy-haired young woman – dashed away and moved to the cell across the hallway to begin working with the lock there, and Wren could see that it was not only her cage that had been unfastened.
There were women of varying ages, some clothed and some naked, dashing about in the hallway. Their cells had been opened and they were running free. Wren was not sure what this meant. Was she supposed to flee or stay in the cell? Coupled with the murderous shadow mimic, she was not sure what to think of this jail break. She had once been much better at making these sorts of choices, but it was harder now. As long as she had been locked up here, she wasn’t sure if she could leave on her own.
Sometimes one has to take risks, she told herself.
Taking a deep breath, she rushed out the door, into the chaos. There were birds and inmates dashing about. Orderlies had already grabbed a few of the women, trying to put them back in cells. Now that Wren had gotten out, she did not intend to go back. She couldn’t afford to stay locked in with a mimic.
She rushed forward with the others, trying to blend in as she once had when she’d been just another face in a cell full of bodies. Near her, a fleeing girl was snatched back by her hair and thrown to the floor. Wren instinctively pulled her curls over her shoulder.
She came out to the end of the corridor where the doors were open toward the courtyard. There, many inmates were already running across the yard as orderlies were trying to corral them. Looking on at this jumbled scene, Wren was nervous. This was her one opportunity to leave this place in the confusion, but was it possible that she could? The world outside was frightening. She would be alone.
What will happen next? What will become of me out there? She did not have much time to think it over. This might have been her only chance of ever getting out.
Wren made her decision and took a step forward – just as a hand reached out from the shadows and pulled her into the dark.
She gasped as she was pushed against the wall, caught looking toward the face of a figure that she couldn’t make out, for it was covered in a hood that was shielding his features. Wren stared at him, close enough that she could hear the rhythm of his breath.
“Rifter?” She could not see him, but she knew it was true. Her heart swelled with so much happiness that she forgot about the riot and the mimic, disregarding them completely. Perhaps, in that moment, she even forgot the trials of the last four years – just erased them from her mind and moved on. None of it mattered anymore. Rifter had finally come.
The shadowy figure before her said nothing – did not speak her name or confess that he’d missed her. He raised his hand and blew into his open palm, sending an unexpected cloud of shimmering dust across her face. She couldn’t help but breathe it in, and immediately her vision began to swim.
The reaction was much faster than what the draught had done. She felt dizzy. Her knees grew weak, and she felt him lift her up but she did not fight it. Though there were many questions, she knew she had to be patient. She had already waited four years. She could wait a bit longer.
Wren embraced this sleep, trying to focus on his face as she drifted away. In her unconsciousness, she thought she was smiling.