The sun was low in the valley by the time Emmaline looked up from the book. With a groan, she stretched her legs. Pins and needles shot through them as she stood stiffly. She wobbled slightly, clutching at the seat to maintain balance. Then, when she was sure that her legs weren’t going to give out underneath her, she made her way out of the grove.
Daytime had transformed Herondale into a bustling area of activity, but now that the sun was setting, most of the market stalls were packing up for the day. Emmaline leaned over the wall of Highgarden, watching the villagers below her scurry to and fro, packing up wares and making last-minute purchases. A young mother and her child were playing in Middlegarden, and Emmaline watched them somewhat wistfully as their squeals of laughter wafted up to her ears.
As she walked down the stone steps, the clang of hammer on steel echoed through the town. Alex would still be hard at work, making the most of daylight to finish his forging. Emmaline had half a mind to visit the forge; Alex the smithy’s apprentice was one of the few people she enjoyed talking to in the small town. However, she thought better of it. Azrael would likely be wondering where she was, if he had left his library since the morning. A soft gurgle in Emmaline’s stomach made up her mind completely, and she walked through the streets of Middlegarden quietly, head down and book tucked under her arm.
A light dusting of snow had begun to fall. The air was cold and thin, without the promise of summer to come that spring usually brought. It had been that way for a great many years; Emmaline could only vaguely remember a winter shorter than seven months. Springs were always cold and short, before the sudden shock of summer hit. Already, the chill white powder had settled like a veil on the town. Ahead of her, Emmaline could see townspeople moving about still, even so late in the day. She sighed.
Emmaline had long since perfected the art of being invisible to curious eyes. Not in the traditional head-down-and-be-inconspicuous way, either. As she walked, her body physically faded from sight, allowing her to walk past several nosy housewives without being accosted in the street. She dodged and wove through the thin trickle of people moving about town, slipping past all and overhearing quite a lot. Insipid details of the townspeople’s lives, for the most part, but on the odd occasion, Emmaline overheard something that was actually interesting.
Today was one of those days.
Four doors away from her own, Emmaline spotted two men talking in low voices. Sensing a conspirational tone to their conversation, she edged closer to listen. One of the men was short and quite fat, and with the snow falling on him, he reminded Emmaline of a muffin. The other man was slightly taller than the first, but his cloak and thinness made him seem to tower over the fat one by contrast.
The fat one-Isaac, Emmaline remembered now-spoke softly. “That man, the weird one on the road, did anyone see him leave town, Jace?”
Jace shook his head. “No one. Well, I didn’t, and my stall was by the town gate all day. I ne’er saw ‘im.”
“You only ‘ave eyes for your pigs,” Isaac chuckled softly. “But I think you’re right. Perhaps we should find out where our little stranger is staying and pay him a… a ‘visit’, eh?”
There was a glint of greed in Jace’s watery eyes as he smiled. “Aye, Isaac, that we will. But right now… I have myself a thirst built up from all this skulking.”
Isaac guffawed loudly and the two walked down the narrow path. Emmaline shrank into a doorway as they walked past her. She waited until they turned a corner before darting out of the alcove and down the street to her house.
The houses in Herondale followed a very repetitive design. Each was three stories tall, with enough houses in the town that all of the citizens of Trader’s Pass had a warm sanctuary during the cold months of winter. Emmaline’s house stood near the edge of Middlegarden. It was an out of the way part of town, which was exactly what Azrael had wanted, but also not too close to the walls, so as to be relatively safe in the event of a raid.
Her fingers were numb with cold as she rapped lightly on the tall oak door. A few seconds passed before the rattle of bolts could be heard on the other side of the door. Azrael’s face appeared. “Emmaline! Where have you been? Come inside, it’s snowing. By the Nine, you’re freezing. Sit by the fire. Don’t drip on the books.”
Emmaline smiled slightly at Azrael’s fussing and walked through the small entranceway into the lounge. A large fireplace hissed and crackled, casting a flickering glow on the walls. Azrael came back in, clutching a thick woolen blanket. “Sit. Dinner is cooking, but I’m afraid…”
She turned to him with a smile on her face. “You were reading again, weren’t you, Az?”
He laughed. “Yes, child, I was. And a damned good book it was as well. Now. What did you do today?”
“I read in the Highgarden,” Emmaline replied meekly.
Azrael frowned. “Em, how many times have I told you, not-“
“-To take the books out of the library, I know, I know. It wasn’t from our library, though. It was a present.”
Where most other households in Herondale used all of the available space for bedrooms, Azrael had converted the entire second floor of their home into a library of sorts. Books lined all the walls and stacks of them grew out of the floor like saplings. It was the same in most of the house, even the lounge Emmaline sat in currently.
“From whom?” Azrael queried, eyebrow raised.
“That man who came here this morning. I think his name was Lucian. He gave it to me for my birthday.”
Azrael’s mouth was a comical ‘o’. “Oh, gods, Emmaline, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot…”
With that, he shot out of the room. Emmaline watched him go, a look of puzzled amusement spread across her face. A loud crash echoed from above her, followed by a string of oaths. She giggled and settled into the plump red velvet seat.
A few minutes later, Azrael burst out from the stairwell clutching a package wrapped in paper and tied together with string. He walked into the lounge, substantially calmer, a dozen apologies on the tip of his lips, only to find that Emmaline had curled up and gone to sleep.
He sighed and placed the package gently down on the table against the wall. In sleep, Emmaline had a fragile serenity that she never had when she was awake. She was slow to trust and quick to judge, but Azrael supposed that was his fault; he’d drummed those traits into her after all. Quietly, he edged through the teetering stacks of books. When he reached Emmaline, Azrael slowly pulled her blanket up over her body and tucked it behind her shoulders. Then, ever so gently, he brushed a lock of ebony black hair from her milky white face.
“Getting tender in your old age, aren’t you, Azrael,” a voice said drily from behind him.
Azrael turned calmly. “Lucian,” he said curtly. “I don’t believe I remember inviting you in.”
Lucian smiled thinly. “I didn’t know I had to wait. After all, this is, technically, my house.”
“Why are you here, Lucian?” Azrael’s tone had lost its calmness.
“Easy, old friend,” Lucian said, holding his hands up in submission. His right hand glinted silver in the firelight. “I’m here to help you. Please, let me. If not for you, then for her.”
“We’re fine where we are,” Azrael said stiffly.
Lucian arched an eyebrow. “Not for long.”
For a few moments, there was silence. Azrael glowered at Lucian. Lucian smirked back. Azrael let out a long sigh and all the tension drained from the room. Wordlessly, he walked out of the lounge and up the stairwell. After a second, Lucian followed him. As he walked past Emmaline, he smiled sadly and paused. “Happy birthday, Emmaline. Hope it was a good one.”
He turned toward the stairs again, only to find, to his surprise, that Azrael still stood there. His eyes shimmered slightly. “If you cared about her so much, you’d leave us alone.”
For an awful moment, Lucian felt his chest clench. His throat choked at his reply. “I care about her more than you could ever know. That’s why I’m here, Azrael. I care. I truly do.”
Azrael nodded tersely, then walked up the stairs. Lucian followed, glancing back once more at the sleeping figure in the chair.
Floor to ceiling shelves lined both rooms on the second floor of the house. In most of the shelves, the books were also double layered. The air was heavy with the heavy papery smell of old books, and leather also mingled in the scent. Seemingly arranged at random, small chests filled with scrolls dotted the walls. Amidst it all, four armchairs sat around a narrow wooden table. Azrael took a seat at the one facing the window. Lucian sat opposite, lounging deep into the cushions. His earlier emotion was all but gone; the only trace was a slight dullness to the gleam in his eyes.
“Now, Lucian. Why are you here?”
Downstairs, Emmaline moaned and twitched in her sleep. Her eyes darted rapidly left and right, up and down, flickering. The depths of dream had its hooks in her mind.
She dreamed she was standing on a wide open plain. Grass stood tall, swaying in the wind. She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings. The grass came up to her waist, letting her see the softly rolling land for miles. Every so often, a tree would break the flatness of the plain, reaching its limbs up to the sky and out to the horizons. From where she was standing, she could see that they weren’t very tall at all. She walked silently through the field toward the nearest tree.
As she drew near, she noticed something altogether quite strange. Whilst the grass swayed in the soft breeze that blew, the tree itself was utterly still and quiet.
“And you know this how?” Azrael said, incredulous.
Lucian smiled slyly. “In my line of work, one learns a great deal of things he shouldn’t. And even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t. My informant is… very valuable.”
Azrael huffed. “But you’re sure they’re headed this way?”
“Trust me, Azrael. I passed them on my way here.”
Azrael swore softly. “How in the name of the Nine did they find us?”
“The trees are His eyes, Azrael,” Lucian said quietly.
“Whose?” Azrael asked the question, knowing the answer, but not wanting to believe it.
“He Who Watches sees all. The great tree, Azrael. That’s who.”
Emmaline could make out a large whorl in the wood. Stepping lightly over fallen branches and dry leaves, she edged closer. The tree was gnarled and ugly, but it was still only the size of a young sapling. Emmaline shivered. The thick canopy of leaves provided protection from the blistering heat out of the shadow, but the chill that lay beneath the tree was almost unnerving. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them to keep warm.
She couldn’t think what to make of the whorl in the wood, but curiosity burned in her mind. She reached out her left hand and touched the whorl.
It flicked open like an eyelid. Emmaline jerked back with a yelp.
The eye that stared out at her was dark purple with a jagged black pupil. It watched her unwaveringly. She walked backwards, almost running. Her foot caught on a root and she fell down on her rump. A hand flung behind her instinctively to stop her fall landed in the sunlight.
The tree shivered, though the breeze had stopped blowing. Then, in one great sweep, its leaves flew out into a wind that wasn’t there.
“You say we have to leave. But where will we go, Lucian? We have nowhere else to go.”
Lucian frowned. “What about Skyfall? They can’t touch you there. I promise. They have no power there, the Aetherium made sure of that.”
Azrael groaned. “All they have to do is hire assassins and we’ll be dead, as simple as that. We’d last maybe a week, possibly two at most.”
Lucian nodded slightly. “Yes, that’s true. Then I suppose this is it; it’s time to give in.”
“I will never give in,” Azrael growled.
For the second time that evening, Lucian grew serious. “I know, Azrael. That’s why I trusted you with this whole thing in the first place. But the problem is, they’re coming for you, and all you can do is hide. Unless…”
Leaning forward slightly, Azrael looked at Lucian meaningfully, as if to say, “go on”.
“The Temple of Stone. Or do they call it the Hidden Temple here? It makes no matter. You would be safe there.”
Azrael slumped back into his seat. “Oh. I thought you had a suggestion that wasn’t completely hopeless. They’d never take us in.”
Lucian smiled. “Ah, my friend, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
The leaves swirled up and up above the tree, leaving it without a canopy. Yet still, the exact same shadow covered most of Emmaline’s body. She crawled backwards hastily, not stopping until every last part of her body was out of the shadows.
As her foot lurched clear, the leaves shattered. There was no other word for it. One moment, they were bright green leaves. The next, they’d shattered into dark grey ash that swirled in spiral arms swirling some few hundred meters above the tree. Emmaline stood shakily, walking backwards again, but more cautiously this time.
With a whoosh, the dark ash arms sucked back into one solid mass, then shot down into the tree beneath. The baleful eye widened and glowed bright. The sunlight was pouring into it, eating away the color and life that was the plain. Emmaline could only stand and watch in horror as the eye glowed brighter and darker simultaneously. She saw two images at once: a swirling vortex of darkness sucking in the light around it, and a tree with a purple eye that glowed brighter and brighter, eradicating all detail from the landscape. She shut her eyes tightly against the burning light, but it shone even through her eyelids. And overlaid on that, the vortex swirled deeper and deeper, as though it would never end. And then it did. The light went out. Slowly, cautiously, Emmaline opened her eyes.
Azrael didn’t let himself hope for it to be true. He couldn’t. “How did you… Never mind. You’d never tell me anyway. When do we leave?”
“We don’t. I will stay here, for when they come searching. You will go with whomsoever the Temple of Stone has sent to guide you to their refuge. Oh, and you leave tonight. At the latest, by dawn.”
“Lucian, I… I don’t know how I can ever thank you for this.”
Lucian snorted. “Don’t thank me. I dragged you into this. But if you must thank me, thank me by protecting her.”
As she opened her eyes, Emmaline felt a quickening in her heart. She looked over to the tree. It looked back at her, the eye never resting, never leaving her. It blinked, and the world was torn asunder.
A swirling black bubble of energy surged out of the tree, ripping apart ground and sky as it rippled outward. The ground churned a its feet, sucked into the darkness, feeding it. Emmaline stood still for half a second, then turned and ran.
She could feel it, behind her, as she ran. Somehow, impossibly, she was running fast enough to outpace the bubble as it coursed behind her. And then she felt it start to fade. Emmaline allowed herself a single glimpse over her shoulder.
Don’t run, a Voice whispered in her head. Stand and fight it. Emmaline frowned. “What with?” she said to herself, watching the darkness race towards her.
The light within.
Emmaline sat down on the bare dirt. The shadows rushing toward her had stripped the plains of the grass. Then she closed her eyes, and opened her mind. From the swirling expanse of fear, she sought it out, and from there she summoned it to her.
Light shimmered and raced across her skin, jumping in sparks of energy. Emmaline’s brow tightened in concentration. As her thoughts solidified into one united voice, the energy dancing across her coalesced into a sphere of light.
The vortex came then, screeching and howling, ripping at everything… and flowed over and around her. A silent scream engulfed her then, snatching at her being.
Within her shield, Emmaline could feel the darkness battering against her ward. She could feel her strength diminishing, could see without opening her eyes that she was in serious danger of losing this battle of will.
A soft thrum of sound broke the tense silence in the library. Azrael glanced at Lucian, his face questioning. Lucian shook his head slightly in response, frowning. He closed his eyes briefly. They flashed back open almost instantly, flooded with concern. They stood as one and walked hastily down the stairwell.
In the armchair, Emmaline was lying ridged. Her fingers twitched slightly. A deep frown was set on her face, twisting her brow. On her wrinkled forehead, a dull purple sigil glowed. Lucian gasped in shock. “That’s the mark of the Dreamweb! Azrael, we need to do something now.”
Comprehension dawned in Azrael dark green eyes. He lurched over to her wordlessly and bundled her up in his arms. “Where should I put her?”
Lucian groaned. “I don’t care; lay her out on the floor. Just do it quickly.”
Too scared to argue, Azrael did as he was told, gently placing Emmaline on the hard wooden floor. Lucian crouched over her and laid his hands over her brow and chest. He tore off her shirt without hesitation, revealing another dark purple sigil glowing there. Azrael let out a cry. “They’re both glowing, Lucian. Do something!”
I am, Lucian thought, but concentration demanded he did not speak. As he held his hands over the sigils, his hands began to glow with a faint silver light. His right hand glowed a stronger silver than his left, which was closer to a white energy. Some moments passed.
Then, slowly, inexorably, the marks began to dissolve. Thin beams of light shot out from Lucian’s hands into the tiny openings he’d created in the sigils. Open wide, you son of a bitch, Lucian growled in his head. The light pushed at the swirling purple masses, driving at them and creating thin spidery cracks. A dirty sewage smell gushed out of the marks like pus and filled the room. Azrael grimaced, feeling utterly useless.
Her shield was failing. She knew that now; she’d known it would all along. But she still felt an unquenchable urge to keep fighting the darkness, to keep pushing back at it. And push she did. Somewhere in her mind, she wondered how there could be so much darkness that it was still flowing out into the now grassless plain. She remembered a half-forgotten phrase from an inscription at the base of one of the statues of the Nine; she couldn’t remember which. The darkness never dies; the darkness never fades; the darkness never ends-only the light can hold it at bay.
I am the light, Emmaline thought to herself. With that, the light surrounding her surged and redoubled, and for a moment the onslaught of shadows seemed to lessen.
Only it lasted longer than a moment, and not only did it lessen slightly, it continued to fade. Unsteadily, Emmaline opened her eyes. Even this small effort drained her, and she almost let a different kind of darkness envelope her. Almost.
Before her stood two shimmering white gates. The darkness, unable to touch them, flowed around them instead. Emmaline sat in the lee of the two, and the shadows flew past her like a river around a rock. She tried to stand. Her legs shook and buckled, unable to hold her up.
Easy, a Voice whispered inside her head. It was a different one to the Voice before. Emmaline started. “Who’s there?”
It doesn’t matter right now. You have a far more pressing concern to deal with.
Emmaline looked around her and realized the Voice was right. The river of shadows had closed in slightly since she opened her eyes. Not significantly… not yet. “Can you help me get out of here? I can’t wake up.” Her voice shook, and for a moment she was the ten year old she tried so hard not to be. A moment turned into two, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I want to go home.”
And you will. But first you must make a choice.
Emmaline nodded slowly, unsure. “Al… Alright. What do I have to choose?”
Your path. Choose wisely. This choice will shape your life forever.
“How will that help me get out?” Emmaline’s tone was desperate.
They are gates. Dream gates. The Gate of the Mind and the Gate of the Heart. Both of them will take you out of her; remove you from the Dreamweb. But your choice will shape the life you have yet to live.
Emmaline thought for a moment. “What’s the difference between the two?”
One is the Gate of the Mind. The other is the Gate of the Heart. I cannot tell you any more.
She wanted nothing more than to contemplate her choice for hours, but she was incredibly conscious of the ever shrinking pool of light she stood in. “Okay… Which one is the Gate of the Heart?”
It lies on your right. Hurry. They will not be open much longer.
She nodded her head slightly, ever so stiff. Then, as the darkness began to swirl back behind her, nibbling away at the ground, she walked left, every step measured and deliberate, through the Gate of the Mind.