Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (26 page)

“And you never thought about that until now?”

Cole chewed pensively at a thumbnail. “I feel foolish saying it now, but no. But, then, is it so strange? Until that last day on the Crag, I had only ever trained with old Merryl and a couple of the other Brothers. It never occurred to me that others would be different. And since then, I’ve been too busy running for my life to think about much of anything.”

Harri snorted. “My father was right to cast the Order from the Watch, it seems. Not that any of us doubted it. He wished to preserve the old ways, but it appears we were more fortunate than we realised. There is dark magic at work here.” He stabbed a finger towards Cole’s pendant. “You should cast that cursed stone into the mire and have done with it.”

“I... I can’t,” Cole admitted. “I tried, after that night. I intended to leave it behind in Bjorn’s forge, but I couldn’t. It’s like it has some kind of a hold over me.”

Raven frowned. “That’s worrying. The others of your Order, did they feel the same about the crystals?”

“First of all, it’s not
my
Order,” said Cole, irritably. “I never took the vows, they were more my family than anything else. And, no, least not that I ever heard. When you’re wearing it, you don’t really notice; it’s when you try to put it aside that you find yourself yearning for it.”

For a while, nobody said anything, each lost in their own private reverie. Raven stared fixedly into the fire, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms clasped around them. She seemed ill at ease. Harri leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head and his expression unreadable.

Cole felt like he was on the verge of a discovery about himself and his power. Something fundamental, the nature of which just eluded his grasp every time he felt that he was close to touching upon it. The crystals were the key, he was sure of that now. As soon as Raven mentioned the link between the pendants and those whose...
essences
, he supposed, he was able to influence, it was as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes. It bothered him that he hadn’t considered the possibility before, but that was only half of the truth.

The simple fact was that he had never really thought about the crystals much, even among the Brothers at the Crag, which seemed odd to him now given how much his life over the past few years had centred around them and his experiments with Merryl. Was it possible the crystals themselves exerted an influence over him, masking themselves in his thoughts? It seemed a bizarre conclusion to draw, yet it had the ring of truth to it. Why was it so hard to discard the pendant? He tried to cast his mind back, and he could not remember a single one of the Brothers without their crystal after they received one. And then there was Eirik’s overnight change of character after becoming a full Brother, something else he hadn’t devoted much thought to until now. Was that part of it?

His brain ached. So many questions, and more besides. He felt that the crystals, whatever their purpose, were in some way involved with whatever the Archon was planning, but how?

Cole’s mind was spinning so fast he didn’t hear Harri break the silence, and asked him to repeat what he’d said.

“I said, I want to see for myself, tonight.”

“See what?” Cole asked, still slightly befuddled.

“What you do. When I’m asleep.” There was a determined look in the hunter’s grey eyes as they bore into his own across the fire. “Use the crystal to enter my dreams, as you did with Raven. I want to see for myself.”

Cole turned to his guide, who shrugged. “If he wants to do it, I see no problem. You wouldn’t be breaking your promise to me.”

“I will try, then, Harri. If you are sure.”

“Then it’s decided.” The blonde hunter clapped his hands together. Surprisingly, to Cole at least, he seemed cheerful at the prospect. “Raven, if you would take the first watch tonight?”

“I can do that.” She climbed to her feet and affixed one of her short swords to each hip. “I won’t venture far. Something about this area disturbs me. I wouldn’t want whatever fate befell the miners to find us unprepared.”

“Not unless they’re warming their feet in front of a tavern fireplace even now and facing the prospect of a soft bed for the night,” said Cole, stifling a yawn. “That’s the sort of fate I wouldn’t mind befalling me.”

As Raven vanished into the night, blades loose in their scabbards, Harri settled himself down beside the glowing embers of the fire. “Whenever you’re ready, Cole,” he said, before adding with a grin: “I promise I’ll try not to run you through like Raven did.”

“That’s as much as I can ask for,” Cole replied with a nervous smile.

*      *      *

When he opened his eyes, trees were all around him. Gnarled, ancient oaks, their trunks too thick for two grown men to wrap their arms around. Great branches hung low, heavy with leaves as green as jade.

“A forest, of course,” Cole muttered under his breath. “Wonderful.”

It didn’t feel like the Spiritwood, at least. This forest felt safe, welcoming. He was bathed in dappled sunshine breaking through the canopy above, and the air was warm with summer. All around him was birdsong of different kinds, and in the corners of his eyes he caught glimpses of small winged shapes flitting from tree to tree.

“If the Spiritwood
is
like this, then at least we’ll have a pleasant stroll to the mountains,” he said. It seemed unlikely, however.

Wherever it was, he had successfully made it into Harri’s dream, that much seemed clear. After his experience in Hunter’s Watch, he hadn’t been convinced he could make contact with the light blue orb that represented the sleeping hunter, but it had yielded to him easily enough.
Harri invited me in.
The thought rose up in his mind, and Cole wondered where it had come from.

He was just contemplating his next move, when there was a great crash from the bushes behind him. Startled, he span around. Standing only a few yards away was a large stag, its pelt as white as snow. From its head sprouted a pair of impressive antlers, each one half as long as Cole himself.

It froze when it saw him, and Cole did likewise, unsure whether it was best to approach the creature or back away. There was a wild, desperate look in its eyes, and its flanks were pumping in and out like a bellows. It was then that he noticed the feathered butt of an arrow protruding from its hide. A stream of thick blood ran from the wound. Finally reaching a decision, Cole took a step back. Just then, there was another sound from the direction where the stag had emerged. In a sudden panic, the beast galloped past Cole and burst into the undergrowth behind him.

Cole barely had time to draw breath, before the bushes parted again and a chestnut horse leapt through. “Hold there stranger, I would speak with you,” the rider called down, bringing his mount to a stop in front of Cole. He instantly recognised the rider. It was the same face he had seen asleep only minutes before, when he had taken hold of the green crystal pendant and left the real world behind.

“Harri?”

The blonde hunter squinted down at Cole. “Do I know you, sirrah? You do look somewhat familiar, I must admit.”

“It’s me, Cole,” he said, grinning. “Do you not remember asking me to come here?”

He had been prepared for this. In the past, he had found that in their dreams, even people he knew well would have trouble recognising him. It seemed the sleeping mind had trouble discerning something that was not part of the dream narrative it had created for itself. Over many months, Brother Merryl had trained himself to be capable of a sort of conscious dreaming – where he remained aware that he was asleep and was even able to exert a level of influence over his own dreams. In this way, he was one of the few who were able to remember Cole when they encountered him in this other realm.

“Cole... yes, I know that name,” Harri said slowly. There was a glazed look to his eyes, and he rubbed a hand absently down his face. “A... dream, you say? That is... strange...”

Harri’s voice tapered off into silence. His glazed eyes seemed to stare straight through Cole. Cole glanced around at the forest, which had similarly fallen suddenly quiet. The leaves and branches above him were perfectly still. He saw a sparrow caught in midair, its wings frozen mid-flap.

Then Harri blinked, and the spell was broken. The trees swayed in the breeze once more, and the bird flew off into the canopy.

“You, stranger,” Harri called down from atop his horse. “Have you seen a white hart run through hereabouts?”

Cole pointed in the direction the stag had galloped off. With a small smile and a brusque “my thanks”, Harri dug his heels into his mount’s flanks, and they took off through the undergrowth.

He felt that he should follow Harri; after all, the entire purpose of being here was to show the hunter that he was able to enter dreams as he had said.

He ran in the direction the hunter had ridden. For a short while, he was able to follow the sounds of the horse and rider crashing through the trees, but without a horse of his own to keep up, these grew fainter and fainter before fading entirely.

Cole looked nervously behind, and saw what he had feared. In his wake, the forest he had just run through was vanishing before his eyes. Like the sounds he had been following, the trees themselves, the ground they sprouted from and even the sky were fading into nothingness. Soon, the emptiness would overtake him. He wasn’t completely sure what would happen when it did – perhaps he would simply wake up from the trance – but he didn’t want to stay to find out.

Faced with little choice, he ran on, faster this time. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw the patch of ground he had stood upon moments earlier disappear. In its place was just a blank space.

Cole’s lungs had started to burn and his legs ache, when he crashed through a line of trees and saw his quarry in a clearing, kneeling over a white shape lying on the ground. His heart leapt with relief. The world behind him ceased its worrying slide into oblivion. It was focused on Harri, and around him the dream-landscape was stable.

It wasn’t hard to identify the shape lying on the ground. The white stag had been able to run some distance, but in the end the wound in its side had been fatal, the loss of blood too severe. Harri, dagger in hand, was cutting at the creature’s flank.

“Had to be careful,” he said to Cole, without looking up. “I needed to bring it down without piercing the heart. Had to aim lower, try to puncture a lung, or the liver. I knew I’d only get one shot.”

The hunter made a long incision along its side, and then began tugging the still-warm flesh from the ribcage. Cole felt his stomach roll, and he quickly looked away. “Why couldn’t you pierce the heart?” he asked, when the nausea had passed. He tried hard to ignore the grisly noises of the animal being butchered.

“I need it,” Harri replied. “I must give it to my love. If the arrow has damaged it, I will be lost... ah! There it is, and untouched. The tip missed it by an inch, if that. A shot in a thousand, if I’m any judge!”

Cole turned round again, and saw Harri lift up a large ball of gory flesh. His hands were bright red to the wrists. His expression was rapt. “Look,” Harri said. “The heart of the hart.” His laughter rebounded off the trees. “If that doesn’t make my love happy, I know of nothing that will.”

“Harri, who is your love?” Cole asked.

Still beaming, the young hunter looked up and met his eye. “Would you like to meet her? Come, my camp is not far.”

As they moved off together, Cole glanced behind. The stag’s great corpse had disappeared. In its place lay the body of a young man, his hair the colour of straw. Lifeless grey eyes stared unseeing into the sky, while an ugly gash was torn into the flesh of his bared chest. Cole quickly looked away.

Harri had not lied. His camp lay in the very next clearing, a distance of less than a hundred yards from where the stag had fallen.

Cole was not surprised, he had noted such phenomena before. It was as if the mind treated distance as purely subjective. The hunt for the wounded stag was integral to Harri’s dream, had meaning for him, and therefore the chase had been a long one. But the journey from there to the camp, the next part of the dream, was not and so Harri’s sleeping mind had barely bothered to create any distance between them.

The camp was small, little more than the cold ashes of an old fire with a bedroll beside them. To one side was a tree stump, on which was sat a small metal cage. As they entered the clearing, Cole could hear a commotion coming from the latter.

Harri strode over to the cage, and squatted down before it. “There she is,” he said, pointing at the sole inhabitant. “My love. Isn’t she glorious?”

Cole went to his side, and examined the cage. It was not in good shape. Several of the bars had been bent out of shape, while many were stained brown with what appeared to be dried blood.

At his approach, the cage shook fiercely from side to side, as a dark shape within threw itself furiously against the sides. A shrill squawking filled the air. Cole caught flashes of sharp black beak stabbing through the bars. As best he could tell, it was a crow. But it did not look well. Its skin was clearly visible through bare patches in its feathers, and was covered in red scratches. A bloody gash ran the length of its head. When it settled back down from its frenzy, it regarded him with a cold, indignant eye.