Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (7 page)

“Thank you,” Sari cautiously replies. “I love your hair.”

Fizzle yawns and hovers in front of the girl’s face as he guesses, “Silver child is sleeping champion. This your mind. What we should see?”

“My past, my torment, and my duality,” she whispers as glistening tears stream down her face.

“What are you?” Timoran asks.

“The child who was never meant to be. A weapon built by two men to use against each other,” the girl replies, her voice filled with sorrow and pride. She gets comfortable between Timoran and Sari before pulling Fizzle onto her lap. “In truth, I don’t know what I am. Much like the Baron and . . . him, I am something unique. Your sleeping friends realized that before I pulled you into my essence.”

“You mean your mind,” Sari nervously mentions, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. “This is your mind, right?”

The girl’s eyes turn pure white and her hair appears metallic as she raises her hands. She wiggles her fingers to part the storm clouds, revealing a churning sea of energy. The landscape shines with an ethereal glow as the dark stones and gnarled trees transform into raw magic. The chaos elves and Yola Biggs are gone, leaving behind pillars of aura that patiently wait to be used again. Only the ground beneath the four adventurers remains solid, but they can feel it twist in a constant attempt to change. With two snaps of her fingers, the girl returns the landscape to its former state and goes back to scratching Fizzle’s neck.

“My mind and my aura are the same thing,” she declares with a smirk. She picks a dead scale off the drite and flicks it into a pool of putrid water. “I promise that your questions will be answered when we meet in the flesh. Please let me continue showing you what I wish for you to know. My energy is limitless here, but my patience is not. I’m sorry. That sounded very rude and threatening.”

“We apologize for wasting your time,” Timoran claims, cutting off Sari from arguing. He can see worry in the gypsy’s emerald eyes and comfortingly pats her on the head. “Can you tell us what has become of our other friend? The half-Elven warrior who can transform into the spirits of beasts.”

“I couldn’t let him suffer, so I broke the rules of the game,” the girl explains, placing Fizzle on Sari’s lap. She curls into a tight ball as if terrified of being struck. “I’m only supposed to meet with you like this and not give aide. Luke Callindor had twisted his aura to a point where he could not repair it on his own. He would not have died, but he would have been trapped as a chimera. After all, that is where such creatures come from. They are spirit channelers who went too far and can never find their way back to their true form. I . . . I refused to let that happen when I felt the loyalty and love that all of you hold for him. It was a powerful combination of emotions that I haven’t felt in centuries. So I broke the rules and took him to my core where his aura is being healed. I will not be punished if you break the curse.”

Sari hugs the girl with all her strength, using her immovability to prevent the startled child from escaping. “Thank you so much. I promise we’ll wake you up and you’ll never be punished again. Please show us what you want us to see. I don’t want to waste any more time getting to the real you and Luke.”

Her eyes wide with panic, the girl vanishes in Sari’s arms and the rumbling storm grows quiet. A trio of voices gradually grows until one of them is easily recognized as Stephen. As if their eyesight has been enhanced, Timoran and Sari clearly see the immortal sitting at a wooden table set on top of a crumbling hill. Across from Stephen is the silver-haired champion, who appears to now be in her late twenties. The young woman’s white clothes are covered in dirt and dried blood, which is also on her alabaster face and exposed arms. The shine of her hair is gone and replaced with a dullness that seems unnatural. With a feeble cough and a shiver, she raises her head to stare at the elegant nobleman sitting between her and Stephen. The man’s black hair shimmers in the light and his eyes hold a cruelty that chills the adventurers to their core. His ruffled shirt reminds them of portraits from the ancient days where practicality was exchanged for eye-catching gaudiness.

“Are we done with her yet, old man?” Stephen asks, lazily swinging his leg over the chair arm. “This must be the tenth time you’ve had me bring her to you. That’s ten sets of dead champions and you still want this one alive. She isn’t any fun, old man, so why do you insist on stringing her along?”

“Because the Baron enjoys my suffering,” the woman whispers, glaring at the grinning man. “My torture entertains him.”

“Now, Dariana, I do not wish to see you in pain,” the ancient warlord says with a tender voice that catches Timoran and Sari off-guard. He reaches over with a gloved hand to touch the champion, healing her wounds. “You are a very special player in this game. I hold you dearly in my heart because of your role. If anyone enjoys your suffering, it is Gabriel. So why do you still refuse to join my side?”

“That isn’t how this works and you know it,” Dariana angrily snaps. At the sound of Stephen chuckling, she pushes the table and knocks him off his chair. “I’m a champion and that is the side I have to stay on. You had your chance to recruit and corrupt me long ago, so you only have yourself to blame for the side that I’m on.”

“So high and mighty. As if a champion is beyond corruption,” Stephen says as he gets to his feet. He appears next to Dariana and slams her head against the table with enough force to put her through the solid wood. “You should stop talking like you’re superior. It makes me angry and forces me to hurt you.”

With no sign of anger on his face, the Baron hisses a spell that sends his son crashing through a nearby tree. Several fallen branches twist and wrap around the younger nobleman’s body, their ends burrowing into the ground. Cursing at the top of his lungs, Stephen struggles against the bonds and is struck by lightning if he tries to use his time powers for anything more than healing. With a wave of his hand, the Baron heals Dariana’s face and places the damage on her attacker.

“What have I told you about striking her?” the immortal warlord calmly inquires. He stands and moves behind Dariana, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Treat this champion with respect because she is not entirely lost to us. I will always hold out hope that she will realize her true role in these events.”

“She hit me first,” Stephen childishly growls.

“You broke my arm yesterday,” Dariana retorts.

“Only because you turned my eyesight off last week.”

“You locked me in a room with my dead friends.”

Stephen laughs, cringing at the pain in his shattered nose. “They weren’t your friends. I saw how they hated you because of what you are. Don’t start telling us that you cared about them any more than you care about a waitress who brings you your meal. Even that is being kind since she would serve a purpose in your life.”

“Stop this nonsense!” the Baron shouts, shaking the entire continent. He clenches his fist and the branches around Stephen dissolve, allowing the nobleman to return to his seat. “This is one of the few events of the game that I get to enjoy. I will not have some childish fight ruin this moment. If you insist on killing each other then do it on the battlefield.”

“Just kill me and let another rise to take my place,” Dariana begs, trembling under the Baron’s piercing gaze. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, a mixture of tears and mucus on her flawless skin. “I want this to be over. All I can do is wait in solitude for new champions and join them when Gabriel calls for me. His new hand doesn’t even like me, so he makes me wait so much longer than the last one.”

“I understand your pain, child, but I cannot keep you here. It is against the rules,” the Baron whispers into her ear. He gives her a gentle kiss on the head before moving back to his seat and claiming a pomegranate from a porcelain bowl. “I am not blind to your suffering. If anything, I share your pain and anguish because I am trapped too. The Great Cataclysm gave me Shayd to rule over, but it is nothing more than a bigger prison. Many days I wish I could sleep and live within my dreams instead of eternally waiting for Gabriel’s pawns to prove worthy of the final battle.”

“If you care so much then you should put her to sleep and make us the ones to bring her into the game,” Stephen suggests while repairing his face. Seeing the spark of curiosity in his father’s ebony eyes, he leans his elbows on the table and lets his guard down. “Let her dream in a forest where she can only be disturbed by the champions. Of course, we shouldn’t make this easy and Gabriel will have to figure out a way to get them through our barriers. I would recommend the Misty Fugue that you used to protect your northern treasure horde back in the old days. Not a lethal spell, but the predators can make easy meals of the amnesia-stricken victims. If our enemies decide to avoid her then we can wake her ourselves and deliver her to her new . . . friends.”

“Excellent idea, Stephen. I trust you can handle it,” the Baron says with a smile. He takes a bite out of the fruit, reveling in the rare chance to taste something sweet. “Do you agree to this, dear? The alternative is wandering the world alone and waiting to be called on for another failure.”

Dariana stands for the first time, her legs nearly giving out as she braces herself against the table. Gaining strength with every step, she slowly makes her way to Stephen and looks him in the eye. She smirks at the sweat beading on his forehead, but her confidence drops when he patronizingly pets her on the cheek. The girl moves away to glance around Shayd, her attention drawn to a band of chaos elves cowering under a rocky overhang. Pity and sorrow fill her heart, mixing with the fear and loneliness that have been her companions for decades. The thought of being lost in her own mind where she can block the pain of her past becomes too tempting for her to refuse.

“I agree to this, but there will be no intrusions on your part,” Dariana states, extending her hand Stephen. “I will be left to my dreams and create them on my terms. I don’t want you playing games inside my head.”

“In that case, you are forbidden from helping the other champions while slumbering,” the Baron counters before his son can agree. The warlord tosses a pear to the young woman, the fruit falling perfectly into her open hand. “If we are not to get involved in your affairs then you are to stay out of the game until called upon. Breaking this rule will give us permission to punish you in your dreams. Do we have a deal?”

“Please say yes because I want you to slip up,” Stephen whispers with a grin.

“Deal.”

Stephen and Dariana disappear as soon as their hands touch, leaving the Baron to enjoy the rest of the feast that seems to materialize as an afterthought. The nobleman stares at Timoran and Sari, his thumb stroking his chin as if he is trying to make up his mind about them. Rising from the chair, the Baron appears in front of the champions and draws an elegant longsword. The deadly point repeatedly leaps from the throat of the barbarian to the chest of the gypsy. It is such a quick motion that neither of them know where the blade really is.

“You’re even terrified by a harmless memory of him,” the Baron says in Dariana’s voice. He shrinks and changes into the silver-haired woman, who is wearing a satin gown. “That does not bode well for you. Still, all of you appear to be young and only two of you have reached full maturity. Interesting that it’s only the women and one of them isn’t even using all the power at her disposal.”

“Are we allowed to move on?” Timoran asks, his mouth still dry from fear.

Without a word, Dariana rises into the sky and pulls the storm clouds apart. The churning aura that is in place of the stars sinks toward the ground, absorbing everything that comes in contact with it. Sari grabs Fizzle as Timoran rushes to pick up Nyx and Delvin, both of them fearing that they will get separated. He makes it back to the gypsy to take her hand a moment before the hot energy envelopes the entire world.

*****

“About time you showed up,” Luke says with a mouthful of food.

The champions find themselves in an endless span of white with no way to tell where the horizon sits. Nyx is the first to take a seat at the large table where she sees more food and drink than she believes can exist on a single surface. Every time she looks at the table, she swears a new dish has appeared without pushing any of the previous items off the circular table. The others join her with Sari taking a seat next to Luke and stealing a leg of what she thinks is chicken from his hands. One bite makes her moan in ecstasy even though the food tastes nothing like the meat she expected. Not wanting to waste time grabbing her own food, the gypsy claims the half-elf’s plate and hands him her empty one. He is about to argue when he notices his friends are patiently waiting for an explanation.

“If it makes you feel any better, I only woke up five minutes before you appeared. I know about what you saw, but it’s hazy,” the forest tracker says while piling food on his plate. He reaches for a platter of small steaks, which moves closer to his hand. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”

“You eat and regain your energy,” Dariana states as an image of her appears next to each of her guests. She sees Fizzle flitting around the table in search of apples and a smaller version of her appears on his back. “I made a special table for you, little dragon. I read how much you love apples, so I have types from all over Windemere and history.”

A recessed table rises out of the floor and a towering pile of apples grows from its smooth surface. There are kinds of every color and size, including one at the top that is shaped like a crimson crescent moon. Fizzle drools on Timoran, who is unfortunate enough to be sitting beneath the hovering drite. With a small nod from the tiny Dariana, the dragon dives into the delicious stack and sends a few bouncing onto the floor. The fallen fruit reappear in the bowl, which grows to accommodate the drite’s sloppy eating habits. Fizzle’s first bite is from a purple apple that has honey at its core, which causes him to go limp and blissfully nestle among the food.