Of Truth and Beasts

Whomever this memory belonged to, Shade was not the one passing it. Shade had called the winged creatures in the tunnel Fay-born. Did those leaf-wing sounds come from them? Was this how the Fay would finally get to her, kill her, while she was trapped and lost in some memory?

Something moved beyond the archway.

It wavered from side to side, staggering forward through the dark. Large, dwarven hands covered his broad features, smothering his haggard, rapid breaths. One eye peered at her through his thick fingers. Then his left hand slid off his face and clutched the archway’s side. Though his other hand remained, its fingers curled upward into his red-brown hair.

This “like” brother—“twin” brother, at a guess—had a broad jaw, once clean-shaven and now shadowed with days of stubble. His eyes were sunken in dark circles, as if he hadn’t slept in many nights. He was young, or might have seemed so, if his face weren’t twisted in horror.

For an instant, Wynn thought she knew him, but that wasn’t possible. She didn’t even know where she was—or who she was. Nothing about this place was familiar.

... loved ones now hunt you ... they are coming ... be ever watchful...

The brother’s gaze darted quickly about, searching the hearth room.

He heard those gale whispers, just as she did!

... never close your eyes again ... not ever ... not until they all die ...

His jaw muscles bulged as his hand jerked from his head, haplessly tearing out tangles of hair. That hand balled into a massive fist.

Wynn saw the same rage in his face that she’d heard in the voice of this memory’s owner, the other brother. She rushed forward, grabbing the brother’s vestment’s front with one large hand. She felt her other hand groping for something at her waist.

“Why are you still here?” she shouted in the deep voice that was not her own. “I told you to leave, while you still could. Get out of here!”

The brother froze, his fist still raised. Then the gale grew once more in Wynn’s mind.

... if they see you, kill them quickly.... They will kill you, if they can.... They will; you know this....

Wynn’s lower hand clenched. She jerked hard, though she barely glimpsed what she gripped. Her gaze remained locked on the brother as he pulled a dagger from a sheath on his belt. He raised it, point downward.

The leaf-wing came again in Wynn’s head.

I am with you—hear only me. Hear the quiet I bring to your thoughts.

Wynn froze as the brothers faced each other, each ready to strike the other down.

A scream carried from somewhere distant.

Wynn released her grip and backstepped, not knowing what she—he—was doing. She spun toward the distant sound.

Then she saw what had become of the furniture.

Chairs, stools, an oak table, and even a large chest were piled against the door of this place. Everything from this room must have been thrown against it in blind desperation. When her focus turned back, the haggard brother stared toward the door, as well. His eyes were wide in fear as he shuddered and looked at her.

“Come ... come, please,” he begged, stuttering. “Come with me.”

“No,” Wynn answered. “Go alone, as I told you.”

“Do not do this!” the brother shouted, advancing one step, anger returning to his face. “Your brethren have fallen, like the rest ... though first, did they not? They locked the people from the temple ... and you helped them? In this plague of madness, where are the people to go even if any could think to leave ... if any could escape?”

He stepped farther out into the hearth room.

The brother’s vestment might have been russet, but it was too filthy, and there was too little light to be certain. His gaze dropped downward, and whoever Wynn was here and now followed that gaze. Wynn saw what she held.

The long, triangular dagger, its base as wide as his fist, had straight edges that tapered directly to its point. Its polished guard and pommel were almost silvery, and bits of the hilt that showed around his broad fist looked lacquered in pure black.

It was the blade of a stonewalker.

Wynn cringed within that imprisoning memory, not wanting to accept what that might mean. The gale whispers rose, as if called by her fear. The single leaf-wing didn’t return until the stonewalker—she—raised the blade.

This is not the one you must kill.

Wynn felt the stonewalker falter as he—she—looked at his brother.

Cling to me alone.

She sensed no true comfort in those words, and they gave her none. That leaf-wing voice didn’t speak to her. It spoke to him, the owner of this memory. She heard it, felt it, only because he did.

Wynn began to doubt even more.