Dreams of Darkness

by D L Pitchford et al.

  The first to spot Nilsa was her friend, Ulli. The small, red-haired girl pranced across the clearing, sloshing wine over her hand. She stopped just short of running into her and plucked at the seam of her coat. “Afraid of being pixie-led?” she teased.

  Nilsa was used to it. “Only if I don't take the necessary precautions.”

  “Listen to you.” Ulli laughed and pulled her in for a hug, and then froze. In her ear, she whispered, “Did you bring a guest?”

  Nilsa's blood ran cold. “No.” Had a faerie dared to follow her uninvited into the clearing?

  “Someone's in trouble, then, Eberlyn.”

  Freeing herself from Ulli's grasp, Nilsa whirled on her little sister. Three years her junior, the girl was just a smaller version of herself—wavy, yellow-white hair; small features that looked dainty on her but sharp and unforgiving on Nilsa; and a mouth that turned down at the corners as if the girls perpetually disapproved of everything.

  “What are you doing here?” Nilsa snapped.

  “I wanted to come to the clearing.”

  Of course she did. The girl begged and begged Nilsa each time to tag along, and each time Nilsa said no. She much preferred her little sister to be safe at home with their parents. It was the only way Nilsa herself could have any fun.

  Ulli pranced over to Eberlyn, who was very nearly taller than the older girl already, and put an arm around her, leaning her head on her shoulder. “Aw, let mini-Nilsa stay. Just this once.”

  Sim, one of the boys and the only reason Nilsa had braved the forest at night, laughed, passing a cup of wine to Nilsa. “She's too young to be here. Aren't you afraid of the fae, mini-Nilsa? They like to steal the babies.”

  Nilsa took the wine, her cheeks flushing. “She's not staying.”

  Eberlyn tilted her tiny nose up and looked down it at Sim. “My name is Eberlyn, and I'm not a baby, and no, I'm not afraid.”

  Stupid. Fear was a human's best weapon against the fae.

  “Prove it,” said someone else from behind her.

  “She's not proving anything.” Nilsa went to stand in front of her sister. Eberlyn wasn't a baby anymore, but she still needed to be protected.

  But Eberlyn shook off Ulli's arm and stepped around Nilsa. “Tell me how.”

  Nilsa handed her cup off to Ulli. “Come on, we're leaving.”

  Eberlyn didn't move to follow her. She stared down the crowd and waited for someone to answer her.

  Finally, Sim said, “Summon the Host.”

  “No,” Nilsa said. “Don't be ridiculous.”

  Sim laughed again. “Are you scared, Nil? Maybe we should make you do it.”

  Nilsa ignored him. As much as she liked to look at him, she wished he would just shut up. To her sister, she said again, “Come on.”

  But Eberlyn's voice rang out loud and clear when she said, “I'll do it.”

  “No, you won't.”

  “I'm not afraid.”

  Nilsa leaned in close to her sister's ear. “You should be,” she hissed.

  Eberlyn jerked away and closed her eyes as she began to chant. “Cursed to fly the skies at night / Feasting on the souls' delight.”

  Someone squealed in excitement at the words. It was one of those rhymes that everyone knew but no one said, not to completion. Everyone in Aramore knew better. Everyone except, apparently, for her sister.

  Eberlyn took a deep breath. “Captain of the Host take flight—”

  Nilsa took a step forward but Sim hauled her back by the arm. “Eberlyn, don't.”

  True to form, her little sister didn't listen. “Freed only by a willing life.”

  Nilsa held her breath, ready to grab her sister and run.

  But nothing happened.

  “See?” Sim smiled down at her, that same smile that had gotten her into his bed more than once.

  She felt . . . foolish. Confused. But also betrayed, like the fae had actually let her down by not appearing and smiting them all.

  Then, just as she was relaxing, an impenetrable darkness blotted out the sky.

  Chapter Two

  He was made of writhing shadows, taking shape languidly as he emerged from the trees on the back of his monstrous silver steed. He could have been human, the dark prince of some long lost kingdom, except for the black wings that curved over his shoulders. He wore dark armor and a helmet tucked beneath one arm. The forest, which had been quiet before, now felt dead, like a pocket of nothingness. It sucked the air out of Nilsa's lungs and she held her breath, waiting for whatever was to come next.

  For a long moment, no one moved. Nilsa wanted to grab her sister, to hide her from view and run as far and as fast as they could. But she was as immovable as the trees around her, as if she'd grown roots.

  The man surveyed each of them one by one. When his eyes alighted on her, Nilsa felt the power of them. She stared back at the two silver flecks of starlight in the black orbs of his eyes. Just when she was sure she would burn to ash beneath the weight of his gaze, he looked away and held Sim with that same stare. Sim, his hand still gripping her arm, trembled.

  The shadows shifted around the male—for as much as he looked like a man, he was not one—and more figures emerged, some on horses, others on foot, all of them with the same leathery wings rising from their backs and blocking out any light from behind them.

  Finally, he spoke, shattering the spell that had settled over them. “Why have you called me here?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Eberlyn.

  “Who are you?” Ulli asked, clearly having had too much wine.

  “I am the Captain of the Host, and again, I ask, why have you called me here? What soul am I to reap?”

  “Soul?” Sim repeated dully. Everyone else was traitorously quiet.

  Nilsa channeled some of her own sister's defiance and stepped forward, chin raised. She clutched the iron rod she wore on a chain around her neck. “There is no soul for you here. It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” There was amusement in the captain's eyes as he looked at her. Even though the shadowed figures around him stayed silent, she could feel their laughter in some hidden part of her consciousness. “It will be a costly mistake, for I cannot leave without exacting my payment from the one who summoned me.”

  Eberlyn. Nilsa's voice did not tremble as she said, “You cannot have her. She is mine.”

  His eyes assessed her more thoroughly this time, wandering over her from head to toe. But it wasn't in a lurid way. It was more like he was seeing past the physical and into her soul, trying to figure her out. “Does she offer you in exchange?”

  An exchange. It was one of the rules: never make a deal with the fae. But she also knew that the Host would not let them go for free. She could think of no other way out except to offer someone else, and Nilsa would never do that, even if Sim could be annoying. “If I go with you, everyone else in this clearing goes free.”

  “Nil, no,” Eberlyn said, finally breaking her stunned silence.

  He smiled down at her, showing fanged incisors. “One soul is all we take. One mortal life in exchange for a glorious eternity riding with the Host.” He crooked a finger at Nilsa and she felt a tug inside of her as something tried to draw her forward.

  Eberlyn grabbed Nilsa's wrist before she could take a step. “I'll go.”

  Nilsa turned to her and took her cheeks between her hands. “No, you won't. Ulli and Sim will take you home. You tell Mama and Daddy that I'm safe, that I'm fine.” Then, in a quiet whisper, she said, “I will find my way back to you someday, I swear it.”

  “Which one will it be?” the captain taunted from his mount's back. “Big or little, soft or sharp?”

  “I'm going.” Nilsa gave her sister a kiss on the forehead and then turned away, facing the captain. “Me.”

  Eberlyn scrabbled at her back, her hands tangling in Nilsa's coat, but she was pulled away, by Sim or Ulli or someone else, Nilsa didn't know. She howled with rage and grief, but Nilsa barely heard it. The captain held her gaze and reached down to her.
When she clasped his hand, a black cuff appeared on her wrist, the metal heavy and cold. She saw for the first time that he wore an identical one.

  In a voice low enough that she knew no one else heard, he said, “You are mine.” It was an echo of the words she had spoken about her own sister, a mockery of her human affections.

  “I will never be yours,” she growled back at him.

  He laughed and hauled her up onto his horse with little effort, settling her in front of him. Nilsa kept her eyes forward, on the back of the horse's head. She did not want to see what she was leaving

  behind, nor what horrors surrounded her. Then, he snapped the reins and rode away with her into the night sky, Eberlyn's screams chasing them until they faded away into nothingness.

  Chapter Three

  Nilsa had never known such wind and cold. It licked at her loose hair and tugged at her clothes. It made her eyes water and her nose sting. Her hands were frozen where they gripped the saddle horn. She could not see, did not know where they were or where they were going. She heard the others around them, shouts and panting horses, but it was all darkness.

  When she shivered, his arms tightened around her and then there was something else sliding across her lap, something heavy and warm shielding her from the wind.

  A wing, she realized with a start.

  “Don't touch me,” she hissed without turning around.

  “You'll freeze to death.” His voice was so close, his breath warm against her frozen ear.

  She hated the tingle of excitement that coursed through her limbs. “It would be a welcome release.”

  “Don't you have a promise to keep?”

  He'd heard her, and had obviously felt no threat by her promise to return to Eberlyn. “I'll find a way back to her, no matter what,” she answered defiantly.

  He had the nerve to laugh. “I have no doubt. You are fierce for a mortal, but still as breakable as one. Take care not to fall.”

  And then they were plummeting downward, her heart in her throat. The only thing holding her in the saddle was his arms around her, pressing against her thighs. She would have screamed had she been able to catch her breath.

  When they leveled out, they were riding on the tops of bare trees, still moving impossibly fast. Below them, the ground was covered in snow. This bleak landscape did not belong to Aramore or anywhere near it. In her part of the world, it was spring, very nearly summer. Here there was nothing but cold darkness stretching on for miles.

  And they were alone.

  “Where are the others?” she asked, hating how her voice sounded breathy and scared.

  “I sent them on the night's hunt. Though yours is a fabulous prize, there are other souls still to be reaped, after all.”

  She ignored the barb and his barely veiled amusement. “Where are we going, then?”

  He raised a hand in her line of sight and pointed. “There.”

  The stone manor rose out of the mountainside with nothing below it but a sheer cliff face of gray rock. Snow covered its many towers and twisting spires. No lights glowed in any of the windows. It looked about as cold and inviting as the captain himself.

  The horse landed smoothly in the snow-covered courtyard. Nilsa dismounted without waiting for help and stumbled, landing on her hands and knees.

  “Oh, my dear. Are you OK?” This was not the captain who spoke, but the voice of an old man. He stood over Nilsa, a candle in one hand, the other reaching down for her. His face glowed yellow in the candlelight, his own wrinkles casting shadows on his cheeks.

  Nilsa took his papery hand and stood. “Who are you?” She felt like all she'd been doing was asking questions and not getting any actual answers.

  “This is Jock, my butler,” the captain interjected.

  The old man bowed his head. “And you are?” The way he looked between Nilsa and the captain made her think there were not many guests at the manor.

  “I'm—”

  “She's staying with us while she gets acclimated,” the captain interjected before she could give her name.

  Nilsa paled at what she'd almost done—given her name to one of the fae. Jock looked kind, but what could he have done with that information? And why hadn't the captain tried to get it from her? Wouldn't that make her easier to control if he had that piece of her?

  Recovering, she added, “It's only temporary.”

  The captain did not respond to that.

  Jock led her through the dark stone halls, begging her pardon for the dust that coated every surface. They did not encounter a single other person or faerie on the walk to her room in the eastern wing of the home. It seemed she was completely alone.

  The room he led her to was not a dungeon cell, but not far from it. It was just as dark as the rest of the house, though thankfully seemed to have been cleared of dust. She walked past the four-poster bed to the window and threw open the curtains, desperate for light. She was met with only the watchful, round eye of the white moon.

  Jock went to the lamps beside her bed and lit them both from his candle, adjusting the level of the flame with a knob on the front of each. Then he did the same by the vanity and the door until the room was dotted with small pockets of yellow light. Nilsa just watched, not sure what to do with herself, her hands fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist, which did not appear to have any type of clasp. Magic had sealed the deal between them, and only magic could remove it.

  He returned to the doorway, flicked out his pocket watch, and glanced at it. “We'll bring your meal to your room before you leave with the Host.”

  Nilsa raised her eyes to meet his. “I won't be going on the hunt with them,” she said coolly. She had promised to leave with him, but she had not promised to do his bidding. He would learn that it wasn't wise to make deals with humans, either.

  To his credit, Jock did not do anything but blink at her before nodding and excusing himself, closing the door behind him.

  Nilsa pressed her back to the cool glass window and slid to the floor, burying her face in her hands and choking back the sobs, not wanting anyone—especially not the captain—to hear.

  Chapter Four

  Ahard knock at her door jolted Nilsa awake. She was in the same spot on the floor, and the sky outside was still dark, had maybe never been light. On the floor just inside the door was a tray of breads and cheeses. Her stomach rumbled but she was a child of Aramore and she knew the rule—one was never to eat faerie food.

  The knock came again, loud and insistent.

  “Who is it?” Nilsa called, struggling to her feet. Her entire body was sore.

  “The captain.”

  Her hand went to the iron bauble on her necklace. She could imagine him on the other side of the door—tall and dark, wings flaring in frustration and restraint. She'd only seen him a few times, but the image of him was burned into her brain. Terrifying and unbearably handsome.

  “We're leaving in five minutes.” His voice was even but firm.

  She took a deep breath, putting the bed between herself and the door. “Didn't Jock tell you I'm not going?”

  Silence. Had he left? She ventured out from behind the bed and tiptoed closer to the door.

  A familiar, quiet voice was whispering, “You cannot command her as you do the Host.” Jock.

  Then the captain's deep baritone rumbled, “But she is a part of my Host and she will obey my orders.”

  “You know she is different, she must give it—”

  “Stop. Do not say it.”

  Nilsa had ventured close enough to the door to touch it without meaning to.

  When his voice came again, it was also closer, quieter, intimate. Meant only for her. “I know you will not touch the food here. Ride with us and find food in human homes. You do not have to reap, but you must eat.”

  There was a commotion somewhere far away, and then running footsteps sounded against the stone. “Master, Sir Killian is here requesting an audience.”

  The captain grumbled something in respons
e, and then to Nilsa, “We'll leave in five minutes. Meet me downstairs.” His voice left no room for argument. The footsteps retreated and the tension drained from her shoulders.

  The promise of food was all it took for her resolve to snap. Nilsa dressed in the clothes that had been left for her. The black leather armor matched what he'd been wearing, and the trousers were tight and lined with fleece to keep out the cold. There was a black, fur-lined cloak, which clasped with a silver ring. She kept her necklace, though she did not know if the iron actually worked; the captain had not seemed to even consider it. If nothing else, it would serve as a reminder as to who she was and where she'd come from. The whole ensemble was a far cry from her usual loose dresses and tunics, but this would at least keep her warm.