by Lenore, Lani
The shadow mimic… It’s here!
Feeling a cool patch of air drift over her, Wren glimpsed the foreign shadow as it darted across the wall. She turned swiftly, trying to catch sight of it, but it was gone again in an instant, disappearing into another shadow.
She was shaken, especially knowing that it had attacked Adele, disturbed further by the noises from the ward outside, but there was nowhere else for her to go.
Don’t be afraid, she coached herself, but her heart was insisting otherwise. Be firm.
“I know you are there,” she called finally, gathering her bravery. Shadows did not have physical ears, but she knew they were capable of understanding. “Come out. Whose shadow are you?”
Shadows – or these imps called mimics – were fickle creatures, and certainly capable of violence when unattached. She could not tell if this one had shape or not, but she remembered that Adele had said it had been in the form of a boy.
A boy…? Rifter? Had it been him all along?
When the shadow finally revealed itself again, long enough for her to see it zip by, it retreated to the wall behind her. She turned to see it waiting there beside her own shadow, unhidden and boldly displayed. Finally able to have a good look at it, she could only stare. It did not belong to anyone she recognized.
The black-as-night shadow stood next to her own, arms at its sides, fists clenched. The shape of the body was tall, broad across the chest, and certainly not belonging to anyone in the female ward. The head was hidden by the form of a wide hood, and she could not recognize him. All she knew was that it could not have been Rifter. The body was too developed, almost that of a man rather than a boy. Rifter had sworn never to age. He had been the same for a hundred years, according to him.
Who could it be?
“Did you come from Nevermor?” she asked carefully, praying that he would attempt to give her a sign. “Someone sent you after me, didn’t they?”
As Wren watched, only now second-guessing herself in her attempt to be civil – the shadow opened its eyes, two holes that gave way to light in the mimic's face. What was it thinking? Wren considered this and the shadow came to attention, snapping its head up. In a quick movement, it had reached toward its boot and pulled something into its hand. She watched as the object was lifted for her to see, and she was left examining the dark outline of a short dagger.
“A knife?” she asked, feeling that she had gone pale. “You've come to–”
…to kill me. She remembered the cuts on Adele. Had the mimic confused one girl for the other when they’d been chasing it down the halls, or had it attacked Adele for simple enjoyment before now turning to her?
The shadow did not respond to her inquiries – did not wait for her to react. It charged forward at Wren, coming away from the wall as a corporeal shape – a figure of pure darkness. It wanted her blood, and she knew that it was more than capable of taking it.
Frantically, she began to think up a way to escape, but the cell was tiny. She did not know which way to go.
Making a swift decision, she darted into a corner as the shadow rushed by her. She could feel its coolness against her skin, and yet it made sweat rise on her flesh. She couldn't think of anything except getting away, but she knew in the back of her mind that she could not escape it. She had no idea of how to fight it off. She had tried once to fight off a similar being and had failed miserably.
In a frantic rush, she went to the door, even though she knew there was no handle on this side. She put her hands to the bars of the window and gave it a vicious tug, but as she had known, it was locked.
“Help! Someone help me! Please!” she screamed, beating against the door, but that did no good. Her voice only blended with the shrieks of the other inmates in the halls.
The mimic was not fazed by her plea. It only backed off enough to raise the silhouette of the dagger, lashing out in a swipe that she had barely seen, and crossed her forearm with the blade.
Wren cried out in surprise as blood emerged from the gash in her flesh. Pain bloomed like a flower, pulsing over her skin. She flinched and gripped her wounded arm, looking up at the shadow, which tilted its head coyly at her as it watched the blood rise. It did not repent. It raised the knife again.
Why? What will it gain?
Wren threw herself out of the way and fell back onto the bed, forgetting the discomfort.
This can’t be the way it ends! But there was nothing for her to do.
Shielding herself from another blow with her arms over her head, she was surprised when no more attacks fell on her. She winced, waiting, and yet she was not stabbed or otherwise cut open. Laying there, vulnerable, she dared to open her eyes –
The shadow was nowhere to be seen. It was not in her vision, yet it could have been anywhere. It could have slipped inside another shadow as small as a crack in the wall.
Or maybe it has finally happened, she thought suddenly. Maybe I have finally slipped into madness like the rest of them. This shadow… Perhaps it was never there at all.
Her head was spinning, but she tried to focus on that possibility. Had she imagined the uprising? The shadow? Outside her room, there was still chaos. She had not imagined that part of it. The disturbance in the asylum was real.
She pulled herself off the creaking mattress and moved toward the cell door to peer out – and just before she had reached it, there was a click as the lock was released and the door swung open.
On the other side, an inmate that she wasn’t sure she recognized – a laughing, frizzy-haired young woman – dashed away and moved to the cell across the hallway to begin working with the lock there, and Wren could see that it was not only her cage that had been unfastened.
There were women of varying ages, some clothed and some naked, dashing about in the hallway. Their cells had been opened and they were running free. Wren was not sure what this meant. Was she supposed to flee or stay in the cell? Coupled with the murderous shadow mimic, she was not sure what to think of this jail break. She had once been much better at making these sorts of choices, but it was harder now. As long as she had been locked up here, she wasn’t sure if she could leave on her own.
Sometimes one has to take risks, she told herself.
Taking a deep breath, she rushed out the door, into the chaos. There were birds and inmates dashing about. Orderlies had already grabbed a few of the women, trying to put them back in cells. Now that Wren had gotten out, she did not intend to go back. She couldn’t afford to stay locked in with a mimic.
She rushed forward with the others, trying to blend in as she once had when she’d been just another face in a cell full of bodies. Near her, a fleeing girl was snatched back by her hair and thrown to the floor. Wren instinctively pulled her curls over her shoulder.
She came out to the end of the corridor where the doors were open toward the courtyard. There, many inmates were already running across the yard as orderlies were trying to corral them. Looking on at this jumbled scene, Wren was nervous. This was her one opportunity to leave this place in the confusion, but was it possible that she could? The world outside was frightening. She would be alone.
What will happen next? What will become of me out there? She did not have much time to think it over. This might have been her only chance of ever getting out.
Wren made her decision and took a step forward – just as a hand reached out from the shadows and pulled her into the dark.
She gasped as she was pushed against the wall, caught looking toward the face of a figure that she couldn’t make out, for it was covered in a hood that was shielding his features. Wren stared at him, close enough that she could hear the rhythm of his breath.
“Rifter?” She could not see him, but she knew it was true. Her heart swelled with so much happiness that she forgot about the riot and the mimic, disregarding them completely. Perhaps, in that moment, she even forgot the trials of the last four years – just erased them from her mind and moved on. None of it mattered anymore. Rifter had final
ly come.
The shadowy figure before her said nothing – did not speak her name or confess that he’d missed her. He raised his hand and blew into his open palm, sending an unexpected cloud of shimmering dust across her face. She couldn’t help but breathe it in, and immediately her vision began to swim.
The reaction was much faster than what the draught had done. She felt dizzy. Her knees grew weak, and she felt him lift her up but she did not fight it. Though there were many questions, she knew she had to be patient. She had already waited four years. She could wait a bit longer.
Wren embraced this sleep, trying to focus on his face as she drifted away. In her unconsciousness, she thought she was smiling.
Chapter Five
1
Wren slept the deepest sleep she had in quite a long time, but it was dreamless, like all the other hours. She traveled on through the complete darkness of space until breaking through the barrier of light and sound, and suddenly she had drifted into another world where the sky was gray and full of storm.
There was a storm coming that night. I don’t remember if it ever came…
She woke up with the wind on her face, her arms draped across someone’s neck.
Rifter!
Her heart sped up, pounding like a hammer. She was resting against his back as he flew over the dark clouds as lightning flashed in their bellies, and though she feared that they might sting her at any moment, she didn’t care. She was with him again.
“I knew you didn’t forget,” she said against him, squeezing him tighter. He didn’t respond, and her grip loosened as the clouds parted beneath them and she was able to see the world below.
Wren smiled, waiting to once again view the land she was returning to, but when she had set her eyes on it, she nearly fell off his back.
Where am I? It was nothing like she remembered.
The water was cloudy in the lagoon, the coves, and around the island. Several pirate ships were dotting the sea of dreams, poised like sharks. The Tribal village lay in ruins at the top of the overlook, as it had been left in former days. The earth of the island was jagged and barren in places, a thick mist covering everything and making it hard for her to confirm if what she saw was really there.
When Wren had left Nevermor, she had thought that the darkness had withdrawn. The Scourge had been done away with and they had all promised that horrible mistakes would not be repeated. They were supposed to be building a new life. Now it appeared that an enormous nightmare had swallowed this world of dreams.
“What happened here?” she gasped as they began to descend.
Still, Rifter did not answer. They were nearing the outer edge of a beach, where perhaps she had set her foot in former days, but it was clearly unsafe now. The violent sea splashed in with large waves that washed up bones and pieces of ship wreckage. She could clearly see several wandering nightmares passing along the shore, roaming through the ship graveyard with no focus or destination.
Rifter designated a spot on the beach for landing – distant from the waves and nightmares – and did so, letting Wren down on her own feet. After such a long flight, it was strange to feel the force of gravity again, but Rifter didn’t give her any amount of time to recover. Immediately, he gripped her hand and began to guide her beyond the hulls of the ships, pulling her toward the trees.
She couldn’t say she was surprised by his behavior. He had always done things his own way without feeling he had to explain himself, but she had far too many things to say to him.
“Rifter…”
“We have to take cover,” he said in a raspy voice she hardly recognized. “It’s not safe in the open.”
There was no pleasant reunion; no hugs or kisses. She had often wondered if it would be awkward when they met again, but she had thought there would still be a connection between them. She hadn’t expected this.
This is wrong, she thought. All wrong!
“Rifter, please," she begged, her voice cracking. She could feel the desperation pounding in her chest. “Look at me! Let me see your face!”
At her words, he stopped, his boots disturbing the gravel as he halted. He turned toward her slowly, his face still hidden beneath the hood of his black tunic, but she knew that he was gazing at her intently.
I just need to see him. I need to remember. I need to look him in the eyes when I ask him my questions.
“Do you remember my face?” he asked, his voice low and careful.
“I have tried to remember you,” she replied, clenching his hand where he held her. “I've tried to keep everything with me, but it's been hard. You left me there for so long – much too long!”
She wasn’t sure how he would react to that accusation, but she could not hold it back. It had been trapped inside all these years. Her anger toward his delay was as strong as her longing for him.
“You lost the dream,” he said. “I couldn't find you.”
“I’ve had a hard time dreaming at all since then. I tried. I waited for you every day.”
She was trying to make things softer between them, but he would not accept her compromise.
“Things happened,” he said vaguely, and she saw that the hood wasn't even directed at her anymore. Why wouldn't he look at her?
The way he was standing now, dressed all in black and with the hood swallowing his features, he was like a pit of darkness. His coat of leaves had been replaced by some sort of black hide, and to see him without that disturbed her. He was distant and cold, but she was reminded of something. Her eyes lit with recognition. Even though she hardly recognized him now, she knew his shape.
The shadow that had attacked her at the asylum was his. She could see it on the ground beside him now. Somehow, he had taken it back, but that did not excuse what it had done. At that, the cut on her arm seemed to hurt even more.
“I need answers, Rifter,” she said pleadingly, though she'd meant for it to be stronger. “Last night, a shadow tried to kill me, and it was yours! Why did Whisper turn on me again? What has happened here? I need to know, but, please, I need to look at you. I've missed your face.”
The hood turned toward her again, and she imagined him staring at her from beneath it. Why was he so hesitant? She only wanted to reconnect with him – to see at least one thing that was still familiar in this world.
He was silent for a painfully long time, but then she saw his shoulders droop. He sighed as he relented.
“Promise me,” he started, “that you will try to remember it as it was.”
He reached for the hood before she could begin to fathom what he meant, but when he revealed his face to her, she understood.
His skin was darkly tanned while his untamed hair had been bleached white by a harsh sun. His chest and limbs boasted strength, but it was the strength of age and hardship, not athletic play. From his left ear hung a long earring, consisting of a feather and pin, which came down to his shoulder.
He had changed, and there was yet another thing she recognized. Like her, Rifter had grown older. This young man, a head taller than Wren, had aged during the four years they had been apart, just as she had.
He would have started aging as soon as I left. But that’s impossible. He swore never to age.
All of this had confused her, but it was his eyes that jolted her the most. Dark bags cradled them and the whites were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Inside amber-colored irises, his pupils were long and narrow, like a cat, or a snake; Wren wasn’t sure which. She recognized those eyes. They were the ones she had seen peering at her in the dream.
His eyes were blue before, she remembered. Clear and blue.
This was not the handsome boy she had expected to see. Was there a flicker of him inside there somewhere? If there was, he was buried deep, beyond a visage that she didn’t recognize anymore.
“Do you know this face?” he asked, stepping closer to her. When he spoke, she could see that his teeth were jagged and sharp, making him look like a predator – like a nightmare he might have slai
n.
Rifter stood before her, inches away, and all she could do was gape at him a moment before averting her eyes. She didn’t mean to be, but she was afraid. She tried to think of what she might say, but nothing would come. There was silence between them as the waves rolled in, crashing on the nearby shore.
Sensing her hesitation, he gripped her arms and she flinched, snapping to attention, her gaze meeting his. His strange eyes searched her own as his fingers clenched her tighter. If anything could have shocked her more than his appearance, it was the intensity of his body temperature. She could feel his presence in front of her – absolutely searing!
“Do you recognize me, Wren?” he asked again. “Can you say my name with confidence?”
“Rifter, you're hurting me.”
As soon as she said it, he released her, stepping back as if to separate himself from his actions. He looked toward the ground and a nervous smile came to his face for a moment. With that brief flash, she once again noticed his teeth – sharp, so perfect for ripping flesh – and she was frightened.
“What has happened to you?” she gasped.
“The darkness came,” he said. “It infected the world. It changed us.”
“How?” she asked, grasping for the answer. “Please tell me.”
“I'm sorry,” he said instead, an apology instead of a refusal. “It's all because of me.”
Wren had so many questions – Where are the others? Is it the Scourge? – but she knew they could only come out one at a time. She dared to touch him, resting her hands on his shoulders, only realizing then that she was shaking.
“Just start at the beginning,” she urged, willing to put her own misfortunes behind her for now. There was no reason to drone on about her time in the asylum. That part of her life was over.
His flaming eyes met hers tentatively, and a smile of gratitude came up on his mouth.
“I suppose I forgot how forgiving you are.”
At that, she smiled a bit herself. Maybe the boy she knew was there after all, even if it was behind a face she hardly recognized.
