Flight of the Raven Page 14

  Selene landed on the stone floor and changed into her human form. She raised her hand and held out her fingers. Her skin appeared hazy and translucent, like the images of those whose dreamscapes she visited. White fabric fluttered at her elbow. She glanced down. A simple nightdress covered her body, but she didn’t recognize the garment. She vaguely recognized the hall she was in. It was on the other side of the castle, the part she had barely visited, and not enough to know how to make her way back to her room.

  Selene looked around again, then back at her hand with a frown. Whose dreamscape was this? And why did she appear as a dreamer?

  A yellow light appeared at the end of the corridor, like the glow cast by candlelight.

  She took a step forward. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  The light moved away, down the other hallway.

  “How did I get here?” she whispered. Am I visiting my own dreams? It has to be. I’m not touching someone.

  “Little raven,” spoke a raspy voice behind her.

  Selene froze, except for her heart, which began to pound frantically inside her chest. Slowly she turned. As she moved, the dreamscape began to morph. A chill swept across her body as tall obsidian columns rose in place of the walls. The hallway and Northwind Castle disappeared in a mesh of grey and darkness until the room settled and she found herself in the Dark Lady’s sanctuary back at Rook Castle. Ten feet away, near the front of the sanctuary, a dozen candles burned in the retable, providing the only light.

  Selene took a step back. I don’t want to be here. Not here.

  Before she could turn, she spotted a figure draped in black approach the retable. A pale gaunt hand reached out from beneath the robe and pinched each twinkling flame until only one remained. It was the same shadowy figure that had been visiting her almost every night since she left Rook Castle.

  Run! Her mind screamed, but she was still frozen, her gaze fixed on the scene in front of her.

  “Little raven.” The figure’s hood hung low, covering everything but the lower half of its face. Lips painted black were all that was visible. A hand rose and the robe’s sleeve fell back. Long pale fingers beckoned her. “Come with me.”

  Her heart raced inside her chest until it felt like it was going to explode. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Was this . . . was it the Dark Lady?

  The finger beckoned again. “Come.”

  Selene shook her head, finally free of her paralysis, and took a step back. “No.” She spun around, her power exploding inside of her and transforming her into raven form. With a caw, she flew toward the doors and out of the sanctuary.

  The dream morphed again, back to Northwind Castle. A last flicker of light disappeared at the end of the corridor. Selene soared down the hallway toward the light. Just as she reached the corner, the candlelight disappeared around another bend. Glancing back, she spotted the black-robed figure gliding toward her.

  She rounded the corner and flew with all her might. Is the Dark Lady pursuing me? In my dreams?

  She focused on the area around her as she flew. Yes, this was definitely a dreamscape. She could feel it along the edges of her being. And it was a strong one, connected to a strong mind. Was it really hers?

  The rustling of cloth along the stone floor drew closer. She beat her wings harder and took another corner, careening along the shadowed corridor. I need to do something. Anything!

  She landed on a windowsill and closed her eyes. She pictured the hallway, then her bedchambers back at Rook Castle. Drawing on the power inside of her, she pressed against the dreamscape, willing it to morph into her room. Harder, harder, until the walls were shuddering under her force. But the moment she let up, they resumed their position.

  “Little raven.”

  Selene spotted the cloaked figure and lifted from the windowsill, flying in the opposite direction. Only a sliver of the candlelight remained at the end of the next corridor. Why didn’t the dream change? Was it because it was hers? Was she trapped here, like she had been in Damien’s dreamscape?

  Could she be wrong? Was this his nightmare?

  It couldn’t be. Why would he be dreaming of the patroness of House Ravenwood? He followed the Old Ways. There was no reason he would dream of such a sinister being.

  But then who?

  Selene continued flying, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the robed figure, all the while chasing after the small glimmer of light that continued to move through the hallways. One thing filled her mind, one emotion kept her going when her wings began to burn and she could barely catch her breath: if she stopped, the Dark Lady would overtake her.

  16

  Salty wind pulled at Selene’s cloak as she walked along the cliffs overlooking the sea west of Nor Esen days later. The nightmare never came back. She still had no idea whose dream she had visited or what the dream meant—or if that had really been the Dark Lady. Selene shivered and drove the thoughts from her mind. Best not to dwell on them or she might find herself back in that dreamscape.

  The landscape around her was grey, both the sky and the water, with a hint of rain in the air. A dozen ships lay in the bay below the city, moving with the waves coming in from the open water. A small figure stood on the precipice jutting out from Northwind Castle, barely a pinprick against the grey sky, but the rise and fall of the water along the cliff wall gave him away. Damien was practicing his gift.

  Selene pulled her cloak closer to her body and watched as wave after wave crashed against the rocky cliffs. There was no secret to what he was doing; everyone in Nor Esen could see him practicing, if they wanted.

  She brushed her hair aside and wondered what it was like to have no secrets. Everyone knew Damien’s power. And they knew he used it for their protection. He held his people’s respect and admiration. She had seen it on the journey here and in the way those around Damien treated him in the castle and within the city.

  Would the people of the mountain nation have treated House Ravenwood the same way if they knew what she and her family could do and that her family used their gift for the benefit of their nation? No secrets, just open honesty between the mountain people and her house? Was it possible that a long time ago, back before they were dreamkillers, House Ravenwood was respected?

  Selene sighed and turned away. She didn’t know. She continued to pick her way along the trail that ran along the top of the cliffs toward Baris Abbey. She hoped to find Cohen and ask him more about the Light. She wanted to know more about this being Damien followed and even worshiped with his gift. What was the Light like? Did he work for House Maris like the Dark Lady did for House Ravenwood?

  Did the Light illuminate Damien’s soul?

  Was there a connection between the Light and her new nightmare?

  Tall pine trees lined the trail on the right, and light-colored grass grew on the left, right before the ledge gave way. The air grew more dense and misty the longer she walked, coating her face and exposed fingers in tiny droplets. Twenty paces behind, she could sense Karl following her, a shadow to her every movement. At least he was quiet and unobtrusive. He had even dropped his unpleasant expression and now appeared impassive.

  As she rounded the bend, a lone stone building came into view near the cliffs beyond a field of tall grass. Baris Abbey. Cheery light shone from the huge arched windows lining the first and second story. The roof was steep and angular, with blue tiles covering the top. A trail led through the waving grass to a set of tall wooden double doors that led into the abbey.

  A bell rang, its dulcet tones ringing out across the field and cliffs. Then a second bell. Moments later, the soft sound of chanting filled the air.

  Selene stopped and stared at the abbey. The low, deep voices were coming from the far side, where the face of the abbey overlooked the sea. As she listened, the chant began to blend with the soft wind and gentle sound of the waves. The hairs along her arms rose at the sound. The music, although it was much more, seemed to spread across her body and move toward h
er heart, warming her entire being along the way.

  She wanted to join the voices. She wanted to raise her hands and close her eyes and let forth this incredible, enchanting power filling her on the inside. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Karl stepped beside her.

  “It’s the Chant of Light.”

  Selene worked her mouth, trying to form words. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  “Very few have. The Baris Abbey monks sing to greet the coming winter, to remind us that even though the days will be short and cold, the light will come again.”

  The light will come again.

  “Do you follow the Light, Karl?” Selene asked as the wind whipped the tears from her cheeks.

  “I believe he exists, but nothing more. Not like the monks. Not like his lordship, Lord Damien.”

  “Why?” She hadn’t meant to ask the guard such personal questions, but at the moment, it was like her heart was flung open.

  Karl glanced away, his arms crossed. “I’ve seen too much darkness.”

  Selene wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “I understand.” And yet there was something inside of her that longed desperately for the light. If there was such darkness in the world, then there could also be immense light . . . right?

  That was what she was determined to find out.

  The last notes of the monks’ chant lingered in the air like a fading wisp before being washed away by the sound of the sea. Selene started again along the path, her dress and cloak rustling through the long grass, her eyes focused on the double doors ahead. A mist began to rise from the trees, and a gull called out nearby.

  Her fingers were numb with cold when she reached the doors. There was a large pewter knocker on the left door, which she lifted and let drop with a loud bang. Karl waited silently behind her.

  Moments later, the door opened with a creak. A stout man dressed in mahogany robes stood in the door, a beard covering the lower half of his face. A golden pendant of the sun hung from his neck. “May I help you?” he asked in a deep voice.

  Selene folded her hands together and raised her chin. “I am Lady Selene Raven—er, Maris, and I am looking for the monk Cohen.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Lady Maris? His lordship’s new wife?”

  “Yes.” She could feel his perusal but could not tell what he thought of her.

  “This way, my lady,” he said, motioning her inside.

  Selene stepped into the long hallway. The entrance area was two stories high, with a stone staircase on the right that led up to the second floor. Thick wooden beams held the steep ceiling in place, and arched windows lined the far wall, allowing natural light into the sacred building. An enormous fireplace stood against the wall opposite of the staircase, a long wooden table in front of it.

  Everything was made from soft-colored stone, almost the same color as the beach near Nor Esen. There were no other colors: no tapestries, no rugs, not even a painting.

  Doors lined either side of the main hall, each one opening into smaller rooms. The air was cool and smelled like aged herbs and wood. Soft voices echoed through the hall, and every once in a while a monk would emerge from one of the rooms, carrying a tome or a scroll. They would glance at Selene, then carry on with their work.

  “This way,” the stout monk said, and he led Selene and Karl to the other side of the abbey. Beneath the staircase was a set of doors unlike the others. The monk opened one of the doors and ushered them in. “Cohen is with Father Dominick today.”

  The room was bare, with only a wooden table in the middle and a bench on either side. Two men sat at the other end, near three arched windows overlooking pine trees.

  Selene recognized Cohen’s thick, wheat-colored hair. The other man was old and thin, his head mainly bald save for a couple strands of wispy white hair. Both were dressed in the same mahogany robes and wore golden chains around their necks. They glanced over as the door opened, and Cohen smiled broadly the moment he spotted Selene.

  The stout monk bowed. “Father, please excuse my interruption. Lady Maris has graced us with her presence today. She said she wished to see Brother Cohen.”

  Cohen and Father Dominick stood. “Lady Maris,” the older man said. “Welcome to Baris Abbey.”

  Selene walked across the room. “Thank you, Father Dominick.”

  His warm brown eyes studied her. “Yes, yes,” he said quietly. “You have the makings of a great lady and will be a strength to Lord Damien in the days ahead.”

  Selene blinked, but before she could say anything, Father Dominick stepped around the bench. “You may visit with Brother Cohen in here. I am needed in the repository. I look forward to seeing who you become, my lady.” He glanced at the stout monk. “Brother Maelor, please follow me.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Selene watched the two monks cross the room and leave through the door before turning toward Cohen. “What did Father Dominick mean?”

  Cohen shrugged. “There are times Father Dominick speaks in riddles, as if he can see more than we can but cannot share exactly what he sees.”

  Selene cocked her head to the side. “Is that because of his position as abbot?”

  “Yes. The Light speaks to him.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Does the Light speak to you as well?”

  Cohen ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end. “Kind of. But not directly, not like Father Dominick. Anyway, welcome, Lady Selene, to our humble abbey. I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer, but if you wish, feel free to take a seat, and I will procure some tea from the kitchen.”

  Selene dipped her head. “Thank you, Cohen.”

  He gave her a wide grin as he bobbed his head and left the room.

  Selene gathered her dress and held it to the side as she took a seat on the bench. Mist gathered along the windowpanes, coating the glass with condensation. Karl coughed softly behind her, then took up his spot by the wall.

  She frowned as she leaned forward and held her chin in her hand. What did Father Dominick mean? Had the Light given him a glimpse of her future, much like how the dark priest had warned her mother of the threat from the north? What did he mean that she would be a strength to Damien? How was that possible when they weren’t even speaking—not since she had shared about her gift?

  Her chest tightened at her last thought. It wasn’t that she had spent a lot of time with Damien since their vows, but he hardly spoke to her now. He was never at dinner, and she barely heard him at night on the other side of the door. Then again, she was sure he was busy. Between the assassination of House Vivek and their escape from Rook Castle, no doubt the Great Houses had been thrown into disarray and were ripe for an invasion by the Dominia Empire. The Damien she knew from the assembly was most likely working fervently to form a fledgling alliance before the empire appeared.

  All the while, she sat alone, day after day, reading what she could find, and wandering the castle, looking for purpose.

  And I will continue to look. She set her lips resolutely. For the sake of those I left behind. And because I want to know . . . who is this Light?

  Minutes later, there was the rustle of robes and the aromatic smell of tea. Selene glanced over to find Cohen carrying a wooden tray bearing an earthen teapot and two small cups. He placed the tray down on the table and took a seat on the bench on the other side, almost knocking the tray over with his knee.

  His face turned bright red, almost matching his robes as he tucked his legs under the table, bumping the table in the process. “I apologize. I sometimes have trouble with these long legs of mine.”

  Selene gave him a reassuring smile. “There is no need to apologize.” Cohen looked nothing like the other monks. He was tall and gangly, with unruly hair and a boyish face. Perhaps that was why she had felt so comfortable around him ever since they left Rook Castle.

  He lifted the teapot and poured the tawny liquid into one cup then the other. “Here you go. This is Brother Sammus�
��s special blend.” He held out the tiny cup, the size of which he could have easily palmed. Selene took the cup between her fingers and blew across the top, savoring the warmth as it spread across her hands.

  “We are honored that you came to visit our abbey, Lady Selene. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  Selene ran a finger around the rim of her cup. “Yes, I have some questions. I know very little about the Light. Taegis said something the other day that I have been wondering about ever since.” She looked up. “Did the Light give all of the Great Houses their gifts or only House Maris?”

  Cohen blinked in surprise, then coughed to clear his throat. “That is an interesting question coming from . . .” He hesitated.

  “Coming from me, since I am from House Ravenwood.”

  “Yes, my lady. It is my understanding that your house follows another way.”

  Selene shifted uncomfortably and waited.

  “To answer your query,” Cohen continued, “yes, every Great House was given a gift in which to rule and support their people.”

  “By the Light?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “When the nations first formed under the Great Houses, they were small and weak, so seven families were given a way to help their people. House Maris protects the people of the Northern Shores with the power of water. House Merek was able to earn the trust of the wyverns with their gift of courage. House Luceras wields weapons of light offensively and defensively.”

  “Are you sure the Light and not some other higher power gave every house their gift?”

  Cohen rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you referring to the Dark Lady?”

  Selene turned her attention back to her cup. “Yes.”

  “The, uh, Dark Lady is capable of many things.” His voice grew more confident. “But the giving of gifts is not one of them.”

  Interesting. Cohen conceded that the Dark Lady was real and had power. But not that kind of power. That was reassuring, in a way. “So the Light also gave House Ravenwood our gift?”