CHAPTER 1: DREAMS
Scattered images from jumbled scenes invaded Echo’s mind. He remembered falling asleep only to awaken in this turbulent world that ebbed and flowed around him without rhythm or logic. This was not the empty voidness of sleep nor an uninvited Nightmare coming to call. It lacked the surreal distortion of delirium and presented none of the jagged edges of a psychedelic episode. Yet something—someone—had hijacked his autonomy to control his senses and revived emotions, dusty from neglect.
The landscape shifted from the forest to a hallway that was both familiar and foreign. Echo swallowed. He didn’t want to be here, but his feet traveled down the corridor, indifferent to Echo’s desires or commands. Forwarded, ever forward, he walked, ignoring the closed doors or the occasional window concealed by fluttering curtains. He took in a shuddering breath as his destination became apparent. At the end of the passage hung an overbearing mirror.
The ornate frame bent and twisted in detailed scrollwork with gilded edges, capturing the light in a way the glass refused to do. He knew this mirror, but the memory of where eluded him. Echo leaned in closer, but his reflection remained unchanged. Was this a mirror or a portrait? The slick surface was icy smooth to the touch and then it rippled like disturbed water. Echo drew his fingers back. When the ripples stilled, his image changed. First the nose and jaw stretched outward, twisting into something resembling a half-fox, half-man. Then a pair of pointed ears rose out from the black hair. The yellow eyes gleamed with a hunger Echo knew well but had never allowed to be displayed so openly on his own face.
“Who are you?” Echo asked.
A wicked grin spread across his reflection’s face, displaying sharp canine teeth. “Blood and bones, wood and sap.” The fox-man cocked his head. “You have forgotten too much, Echo.”
Echo refused to retreat even though his heart beat faster. “Answer me. Who are you?”
“Mirrors do more than reflect.” The reflection lunged, jaw open wide as it broke through the glass and reached for him.
Echo jerked his eyes opened, gasping for air. Through the darkness, he recognized his room—a place too still after such a violent awakening. Whatever had ensnared him was gone. Running a hand across his face, he rose from the bed, adrenaline continuing to pump through him. Had that been a dream? No. Impossible. Twilight had taken away the ability to dream, and besides—echoes were incapable of dreaming, yet the touch of whimsy mixed with terror reminded him of Twilight with her mercurial temperament.
In two strides, Echo reached the window, shoving it open. Fresh air swept the lingering cobwebs of sleep from his mind. He shuddered at the piercing cold, waiting for the numbness to seep in and freeze the emotions running wild within him. They thrummed to a forgotten beat of eagerness, expectancy, and exhilaration. It made his heart ache.
Of course, it might not be heartache that was burning a thin trail of fire across his torso. Some days it was hard to tell if his emotions were returning or just the leash stirring—both options a painful annoyance. Echo rubbed his chest, easing the sensation. It was pitch black outside without even a hint of starlight twinkling in the sky. The evening was still young, yet no movement stirred on the campus grounds.
Echo grimaced, sensing Twilight’s grip on him that the winter breeze could not eradicate. Why had she honored him with a dream? Twilight breaking her ban on dreams meant one thing. She wanted something from him, and only the desperate turned to an echo for help.
Acting on impulse, Echo dressed and left his room.
The quiet darkness blanketed him. Winter was slow to release its control over the land, but the cloudless night felt warmer than it should. None of the moons yet graced the sky to set aglow the patches of snow dotting the area. Echo did not mind the lack of illumination. In fact, he preferred it—not needing light to guide his way. It was better for him if there weren’t any insomniac witnesses catching him take the path toward the untamed forest on the edge of the groomed grounds.
He adjusted his blazer, more from habit than to keep out the chill. The frosted ground crunched beneath his shoes as he entered the shadowy embrace offered by the evergreen sentinels guarding the way. His steps slowed, breathing in deep the fragrant pine. The droning hums and wavering hoots of nocturnal life soothed the ragged turmoil within. Allowing nature to dull the barbed hooks of the dream, Echo tried to recapture how the dream had started. There had been a giant tree with the glory of autumn coloring its leaves. Its boughs shaded a pit with a man squatted beside it. Had they spoken before the mirror appeared? Echo shook his head, unable to recall. Here he was, getting honored by having a dream—an event that would probably never happen again in his lifetime—and he couldn’t even remember it.
Caught up in his thoughts, he missed the entrance. Echo sighed, retracing his route back to the abandoned building half-hidden by the overrun foliage. With the sure steps of one familiar with the place, he weaved through the foyer and into a room that now hosted only mice and the feral cat that dined on them. The weathered planks creaked in protest to his passage as Echo made his way to the inner courtyard.
There it was. Even devoid of its leaves, there laid the tree that had dominated his dream. Echo approached it, rounding its thick truck. A shiver wracked his frame that had nothing to do with the sudden gust of wind tugging at his hair and jacket. Where the man from his dream had been there now stood an unmoving stone statue. Its alabaster face had an uncanny resemblance to his last partner. Echo did not appreciate the message Twilight was sending him this night.
A dry cough sounded behind Echo. For a moment, he thought his dream was stepping out into reality until he recognized the hunched person shuffling toward him.
“It’s been a while since you’ve visited,” Nook said. A shiver shook his frail frame. His knobby fingers clutched tight at the blanket wrapped around him. “Figured you would seek solace on the darkest night—even if it’s as cold as Winter’s heart. They say anything can happen when the Dark Moon hovers above, concealing the deeds of the bold and the foolish.”
“Umbriel?” Echo searched the night sky for the moon known to be darkness itself, absorbing the ambient light instead of reflecting it back to the earth. “I didn’t realize you believed in such superstitions.”
“Just because you cannot see Umbriel doesn’t mean it’s a superstition.” A puff of white air exited from Nook as he laughed. “Fools trust only what their eyes can see, and we,” a twinkle flickered in Nook’s eye, “we aren’t fools, now are we?”
Echo recognized the verbal trap Nook had set. He gave the elderly man a half bow.
Nook shook his head at Echo, but a thin smile crept across his wrinkled face. He eased himself onto the worn bench placed beneath the tree’s massive boughs. “But it is strange for it to appear this late in the season. Let us hope no one else is noticing this ill-omened occasion.”
“Ill-omened.” Echo focused back on the stone statue before him. The figure had its head bowed with a firm grip on its staff. Odd how the artist had used real ebony wood for the staff when the rest of the piece was of flawless marble.
“Not all Weapons—” Nook began.
“Twilight entered my sleep,” Echo interrupted. Whether Nook was going to refer to the statue or the past, he didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight. “She showed me this tree.”
“An echo, dreaming? Now I’ve heard it all.”
Laughter escaped from Echo. He wasn’t sure which surprised him the most: the unexpectedness of Nook’s words or him laughing in response.
“Why me?”
“Does it matter?” Nook pulled the blanket in tighter around himself. “The icy grip of Winter is covering our lands longer. The balance of peace with our neighbors has never been stable. Even I’m hearing rumors of war returning. So why not the impossibility of dreams returning as well?”
“Or reflections taking on a life of their own,” Echo whispered, remembering how the dream had ended.
Nook groaned as he rose to his feet. “The shadow of Umbriel is dark enough without you borrowing from the horrors of the past.” He placed a bony hand on Echo’s shoulder and gave a feeble squeeze before shuffling toward the faint light left flickering inside his home. “You’ve been too long without a partner, Echo. Stop fettering yourself to past regrets. It’s time to live again. To grasp the future before it passes you by. Take heed from a man who is not long for this world.”
“You are one to talk, living in this broken down place.”
Nook cackled. “Not as broken as it looks, what with Owl constantly squawking around here.”
To be wanted and loved because of who you were instead of what you could do was rare in these parts, and something Echo had given up on hoping to experience myself. He yearned to confide in someone, to share the burden of what he was doing behind the Chairman’s back, but the risk was too great. Nook’s family had already suffered enough. So he held his tongue, watching the man move toward the light and warmth of home.
Nook braced himself on the frame of the open doorway. He paused, titling his head as if hearing something. “Mirrors do more than reflect.”
Echo grew still. That was what his reflection had said in the dream. “What was that?”
Nook’s milky gaze unfocused. “Twilight, you clever Keeper of Dreams. What plots are you trying to hide that you move even the moons to conceal your handiwork?” Nook’s head shifted the other way. “Opportunities are stirring, Echo. I can feel it in my bones. Keep your wits about you. Change is coming. Be quick to seize it.” Nook sneezed, coming back to himself. “Oh, this dratted cold.”
Echo knew better than to ask Nook about what his words meant. The man never remembered what he said when these spells hit him, but he didn’t miss how Nook rubbed at his chest in a reminiscent gesture Echo knew intimately well.
Nook stepped across the threshold. “Come inside. Warm yourself.” His brittle voice rose as he swept an arm out, half-turning back to Echo. “But if you want the company of stone statues and sleeping trees, then I will leave you to their silent companionship instead.”
Sleeping trees. In his dream, it hadn’t been winter but fall. Echo looked back at the statue of the Weapon. Fall.
Movement from the corner of his eye had Echo turn away from the carved man and his thoughts. He had been wondering when Shadow would appear.
The lanky man approached. “Nook makes an astute observation. It is dark enough to be under the watchful gaze of Umbriel.” Resting loosely in his hand, Shadow offered a pair of gloves to Echo. Their pristine whiteness glowed, reflecting the light like they were the moon themselves plucked from the dark embrace of the night sky. “Which will you be tonight? Bold or foolish?”
Echo’s heart twisted. How could he have forgotten them? His bare skin mocked him as he jerked on the stiff gloves, restoring the ever present barrier that kept the world safe from his touch.
Shadow pulled out an inscriptor from his waistcoat’s pocket. “A message arrived for you while you were out.” It appeared Shadow had acquired the latest model of inscriptors as this one was designed after the old-fashioned pens no one used anymore. “It looked urgent, and since you were already up…”
Echo sighed, taking it. With a flick of his wrist, the holoscreen activated. Muted light ran along the length of the device as words materialized in the air. The illumination made Shadow’s orb-like eyes shine a golden hue.
“It’s Rend,” Echo said, reading the message. “He requests my presence in Fallow—though it sounds more like an order than a request.” Echo looked up. “Where is Fallow?”
“Out in the countryside on the edge of our province. If you leave now, you’ll arrive a few hours before dawn.” Shadow tilted his head. “Odd time for a mission.”
“Odd place for a mission. Look into its history while I’m gone.”
Shadow placed a hand over his heart and gave a curt bow.
Echo acknowledged receipt of the mission and waited for the report to download before flicking his wrist. The inscriptor turned off, and he dropped it into his blazer’s pocket. He would have an abundance of time to read the details on his way to Fallow.
Echo scanned the too dark of a night sky as he walked back to campus with Shadow trailing one step behind. Under his breath, Echo muttered, “Twilight, Umbriel, and now Rend: too many deviations to ignore.” A sly grin tugged on his lips, and his eyes grew brighter. “Whomever is overplaying their hand will regret dealing me into their game.”
CHAPTER 2: REALITY
Riel stirred awake at the thud of the door demagnetizing. The acrid sting of bleach assailed his senses while his mind swirled in a fog of murky numbness. The lights grew brighter around him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding white.
Danger. Run.
Tears leaked down his face as he squinted against the light. He tried to rise but toppled over. His arms refused to move. Were they bound behind him?
The muffled tread of people approaching caused Riel’s heart to batter in an uneven gait against his chest. A whimper escaped from him as he used his feet to propel himself backwards. The ground was spongy and difficult to push against. He blinked his eyes, trying to focus on the advancing blurry forms.
“Secure the patient,” a dry voice said.
Riel’s heels dug harder into the surface, heaving himself away until he hit a wall. Unable to evade the hands reaching for him, they pulled his body up, letting his feet drag against the cushioned ground as they left the room. Dots of floating lights speckled his vision as they traveled down a darkened corridor. His dangling toes hit the cold floor, sending a fresh burst of adrenaline through him.
Danger. Run.
Riel flailed his body around, but their grip only tightened, moving him toward the patch of light spilling out of the open doorway ahead. “No. No.” Inside the room, a spotlight beamed upon a single chair. His mind cleared more, recalling sharp needles, merciless pain, and dangerous questions. Riel struggled harder. “No!”
“Get the hypospray.”
Riel’s foot slammed into the man holding him. A throbbing ache radiated from his toe, but Riel didn’t stop lashing out. The man dropped him, spitting out heated words. Riel swung his body, trying to run, but his feet slipped against the floor, unable to find traction. A blast of sour air sprayed against his face.
Riel’s body went limp as his lungs spasmed. He struggled to stop the coughing fit. Heat rushed to his face. He needed to breathe. Bruising hands lifted him into the chair. Straps pinned him in place so tight his bound hands dug into his back.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” the dry voice asked. A wrinkled man with a flat gaze hovered over him.
Danger. Run.
Then a hand shoved sand into his mouth. The grit clogged his throat, sucking the moisture from his mouth and threatening to choke him. Riel turned his head, hacking what he could out before hands imprisoned his face. A strap cinched taut across his forehead.
“Remember how it smelled. Tasted,” the voice continued.
Another wet blast hit him, filling the air with the sour tang of rotting vegetation. Riel's stomach rolled but it calmed the coughing fit, letting him take in shallow breaths of air. His muscles quivered.
“You remember, don’t you?”
Tears trickled down Riel’s face as the blurry haze returned. Numbness rolled in, obscuring his ability to think, to feel, to rebel—disconnecting him from reality.
“It hurt, didn’t it? That first breath?”
“Yes,” Riel answered.
“Repeat it.”
Repeat what? Waves of darkness teased the edges of his mind, enticing him to sink beneath their surface. Sudden pain nipped at his face, stabbing its teeth into his flesh and bringing him back from those murky waters. Riel groaned, trying to move but unable.
The voice became more firm. “Repeat it. It hurt, didn’t it? That first breath?”
“It hurt—that first breath,” Riel slurred.
“Turn on the recorder. He’s ready. Frack those nosey Center freaks, but at least we can get one more session with him before they arrive.”
Riel tuned out the voices. The waves called to him again as he sank deeper into the numbness. A hard slap hit Riel across his face. He blinked his eyes open. Shadowy forms bobbed and weaved around him. A moment of clarity broke through his dulled senses. He had to resist.
“Remember and repeat. Tell me about that first breath.”
“No.” Riel squeezed his eyes shut. Fingers forced an eyelid open. A black object blotted out the light, growing larger as it advanced. “No. No. No.” He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Run. Danger. Run.
The approaching shadow pierced his eye, and a searing fire blazed a course to his brain. Resistance stripped away.
“Remember and repeat. Tell me about that first breath.”
Riel remembered, and what he remembered, he repeated.
