Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

14. It's Always Darkest Before Dawn

12th of Eyelestre

We wound up in the abandoned factory.

The assembly floor was littered with overturned tables and empty crates, with no sign of whatever they had once held. There wasn't much left of the place at all, really. The huge loading bay doors were missing, leaving four large holes in one wall, and the roof had collapsed at one end. None of the windows had any glass, either, and drifts of leaves and small branches had gathered in every corner and around the rusted hulks of machinery still bolted to the floor.

There was a storage room with an intact roof and windows, though, and someone had obviously used it as a shelter at some point. There was a makeshift bed of crates along one wall, complete with a moldering bolster mattress and a few ratty blankets. There was also a small fire barrel in the corner that still contained ashes, although they were old enough that it was clear whoever had been there hadn't been back in quite a while.

I gathered sticks for a fire while Arramy worked his Northlander magic on a few pieces of broken crate.

Arramy watched me as I moved about the assembly floor but didn't seem inclined to talk.

We hadn't talked at all, actually. We had simply fled Dovan's Leap on foot, and the factory had been the easiest place to take shelter before the sun went down. There was no plan beyond making it safely through the night.

I didn't mind. I was still coming to terms with what had happened. There didn't seem any way to talk about it, yet, or put it into words. So I didn't, and he didn't, and when the fire was going in the barrel I sat down on the bed in the storeroom, brought my legs up, rested my chin on my knees, and stared at the flames.

Arramy stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at me, then left, slipping away without a word.

He was gone for quite a while, but I didn't move. There was nothing to move for. I was so tired my bones felt like lead weights inside my skin, and there wasn't any food.

The sun went down, and the shadows began deepening inside the storeroom. I didn't mind that either. I had learned to appreciate the shadows. Darkness was familiar, now, like an old coat, and I let it come.

When the fire had died almost to nothing, I began wondering if maybe Arramy had finally decided to leave me behind. Maybe this was the end. Maybe the fire in the barrel had been his goodbye gesture. I decided I wouldn't blame him at all and watched as the last of the coals began to dwindle and go out.

~~~

The scent of earth filled my nose, mineral and stone mixed with the loam of old forest. I lifted my head. I wasn't in the storeroom anymore. I was lying in a small clearing full of ferns. I had seen it before, somewhere. I knew that in the same way I knew I was supposed to be on my way home, and I was late. Very late. It was night, now, a huge white moon washing everything in shades of blue. Father would be worried that I was coming home in the dark.

I got up and began walking. Or flying. In no time at all I wasn't moving between thick tree trunks, but small, squat buildings along a dusty street.

At the end of the street was a barn. It looked familiar too. I had been there before, and I looked around, expecting to see horses tied to a line outside.

There was only a chair on a porch. There was no one else around, not even an animal. I turned, thinking I was alone, only to find someone walking toward me, following in my same footsteps. A woman, I thought. She was small, and a long cloak whipped around her, blood-red even in the blue of the moonlight, tossed in a wind that kicked up dust from the street. She was vague, her features changing and blurring. Some moments she was blonde, but she had dark hair if I looked at her hard.