Opening Chapter: Song of the Sword

Chapter 1: A Walk in the Mist

On the morning after she’d been suspended from her new school for fighting, Ariane woke, gasping, from a dream.

It wasn’t her first dream of water and swords and knights in armor. But it was the most violent. She stared up into the darkness, for a moment not even sure where she was. She’d slept in a lot of different rooms since her mother had vanished and she’d been placed in foster care. In the dark, they all looked the same.

But then she remembered. She wasn’t in foster care any more. She was living with her Aunt Phyllis, just a few blocks from the house where she used to live with her mother. And unless she got up and got moving, she’d have to tell Aunt Phyllis about her suspension—and she didn’t want to do that. Let the school break the news to her. Ariane could explain to her later what had really happened…if she’d listen.

She’d set the alarm for 6:30, an hour earlier than usual, but when she glanced at the glowing green numbers, she saw she’d woken up ten minutes before it would go off. The dream that had seemed so vividly real seconds before was already fading, only one image remaining: sun glinting off the blade of an upraised sword.

Over and over, night after night for days now, that same image. Was it from a movie? Not that she could remember. And in real life, she had never even seen a sword. So why did she keep dreaming about one?

She sighed and killed the alarm, then rolled out of bed, rubbed her eyes, got up and half-stumbled to the bathroom, where she set the water running while she got out of her pajamas. She slipped under the spray of hot water, and—

Ariane stood upright in a turquoise lake, the water beneath her supporting her as surely as stone. Though her head was below the surface, she felt no need to breathe. Though the filmy gown she wore billowed around her, it didn’t drag her down.

At arm’s length over her head she held a sword, the blade in the open air, her hand gripping the hilt just above the surface. Icy rivulets ran down the blade and over her fingers and wrist.

She heard a creak and splash, the sounds distorted by the water: a boat, moving toward her, a lone man pulling at the oars. The rippled surface distorted his face and figure. He stopped rowing. The boat slid closer. He leaned over the gunwale, reaching for the sword. His fingers brushed hers as he took the hilt from her, and at his touch—

Ariane returned to the shower, and to the hot water cascading from her shoulders, down her back and legs, so different from the cold water of the lake. Shuddering, she twisted the tap closed, then stood dripping, breathing hard.

It was another dream. It had to be. But she wasn’t asleep. She was awake, soaking wet in the shower, staring at the water falling from her hair onto the chrome spout of the bathtub. So it hadn’t been a dream. It had been…what did you call a dream you had while you were awake?

I’m hallucinating, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. Seeing things. People who see things are crazy. Does this mean I’m going crazy?

Like Mom?

No. It was just…

She didn’t know what it “just” was. But she knew she didn’t want it to happen again.

She couldn’t bring herself to resume her shower. She dried in a hurry, dressed, pulled on her old leather motorcycle jacket, and headed downstairs. Scary visions or not, she still wanted to be out of the house before Aunt Phyllis woke up.

The hinges on the front door shrieked when she tugged it open. Ariane held her breath and waited to see if the noise had woken her aunt, but she didn’t hear anything.