Hands On

Clasp

Laughter. A low, cruel laughter fills Gwyn's ears. She had been reaching above her head for a book on a high shelf when she first heard the sound. Gwyn pauses; her fingers turning cold on the spine of the tome. Revulsion sends shivers down her spine. She strains her ears to listen but no other sounds come. A trick of the mind perhaps.

Shaking her head to clear the memory, Gwyn draws the book down. Opening the cover, she thumbs through the pages to make sure that she's selected the correct one. Merrill is in an exceptionally foul mood today and Gwyn does not want to run afoul of the harsh priestess. She stills, the last few pages dropping from her fingers. There it is again: the laughter. It seems to come from everywhere; echoing throughout the library. She knows that laugh.

Gwyn clutches the book to her chest. She needs to get out of the stacks and find Clotho. Now. Moving quickly, she heads to the ramp to climb back to the higher levels. She needs to alert the other priestesses; to ring the bell. Everyone needs to leave the library now before it's too late. The bell needs to summon the High Lord, the Lady Morrigan, the General, the Shadowsinger; anyone who can help.

Stepping out onto the ramp, Gwyn hears the laugh again. This time, rather than filling the air, it comes from directly behind her. Terrified, she throws the book wildly over her shoulder. Gwyn does not linger to see if it founds its mark. Instead, she is running. Running like her life depends on it. Because it does. Her legs pound up the ramp. Level four, the level three. She chances a glance over her shoulder as she rounds the bend to level two. A mistake. Gwyn barrels into a solid wall of muscle. Make that two walls.

Cold hands restrain her. Gwyn tires to wrench her arms free. When that fails, she kicks, hoping that her feet will find the legs of her captors. That cruel laughter sounds again, coating her like oil. Gwyn is forcibly turned to face the source of the sound. She knows what she will see; wishes that she can look away, but her eyes do no cooperate.

Him. Its him: the Hybern General. He laughs again and it extinguishes the last of the fight in her. He considers Gwyn for a beat; his head cocked to the side. Then he nods to his soldiers, the ones who are restraining her. "Get to work."

"No!" Gwyn's fight returns. But it's no use. They drag her through the stacks to one of the study spaces. Gwyn can see the table in front of the large fireplace. Wait. None of the library fireplaces is that large. This one is more like a kitchen fireplace, with a large opening tall enough to stand in. It is a kitchen fireplace. Gwyn is back in the temple kitchen and they are dragging her to the work table.

"No!" She thrashes wildly against the hands pushing her down to the table. The laughter intensifies.

"No!"

Gwyn hits the floor. The hands are gone. The laughter has stopped. She is alone. A sob breaks from her throat. A dream; it had only been a dream. Gwyn covers her face with her hands and cries.

A knock at her door a moment later has her screaming in fright. "Gwyn!" Azriel sounds frantic from the other side. "Gwyn! Are you alright?"

"Az-Azriel?" Gwyn tries to stand but her legs can't hold her.

"Gwyn, I'm coming in!" Azriel's shadows enter the room before he does. They scatter to the four corners of the room; scouting and searching for their master so he can focus on the huddled form on the floor. He crosses to her instantly, barely pausing long enough to close the door. Azriel scoops Gwyn into his arms as his shadows return with their report that there is no threat present in the space.

Gwyn throws her arms around his neck and sobs freely into his shoulder. "I was there. I was back there in that kitchen." His whole body goes on alert again; siphons Gwyn did not notice he had been wearing flare to life. "A nightmare. Only a nightmare."