Queen of the Eight Banners

Part 4, Scene 1 - Past

Dreams disturbed her.  She knew they were dreams, and yet knowing lent her no power against them.  

She ran through the endless, twisting corridors of the Gui Imperial palace, running from a monster.  It was dark, looming, never quite taking shape in her peripheral vision. It chased her as she called frantically for Dorgide. It stalked her as she thrust aside the sliding doors and painted screens, searching for where they had laid his body, instinct crying out he was still alive--just waiting for her to revive him. Holding out for her arrival with gaping wounds and labored, wet breaths. 

Yet every room was empty, and the monster--the dark creature whose claws clicked and scratched shrilly against the paneled floor as it chased her--it thrust itself closer and closer till its hot breath brushed her neck and hands.

Frantic, her fingers fumbled to catch the first sliding doors she passed as she ran. Her momentum took her too far, and she crashed through the lattice of fine wood and paper. It shredded as she fell, ripping skin and cloth.  The creature loomed above her, tall and large as an archway, its feet planted facing inward, first one and then the other, shaking the floor on either side of her. 

She scrambled away, her boots losing purchase on slick, oiled paper and scattered detritus.  Yet still she ran, and the thing followed with a roar that reverberated through her chest cavity and disrupted her heart's cadence like a sonorous ripple of terror.

At least it would not find Ojombi. She'd hidden him, and even now she lead the monster away from him. Ojombi, at least, would be safe, and that knowledge was a grim satisfaction running counterpoint to her fear.

Then, suddenly, in the way of nightmares, there were no more doors, no more screens, just walls, heavy and thick around her, as if in answer to her secret. 

Trapped, she spun with the unstrung bow suddenly in her hand to face the monster she knew she could not conquer.

Not alone.

Yet as she whirled, her fingers brushed fur and a wet nose. When she looked down--just a glance, she was going to die whether she looked away or not--a red dog stood by her side. He was tall, lean, and snarling, facing whatever creature it was.  She still could not bear to look directly.

Then, somewhere in the distance, a vixen yipped. When the red dog threw back his head to howl a battle cry, tears stung Ilha's eyes and her pulse skipped.

Not alone. She was not alone.