Wylde Magic | Book 3

Forty Five: Dreaming In Riddles (part 2)

Floating.

Floating, and dreaming.

It was odd to recognize that I was having a dream at all. Usually I didn't know I was dreaming until I'd already woken up. But the sensation of warmth and love radiated around me. Was it because I had fallen asleep surrounded by my triquetram, or was it because I was now in the hands of the Mother?

I was high in the sky, stars sparkling around me in the dark sky. The dark velvet around me lit up as I fell gently down, and instead of staring above into the sea of stars I twisted my body to look below.

Trees as far as the eyes could see were below. Familiar trees. Autumn trees.

And a distance away, a blazing fire was the sole event to be seen. My heart tightened. What did that mean?

I floated down and towards the flames. As I was brought closer to it, I could see the familiar shape of Thanantholl. The high cliffs that protected it were crumbling. The waters that streamed through the cracks of the city were filled with the dead as the trees and buildings of the city crumbled.

"No." My protest was barely a breath as a tear slipped down my cheek, dripping off my chin to land in the flames far below. I reached out, trying desperately to pull myself forward in the emptiness I floated in, but nothing worked.

"Where are they?" I was screaming now. "Where is the resistance? Where are the Autumn warriors?"

The fire below flashed brightly, blinding me as I threw my hands before my eyes. When it faded, I was yanked down closer to the city. In a giant rush, the fire fizzled down to nothing but ashes in the empty husk of Thanantholl.

I was allowed on my feet, dropping gently until my boots hit the cobbled stones of Pearl Street. I spun around, looking for life.

The shop where I bought my tea from the mute dryad was nothing but a pile of ash with the twisted metal remains of the steel tables and chairs. Schula's favorite tailoring shop fared better, but the bodies of the mistress and her assistant lay in the street. The fountain near the middle where I walked with my friends and ate lunch and watched the passers bye, it was empty and cracked, never to bubble to life again.

I balled my fists at my side, glaring up at the silent starry sky.

"Where are they?" I screamed again. Was this truly the Mother's vision for me? Or was it a crueler trick?

Marching. Stomping. Beating of feet in unison.

I turned again and I was no longer on Pearl Street, but instead I was at the front gates. The Winter army marched. Their risen dead and the living soldiers marched shoulder to shoulder, looking straight ahead with empty eyes. Ice crept under their feet as they came in, ushering in a fog of cold winter chill.

I reached out to stop them, push my fire against the front of the marching line, but nothing came out. I tried pulling from myself, pulling from around me as the witches do, but nothing came.

When my flames failed, I ran forward and pushed at the marching Winter force. The fae in the front, a broad male with blue skin and a sword, still stared lifelessly as he marched through the gate. I pushed at him, throwing my whole body at him, but he moved forward unaffected. 

I fell into the street, brushed aside as the army marched into Thanantholl. I couldn't do anything to him. To any of them. I may as well have been an ant pushing a tree for all the good it did.

I stood and ran forward. I met the front of the line again, looking to where they were going. Straight to the grotto, to the palace.

"No... Mother!" I screamed, reaching up to the sky. "Tell me that Thanantholl doesn't fall! It can't! I... we fought so hard for it!"