CW:

black eck and goopy Reavers and more Awnya POVs

I move through at least fourteen rifts before I find their songs again.

Honestly, I’m lucky to have been able to narrow it down this much. There is nearly an eternity of bubbles of solid ground within the Dream, and even if most of them are blighted wastes, tracking these Reavers and their watcher took every lesson my elders taught me.

It is a thing of howling storms and cracking horrors, this rift of storms.

Large abandoned stone structures jutting from an endless sea that can do nothing else but brace themselves against the dream’s growling fury. Cut rock and rickety driftwood bridges connecting chaotic pathways between the spires.

I expect their trail to stutter out here, lost amidst this cacophony, but… no. It’s a light betwixt rage and wroth…

That worries me. Almost… seems intentional.

I draw my blade, begin to murmur my litanies of concealment, and proceed around this trail like a hawk. Circling around and through it, I find myself at times needing to navigate unnecessary towers and tunnels to avoid following the direct route. The walls wail of power lost and untangled from its maker's grasp, of ancient madness and worse things at the foundations of this blighted rift.

But then I catch the stench of Theradas spices and know I am very very close.

This last room is large, a perfect dome carved from the edge of a castle. Its ceiling is cracked on one side and opens to a sea slaughtering a storm. Its center is dominated by a large perfectly cut circular chasm.

Along each wall sits endless bookshelves, and while most of their tomes are long rotted and gone, many sit unmoved by the dream’s passing. Ugly terrible things crafted of flesh and worse. Beneath their covers I can hear the wailing of parasites that scream for freedom. Pleading for new minds to worm themselves into and lay their wretched eggs.

These dream stirrings may be lost and contained here, but caution is never a bad idea. So I add a whistling tune of peace to my melody. And as I finish descending the steps, I spot them.

The big cunt sits on a piece of fallen stone beside the chasm, focus transfixed on some small piece of jewelry in her hand. While her side bitch with the bow stands at her back.

No sign of the watcher, no sign of Lyra.

Thendra seems to… well not perk up. But shift. A host aware but waiting for their guest to speak. The other turns to face the door in a curious gesture.

I want to growl, but… for Lyra I will keep this as peaceful for now. I just hope… hope that the lack of her song trails in this rift are a good sign.

And I need to have a few more words with this Dreamer Blighted Cunt.

I pour some Amwella into my blade, and allow my songs to fade as I speak. “Where’s Lyra?”

A long pause, punctuated by a few cracks of the storms ever death raging outside. Jade eye flit over to me, calm. Brow furrows in a sort of… polite confusion that doesn’t feel real.

“Spending time among the Fae.” She purrs.

My lip twitches, almost a snarl. “She left in a bit of a mood, is she here with you? Did you bring her to this place?”

Thendra smiles, a knowing thing. “If I wanted her here she would be at my side.”

I take a deep breath. “She left with the watcher, Tretion. Where is her home?”

Thendra thrums laughter. “An ancient manor settled between rifts. Impossible to reach except by those who have stood at its doorstep.”

A pause. I… huh. Well that’s both annoying… and… ugh I hate it but Tretion will take care of Lyra.

And if no one can reach her till she’s ready to leave… That’s… not horrible.

“Is there anything else I can provide you?” She murmurs, eyes drifting back to the chasm. Which I now see is filled with… Eck some kind of black guck that reeks of… something. Not blight or rot. But… gross. “You find me away from my estate. Unable to play the role of gracious host.”

I glance around. “Gotta say big girl… seeing you here is definitely on that list of things that worry me. You’re not bringing anything too… dream stiry back are you? Dooon’t think that would be wise.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Thendra purrs. “Only Reavers, and you, will leave this room and rift.”

“Alright…” I drawl, flitting my blade about. “So what are you doing here?”

The black eck bubbles a bit. And I can’t help but begin a subtle melody of focus and calm. My harmony on the edge of a spike of body rush to help me move in a hurry.

“Waiting for my Reavers to return to me.” She hums as she closes her hand around what I now can tell is a ring.

Against all training and better judgment I activate my Amwella sight. And get to watch as those bubbles pop and stir. Arms and limbs and rippling soulfire begin to break the surface.

Ten tall women, skin pitch and steaming with the fire of fresh creation, rise from the black muck. Souls and eyes alight with hunger and focus.

Some are bald, but… I can’t help but flinch as a few dozen eyestalks rise up to regard Thendra. The Reaver at her back stands silent and stoic with her bow.

The most horrifying part? All very very quiet. No sound of slurping liquid, no growls, no songs, just… quiet birth.

“What is this!?!” I hiss and raise my blade.

“Peace, Fae.” Thendra purrs, but does not rise as her new brood crawls from the chasm. Black goo seems to fade and pass into nothing as they move to sit on the granite around her. None even look at me as they shake themselves.

It’s then that I notice… huh. Thendra’s soul seems… well still huge. Way bigger than these new Reavers, but… smaller. Then I watch as a single tendril of her Amwella pulls free of the muck, then settles back amidst her dancing clusters.

Then an even more horrible thought hits me. “Thendra… what happened to the watcher you brought with you?”

She just… smiles.

I let the anger and fury bleed into my little songs, forcing the melody thrum with the weight of the storm clouds. “What did you do?”

A purring laugh, low and without even a hint of worry. “Bearing a sudden love for the Matron’s brood?”

“You know blighted well why I’m asking!” I shout.

Thendra sighs, “No, Fae. This is not for her, nor any of your kind.”

“How can I trust that?”

“Would I not have brought her with me today if it was?”

I hesitate. Not sensing a lie in her words. Then turn off my Amwella sight, look around. “I… Thendra what is this? These books reek with contained blight, but… not that pool, none of you either…”

“I wouldn’t touch those old things,” Then she’s rising, purring a command. The Reavers stand. “Now… let’s discuss my Lyra. I suspect her visit went poorly?”

I bristle at the possessive words as I twitch back, considering… “That’s one way to phrase it.”

Thendra looks out toward the storm. Purrs a soft thing. “Let’s return to Theradas. There I can be a good host.”

* * *

Good talon rests on the glowing runes of the gateway, Tretion’s cool hand atop it. She murmurs a few nonsense words while the glyphs pulse and hum. A song that used to bother my eyes and ears turns soft and friendly. Resonates in perfect harmony to a Fae word I already know…

Home.

“There.” She murmurs. “It will open for you now.”

She draws her hand back, but… only to rest on my back as she stands behind me. Then, with a little effort of will, I focus. The hard unbreakable stone flickers, then vanishes. Revealing the small damp chamber behind.

Neither of us move. I just stare at the blade that still rests on the floor.

Two of my Naranggas still cling to her, unwilling to pull free even as she helped me dress and brought me back here. So I can feel the conflict between her words and emotions.

“It’s almost sunrise.” Her lips whisper while her Amwella shivers and wriggles in worry.

No movement, her hand finds my good talon, squeezes it. Not… not in a possessive way, not as if to hold me here, just… to convey some complex things at the edge of her despair.

She’d promised to take me back when I awoke again. Swore to remain at my side for as long as I needed, and was certain the curse would satiate Thendra’s annoyances at having another guest in her manor. Or… if I was tired of her, she would wait here as my beloved bound.

I couldn’t stop the tears then, wanted to beg her to just… forget about me!

Find a better happiness than I can give!

But the words of her lips matched the dedication etched across her soul, and I could no more try and change them that reweave the stars.

The silence has stretched, enough that I can imagine Thendra’s displeasure beginning to scorch my soul.

But…

“The Fae… they won’t stop.” I murmur. “And… and we only barely survived the last time they came for me.”

Both hands take my talon then, Amwella hardens in support. A lover promising to face my fears with me.

“But…” I can’t stop my voice from cracking a bit. “But If I stay away, then… They won’t have a reason to return. They’ll leave Thendra alone.”

And Awnya can… she can focus on helping her father.

Will forget about the messed up Fae girl she found trying to riftwalk.

A sudden glimmer, a reflection of hope dances across the soul I cling to. She doesn’t speak. Not when everything she desires balances at the edge of such a dangerous chasm.

Have to be certain though. I Won’t… won’t risk this wondrous watcher’s life and soul again!

“You said no one else could come here?” I close my eyes and just… focus. Need to feel the truth in her answer.

The glimmer is refracted, now a wash of furious light that is beginning to reach every part of her Amwella.

“If my mother, grandmother, or cousin Zitra still lived, then they could come and go as they pleased.” She whispers with such control, fighting so hard to keep the glacial tide of her emotions out of her voice. “But… No. This manor was specifically kept as a sort of… safe house. A place for our kind to use as a last bastion if our enemies overwhelmed us. Given to me to manage in exile as our family grew to such strength that such a thing was believed impossible.”

“What about Fae songs? Or… or something like Furthonois?”

She laughs, “Worse things have tried. No. Our manor drifts in the endless oceans between the rifts. It’s less a matter of strength than finding a single grain of sand in the pitched depths of a toxic sea.”

Our manor. I can’t stop a tremble at her words and certainty.

“Okay.” I whisper.

A pause, and spark of ignited hope in her soul.

“Okay?”

I wave blighted talon, exert a bit of will, and turn to hug her as the gateway solidifies.

The elation of her soul at my unspoken decision nearly drowns me.

* * *

“You’re sure you told her sunrise?” I hiss, looking out at the open street again.

I stand outside Thendra’s blighted manor with the big cunt herself. It’s well past midday now, and I’ve asked that question a dozen times already. Thendra didn’t reply to the others either, and she doesn’t care to make even a sound now. I turn to glare back at her annoyed Jade eyes.

At me or Lyra… I’m not sure.

Probably both.

I told her the barest basics of what happened in the Twilight Court. We adjusted the curses, got a few other Fae to help settle things. An old mentor of mine has taken over their care and will check on my work every few days here at the start.

Less if Lyra improves.

“So why did my Lyra flee?” Thendra had purred, like she already knew the answer.

I had sighed. “Everyone was… kinda freaking out. Our initial attempts went poorly. Tretion pulled her out when things started to escalate.”

Otherwise we’ve not spoken much as we wait.

I spit, trying again to get the foul taste of this city out of my mouth. “How can I contact this watcher?”

A long pause as the Reaver considers. “Previously, I had left a message with one of her kin, requesting they pass it on when next Tretion left her manor to visit.”

“Wonderful.” I hiss. Tretion's house is like… having a home buried at the bottom of an ocean. Impossible to swim to and even more impossible to riftwalk to unless you already know where it’s at!

Another long pause. I huff. Find myself… conflicted. On one side of my soul I scream to find her again. To… to apologize and… and tell her that she is perfect and doesn’t need fixing, only… only healing.

The other part of me… the quiet thing of sadness at seeing what this dream has laid upon her life. Wishes for Tretion to offer her the healing I didn’t. To… to keep her manor sealed to all outsiders.

To draw Lyra into years of smothering love and endless affections she so desperately needs.

I could see the watcher’s desires for those things. And… I hope they are mirrored in my lover’s soul.

But… I’d need to speak with Melivias about this. She won’t be happy to hear that Lyra’s hiding between the rifts.

Even if it turns out to be the best thing for the girl.

I fiddle at my blade’s hilt. “Who was this watcher that helped you contact Tretion?”