I watched as the rain poured down the gutters of the overhang. The city seemed lonely at night. The puddles glistened in the lantern light, reflecting only the grey, mournful buildings. People had fled inside to find safety from the crashing rain and whatever roamed the streets at night. A silhouette sauntered down the empty cobblestone road. As they entered the light of one of the lanterns, the shadow made place for a man clad in a long dark cloak adorned with a plethora of symbols. Symbols of which I don't even know. His scruffy beard told a story of at least a couple of months. His long dark hair, although protected from the rain by the hood of his cloak, was wet and fell like drapes across his gentle face. He didn't seem to care about the rain or the strong wind.
"Some weather, 'ey?" I said as the man passed the overhang of the entrance to The Cruel Heart Inn. The man slowed down for just a moment before he continued on his way without uttering a sound.
I finished my drink and turned around to make for my bedroom when suddenly I heard a rough voice calling me from behind.
"When in need, ask a stranger. So, here I am. Have you a place for me to stay the night?" I turned back around and saw the drenched but not yet drowning man standing in front of me.
"Depends on what you have to offer," I replied.
"Believe you me, I can be of service. I'm a Dreamstalker. The name's Ciaran," the man said with a grin. The water running down his face made his rough features smoother than they should be. I stepped closer to the man, and only then could I discern the many scars across his visage.
I had heard of Dreamstalkers before. Men and women who can enter the dreams of others and do what they do best: murder their slumber. It is said that when a Dreamstalker has entered your dream, you will never be able to dream again. Only nightmares would remain. This is why Dreamstalkers mostly chose to remain anonymous. This one, however, did not.
"Now, why would I want the service of a Dreamstalker? To scare off every guest at my inn?" I told him in a slightly annoyed tone. Ciaran didn't phase. His eyes stared back into mine, and I felt a chill running down my spine. An uneasy feeling washed over me as I contemplated the outcomes of both letting him in and denying him entry.
"Perhaps I can separate the rotten apples from the ripe ones. Certainly, there are some remorseful people in your fine establishment, no?" Ciaran coldly replied.
The rain filled the momentary silence between us.
"Just… stay out of my dreams," I told him with a sigh as I stepped aside to grant him passage inside.
"If that's the only thing you ask of me, I'm happy to oblige," Ciaran said as he walked up the steps towards the entrance.
The heavy oak door groaned and creaked as it opened. Silence fell as the guests saw a curiously clothed man enter before I did. Questions burned in the eyes that watched Ciaran walk in, as if the place were abandoned. He made his way to the bar at the back of the parlour and granted himself a seat.
"Thy finest whisky. And make it a double. I need to sleep well tonight," Ciaran demanded. The bartender hesitated and looked over at me. I held his stare for a few seconds and nodded.
"Ladies, gents, my good deed for today: sheltering this man from the awful weather. Let it be known that everyone and anyone is welcome at The Cruel Heart Inn! We're not so cruel after all!" The people cheered, and the music started playing again. I made my way up to Ciaran and sat down next to him.
"That's one way of pleasing the folk," Ciaran said.
"It's not every day we see a man with your taste in dressage come in," I replied.
"Maybe you should extend your audience. Who knows, your guests might even stay longer than a night."
"Whatever do you mean? My target audience is my own people. I shan't abandon my family–"
"Family? Is that what you call these so-called high-class nepotists? Perhaps I was wrong about you."
Ciaran stood up from his stool and started for the stairs leading towards the guestrooms. "So, where do I stay the night?"
"Pick a room. The locked ones are rented out. I hope you enjoy your stay," I said as I watched Ciaran creep up the stairs and disappear into the dark hallway on the first floor. I had honestly hoped he didn't hear The Sylent Song that night.
I finished my drink and set the glass down on the counter with more vigour than I meant. I felt tired and wanted to make my way to my chambers. The bartender looked up and asked if I wanted another. I wanted to lift my hand and shake my head to signal him no when I heard a chair scrape across the wooden boards. I turned around and saw Ciaran setting up two chairs across from each other. He sat down on one, put his feet on the other and slid down to what seemed to him a comfortable position.
"It would seem the beds are not to your liking. Am I allowed to ask, however, why the chairs and not the divan?" I asked Ciaran.
"Sleeping while sitting upright makes a person more aware of his surroundings. The sleep is lighter, but The Sylent Song can still be heard," he replied as he shut his eyes.
"Curious," I said.
"How so?"
"I thought Dreamstalkers did not believe in higher powers other than themselves."
"Those are nothing more than fairytales, I'm afraid. How do you think we get our gifts? Are dreams just a figment of your imagination, or do they have a deeper meaning?" Ciaran opened his eyes. "What makes you dream at night?"
"The Evanescent, of course," I replied.
"Are you sure those are dreams?" Ciaran asked with a serious yet slightly annoyed tone.
"I tend to see those when I'm sleeping, so the obvious answer will be yes. Somehow, I have a feeling you are going to try to prove me wrong." I replied.
Ciaran closed his eyes and slid further down the chairs.
"Not tonight… but in due time, I will."
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A barren land stretches in front of me. The ashes of the burning buildings scatter across the usually colourful fields of flowers, painting them an ashen grey. The only colour visible is the orange-red from the flames devouring the city of Ashmere. In my hand, I hold a torch that burns with the same orange-red glow, yet it emits no heat.
I drop the torch as I realise that it was the very thing that set the city ablaze. I turn around and try to run back towards the city walls, every step faster than the last one. The faster I run, the further the walls seem to drift away. Yet, I still push forward.
Every step seems to hurt as I trample the ashen flowers underneath my feet. My lungs fill with the ashes of the dead and dying.
I can't breathe…
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I woke up with a startle. I breathed in a long and heavy breath and let my eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding me. I found myself in my own chambers. Everything was as it was left before I heard The Sylent Song. I made my way to the side of my bed and sat on the edge. My feet dangled over the edge, and I looked for the slippers I had left on the high-pile carpet. I slipped into my bathrobe, looked for the candle I had left on my pedestal desk and struck a match to light it. In the soft glow of the candle, I made for the door and down the hallway for my routine night walk. I came across open doors of vacant rooms, past locked doors where my guests were sleeping, just to end up at the balustrade overlooking the parlour. I looked down where I knew the Dreamwalker should have been, but the darkness was impenetrable to the fickle flame of the candle I held in my hand.
I stared into the dark as I made my way to the central staircase, going down, slowly illuminating my path.
As I reached the last step of the staircase, my candle lit up the parlour. I should have been able to see Ciaran, but I could not.
I slowly moved closer, every step ensuring me that I should be able to see him, but all I could see was a stain of pure darkness. No light, no sound. My heart raced, and my mind could not even begin to comprehend what was at work here. Curious as I was, I reached out towards the bauble of nothingness, trying to come to terms with what my eyes registered. My hands inched toward whatever this rift might be. I was awoken from my trance as I heard a scream coming from one of the guest rooms.
I dropped the candle and hurried upstairs and down the long hallway. At the end, as I closed in, a door swung open and an amalgamation of bright light and utter darkness seeped from the doorway. A woman emerged from the sea of light and dark, hurrying over to me.
"Help him! He's being taken! The Twins! They came for him!" The woman screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Calm down, madam. I'll go and see if–"
I stopped mid-sentence as I saw the silhouette of a hand with elongated, bone-like fingers shrouded in pure darkness wrapped around the doorframe, slowly followed by what seemed to be a face. I turned to the woman and told her to go downstairs and outside.
"Whatever you see on your way out, do not hesitate and keep moving," I told her without breaking eye contact. The woman nodded nervously, and I turned back towards whatever might be lurking in that doorway. "I'll be right behind you. Now, go!"
I followed the woman down the stairs, telling her repeatedly to hurry. As we entered the parlour, I told her to exit the building and find another place to stay the night.
"I can't guarantee your safety right here and now," I said as I turned my gaze towards the black stain where the Dreamstalker should be. "Go, and don't look back."
The woman shuddered in fear, took a few steps back and turned around to make for the heavy oak doors. As she opened them, the silence in the parlour was broken by the creaking and groaning of the hinges. The sounds of heavy rain falling outside rhythmically faded as the door slowly closed.
The black stain in front of me hadn't shrunk or grown. I found myself staring into utter darkness, again as if it was calling me.
"Ciaran," I whispered.
"Ciaran," a bit louder this time.
"Ciaran!" I yelled.
"CIARAN!" I screamed. My voice drowned in the darkness. I reached out my hand towards the black bauble again, but this time I could feel a strange, captivating sensation. My arm stretched out, and I slowly took a step forward so that my fingers touched the darkness in a way I couldn't accurately describe.
I gasped for air as a hand emerged from the sea of nothingness and clutched my arm, pulling me inside the stain of shadows. The darkness washed over me as if I stepped into a warm bath. Sounds and sights outside the darkness were distorted and crooked.
"Hush, Killian. Don't try to fight the dark. It helps you hide from them," a familiar rough voice fell on my ears. I tried to look around but could see naught but pure blackness.
"Your eyes won't work here, Killian. You might as well close them."
I closed my eyes, and from the darkness, light started to form. The light started to form colours. From colour images and from images, Ciaran.
"How can I see you with my eyes closed? And how do you know my name?" I asked Ciaran.
"Have you already forgotten what I am, Killian?" Ciaran asked.
"A Dreamstalker… but I was awake just moments ago. How are you in my dream if I'm not even dreaming yet?"
"Who says you are dreaming? You don't know the full extent of a Dreamstalker's abilities."
"One of which is instant sleep? Or paralysis? Maybe even conjuring up a dome of darkness to conceal yourself from creatures otherworldly?"
"That creature you saw is not from another world. It was The Veiled One."
"Great, one delusion after another. One of The Twins?! Have you gone mad?!"
"I wish it were madness. Alas, I am not blessed with it. If the truth is too much for you to handle, then let go of my arm," Ciaran said as he pointed to me. I looked down and I found myself holding onto an ethereal arm. I tried to let go, but the arm clung on to me as if its life depended on it. I realised that if I let go, The Veiled One might come after me next, since I had seen its face.
"I… can't let go," I said.
"I know," Ciaran said. "I am keeping you inside the darkness for your own safety. When dawn comes, the sphere shall be dispelled. Until then, sweet dreams."
"With you in them? I'd rather not."
"Worry not. As long as we are both in the sphere, I cannot alter your dreams or nightmares. You will be on your own."
Ciaran turned around and wandered off into the distance, fading with each step he took. I was alone now. Alone in a sphere of darkness, forced to dream a lonely dream.
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A barren land stretches in front of me. The ashes of the burning buildings scatter across the usually colourful fields of flowers, painting them an ashen grey. The only colour visible is the orange-red from the flames devouring the city of Ashmere. In my hand, I hold a torch that burns with the same orange-red glow, yet it emits no heat.
I feel as if I've been here before. I've walked these fields, and I've seen the city burn. Is this my future?
I remember running towards the city, trying to save it. I turn around and start off in the other direction. Walking pace at first, but speeding up step by painful step.
Every step seems to hurt as I trample the ashen flowers underneath my feet. My lungs fill with the ashes of the dead and dying. The torch starts to radiate heat. The ashes I breathe begin to burn my lungs and soon…
I can't breathe…
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The warmth of a god ray falling through one of the stained glass windows awakened me. I slowly opened my eyes and found myself lying on one of the divans in the parlour. I looked around, confused. The Dreamstalker that was here last night set the chairs back in their original position. I got up and walked towards the bar. My mouth was as dry as the scorching summer heat. I needed some water to quench my thirst, but my eye caught something that wasn't there yestereve. A note sat on the far end of the bar. I walked over and picked it up to read it. Instantly, I noticed that the handwriting wasn't something I'd seen before. It reads the following:
To Killian,
The Twins were the last of your worries. Dreamstalkers are out there not to save the people, but to end them. Be careful who you invite to your establishment, or you could be next.
If you want to know more, the Pantheon illuminates your path to cross the bridge between the mortal world and the ethereal realm.
Ciaran