The Dream Walker (Forgotten Legacies Book 4)

Book summary

"The Dream Walker" delves into a world where prophecies and shadowy manipulations have culminated in the return of The Father of Nightmares. Once thought to be weakened in The Forest of The Epiales, this formidable entity instead finds strength and the means for potential triumph. As darkness threatens to engulf the world, ancient spirits, forgotten races, and sealed powers must rally together. This epic tale is a desperate struggle against encroaching darkness, where failure could mean the end of all hope.

Excerpt from The Dream Walker (Forgotten Legacies Book 4)

Chapter One - The Earth Maiden 

It had been so long, too long, since last he had traversed this realm. Even in this ethereal form the world made way for his presence. Shadows wrapped around him, casting haunting images on scarcely lit walls. The sounds of the wind chasing fallen leaves through the streets warped into haunting whispers. The murmurs stilled as parents ran into the room of their screaming child, offering false reassurances that there were no such thing as monsters; that the long fingers they had seen stretching across towards their bed were nothing more than the moon’s light playing tricks through the heavy branches of the surrounding trees. Yet they too would startle when the wind began anew, sending the tree branches to claw at the windows as if to gain entry.

Íkelos watched from darkened paths and shadowed nooks as those on patrol would raise their collars, shuddering against the chill of his eyes upon them. These were people wise enough to still fear the dark, and all things that walked within. They raised their lanterns to drive back the shadows, not comforted by flawed explanations of inexplicable phenomenon. Those of instinct, of true courage, knew there were things no man could explain away with logic. Monsters were real.

While his name had long been forgotten by those of this plane, it would soon be on each of their lips. It would be spoken with a fear and reverence owed to one who was known as the Father of Nightmares. For too long he had been nothing more than a prisoner who sent his Epiales across the boundaries and into Darrienia to haunt the dreams of those he could ensnare. Soon he would have everything he needed and those who would stand against him were still oblivious to the threat. By the time they realised, it would already be too late. Boundaries were no longer a concern and the world would atone for how far it had strayed.

The Mystics should have ensured his destruction when they had the chance. Their act of cruelty in preserving him would return to haunt them. He would achieve the task for which he was born and so much more. They had given him time, and time had given him the means to achieve his ambitions.

He flitted through the shadows, seeking the bait needed to ensure his prey had no choice but to don the mantle she was born for. The dawn of his return was imminent and with it would come the birth of a new era. For so long he had guided the path from the shadows, influenced dreams and the flow of history.

Now was the moment to release the shadows of his exile and once more feel the touch of light, and with him he would bring a darkness so old even the gods once feared it.

* * *

Xantara sighed in nervous frustration as she pulled and tugged at her unyielding hair. The darkening circles beneath her brown eyes told tales of her restless nights. She glared critically at the exhausted looking reflection, startling slightly as her handmaid snatched the brush from her grasp with a pained sigh.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the motherly touch as Guinevere separated her hair with skilled hands. She wove and threaded several brown strands into a beautiful half-braid, adorned with silvery-white flowers and hand-dyed golden thread that cascaded down the length of her hair.

“Come now, child, you mustn’t keep him waiting,” Guinevere warned, adding an extra dusting of gold powder around the young woman’s eyes, hoping to mask the dark rings. “This way, come. Dawn is almost upon us and you’re not even dressed.”

Stifling a yawn, Xantara allowed herself to be escorted across the room where a bodice woven of vines and leaves awaited. With short, quick adjustments it was secured into place to hug her slender figure tightly. She was led in a daze through various sections of the room; each brief pause added layers onto her garments until only a spray of leaves remained. Stepping to their centre she raised her arms allowing Guinevere to secure the arrangement at her waist, where the weave ensured the delicate composition cascaded like an elegant ball gown. “You are still sleeping poorly?” she ventured, trying to bring the young woman’s focus back from wherever her mind had strayed. Her effort was rewarded with a slight nod.

It had only been four days since the unnatural sleep had claimed the health of the current Maiden. Even now, Leona lay comatose, unreachable by magic or stimuli. Such an aliment had caused panic. Kerõs was renowned for its healers, and yet even they could not discover the cause for the unusual slumber. It was during this time of disarray Xantara had agreed to take on the role of leader prematurely, if their guardian accepted her.

Kerõs’ residents were blessed by the Earth Spirit, and it was through him they received their healing artes. The village’s ruler, a woman of exceptional talent and grace chosen by the people, held the title of Maiden. The rites and rituals she performed acted like a beacon for his energy, allowing him to bless them with his gifts and boons without having to be in their presence. Until Xantara’s birth, no one could remember a time when their guardian had chosen a person to lead them. They recognised its significance from ancient fables, and knew she would be granted insight and blessings unknown to any who bore the mantle before her.

Whilst she was almost twenty-one, there were those who still considered her too young to accept the responsibilities. However, Kerõs could not be without an active Maiden for long or the enchantments bestowing the guardian’s blessings upon them would fade, and so too would his own strength.

For days prior to Leona’s illness, Xantara had been suffering nightmares. At first, she thought they had been signs, a warning she should have understood in order to prevent the Maiden’s illness. However, when the nightmares continued she could discern no meaning. Day and night she felt as if someone, or something, was watching her. She swore she had felt their breath upon her as she slept, but as she startled awake her stalker would be nowhere to be seen. More than once she had cried out, believing the wind through the curtains had been the shifting of a figure. With each passing day the feelings of foreboding had grown. She saw movement in the flickering of every shadow and dared not sleep in case the figure returned.

“Quickly now, the sun is rising.” Guinevere’s voice pulled her from her concerns, kindling fresh nervous flutters in the pit of her stomach. Today she would take her place as the priestess of this town, and formally accept the mantle of Earth Maiden from the sacred creature who protected their village.

The morning air seemed unseasonably warm upon her cool flesh as she began her slow walk through the town towards the forest. Everything was still. Barely audible against the tense silence, she could hear the birds singing quietly in a soft harmonious chorus along with the frogs and crickets. People peered from their shuttered windows, hoping to glimpse their priestess, but no one would dare stray outside. Even being close to her could taint her, or cause disquiet to her mind. Only the selected handmaiden could be in her attendance since the purification first began, and even she could not taint the ground with her presence as Xantara made her slow procession.

With each step her apprehension built. She tried to recall all she had been told about their guardian. He was now the last embodiment of earthen elemental magic. As time had passed, his brethren, and those of the other Great Spirits, had all reduced in numbers until but one for each element remained living. He had accepted his isolation, knowing that to appear freely before others would see his demise and the imbalance of nature. He had founded this village, a place where he could bestow his boons upon choice few while he waited for his Maiden to be born. She was his spiritual companion, but as centuries passed her presence had never appeared. It was said he had feared her essence was lost, until the day Xantara had been born. This was the first time he had appeared before a gathering, and it was a tale still spoken about today.

Before undertaking this role, Xantara had needed to spend two days from dawn to dusk in prayer and purification, disturbed by no one whilst he observed from the light. Just as creatures of darkness hid in shadows, creatures of purity were concealed by the light. Once he had been certain he could accept her, he answered her request. At long last he would take that which was his and share with her a gift known only to his one true Maiden.

Xantara meandered, her pace slowing as her nerves rose. The grass felt like silk beneath her bare feet and her skin prickled with fear as her gaze fell upon the large circle of flowers within a small sheltered clearing. She was familiar with everything inside their forest’s boundary, and yet, these flowers were unknown to her. They were an unusual midnight blue in colour and appeared to have been spun from light and silk. The air was heavy with their intoxicating scent, a fragrance which caused her heart to pound and her head to grow light. As she approached the boundary the green leaves weaving her dress began to alter, turning to autumnal shades. Whispering a quick blessing, she took a deep breath before stepping within the circle as her vision had instructed. She knelt in its centre, trying to calm herself as her dress continued to change and the leaves shed to reveal her freckled flesh.

When she heard the whinny of the beast, she felt as if she were both awake and within a dream. Her eyes opened, revealing a world that was both spiritual and corporeal. A white mist rose from the ground outside the flowers, twisting and distorting as if brushed by an invisible presence. Slowly it began to thicken, centring around a single location, seeming almost solid as a figure emerged. Still in motion, the creature continued to circle the boundary of flowers until its form became solid and she beheld, for the first time, his true splendour.

His hooves were the first part to be freed from the mist. Never had she seen an animal with a golden hoof wall, nor one whose skin was so pure white it seemed almost aglow. Each time one of his hooves met with the earth, flowers bloomed at his feet. Her eyes traced up his powerful, muscular legs, her breath quickening in fear and awe as her own brown eyes met with the creature’s. His silver mane seemed to be spun from fine weaves of silken thread, parting only where the magnificent horn of gold and ivory twisted from his forehead.

Her stomach tightened and, for a moment as her head spun and she gasped for breath, she wondered if she would faint. She had been told by the current priestess of the wonder and beauty of this majestic creature, but words alone had not been enough to prepare her. She knelt, transfixed, unable to breathe as he moved to look down upon her. It was only then she realised he was still within his spirit form, and fine wisps of his silky mane faded into a light mist similar to that he had emerged from.

The figure became enshrouded in mist once more as his hoof passed over the blue flower border to enter the circle. As it touched the grass Xantara gasped as the haze cleared to reveal the figure of a man. His hair was the same long, spun silk that had made up the guardian’s mane. Looking upon him she felt her body tremble.

He walked with the same grace and, just as it had before, beneath his human feet life bloomed. His eyes met hers and once again she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Her neckline, now visible through the shedding leaves of her garment, mirrored the flushed colour of her embarrassment. She understood what would follow, what being his true Maiden entailed. Taking a breath, she prepared herself for his touch.

* * *

Zoella sat on the bed plaiting her daughter’s rich, auburn hair while the six-year-old squirmed and protested. She voiced her most adamant objections, insisting she was a grown-up and far too old to need an afternoon nap. Screwing her face tightly into a pout, she almost succeeded in suppressing the building yawn. Zo looked at her daughter in the mirror, which hung on the adjacent wall, with a gentle smile lifting the corner of her lips. She could see so much of her husband in Alana. However, her striking blue eyes, currently welled with tears barely being held back by her thick, dark lashes, were a trait from her side of the family. Scooping her up tenderly Zo lay her daughter down, wrapping the soft burgundy covers around her.

“But—”

“But nothing.” Zo tried to disguise the smile, knowing there were few within Crystenia who could resist such a look. She fought harder to suppress it as she felt Seiken’s presence lingering in the doorway. “Even Rowmeow, the elder of all Oneirois, takes several naps throughout the day, and he is the oldest and wisest of us all,” she asserted, playfully tapping her daughter’s nose.

“Really?” she quizzed, pretending to hide her face to disguise the fact she was rubbing her eyes.

“Really,” Zo declared firmly. Alana frowned, pursing her lips as she seemed to think on this for a moment before allowing her drooping eyelids to close. Feeling the soothing sensation of Seiken’s hand upon the small of her back, Zo turned, smiling warmly before they left the room, neither daring to speak a word until far beyond the child’s earshot.

“I was wondering how you felt about a visit to Misora this afternoon,” Seiken reached out taking his wife’s hand in his, “and perhaps a picnic?” He glanced fervently around, ensuring there was no one in the vicinity to hear his words. His lips turned up into a mischievous smile.

“Don’t you have to attend—”

“I briefly excused myself. It’s not my fault that my wife looks hungry. What kind of husband could I claim to be if I allowed my family to starve?” He offered her a charming smile, interlacing his fingers with hers before leading her down the corridor and into the magnificent gardens. He swiftly escorted her down the winding pathways, leaving her barely enough time to appreciate their splendour. Seiken was notorious for these spontaneous outings. Any moment now, Zo half expected one of the council members to step out before them. They knew by now whenever their prince sneaked away to tuck his daughter into bed, he somehow always seemed to lose his way back.

Seiken spun, wrapping his arms around Zo’s waist as he pulled her into the shelter of the nearby willows. He placed his lips to hers, silencing any protests that could have alerted the passersby he had sighted to their presence. He savoured her taste upon his lips long after the dark shadow of the Oneiroi had faded from sight. Only then did he release her, grinning childishly.

“You’re going to get into trouble,” she whispered, reaching out to brush a strand of his auburn hair from his brown eyes.

“I’ve barely seen you in weeks. I’m painfully aware how all-consuming the formation of this new ministry is. Surely they can’t begrudge me a few stolen moments with my wife.”

“And you know I understand how important it is. With everything that happened, first with Night, and then the unnatural energies crossing into our realm, we need to make sure our lands and its dreamers are safe. If that means for a short time I can’t see you as much, then it’s a price I will pay. Besides, we still don’t know what happened to those missing Outcasts.”

“Aidan and Jude?” Zoella nodded as Seiken's brow furrowed with concern.

“You know we need to find out, I—”

“You still feel responsible?”

“I asked Aidan to watch over Elly. Whatever happened, happened because he was with her. Surely you don’t think it’s a coincidence she was expelled from Darrienia, and only minutes later both Aidan and Jude’s cluster felt their energy vanish.”

“He volunteered for the task, from what you told me.” Seiken’s face grew serious for a moment, weighted with the pressure of his newest responsibilities. He shook his head, dislodging the intrusive thoughts. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her from the cover of the trees and towards the gate where the two Cynocephali, Fenyang and Abasi, stood eternal vigil. Zo called out a greeting to them as they rushed past and towards the portal which led below to the surface of Darrienia.

The tall cliffs sheltered a small untouched cove from the winds that chased across the ocean. This was but one of their hidden retreats, a place whose resting and unmanipulated form was the one they now beheld. Zo could see Seiken had warded against dreamers, something which implied he had been planning their visit a little longer than their impulsive sprint had suggested. A large beige blanket lay spread across the sand with a woven picnic basket upon its centre. Seeing all he had done for her, Zo kissed him gently.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered. Seiken guided her towards the shore where small pebbles tickled the sand trying to break free from the pull of the gentle waves. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. Eight years ago today we offered you a chance to return home, to your life and friends.” Zo’s vision turned towards the platinum ring upon her finger as he spoke. “I have never known such fear as that I felt thinking you would leave,” he admitted, taking her hand in his.

“That was never an option. My heart would have stilled had I betrayed it. It wants only you, now, forever, and always.”

Zo had not once regretted the decision to stay, and could imagine nothing that would make her do so. Not long after, Seiken finally mustered the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. She had accepted without delay, and later became one of only two Oneirois to conceive a child. Seiken had been the first to be born in Darrienia, and now their daughter, Alana, was the second.

Zo felt the warmth spreading through her as her eyes locked on Seiken’s. Even now she found it difficult to believe that, of all people, he had chosen her. He had said they were destined to be together, and the fact she survived the rite of claiming with her own will intact was a testament to that truth. Seiken had been reluctant to claim her. It was an archaic rite employed only by ancient gods. It had been a means to identify their devotees, and once claimed by soul manipulation—or psychíkinesis as it was commonly known—a person’s will was often no longer their own. Their every desire became solely about making the one who claimed them happy.

Seiken lay back on the blanket, raising his arm so Zo could lie beside him and rest her head upon his chest. She loved lying with him like this, simply the two of them together as she listened to the soothing sound of his powerful heartbeat. She knew she could stay in his embrace forever. She felt her eyes growing heavy, and soon the rhythmic beat of his heart lulled her to sleep and she did something no other Oneiroi could, she dreamt.

The steady tattoo of his heart reached into her dreams, becoming the drums of war. She turned full circle, but a blanket of darkness shrouded her vision. She was not alone. Another presence was here with her, watching. Movement flashed through obstructed sight, and agonising screams filled the blackened canvas, streaking the air and staining the dark clouds with crimson fury as an unseen assailant tore its way through the shadows.

‘See what your actions have wrought,’ whispered a voice. She felt the breath of something upon her neck, its pressure increasing until the breath became a wind and the dark clouds lifted to reveal a scene of carnage. Men, women, and children had been reduced to an amalgamation of twisted, unidentifiable limbs, strewn across a blood-stained field, and yet somehow she still heard their tormented screams. She startled, once more finding comfort in the familiar sound of her lover’s heart but, despite the security of his embrace, she could find no warmth.