Dream by the Shadows (Shadow Weaver Duology Book 1)

“What a wretched condition this castle is in,” Somnus observed, inspecting the Bringer’s chamber with a scornful eye. He lifted the edge of a ruined painting, its canvas ripped into long, oily shreds. Silver light ebbed from his fingertips and illuminated the paint. “A shame, considering the hope and wonder that were imbued in its mortar.”

He trailed around the broken pieces of the room, pausing every few steps to examine a shredded book or gouges clawed deep into the walls. Every movement was smooth, careful, effortless; refined over the course of centuries, his body carried itself with perfect precision.

Somnus was a ghost formed into life, a living specter of a man.

“You talk as though you built this place.” At Somnus’s inquisitive expression, I worked to retrace my statement. It was said Weavers created everything in the Realm, blending landscapes and simulated realities like they, too, were the Maker of their worlds. Some dreamers could alter pieces of their dreams, adding context or adjustments as their minds saw fit, but most dreams were the direct creation of the Weaver behind it. “I mean—”

“No. It is not of my creation; my domain rests elsewhere.” Somnus dropped the jeweled tapestry he was examining. It gleamed as it fell, curling over his pointed boot. “But you think it is beautiful, do you not? Even in its ruin, I forget how grandiose the Realm appears to a dreamer. And this castle is merely one thread within the Realm entirety.”

I didn’t respond, holding my arms close.

“Dreams have become fickle, shadowed things. To truly dream—” he paused, his depthless gaze narrowing. It was clear he wasn’t satisfied with my silence. “Surely it is exquisite in your eyes.”

“It is beautiful,” I admitted, reluctant to specifically acknowledge the beauty of the Bringer’s castle. The Shadow Bringer was a mortal enemy of the Weavers; any affiliation with him here—beyond my chance appearance in it—was an enormous risk. I pretended to examine a flameless candelabra. “Though I’d prefer a bit of light.”

“Beauty can be found in darkness, dreamer. You needn’t be afraid of acknowledging your affiliation with the Shadow Bringer, even though he did cause quite the turmoil some five-hundred years ago.”

Oh, hell.

I whirled on Somnus. “You know what I’m thinking.”

He shrugged. “I merely witness impressions. Small shivers of emotion and belief.” He stared at me, all-knowing. Deadly. “But I am experienced enough to know what they mean.”

Realization crashed against me, heavy as the sea; Somnus wasn’t here to make small talk. to comment on the beauty of the Realm or the state of the Bringer’s castle. No—his eyes spoke of something deeper, deadlier. His posture reeked of bloodlust even amidst its grace.

“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?”

Somnus considered me for a moment, assessing the way I stood, the clench of my jaw, the shaking in my hands. “No, dreamer. I merely bore witness to the darkness escaping his castle, shattering what was left of his domain’s boundary. I thought I’d find him here, but all I see is you.”

“That’s because he isn’t here. I was tricked into taking his place.”

“That is the sole purpose for your presence here, then?” Somnus motioned around us—at the Bringer’s crumbling chamber, at the night leaking in through the uncurtained wall. “Because you took his place in the mortal world?”

“What else would I—”

“That is not the only reason you are here, dreamer.” Somnus pulled a weapon of his own from the fold of his robes. It was a blade forged from the night sky, its handle carved in onyx and ivory. Tiny stars danced along its edge. “Your purpose is beyond that. His purpose is beyond that. But a thousand darkened souls, freed? It is of incredible concern, considering they were contained here for nearly five-hundred years prior.”

I swallowed back the fear rising in my throat.

Where had they gone? What had I done ?

“I couldn’t stop them,” I whispered miserably.

Somnus approached, gliding silently across the stone. I thought he was positioning his body to attack, but he instead offered me his sword.

“A token from the Maker Himself.” I tensed, watching as the weapon rippled with power. Weaver or not, I had no idea what his intentions were. “Use it to channel the gifts you were given.”

When I made no move to take it, Somnus gently placed his hand over my own.

“Why do you hesitate?”

“Because I don’t understand why you’re offering it to me.”

“And I don’t discern why the Maker does what He does. I only act upon His command, trusting that He sees further than I.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Also, you are weak and fearful. You need a weapon if you wish to be of any consequence here.”

Well, then.

Color rose to my face as I accepted the blade, lifting it gingerly. Cool to the touch and thrumming with power, it felt no heavier than a small broomstick.

Somnus dipped his head in a small bow. “May it protect and guide you.”

“How is it meant to be used?” I asked, remembering the Bringer’s blade, a lethal thing of utter darkness, and Mithras’s, silver and burning with light. This sword felt different, somehow, and yet familiar in ways I couldn’t name.

“As any weapon is used. Be its bearer, and it will destroy you. Meld with it, and you will conquer.” He parted his hair and a curved sword emerged, its blade much like the fang of some enormous beast. “It can also be hidden on your person when not in use. Do you have a preference as to where?”

I thought for a moment, remembering how the Bringer had pulled his blade from his palm. An easy spot to access; it seemed as useful a spot as any.

“The palm of my hand.”

Somnus nodded, approval in his serpentine eyes. “Place the blade here—” He positioned the sword above the center of my palm, its point nearly piercing the flesh. “And use your will to command it under your skin.”

I did as he commanded, taking hold of the hilt and balancing it above my palm. I lowered the sword, slowly, carefully, imagining that it wasn’t a sword at all but a delicate breeze or a wisp of smoke. But I hesitated. So instead of passing through like smoke, it passed through very much like a regular sword would.

Definitely not like a delicate breeze.

“Maker’s light ,” I hissed, staunching the blood with my sleeve. “How is it even possible to bleed here? None of this is—”

“Real?” Somnus asked, sheathing his blade back into his hair. “There are different parts of the Realm. Some are more physical in nature than others. Try again.”

“I—” I don’t know if I want to try again , I almost said. But Somnus withered me with a look so filled with expectation and mild disappointment that I changed my mind. “Fine. Okay.”

I took a full breath, centering my focus back on the sword. It seemed to mock me, gleaming as it was, wondering why I of all people was to be its master.

Closing my eyes, I again imagined that the blade was nothing but a shadow. I envisioned a creeping, sword-eating darkness coiling up its length, rendering it entirely into mist. Slowly, I let the weight of the mist pull itself down, focusing on what it felt like to have the substance pool in my hands. Then, my right fist fell empty against the palm of my left, and I opened my eyes.

The sword was gone.

I flexed my hand open and shut, marveling at the sensation of the sword within. My palm ached, thrumming with cold and heat and the sensation that something was within it that wanted out .

“You need to test it.”

“Yes,” I agreed, surprised at the new sense of purpose that pooled within me. The sword was a vein of power, a weapon both familiar and new. “But against what?”

Somnus beckoned me to follow him. “Something that will prepare you to face all the darkened souls that fled from here.”

We walked through the castle, silent save for the sweeping of Somnus’s hair upon the stone. He moved as if he knew the castle intimately, never hesitating in which staircase to descend or hallway to follow. Candelabras ignited beside him, glowing from orbs that spun out from under his hands, and the castle slowly melted into life as we ventured through. The light slid over paintings taller than trees in the Visstill, over waterfalls crawling like honey from statues of lions and serpents.

But the further we walked, the more we saw decay, rot, and ruin.

Dry, snake-like branches, rattling as they burst from the ground, clawed against paintings, ripping them. Arched ceilings adorned with whorls of silver and draped in star-specked gossamer crumbled as we passed underneath, showering the air with dust and revealing the sky above. Then there was what the demons left behind. Each room held impossibly high claw marks and teeth left scattered in piles of rubble and cloth.

The main vestibule, the lavish entryway where I first met the Bringer, was a mess of broken furniture and dust; it looked—and smelled—as though it hadn’t seen light, fresh air, or humanity in years. What I remembered as vibrant shades of emerald, plum, and wine were now pale and lifeless, and the array of golden mirrors and candelabras were broken to shards upon the floor.

“Decay can settle so quickly,” Somnus remarked. “This castle is merely a husk without its ruler. It is quite simply mesmerizing.”

Mesmerizing?

With all the rubble and lingering shadows, it felt as though a demon would appear at any moment. There wasn’t anything mesmerizing about that. Somnus beckoned to a passageway below the vestibule; it coiled down in a steep descent, veiled in a haze of shadow. From it, a familiar smell emanated. Something damp and cave-like.

“Come, dreamer. We are nearly there.”

I struggled to keep up as we descended, worrying that my feet would tangle in Somnus’s hair. It was a sleek, beautiful curtain, trailing behind him like a cape, but it was far too long for someone to safely follow. The more I studied it, the more I wondered if it possessed a mind of its own. And maybe it did. Whenever my footsteps trailed too close, it would shift away just in time.

I thought I heard Somnus chuckle, once. Likely mocking my senseless concern.

We ended up in the Bringer’s water cavern, its wet stone and twilight greenery a mangled smear of what it used to be. The hole cut into its ceiling was no longer visible, tangled over by vines as it was, causing the space to be cast over by a strange, pervasive darkness. Even the central pool, its waters previously lit by starlight, seemed empty and dead.

“And we are here,” Somnus said, his voice echoing. “Another place lost to time.”

He spread his hands wide, orbs springing from his fingertips and diving deep into the pool. As his hands followed, the water erupted into a burst of starlight, mingling with orbs that danced slow, meandering arcs beneath its surface. Depthless as the pool was, there were no signs of monsters lurking in the deep. It felt clean—inviting, even. I found myself standing over its waters, watching as Somnus traced symbols and figures over the silver light.

“You are ready, I assume,” Somnus murmured, continuing to thread shapes into the surface. “Use what you were given and conquer all that you face.”

I stared at the surface, expecting something to jump out at us. The water rippled, steady and bright, iridescent with stars. Clear and demonless, it held no clues about what he wanted me to face. I turned to face Somnus, several questions upon my lips.

But he was gone.

Before I could react, a force cracked against my shoulder. My balance was already unsteady from the half-light of the cavern and the power vibrating under my skin; I tripped, flailing.

The water caught me quickly—but it was no longer water at all.

I was in a pit, a forest of snow-covered bone and rot spanning beyond it. And in the center was Elliot, his eyes bruised and hollow.