Page 11 of Chained Knight

Hazy black flower-blots swam in her vision. A slim hard shape twitched against her shoulder, and Ari flinched away from the tree she had blundered against. It almost seemed to notice her touch; in fact, its creaking intensified. It shot up, taller than the surrounding ones, and she backed away, almost tripping again on the road’s lip.

She couldfeelsanity stretching inside her head, a thin blanket stretched over a yawning, misshapen bulge. Maybe she had a brain injury from the landslide? There was no reasonable, rational explanation foranyof this.

I don’t have those dreams anymore. They stopped when I met Mike.

The worst part wasn’t the detailed, seamless world in front of her, each tree distinct and individual. The closest sapling had yellowish splotches of lichen on its trunk, each whorl and striation in the bark like fingerprints, and the others all had differing patches. Another bore a scar where a branch had broken free and lay on grassy, mossy ground, the green mat thickening as she stared in horror. The road’s pavers were each unique, their golden tint ever more pronounced as the light mounted. If she went to hands and knees, examining grass blades and moss-hairs, she was certain they would all be organic, flawless, each a marvel of natural engineering.

All that paled into insignificance beside one simple fact.

Do you recognize me now?

How could she not? She’d had nightmares about that face—the hollow cheeks, the cruel mouth, the strong jaw, the surrounding shadows she now knew were the gloom of a stonecastle—all her childhood. The dreams had stopped during her last year of college, in fact.

The very same month she met Mike Hardison.

Ari suspected her legs wouldn’t take much more punishment, so she set off down the road again, jogging when she could, walking when her body decided that was too much. A stitch threatened her side, and she pressed her hand below her ribs, pushing hard.

For all that, she somehow didn’t sweat, which was a blessing but perhaps only a transitory one. The breeze was cool, not cold, and though exhaustion blurred along her limbs there was no actual pain. If not for the terror lurking behind her heart, a swelling boil pushing her to hurry, she might have been taking a pleasant stroll on a nearly level trail.

Whether she was sane or not, the only thing that mattered was the urge to keep moving.

By the time the mist thinned she was among taller trees, but couldn’t tell if it was where she’d begun. Patches of violet sky streaked with white vapor showed through branches overhead; the light was reddish, as if the sun were lensed with wildfire smoke. The creaking, sighing, popping, and stealthy movement all around might have been more of those not-possums among the swell-growing trees, but Ari didn’t care. She wrung her hands as she walked, finally stopping in the middle of the road, head tilted.

Hell. This is hell.Or she was crazy. Either way, it was a nightmare rivaling three years with Mike. At least in that fucking white three-story prison she knew what to expect.

Out here, she was completely helpless. Was she supposed to Rambo in the woods or something?

What’s that?Ari listened, intently, and her eyes widened. She cast around, seeing nothing but trees. Even the silvery patches she’d passed on the way to the castle were gone,drowned by daylight. Plenty of undergrowth now—bushes with narrow dark-green leathery leaves, grass thick in clumps where the light fell or, in shaded patches, thinning to that springy deep moss. There was more fallen detritus as well, and everything looked a lot more… well, natural.

A real forest, instead of a dreaming approximation of one.

But the sound behind her was strange enough to send prickles down her back. It was rhythmic and purposeful; she stared at the nearest tree, her brain swimming through syrup. How long could anyone stay awake and rational under these conditions?

If she fell asleep again, would she surface in a cell or a hospital bed? It might be worth attempting to find out.

First, though, she had to get off the road. Because the approaching noise was hoofbeats, and they were drawing nearer.

One good thing about more underbrush was the ability to hide. Ari dropped belly-down behind a spreading bush, and found the grass smelled vaguely minty. She pressed herself flat as possible, not daring to peek at the road—she had no more mud camouflage and the light was a lot brighter. If whoever-it-was caught a glimpse of her, it would be immediately apparent she wasn’t local.

The hoofbeats held a weird metallic edge, clattering past in quick, breathless tattoo. It sounded like a large group, individual beats blurring together. She sagged on surprisingly soft ground, the carpet of moss with bright green grass blades poking through incredibly detailed. It would take some time to draw each one, paying attention to their fine hairs, the curves and spikes, the gradations of color from dark-green to yellow to occasional grey.

Take a breath. You’re okay for the moment, just be still. It felt good to stop moving and even better to have some kind of safety, no matter how precarious.

Unfortunately, stillness freed up energy for thinking about the chained man. Maybe his face wasn’t really the one in her dreams? She was under stress—Christ, was she ever, another wild laugh rose inside her, was strangled, receded like a wave on a sandy shore—and human memory notoriously unreliable.

Hang on. Her ears tingling, she listened intently.

This time she was fairly sure there was only a single horse. The hoof-rhythm was crisp and distinct, approaching, cresting, and fading away. Each beat was almost musical, and the accompanying chimes reminded her of chains. Shudders raced through her. Ari buried her face in her arms, hoping she was invisible from the road.

Was she smart or even crazier if she suspected who the lone rider was? Had she unleashed something awful by retrieving his sword?

She breathed in the mingled scent of good damp earth and a hint of mint from the crushed foreign vegetation. Birds called and sang, different species and sounds than the stealthy nighttime movement; were there more not-possums around? What about spiders, beetles, raccoons, deer? Were there venomous snakes, or large predators?

One problem at a time. It was the most practical way to handle this, Ari decided, and was suddenly aware of just how exhausted she was even if her bruises, scrapes, and other injuries were fading. The landslide dirt had vanished as well, which was great—though both miracles were deeply unsettling in their own right.

She could credit the pond for the former, and the chained man for the latter. This might be marginally better than a jail cell, but Ari’s nerves were well and truly shot. The forest’s shadewas temperately benign; come to think of it, she hadn’t been cold since she woke up.

She could try to tease out the implications, or she could… what? Ari turned her head aside; the back of her skull was still tender. She rested her cheek on her bent arm, and tried to breathe deeply. If a mountain lion or a snake came along, she was just going to have to deal with it then.

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