Page 114 of The Whispering Night
The waterfall gets louder the farther north Winnie aims. It’s like static on an old TV—like the sleeping spirit has its finger on the volume and is just pushing it higher, higher, higher. The light changes too, brightening in a way that suggests sunshine is being allowed through.
But it’s a green sunshine, toxic and terrifying, and it paints the forest in too much color. This is a world of grayscale or sepia, where running water not only deters nightmares, but also deters vibrance and saturation.
Sleeping spirits: Little is understood regarding these magical entities believed to be the source of all nightmares. Most theories are, in fact, philosophical instead of scientific. The lack of empirical—
A bolt of lightning sears past Winnie. Heat and light crack in, so close that she needs three full heartbeats to realize the lightning didn’t actually hit her. Then she launches into a run.
Air sylphid: These humanoid creatures are childlike in size with bark for skin and stone for teeth and horns. Their mastery over wind allows them to fly. They can also summon lightning; hunters are advised to avoid.
Winnie’s boots toss up rocks and mud. She is making way more noise than is wise, but whatever. She has already been spotted; might as well go full throttle. The sylphid plunges out of the trees. Sparks flare between its gnarled hands.
Lightning streaks toward Winnie’s head. She ducks. The electricity hits the water, sizzling lines across the surface and illuminating waters below.CURSES, she screams internally.Why couldn’t you have grabbed a bow, Ms. Morgan?That would besomuch more helpful right now, instead of this knife withMRTstamped onto it.
Winnie teeters toward the water. The river is pure chop this close to the waterfall. Jagged rocks jut upward. Cold wind gnaws, thick with spray off the waves. And the waterfall’s roar builds—as does the cold, heightened by this wind that still sucks upward.
It’s as if a cosmic vacuum has been switched on over the Big Lake, ready to suck up dirt, pet hair, and protons in one fell swoop. And hell, for all Winnie knows, maybe the spirit really is just a giant Hoover and the Pure Heart spell is the plug that slots into a socket. She can even imagine the Compendium entry:The spirit vacuum is especially powerful on carpets.
Oh god,she thinks as she lopes along the jagged riverbank. The falls are getting unbearably loud.You are losing it, Winnie. Focus. Stay sharp.Her arms swing at her sides. Adrenaline is stamping out the pain from her ankle, but she needs more speed, more bilateral symmetry—and oh no.There. There’s the waterfall.
Winnie has nowhere else left to run.Aroo! Aroo! Was it fun jumping, Wolf Girl?
Lightning discharges behind her. Inexplicably, it doesn’t connect. She rips a glance back… only to find a weeping willow tumbling onto the riverbank.
Dryad: These nightmares are indistinguishable from trees or hedges until disturbed by humans. They will attack with branches that become claw-like and legs that extend from their roots.
Lucky for Winnie, this particular dryad is focused on the sylphid—and the sylphid is suddenly distracted by the dryad. Which meansnowis a good moment to break from the river and launch uphill.
Except then a second sylphid hurtles in. Because ofcourseit freaking does.Fresh lightning scrapes over Winnie’s head. She smells burning hair, although the stench is quickly vacuumed up by the spirit.
The sylphid sweeps closer. Bark skin, stone horns, sharp teeth laughing. It reaches for her while light and static build visibly between its hands. This near, there will be no avoiding the lightning. But this near, there is also no avoiding Winnie. She thrusts out Mason’s blade.
And she stabs the sylphid in the skull.
Light and static electricity wink out. The sylphid screams. Its magicked flight fails, and the natural pull of gravity lugs it from the air, sliding it right off Winnie’s stolen knife.
It lands on the wet, craggy shore before her, body quivering. Lightning from the other sylphid continues sizzling nearby; the dryad continues fighting with swinging branches. And even though Winnie should run, she can’t look away from the dying sylphid.
It would have killed her. Gladly. And yet, she can’t stop thinking of an afternoon almost a month ago when she found a gash on Jay’s wrist.What happened?she asked him.
Harpy,he replied.
Oh. Did you kill it?
Her,he corrected, his eyes wintery and cold. Mournful and lost.Yes, I killed her.
How many nightmares has Jay had to slay as a hunter? How many times has he looked into a creature’s eyes and thought,I am like you, and it’s only a matter of time before I die too.
Son of forest, son of pain.
No. Winnie can’t do this. She can’t kill again and crySelf-defense!If there’s one thing she has learned in the last week, it’s that she has to live with her choices for the rest of time; she has to live with her ghosts.
Winnie grabs the sylphid by the arm and starts tugging. The creature is heavier than she expects—which is silly. She has lifted plenty of dead sylphids during corpse duty. Behind her, the dryad lashes out with willow branches. It is green—so green—and the first sylphid hisses and electrocutes.
Winnie drags its sibling toward the water. The white foam of the waterfall spits and sprays; the TV static sound is overpowering; and Jay’s song whispers and kisses against Winnie’s skin.
Green. Everything glows toxic green.
The water kicks at the shoreline. Here is where Jay saved Winnie on her third trial. Here is where she awoke with the scent of him to keep her safe.
