The Burden of Ash and Blood - 10. Chapter 10

Dust rose in a sudden plume as Sam flinched awake. A threadbare blanket threatened to trap him, and he struggled to free himself. Casting his gaze about the room, he blinked in confusion to find himself in his bed, back home in Reabury. Night was upon him, yet an unearthly white light emanated from between the wooden floor slats, allowing him to see. Shutters nailed from the outside barred the window, yet served as a paltry defence against the howling wind and icy sleet battering the house. Sam’s nervous breath puffed in the frigid air.

He stood, glancing at the shelves that should’ve been lined with books. Instead, they lay empty with only a layer of dust left behind. Opening the door and stepping onto the landing, he considered Graeme in the spare bedroom. He knocked gently and called the knight’s name, but received no reply. Opening the door revealed the room stripped bare.

Descending the steep staircase to the common area, he found all the windows shuttered. The same ghastly light drew unnatural shadows at oblique angles. The kitchen’s stove was stone cold—no embers left, only ashes. Never in his life had he encountered the stove this way. Even in the middle of summer, Mum had always kept the stove lit.

Beyond the kitchen, his parents’ bedroom door stood closed. It beckoned—voiceless yet abundantly clear. Sam had no desire to follow its command, yet his feet trudged forward in obedience to its call. His hand rose unbidden to unlatch the door. It creaked open, almost reluctantly so, not wanting to divulge its secrets. Sam desperately wished to turn away, to shield his eyes, but he remained transfixed, forced to endure the dread exuding from the room.

Beyond the threshold lay a sharp black void. Even with no clue what to expect, this was worse than he had imagined. Wordless whispers sung to him—a lilting, dissonant song of despair that tore at his soul. The darkness clutched at the breath in his lungs, vapour drawn out like an umbilical cord, feeding a malignant force.

With all his effort, he stumbled backward to escape the pull, only to collide with someone. Hands gripped him, holding him close. A foetid wheeze grazed his neck. Rotten. He pulled free and fell to the ground. Before him stood the bandit he’d killed—skin ashen, mottled, decomposing. Black ichor seeped from the countless gashes in his chest. Perception lingered within the gaping eye sockets, distant yet resolute. And bloodless lips peeled back, revealing a twisted maniacal grin.

He spoke, the voice of death itself.

"You’ll never kill me."

Sam awoke—again—with a start. Swaddled in a thick, warm coverlet, he found himself damp with sweat. Graeme remained peacefully asleep, undeterred by Sam’s abrupt awakening. Ethereal blue light radiated from the knight’s armour stacked neatly in the corner, forming crooked shadows along the wall and ceiling, only heightening the terror Sam fought to control.

The bandit’s ominous words rang in his ears, as though they’d been spoken aloud in the room, rousing him from sleep. Something caught his eye by the closed door—a dimly lit shape. Not daring to breath, Sam watched intently. The form shifted. Someone was there, he was sure of it. No weapons lay within reach. His eyes shifted to the shortsword leant against the table, well outside his grasp.

The shape shifted again, watching him. Overwhelmed by fear, Sam kicked the blankets back and climbed over Graeme, away from the bandit. The knight cried out in confusion as he woke abruptly. He sought to grab Sam, assuming he was an assailant, but Sam was already out of reach. Graeme’s knife sat on the bedside table. Sam grabbed it, ripped the sheath off, and held it out with a trembling hand.

“There’s someone there!” he cried.

Graeme used the knife’s point to guide his eyes toward the threat. He leapt off the bed, fists raised, ready for anything. But almost at once, his hardened stance fell away, and he stepped toward the danger as if it were nothing. He pulled their cloaks free from the wooden coat rack, showing them to Sam.

“Another nightmare?” Graeme asked softly.

A wash of shame overcame Sam while his heart continued to beat madly. He cast his gaze to the floor, retrieving the discarded sheath, and then returned the knife back on the table. Graeme watched from across the room, waiting for a reply.

“Sorry for waking you,” Sam mumbled.

Returning to sit on the bedside, Graeme patted the empty space beside him as an invitation. Sam reluctantly accepted the offer, feeling humiliated for reacting so foolishly.

“Your vigilance could save us one day,” Graeme said, as though sensing Sam’s discomfort. “But I confess that I am troubled by your behaviour.”

“It’s been nearly a fortnight, and that damned bandit still won’t leave me alone. He’s dead in the ground. Why won’t my mind accept he’s no longer a threat?”

Graeme sighed. “I wish I could provide a beneficial answer.”

“And being with you, near you, I feel safe. I know you’ve always got my back.” Touched by his words, Graeme turned his gaze toward Sam. “But when I’m sleeping—or trying to sleep—my stupid head forgets all that.”

“A shame I cannot be a part of your dreams.”

Sam scoffed, reminded of the first day Graeme had arrived. The knight had played an inappropriate part of his dreams that night. “I always search for you, but you’re never around. There’s nobody but that damned bandit.”

“I question if your encounter with that large man in the tavern incited this nightmare.”

“No, I don’t think so. That guy’s dangerous, but in a different way.”

Rising from the bed, Graeme pulled back the curtains to peer outside. “I fear the sun is still hours away. Would you like to give rest another chance?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s passed for the night.” He broke into a soft laugh. “I’m really sorry for waking you like that.”

“I perceived you as an intruder,” Graeme said as they slipped back under the covers.

“Yeah, well, if someone jumped on me like that, I’d assume the same. Glad I managed to escape your reach.”

Graeme hummed in response, hinting at harm narrowly evaded. Even so, Sam valued the knight’s lethal manner, heightening his sense of protection. He closed his eyes and took a deep cleansing breath, telling himself he was perfectly safe. In short order, he managed to nod off briefly, only to startle awake again. He noted Graeme’s calm, measured breaths, and couldn’t help but envy his effortless slumber. Closing his eyes again did nothing. His mind wandered, thinking back to the encounter at the tavern, and then the phial of gryphon ash.

Sam’s eyelids flitted open, and his gaze fell upon his trousers hung over the chair. He couldn’t believe he was genuinely tempted to take the ash, but the frustration brought on by his inability to sleep was swiftly overpowering his better judgement. How dangerous could it truly be? He just wanted the fear to go away so he could finally rest.

Careful not to wake Graeme, he slipped from under the covers, padded silently toward the chair, and found the phial in the trouser pocket. In the dim blue light, he could discern the powder trapped within the glass. Using a thumb, he gently popped the stopper and tentatively held the phial to his nose. It held an earthy aroma, but not at all unpleasant. He glanced back toward the knight, still asleep with his head turned away.

Before Sam could reconsider, he dumped the ash under his tongue, replaced the stopper, and hid the phial back in the pocket. The fine powder dissolved far faster than he expected, and soon the underside of his tongue grew numb, which rapidly spread down to his neck. Apprehension grew at the concerning sensation, and regret struck him immediately. His chest tightened, each breath a struggle. He was about to wake Graeme when everything stopped.

The numbness was gone. He could breathe freely. His mind, for the first time in memory, was completely unburdened. In its place, a profound sensation of unfettered bliss. Tears formed, but he welcomed the release, allowing them to fall freely down his cheeks. All his fears and uncertainties were laid out before him, bare and unbiased. They were so insignificant, so astonishingly petty, that he couldn’t fathom how they’d held such a powerful sway over him. There was literally nothing to fear. They were constructs of the mind, not at all real.

Tears of devastating relief continued to stream down his face. He cried out ecstatically, covering his mouth so as not to wake Graeme. His friend and protector remained deep in slumber, and Sam battled the urge to jump into bed and hug him fiercely. Instead, he snuck back under the covers and laid his hand beside Graeme, feeling the warmth emanating from his body. Sam closed his eyes, and easily fell into a welcoming hole of dreamless sleep.