Page 115 of Lucifer's Mirror
I face forward and walk, taking stock of myself. My head aches; I suspect that’s just a reaction to the shadowguard being close by. My brain clearly doesn’t like them. My throat hurts, but at least the searing pain has faded a little. I remember now—one of those things clawed me. I reach up with my bound hands and encounter some sort of bandage. I hope it isn’t poisoned like the last time, though it still hurts.
My stomach hurts as well, but the pain is lessening. Can I make a run for it? I’m fast. But not hobbled like this. Maybe when we stop, I’ll get a chance. Hopefully, before the torture thing.
I don’t know how long we walk, but I’m stumbling with exhaustion by the time Trystan lets me rest—so tired that I crumple to the ground. My whole body aches, and I’m desperately thirsty, my mouth parched and my throat sore. We’ve walked through the night, and dawn is not far away. There’s a thin line of light showing on the horizon. I can’t help but wonder if this will be the last dawn I ever see.
Trystan must realize that I won’t be able to go on if he doesn’t at least give me water. He hands me a mug, and I force myself to sip it slowly. He doesn’t offer me any food, and I ignore the gnawing hunger. I close my eyes, and sleep takes me.
I’m warm and cozy and happy. And small. Maybe four years old. A woman stands over me; it’s Hecate, and she’s smiling, though there’s a sadness in her eyes.
“I love you. But you have to go. It’s no longer safe for you here, but I’ll think of you every day.” She leans down and kisses my forehead. “Never forget you’re special. So special. And you’re good. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. One day you’re going to make the world a better place.”
Something nudges me in the middle, and I wince as it hits a sore spot. I blink open my eyes. The thing is Trystan’s boot.
I’ve clearly slept through any chance of making a run for it. And I’d like to say I feel refreshed and ready to go, but I actually feel like complete shit.
He hands me another mug of water. My hand is shaking so much that I nearly spill it. I drink slowly, remembering the dream. Which is weird. I never remember my dreams.
I know I have them—or nightmares anyway—because I used to always wake up screaming. It was one of Pete’s many issues with me. But I don’t remember what happens in those dreams.
Trystan nudges me again, and I snarl. I’m turning feral, but he has that kind of effect on me.
“On your feet. We’re moving. We have a long way to go.”
“I need the bathroom,” I mutter. He stares at me for a long time, and I think he’s just going to tell me to wet myself. Then he nods to a clump of bushes. I hobble over and slip behind them. I glance around, but there’s nothing but open ground in every direction, and there’s no way I’ll get away. So I do what I need to do and then hobble back.
The shadowguard is all around us, but they seem depleted in the morning light. I’m not sure how long I slept, but I’m guessing it’s nearly noon—the sun is high in the sky. Trystan heads off. I hesitate, but then the shadowguard press in behind me, and I reluctantly move. They’ve kept their distance so far; I don’t want to give them any cause to get up close and personal. A shudder sweeps over me.
I’m special.
Hah. Probably not for much longer.
And I’m going to make the world a better place.
Nice idea. Unfortunately, I know deep down that’s not going to happen. I’m going to die. It’s just a matter of how much pain I have to endure before death takes me.
And I don’t want to die. I want a chance to tell Khaosti that I love him, even if he doesn’t love me in return.
I want to remember who I am. For Hecate, who told me she loves me in my dream. I know it was more than a dream, though. It was a memory. Which means the rest are likely there inside my head. I want to remember forme. And the fucking annoying thing is, for the first time, I’m close. They’re hovering on the edge of my consciousness. And I’m running out of time.
Iwantso much.
I walk.
I remember that last conversation with Hecate. Her words run through my mind.
Trust yourself.
You know deep down who you are. Who you want to be.
I clear my mind of everything—of my hatred for the man in front of me, the creatures that follow in our wake, the ache in my bones and muscles, my empty stomach, and the pain that awaits me when this walk is over. I forget my heartbreak over Khaosti and my worry over Hecate and the others.
I concentrate on nothing but the walk. One step after another. And in the vast empty spaces of my mind, I conjure up an image of who I want to be. Who I am.
I don’t care what I’ve been in the past or what I’ll remember. It won’t change who I am now.
I can be whatever I want to be. It’s my choice.
And I choose to be a good person.
