Shadow Sun (Nevermor #3)

By Lani Lenore

As it began, so shall it end.

Time has passed since the Rifter went into the sun, and while Wren has missed him terribly, she does not doubt that he will come back. She has tried to shadow her grief as she travels across Nevermor with what is left of the Wolf Pack, attempting to heal the land and restore it to its former state. But that task is made more difficult by plummeting temperatures, and the fact that the sun seems to be slipping further away.

When a different sort of darkness comes over the land, Wren eventually discovers that not only may she be looking to preserve the world for Rifter’s return, but she may have to save it from him as well.

Shadow Sun is the epic finale to the Nevermor trilogy, a dark fantasy based on Peter Pan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lani Lenore
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310455773

Lani Lenore

Lani Lenore is a writer of gothic horrors and dark fantasies. In addition to rewriting well-known fairytales with a twist, she also writes original stories in a style she calls 'dark fairytale', which uses fairytale elements to build horror and fantasy stories. Most of her tales, though horror, have a subplot of romance. She loves to immerse readers in worlds of beauty and horror.

Book preview

Chapter One

1

Wren lifted the head of the drooping flower, cradling it in her palm as the petals hung limply, and she let out a sigh.

It was only yesterday that she had healed this spot of ground, and already the grass was dry and the flowers were bowing heavy heads. This had been happening far too often over the last few weeks, and she was beginning to feel discouraged.

Why won’t it heed me anymore, she wondered. The world should be getting better, but it is only getting worse.

After Rifter had removed the demon from Nevermor, they’d all presumed that the darkness corrupting this place would retreat with the nightmare beast. Shortly after the war, believing that had not been difficult. Wren—with her borrowed connection to the world through Sly—had spent many days traveling across the island with the Wolf Pack, soothing the land so that it would remember how it had once flourished. She had brought forth much life from the blackened ground, but gradually, the effects were lessening. This attempt had been the swiftest. After just one night, the field had died, becoming a sea of brittle brown husks.

Why? What’s changed? She couldn’t help thinking that it was her fault, but the others had assured her that the trouble was deeper than that. The island itself was unwilling to go back to the old days—unwilling to try.

Even though the nightmare demon’s corruption had been removed, something was still out of place in the balance. The proof was in more than just the plants she was able to raise, only to die shortly afterward. The temperatures were dropping rapidly all over the island. Even in the realms where summer perpetuated, a chilling breeze had started to blow through. The trees could not hold their new leaves and the crunch of their skeletons often resonated in the quiet forests. Most disturbing of all, perhaps, was that the sun was not as bright as it had once been, hidden behind a layer of hazy atmosphere. There was no question that it was slipping farther away.

The days were dark in more ways than one, yet Wren tried not to dwell on the ache in her heart. Months had passed since she had seen Rifter. He had never returned from the sun, and she couldn’t help but feel that his absence had something to do with the state of Nevermor, but she could not stop trying—could not stop believing. She knew that he would come back. Until that day came, she could only hold back her tears by focusing on other things.

Kneeling down, she placed her hands in the soil and began to concentrate, communing with the earth around her, listening to the sound of the wind.

I have tried to tell you that the darkness is gone, she whispered. It is safe to flower again. I know that nightmares remain, but I sense that something else is wrong. Will you tell me? How can I make you feel at ease?

She waited for some sort of response, and though the land did not often speak to her with words, her connection with it allowed her to interpret its feeling. Nevermor had always possessed a life of its own, arranging itself as it saw fit unless Rifter intervened. It did not speak to her now, but she could feel its trepidation all the same.

Something is not right…

Wren?

Her thoughts snapped like a freshly broken twig. Wren turned toward the voice that had risen up behind her, and though it had come without warning, she was not startled by it. After everything that had happened, there was not much in this world that could disturb her—after the death, the confusion, the fire—and neither did this company. Sometimes it even amused her to think of how she had once been: a scared little rabbit, frightened of every passing step.

I was once so timid, she recalled. Just think what it took to learn that lesson.

The surefooted one who had approached without her notice was an unusual sort, to be sure. There was no other like him on the island—no other human that could claim to be just as much an animal as a man. Wren had never grown accustomed to the way that Sly’s appearance had changed—with large cat-like ears atop his head, the three striped tails swishing behind him, those clawed hands that were so gentle and yet so dangerous—but he was not so different from the rest. Every one of them had been changed by the darkness. She accepted his strange appearance and had never allowed herself to be repulsed by it, for one thing shone out in her mind above all others when she looked at him: he had saved her life. She owed Sly so much, and she would never cease to hear his wise words.

It’s happened again, hasn’t it? he asked. Sly could not see the physical world that she could—being blind—but he knew all the same. He’d had a connection with the realm for much longer than she had, and though he had transferred his healing gift to her, Sly still understood the difficulties she’d been experiencing.

Yes. Everything is dying, she told him. Just like the last time.

She was a bit surprised by how her voice sounded—bland, as if she had completely expected this outcome, but of course she hadn’t. She had always been optimistic in the past, able to see the next step along the way that would make things better. This frame of mind was very much unlike her.

This isn’t the first time we’ve had this sort of trouble, Sly said as a reminder—as if it might have been encouragement.

Not so long ago, she had tried to heal the ground at the ruins of the old Tribal camp, but that place had been far too corrupted. The cliffside camp was merely one site where Rifter and the Scourge had come together in battle, and even if that place held a special memory for her—We made love there—it was not willing to be healed. After a couple of days and nothing took root, the Pack had moved on.

I keep thinking that it’s my fault, she said. Am I losing faith? I’ve tried not to, but every day that passes, I just—

Wren looked to him for an answer. While he was no longer a master of the land, Sly still had powers of sight that she could not comprehend. He was able to see visions—to know things that the rest of them were blind to. If there was some comforting answer, surely he could give it to her.

But if not, he will keep it to himself to spare my feelings, she knew.

No, I don’t think that it’s you, he said, but his tone of voice only gave her slight relief. "I think we may have bigger problems."

2

It was not uncommon for the island to change in the course of a night, but this slow dying of the world had given Wren a much different impression. This was a continual decay even though the darkness was said to have retreated—a rejection. She was not the one the land wanted, but yet the one it needed was not here.

These thoughts disturbed her in more ways than one.

Sly walked with her past the camp they had pitched near some thick brambles, a natural barrier to guard from threats. At the edge of the area, a young wolf raised his head to watch them pass, but he did not make any sound of alarm. He was there to keep watch, and he knew their scent. After a moment, he laid his head on his paws again, resting languidly.

Bruno. He was the only one there.

Sly led Wren into the trees, further down the slope until she saw the mouth of a cave where two familiar figures were standing, scrutinizing something in the rocky face. Finn was there, easily recognizable by his curling black hair and glowing Tikilin eyes. He was more conspicuous in the daylight—certainly much handsomer without the fur suit which made him look like a hump-backed creature. Mach was beside him, his coppery hair shining in the light that cut through the trees. His hair had been black not so long ago, but he had finally decided to let the dye fade and embrace himself again. There was a faint red scar burned into the side of his face, a permanent reminder of what he had lost, but he was not so special in that regard. They all had their own scars, marked on their bodies and souls.

Finn and Mach were observing something in Finn’s hands, which they examined with furrowed brows and wagging heads.

What do you make of it? Mach asked, always looking to Finn for an opinion.

I think it’s pretty clear, Finn replied. They’re dead. No power left in them and no good to us.

Mach scratched his head, looking uncertain. Wren tried to see what they were looking at, but whatever was in their hands was hidden by their backs as she approached.

We haven’t found any like this yet. Maybe it’s just this spot, Mach suggested.

Not likely. The world’s gone to shit, mate. If you ask me, I think it’s—

Finn halted at that, by chance turning his head and refusing to finish when he caught sight of Wren. She noticed, but did not ask him what he was about to say. She did not even know what their conversation was about, but she knew what had been on the cusp of his throat.

Nevermor is dying. There is no way to save it.

What have you found? she asked, trying not to immediately suspect the negative, but that was almost impossible anymore.

She and Sly approached them as Finn sighed in defeat, but held out his hand, offering something to her. It was a small crystal shard, of the very same that grew in many areas of the island.

We found a strand of the crystals, but there’s something wrong with them, Finn explained. "These crystals are black—dead."

Those words sent a chill through her.

The crystals that grew in certain parts of the island were often lit to illuminate the dark, signifying life. They glowed with the life-force of the realm, and though most had been dimmed by the corruption, the number that they had found recently still radiated dimly. Wren and the Pack had been seeking the crystals as they traveled, for they could be refined into Tikilin for their own uses. But these… Yes, they were very different.

Wren rubbed her fingers over the crystal as if she might ignite a spark of life inside, but it remained black and dull. Her healing ability had no effect.

The field is withering as well, Sly informed them. Over night.

Both Finn and Mach seemed to catch their breath, exchanging glances. Their expressions were subtle, but the looks did not go unnoticed by Wren.

It is possible that this area of ground is not ready for the change yet, Finn suggested. The Tribal camp was that way as well.

That doesn’t quite explain the crystals, Sly interjected, flicking his pointed ear condescendingly. Even in the time of corruption, they were still alive.

Well perhaps it’s merely something else about this spot, Finn tried, expressing this forcefully toward his brother. Maybe it just needs extra effort to bring it back.

Wren was silent as they talked, staring down at the crystal as her hand grew clammy around it, wondering what she was prepared to believe. Certainly, not everything was right with the world. These crystals were further evidence. As she stood, she let her gaze drift down to her feet. She had been standing in this spot long enough that there were new blades of grass peeking out of the soil and vines rising up to curl around her feet, but already, she knew they wouldn’t last.

Tomorrow they will be dead like the rest.

She looked up from her trance, finding that the others were watching her anxiously, but if they were expecting an answer, she had not heard the question.

Do you think we should stay here a bit longer? Finn asked, turning his Tikilin eyes toward her. The yellow glow never ceased to amaze her, reminding her of an animal that peered through the dark. Try again?

We don’t have much choice but to stay here at least a while longer, Sly said. We’ve already made camp. Might as well make it another night at the very least.

We can discuss it once everyone has gathered, Wren said, but already she was not sure what would come of it. She just didn’t want to give thought to a decision now.

It’s worth a discussion, Finn said with a shrug, "but even if nothing can be done, we’ll just move forward—on to the next. What else can we do?"

What we need is for Rifter to come back, Mach said heatedly. Wren was not surprised by his tone, though she had not quite expected the words. Still, she knew that Mach had never learned to control his tongue. All this is because of him, you know. He had a connection with the world. It existed because of him and now it wants him back.

Listening to that, neither Finn nor Sly said a word, and Wren knew it was because they silently agreed. They had all begun to believe, in the core of their hearts, that this effort was hopeless. In that moment, Wren became angry with them, a gust of fury rising.

Rifter’s not here, she muttered, looking away.

What? Mach asked, looking up. Had she not said it loud enough? Not been clear? A rage swelled inside her that was near as potent as the demon fire that had been put into her belly—and perhaps still remained. She turned her blue eyes toward him, flashing with warning.

"Rifter’s not here! she burst. Though she was aware that they were all staring at her for it, she could not make herself stop. He’s gone, he hasn’t come back, and we’ll just have to deal with things the best we can on our own!"

She glared at them, her face flushed, but her resolve stayed. They did not respond to her outburst, and she was frustrated by the way they gaped at her. Wren could not look at them anymore. She felt a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable, but she did not need their disbelief!

As she left them, she felt their eyes on her, watching her walk away. They kept their opinions silent.

3

Wren went back to the field where the plants were dying, not because she wanted to study them again, but because the distance was far enough to escape the others for the moment, without going so far that they wouldn’t find her. She was fighting back tears that she’d sworn would not fall again, yet they were not quite for sadness now, but frustration.

Was Mach right? And was Finn thinking the same thing? Sly? Was any of their trying worth it? Even despite their best efforts to carry on, would the world eventually die without Rifter? He had once told her that Nevermor could not be saved. Had she truly been so blind to a truth she could not see?

This wouldn’t be the first time. She had not even known Rifter when he’d been standing right beside her, peering into her eyes. Perhaps she truly was a naïve, stupid girl.

Wren, are you alright?

The voice jolted her. She turned to see Toss standing there, several paces away, having just emerged over the hill on his way back to the camp. He cut a rather hulking figure against the midday sky, tall and broad, covered in bear fur, but he was different than he had once been.

Though the change had been gradual, she was always surprised when she turned and saw the man that belonged to her former image of him as a boy. Surprisingly handsome features were showing through where they had been overlooked before. His brown hair was still long and messy but he’d kept his facial hair trimmed away, which made him look younger again—a vast change from the one she had found hiding in the mountain caves not so long ago. The main element that assured her that he was the same were his deep brown eyes, which seemed so much larger and warmer in his thinner face.

Toss had a bundle of sticks under one arm, gathered for the fire. There was a young timber wolf trailing behind him, the very same that had been resting at the camp when Wren had passed with Sly earlier. It had been during one of their excursions that Toss had saved the pup from the jaws of a nightmare creature, and Bruno had been a loyal friend ever since, rarely leaving his master’s side unless commanded to do so.

Toss had been busy before they’d set out on their journey, putting his smithing skills to use by hammering out framework so that they all might have suits and weapons enhanced with Tikilin. Since then, he’d been of little use at metalwork without a forge, but still held his own as a powerful ally. Now, he was looking at her with concern, unwilling to budge until she gave him a response.

Wren likely could have told him anything without fear of being judged, but she stopped herself from rambling.

I’m fine, she assured him. I was just thinking about the field. It’s dying already.

Toss did not step up next to her to observe it. Perhaps he had already noticed the result.

Some plots of ground seem to take more effort than others, he reminded her, clearly undisturbed by this. We’ve seen it before.

Finn and Mach were searching that cave for crystals, but the ones they found were dead.

Wren wasn’t sure why she was so determined not to let him uplift her, but the words had burst out before she could stop them. At that, Toss hesitated. He shifted the sticks beneath his arm, making them click together like rattling bones. She wondered what he was thinking, but did not watch his face, and finally, words reached her ears.

"It’s not your fault—and I’m sure it’s not his fault either," he said, as if reading her mind as Sly had often done. Wren, however, knew better. Mach had said it right before, even though she had gotten angry over it.

No, but it is Rifter’s fault.

He hid himself from this world—from all of you and from me—for four years, she countered, turning. What if he gave up and doesn’t want to come back?

Wren wanted Toss to contradict her, to give her a good reason why she was wrong, but he did not offer her a reply as readily as she’d hoped.

I’m sure that’s not true, he said finally, though it must have been the last choice in a long line of things he might have said.

He thinks you’re dead, Wren. He might be hurt. He might be—

He’ll try to come back, Toss told her, breaking through the layers of her depression. I’m sure he’s trying.

I know, she relented finally with a shaky sigh, realizing that she was being much too discouraged. This was not who she was—not who she wanted to be. I just miss him.

Toss did not respond to that, and Wren would have liked to believe that he was reflecting on the same idea, but she wondered if that was true. Did any of them care whether Rifter returned? Would they be more pleased if they never saw him again? There were so many things that they could hold against him, and not the least of them was the state of the world that they loved.

I’m going back to camp, Toss said finally, giving her a meaningful look. Calico should be back soon. Do you want to walk with me?

Wren sighed, but had to admit that she had been moping over this field for far too long already. She needed to wait and consult with the Pack when the time came, but for now, perhaps it would be better if she could put this from her mind.

She turned her back on the dying plants, joining Toss. She gave Bruno a pat on the head as she walked past, and the three of them headed back to camp.

Chapter Two

1

In the dimming sunset, which was faded as an old photograph in a once colorful world, Wren looked down at her clothes, examining herself. She had adopted a rather uncommon look which differed significantly from the ribbons and petticoats she had worn in her younger years, but if she were to judge herself against her current company, she fit in perfectly well. Her garments now were not something her mother would have dressed her in, but that was a life that she had not known in a long time, and former standards of class and modesty mattered no longer.

She was nearing twenty, unmarried and in a wild world. This was not London.

Her pale nightgown—a relic from the asylum—had been well-worn, but was not completely lost. She had replaced part of the skirt with a stretch of fur. She wore it beneath a Tikilin construction that had been made just for her, shaped like her own ribcage, which wrapped at her waist and let her skirt flare out below it. She’d been given a pair of boots which were much better protection for her feet than the thin slippers she’d worn previously—much better for trudging across uncertain landscapes. Sometimes she was amazed at how she had adapted, but for how long she had been in Nevermor, it seemed more natural than anything.

How long has it been since then? She often wondered. She hardly remembered her misfortunes in the Other World, and even her first meeting with Rifter seemed so long ago. Perhaps that was Nevermor’s curse working in her as it had done with the others, gradually leeching away at her memories.

Her current companions—Sly, Finn, Toss, Mach, and the painted huntress, Calico—like her, were wanderers. Not one of them had a home or a place to belong, except with one another. They had only their wits and their weapons, the clothes on their backs. They had clung to each other out of necessity, needing a reason to survive and a company to belong to, for even though things were different now, they were still family. Wren had gone through so much to bring them back together, and though life was trying, she did not regret choosing them a second time. They were the only ones she had left.

Wren had never quite considered herself to be a member of the Wolf Pack, even though she had taken the Vow at the Beginning as well, but she was one of them nonetheless. In truth, the Pack as it had been was abolished, leaving only the few who remained, and Rifter had nothing to do with their union at all. Even so, Wren and her companions were a group unto themselves, shunned by others despite their deeds, disliked for their previous connection to the Rifter.

The group of them had decided that if they were to represent themselves as a tribe unto their own, they ought to mark themselves with identifying symbols. They had adopted a portion of the protective runes Rifter had worn on his arms to ward off the demon. Wren painted hers on her shoulder and down her arm with ash, wearing it until it faded before she would put it back again. Every time she traced those lines, she thought about Rifter.

In their travels, the Pack always kept their camp as simple as they could, for they rarely stayed in the same place for more than a day or two. Each one of them carried his own bedroll which they would position around a central fire once they settled. At times, they would put together makeshift workstations, and at others they had to work out more complicated shelters when the weather was harsh.

How cold must the world get before even the fire and Tikilin won’t be able to warm us? Wren wondered.

It was not quite cold as winter, but there was a chill in the air. She sat by the fire as the others continued with their usual nightly rituals of tending to their weapons and belongings, taking stock of what was left. Wren was silent, but was suddenly persuaded to act as they did, drawing out a lengthy dagger from the sheath around her waist. The demon had given it to her, but she had not thrown it away. She had been told that the dagger had once belonged to Rifter and had deemed it worth keeping, but her evaluation of it was pointless. It had not been dirtied since she’d come by it. But there was one thing she knew in her heart that was different from her former outlook: she would use it if she had to.

Rustling in the brush drew the group’s attention from their work, always anxious whether or not they would be stalked by a nightmare or hostile persons unknown, but when a familiar dark-skinned huntress emerged, they were all able to relax. Unlike the rest of them, she was a native of this world, but through circumstances, she had become one of them. Calico had separated from her own people and chosen to join with the Wolf Pack in their restoration effort. Though she seemed to truly care for the world and was also Sly’s partner, Wren had never been sure how she felt about Calico’s presence. They had never quite become friends, though they were the only females of the group. There was a world of difference between them.

The Tribal huntress emerged from the trees with a bundle across her shoulder and a bow in her hand. She had been gone since early morning, hunting and scouting out the local area to keep up with the placement of the land, the movements of the people, and to note the frequency of Nevermor’s change if the world was different when they passed through here again.

Dressed in hide and feathers in the scanty manner of her native people, Calico did not say a word as she approached them at the fire. She did not seem to have found trouble during her outing, at least by the look of her. She was no dirtier than usual, though the paint on her body was smeared and cracked, but she was certainly not injured. Likewise, it was not difficult to notice the spill of prey dangling from a rope around her neck, hanging down both sides of her torso.

Rabbits, Finn commented when she approached. He spoke toward Calico but also clearly to Mach, who was standing beside him. One could tell Finn was not so impressed with the offering. That’s what you’ve brought us again, is it?

Perhaps he was joking, or perhaps not, but Calico had never been one to take an insult or a joke either one. She was often quiet, but if there was something on her mind, she did not hesitate to use the English words Sly had taught her to express herself freely.

If you want something else, you’re free to make your own attempt, she sneered, to which they backtracked swiftly.

Oh no, you’re much better at it than we are, Mach said.

And you look so much more attractive carrying dead things, Finn fumbled. Wren, who was sitting aside at the fire, actually found herself wanting to laugh at that, but she managed to hold it in.

With a curl of her lip, Calico thrust the string of rabbits into Finn’s chest.

"Doesn’t look so bad on you, she commented. Good luck."

That didn’t come out right... He tried to protest, but Calico was already walking away toward Sly, and Finn was forgotten. He looked to Mach for assistance, but the former twin threw up his hands and would offer nothing. Wren, however, took pity on him. Preparing the meals was really the only thing she was much good at in times like this.

She approached Finn, shaking her head and biting back a smile as she took the string of small prey off his shoulder. He smiled back at her with some degree of embarrassment.

I seem to be a little rusty, Finn said of his attempt to charm the Tribal maiden.

Seems so, Wren replied.

"I somehow never fail to make you feel sorry for me, though, he said lightly, then motioned toward the meat—which was all it was now, and Wren had to think of it that way. Are you sure you want to do that?"

You’ll be more help with another job, she assured him, and she knew she was right. He was still inspecting the dead crystals, trying to get a spark of life in them with a bit of Tikilin, or else find some other way they might be useful.

You always do spoil me, he teased. I must be your favorite.

Don’t let it go to your head, Wren returned with a smirk.

Twice rejected, Mach said laughingly, but when he caught Wren’s gaze, he looked away.

Terrible, Finn declared, but his charming mouth was unrelenting. He gave her a toothy grin which showed his fang on one side. Wren shook her head again, turning to tend to this task she had chosen, but she still had a smile on her mouth. Somehow, despite everything, Finn could always bring a degree of charisma and silliness that made things feel so perfectly normal.

As if everything is right with us.

Wren set to work preparing the meat as the others tended to their own projects—Calico was restringing her bow while Sly set out the herbs she’d gathered; Mach and Toss retreated to fetch firewood. All was quiet for a time, each engrossed in their tasks. Wren cooked over the fire in silence, and once it was time to eat, they all came out of their personal fogs and drifted back together again.

They sat beneath the waning moon, so close and yet so far apart, and began to eat. As if they could do nothing else while staring each other in the face around the circle, they began to talk as if they were not former strangers.

But not quite like old friends, Wren observed.

So what did you find out, Calico? Finn piped up. Anything of note out there?

I suspect there is another tribe of people nearby, she informed them. I saw fresh signs of hunting, but I did not locate their position, so they must not be terribly close. I must guess they are few in number, and if they came scouting us, they retreated. They’re not a threat currently.

Wren was glad to hear that, and knew she was not the only one. They had to be careful of who found them out, for there were still some who did not take kindly to Rifter’s Wolf Pack. They would have been glad to remove every trace of the Rifter from Nevermor and start anew, but the way the world was headed, Wren was not so sure that such a thing was possible, and she believed that the others agreed with her on that. But even as much as they had to discuss about their movements and the state of things, the Pack tried to avoid talking about the Rifter at all. Wren had often wondered if their avoidance of the subject was for her sake, or simply to spare their own feelings. Even after they had followed Rifter into battle with the demon, some among their number did not quite miss him like she did.

Then I suppose we can move on to the current matters that need discussing, Sly spoke up. We need to decide what our next step will be since yesterday’s attempt at healing the ground did not take.

Calico looked up at that, the only one among them who was not aware of this. It didn’t take?

The field Wren healed yesterday is dying already, Sly explained, speaking toward her from his bandaged face. And dead crystals were unearthed.

Calico seemed to lose her appetite at that. She turned her painted, sun-reddened face instinctively toward Wren—accusingly—and Wren knew what the Tribal huntress was thinking. If she opened her mouth, it would be a repeat of what Mach had said earlier about needing Rifter here. To her luck, however, Calico kept quiet, only seemed disgusted.

So it comes down to this, Sly dictated. Do we stay here and hope for better luck with a second try, or do we continue along our trek, hoping for better results elsewhere?

No sense wasting energy on something we can’t change, Mach muttered, picking at the meat he’d been given. He was in a foul mood over the way Wren had snapped at him earlier, but she saw no need to apologize for it—not at this moment.

But can we just let it go? Toss asked. Put it from our minds? What if this area spreads and begins to kill what Wren has already accomplished farther out?

Wren’s mere presence here for a number of days might do some good, Sly said. The land used to thrive when I was near, without any greater effort on my part. If that could happen when the darkness was still present, surely there will be some way to fix this.

Finn, who had been silent, looked up. Staying in one place for a while might give us an opportunity to replenish our supplies. We could dry some meat, make some new armor. Toss could build a forge and work on some of our weapons. There’s no problem with taking a bit of time.

Wren did not speak up at that, but she secretly wondered if there truly was something wrong with taking time. Once, by taking the Vow of the Never-Ones with Rifter, the boys had been promised a state of immortality, of being but never changing. With the introduction of the darkness—or perhaps their separation from Rifter—they had begun to age during the four years that Wren had been absent from Nevermor. It was uncertain whether they were still aging, and she wondered if they might not know it for a year or two, but not so long ago, Mach had been complaining of a toothache, and that had given Wren a chill.

They did not decay before. Perhaps we do not have the time that we think.

Wren did not need immortality. She’d never been able to see too far into her own future to predict it or even anticipate what it might give her. Even if they were to continue to grow older, they might have many years to see to their task, though Wren had not imagined the rest of her life to be that of a nomad. She wanted to settle, have a house, have children…

To come down to it then, Sly started. His voice interrupted her thoughts. Does anyone object to making this spot a semi-permanent camp?

Perhaps it would be a good idea to stay a while, replenish their supplies and decide what was wrong with the field, but Wren did not have the patience for this. In fact, the very idea of being confined to one place made her feel restless and agitated. She could not allow herself this. Days without activity would only reduce her further.

I object, she burst, suddenly full of zeal for the thoughts she’d been having. We need to keep going.

The rest observed her for her outburst, but were perhaps so shocked that they had nothing to say to it.

Perhaps we have no time to waste, she went on. We need to keep going forward with our effort like we planned. We need to keep looking for the lagoon.

The lagoon—that had been their aim, and she could not allow them to forget. Wren had been there herself once. Rifter had taken her to the glistening pool, and aside from the near-naked mermaids that had made her so jealous, Wren had witnessed the wonder of what led them to seek it now: the new dreams.

Along with the nightmares that came to Nevermor over the sea, there were also new dreams to be born, and they had incubated in the lagoon until Rifter would view them and either reject them or let them stay. To hunt for it now was only natural since the corruption had retreated. The island, however, had changed since then, and when the lagoon was not where it had once been—not where they had first looked—the Pack had begun to move along the coast with hopes of stumbling upon it, healing portions of land as they went.

But as Wren observed the faces of her companions across the fire, she did not see the same resolve that she possessed inside herself. Perhaps it was their doubt in her that was holding them back—as if finding the lagoon would be useless now that she could not even keep a field alive.

You know, Toss started gently, locking her eyes, there really is nothing wrong with a bit of rest—

"No," she said firmly, and she caught the note of frustration in her own voice. It was anger which was driving her, a fist within her chest, but Wren was resolved to the task. She could not take a few days, or even one more. She had to keep herself going forward one step at a time or else she might lose purpose—lose hope completely.

We have to stay focused, she said, but mostly for her own benefit.

Her companions were quiet, perhaps pitying her, but she refused to look at their faces anymore. Eventually, however, they began to relent.

Very well then, Sly agreed finally. We’ll set out again in the morning.

2

After the meal was done, Wren had excused herself to the nearby creek to wash up. The others were already making plans for which direction they would aim for when the sun rose. Wren wondered if she was wrong for feeling indifferent toward it. Everything felt temporary until Rifter was back.

For now, she felt better just to be clean.

Wren moved slowly back to camp, dragging her feet through the leaves as they carried her along, but she found herself pausing. The wind was whispering through the trees, making her aware of her isolation. She was completely alone—or perhaps she was not. Perhaps there was someone creeping through the bushes, preparing to sneak up behind and overtake her—

In a swift motion, Wren pulled the dagger from her waist, swiping as she whirled, pointing the blade away from her. There was no one behind her, but of course she had known that. It was only a practice illusion she’d let herself believe for a moment.

The dagger was lightweight and balanced, sharp on both sides and honed to a fine point. Wren was able to hold it steady. Her wrist was stronger than it had been once, more assured, and she was not afraid of needing to use it. She had finally accepted the responsibility of protecting herself against danger, though it had taken a long time. She did not actively participate in battle just for the sake of violence, but she understood the importance of defending herself when it became necessary.

Holding the blade out in front of her, she looked down the length of the metal, keeping watch on her hand to be sure it was balanced. Feeling content that her previous anxieties had not shaken her, she tried out a few slices and stab motions, cutting nothing but the air. She tried not to watch the shining blade sweep past, instead imagining that there was a target before her—a man perhaps; a pirate. He was coming for her, but was vulnerable now, drawing his gun. She could take him down. Wren made her motions again.

Across the arm, then the neck, along the groin, in the heart…

She preferred to practice where the others could not see her, though she had spent quite a bit of time among them when she had first expressed her desire to learn. They had shown her what they knew, focusing on basic maneuvers, but all of them agreed that none could have been a better teacher than—

No.

Wren refused to have that thought, repeating her movements, trying to move more quickly. She turned, striking again—

Whoa there! Mach said, jumping out of reach, and Wren drew back immediately. He’d been apt enough to dodge her swipe, but her face flushed, embarrassed that he’d come upon her at all.

Sorry, he said, recognizing it. I’ve just come to check on you. You’ve been gone for a bit.

There were times when Wren felt a great degree of pity and sorrow in Mach’s direction, and though he was often moody, she always found that she could forgive him when she considered his situation. Looking at him now—at the red mark on his face—Wren tried to stay her thoughts as well as her breath. Mach had made it clear a long time ago that he did not want sympathy.

I’m alright, she said finally. I was just…

Her voice trailed off awkwardly, but Mach did not waste time with that.

Actually, I wanted to say I’m sorry for earlier. Seems that I always have to do that… But I didn’t mean to upset you, bringing up Rifter like that.

His comments about their need to find Rifter had been harsh, but they were also true. Perhaps she shouldn’t have gotten so angry, but his words had struck her the wrong way at the time.

It’s alright, Wren told him. It wasn’t Mach’s fault and she didn’t hold it against him. In truth, he’d been right. The world did need for Rifter to come back.

I’m just really good at being an ass, he said with a nervous laugh. But I guess you know that by now.

She didn’t hold it against him. He had taken a blow that the others could not fathom, watching his twin brother die. She also knew what it was like to lose a brother.

It still hurts.

She shook her head, refusing to make a reply. Wren looked down and her eyes fell on the dagger in her hand, examining the way the moonlight cast off it.

Right, Mach said, acknowledging that he’d said his piece and that the conversation would not go further. So I noticed you’re practicing. While I’m here, would you like a partner? I’m not so good with a blade, of course. Projectiles are more my thing, but I can handle myself.

Wren looked up at him, taking the offer to be a genuine effort to help, and if she said no, she might hurt his feelings.

Sure, she sighed finally. It might be nice to focus on something other than air.

Mach smiled and nodded, accepting this as her forgiveness and drew a blade from his boot. He held the knife in his left hand, and she paid attention to that. Part of what she had been taught was that she must estimate what her opponent would do with a weapon—which spanned a great deal of knowledge for different sorts. She was not so sure