Page 34 of Cursed By the Dawn

Sorren glared at these dreamers, delicately biting the tip of his little finger. Ceveon, meanwhile, seemed impatient for different reasons. As though he wanted to help Lelantos and Ceres in their instruction. Only after every dreamer had managed to rise off the ground, taking tentative laps around the domain, were Erebus and I approached by the instructing Weavers.

“Shadow Weavers,” Lelantos greeted, giving us each a nod. His half mask of bone looked particularly imposing in the twilight of our domain, but his inquisitive, steady energy prevented it from being frightening. He was wearing close-fitting leathers, and feathers were braided into pieces of his windswept brown hair. “Thank you for letting Ceres and me take the lead in this day’s instruction. We hope it will prove fruitful to our efforts to reclaim Evernight.”

“We hope it proves fruitful, too,” Erebus said darkly, mouth twisted in an almost snarl. He was trying his best to keep his emotions subdued, but his instinctive hatred for the Weavers, honed for five hundred years in the most brutal of conditions, refused to surrender. “Because the sooner we can fly to Evernight and kill Raelion and his demons, the sooner we can stop pretending we’re all truly allies.”

“Are we not?” Ceres questioned, leveling her emerald stare on me in particular. Today she wore a simple green dress with deep red embroidery. Bits of moss, cobwebs, and dried flowers stuck up from her horned headpiece, mingling with her brown hair. “I understand your torment, Erebus, but you’re choosing to overlook both our intentions and our own suffering by condemning us,” she added gently. “We are Weavers just as you are. We all share the same call: to guide humanity in theirdreams and to protect the Dream Realm no matter the cost. We will be allies as long as we live.”

Erebus’s face softened—ever so slightly—as Ceres’s words sank in. He wasn’t as adversarial around Ceres and Lelantos, I’d noticed. Not like he was around Fenrir or Somnus. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered noncommittally.

Ceres nodded solemnly. “Well, perhaps we will all perish before there’s even a chance to be proper allies. Rot back into the earth like felled animals, offering our bodies and souls to the heavens at last.”

Her unexpected morbidity made my stomach churn. I wouldn’t be rotting anytime soon.

Not before I could make it to Elliot, at least.

“Before we discuss the unfortunate possibility of rotting, there needs to be flight.” Lelantos gestured toward a particularly energetic set of dreamers, their hair streaming as they gave small yelps of joy. “Flight is vital in the Realm. Not all demons possess the affinity for it, and even if they do, they are often sloppy and incapable. Mastering this skill will permit your dreamers a great advantage against them.”

“And your dreamers aren’t utterly without promise,” Ceres noted. “Should we proceed to the movement trial? There we can see how your dreamers will perform under realistic circumstances.”

The trial would be the first of the three. Three trials; three days. A chance for dreamers to demonstrate what they’d been taught.

Lelantos and Ceres urged an image into our minds: a steep cliff overlooking a swath of jagged, broken trees. The cliff was unfathomably tall; it seemed to teeter on its base, looming over the sharp pinpricks of wood far below. If a dreamer’s wings failed to open, they’d be impaled. The Weavers pushed the vision further, showing Erebus and me what would happen when the dreamers—the successful ones—were aloft. Impossibly wide trees floated over the pit of broken trunks, roots dangling like thousands of intricate blood vessels. And then, terrifyingly quickly, theydropped. If a dreamer couldn’t navigate between the roots and scale back up the cliff in time, they’d be gored by the spikes below.

Erebus frowned, wings flaring. “This is an impossible test for such novice dreamers.”

Lelantos shrugged. “Better for a dreamer, even if they are inexperienced, to know how to move when they need it most. When all appears lost and they’re being chased by a demon, their own instincts must triumph. We cannot coddle them. We cannot interfere.”

“But isn’t this cruel?” I questioned. I didn’t want to offend, but I couldn’t stand to see dreamers in our domain suffer needlessly.

His pale eyes grew contemplative. “Some would call it cruel. They’d say it’s just a dream, so why inflict unnecessary harm? But nothing about our current state is ‘just a dream.’ Not any longer. If we fail now, we are doomed.” He shifted on his feet, tawny wings flexing slightly. “Rest assured, there are no demons here to threaten your dreamers. If they perish, they’ll simply wake up again tomorrow and begin anew.”

I shifted on my feet. “If you’re certain this will be helpful.”

“It will. This method worked excellently for my own acolytes. And they were the best—masters both in flight and manipulating their movements.” His eyes lowered. “I will do all that I can to help your dreamers forge those skills, too.”

Ceres nodded. “It is true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, how his fledglings soared.”

“Very well, then,” Erebus said curtly.

With Ceres and Lelantos’s guidance, Erebus and I shifted our domain’s landscape, forming part of it to their specifications. A tall, looming cliff; a sea of spiked tree branches; and, hidden in the shadows of the violet sky, colossal trees waiting to drop. We granted Ceres and Lelantos a hint of control—just enough to orchestrate the trial’s mechanics—and flew to stand next to Ceveon and Sorren. The rest of the Weavers stood watch atop a higher level of the cliff, their view unobstructed.

Lelantos announced the rules: jump wingless from the cliff, manifest wings, take flight, and return to the cliff before hitting the ground. The dreamers were reminded that if they fell—if they “died”—theywould wake in their beds the next day, miraculously unscathed. The hidden danger, however, was not disclosed. The looming trees would be a true test of their reflexes.

“We should undertake this test, too,” Erebus murmured, just to me. “If our dreamers must endure these trials, so should we.”

He’s right.

I flexed my hands, a wave of fear thrusting a spike into my ribs. He was right, but that didn’t mean I was ready. One hundred different scenarios fluttered through my head, one after the other. My wings failing to open. The insides of my stomach spilling over the sharp tree trunks. The pity in the dreamers’ eyes as I failed to rise. I’d be perceived as weak. A mistaken excuse for a Weaver.

But if I succeeded…

I balled my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. “If my wings don’t open or work right—”

“I’ll catch you,” Erebus finished seriously. “I will never let you fall.”

I vehemently shook my head. “I don’t want you to catch me. Or to help in any way.” I could feel my shadow magic just underneath my skin, spooling across my limbs like velvet threads. I needed to prove my worth. To the dreamers, to the Weavers, and to myself. “I need to learn this, too.”

Erebus’s face twisted into barely restrained control.