Page 36 of Cursed By the Dawn

They fell slowly, descending over us like grotesque castles in the sky. Roots tangled, reaching for us like a sea of wooden serpents. We had time—we had time. But then the trees sped up, roots spiraling at a dizzying pace. Some struck the ground, tearing the earth apart in great chunks.

Another dreamer fell, body snapping against the spikes.

Then another.

Another.

“No,” I gasped.

I spun, narrowly missing a root before it crashed to the ground, but a second caught my right wing, tearing it in half. I screamed in pain, rolling to the left as another root tore a line down my hip, ripping into the leather armor and drawing blood. Shadows shot around me, desperate to help but not knowing how. I caught a glimpse of Erebus, frantically trying to reach me, but he was too far away. He sent a wave of shadow careening into a root aimed at my head, crushing it, but he was late to stop another. It hit my shoulder, shoving my body toward the spikes. My eyesight was blurry, fogged by fear, but I could vaguely hear a frantic masculine voice screaming my name.

Screaming forme.

“It’s not real!” I heard Erebus shout. “You are not shackled to reality in the Dream Realm—fight it!”

“It’s not real,” I cried to myself, repeating it like a mantra. “It’s notreal—”

Erebus’s shadows struck again, shattering a root before it could hit me.

“Clear your mind, Esmer!” he roared.“Focus!”

I was hurdling fast toward the spikes. If I didn’t do something, I’d be impaled. I wondered what it would feel like. Would it be fast—painless—as my body vaporized into shadow? Against every shred of self-preservation telling me to flee, I calmed my mind.

The spikes weren’t spikes, but soft, flowing grass.

The roots weren’t roots, but gentle, wispy hair.

The trees weren’t trees, but columns of clouds.

The spikes will cushion me.

The roots will caress me.

The trees will embrace me.

Instincts shrieking, I relaxed my body, refusing to flinch as a sharp root—no,hair—careened toward me. And then my body simply slipped through it. Perfectly unharmed. Instead of ducking under the next root, I purposefully rushedtowardit, anticipating a pleasurable, ticklish sensation. And it worked. The root brushed along my back in long, sweeping caresses.

Erebus flew down to meet me, expression haunted.

“I’m fine,” I said briskly, giving him what I hoped was a calming smile. I stamped down the rising sense of pride I felt. The warmth of success. “But the dreamers—they need to know. We need to tell them how to navigate this so more can survive the trial.”

“The Weavers will be angry,” he noted, a faint trace of intrigue curling into his tone. “We’re not meant to interfere.”

“I don’t care. If it’s within our power as Weavers to inspire our dreamers to succeed, we must. Lelantos was right—this is more than just a dream. Too much is at stake, and if we have the ability to turn the tide in our favor, we need to do something.”

Even in the chaos, a smile tugged at Erebus’s perfect mouth. Of course he’d do anything to defy the Weavers. To do things on our own terms. And so, wielding our shadows like a current, we sent a command through our dreamers’ bonds.

“The spikes are soft grass.

“The roots are gentle hair.

“The trees are columned clouds.

“Rise.

“Rise.

“Rise.”