I think there's a clear distinction between fear and dread. You can feel fear cloud your mind, anchor your body, freeze your soul. Dread is its quieter sibling: more subtle… more inevitable.
Dread is what comes now as I back away slowly from the red-haired witch. She fixes me with a look of longing — a look that would make any lesser man fall to his knees. I'm not greater than other men by any means, I think I'm just angrier. She hit the nail on the coffin with me: I'm simple. Boring, really.
She approaches, hand still outstretched.
"Come now Raiten," she says. "I only wish to extend my thanks."
"And I only wish for this dream to end. We don't get to all have what we want though, do we? So whatever offer or trick you are trying to pull, kindly retract it, find a nice big cliff, and go throw yourself off it," I spit.
"Aw, but that's not very nice, Raiten. Besides, why would I do that?""
As I back up, my back hits cold stone. Turning around, I find myself pressed against the walls of Sorina's underground basement. When I turn back, I see the familiar diagram-filled table and weapon-lined walls. The Witch still maintains her own form though.
And she edges closer.
"After all," she says, hand pressing against my chest. "You have something I want."
Angrily, I push her away, then look at my hands in shock to find that both of them still remain. She laughs at my reaction, giggling like some high-born schoolgirl.
"How are you doing this? Any of this?" I shake my hands for emphasis. "Was the illusion in the forest you?"
"Hmm, partly," she answers, walking around me now. As she does, she trails her hand along my back. I move to swat it off but before I can, she pushes me forward and I'm stumbling.
Just before I trip and hit the ground, the rocky basement floor breaks away and suddenly, I'm falling from the clouds, body flailing, catapulting down to the forest below. It is the same fall that I took after killing the elk.
"I mean, most of this is you technically," Thraevirula says. She's falling next to me, legs criss-crossed and head giving me that awfully teasing tilt— as if she's perpetually mocking my existence. "This is your mindscape. Your dreams. Your memories. I'm just pulling a few strings. It's how I created the illusion-trap — bravo on getting out of that by the way. But honestly, why the blood rain?"
"What?" I yell. I feel queasy, flinging about in the air, getting tossed around from setting to setting.
Sighing, Thraevirula snaps her fingers. Then, our falling ceases. We are suspended midair, floating without weight, without the ground pulling us down. No wind sweeps us. It is a strange floatiness — something I can't quite describe.
"That's much better; but yes, back to my question."
"I have no idea what you mean," I tell her.
"The hell-storm Raiten. Honestly, when I saw that, I couldn't help but laugh — you're quite the melodramatic person aren't you?"
I'm about to respond when I pause, gathering myself. I thought she formulated the blood rain. So, perhaps she is right — maybe there are some parts of this I can control. Maybe I can get out of here.
Or maybe, I can kick her out.
I try putting my hand out, aiming at her, as if I'm about to spew forth fire from my palm. She raises an eyebrow.
"What exactly are you trying to do?"
I sigh. "Nothing, I suppose." You just look foolish. I retract my hand, but even that slight motion sets me twisting in the air. It's like I'm swimming through the sky.
"If you're trying to control your dreamscape, I'm afraid it doesn't quite work like that. You aren't exactly a lucid dreamer Raiten — I can tell."
Well, at least she hasn't killed you or anything. She's just toying with you.
"What do you want Thraevirula?" I ask.
"To make a proposition."
"No."
"Oh come on, don't be like that," she swims above me, kicking her feet to match my float speed. The forest yawns beneath us, the valley sloping down slightly as if cut by the river that runs through it. "I'm offering something you want too."
"There's nothing you have that I could want—"
"A cure? Right? Isn't that what you're after?"
That shuts me up real quick. I think of Dandy. I think of her sickly form, coughing up blood. I think of how I so quickly abandoned her for my vengeance. How selfishly I gave her life up.
That is the thing I regret the most about my falling out with Sorina: the fact that I told her, in my stupid anger, that I don't care about her or Takemeadow. That's a lie. I just… I need to kill Masaru. There's no question about it. He takes priority.
But, this is also an opportunity.
"Give it to me," I growl.
She clicks her tongue and wags a finger, like a mother disciplining their child: "Now now, that wouldn't be fair would it?"
"Was it fair of you to cast forth a plague that claims the bodies of children and puppets them like some parasite?"
"Of course. That is an exchange. I give them beautiful new forms, they become my soldiers."
"You really are a witch."
"Oh please, don't throw about your morality. Look at who you travel with — Saegor is a far worse person than I could ever be." When she mentions Saegor, it is with the most anger I've seen from her throughout this conversation — it's scary, how intense the loathing in her voice is for him. The sheer disgust. Does she know him? It could be possible, considering he's a warlock.
Before I can prod, she finally gets to her point: "I'll make a trade. Your amulets for my cures. The more amulets you give me, the more cures I give you."
This surprises me. It almost makes me happy, even. If she thinks she can use my angel dust amulets, then she's dooming herself to death. All my problems would be solved. Except…
"Why my amulets?" I ask. "What are you planning on doing with them?"
She puts a finger to her lips. "A witch never tells."
"Then I'm never giving you anything." I suspect that she's not a fool — that she somehow knows everything about me, whether it be through my memories or some other magicks. I think she'll dissect the angel dust — use it in another one of her schemes. I don't want that to happen.
But if I gave her one… would it really be that bad? With one cure, I could at least save Dandy.
I shake my head, cursing slightly. "What guarantee would I have that the cure works anyways?"
"No guarantee, but we will make the exchange through a contract if you so desire. Ask your mancer friends for the particulars of that if you don't trust me."
I think about it for a long time, closing my eyes. When I open them, we are no longer floating in the air. Instead, she sits across from me, sipping on tea from a porcelain cup. Biscuits and scones lay on a white clothed table, under the shadow of an umbrella, set on top of a hill overlooking a glade. Giant swords lay in the distance, tassels flapping about their hilts in the high wind.
"Is this —"
"The Giant's Glades, yes. Your destination, I take it?"
"But, I've never been here before."
She shrugs, setting the tea down. "We've been in here so long that my dreamscape is starting to merge with yours slightly. Nothing will happen of course, but oddities like this are inevitable."
I scoff at all the sweets. "Why the tea and biscuits?" It's an idle question, however I'm trying to get her talk, buy myself some time to think.
She doesn't seem to mind: "I once read a story where a poor little boy is helped by some greedy witch. They often sat like this — had little tea parties together. She would be his confidant."
Thraevirula flutters her eyes at me. "I can be your confidant if you want," she adds.
"Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"You know exactly what." I glare at her.
"Ah, that's a pity." She leans back and stretches. "It works so well on other men."
"I'm not like other men."
"I'm starting to see that now. Well, no matter. I suppose our relationship can stay transactional. Have you had enough time to think it over? Work out all the ways I can betray my word and back out of the deal, or use the amulets to conquer the world? I assure you, I have no such aspirations. I'm a very reasonable witch."
"Stop talking." I rub my fingers against my forehead. All of this is too much — the ever-changing scenery, the dreamscape, the trade, the past and present and future all colliding into some heaping, hellish mess. But I have to make a decision.
And I can't let this opportunity slip.
"Fine, let's —"
Before I can finish that sentence, the table in front of us is blown back, cut through with a slashing wind force. I scoot back and stand, looking to the direction from which the force came.
And at the bottom of that green hill, a figure stands, sword drawn.
"Is this part of the dreamscape too?" I ask. When I look at Thraevirula, I'm surprised to find her biting down on her nails, other hand grasping the silver-sheathed blade at her side.
"No, this is an interloper," she spits.
"What —"
"Raiten! Do not trust her! Don't even speak to her!" the warrior calls. And it is then, when I squint my eyes and make out her form, that I can't help but sneer.
For it is none other than the person who started me on this path.
Hui Long aims her nodachi at the Witch and gives me a wry smile.
"Hello Raiten, it's been a while."