Shadow War - Deborah Chester [76]
Then with a jolt she ceased falling and found herself in a featureless hallway. The walls were very narrow. She could barely squeeze through, but she felt the urgent need to run.
She did so, her feet flying faster and faster. She wanted out of this place, wanted this strange dream to end. But as she ran, a hand reached out from nowhere to grab her arm.
Glancing down, she saw the hand projecting from the wall. She screamed, but heard no sound. Somehow she wrenched free and hurried on.
But there were other hands brushing her, grabbing at her clothing and hair. Ahead of her stood the healer Agel, arms outstretched. She veered around him and collided with Caelan, who seized her by the throat. Pulling free, she stumbled on around a turn in the passageway. And now Hecati followed her, beating her with a switch until her back and legs stung.
Then, without warning, she found herself in the grip of a woman tall and warm, smelling of ambergris and henna. This person held her fast when she would have torn free.
“I must go,” Elandra sobbed. “I must run.”
Abruptly the loving hands were gone, and she found herself standing alone in the darkness.
From far in the distance came a whisper: “Elandra, my daughter. Do not run. Do not heed them. Find your own way. Walk to your destiny at your own pace. Do not be forced.”
Elandra spun around, searching for the voice with a sudden yearning. “Mother?” she called. “Oh, Mother, please help me!”
“Help yourself,” came the reply, fainter than ever. “You are stronger than they know. Trust your own heart. Heed nothing else.”
Elandra ran toward the voice, wishing now she had not pushed her mother away. She had so many questions, so much need for this woman she had never known. “Mother—”
But she could not find her. The voice spoke no more to her.
Finally Elandra stopped running. Anguished tears streaked her face. She had never understood why her mother sent her away when she was so young. She had never understood why her mother did not want her.
A feral snarl from behind her scattered her thoughts. Whipping her head over her shoulder, Elandra saw a huge black game cat leaping toward her from a thicket. Without warning she found herself in the jungle, sunlight barely filtering down through the upper canopy. The panther came at her fast. With fangs bared, it was intent on bringing her down.
And she was ten years old. Foolish and headstrong, she had wandered away from the safety of the camp against orders, and now found herself terrified, the intended victim of this predator.
Before she could turn to run, its paws hit her chest with a jolt that knocked the wind from her. She was falling, falling, her scream entwined with that of the cat. Its hot breath scorched her face as its fangs tore into her exposed throat.
“Stop!” Elandra cried.
She struck the panther, and her hand passed right through it as though it were only mist. The beast dissolved, and she was no longer lying on her back in the rotting humus, but instead standing on a desolate mesa, all bare rock and scrubby weeds, overlooking a sharp drop to the open plains below.
The air was cold, and it blew constantly at her back with a mournful howl.
The jungle cat’s attack was not a true memory. Elandra frowned, still feeling shaken by how close it had come to killing her. But she had not wandered away from camp. Someone else had—a bearer. He had been brought down and killed before the soldiers could drive the animal away. And it had been tawny, not black.
And had her mother ever spoken to her? Was that a true memory, or just a hope?
She felt angry now. She had been toyed with enough. The sisters had no right to put her through this nightmare.
“Stop this!” she said aloud. “I will participate no further. Bring me back and have done with your games.”
But nothing changed or responded. She stood alone on the mesa, the precipice at her feet. There was not another living creature within miles of her.