The aforementioned “quieter approach” we decided on after having trouble with the more public version was initially in Ren’s point of view. At this point it’s difficult to recall what exactly spurred us to change the setup here, but it may have been the need to get Grey and Vargo sworn to each other before everybody went on the world’s worst honeymoon trip — at which point it made more sense to stay in Vargo’s perspective.
* * *
Ren settled herself at his side. She needed to tell him about the three-card line she’d laid: Warp and Weft, the card of union, indicating the strange spiritual bond between himself and Alsius. For the path to follow, The Face of Balance; she was still trying to sort out what that meant. But for the end of the line . . .
Hundred Lanterns Rise. Paper lanterns floating into the sky on the winter solstice, a Vraszenian tradition — and the card of letting things go.
Before she could say a word, her skin chilled as if winter’s wind had just blown into the room.
She looked up — and saw a zlyzen crouching in the doorway.
Then it leapt forward and yanked. Not with its claws or its teeth; with the connection that bound them. Dragging Ren down, toward the border between waking and dream.
She heard Vargo bellowing for Grey as if from underwater. This was one of her nightmares, the zlyzen waiting at the bottom of the river — Drowning Breath, the card of fear —
Ren could see the connection between them, the putrid, ash-purple thread. If she was far enough toward the dream to see it, she could cut it.
The pressure released an instant before she could. The zlyzen hunched into a groveling posture. Vargo had hold of her arm, hard enough to bruise, and Grey was in the doorway, Tess at his heels.
“It tried to drag me into the dream,” Ren gasped, free hand pressed to her collarbone.
Vargo spat a curse about his lost sword-cane. Grey’s hands flexed like he would wrestle the zlyzen unarmed if he had to. And the zlyzen itself let out a sound Ren had never heard from it before, a low, piteous growl. Its head dipped in a sideways nod, and this time the yank was a gentler tug. Not compelling; guiding.
It wanted her to follow it.
She didn’t know she’d said that out loud until Vargo snapped, “Tell it to fuck off.” He backed up a step, dragging Ren with him. “Tess, how much red you got upstairs? Fabric, thread, ribbons.”
Tess’s head emerged from behind Grey’s shoulder. “Just floss. Maybe some ribbons? Most everything’s at my shop.”
Ren stared at the creature, unblinking. The zlyzen at the labyrinth, attacking Branek, but not harming Koszar. Hadn’t she prayed for him to prevail? Hadn’t she tied herself to the monsters of her own nightmares during Veiled Waters, strengthened that connection when she and Vargo retrieved Tricat from the dream?
“I think I did this,” Ren said, forcing it out. “I think I called it — somehow. What it wants from me I know not, but . . .”
She made herself truly look at it. Not the snarling hunter pack of the Night of Hells, but a single zlyzen, surrounded, offering no threat. Beckoning.
“I think it will hurt me not.”
Three choruses protests answered that. And all of them were right, that she couldn’t trust these creatures, that she didn’t know where it was taking her or why, but . . . Ren knew she would not sleep without answers. Not when the zlyzen might be waiting in her dreams.
“Then you won’t go alone,” Grey snapped. “Vargo, how long will it take to scribe some numinat for me?”
Vargo didn’t even laugh at the question. “For us both. Give me –”
Without Ren’s resistance, the dream was rising around her like the tide. “There’s no time,” she cried. “Tell the others what happened. Tell them I will be back.”
Everything was dissolving into mist. Grey and Vargo lunged for her at the same time. Ren reached out and caught their hands . . . and together they slid into the dream.