4
That night, Sandrena didn't dream. Aside from the ones compelling her on this quest, she had never had true dreams, dreams as others described them, while she slept. No, all she had were memories.
They were memories of a life she never lived.
This one was the second such memory, the one she always dreaded facing.
It was a misty day, though in the memory the mists didn't hold any significance; they were simply mists, an obscuring fog, nothing more, much like the mists she had encountered in Canterell.
She stood at the foot of a trail through the woods, anxiously tapping her bare foot on the ground as she waited, though what she waited for, Sandrena the observer couldn't yet remember. All she knew was that in the memory, she was feeling impatient about something.
The details of the forest were visceral and real, almost as real as if she were experiencing them at the moment: the stirring of emerald leaves in the gentle breeze, the warmth of shifting sunlight speckled on her skin, the aroma of earth, the feel of the dirt under her toes... it was real in a way that memories were, and that, as she understood them, dreams were not.
Finally, she saw sign of what she had been waiting for, and an eager grin split her face. There, swinging down the trail on her two crutches, was her little sister.
My little sister. The sight of her warmed the observing Sandrena's heart more than she could account for; how was it that this little girl meant so much to her, meant the whole world to her? She knew it was not just her own feelings that she felt. They were mingled with those of the girl whose life she was experiencing, the girl named Sandra.
"Sandra!" cried the tiny girl, who looked much younger than her six years. Her round brown face, framed by lank dirty blond hair, radiated sheer delight. "What are you waiting for? Get moving!"
"I ain't waiting on nothing, Laura!" Sandrena hollered back. "I stubbed a toe... or something."
Laura grinned all the wider, and Sandrena felt her own face mirror her little sister's. Laura didn't like special treatment because of her legs, and often worked to show that she didn't need any such treatment. She loved showing off how fast she could move with her crutches and leg braces.
The windy part of the path was where it got tricky, so Sandra liked to let her at least catch up on that part. Now that they were on the straightaway, Sandra knew she would have a tough time of catching up once Laura got going.
Laura stopped when she got a couple feet from Sandra, chest heaving, eyes wild with excitement. "Ready..."
"And..."
"GO!"
They both tore off like maniacs, laughing and howling. Laura took the path, making incredible speed, while Sandra crashed through the ferns and the bushes like a frenzied boar. Thorns and branches caught a Sandra's wool dress, but she didn't care; she had to win. Not because she felt any desire to beat her sister in this race, but because Laura always knew when Sandra wasn't trying her best.
By the time Sandra made it down by the creek bank, little Laura was leaning against a tree stump with both crutches resting against her shoulder, her arms folded over them, and a very smug look on her face. Sandra laughed.
"Want to go up a ways? To the pond maybe?" Sandra asked, dusting her dress free of plant matter.
Briefly a fearful expression came over Laura's face, but it was quickly schooled into nonchalance. "I don't know. I heard some boys shouting. Doesn't sound like much fun, sharing the pond with them."
Pausing to listen, Sandra could hear them faintly.
She suspected she knew which boys Laura was talking about. Some of the boys from Second Hill, a village just on the other side of the creek, often picked on Laura. Sandra couldn't understand why; how could anyone look at Laura and not fall instantly in love with her? She knew, though, that the people from Second Hill were poorer than dirt, poorer, even, than the people from Sandra's own village. Maybe they hated her just because she knew how to smile and they didn't.
One time, they had broken both of Laura's crutches, the whole lot of them just stamping and smashing them for no good reason. Sandra had to carry Laura on her back, even had to swim across the creek like that, all the way home. Immediately, Sandra had asked dad how to make new crutches, and with his help, that's exactly what Sandra did. They were the crutches that Laura used now.
Abruptly, Laura's stomach grumbled. She grinned as if it were something to be proud of, and Sandra laughed aloud. "Berries, then?"
"Sounds good," Laura said with a decisive nod. "Hum our song so I know where you are. We'll meet back here in quarter of a turn." She crutched off to the fork, taking the right path.
Skipping buoyantly, Sandra took the left, and began to hum their song. It was a happy little tune, perfect for this weather, perfect for this day. She was able to mark each beat of the song with each fall of her foot as she skipped down the path. Sandra couldn't remember where she had first heard that song. Maybe it was when that troupe of players came to town a few years back... or maybe Sandra first heard it in her heart when she saw Laura's little face brought into the world. She didn't know. All she knew was that Laura loved it, so much so that she thought of it as their song, the song that defined them as sisters.
Sandra first became aware of the berry bush when about a dozen of their thorns pricked her all at once. She had been so wrapped up in the song, skipping so carelessly, that she managed to jump right into the bush. Cursing loudly—and blushing in embarrassment when she realized Laura could have heard it—she backed out of the bush slowly, picking up her song right where she left off. Much to her dismay, she had trampled some of the biggest, juiciest berries, but there were still plenty of good ones. She crouched down and began to pick them to put in her dress's berry pouch, which dad had sewn on special for her, sneakily popping a few of them into her mouth like it was some grand crime.
The leaves stirred, rustling like cloth.
Sandra couldn't hear any sign of Laura.
She stood up mid-chew, frowning, wondering how far they had separated. It hadn't been a quarter of a turn yet, she knew, and Laura wouldn't make any sound if she were waiting at the fork. Still, the sounds of the forest seemed to be missing something, something that Sandra couldn't quite place.
Clutching her berry pouch closed, she trotted briskly back up the path.
No one waited at the fork.
Trying not to worry herself sick, Sandra took the other path, casting her gaze about to either side for any sign of her sister. Then, with a chill that made her shudder, she realized what was missing from the air.
The boys' shouting.
Sandra tore into a sprint toward the pond, arms pumping, heedless of the berries flying free of her pouch.
When she finally made it to the muddy bank of the pond, panting and heaving, she saw them: the two bastardly brothers from Second Hill, the ones who had instigated the crutch-smashing of before, Jonah and Ian. They were sitting in the decrepit, moldy boat they sometimes brought out. Next to them were three younger boys, kids that were pale imitations of the hooligans that were Jonah and Ian, but hooligans nonetheless. Sandra didn't remember their names, and right now, she didn't care.
"Have you seen her?" From out of nowhere, tears sprang out of Sandra's eyes. "Where is she?"
None of the boys would look at her. Under the smudges of dirt, their faces were wan, their eyes wide with terror. All except black-haired Ian, whose face was red with anger for some reason.
The boat lurched slightly, and then was still. The anchor chain was stretched taut as it reached into the pond's depths. None of the boys moved or acknowledged Sandra's existence.
"Where is she?"
One of the younger boys, the skinny one with the mop of curly red hair, glanced over the boat's edge. Wordlessly, Ian cuffed him hard.
Bubbles broke the water's surface next to the anchor chain.
Sandra stared. And then she screamed.
Without a moment's hesitation, she threw herself into the water. She didn't know how to swim, but right now that didn't
matter. Taking a deep, quivering breath, Sandra submerged herself completely.
She had tried opening her eyes under water before, but it always hurt. Now, she did it, too afraid to feel the hurt. Too afraid of what might be going on while she closed her eyes.
There, at the bottom of the pond where the plants were thickest, was the rusted anchor. Laura was next to it, struggling futilely against the chain around her neck, her crippled legs floating like dead weight. Her panicked eyes found Sandra's, and a bubble of air escaped her lips. No no no no!
Sandra thrashed and thrashed, but nothing she did seemed to move her very far. She felt so helpless, so worthless, so stupid! How could she have let this happen? Why couldn't she have stayed next to her sister, to protect her?
Sandra's knee banged against a rock hard, drawing blood and a sharp sting. She set her feet, letting the rest of her body drift down so that she was parallel to the sloping ground, and kicked off with all her strength and anger and fear.
Within two seconds, she had a grip on the hem of Laura's dress. Already Sandra's lungs felt like they were going to burst right out of her chest.
Laura began to struggle harder. She screamed, but little enough air came out. If Sandra could have cried under the water right then, she would have, but she didn't have time. She had to work fast.
Somehow, the chain had knotted around Laura's neck, stretched tight as the anchor was barely scraping the bottom. Sandra couldn't make sense of that; how could the chain have managed to knot itself around her neck? Then she realized: the chain didn't do anything.
The boys had done this. Deliberately.
Sandra lifted the anchor, putting some give into the chain. With that, she was able to shove Laura's head free.
Laura wasn't moving. Her eyes were fixed on nothing.
Sandra grabbed Laura around the chest and began kicking for the surface.
Their faces broke the surface. Air filled Sandra's stinging lungs sharply. But she couldn't stay above water; she didn't know how. After that fleeting mouthful of air she was back under. She sank to the bottom again, and slowly crawled back towards the bank, clutching her motionless sister close.
Finally they reached the bank. Sandra flopped into the mud, gasping and weak, the pain in her knee finally catching up to her, dazed and insane with fear.
Laura's chest wasn't moving. Her hair clung to her face like seaweed, but she didn't push it away. Her eyes still stared from a pale face.
Sandra felt the sobs rise up her throat, closed her eyes against the tears. She pulled Laura close as she began to cry, kissing her cold cheek as she did.
Behind her, she heard the boat crunch against the mud. Footsteps.
Something blocked the sunlight. Sandra rolled over slightly and opened her eyes to see Ian standing over her, stinking in his filthy ragged clothing. He looked absolutely furious, as if Sandra had done something horrible to him and not the other way around.
He nearly choked on the words as he spoke. "You ain't gonna tell on us, are you?"
Sandra rolled back over and the sobs came on stronger. She didn't care about Ian. Her sister was dead, dead. She wrapped her arms and legs around Laura as best she could; maybe if she held on long enough, Laura's spirit wouldn't go away. Maybe she would wake up.
Sandra would be willing to try. She would do anything to see her sister smile again.
"Hey!" Something jerked her over flat on her back. Before she could get up, Ian pressed her hands down and knelt on her arms. Unbelieving that he could do such a thing, especially after what he had done, she gaped at him. Then she launched into a fit of screaming, kicking, biting, and punching. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Listen to me!"
His fist connected with her jaw. Something popped, something felt wrong. Sandra's vision went black with pain, but only for a blessed moment. Then she saw Ian's face, contorted with rage, staring down at her. "Shut up!" he shouted. "Shut up and listen!" He swung his fist behind his back and into Sandra's ribs.
She suddenly found it very hard to breathe.
Her eyelids fluttered. "Hey! Get over here and help me with this! She was gonna tell on us! Do you wanna get strung up?"
"We didn't do anything, Ian. You did."
"Oh yeah? That's not what I saw. Jonah, what did you see?"
Through the haze, Sandra heard Jonah chuckle. "I saw Devvy doing some real sick stuff to that little gimp before shoving her over the side."
"Right. Now you gonna come on over here and help, Devvy? Or you gonna get strung up all on your own?"
Several shadows crowded around her, darkening her world. Sandra opened her eyes long enough to see Ian holding a rock in his hands, then raising it over his head, terror in his eyes, and then—
Red blossomed in her vision, consuming all else. She felt feet crushing her fingers, more rocks hitting her legs, her stomach. The pain was immense, intolerable, ripping through every fiber of her being. She wished she could fade away and die, but the intensity of her agony only seemed to accelerate with abandon, as if she were feeling the pain multiply itself, feeding off of itself with each new injury. Pain poured into her like poisonous water into a vessel that was discovering it had no bottom.
Abruptly the pain stopped.
The redness of her vision seemed to congeal into liquid clouds of blood swarming all around her, washing away the beach, the pond... her sister. She was floating in this red world, hovering like a feather that had forgotten how to fall. There was no ground that she could see, just the liquid clouds roiling in every direction, lit by the occasional flickers of red lightning.
Sandrena the observer realized that this was not part of the memory at all.
She realized that she was dreaming. She had to be; but why did it feel so real?
The shadows of her assailants were hidden behind the clouds. Then, all five of the shadows swam through the clouds towards a point in front of her, then disappeared.
Sandrena's heart thumped wildly in her chest.
Then, like a mountain parting the mist, a vast single shadow appeared, man-shaped and enormous, bigger than the tallest peaks of Mist lands. The fuzzy edges of his form sharpened into night-black muscles, human except for where his head and neck should have been, where there was only empty space.
The headless man spread his arms wide. A dozen black chains sprang out from behind, writhing like tentacles. Sandrena noticed that at his stomach was something that looked like a round shield. Her focus was drawn to it for some reason.
From within the black depths of that stomach-shield, two yellow eyes opened, stared into her soul, crushing it.
And all around her the clouds began to scream.