Ignis (Book 2, Pure Series) (48 page)

           
I ran harder, but when I looked over my shoulder, the white figure was even closer.

           
I felt tears stinging my eyes.

           
The white figure was going to catch me.

           
Soon I could hear the heavy sound of pursuit—it sounded like approaching thunder.

           
There was a rush of wind, and the white figure shot past me.
 
It wheeled around sharply and came to a stop right in front of me on the road.

           
I cried out as I ran into the huge, solid body in front of me.

           
I fell to the ground.
 
My lantern landed beside me and went out.

           
I lay on the road for a long time before I dared to look up.
 
I waited, bracing my body for an attack.
 
But an attack did not come.
 
I listened, but once again, all I heard was my own breathing.

           
I didn't want to look up.
 
I had the strange idea that if I didn't look at the creature in front of me that it couldn't hurt me—I would just have to stay as I was forever.
 
But as time passed, and silence continued to reign, my eyes lifted involuntarily.

           
I found that I was looking up at a horse.

           
I shuffled backward and got to my feet, rubbing at my eyes.
 
When I opened them again, I was still looking at a horse.

           
It just didn't seem possible.

           
For its part, the horse stared back at me placidly.
 
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw amusement in its mild, dark eyes.
 
The animal was beautiful—silver pale, finely molded and delicate in its lines, and its smooth, well-muscled body gave off a faint sheen.

           
It was not what I had expected.
 
It was not Timofei Mstislav returned from the grave to destroy me.
 
But a feeling was growing on me that the animal was not what it appeared to be.

           
Clearly, it looked like a horse.

           
But something told me that it wasn't a horse at all.

           
The beautiful creature lifted its head, and I had the strangest feeling that it wanted to me to climb on its back.

           
I quickly retrieved my lantern from the road—it was lying on its side with one of its glass panes broken.
 
And though I had never ridden a horse in my life, I managed to climb onto its back and twine my free hand into its thick, glossy mane.

           
For one disorienting moment, I'd actually imagined that the horse had shrunk in size while I'd climbed onto its back, making it easier for me.
 
And then I'd imagined that it had grown larger again once I was safely seated.

           
That, of course, was impossible.

           
The horse started forward, and though I could no longer see where we were headed now that my lantern was extinguished, I knew that we were headed in the direction I wanted to go.

           
I sensed that we moved swiftly, but I barely felt the motion at all.

           
It was almost as if we were flying rather than galloping.

           
I hugged the broken lantern to me and closed my eyes, resting my head against the horse's neck.

           
I felt myself relax.
 
I knew that if Timofei or any of the other figures from the clearing were pursuing us, that they would have no chance of catching us.
 
I had a strange feeling that someone had just told me this, though I couldn't remember actually having heard a voice of any kind.

           
I let myself float along, and when I opened my eyes again, we had stopped.
 
The horse and I were standing in front of my house.
 
Still clutching my lantern, I slipped down easily off the horse's back.

           
I stood for a moment, looking up at the creature before me in the feeble light from our street's two streetlamps.
 
The horse truly was a magnificent animal, and something like sympathy showed in its dark eyes.

           
I had the impression that it had just rendered me a great service.

           
I lifted a hand to stroke its shining neck.

           
"Thank you," I said.

           
The horse gazed at me for a moment longer, and then turned and trotted off into the night.
 
I went into the house, and after making sure that the door was locked securely behind me, I went up to my room.

           
I knew I should be afraid.
 
I had just seen Timofei Mstislav out in the Pure Woods—and he was supposed to be dead.
 
And dead he actually had been.
 
I knew that for a fact.

           
But I had witnessed his restoration to a cursed, unnatural life.

           
He had been reborn as a kost.
 
An evil spirit was now animating his lifeless body—a spirit that existed only for revenge and destruction.

           
Timofei would come after me—in fact, he was no doubt after me this very moment.
 
I should have been afraid.
 
I should have feared for GM and for myself.
 
But once I reached my room I just set down my lantern, changed my clothes, and climbed into bed.

           
I felt peaceful.
 
I felt serene.
 
I felt secure.
 
I also felt very, very tired.

           
So I turned out the light.

           
And within moments, I was fast asleep.

           
I found myself in a dream then—or was it a dream?
 
I felt as if I had slipped through sleep and had landed on solid ground.
 
I suddenly felt very aware of being conscious.
 
I walked through a room that was heavily shrouded in shadow, and though I couldn't see well, I was sure that the walls around me were made of stone.

           
Through the darkness, I saw a light glimmering up ahead of me.

           
I ran toward it.

           
I didn't know where the light was coming from, but I felt no fear in connection with it—instead I was eager, expectant.
 
I was excited to see what was waiting for me.

           
Without really seeing it, I knew I was running down a narrow hall.
 
At the end of the hall, I felt, rather than saw, that the space around me had widened, and I had entered a stone-walled chamber.

           
The source of the light was right in front of me.

           
Before me was a long mirror that covered the length of an entire wall.
 
Shining out from the surface of the mirror was a single golden point of light.

           
I walked closer to it.

           
I stared into the mirror, but couldn't see what was causing the light—it was as if a star had been trapped inside the mirror itself.

           
I continued to stare into the mirror, but apart from the light, I could see only my own face.

           
And then there was a flicker—from the light—as if something had passed in front of it.

           
I saw a shadow move in the corner of the mirror, and I turned to look at it.

           
The shadow disappeared.

           
Another shadow moved at the opposite end of the mirror, and I turned toward it.

           
This second shadow did not disappear, and soon another shadow joined it.
 
Then there was another and another.

           
I peered closer.

           
The shadows were actually human forms.

           
More shadow forms joined the first ones, and soon I could see an entire crowd of people on the other side of the mirror.

           
I did not fear them—instead, I was overcome by an intense longing to know them.

           
I placed my hand on the mirror right over the light.
 
I saw the light shining between my fingers, and I marveled when the light suddenly grew brighter.

           
I felt the world melt away.

Chapter 18.

I awoke some time later, and the darkness of the room told me that it was still night.

           
I knew someone else was in the room—I knew instinctively that it was not GM.
 
And yet I wasn't afraid.

           
I sat up in my bed and turned blinking toward a small, flickering light in the room.
 
The frame of my bed was large and square, and the piece at the foot of it was thick and flat, like a ledge.
 
A candle sat on the ledge, and its lone column of flame seemed unnaturally bright in my dark room.

           
I blinked again.

           
Someone was sitting in front of me.

           
A girl was leaning on the ledge next to the candle, resting her head on her forearm.
 
She wasn't looking at me—instead she was staring into the candle's flame.
 
Her expression was dreamy and faraway, as if she wasn't even aware of my presence.

           
The girl sat so still and was so pale that I wondered for one panicked moment if I was looking at a ghost.
 
But as I continued to stare at the silent figure at the foot of the bed, I realized that I recognized the beautiful alabaster face before me.

           
I was looking at my cousin Odette.

           
Involuntarily, I flinched backward, hitting my back against my headboard.
 
For one brief moment, I thought about running for the door, but I quickly discarded the idea.

           
Odette was fast—too fast.
 
I would never get past her.

           
I knew that from experience.

           
"What are you doing here, Odette?" I asked.
 
I tried to sound confident, but my heart was hammering so hard that I was sure she could hear it.

           
In fact I knew she could hear it.
 
I knew just how keen her senses were.

           
Odette did not stir, and I began to wonder if I was dreaming again—at the very least I hoped I was.

           
Perhaps I was revisiting a nightmare—Odette and a candle in the dark.
 
I looked her over searchingly, trying to determine if she were real, or simply a figment of my tortured imagination.
 
Her red-gold hair looked dark in the light from the lonely candle, and the look in her eyes as she stared at the flame was soft and contemplative.

           
Odette seemed real enough, but the dream that had only just passed—the one with the mirror and the stone walls—had seemed real too.

           
Maybe if I waited long enough, she would disappear.

           
Odette continued to sit still, and as the silence stretched on, I felt myself relax.
 
I glanced around my dark room—nothing else was creeping out of the shadows to threaten me.
 
I was safe.
 
Surely this was all another vivid dream.
 
All I had to do was wait for it to fade away.

           
"I'm the one who stopped you, you know."

           
I glanced back at Odette sharply.
 
She was still gazing at the candle, and she didn't appear to have moved at all.
 
I thought she had spoken, and perhaps she had.
 
Imaginary people in dreams spoke all the time—the bare fact that they spoke did not make them real.

           
Odette sat up then, and a flash of panic ran through me.

           
"I've been watching you since you arrived."

           
Odette spoke, but she didn't look at me.
 
Instead she continued to stare into the candle flame.