Page 68 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
The thought came with no explanation, and yet it filled him with doubt. Surely something like this couldn’t last. Surely the end was nigh, and all was about to fall apart.
Harrow was asleep when he returned, but it looked as though she, too, rested uneasily. A frown creased her brow, her hands gripping the blankets too tightly. He decided he would climb into bed and take her in his arms to soothe her. It amazed him that he could do this for her. He cherished it as the greatest of gifts.
Turning from the bed, he headed to the washroom to get ready. Halfway there, he stopped, eyes catching on something on the table.
Harrow’s stack of Seer cards.
She’d explained to him how each of the twenty-four cards represented a different form of water. Each meant a different thing according to how it was drawn from the deck and, more importantly, what the Water told her as she drew it. Raith was curious to learn more, but when he’d asked her to show him the cards or do a reading on him, she’d demurred, so he hadn’t pressed.
But now the cards lay unattended on the table and Harrow lay sleeping in the bed. Would she mind if he touched one? Surely not. He would tell her first thing in the morning. But for now, he couldn’t shake the curiosity.
He picked up the card on the top of the deck, laying it faceup on the table. It was solid black with an intricate gold frame around the edges. In the middle, written in scrawling calligraphy, were two words:
The Deep.
A shiver of awareness raced down his spine. Something inside him stirred in recognition. He stared at the card, feeling on the verge of understanding something important.
The Deep was darkness, like him. But for once, staring at that card, the dark didn’t depress him. Instead, it felt…peaceful? Necessary? Like it had its own essential role to play in the world, and without it, something important would be missing.
He peered closer, fighting to understand, but the harder he concentrated, the more the feeling slipped away. Eventually, he was left just staring at the card, wondering if he’d imagined it in the first place.
From across the room, Harrow gave a tiny moan in her sleep. He would go to her and protect her from all threats. That was a role in the world he could fulfill with pride.
Discarding his shirt, he washed quickly and slipped into bed beside Harrow, pulling her into his arms. She mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep, so he stroked her hair and held her tightly until she calmed.
He didn’t plan on sleeping. He rarely slept. Part of it was his need to protect Harrow, but another part was his desire to hide his true nature from her. He knew that if he lost consciousness completely—either from injury or by falling into a deep slumber—he would automatically revert to his real nature: pure celestial darkness, devoid of all tone and texture, absorbent of all light.
Like a wraith. He never wanted Harrow to see him like that.
Unfortunately, something about this night was different. Within moments, he was blinking heavily, longing to slip into oblivion. He fought it as long as he could, all the while thinking of that mysterious card and trying in vain to understand what it had been trying to tell him.
He was sucked into sleep minutes later.
Immediately, the memories began.
…
Harrow was swimming in the dream again. But it had shifted once more. She was back in the shallow water, but this time, she was desperate to dive down, somehow knowing the deep represented Raith. Her earlier fear of it had simply been fear of the unknown.
Now, that unknown was known, and it was loved. She loved him.
In the dream, the shoulds and should-nots didn’t matter. In the dream, he was hers, and she loved him enough to dive into the darkness to save him. He was down there waiting for her, and she had to get to him.
But she couldn’t. Because something was trying to pull her to the surface.
Like an invisible tether tied to her waist, it tried repeatedly to yank her up. She fought violently, trying again and again to execute her dive only to be thwarted with another tug around her middle.
She thrashed anew, diving, only to be yanked backward yet again. Feeling her back breach the water, she fought harder, somehow certain that if she allowed whatever it was to pull her up, she’d never be able to get back to the deep where Raith was waiting.
“No!” She fought harder, though her muscles were tiring and her vision swam with spots of exhaustion. “Don’t make me leave him. He needs me.” Somehow her words carried perfectly in the underwater dream world. “I have to get to him. He’s mine! I love him!”
The tugging stopped. For a moment, Harrow thought she had succeeded. She gave a triumphant shout and started to dive. She was doing it! Diving deeper, the light disappearing—
The tether yanked, harder than before, catching her by surprise. It pulled her up faster than she could fight, though she certainly tried. She broke the surface in an explosion of thrashing limbs and spraying water.
And landed in a room.
Completely dry, dressed in a simple white gown, she glanced around in shock after noting her own appearance. She was in a spacious sitting room. Ahead, a stone fireplace lay empty of wood or any signs of a recent fire, though the air was cold. A heavy piece of metal had been welded around the hearth to block the chimney, and a thick layer of dust coated it, though the rest of the room was spotless.
