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EMBERS & ASH

CEDRIC

“Welcome home, Cedric.”

The words wrapped around him like iron chains, pinning him in place as he stared at the cottage. It had been more than two decades since Cedric had looked upon the straw-colored roof, the twining green vines that framed a dusty blue door. It looked exactly as he remembered.

And he did remember.

No matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to forget.

“Impossible...” he whispered. A breeze caressed his face, making the branches of the cherry tree in front of the cottage sway. Tiny white-pink petals drifted through the air, a fragrant snow that settled in Cedric’s hair, stuck to his cheeks. His wet cheeks.

He roughly wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, then took a step back. A firm hand grabbed his forearm, gnarled fingers digging into his flesh. Alouette was surprisingly strong for her age. Cedric remembered that. He remembered her now too. Shame crept up from his gut for not recognizing her at first. His family’s loyal housemaid, the nanny who’d helped raise him, who’d been with them until?—

“This isn’t real,” he said, shaking his head. It couldn’t be.

“Is that which shapes us not real?” she asked, releasing his arm. His skin tingled where she had gripped him. “Go on, child. They’re waiting for you.”

“No one waits for me,” he said, voice thick. His eyes darted to the door, half-expecting it to burst open, for his parents to run out, for the Crucible to reveal some new twisted manipulation of his memory.

Half-hoping it would.

His chest filled with something that felt like dread.

But nothing happened. Nothing moved. The cottage was still, serene. Just as it had been that night.

The air tightened around him. Cedric suddenly fought for breath. Pressure built in his chest. It was tight—too tight. His armor must have been pressing?—

He wasn’t wearing any armor, he remembered.

Cedric squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to slow his racing heart, ease his panicked breathing. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He thought his heart might burst clear of his chest for how hard it was beating.

He wanted to laugh. Turns out, it wasn’t a dark beast or a dragon or a horde of gnarlings that would do him in. It was his own traitorous body. The great champion was going to die of a heart attack, right here, with only a ghost to witness it.

A warm voice filtered into his ears. Melodious, soft, full of life. Cedric knew it immediately. It filled every haunted corner of his mind, his soul.

He never thought he’d hear it again.

And as that beautiful voice hummed a sweet, gentle song, his heartbeat finally slowed. His shoulders sagged. His breathing evened.

When he finally opened his eyes again, the door had swung open on silent hinges. Golden light spilled into the night. Laughter echoed faintly. And from somewhere within, Cedric’s mother continued humming a sweet lullaby.

Cedric’s past crashed over him, wave after wave of heart-clenching memories. He could see it, smell it, taste it. Fresh bread cooling on the windowsill. His father’s strong hand gripping his shoulder, ruffling his hair. His mother’s flaxen locks spilling down her back as he chased her round and round the cherry tree.

“Go on,” Alouette encouraged, her voice drawing Cedric back to the present. The illusion was so vivid, the memories so tantalizing, that for a moment, he almost said yes. He almost went through that door.

But the truth of what lay beyond it lingered just beneath the surface, a shard of glass waiting to cut him open. He couldn’t go in, couldn’t face what he knew awaited him inside that house.

The end of his world.

“I can’t do this,” he snarled, stumbling back from Alouette. Pulling his token from beneath his collar, he murmured an ancient command in his mind and waved his arm at the house. Blue paint chips shuddered off the door as it connected with the frame, slamming shut.

He turned toward the trees, desperate to locate the path they had taken to get here. He would go back. Surely the other side of that golden mirror lay somewhere at the end of the bridge. Better to face an endless void than this madness.

But no matter which direction he turned, no matter how many steps he took, Cedric found himself facing the cottage again.

The door opened wider, beckoning him. Calling him.

“You cannot run from this, my child,” Alouette said, her voice cold as winter frost. “Face what broke you. Face your truth.”

Truth. The words cut through Cedric’s fear.

“Shed your shields, that you may reveal your truth.”

This was still a trial. The Trial of Spirit, the Arbiter called it. A test of truth, a challenge of will.

He had not survived this long—he had not survived this night —to fail now.

His heartbeat was a war drum in his ears as he moved toward the house. He glanced into an ivy-framed windowpane as he passed. The face of a boy stared at Cedric from inside—scared, tear-stricken. Fear radiated from wide, golden brown eyes .

And then, with a sickening lurch, Cedric wasn’t looking in through the window anymore. He was staring out of it.

A warm glow washed over the room. Fire crackled in the hearth, two worn, comfortable chairs propped in front. The scent of roasted meat and yeasty bread filled Cedric’s nostrils, and his little belly rumbled.

“Cedric!” called his mother, her voice light, musical. It wrapped around Cedric’s lungs, squeezing all the air from his chest. “Come, my love. We’re just about to start supper.”

He turned. Saw those bright, beaming sea-blue eyes. Just like Cedric, a slim golden ring bordered her irises. And for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know whether to run again, to try to carve himself out of this living memory—before it became a nightmare—or whether to embrace it. Embrace her.

His footsteps pitter-pattered against the wooden floor as Cedric flung himself into his mother’s arms.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, grabbing the kitchen table for support as Cedric barrelled into her, nearly knocking her back. “What’s gotten into you, my little phoenix?”

He mumbled something unintelligible into her stomach. Several moments passed before he finally lifted his head. His mother shone down at him with a kind, knowing smile on her lips—the one she always seemed to have reserved just for him.

She was exactly as he remembered. The straw-colored hair that flowed loosely over her shoulders. The golden locket she never took off hanging from her neck. Her faint lavender scent. The way she tied her apron—crisscrossing her frock, the bow tied in front.

But then, there were some things he didn’t remember too. Or, perhaps, they were things that he had simply never noticed as a child. That didn’t mean anything to him at the time. Like the dark circles under her ocean eyes. Like the dagger she wore at her hip—that she always wore, he realized.

Cedric didn’t know what it all meant.

What he did know was that his mother’s arms were warm as they wrapped around his small body. She was warm. She was alive.

And she was clearly concerned as to why Cedric still clung to her.

“What’s wrong, my darling?” she asked, her smile turning down at the corners.

He wanted to shake his head. He didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardize this moment, that would cause his mother to pull back or pull away. He wanted to stay in her arms, here and now—past, present, or whatever this was—forever.

But his small head nodded, tears lining his eyes, and Cedric realized he wasn’t in control of his body like this. “I was frightened,” he said, his voice high, young. “I thought I saw someone outside.”

Every muscle in his mother’s body tightened in response to his words. Her gaze fell somewhere behind Cedric’s head, all vestiges of that smile flattened. But then she brushed a lock of hair from his face and took his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure there’s nothing there. But if there were, surely, they got one glimpse of my brave, strong boy standing watch at the window and took off running.”

Boots thudded softly behind him and a large, strong hand clapped down on Cedric’s shoulder. “Why don’t I go take a look, just to be sure?” His father shot him a wink as Cedric caught his eye—the richest, warmest brown. The mirror of Cedric’s own.

The surge of emotion welling in Cedric’s chest threatened to break him. He wanted to shout. Wanted to scream, “No! Don’t go out there!”

But he couldn’t.

Instead, the boy sniffled. Nodded. And watched his father walk out the door for the final time—again.

Cedric’s mother cleared her throat. “Now, about that supper,” she said, gently unwrapping his arms from around her waist. “I hope you’re hungry. Alouette prepared your favorite.”

Something pounded against the door, and it was like all the warmth was suddenly sucked from the room. Shouts sounded from outside. Cedric’s mother froze mid-step.

“Lysander?” she called. “What’s?—”

“Go, Lennie!” came his father’s muffled voice. “Take the boy and?—”

The words cut off as the front door burst open. The wood groaned and splintered as it smashed into the wall. Screams sounded—Cedric’s?—as his father soared back through the open doorway.

His body hit one of the chairs in front of the fire, toppling it.

“Cedric, don’t!” cried his mother. But Cedric was not in charge of his young body as he darted forward to where his father had fallen.

The boy dropped to his knees with a wet, squelching sound, landing in the pool of crimson seeping from his father’s body. Cedric felt his mother rush to his side, felt her hands grabbing at him, scrabbling to draw him to her—urging him to safety. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t break his gaze from the gaping wound in his father’s chest.

A chest that no longer rose, nor fell.

Three shadowy figures stormed in through the doorway, the firelight glinting off the wolven medallions hanging from their chests. Cedric couldn’t make out their faces. It was as if the memory—the nightmare—obscured their features. Or perhaps this was truly how they had looked that night, their identities somehow masked, and Cedric had simply forgotten. Just as he’d forgotten what happened next.

His mother’s forearm wrapped around his chest. “You cannot have it,” she said, her voice like stone as she dragged Cedric against her. Her dagger was in her other hand. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

One of the figures laughed—a low, menacing sound. “You act as if that would be a problem for us, my lady,” he said, tipping his head at Cedric’s father’s body. “But I’ve never been one to waste a good thing.”

He nodded at his companions. They tore into the cottage, yanking drawers open, overturning furniture. They were searching for something. Cedric didn’t know what. He didn’t remember any of this. His ears were filled with nothing but crashing, slamming, scraping, and the desperate pounding of his own heart.

The companions returned. Whispered something in the first man’s ear.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

Cedric’s mother’s mouth curved into a scornful smile, even as thick tears ran down her cheeks. “You’ll never know.”

Ribbons of darkest red shot from the man’s hands, wrapping around Cedric’s body, his arms, his legs—binding him. His mother cried out as he was yanked from her, the man drawing him to his side.

She moved quickly—quicker than Cedric ever knew her to be capable of moving. She raised her dagger, aimed it...

. . . and froze dead in her tracks.

Cedric felt the cold bite of steel against his face .

Now this—this he remembered.

The boy began to cry.

“Shh, little lordling,” the man hissed. “You need to be quiet, or I won’t be able to hear what your pretty mama says.”

“Let him go,” she begged, pressing a hand to her chest. “Let him go, and I’ll tell you. Just let him go. Take me instead.”

The broken look on her face made Cedric cry harder.

“What did I just tell you, boy?”

“Stop!” His mother’s shout pierced the air as the knife sliced down, carving the scar Cedric would carry the rest of his life into his lip.

And this, he knew, must be the end. This was where his nightmares always ended. With screaming. With blood. His mother would die, and then Cedric would see and hear and feel nothing but the sweet relief of darkness as he passed out from the pain.

Not this time.

His bindings released as he crumpled to the floor, both hands covering his face. His blood was warm as it ran in rivulets down his chin and neck.

Too warm.

Hot.

Burning.

His face burned—burned like it was on fire.

No. Not his face. The floor. The air. The house.

The cottage was on fire.

Cedric peeked through his fingers, his palms still pressed to his mouth, trying to stem the bleeding, cushion the wound.

The cottage was on fire.

And so were the men.

They were screaming. Screaming and thrashing and writhing, clawing at flames that ate through their flesh with relentless hunger. It burned away their clothing, melted the medallions on their chests.

Movement caught Cedric’s eye.

Through the flames, he saw her. Standing near the threshold, silhouetted by the roaring inferno, the locket hanging from her neck gleaming in the firelight. He caught a glimpse of her face as she turned—fury and determination at war in her brilliant eyes. And something else, too. Something like...resignation?

Her dagger was still in her hand, the blade reflecting the flames like it was made of molten gold. She pointed it at the man, the leader of the trio. The one who’d given him his scar. The one who, though doubled over in pain, wasn’t on fire anymore.

That wasn’t what caught Cedric’s attention.

It was the shadow coiling around his mother’s feet. The tendrils of black smoke that wound up her legs, curled around her waist like the darkest embrace. The air rippled with power—achingly familiar, a ghost from some half-remembered dream.

Beyond the open doorway, a figure loomed—cloaked, clouded, covered in shadows. A fourth member of this group who’d managed to shatter Cedric’s entire existence in a single night.

Unbidden, the words fell from Cedric’s own young lips: “The Revenant.”

He’d had it wrong all this time. He hadn’t heard the name that night. He’d said it.

Cedric saw the shape of evil approaching his mother as she stood tall, ignorant of the threat at her back even as she readied herself to fight the one to her front. He saw the darkness and his child’s mind told him it was the Revenant, the boogeyman, the shadow-born legend from the cautionary tales he’d been told.

And now, Cedric could do nothing but watch as those shadows crept up his mother’s body, circling closer and closer to her heart.

She hurled the dagger at the man in front of her. He screamed in pain as it lodged in his thigh. Her gaze met Cedric’s again. She said something he couldn’t hear, couldn’t make out. Then she mouthed three little words.

Those, he did understand.

She smiled that knowing smile, meant only for him.

Behind her, the figure clenched a fist, and the shadows tore his mother apart.

“No!” Cedric—past and present, child and adult—cried out. And then darkness surged, and finally, finally, he felt nothing more.