Demoa - Dance (3)

Eri stared at her, and for a moment, Demoa thought she saw tears in his eyes. A kind of pain she couldn’t name, and in her delight, couldn’t begin to understand.

“I’m not leaving you here! Forget it! I won’t let this happen again! This is my fault! I never should’ve—” he thundered, but Sars dragged him away.

To Demoa’s surprise, the Pilgrim no longer resisted. He only raised a hand weakly against the grip.

Why is he sad? This is all so wonderful! A dance full of joy, like on that beautiful meadow inside me, among all the flowers, with all the people who are happy now... because of ME! Finally, I can bring something good, like Elga! I matter! Demoa thought with delight, barely noticing as Sars and Eri reached the nearby muldis and broke into a run, careful not to disturb the dancers flowing around them.

She watched until they vanished from sight. Then she turned her attention back to the visions in her head. At times, she almost forgot she wasn’t in that field, but in a forest, among towering vines and giant ferns, surrounded by people who might snap the moment she stopped...

What are you thinking about? Demoa teased herself. It’s fine. Everything’s fine…

Slowly, however, weariness crept over her. She didn’t know how long she’d been spinning, how long she’d been moving like this. The Sun had nearly disappeared, and deep blackness was spilling across the sky. The air cooled, and the scent that wrapped around her began to fade.

What if something really does crawl out of the thicket now?

The thought slithered into her mind, and she tried to shake it off. She glanced at Inga, swaying among the crowd, still smiling as if in a trance. Yet soon, other emotions flickered across her face, and Demoa could feel it: the joy in the air was dissolving. She caught sight of Let standing nearby, watching the dancers with something greedy in his eyes. She wondered why he wasn’t dancing himself, though it hardly mattered.

A blind monster with hollow, twitching eye sockets... whispering of eternal darkness...

Let’s words echoed inside her.

Her movements slowed. Her arms grew heavier. The vision of joyful dancing slipped away.

She moved toward the edge of the clearing, the crowd parting happily to let her pass. Yet now, some faces were shadowed again, some whispers sharp once more. The air grew colder still, and the absence of the Sun—now only a faint red line bleeding across the horizon, half-hidden by curling vines and massive ferns—seeped into her world.

What if I stop dancing? What happens then? Will they turn on me? By the Sun, what have I done...?

She pushed the thoughts away and tried to summon the meadow again, though the images cracked and crumbled like scorched branches.

Her foot struck something, and she stumbled, barely catching herself. Desperately, she kept moving—hips swinging, head swaying... but only the faintest remnants of euphoria remained. In its place, a massive, suffocating panic was rising inside her.

“Where... what happened?”

“She bewitched us... We don’t even have time to finish the defenses now!”

“She planned this. They all planned this! The Lucids betrayed us! It is as Let and Inga said!”

“They’re dangerous!”

“They want to drag us into the dark!”

“Witch! Lucid witch! Get her!”

“Catch her!”

The visions inside her mind were gone for good, and only the black forest remained in front of her. Demoa had made it perhaps fifty steps ahead of the crowd and was still far too close.

I am definitely within throwing range...

Panic fogged her mind. Trembling, she scanned the towering plants and the round structures above. She couldn’t make out the ground; the last trace of sunlight had vanished. All that lay ahead was gaping blackness. And in that blackness... she thought she saw movement, just barely. Heard whispers, soft and broken. Or maybe that was only the wind?

She turned and saw the people still hesitating, unsure whether to rush after her. Then—

A stone whistled through the air.

It missed her. Barely.

What’s going on? Why aren’t they following me? Are... they afraid of me? Or of the darkness? Or both? No... please!

The hairs on her neck rose. People were chasing her now, closing in fast through the dark. Demoa had gained some distance, yet she was still too close. Fear clamped around her throat and froze her legs. She briefly considered scraping together what little Lucidity she had left to light her path, but that would make her an easy target for the ones behind. And they had started charging, shouting, voices full of rage.

Desperately, Demoa stumbled forward, only to hit another gnarled root. This time, she couldn’t recover. Her legs gave out, crashing her to the ground. Pain stabbed through her back against another root, and nausea surged until she nearly fainted. She forced herself upright again, even as the shrieks of men and women filled the air behind her, close now.

Too close. She didn’t want to imagine what they’d do when they caught her.

The cold night air burned in her lungs. She pushed forward once more, refusing to meet her fate without trying everything to escape.

Did the others make it out? Or had monsters from the darkness already devoured them all...? Monsters drawn here from another realm?

When she was yanked upward, a sharp cry escaped her lips. Despite her terror, she didn’t have the strength to resist. Someone had grabbed her and thrown her onto something soft, and her trembling hands clutched at coarse, shaggy hair.

She groaned. It was a muldi.

Disoriented, she looked around and saw only the outline of a rider, galloping with her through the night.

Night air... night...

She caught herself using those words, realizing their meaning again.

It is night! When the Sun goes down, it becomes night! Not eternal darkness, not monsters from another realm! Just... night! Dark, yes, but shouldn’t there also be...

She burst out laughing when, through the hanging vines above her, she saw a silver disk rise on the horizon.

The moon... How could I have forgotten the moon? The stars...

And there they were, glimmering faintly between the leaves of giant ferns and vine-laced trees.

However, the pale light wasn’t strong enough to illuminate the rider’s face.

“Sars...? Is that you?” she gasped.

A deep yet gentle voice reached her, and a calming hand rested on her shoulder.

“No. Not Sars. But I told you I’d ride after you. It just took a bit longer,” Rad said softly.

Demoa blinked, still unable to fully make him out. Yet hearing his voice made warmth rise to her cheeks. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

“How... I thought you weren’t...” she stammered.

Rad paused before replying.

“Inga completely lost it and took off ahead of me. I didn’t want to confront her, so I followed at a distance. She said she wanted to avenge Elga, wake the Lucids, so I was sure she’d go after you. I lost track of you for a bit, but since I’ve been to Glune before, I figured you’d pass through there. Looks like I arrived in time to pull you out of the hands of those lunatics. Sorry I didn’t reach you sooner...”

Demoa smiled and felt her cheeks burning, glad he couldn’t see her face.

“I’m so incredibly grateful you came at all! You got here in time. It felt like the Light sent you! But we have to find the others. I... I still want to go to the Monastery,” she said slowly.

She longed to feel it again—the dance, the rapture. And she wanted to learn how to control it, to bring that same joy to others. Not because she had to, not because her existence in the Dream depended on it. She wanted to bring it because she could. She wanted to be like Elga, to use the Light to help others, to take care of them. And now that Elga was gone... these settlements needed someone new, didn’t they? Someone to guide them?

Yes. That would be something to work toward. A Sage living in these parts.

“Shouldn’t we leave?” Rad asked, his voice careful, uncertain. “You were nearly woken up back there. Elga was woken. Inga nearly lost her mind. Shouldn’t we disappear somewhere, the two of us?”

The two of us...? Demoa echoed.

She liked the thought, yet she also wanted to follow in Elga’s footsteps. Angrily, she bit her lip.

“No, I can’t do that!” she said, sharper than she intended.

“Oh... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you...” Rad replied quickly.

And suddenly, tears welled in Demoa’s eyes.

“No... it would be nice, but Elga really was woken! She’s gone. She left a hole in the Dream—and in me—that I haven’t had the courage to face. To understand how deep it is. We didn’t know each other long, but she was... I think she was a good person. And that’s what I want to be, too. I want to bring people elation. I want to heal their wounds, like Elga did. I probably never would’ve said it out loud before, but now, after what happened, I can: I want to become a Sage. I need to pass this gift—this peace and wonder—on to those who need it. I don’t want to be useless anymore...”

A sob escaped her. Rad reached for her and pulled her up so she sat in front of him on the muldi, which was still galloping through the forest. She felt his tall body behind her, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his warmth, his breath against the back of her neck.

“Then I’ll come with you to the Monastery. I’ll wait for you. I’ll stay close. And when you’re ready, we’ll leave together,” Rad said firmly, pulling her closer.

“You don’t have to do that...” Demoa choked out.

“No arguments. Please... let me have this one thing! I want to stay near you. You’re... I don’t know. It just feels right,” Rad said, and hugged her tighter.

“Thank you,” was all Demoa could manage before weariness and exhaustion overtook her.

Rad pulled her even closer. “Don’t worry. We’ll find the others. For now, rest. I’ll get you back to them. And then... we’ll keep going. Together...”