Dreamwalker Read Online Free Page B

tattoos that lined her features. Ander frowned as he studied the marking, pulling it whole in his mind. He knew that rune, as he did so many, written countless times on his papers and upon the walls. He had written it once himself, badly, so many years ago. A rune of control. He exhaled sharply and looked at the girl’s face.
    She was breathing. Her chest made the slight labored heave of one who is ill or out of breath. Her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed. Ander saw the corner of her mouth make a delicate twitch.
    He closed his eyes, turning the blade of the knife flat against his wrist as he rose and left the room. Regret tugged at his chest as years of torment and searching screamed at him to turn back as he climbed the stairs and returned to his bed. Turn back, end this. Be free of her. Turn back. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. Twenty years of agony and the painful need for closure were all held at bay by one simple truth.
    Demons didn’t breathe.
    The sting of cold bit against his skin as Ander walked into the morning air outside. He did not stop until he had reached an overlook that allowed him a view of the entire village below. The streets were already busy with people going about their lives, blissfully forgetful of the war that pressed on, countless miles away, and equally unaware of the darkness that rested just above the valley. Ander dragged a hand down his face and sighed heavily. Demons didn’t breathe. The thought filled his mind like a pot of water boiling over the sides. The vessel was a person, not the empty shell he had known of possessions in the past. Such an instance shouldn’t be possible. It was impossible . He had been sure of it. In the countless times he had run this scenario through his mind he had been so sure.
    He thought at first to visit Josue, to seek the help of the gods for the first time in his life. Magic and divinity had never been at odds with one another, although some priests taught the idea that no man or woman should have the power of shapers or walkers that mimicked what the gods could do. The two had separated not out of strife, but by simple deviation as one pushed the confines of science and the other found comfort in faith and guidance. No doubt Father Josue would provide Ander with guidance and wisdom, and perhaps even answers. He would have some way of leading him away from what he had always known was a destructive path, and show him how to release his obsessions and seek something more fulfilling. The process might take years, but in the end he would be wiser for it, and his nights would no longer be troubled. Josue would help him find peace.
    But peace was not something he wanted, and so when he came to where the path split between the mountain roads and the descent into the valley, he took the latter. He needed the wisdom of someone who had devoted himself entirely to a cause, who had put his very being into something, and then found doubts when brought to the brink of everything he thought he wanted.
    Ander had met other deserters before. Men and women fled the war for all sorts of reasons, but cowardice and fear were not things he knew in Draven Gree. The young captain was steadfast and battle-worn, like so many before him and so many to come, but he had been touched by the war in a different way.
    His old friend greeted him at the fence, inviting him in with a gesture and a few amiable words. Ander could see that he hadn’t slept that night. He would want to know about the demon, but followed the rules of friendship and courtesy by offering him a cup of wine mixed with herbs and water. Ander accepted and the two took chairs by the open window, warming themselves with drink to stave off the cool mountain breeze that reminded them winter was not far off.
    “Is it contained?” Draven asked at last when all polite formalities had been satisfied.
    Ander shook his head. “I made a mistake, Gree.”
    Draven sat forward, his face drawn with concern. “What do you