Nether Light by Shaun Paul Stevens

Author:Shaun Paul Stevens [Stevens, Shaun Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pitt Norton Publishing
Published: 2020-05-26T22:00:00+00:00

He lay on cold stone, the air changed, the room replaced by a few feet of jutting rock. A dark red lake stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see. A pink sun hung low in a dusky orange sky, a gentle breeze blowing warm, moist, and sickly sweet. Guyen stumbled to his feet, legs unsteady, vertigo building at the lack of space on the tiny island. Was this actually happening? Where the hell are you?

Water lapped at the rock outcrop, something amiss. He crouched, dipping in a tentative finger. Shit. Not water. Blood.

He fell back to the centre of the rock, disgustedly wiping his hand on his britches, trying to process the impossible. A lake of blood? It was the stuff of nightmares. A wooden post protruded from the ground, the only feature in an otherwise empty scene. He clutched it for support, concentrating on breathing, trying to calm himself. What the hell was happening? Was this a dream? It didn’t feel like one—there were no time jumps, and a pinch on the back of his hand hurt. Was he hallucinating? If so, it was an award-winning delirium. The blood lake oozed and congealed, ripples slow and thick. Was this hell? Did you kill yourself?

He slumped against the post, waiting, but nothing changed—just a malaise of orange fog and clinging red mist. Was this a Faze thing? Was this place like the others he’d visited—the blank space in the Assignments office, the garden at Whitefriars? How did he escape? He’d picked a flower in the garden, a sliver of shadow appearing like a door back to reality, but that was no use here, the place was devoid of plants—of any life at all. He’d be trapped until he died from thirst.

He screamed. “Help!”

But no help came.

Frustrated, he thought back to the solid world, at least he tried—memories were foggy. That’s all wrong, he thought. It’s dreams which are supposed to be dim, not reality. Then he remembered Toulesh. How had he forgotten him? Of course, the simulacrum could help now.

Return, he sent.

A shiver snaked up his spine.

Damn. No connection. He was truly alone, not even the ringing clamour for company. Nothing but dead air.

Then he noticed it—something bobbing out on the lake, shrouded in red mist. He got to his feet, trying to work out what it was. It floated closer. He made out a raft, with something or someone aboard.

“Hey, over here,” he shouted. The words fell dead in the blanketing silence, the only sound allowed here the macabre, slurping blood. He stared, transfixed, the gap narrowing. He was right—it was a person, an unmoving form. His jaw dropped. That pale complexion, the stringy blond hair trailing in the blood lake. Yemelyan? It can’t be…

It was.

But how? Shit! That was irrelevant. He had to help him. But what could he do? He was too far to reach. If he stepped off the rock, he’d be in the blood lake. The thought was abominable. He willed the raft closer.

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