“It is insanity, and worse, a death wish!” the older man barked at a younger one, spitting seed cases from his lips. “How can you think of betraying us that way? Oh, yes, it’s an ‘us’—your sons and daughters, and their sons and daughters!”
The younger man shook his head, his lips curled in disdain. “What else do you think we can do? The Druids have all surrendered. There is no one left. We are incapable of standing against Azazel. What would your plan be? Do we make ourselves extinct, Father?”
“Better to die in honor than to live in shame,” the older man retorted, his fist clenching as if he wanted to smash sense into his son.
“There’s no honor in death!” cried the son. “I’m talking about buying us time. We can’t stand against the Destroyers now, but we can stand another day, when the time is right. When we have a chance.”
“And when will that be?” the father retorted, scooping more seeds out from a woven hemp bag at his feet and knocking them back into his mouth.
“One Druid still lives,” the incubus replied softly, looking intently at his father and then glancing around the clearing to see if anyone else had overheard him. Most of the groups were intent on their own conversations, and few seemed to be taking interest in the heated exchange.
“In his bubble of safety!” the man roared. “He’s no good to any of us, and neither is your brother. Better that we forget them, better that we forge our own futures than rely on a single Druid to save us!”
The younger incubus shook his head. “Your way leaves us with no future. We will just be dead men.”
He turned his back on his father, his head bent in sorrow, all the anger and disdain wiped from him. I started to follow him, wishing I could say something that might help, or to comfort him at least, but as soon as I had taken the first step, the vision started to fade.
I was transported to the next vision. My stomach gave a sickening lurch, a bit like I was plummeting in an elevator, and then settled again, leaving me feeling slightly nauseous as I tried to get my bearings. This time, the vivid light of the jungle had gone, and I was standing in gloom at one end of a long, low-ceilinged tunnel. Behind me there was a dead end, but cut into the stone was a barred window—a small semi-circle that let in light. I peered outside, seeing nothing other than a huge stone wall a few yards away, and above that, only empty sky.
I turned back around, looking toward the far end of the gloomy tunnel. Arched entrances led off this one, but in the distance, I could see nothing more than darkness. The tunnel must go on for miles.
I brushed my fingers along the wall, my skin crawling at the cold dampness. I hoped this vision would end soon—the previous one was far preferable to this. I felt like I was in a prison of some sort, because I couldn’t understand why else anyone would build a place like this. I couldn’t imagine anybody, supernatural or otherwise, thinking that this place was habitable.
Walking forward, I instinctively tried to make as little noise as possible despite knowing that it made little difference, no one would be able to hear or see me anyway. I came to the first tunnel that led off the one I was on, but nothing but more darkness lay ahead. I kept going, coming to the second archway. This one looked more promising. It led downward, rather than straight along, and I thought I could detect faint glows of light coming from its depths. There were no stairs to navigate, only a consistent slope of the ground which I discovered in places was almost impossibly steep. I kept going, determined to find something of use before the vision faded.
Soon I could hear voices, and the ground started to level out beneath me. I had slowed down, more cautious now that I knew I wasn’t alone, but in the next moment, a howl of pain ricocheted along the tunnel. I stopped dead in my tracks. The cry was so pain-filled and anguished that I could swear I felt it in my bones. I bent double, catching my breath as the cry went on and on.
“Answer us!” a voice hissed, halting the last notes of the cry.
“I can’t! I promise you—I can’t!” The reply was choked, torn from the speaker’s throat with as much pain as their howls had been.
Desperate to know what was going on, I continued to creep along the tunnel, heading for the light at the far end. When I reached the archway, I backed into the wall to peer around the stone.
The archway led into a small, circular room, the ceiling domed and just as low as the tunnel walls. The light was coming from a small fire in the middle of the room, and behind its red and yellow flames I could make out the figure of a man, stretched out on a stone table, his arms tied to one end, his legs tied to another. Leering over his exposed torso was another man—his chest broad, his arms muscular, one of which was covered in black tattooed lines ringed around his bicep. His eyes were black, completely black, with no irises or pupils. The man moved suddenly, shifting his position till he was at the top of the table, leaning over the prisoner’s head. As he moved, I noticed that he had no legs—instead, a thick, scaly tail wormed around the circumference of the room.