The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga)

by Lane Trompeter

  “Perhaps, one day, one of you will be better at the game than I am,” I offer as he takes the knife. “But not yet. Now, children, let’s make sure that we use daggers from the arms closet, not knives from the kitchen, okay?”

  “Yes, Mother,” they chorus.

  “Good. Now, off to bed. I've heard that children don't get any taller if they don't sleep. You don't want to be tiny forever, do you?”

  They break up the game obediently, heading towards their beds. The children stay together in the communal rooms where servants once slept. They are given a few simple rules: respect your elders, respect each other, and respect our house. They have to recognize they are one family, whether they want to or not. I walk them over to the entrance, patting each on the head before turning to leave.

  “Mother,” Elan calls, his freckled skin peeking out from a shock of carrot-orange hair. “What do I do if I get scared? I keep waking up, and I...”

  His little blue eyes are shining, tears glistening in the dim lamplight. Who are these children? I almost never learn their whole story, at least not quickly. The scars of the past are too deep, too fresh. Each has a particular tragedy. I can do nothing for the past; human beings are never meant to fend for themselves alone. All I can do is help them move towards a brighter future.

  “If you wake, I'll be there.”

  I hold out my hand. He grasps it tentatively, smiling through his fear. His white skin contrasts markedly with my own, so foreign to this pale city. Too pale to fit in at home, too dark to fit in here. With a heavy sigh, I walk with him into the narrow corridor that leads to his pallet, one among many. The orphans, ranging from children to adolescents, look up from their conversations or their games, but only for a moment.

  Elan settles in under his blanket, pulling the soft white cotton to his chin. I smile and lay down next to him, cradling my head in the crook of my arm. The little man tries valiantly to keep his eyes open, but he loses the battle. The fear leaves his eyes as they flutter closed. His mouth opens, and his frail, wheezing breaths break my heart. I can’t stop myself from glancing at the pallet Grace claimed in the corner a month ago. She came in so fearless, so determined to fit in and prove herself. Perhaps I rushed her into the job. She could have stayed here, learning and growing and healthy. Her death is on me.

  A gentle hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Kit holds out a pillow solemnly, as if he is a king granting me a boon for some service. I take it gratefully, sliding it under my head. My black hair pools into my line of vision, and I adjust so it won’t brush Elan's sleeping face. A blanket wraps around my shoulders, more than one pair of tiny hands smoothing the sheet over me and tucking me in.

  “Goodnight, Mother,” Kit whispers, the sound echoed by a dozen small voices.

  I sigh. Grace probably wouldn't have lasted as long as she had if I hadn't taken her in. Some merchant would have caught her stealing, or the Watch would have gotten overenthusiastic in their punishment and thrown her in the sewers. My children need what I can give. They need someone who can watch out for them and keep them safe. Even as that word echoes through my thoughts, my jaw clenches. I will keep them safe. I can’t let what happened to Grace happen again. My children deserve better.

  Talan has been fighting again. Even though he comes home each day with a smile, it isn’t hard to see when his face is puffy or he’s moving more tentatively. I watch through the window as he walks up to our small house on the edge of the village. He’s limping, wincing slightly as he takes the uneven wooden stairs. It wouldn't be so bad, if my brother wasn’t normally such a gentle soul. It wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn’t all my fault.

  He staggers into the room, one of three in our tiny slice of paradise, and slowly puts his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. I watch him from the door to our room, fighting the tears that try desperately to flow, but I can’t contain the smallest sob. He looks up sharply at the tiny break in the silence.

  “No, chela, no. It is nothing,” he says, his voice already deep and rich despite his age. He stands and gives me the winning smile which normally graces his face. His dark skin practically gleams in the setting sun, his teeth white against the midnight beauty of his complexion. The sight serves as a reminder that I am different. That my skin, so much lighter than that of my brother, is causing all of these problems. My hair, so much straighter, marks me as different.

  I can’t contain it any longer, and I burst into tears. He comes to me, trying to console me, as if I want to be another burden on him once he comes home. I push his arms away. He tries to grab me, but the pain hunches him over. I run out the open front door, ignoring his shouts, voice hoarse against the stiff wind. My feet carry me through the tall grass that leads away from the village. I can’t run anywhere else; I’m not welcome.

  I thread my way through the trees, ignoring the swarming bugs and the palm fronds that sway in my path. Tears blur my vision in the fading sunlight as I struggle through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth. Vines tangle around my body. With a growl of frustration, I force my way through, ripping the vines in two.

  Perhaps I can run far enough. If I make it to the sea and follow the coast as far as the island allows, I can give Talan a chance. He deserves it. He is such a bright boy, his studies with the Seer a mark of pride and dignity. He’s learning to become a leader of our people, one of the pillars of our society. It will only hurt him if I stay.

  My bare feet grow dark and brown with mud as I run, my skin for once matching Talan’s color. My breath comes in short, staccato bursts. The humidity soaks the soft linen strips of my shirt, the near-constant rain of the jungle unrelenting even in the dry season. I duck under a low-hanging vine, only afterwards realizing I have just avoided death. It was a noose snake, and a big one. The coils of the snake hang low as if just another vine in the thickness of the jungle, but if a creature touches those deadly scales, the noose will close, and the mighty serpent will drag them into the air, suffocating and broken.

  With an internal shudder, I keep running, knowing it can’t be far. I’ve been running for over an hour. Talan is hurt; he can’t follow me in that state. The mud and crushed detritus of the jungle begin to grow sparser, patches of sand and empty space appearing between trees. Before long, I begin to hear the crash of the sea, a gentle and slow counterpoint to the thundering of my racing heart. The smell of salt in the air breaks through the dense forest, and I breathe deeply. I fight against the smile that tugs at my face. I shouldn't be happy to be running away, I know. But Talan deserves better.

  And so do I.

  I break through the treeline so suddenly I stumble to a stop, feet sinking into the deep sand of the beach. My eyes drink in the sight of the ocean. Waves race up to claim the land before bowing to the forces of nature and slinking away, defeated. The water stretches as far as I can see. The last bit of scarlet light from the setting sun glimmers like rubies on the surface. I stand until the sun retreats fully, allowing my breath to return and my heartbeat to slow.

  I drop slowly onto the sand. My chin comes to rest on my knees and my arms wrap around my legs. Stars peek out in the sky, warily offering their beauty to the world below as darkness fully falls. The brilliant moon, nearly full, crests the horizon in a shimmer of silver. I sit for hours, my mind blank, accepting and joining with the beauty of the world. Crashing sounds in the forest behind me, the kind that only large animals make, but I don’t turn around. No predator seeks out my people. We’ve made far too frightening an impression for such nonsense.

  Finally, I close my eyes and slump onto the sand, resting my head against the crook of my arm. The cool ocean breeze caresses my skin, and I find the peace that so often eludes me in the comfort of my bed at home. The gentle voice of the ocean harmonizes with the quiet song of the wind, and my consciousness begins to drift.

  Perhaps it won’t be so bad, being alone. I’ll only need to worry about myself. Talan can finally be free of me. He won’t have to fight the other boys when they say mean things ab
out our mother or me. He will be able to live his life, as it is meant to be. He will become the next Seer, and his world will be so much happier.

  Without me.

  I wake to shouts, distant but drawing closer. Blinking blearily, I stagger to my feet. My heart drops out of my chest. The freedom of the previous night evaporates, the lightness and harmony of the world dissipating before the familiar voice calling my name.

  “Aea!” Talan shouts, his voice practically frantic with worry. “Aea!”

  I turn to run, to hide, to drown myself in the sea if necessary, but he bursts out of the jungle and runs to me. His strong arms wrap around my chest. He sobs into my back, and I let him cry, stiffly enduring his embrace, hating myself for the comfort I feel.

  “Talan...” I start, my face trying to be stone, but cracking under the weight of my grief. “I need to go. It is better this way.”

  “How can you say that, chela?” he whispers against my back. “We are all that remains. We are all that we have. What could I ever do without you?”

  “You could live, as you were meant to live,” I say, the words ringing true. “I am the cause of all your sorrow.”

  “You are wrong! You are so wrong,” he gasps, squeezing me tighter. “You are the only source of my joy. Do not leave me, chela, please, Aea. When I am Seer, when we are grown, the others will have no choice but to accept us. We must survive, for now, together.”

  “I should have run farther,” I say dully. The conflict in me threatens to tear open my soul and send it screaming into the Depths. I can’t escape him. Not for his sake, and not for mine. I’m not strong enough.

  “Do not say that, Aea. Come home with me. I will make us soup, and the day will be ours to spend together.”

  “You are better without me,” I say, one last time, desperate to make him see. “I will hold you back, an anchor to your joy.”

  “Come,” he responds, ignoring me and taking my hand. “Let us return. If we hurry, we will still be in the right hour for a midday meal.”

  I let him drag me back, my feet still caked in the dark mud of the jungle. They look good, dark like that. If only I had been born with skin like the rest of my people, perhaps life would have been normal. I might have had friends, and flirted with boys as the others did. The dimness of the jungle begins to close off the light of the sun, throwing the pair of us into gloom and shadow. I feel safe with Talan holding my hand. His strong back parts the undergrowth before me. I know even as I walk back that I am the worst form of coward.

  I wake to a gentle hand on my face, small and soft. Elan wipes away the tears I’ve cried in my sleep. A small hand comes to rest on my back and another caresses my hair. The children gather around, doing their best to comfort me.

  “Do not cry, Mother,” Elan says, his high voice soft in the darkness. “We are with you.”

  “Sleep, Mother,” I hear a voice say above my head. “We are here for you.”

  I sigh, their love quieting the turmoil of my spirit. With another deep breath, I fall back into sleep. Thankfully, I do not dream.

  Chapter 2

  Jace

  The Third Day of Winter

  In the Year 5219, Council Reckoning

  Rain, unseasonable in the Kingdom of the Sea after the turn of the season, falls in fat dollops of ice, washing the filth of the streets of Donir out of the gates and down the long slopes leading up to the ancient city. I shiver violently, my soaked burlap shirt and ragged pants little shield against the frigid rain. The cold doesn’t seem to bother Kettle where she stands, feet planted firmly on the edge of an apple cart. Her eyes find me across the square, her dark, delicate features pressed into a stoic mask. Turning to the crowd, she opens her mouth to speak.

  “People of Donir, listen well. I am Kettle, Mother of the Family, and I come before you to announce–”

  “Shut up, Isles witch!” a man cuts in angrily.

  Timo, Kettle’s muscle, a mountain of a man graced with all the subtlety of an avalanche, steps out from next to the apple cart and slams a giant fist into the stomach of the man who shouted. He crumples with a groan, splashing into the stream of water flowing towards the east gate. Corna, Kettle’s beautiful lieutenant, kicks the man over onto his back and places the heel of her boot against his throat.

  “Anyone else have a problem?” she asks pleasantly. The foot traffic halts as the sparse crowd of the Corpses turns to witness. No one dares speak.

  “I come before you to announce the gravest of penalties,” Kettle continues as if nothing happened. “The rogue thief known as Jace of the Simply is hereby banished from my domain on pain of death. His crimes are many and personal. Should he be found anywhere in this city come nightfall, that hour is his last.”

  Shit.

  The majority of the people in the square have no idea who I am. Many are simply merchants or pedestrians, wending their way towards warmth and shelter. The ones who matter, though, the ones who have any idea who Kettle is, stare at my unfortunate self. Kettle has effectively signed my death warrant. My entire life has been lived in Donir, all fifteen years of it. I don’t know where else to go or how to live.

  After a long moment, even the random passersby are starting to notice so many people staring at the bedraggled boy in the corner. I dart forward and around the corner into a busier thoroughfare, losing myself as quickly and efficiently as I can in the heavier crowd of the cold Winter day. The entire Family will be after me come nightfall, and the sky is dark even at noon. The definition of ‘night’ might just get a little blurry to some of the overzealous looking to prove something to Kettle. I work my way as fast as I can to an alley some way down from the square, scaling the roughly-made gutter and scrambling over the lip of a tavern’s roof. The warmth coming off the brick chimney nearby does nothing to quell the shakes rising in my chest, the shouts of laughter making a mockery of my desperation.

  I’m dead. What chance does a beggared thief have of surviving outside the city? I can’t do any honest work. I don’t even know where the nearest city is. Sobs wrack my chest in paralyzing jerks and starts. I lost everything and everyone I had ever known when the Tide burned the Simply two years ago.

  And now this.

  Jonah wasn’t a member of the Family, so why is this happening to me? Why-

  Shaking myself back to the present, I do my best to stifle the sobs that well up in my chest. The sky has already grown noticeably darker. I curse, scrabbling up and looking around. My muscles are stiff with the cold, so I shake them out as I scan the rooftops. I can’t see anyone watching me, but that doesn’t mean no one is there. I take off over the rooftops, leaping over alleys and launching off of gutters.

  Following a winding path to make sure I’m not followed, I slowly make my way back towards the dilapidated mansion I call home. Before I reach the familiar clay tiles, I drop down to a crawl, searching every shadow with care. They have to be there. The pronouncement is hours old. Even though I’ve been careful never to give away my hiding place, there are no secrets among thieves. At least none worth keeping.

  With an inward shrug, I stand and let gravity slide me down the slick clay tiles of the roof. I have never been known for my patience. I gather speed as I approach the edge, a painful, perhaps fatal fall awaiting me if I mess up. Flying over the edge, I spin and latch on to the lip of the roof. Only seven of my fingers actually have purchase and the rest are hanging on air. My grip may not be perfect, but it is plenty. I swing my body gently backwards into the open air over the street twenty feet below me, then snap forward, my fingers absorbing the strain as I fly feet first into an open window.

  I say open, but, honestly, there just isn’t a window anymore. The building is decrepit, one of the stains on the beautiful cityscape of Donir. Paint stands out in a few patches in the corners, but the rest of the room is a mixture of stone and wood skeleton peeking through once-majestic walls. One of the Donir’s Stars, the myriad of ever-burning lamps illuminating the streets, still flickers just a dozen yar
ds down the street from the house, so whoever once lived here was wealthy. They just faced the misfortune of living on the wrong side of the Abyss. At least they hadn’t been so unlucky as to live, you know, above the Abyss.

  Dusty floorboards creak under my weight, but silence is my only greeting. Everything looks just as I left it...

  I force my gaze to keep moving as I pass over the booted feet of someone hiding behind the rotten drapes of a window facing the alley. What an idiotic place to hide. I note a scuffing in the dust that indicates someone is behind my chest, as well, and the slight scrape of a foot sliding across wood announces someone standing by the window through which I’ve just entered.

  The first attacker surges forward from behind. I drop down to my belly, kicking my feet out behind me and connecting squarely with his leading ankle. Something crunches and I wince inwardly, but my body, desperate and terrified, is already up and moving to the chest. As the shrill scream of the first attacker–a woman–pierces the room, I dive forward and kick the chest with all of my weight.

  The massive thing skates back two paces, slamming into the man crouched behind it with enough force to send him bowling over and down a ragged hole in the floor. He disappears with a yelp of surprise and a rumble of breaking wood and mortar. I spin back to the man behind the drapes just as he steps out. Perhaps four seconds have passed.

  We size each other up. He has dark hair and dark eyes sharply contrasted with skin the color of new parchment. He wears the dark leathers of a thief, and I acknowledge the dagger in his hand and the easy way he holds it. He takes me in, a burlap sack for a shirt and pants that barely reach my ankles, tattered and frayed without knees or a proper hem. He starts to smile, but then he notices the gibbering woman on the floor and the still-settling debris of his friend’s descent. His grin fades.