NeverSleep

by Brindi Quinn

  “Aw, geesh. I ain’t tryin’ to ignore you, Gwim. It’s smack hard talkin’ wiff this fing in my mouth’s all.”

  “Hold it in your cheek, then!”

  “Right. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his hair sheepishly. “Know how important it was that I hear you. And that’s what I wanted, too. Swear I did, but with Mael and whatnot . . . Anyhoop, I’ll try to get on better from now on–”

  “HUY-AH!”

  Before I can continue to scold and then forgive my new confidant, a commotion erupts from the home Feligo has just brought a third body into.

  I ready for flight. “Did you hear that?”

  “The croop just made a fightsy noise?” says Pedj.

  “Yes! Come! And for the Vessel’s sake, do not remove that stone from your cheek!”

  In a flash, I am through the wall of the rounded home in time to see Feligo shooting waves of Gold from the side of his sword at a bulbous-looking beast no higher than his waist. His efforts do little good, for the beast is marked by Gold, and the waves pass right through its grainy hide.

  “What’s is?!” Pedj squeals from the doorway.

  “It’s a locktiel,” says Feligo. “Get behind me!”

  I recognize the creature, though I do not recognize its actions. Its wide mouth, which permanently smiles halfway around its circular head, bites at Feligo with jagged teeth. Its petite body, usually as still as a mount, lashes and lunges.

  No . . . this is not right. It is all, all wrong!

  “They were called ‘aged lochies’ when I last roamed the land. But they are not aggressive by nature! What has he done to upset it?” I demand.

  “Gwim says it shouldn’t be bitin’ at you! What’d you do?!”

  “What did I do? Nothing! Locktiels are very ornery little louses! It doesn’t take much to upset one!” Finding no use for his sword, the Maestro begins to roll up his sleeves.

  He thinks to fistfight?

  “We’ve got to get rid of it, or it will devour the diseased!”

  “Not true!” I speak to Pedj. “Lochies are commissioners of good weather! They serve at man’s side, controlling the winds and rain. Surely you two have encountered them peaceably before!”

  “Uhhh. Naw. Can’t say I has . . .” Voice trailing, Pedj scratches his head, but quickly grows put off by the lashing creature. “‘Fact, never heard a lick ‘bout them before!”

  How can that be? How, when aged lochies are one of the great races of old?

  Again I am reminded of how much has changed in the thousand years of Eldrade’s seclusion.

  “They used to be tame! It is normal that one should gather in the home of mortals. Mayhap it has been watching over the slumbering inhabitants of this house? Its behavior is not natural at all.” I observe the way the lochie trembles. “Something has this creature riled! Lower your guard and speak to it calmly!”

  Pedj pales, so I insist, “Do it!”

  “There, there,” says Pedj meekly, waving his hands in an odd manner. Meanwhile, Feligo approaches the lochie in a crouch, prepared to pounce. The ex-zombie follows suit by tiptoeing goonishly toward the thrashing creature. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  “It is far from a feline,” I say dryly. “They are intelligent creatures! Treat it as such!”

  Pedj gulps and offers his fist. “H-hey, buddy. What’s got you so cwankin’– WAAAH!” The beast takes a nip at Pedj’s hand.

  “We’re going to wrestle it,” Feligo says through the side of his mouth. “Make small, slow movements, do you hear? We’ll catch it and release it into wild, and–”

  “HOOP!? YOU’S A DOWNRIGHT LOONSIE IF YOU THINK I’M GONNA–”

  “Quiet!” Feligo shoots out of crouch without warning.

  “QUIET?! YOU GOT NO RIGHT TELLIN’ ME TO GET ON QUIET WHEN–”

  “Shhh!” Feligo turns his back on the lochie. “Do you hear it?”

  The lochie, in turn, gives up its fight and begins to cower behind a sofa.

  “Hear wha–?” Pedj turns an ear to the doorway. “Ohhh, that. Kinda like a whoooosh, right?” He strains his ears and as he does, his face immediately takes on signs of alarm. “Hoop! Sounds like somethin’ big’s a-comin’!”

  If they discuss it further, I do not know.

  I am gone.

  My resting pactor yet sleeps upon a bed of skeletons outside, and the moment I hear the so-called whoooosh, I bolt to his side. That is when I see the sky. Everything is not as it should be. Turned from golden to gray, even though day remains, the entirely of the place is overcast from what looks to be darkened storm cloud. The quiet city is not so quiet anymore. Overhead, a wind surges and the streets are brushed over by the same, and in the center of this phenomenon, I notice something:

  My hair reacts to the whipping of the wind.

  I do not exist enough to be kissed by the wind, and yet–

  “The fae!”

  Barreling onto the street, Feligo gives a shout.

  “You see me?” I respond, gleeful but stunned.

  But by fae, he does not mean me. His words are directed elsewhere. Overhead, descending from the cloud of gray, a dozen or more females, marked by silver skin and tinted hair, approach.

  Naefaeries. The wind was born from a miniature army of naefaeries! Each of them is visible. Each of them young. Beautiful. Delicate. Were he here, Techton would be in his glory.

  At the front of the company flies a naefaerie with defined cheekbones and a considerable bust. She is their leader, I take it, for she alone dips below the rest. Her hair is enchanted in an unnatural manner, with a straight line of bang cutting across her forehead, and a short patch of hair at the right ear, which melts into longer strands the nearer it moves to the left. I have not encountered the fashion previously, and I do not find it flattering, if I am honest. On the left side, her hair trails down to her midsection; on the right, it is nothing more than stubble.

  But how are she and the rest visible? Am I visible?

  “S-silverfox,” I say unevenly to Feligo. “Can you see me, as you see them?”

  I am responded naught.

  Disappointment catches me.

  So it is only they who are visible. But if they are visible, why are they not forced to walk the ground? How do they suspend themselves with ease?

  My answer comes in the form of a blast.

  One sickening blast.

  It is from the lead faerie that the first blast of Void comes. The sticky smoke ball shoots from the sky, landing squarely between Feligo and Pedj.

  “CWANK!” Pedj swears loudly, and jumps away.

  Upon impact with the ground, the blast does not dissipate into the air as normal enchants do; it sticks to the gravel and begins to seep, foully, like a slug. A second blast, equally voided in color, lands dangerously near to my pactor.

  Ah. So this is why they maintain their flight. The power of Void supplies their power.

  These are not mere naefaeries; they are agents.

  I am ignited into action.

  “Pedj! Hurry and move Awyer! Ark has discovered that I disobeyed him!”

  I command the ex-zombie into action before darting to join Feligo, who has already begun retaliating. He showers the faeries with cuts of Gold from his sword. Keeping a nervous eye upon my invalid pactor, I pull from our shared power and send off a few enchants of my own. The lead agent dips down even further below the others, dodges our shots, and speeds to where I float.

  “Ah!” I prepare to zip away, but am not quick enough. The agent passes through me, filling my nonexistent lungs with voided smoke. I cough it away and gasp for unvoided air.

  “You’re vague, sister,” she says in a tone that is neither male nor female. “Even we who are filled with Void could barely see you.”

  I whip around quickly to chase after with a burst of Gold. Alas, she dodges it with ease. My speed and strength are drained from lack of rest, and my power is not what it once was. I am no match for a being filled with Void.

  I miss the da
ys when I had not need for rest.

  The agent zips through me again. “Ark was gracious enough to let you walk. Don’t you think you should have minded him better?”

  As I suspected, this is punishment. The throng of naefaeries is a show of Ark’s disfavor. We are outnumbered, and we are burdened by Awyer’s state. I am not at full strength. Feligo swings his sword with as much drama as ever, but even he, too, will eventually run out of gusto.

  I check to see that the necromancer is doing his duty. Our only hope is to buy time until he finishes.

  I begin, “Ark told me to hand over a certain person to him; since I have since separated from said person, there should be no reason to–”

  “You weren’t supposed to bring either of them there, sister. Ark’s trust in you was a show of good faith – faith he no longer has for you.” Muttering to herself, the agent begins to form a sticky mass around her fist, and sooner than I have time to summon defense, she zooms at me with a look of vengeance upon her face. Though I dip out of the way, her fist grazes my invisible person. Void allows her to make contact, and my arm is stained in magicks. The feel of it is grimacingly similar to the hair of the hellbeast. I hurry to shake it away. Such a small helping is manageable, but any more and I will be in danger of compaction!

  “Ark grants you one last opportunity to repent,” says the agent. “Our sisters are holding themselves at bay, playing fox and mouse with your . . . fox. All it takes is a word from me, and they’ll douse you. They’ll show you no mercy.”

  “Repent?” I say to distract her from Pedj, who is yet making haste to raise his skeletons.

  “Join us. Join him. Forget about waking the world.”

  “I do not care to wake the world,” I say honestly.

  The agent circles me. “Lies! Frankly, I don’t see the point in giving you another chance. Why should you be different?”

  The question strikes me.

  “I am different?”

  The agent stops. “That’s right. Different. They say you remind him of his mother, but I don’t see it, and it really gets under my skin!” Her voice escalates to shouting before falling into angry incanting. This time, the Void she incites moves all the way up her arms, coating them in dark danger.

  I flee from her, but she is faster.

  I dodge from her, but she is nimbler.

  I combat her power, but she is stronger.

  And when she is nearly upon me, having already jabbed me thrice with Void, I cry out to my new confidant, “PEEEEDJ!”

  The air lights with golden light.

  With Awyer’s transport secured, Pedj releases the power of the sun. Golden shine falls over the city, the agents, and us; and from all around, we hear the shrieks of defeated Void.

  Just like that, it is over.

  “Gwim?”

  The light is blinding. Pedj’s voice is faint.

  “Oka, Gwim and cwoop, I’s movin’ outta here. Follow me if you can.”

  The march of the bonemen is distant. I rely on the pull of my bond with Awyer to guide me through the light. I move to him, swift as I can, and when I find him, I take the edge of his tunic in my hand and move with him. At the outside edge, we flee. Fast and far and without looking back. If we’d hoped for rest, we are sorely disappointed. Feligo and Pedj become winded quickly, but we have no choice but to press on.

  At the fall of night, we hide in a cave, and Pedj takes a turn to sleep while Feligo and I stand guard. After a quick spell we carry on, stopping in a different cave to give Feligo a turn at sleep. At the last cave, I am allowed my time to rest, and though I will that I would enter Dimensia, my sleep is far too heavy and my allotted time far too short.

  In this way, we carry on for days until the threat no longer seems so great; only then do we allow ourselves a decent night of rest. But with the knowing that Techton and Mael pursue us in addition to Ark’s agents, the night is not so decent. I toss and turn, sleeping more like a mortal than ever before.

  In the far reaches of my mind, I hear Awyer’s words, but I cannot connect with them. I cannot will my body to that place. I struggle to find him, yet the harder that I try, the more distant he grows.

  It is in one of these moments that I remember what the lead agent spoke:

  They say you remind him of his mother.

  Ark . . . had a mother? If that is true, then it takes away greatly from the mystique of his being.

  What is more, Ark’s mother . . . was a naefaerie?

  I sit up from my hover. “Ark’s mother was a naefaerie! Does this help us at all?”

  But in sitting up, I find that I am not where I was just a moment ago.

  Chapter XI: Lust

  The ground is cool and soft and the night is painted in hues of blue. The sky above shows halos of stars moving along their courses. Somewhere very near, there is a water source, for a rushing sound envelops the place. A sound of renewal.

  An expanse of meadow stretches onward as far as I can see, and from the ground, small clusters for glowing flowers rise, peppering the landscape. My feet rest on the grass and soil.

  I exist.

  I have reached it. Dimensia. Nirvana. Euphoria. I am elated in the know that I will soon encounter my sphinx. As though to answer, a pair of glowing golden eyes appears in the night. With intention, they approach me. Held in the face of a boy-turned-man, they stare at me, hiding all shows of relief and delight.

  Awyer’s face is donned with seriousness, but for his mouth, which hides a very slight grin.

  “Grim,” he says. “You are dreaming.”

  “Awyer!” I speak without belief. “I have found you!”

  “You are dreaming,” he says again.

  Yes, yes. I believe we both know that, so why . . .?

  “This is how you see me best?” He looks downward at his chest, which I am startled to see is without cover.

  “M-my fief! What has happened to your shirt?!”

  Awyer’s grin falls to frown. “What did you just call me?”

  “Ah! I am sorry! It was habit . . . and I have not spoken to you in so long.”

  Awyer’s eyes gleam. “I forgive you.”

  “But what did happen to your shirt?” I inquire. Firm and tall and lean, his body reflects in the starlight, and the moment I realize it is the moment my eyes seek to flee. That is right. I now react this way to his naked form. I no longer respond without physical desire.

  Desire.

  Yearning.

  “Grim,” Awyer says. “You are dreaming.”

  “I am aware!” I say to the ground, cheeks aflame. “So why do you keep repeating–”

  “You distort me, Grim. Your dream influences my appearance.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask, again of the ground. “That I am responsible for the removal of your shirt!? That is . . .”

  “My mistress.” Without any practical means, Awyer appears behind me abruptly. It is not alike the darting movement of the witches; he merely ceases to be before me in one breath and is behind me in the same. “Stop dreaming.” His breath is near to my ear. The warmth from his body plays at the fabric of my smock. “I have to tell you what I know.” Starting at the shoulder, he brushes his hands down my arms. His fingers sweep along my skin before interlocking in my fingers. The full warmth of his body presses against me now, no longer sticking at the edge of fabric, and into my ear, he whispers, “It is comfortable here, but focus, all right? If we do the things you dream of, we will run out of time.”

  “What . . . things?”

  “Grim.” My name is a groan on his tongue.

  “W-what things do I dream of?!”

  Awyer laughs softly into my hair.

  When I turn to face him again, he is clothed. He looks down to inspect himself. “Better,” he says. “Now you will not be distracted.”

  “Vanity is unbecoming,” I say, but it is only to cover for my own lust.

  “You are much different than when I first met you,” he says, amused. “Memories are cl
earer here. They are like dreams, but I have a general feel for what they were.” Placing a hand on my head, he looks to the stars. “We saw a phoenix a long time ago.”

  “We saw many things,” I say.

  “I am glad my soul broke away from the others. It means I have the capacity to . . .” His eyes again drop to mine. “It means I am able to have you.”

  I nod, lost in his stare.

  “Do not ever leave me,” he says, and brings a hand to my chin. “You are mine.”

  “Of course I will not, but you have to wake up before you can begin demanding things like that.”

  He turns grim, as if in remembrance of what must be done. He takes my hand and begins to lead me o’er the meadow. “There is talk. They are after you, but you are not as easy to find as before.”

  My unaccustomed feet stumble after him. “We separated from . . .” I pause. To bring up Techton and Mael now would eat up too much of our precious time. “The dark thing.”

  “Good. Are you taking them to that place?”

  “Do you mean Yel’ram?”

  My pactor shakes his head. “I do not know its name. But I have seen it.”

  “Seen? What do you mean?”

  “Dimensia is the land of sleep and death. Dreams cross here. Prophecies, also.” Dragging me faster through the grass, Awyer speaks with urgency. “Before you leave this time, you have to see why I know we will be together.”

  “I have also heard of a prophecy,” I admit. “There is a supposed way, but it involves ridding the world of enchants completely. Without magicks, what will become of our bond? It is only by your tattoo that you are able to see me. Without Gold or Amethyst . . . or even Void, how will you see and hear me?” My voice becomes whimper. “You, at least, need to see me, Awyer. Out of anyone, you must.”