Kaden walks up to my side. “The Akari—the people of the desert—carve their history into the horns of their Boxen. Tales of many generations. For you see, Boxens live for hundreds of years, passed down from mother to daughter. They are gentle, loyal creatures, used all over Nirandel, but never respected as much as here in the desert.”
“They’re beautiful,” I say, as the caravan tracks across a sand dune. “Are they hunted?” I ask, holding up the waterskin.
“Yes, though such things are frowned upon. These waterskins were made in the natural way. When a Boxen dies, its family makes use of its entire body, letting nothing go to waste. They make tools from the horns. Clothing from the furs. Food from the meat. And of course, these waterskins from the bladder. They were a gift, from a family I once helped.”
I smile. "So is that why the water tastes funny? Boxen bladder is the special ingredient?"
"Yes, partly. Our water also has a lot more mineralization. Your water is rather… " he pauses, trying to think of the word. "Bland. Lifeless."
"It's water," I say. "It's not supposed to taste like anything."
He just shakes his head. "You've really grown up with such deprivation. It's hard to imagine. But alas, now you will see all you've been missing." His tone is lighter, and it feels good to engage in some gentle banter after hours of tortured silence.
"Sorry if I don't find animal bladder to be a delicacy," I say as we both use the river to wash the dust off our faces and hands. "At the risk of sounding like one of my kids, how much farther until we reach Al’Kalesh?"
“We should be there in two days." He refills his waterskin and I do the same. "Perhaps sooner, if we catch a ride.” He grins at me, then turns and runs towards the caravan we saw traveling over the dunes.
By the time I catch up, Kaden is already speaking with a small man wrapped in white robes, his skin dark, eyebrows large and expressive. Kaden passes the man three coins—talismans, I realize upon closer inspection—then gestures to me. “Sky, this is Massani. He and his family have agreed to allow us to travel with them.”
I look at Massani, then at the cart behind him, at the woman with raven hair sitting there, three young boys scrambling around her and a little girl no older than four on her lap. “Thank you,” I say to all of them.
Massani walks up to me, grabbing my hands. “Olkesh amish, Shashami. Orta enhu.” He leads me forward, toward the giant Boxen in front of the cart. “Artu, Shishami. Artu.”
“What is he saying?” I ask, smiling to cover my nervousness.
“He wants you to touch the Boxen,” says Kaden. “The Akari say the animals have the ability to read a stranger’s heart.”
“Alright then,” I say. I step forward toward the Boxen. Its head is huge, about the size of my entire body, its nostrils near the size of my head. I raise a hand slowly and gently place it above the Boxen’s dark lips. The beast groans, exhaling sharply, kicking up dust.
“Ikashi. Ikashi,” calls Massani, grabbing the Boxen by its harness, calming it down.
I back away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—"
Kaden laughs. “No. It’s good. The Boxen likes you.”
My hand falls on my chest, and I sigh in relief. “Oh… okay.”
“Artu, Shishami. Artu,” says Massani, taking my hand and guiding me onto the cart. I sit next to the woman with black hair and yellow robes, Kaden on my other side.
“Anavri et tuu ah,” says Kaden, and the woman says something back, smiling.
Kaden glances at me. “She is Etu. Massani’s wife. And these are their four children. Gatack. Alep. Etoon. And the little girl is Kenta.”
I wave hello to all of them as the cart begins to move, catching up to the rest of the caravan. The little girl pulls on my hair, and I barely escape her grasp, laughing. We chat for a while, Kaden translating my words, until the sun begins to set, and the children become drowsy.
I turn to Kaden, whispering in his ear. “They called me Shishami. What does it mean?”
He turns his head to the side, squinting. “I believe it means traveler… in Akari.”
“Traveler,” I repeat, grinning, as the caravan stops for the night. We make camp under the shadow of a great ruin, a black tower jutting from the sand. As we help Massani and his family set up tents, Kaden tells me it was once a fortress of the High Dragons, shattered in the uprising, and now withered by time. A great fire is made at the center of the camp, using wood carried by the Boxen, and the entire caravan huddles around, dozens of people all related in some manner. I sit with Kaden and Etu, her children playing a game in front of us, making symbols with their fingers. As the sun sets, three moons rise in the desert sky, and I marvel at the wonder of it, so different from my own world. Kaden notices and winks at me. "Magnificent, aren't they? Legends say the moons represent the mother dragon and her children, for only one is ever full at one time. The other two are always growing, trying to become as great as the mother."
My focus is pulled away from the sky as the elders begin to tell stories. Kaden translates the main details, but mostly I enjoy the flow of the language, the poetry in its beats and rhythms even when I don't know the exact translation.
The younger men and women pull large drums from the carts, and play loudly into the night, chanting as the thunderous thumps of their instruments reverberate across the sand dunes. Their voices blend together, a rising cry both primal and beautiful, filling my body with euphoria.
A young girl runs up to me, presenting me with a necklace. Black beads with a small black horn as the pendant. “Is this for me?” I ask.
The girl nods, and I take the necklace, smiling and thanking her. She runs back to Massani, and I catch his gaze. He nods thoughtfully, and I think the gift may have been his idea.
Kaden leans closer, his voice soft. “That is dragonstone, Shishami. A great gift, taken from the horn of a dragon. They say the High Dragons could shatter such stones to infuse themselves with great power.”
I trace my hands over the necklace, feeling the weighty pendant. “Why would they give this to me?”
“Because they know who you are,” says Kaden. “A Twin Spirit. In their culture, our kind is revered, our connection to the Spirits honored. They know we keep them safe, and this gift is but a small thank you.”
I raise my shoulders, mouth agape. “But… I haven’t done anything.”
“Perhaps not yet. But you will. One day. It will be your duty to defend the worlds of men and women.” He pauses, taking a piece of bread from a plate. “The Akari have a special sense when it comes to the Spirits. An understanding most could only hope to achieve. Perhaps they know things we don’t. Perhaps they see something in you that even I do not.”
He says no more, and I turn back to the fire, to the pulsing drums and chanting voices. Some of the men and women begin to dance, their bodies writhing around the flame, their figures casting strange shadows on the sand. The rhythm of the music grows louder, syncing with my heartbeat, echoing within my very chest. My skin grows hot, my palms sweaty. The dragonstone seems to throb in my hand, matching the drums. Thump. Thump. Thump. The music grows louder. My vision begins to spin. The fire and stars and moons and people blending into a chaotic painting. Dots cover my eyes. My head feels light. The dragonstone pulses. Thump. Thump. Thump. I notice my wrist then. I notice the bare symbol there. Stripped of the brace I left behind. The dragon gazes back at me, pushing against its circlular cage. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The world spins.
And I fall back.
Into darkness.
Sixteen
Umi
I wake on a slab of gray. A field of stone. The sky above me is blue and clear, but at the edge of the horizon fierce winds blow and lightning thunders in dark clouds. I am in the eye of the storm, on an island of peace within a sea of chaos.
I pull myself up until I am standing. My feet are bare. My blue robes have been replaced by a white dress drifting in the cold wind. I look around and see that I am on the pea
k of a mountain jutting from the ocean, fierce waves crashing against the rocks below. There is no life here. No grass. No trees. No bird in the air or lizard on the earth. Nothing. Nothing but me.
And him.
He sits on a thin ledge protruding forward from the mountain and overlooking the water, his turquoise cape dancing in the fitful wind. I am not sure how I know he is a he, but I do know, and I walk forward and then sit next to him, crossing my legs as he has done.
The man turns to me. A ragged hood covers his head, hiding his hair, and a smooth, featureless mask the color of pearls covers his face. There are no hints of eyes or a nose or a mouth. Nothing. Just white. Just… empty.
“I tried reaching you sooner,” he says, his voice light and delicate. “But alas, you were cut off from your Spirit, and in turn cut off from me. We… do not have much time left, I am afraid.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side as if considering the question. “I have been called many things. Father of Time. Mother of Earth. The wise. The just. But I am none of these things. Not really.”
He fidgets with his fingers. “The Sundering is upon us. Val’s children will break free. You must stop this.”
His tone is plain, clinical, like he is reciting a math problem. “There are things you must do. Things you must accomplish before you are ready.”
I shake my head, frowning. “Ready for what? What do you mean?”
“I… I am not what I once was,” says the man. “I cannot stop Val’s children alone. You will be my champion. And this time… this time you will not fail.”
“What do you mean, this time?”
He gestures below, to the raging water, to a maelstrom swirling beneath us. A dark pit swallowing the ocean. “Did you know,” he says, “when waves travel through water, is not so much the water moving, as energy passing through it. Time, the way you see it, is much like a wave. It moves forward, and you believe it moves the entire ocean. But it is but one wave, one stroke of energy, and there are many more. You see the wave. I see the ocean.”
He points at the endless storm before us. “There is no beginning. No end. Just time. And the waves that pass through.” He pauses. “I… I do not know if these are the right words to explain. For how do I describe a color you have never seen? How do I describe a sound you have never heard? This… this is difficult.”
He goes quiet, and I try to remember why I am here, where I was before, but I cannot. My mind is blank. Empty. Like his mask. Like this world.
“This explanation will have to suffice,” he says finally, nodding, as if content. He rubs his fingers on the stone, tracing a symbol I do not recognize. “To begin, you must do three things. First, you must unlock your Spirit. Second, you must find the Dream that Cannot be Dreamt. And third… third…” He rubs his chin with a gloved hand, as if trying to remember something. “Apologies. The instructions change each time. The last ones did not work. These… these must work. Yes. Third… Third you must die.”
He pushes me from behind.
And I fall.
Through the air, screaming, the wind ripping into my skin.
I fall.
Into the maelstrom, into the water, the impact crushing my flesh.
I fall.
Below the waves, into a deep blue darkness.
There I drift, in the endless ocean. My body broken. My mind weak. My air runs out, but I do not gulp for more. I do not try to live. Those instincts are gone. I just… am. Nothing. Everything.
I do not know how long I am in the water. Forever. Never. Time has lost meaning. All I do is sink.
Sink.
Sink.
Sink.
And then I see it.
In the darkness.
A colossus.
A silver serpent slumbering in the deep.
It is the ocean. It is the storm. It is everything. Nothing.
I find its face. Eyes closed. Still.
Something pulses in the water. A word.
Umi.
Umi.
Umi.
I feel it. I know it. It is me. Not me. Something else. Something more.
The ocean groans. The earth roars. Heavy eyelids move.
I look at the colossus, the serpent, the dragon.
And then…
Then it looks at me.
I wake gasping for breath, covered in cold sweat. Wet blankets cling to my body. The earth moves below me. No. Not the earth. Wood. A cart.
I push myself to my elbows so I can look around. I am on the back of a cart, laying on a bed of furs, blankets atop me, bundled packages around me. The sun is up. People are talking. Wheels churning.
An animal grunts. A Boxen.
Something rattles to my side. A necklace. A dragonstone.
And I remember where I am.
The caravan. Massani. His wife, Etu. Their children. Kaden.
I try to speak. To call out, but my voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. I try to tap my hand against the wood, but the sound I make is feeble. So I just lay there, for hours, until a little boy climbs over the front of the cart. He notices me and freezes, eyes wide. Then he yells. “Erata, Shishami. Ana erata.”
Kaden appears from behind him, scrambling to my side. “I couldn’t wake you,” he says frantically.
“What… what…” I clear my throat, finding it stronger than when I first woke. “What happened?”
“You fell unconscious at the feast, but why, I do not know.”
I sit up, my joints aching and popping. “I had a dream… a dream of a silver sea and a white serpent. A dragon below the waves.”
Kaden nods. “Such dreams are common when one first becomes aware of their Spirit, but they don’t usually cause one to feint.”
“I felt something last night,” I say, studying my wrist. “I felt as if my mark was… trying to break free.”
Kaden rubs the stubble on his chin, frowning. “It seems without your wrist brace, your Spirit has been given room to grow. Having locked your true self away for so long, you may now be going through an accelerated growth process. Perhaps that is why you feinted.”
“There was a man,” I say. “In my dream.”
“A man? Odd. Usually it’s just you and your Spirit. Did he say anything?”
I touch my temples, trying to remember. “He said… he said I had to unlock my Spirit.” He also said other things, but I cannot remember them.
Kaden nods, but doesn’t speak.
“How long was I out?” I ask.
“The night and about half a day.” He shakes his head, clenching his fist. “We should have taken things slower. You are still weak from regenerating your body. Your flesh may feel healed, but your Spirit is not.”
“I’m fine,” I say, feeling better by the moment. “There is something else. Something else I remember from the dream.” I hold out my wrist with the mark as Kaden watches intently. And then I whisper.
“Umi.”
The air before me blurs.
My skin grows hot.
And then he appears in my hand, a vision becoming real.
He is no larger than my palm.
His scales are silver.
His wings a pale blue.
My gaze meets his sapphire eyes.
“Hello, Umi.”
He roars in response. My dragon. My Spirit.
“Umi,” echoes Kaden. He grabs my arm. His eyes wide. His voice shaking. “How… how do you know that name?”
Seventeen
Al'kalesh
“I heard it in my dream,” I say.
Kaden relaxes his hand and pulls away, letting go of my arm. “I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have said anything.” He sits down, clutching his head. “Umi is your Spirit.” It’s not a question. A hard statement.
The small dragon coils around my arm, wrapping his tail around my wrist. “Can you see him?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Kaden, his head down, eyes staring at the wood. “Faintly. Because I’m a Twin
Spirit. Most will see nothing, not unless you want them to.”
The dragon crawls up my arm until he sits on my shoulder, purring into my ear. “He’s so much… smaller… than before,” I say.
“He will grow larger when needed,” says Kaden, gaze still down. “The more you improve at Beckoning, the more control and power will you have over his physical form.” Kaden turns away, toward the sun. He hasn’t looked at me or Umi since I said his name.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What does the name Umi mean to you?”
Kaden sighs. “Umi is the reason I am an Ashlord. Umi is the dragon I slayed.” He turns to me, finally, and sucks in a deep breath. “The Wall of Light is not perfect. From time to time, a part of it cracks, shattering open. The Light repairs over the course of a few hours. But it's enough time for a nearby dragon to slip out. Many years ago, a silver one did so. It was a colossus. The largest dragon seen in ages. As it left the Wall, it grew even more powerful, consuming the Spirits around it as dragons do. It gained abilities. Fire so hot it was white. Scales that could blend into its environment. A roar that could bring even the strongest Ashlords to their knees.
“The dragon burned all villages in its path. Massacred hundreds of lives. It’s path of carnage was straight for Al’Kalesh. The largest city in all of Nirandel, where the serpent would have killed thousands. Most people believe when a dragon escapes, the world will end. That their kind will sweep across the Nine Worlds and turn all to darkness and death. But it is not so sudden. It is a war. A battle. Between dragons and people. There are tactics. Strategies. Those of Ash were dispatched to stop the dragon before it could reach the capitol. I was but an Ashknight then. Me and my two friends, Alec and Phoenix, were the last of our group. We arrived at the Golden River, meeting dozens of our order there, knowing the dragon would pass our way. When it arrived…
Of Dreams and Dragons Page 11
