by A. J. Vrana
A small gasp slipped from Mason’s lips. “Miya?”
Ama canted her head as she glanced down at his fizz. “Order another drink, Dr. Evans. There will be little daylight to spare by the time our Dreamwalker arrives.”
“She’s coming?” His words were ecstatic. “Here?”
Ama’s mouth curved. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Black Hollow, it’s that what I want isn’t always what I need.”
15
MIYA
Silver and gold speckled the cobalt river carving the land. In some places, the streams ran as blue as the ocean; in others, they were as clear as glass. The nook near the Emerald Shade saw the river shimmer like liquid pearls. Nowhere in the waking world did such a wonder exist, and Miya loved curling up by its shores to watch the water dance for hours.
“You don’t have hours,” her predecessor warned. “Go back.”
“I live here,” Miya replied, adamant.
The Dreamwalker clicked her tongue. “Have you forgotten already? Go back, girl. You’re still near the surface.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“I’ve kept you alive, haven’t I?”
Miya’s eyes drifted from the sparkling brook and settled on the cloaked figure next to her. “I don’t even know your name.”
The Dreamwalker sank her fingers into the earth and crept forward like an animal stalking its prey. Her mask floated closer until the two women were nose-to-nose. “My name is Ekaliya…” She hesitated as though remembering something. “Kali.”
“Kali,” Miya echoed. “Why are you here?”
The Dreamwalker’s lips pulled back into a cutting smile, the bone-beak mask hugging her chin. “You’re nodding off again…”
Miya jolted with a gasp, exhaustion searing through her veins.
“Shit,” she choked, then rubbed her eyes until they felt bruised.
Her butt hurt from sitting on the ground, and her cheek was imprinted with divots from the brick wall. Miya had resolved to stay away from hotels; the urge to sleep was too strong. Regardless, biological need had won. When she sat down to rest her legs, she’d wound up thumping her head against a building and dozing off.
The Dreamwalker had saved her—and Kai—again.
Miya’s lack of sleep was hardly the result of insomnia. No, she had to stay awake; she couldn’t drift off for longer than twenty minutes at once, or Kai would be finished. Deliberate dreamwalking was even worse. Travelling during sleep ended when she awoke, but she could only return from a willful descent when her spirit found its way back to her body.
Instead, she’d entrusted her odds to a wild shot in the abyss and a stolen egg timer.
Her wall-snooze may have been an accident, but she’d slipped into the dreamscape multiple times during the quiet hours before dawn in search of allies. Finally, one of those trips yielded results.
She thought back to the waspish exchange, the raven’s protests still a din in her skull. Not that it mattered. To save Kai, Miya would graft her will over both realms—the toll be damned.
“You can’t stay awake forever,” Gavran had chivied, but Miya’s limited time had worn as thin as her patience.
“That’s why I need Ama,” she’d insisted. “She can keep tabs on me, so I don’t get distracted by a shiny flower or a talking squirrel. Do you have any idea how many power naps it took to find you?”
She recalled Gavran’s bristling, his hair rising like hackles. “He tried to kill you! Why care for him still?”
“He’s possessed,” she’d replied while gritting her teeth.
“He’s always possessed!” Gavran had thrown his arms up, his feathered cloak sprawling like wings. “He’s weak! Undeserving!”
Relentless, Miya had spurned the condemnation. “Kai isn’t weak. Rusalka’s corrupted countless men. Kai resisted her. He’d kill himself before letting anything happen to me.”
At that point, the boy had stopped his pacing and loured.
“Why do you hate him?” Miya had asked. “Why do you want us separated?”
She remembered the horrid gurgle, the words barely passing through his snarl. “Because he brings only destruction. It’s all he knows.”
“Give him a chance,” she’d pleaded. “He’s got good in him, I swear.”
Gavran had tried to mollify her. Miya could still feel his pale, icy fingers around her hand. “It’s not about whether there’s good in him,” he’d said. “It’s about whether he can fish it out from the dark sea it’s buried under.”
Miya’s hope clashed against Gavran’s pragmatism; she knew he was right, but she was too stubborn to give in.
Before departing the dreamscape, she’d squeezed the boy’s hand and spoken her command.
“Just get me Ama.”
Gavran promised Ama would be there by nightfall.
The sun was sinking just below the horizon, but Miya could still see the giant orange globe burning behind her eyelids.
Just a little longer, Miya bargained with herself. Ama will know what to do.
Taking a laboured breath, Miya headed for The Spade. She faltered after only a few steps. Stars bloomed before her eyes, but she caught herself on a nearby wall and waited for the dizziness to pass. When her insides settled, she resumed her disoriented amble.
The stone nestled against her breastbone trembled in the copper raven’s talons as she slammed through The Spade’s doors shoulder first.
Crowbar looked up from behind the counter. “Hey girl! Saw your angry arm candy a little while ago. Guy looked pretty wrecked. Everything all right with you two?”
Miya’s bones felt like they’d crumble. She bit back the truth. “He just had a bad accident.” She held the words steady, her voice threatening to crack. Her throat worked, and she quickly sought a distraction from the storm brewing inside her. Fleeing Crowbar’s scrutinizing stare, her eyes fell on two figures sitting at the bar.
Ama…
…and Mason Evans.
Something about the doctor was askew. He’d always struck her as a touch overconfident, but the air about him seemed unsettled, shaken even. His shoulders were stiff despite the company, and there was a thick film—something cold and unnatural—caked over his body. It darkened him like a fog darkened a thicket of dense trees.
Something was attached to him.
“There she is,” Ama said without turning. Mason spun so furiously that Miya thought the stool’s legs would snap beneath him.
Crowbar leaned over the bar between her two patrons. “You all know each other?”
“Old friends,” Ama replied, and Miya could hear her smiling through the words.
Miya dragged her weary limbs towards them, but she didn’t sit.
“Are you all right?” asked Mason, oozing concern.
Miya’s unsteady breaths came slow and haggard. “I’ve seen better days.” She caught Crowbar trying to mind her own business with little success. Guilt knotted into a tight ball in the pit of Miya’s stomach. She knew the truth about Sydney, but her lips wouldn’t form the words.
Wood screeched on wood as Mason pushed his stool back and stood. “Miya, you’ve been gone for three years. Your parents—”
She raised her hand to silence him. “I know, Mason. I can still count the days just fine.”
He looked as though someone had twisted his arm, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. His fingers scrabbled at the flesh under the blue cotton—the source of the dark film. “Everyone thinks you’re dead! Your parents are desperate and need closure!”
Crowbar had made herself a mouse in the corner, furiously dusting off shelves, though Miya was sure she was plucking details from their conversation.
Miya didn’t care. She was inundated by a skein of unwelcome emotions. Her presumed death couldn’t have been more trivial. Miya wanted to banish the doctor from her sight for daring to mention it, but when she glanced at him, infected with something sinister, scraps of li
ngering compassion cleaved through her mounting anger. He had no way of knowing what was at stake for her—no way of knowing that Kai was maybe trying to kill her and that she was being hunted by Rusalka.
“It’s just—” Miya tripped on her own tongue. She ground her teeth as something sticky and repugnant crawled up her throat. Shame was ready to burst from her body and devour her whole. “I didn’t mean for this,” she said, her voice quaking. “Please, just tell them I’m okay. That I’m happy. Tell them not to worry.”
“M-Miya,” Mason stammered, awkwardly scratching through his straw-coloured curls. “You don’t look like you’re okay.”
Miya squeezed her eyes shut and cast out the haze drowning her clarity, then bore holes into Mason’s arm. She could feel whatever was there, tugging at loose strands—the unresolved questions, the persistent doubts. It would tug and tug until the threads unravelled, and Mason’s sanity alongside them. Although she didn’t have a name for the thing he harboured, she knew it was a parasite that fed off people’s uncertainties, a predator that preyed on those seeking answers. It was a truth demon, an entity that knew all and wished for only one thing: a companion whose thirst for knowledge rivaled its own.
It couldn’t end well. The human mind wasn’t built for boundless truths flitting across multiple realms. Miya had seen it first-hand with Black Hollow: people craved a code they could follow. The residents of her hometown had found theirs in the myth of the Dreamwalker, and this had taught Miya that knowledge wasn’t so different from a fable. Both were stories that weaved fragments of truth into something useful. Without a story to create meaning, the mind would break in chaos.
People weren’t made to know everything, but the truth demon had no awareness of this; it thought it was helping, giving its victim what they wanted until they couldn’t tolerate any more. Miya squared her shoulders and took Mason’s hands in her own. Her tone was harsh, but her eyes welled with salty tears.
“Listen to me very carefully, you stubborn, single-minded man. I need you to know—no, to believe—that everything is real. Know that I’m fine, that I’m able, and that I don’t need saving. Not from you,” her voice wavered, “not from Raymond, and not from anyone else. All I need is for you to have faith that I’m doing everything I can to set things right. Please, be satisfied with that, and go home.”
Miya dropped his hands like bricks. Her eyes tore from his face; she didn’t want to see whatever was there. Grabbing Ama’s elbow, she turned to Crowbar and said gravely, “I’m sorry we dragged you into this,” then pulled the white wolf from the bar.
“I’ll see you again.” Ama winked at her new friend, then called to Mason. “There’s more than one way to the truth, Dr. Evans.”
“I don’t under—” He was cut short as the two women disappeared into the alleyway.
Miya lurched forward as she let Ama go, bile rushing up her esophagus. Dropping to her knees, she wretched until the acid left her body.
“You look awful.” Ama hauled her to her feet.
Miya spat out the sour taste in her mouth and wiped herself clean. “We need to talk. Then I need some damn sleep.”
“Agreed.” Ama wrapped an arm around Miya’s waist to steady her. Although she appeared stout next to the long-limbed Dreamwalker, her hold was firm and her frame sturdy. “Where to?”
“Graveyard,” Miya instructed, her hand splayed on the grainy wall for support. “It’s quiet there, not too busy. I can nap on a bench.”
Ama chuckled. “Classy.”
Miya scrunched her face up as the light greeted them beyond The Spade’s dark lane. “I gave up on class years ago. At this point, I’m just trying to survive.”
The smirk fell off Ama’s face. “So I’ve heard.”
“From Gavran?” They hobbled down the street, and a middle-aged woman walking her poodle slowed, slack-jawed, as she watched them pass. Miya would have welcomed a friendly interaction with the pooch had her owner not looked so offended. Then again, Miya realized she looked day-drunk after a bad break-up. Perhaps it wasn’t far from the truth.
“We share knowledge,” Ama replied.
“So, you know.” Miya winced, inching up the hill that led to the cemetery. The sky ahead was a luminous sapphire as the sun dragged the light westward. She missed the dreamscape, the roiling waves of colour that radiated from the hanging star.
Miya’s legs wobbled like caterpillars when they finally reached the top of the slope and passed the lily-paneled church with its coppery brick spire. Spotting a rickety bench, Miya collapsed onto the slats and plunked her head on the backrest.
Ama sank down next to her. “I know your life is in danger. That brute tried to hurt you.” Her humour had evaporated like dry ice.
Miya’s heart kicked against her ribs as the memory of Kai’s face came back to her—the rage, anguish, and confusion all spiralling into a maelstrom he couldn’t fight. He’d been ripped from the ground like a shrub caught in a cyclone.
Run, he’d said.
“Go back to the dreamscape,” Ama broke in.
“What?” Miya peered at her.
“You’re wasting away,” said Ama, “Return to the dreamscape and recover.”
“Kai can’t go back without me.” Miya sat up straight as the clamour between her ears grew louder.
“And?”
She wasn’t sure if Ama was feigning innocence or being stone-cold serious. An elderly couple, bouquet in hand, passed them languidly, and Miya held her breath for several intolerable seconds until they were gone.
“He’ll die,” Miya emphasized. “Why do you think I’ve been awake forever without a wink of sleep?”
Ama shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s his own fault he needs you to survive this plane. Whatever happened to him isn’t your problem. Return to the dreamscape and put the dog out of his misery.”
“What the hell!” Miya snapped, the fatigue bleeding out of her. “I didn’t call you here to plot murder!”
“And what were you expecting?” Ama’s lip curled, her canines shining like a threat. “That I’d care about his life? That I’d risk yours on the off chance that he can be saved? He’s weak, Miya. He wouldn’t be in this position otherwise, and I won’t gamble your life to free him from his demons.”
Miya blanched, the woman beside her suddenly a stranger. “I thought you’d care about what I want. About my happiness.”
Ama stared off into the distance, her expression unchanged. “Your happiness is your responsibility. It’s not carved in stone, not like these tombs.” She gestured at the charcoal obelisks scattered around them. “It’s childish to think Kai’s the only thing that’ll ever make you happy.”
The world around Miya faded away. The sky could have turned into a fiery apocalypse, and she wouldn’t have noticed.
“Fuck you,” she spat, her eyes like a forest ablaze. “Don’t patronize me. We both know you’d give your life to save Gavran’s, and it has nothing to do with how capable of happiness you’d be without him. The point is you don’t want to be happy without him.”
Ama risked a gander, clear amber clashing against dark, muddy green.
“You’re wrong about Kai,” Miya continued. “He fought against his demons. He hurt himself so I’d escape. And frankly, you and Gavran are worse. Kai would at least look you in the eye before cutting out your heart.”
Silence hung between them like a cloud heavy with rain.
“Fine,” Ama sighed. “But you know Kai is like a grenade with a loose pin.” Her gaze narrowed. “What you perceive as Kai’s self-sacrifice is no different than my instinct to throw him under the bus to protect you. It’s not virtuous or kind; we’re just trying to defend our own, and I’ve been watching over you far longer than that overgrown puppy.”
Miya raised an eyebrow. “So, you’d murder each other for my sake?”
“Something like that.”
“Well then you can both fuck off.” Miya flopped back against the wooden boards. “Neither of you are in any
position to tell me what to do, and I’m not letting Rusalka get her way either. If you force me back to the dreamscape, you’ll be giving her what she wants.”
“And what does she want?” scoffed Ama. “Why you?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not about to kill someone I care about to outplay her. And for the record,” Miya raised a warning finger, “if the tables were turned and Kai suggested killing you, I’d tell him to sod off too.”
Ama blinked at the fingertip grazing her nose. Her lips pulled back, and she swatted Miya’s hand, her laughter echoing from the top of the hill. The cemetery was mercifully empty now, the last of the visitors having trickled far out of earshot. “He would offer to do it himself, I’m sure!” She winked. “Trust me, his wretched little heart is no saintlier than mine.”
Miya smiled despite herself. “Then we can agree you’re both rotten.”
“I suppose you’re right about that,” said Ama. “Have it your way, Dreamwalker. Perhaps the calls for execution were premature.” She tucked away a strand of Miya’s dark brown hair and lightly traced the contours of her face. “But I should warn you. If I’m ever forced to choose between your life and his, I won’t hesitate to rip his throat out and paint the walls red with his blood.”
Miya’s mouth dropped open. She reached for Ama’s wrist when a small hand clasped her shoulder. The white wolf speaks the truth, came a boy’s familiar voice, but when Miya turned, she saw a raven perched where the hand should have been.
“Gavran,” she breathed out, then fixed him with a scowl. “Threats won’t change my mind.”
The raven cocked his head, his beak slicing open in silent protest as his feathers stood erect. She could feel his disapproval sinking into her from his talons.
“You can’t coerce me with prodding and scratching,” she said. “If you really want to do me a favour, find Kai and help him.”
The raven thrust out his wings and chortled, then bowed his head, his blue-black feathers brushing Miya’s jawline.
Smiling, Miya scratched his silky neck. “Thank you.”
