by A. J. Vrana
None of them deserved it.
Lana may have been too far gone to fight, but Velizar made sure she screamed through her death since he couldn’t during his own.
When the smoke rose and the smell of broiling flesh descended upon the Hollow, Velizar felt his spirit grow calm. Lana’s pleas were rose-coloured melodies, melting him into the earth. He was a part of the Hollow. This wretched place would always be his home.
Barely a moon passed before Lana’s mother walked into the woods and didn’t return, leaving only a fading wisteria trail behind her. Her body was never found, likely carried by the river somewhere the hunters couldn’t reach. With Lana’s death, Velizar had hoped the initial paranoia he’d instilled in the villagers would subside, but it only intensified following the disappearance of her mother.
How Velizar loathed the Dreamwalker. How he loathed the Hollow for immortalizing her. She left willingly, but she’d never quite gone. Now that she was lost to the woods—possibly with his brother—she was out of his control. She undermined him even in her absence. She was an affront to his order.
It was untenable.
The Dreamwalker had a legacy; Velizar had a grave. He was nothing but a forgotten leader.
He’d become a victim of the Dreamwalker’s myth.
Powerless, all Velizar had left was the Hollow’s fear. Although he’d been the one to spark it, it was now out of his control—a self-perpetuating monstrosity. He couldn’t squash it, but what if he could channel it?
He would have the villagers hunt her.
He would have them kill her.
He would have them kill the black wolf.
Then, he would finally be free.
39
KALI
A silhouette lingered beneath the ancient willow’s cool shade. The figure sat relaxed against the trunk, one leg drawn to his chest and the other splayed lazily against the spring earth. With his elbow slung atop his knee, he lifted his head as Kali parted the wispy branches and entered his dark abode.
“Had you taken any longer, you would’ve only found bones,” he said dryly.
Kali’s pulse hammered all the way down her throat. He was no wolf. “Winter was long. I had no choice.”
“Mm.” His arm slipped off his knee as he rose smoothly. “I forget how fragile your kind is.”
Kali fought to stem the tremor in her voice. “My kind? Then what are you, wolf?”
Light streamed through the treetops, stippling the dusky dwelling. As he stepped towards her, the shadows lifted to reveal a rakish smile.
Kali stumbled back, preparing to run from the familiar face. It had to be a trick. She was seeing a ghost—one that’d stolen any semblance of joy from her life.
His brow arched, then settled as understanding flashed across his red-tinged eyes. They were deep and warm like burnt clay, completely unlike the gleaming gold of Velizar’s callous stare.
He threw his head back and laughed raucously. “Do I look too much like my brother?”
“Almost,” Kali managed.
“My name is Sendoa,” he said.
She took him in slowly, carefully.
Although the brothers were of similar height, the way each carried himself was a difference of stillness and storm. Velizar’s robes had been immaculate as they flowed from neck to toes, his hair meticulously tied back, not a strand out of place. Meanwhile, his brother’s unruly mane whipped freely with the wind, and he revealed every scar that Velizar would’ve hidden under clean linens. His warrior’s frame was clad only in trousers made of animal hide and a leather harness for the blades on his back. He seemed unbothered by the elements, and even less so by his immodesty.
Though they clearly shared the same unnerving confidence, Velizar’s mannerisms had always been regal: controlled, calculated, and reticent. The red-eyed brother wore his intensity like a second skin, standing tall and fearless—not like a king, but like an executioner.
Where Velizar was ice, his brother was wildfire. And he would not be tempered.
He was the wolf under the willow.
“Are you well, girl?” He pinched a leaf between his fingers and plucked it from its stem, then smirked. “You look pale.”
Kali sucked in a breath. “Again, I ask, what are you?”
He chuckled, then flicked the leaf away and watched it float to the ground. “I’m a wolf.”
Kali’s sigh filled the emerald shade. “But what are you really?”
He shrugged. “A god. A spirit. A destroyer. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters!”
“Then let me ask you,” he closed the distance in a single stride and circled her, his breath warm on her skin, “what are you?”
“I’m a girl from the village,” Kali replied.
His lips quirked. “A girl? Is that what the village says?”
Spite simmered up her spine. “What they say about me is a lie.”
He grinned like a dark portent. “Not if everyone believes the same lie. Then it’s just the truth.”
Kali bowed her head, but she could feel his eyes probing her, testing her.
“Again, I ask, what are you?”
Deep beneath the uncertainty, the loss, and the pain, she knew the answer. She’d always known. Meeting his gaze, she said, “A witch. A Dreamwalker. A little piece of chaos.” Her heart lightened, and she smiled. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No,” he smiled back, “it doesn’t.”
40
When Kali opened her eyes, she was standing beneath the willow tree, and Sendoa was nowhere to be found. The leaves were blood red, and the branches’ sway stilted like time had slowed to a crawl.
The air was a thick, humid fog against her palm, and smoke rose above the treetops from the ravine where the Hollow lay. She could smell the cinders, the fire faraway yet somehow close.
The village was burning.
Kali bolted from the glade and down the hill, but no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t seem to reach the Hollow. On and on it went, an endless blur of brown and green, until her lungs burned, and her legs could barely hold her upright. Collapsing to her knees, she gasped for breath, limbs tingling.
She couldn’t find her way.
Kali dug her fingers into the moist earth. The beating drum inside her chest grew louder, rushing through her veins, seeping from her fingertips and into the earth.
She breathed in, and the soil rose to meet her touch. The roots curled towards her grasp as if beckoned. They were listening, and they were ready to speak.
“Show me the way,” she begged, and they glimmered to life.
She could see them far beneath the forest’s skin like veins delivering life where it was needed most. Each vessel was a different shade, matching the heart from which it came. She clawed through the aspens, maples, oaks, and firs until she found the winding roots of the willow.
Kali knew what she had to do.
The willow’s roots burrowed far below the others, unmovable and resolute. Where some were threadbare, the willow’s were thick and unyielding. They led Kali through the labyrinth until the smoke grew dense, and the smell left her stomach in knots. Finally, she descended the slope and stood at the edge of the woods where the ground lay level, and the thickets turned to meadow.
She was at the foot of the Hollow, and all the devils from every hell had made it their new inferno.
The village was in flames. Bartha’s longhouse had been reduced to char. Fire ravaged every inch of the clearing, leaving Kali’s childhood home in unrecognizable tatters. The sky roiled in crimson and copper waves, and the moon took on the pockmarked, sickly pallor of rotting flesh. But the screams—those horrible, spine-cutting screams—were worse than the scattered remains of her life. All around her, people clambered on mangled hands and knees, faces black and blue, eyes snaked with pink.
From the shadow and smoulder, a massive black wolf lunged atop a scrambling villager. With eyes like blood, muzzle rippling with rage, he sunk his dagger-
like fangs into the man’s neck and tossed him aside, limbs flailing. The wolf glanced at Kali, ensnaring her for the briefest moment before his yawning maw closed around the man’s throat and tore out his voice.
A chilling cry raised the hairs on Kali’s neck, and she whirled around to find the dreamer—the one responsible for pulling her into this nightmare. It was Lana’s sister, Darya, her face tear-streaked and her umber eyes aglow as she raked her fingernails across her cheeks, leaving swollen, bleeding welts.
She stared at Kali.
“Dreamwalker! Dreamwalker!” Her voice rived with every syllable, and she yanked at her long, matted hair. “Dreamwalker! Dreamwalker!”
“Darya, wake up!” Kali approached the girl, who lurched in terror. Seeing it was useless, Kali squeezed her eyes shut and willed it all away—willed herself to awaken—but all she heard was Darya’s strangled accusation.
“Dreamwalker! Dreamwalker!”
Kali couldn’t escape the nightmare until Darya awoke.
“The Dreamwalker is here!”
The villagers were closing in. Even with their bones broken and their flesh shredded, they corralled her like a pack of rabid dogs. As she spun in search of an opening—a chance to flee—a ghastly sight from what used to be the town square seized her.
There, tied to the altar of the Viyest, was Lana’s burnt corpse—her mouth agape, her eyes turned skyward. What remained of her bones twisted like blackened vines around the totem she’d once worshipped as a god.
She was unrecognizable, but Kali shared every scrap of unsettling knowledge with the dreamer: Darya.
“No, no, no…” Kali staggered back, stopping when she heard ragged footsteps approach. She was surrounded, and Lana was dead.
Someone leapt at her—hatchet raised. Before they could swing, a blear of black feathers dove at them. Talons latched onto the attacker’s arm as a sharp, curved beak descended, pecking ruthlessly until flesh parted from bone and bone broke from knuckle.
A large raven unlike any Kali had seen thrust out his head, departed finger in tow, and chortled with glee. His midnight wings glistened like obsidian and sapphire as he launched from the villager’s arm and circled overhead, then dropped the waxy digit at Kali’s feet.
He swooped down, feathers fluttering as he perched roughly on her shoulder. She winced, feeling the talons cut into her skin, but the display only sent the Hollow into a frenzy. Darya screamed, and when Kali turned to face her, she was on the ground, limbs thrashing and body igniting in flames.
“Kill the Dreamwalker!”
“Kill the Dreamwalker!”
The villagers were chanting, the sound discordant in Kali’s ears. She looked to the raven and reached a quivering hand to his silky, iridescent plumage. “Thank you, friend.”
The raven cocked his head and considered her, drinking up her fear. Eyes shining like fresh ink, his dark bill parted as he croaked a single phrase:
“Wake…up...”
“I can’t,” she pleaded, the mob still advancing.
“Wake…up…”
“I don’t know how!”
“Wake…up…”
The command rang in Kali’s ears. The earth shook under her feet, and the flames eagerly licked her face.
“I’m trapped,” she muttered, enclosed in a tightening halo of dread.
“Wake…up…!” the raven cried louder.
“Get away,” Kali whimpered. “Get away, get away!” She swung her arm as someone got too close, striking them over and over until the shouting stopped and the horrors faded into the faint crackle of the campfire.
“Wake up!” Sendoa shook her, his face sketched with concern. As the world came into focus, she saw her fists pressed against his chest; she’d been pummelling him in her sleep. Behind him, the willow’s silhouetted branches swayed against the bone-white moon—the sky pitch black and starless.
Tears welled up, threatening to spill. “I was so lost…I didn’t know which way to go.”
Sendoa’s shoulders dropped, and he sighed in relief. She’d never seen him worried like this. How bad had it gotten that she’d rattled the god of destruction with her nightmares?
“Come on.” He scooped an arm under her back and helped her up.
Kali could barely move, her body feeling brittle as shale. Grabbing his arm, she yanked herself up with all her might, nearly toppling him in the process. Her skin crawled like thousands of spiders had burrowed into her veins. She tried scratching them out until her fingernails wetted with blood.
Sendoa grabbed her hand to stop her. “What happened?”
“Lana…” Kali swallowed the sick. “She’s dead. She’s dead because of me.” The dam broke. Kali pressed her palms to her face, but she couldn’t stem the tide of salty tears.
She felt warm fingers pull her hands away and met Sendoa’s stony gaze. “None of this is because of you.”
“They killed her!” she roared as rage quickly swept away the guilt. “They thought I had taken her, but I deliberately left her behind! We fought before I renounced the Hollow!” Realization ripped through Kali’s chest. “We fought…the last thing we did was fight…and I didn’t wish her well.”
She clamped her teeth, fighting down the sob that pushed up her throat.
“And I tore my own brother to pieces,” Sendoa reminded her.
Kali’s breath hitched with sorrow. “But what if I could have stopped it?”
His hands slipped free from hers as he circled an arm around her back. “Your friend made choices too. Why give your decisions more weight than hers?”
“Because I had more power!” she swatted at the ground and scraped her knuckles raw. “If I’d used it the way Bartha had wanted, none of this would’ve happened!”
Sendoa squeezed her arms and glared. “Yes, it would have. Velizar never intended for your people to return to their fairy tales about the Viyest and the Dreamwalker. He spewed whatever lies suited his goal, and his only goal was to be king. But to be king, he had to be rid of you. Your friend was a casualty of his war. Her blood is on his hands, not yours.”
She wanted to fight him—to deflect his reason and return to her shame. If it was her fault, she could fix it. If she was to blame, she had control.
“Maybe you’re right, but I’d be a fool not to harness this…” she trailed off, searching for the right word, “this curse of mine. I don’t want to be a victim of it any longer. I don’t want to be helpless.” She peered up at the willow, remembering the way its petals bore blood. “This nightmare…it won’t be the last. The Hollow is scared. Terror finds them in their dreams, and they pull me into them.” Her eyes drifted to Sendoa’s face. “I can’t get out until they wake. I have to make it stop. I need control.”
“Perhaps to control your chaos, you need to lose yourself in it first.”
Kali’s mouth dropped open. “Aren’t I lost enough?”
His lips tugged into a faint but haunted smile. “You’re lost in what you fight to keep away. But when you walk dreams, you tether yourself to the Hollow’s most fragile truths. The unseemly things they won’t show anyone. You have those too, wild lamb.”
She scrunched up her face. “I don’t understand your god-speak.”
“All your life you’ve been afraid of the Hollow’s judgment,” he said. “You knew they were watching you, so you locked yourself up in a stone shell. And when your body and mind grew weary of that shell, your spirit broke free while you slept.”
Kali felt her heart crumble like the charred wood of Bartha’s longhouse. “Lana—I told her the same thing,” she recalled. “When you don’t let yourself feel the truth, it speaks through your dreams.”
Sendoa sighed. “And you’re doing the same. The more you shut it away, the more power you bestow it. Welcome it, and you’ll find yourself more at ease in the dreamscape. You may even find your way.”
“I don’t know where to start,” said Kali. “There’s so much wrong with me. Pride and spite smeared over my every intent
ion. I came to you because I didn’t trust anyone in the Hollow, but I don’t trust you, either. How can I? You’re the brother of the devil who stole my life. You savaged your own kin for a moment of retribution.” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t blame you for it; I understand it perfectly, and that frightens me because I know I’m the same.”
Tears streamed down her face, years of unspoken truths cascading out alongside them. “I’m not noble, compassionate, or forgiving. I’ve spent my life sneering at the Hollow, holding them in contempt.” She balled her hands into fists. Rage emanated from her skin, beckoning the wind to howl. “I hate them,” she seethed, and the veil between worlds began to tremble. “I hate them with my every forsaken breath.”
Phantoms slipped from the shadows beneath the trees, and spirits slithered from the depthless void beneath the earth, their yellowed fingernails poking through the soil as the edges of reality fractured. “They’ve caused me nothing but pain.”
Sendoa snatched her hand, breaking the spell. “You’ve got enough hate to fuel ten lifetimes worth of grudges.” He smiled wryly. “That’s spite rivaled only by Velizar, Dreamwalker.”
Kali breathed heavily, unable to contain her wrath. “Fuck Velizar.”
“Rein it in.” He scooted closer. “You’re shredding the boundary between realms.”
“I don’t care,” she spat. “Let it all come crashing down. Let the Hollow live their own nightmares as I’ve had to.”
His arm snaked around her waist as he pulled her against his side. “Is that your most fragile truth?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers. “Salt the earth?”
She hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. If she said yes, it would’ve been a lie. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered, then flattened her palms against his chest. “I don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“Vulnerability.”
“I’m being vulnerable!” She pulled back when she couldn’t push him away. “I’m telling you how much I loathe the Hollow! How much anger and hatred I harbour!”
Sendoa’s fingers closed around her wrist as she tried to flee. “No,” he said sternly. “Your anger is the stone shell. It protects what’s underneath it.”
