Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Roya.” George’s voice, like a single string being strummed on a violin, startles me. I gasp and wait for him to continue. “Something’s wrong. I’m getting a horrible feeling.”

  “What else did you expect? Zhuang surely has an aura which would unsettle even Hitler,” Trent says.

  “This is different.” George’s tone makes me throb with anxiety.

  Zhuang’s words command everyone’s attention. “Little girl, how weak you must be that you can’t face me on your own.”

  I stare at him, unblinking.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Zhuang says with a shake of his head. “You understand I must insist you fight me fairly. It really is the noble way.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me; you’re going to question my nobility. You don’t follow rules, remember?” I accuse.

  “You know,” Zhuang whispers hoarsely, “I really could not risk it. She had to go first. I need to know when I kill you, it’s for good.”

  What does he mean? A shooting sensation pulses through my limbs. Masking desperation I say, “Leave my team out of this. This fight is between you and me.”

  He makes a guttural sound. “I agree, this fight should be only between the two of us.” His cold chortle echoes along the river. “But it’s entirely too late to leave these people you’ve dragged along out of it.”

  A chilling desperation shatters the fog in my head. I’m just about to ask for a roll call when Zhuang interrupts. “The interesting thing about healers is, they’re incredibly easy to kill. Very weak, you see.”

  All blood rushes to my head, making my ears hot. I know I need to run, to travel, but I can’t move. My hands are numb. He’s lying. He must be. Samara?! Confirm this!

  “But,” he purrs, “you’ll be glad to know when I killed her, she didn’t even cry. She seemed to think this was important and wanted you to know. Isn’t that sweet?” His last word is broken into an extra syllable and it crawls over my skin like the scratchy legs of a cockroach. Zhuang sinks into a deep lunge and thrust his hand into the air expectedly.

  Seconds pass as long pulses flow through my veins. Something flickers in his bony fingers and then solidifies. In his outstretched hand Zhuang holds his long, curved sword—a falchion. Gold at the handle, silver on the blade, and red at the tip. A single droplet of blood descends off the end and lands on the pavement. Plat. My stomach twists. I can’t move. The small spot of blood on the pavement soaks up my attention like a sponge. Whitney’s blood. The idea burns my insides with disgust and grief.

  Zhuang straightens and eyes the blood on the sword like it’s a delicious piece of meat. A cloth appears in his opposite hand and he runs it across the blade until it’s clean. “One down,” he growls, looking at the sword. Then he flashes his creepy black and gold eyes on me. “Five to go.” And he’s gone.

  Terror races through me in a way I’ve yet to feel. I sprint forward. “Team, move! Now!” I scream and seize his ripple. Seconds later I’m in the darkened room where we left Samara. I squint, willing my eyes to adjust. In the corner I spy the tiniest movement, like someone is stroking the air. It’s the most recent ripple. But whose? I absorb the tracers in the ripple and immediately it’s apparent I’m following Zhuang.

  So quickly everything’s fallen apart.

  I stand in the room where George had been moments prior. Not terror, but rather a dull ache, like someone has stripped away my solace, quivers through my being. I itch and twitch with a fervent determination to get back what was mine. The idea that Zhuang has killed George makes it easy to see myself plunging a blade into his chest, grinding it past muscle and bone, until it punctures an organ, bathing him in his own blood.

  Desperate to find his ripple, to hunt him down and end this, I search the darkened space. It’s small. So much so, that as I turn I catch Zhuang at the corner of my vision. My reflexes tell me to reach out, blocking his oncoming hand. Steadily I slide back one step and meet a wall.

  “You must,” he whispers vehemently, “finish this fight fairly.” Zhuang telekinetically rips the headset off my ear. “Now this will be even more fun. You’re it, little girl.”

  Zhuang disappears. Without hesitating I step into his ripple, glad he isn’t going after the others. I don’t want to die, but I would much rather they didn’t. The selfishness of my desire is the last emotion to wash over me before I’m engulfed in the rabbit hole.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Zhuang isn’t to be seen in the new layer. No doubt he’s hiding, waiting to leap out and attack me. Trees like skyscrapers command my attention, pulling my gaze higher until it’s lost in an awning of darkness. The redwood forest.

  Fog thick as wool wraps around me, entangling without restriction, circling without creating borders. The moist, mossy air soothes my skin. Patches of green threads hang from branches forming beards. This coupled with the smell of decay and mold brings the image of a wise man to my mind. If a wizard ever presided over my destiny, now would be the time for him to materialize.

  Crickets echo all around but nothing disturbs the mist. There’s no robed figure or enchanted being with magical powers, not even a gnome pouncing through the forest, ready to assist my noble cause. A frustrated grunt escapes my mouth.

  I hurdle over ferns and lichen, haphazardly zigzagging my way deeper into the thicket, hopefully away from Zhuang. My first break of the day comes in the way of a fallen redwood trunk lying at a slant on top of a half dozen of its brethren. With my fingers digging into soft bark I clamber, losing my footing several times, until I’m deftly crouched at its base. I scurry up the trunk, moving farther into the sky and darkness, keeping my body low and my hands grounded. After I’ve traveled roughly fifty feet the trunk dead-ends into a vastness of shattering mist. Below me a clearing sits reeking with vulnerability. I recoil from it, searching the kindly forest for options.

  To my right two redwoods grow adjacent to my makeshift ladder. Their proximity to each other is nearly perfect for scaling if I get enough pressure between my hands and feet. The gap between the plank I stand on and the trees I intend to smear is roughly four feet. This isn’t major since in training I’ve jumped double that distance several times. However, my take-off area is uneven and soft, not giving much for me to spring against. More disconcerting is that I need to propel myself in between two targets, extend my limbs at exactly the right time and angle in order to stick and avoid falling.

  I rock back on my heels and imagine a promise from the padded forest ground that it won’t do me too much harm if I fail. My gaze lifts to the canopy overhead. Instinct urges me to get higher. Isn’t it from high in the tree that the birds hold advantage over prey? I want to believe that if I somehow launch myself to the place where the majestic redwoods unfurl their great canopy, I’ll find a sanctuary from Zhuang. I’m not sure what I’ll do then, but maybe in that sacred place I’ll have a vision or be given aid. This is a long shot.

  I rest my eyes on a gentle piece of lichen and swallow my last bit of resolve. Then I push forward, take one and a half quick steps, and leap into the mist. I soar through the space between the trees and just before I leave their refuge I jut out all four of my limbs, hoping that at least two stick to the pliant bark. A rough assault accosts my palms and my feet rake against the surface, sending reverberations through my bones. The skid happens immediately, scraping away layers of skin. My fingernails dig deeper, trying to find a hold. Slowly I descend, losing my precious advantage as the feet of bark recede above me.

  When the ground is no more than thirty feet away, I lock my ankle in a strange angle, hoping to slow my downward progress. Right then, exactly what I’d been praying for happens. I stop. Wedged between two holy redwood trees, with all limbs at exactly the right angle and releasing the exact amount of pressure, I’ve pinned myself in place. I don’t allow myself the time to gather my breath before I deliberately negotiate one hand a few inches and then one-by-one allow my feet to follow suit. So far so good. Confident with my approach, I use this pressur
e to recapture the distance I’ve lost, moving gradually with each hand and following in step with my feet.

  Once I reach the tree ladder I used originally, I scan the clearing below for signs of Zhuang. I continue to climb until I reach a gnarly knob, the size of an elephant’s head. Pushing even harder with my hands I pull my closest leg in, angle it high and set my foot down upon the knob. Then shoving against the other trunk I release with one steady jerk. For a brief moment, my one foot on the knob is my only hold to the earth. I picture a thousand endings as I realize I’m over a hundred feet in the air.

  Like a moth to a flame I jerk to the tree, pulling my other foot to meet its pair. A wave shoots through my spine. The momentum from my plunge takes me off center and rocks me forward, toward the clearing. Instinctively I drop my center of gravity and overcompensate for my miscalculation by rocking back toward the gigantic trunk. Half a second passes before I realize I’m squatted, quite precariously, but still safe upon the knob. My fingers dig narrow holes into the bark and my toes cramp from the pressure they’ve endured, but I’m alive.

  My breathing comes like raps of wind through a tattered flag as I realize the devastation I’ve somehow circumvented. Bracing myself, I peer over my ledge at the clearing below. Still no magician has appeared to steal my fate and portal me off to an enchanted land. Now that I’m high up in the trees, perched like a gargoyle, I don’t feel powerful or protected, but rather foolish and misguided.

  The nub is spacious enough for me to sit and stretch out. This relieves my legs of the ever-growing ache which I’ve had since the great climb began. I feel like I’m dangling my feet off the edge of the world, enticing the flames of hell to eat me up. I shrink away from this thought, wishing not to taunt God or the devil or any other deity who might preside over my future.

  Where is Zhuang? Is he going after the others? My hope is they returned to the Institute. However, Joseph hasn’t. I sense him and know he’s no more than two layers away. I need to get back to the plan, but it’s hard now that I’m on the defensive.

  My location, as planned, gives me the perfect place to view an oncoming attack. From up here, there’s little chance Zhuang can sneak up on me. Although my visibility is limited, I can still rely upon my clairvoyance. And once I catch sight of Zhuang I’ll get his attention and there will still be enough space between us to give me time to begin my excursion through the hundred layers. By the time he flies, as I suspect he can, up to meet my ripple, I’ll be a safe distance away. I smile, satisfied. The time has finally come to catch this evil serpent in a net of justice.

  The mist on the ground stirs. Zhuang strolls into the area below as if he’s stepping out to meet a train. The mist curls away from him like tendrils clambering to escape a noxious weed. He regards the space nonchalantly and stretches out his rail-thin arm. A long cylinder appears in his waiting hand. The reedy object is three feet long, and resembles a skinny baton. He places one hand a foot from the end and the other an equal distance down the shaft.

  The urge to say something and catch his attention courses through me, but my curiosity gets the better of me. My location is secure and not once have Zhuang’s snakelike eyes flicked up since he entered the clearing. If I watch for another minute I might gain valuable covert information.

  With a graceful pivot, Zhuang swivels, places one end of the tube to his mouth, and points the other end directly at me. Instantly I know I was dead wrong to stick around. Staring down the barrel of the blowgun I wince, letting my regret billow out of me like steam. I jump to my toes and lunge forward but realizing there’s no space, withdraw and remain planted against the redwood behind me.

  The dart spirals out of the tube, like a missile through the air. I close my eyes and focus on dream traveling. The silver tunnel explodes out of blackness. Never in my life have I been so grateful to reach out for the wormhole, my connection to every place and time, and right now my only sanctuary. I tip forward, feeling the familiar splash of adrenaline.

  The cold pierce of a foreign object entering my body is the first sensation. It’s followed by a rush of heat. I’ve been struck by whatever Zhuang spit out of that blow gun, but maybe I can still travel.

  A jerk yanks me up. I’m suspended, unmoving, watching the spiraling grayness in front of me. The burn races through my bloodstream and my veins swell under the pressure with such intensity I think they might burst. The grayness is gone with a brilliant flash and I open my eyes to the forest blurred in shades of green and brown.

  Surrendering at once to the powerful sedative, my head falls forward over the edge of the knob and my body follows suit. My feet tumble over my head, and then my head over my feet. Just when I think I’ll make another rotation I hit the leaf-covered ground and all my remaining air spills out. I’m but a pile of blood and bones on a mass of earth.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “If it makes you feel better,” Zhuang sneers, standing over me, “you’ll be almost dead before I suck your consciousness out of you. You’ll hardly feel a thing.”

  I twist, my muscles reacting awkwardly to my demands. My limbs flail against the dirt, but I’m unable to summon enough strength to get on my feet. If it wasn’t for the poison, I’d probably be in a great deal of pain.

  “Now, now,” Zhuang chides. “You’ve really had an exhausting day and quite the fall.” He taps his foot and holds his chest high. “You need to sleep now.” His voice almost sounds calming, alluring. My eyelids grow heavy and the strain to not shut them is excruciating.

  “Fall into a deep sleep,” he whispers. An odd, exaggerated smile, like that of an evil clown, flashes on his face. “And until you’re ready for harvesting I’ll go kill your brother.” He wrenches his polished sword from behind his back and holds it high into the air. “Putting the royal twins to bed places me one step closer to the finish line.”

  I reach for him, wanting to attack, but unable to operate my limbs. With every ounce of strength I own I try to move, but remain paralyzed, frozen to the soft ground. Each millisecond of every second I pray and wish for my body to react to the commands from my brain. And thousands of times my body ignores, leaving me lifeless, exposed.

  My neck is hot with fire where the dart struck me. The poison infiltrates my blood, rushing through me. I watch, unable to seize Zhuang as he disappears before me, particle by particle. By the time my conscious thoughts catch up, I know the dream-sucking parasite is gone.

  Zhuang wants me to sleep. Who knows what hallucinations the poison will cause if I succumb to the dream world. I can’t lose focus, I tell myself. A wave of fatigue reverberates through my core. Stay awake, I beseech. But with each passing second I know I’ve already lost this round. To resist sleep right now isn’t just futile, it’s also depriving my body of precisely what it wants more than anything. I’m a seedling and sleep is sunshine. It’s rain. It’s soil. It’s life. I close my eyes and descend into a vast darkness only briefly before my subconscious turns it into an array of light and colors.

  ♦

  Glossy green leaves, thick to the touch, intersperse the backdrop. I watch from overhead. My body lies on the ground and I, an ethereal form, feel the currents of air pass through me. I hardly identify with the figure lying on the ground below. She, this girl I used to be, is intriguing nonetheless. The calm expression on her lips begs for my investigation. I drift closer.

  Out of the same ether I was born, a pair of eyes materializes. They’re close together and do not look at me, but rather hover over the girl. I wonder sourly why they don’t care about me and also why they don’t have a body. The space between the girl and me recedes. I have episodes where I fight to be her and fight against it, to be a spirit floating in my dream world. The detached eyes, beady, but full of majesty, fade into a darkness and a part of me knows I won’t see them again for a long time.

  Who am I? I gaze up into the green and brown canopy of the trees. Below me the spongy ground contours to my body. The leaves overhead catch my attention as they sway. Fr
om a distant part of my mind I wonder where the figure, the one who had loomed overhead has gone. And then the gentle leaves like a fan of feathers fall down on me and all is forgotten. They’re lovely on my skin, like satin. I’m enwrapped in them, guided by their essence, and restored by the same spirit the earth employed in them when they sprouted from branches. These leaves have given me wings and in true dream fashion I feel I can fly, but remain planted to the gentle soil.

  ♦

  Easily I shove sleep away, like a scratchy, thick blanket on a humid summer night. My eyes are heavy, but I know my vision is real and not that of a sleeping dream world. Once on my feet, I notice how different the forest looks now, somehow marked from witnessing my attack, my fall, and whatever happened while I was comatose. Now I understand why these trees are so wise. All they must have seen in their time.

  I pace the clearing looking for signs of Zhuang. My body now holds a deft agility. I’m brand new, like I’ve awoken from a summer of sleep which promises to bring only good fortune in the season to come. How am I not dead? Or asleep? My mind, clear and organized as I’ve never experienced, easily holds a dozen thoughts all at the same time: my new predicament, my recent failed plan, and Zhuang’s last words.

  Joseph?!

  Although my body feels brand new and my mind fresh, no longer lost in a fog of poison, there’s something missing. The power I’ve grown accustomed to when Joseph’s close is gone. Devastation tears my chest in half as the chilling possibilities set in. My knees lose their ability to hold me upright. I fall forward, landing on them before kneeling. First Whitney, maybe George, and now Joseph. Who else? Samara? Trent? Everyone could be dead. All because of me, because I’m incapable of killing Zhuang. If only I’d stuck with the plan, but no, I’ve failed and everyone’s paying the price for my incompetence. My heart palpitates with a few sudden shudders. And still I live. Zhuang poisoned me, trying to make me sleep within my dream travels. So he could harvest me, he said. Something awoke me early, though, of that I’m certain.