Dreamscape: Saving Alex

by Kirstin Pulioff

  Tears stung my eyes. My mind spun. There didn’t seem to be enough air to breathe. Didn’t they understand that blonde hair did not qualify me to be a hero? It had to be a mistake. I was a sophomore in high school, not a hero.

  Fear gripped me. Without a thought, I spun around towards the door and ran.

  “Alex!” Arrow yelled.

  I didn’t turn back or stop. I ran until my chest burned, and then slumped over to catch my breath.

  “Alex!” I turned and saw Arrow catching up to me.

  I took a deep breath and jogged forward, away from him.

  “Stop! We need to talk about this,” he said, grabbing my hand.

  “Let me go,” I begged, leaning forward.

  “No. I won’t let you go until you talk to me. Why’d you leave like that?”

  I stared at him, the confusion in his dark eyes partially hidden by the hair sliding down his forehead. “What did you expect me to do? You practically told them I would defeat the king by myself!” I yelled.

  “With our help.”

  I shot him that look again. “Do you think that makes it better? I don’t know how to fight. I know how to win a game, not kill an evil king. Those are two very different things, and you know it. You can’t just sign me up for your rebellion without asking. All I care about right now is getting home and getting out of this game.”

  “Isn’t that all life is, though, a game? Aren’t we all just trying to find a way through?”

  “Yes, this is just a game. One that I desperately need to get out of.”

  “This may just be a game to you, but it’s our lives. Don’t let the fear of being the hero keep you from doing what’s right.”

  “But this isn’t real. None of this is real.”

  “What’s more real than the things you can touch and feel?” He reached out and pressed his lips to my hand. “The things that touch you.”

  “But—”

  “Stop fighting and listen. Not to me, but to yourself. You know you want to do what’s right.”

  “Arrow, there’s more to it than that. You can’t put your hope in me.” I turned around so he wouldn’t see the tears streaking my cheeks.

  “We already do. I don’t understand why you can’t.” He grabbed my wrists and turned me back around. “Look at what you’ve already done. You’re more than just a hero.”

  “Let me go. It was one thing going along to get your papers, but this—” I said, pointing to the tavern. “This is too much. Did you see that little boy? I can’t be responsible for his life. What if I get him killed? I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m tired of people expecting me to do things without asking.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want to go home. I’m sorry for ever giving you the idea that I could do more. But them?” I pointed back to the tavern. “They need a real hero. That’s you, or your men. At some point, I have to stop pretending before someone gets hurt. I’m not a hero. This is nothing more than a costume. I won’t let that boy, or any of them, put their faith in an imitation, not when they need something more.”

  “You’re more than you realize.”

  “I’m nothing here. This isn’t real. You’re not real,” I screamed, pushing him away. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

  His eyes hardened. “I had hoped I’d mean more to you by now. I can understand you’re afraid, but I don’t understand how you can be so self-absorbed. You can’t just push us away, telling me that we’re a game. What do you think happens when you’re not here? Do you think we disappear?”

  “I-I don’t know!”

  “Let me tell you—we don’t. This isn’t a game. This is a fight to reclaim our kingdom. I can’t tell you why you were sent as our hero. And honestly, if you can’t find a way to put someone ahead of yourself, I don’t know what good you’d be. I’m done wasting my time. If you want to go home, then go.”

  “Now you’re not being fair. You’re twisting my words to make me look bad.”

  “Goldy, I don’t need to twist anything to do that.”

  I slapped him, then balled my fist to my mouth, cringing as I waited for his reaction.

  He rubbed his cheek and turned back to me with a spiteful grin. I held my breath as he came closer. “Did that feel real enough for you? What about this?” He reached behind me and pulled me near.

  My protests stopped as his lips covered mine. Everything gave way to his demanding kiss. My knees weakened, and I fell further into his arms. I grabbed his sleeves, pulling him closer, feeling my greed resurface. And then he pulled back and unhooked my hands from his sleeves.

  “Was that real enough for you?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and retreated into the dusty town.

  I watched him leave, feeling a pang of longing with every step he took. My chest heaved, refusing to hold anything but my shattered heart.

  “Yes,” I whispered, feeling the lingering of his lips and the burn of regret.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The morning sun attacked me with its blinding light as dust swirled around me. I rubbed my eyes, wiping away the sleep and dirt. After our fight, I didn’t dare return to the tavern. I couldn’t. There was nothing more for me to say. I would have to wait for Arrow to lead me to the highway, and then we’d go our separate ways.

  I’d slept outside, curled up in my cloak under a fallen sign. The shrieking wind had jolted me awake throughout the night, providing a much-needed break from my troubled dreams.

  The doors to the tavern burst open. The men barreled past me with surly grimaces and grunts. The few that pretended not to see me scuffed up dirt or kicked my cloak on their way across the street.

  After the sleepless night, I didn’t have the energy to fight their accusing eyes as they lined up. It didn’t take much effort to guess what they thought about me. It came through loud and clear. I had transformed from hero to traitor in one day as if I bore a scarlet “T” stamped on my chest. If I wasn’t the bad guy here, why did I feel so guilty?

  Arrow marched through the dusty street, his hair falling in front of his dark eyes. He stopped in front of me and dropped my bag at my feet.

  “What’s this?” I asked, cautiously squinting up at him.

  He ignored my question and looked over to the men gathering across the street. “I would stay over here until we’re ready to go,” he said. The anger left over from last night simmered beneath the surface.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pursing my lips.

  “So am I.”

  “Is there anything?” I asked, letting the thought linger.

  He scoffed and brushed his hair back. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and deep lines etched his forehead. “No, you’ve done enough.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Meant or not, Goldy, it’s the way it goes,” he said, turning away.

  I nodded and watched him leave. His shoulders softened as he walked back, as if the weight of dealing with me had been lifted. Really, though, it had just been transferred onto my shoulders. I sunk deeper under my cloak and clutched the bag, teetering on the line between denial and complete devastation. I hadn’t felt this alone since waking up in this world.

  The warmth on my hands surprised me. Peeking into the bag, I breathed in a rush of steam from fresh rolls, which warmed my cheeks and turned my stomach. Everything else was there: a new cloak, money boxes, the remains of the money I’d taken, and, tucked underneath it all, an oversized package of vines. The gnawing hole in my stomach doubled in size, and tears welled up in my eyes.

  How could he do this? This generosity confused me. Everything about this world confused me.

  I leaned against the gate, closing my eyes while I waited. Maybe if I had told Arrow earlier, this could have been avoided. Could it have, though? He seemed just as determined as I to have things play out on his terms. I thought back to the manor, the missteps and close calls. Both our agendas twisted around each other.

  I sighed. Repl
aying the past wouldn’t change anything. One thing I knew from playing the game was that when you finished a level, you couldn’t go back. Whatever level Arrow belonged in was finished. It was time to move on.

  The wind picked up, and Arrow and his men formed a line. My breath caught in my chest. They walked past me without a glance. I jumped into line, leaving a significant distance between us. Dust swirled up from the ground, and I covered my face, trying to keep from choking.

  We walked for hours away from Flourin, crossing northwest of the woods Arrow and I had taken to get to Baron Marix’s, through miles of meadows and marshy grasslands. Their pace challenged me, but I didn’t dare say anything. They didn’t owe me, and I didn’t want any favors. I didn’t even want their attention. For the first time since being here, I faded into the background.

  It didn’t feel the same as I remembered.

  I tightened the cloak, braving the brunt of the wind. I was out of breath when we stopped at the crossroads where the mountains met the wetlands.

  “Goldy!” Arrow yelled.

  “I’m coming,” I said, cursing the slight quiver in my voice.

  “Well, here we are.” Arrow clenched his jaw. Sadness haunted his eyes, even though the rest of his face was emotionless.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, breaking eye contact. If I stared any more, I didn’t think I’d be able to leave. “What will you do now? Where will you go?”

  “We’ll continue with our plan. With or without you, it’s time to settle this battle.”

  “Is that safe? I mean, you could wait for another hero.”

  He gave me the same look he’d given me when I slapped him. “It doesn’t work that way. I already told you, you were our only chance.”

  The silence stretched between us. “Arrow, I’m—”

  “No,” he said, cutting me off. “It’s all been said.” He pointed to the intersecting trails. “The trail to the right will take you around the mountains. The one on the left will take you to the wetlands, and if you’re looking for the shortcut home, go straight up the cliff.” That sent his men into a fit of laughter. “Goodbye Goldy. I hope you find your way home, I really do.”

  “Good luck to you too, Arrow.” A tear slid down my face, blurring the line of men. I turned away, trying to ignore the sadness drowning me from the inside, and looked up towards the cliff. It was time to end this game. He may have been joking about the shortcut, but this was a video game. He might have told me something important without realizing it. And with a shortcut, I might be able to get to the final level, and home, sooner. I’d try the cliffs.

  The enormity of the cliffs crushed me. Taller than anything I had seen before, sheer walls rose hundreds of feet, vertical cracks breaking the smooth surface. Fallen boulders filled the long crevasses. Clouds collided with the stone, breaking into a river of mist at the top. I swallowed hard and wiped my palms along my thighs.

  Climbing came naturally to me, but this stretched my limits. I dusted my palms and caressed the walls, searching for the right hold. I found it. A narrow crevasse surrounded my palm like a glove. The next one fit just as perfectly. One handhold led to another. Prickles of anticipation shot through me. I climbed up the first twenty feet easily, finding holds and ridges perfectly aligned for my height. That’s what I loved about climbing. I chose my own path. Only I could see where to go next. And when I reached the top, it was always worth it. The satisfaction I felt reinforced my resolve, and I did something I shouldn’t have. I looked down.

  Never look down. It was the first rule I was taught, and the most important. Besides the obvious threat of disorientation, I had a bad habit of second-guessing the path I had chosen. Hindsight was my enemy. The world spun, and my fingers slipped against the smooth rock. I couldn’t find any more obvious handholds, and I cursed my impulsiveness. There was nowhere else to go. I had started in the wrong place.

  Tightening my grip, I climbed down, and when I reached the ground, I folded my arms across my chest and looked up. The shortcut had to be here. I was sure of it. Trees and vines always marked the shortcuts between levels, and fifty feet up, a tree jutted out from the sheer walls. If I climbed there, I knew I’d find my next move.

  I dragged my hand along the rough stone, walking over fallen boulders and scattered bushes until I stood directly underneath the tree. I pushed against the stone wall, applying different levels of pressure. Nothing happened. The shortcut wouldn’t be as obvious or simple as an unwinding vine from the game—or would it? My fingers slid across something smooth tucked inside a vertical fissure between the rocks.

  “Jackpot.” I curled my fingers around the twisted plant. After a quick test to make sure it would hold my weight, I climbed.

  The rope swayed with bursts of wind, and my feet slipped, losing traction along the gritty wall. Sweat dripped down my face, rolling over my arms, but I didn’t stop. I climbed until I reached the ledge where the tree grew and pulled myself over. The vine continued higher up the cliff, disappearing into the cloud of mist above.

  I leaned into the trunk, letting the shade cool the sweat beading at my temples. Resting my forehead against the rough bark, I studied the horizon. From above, the details disappeared. Life didn’t get in my way like it did when I was on solid ground. But climbing this mountain was different. There was so much to see, and yet I couldn’t focus. I stared out over Lockhorn, and details that I couldn’t ignore popped into my head.

  The bark scratched my arms as I held on to the tree, struggling against the forceful wind. Small rocks slid out from the cracks surrounding the tree, echoing off the wall below. I followed the rocks as they fell until I saw the trail I had started on. It was farther down than I thought. A lump formed in my throat.

  The dusty trail curved through the landscape. My gaze followed its meandering path through the green land, marveling at how the wetlands painted the earth below me. Shades of blue and green bent around each other in an intricate pattern that I could just barely make out. I followed the sweeping lines until I found a cluster of moving dots. That had to be Arrow and his men.

  The lump in the bottom of my stomach pulled me down. I sighed. What was I doing here? In the game, shortcuts were easy, quick ways to reach the end. Now it just felt like cheating.

  I banged my head on the tree. It seemed so stupid. On the list of the dumbest things I had done since arriving, this would top it. Given the choice of having an army at my back or fighting on my own, I chose myself. Why?

  That was the million-dollar question. Why hadn’t I just stayed with Arrow and offered my help? Weren’t our plans pretty much the same? We both wanted to save the queen. We both needed to get to the castle. I’d said I couldn’t be responsible for their lives, but that didn’t make sense. If I thought they weren’t real, then it didn’t matter. And if I did believe, then why didn’t I want their protection or support? Either way, neither of us would succeed without saving the queen.

  The longer I sat there, the more obvious it became. I was an idiot. Hindsight, my biggest enemy in climbing, got me again. I sighed and looked the other way.

  The charred remains of trees lined the forest. Dark patches intermixed with the lighter greens, winding in a design reminiscent of the paisley wallpaper in our dining room. The memory forced its way into my mind.

  Natalie pressed down on my shoulders to peek around the corner. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” I smirked and pointed to my mom, hidden behind her favorite magazine in the living room. She wouldn’t notice us, and Dad was still at work. “Coast is clear!”

  Natalie snickered behind me and gave me a push. “I want the strawberry one this time.”

  “I think I ate all those. What about grape?”

  “Sure, whatever.” She shrugged.

  It was our third popsicle of the day and our second box that week. Stealth was necessary.

  I tiptoed away from our hiding spot towards the kitchen. Water dripped from my bathing suit to the floor, turning the narrow hallway i
nto a slip-n-slide. Then my feet slid out from beneath me, throwing me into the dining room instead of the kitchen.

  It all happened in a second. I flailed, trying to grab something to slow my fall before I hit the wall. My fingers wrapped around a polished dining chair, pulling it away from the table. It tipped over, banging the wall behind me. My second attempt at stopping was no better. The blue gingham tablecloth slid easily off the table.

  The next moments blurred together. Natalie’s scream, my mom’s horrified expression, and the explosive crash of my great-grandma’s china around me. Chunks of blue plates and white teacups shattered into puzzle pieces. Small shards scratched my arms, and a large piece sliced my forehead by my hairline.

  “Alex! Are you all right?” My mom asked, biting her nails as she brushed specks of china shards from my skin. “Natalie, get an ice pack from the freezer.”

  I leaned forward to cry in her arms, but she turned away, focusing on the ground.

  “Mom?”

  She didn’t hear me. Tears slid down her cheek.

  “Grandma, your china,” she whimpered, picking up pieces of a broken platter. “What did you do? Alex, how could you do this?”

  “It was an accident,” I said, reaching for her arm.

  “There are no accidents, only mistakes.” She brushed off the china dust and left me alone. Broken, like the dishes.

  I traced the scar.

  That accident had defined me for too long. After that, I became aware of limits. Everything had a limit; everything had a consequence. I followed their orders, never knowing I had another choice. Mistakes could either be fixed or left alone to fester. And for my mom and me, that piece of wallpaper had never been repaired. Like Flourin, it posed a constant reminder of the past.

  I looked back towards the moving dots in the wetlands. In this world, I didn’t have to make those same choices. I could still fix this.

  While I contemplated my options, movement along the horizon caught my attention. The charred trees now hid under clouds of dust. I squinted, trying to see through the haze, and covered my mouth.