The Waking Dreamer
Page 31
Madness touched her mind. There was no room for ghosts that fled through forests; or living dwellings of stone grown so high in the mountains that they touched the very clouds in the sky; or castles that breeched the coast in the cold, stormy north; or monsters that stalked the land; or men whose voices could change winter winds to summer breezes; or women who communed with animals and shared in the infusion of power; of companions who would fight and die to save the life of a stranger.
There was no room for that kind of world. There was no room for that kind of life. The promise of adventure that Emmett had instinctively sought was the adventure his mother had been denied. Because of him.
A tear lapsed heavily onto his cheek, and he shuddered with a faltering gasp, overwhelmed with self-awareness. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, tensing against pain and the bitter tang on his lips.
Then Emmett was crying. He did not know when it began, but when he recognized it fully, it became a heavy sobbing. He felt his grief overtake him, wounded so profoundly that he could not stop himself from experiencing it nakedly in front of his friends. Shoulders sagging, he gasped several times through the tears, feeling Keiran and Amala hold firmly to him through the shuddering pain.
He was crying for his mother; for the Children of Silvan Dea; for the passengers aboard the train; for those whose lives had been taken because of the Waking Dreamer. Whether by chance or fate, Emmett had found purpose in a grand adventure that promised both joy and sorrow and was intertwined with so many deaths.
For several minutes, he cried into his trembling hands. When the tears had run dry and he thought he could cry no more, the emptiness within him seemed to fold inward. It turned in on itself in different ways until it grew smaller, focused, and finally was a distant point beyond his immediate perception. The images of so much death faded from his immediate memory: his mother, alone in her hospital; Paulo and Sebastian’s corpses; the frightened passengers who fled helplessly into the night from the burning wreckage of the train; the Attendant who looked to him in the moments before her death; even the cold look of Ellie’s face as he killed her with his own hands.
As he steadied his breathing, Emmett found the grief somehow manageable.
Amala and Keiran stood with him in the silence, bearing witness to its passing. They understood his grief, in their own way, and their solidarity gave him the strength to begin letting go.
“It’s time,” he whispered softly, uncertain who the message was meant for.
The present roar of traffic coming through the roof’s holes died away with a heavy, mourning melody. Emmett did not look up, his eyes closing with a final tear as he felt Keiran’s song pass through him. It dulled the noise of the world. Its somber tone conveyed the mourning within his heart. He felt the notes pass through him, effortless and light underneath his arms as if it meant to lift him into the sky, far beyond the world below.
“A paean,” Emmett nodded.
“We honor a life that has passed as a new one begins today,” Amala whispered.
“And on my birthday.”
“It is your rebirth,” Amala said.
Keiran’s notes finally softened. Emmett turned away from the place on the ground where he had been born to face both of them. He did not know where his new life would take him, but he understood that he would not face it alone.
“You ready, mate?” Keiran asked.
Ready for what, exactly? For his new life? To follow Amala and Keiran headlong into the darkness? He had been ready for it since before he knew it was even possible. He had been searching for it the moment he got into his car and began driving for Florida—for answers, purpose, and adventures that ended in rabbit holes. He was ready for a life that had to be earned. Truly, he had always been ready.
“I’m afraid,” he answered honestly.
“Then you see clearer than most,” Amala responded as Keiran stepped behind her. “There is nothing more powerful than when you recognize that you are inadequate for the journey before you.”
“That’s when you know you’re new life begins,” Keiran added.
Emmett heard the Archivist’s warning in his mind. He thought of the Old Ones and remembered the Hag’s stare and her Black Hounds. He felt the brush of ineffable power from the Revenants that had pursued him; dark and wicked magiks summoned by people whose unknown motives were fueled by some mysterious Master who was already pursuing him. For the Master knew Emmett as the Hag knew him. And he was coming for him.
It has already begun, and it begins tonight, Emmett repeated to himself.
Soon is right now.
“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
About the Author
Photo by Beverly Guhl
Joshua Elijah Alexander loves veering off the main road in search of abandoned mines, dense bogs, and other ghost-infested settings for future stories. He is an ardent devotee of esotery, sarcastic fringeheads, and jam. Especially jam. He currently lives in Austin, Texas, with near-term plans for lunar relocation, weather permitting. He encourages fans to connect with him online where his attention can be caught with discussion of cryptids or ginger-infused confections. Or ginger cryptids.
authorJEA.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author