In the Dark of Dreams

by Marjorie M. Liu

  I wasn’t alone, she said in his mind. You were with me. We did it together. It was the two of us and what we’ve shared that made the difference.

  Perrin kissed her brow, drowning in the pained warmth flooding him through their bond. He looked at his father again and rode on her love, letting it fill him until he felt transcendent, beyond all the old pain and bitterness. He could not be bitter, given the blessing in his arms. Not then, maybe not ever.

  But there was still the possibility of battle.

  “I won’t let you hurt her,” Perrin said. “Don’t even think of it.”

  “Bold,” whispered his father.

  “No. When I first returned from exile, I would have let you take my life. I would have let you do as you must and not fought. But not anymore.” Perrin looked his father dead in the eyes, letting eight years of exile rise in his gaze—eight years, being forged into a different man, a survivor, a fighter, uncompromising and cold. “She is my life now. And I will live for her. I will protect her from you—all of them—who remain so small in their hearts.”

  “Small in our hearts,” echoed Turon, with a great deal of thoughtfulness. His gaze flicked down to Jenny. “I felt her quiet the Kraken. We all did, in different ways.”

  Perrin watched him warily. “The kra’a chose her. She might still die for it.”

  “She might,” agreed his father. “There are many who were frightened by that display of power, who believe the kra’a should be taken from her.”

  Jenny coughed until she shuddered. “You people are good at that sort of thing.”

  Turon tilted his head. Perrin said, “The kra’a will defend her.”

  “And will it defend you, my son?” he replied, with deadly softness.

  “Yes,” Jenny rasped. “Go to hell.”

  Perrin kissed the top of her head, never looking away from his father. “Do it now if you’re going to try. Finish it if you can. Otherwise, get away from us.”

  Turon frowned. “There was always something . . . wild . . . about you. I was not the only one who noticed. And when you killed Frilia . . .”

  His father paused. Perrin sensed a strange vulnerability inside him but did not allow himself to hope. A good thing, because when Turon met his gaze again, anything vulnerable was gone, and in its place was a cold remoteness that was far more familiar than affection.

  “Guardians have lost their minds in the past. It is the isolation, the pressure of dreamtime. The kra’a, and the presence of the Kraken, too much to bear. And with the power a kra’a gives a Guardian, there can be no . . . hesitation . . . if there is a possibility that all is not well within.”

  “I don’t forgive you,” Perrin said. “If you had listened to me—”

  “I would do it again,” replied Turon, though he did not sound entirely sure of himself. “What you did, both the murder and the dreams you fed the Kraken . . .”

  Turon did not finish. Perrin whispered, “I would have told you then, as I’ll tell you now . . . all I gave the Kraken were dreams of someone I loved. And that was something no one . . . no one had the right to try to take from me.”

  Jenny stilled against him. Perrin held her close, though there was nothing closer than the space they shared, side by side, in their minds.

  Turon looked at Jenny again but spoke to Perrin. “Pelena had many visions while you were gone. She claimed that a human woman would bear the burden of the kra’a, and that we must not harm her when that happened. No one, of course, believed her.”

  His father drifted backward. “Take the girl and go. We will not remove the kra’a. Not unless she proves herself . . . too weak . . . to bear the burden. As for you . . .” Again, he hesitated, and Perrin wondered if he would ever find common waters with his father, or if this was it. Always an exile.

  “You are bonded to the woman,” said his father. “I look at you both and know it. I hear it in your voices. If I take your life, I will be taking hers.” He looked at Jenny. “I should have killed you when I had the chance, all those years ago. It would have saved my son . . . so much.”

  “You’re the one who’s hurt him,” Jenny replied.

  Turon frowned. Perrin said, “I didn’t kill Pelena.”

  “Perhaps not,” replied his father, tearing his gaze from Jenny. “But she is dead.”

  He sank below the waves and was gone.

  “I think your father likes me,” Jenny croaked, before being wracked with coughs all over again. “Jesus, I hurt.”

  “Don’t talk,” Perrin murmured, trying not to shiver. Whether it was adrenaline or nerves, or just relief, his entire body trembled as he lay back in the water, holding Jenny against his chest.

  She laid her hand over his heart, and inside his mind whispered, Perrin?

  We’re alive, he said tersely.

  You thought you would die, she said. You thought your father would kill you.

  Yes. Perrin just hadn’t realized how afraid he was, until then. It wasn’t death that scared him—just the possibility that his father would be the one to pass judgment and take his life. He had come close once before. Looked Perrin in the eye and condemned him to exile, which was the same as death.

  But here Perrin was, still alive. Holding his dreams in his arms.

  I’m afraid to breathe, he told Jenny. Is this real?

  She didn’t answer him. Unconscious. Perrin held her close, swimming carefully, slowly. No land. No sign of help. He was certain there must be other Krackeni watching, but he did not expect any of them to offer their help. His kind were slow to change and accept new things. Perrin doubted that he and Jenny would ever be welcome. Tolerated, perhaps, out of necessity—which meant that vigilance would always be required, just in case any of the Krackeni took it upon themselves to challenge the kra’a’s choice in Jenny. Not to mention there were other, practical concerns, that needed to be addressed.

  Enough. One thing at a time.

  Like getting Jenny to safety.

  I found my answers, thought Perrin, focusing on the sea witch and her island. Filling his heart with need. He didn’t trust the crone, but surrounding them was nothing but open sea, and Jenny needed help.

  No island appeared, though. No magic swell of lush mountain and mist.

  Nothing, except a golden streak of light in the ocean.

  Perrin couldn’t hide his relief when Rik drew near; but he said nothing, just nodded at the circling dolphin, who melted and shifted until a young human man took its place, treading water.

  “Jenny,” Rik said, studying her with genuine concern.

  “She’s alive. Is anyone following you?”

  “I don’t know. I was searching for you, then . . . here you were. As if you came out of nowhere.”

  Sea witch, thought Perrin, and hugged Jenny a little closer. Her mind was cool and dark, drifting close to dreams. Heartbeat steady. He pressed his lips against her brow, closed his eyes, and said, “Thank you for coming, Rik.”

  When Rik said nothing, Perrin opened his eyes and found the shape-shifter staring at him with a strange sort of resignation.

  “You love her,” said Rik quietly. “I wish I could say I hate you for it, but I can’t. I wanted to. I wanted to punish you both. But I can’t do it anymore.”

  Perrin looked away, at the far-off horizon that was empty and silver with the sea. Alive. He was alive, but just as easily he could have been dead, Jenny dead, the Kraken awake, the world already shifting into a new age.

  Rik had lost his miracle.

  “Razor’s edge,” Perrin said, to himself and Rik. “It’s so easy to fall.”

  Rik closed his eyes, which still didn’t hide his pain. “They say the kra’a is part of your soul. How did you cope after it was cut from you?”

  “You know how I coped. The same way you did.”
<
br />   “One moment at a time,” Rik murmured, disappearing briefly under the water. When he resurfaced, he rubbed his face and said, “I wanted to die after I lost Surinia, but I didn’t have the guts to take my life. And then the Consortium captured me. They . . . did things to me, for a long time, and I realized that I wanted to live. But that felt wrong, too, like I was . . . betraying her somehow.”

  Perrin shook his head, holding Jenny closer. “Never.”

  “Never,” Rik whispered. “I wish I could love again.”

  “I think—” he began, and then choked as the kra’a reached through his link with Jenny and yanked hard on his heart. Wild, wordless warning.

  Moments later, someone stabbed Perrin in the lower back.

  Bad aim saved him. The tip of the blade skittered off Perrin’s hipbone, but the cut was still deep, shocking. He twisted, thrusting Jenny toward Rik, just as the blade slashed across the back of his tail. Perrin dove, gritting his teeth, his blood spreading through the water.

  He was not surprised to find A’lesander.

  He was surprised, however, to find desperate grief in his old friend’s eyes, and a self-loathing so thick and heavy, Perrin could almost taste it.

  A’lesander held an old relic of a blade, probably taken from a shipwreck. Long, curved, rusted almost to rotting—but still sharp.

  The two Krackeni men stared at each other, swimming in slow circles, deeper, deeper, away from the light; and Perrin felt all his rage disappear, and all his bitterness, and inside his mind Jenny was warm and quiet, warm and with him, warm and in his soul.

  You fool, he said to A’lesander, speaking in the old sea tongue, full of echoing clicks and vibrating whistles that translated into his mind, like telepathy. You had her friendship, and you threw it away. You threw Pelena away. You threw a life away that was yours.

  A’lesander closed his eyes. I know what I did.

  He attacked Perrin. It was not hard to take the knife. A’lesander only had one good hand, and a quick blow to his broken nose was all it took to disarm him. Perrin knew his old friend had not intended to win.

  Perrin held the knife and stared at A’lesander. All around them drifted pale ghosts, other Krackeni, gathering to watch the end.

  Do it, said A’lesander.

  Do it. Cold blood. Perrin searched for the rage he should have felt, for all those crimes A’lesander had committed. He found his anger, that righteous charge, but it felt as tired as he did.

  Perrin dropped the knife, watching it drift and spin out of sight into the darkness. I know you are dying. I will not make it easier.

  A’lesander’s face twisted with grief, and he looked up. Perrin followed his gaze and saw Jenny and Rik, far above them, floating along the surface. He tensed, afraid that A’lesander would charge them—but in the end, all he did was charge Perrin.

  He never reached him. An immense flash of silver surged from the shadows, and a voice sang out. One note, terrible with power. A’lesander crumpled around himself, with such violence it was as though he was nothing but a puppet—strings cut. He did not move again, except to sink into the abyss. His eyes were open. Empty. Lifeless.

  Perrin tore his gaze away and stared at his father.

  No words. Nothing had ever been easy between them. His father gave Perrin a sharp nod and turned from him. Whispers rose from the watching Krackeni.

  Justice . . . injustice . . . what will come . . . from human dreams . . .

  Perrin gave his father one last look, then swam upward, toward the light, toward his dream.

  Soon after, a ship came. The Calypso Star.

  In its wake, some distance away, was Sajeev’s fishing vessel and a speedboat filled with those black-clad, hard-faced mercenaries. Perrin imagined he heard a helicopter in the distance.

  Eddie stood aboard The Calypso Star, and with him was the red-haired shape-shifter who had fired a warning shot at Perrin. She had, after that initial bullet, introduced herself as Serena McGillis, a name Perrin recognized. Jenny’s friend, who had tried to save her baby.

  Sharing that, he thought, was one of the reasons he had been allowed to leave the old fishing vessel, alive. That and the fact that Eddie had vouched for him once he’d regained consciousness. It seemed those two knew each other. Enough to maintain a polite distance.

  Serena and Eddie helped pull Jenny onto the boat. She had been slipping in and out of consciousness. The woman looked hard at her face, something dangerous moving through her single golden eye: pupil little more than a slit, caught between human and cat.

  “Come with me,” she said. Perrin carried Jenny into the boat, down the narrow stairs, into her cabin. The bed had been remade, and a slender man was sorting through medical equipment stacked on the small desk. He hardly looked at Perrin. Once he saw Jenny, his focus was only on her.

  Perrin was pushed aside, crowded into a corner, ignoring his own wounds as he watched the man and Serena strip off Jenny’s clothes with careful efficiency. An IV was placed in her arm. Hot packs stacked around her body. Heart and lungs listened to, questions asked. Jenny remained quiet the entire time though Perrin knew she was awake.

  It feels like a dream, she said, as her eyelid was peeled back, and examined with a bright light that Perrin knew would have made her wince had she not been so unnaturally exhausted. I’m not dying, am I?

  No, said the kra’a, before Perrin could give his reassurance. We are healing you even now, though it will take time.

  We have time, Perrin told her, and found himself confronted with the profound truth of those words. We have all the time in the world.

  The corner of Jenny’s mouth cracked into a faint smile.

  Epilogue

  In the end, the excuse everyone used was that someone needed to bring the dog to Maine.

  The dog from the island. No ordinary dog, something Jenny had long suspected, though she’d kept those thoughts to herself—and Perrin—until Serena confirmed the truth some months later.

  Her grandfather had a talent with animals. He could possess them, piggyback—take flight inside the head of an eagle, live blind as a mole, sleep warm in the body of a rattlesnake—or, in one case, take over the mind of a particular dog, on a particular island, to help his granddaughter—whom he’d never had much difficulty locating with his mind, no matter where she hid herself in the world.

  That last bit of information was something even Jenny hadn’t known.

  It was spring when she and Perrin brought the dog to the old home in Maine. They stopped first at the graveyard. Jenny laid flowers at the headstone of her unnamed child, and Perrin sat for a time with his hand on the grave, eyes closed and his head bowed.

  Jenny did not hear his thoughts. His warmth, though, flowed through the wall between them. His compassion. His startling love for the baby girl he would never meet. She took that warmth and love, and wrapped it around her grief, which still felt new even after so many years.

  Ten minutes away from the old home, Jenny said, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Nothing is going to happen,” Perrin said.

  Nothing, whispered the kra’a. We are with you.

  “I’m scared,” she told them, gripping the car wheel until her knuckles turned white. Perrin shifted the dog in his lap, and reached out to cover her hand. He filled up his side of the car, and the wind from the rolled-down window whipped his silver hair over his shoulder.

  They had been in the United States for almost two months. It was their first trip away from the Kraken nesting ground, where they had made a home on a little tropical island, inside an abandoned fisherman’s home that they had renovated with their own two hands—and some help from Eddie and Rik, and Serena. Maurice had supervised.

  One room. Rudimentary plumbing. Electricity generated from solar panels. The Calypso Star, moored several
hundred feet off-shore. It was all they needed.

  But then a letter had come. Delivered by e-mail.

  Jenny,

  Rest easy, sweetheart. We don’t want you anymore. Don’t worry about why we needed you in the first place. Our . . . sources . . . now say you’re more valuable alive.

  For the time being.

  But you’re still family. Remember that.

  Give my regards to the merman.

  Your uncle,

  Richard

  And Perrin, after reading that, had said, “It’s time to go home, Jenny.”

  He was right, of course. But she stalled, anyway.

  Paris first, where Perrin and Jenny visited Notre Dame and walked over bridges, and drank coffee at little cafes where old women gossiped with poodles in their laps. Then, to London, which they fled after only a day, when Perrin found the air hard to breathe, and his skin developed a rash. On to New York City, where Perrin took Jenny to the homeless shelter where he had lived, and showed her the sky rises he had helped build, and the streets he had walked while pretending to be a human man, alone in the human world.

  From New York to Chicago, though Perrin lingered outside the Shedd Aquarium for thirty minutes before Jenny could get him to go inside. They did not stay long. The kra’a was disturbed by the creatures within their cages, and the dolphins wept inside Jenny’s mind when they saw her, and Perrin.

  Chicago to the Grand Canyon, then upward to Seattle—from there to Vancouver where Jenny introduced herself to Chiyoko’s daughter, who was not entirely human, after all—and then another long drive across the Rockies through Montana, into Wyoming and Yellowstone National Park where Perrin saw his first wild bear, into South Dakota and the Badlands, and onward, and onward, everything new, everywhere they went, as though sunlight was rubbing a shine on the world.

  Jenny wondered how she had lived her life before—blind, maybe. Blind, deaf, and dumb. She couldn’t explain the change within herself, but she knew Perrin felt it, too, inside his own heart. Especially him. She had seen in his dreams what he’d suffered for those eight years on land. Some good moments, but never time or money to simply be, and to find those places off the beaten path, lost, exploring a world that few of his people would ever understand.