64

TO WALK IN DREAMS

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"Ember… breakfast is ready."

Sighing, Ember burrowed deeper under the blankets and closed his eyes, smiling into the flattened pillow. Birds chirped down by the river, but he'd been up too late catching crickets and fireflies the night before. There would be time to check the nets later…

"Ember!"

A pot clinked by the fire, its crackling warmth taking the chill off a late spring morning. Footsteps shuffled across the floorboards, and a gentle hand pulled the blankets away from his face.

"Your sister is already on her way to town. Hurry and eat, and you can catch her halfway."

"Mmmhh," he groaned. "Too tired…"

"Wake up, Ember."

A faint twinge of discomfort made him grimace into the pillow, and he shut his eyes all the more tightly. He didn't want to get up just yet, but an uneasy feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Perhaps if he ate some breakfast, it would take the edge off his hunger.

"Hunter's in town today," his mother coaxed, her voice as golden as her hair. He could see her in his mind's eye, though not so clearly as usual; the details of her face eluded him. How quickly he'd forgotten… how strange…

But he knew, somehow, that if he opened his eyes, it would fade away forever. The world felt strangely hollow, and the sunlight that streamed through the open doorway darkened and cooled, its welcome warmth disappearing as a cloud passed over the sky.

A chill seeped through the blankets, and he flinched as that gnawing ache returned. He pressed a hand over his stomach and rolled onto his back, the blankets twisting around him. If he could only tell his mother, she would know what to do. She would make everything right again. But his eyes would not open and his mouth remained shut, the words eluding him.

"Ember, child," she whispered, cool fingers touching his forehead. "Wake up. Come and eat."

He groaned again.

"Ember!" The voice took on a frantic tone. "Awake!"

His eyes flew open and he gasped. There was nothing but darkness to greet him, and he reached out to where he thought the voice had been. Roots and vines dangled before him, and he felt the knotted weave of them beneath his fingers.

A familiar bower…

“Mother?” he called softly.

There was no reply.

He stumbled wildly in the direction of the cabin door, or where it ought to have been, brushing roots and leaves from his face. They creaked around him, almost a living thing, and with a cry of effort he broke free of their grasp and pitched forward into open air. The familiar wooden step cracked beneath him, and a golden light flickered faintly in the distance… it reminded him of something.

The darkness lifted for half a moment, and he could see his sister waiting for him down the path. The flicker must have been a wisp of her golden curls, which hung loose about her neck and lofted slightly in the morning breeze.

She turned away from him.

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“Wait!”

A hand appeared from the looming dark, and took hers, and she was gone without so much as a farewell or a backward glance.

“Come back, please!” he shouted, suddenly frantic. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

He darted up the trail, into the dusky light where the leaves grew thick and the branches tangled together, choking him in darkness. The air grew suddenly thinner and colder, and suddenly he could see his own breath before his eyes. He held out a hand, picking his way carefully through the thickets, and a snowflake settled gently on his fingertips.

That golden glimmer appeared again as the trees gave way before him, and he found himself standing before the blown sparks of a campfire. The outline of a man took shape before the dancing flames, and Ember realized that several shapeless people were crowded around him, partially obscuring his view.

It was Hunter.

A lute was in his hands and he plucked the strings with surprising dexterity, a memory that Ember had almost entirely forgotten. He couldn't remember the last time Hunter had toted such an instrument about with him…

But there was no more time to recollect, for Hunter had already begun to sing in his coarse, confident manner.

"I bring you whispered tidings

of a deathless ocean queen,

the likes of which yon lowland folk

have ne’er heard nor seen.

Nary a ship would near her strand,

no man could tame his fear—

our captain only laughed and cried,

"Be there no hearties here?"

An honest crew all sailor-born

what feared nae beast nor squall,

we turned our prow into th’ gale

to mark a siren's call...

My captain to her dev’lry fell,

he could not be revived;

of all who boarded that damn’d ship

but one man survived.

So harken to my tale o' woe—

hellsworn if I be lying;

her smile before my waking eyes,

those sea winds ever sighing."

The plucked strings trembled a moment longer, and as the music faded away, Ember realized that all the birds and crickets had gone quiet. Then a woman's timid voice quavered from the dark, "Do you mean to bring the river-folk upon us with that ballad?"

"Truth," grunted Alden—Ember glanced over his shoulder with a start, but could not see him either. "They say the folk are drawn to singing. Bad luck, playing a song like that in these parts."

"Is it, now?" Hunter squared his shoulders, but an easy smile flickered over his features. "You’re lucky t’weren’t no proper song: I'll wager my caterwaulin’ a’frighted 'em off, if any were about."

A few of the younger women laughed, but the men grumbled unhappily.

"Overstayed his welcome, he has," muttered Lundr, a ghost in the shadows, and with that, the collection of voices began to disperse. Soon no one remained but Ember.

Hunter rose to his feet, stringing the lute across his back, and met his gaze with dark, beady eyes. "Have a care on your wander home, boy," he grunted. "Frightening things to be found along the river path at this hour."

Ember shivered, and listened as he plucked a few more strings on the lute, wistful notes echoing through the valley as the firelight played across his wooden instrument.

“Are you going to see the ocean?” Ember couldn’t help but ask.

“Aye.”

“Take me with you!” he cried eagerly. “You promised you would, someday—and there’s nothing left for me here.”

Tilting his head and squinting into the darkness, Hunter hummed a familiar tune, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something strange and luminous, like a little star; it reminded him of the stone-light he had left behind. For a moment Ember thought he heard another, sweeter voice beneath his gruff tones.

Something cold touched Ember's hand, and the scent of crushed petals overwhelmed him.

“Cain’t,” said Hunter roughly, bowing his head and turning away.

And then he was gone, and the haggard wayfarer and his old sea ballad were swept away in a river of mist. Ember stumbled after him, shivering, and wrapped his arms around his waist as the leaves rustled overhead.