Chapter 16

Zaidna

The Empire of Judath

The Makivum Summer Estate

Kirin’s naru crowed and bucked as she drove it toward the sinister gleam of the Goddess Forest. She pulled back on the reins and ran her fingers soothingly up and down the naru’s blue-scaled neck. Its anxiety was quelled, but nothing helped Kirin’s. She had never ridden this close to the Goddess Forest before, and definitely never alone. But to reach Anji’s summer estate at the top of the hill, she had to ride through this patch of Goddess Forest on this thin dirt road, with only short barriers on either side to protect her from whatever lay beyond them.

The people of Marin said that the western king’s family was blessed to own land that the Goddess Forest saw fit to grow into. It was like a hug of approval from the goddess herself, they reasoned. Kirin, however, saw the encroaching forest more as a blight, creeping up the hill like a parasitic mass, slowly consuming everything it encountered.

Kirin took a deep breath and willed the naru forward. The Goddess Forest couldn’t hurt her, not when she was awake. She forced herself to look at the forest beyond the barriers, and the trees simply stood silently. There was no parting, no Shadow Maker. She was perfectly safe.

After a few tense minutes, she reached the gates of the Makivum summer estate, which was surrounded by a high stone wall, glyphed by engstaxis to keep the Goddess Forest at bay. Thankfully, she found the tall gates already open, and she breathed a quick sigh of relief as she hurried in and up the long gravel drive.

Upon nearing the stables, Kirin glanced to her left and saw Javan standing at the manor’s main entrance. His bored expression brightened as their eyes met, and he waved her over to him. Kirin tapped her naru’s sides and directed it toward Javan, who quickly descended the wide set of stairs to meet her. “Hello!” Kirin called upon reining in.

“You made it!” Javan strode forward and reached up, offering Kirin his hand. “This really means a lot to Anji. Here, let me.”

Kirin allowed herself to be helped down, landing deftly on her feet.

“How are you?” Javan asked.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Kirin’s face reddened slightly. “I apologize for not coming to see your sister sooner. I’ve had to be at the temple catching up on my studies.” Her father had been quite firm that she needed to continue her schooling until he could decide what to do with her.

“I understand,” Javan replied. “If you’ve been at the temple, have you heard anything about the visions the Nassé has been having? They’re supposed to be really big news, but nobody’s talking about them.”

Kirin picked nervously at a callus on her thumb. Xinthi had told her specifically that she and the chronicler hadn’t recorded any dreams for at least two seasons. Had something changed? “I—I’ve heard that the emperor has gone to see her twice, and he’s left upset each time. Maybe there’s something about that attack in Chalei? What about you? Have you heard anything?”

Javan shrugged as a servant scuttled out into the open and retrieved Kirin’s naru. “Rumor has it that the star emperor is alive, but rumors can’t always be trusted. The star empress is still missing, as far as I know. I guess it’s probably safe to assume that she won’t be found. This would make for a pretty somber summit, with two empresses dead in one year.”

Kirin swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach. These were the exact sorts of events that the Nassé’s dreams were supposed to prevent. Why would Naltena allow them to happen? Why was she giving the Nassé unrelated nightmares instead of the warnings she was supposed to send? She cleared her throat nervously as Javan escorted her into the manor. “Is Anji feeling any better?”

Javan frowned. “She saw a physician, and it turns out that she does have an ulcer. Those stimulants she’s been taking have begun to eat clean through her stomach.”

“Oh, that sounds terrible!”

“Yes. It was ketas root, and Tirbeth was the one supplying it—surprise, surprise. Anji was taking ten times the amount she was supposed to every day. She’s lucky it didn’t kill her.”

“Ten times?” Even a small dosage of ketas root was powerful enough to keep someone awake for days. Kirin couldn’t imagine the effects of such a high dosage. Anji was lucky to have only ended up with an ulcer.

Javan chuckled grimly as they reached the end of the foyer, where two staircases ran up on opposite sides to join together at the second floor. “My parents were livid about it. Of course, Tirbeth has the emperor wrapped around her finger, so she’ll never be punished for putting Anji in danger. Those girls are both stupid twits.”

Kirin didn’t respond.

“Anyway,” Javan continued uneasily, “Anji’s exhausted. She’s been given sedatives to make her sleep, but she keeps throwing them away. She says she’s afraid she’ll never wake up if she takes them. It’s ridiculous.”

Kirin remained silent. As far as she knew, nightmares could not kill, and she’d never heard of anybody being trapped in one forever. But then again, she had also believed that the Nassé couldn’t have nightmares, so what did she know? The priests never talked about nightmares, and many of the books she had read blamed them on hadirs.

Javan guided Kirin up the stairs to the right. As they reached the landing and headed down another passage, she noticed a number of portraits lining the walls. She suppressed a smile as she saw that most of the men in the portraits sported wire-framed spectacles just like Javan’s. It appeared that myopia, along with dark hair, had been passed on in their family for many generations.

“Here we are.” Javan halted and rapped smartly on the wooden door of what Kirin presumed to be Anji’s private suite. Kirin could hear a great deal of scuffling and thumping behind the door before it slid open a crack, revealing someone’s silver eye.

“Oh! It’s Kirin!” Tirbeth shoved the sliding door open with such force that it disappeared into the wall with a loud bang and bounced right back out on its rail several inches. She moved aside and Kirin entered, followed by Javan, at whose presence Tirbeth muttered a variety of epithets.

As Kirin looked around, she couldn’t help but covet all of Anji’s things. The furnishings were all carved from solid black marble, likely imported from the deep quarries of Xeshun, and the walls of the suite were all lined with violet tiles clear up to the vaulted ceiling. The drapes that hung above Anji’s bed matched the color of the walls, and large glass vases, filled with long, glistening green feathers, stood in the corners.

Anji, who was sitting on the floor before a low table, held a steaming cup of tea in her hand. She smiled shyly, but did not look at all well. Her skin was pallid, and her eyes were almost totally swallowed up by the bags beneath them. “It’s nice to see you again, Kirin,” Anji said. She downed her tea with a noisy slurp.

Javan strode forward, his expression one of fury. “Anji, I can smell the ketas root from here! What are you thinking, drinking more of that stuff?”

Anji’s lips puckered dourly. “I can either take a stimulant or sleep. I’d rather take the stimulant and choke up a river of blood than die in my sleep.”

Javan visibly bristled. “You idiot!”

“Don’t scold me. Look!” Anji pulled a thin, dried leaf out of the tissue paper envelope at her side. She held it out for her brother to see, before popping it into her mouth and chewing. “I have the herbs the doctor gave me for my stomach, so there!”

“You’re defeating the purpose of—” Javan fell silent and shook his head, flinging his hands up in exasperation. “No. Never mind. I don’t want to hear you whine again about your stomach.”

“You’ll hear no complaining from me,” Anji grumbled through her chewing.

Kirin tapped her fingers together worriedly. The elucidation would be difficult enough without all this arguing. “Maybe this is a bad time.”

“No, no!” Tirbeth yelped. “Just ignore those two. You’ve got to help! We can’t take the nightmares anymore!”

What Kirin really wanted to do was flee this place and never return, but she had made her way here, and now she felt bound by duty. “Okay, we should begin then. Who should we start with?”

Anji, who was still chewing on her herb, pointed instantly at Tirbeth.

“Ooh! Yes, do me!” Tirbeth squealed.

Wonderful. Kirin’s second elucidation ever would be performed on the high princess of Judath. If Tirbeth were hurt in any way, Kirin would count herself lucky to just be stripped of her candidacy. This was a bad idea. Kirin was an idiot to try this out on a couple of highborn nobles without the proper training.

“You have absolutely no idea how much this means to us,” Tirbeth gushed, her widening eyes now shining with tears of gratitude. “You’re so selfless to do this, and I’ll love you for it forever!”

Kirin wanted to weep but instead hung her head. There was no way out now.

“When do we get to kick him out?” Tirbeth gestured over at Javan, who glowered at her.

Kirin sat down unhappily on the edge of the bed and drew up her legs to kneel before Tirbeth. “I was hoping he could stay.”

Javan balked, Anji frowned, and Tirbeth screeched, “Never! This is personal!”

“I know, I know!” Kirin waved her hands about in an attempt to soothe them. “It’s just—look, you may not know it, but this pattern for elucidation is very complicated. It’s dangerous—really dangerous. I’d prefer for Javan to stay close and be prepared to get help in case something goes wrong. If there’s a mistake, it’s possible that all three of us could end up insane.”

“That can actually happen?” Tirbeth gasped, inexplicably excited by the prospect.

Kirin hesitated, then nodded.

Javan grew tense. “Wait a second. I never knew this was dangerous. I can’t let my sister risk herself.”

“Oh, shut up, Javan!” Tirbeth snapped. “We don’t need a dream elucidation to make us insane. We’ll both be out of our heads within a week if these nightmares go on!”

“Forget it! I would have never asked this of Kirin if I knew it were dangerous.” Javan strode back toward the door, but Anji dove from where she was seated on the floor and wrapped her arms around his ankle. He tried to shake her loose. “Let go, Anji.”

Anji could not speak, her mouth still filled with ooze from the herb, but she looked up at Javan with pleading eyes, shaking her head in utter desperation.

Javan stared down at Anji, his stern glare turning into a frown of pity. He paused for a moment, but then growled, “If something goes wrong, I had nothing to do with it. You hear?”

Anji sighed through her nose and released her grip on Javan, who shook his head, stepped over her, and sat down at her vanity table. He looked furious.

Kirin frowned apologetically at him, but he didn’t look back at her.

“What should I do?” Tirbeth asked.

As Kirin tried to think of what to do next, her heart raced and her nerves began to fray. Oh, how had she gotten herself into this mess? Was she truly so pathetic in her desire for friends that she could not tell any of them no, even for their own good?

“Hey.” Tirbeth wiggled her fingers in front of Kirin’s face. “What should I do?”

Kirin shook her head. This was not the time to be distracted. Ugh, but she was nauseated and felt cold all over. Attempting to ground herself, she grasped Tirbeth’s hand but released it just as quickly, realizing she would need to keep her own hands free in order to work the pattern. Now what? “Please shift into the third degree of focus,” Kirin directed, certain that that was the first of the Nassé’s instructions.

Tirbeth looked at Kirin cross-eyed. “What? But I can’t do that!”

“You can’t?” Kirin asked disappointedly, realizing it was a stupid question. If Kirin had just barely learned how to shift into the third degree of focus, of course Tirbeth wouldn’t know how. Tirbeth was years younger, and noblewomen weren’t trained in priestly rites, even if high princesses were technically honorary priestesses.

“No, they don’t teach us any of that fancy stuff. I don’t need to know how, do I?”

Breathe, Kirin told herself. Her lack of composure had severely endangered the Nassé during their encounter, and she didn’t want to repeat that mistake. She knew that the elucidator of a dream had to shift into the third degree of focus to see and weave thought matter together, but was it necessary for the dreamer? It seemed like Xinthi had shifted into the third degree only to instruct her on how to braid the strands, and surely the Nassé had elucidated dreams of many of the emperor’s house who did not possess the same skills. It should be doable here.

Kirin used that thought to quell her terror. “I guess we don’t need you to shift focus. Um, uh . . . .” She hesitated, still uncertain of how to proceed. She carefully lined up her thoughts, reviewing the steps in her mind. “Oh! Yes, you need to relax and let your thoughts wander, like you do when you daydream or are getting ready to go to sleep.”

“You mean like when I imagine some gorgeous dalanai carrying me off on a naru and seducing me?” Tirbeth asked.

Kirin arched an eyebrow involuntarily. “N-no! Just—just let your mind empty of all thoughts.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Javan mumbled beneath his breath.

“Shut it, you!” Tirbeth snapped, glaring at him.

Kirin gnawed unhappily on her lip and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to impose, but this pattern requires complete concentration—and silence.” Javan and Tirbeth both clamped their mouths shut. Kirin turned back to Tirbeth. “Relax. Empty your mind of all thoughts and let them flow out to me like a daydream. Oh, and don’t pull back, either. Keep still.”

Tirbeth snorted, made herself comfortable, and then held still.

Kirin watched as Tirbeth closed her eyes. Now what? Kirin could recall the pattern, but she still wasn’t sure if she could work it correctly. What if she hadn’t been paying close enough attention, or if the pattern was more complex than it had looked?

“Are you doing it yet?” Tirbeth asked impatiently. She looked as though she wanted to open her eyes.

Though genuinely not wanting to, Kirin willed herself to shift focus. Primal matter slipped from her view, exposing Tirbeth’s spirit matter. She breathed a long sigh, committing herself fully, and sank deep into the third degree of focus. Soon, she could no longer see any trace of primal or spirit matter, becoming blind to everything but the thin, vaporous threads of Tirbeth’s thoughts, which were swirling around her unseen head.

Kirin ignored the nausea that seemed to come with this degree of focus, and instead relaxed her mind. She noticed her own threads of thought beginning to uncoil toward Tirbeth’s unconsciously, but she raised her hands and pulled them back before they could mingle. She had to be very careful. She could not allow these filaments to be tangled or bent, or worst of all, torn. But how could she work the pattern without the risk of doing just that? The Nassé’s own pattern working had been swift and precise. Her hands had somehow combed their thoughts into six hanks and braided them together with exquisite dexterity, without harming or leaving a single thread out of place. Could Kirin do the same?

Kirin began with Tirbeth’s thoughts, carefully collecting each slippery thread and gently smoothing them out into three equal bunches. She then did the same with her own, but by the time she managed to gather them together, she found that Tirbeth’s thoughts had wandered and were again swimming before her eyes.

The minutes that passed were agonizing as she worked, the strain on her eyes almost unbearable. Her palms and fingers became sweaty even though they held nothing solid, and her muscles shook with each pass she made. Through trial and error, she eventually realized that she had to consciously hold Tirbeth’s thoughts in place by shifting her focus back and forth several times and working numerous small patterns in primal matter. It was a stressful task, but she managed to complete it, to her great relief. Now that all six hanks were separated, it was time to braid them together.

This also proved to be troublesome because the threads were so delicate. More than once, she found two or more of the hanks hopelessly tangled, forcing her to separate them and start over again. She kept at it, however, and when the pattern was finally complete, she was in awe that Xinthi had done the same in only seconds.

But with the woven rope now hanging between them, Kirin felt lost again. The pattern was finished, but no dream was rushing into her view. What had Xinthi done to trigger it? She had done nothing else but work the pattern as far as Kirin knew.

“This is a lot more boring than I thought it would be,” Tirbeth complained, sensing the pause in the action.

With Xinthi, Kirin didn’t have to do anything to receive the nightmare. It just flowed from Xinthi’s thoughts to her thoughts. But how? “Your nightmare—will you show it to me?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“How do I do that?” Tirbeth asked.

“I—well, I’m not exactly sure. Do you remember anything about it?”

“How could I forget?” Tirbeth exclaimed.

It seemed that mere memory recall was the trigger, as a deluge of unbidden images immediately began inundating Kirin’s brain. She felt herself pulled in a million directions, with everything turning upside down and right side up over and over in waves. She was numbly aware of her physical self clutching at the bed for support, swaying a little as the scene before her finally settled with remarkable clarity.

Now she was sitting on an ornate throne within the walls of Bakavoth palace, only this palace wasn’t quite the same as Kirin remembered from when she visited it with her father. The walls were made of gold, and the floor was lined with silver. Every surface that was not metallic was carved from jade or ruby, and everything around her seemed almost gaudy in its excess. Was this how Tirbeth saw her home?

Kirin felt a great weight pulling at her neck. She looked down to see that she—or rather, Tirbeth—was wearing more necklaces and chains of gold than was possible to count, and they were so heavy that she had trouble staying upright on her jeweled throne. Still, she couldn’t possibly consider removing any of them. How could she choose when they were all so nice? Her collection could never be complete.

A prince from some foreign land entered the gilded throne room along with a large entourage of servants. The mere sight of this prince, with his black hair and gorgeous golden skin was enough to make Kirin nearly swoon, while lustful notions of making him her pet dotted her mind.

The prince bowed low and took one of her hands in his. “I desire to take you in marriage,” he intoned, his rich voice deep and earnest.

Kirin’s cheeks grew hot, and a screeching giggle escaped her lips.

The prince’s servants placed a line of gifts at her feet. She dropped the prince’s hand and bent forward to pick the gifts up one by one, her hanging necklaces clattering on the ground as she did so. To her surprise, the silks were all thin and nubby. Patchy in places, too. The assorted jewels she handled were large—she liked that—but unusually light and chipped in places. She only took a moment to ponder over her gifts before deciding that she loved them after all, but they still weren’t enough. “Oh, Prince, if you wish to marry me, you will have to give me more than this.”

The prince smiled. “I have more just outside. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

Kirin readily jumped from the throne, ignoring the enormous weight of her jewelry, and followed the prince and his servants out of the palace and into the sunlit world beyond, where a massive, dully shining pile of every sort of bangle, bauble, and ornament imaginable awaited her.

Kirin jumped up and down, squealing that yes, she would indeed marry the prince if he possessed this amount of wealth. She rushed to him, and when the prince leaned close, she felt her body tingle as she gave herself up willingly to his lips.

The bliss only lasted a moment, however, for something immediately bit her belly—something sharp and hard that stole her breath away. She looked down to see the prince’s hand, coated in blood, clutching the hilt of a dagger, the blade having penetrated through her torso.

Kirin tried to cry out, but found no voice. She slapped at him, but he grabbed her wrists with his free hand and continued to stab her again and again, calmly shredding her stomach and spilling her entrails. Kirin’s legs gave out beneath her, but the prince held her up, piercing her until she felt herself shudder and die.

Just as she thudded to the ground in a lifeless heap, she opened her eyes and found herself again sitting on the golden throne, gawking at all of the finery within the palace. Kirin felt herself physically shaking—the dream had restarted! She couldn’t think; the horror of her death still lingered, and she could still feel the agony of her wounds, though in the dream she sat and giggled while the prince returned. She couldn’t endure it again. “No more! Stop thinking about it!” Kirin choked out, trying not to move so the pattern was not torn. “Something else!”

“Oh! Very well,” Tirbeth’s voice came hazily from the heavens.

All at once Kirin was standing in a stone pavilion in the middle of a lush, flowered garden, where a menagerie of male dalanais sat and waved their tails at her. Ignoring the pain that still filled her lungs and gut, her hands sought out the braid that connected her thoughts to Tirbeth’s, hastily unraveling it. The dalanais vanished and a blinking Tirbeth appeared in their place.

“Did you do it?” Tirbeth asked innocently.

Kirin lifted her hands. They were shaking.

“What happened?” Javan asked as he stood up. “Are you all right? Your face is pale.”

Kirin didn’t answer, and instead hugged her knees in an attempt to calm herself. This was far worse than what she’d experienced with the Nassé. Then, she had seen the cuts on her palms but hadn’t felt them. Tirbeth’s dream was so much more real, so vivid. “He stabbed you,” she whispered as the pain slowly subsided. “Over and over!”

Tirbeth gasped. “You saw?”

“I felt! Dear Goddess, I felt!”

Tirbeth glanced over to Anji, who shook her head quickly, then turned back to Kirin. “We didn’t know you would feel it! You don’t have to continue if it’s that bad.”

Kirin immediately stood. But she saw how sickly Anji looked and knew she couldn’t leave her in such a state without even trying to help. Kirin’s own recurring nightmares were nothing compared to Tirbeth’s, and if Anji’s were even worse than that—Kirin didn’t want to imagine it. “I’ll stay,” Kirin mumbled a little weakly as she slumped back down on the bed. “Just give me a moment.”

They all sat in silence as Kirin recovered, only interrupted by the sound of Anji spitting out her medicine.

When Kirin finally felt her full faculties return to her, she sat up and looked at Tirbeth. “I’m ready. Let’s elucidate your nightmare.”

“Ooh! How do you do that?” Tirbeth asked.

“I just have to tell you what I saw. As for the interpretation, that’s up to you. I’m only supposed to point out the symbols.”

“Alright then, have at it!”

Kirin looked back on the dream, this time feeling no pain, just an odd sensation of surprise at how completely the dream was burned into her memory, no doubt an effect of the pattern. “I—you—were sitting on the biggest throne I’ve ever seen. It took up the whole wall. The palace was beautiful, and it was very bright. It didn’t really seem much like a nightmare at the start.”

Tirbeth nodded eagerly. “I know! I’ve always had dreams of palaces and pretty places and things.”

“There was so much of it! So much gold and jewelry!”

“I know! I wish I had that kind of treasure in real life.”

“Even the necklaces around your neck, weighing you down?”

“Huh. I remember the necklaces, but they weren’t that heavy.” Tirbeth nibbled daintily on a fingernail. “Well, what about the prince? Wasn’t he simply gorgeous? You saw him, didn’t you?”

Kirin frowned uncomfortably, uncertain how Tirbeth could speak so fondly of someone who had murdered her. “Yes, I saw him.”

“Go on, describe him for Anji. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her how stunning he is.”

Kirin’s frown deepened. Tirbeth didn’t seem to be taking this very seriously. Still, she acquiesced. “He had black hair and eyes—sweeping robes like an engstaxi’s—tall.” She paused a moment, thinking back. “I guess he was handsome, but his skin was a strange gold color. It was almost metallic, like the gold was dusted on.”

“A man with golden skin?” Javan asked skeptically. Kirin could tell by his expression that he thought this whole thing was stupid.

“I bet he dusted his whole body with gold powder just to make himself look more exquisite for me!” Tirbeth swooned, her face turning red.

Kirin sighed. Tirbeth was just as distracted by the prince in reality as she was in her dream. “The gifts the prince’s servants put at your feet—”

Tirbeth giggled. “Yes, they were nice, weren’t they?”

“No they weren’t!” Kirin exclaimed. “The silks were all worn out and the jewels were fake—just glass!”

“Were they? Well, that’s a little cheap of the prince, isn’t it? But go on, tell me more about him.”

Again, with the prince. “Fine, I’ll tell you about him. After you literally dragged yourself out of the palace to see more of his ‘gifts,’ he stabbed you. Over and over again. He murdered you.”

Tirbeth frowned unhappily. “Yes, that’s the part of the dream I don’t like.”

“And exactly why you shouldn’t be lusting after—erm.” Damn it. Kirin was not supposed to interpret this dream for Tirbeth, even when the symbols were so painfully and obviously being missed. “Look, we should get back to the symbols. All of your jewelry was very heavy, and the prince gave you fake gifts at the start and fake gifts at the end.”

“Even that big pile?”

“Yes. It was garbage compared to all the stuff you had at the start of the dream that was already in the palace. Didn’t you notice how the gifts didn’t sparkle hardly at—”

“Oh, this is all so disappointing. But why does he have to keep killing me?” Tirbeth whined.

“I don’t know why. Do you have any enemies? Anybody who would want to hurt you? Know any princes?”

Tirbeth eyeballed Javan and growled, “I only know one prince who hates me enough to want to kill me.” She paused, watching for Javan’s reaction, which was to plow his fist into his cupped palm several times in a row. “See what I mean? Aside from him, I know oodles of princes. There is my little brother and all the eastern princes of Judath; the eastern, western, southern, northern, and high princes of Xeshun—not that I’d marry any of them, especially that ghoul Xaoshu—and then there are all of those delicious princes in Chalei, but the high prince there is just an itty-bitty thing so not my type.”

“So apparently, you know a lot of princes,” Kirin mumbled.

“Yes, oodles, like I said. But we all get along famously. I mean, what prince, aside from Javan here, would ever want to hurt me?”

“Well, considering the fact that the one in your dream knifes you repeatedly, I’d say he would.” Kirin paused. Again, she was interpreting, although really, Tirbeth should have been able to easily figure this out after being eviscerated night after night. “Hmm . . . . Come to think of it, that knife he stabbed you with looked a little strange.”

“In what way?” Tirbeth asked.

“It felt thin.” Kirin rubbed at her ribs where she had felt the knife slide in. “And the hilt seemed to be made out of glass.”

Tirbeth laughed incredulously. “Who would ever want to stab someone with a glass dagger? How silly!”

“Regardless of what it was made out of, it sure did a good job of killing you,” Kirin mused.

“Ew. What do you suppose it all means?”

“You’re the only one who can interpret the meaning of the symbols since they’re personal to you, so you’ll have to figure it out on your own. Just—just don’t put so much focus on the prince. You have to pay attention to everything else, too.”

Tirbeth’s countenance darkened a little, and she did not speak. At first Kirin thought she had said something to upset her, but as she opened her mouth to ask, Tirbeth’s cheery smile returned. “Well, this was just fabulous! Thank you! I certainly never noticed the gold powder on the prince’s skin, and I never realized he was so cheap. I’m going to figure it out!” Ugh, Tirbeth hadn’t listened to a word of the elucidation! “Anji, it was just incredible. She saw everything!”

Anji shook her head.

Javan adjusted his spectacles. He still seemed unconvinced. “You really saw all that?”

Kirin, who was hanging her head in irritation, glanced up at Javan, feeling a little self-conscious. “It probably looked strange, didn’t it?”

Javan half-smiled and nodded slowly.

“You look strange, Javan!” Tirbeth snapped. “She really saw my dream, so mind your own business!”

Javan shrugged at Tirbeth but said no more.

Kirin dared to smile a little at him, but he didn’t return it. Now anxious all over again, she rose from the bed and sat down on the floor beside Anji. “Do you still want me to elucidate your nightmare?”

Anji looked a little uncertain but put on a brave face. “Honestly, I’m desperate. I have nowhere else to turn.” Her eyes rolled up as they began to water. “I want to sleep normally again, but my nightmare is bad. Really bad.”

“Ooh, yes!” Tirbeth chimed. “She told me all about it and it sounds even worse than mine!”

“I don’t know if you—if you can handle it,” Anji murmured. “I don’t want to force you.”

Admittedly, having to elucidate another nightmare, especially one worse than Tirbeth’s, was a horrifying thought. It might have been the wiser choice to simply leave, but Kirin couldn’t just ignore Anji’s plea. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she left without even trying to help. “I can’t cure you, but I’ll try to make things clear.”

“Thank you,” Anji said gratefully. “This means a lot to me.”

Kirin breathed deeply. She was nervous about working the pattern again, but felt it would be easier this time. “When you’re ready, relax as Tirbeth did and allow your mind to flow like in a daydream. I’ll do the rest.”

Anji nodded and did as she was told.

Kirin shifted to the third degree of focus, and within moments saw the shining streamers of Anji’s thoughts. They were much easier to gather up since they did not move nearly as much as Tirbeth’s had. Kirin released her own thoughts, and with Anji’s successfully pinned in place, she made quicker work of separating them. The pattern was still difficult, but when she completed it, she was confident that it was correct. “Now don’t speak or pull away. Think of your dream.”

Almost at once the familiar sensation of being spun head over heels overcame Kirin, and the space before her turned black and then gray. Now she was lying upon a dirt road in the middle of a field. There was little light filtering through the clouds looming above her, and the ground was cold and rough. She didn’t feel the urge to sit up, even when the silver chains about her wrists wrenched her arms upward and dragged her near-naked body along the road.

The earth and stone tore into her flesh, rubbing it raw and bleeding within seconds, but she did not scream, even as the agony continued inch by inch, until the inches turned into miles. Slowly, excruciatingly, her skin was stripped layer by layer until her muscles and nerves were exposed. The road continued to move unrelentingly beneath her, and yet she still did not scream or struggle.

Eventually, she was dragged past a group of men, who were walking in the opposite direction. She stared up at them as they turned to look, and immediately felt ashamed about her nakedness and the smear of gore her body was leaving in her wake. “You going out for a little fun?” they asked repeatedly as they turned and followed her.

The silver shackles about her wrists tightened until her bones cracked, causing her to cry out. “Won’t you help me?”

The men laughed at this and pointed at Kirin’s hand. “You have the key. Help yourself.”

As Kirin looked up at her fist, she supposed she did have the key clutched within it—one made from iron and covered in glyphs. She could use it to unlock the silver chains and free herself from the torture, but it was too much effort. Instead, she opened her hand and allowed the key to drop to the ground, and as she watched the men gradually fade into the distance, she wondered why she was still bound, why she was being dragged, and why her flesh was being cut.

Then the movement abruptly ceased, and she heard the chains rattle as they were tossed to the ground. An unseen figure approached and nearly tore her hair from her scalp as he yanked her up to her feet. She looked up to find one of the most horrible-looking men she had ever seen. His robes were blood, and his eyes held nothing but a void. His fingers were claws, and he had horns like a naru’s—glossy and curled—sprouting from his forehead.

“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” the horned man asked as he placed a loop of leather over her head and tightened it about her neck.

Kirin physically shook, her mind whirling out of control. There was something all too familiar about the elements of this scene. The gray field was abruptly replaced by the Goddess Forest, and there stood an even more familiar man, offering up a globe of shadow. At the same time, the prince from Tirbeth’s dream approached through palace doors, concealing his dagger as he sought to steal a kiss. But in a flash they were all gone, replaced by the man who stood half-hidden by the altar in the Nassé’s dream, watching for the sacrifice.

Kirin heard Anji yelp in pain and realized that her physical body was leaning back, pulling the braid of thought between them too tight. Kirin reached out in a panic to loosen the braid, but her thoughts clenched and pulled even tighter, forcing Anji’s thoughts to release like pebbles from a slingshot.

The nightmare was gone, and Kirin saw Anji fall flat on her back, bits of primal matter richocheting throughout the room in the same instant. Kirin dove to cover Anji as the loose matter narrowly missed Javan, creating visible sparks as the fragments hit the wall.

Tirbeth dove beneath the bed and Javan ducked, waiting until the bedlam finally subsided after a few moments. When all was calm, Javan stood up and demanded, “What happened?”

“I’m sorry!” Kirin cried out as she shook Anji in an attempt to rouse her. “Anji! Are you all right?”

Anji groaned and rubbed at her brow. “That really hurt,” she whimpered. “I saw something—before I fell—why did I see that man in so many places? The one who hurts me—he was also in a forest—a hall?”

Kirin gripped her head, realizing that she had inadvertently shared her memories with Anji upon breaking the braid. But Anji was right. How could the same black-eyed man show up in four separate nightmares? Anji and Tirbeth were high nobility, but they weren’t candidates; their dreams should have been strictly and specifically personal. “I’m so sorry I put you in danger like that!”

“Why does he have a knife now?” Anji whispered in horrified despair.

“No, no! It isn’t what you think. Those were my thoughts—my memories you saw. I’ve seen that man before in other dreams!”

“What man? What just happened?” Javan asked, facing Kirin.

Kirin shook her head. “I know it’s him! He was the prince in Tirbeth’s nightmare—even asked you both to go with him! And he’s a shadow maker in my—err, other dreams that I’ve elucidated.”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Anji asked.

Kirin didn’t answer for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Maybe . . . Maybe you should seek a cleansing.”

“A cleansing? Why?” Anji demanded.

“Because nightmares shouldn’t be like this. They’re meant to help you grow and change—at least in the nightmares sent by the goddess. You’re supposed to interpret the symbols, apply them to your life, and then the nightmares go away. But these nightmares are too—real! A cleansing might help you figure out what’s really going on.”

“Can’t you do something about it, Kirin? What about the Nassé?” Tirbeth asked. “Cleansings are for crazy people! I don’t want to be crazy!”

Kirin shook her head. “I don’t have the proper training to do anything, and the Nassé can’t or won’t help.”

Anji dissolved into a fit of tears. “That’s it, then. My nightmares will never be cured. I’ll never be able to sleep!”

Tirbeth moved to comfort Anji. “Don’t cry; it’ll just make you feel worse. Listen, Kirin might be right. Maybe we do need a cleansing to fix us up. Let’s go and see my father. If he’s the highest priest in Judath, his cleansings ought to be worth something. We’ll be fine!”

“But I’m not insane!” Anji sobbed, inconsolable.

Before Kirin could say anything more, Javan grasped her hand and quickly led her out of the room. Once in the hall he released her, and Kirin moved to leave, but he barred her from doing so by extending both arms and pressing his hands against the wall. He looked upset, which made Kirin’s heart pound within her throat.

“Be honest with me,” Javan whispered, his hushed voice matching the intensity of his eyes. “Did you make my sister worse off than she was before?”

Kirin pressed herself against the wall, somewhat intimidated by his closeness and the fact that she was now caged. “No, I wouldn’t. Not on purpose!”

“Then what’s going on here?”

Kirin held her breath a moment, and when she breathed again she could smell that now familiar spiced scent of his, clinging to his clothes. “This—this is beyond my training. I think a priest needs to examine them, Western Prince.”

“Javan,” he corrected.

“Javan—their minds may be polluted. A priest could diagnose a problem during a cleansing—possibly treat it.”

“Then you think my sister is insane?”

“No!” Kirin looked back up at Javan. On the contrary, she thought herself to be the one who was insane for seeing the shadow maker in so many other dreams, and for drawing stupid, illogical, superstitious conclusions about the cause. “I just know these nightmares aren’t normal, and we have to find out why. There could be many causes other than madness.”

Javan frowned. “Like that evil prince?”

“Yes!” Kirin cried, still terrified of having seen the shadow maker with sprouted horns. “But I—! Oh, no! The elucidation! I never told Anji the details—didn’t even finish watching. I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me. I’m such a twit!” She moved to return to the suite but found herself still trapped by Javan’s outstretched arms.

“No, I—” Javan glanced at his arms, seemed embarrassed, and pulled his hands away from the wall. “I don’t know what to think of elucidations, but I can’t stand the thought of my sister continuing to suffer.”

Kirin stared at Javan for a long time, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know what’s happening, but she needs to be watched. She might try to—” Kirin couldn’t bring herself to say what she was thinking.

Javan nodded, seeming to understand, and averted his gaze. “And there’s nothing more you can do?”

Kirin hesitated, glancing over Javan’s shoulder to the door of the suite. She could still hear Anji’s muffled sobs, not soothed by Tirbeth’s quiet cooing. “I can try again,” she offered. “I’ll finish the elucidation this time. I’ll even do it now.” As she moved to make good on her offer, Javan caught her arm and held her back.

“No, not now. If she cries enough, she’ll sleep, and nightmare or not, she needs it.”

Kirin swallowed hard.

“Thank you for your help.” Javan’s eyes were solemn but sincere.

Kirin nodded, flushing with shame as she knuckled her watering eyes dry.

“If Anji wants it, will you come back?”

“Yes, I will! I promise.”

Javan’s lips were thin in gratitude. He released Kirin’s arm, and offered his hand for her to take. “Come on. I’ll escort you back to Marin.”