Ayane did not get another chance to run away, though Clody and Braehar assured her that they had not been discovered. Braehar had not seen the stranger, but told Ghun that Clody had knocked over the barrel out of startlement, and Clody did a silly dance until Ghun forgave them. But there was a new problem: production increased in the laboratory. A shipment of alchemical reagents had arrived from the “real” world and now Braehar and the other alchemists were working almost round the clock. The refineries in the city produced the pink dust, but here they were formulating more concentrated forms of akanite that packed much more of a punch.

It was all for Ghun himself to smoke. He’d graduated from cigars to a pipe, big as a soup bowl. “He wants to become a Dream Lord,” Braehar told Ayane once. “He thinks he can become part of the Dreamlands if he alters his nature enough.”

Ayane had no idea what to say to that.

Ghun had become overly clingy with Ayane, increasingly demanding her time and presence, and it almost always coincided with times when the gate would be unattended. When he didn’t want music, he wanted to show her things, treasures from other worlds. He’d brought in a device called a television. It could read these black bricks called “tapes” and project them as plays called “movies” on a little screen.

Ayane had to admit it was fascinating, but one thing about it disturbed her greatly. There were little short movies before the main one that would advertise an upcoming feature. Most of them were just as mystifying as the rest, but there was one called Desert Reign, and it seemed to be the story of her life. Ghun laughed at her expression the first time they saw it. “I know, they cast you all wrong. She’s much too old! Thuy Trang, now she’s more your speed. She plays the yellow Power Ranger—oh, we should watch the Power Rangers movie next! I love Ivan Ooze!”

“As you say,” said Ayane, having not registered any of that. Her eyes fixed on the screen, watching the girl that was not her act out her memories. Ghun replayed the scene several times.

It seemed that for whatever reason Ghun had latched onto the idea he’d blathered in his drug-addled stupor about seeing her as a daughter. Whenever he left Kar Zippar, he would bring her gifts from the other world. Mostly jewelry and exotic candies, as well as stuffed toys shaped like creatures he called dinosaurs.

It was all bad. Ayane hated his over-familiarity. It didn’t just make her angry, it made her more than a little afraid. Especially when one day, Ghun said, “I intend to bring you back home with me for a spell.”

She faked a cough into her hand. “Is that so, my king?”

He tapped his fingers together; they made a little clack clack like the sound of Braehar’s typewriter. “Yes indeed. Don’t sound so excited,” he chuckled, nudging her with his elbow (with his great height it hit her in the head). “Oh, but I’m just ribbing you. You can’t go to the real world, you’d just break apart in the sunlight, a beautiful dream, forgotten.”

Ayane winced. “Most unfortunate, my king.”

He wagged his fingers. “But I have a solution! If you were bound by contract to a real person, you would be able to come and go from the real world as you wish. And fortunately, you’re a very popular character, as I’ve said, so there is no end to young men who would want to marry you.”

A rush of different thoughts ran through Ayane’s head; firstly relief that Ghun hadn’t said he was going to marry her himself, followed by dread at the idea of being sold again, and that’s what it would be, she had no illusions about him finding her a good love match just so that he could take her traveling, like, what, a pet? Ghun essentially saw her as a lapdog whose repertoire of tricks included singing and playing the harp. “He’s coming in today,” said Ghun. “I’ll introduce you at dinner!” He mussed her hair and went lumbering off.

As soon as he was out of sight, Ayane took off running, barreling down the stairs toward the buttery. She took care to avoid being seen. Her steps were light enough that she alerted no one. But cautions aside, she ran like she never had before.

Ayane burst through the hidden door into the portal room. “Braehar!” she shouted. “I’m going right now, I don’t care!”

She stopped short when she saw Braehar was splattered in blood, looming over some prone boy.

“Oh dear,” Braehar muttered. “Close the door now please.”

“Wh-what?” Ayane sputtered. “Are you murdering him?” She closed the door anyway.

Braehar clicked her tongue. “Goodness, no!” She directed her attention back to the boy. His sleeve was shredded to the shoulder, his arm a mess of gore and infection. She prodded his wounds with her tweezers and removed a silvery-blue sliver the length of Ayane’s pinky. “He arrived quite suddenly and then collapsed. I am performing emergency surgery.”

The boy's eyes fluttered open as he moaned in pain. They were as pink as a cloud at sunset. “Is it over?”

“He’s not unconscious?” said Ayane.

Braehar glared down at him. “He has refused anesthetics. Rambling about a Dream Lord trying to eat him in his sleep.”

“It’s true,” he breathed.

Ayane narrowed her eyes. She knew him. “You’re that boy who showed up and disappeared. Henry, was it?” He grunted in the affirmative, but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead her eyes were darting around, as if Ghun could show up any minute. History repeated after all.

“Someone may be coming soon,” said Braehar. “By boat thankfully, so we shall see them coming from far away. Keep watch would you, liebling?”

The portal now depicted a city on the water by night. A strange place of huge towers and glittering lights. The distant sound of a bell rang through it. “Is that San Francisco?” asked Henry.

“Indeed,” said Braehar.

“Small multiverse.”

“What kind of injury is this?” asked Ayane, peeking at the gore over Braehar’s head.

“Parasitic magic eating his shoulder. It caused him to collapse as soon as he dropped in,” said Braehar.

“I didn’t see the demon,” Henry muttered, “I stayed awake.”

“Remarkable,” said Braehar, dry as a desert. “I have removed the troublesome pieces.” She picked up a chisel with a head as fine as a calligraphy brush. “I am now going to engrave protective runes on your shoulder bone.”

Henry groaned in pain, because she was engraving runes on his shoulder bone.

“Why are you here?” asked Ayane, putting her hands on her hips. “You said you were a fan. Did you come to gawk at me?” She winced. “Did you come to buy me?”

“No, no,” Henry shook his head, then sucked his teeth in pain.

“Stop moving,” said Braehar.

“I want to help you,” Henry insisted, and then he made a horrible noise as Braehar tapped her chisel with a tiny hammer.

“There there. You’re very brave,” Braehar cooed.

“Not hardly,” he replied. “I’m trying to help myself too.”

“Such is life,” said Braehar. She tapped the chisel again.

“Explain yourself,” said Ayane. Still she eyed him warily.

He took a deep breath and swallowed his pains as Braehar kept chiseling. “I need to get stronger so I can kill my enemy,” said Henry. “And the only way to do that is to steal some of Ghun’s magic.”

Ayane furrowed her brow and Braehar winced. “You should know that I am his loyal alchemist,” she warned.

“You’re not that loyal,” said Henry, smiling slightly. “The book told me so. I don’t know why but my copy of Desert Reign has been telling me about what’s going on here in this projection. There was a chapter about you. How you hate him actually, and how you’d like to take him down.”

Braehar stopped and set down her bloody tools with a sigh. “Perhaps.”

“I need to strengthen this arm of mine,” said Henry. “I should be able to steal magic with it, I just need to make it usable again.”

“I don’t think that’s likely to happen,” said Braehar, tone pitiful.

“I know how to do it,” said Henry. “I got tutelary knowledge from a Dream Lord.”

Braehar winced. “Isn’t that what Ghun is trying to become?” asked Ayane.

“So it is,” said Braehar. “But listen, you’re just a child, and he is a big man, a fully grown djinn. Not one of the weaklings that crawl about in the city, eating fireworms and getting into bike races, a real djinn from the elemental planes. Do you understand? He could destroy you easily.”

“But he’s stoned out of his mind all the time,” said Henry. “He’s addicted to akanite. Earth magic is the element most opposed to dream magic. He’s off balance, weak. We could defeat him, if we had the chance,” he was starting to slur his words towards the end of it, and seemed on the verge of passing out.

Ayane whistled a few gentle notes, conjuring a little cloud over his head. It started to rain on his face. Henry started, then winced as he pulled his wound again, and then, finally, he laughed.

Braehar sighed. “Your idealistic words are tearing at my tender heart,” her tone said they were doing anything but. Still, she threw up her bloodied hands. “Fine, I will at least help you with your arm problem going forward. I doubt it will be easy. In the meantime we will discuss strategy. If we cannot think of something quickly, I will send you and the girl and Clody to High Brasil, no protests. Ghun is weakened, not weak. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Henry had tilted his head back and started drinking the rain. Ayane stifled a giggle. He straightened up. “We won’t be caught. The book says your suitor has been delayed.”

“Does it know the future?” Ayane furrowed her brow.

“It knows the present, and it can guess the future,” said Henry. “It said He won’t be able to come in person for a long while. It’s something to do with monkeys.” He scratched the back of his head. “I have no idea what, exactly. It doesn’t care much about stuff happening outside this projection.”

Whether the book could see the future or not, it was soon clear that Ghun would be busy the entire night watching the fights. Ayane could hear the echoes of battle upstairs. There was no fighting arena; Ghun just liked to hold death matches right in the throne room, which was directly above the buttery. It would keep him busy all night. So, she let herself relax. Well, as much as she could with someone being operated on a few feet away.

The sounds of fighting still echoed from upstairs by the time the operation was over. Once Henry was all stitched up, he tried to push himself to his feet, only for Braehar to push him down again. “You’re in a horrid condition, young man.”

“Is it really that bad?” he said, rubbing his cheek.

Ayane peeked over her shoulder. “Your arm is not an arm anymore,” she said.

“Your skin is sallow from illness,” said Braehar.

“You have circles as dark as bruises under your eyes,” said Ayane.

“You have not shaved,” said Braehar. “And your pubescent beard is hideous and thin.”

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

Henry let out a pained scoff. “I used to shave my gross little boy hair, but I can’t look at myself in the mirror these days.”

“Lost confidence?” asked Ayane.

“I don’t have a reflection.”

She laughed, and he grinned.

Braehar clicked her tongue. “He’s not joking, I saw the lack of reflection in my knife.”

Ayane winced. The only creatures without reflection in this world were known as ghosts. Henry didn’t look like one though, as he still had a face. He probably wasn’t a ghost. Probably.

Braehar withdrew a straight razor and snapped it open, then reconsidered and snapped it closed. “I’ll groom you once you’ve eaten. And I’ll brew a potion to make you look like a local as well.”

“Not gonna pretend I’m your nephew or something?” asked Henry.

She snorted. “Ghun would never believe that. But he hasn’t read this book, so he will believe you are a figment if I tell him so.” She turned to Ayane and said, “child, please go and sneak something from the kitchens for him, would you?”

Henry transformed over the next few days. Yes, his ears became pointed, like the people of Kar Zippar, but he also started looking healthier, and of course he’d been groomed. Ayane brought him one of her blue robes, and Braehar lent him some dwarven pants that she’d let out.

“I thought only the court musician could wear blue,” said Henry, looking at Ayane.

“It’s not the musician specifically, but people of great prestige,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips.

“You are to be the court magus of Kar Haroun, which fell to the blight a year ago,” said Braehar, looking up from her workbench. “I’ll fashion you a coat of feathers as well, to fit your station. Once you get close to him, you will strike, stealing a portion of his power, and then it will be our turn.”

“Just arrived and he’ll already outrank me,” said Ayane, pretending to be offended.

“It’s only temporary,” said Henry.

“And it won’t be for quite some time,” said Braehar. “He’ll be living in a barrel for a while until he can make his grand introduction.”

“Naturally,” said Henry. “I don’t deserve a real bed. Do we have all the materials here?”

“Most of them,” said Braehar. “I’ll need to send for a few things. Mostly though, it will take time.” She tapped her chin. “Your arm is in very bad condition.”

Henry grimaced. “Don’t I know it.”

“The first step in the process that the demon showed you,” said Braehar, grim as a stone. “We should do it now.”

“Now?” his throat caught on the end of the word.

“Did I miss something?” asked Ayane.

“The flesh of his arm is mostly dead,” said Braehar. “Wide swaths of it are dead already. He has working nerves and marrow in some of his bones, but that’s it. What’s more, the curse is devouring his dead flesh, growing faster and stronger. One might be tempted to let it spread farther in order to harvest the dreamsilver, but no, to save his life, we must…” She rubbed her temple. “What is the word? Flense it? Flay it?”

Ayane covered her mouth. “That’s awful!”

“The best way to do it is to dissolve it in alkahest,” said Henry, sounding already like he was going to faint.

“We have enough,” said Braehar. “I will misplace a shipment in Ghun’s books. He doesn’t check them anyhow.”

“You’re really going to melt his arm off!?” Ayane was almost screaming and trying very hard to strangle her voice into something normal.

“Yes,” said Braehar, with a sharp nod. “Henry, get yourself into a meditative state. Retreat into your mindscape when the pain hits, lest you fall unconscious and are drawn into the demon’s dream marble.”

He sighed and obeyed, sitting down cross-legged on the cavern floor.

Ayane knelt down in front of him. “You’re really just going to do that?” she asked, quietly. Behind her Braehar was dragging over a metal barrel with the waddle method, jiggling it back and forth so it “walked” across the floor.

“It was always the plan,” he said, voice faraway. She could see something in his eyes, a distant place in a distant city. “We’re just moving it up.”

“Just because she told you to?” Ayane asked.

“Her argument made sense,” he replied.

Braehar stopped a few feet away and popped the barrel with a multitool in her sleeve. A sour, metallic scent filled the air. “The universal solvent,” she said. “It’ll eat away everything but the dreamsilver. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Help me up,” said Henry, extending his left hand. Ayane took it and pulled him to his feet. The three steps to the barrel felt uncomfortably like the steps to an execution.

They helped him strip down, then unwrapped his bandage with an almost ritualistic slowness. Braehar drew a dotted line along the top of his arm, an inch below the metal band he wore on his shoulder. “A moment of courage and it is done,” she said, patting his back.

He looked at her and nodded, then at Ayane, then at the barrel. He took one last step and plunged his cursed arm in with a scream.

Braehar held him steady, making sure the dip didn't go past the line. Ayane could only look away, squeezing her eyes shut, as she held onto Henry to keep him from falling over. Why hadn’t she thought to play some music or something? He was so loud. She felt bad about that uncharitable thought almost immediately afterward.

Then he stopped screaming. When she opened her eyes, they were someplace else. It was a little room with mismatched furniture, made of wood. Strange lights could be seen outside the window, much like that city called San Francisco. They illuminated a sign reading “Madame Reveur, Fortune Teller.”

“What is this place?” said Ayane, whirling on Henry. “What have you done to me? Where am I?”

“It’s my mindscape,” said Henry, rubbing his temples. “Sorry, I didn’t know you would come with.” He let go of her hand and gave her a lopsided grin. “It’s modeled after the flat I shared with my cousin—”

“Hold on,” Ayane slashed her hand through the air. “What’s a mindscape?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s like a place I built in my head in order to store information. It’s a purely mental exercise, but here in the Dreamlands, it becomes a real physical space. But it’s technically in my head.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “All this dream stuff is strange.” She backed up to a cushioned chair by the window and plopped herself down, staring out onto the street. “I’ve been trying to deny it, but you’re all so insistent. I’m not real, am I?”

Henry winced. “It’s not that you’re not real. It’s that realness is a spectrum?” He winced again because that sounded really lame.1

Ayane squinted at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“This dream stuff is pretty strange,” Henry rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “I think the rules change if you think too hard about them.”

She groaned and rubbed her temples.

“I’m sorry!” said Henry. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

“Can I go outside?” she asked, looking out the window again. “Despite the existential dread it’s giving me, I’d like to explore another world.”

Henry bit his lip. “No, that window is just a memory of the view from the real window.”

“The real window? The one that’s also just a dream?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Umm, we could…” He walked up to the door and opened it. Outside was not the staircase leading to the street in Rhone, but rather a yellow sand beach. Waves crashed right against the doorway, spraying droplets into the room. In the distance, a huge red bridge towered over the water between green hills.

Ayane watched the water with hungry eyes. “This is your world?”

“It’s a memory of when I was young,” said Henry. “Baker Beach, it’s pretty close to home.”

“Can I go?” asked Ayane, rising from her chair. “It’s still a dream, in a way, right? I won’t dissolve?”

“You won’t dissolve,” Henry assured her. He stepped out into the spray and offered his hand. She took it, and they stepped into the memory together.

Ayane kicked off her shoes and waded out barefoot into the water. “It feels so real,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry you’re going through all this,” said Henry.

She looked at him, narrowed her eyes, then scooped up some water and splashed him in the face.

Henry sputtered. “Why—?”

She splashed him again. “You know everything about me,” she said. “You’re a fan. You know what I’m going through. But that’s the problem.” With every sentence she splashed him again. “You have the advantage of me. I don’t know anything about you!”

“I’m fucking—I’m sorry?!” He tried to block his face with his arms but his ghostly arm was intangible. “I’ll tell you anything you want, just stop!”

She did. “Are you a magus?” she asked. “You and Braehar were talking a lot about magic.”

“Magus is not the preferred term in my world,” he said, lowering his arms. “I’m an earth witch, or more generally just ‘practitioner’.”

She tilted her head. “Earth magic, like Ghun. That’s why you need to kill him, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“You won’t die if you get wet, right?” she wiggled her fingers. “You aren’t made of dirt? You aren’t screaming in pain?”

Henry furrowed his brow. “No?”

“Good.” She swept his leg and he landed in the water, just in time for a wave to sweep over him completely. Henry was stunned, but when he came up for breath, he started laughing.

Ayane helped him up. “So this is a memory?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Henry. “I’m over…there.” He pointed toward the hills and a ways further up the beach, where the waves just barely reached. A typical beach-goer setup was assembled; cooler, big umbrella, blanket and sun chair. A chubby little boy in shorts was running around in the ankle-high waves, screaming and running back to shore when they got too close. They could hear his laughter from here, probably from everywhere in the memory, since it was all about him.

Sitting on the chair, watching him attentively, was a blonde woman in a sundress. “That’s my mom,” said Henry.

“You must take after your father,” said Ayane. She was as fair and pale as her son was dark.

“We have the same eyes, though,” said Henry. He sat down in the sand, watching the pair. “Do you want to hear my story?”

“I do,” said Ayane, sitting down next to him.

Henry took a deep breath.

When he was done, he felt drained, but a little relieved. It was like crying, painful and awkward but healing. Maybe that’s why the protagonist of A Curse of Blood and Glass did it so much. But looking at Ayane’s face, he thought he might have overshared. Her gaze was intense, her eyes the blue of a stormcloud. He wondered if that was normal, or dream magic. “You’re like a caged bird, tossed out into the wilderness to fend for itself,” she said at least. Henry’s heart fluttered. In Desert Reign proper, she had said that to Ramades, before their first kiss.

He scooted back from her, just a bit.

She leaned in. “I don’t like your aunt. Or your family.”

“I, well, it’s complicated—”

Ayane shook her head. “It’s not. You shouldn’t go back.”

He took a deep breath. “I have to.”

She shook her head, then leaned back on her palms and let out a frustrated sigh. “I wouldn’t go back.”

“I could bring you here,” said Henry, looking away, watching his younger self play in the surf. He looked drier now. The memory must have looped. “To the real place. Not just a dream or a memory.” He tried to fiddle with his fingertips but since half of them were incorporeal it didn’t feel the same.

Ayane bit her lip. “I’ve heard about your contracts. Ghun threatened to marry me off to some fan. Which you know. Because you are one.”

“Not like that,” said Henry quickly, looking back at her. “You’re like a spirit. I could make you my familiar…”

She furrowed her brow, motioning for him to go on. “Like a companion. We would share magic, help each other grow. I could give you some of my dreamsilver to eat, that would be enough to seal…” he trailed off when he saw her grimace.

“Dreamsilver.”

“Yeah?”

“From your body?”

“Uhh, yes.”

“I would have to eat it.”

“Y-yes?”

She gave him a look that was not quite a glare, just a wide-open unamused stare, transfixing him with her gaze. “Eating a piece of your body is just as intimate as marriage.”

His mouth dried up. “I never thought about it like that.”

“It borders on sexual. Are you a pervert?”

“No!”

She started laughing, and so did he.

When Henry woke up, his arm had been reduced largely to a skeleton. Since several veins and tendons were converted to dreamsilver, it had stuck together rather than falling apart. That being said, a considerable amount of random dreamsilver chunks had just fallen right off. They would be necessary.

The piece of Leila’s knife that had started the whole mess was still lodged in his hand, in between his bones, a mirror-bright tumor that still looked like an eye.

The formulae that Phobtor had given Henry essentially existed to convert his arm into a weapon, both a magic focus and a siphon. Some real components were needed; copper, bronze, mercury. All of them Braehar had access to.

Henry was given a wine butt to sleep in. Braehar had, it seemed, not been joking when she said he would live in a barrel; though thankfully it was large enough for a futon in there. And he had to sleep. Braehar had told him so. He could survive without it in the Dreamlands, but it made him weird and weak, and that’s why he’d passed out when he first arrived in Desert Reign.

Henry still had no intention of seeing Phobetor, so he went into his mindscape when he slept. It was relaxing to sit there and waste time, and he even managed to go into a deep meditative state where he was not thinking or dreaming, just sitting alone in a room inside his head, while sitting in a barrel an impossible distance from home.

He tried not to think about that.

One night there was a knock at his door (Braehar had installed one that sealed flush against the planks). Henry stepped back into himself and peered into the darkness, then crept to the lid of the butt and peeked through a chink in the wood. Ayane stood out there, holding a lamp, looking impatient.

He opened the door for her. “Hi,” He muttered. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you dreamwalk?” she asked. “Or if not, just take me into a memory?”

Henry bit his lip. He’d never actually tried it but— “I can dreamwalk you. We’ll have to start out in the mindscape.” He held out his hand. “Where do you want to go?”

She looked at his hand a moment, then took it. “San Francisco,” she said, and stepped into the wine butt.

----------------------------------------

1. It was lame as hell.