An unending plain of clear, still water.
Its surface undisturbed, but for a single rock from which a peach tree grows, its branches heavy with fruit.
Nothing. Nothing for miles around in every direction.
Nothing, but for him.
“Our dreams intersect.” He speaks, his voice calm and measured. “Auspicious. Long have I sought out those who are worthy.”
He stands facing away from me, his gaze on the distant horizon. His style of dress is foreign to me; a flowing outfit, one sash over his shoulder and the other by his side, two sheathed, curved swords rest against his hip, his black hair done in a ponytail. He has the pointed ears of one reborn within the Abyss.
I go to speak, but nothing comes out. Who is he? Why is he here, in my dream? Is this my dream?
Yet, he hears my unspoken question all the same. He looks back over his shoulder—his eye is blood red, with those piercing white pupils all the Damned of the Abyss have.
“Our paths will cross, beyond this dream. As will our blades, warrior.”
Warrior? I’ve slain a couple beasts, but I’m no warrior. My hesitance to strike another human nearly cost me my life.
He loosens his larger sword from its sheath, drawing it upwards with a single, smooth motion, as the clear water he stands on ripples out from his feet.
“An idle soul strays from its path.”
He turns his gaze to the peach tree, pointing at an engorged peach with the tip of his weapon.
“An overripe fruit weighs heavy on the bough.”
The slightest touch, and the peach falls, splattering its innards across the rock with a sickly thud, staining the surface with red.
“A blade has but one calling.”
He points his sword towards me with a sudden flick of his wrist, issuing his challenge with clear intent. I jerk backwards, instinctively expecting my wings to rush forth in my defence, but… They’re not here. They’re not on my back. They’re gone. I’m defenceless, with no weapons, being called out to fight.
The man gave me a dissatisfied look, sighing as he slowly sheathed his weapon.
“To deny it is folly.”
His sword arcs up towards the empty sky, a crescent of blood following in its wake as he lunged towards me faster than I could think. I briefly notice my body fall to its knees, as my severed head splashes and sinks into the clear, still water.
The man watches my head sink into the depths, before flicking the blood from his blade, sheathing it once more, and turning to walk towards the distant horizon.
…
“Marina!” The Chief’s voice yanks me back to reality, standing at the end of my bed. I’m on my bed. My head is still on my shoulders, as I check my neck for injury. My wings are frantically rubbing against my sides, assuring me that I’m safe now.
“Ah… were my wings knocking against the wall again, Chief…?”
“It looked like your wings were trying to wake you up, but you weren’t responding despite all their thrashing.” The Chief sighs, giving me a concerned look. “Another nightmare?”
“Yes, but this was… different. It was like I was in someone else’s dream…” Both my wings stretch around to huddle up in my lap as I sit up on the bed. I ruffle their feathers a bit to let them know I’m okay. Strange. They weren’t there in the dream…
“What makes you think that?” She asks, her interest piqued.
“My dreams are always about home, or my family. This was… there was this man, with two curved swords, and he seemed to know I was in his dream, and he called me out to fight, and… he was dressed like no one I’ve known before.”
“Hmm… Calling you out to fight. Sounds like something the War God would conjure up.” The Chief muses. “What else happened in this dream?”
“... I was decapitated.”
“Ah. Well, you’re awake, and your head is still firmly on your shoulders. Come and have breakfast. It’ll be gone from your mind soon enough.” She tilts her head to gesture upstairs, likely where a bowl of hot gruel we all call porridge is waiting for me.
“Alright…” I stand wearily, leaning my head side to side to try and get this strange tingling feeling in my neck to go away.
“It’s not unusual for our dreams to take a violent turn. Not only is there undoubtedly some influence from the likely Godly corpse we stand upon, but for the fact that by our very nature as Damned… many of us had violent deaths.” She adds, standing in the doorway. “It’s of more concern if you have the same dream over and over again.”
I went and had breakfast with the Chief, and went about my normal morning activities. That dream didn’t leave my mind, though. Nor did that man. Yes, I haven’t known someone dressed like that, but I have seen it. Once, a group of merchants all the way from Heian came to purchase some instruments from my family, and they had guards with them. Guards with lamellar armour, each wielding two sheathed swords, one shorter than the other, just like that man in my dream had.
He said our dreams intersected, and that we would meet in real life. It could have just been a dream, but that didn’t sit right with me. It was more than that. That Heian-dressed man issued me a challenge, and the certainty in his words makes me believe our paths will cross again.
Fortunately, I know just who to ask about Heian-related matters, and where to find her in the morning.
…
“You were visited in your dreams by a man with two curved swords, whose clothes you recognised as Heian-style.” Minegumo repeats back at me, wiping her floured hands on her apron.
It’s more overcast than usual outside, and a bit dark in the bakery as the fire from the oven has dimmed since it was first lit in the early hours of the morning long before the sun came up, so her soft, round eyes are squinting a bit to see clearly in the darkness. Not that it’s hard to see where she is; the white pupils we all have seem to have a slight glow in the dark, moreso for those with Abyss-red eyes.
As our resident baker, Minegumo is usually up earlier than most in the morning, baking bread for the day, before helping in the tavern’s kitchen later on in the evening. I caught her just as she was finishing up the morning bread, with a few dozen freshly-baked bread rolls set out to cool beside the wood-fired oven. Normally, the rising column of smoke from a chimney or fireplace is a dead giveaway of human activity in an area, which isn’t good when you’re trying to hide. Fortunately, burning pits of fire and the accompanying pillars of smoke are a naturally occuring feature of the Abyss.
Given the size of Haven’s farming plot, it’s almost inconceivable that we’d have a bakery at all. Grainfields usually take up vast amounts of space to feed a whole village. That is one of the few problems we don’t have to worry about, though. Although their flavour takes some getting used to, the grains native to this world have been bred to be hardy and extremely productive, to feed races that are much larger than humans, and have much larger appetites. This, coupled with the extremely fertile soil and plentiful clean water, means we have plentiful grain harvests multiple times a year, so we’re never short on flour.
“I know it sounds like a ridiculous thing to bring up, but…”
“It felt too real to be just a dream.” She finishes, crossing her arms and furrowing her brow in thought.
“You’re familiar with it?”
“These curved swords. Were they of noticeably different length?” She asks.
“Yes. One was a lot shorter than the other, and he used the longer one to… well, decapitate me.”
“Tch…” Minegumo clicks her tongue, sitting down on a stool and pondering for a long moment, before looking up at me and speaking in a serious tone. “You likely encountered a dreamwalker.”
“A dreamwalker?”
“Yes. Though, you probably don’t know much about my homeland, which will make explaining this difficult, but it’s important to do so.” She clears her throat, readying her history lesson. “My homeland is ruled by the Emperor, the embodiment of Ookuninushi, God of Peace, and the Shogun, the embodiment of Hachiman, God of War, who is subservient to the Emperor. It is this balance that has brought prosperity to my homeland for many centuries, but sometimes, Hachiman grows restless. A ban on open conflict had stood for more than a century, and this angered Hachiman. So, he would reach out to the people in their dreams, to warriors who wished to taste the air of battle. These warriors would then visit each other’s dreams, calling them out to fight, and they would seek out one another to do battle away from prying eyes.”
“Hachiman, the God of War… is that the Heian name for Arnar?”
“The same, yes. I have read that book in the library. I know the theory that we may be standing on Hachiman's godly remains.” She nods sternly.
“So these dreamwalkers are, in a way, blessed by the God of War to seek out others to do battle? And that… perhaps, that ability has remained intact, even after being reborn in the Underlands?”
“Did you tell the dreamwalker where you were? Did you tell him about Haven?” Minegumo pushes, standing and moving towards me, clenching her fists as if she’s about to strike me.
“I-I didn’t, I told him nothing. I couldn’t even talk in the dream, and I didn’t have my wings, either. Does… Will he look for me? Will he find me?”
Minegumo takes a deep breath, calming herself before continuing. “He will look for you. But he doesn’t know where to start, at least.”
“... You’ve dealt with a dreamwalker before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.” Minegumo sighs heavily. “My father turned out to be one. It got him killed. It’s why I’m here. It’s why my sister’s here. He died, we had no one to provide for us, and we froze to death in the winter.” She’s clenching her fists again.
Her sister… There was that girl brought in alongside the other two for questioning, when we were trying to find the thief—who turned out to be Crow—who looked and sounded a lot like Minegumo. Their eyes match too, at least when Minegumo’s been scowling for most of this conversation. What was her name…? Ah.
“Emi, right?”
“You… know my sister?” Minegumo’s expression softens, and she relaxes her hands.
“She was questioned by the Chief alongside Samantha and Rickard back when the mystery thief of Haven had yet to be found. She certainly looked and sounded a lot like you.”
“Emi’s my little sister, yes. She was seven, I was ten. Though we… passed in each other’s arms, it took more than a decade for her to be reborn in the Underlands. That day, five years ago, the day Rann walked through the gates of Haven, carrying my sleeping sister in his arms… that was the happiest day of my life.” Minegumo smiles to herself.
“You’re lucky, being reunited with your sister. Not that any of us had much luck, ending up down here.”
Minegumo scowls and tenses up like she’s angered by what I said, before she stops herself, taking a deep breath. “If we were lucky, we wouldn’t be here in the first place, but… at least I know my sister’s safe, and I can look out for her.”
“Sorry, luck isn’t really the best term for it, I know, just… we can only make the best of the bad situation we’re all stuck in.”
“That’s one way to put it. What will you do about your bad situation though, Marina?” She looks up at me, crossing her arms. “The dreamwalker will look for you. He may intrude upon your dreams again.”
“He has to be in the Abyss. He had the same pointed ears and white pupils we all do, with blood red eyes and black hair… he must have been here a long time as well; more than twenty years, at least. Maybe… maybe someone here might know of them.”
“We should ask Rann if he knows. He’s the most likely to have heard something about it.” Minegumo takes off her apron, hanging it by the door as she steps outside.
“We?”
“Yes, we.” She frowns. “Come on.”
…
“A man of foreign dress, carrying two curved swords, invading people’s dreams and challenging them to a fight. Someone who had all the traits of one reborn in the Abyss.” Rann repeats, after swallowing a bite of his lunch, leaning against an upright log that forms part of the framework of the new bunkhouse.
“It doesn’t sound any less ridiculous saying it all over again…”
“They’re real, Marina. And if one’s challenged you, they will look for you.” Minegumo adds quickly.
“And that’s why you’re here, Minegumo. Because these “dreamwalkers” were a thing in your home country.” Rann raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “Not something I’ve heard of before, but I’ve never been to Heian. Besides, their description seems to match the type of people that used to be more common here.”
“People who died fighting, I assume. It’d make sense that warrior-types ended up in the war god’s remains. It makes more sense than exclusively children turning up here.”
“No, it used to be all sorts of people. It’s just those who died with a weapon in hand tended to last longer.” Rann shrugs.
“More importantly, Rann, have you seen or heard anyone matching that description? I know most cultures do not wear two curved swords in the style Marina described.” Minegumo pushes.
“Hmm.” Rann thinks for a moment, or maybe just wants another bite of his lunch.
“Well? Are you going to answer, or are you just going to eat?” She growls, wanting an answer now.
“I’m just enjoying your handiwork.” He responds, holding up the bread roll he’s been chewing on; baked fresh this morning by our resident baker herself. “Besides, Marina didn’t tell him a word about where she was, or where Haven was. He’s not going to find us anytime soon.”
“Rann!” Minegumo stamps her foot in the mud, drawing the attention of the others working on the bunkhouse, creating an uneasy quiet.
“I’ve heard of him, yes.” Rann sighs, standing up straight. “Better yet, I know someone who’s seen him. Follow me.”
…
“Where exactly are you leading us, Rann?” Minegumo stops in her tracks beside the vegetable gardens on Cellar Road, staring with consternation at what lays at the end of the road.
“To the person who’s seen the man you talked about. She’s been working hard for the past week.” Rann answers, glancing back at Minegumo.
“And who exactly are they, as I asked?” Minegumo asks with a forced smile and flared nostrils.
I know why she’s asking. This end of town stinks of soot and the… bodily materials used by the tanner to make leather and parchment, who’s been steadily working through the near-literal mountain of hide that was carved off the bloodbeast’s carcass.
“Ingrid.” Rann finally gives Minegumo an answer, though he frowns before he continues, “Don’t tell me you get along as badly with her as the Chief does.”
“The blacksmith? I have no issues with her, it’s more just the… unpleasant smell of her workplace, and the workplace directly across from her.” Minegumo narrows her eyes, wearily gazing at the blacksmith, then across to the tannery.
“She’s been hard at work, and I doubt she’ll leave her smithy until she’s made every nail, hinge, and fitting that’s been requested. Come on.” Rann heads down the side alley beside the blacksmith, as Minegumo and I follow behind him.
The closer we get, the more the particularly pungent smell from the tanner’s is overtaken by the smell of soot and burning charcoal, with the constant clang of a hammer on an anvil ringing in my ears. Sure enough, Ingrid, the straw-blonde, silver-eyed blacksmith of Haven, is hard at work in the open workspace behind the blacksmith shop. An orange glow is cast over her form from the roaring fire of the open furnace, showing the black soot stains along her bare arms and her cheeks. She’s wearing what she always seems to wear; a thick leather apron, accompanying thick gloves, long pants, and a sleeveless top. I’d almost forgotten how muscular her arms look, especially now that they’re glistening with sweat that runs through the soot on her arms… yeah, no wonder she could carry that bear spear like it didn’t weigh anything. She handles her thick-headed hammer like it’s as light as a dinner knife.
“Rann.” Ingrid speaks between swings of her hammer, her eyes focused on her red-hot work. “The hinges will be done tomorrow, on time. You don’t have to check on them.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“I wouldn’t be bothering you about something you’ve said you’ll do. That’s not what I’m here for.” Rann says, leaning against the wall and watching her work.
“Then why are you here?” Ingrid asks. She either hasn’t noticed that Minegumo and I are also here, or simply hasn’t acknowledged our presence.
“It’s about your time with the Keepsguard.” He says.
The next swing of the hammer comes down hard with a much louder clang, before she places her hammer on the anvil and finally looks up at Rann. “What about them?”
Rann just nods towards Minegumo and I, and Ingrid follows his direction. Minegumo steps forward.
“Rann said you’ve seen someone before. Someone of notably foreign dress, carrying two curved swords by his side, one smaller than the other.” She explains, laying out the important details about the dreamwalker.
“Hmm.” Ingrid glances away, parsing through her memories before answering. “I remember them. What about them?”
“Marina encountered them in her dreams. They called her out to fight. If you have seen them yourself, then that means they are real, and that they’ll be searching for Marina.” Minegumo continues.
“So?” Ingrid shrugs indifferently, picking up her hammer. “It was a dream. Why ask me about some dream the Chief’s errand girl had?”
Errand girl…? Well, I’ve been called worse, and she’s not exactly wrong.
“Don’t you get it?” Minegumo hisses, annoyed. “Marina’s never seen that man before, but the way she described them in her dream matches the person you saw in the flesh.”
“Just a coincidence.” Ingrid refocuses on her work, bringing her hammer down on the iron hinge atop her anvil.
“What happened to him when you saw him? How did you see him? When? Did he fight one of the Keepsguard?” She pushes with more questions, but the word “Keepsguard” seems to set something off in Ingrid, making her next swing even harder and louder than the last one.
“What about the Keepsguard? Why do you care?” Ingrid looks up at Minegumo, noticeable tension in her voice.
“It’s not about the Keepsguard, Ingrid. It’s about the man, the… dreamwalker. Minegumo’s convinced me they’re real, and while he doesn’t know where I am or where Haven is, he will look for me. If there’s anything you can share about him, it may help a lot.” I step forward, trying to defuse the situation.
“Hmm.” Ingrid stands upright, relaxing her shoulders. “He did show up one day, two curved swords by his side. One of the others at the Keep seemed to be expecting him. He went out, they fought. The Keepsguard lost a member that day.”
“He beat a member of the Keepsguard? Was it one of the initiates?” Rann asks, his interest piqued.
“No. A Guardian. Full plate.” Ingrid answers. “In a few moments of fighting, the man with two swords knew exactly where to strike. Under the arm, back of the neck. Killed his opponent without ever taking a hit himself. He sheathed his sword, bowed, and walked back into the forest.”
“He took on someone wearing full plate with a curved sword and won?” Rann repeats, blinking in disbelief.
“Clean cuts to the joints. He dropped dead on the spot. Saw it with my own eyes.” Ingrid recalls, gazing into the distance.
“Full plate? Plate what? I know western swords tend to be straight compared to swords made in Heian, but what do you mean he was wearing full plate?” Minegumo asks, looking between Rann and Ingrid.
“Plate armour. Full metal covering, head to toe. The Old Keep is the only place down here you’ll find people wearing that much armour.” Rann explains.
“Solid metal, head to toe...” Minegumo thinks, her brow furrowed. “All that metal, used by a single soldier?”
“It keeps them safe, usually. Sounds like it didn’t do that Keepsguard much luck against this dreamwalker, though.” Rann shrugs.
“So he’s a capable and dangerous warrior, who can quickly decipher where to strike where his opponent is weakest even if he’s never seen anything like them before, and cut them down in mere moments…”
“Though he doesn’t know where to find you, Marina… you’re probably going to need a few more sparring sessions.” Rann pats me on my shoulder.
“If I do ever meet him, I hopefully won’t be alone.”
“Things out there can turn bad very quickly.” He speaks in an uncharacteristically serious tone.
“At least I’ll have my… wait.”
“What?” Minegumo questions.
“In my dream. Not only could I not speak, I didn’t have my wings. I turned around and they weren’t there. He doesn’t know about my wings. Meaning he doesn’t know about these.” Right on cue, my wings unfurl themselves from my cloak, standing tall by my sides and showing off their four pairs of blades, glinting in the warm light cast from the fire burning in the forge.
“If combat was about the number of weapons you can bring to bear, you’d have him beat by six. But that’s not how it works, Marina, and you know that.” Rann crosses his arms, more than used to my wings putting on a show by now.
“I know, but it’s something he wouldn’t expect, and it’d take him by surprise-”
“He’d likely never seen someone in plate armour before either, but he learned how to defeat it in just a few moments of battle. I doubt your wings will give him much trouble.” Rann warns against my confidence.
“I’ll… yeah. If we cross paths in the flesh, I doubt I’d last more than a few seconds by myself.”
“A few seconds is long enough for the others and I to come to your aid. No one’s going to be cutting you down by your lonesome.” He gives me a reassuring smile, patting my shoulder again.
“Hmm. Marina, can I test something with your wing-blades?” Ingrid asks, taking more of an interest in the blades concealed within my wings than the conversation.
“Sure, go ahead.”
I wasn’t expecting her to do anything in particular; I just thought she wanted to check their sharpness or something. What I absolutely did not expect was for Ingrid to grab my right wing, and swing her hammer directly at one of the blades. It felt like my entire right side shook, or rather, vibrated as a loud resonant ting sounded out when the hammer hit the blade, vibrating in place until it finally settled again.
“Flexible. Good steel. Certainly better than the swords the dreamwalker used.” Ingrid nods to herself.
“D-did you have to… urk…” My head’s spinning like crazy…
“How close to this fight were you if you could tell the quality of this dreamwalker’s swords?” Rann asks, putting a hand on my shoulder to help steady me as Minegumo rubs her ears, that ting noise likely still echoing in her head as it is in mine.
“Even a baker could tell the difference between the dreamwalker’s blades, and the sword of a Keepsguard. Their blades only struck each other once. The dreamwalker knew if their blades struck again, his would shatter.” Ingrid explains bluntly. “Poor craftsmanship.”
“Yet he didn’t have any trouble defeating someone in “full plate”, as you call it.” Minegumo says.
“No suit of armour is perfect. Everything has their weaknesses. What matters is how fast you recognise those weaknesses, and how quickly you exploit them.” Ingrid crosses her arms. “The Guardian was arrogant and thought his armour made him invulnerable. His arrogance cost him his life.”
“I never knew you were part of the Keepsguard, Ingrid. How long have you been in Haven?”
“Of course you didn’t know. It’s none of your business.” She bluntly responds, looking at me indifferently.
“Ingrid’s been with us for seven years now. Found her wandering alone near Dead Man’s Dream, having been kicked out of the Keepsguard for reasons she has felt no need to share.” Rann answers for her, glancing across at Ingrid as she grabs a large pair of tongs, picking up the still-warm wrought iron door hinge and inspecting her work.
“You were kicked out? Not… I don’t know, imprisoned or something to keep their secrets?”
“They have a castle.” Ingrid responds, her eyes refocused on her work. “They have no need for secrecy.”
“No one faction in the Abyss is big enough or has the tools to take on the Old Keep. They’re plenty safe holed up in that castle of theirs.” Rann chuckles to himself.
“The food’s better at Haven. Water’s cleaner too.” Ingrid comments, as she leans down to grab something from a barrel. “While you’re here, Rann.”
She hands Rann a sheet of metal, forged into the shape of a sword no longer than Rann’s forearm, blunt and dull. Rann takes it in hand, testing its weight and balance.
“Should do well.” He nods, handing it back to her.
“New swords?”
“For our allies. I’m sure the Red Wolves would appreciate having some iron by their sides.” Rann grins. “Best iron in the Abyss.”
“I wouldn’t call this scrap metal iron.” Ingrid grunts. “It’s fine for tools and hinges. For weapons, it’s… it’ll do, but it’s not great.”
“It’s the best we can do with what we’ve got.” He shrugs, leaning back against the wall. “It’s kept us going for some hundred years.”
“If you’re done, then, I need to get back to work.” Ingrid briefly glances over at Minegumo and I, before grabbing more wood to add to the forge’s fire.
“We best not get in her way, then.” Rann heads out back along the side alley, with Minegumo and I following him back some ways up the Cellar road.
He stops, sighs, and turns to face us. “So. What’s going to be done about this dreamwalker, then? You seem to be the expert, Minegumo. Is he going to keep bothering Marina’s dreams?”
“He might. He might not. I don’t know exactly how they work, or if they’ll cross dreams with Marina again, but they will look for her.” She answers, looking up at Rann tensely. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Mmhm. And what does the Chief know of this?” Rann glances at me.
“She knows it happened. She said to tell her if it happens again. She doesn’t know about the whole dreamwalker problem. One thing I’ve been wondering for a while, though.” I turn to face Minegumo, who side-eyes me. “Why are you so invested in this, Minegumo?”
She looks out over the garden field, filled with healthy plants nearing the point of harvest, awash with bright colours you’ll see no-where else in the Abyss.
“… I’ve dealt with them before.” Is her answer. There’s more on her mind, though. Her voice suddenly lacks the certainty and conviction that it carried earlier.
“There’s something you know that you haven’t told me. Something that’s been eating away at you.”
“And what would you know about what’s eating away at me? You don’t know…” Her anger subsides, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “How would you know…”
“You wear your heart on your sleeve nearly as much as the Chief does. And she isn’t even aware of it.”
“Is it something we should know, Minegumo?” Rann asks, crossing his arms.
“You crossed paths with a dreamwalker, Marina. Now you’re a dreamwalker too.” The assuredness returns to Minegumo’s voice. She’s serious.
“I am? How does that even work?”
“I don’t know how, it just does. Dreamwalkers usually only interact with other dreamwalkers, but now that you’ve met one in your dreams, you’re one too.” She explains.
“But how does it… work? How do I even control my dreamwalker powers?”
“I don’t know how. Just don’t go to bed craving battle or holding a grudge against someone. Your dreams might intersect with theirs, and then they’re a dreamwalker, too. That’s how it spreads.” She’s getting agitated, but not from having to explain this. It’s more the fact that she’s in the presence of a dreamwalker that’s agitating her.
“So it’s contagious? If I’m not careful it could spread to other people in the Abyss or even people in Haven?” Now I’m getting agitated. Does she know or does she not? Does she have any clear answers?
“I don’t know! Just don’t think about wanting to kill people and it hopefully won’t cause any more trouble!” She’s yelling by now, probably loud enough for half the town to hear.
“Alright, you two, that’s enough.” The Chief’s stern voice cuts through the heated air like a knife, stamping her staff in the earth for attention, defusing the situation. “I heard what you were arguing about. That Marina’s dream visitor is of greater import than I thought. Why didn't you bring it up with me if you felt it was important, Marina?”
“The man in my dream was wearing Heian-style clothing. I thought I’d ask the main Heian I knew.”
“The two of them came looking for me, to see if I’d seen a man matching that description before. I didn’t, but I knew who did.” Rann picks up for me.
“Someone in Haven knows the man from Marina’s dream?” The Chief asks, genuinely surprised that someone would have seen this dream invader in the flesh.
“Ingrid.” Rann answers.
“Ah.” The Chief grimaces briefly, before collecting herself. “Well. Good thing you’re telling me this now.”
“What is your problem with each other…” Minegumo frowns, looking back at the blacksmith, then to the Chief.
“That isn’t important.” The Chief dismisses her with a hand wave. “What’s important is that you tell me all the details so I know what to expect.”
We explain everything. How dreamwalkers work, what Minegumo knows of them given her father was one, the description of the man, Ingrid’s sighting of him and how the fight with the Keepsguard went. The fact that while he doesn’t know where I am, he will look for me, and we may very well cross paths beyond the dream. While he doesn’t know about my wings, the surprise of them would wear off quickly, and any advantage that gives me would quickly dissipate. He’d be a dangerous opponent no matter what, and if we do meet face-to-face, it’s best we ensure I don’t face him alone.
“So there’s a risk it may spread…” The Chief frowns, taking in everything she’s just been told. “It’s fortunate you’re not the type to hold grudges, Marina, but we’ll have to be mindful of this regardless.”
“While I can’t guarantee I can control it… I’ll do my best.”
“You got your wings to behave, for the most part. I trust in your self-control.” She nods affirmatively. Her confidence helps.
“What now, then? We going to tell the others about this?” Rann gazes towards the tavern, starting to fill with the crowd for lunch. “I don’t think we should, if you want my opinion.”
“I agree.” Minegumo says, lowering her voice as a couple of guards from the Cellars go by. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them. They don’t need something to panic over.”
“Then it’s settled.” The Chief nods. “We keep this to ourselves… and to Ingrid, I suppose, if you could go and tell her, Rann.”
Rann nods, and the four of us split off in different directions to go about our daily tasks, keeping what we know to ourselves.
Dreamwalking. The ability to enter, or rather cross paths with the dreams of others. I've heard stories of people who could control their dreams, control other’s dreams, or project their dreams into reality, but visiting other’s dreams in a lucid state is a new one. It was something best not told to others, because dream-invaders would cause a panic.
The rest of my day was uneventful. I helped move some timber for the bunkhouse’s walls, sorted out part of the library, had dinner, and went to bed with as clear a mind as possible so that no dreamwalker-related stuff happened. I thought of home. Something unrelated to anyone else in Haven.
Home is the gentle hills and sun-kissed coastline of Sovrana.
Not the blizzard I found myself in.
“Hello?” I call as loud as I can, but I fear my voice travelled only as far as the scant few feet ahead that I can see. Pure white falls from the sky in every direction, burying the tall pine trees surrounding me.
I wasn’t prepared for a blizzard, nor was I dressed for one. I’m clearly in a dream, stuck in a pine forest I don’t recognise, trudging through the deepening snow as ice-cold winds bite at my face and turn my extremities numb. There’s no one around, nothing but trees, snow, and the terrible, howling winds, moaning and groaning as it rushes through the trees. I have my voice, this time. I have my wings, too, huddled around me like a blanket, doing what they can to protect me from the cold, but I feel a numbness starting to creep in through my shoulderblades. The snow sticks to them, melting against their natural warmth only to freeze again and dig in between their feathers.
Shelter. I need shelter. If there’s someone else out here, I have no hope of finding them, and I’ve already died once in a dream in the past 24 hours, and I don’t want to experience death a second time so soon.
A squarish shape forms in the distance, distinct from the trees. A house, or what’s left of one. It still has most of its roof. It’ll do.
I rush inside, going to slam the door behind me, only to find it’s a sliding door, that I grab and pull shut so fast it nearly falls off its frame, but it holds. It holds the wind and the snow back, but not the cold. Still, it’s shelter. If I have to wait out this storm, so be it.
“Why are you here…” A shaky, unfamiliar and young voice comes from the darkest corner of the single-room interior.
“W-who’s there? Where are you?” I respond, my wings shakily rising to my side to defend me, cold, wet, and shivering as they are.
“Why… are you here…?!” The voice says again, older, more mature, as the black-haired figure steps out from the shadows, their red eyes glowing with anger.
Wait…
“Minegumo…?”
…
“Marina!” Minegumo’s shrill yell startles me awake, to find her looming over me, grabbing my shirt by the collar and glaring down at me with unbridled rage in her eyes. “Why?! Why were you there?! Why were you in MY dream?! Why? WHY?!”
“I-I don’t know! I wasn’t even thinking about-” I try to push her off, but she yanks my collar upwards, holding it tight against my neck.
“Why did you drag me into this?! Hadn’t I already done enough?! Why?!” She shakes me back and forth, tears starting to stream down her cheeks even as she grits her teeth in anger.
“I didn’t… L-let…” Is she trying to choke me…?! “Get OFF!”
I grab her shoulders, shoving her back with all the force I can muster, sending her smaller body flying off me as I sit up, my wings closing in from either side, blades glinting in the darkness—
“Stop!!” I yell, grabbing both of my wings and yanking them back as their blades were aiming right at her throat, cutting along her shoulders and upper arms as she clunks against the foot of the bed, just as the Chief bursts in the room, glowing staff in hand.
“Marina!! What… happened…” The Chief trails off, confused as to why Minegumo’s in my room. We just stare at each other for a moment, panting like we’d just ran a marathon, lit by the golden light from the Chief’s staff, as thin trails of blood start to run down Minegumo’s arms.
“You…” Minegumo groans, clutching her arms as tears freely flow down her cheeks, wincing in pain as her fingers graze over her fresh wounds. “Why… were you there… why me…”
“What happened between you two? Why are you here, Minegumo?” The Chief asks, walking around to stand between us beside the bed, checking Minegumo’s wounds, who tries to push her away.
“It’s her!” She yells, pointing her finger at me even as her arm trembles. “She dreamwalked to me! Invaded my head! Now I’m one of them too!”
“I wasn’t even thinking about you when I went to bed! I was thinking of home! That blizzard-stricken forest was as far from home as it gets!”
“... Marina.” The Chief speaks calmly, resting her left hand on my shoulder, with her right on Minegumo’s shoulder. “The dream you had this morning. It was a place you didn’t recognise, yes?”
“It was an endless plain of clear water, of course I didn’t recognise it!”
“So, you were pulled into his head, and his inner world. A place you didn’t recognise.” Mia nods, turning to Minegumo. “But the dreamwalk’s location was familiar to you, yes?”
“It was my old home! And…” She begins to retort in anger before she abruptly stops, the colour slowly draining from her face as the realisation hits her. She shrinks back, looking up at Mia, her voice shaky and small. “A-are you saying…”
“That… she initiated the dreamwalk herself…? I went into her head, and that was her dream she pulled me into?”
“You mentioned your father was a dreamwalker, Minegumo. Well, I spent most of the evening combing through the library, as I’d read the term before. There are records that dreamwalkers’ ability remains intact even in the Underlands. Not only that, it’s often hereditary.” The Chief explains, as Minegumo sullenly looks down at her lap.
“I’m… from my father…?” She whimpers, sniffling.
“Most likely. You’ve just had an unfortunate moment to awaken to your abilities.” The Chief sighs softly, leaning over to inspect Minegumo’s wounds. “I’ll get you patched up. The cuts aren’t too deep.”
Minegumo nods, slowly getting off my bed.
“I believe our agreement from earlier should still stand.” The Chief looks back at me.
“Not a word, to anyone. And, Minegumo… I’m sorry.”
Minegumo looks back at me, her big, round eyes shimmering with tears that she quickly wipes away with her sleeve. Even then, she looks like a beaten puppy. She’s not a big woman, by any definition. She’s shorter and smaller than some of the kids.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry, too.” She sullenly bows her head in apology.
The two leave my room, the light of the Chief’s staff disappearing behind the closed door. With nothing else to do, I lay back down and try to get back to sleep.
The agreement stood. We never told anyone about dreamwalking, and we never told anyone what happened between Minegumo and I.
Thankfully, the secret stayed with us.