Ba-Dum.

Ba-Dum

Ba-Dum-tak-dum-tak-dum. Ba-dum-tak-dum-tak-dum.

Drums echoed in the dark, but this time, a face. A body. White feathers and white scales, wrapped in colorful, geometrically patterned cloth. He moved in tune to the drums and the crashing of bells and chiming of bones in a simple yet hypnotic manner.

And then there were the eyes. Molten gold. Brilliant. Ageless. Immortal. Impossible, her brain muttered, then accused: Liar.

The sounds reverberated through her, fighting to overcome each of her senses, threatening her very sense of self. But she fought. She stared, screaming on the inside that she would not let the strange entity take over her thoughts and mind.

But it did take over her dreams.

As the world filled with color, she shouted at the familiar, yet strange, figure before her, playing the drums: “Why are you here? What do you want?”

The drums ceased. The image flickered away like a spark that had failed to catch, and she was alone. Alone, save for a gentle breeze that brushed against her skin.

A light appeared, glowing like the end of a tunnel, and she ran. Desperately, she ran, wondering, hoping that it would lead her out of this accursed dream and every other one she faced night after night.

At last, she reached the end and broke into the light, slamming the doors wide open into the sun.

Warm, fresh air fell over her like a blanket as she heard an unfamiliar giggle escape her throat. It was a soft, energetic sound, infectious in its glee. But it was not her sound. Moves made were not her moves. She was merely a watcher. But a watcher of what?

Gaze sweeping over the golden sea below; she listened to the gulls as they cried above her. She was waiting. Waiting. Watching. And then, as if to answer a desire yet unknown to herself, a spout of water rose out of the sea like a geyser.

The mist left from the sudden burst shimmered into a rainbow of colors. Her eyes grew as wide as the smile on her face as she climbed up onto the bar of the railing, hanging her small body over the edge to get a better look at the whale-like creature that was flirting with the surface.

“What are you doing?” a voice she knew yet, didn’t, asked in slight alarm. It was deep and warm and masculine, if a little bit tired.

“Father, it’s Avalon!” she cried in a voice that she knew was not her own, pointing out into the open sky with her small, thin hand. Too thin, to her eyes, but she knew her eyes were not her own. “Look! Out there!”

Footsteps approached, and strong, sturdy hands grasped her around her waist. “What did I tell you about naming the animals?” he asked with a great deal of exasperation as he pulled her away from the rail.

“Why can’t they have names?” she asked with a voice filled with indignant innocence. “Hope and Balowar have names.”

“That’s different,” Father said. “They are pets.”

“Doctor Sere told me Balowar wasn’t a pet... Why is Avalon different?” she went, crossing her arms as he set her back down. “He’ll live longer than Hope and Balowar,” she continued to mumble, looking back at him. She could not make out the details of his face. It reminded her of how she could see the carvings in the golden hall, yet at the same time, she could not—but a feeling of great love and affection filled her. “And me, for that matter. Probably you, too. Probably even Doctor Sere!”

Father sighed deeply and petted her on the head. “He very likely will,” he told her softly. “He very likely will.”

Knowing that tone in Father’s voice, she poked at her knees and puffed out her cheeks. “Father,” she went, attempting to change the subject. “Why don’t Jace and Doctor Sere get along?”

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“‘Mr.’ Jace to you, sweetling,” he said with gentle yet mild annoyance. This obviously was not the correct topic to change to, either, but very likely for different reasons. “And that’s because Jace is... Jace.”

“You don’t call him ‘Mr.,’” she pointed out sourly. “Doctor Sere doesn’t either. Why should I?”

“Because,” Father told her. “You should be better than us. Better than any of us.”

“What does ‘sutak’ mean, anyway?”

“Why don’t you ask Doctor Sere?” he asked her, not unkindly. Looking down into her lap, she played with her fingers. She wore a pale robe of seafoam green lined with white lace. Kicking out her bare feet one at a time, she sucked on her lips. “Are you still afraid of him?” Father asked.

Her eyes turned back to the sea. “He says he can’t save me,” she said. “He says I’m going to die.”

Father was silent at that. “...He is a very honest man,” he managed to get out in a hoarse voice. “Perhaps too honest.”

“I wish he would lie to me,” she confided to Father softly. “Like you and all the others...”

“ —— !” he scolded, though the word was muffled, echoing in such a way that it may as well have been said underwater. From the situation, she assumed it was her name. “It’s not a lie ——.”

“It is!” she yelled at him, standing quickly and clenching her fists. Tears burned her eyes as she glared at him. “It is because Doctor Sere never lies, not like you do!”

With that, feeling both satisfaction and horror as she said her piece, she ran back through the doors, back into the darkness—then towards another light.

The sun was against her face once again when she walked out. The air was thick and moist as she sniffled and leaned against the dark bark of a tree. Sharp calls of birds she knew the names of yet could not name came from overhead as she wiped her nose across the back of her arm.

Her words stung even her. She had meant them too, but regret filled her the moment she had left the room. But now, where was she? It was a calm place—a place where she knew her body and mind were safe.

And then, golden eyes, once again, ancient within a youthful face, looked over at her.

“Silly girl...” a voice came along with an offered, scaled hand with soft white feathers ascending from the wrist. Delicately carved bracelets of green and red stone wrapped in gold dangled around their wrist.

She reached out to take that hand, but the eyes before her turned cruel. The offered hand withdrew and turned into sharp claws as the garule once again turned into a dragon.

But this time, there were none of the usual apologies issued, and, as a little girl filled with fear, she stared into the dragon’s cavernous throat as it chomped down upon her small body.

***

Dassah rubbed her eyes. Staring up at the ceiling, she vaguely wondered what it would be like to be a spider, mostly because she didn’t want to think about anything else. Not that her brain let her be distracted for very long. She knew now. ‘Sutak’.

In garuli culture, a ‘sutak’ is any individual who does not adhere to the rigid societal expectations of their clan. This can mean anything from a birth defect or deformity to beliefs or desires that are not in line with the standards set by the clan and its Matriarchs. While these rules can vary from clan to clan, the general rule of law is fairly standard throughout their homeworld of Gathori, leaving most sutak to be executed, exiled, or simply left to die.

Closing her eyes, the passage ran through her mind repeatedly, intermixed with the words of Bahena and Sathuren.

And now, the people in her dreams. People whose eyes she not only saw through but whose voices she could hear. People whom she spoke through; felt emotions through.

Ah, she thought to herself, looking back up at the ceiling. That’s what this feeling is.

Drained. Emotionally mentally drained. Pure exhaustion.

She managed to sit herself up and look out the set of glass doors in her room that led out onto the balcony. Unlike the child in her dream, her view looked out over the hollow city rather than out to sea, which was far busier and filled with colors and animation.

Her death in TheirWorld had locked her out for the day, she knew, and the next day, she would have school. So what was she to do with this sudden free time? What did she do before TheirWorld?

Still dazed, she fumbled with her phone. There were messages. Many messages. But the phone went limp in her hand as she stared at it. She knew that it was from Elric and Stella and maybe even Bahena, asking her about why she hadn’t been able to join them or just to check up on her, but she didn’t have the energy left to explain. There was no strong desire to associate with anyone at all, let alone people who would spark a conversation with her.

What she wanted to do was talk to Sathuren and ask him why he had kept appearing in her dreams since they met. Ask him why he had killed her and Bahena the way he had. Maybe even get a little bit of revenge. But how could she?

Sucking on her lip, her eyes were drawn to Bahena’s name on her chat list and tilted her head.

Of course, now that she knew who he was, maybe it wouldn’t be all that big a deal after all. She would be safe if she went through Bahena, wouldn’t she? Not that she wanted Bahena to know anything about her interest in her apparent brother. But it was a chance.

So, before she lost her courage, Dassah clicked on the name and asked the question.