Drown me with dreams, p.8
Drown Me with Dreams, page 8
“Oh, I can manage.”
“Prove it.” I set my feet hip-width apart and hold out my arms. A trick to help me focus my affinity.
Carrik mimics my stance. His emotions are still zesty and sweet—eager.
Together, we pull water from the rushing river and slam it against the barrier. I feel each drop of water. Feel how much of it uselessly hits the invisible wall to slide down, back into Keirdre. Feel the thin trickle that actually slips through.
I take another breath. Focus. This time, I channel the water faster and harsher to make my aim more precise.
More water makes it through the barrier the second time.
Good.
The satisfaction evaporates almost instantly. More water moved through the barrier, but the opening is still just as small as it was before.
Attempt number three: as the water glides through the opening, I shove it, pushing outward so it presses against the doorway, opening it wider. I feel the gap expanding. The change is meager at best, but enough that I feel the difference.
We push harder, shoving water more forcefully against the barrier.
It takes several minutes of this for me to realize what’s taking so long—and why weariness is starting to sneak in: the barrier is pushing back. For every smidge of width we steal, the doorway fights us, robbing us of our minimal progress.
Sweat beads on my brow. Using my affinity doesn’t usually drain me, but the barrier is a worthy opponent. From the corner of my eyes, I see Carrik looks as exhausted as I feel. As though he senses my gaze on him, his eyes shift to me.
In that brief instant of slipped focus, the gap shrivels up again. We’re back to where we started.
“Dammit.” My arms fall.
Carrik is out of breath. “We need more force. It’s like the barrier doesn’t want us to get out.”
Considering the barrier is a manifestation of King Larster, Carrik’s probably not too far off. Even from beyond the grave, Larster is a nuisance.
I hold up my hands. “Let’s try again.”
Carrik doesn’t move. Just studies me through narrowed eyes.
My arms lower. “What?”
“You’re holding back. Right now, you’re matching me. But you’re stronger than me. You’re a siren, and I know what you managed on the pier.”
I’m hot from exertion, but his words douse me in sobering, icy water. The pier was different. It was a release of years of pent-up rage and fear. And I sang. Which, for me, is always dangerous. I was a single strand away from losing control.
Still, Carrik is half-right: When I sing, the water doesn’t just do as I command, it wants to move with me. But there’s a drawback. When I sing, it’s not just my song—it’s a deadly echo. I sing, the water bends, yes, but it sings back. We fall under mutual spells of manipulation, and when our wills intertwine, I can’t foresee which of us is more compelling.
“You don’t want me to sing,” I say. “I could kill you. Anger and hatred are a deadly combination.”
“You have more control than you think.”
“You know that from what? Reading a few books about sirens? Asking your friends in the Resistance?” I’m tense, and the water feels it. It likes the challenge, and we’re both twitching to prove Carrik’s confidence in me wrong.
“Not from books, from you. You’re a top-ranked Delta from the Vanihailian Barracks. That takes discipline. You spent eight years in control.”
“I wasn’t.” I shake my head. “You have no idea how many times I let my instincts win.”
“What about the pier? You were in control then.”
Just barely. And even still, less than two weeks ago, the night Thannen died, I was back at that same pier, on that same ship, out of control once again. “The pier was an anomaly.”
Carrik rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Your entire existence is an anomaly.”
I hesitate.
“Saoirse.” He softens. “I need to see the other side. I need to know there’s something more than this. I need to see that someone who grew up unwanted, told they aren’t meant to exist, can have better. This world is cruel and unforgiving, and it took everything from me. You’re worried you might accidentally kill me, but I don’t care. I’ve already lost you—what else do I have to lose?”
I give him a look. “Carrik—”
“Just once, I want to be somewhere I’m wanted. I’m willing to risk my life for that. What are you willing to risk?”
Anything. For Rain to have better—for me to have better—it’s worth anything.
My hands are shaking. “All right . . .” I keep my voice still despite how rattled I feel. “Plug your ears, just in case. If I try and kill you, don’t let me.”
“Saoirse.” Carrik puts a hand over his heart with a smirk. “Your concern is touching.”
“The only thing ‘touching’ is how mad you’re going to be that you risked everything to get over the barrier only to die right before,” I snap. “Plug your damn ears, Spektryl. If you hear me, you’ll do what I want. And what I want is for you to go headfirst into the river and never resurface.”
Carrik tugs at the bottom of his shirt and tears off a strip. He yanks it in two, shoving one end in each ear.
“Can you hear me?”
He doesn’t react. Good.
With a steadying breath, I step into the flow of the river. Stop as the water rushes around my ankles. A tightness I hadn’t realized I was carrying floats away with the feeling of bliss that comes from the water on my skin.
The sweetness of Carrik’s excitement lingers, now joined by the rank taste of nerves. For all his talk of welcoming death for a glimpse of the other side, he’s anxious.
The water starts a thrum in the back of my head. Wanting me to act on my impulses. Carrik stands close. Eyes closed, not even looking at me. I could grab him. Wrap my arms around him. Drag him under the stream . . .
I dunk the thought underwater and hold it there to drown.
Raising my arms, I pull the river and my lips part. A song rushes out. The release fills me with warmth and newfound energy. I shove the water into the barrier.
My song raises. The water isn’t fighting me, it’s moving with me, rushing up, faster than before. This song is to the water, to the river, and it listens to me.
I’m aware of Carrik standing just a few paces away. The water whispers, it wants me to—
No.
Like on the pier, this is enough. The euphoria of moving with the water. It has its own kind of beauty. Killing Carrik won’t make it any sweeter.
There’s a safe house on the other side. Carrik knows where it is. There’s an army on the other side. Carrik has a connection. As long as he’s useful, I’m going to keep him alive.
I give the order to expand. The water obeys. I tell the water to fight the barrier as it tries to close again. It obeys.
My song grows louder, and the gap grows with it until it’s so tall, it’s big enough for a person to fit through.
I tear my gaze from the barrier and look at Carrik. His eyes are open now, wide as he stares at me.
“Go!” I motion for him to move.
Carrik shudders as he rips his gaze from me and tumbles through the open doorway.
I keep forcing water through the gap as I hurtle toward the opening. My hold loosens with each step I take. I feel the doorway closing, getting steadily smaller.
With a final screech, the water lashes outward and the gap parts, one last time, as I dive forward.
The opening seals itself the instant I’m through.
I tumble to the forest ground on the other side just as the doorway closes, leaving me and Carrik alone in a new world with no way to return home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE WORLD WE LEFT BEHIND
I try not to be disappointed that, at first glance, the other side of the barrier looks exactly like the world we left behind. Same clusters of trees shrouding us in shades of green, red, and orange. Same sky, pale yellow streaked with the soft pink hues of dawn. Same river flowing alongside me.
I rise, brushing dirt from my wet clothes as I do. Carrik is already standing, neck craned as he peers around, taking everything in. “It smells better over here,” he says.
I inhale before I can stop myself. “Liar. It smells exactly the same.”
“But for a moment, I fooled you, didn’t I?” He grins, looking so eager, he’s bouncing on the soles of his feet. “I can’t believe we’re here. I wished over and over I’d get here, but I never actually thought I would.” He holds out his hands. The water coating us flings away, leaving us dry. “I was told the safe house is in a city. I don’t know how to get there from here.”
We’re surrounded by forest on all sides. All I hear is the river, no sounds of civilization. I pull my navy cloak from my bag and sling it around my shoulders, tugging up my hood. I don’t see people yet, but I don’t know how secluded we are. If we run into someone, I’m not sure what their reaction will be to seeing my face. “Well. The barrier is behind us. Let’s go forward. See if we find anything.”
“Works for me.”
The forest is eerily quiet. Just trees as far as my eye can see. Carrik and I walk without speaking for a few minutes before I feel pressure on my hip. Glancing down, I see a branch extending from a nearby tree, twisting into my bag.
Moving swiftly, I snatch the branch.
Magic.
My head twists around, searching for a witch, or some other kind of magic-wielding creature, as my hand prepares to snap the branch in half—
“Wait!”
I freeze, startled by the sudden voice. I keep looking around, but I don’t see anything except for Carrik, a bunch of trees, and—
I shriek.
A face emerges from the bark of the tree to my right. A girl’s face, younger than me. Her skin is the exact same shade as the wood, with the same grooves and ridges as the bark carved into her skin. As I watch, her face moves forward farther until she has a full head with a neck that stretches out, connecting her to the trunk. Her hair sticks out from her head at the same angles as the branches, darker than the tree’s leaves but with the same undertones. The result is a pouf of hair with varying shades of orange and red so muted, they’re almost brown.
My racing heart calms as I recognize what she must be: a dryad.
For a tick I’m excited—my first dryad. Rain will be thrilled when I tell her.
The moment dulls when I remember she’s currently trying to steal from me.
The branch that tried to reach into my bag—still in my grasp—has shifted into an elongated arm with twiglike fingers.
The girl’s wide forest-green eyes snap from me to the branch—arm—I’m holding, and back. “Please don’t break it. It’ll take forever to grow back.”
If she were a bit older, I’d snap it anyway, but her age gives me pause. “I’ll consider it . . . ,” I say slowly. “First, tell me what the hell you were doing.”
“I’m sorry!” Her voice is a squeak. “I didn’t think you’d fight back. You looked lost.”
An odd defense. She only tried to steal from me because she thought I was an easy target. “There’s nothing for you in here.” I gesture to my bag. “How often do you steal from strangers in the forest?”
“We don’t get too many visitors.” She looks at her hand. “Please. Let me go? You have a firm grip.”
“You were half-right.” I ignore her request for now. “We’re a bit turned around. We’re trying to get back to the city.”
“Pennex?”
I have no idea what the city is called, but I figure if she suggested it, it must be the closest one. “Yes.”
“Sure, sure, it’s no problem. I can take you to Pennex—and you’ll let go of my arm?”
“I might. But I’m warning you—try to steal from me again and I’ll snap both of them off.”
“I won’t,” she says quickly. “Promise. I didn’t think you’d miss anything. That cloak . . . it looks like fine quality.” Her eyes widen. “Where’d you get it?”
Something in her tone has me on edge. The way she widened her eyes . . . I recognize that look. Rain makes the same one to make herself seem innocent when she’s about to do something I won’t like.
“You couldn’t afford it.”
She steps away from the tree, into a full person. Away from the tree, she’s smaller—she comes up to my shoulders. I motion her forward. “Lead the way.”
“Of course.” She casts a wary look at the blade around my waist. “Where did you say you come from?” she asks as she leads us through the trees.
I glance around, wondering how many of the trees we pass are dryads and how many of them are listening to us. “We didn’t.”
“Is this your first time in Pennex? Where’d you come from, Calamid? Wystmeren? We don’t really get too many people in the forest.”
“Why not?” asks Carrik.
She looks surprised. “Because of the barricade, of course. Nobody wants to get too close. They say Keirdrens sneak over and filch your stuff when you’re not looking.” Her tone is light, like she’s teasing.
“You sure they’re not talking about you?” I ask wryly.
She pouts. “I hardly ever steal anything. I just figured you looked wealthy and clueless.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” asks Carrik. “You said ‘they’ say Keirdrens come over the barrier?”
“Why? You worried?” She giggles. “It’s just a myth. I think they say it to keep people away from the barricade.”
Like the stories they tell back in Keirdre about Reyshka Harker. That she was too curious about the barrier and it consumed her. It seems the stories here are somewhat based in truth as well.
We reach the end of the tree line. We stand at the edge of a grassy valley. Sitting in the mouth of the valley is a city. Small buildings cramped together, with one larger structure in the middle. It’s bigger than any of the other buildings I can see from here, but in Keirdre it would be the size of a typical manor house a wealthy Vanihailian water fae might live in.
The dryad gestures forward. “Here you are. Next time you wander out of the city, I recommend you bring a map.” She looks pointedly at my hand, still gripping her branch-like arm. “Can you let me go now?”
Finally, I release her. The branch immediately shrinks into an arm. She sighs, looking relieved. “Welcome to Pennex, travelers.” With a flash of a smile, the dryad disappears back into the woods without another word to us.
CHAPTER TWELVE
QUEEN OF HIS HEART
People are staring. My face is hidden by my hood, but still Carrik and I attract attention as we weave through the streets of the city. Pennex, the dryad in the woods called it.
Unlike the tall, imposing buildings of Vanihail, with cobblestoned streets, everything here is small. Each building looks domestic, like a house, and they’re all neatly arranged in tight rows. The only exception is that stone manor in the heart of the city.
Most of the buildings are made of plain gray stone with thatched roofs—not much color. But nearly every window we pass is a lovely stained glass, making the whole city feel vibrant.
It’s early morning, the sun is still rising, and there’s a scattering of people out doing morning chores. We pass a street where a group of witches stand on either side of the road, using magic to do laundry. A line of wet clothes floats in the air, lightly steaming as the witches use magic for drying.
Down another street, the houses are split. A set of what look like storm doors opens down into a cellar, and a front door leads into the main house. Small creatures—waist height—roll wooden logs down the street and into the storm cellars.
I study them all as I walk, looking for a face like mine. Another siren. In the walk from the forest to the safe house, I see none.
We keep to the sides of the streets, trying to stay hidden. It’s not an easy feat. The streets are cramped and narrow. As people rise for their chores—dumping out bathwater, clearing out hearths, hanging clothes to dry—they clog the streets. Fortunately, it’s early enough that not everyone has risen yet.
Carrik guides me through the streets looking so confident, you’d think he grew up here. I have no idea how long we’ve been walking before we finally stop in front of a house. Like all the homes I’ve seen in this world, it’s small and made of gray stone. There are four windows facing the road, each of them stained a beautiful light purple. The house is crowded against the surrounding buildings so tight, there’s no space to slip between them. The only thing that distinguishes this house from the others is the pine tree painted on the front door.
Carrik practically runs up the stoop and knocks.
After a few moments, a man opens the door. He looks older—a few years more aged than my father—and his eyes are kind and brown. In Keirdre, those eyes would mean he’s human. Here, I guess it doesn’t mean anything.
He doesn’t speak. Just stares at Carrik. He tastes shocked. Like an explosion of ginger and lemon. I try and guess what kind of creature he is. He’s too broad to be human. He’s not tall—mostly legs, with a short torso—but his build is sturdy. His hair is dark, curly, and wispy. His nose and chin are long and sharp.
“Er—hello?” Carrik says when the silence stretches long enough to be uncomfortable. “Maybe I have the wrong—”
“No, no!” The man scrambles to move aside. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You’re Carrik, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Carrik looks relieved and moves past him into the house.
I try to trail after him, but the man moves to block the doorway with a frown. “Did you bring a—” His sentence falters as I raise my head enough for him to see my face. His lemony shock is back, stronger now. He’s frozen for so long, Carrik has to put a hand on his shoulder and guide him aside, letting me in. Even still, the stranger continues to stare, not speaking.
Carrik clears his throat, dragging the man’s attention away from me. “Hello?”
“Hmm? Yes, sorry. I’m Zaire. And she—” He’s still looking at me. “She must be Saoirse. The siren.”
