by Libba Bray
“I’m awake.” Henry rolled over to face Memphis. “Can’t sleep, either?”
“No,” Memphis whispered. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure. Just don’t ask me state capitals.”
“You think, maybe, we could look for Theta in dreams? What I mean is, is there a way I could be awake with you in that world? I promise to heal you up afterward, take the edge off of what it does to you.”
“It’s Ling who usually has luck finding people. But we could try. If we’re together, we might boost each other’s powers.”
“All right, then. What do I need to do?”
“Well, Ling always says that we need something that belongs to the person. A ring, a comb, anything, really.”
Memphis’s heart sank. Then he remembered: “Wait! I got this book of poems she gave me. Does that count?”
“Don’t see why not.”
Memphis got up and dug his waterlogged copy of Leaves of Grass from his knapsack and handed it to Henry. “What now?”
“We’ll need to be close to each other. We need to be touching.”
Memphis flinched just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. But Henry had been trained all his life to spot these reactions. It was a matter of survival. Henry had learned to change his walk, his manner of speaking, anything that might “give him away” and make some fella uncomfortable, perhaps even uncomfortable enough to do Henry harm. But he hadn’t thought he needed to hide himself from a friend.
Henry remembered one time going with his father to the barbershop. He might’ve been four or five years old. Young. He’d been walking in the French Quarter with his handsome father, taking note as his father stopped and said hello to the other men on the street, all of whom seemed to look up to him. Henry had been so happy and proud, he’d wanted to give his daddy a kiss. When he tried, his father got angry, pushed him away. “What are you doing?” he’d reprimanded, keeping his voice low, and Henry understood he’d done something wrong, but he didn’t know what or why. “Men don’t kiss other men,” his father said briskly. They’d walked on as before, but Henry’s happiness had been stolen, replaced by shame.
A knot formed in Henry’s throat. The familiar swallowed howl of shame. He was afraid he might cry, though he’d been told his whole life that men didn’t do that, either. “You know, on second thought, I’m bushed. I should probably get some rest,” Henry said, saving face.
But then Memphis put his hand on Henry’s arm. “I’m sorry. I never… I… I don’t know how to do this right.”
“Does anybody?” Henry asked. “Here.” He handed back Leaves of Grass. “You hold on to that. I’ll do the rest.” They lay down on their mildewy Red Cross blankets. Henry edged a foot over, touching Memphis’s foot. They waited.
“Now what?” Memphis said.
“Now you become my lover man.” Henry cracked up laughing. Like alchemy, he’d transformed his shame into wit. Laughter was power.
Memphis laughed, too. “Okay. All right. I see you.”
“Do you?”
Memphis quieted. “Trying.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Henry took a deep, cleansing breath. “Sweet dreams, Memphis. Good luck.”
It took some time for sleep to come. When Henry woke at last in the dreamscape, he was surrounded by waving stalks of golden wheat, and there was Theta, wearing a silver gown that Henry recognized as being her favorite among her Follies costumes. Henry was overjoyed to see her. They’d never been apart so long.
“Theta? Theta, darlin’. It’s me, your old pal, Hen.”
“Hey, Hen,” Theta said, twirling slowly.
Henry looked around for Memphis and was disappointed not to see him. Perhaps their powers didn’t work together after all. He could at least try to get some information.
“Theta, darlin’. Are you in Bountiful?”
“Bountiful?” Theta said, and Henry couldn’t tell if that was an answer or not.
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“I’m here,” Theta said dreamily. She watched a line of Cherokee women as they danced. Henry was struck by how much she favored these women. Almost by instinct, Theta began to move as they did.
“But where is here, honey?” Henry pressed.
“The circus.”
A drop of rain fell slowly, growing bigger as it descended, spreading out like a new universe straining at the borders of its raindrop womb until it popped. Out sprang a boldly striped circus tent. The tent wrapped its arms around them until they were all cradled inside its expanse. In the center of the ring, Theta lifted her arms, like a ballerina before a performance. And then, to Henry’s astonishment, Memphis entered the ring. Neither seemed to recognize the other directly, but each wore a vague smile. Memphis took Theta’s hand. The top of the tent became a silvery moon, and then they were moving together in a beautiful dream ballet. Memphis lifted Theta into the air. She arched her back and spread her arms like a bird flying. People reached for meaning inside dreams. Their yearning found expression in endless ways. Everything was possible here. Futures were born. For how could anything start without a dream first?
Memphis cradled Theta gently in his arms, twirling around until they became a bright ball of energy that soared up, up, up. And then everything was gone. Henry was alone.
“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” Henry said.
“Henry? Henry!”
“Ling!” Henry shouted.
She was on the other side of a river.
“I found you,” she called.
“How do you know it wasn’t me who found you?”
“Don’t annoy me so soon,” she said. “How do I get across this thing?”
Henry had brought his own unconscious here. The river, separating them.
“Where are you?” they each blurted at the same time.
“I’m with Alma and Jericho on the Chitlin Circuit.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“No, I’m not. I’m nowhere near your leg.”
“Figure of speech.”
“You and your strange figures of speech,” Ling tutted. “We’re somewhere in Tennessee, on our way to Arkansas.”
“Are Isaiah and Theta with you?”
“No,” Ling called back.
“Any sign of them in your dream walks?”
Ling shook her head. Henry’s heart sank. He’d so hoped to give Memphis some good news. Something solid to ease his mind.
“Where are you?” Ling asked. “Did you make it to Bountiful?”
“Not yet. We’re stuck on a levee in the middle of the Mississippi flood, darlin’.”
“That’s not a song of yours, is it? Or another figure of speech?”
“Sadly, darlin’, it is all too true. The Pinkertons boarded our train and we had to jump off—and I do mean jump. So that makes the Shadow Men, the police, and now the Pinkertons. I’ve never felt so wanted by so many men but so unhappy about it. If only Gary Cooper were looking for me.”
“You really could make a joke of anything, couldn’t you?”
“Not that unfortunate nightgown. That’s a tragedy.”
Ling and Henry yelped as the landscape shifted under their feet, unbalancing them both. The ground cracked and broke apart like an earthquake. The river geysered up between them, turning Ling into a watery reflection.
“Henry!” Ling shot out a hand, but it was no good. The ground shifted again, and then Ling vanished from the dream.
“No, wait! Ling! Ling!” Henry cried.
The wall of water rose higher and transformed into a giant rattlesnake that loomed above him, its tongue flicking menacingly. Where it struck the ground, lightning crackled. Henry scrambled backward only to see that he was at the edge of a cliff. Before him, the snake liquefied, taking on yet another, more frightening shape.
“Do you like to walk in dreams?” the King of Crows said, walking toward Henry. “How about nightmares?”
The King of Crows stretched out his hand, and a paralyzing
cold seeped into Henry’s legs. “Maybe you’ll need your friend the healer to help you? Let’s give him a real challenge, shall we? Something to slow him down a bit, hmm? A taste of what’s to come.”
The King of Crows waved his arm as if conducting. The field of wheat reappeared. Memphis and Theta were there, still dancing. “What do you think? Will he help you? Or perhaps he’s so happy in this world, dancing his cares away, that he won’t even want to wake up.”
The icy cold immobilizing Henry’s legs crawled up into his lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Memphis,” Henry choked out. “Wake. Up.”
“Yes. Wake up, Dream Walker,” the King of Crows said and laughed.
Henry’s eyes snapped open. He was on his back in the refugee camp struggling for breath. He couldn’t move. All he could do was lie there, knowing that he was slowly dying. Beside him, Memphis slept on, lost to his happy dream. To break the spell, Henry needed to wake him up. But after every dream walk, there were a few minutes when Henry was completely paralyzed.
“Memphis…” he rasped. The air in front of his eyes became black dots. His foot was still nestled close to Memphis’s. He concentrated on moving just his foot. If he could just kick Memphis… He strained. Nothing. His vision swam. Soon, he would lose consciousness. Henry thought of never seeing Theta or Ling ever again. His foot twitched and brushed against Memphis’s ankle. And again. Memphis stirred. Come on, Henry begged. Wake. Up. The reserves in his lungs were nearly gone.
His foot kicked out suddenly, like an angry mule. Memphis bolted awake, still a bit sleep-dazed. He looked over and saw Henry struggling.
“H-help,” Henry eked out on the last of his air.
“Hold on, hold on!” Memphis was saying, putting his hands against Henry’s chest. And then, all at once, Henry could feel Memphis drawing the sickness from his trembling body. They were joined, and it wasn’t much different from a dream walk. Henry heard both of their heartbeats, at first out of sync, and then in the same rhythm. The cold grip on his lungs loosened. Henry’s breathing returned to normal. He sat up, coughing and sputtering.
“Better?” Memphis asked.
Henry nodded. Tears streamed down his face. His nose ran. It had been like drowning inside his own body. He drew in more air, not even caring about the pungent smell that hung over the camp. “Th-thanks.”
“What happened?” Memphis asked, once he was sure that Henry was all right.
“The King of Crows,” Henry said. “He did this. He wanted you to heal me. To use your power.”
“You mean use it up?” Memphis was nervous now.
Henry drew in several deep lungfuls of air. “I don’t know. He said he wanted to give you a real challenge. A taste of what’s to come.”
“A taste of what’s to come. What does that mean?”
“Dunno, but I don’t like the sound of it.” Henry wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Do you think he would’ve… killed you?” Memphis said.
Henry wasn’t sure. It seemed more like a challenge than a murder attempt. “It’s like he wanted to use our powers against us. To let us know that he could do it. That bastard came for me in a dream walk. He used the dream against me. I had just found Ling, too.”
“Ling! Did he…?”
“No. She vanished before he got to me.”
“Did she say where they were?” Memphis asked.
“She and Jericho are on the Chitlin Circuit with Alma.”
Memphis couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. “Now, that I’d like to see.”
And despite his near-death experience, Henry had to admit it was funny.
“Did she say anything about the others?” Memphis asked.
Henry shook his head. He could see how disappointed Memphis was by this. “Sorry, Memphis,” he said, and Memphis patted Henry on the back the way fellas did when they didn’t have words.
When Henry and Ling had confronted the ghost of Wai-Mae in the dream world, it had been terrifying. But to a certain degree, Henry had understood her motivations. The dream world had belonged to Wai-Mae as well; it had been the only escape for the angry, abused, scared girl who had died so tragically. This was different. It was like having someone break into your house and intimidate you into leaving it. The King of Crows was not lost or scared. He was cruel and power-mad and he needed to be stopped. Henry grasped this with new urgency.
Somewhere close by in the camp, a baby was crying. A mother soothed it, cooing softly. Everywhere was the sound of the river.
“Do you remember anything from your dream walk?” Henry asked after a moment.
“Only a little. I dreamed about holding Theta,” Memphis said. “But it felt like she was really in my arms.”
“She was, Memphis.”
“You think she’ll remember when she wakes up?”
“I hope so.”
The following night, while the Haymakers played their set, Ling and Jericho finally seized their chance to experiment with combining their powers. As they walked toward the woods, away from the dance hall on the edge of town and the cars parked every which way in the dirt lot, Ling was telling Jericho about her encounter with Henry in the dream world.
“…and then the river rose up like a wall and I lost him. Very odd.”
“Why odd? That happens in dream walks, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. I suppose it does.” Ling shook her head. “It’s probably nothing, but I had the strangest feeling that something was working to keep us apart.”
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Jericho said. They’d reached a stopping place where they could still hear the music but were far enough away from the hall that Ling thought it would be safe.
“No. We should try,” Ling said. “We have to start figuring these things out for ourselves.”
She balanced on her crutches and took Jericho’s hands in hers.
“It feels like we’re about to square dance,” Jericho said. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t dance.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well. I’m glad that’s settled. Now what?”
Ling bit her lip, thinking. “Your power is strength. Mine is dream walking. I honestly don’t know how our powers combine.”
“Maybe I can make your dream walking stronger?”
“That’s what Henry and I seem to be able to do together,” Ling said. She looked around, buying time while she thought. “Let’s concentrate on one thing, a transference of energy.”
Jericho’s lips quirked. “If you want me to carry you somewhere, you only have to ask.”
“That was a joke?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re getting funnier.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. Henry’s the funny one when he should be serious, and I mostly find it annoying.”
Jericho found Ling’s irritation with him hilarious, like having a younger sister to torment. “What if I’m more than just Jericho the Serious?”
“But you are serious. You’re a brooder.”
Jericho scoffed. “I am not a brooder.”
Ling’s expression didn’t change. “Did anyone ever make you read Wuthering Heights?”
“No,” Jericho said, unsure of where this conversation was headed.
“Count yourself lucky. It’s full of annoying people. There is a man named Heathcliff. He is the biggest brooder of them all.”
It took Jericho a minute to catch up. He laughed. “Are you… are you calling me a Heathcliff?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“The shoe does not.”
Ling exhaled noisily. “Do you see that light pole over there?”
Jericho looked over his shoulder at the pole strung with a fat yellowish light. “Yes.”
“What if we tried to make it disappear?”
“You really think we could? Isn’t that more of Sam’s territory?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“What if something
goes wrong and we end up making the dance hall disappear instead?”
“Hopefully that won’t happen.”
Jericho raised both eyebrows. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Science requires experimentation. And danger.”
“At least we won’t have to listen to any more of Doc’s long-winded stories,” Jericho said, making Ling smile at last.
“Here goes,” Ling said. She and Jericho squeezed their hands together and stared out at the light pole. Sweat beaded on Jericho’s forehead. I’m not a real Diviner, he thought. But Ling held fast to his hands. He could hear her heart beating in perfect time, could sense her excitement and her fear. He could just make out the silhouette of her thoughts, bits and pieces and vague hopes. It was as if they were one person, almost. Jericho had never experienced such an intimate encounter before. It was so much deeper than something physical. It frightened him; he wanted more. Can you feel me? he wondered.
To his great surprise, he heard Ling’s voice. Yes.
He almost let go. The shock was so great.
Ling?
Jericho.
He was giddy with the sensation. Hey. Do you smell something?
Yes.
Sulfur. Like a match being struck. He heard a discordant, mechanical hum. Pressure began to build inside him. So much pressure. He feared it would rip him in two.
Ling?
I feel it.
What is that?
I don’t know.
Should we stop?
Not yet.
The hum getting louder, becoming a clang. A scream. Something was taking shape. A dark wood. All bare trees and sickly pale bark. High above, a yellow moon hid its shine behind thin gray clouds.
Where are we?
Ling did not let go of Jericho’s hands. I think we’re in the land of the dead.
And then as suddenly as the sensation had come, it was gone. Jericho and Ling stood near the dance hall, still holding hands and panting for breath.
“Wh-what just happened?” Jericho said.
“I’m not sure, but I believe somehow we managed to open up a door into that other dimension—his dimension,” Ling said, clearly excited.
“But we don’t know how we did it,” Jericho said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ling said. “The important thing is, we know we can do it.”