The Hollow Gods

by A. J. Vrana

  “What if it isn’t her?” Kai stopped in his tracks, drawing all eyes to him. “What if all of this is Abaddon, and he just wants people to blame her?”

  “It’s possible this is his doing,” Ama agreed. “You saw him out there influencing the villagers. It’s very likely he’s contributing to this mess.”

  “But he and the Dreamwalker are enemies according to Golden Boy, here.” Miya pointed her thumb at Mason, the nickname catching on. “It’s like they’re still at war, and the village’s sanity is a casualty. What happens in this world is just collateral damage.”

  “And what if it’s none of that?” Mason cut in. “What if the legend is just a legend? What if it doesn’t matter whether it really happened or not? What if people’s belief in the story is powerful enough, and all of this is just the result of a tragic case of mass hysteria? Nothing spiritual, nothing ghostly. What if the haunting is purely metaphorical?”

  It was the smartest thing he’d said all night. Miya dropped her gaze to the floor. She knew her life was in danger, and over what? “I don’t believe there’s nothing spiritual in this. I’ve seen too much to think it’s all in our heads. But I also think you’re right that it doesn’t really matter whether it’s a real haunting or a metaphorical one. It’s still a haunting. It’s been going on for centuries.” She remembered what Kai went through—what she went through. “And I think you’re right too, Kai. Abaddon is definitely involved. If he and the Dreamwalker are enemies, then he’s also to blame.”

  Miya pushed the chair back and stood up, flattening her hands on the table and hanging her head. She was drained of everything she had, and yet she felt more alive than ever before. She was teetering on the edge of a cliff with nothing to catch her at the bottom. “I feel like the Dreamwalker is trying to communicate with me. Whether it’s by kidnapping me or haunting me—she’s obviously trying to say something. I just don’t know what, and I don’t know how to find out, either.”

  Ama’s fingernails drummed against the wooden table, then abruptly stopped. “Maybe she wants you to do what she does.”

  “What do you mean?” Miya looked up. “Do what?”

  The white wolf’s lips pulled back. “Walk dreams.”

  Miya recalled the feeling of descending into another world—gravity disappearing beneath her feet, her body weightless and free. “We need to go back there,” she gasped. “We need to go back into the dreamscape and find out what happened.”

  “The dream-what? But we already know what happened,” Mason protested. “We’ve been talking about it this whole time, haven’t we?”

  “That’s just historical information,” Miya argued. “We need to know what really happened, and why—what motivated them, what the events meant on a personal level. Ghosts won’t be put to rest by a history lesson.”

  This was it. This was the kind of investigation that called to her, made her feel whole—not some half-baked fluff piece on the new poutinerie on Main Street. Her encounters with Abaddon were taxing, painful even, and yet she felt more like herself than ever before, unencumbered by anxiety and guilt.

  Ama gave Mason a come-hither gesture with her finger. He obliged, unable to break her spell until he was standing in front of her.

  “In your pocket,” she said and, on command, he reached into his jeans. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and placed it on the table. After smoothing it out, recognition and wonder crept into his eyes. It was a drawing of some kind; there was a grotesque black wolf with crimson eyes and blood dripping from its teeth, the background of the picture decorated with screaming women strapped to burning crucifixes.

  “You’ve been touched by the other side,” Ama told him. “The dream stone made sure of that.”

  Mason fumbled around his pocket again, fishing for the stone in question. “Where is it?” he asked frantically.

  “In the room,” Ama said in a sing-song voice, then looked at Miya. “We’re sending you back.”

  “How?” Miya asked. “I can’t get there at will. It’s not like Kai—”

  “We will need Kai, too,” Ama interrupted as she spun her chair around to face the wolf in question. He narrowed his eyes as she smiled mischievously. “You will need him as an anchor to Abaddon’s memories.”

  “Do you think I’ll find the Dreamwalker there?” Miya asked.

  “Maybe,” she shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  Ama pulled out a shimmering, fang-shaped stone about the size of her palm—the one Mason had asked about, no doubt.

  “How did you—” Mason began.

  “Don’t worry about it.” She winked at him playfully. “The three of you—come lie down on the floor.”

  To Miya’s shock, Kai was the first to listen. “Fuck it,” he mumbled. “I’ll do whatever it takes to purge this flaming asshole from existence.” He walked over and plunked down in front of Ama, lifting his hand and gesturing for Miya to take it. It was enough to convince her, so she slipped her hand in his and sank down next to him.

  “I-I don’t understand,” Mason stuttered. “What are we doing?”

  Ama stood from the table and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard to explain. Just know you’re needed.”

  “Why the hell do we need him?” Kai groused as he and Miya lay on their backs, still holding hands.

  Ama chuckled and shook her head. “Miya is the one who will travel to the dreamscape.” She lightly tapped Kai on the shoulder with her foot. “You are the anchor to that world.” She then tapped Mason on the chest with her fingertips. “And you are the anchor to this world.”

  “We didn’t have so many anchors last time,” Miya pointed out.

  “You didn’t go as deep last time,” Ama replied sternly. “I was your anchor. But this time, you’ll need a stronger one—someone who is more rooted in the physical plane. And even then, you might still become lost.”

  Kai’s grip on Miya’s hand tightened. “Why does she have to do this? Why not me?”

  He was frightened, and yet he was still willing to take her place.

  “You don’t have the ability.” Ama gave him a cutting look. “Only some have an affinity with the other realms.”

  “Wait,” Mason interjected. “Are we going to die?”

  Ama’s lips tugged downward. “To think that traversing realms is the same as death,” she sighed. “You’d make a poor detective.”

  Mason balked at the suggestion. “That’s not true.”

  “You believe that only what you see while you’re awake is living,” said Ama. “I guarantee it’s not so.”

  Kai huffed and glared at Mason. “Just get over here. We’re losing time.”

  Miya thumped her head against the floor and looked up at a frowning, upside down Mason. He shuffled over and eased himself down next to her. “I’m sorry I was mean to you,” she apologized.

  Mason sighed, shaking his head and smiling. “It’s all right.” He lay down and extended his hand to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad.

  “Truce?” he asked, and she nodded, reaching out and taking his hand.

  “Truce.”

  Miya turned back to Kai and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay.”

  He inhaled and flexed his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re going to see over there, or if any of us will make it back, but...”

  She held her breath, waiting for him to finish. “But what?”

  Something wet trickled on her forehead, and she craned her neck to see what was dribbling on her face. “Ama, did you just cut your hand?”

  “I did,” Ama said without elaboration, then smeared the blood above Miya’s brow with her finger.

  Kai grumbled as she did the same to him. “You sure this isn’t some satanic ritual?”

  “I don’t believe in Satan,” Ama advised. “Consider my blood a kind of unifier. To keep the three of you spiritually connected.” She snickered. “The hand-holding helps too.”

  Kai tugged at Miya’
s hand, drawing her attention back to him. “If you don’t come back, I won’t either. I’ll find you, and I’ll stay. That’s a promise.”

  For a brief moment, everything fell away—all the uncertainty about her future and finances, all the problems she thought spelled the end of the world. Kai meant what he said, and Miya believed him wholeheartedly. His tone was sincere, his eyes gentler than she remembered them ever being. “Don’t worry,” she whispered back. “I’ll be the one finding you, pup.”

  Ama sat behind them and breathed deeply. Just as last time, her hands rested against Miya’s temples, coaxing her to close her eyes in preparation for what she knew was coming. Heat emanated from Ama’s fingertips, sending currents of warmth through Miya’s body. Each pulse thrummed deeper until her eyes grew heavy, and the blood on her forehead sizzled from otherworldly energy. The veil between worlds was so close she could feel the breeze from the other side, but she fought it, wanting to stay with Kai a moment longer.

  The pull was magnetic, the air fragrant, and Miya found herself unable to resist any longer. Kai’s face was the last thing she saw as Ama repeated the same words from before.

  “Let yourself descend, as only you can.”

  42

  Miya

  The Darkest Night

  When Miya opened her eyes, there was only darkness. Her physical form was absent, yet she knew she was there—a distinct, unified core, invisible but present. She wondered if this was what the afterlife was like and if there was any god that ruled the plane where spirits resided.

  “If there is a god, he is cruel. He has condemned us to a fate we cannot escape. We are born to die, then reborn again—doomed to repeat the same mistakes, to suffer the same loss. We are no different than the machines we ourselves have made. Like clocks, we spin around the same axis without alternative, infinitely, as though to turn in circles is the very purpose for which we were made. And all the while the world passes us by. We erode, and yet we continue to tick and tick and tick until the axis itself grows weary of our burdens, unhinges, and finally, we break.”

  The voice was impossible to locate; it was directionless, everywhere and yet nowhere all at once. She wondered if the entity could read her mind—if thinking and speaking were the same in this realm.

  “Are you the thing that calls itself Abaddon?” her words echoed through the dark vacuum. He sounded weak, worn down.

  “Abaddon.” He repeated the name as though it was vaguely familiar. “Yes...and no.”

  “Are you a piece of him?”

  “Yes...” The voice sounded closer. “Mirek…I was...Mirek.”

  He sounded breathless, wounded. “Mirek. And before that?”

  “And before that…something else. That is why we are Abaddon.”

  There was a brush of dry, icy air like he’d moved beside her. He too had no physical form, but she was aware of being in his territory. He was surprisingly mellow, unlike the spirit she’d encountered earlier. Perhaps he was willing to talk. Even a monster would seize the opportunity to be understood.

  “Who were the others?”

  “The First was before…the beginning…the last…Mirek.”

  “Will you tell me about the First?”

  “You will meet him if you can find your way. But I am not here to tell his story.”

  “Then whose story are you here to tell?”

  “The story of...Mirek.”

  The name burned like a hot coal on flesh. Miya felt herself inside his mind—searching, digging, grasping for something to hold on to. A moment, a memory—anything.

  “Mirek.”

  This spirit—Kai’s tormenter—she was compelled to become one with him, to understand him. The boundaries of flesh and spirit, dark and light, blurred, until Miya and Mirek were no longer separate. Whether it was his voice or her own—she couldn’t tell.

  43

  Mirek

  Mirek could hear his brother calling him, tugging at the edges of his mind. He turned to see the large black wolf emerge from the trees. His little brother—always so brazen.

  “You shouldn’t come so close to the forest’s edge looking like that,” Mirek told him sternly. “They’re not like us. They’ll shoot us dead and skin us for our pelts if they catch us.”

  The wolf snorted, unconcerned, and disappeared back into the darkness of the woods. His favourite companion—a mischievous raven—followed closely at his heels.

  Although Mirek and his brother Vuk were both wolves and men, it was as though one brother had taken all the wolf, and the other all the man. Mirek had his reason; his brother had his instincts. Mirek tried to keep them safe, but Vuk wanted to live unfettered.

  That would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the settlers and their village nestled in the nook of their forest. Mirek didn’t know why they chose this place. They didn’t like it. They feared the forest and told absurd tales of its malevolence.

  They rarely ventured in. Sometimes they came with their guns to hunt game, but they preferred their cattle—an easier kill. Mirek knew his little brother was responsible for at least a few missing chickens.

  The villagers flew into a panic with every vanished hen. They scurried about with their pitchforks in search of some sinister monster they were convinced was lurking behind their sheds and devouring their flock—feathers and all. They couldn’t fathom that a hungry animal had simply found easy prey. When they ventured beyond what they knew, they found evil stalking in every dark corner. Mirek couldn’t believe he and Vuk were the wolves and they the men. The younger wolf found them amusing, fearful, and pathetic. Mirek supposed they were, but any wise hunter knew that a fearful animal was at its most dangerous.

  Wolves especially were the stuff of nightmares for these settlers. The howls frightened them, and their fables were filled with wild beasts and witches that gobbled children whole. Then there was the Dreamwalker—a living, malevolent spirit that struck more fear into those fools than anyone, though Mirek never saw any sign of her.

  He resolved to keep his distance. Concealment was wisest.

  Mirek found his brother on his knees one day, clutching the dirt and gasping for air as his ribs snapped back into place to make room for his lungs. Between the two of them, Vuk changed more frequently, but for that Mirek was thankful. They were deep in the woods this time, far from any danger of being caught—or so Mirek thought—when he heard the snap of twigs nearby.

  It was a young woman. Her clear blue eyes pierced right through him, freezing him to the ground where he stood. She was one of them—those villagers. Her golden hair fell past her shoulders, her face whiter than snow. Vuk struggled to stand, using Mirek’s shoulder as a crutch. Mirek could see his brother was intrigued even as he fought to gather his bearings.

  “Did I scare you, girl?” Vuk laughed in his usual wry humour. She looked at them both as though they were ghosts.

  “Are you Indians?”

  Vuk looked her up and down. “Indians?”

  “I’ve heard that Indians can turn into animals at will.”

  “Indians are human.”

  “And you are not?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Not always.”

  At first, Mirek was mistrustful, fearing she would run back to the village and declare there were demons in the forest—wolves wearing the flesh of men. Vuk dismissed his concern, claiming the girl was not of that sort. This time, he may have been right.

  She—Cassia—often went into the woods to gather herbs and mushrooms, against the wishes of her father and the other villagers. Over time, it became clear that her reasons for returning were more than medicinal.

  Cassia was with them almost every day. Rather than fearing them, she was curious—though her fascination was directed more at Mirek’s brother. He, in turn, seemed to take pleasure in divulging their secrets and playing tricks on her, but Mirek was weary of these indiscretions. They didn’t need more attention.

  Mirek was grateful his fur was the colour of bark. It was good camouflage a
nd distinguished him from his notorious brother—especially when rumours spread of a demonic black wolf roaming the forest, attacking unsuspecting hunters. The Dreamwalker’s familiar, they kept saying, though Mirek suspected it was only Vuk. The black wolf didn’t need the Dreamwalker to motivate his recklessness. He was putting them in danger. He was putting Cassia in danger. Mirek urged her to stay away from Vuk, but she wouldn’t listen. She had made her choice.

  Cassia was cleaning Vuk’s wound when Mirek walked into the grove.

  “What happened?” Mirek asked.

  “A hunter shot at me.”

  “And?”

  Vuk’s mahogany eyes were still bright from the violent encounter.

  “I tore the rifle right out of his hands.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Cassia chastised him, though it sounded more like a plea.

  “They’ll come back with more men to hunt you down. These villagers are not just fearful, they’re proud.” Mirek paused. “Did you hurt him?”

  His brother’s lips twisted into a smirk. “He may have lost his trigger finger.”

  The hunts became more frequent, more persistent. Almost daily, they came into the woods in search of Vuk—the demonic black wolf they believed was a spawn of Satan. Mirek remembered their parents teaching them of the battle between God and Satan—a battle the villagers enjoyed re-enacting. In the end, their parents were killed in God’s name, hunted down by men who believed them to be the devil’s messengers. Now they brought priests who called out to the spirit of the Dreamwalker, demanding she expose herself and her familiar.