The Hollow Gods

by A. J. Vrana

  “You,” said the First. “I want you. Here. Forever. Willing and aware—a living spirit in my own personal hell.”

  “You...don’t want to be alone?” Miya staggered, amazed that an entity who kept the company of corpses would desire the companionship of his enemy. “Why would you want that?”

  “A living trophy is far more appealing than a dead one.”

  “Didn’t realize you were in the market for a new toy.” Miya wondered—if she failed, if she ended up trapped with him forever, would she ever be reincarnated in the physical plane again?

  “Accept my challenge,” he cooed, “and you may be the first to survive the flames. You may even break this wretched cycle. I will bring you home, and this will all come to an end.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  His lips pulled back. “We both know you are well beyond the white wolf’s reach. You will never find your way out, little lamb. And if you do, death by fire awaits you.” He waved his hand through the air as if sweeping aside a partition to the next world.

  Smoke filled Miya’s lungs; she could smell the char. She heard Mason’s cries as he ducked into cover while Ama fought off a man twice her size. She saw Kai, blood-soaked and backed into a corner. He was clutching his arm—limp from a wound to the shoulder. And behind him, she saw her own body lying unconscious, helpless, useless.

  “You could be lying,” Miya refuted, but she could still feel the flames licking her skin. She knew the villagers were on their heels. There was no reason to doubt they’d burn everything in their path. If she didn’t stop this, they’d keep coming until she, Kai, Ama, and Mason were dead.

  “That is your risk to take,” he replied with a mild shrug, the vision dissipating with another wave of his hand. “Even if you die, there will always be another. And another. And another.”

  He had a point.

  Battered by doubt, Miya lay down on the hill with the rest of the bodies. “I don’t trust you,” she said to the figure looming over her.

  “A fair prerogative,” he chuckled.

  Just as Miya was about to close her eyes, she remembered a burning question. Mirek and the black wolf were brothers, so what of the First and Kai? She looked up and asked him, “Who is the black wolf?”

  Still sitting on his throne, the king of corpses leaned over, shadows enveloping his face as those two golden eyes gleamed at her—drawing closer until his lips pressed against her forehead and he whispered, “My brother.”

  The reiteration of this bond and the violence it inspired—reincarnated through the ages—sucked the air from Miya’s lungs. She was all at once pulled into the earth and buried into darkness—sinking deeper into the dreamscape until she was certain that she was lost.

  47

  Mason

  Mason awoke, gasping for air, his heart crashing against his ribcage and his body covered in sweat. His skin felt like it was on fire—like he was being burned alive. A strangled cry escaped from somewhere inside of him as he began to thrash. Someone held him down, but he only fought harder. There was a voice, deep and indistinct—the words impossible to make out. But gradually it became louder, clearer, higher in pitch—until finally, he recognized it as Ama’s.

  “Mason. Calm down.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the internal chaos, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing. The fire fizzled out, leaving an unpleasant tingling over every inch of him. There was a twitch over to his right—Kai stirring with a groan, though the girl was still unconscious. Kai’s eyes shot open, and he sat up, his hand unlocking from Miya’s just as Mason let go as well. They looked at each other, then doubled over, lurching to the side and vomiting violently. Both men were shaking, their fingers digging into the cracks of the floorboards.

  “What the hell?” Mason hacked as he spat out the acrid taste in his mouth.

  “It’s all right,” Ama said, rubbing his back. “When you let go of her hand, the connection between the three of you was severed a little too quickly. Your bodies are just catching up.”

  Mason took a deep breath and nodded, staring at the adjacent wall as he recuperated.

  Kai also finished emptying the contents of his stomach, plunking back and breathing heavily. Only then did they notice that Miya wasn’t moving.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Kai asked as he cast Ama an accusatory glare.

  The woman with white hair knelt next to the comatose girl and placed a hand on her forehead. Mason joined her, checking her vitals to ensure she was at least physically unharmed.

  “She’s stable,” he told them. “I don’t know why she’s not waking up.”

  “She’s lost,” said Ama, standing up again. “Don’t move her,” she warned as Kai stepped forward to pick her up. “Her body needs to remain undisturbed if she is to find her way back.”

  “Why did we wake up then?” Kai demanded. “Aren’t we anchoring her?”

  “She’s gone far deeper than I expected,” Ama replied. “At this point, she has no anchor. She’s doing this all on her own.”

  For the first time, Mason saw concern crack through Kai’s stony facade.

  “And what if she can’t get back?” Kai asked tightly.

  “We have bigger things to worry about right now,” Ama replied, her head snapping towards the window.

  Kai kissed his teeth and strode over to her, keeping flush with the wall as he peeked outside.

  “Fuck, they’re back.”

  “It’s because you left those bodies outside,” Ama sighed, her callousness unnerving Mason.

  “I wasn’t going to bury them,” Kai barked. “It’s not like they’re dead.”

  Their argument was cut short by a knock on the door.

  “Open up, or we’ll burn the whole place down!” a man shouted. The threat seemed disproportionately severe, sinking Mason’s heart as the worst-case scenario unfolded in his mind. Mob mentality was in full effect.

  Mason looked at Ama and Kai, both of whom were glaring at each other unflinchingly. After several moments of complete stillness, Ama moved towards the door and opened it. Outside were about half a dozen villagers, all sporting guns, crowbars, axes, and baseball bats.

  “Whose property is this?” demanded the leader. He was at least six feet tall and built like a grizzly bear, his arms crossed over his chest as he peered down at Ama. She was no taller than five foot six, yet she glowered at him like a brewing thunderstorm.

  “You’re not wearing a badge, nor do you have a warrant,” she replied coolly. “I’m not obligated to entertain your vigilantism.”

  The man faltered, clearly not having expected her to defy him. “We’re looking for—”

  “Jesus Christ! Jake! That’s him!” It was the axe-wielding logger whose friend lost an ear.

  The leader, Jake, quickly glanced around the room, his eyes first landing on Mason. “This guy, Ryan?”

  “No!” Ryan shouted, squeezing himself next to Jake so he could see inside the cabin. “The one in the corner!”

  He was referring to Kai, who was standing protectively in front of Miya.

  Jake quickly unstrapped the rifle from his back and pushed past Ama, roaring at Kai, “So you’re the freak who’s been messing up our town!”

  “He’s the Dreamwalker’s!” Ryan pleaded. “I saw his eyes flash red, man! He’s not human!”

  “You piece of shit,” Jake muttered as Mason froze, watching with bated breath as the bear-like man raised his rifle. But before he could aim, Ama grabbed hold of the gun with an iron-like grip and pushed the butt of the weapon straight into the man’s chest. He tried shaking her off only to find himself overpowered, the rifle’s stock digging deeper into his torso.

  “You’re not welcome here,” she spoke in a low growl and bared her teeth at the intruder.

  “She’s one of them too!” a woman shouted from the crowd outside. “They’re all wolves!”

  Panic seized Mason as the villagers stormed through the door. They flooded into the cabin like a b
lack swarm, their eyes wild. Without rhyme or reason, they raised their weapons and began swinging at anything that came up in front of them. They smashed the table, threw the chairs at the walls, and pounded at the cupboards with their crowbars and axes. Even the men with guns appeared to have forgotten how to use them, batting them around like cavemen with sticks.

  Mason ducked, a glaring light alerting him to a flashlight being thrown at his head. He fell to the ground as someone struck him hard on the back, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs. Concerned Miya would get caught in the crossfire, he turned towards her prostrate form, only to find Kai locking one of the villagers in a vicious chokehold.

  “Behind you!” Mason yelled as someone jumped on Kai.

  But the man with wolf’s blood was a force of nature. He stood with his attacker dangling from his back, lifting him off the ground and flipping him over his shoulder with little effort. The villager leapt up again, but Kai was quicker. A flash of silver emerged from the back of Kai’s belt—a hunting knife—pristine for only a split second before it was plunged into his attacker’s leg. Kai tore the blade through the man’s thigh, bringing him to his knees. His eyes glowed with an eerie red hue as he stared his victim down, the murderous aura around him almost palpable.

  Mason was transfixed until something whirled right by his face again. Ama had thrown one of the crowbars right past Mason’s nose to take out one of the nearby rioters. He felt utterly incompetent, useless as he scrambled about. If not for Ama, he would have been attacked.

  The madness was louder than the screaming. Ama had levelled several people, but more kept trickling in—reinforcements who’d heard the commotion. There was no end to them, and the more Kai and Ama fought to protect Miya’s unconscious body, the more chaotic the townspeople became.

  Only then did Mason notice it was hard to breathe; the smell of smoke assaulted him, his lungs filling with noxious fumes. He looked around, but everything was swirling in fog. He felt sick to his stomach, the burning odour overpowering as he searched for its source. Mason gasped as he struggled to get back to his feet. He focused his attention on Miya, wanting desperately for her to wake from her otherworldly coma. But what he saw when he looked her way had him stumble back and trip over one of the concussed villagers. He fell onto his behind, his breaths quick and raspy as he tried to make sense of what he was perceiving.

  There, in front of him, was a girl in the midst of flames.

  48

  Miya

  Everything was a haze. Miya strained to make out the silhouettes of towering tree trunks as dim, foggy light peaked through their crooked boughs. She was in the forest from all her dreams. Urgency and longing welled up inside her—locked up memories thrashing to get out. She now understood that her dreams had been taking her back to the same place, each and every time.

  Feeling more at home than ever before, Miya began to walk, knowing she was supposed to go somewhere. She knew her intended destination; she just didn’t know how to get there or what it looked like. No matter, she thought. She’d recognize it when she saw it.

  Just as Miya drew close to the place she thought she was supposed to find, she grew unsure of what she was seeing.

  “Is this it?” she wondered aloud.

  She fixated on a white oak nestled in a bundle of birch trees. Its leaves looked as though on fire, their edges blurred and flickering like flames. Miya thought this must have been it, so she stopped and turned to move towards the tiny grove.

  “Not yet,” a voice whispered—so close that she felt breath tickling her ear. Dark violet and black shadows crept around from behind her, licking the backs of her legs and sending a chill up her spine.

  It was the Dreamwalker.

  “Keep walking,” the spirit hissed, and Miya chose to obey.

  The Dreamwalker followed, tracing her every step. Miya didn’t dare turn to look for fear the phantom might possess her. Instead, she traipsed silently through the woods, ignoring the eerie presence hovering behind her until once more, something caught her eye, and she thought she may have reached her destination.

  Again, the Dreamwalker whispered, “Not yet.”

  Miya’s breath caught, her body feeling suspended, like some force was holding her in place. She stumbled forward, disoriented as the forest warped around her. Objects and colours bled into one another until they were unrecognizable. Miya’s senses were muted, rendered useless by the onslaught.

  But her destination didn’t change, no matter what happened, no matter how different everything around may have appeared. With the world spinning, Miya pushed onward, focused on a point in the distance until finally, she found herself at the willow tree—the only constant in this illusory maze.

  In front of it stood a boy—no older than twelve—with short, midnight black hair that had a peculiar, feather-like sheen. His irises were inky black—so large they monopolized the entirety of his eyes. He was wearing a feathered cloak, not unlike the Dreamwalker’s, and there was something painfully nostalgic about his presence. Miya realized he was the tiny figure from her first dream.

  “Welcome,” he said, the cloak resembling raven wings as he spread his arms.

  Taking a step forward, Miya called out to the boy.

  “Kafka?”

  A sharp smile cut across his face—a frightening smile that looked like someone had taken a knife to his lips. Without answering, he turned and walked straight through the willow, disappearing from sight.

  Miya chased after him, the Dreamwalker—now strangely tranquil—still at her heels. As Miya reached up to touch the willow, her hand moved directly through the trunk. The air stilled as time and space halted, and the forest fell away, dissipating like dew being wiped from a window. The willow dispelled before her.

  Once through to the other side, she stood on a lake of still, clear water that seemed to stretch out infinitely with no land in sight. In the willow’s place was a colossal, doorless red gate in the shape of a pi symbol, ornate carvings swirling around the massive, round wooden posts. Miya craned her neck to gauge the gate’s size as she wondered how it could possibly stand on water—and how she could too.

  She looked down, expecting to see her reflection, but the water was now murky and clouded. Nothing down there resembled her. In fact, she couldn’t see anything at all.

  “The mirrors of this world are different from the ones you make in yours,” the gate told her in a serene, androgynous voice. The water around it rippled out with every word. “These mirrors show you exactly what you are. Your reflection is as it should be. At least for now.”

  Miya looked down again and discovered that the water was now a bottomless, white void. Nothing in this place made sense. The rational part of her wanted to escape—to return to a place where the rules of collective knowledge still applied. And yet, there was something here that felt like home. Should she have denied it merely because it didn’t make sense?

  And that, of course, was the trick. The First capitalized on the human desire for simple truths, for answers to questions that were all wrong to begin with. Miya had been so overwhelmed trying to orient herself in a world she assumed foreign, she didn’t allow herself a moment to sink into the familiarity of it. This was no maze or prison; it was a sanctuary.

  Miya’s reveries triggered a tidal wave—a realization that would forever elude the corpses under the tyrannical king’s watch: this place was the deepest part of her. Nestled in the darkest corners of the dreamscape, Miya had fallen asleep on a hill and found her own soul.

  This was where she stopped.

  “He promised me answers.” She suddenly remembered their deal. “He promised to end this. To take me home.”

  “He will tell you nothing,” said the gate. “But he doesn’t have to. You can find the truth right here, reflecting from within you. All you have to do is look.”

  Miya turned her gaze towards the water a third time but again saw no reflection.

  “Closer,” the gate urged, so Miya got on her kn
ees, placed her hands on the cool, wet sheet, and leaned in.

  As she did, something fell from the sky, breaking the perfectly still surface. She gasped and pulled back as the water swelled. She could feel the tiny crescendo rolling beneath her feet until gradually, the ripples calmed, and an image began to form.

  It was the Dreamwalker; she was staring back at Miya through her bone mask. On either side of her stood a man—their faces not yet clear. They were both the same height, the outline of their bodies revealing unruly, mane-like hair and a warrior’s build. Miya focused on the image, but all that became clear were two distinct pairs of eyes: one red, and the other gold.

  “This is it,” she spoke to the reflection, then looked at the shadow with golden eyes. “There’s nothing to wake up from.” The Dreamwalker’s lips moved in time with Miya’s. “I’m not dreaming.”

  The shadow’s lemony eyes narrowed, and Miya knew she’d won their wager.

  “You just didn’t want me to know who I really am, where I really belong.” Her mind flashed back to the unconscious women littering the hills. “You made them think they were lost, that they needed your help getting back. But they were already home,” she realized. “I’m home.”

  Miya reached out towards the perfectly still reflection in the water. As her fingers grazed the surface, she caught the red eyes flash with recognition, coming alive as they focused on her. A dark, spectral hand burst from the mirage and grabbed her wrist. Miya cried out and fought to tear her arm back, but its grip was too powerful. Bits of shadow flaked away from the phantom’s limb, passing through her like vapour. A deep, rumbling voice reverberated from all directions.

  “As promised.”

  It was the last thing Miya heard before she was dragged under the water.

  49

  Mason

  Miya was engulfed in violet and black flames. She remained unburnt as the fire flickered around her sleeping form. It licked her skin and haloed her hair, caressing her body in a loving embrace. Above her, a woman floated through the air—her face hidden behind a mask and her body cloaked in shining, iridescent feathers.