Dreaming Awake

by EF Joyce

By the time they reached Elena's tiny dwelling pressed into the hills on the outskirts of the inner city, the overcast sky had darkened to black. Lantern flames flickered through windows like a hundred fireflies and the few people left in the streets hurried home before the impending storm broke open on top of them. The old woman rushed them through the door, slammed it shut and pulled the curtains. Anaka released the magic, her dream body vanishing and her real one rising from the tiny bed in the corner. Elena fell at Stellan's feet, gushing on about what an honor it was and all that other bullshit people spew in his illustrious presence.

  "Please, get up. You have been a great help to us already. But I must ask if there's somewhere you could go for a bit? My wife and I need to speak privately." There was no denying his air of command, even disheveled as he was. Elena nodded and bowed, mumbled something about tea with the neighbor and was gone.

  "Kicking old ladies out of their own houses? Seems a mean task for the great Ilahi," she teased. His black eyes went hard as stone, his mood shifting in an instant from glad to see her to ready to kill her. Anaka stepped back, one hand on her sleeve. Not that a dagger would do a thing against him. He knew, somehow, he had found out. She should have left when she had the chance. She should have saved her daughter. How stupid had she been?

  "You've been using magic. You killed Grayna. Don't deny it, it could have only been you. You lied to me, Anaka." The Handmaiden practically laughed with relief. If killing Grayna was all he had on her, he had nothing.

  "So?" she snapped. "You lie to me about everything. The sorcerers, the battle plans, your past coming back from a chest in the sea. Yes, I killed Grayna! And I should have done it years ago. He did this, Stellan. He removed you from power. Even from the grave he takes from you." He reached back and slapped her, so hard her ears rang and the taste of blood filled her mouth. She pressed her hand to her mouth, blood dribbling from her lips. The most powerful man in the world, slapping his wife around like a backcountry peasant. That's cute Stellan. You forget who you married.

  Anaka ripped the dagger from her sleeve and slammed it into his chest; once, twice, three times. He gasped, clutching his blooding shirt and stumbling to the floor. Maybe he couldn't die, but he could bleed. He could feel. Feel this, asshole. She stabbed him again but he grabbed her wrist and wrenched her violently backward. Anaka lost her balance, damn this giant belly, and went down on her back. Stellan straddled her, empty rage in his abyssal eyes, his long, delicate fingers closing in around her neck. Squeezing until her vision went dark. So this is how it ends. I always knew. I always knew and yet I loved you anyway. What the fuck is wrong with me.

  The world went dark, the pain in her throat fading away. But her daughter, what about her daughter?

  "Stellan," she wheezed. "Our baby..." His fingers released her just as she passed out.

  Anaka opened her eyes to a dim room lit with flickering glass lanterns stained black from neglect. The rough wood walls were decorated with quilts as was the bed she lay in. Her throat burned and ached, like she'd swallowed fire or knives. Or flaming knives. Stellan sat in the chair next to her bed, once white shirt splattered with dirt and blood. He'd almost killed her, that asshole. And he didn't even know the half of what she'd really done.

  "You cost me the army," he said, voice clipped, fists clenched. "They will never follow me now that Grayna has been murdered. You did this. You betrayed me." You have no idea.

  "I helped you," she rasped, every word agony. "The army doesn't know, and still," she gestured around Elena's quarters. "Still you are thrown out." He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  "Do you know why I fell in love with you, Annie?" Not the line of conversation she'd expected. "After thousands of years of life, I've learned that I can charm, persuade and manipulate any woman to fall completely into my power. But not you. You have edges. You're dangerous. You could turn on me at any moment, and you would if you had reason enough. As I would to you, and why you love me." Love was dangerous. Love was deadly. Love had almost starved an empire, had almost cost Anaka her life, and would probably cost Stellan his mind if Alaric ever got anywhere near.

  He was spot on, of course. The danger, the excitement, the thrill. She used to think of their relationship as sleeping with death. What did that say about them? They were both completely fucked. Anaka said nothing.

  "I still love you," he said, his black eyes a silent plea; I'm sorry. I need you. Don't leave me. She held out her arms and he tossed his bloody shirt on the floor and crawled into bed with her.

  Love is dangerous. Love is deadly.

  Chapter 27

  Ronan Hakkon had never seen anything like the wall of Darvaza. It loomed over a hundred feet above him, solid rock carved straight from the mountains, embracing the city into the Hündür's rocky base. Three times the height of Tibre's Bronze Gates, so they said, though he'd never traveled near as far as Tibre. He had been admitted into the city ten days prior, dressed as a royal messenger and carrying sealed orders from the Ilahi himself, disguised as something else altogether.

  After over a week wasting time in Darvaza's most auspicious inn, a southern man named Roregare with dark skin, black hair and colorful robes of Dalga's high office had met with him, Jem Herring – Balkin's current representative during his suspicious absence – and a group of other military leaders. Ronan couldn't help but wonder why Quinton Balkin would decline the honor of marching his troops to Darvaza himself, sealing the new alliance between Dalga and Yeraz in person.

  Roregare, Herring, and a host of others had hashed over the terms while Ronan sat idly nearby, wishing he were back home in Yeraz. Anaka believed he'd been sent here simply to be a messenger the Ilahi could trust, but he'd had other plans. Ronan had scarcely believed it when the Ilahi had sauntered into his father's old office – he would always think of it as his father's – and said he had a task for him that Anaka could not find out about. The god of Yeraz had never spoken directly to him and he was pretty sure he didn't even know his name, but there he'd stood demanding favors. Ronan couldn't risk turning him down, not if he wanted to live.

  So he'd accepted the task and hidden it from Anaka. What else could he have done? Tell off the Ilahi? No. Anaka had married him; she was lost to Ronan forever. Maybe if he died attempting to fulfill her husband's secret wishes she would finally see him for what he was. Even then, Ronan doubted it. The Ilahi saw himself as the god he pretended to be: a timeless, unstoppable force that moved through the world like a storm, rearranging it as he saw fit. Anaka was nothing more than an amusement, her life but a word in the epic tale of an immortal. She deserved better.

  Anaka had always been too hard on herself. When she looked inward she saw only darkness, but for years she had been the only hope he'd clung to. Estriel Hakkon had been a hard man, an impossible man. Each time Ronan had been beaten for his failures, blood filling his mouth and bones cracking, every time he'd told what a worthless waste he was, each time he'd been left in some impossible place – a cage hanging over a cliff side, buried under ten feet of cold dirt, lost in an angry sea, (an assassin can escape from anything) – he would play her voice in his mind: you are stronger than this. He cannot break you. He will not win. This ends with you looking down on him and watching the light leave his eyes. I promise you that. I promise.

  A promise she had kept.

  After several long hours in the sweltering room, the carved wooden doors swung inward and in walked a man whose very presence commanded attention. Tall with long, white-blond hair, snow-white robes and a polished staff, he entered as if he owned the world, three beautiful assistants trailing him, all with the same angular features and light hair. King Alaric Eide.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said, gliding to the empty place left at the head of the table. "So sorry to have kept you waiting." He paused, slowly pouring himself a glass of rose tea from an iced pitcher. "Whatever you have spent the last few hours discussing is now irrelevant. As you are aware, I have made a deal with your queen. Tibre is once again
in Yeraz's possession and your armies have met me here in order to assist me in the war against my father.

  "My siblings here," he said, gesturing to the two women and man at his side, "Having arrived this morning with grave news. My father set sail just after them. He will arrive at the pass within the week. We will need to move fast. Though this war affects all of you, I know my father's army the best. I will be taking a census of your troops, their talents and specialties and I will then organize them as I see fit to most effectively combat Darian's forces."

  "If I may interject, your majesty," Herring said. "Yearz is prepared to fight. We should spend this precious time shoring up the pass and organizing an effective plan of attack."

  "I agree, General, but I will still need to discover the talents of your men before deciding where they will best serve our mutual needs."

  "With all due respect, sir, this is a waste of time. My leaders and I could easily tell you which legions are best suited for the tasks at hand."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, but my course of action will not be swayed. This meeting is adjourned." Dalga's king rose and left the room, his siblings following silently behind. Ronan glanced at the furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips of Yeraz's leaders. What could they do? Eide had taken over and not a one of them could stand against him. He knew they were all thinking the same thing: a wish for Grand General Grayna's miraculous return. He would have known what to do.

  At a loss, the men escaped into the southern sun, which bludgeoned Ronan with its heat, sweat trickling down every inch of his skin. He missed the cool breezes and ocean storms. He even missed the cold. Ronan returned to his gilded suite of rooms and did the only thing any of them could do – wait.

  The following day the gates were opened, and what a sight it had been. The ground rumbled and the mountains shook with each inch gained by the massive gates, as if the very earth was opening up to swallow them. It had taken fifty men and half-an-hour to pull them all the way open, looking like a section of the mountain itself had been cut away.

  Ronan had fingered the Ilahi's secret orders in his satchel, rolled and sealed in a metal carrying tube adorned with the sea dragons of Yeraz. They had been written by Sebastian, or Stellan as Anaka called him, but were forged with Earl Grayna's signature. Along with the orders, he also carried a "copy" of the Grand General's full pardon and reinstatement. This had been signed by the Ilahi, the councilmen and the queen. The idea was that the army would follow any orders Grayna gave them, whether he was there in person or not.

  Lies, all of it. Grayna was dead; Anaka had killed him. He had been there in the room when she'd done it. Watching her slip into that creepy, unnatural sleep had been disturbing and waiting for her to wake even worse. When she'd finally opened her eyes, she'd announced it was done and left to go get married. Anaka was brilliant and ruthless, but blind, especially when it came to the Ilahi. How she could have fallen for him, Ronan didn't know. If it hadn't been for the queen's orders to spy on her father, none of it would have happened.

  His fingers brushed against the warm metal tube. He should have brought it straight to Herring the moment the gates opened, those had been his instructions, but instead he'd waited. He waited one day and then another. The Ilahi would kill him if he didn't deliver those orders. He might kill Anaka too. But if he did deliver them, there would be war and people would die. But not him, and not Anaka.

  As the second day since the gates were opened died in a spectacular sunset, Ronan left the city and headed for Herring's tent. The general had been offered a room in the inn but had declined, stating he preferred to sleep with his men. The legions were camped outside the gates, tents and campfires and followers all working to make the area better suited for long term stay. The time had come to follow the Ilahi's orders. He would not allow Anaka to pay the price for his failures.

  "Sir, General Herring!" he called, stepping into the tent, sand falling from his boots and onto the carpet.

  "Herring is no longer here," a young man answered, crouching over a map of Darvaza. Quinton Balkin.

  "Grand General Balkin, I have news of great importance," he said, flustered. Did Balkin know he had been following him a few months ago? That he was responsible for his friend's death? "I have orders here, from the former Grand General Grayna."

  "Orders from Grayna?" Balkin scoffed. "I highly doubt it. Get out, false messenger, before I have you removed." This was certainly going well, just as he'd expected.

  "I am not a messenger, I am the first apprentice of the Black Hand of Yeraz," he corrected. Balkin flinched at the mention of Anaka. Still hate her, do you? At least I have your attention now. "My name is Ronan Hakkon. The orders I carry are legitimate." Balkin's eyes darted around the tent before he replied in a low voice.

  "Right, I remember you. Anaka Anaka's little shadow. Earl Grayna is dead. Whoever gave you those papers is a liar and a traitor. Who sent you? Was it Anaka?" Balkin knew Grayna was dead? How?

  "No. The Ilahi did."

  "Ha!" Balkin laughed. "The Ilahi holds no sway over me. He's been overthrown."

  "What?" Ronan snapped. Overthrown? How? And what had happened to Anaka?

  "You heard me. I locked him up myself. The great Sebastian Elspeth will have no more control over the affairs of Yeraz. The queen rules now. I have heralds shouting the news through the camp as we speak."

  "What did you do with Anaka?" he asked, fists clenched. If Balkin had hurt her, he'd kill him, no matter what promises he'd made never to take a life. Balkin frowned, peering thoughtfully at the floor.

  "We were ordered to capture her, but she escaped. The queen had a slave girl killed and is telling the world it's Anaka. She's still out there, somewhere." She had escaped. Of course she had. Good. They would never find her. "Now if false messages are all you have..." he gestured to the exit. What now? Ronan no longer had any purpose here. His fake orders had been unmasked, the Ilahi overthrown. All he wanted now was to find Anaka, make sure she was safe and keep her that way.

  "Sir...if I could...I would like a horse. I need to return to Yeraz."

  "For what? To find Anaka? You never will." Ronan opened his mouth to reply – he'd buy the horse, he'd pay any price, offer any service, when the flap opened and a tall, robed attendant of Dalga stepped inside. He unrolled a long sheet of parchment and cleared his throat before making his announcement.

  "Grand General Balkin, King Alaric Eide requires your presence in the yard this evening, along with all of your commanding officers. You will present the list of your remaining troops in order to complete the census. Please have your officers provide lists of all men under their command. That is all." The attendant bowed, handed Balkin the roll of parchment and left without waiting for a reply.

  "So now Eide is doling out commands to Yeraz's military? I don't like this, any of it," Balkin paced, Ronan wondering why he'd confide in him, of all people. "You're close to Anaka and she is close to the queen. Have you ever met her?" Ronan blinked. Why would he have met the queen, and why would Balkin care about it?

  "No, I haven't."

  "Pray you never have to," Balkin added, with a shiver. "I believe, somehow, she may have been compromised. Eide is up to something and he's fooled the queen into standing with him, like he's controlling her somehow. Our army has been here two weeks. Eide's siblings show up, saying their father and his armies are hot on their tail, but I know he's lying. I can just feel it. Anaka knew everything going on in that palace. Did she ever say anything to you? About the queen or her motivations? Eide attacked us and took Tibre, but the queen just gives up and hands him everything? Overthrows her own father? We're missing something."

  The queen had been compromised...As if Eide were controlling her...of course! Why hadn't he or Anaka realized? When she had given Eide the Ilahi's true name, she'd be giving him his daughter's as well. Alaric Eide had the queen's true name. He possessed her completely. And with her, Yeraz. But he wouldn't stop there, no. Eide had been conducting the census himself, with his s
iblings, in person, writing down all their names.

  The Ilahi had kept his name a secret for thousands of years because that was how mind magi took control of someone. Magi were still born throughout the empire, but their magic was weak, their blood watered down. How long had it been since Yeraz had a mind mage that could take control of someone else? Perhaps never. No one understood what he was doing or why. No one suspected.

  "Balkin, Alaric Eide is not our ally. He's gathering names. Names are what mind magi use to control people. We cannot let him learn all of our names! He will take us for slaves!" Balkin blanched, his fist curling around his sword hilt. His gray eyes focused on the floor, his jaw clenched, unresponsive.

  "Balkin? Grand General? We have to do something!" Ronan shook the ugly man by his skinny shoulders. "Say something!! Do something! You're the Grand General!"

  "It's too late," he whispered, finally meeting Ronan's eyes. "Eide took our names two days ago, and all the lists of our men. The only ones he's missing are the cooks and the smiths and the camp followers."

  "What do we do?" Balkin was an ass, but he had to have been selected as Grand General for a reason. Surely he had a plan, an idea, something.

  "Does he have your name?" Ronan shook his head in response. He was a nobody and not listed on anyone's roster.

  "Then go. Take that horse you wanted so badly and ride to Yeraz like your life depends on it. Warn them. Warn them all." Ronan nodded. The queen was under Alaric's control, the Ilahi had been imprisoned, the Grand General murdered and Anaka a fugitive. Who remained to be warned? The council? "I despise the Ilahi more than any man alive, but if anyone can stop this, he can. Free him."

  Ronan bowed and left. What else could he have said? I'm sorry Eide has your name and you're now nothing more than a puppet? He approached the first cluster of horses he saw, tied up and chewing on hay. Ronan picked the fastest one – a midnight black Kotu breed. With skilled hands, he saddled it and rode off toward Yeraz. If he pushed the animal to the limits, or even purchased new horses in each town he passed, it would still take a week to get to Yeraz. There would be no good end to this, but perhaps he could still save his worthless country, if he could only warn them on time.