Sand Man

Part Eight

Chapter 39

Gloria. The queen of the thieves. She wants me because she knows who I am and what I mean to her power. She wants to kill me.

This is my chance.

"Kesh..." Zhun whispers, reaching a shaky hand toward me, "You're healed?"

I touch my eye and find that the gash has mended itself, my ankle has too. The water must have mixed with the sand in my body and healed itself.

Bhagid puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Be ready for anything."

Soon after we're all running through the cave in a mad dash toward the sand room.

"She's asking for you because she wants to kill you!" Zhun yells.

"I'll kill her first." I answer.

"Kesh, please..." She continues, "You're not ready for this."

"Yes I am!" I reassure, grabbing her hand in mine as we stand at the hidden wall.

She starts to pull away, but something registers and she looks down at our hands locked together.

"Kesh?" She breathes, feeling the heat of the sand through my fingers.

"You have to believe in me." I repeat.

Bhagid pours the water into the stone quickly and we file through to the sand room. The three of us take no time getting in; even though we know only madness will meet us on the other side.

Zhun keeps her eyes on me the whole time, and I don't let go of her hand. Bhagid leans over to write the girl's name, since none of us have any idea what we're in for, and we all dive in together. The time spent in the sand seems to last longer than usual, maybe because of the added anticipation of knowing what I'm about to enter or maybe because I'm trying not to lose hold of Zhun's hand. I shove it into the pocket of my jeans with the other, and finally my feet land in the dream.

The earth beneath me is steep and loose with dirt and rocks. I tumble down an embankment, landing in the water of a creek with a splash.

Definitely not the subtlest of entrances.

I look around for Zhun, but holding her hand apparently hadn't changed anything about staying together in the dream. So I stay low, trying to remain hidden while surveying my new surroundings.

Rounded rocks line the creek bed. Green ferns sprawl out along the banks and up the hillside. Brown earth, thick trees, some barked and some smooth, all rising up high over my head in wide plumes of green. It's a forest. But not the tropical kind. I'd heard of these being all over North America, but the closest I've ever come was the burnt land around the cave. It's beautiful to see a living tree again, and peaceful, yet something tells me the last thing I'll find here is peace.

It's hard not stare at these trees. Some of them probably a hundred feet tall, with enough girth to wrap your arms all the way around and barely find your fingertips meeting at the other side. These woods have probably never even heard the word fire.

The ground is thick and padded with fallen leaves and strange green plants that move in the breeze; it seems like everywhere could be a place to hide. Rocks and dirt are mixed together in a big hill slide from where I'd fallen and it looks nearly impossible to climb back up again. Birds sing from all around and I almost wish they didn't sound so chipper.

I look down at my new outfit. This character is that of a backwoodsman from probably two hundred years before. Woven brown pants hitting me just above the ankles and crossed suspenders stretch over my shoulders. A faded shirt covers over my arms and buttons up the front. An unfamiliar itch draws my hands up to my face.