The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

5.2. Coming & Going (Imorah)

At a certain point, Imorah started jogging toward the tree, feeling exposed in the open desert, and wondering if The Family would come looking for her.

In her excitement she'd forgotten all about Convocation. Everyone must know that she was gone now. What would they think? Sena would review her activity logs and find out she had been in the library, in the archives... eventually they would find the book on memory retrieval that she'd shoved under the bed. Imorah imagined Brother Thom's reaction to seeing the book — knowing that she knew that he'd stolen her memories. Imorah wondered what memories she would find, and shivered in fear.

She was surprised at how cool the desert had become, and started running faster — never in her life had she experienced such an open expanse to run in. She followed her shadow — a strange blob cast by the light of the moon behind her. The tree up ahead was a dark shadow on the horizon, and it excited her. They had few trees in the shelter, and none so big as that.

She was going so fast she almost didn't see the ravine until she'd practically fallen in. It was deep, with bushes and shrubs near the bottom and something reflecting silver from the moonlight, sparkling up at her. Water! She scrambled down the steep face of the ravine, her thirst taking control. At the very foot of the tiny stream, she bent low and started scooping the water with her hands. After sitting in the sun for hours, she was incredibly parched — she'd never actually been so thirsty in her entire life.

Then she heard something — a sound behind her.

She stopped cold, the water in her cupped palm dribbling slowly to the ground.

Something was behind her. She felt it. She looked down at her feet and the trickle of water, and saw to the left of her was a staff. A beautiful wooden staff, carved with intricate designs. A person was behind her. She couldn't move, she couldn't turn around, she was frozen with fear. A million thoughts raced through her mind.

A voice from behind growled at her in a foreign language.

She spun around and saw a man, his eyes fierce and angry, peering at her with flared nostrils. "I'm sorry, I..." she didn't know what to say.

He growled under his breath, taking a step closer to her.

"I'm thirsty. Please!" she blurted.

He cocked his head and looked at her with renewed interest. "Standard?" he said.

"Standard, yes!" Imorah replied.

He stood there silently staring at her. His clothes were like none she'd ever seen; a cloak draped his shoulders made partly from animal skins. He looked worn and wrinkled by the desert, but she felt that under that cloak stood a man infinitely stronger than any she'd ever known.

The hair on her arms stood up, passing a wave of panic straight to her heart which was beating with such strength that she was certain he could hear it.

"Who are you?" he asked ferociously in Standard. Before Imorah could reply, he approached her, his cloak flapping behind him.

Imorah stepped back into the small creek and stumbled over the rocks and fell into the water, only a few inches deep.

But the man went past her and bent down to pick up his staff instead of strangling her. "What are you doing here?" he bellowed, standing squarely above her, his frame blocking out everything else around her.

She kept backing up, deeper into the water, clambering over the stones, unable to stand. She tried to get away, but the man just followed her into the stream. She felt a terror running through her that paralysed her mouth.

He reached down towards her slowly with his long staff, until the tip of it was pointing straight at the centre of her forehead and she had to cross her eyes to look at it. "Who... are... YOU?" he asked slowly, enunciating his words, and tapping her forehead with his staff on the each word.

Imorah felt an explosion of light inside her mind, as scenes from her life crowded every surface. She closed her eyes and felt her body sag into the river. The water was cold on her hands. Her thirst was gone completely. I'm going to die, she thought. I only just arrived on the surface and I'm going to be killed by some ruthless savage.

She looked back up at the man, and cowered. It hadn't hurt, but she could still feel the place between her eyes where the tip of his staff had touched her. It felt like it was burning. She reached up to rub it, and felt the grit of sand falling from her forehead.

He lifted his staff as if to strike her. "Who are you," he bellowed.

"Imorah," she squeaked, breathless. "I'm Imorah!"

"Imorah. That's your name, is it not? That's not who you are. Who are you, young one?" He swung his staff down and pointed it at her, a few inches from her face.

Besides a feeling of deep terror, her mind was a blank. Who was she? What does he mean? This image of his staff entering her skull was taking up the entire breadth and width of her mental screen. She could only envision her head opening up and exploding. Was it her destiny to die here like this? She wanted to run, but knew that her legs would be as paralysed as her mouth. His gaze on her was so steady and disturbing that she couldn't handle it. She closed her eyes, and begged The Guardian to help her. Who was she? What did he want from her? What could she say to him?

She breathed deeply, and without opening her eyes, she said out loud the first things that came to her, "I'm a Sister of the Family. I'm a believer in the Great Guardian. I'm a seeker. I... I'm a woman―a woman of this world." And she opened her eyes fearfully, ready for him to drive his staff into her forehead. Was she those things? Yes. It was the truth

He hadn't moved a muscle and his staff was still pointing at her face, but something in his eyes had changed. She continued, "I've come from Below. I'm here to... find my grandmother."

He slowly lowered his staff to the ground.

She breathed again freely and stood up with authority, gaining some momentum. "I'm thirsty. I've been walking a long way. Please let me drink and I'll go away."

"Ayah, go away," he said gruffly and turned away from her without another word, walking downstream.

She watched him in the fading moonlight, shocked that it was over. She watched him turn a corner and exhaled. Her heart was still pounding, unable to realise the crisis was over. She recovered for a few seconds, breathing deeply. When she closed her eyes, she could only see her mind exploding from the tip of his staff. She reached up to touch her forehead and felt a lingering burning sensation.

Still shaking, she drank hastily from the water until her belly was full and then picked up her sack and looked down to where the man had been. She walked cautiously across the shallow stream, and up the other side of the ravine, away from the man. At the top of the hill, she could clearly make out the tree a short distance. The moon was setting and the night was dark around her. Shivering from the cold and exhausted from the adrenaline rush that had left her feeling empty, she grabbed her extra clothes and quickly put them on. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep — perhaps there would be a spot near the tree.

When she arrived, she breathed a sigh of relief when she quickly discovered a large gap underneath the trunk between the roots and the ground. It was a cubby perfectly big enough to crawl inside, and Imorah immediately felt at home within the earth and curled up into a ball and fell into a deep sleep.