The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

Drink me

Imorah looked down at the delicate, simple clay cup filled with a dark, murky liquid. "You want me to drink that?" she asked, grimacing. "Why?"

The old lady smiled. "You want answers," she answered simply.

Imorah wondered how on earth a foul-looking drink could possibly give her any answers. She leaned over and took a whiff. "Ugh," she shivered. It was a bitter, earthy, horrible stench. "That smells disgusting!"

"Ayah, it's bitter medicine. Strong medicine for strong problems."

Imorah shook her head and wrapped her arms around her stomach, drawing her knees to her chest. "I don't think it's a good idea to drink that – I think it's going to make me sick." She could already feel the bile rising.

"Ayah, it will most certainly make you sick," the woman nodded, not seeming to pay any attention to Imorah's protests.

"What. You have to be crazy if you think I'm going to drink that!" Imorah looked at the woman, trying to make eye contact and ascertain if the woman was serious. She couldn't force her to drink it. Or could she? Imorah gulped. "Is this some sort of a joke?" Maybe it's a test – she wants to see what I'll do.

"Ayah, it is most certainly a test," the woman responded to Imorah's thoughts.

Imorah's body surged with adrenaline. "Really?"

"Ayah, really."

"What is the test?"

"It's a test of your desire to go to any length to know the truth. Are you willing to go to any length, Imorah?"

Imorah rocked slightly in her fetal position on the matted, dirty sheep skin. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. I am. The question is, Imorah, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you serious? Are you willing to go to any length?"

"To know the truth?"

"Ayah." As they talked, the woman had picked out another cup from the stack by the fire, and had ladled out more of the black drink. She placed this second cup on the flat stone adjacent to her, opposite to Imorah.

"Who is that for?" Imorah asked, and then suddenly realised she knew the answer already. "Oh," she said. She felt conflicted. On the one hand, she didn't want to drink the tea if Liran was going to drink it as well. And on the other hand, it made her feel better to know that someone else would also drink the tea. She knew that the Grandmother would never poison Liran. He trusted her. They shared a bond. A bond that Imorah didn't understand, but knew intuitively that it was strong.

Her mind reeled with all these thoughts, and then suddenly she realised that she was actually considering drinking it. Am I crazy?

"You certainly are crazy," the woman responded. "Your mind is sick. It's full of fear, self-pity, doubts. You're so completely self-absorbed that you can't see the forest for the trees."

"Ha!" Imorah laughed. She'd always loved that expression when she was in the Shelter. She'd never heard anyone say it out loud though. She'd only read it in books. And here someone was using it for the first time in relation to her being... Am I sick? she wondered.

But even if she's right, Imorah reasoned, how is this disgusting tea supposed to help me?

"I don't pretend to have all the answers – all the pieces to that puzzle you're trying to solve – but this is what I know. This is what I do. You asked me to help you, and this is how I can help you. I can't promise it will work, but perhaps it will. It will entirely depend on your desire."