The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

Escape from Weywey

       

Early in the morning, Imorah woke up suddenly—anxious and afraid. Upon opening her eyes, the fear increased. Where was Liran?

She hopped up onto her knees, became dizzy with lack of food, and keeled over with relief to find him sprawled spread eagle on the floor, his cloak twisted up around his body. By the looks of it, he hadn't slept well either.

"Liran!" a deep female voice hissed.

Imorah sat up again. Her heart pounding. So that's what had woken her up—someone calling for Liran.

And then before Imorah could think of what to do, a head poked through the door flap. Not just any head, but the head of that woman. She quickly surveyed the room, saw Liran lying on the floor and her lip curled...

What was that? Imorah's empathic skills kicked in—the woman was jealous of Imorah. Imorah frowned. Why would she be... jealous of her?

The woman looked up sharply, frowning, and they made brief eye-contact, but almost instantly, Imorah reacted by hastily gathering her things, anything to avoid meeting the woman's eyes. The purple pouch with the book inside had spilled out of her bag at some point in the night while she'd been tossing and turning.

Imorah looked up and saw the woman had noticed the pouch. She seemed... suspicious. Her face was plastered with a look of genuine distaste. She motioned to Liran with her veiled head, shaking it vigourously, demanding in her silent yet highly aggressive way that Imorah should wake him up. She didn't enter, only her head, a disembodied angry, frowning face framed by a black veil.

Imorah jumped into action, skittered down to the edge of the bed without a thought and gave Liran a strong push.

"Wha-wha?" he mumbled, but didn't wake up.

Imorah looked up at the woman, who nodded her head again, exasperated. She made emphatic circular motions with her nose.

Imorah gave Liran another, stronger shake. She dared not speak in case the woman heard her speaking Standard. But she whispered his name, "Liran, Liran."

Finally, the woman groaned, and her head disappeared.

Imorah exhaled. What on earth had just happened?

Liran started snoring, oblivious. 

Imorah was just crawling back into bed, seriously relieved, when the woman lifted the flap and entered, somehow managing to dextrously walk and crawl at the same time while holding up her numerous cloaks and gowns with one hand, and the door to the tent in her other hand. Imorah watched in fascination—she'd almost strangled herself last night while crawling inside. She'd kept crawling further into her own galabya, which had choked her at the neck, and then she'd had to do some twisted half-hop on her knees while struggling to pull her galabya out from under her, and finally ending with her rolling onto her side so she could finally free herself and breathe.

The woman went straight to Liran, kneeling beside him on the ground, and spoke gruffly to him in a whisper.

By the tone, and Imorah's empathic abilities, she could vividly imagine the woman was saying, "Wake up, you bastard."

Liran finally came to—completely out of it.

Imorah's stomach clenched—had he been dreaming? Oh Great Guardian, no!

The woman took Liran by both collars of his cloak and shook him with such ferocity that it was then Imorah sensed another emotion underneath all the distaste and anger. Fear.

Imorah gulped. What's happening?

Liran sat up, groggy, and put his head down to rest on his bent knee.