The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

The Long Way

Imorah felt struck, literally, by the rotten smell of poverty around her. Human filth lay everywhere under her feet and she tried hard to breath through her mouth to avoid retching. After weeks of living in the desert, the crowded city was an overwhelming assault on the senses.

She alternated between looking around her and looking down at the ground to avoid stepping in the tepid pools of slimy grey water. After a while, she realised that the 'ground' was actually layers upon layers of rotting garbage, compacted by the ages and the millions of feet that had walked over it.

In contrast to the waste and filth and rot, there were also opulent market stands scattered here and there amidst the crumbling buildings. Shining with immaculate cleanliness, the market stalls were filled with an abundance of food and crafts. Colourful fruits and vegetables stacked up in precarious piles and glistening sweets and pastries that made her stomach rumble. Every type of cloth of every shade, and garments, jewellery, and tools she had never seen before.

Huge, muscular men towered in front of the market stalls, their arms crossed. After seeing a few of them, Imorah realized they were protecting the goods.

There were so many people. Every size and shape and colour. At first Imorah tried smiling every once in a while at anyone who looked directly at her, but try as she might, there was not one person who would smile back. The only reactions she achieved was an occasional confused or shocked look and more often than that, they looked away. She soon gave up smiling and did her best to look strong and determined like Liran.

The worst thing of all was the children—just running around, seemingly without parents. They were bone-thin and malnourished. It made her heart ache—there was clearly enough food, but so many people were starving.

Every once in a while, someone would hold out their hand as she passed, begging for her to give them something.

Imorah didn't know what to do. There was nothing she could give them. She had no food on her.

She wished desperately that Liran would slow down—she was completely overwhelmed—but he gripped her hand like a vice and pulled her forward. She had to take little running steps to keep up with his rapid pace. He seemed to be weaving through the crowded street as if the everything around them didn't even exist.

But Imorah couldn't help but look around her. She was horrified but couldn't stop herself from taking it all in.

The deeper they went, the worse the scenes became. There were so many starving children. They were grimy and skeletal, with knobby joints and swollen bellies. They hid behind corners of broken ramshackle buildings, their eyes wide and bulging and empty of the joy or passion that Imorah associated with children. People with missing limbs struggled through the filth on the ground, and Imorah was certain she saw people who were either dying or dead, propped up against broken walls. She saw animals as emaciated as the people, chewing on garbage and barely able to stand.

Never in her life had she seen so much suffering.

Imorah looked down at herself and saw herself from their eyes: even though she'd lost a lot of weight since leaving the Shelter, she was healthy and strong, and full of life. She saw the beauty that came from her health and felt suddenly deeply ashamed. She fought to repress a deep wave of sadness that threatened to roll over her completely and had felt a lump form in her throat.

She had to stop. Even if just for a moment. She wrenched on Liran's arm.

Liran turned back, alarmed, and looked at Imorah. He shook her hand a little, to inquire what was happening to her. "What is it?" he asked.