5. Everett
Everett
“Rett! Rett! We need you,” a small voice cried out, muffled behind the bedroom door. “Teller’s having a bad dream again!”
I closed my eyes and rested my head against the doorframe. I hadn’t slept in thirty hours. It was just one of those weeks here at the Keep. My friend Tessa liked to blame it on the full moon—the children were restless and emotions ran high, causing their magic to sometimes get a little hectic.
I gently pushed open the door to the bunk room, where six of the children who lived at the Keep slept. Sure enough, little Teller was thrashing around on his bottom bunk, wolf claws breaking through his fingers and shredding his bedding as he slept.
I crossed to his side and knelt, wooden floorboard creaking beneath me. “Shh, Teller, it’s alright. You’re safe here.” I continued to murmur a string of reassurances as I took his hand, carefully avoiding the claws.
Calling on my Illusionist power, I sent calming visions into his mind.
I envisioned a beautiful landscape overlooking the mountains of our province, Drakorum, with loving hands cocooning him as a breeze rolled over his skin.
There was a tug behind my eyes as the illusion passed to Teller.
I waited for a moment, hoping that would be enough to calm his dream, but his muscles were as rigid as ever.
He tossed his head, letting out a whimper.
Sometimes the visions weren’t enough. Sometimes they needed something stronger. Gripping his hand, I took several deep breaths. I emptied my mind and imagined myself stepping forward into the darkness of Teller’s subconscious, as if I was stepping off the end of a staircase.
I was suddenly standing inside a cell. Stone walls towered above me, with chains rattling on the ground and the sour scent of sweat and piss overpowering my senses.
To my left sat Teller in a torn, gray rag drooping from his shoulders.
His mop of blond hair hung in his eyes, which were red and swollen.
His gaze widened when he saw me. “Wh-who are you?”
“I’m Everett,” I said softly, “Do you remember me?” His eyes remained blank. “This is just a nightmare, Teller. You’re safe in bed back at the Keep. Nobody can—”
Someone shook the cell bars behind me. I whirled around and came face-to-face with pale skin, near-white eyes, and a wild mane of black hair.
Malek Mortep.
White-hot, curdling hatred rose in my chest, searing my throat. I bared my teeth as I grabbed the metal bars separating us, but he couldn’t see me. The edges of his thin lips curved as his eyes narrowed on the boy.
Calm down, Everett. This is a dream. You’ll scare Teller.
I crossed back to Teller and crouched beside him. His eyes were glued to Mortep as the Alchemist opened the cell doors. “This isn’t real, Teller,” I whispered. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Hello, little one,” Mortep crooned. “Ready for dinner?” He raised a syringe and tapped it with his finger, sloshing the murky liquid inside. Teller tried to scuttle backward, but his back hit the wall.
I could simply douse him with cold water to force him to wake up, but if I learned anything in the years I’d been working with these victims, it was that if I didn’t let them fight their own battles and figure their trauma out for themselves, I’d end up back in this bunk room tomorrow night.
Teller was a nine-year-old orphan my friends and I had rescued a year and a half ago from the clutches of Kane Scarven, our province’s previous governor.
Scarven kidnapped and tortured citizens of the Veridian Empire for years to run vile experiments on their magic.
Teller had undergone severe testing under him and his head Alchemist, Malek Mortep.
I stepped in front of dream-Mortep, right in Teller’s line of sight.
His terrified gaze met mine. “Listen to me, Teller,” I started, bending low.
“You went through something terrible. I know this man hurt you. I know he scared you, and it’s okay to still be scared.
These memories will be with you forever, but that doesn’t mean they have to control you. ”
He took a shuddering breath before his eyes flickered back to Mortep.
I kept going. “Do you remember what happened after this? After all the scary tests and big needles?” Teller looked at me, and I gave him a hopeful smile.
“You were saved. You got out of here. You started a new life with people just like you, who love you and want to take care of you. Do you remember that?”
Teller pushed back his hair, the chains at his wrist clanging together. I saw the number branded into his forearm just like mine, along with all the little scars and needle pricks on his pale skin. I forced down a fresh wave of anger.
“Everett?” he croaked out with a big sniff.
I nodded. That was progress. “Yes, I’m Everett. You see? This is all a dream.” I held out a hand. “Can I show you something?”
With one last look at Mortep, whose image was now fuzzy, Teller took my hand.
I conjured more illusions and pushed them through our bond.
Memories of Teller laughing with his new friends; of learning how to read with Devora, the woman who helped me with the children; of skipping rocks off the cliffside by the Keep and watching them float into blue waves.
Slowly, I felt the fear and tension of his nightmare unravel.
I gently pulled myself from his subconscious, like stepping backward into thin air and falling into my own body once more.
I knelt at the bed with his little hand in mine, the claws now fully retracted. He opened his eyes and blinked slowly.
I patted his hand. “You can sleep now,” I whispered, pushing several peaceful illusions into his mind.
His fingers squeezed around mine as he yawned and curled on his side, already passed out again.
When his breaths deepened, I got to my feet and gingerly crept from the bunk room, shutting the door behind me.
I leaned my head against the wall, releasing an exhausted breath.
Those dreamwalking sessions always took more out of me than I admitted to the others, not only because they required a hefty dose of magic, but because I was taking on those intense emotions.
They weighed on my mind, bringing back not just their memories, but my own.
My own dark cell. My own rattling chains. My own fear of the man with the needles.
It had been four years since I was rescued, but those moments still felt so real when I closed my eyes. I hadn’t lied when I told Teller they would be with him forever.
I needed to sleep. I and the other members of the Ashen Order, the rebellion that had formed years ago to take down Scarven and Mortep, had been putting out fires left and right the past few days.
After Scarven died and Mortep escaped last spring, the Keep transitioned into an orphanage and halfway house for those who had suffered under their regime.
Some weeks were harder than others, what with so many people living under one roof, so many histories and traumas and emotions rising to the surface with their uncontrollable powers.
This was just one of those weeks.
But instead of going to my chambers, my feet carried me down the flight of stairs and to the workshop on the first floor.
I needed something else to occupy my mind before I tried to sleep.
I often documented my time with the children and how I used my dreamwalking abilities to help them cope with their trauma.
There wasn’t a lot of research in this particular area, and the others in the Order had convinced me that my findings could be a helpful resource for others.
I pushed open the door to the workshop and was met with the scent of burning herbs, spicy and woodsy.
To my left was a lounging area with a couch, and next to that was our head Alchemist, Milo, who was deeply entranced in grinding something in his mortar while smoke rose from a pile of herbs on the side.
The workshop was a safe haven of sorts for the Ashen Order. A place to rest and breathe, to research or practice our magic, to plan and strategize. But mostly…it was our home.
“You’re up late,” I commented, making my way to Milo’s table.
Cabinets and bookshelves rested behind him with piles of scrolls, glass vials, and baskets of dried flowers.
Alchemy, one of the six magical types in the Veridian Empire, required substances from nature to give power to their charms. Milo was often down here mixing potions and practicing new spells to add to his Grimoire.
“Right back at you,” he replied. “Need a sleeping tonic?”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, my coarse black scruff catching on my calluses. “No, thank you. It makes my illusions duller.”
“Are the kids having trouble again?”
“Some of them just take longer than others. We’re working on it.” I stifled a yawn. “I came down to make some notes.”
I crossed to the bookshelves near Milo’s Alchemy corner, grabbed my stack of notebooks, and found the next empty page. I sat in my chair by the window and jotted down the incident with Teller.
I couldn’t get rid of the images of Mortep with his syringes, those cold, stone walls, and Teller’s frightened features. His fear was potent on my tongue, so similar to my own. I closed my eyes against the onslaught of memories. I could practically feel the needles digging into my skin.
When those years came rushing back, there was only one person I wanted to see. One person I wanted to talk to.
The one person I hadn’t seen in a year now.
“Hey, Milo…” I said, trailing off. I put my pencil and notebook down, then turned to face him. “Do you have a second?”
Milo dropped his pestle and eyed me, swiping away his unruly blond curls with the back of his forearm. “I know that look. Not this again.”
I ignored his tone. “Can you send a message for me?”