Chapter 3
Arina
“The choking part is interesting,” Phil says.
She passes me a steaming mug of tea across her kitchen table. The comfort of her little cabin filled with trinkets and bright decor is a stark contrast to my own dismal living space.
I try not to roll my eyes. “Of course you would think that.”
“Not like that! I just mean that choking in dreams in general can mean you have something important to say, but people aren’t listening. Or sometimes it can mean you’re afraid to speak up about something.” She eyes me, suspicion clear in her expression.
I take a deliberate sip of tea so I can think.
In the dream, something in the shadows of the mist catches my attention. I don’t know what it is, but there is an energy in the air that tells me I should run.
The problem is, I can’t. My mind tells my body to move, but my muscles are not responding.
In the distance, lights shine. Glowing white moths, or maybe they’re flowers? I squint, but the image stays fuzzy and intangible.
There’s a part of me that recognizes it might be a dream, but I’m unable to escape into the realm of consciousness.
Finally, I’m able to run, but not before the trees start to come alive.
No matter how much effort I put into fleeing, I can’t get closer to the lights.
The roots of the tree closest to me break through the frozen ground, growing and thrashing as they stretch my direction. My screams are swallowed by the cold, dark air.
One long root whips out, wrapping painfully around my neck and constricting hard.
I reach up to pull it off, but the root has morphed into a snake, and I can’t get between where its scaly muscles meet my throat.
I know in my heart that if I’m unable to scream loud enough to be heard, I’m going to die.
That’s when the dream ends, and I’m awake in my bed, choking and gasping for air and covered in sweat.
“Isn’t it odd that the flame in my lamp went out? I know for a fact it was still burning when I fell asleep.” I hate waking up in the dark, especially after a nightmare as visceral as this one had been.
“It was probably just from you thrashing around like you’re possessed,” Phil jokes.
I shiver, remembering how dark the room had been. “It was pitch black, and I must have been somewhere between awake and asleep because I swear I saw two floating golden orbs in the shadows at the edges of my vision.”
She puts her hand on mine. “I think you’re overdoing it. Or maybe some of your mother’s insanity is starting to manifest in you.”
I rip my hand away. I had really thought she might say something supportive, but jabbing at one of my biggest fears makes me feel exposed, like she’s stuck her finger into a fresh wound. “That’s not funny!”
“I’m sorry! You really are working yourself too hard. Maybe it’s time to take a little bit of a break from training? Maybe you’re just exhausted.”
She knows I can’t do that. Training is my survival. I train because I need to know I can protect myself if I have to.
I look around the little cabin, studying the ornate rugs and colorful pillows strewn about. Being in Phil’s home is like finding the only bright spot in all of Lukasia. It’s as if somehow, the Smog cannot reach its spindly tendrils within these walls.
“I didn’t come here to discuss my dreams,” I say. She always has a way of getting me to talk about things I’d rather keep buried. Phil is the only person alive who can get me to tell her what’s truly on my mind.
It’s time to tell her my plan. I try to ease into the topic. “Do you ever feel like maybe your whole life has been a lie? Like it wasn’t supposed to be this way?” My words come out more unconfident than I’d prefer.
She narrows her eyes at me while tapping her spoon on the edge of her cup. “Where is this coming from?”
“I don’t know. I just … Have you ever thought about what life might have been like if we hadn’t been born into all this?” I wave my hand to indicate the whole world. The Smog, the death, the insanity that surrounds us.
“All the time.” Phil takes a bite from the small piece of bread on her plate. “My ma used to talk about the magic and the animals and the sunshine,” her voice fades as she studies her cup. “Not anymore, though.”
Phil’s ma is a touchy subject. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time a few years back. The soldier mistook her for a rebel, and when it comes to rebels, there is little mercy.
The whole town mourned when they heard what had happened. Phil’s ma left the tavern to Phil, and she stepped in to run it like she was born for the role.
It seems a shame for Phil to have lost such a wonderful mother when mine gets to go on living. Another reason to hate the rebels. But Phil never complains and still finds things to smile about each day. She is my strength.
I don’t know why I’m so terrified to tell her this. Maybe I’m worried she’ll try talking me out of it. But things have been getting so much worse, and I need to be part of the solution. I need to be on the right side of this fight.
I can no longer sit back and wait to see what happens, twiddling my thumbs, unable to heal what my friends and neighbors are suffering from. The part of me that longs to fix and heal what’s broken will not allow me to be an idle observer.
“I’m going to enter the Queen’s Guard tournament,” I confess.
My best friend doesn’t even flinch at the proclamation.
“Well, aren’t you going to convince me it’s a terrible idea?” I coax.
She giggles, and I try not to take offense.
“You and I both know when you set your mind on something, there’s no changing it.”
She’s not wrong.
“I think we have to—”
“Save ourselves? I know,” she chimes, as if she’s heard me say it one million times. “Just promise me you’ll be safe?”
I scoff, “Me? Always.”
Phil reaches across the table to tilt my empty cup toward her, peering into it with a sly smile. “Look. The tea leaves tell me you’re in for a grand adventure.”
All I see are two squiggly lines, but I don’t tell her that.