light the auburn flame of love
—Postscript, letter found at Dryke, hand unknown
Warmth is the first thing he feels. That steady, heavy warmth that lets you know someone you love is nearby. He turns his face, meets soft hair, rough lips, kisses them groggily. The kiss is returned and a strong hand loops around his shoulders, pulling him tight. He makes himself comfortable on a steadily rising chest, and falls back into sleep.
The dream is the same as before. A city in ruins. Clouds scud overhead, unnaturally fast. The air stinks of burnt sugar, the streets are aggressively silent.
He’s naked, smoke-stained. Shattered paving stones sharp under his bare feet. He coughs from split lips and walks towards the square. He knows what lives there. He knows what it will say, but this is a dream and his feet don’t care what he’s afraid of.
The square opens up before him like a cauterised wound. Ragged wrecks of buildings frame a plaza slick as melted glass. The echoes of shop signs offer goods he’ll never see. His feet slip and roll on small hard objects that skitter away across the polished, crazed stone. Teeth and bones, some human some not; birds, maybe.
It waits for him in the remains of the fountain, circling endlessly. Its wings are broken, and trail a sticky golden light behind it, shuffling foot after shuffling foot.
He’d been afraid to approach it, in the first dream. In the second, they had talked. This is the third dream.
It looks up as he approaches and lets out a high, burbling cry. He smiles in response and sits on the edge of the fountain, trailing a hand down into the empty reservoir. It butts against his fingers enthusiastically, its teeth nibbling, sharp and insistent as a kitten.
‘Hello, you,’ he says and waits for its reply.
The words fall into his head with beautiful precision, filling spaces he hadn’t known were empty.
Quickfish. Hello. Bright-heart. Great happiness.
Quickfish smiles nervously. What do you say to a dream-creature in a ruined city?
‘How are you?’ he adds lamely, and snorts at his own predictability.
Bright-hunger. Great emptiness. Missed you.
Quickfish runs a finger along its jaw and feels the slack pulse.
‘You want fed, huh? You’re as predictable as me.’
It shudders excitedly, runs a hot tongue across his palm.
Quickfish frowns, pulls his hand away. Distantly, he can hear his father’s voice. Don’t hold your hand out to anyone unless they’re filling it first.
He bites his lip. ‘OK, food. But first a question.’
It chirrups curiously, its glow pulsing steadily.
Quickfish turns to look at the blasted ruins of the city. ‘What happened here?’
It’s quiet for a second or two, and he watches it think, its ruined face surprisingly animated. It might have been beautiful once.
Great-hurt. Sky fell. Crows-eat. Eat-meaning.
Quickfish frowns. Of course the dream creature is a cryptic little thing. He turns back to it. ‘So why bring me here?’
It snorts unhappily, its skin writhing over its bright bones.
Quickfish presses his lips tight. ‘Tell me.’
Two-questions. Small-sneak. Two-questions, two-food.
He nods curtly. ‘Sure, two food. Answer me.’
It squirms uncomfortably, a faint buzz building within its body.
