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Maybe that was selfish.
Maybe that was foolish.
Eventually, we would talk about it and figure it out, like adults. Asequals.
“I have one,” I said.
“A strong one?”
I nodded. “It’s a nightmare, the first I can remember. There were no demons in this one, no frozen monsters chasing me or leaping out of my wardrobe or from under my bed. But it still infects my dreams sometimes, and it does so more than others.”
“Good… tell me.”
“I’m… in the woods. Running for my life, calling out to my parents, my brother… anyone. But no one can hear me because I’m lost. I’ve wandered too far, and I don’t know what to do, or where to go.”
“We all fear being lost, child.”
“Sometimes I worry that my fear goes deeper than that.”
“You fear being alone,” she said.
“I don’t… I like being alone. I think better when I’m alone.”
“But have you truly been alone, Amara? Or has there always been someone there, beside you? A parent… a pledged sword, or a teacher… a companion, perhaps?”
“I guess.”
“You have never truly been alone, Amara. There has always been someone there, waiting for you, expecting you, or ready to jump out at a moment’s notice to protect you. That you might find yourself truly alone is the source of the fear that stems from this dream. It is a fear you have not yet confronted.”
I shook my head. “Maybe. Whatever. I just don’t want the dream anymore… you can have it.”
“I cannot take this memory, child… I feel you have need of it still.” The words shuddered up my spine, it should have given me more than enough reason to run, but I had gone too far to turn back now.
“Ok… a happy one then.” I searched my childhood memories, painfully settling on one of my father, back when we didn’t argue about everything.
“I’m about 6 years old. Sat at a small, aggressively pink, round table, my father sitting crossed-legged across from me. I’m serving him tea from a silver tea set.”
The woman raised one hand, pinched her fingers together, and snatched a purple thread from out of the air. “Continue,” she said.
"There’s no tea of course, it’s only air in his cup, but he’s pretending it’s the best air he’s ever had. My mother is sewing in front of a roaring fire nearby, chuckling to herself, while my father rubs his stomach and smacks his lips.”
She snatched another purple thread with her other hand, and then she joined the two in a knot in the air. I could see the threads where they joined, but I couldn’t see where they ended—it was like they disappeared into the cavern walls.
“My brother must have felt left out,” I continued, “Because after the fourth ‘yum’ he decides he wants to join the tea party, but he’s too rough and knocks over the teapot, so I start crying. And father swoops in to cradle me and calm the tears…”
Tears threatened to spill from my eyes again as I finished recounting the memory, now regretting every argument I’d had with him in recent years. But it was done.
The woman nodded. “Gladly, I take your memory,” she said, “With it, I conjure the spirits of this place to bind Fate itself into these threads.”
She then let go of the two threads she had just joined, reached into her cloak, and produced a small, ornate looking dagger. It glimmered and shimmered with the light around it, as if it was made of glass, instead of steel. Then, without much fanfare at all, the woman sliced the threads with her knife.
“With this knife,” she continued, locking her eyes with mine, “The strands of Fate are cut… Amara Wolfsbane, you are free.”
I frowned, blinking away the tears. “Free? Just like that—”
I woke up with a start, the wordthat,on my lips. I could hear people, voices, pots and pans clanking, Fae talking to one another, the sizzle of meat and cooking vegetables on a hot plate. I smacked my dry lips and sat upright. My head throbbed—I felt like I had just been hit with a rock—but I felt… different.
Somethingwas different.
