Out

Chapter 10

Nobody taught me how to believe in something, but I am good at it. I have learned this about myself in dreams the past few nights, as a collection of ten voices request my help. Sometimes they take me to the hill, and other times they simply wrap me in their collective energy. They've taught me to believe in the sacred nothings of my little life, the peaceful moments that remind me I am still alive. The Cerani want me to believe in their ten chiefs of the stars—my dream guides—and I do. I dream about the Decuriate whenever my eyes are closed. I ache to meet the ten beyond the stars.

As much as I yearn to comprehend my true place among the Cerani, and how that concerns the Decuriate, I believe in my own freedom above all else. Belief is my greatest liberator. If I had not believed in the image of Aron in my dreams, I would have died in Q with a needle in my arm. That most of all is the reason I choose to believe.

My doubts are fraught with irrational thoughts. I am too easily trapped in my head, and sometimes my belief turns into paranoia or yearning. I believe that when we are not speaking, Aron stares at me. I believe if I am careful and let my head heal properly, my eyesight will recover. I believe Riva has second thoughts about my divine purpose. That is partially my fault for not speaking of my dreams, but I do not know how to share a vision so intimate.

Riva speaks to me only through Emira or Hali, and never about anything of consequence. Sometimes they deliver me a prophetic phrase, a single word, or a name, as if they will mean something to me. I am afraid Riva thinks I am just a girl from Arcis who was struck by accident, and went blind instead of becoming their god.

Do you have to believe you are something to become it? Maybe they mistook me for their diviner. That would be humiliating, but if someone would be kind and walk me back to Q, I would return to my cell, where nobody expects me to be anyone at all. A part of me longs for it, but there is nothing in Q to have faith in. At least in the wilds, I can believe.

From the moment we wake until our eyes close at night, everything we do is methodical. We wear long-sleeve cloaks with hoods to combat the sun, drink our weight in water to fight dehydration, sleep on stone slabs at night to absorb the cooling calm, cover ourselves with blankets to fight the nightly chills, sleep to make the night pass faster, and stay awake as late as possible to stave off the dreams. Traveling is a grueling task. My skin is burnt, my body hurts, and I have not had a restful night's sleep the entire journey. Sleep does not equate rest, at least not while you are on the road. And the strange thing is: I do not feel so broken anymore. I am incredibly tired, but even my injuries are a change for the better. Change is the antidote for darkness. Light is a lie, but change is inevitable. It is constant; I can count on it happening. Knowing the darkness will not last? That is a type of happiness. Even solitude has been left behind, except in my dreams. Aron no longer appears in them. Whether by virtue of his proximity or his own will, he keeps to his own. On our sixth night on the road, I fall asleep a few feet from him.

I stand somewhere outdoors, where buildings or trees do not bend the wind. The tallest hill? No, there is far too much wind. The pebbles in the soil are jagged and bigger than any on our journey so far; my bare feet ache for walking on the toothed ground. Aside from the whistling breeze, my surroundings are virtually silent.

Distantly, footsteps approach, determined but not desperate. They are calm, despite their speed, and light, as if the person walking is not a corporeal body but a hovering spirit who deigns to touch the ground for their own amusement. The footsteps draw near. She carries a powerful vital signature with a prickling fierceness that threatens to break against any rambling cloud. But as much as it is fierce, the energy reassures me—holds me. Surrounds me in recognition and the promise of protection.

It is her. I cannot see her, but I know it is her.

Mother.

Familial warmth wraps around me. I have not thought of her in a while, but she leaps into my head. She simply... breathes. Despite all the frightening noises I encounter daily, the sound of her breathing is most disturbing. Each breath roars in the black like the flicker of a raging flame.