Falling Skyward

Chapter Twenty-Four: Whispers of the Sleepless

Lana woke, the embers pulsing scraps of warmth and crimson light into the air, like a fading heart pumping regardless of conscious thought. Her chest ached, the acrid and bitter taste of her dreams still on her tongue. She sat up, stretching her back, stiff from the day's ride. As she rolled and massaged the tense muscles in her neck, she noticed that Dawson's sleeping mat was vacant.

Lana looked over at Taren, a motionless mound beneath his quilt, then slid out of her covers. The night-infused rock felt smooth and cool beneath her bare feet. She tightened her jacket around her shoulders, moving through the twilight to where Dawson stood, grooming his horse.

"It's a little early to be doing that, don't you think?" Lana asked.

"Nah, old Blueskin here is used to it. I often visit him in the stables when I can't sleep. I see I'm not the only one who has trouble sleeping. Bad dreams?"

"Just a few painful ones. I've found that the dreams are much more vivid here, in your land."

"That's probably because we are so near to the shadoweaters. They intensify as you approach their land. Besides, you should take the nightmares as a compliment."

"And why is that?"

"Taren tells me that the shadoweaters tend to plague people who are strong, those who they truly fear." He unconsciously fumbled at the chain around his neck, holding it against his skin.

"Well, I guess that means you should be flattered yourself. Taren tells me you've endured more than any other man could."

Dawson smiled without any humor. "Taren's like that, giving others more credit than they deserve. I think my case was so . . . tricky not because of the dreams but because I was so poor at handling them." The muscles along his jaw clenched before he added, "It runs in my family. Taren was the one who taught me how to take control of them. How to stay sane and keep living, despite everything else."

Lana looked closer at Dawson, unable to fathom the depths in his emerald eyes. "That's a skill I would like to learn," she said.

"And I am sure you will. Taren always knows how to help others overcome the dreams." He paused for a moment, clutching at his chest with both hands now. "Of course, the star ether helps."

Lana groped for her necklace, feeling its heat against her skin. "Where does it come from?"

"It comes from the core of falling stars or from bits of stars still stuck between heaven and earth. Not many know how to retrieve it, and fewer still are willing to risk it, especially considering the willingness of some to kill for little more than dust. Taren is one of the only people I know who is brave enough to try."

"It must be very valuable," Lana said, pulling out the chain and watching the moon-colored light dance within the glassy surface of the stone.

"Yes, it's valuable and powerful, but not only that—it's useful. It is one of the only things that can temper the dreams—that can protect us, not entirely of course, but it helps. That's why Taren rarely makes money from his travels—he can't turn anyone away. I think it's because he understands what it is like to suffer from dreams."

"Taren had nightmares as well?"

"He still does—probably more than we realize. I think he's just learned how to control them."

Even as Lana and Dawson talked about the nature of dreams, they conveniently skirted around their own. They spoke of friends, of different lands, of places traveled, of books, of dreams that dangle before your waking eyes, pulling you forward, providing purpose and hope to live. They talked until the sky turned grey and everything else became flattened shadows, the world hibernating before that burst of predawn color.

Then, they returned to their sleeping mats and feigned sleep, hoping if they pretended for long enough unconsciousness would sweep them away.