The Worst Sort of Dream

It was like being pulled through the eye of a needle. It was like being dragged to the bottom of the ocean. It might have even been like dying, if I knew for certain what dying felt like.

And then I was there, standing upright. The stone was cold on the soles of my bare feet, the air cool and damp. The scent of mildew was everywhere, and the distant drip of water echoed around me. The light was dim, coming from only two small braziers, one to my right and the other to my left. It took my eyes a moment to adjust. Then the world came into focus and I saw three people kneeling before me.

The one on my left was an old man, hair white and skin mottled with age spots. He wore a thick robe, the outer layer forest green and the inner layer white. He held the branch of a tree in his hand, roughly the length of his forearm, pointing it right at me. There were symbols burned into the wood, their shapes meaningless to me. His eyes were round, in utter shock, mouth agape.

He said something, voice low with awe, but I couldn’t make out the words. It wasn’t any language I’d ever heard before.

I frowned at him. “W-what?” My voice cracked and it hurt to speak, as if I’d spent hours screaming. That was the moment I realized I had no recollection of how I got here and could only remember getting into bed the previous night. Everything was normal, until this.

The man blinked at me, then started as if he’d just remembered something. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial, no longer than a finger. An iridescent liquid sloshed inside. He held the vial out to me, a wide smile splitting his face.

I balked, took a step back, and plunged into water, landing on my rear. A quick thrash revealed that it was shallow, only coming up to my knees. Pain radiated up my tailbone. The water was frigid and my toes began to go numb immediately. I hissed at the discomfort and kept crawling away from the strange man and his two companions.

Cold. Pain. I’ve never been cold and hurt in a dream before. Because that’s what this was, surely? The worst sort of dream. 

The old man stood, holding up his hands, and called to me. He was saying something slowly, mouth stretching in an exaggerated way, like when you’re speaking to very small children. I still couldn’t understand him.

Someone else moved and my gaze snapped to my right. A woman had stood up. She had dark hair with bits of white at her temples pulled up in a high ponytail. Her features were sharp, her skin pale, her eyes a brown so dark they appeared black. There was caution in her gaze, as if I were a poisonous snake that could strike at any moment. She also wore a robe, the outer layer a dark purple embroidered with tiny swallows and the inner layer black.

She spoke in that same strange language, her voice higher pitched. She was pointing at me, then pointing at the vial. The absurdity of it all hit me. Where was I? Who were these people? I’d hit a wall of stone and could back up no farther. The entire space was circular with darkness encroaching on all sides. I’d been standing on a small, square pedestal in the center of a pool of water before falling. This spot was like a small alcove in a cave and there was only one way out which lay directly behind the three strangers.

This was the moment when the final stranger rose. He had a grey mustache and thick beard, tan skin, and blue eyes. His hands were clasped in supplication. The robe he wore was the most supple, a carmine red outer layer embroidered with blue clouds and a cream inner layer. Like the others he tried to speak to me, and like the others I could not make sense of the sounds he spoke.

I dragged myself upright. My lower half was soaked, the water dragged at my thin, cotton pants. I was wearing my cat-themed pajamas, which were green with cats dancing across the pants and short-sleeved top.

What the hell was this? I brought my hand to my mouth and bit down hard on the spot where my thumb met my hand, stopping just shy of drawing blood. Pain blossomed where my teeth had sunk into my skin. This was real, this was very real.

“Who are you?” I called, head snapping from side to side, searching for a camera, for a way out, for anything to explain this. “What is this?”

The rich man and the woman stared at the old man. The old man let out a weak laugh, patting himself down as if searching for something. He removed a thin, blue book from an inner pocket of his robe and began reading the contents with a building frenzy.

Long seconds ticked by. I was freezing, but stood my ground. Then the man let out an exclamation, pointed the branch at me, and spoke. My ears popped, the sudden sensation making me jump.

“Can you understand us now, my lady?” the old man said. It was as if he was speaking perfect English. He didn’t even possess an accent, sounding precisely like the people I knew back home.

“How did you do that?” I asked. But if this was an elaborate prank of some kind, it would be easy enough to just start speaking another language. No magic was necessary. But then why had my ears popped?

The old man smiled. “You must forgive me, there are certain steps that must be observed in order and I neglected that one as I was simply too excited by your arrival.”

I frowned. “My arrival?”

“Of course.” He paused, then bowed low. “Forgive my lack of propriety. I am Seeker Len. It was I who forged a contract with the Gods to summon you here that you might aid us.”

Summoned. I was summoned here. But it was the second part of his sentence my mind latched on to. “Aid you with what?”

His grin reappeared, so wide it must hurt. “You will save the world as we know it.”