Dream

“The sand dunes are almost wiped out…”

The little girl shifted her gaze from me to western Haarlem. I knew that she wasn’t human. No human would be insane enough to come to a flood zone. Also, no human could see me.

An older woman with a face that could have been thirty or three hundred years old walked towards the little girl. She called the little girl’s name, and I sensed the power.

“Don’t wander around!” the older woman chided. “You’ll drown! I swear…”

“But, Mum, he is in a poor state…” The little girl pointed at me. “Hee-hee. You are funny.”

My sandworm forms might have been more imposing had I been more than thirty centimeters tall.

“He is dying,” the older woman said. “Let him be consumed by the flood and be done with it. Such is fate.”

The little girl mimicked me; she tilted her head. “What is he, Mum?”

“A sandman,” the mother answered, carving a line in the ground just above the flood level. “One that travels. Look at his grains, but don’t touch them. The slightest silver content may kill you.”

The girl squinted at my surface, and amazement filled her eyes. “They are so pretty!”

I shaped myself into a humanoid monster. The best I could muster was a garden gnome made of garnet, tourmaline and every accessory mineral I could collect. ‘Leave me!’

“He’s asking us to save him, Mum!” The little girl gasped. “Don’t sandmen enter children’s dreams from time to time?”

“To bring their own memories and influence dreams, yes. Why are you grinning?”

“I choose him as my familiar,” the little girl said simply. Both her mother and I made a choking sound. She held out her hands. “Why not? Sleep and death are cousins. Humans spend lots of their lives sleeping. He’s perfect as a timekeeper’s keeper.”

‘What is this, a tongue twister!?’ I whirled angrily. ‘I bind myself to no witch, little girl!’

“Look, he’s happy. He must be lonely, what with collecting gems from so many places.” She clapped her hands. “Pleased to meet you, my familiar!”

The older woman crossed her arms. “Well, your logic is sound. But there are better options for Time Witches, you know? We can travel to Greece and bind a phoenix there. Or the unicorns in Albania.”

The little girl shook her head. “No, he’s perfect. A timeless being, brushing people’s dreams so that they can look back sweetly on the past.”

Her hands started to weave the time formula. I had encountered time physicists’ dreams before, so I recognized it.

‘I reject you!’

“Aww, look at you. He’s trying to make a heart shape with the sand.” She mistook my garnet surface for a heart. One day, her brain would be the death of her. She clasped her hands. “By the authority of my true name—”

She spoke her name and power resonated from her name. Her mother buried her face in her palm. I wanted to bury myself, too, but my options were either the flood or the little witch’s embrace.

“—I bind you to be my companion in keeping and watching over time. I bestow upon you a name, my essence, my responsibility and share with you my memories, in exchange for our lives intertwining.”

I was pulled into a… flask? A glass? This was really a nightmare.

“Oh, I have a perfect name for you! I will call you…”

***

“Rheum,” Her Ladyship says, holding the pendant-ring at an arm’s length, preventing her blood dripping onto it, “how many ‘todays’ has it been?”

I flinch. Inside the hourglass, I rattle the sand, trying to find a convincing excuse. The Time Witch scrutinizes the pendant-ring with her green eyes, no doubt looking for seams where time-based power leaks. I have violated the rules without Her Ladyship’s consent. She has every right to punish me.

“Oh, the screw has come loose.”

Her Ladyship traces her finger around the pendant-ring Sure, one screw had bent at an awkward angle. When I stop myself from rattling, the recoil loosens the screw slightly. Her Ladyship looks past the hourglass and notices a tipped-over flask nearby, most of its water spilled. Next to it, a laundry pile stands almost mockingly.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “So that’s how it was… The laundry knocked over the flask, and the water reached the pendant. You should have been safe, but because of the loose screw, some moisture seeped into the hourglass. You panicked and turned back time, didn’t you, Rheum?”

I blink. Or, in sandy terminology, make a spectacular backflip inside the hourglass.

‘I panicked, yes…’

“You should have told me!” Her Ladyship sighs while she rummages through the drawers. She pulls out a fork and hastily tightens the screw. “That should do it. Temporarily. We need to see a smith. Oh, but this is Sunday! Well, better than Saturday, when they have a sabbath… And I do have an appointment today. Monday should do. Tomorrow.”

There she goes again. Tomorrow. I am tired of this game.

“Turning back time is a severe violation, Rheum,” Her Ladyship continues. “We safeguard time and watch over the true timeline that runs its course. You probably use our combined power to restore the pendant-ring, but I can still feel it.”

More blood drips from her nose. She picks up a stray piece of laundry and wipes her nose with it.

“I am fine,” she says, raising a hand. “Don’t whirl so much; the glass will break. You react like I am dying.”

I really can’t decide whether my mistress is a genius or a scatterbrained witch. She excels at going against the grain, that’s for sure.

“At any rate, even a witch’s brain can’t withstand multiple rewinds. You must’ve seen me cheat when fixing something.” She looks away, and I see her ears reddening. “Well… those are exceptions! They are not without a price. You should have told me when something endangers you!”

I don’t know what to say. I am guessing that telling her about what happens actually cheats the rule of time. I should just let her die and cherish the fact that I will die along with her.

“Say something, Rheum?”

That sounded more like a plea than an admonishment. The silence has gone on for too long.

‘You were looking forward to today,’ I say, spinning gently. ‘I am sorry for ruining your plan. I… panicked. I will reflect on my actions.’

I see her freckles reflected on the hourglass.

“I raised my voice,” Her Ladyship whispers. “I apologize as well, Rheum. It was… I felt like… All this time, and because of my carelessness you nearly died…”

‘I am just another familiar,’ I say simply. ‘You have a plan that pertains to the safety of time. Focus on that.’

Her Ladyship pouts. “I choose what I want to focus on! Reflect in silence as I consume my breakfast!”

She dons her sweater hastily and rushes downstairs, perhaps already imagining the freshest fish sandwich. I can never understand that woman.

I hear the door swing open right away. I am in the middle of tapping the top of the hourglass, making sure there are no more leaks, when the hourglass is snatched out from under me. I prepare myself for another scolding or a sneer to Her Ladyship for returning so soon, when I realize that the touch feels different.

Her Ladyship has not returned. In her place, a slightly older lady with a nose like a beak and sharp eyes appears. She is wearing layered coats made of wool. So much wool, in fact, that her braids seem to look like they blend with her clothes.

“You’re the one who tore the fabric of reality,” the definitely-a-witch says.

She speaks with equal clarity and detachment. How should I explain it better? Her voice carries vindication and exhaustion with equal weight. That, and I see her in at least three different forms, each with a different colour.

“Familiar. Does your mistress know what you are doing?” She wrinkles her nose. “No, I suppose not. I daresay you don’t know what is happening to you either.”

I respond the way anyone would do when there is a break-in:

‘Help, a burglar! Ouch, ouch! Hey, watch it!’

“You watch it.” She loosens her grip around the glass. “Do you think that I don’t comprehend your language? Who do you think I am?”

I grind my grains, searching for words that don’t mean thief.

‘You are a witch.’ I spin, deducing from the way she came in. ‘A Space Witch.’

“Bah. Don’t lump me in with the third-plane creatures. I am the String Witch.”

‘String. That sounds dangerous indeed.’

“Correct, and all the more dangerous because humans have not discovered the String Theory.” She peeks outside the window. “Although… They are very close. The nature of time, first. And your mistress is close to retiring.”

‘By dying?’ My grains hiss. ‘Nature of time, and she dies from that.’

The String Witch counts silently. On the count of three, she says, “The moment she chose to continue being a witch, she lost. Witches shouldn’t have existed. Humans always have the potential to grasp the concept of abstraction and what is unseen. We witches comfort ourselves with the idea that by guarding them, we are needed. In the end, we are just what humans call us: heretics.”

‘Lecture,’ I say. ‘And it never answers why she dies.’

“Because she has brought this upon herself,” she replies. “Or perhaps what the Time Witches before her led her to believe. The nature of time is meant to be discovered by humans, with or without witches. She continues to hold on to the heretical legacy, and she pays the price.”

I shake inside the glass. Memories of our journey pour through my grains. Her Ladyship has travelled to many turning points of history, even preserving Newton’s legacy and keeping time stays relevant throughout history. Has it all been… for nothing?

“Yes, it was for naught,” the String Witch says. “Humans are greedy creatures. They want to explain something fairly. They have reached the third plane—space—and are very close to the fourth, time. Your mistress insists on accelerating its discovery, in defiance of the string-built Reality. Her plea for my mercy changes nothing. She dies.”

My sand boils. This lady speaks too much. I have had enough. In the next loop, I’ll suggest Her Ladyship to punch this witch through her woolly ribs.

“Try,” the String Witch taunts. “You want to loop back, yes? Try. What’s stopping you?”

I remember Her Ladyship’s nosebleed. Just one more, Mistress. I should not—no, I will do this. The String Witch is the key. Defeat her, and my mistress lives. She can punish me however she wants tomorrow.

I flip.

But the String Witch stays right in front of me.

I flip once more. Other than the String Witch turning herself upside down, nothing has changed.

‘You blocked my power.’ I make my accusation as sharp as my grinding sound.

“Hardly.” The String Witch snorts. “My familiar needs to learn to cherish me the way you do to your mistress, familiar. Your mistress walks through time, but you have no authority over her. You and she share power, yes, but your bond with her never hands you the full authority to loop back one day. If anything, your deep feelings for her drains her own life—enough to amplify your power to shake her Reality. What is it that you sandmen excel at, again?”

The cold inside my body transforms into horror.

‘I have been inside her dream the whole time.’

“Splendid.” The String Witch’s outline starts to blur. “There were no attempts in the first place. You tricked your own mind into believing that. She still obeys Causality. Unless you find something that triumphs over time while obeying Causality, your mistress dies nonetheless. That is the Reality.”

I churn.

“Treasure today,” the String Witch says, her voice fading. “I daresay this will be the last day she’ll ever wake up.”

The outline of the whole room trembles.

I know I have returned to Reality. This one lacks the ephemerality of a dream; the image is more striking. The sun pierces my glass, casting multi-coloured shadows across the table. The wind lifts the curtain and tickles the Time Witch awake.

She beams as she gets up, full of energy.

“Good morning, Rheum! Let’s live today like today is our last!”