71 Ashan 719
Warm, but wet… the night was. The biqaj - once known as Zarik, but in matters of dreaming better referred to as Mister Magpie - had gone for a short walk at dusk, but didn’t get far from Lucretia’s home in the Gleam. He returned with his arms tightly crossed and a disgruntled glower on his youthful features. He looked sick, his undereyes swollen like he’d been repeatedly punched in both eyes, and his skin had a pallid quality rather than the usual pearly pale sheen.
Despite the melancholia that his walk had conjured to the surface of his thoughts, when he walked back through the door, he let it fade away. He eased his countenance. He hung his coat up to dry on a hook. He glanced around the study, and saw Hazel laying on a stone bench. She’d fallen asleep, seemingly by accident from the awkward position she was in.
“Oh, you’re back already.” Lucretia walked down the spiral staircase and as soon as she saw him, she put on her own sleeveless coat. “I have a visit arranged with an old friend tonight. I will return by dawn, of course. Don’t answer the door, don’t let anyone in, and if you need any help for any reason, Mister Lahew should be asleep downstairs. You’ll want to ring the bell at the side door to wake him.”
Magpie nodded, then murmured a polite farewell as the woman left. He locked the door behind her.
While it was night, he was hardly tired. He’d been sleeping most of his breaks away, ever since he’d met Mister Kiwi and especially after he’d made acquaintance with Miss Humming. He knelt beside the sleeping child on the bench, tucked a strand of her hair, then quietly said, “Wake up, Hazel.”
The girl grumbled, then swatted away his hand.
He sighed, then scooped her up into his arms. She slightly woke then, as if to resist, then eased when she recognized that it was him. Instead of pushing away, she curled up to be easier to hold and wrapped her arms around his neck. He sighed lightly, then carried her up the spiral staircase to the loft.
In the small cot he’d set up for her, he fluffed a pillow and settled it under his adopted daughter’s head. He tucked her in with a soft blanket, then sat on a stone stool to make sure she fell back asleep properly. Hazel held onto his hand, her drowsy state offering more affection that might have been given otherwise. She was older, certainly, but her hands were still a child’s hands. He warmed the fingers between his scarred palms. When her breath became steady and her eyes remained shut, he gently kissed her on the forehead, then placed her hand under the blanket. He stepped away, watched, and once certain she was asleep, he headed back downstairs.
Magpie went to the table, flipped through some of the loose vellum left out, then sat down at the head. He thought about Asher. His knee bounced. He gnawed on is lower lip. His spine felt stiff from oversleeping and his eyes stung, a threat of tears. He warded them away with a few blinks, then considered matters that wouldn’t make him feel so weak as to cry. He thought about the other dreamers, his new associates, and how they’d stepped in and out of Emea. He placed a hand over his stomach and considered transforming his totem so as to eat… his appetite had quelled again, becoming minimal once more, and he found himself forgetting or perhaps, a small part of him wanted to forget. He wasn’t sure.
What he was sure about was that when he had touched Mister Kiwi upon the man’s first visit, the other dreamer had been real - flesh and bone - physically with him in the room. He’d felt Miss Humming’s hand distinctly on his shoulder when she’d touched him. They were physical. Real. Despite coming through Emea. He knew, now, such a thing was possible.
Though he could find no books explaining the matter, he knew there had to be a way to step through into Emea without requiring himself to sleep. Additionally, it wouldn’t make any sense to build a network if it required such vulnerably as remaining asleep in the waking world. If only he could figure out how they had accomplished such a task.
His wings unfolded, splayed out behind him in their full design. He stood from the chair, went to the center of the room, and considered whether he wanted to attempt crossing over into Emea or if he wanted to transform and feed his totem.
“You are looking weary, Mister Magpie,” the calm, quiet voice drifted from somewhere behind him. “Is this not a good time?”
He didn’t look, though he paused in the consideration of what he’d wanted to do. It was simple to recognize the voice by now. “As good of time as any for the trial, Mister Kiwi.”
There was a brief pause of silence before Kiwi spoke again. “What are you doing?” Curiosity, the man’s nearly constant companion, lilted at the edges of his otherwise stoic tone.
“Deciding what it is I wish to do,” he answered. Magpie turned around to look at the other man, a momentary survey of his attire and countenance. He was dressed this time, a simple cotton shirt and leather trousers with boots to match. His face was clean, short curly hair neat, and a pale ring of ivory hugged his left ring-finger tightly. Beyond that, Kiwi seemed as indifferent as ever, save for those bright eyes of his. Magpie said, “You appear to have recovered since last we met.”
“Recovered?” Kiwi frowned, one of the other few expressions Magpie was beginning to expect from the man.
“Do you not remember how you were before?” asked the biqaj. His gaze lingered as he observed the ivory ring. It was plain but worn and carefully crafted. An object of, dare he suppose, sentimental value?
“Before…” Kiwi murmured, briefly glancing upward, standing in the center of the room where he’d appeared, ignoring the chairs and the table and any other commodity of comfort. “Ah.” His eyes flashed in a moment of clarity. “Not all dreamscapes are so benign as your own. One becomes accustomed to their… eccentricities.” He nodded, gaze distant for a trill before he added a polite but empty, “Thank you for your concern.”
“I see…” he said simply, then he added, “Have you come for an immediate purpose or is this a… social visit?”
“I do not make social visits,” Kiwi stated plainly. “How is your progress in traversing Emea?”
“I would hope well,” answered Magpie. “It is difficult for me to say, however, since I know not what to compare myself to other than you and Miss Humming. I am able to… see more clearly and walk more freely with each visit, however. I feel, often lately, more at home within Emea than here on Idalos. Is this… to be expected?”
“I am…” Kiwi began, speaking slower than before, “Not well qualified to answer questions about feelings.” Unsurprising. “But there is a sort of familiarity that comes with time and should be expected, yes.”
Magpie nodded. He ran a hand over his waist, in a slight fidget. His gaze flitted aside, to look over at the kitchenette. “Mind if I ask… does it require ether to enter Emea in… is it, like you are now? In your physical form or is this some sort of… phantom spell?”
“Phantom spell?” Kiwi repeated, blinking twice. “Ehm… no.” He paused again, considering his answer. “Dreamwalking is a magic outside of the domains. There is no spark, no exchange of ether. It is a manipulation - or… rather a conversation? - with Emea itself.”
“A conversation,” it was Magpie’s turn to repeat.
Kiwi frowned again, though this time it was clear it was an expression of consideration. “There are times when Emea seems to have a mind of its own. Consistency one might expect in magic is not so the case with dreamwalking. Sometimes,” he continued, bright stare settling to lock with Magpie’s, “You may find yourself temporarily trapped within another’s dreams. Certain doors might be locked for whatever reason. Time and concept of location are never constant and difficult to predict.” He paused again. “I apologize if ‘conversation’ is not quite that, but there are times I find myself at a loss in this… tongue.”
“Thank you for trying then,” said Magpie. Kiwi responded with a quiet hum in response. “If you would like… I do know a slight few words in Vahanic. But I believe that in time, I will understand Emea well enough through experience rather than thought.”
“I would prefer everyone spoke Vahanic, yes,” Kiwi acknowledged, “But not so much as I prefer clear communication. Vague and abstract concepts are difficult to convey in any language.” His shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug. “Though in this particular instance, I would say that dreamwalking is most similar to... a bailando.” His eyes lit up briefly. “Ah. A dance. One with a partner who is never quite the same.”
“I could understand it in that way,” agreed Magpie. His wings folded, then spread out to the sides again. “It is rather enjoyable like I assume dance to be, as people seem to enjoy the act of such frivolity…”
“Frivolity indeed,” murmured Kiwi, more to himself than in actual interjection.
Magpie nodded. Dance was an abstract concept to him, never having bothered much with the act of it. He continued, “I would very much like to keep in step with Emea, then. Perhaps you can help me… go through like you can.”
“Miss Humming refers to it as ‘crossing’,” Kiwi politely corrected him. “And if that is what you would prefer to practice, I have no qualms.”
“Good. First, however, there is… something else I must attend to. And I must ask, is there some sort of capability in which I might place an alarm - like a bell - in the world here, the world that we will presumably leave behind to enter Emea, so that I can be alerted if I need to return?” asked the biqaj.
Kiwi blinked. “There may be, but not one that I am aware of.”
“Ah,” he tsked with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He glanced up toward the loft.
“If you would prefer,” Kiwi continued, eyes briefly following Magpie’s gaze. “I will remain here throughout the duration and fetch you should the child wake, but it is only a temporary solution for this instance alone.”
The pale blond hummed. He crossed his arms over his chest. It’d be many breaks before Lucretia would return. Magpie gently bit at his lower lip, thinking… and then he said, “If you don’t mind waiting then…”
“I do not.”
Magpie nodded and he decided, “Then I shall transform now, eat, then see if perhaps Mister Lahew might keep an eye on Hazel while we enter Emea.”
Kiwi frowned again. “Transform?” He sighed out through his nose, a careful and practiced gesture. “You intend to continue fostering the revealed’s parasite?”
“Until I decide otherwise,” replied Magpie. “It is an easy thing to be rid of, yet an impossible thing to recover if lost.”
“...I see.” Kiwi offered not further comment and settled down into one of the chairs at the table. “I shall await your return.”
Magpie’s gaze followed Kiwi, and he was surprised to see the man actually sit down. It was a rare occurrence, it seemed, for the Quacian to secure comfort. He tilted his head to the side slightly, then asked, “Would you… care to watch my transformation?”
Kiwi’s head moved so quickly, Magpie wondered if it might snap right off of his neck. “Yes.”
