Chapter One

Part 1

PERCEPTION

Chapter 1

Her head spun, aching, and Xanthane trembled, her body cold as death. All around her shadows massed, a blur of reality she wasn’t ready to face, and she shook her head, trying to clear it. She couldn’t remember anything beyond taking her medicine, falling asleep, and now waking, the nightmares a haze that refused to clear. Lingering, the residual sensation brought a sour tang to her throat. The same process repeated every night. Dream. Wake. See. Dismiss.

Her eyes narrowed with thought. Something tickled in the back of her mind, something relevant. Something she couldn’t find. Memory remained elusive yet tangible, weaving in her head like webs of silken thread.

What had she forgotten?

Pushing the surreal experience out of her thoughts, she focused on her surroundings, her breathing quick and sharp. A tent enclosed her, familiarity that attempted comfort. The room was cold enough that she saw her breath. Xanthane lay on a cot covered by sleeping bags, but underneath them the chill permeated, her teeth chattering, her body racked with tremors caused by the freezing temperature.

If only she weren’t so confused. Worse, a feeling like abandonment filled her, creating a sadness that was both inexplicable and wrong. Things were good in her life, assurance of it settling deep inside.

She shouldn’t feel this way.

Slowly, recollection crept back. Yesterday. Last week. This past year. Nothing was different except for those few minutes while waking when she somehow managed to mentally misplace all that happened to her. The strangeness of it took a while to disappear, and it happened each and every morning.

She shook her head again, clarity sinking in. Yup, she was awake. What a wild night.

A yawn escaped her dry mouth, even as the horror and stench of illusion stuck to her like glue. At least the memory of dreams were familiar, though as always, unwanted.

Her gaze narrowed, and once more, she looked around. Her throat tightened, catching mid-swallow. What she saw shouldn’t be there, even though the sight of demons in her dreams were habitual. No matter how commonplace seeing them had become, it still terrified her.

Darkness spilled over into morning’s reality, everything inside her screaming that she was still asleep. The depth of the vision warned her that Xanthane wasn’t dreaming any longer. Dreams were hazy and intangible. What showed itself was real.

She couldn’t swallow as anxiety pooled and the images conglomerated into a mass of raw black. Laughter sounded, a cruelly maniacal magnificence with venomous intent. Shadows swayed like misshapen dancers, twisted, macabre figures standing at the end of the bed as though they belonged there. Ghostlike in form. Harrowing in appearance. Frigid as arctic winds. Shadows that haunted her. Shadows that stalked as they moved.

Night-monsters crept towards the edge of her camp cot. For a moment, their bodies were incomplete, like mist that rose from the heated ground. She recognized them, a manifestation of false-waking that taunted and teased and refused to leave.

This time, as they arrived, it was different.

She wasn’t sleeping.

No, Xanthane was very awake, and now that she saw them, there was no way in hell she would move a single inch. Not that she could. Her body stiffened, paralyzed, her mind racing.

The shadows moved closer, congregating until they stood near her single-sized cot. She lay on her side facing them, covered to her chin by the heavy sleeping bags, and with squinted eyes peered at them, unable to do anything but pretend she was still asleep.

One of them leaned low, their whisper a scratchy hiss. “You see us, Dreamer. We know you are awake.”

The figures crowded in. They were long, their backs hunched and their bodies almost ethereal, the stuff of children’s late night fears. They were her fears, every night just before waking.

They were the stuff of dark dreams and darker desires. Voids of deepest terror.

There was another issue. Nightmares stayed in the world they belonged to.

Didn’t they?

Her vision wasn’t normal or rational. She questioned everything she knew, spinning through the stories her magic-believing father told about what happened when dimensions crossed paths. When otherworldly portals opened and dissidence oozed out into humankind, festering among the moral realm. Xanthane never thought he spoke the truth, and especially since he grew senile. Right now her opinion changed. Her Pop might be right that she was the target of sludge and ichor. Of darkness and fated destruction. Of inescapable horror. And of things going bump in the night.

The monsters were still there. Their jaws clicked, more hissed words escaping to condemn her.

“Look at us, Dreamer. See the result of what you have done. See us. See what we can do.”

She closed her eyes, the most movement she could accomplish. She felt them hovering near her, the hair upon her neck bristling with the recognition of her predicament. Her arms grew goosebumps and a rush of adrenaline ran along her spine.

Xanthane forced her eyes open. If they were going to attack her in any manner, she’d meet them head-on. Fear could be tamped. Fear could be conquered. Like a poof of breath on dandelion seeds, the spawn would disperse upon her command, vanquished.

Except, the words of biting dismissal didn’t escape her lips. She couldn’t talk. Even tiny movements were impossible, as though a weighted harness trapped her. As if the creatures tossed out an inescapable web, with them as the spider inside, and she the tasty morsel.

Would compliance make them leave? Unlikely. That’s not the way nightmares worked.

Her eyes skirted bedside. If only Xanthane could grab the gun she kept next to her camp light on the upside-down plastic construction barrel beside her. Could these things even be killed? Would they be furious if she tried?

No doubt.

They seemed to know what she imagined, ready to thwart any resistance. Any hint that she’d rebel, they squashed by tightening their invisible trap. Her sleeping bag felt like a hundred pounds squishing her slight frame. She suffocated under its sweltering heat. No more was she cold. Now, her forehead brandished sweat, and her hair dampened with fear.

It was pointless to fight this. She held out hope this demonic intervention wouldn’t last much longer.

The creature leaned further over her. Its long fingers with pointed claws raked her side lightly. So lightly that she might have imagined it. Its low-toned chuckle was smug.

“You think to make us leave? To hurt us? No, Dreamer. We cannot be hurt, and we leave when our Master commands it. No sooner.”

God, she was having a panic attack. It brewed inside of her, churning ever upward in a wayward spin. Her lungs wouldn’t expand. She couldn’t catch a damn breath.

Sweat trickled along her breasts. Her doubled sleeping bags smothered her. Only her face peeked out, but now, with what scared her, she yearned to slip deeper into the heat. Wheezing desperately, her throat felt like a hand squeezed upon it, cutting off all air.

Her mind ran wild, a torrent of unwanted communication. It told her things she didn’t want to hear. What if she was like her father. What if she lost her mind, and this was proof of it?

Please, Sacred Mother. Please, don’t let me be like him. I’m not ready to wither away.

Once, her Pop hadn’t the inclination for the surreal, the mystic, and the unknown. Something happened, he claimed, changing him into the man she knew today. He never spoke of what exactly that was, his eyes blurring with dim recollection, as if he attempted to find logic and truth in his words, but failed.

That was a concern for another day. A different moment. The here and now pressed in on her. Xanthane cringed.

The beings whispered among themselves, the sound resembling wind in the hollows, faint, with a soft whistling. They stopped conversing, apparently coming to a conclusion.

The monster closest to her spoke again. “Tell us, Dreamer. Will you listen to our king? Or will you make us hurt you to prove his point?”

Their eyes scarred over as if razors cut their vision away. In spite of the horrid-looking holes where pupils should be, they saw her. They reacted and fed upon her terror.

With each sparse movement she made, their heads, shaped like bullets with meaty jaws and narrow foreheads, followed her. Each inhale of weak breath, each minute shift upon her cot, their dead eyes were upon her.

Their mouths were hollow, no teeth, no tongue, nothing but a dark cavity. A black hole of eternity. Empty grins mocked her.

Her breathing shallow, it was all she could do to swallow the bile churning upwards. The demons never spoke to her before, but these disastrous beings weren’t finished tormenting her. She cringed as oily darkness spilled out in another threatening demand.

“We carry this message from the Nightmare King,” the one closest to her bed said. Its breath was cloying, a mixture of rot with a tinge of sweetness, a strange and unlikely combination. “Visit his land, steal from him again, and this time, he’ll make sure you never return. Forgiveness, he said, is a long time in coming.”

Xanthane nodded, the movement so slight, even she barely felt it. It satisfied them, for with one last pat upon her hip, the shadows materialized into nothing.

They were gone.

Xanthane unfroze, a gasp leaving her lips. Sweat glistened on her skin. Her breathing was still sharp.

What the hell did the Nightmare King have to do with her? She didn’t even know him, though his identity belonged in fairy tales and delusion, known to her from childhood.

Nothing made sense. Her dreams were many, and most of them lucid, but they were dreams, nothing more. Dreams weren’t alive. Fantasies of sleep didn’t come true.

Tell that to her heart, skipping as if she’d overly exerted herself. Xanthane threw the thick bed covers to the side. Shakily, she sat up, resting on the edge of the mattress. She forced her breathing to calm and her mind to stop racing.

Creatures of darkness didn’t belong in the real world. They didn’t exist.

No, they couldn’t exist.

Now she had to stop believing they did.

Her Pop practiced magic. She’d had it forced down her throat growing up. Memories of her childhood home, smelling of incense and dried wood, of fragranced candles and of tainted smoke, struck her.

It smelled like captivity.

Unlike her father, Xanthane never accepted that there were other worlds, though perhaps, if she stretched her thinking far enough, a thin barrier between the human one and that of magic might exist.

It wasn’t likely, though. No matter what her dad tried to instill in her, his reasoning and beliefs never took. The only thing they remotely shared was their perplexing ability to vividly dream.

Had those recent manifestations been a result of her father dabbling in the occult? After all, he read Tarot. He prophesied. He channeled the divine. With advancing age, he was also a confused, irritable man who had a difficult time knowing truth from fantasy.

Her hand held her pounding head. It was impossible what just happened, and now that it was gone, she doubted herself immensely.

Xanthane sighed, pushing back the dark hair from her face. Her hair stuck to her temples and along her nape, a reminder of what she just went through.

She was okay. She was fine.

Repeating the mantra for a full minute, she eased. Deep breathing helped.

It was eight in the morning, and would be dawn in less than an hour. With the strange dreams, Xanthane hadn’t responded to her phone’s alarm.

Crap.

As she berated herself, her cell rang. She looked at the caller ID. It was her father. She swiped to answer.

“Pop?”

Why was he calling at this hour? Anymore, he slept in. His voice, the moment she spoke, bellowed through.

“Xanthane, did they hurt you?”

She paused. “What?”

“Did they hurt you?”

A chill followed his word. It was impossible he knew what just happened. Obviously, he wasn’t in his right frame of mind again. Either that, or he’d been reading the cards, coming up with another strange prophecy he claimed would affect her.

What to tell him? If she admitted what happened, it would only add to his confusion.

“Everything’s fine,” she said softly.

He was silent a minute, a minute that dragged. His voice shook when he answered.

“It’s not fine,” he insisted. “You should be afraid, Daughter. I read the cards. He’s ready for you. They both are.”

She sighed, knowing she was correct. Pop had been dabbling in magic again, maybe even taking the potent herbs he claimed allowed him to See. Jimsenweed made him deathly ill and sent him to the hospital more than once. It made him irrational. Luck kept him alive.

Yet, if she believed that, why did the hairs upon her body stick straight in the air? In the tent, the temperature froze, but that wasn’t what caused it. No, it was the certainty in his words.

“Who?” she whispered. Why was she humoring him? Because he was right, that’s why. Something unusual was going on. She swallowed back disbelief, giving him the answer he craved. “Tell me. What did the cards say?”

His voice brightened, momentarily distracted from his earlier foreboding. “The card’s spread was clear. Celtic’s Cross, as usual. I find accuracy every time.” He didn’t wait to hear her reaction. “I turned the Magician in reversal. Illusions,” he said. “Trickery.”

“Oh yeah?”

She’d heard this reading before. Many times, in fact.

“The Emperor,” he continued, “In reverse, also.”

“Yes, yes. Tyranny.”

“Exactly!” His voice grew more excited. More frantic, too. He continued, “Justice, upright. Truth. Cause and effect. Clarity.”

Xanthane stayed quiet, letting him talk. Otherwise he might get too excitable, and that was the last thing she needed.

“Death,” he whispered.

“Beginnings, change, metamorphosis,” she said.

Xanthane knew the meaning. In spite of her reservation, she answered his statement. He heaved, calming for only a moment before his energy poured out once again. The chills upon her neck didn’t disappear.

“The Tower, upright. Sudden upheaval and broken pride, Daughter. Disaster,” he intonated.

“Anything else?” she said wryly. “Are you going to read me the whole set?”

“Listen,” he said, irritated. “It’s important, now more than ever.”

He continued. This was his prophecy, the one she’d heard from childhood.

“Six of Wands, reversed. Excess pride, punishment. Seven of Cups, upright. Searching for purpose. Choices. Daydreaming.” He animated. “See? And there’s more.”

He caught his breath, then began again, frenzied. Urgent.

“Ace of Swords, reversed. Brutality, chaos.”

Xanthane frowned. He sounded so clear, his voice unbreaking. So certain. Why was she still allowing this nonsense? It was because he sounded stable, and that came rarely, anymore. Xanthane humored him, but when she spoke, she barely got the words out.

“Anything more?”

“Three of Swords, upright. Heartbreak. Suffering. Grief!”

Her voice quivered. “You should stop now.”

“Not until I finish. I have to tell you.”

She made excuses, though not a lie. “Fine. But I’m running late.”

“You always are. But take a moment for your old pop. I’ll be done soon.”

He pressed on, while her throat stuck with a lump, barely holding back the tears she refused to shed. She hated when he got like this.

“I’m listening,” she whispered.

“Six of Pentacles, reversed. Power and domination. It’s very clear.”

She couldn’t take much more and barely got the next words out. “I’m really late. Are you done?”

“Just one more,” he said, hushed. He sounded like he was desperate to catch a breath. “The World, upright. You will find fulfillment, completion. It’s there. It’s all there.”

“What does that mean? What are you trying to tell me? Just once, tell me the truth,” she pressed, her voice shaking. He answered with precise conclusion, but it wasn’t the words she needed to hear.

“The king. The one I’ve been warning you about. He won’t give you another chance. Neither will the other. It’s time to listen to their calling.”

Xanthane heaved a thick sigh. It was time to end this debacle. She’d given into this for too long, and her boss would spit nails at her for her tardiness.

Deservedly so.

“Pop, you know I hate when you get this way. Please relax.”

“The prophecy. It’s coming true. I knew it would.”

He was rambling. He had to be.

He must be.

She was done. Just done.

Xanthane slid from the cot and went to the totes in the corner to get dressed. She’d never have time for breakfast and coffee if she didn’t hurry. Her dad’s words plowed through her mind, over and over again, making her relive the abandonment within her childhood and her recent incident— things too horrible to contemplate any further.

“Is your nurse there yet?” she asked. Even though she halfway believed him, it was better not to let her father know. Thankfully, her voice sounded calm. “She should be there,” she reminded. “Did you let her in?”

She heard him huff an affirmation. Good. Jan would handle it. The nurse needed to. Xanthane wasn’t about to lose her job because of another conversation like this. Time to get going.

Being a traveler for her cartography job, she lived out of suitcases and trunks. Currently, basecamp was set up on the outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska, a place beautiful, dangerous, and wild. Not as wild as her dreams, though. Definitely not as crazy as her unfortunate father. Hopefully, not as crazy as her.

Time to wrap up the conversation.

“Pop, let the nurse know to give you your medicine.”

“She’s right in the kitchen. Should I get her?” He called out, his voice changing. Dreamy and unstable. “Isabel?”

Isabel was Xanthane’s mother’s name, a mother she’d never met. A mother who hadn’t died in childbirth, but instead abandoned her. Her dad, apparently, never got over it.

“Never mind,” she said. “Don’t get her.” Her voice softened. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“You have to go?” was the dejected answer from her father.

“I’m sorry. I’ve said I’m late.”

Her dad didn’t respond. A minute ticked by. Xanthane waited for his goodbye, but she never got it. He hung up, the sound of his nurse bustling in the next room the only sound before the call ended.

Xanthane looked at her phone a moment, shook her head, then put the cell down on the stack of books she kept piled on the floor. The phone slipped onto the floor, and she leaned to pick it up. The light on the screen dimmed.

Her heart dimmed, too.

Just the same. Her father would never change. He couldn’t, which made talking to him like this even worse.

Time to start the day. A day that, as usual, started badly.

A rug covered the cold ground, a measure of warmth in a cold land. It felt icy under her sock-covered toes. Her heart was icy, also, not from the air around her, but from her father’s overly perceptive words.

For a moment, there was clarity in his voice. It disappeared, as it always did, but for that moment, Xanthane felt all the questions of her childhood creep up and spill outward.

How had her father known what happened to her this morning? That was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.

Pop always had his head in the clouds, but more so now. Finally, after the exhaustion of the early morning kicked in, tears fell. To think that Xanthane put up with this for years, unsuspecting that her father was slowly declining. But how could she have known, when he’d always been strange? To think that she was part of some elaborate prophecy, and that he kept her perpetually sheltered from the world and the person who would try to destroy her made no sense.

She feared the slippery slope ahead of them, for her Pop was her only connection to the past. The only one that crawled into the darkness with her and pulled her out.

Now her father was the one living in darkness. She didn’t know how to fix him. Or fix her, for wishing that she didn’t have to watch her father disintegrate mentally before her eyes. To wish that things, no matter how odd they’d been in the past, could go back to that.

Her pop was confused. No one was out to get her. Certainly not a king—or two.

Yet, in that instant, memory clogged within her, sticking to the reservoir of her dreams. Rational understanding slipped away, and for a moment, she was lost.

The recognition of a vow hovered on the outskirts of her mind. Of a Fate that wouldn’t be denied.

She touched her womb. Though she’d never been pregnant, the idea that once she had been reached out, pulling her deeper into unlikely recollection. The Dream King had been hers, and she belonged to him. He was the father of the child. The impossibility of the memory stung.

She wished it. She wished it badly.

Xanthane shook her head, the cloud of despair lifting. Better to snap out of whatever fugue she was still in. Her womb was empty. She’d never had a king. Bryan had been her only love. That was the practical truth, and anything more than that was imagination.

Climbing out of bed, she darted around the room, unwilling to get in trouble with her boss. Thanks to her father’s phone call and her irrational musing, she’d never be on time.

She heard someone pausing outside her door. She turned, a flare of apprehension, the sort that never went away, filling her. That was her ex-boyfriend’s fault. Xanthane still hadn’t recovered from being with him.

“Knock, knock, Sleeping Beauty,” said a familiar man’s voice. Her teammate, Voohr, poked his head in through the entrance flap of her tent. “Are you decent?”

Xanthane rolled her eyes. “Yes. Come in.”

He chuckled at her wry comment, entering and making himself comfortable on the cot, his vibrant blue eyes watching her. Being her best friend, she didn’t kick him from the room.

“Get up,” she said, then chuckled.

Voohr shook his head with bemusement as he sprawled, one hand propping his dark blond head on his palm. “I brought you something to tide you over. You missed breakfast.”

He threw her a protein shake wrapped in dented cardboard, part of the stock he kept in his room, mostly to give to her at times like this. Catching it one-handed, she unscrewed the lid and gulped the chalky substance down, grimacing when finished.

Tossing the empty container in a nearby trashcan, Xanthane crossed the short distance to sit beside him. She attempted to nudge him over while she pulled on her socks, and then her boots. Voohr didn’t scoot a single inch.

“I’m almost ready,” she said, knowing she was anything but.

His tone turned from teasing to matter-of-fact. “You can’t miss Whitlock’s morning group meeting, however much you may want to.”

“Don’t put on. You know he bores you, too.”

He left her cot as he spoke. “Of course he does. He’s boring as hell.” He shook his head, pointing to the tent’s exit with emphasis. “You should know by now that he hates anyone being late.”

“You’re late,” she reminded him.

“We stick together,” Voohr reminded her, tugging her off the bed when she finished with her boots. “Though you should know he’s not happy with you.”

“Why not?” she said, frowning. Meanwhile, she pulled on her winter coat, grabbing gloves and a hat and scarf.

Snow was in the area, although according to the locals, the weather wouldn’t be volatile this week. Xanthane learned to trust them over the weatherman. Alaska had the propensity to be ever-changing, but still, snowfall was usually light in November. Come into December, though? Yeah, she knew how difficult it got then. Best to always be prepared.

Voohr answered her. “Your maps from the last site. Whitlock ran them through GIS. They’re not up to speed. Just to warn you, he’s having a fit.”

Her arms crossed and irritation entered her voice. “What’s wrong with my maps?”

His concern heightened. “You were off. Big time, Xanthane. Yeah, we covered rivers and some of the forest, but where did you come across anything resembling a ley line? It wasn’t there, and that’s trouble. You know how Whitlock feels about your father’s influence.”

“If I hadn’t seen them, I wouldn’t have drawn them,” she defended. “We weren’t just on tundra. There were other things around. I swear it.”

She hated sounding like her father. Yet, she spoke honestly. She had seen something. Something not right. Something with malcontent lingering in the air. It was unexplainable, but without a doubt, she knew she was right.

There were things worse than being similar to her dad, and one of them was not being one-hundred percent accurate. With the latest technology, she was sure to get caught when messing up. Yet the niggling feeling that she hadn’t been at fault stayed with her.

The Geographic Information System, otherwise called GIS, rarely gave incorrect information. Everything put into it was well researched and verified. No wonder Whitlock was pissed.

Voohr tossed her work tablet towards her, then threw in her direction her sketchbook and pencils. Xanthane caught each of them respectively, placing them in a bag upon her shoulder. The tablet would only work while in range of the city, for there wasn’t reception beyond use of a satellite past it, but for this meeting, as any other, their boss expected them to have their notes ready.

“Let’s get going,” she said, bracing herself for the admonishment that was bound to come as soon as she arrived before her boss. “I mean it. We’re already late enough.”

With disgruntled muttering, Voohr stalled. “I can think of better things to do.”

Xanthane gave him a sharp look. He’d been throwing innuendos a lot lately. Not wanting complications, she ignored him.

“None of that,” she chided lightly.

He nodded, then pulled the tent’s flap open, and she braced against the cold. Voohr nudged her. Even though he was being gentle, she still swayed sideways. Xanthane laughed, lightly punching his upper arm.

“Let’s go. I’m going to hear it, as it is.”

Too short, too feminine, and just turned twenty, Xanthane fought to make the male-dominated workplace her own. She was the only woman on this team, and Whitlock, because of the contention with his ex-wife, acted begrudging towards her.

Not that she didn’t mostly deserve his attitude. He was still an ass, no matter if she might be at fault. No one deserved to be treated as insignificant. And, after her years with her ex-boyfriend, Bryan, she refused to feel that way ever again. He was the past, a murky, indistinct one now, though at one time, Bryan had meant everything to her.

Maybe things had never been normal. She’d spent too many years with an inattentive father, a man who concerned himself more with the world of fantasy than her.

Not that her Pop didn’t love her. He did. But Xanthane always felt second best, an afterthought to his mystical ways and habits. Now, with her father being so absent-minded and forgetful, Xanthane felt the loss more.

At least she had Voohr. Voohr always made her feel wanted.

She wiped her eyes from the tears that misted, turning her head from her friend’s astute watchfulness. If Voohr knew she was remembering things she couldn’t change, he’d stop them both from walking until he rectified her thinking.

There was no time for that. Xanthane broke into a jog as Voohr kept up while still walking. Across camp, Whitlock stood. Among the eight-membered team, everyone was there except for the two of them.

Whitlock singled her out, as he always did. “Keeling. You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” she said, breathless, more so from the threat of her boss’s disapproval than because of exertion. She wasn’t out of shape, for with the job, it was a requirement to be healthy, especially when oftentimes she hiked in rugged territory.

She hated feeling this way, small and worried and wrong. It should have made her more consistent with her attendance, but instead, it added to her anxiety, and then she couldn’t motivate herself to get going at all.

She sighed softly. Voohr looked over at her and immediately spoke up, interrupting Whitlock.

“It was me, boss. I detained her.”

Whitlock grumbled. “Well, regardless, you’d better not do it again. Now, get in here, the both of you. I’m ready to hand out your assignments.”

Voohr poked her side, giving her a reassuring smile. She reciprocated the smile, then turned towards their boss. That was Voohr. He always defended her.

Thinking about her maps, Xanthane bit her lip in frustration. The contractors she worked for, Hasberger’s, were directed by the forestry service, and they were the best in the business. She was more than qualified for the job. In fact, she’d been hired on immediately, based on her early college graduation and excelling skills.

She worked hard through her educational years, finishing high school at fifteen, then heading off to higher education. School came easy for her. By the time she was seventeen, she had a bachelor’s degree. Then she went for her masters, and contemplated going back for more learning to earn her doctorate. All this, and she wasn’t even legally able to drink.

Mastering in geography and forestry, taking cartography training, studying the GIS system; she worked long and hard for it all. She knew drafting, some engineering, and surveying. Attaining this position meant everything to her.

She’d better not screw it up.

Circumspectly, she reached into her pocket to grab the pill bottle she always carried, containing a sampling of her prescriptions. Anxiety medication, a pill for nightmares, and a sleeping tab. She hated the dependancy on them, but it didn’t stop her from taking them.

Right now, tenseness filled her body. Her head pounded with a headache.

She popped an anxiety pill without water. It tasted bitter and chalky, but by now, she was used to the taste. No matter how disgusting it was to take, she also knew it spelled relief.

Whitlock handed out assignments while she waited for the pill to kick in. As she was prone while in the middle of an anxiety attack, she couldn’t concentrate. Voohr paid attention to instructions, even when she could not. She fought the urge to disassociate, to focus on anything but the stress that filled her. Even having Voohr beside her didn’t keep the panic away.

Just then, something odd caught her eye. Xanthane flicked her gaze in that direction and immediately gasped.

What the hell was that?

A creature came to the edge of camp and stood there. The thing was long-bodied, with lean arms and stumpy legs. A face that looked more caricature than human looked directly at her.

The problem was, what she saw was clearly not a man. Talons grew from its fingers. Its hands were three-fingered, nothing more. The beast was surrounded by shadows, which, instead of hiding its features, accentuated them. Its eyes bulged, and it had a long, serpentine tail. A snout protruded nearly six inches from its head. Under the nose, there was a gaping maw covered with a sneer.

Slowly it raised its arm, its talons extended towards her. Then it raked the air, as if it were tearing at something. The motion was precise, intelligent, while its eyes never left her. She swallowed uneasily, flinching.

What animal existed that looked as it did? None that she could think of. This creature was pure fantasy, probably a stress-induced manifestation she created. But it looked so real.

The being raked its arm once again, claws curled, and slower this time. Now, a leer came over its face. It smiled.

Creepy.

She had to be imagining things. First the night terrors and now this? It was unreal. Could it be that she was still laying on her cot in her tent asleep? After all, nightmares were nearly a daily contention that she lived with. Maybe the events of this morning hadn’t really happened at all.

If only that were true.

Voohr turned to her, frowned, then leaned down to whisper, “What’s wrong?”

Xanthane didn’t care if she got caught not paying attention. Trembling violently, she gestured towards the beast.

“Do you see that?”

Voohr’s brow furrowed. “No. What should I be looking at?”

“That thing.”

In spite of Whitlock droning on, Voohr turned in the direction she pointed. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s-it’s there, staring at me.”

Voohr shook his head, his gaze sympathetic but canny. “You didn’t get enough sleep again, did you?”

“Maybe,” she answered doubtfully. The creature was still there. At least, she thought so. Nobody else seemed to notice it. Xanthane shuddered. What the hell was wrong with her? Seeing things? What next?

“Keeling,” Whitlock snapped. “Pay attention. And meet me after we’re done.”

She nodded.

Her eyes darted back to the forest. The beast was gone. So, she had imagined it.

Their boss, with starchness in his voice, directed the group with his closing statement, and then waved his arm in dismissal. “Everyone, get lost. Keeling, stay.”

Xanthane waited while the other teammates, including Voohr, moved away. Most of them headed back to their tents to set up equipment. Voohr stayed near enough that he was in sight, though he made himself look busy by shifting paperwork on the nearby table.

His eyes met hers. She wasn’t alone. She was never alone because of him.

Xanthane faced her employer.

“Boss,” she said, squirming when Whitlock didn’t immediately chastize her.

“Xanthane,” he said. She braced herself. She expected gruffness, and she got it. “What’s wrong with you? Your mapping is incorrect. Your attendance? Unacceptable.”

“Sir, I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t finished.” He held up his hand to halt her. His voice tersed. “You added a river and a ley line to your map. We are professionals. That shit is nonsense. Get it straight, or I’ll move you back to logistics.”

Gulping, Xanthane nodded. He leaned in, his breath smelling like coffee and cigarettes.

Softer now, he said, “You also look tired. Is everything all right?”

His concern rocked her. She nodded again.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

Her mercurial boss once again changed his tone, seemingly contemplating her answer and finding it acceptable. Snapping, he said, “See that you are. And look the part. My workers live in the field. It’s dangerous and exacting, but you’re dressed like a damned woman in a fashion magazine. Shape up. Now.”

Fashion magazine? That hurt. Her clothing was practical, though bright. Maybe he considered that unprofessional, but she wasn’t about to buy a new wardrobe for her boss’s preferences. Plus, it was safer to stand out while in the woods. Hunters were a real threat. So were the animals. Bright colors warded them both away.

She nodded for the third time. Satisfied, Whitlock gave her a corresponding nod, then stormed off, shouting at his next victim. With a sigh of relief, Xanthane watched Voohr walk towards her.

“How bad did it go?”

“He said what I expected,” she told him. “But, at least he didn’t take it out on me too hard.”

“You should be glad. I love you, but you really are screwing up lately.” For the second time, she heard it. She didn’t want to be reminded. He continued, though by the softness in his tone, he understood that she hovered on the precipice of deep emotion. “What’s the matter?” he said.

Xanthane shrugged with discomfort. “I guess I need to sleep better. These nightmares. They’re awful.”

His gaze sharpened. “Your pills aren’t working?”

“No.”

He examined her a moment longer before responding, a tinge of something dark and hidden in his voice. “The camp doctor should see you. We’re heading out later, but maybe you can get some time to talk to her. You’re not right.”

That stung. Being rational and precise meant everything to her. Lately, she wasn’t acting herself. The nightmares superceded all thought. But to have her best friend agree with her inner fears made them real. She nodded slowly, the panic attack that hit her earlier easing as the anxiety pill kicked in.

It was pointless to assume that medical could fix anything about her dreams. She was on enough medicine. But, Voohr made sense. She should see the doctor.

“We going out in the plane today?” she asked, determinedly changing the subject. False bravado filled her voice.

One thing she didn’t do was willing was fly in the small-engine planes transporting locals most everywhere in the region, including the out-of-town workers and many tourists. She hated heights, hated planes more, and seeing the expanse below, nothing but trees, rivers, and the mountains topped with snow, wasn’t something she wanted to crash and drop down onto.

Voohr squeezed her shoulder, the unexplainable emotion he projected gone. “Yup, sorry. Straight into the park.”

She breathed a sigh of disappointment. Let Voohr fly . She’d rather walk.

“You ready?” she asked, hopeful that he wasn’t.

He nodded, a knowing smile hovering. “You?”

“You know I’m not,” she confessed.

Voohr didn’t judge, but he did give her the perspective she needed right now, and that was work. Businesslike, he said, “I got you some more repellant. Grab your bag. Get your rifle. We head out in an hour.”

“Maybe I’ll have time to grab something substantial to eat.”

“Doubtful,” he said, then smiled. “Not as long as it takes you to pack.”

“I need a lot of stuff,” she argued.

He was right. She really didn’t need to pack as much as she did. But, in the wilderness, she wanted to be prepared for anything. She should have gotten her things together earlier, but in that, too, she procrastinated.

Her bag, every single time she packed, ended up being way too heavy. At least she was strong enough to carry it for long distances.

“You should call your dad. Check in on him. You know how reception is once we get past the city.”

“I will,” she lied in response. Voohr didn’t have to know about her earlier conversation with her father. “I hope he’ll do better today.”

“Me too. But even if he’s not, Xanthane, you can’t fix him. And you need this money to help him. Just think of that when you beat yourself up.”

She whispered, “How did you know?”

He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering. “I always know.”

Then he moved away, likely to give her privacy for a phone call she wouldn’t make. With a deep sigh, Xanthane pulled her phone from her back pocket. Instead of dialing, however, she looked around to see if Voohr was still near. He wasn’t, so the phone went back into her pocket.

Yeah, she felt guilty for deceiving her friend, but to talk with her father again racked her psyche more. Why did her father have to be like that? What Fate had she offended? And why the hell must she fly? It seemed the Universe was after her today.

Voohr returned minutes later. Though he gave her a questioning look, she ignored it, saying instead, “Is the plane ready?”

“Been ready. If we don’t hurry, they’ll leave. Those winged taxis don’t mess around.”

She chuckled. “In other words, leave or Whitlock will make us hear about it?”

“Pretty much.”

She sighed. “Give me five minutes. I’ll be back.”

He laughed, walking backwards in the plane’s direction as he answered. “I’ll stall. Just hurry, all right?”

Jogging back to her tent, she packed. Bras, panties, long-sleeved undershirts, jackets, another coat, snow pants, and extra socks for her Gortex boots, plus basic essentials went into the plastic trash bag that she filled, then placed inside her backpack. She sealed both, knowing that was as waterproof as she could make it.

Every article of clothing, even her sleeping bag, was made of polyester. Her shoes, also, had to be waterproof. Otherwise the snow, or in temperate weather, the rain, could soak the fabric, never drying. River crossings hurt the chances of her socks drying out quickly, along with her shoes, but having non-slip wading boots, though clunky, mostly kept her from the elements.

Looking around before she exited the tent, she hoped she forgot nothing. Ten minutes later, she met up with Voohr in front of the small plane and its teenier airstrip. They boarded, silent for the hour’s trip. When the plane dropped them off inside the forest, Xanthane finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Here, within the woods and among the mountains, she was free. Here, she could think without fears cramping in and strangulating her.

“You ready?” Voohr asked.

She nodded, and off they set. Neither talked.

Heading deep within the mostly coniferous forest, that silence continued. They made ten miles the first day. Fifteen the second. For a week, they walked, camped, and walked some more. They still had a while to hike to reach their first planned milemarker. The next week followed the same routine. Walk, hike, walk more.

She and Voohr were instructed to go through Denali National Forest, along the Alaskan Mountain range, making their way up towards the town Nenana. It was within the Denali Park that they’d map the rugged wilderness.

Dusk fell. They readied for the night, setting camp just along the base of the mountains.

Xanthane knew it would be another night of wild dreams. Dreams of a mental hospital, and of being trapped in a fugue that never ended. Sighing, she pushed those disturbing thoughts away.

While Voohr built a fire about a hundred feet from their tents, far enough away that bear wouldn’t see their lodgings as bait, Xanthane took her medication and waited for it to kick in. Hopefully tonight they would work.

The sun hadn’t been in the skies long today. They traveled in a false dusk, night approaching quickly.

If she got a few hours of rest tonight, she’d appreciate it. Good sleep was uncommon, though. Her dreams exhausted her. By morning, it always felt like she’d not slept at all.

Saying goodnight to Voohr, she entered her tent and rolled out one of her two sleeping bags, climbing inside. Her eyes closed. Images filtered through her mind.

The hospital, along with leering, laughing faces.

A man, cloaked in shadows.

A god, beaming with light.

A world, torn apart by two men, both on opposing sides. Both ready to create war.

Both ready for her.

As she drifted into unconsciousness, she met the world of darkness. The realm of the Dream King.

Raw power slammed into her, just as it did every time. Dizziness followed.

Then, once again, she was there.

The Nightmare Realm.

No, please, not again. Not after she’d been warned away from the world by the king’s minions.

Her prayers didn’t work. She entered the dream world, slave to its presence.