S
HE STARED AT
the face of a man who was painfully, horribly familiar, and yet was completely different. Egmun wore his hair cropped short to his head, though the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were smoother, the lines around his mouth lighter, and he wore a hint of stubble across his chin. The sight of the younger senator sent Vhalla into a rage-filled dread, the emotion conflicted with what her dream-self was feeling, a sense of calm trust.
Vhalla fought against the vision, struggling to escape, to push Egmun away. She pulled and pried and twisted mentally until something fractured at her raw panic. She stood outside of the body she previously occupied, what should be her body in any other dream.
Aldrik looked like he could be no older than fifteen. His hair was longer, down to his shoulders and tied back at the neck. Messy bangs framed his face, and Vhalla looked on with a strange mixture of love and fear for the wide-eyed boy alone in this dark place with a man she hated more than anyone or anything else.
The room was filled with a haze that mingled ominously with the darkness, making only certain details easily distinguishable. There was a single flame flickering in the cavernous space, and wherever it was, neither the ceiling nor walls were visible by the light. The floor was stone, inlaid with what seemed to be shards of shimmering glass. She tried to get a closer look but a fog covered them every time she tried to focus. There were old looking markings carved beneath their feet, spiraling toward the center where a man was kneeling, bound and blindfolded. He shivered and shook. The fabric covering his eyes was wet with tears.
“Prince Aldrik.” Egmun took a step forward. He wore a formal black coat and dark trousers; there was no sign of his Senatorial chain. “Someday, you will be Emperor. Do you know what that means?”
“I-I do.”
Vhalla turned to the stuttering child.
“So you know that justice will fall to you.” Egmun took another step forward, and Vhalla’s heart began to race, feeling hopelessly trapped. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to see this. “It was your mother’s last request for your father to spare you these duties as long as possible.”
“My mother’s?” Vhalla saw a sad flash of hope in the boy’s eyes at the mention of the mother he never knew.
“But you will soon be a man, won’t you?” Egmun asked softly.
“I will.” The boy prince took a deep breath, as if to grow into all his height in one moment.
“It is rather unfair, no? For your father to be treating you like a child?” Vhalla watched the man grin, and she knew this Aldrik had not yet perfected his powers of perception and manipulation. If she could see Egmun for what he was in that moment, she had no doubt the adult Aldrik would as well. “Are you prepared to be the crown prince this realm needs?”
“I am,” Aldrik repeated through obvious doubt. Even though the space was cold, sweat dotted his brow.
“Then, my prince, for justice, for the strength of Solaris, for the future of your Empire, slay this man.” Egmun dropped dramatically to a knee. He pulled at the rope which attached a short sword to his belt and held out the blade expectantly.
Vhalla wasn’t sure if it was her heart that was racing or if it was the young Aldrik’s.
“But ...”
“This man has stolen from your family; it is a treasonous crime. He is not an innocent,” Egmun assured.
“Should my father not—”
“I thought you were a man and a prince. I did not take you as someone who shied from justice or power, Prince Aldrik.” Egmun seemed to stretch his arms to hold out the sword further. “Why are you here?”
“For my father, to conquer the North,” Aldrik said uncertainly. The war on the North had only started four years ago. Aldrik should be twenty, not a child.
“With this, all will bend to you.” Egmun smiled encouragingly, and Vhalla was reminded of a serpent. Aldrik took the sword hesitantly.
No,
she whispered mentally. She was, of course, helpless and unheard. Aldrik turned to the kneeling man.
“M-my prince, m-mercy please. T-take my hand for m-my theft. Spare m-me.” Vhalla heard the rough voice of the man through his tears. Aldrik looked back to Egmun.
“Minister ...” he said weakly.
“The guilty will say anything to you, my prince, to save their skin. This, too, is a lesson.” Egmun returned to his feet, he seemed to be holding his breath.
Aldrik unsheathed the sword, passing the scabbard back into Egmun’s eager palms. The blade shimmered as though it gave off its own light.
Egmun, stop.
Vhalla shouted.
“M-mercy,” the man begged. Aldrik stared at Egmun hopelessly.
“Kill him,
Aldrik
.”
Vhalla gaped in shock at the sudden harshness in Egmun’s tone. His patience had finally run thin. Aldrik didn’t seem to notice. She only had a moment to contemplate what, exactly, had the senator so eager before Vhalla saw the boy set his jaw in grim determination.
No.
She felt Aldrik’s terror, his uncertainty, his youthful hopefulness, the ever encroaching end of his innocence, and she felt herself at the point of weeping.
Aldrik raised the blade. It hovered, just a moment above his head. The young prince stared at the helpless man before him, the life she knew was about to be cut short. Vhalla saw the flash of the firelight on the surface of the sword as he brought it down clumsily onto the man’s head.
No,
she repeated as she saw the man shudder violently at Aldrik’s weak and clumsy swing. Aldrik raised the sword again.
No!
Vhalla cried as he brought down the sword again, blood splattering across his perfect, youthful face. Aldrik raised the sword again.
“No!” Vhalla shouted, lunging forward at a figure that disappeared with the opening of her eyes.
An arm wrapped itself across her shoulders, holding her tightly to a man’s chest. A hand clamped over her mouth firmly. Her mind was in a daze and she cried out again, muffled by the fingers covering her lips. She twisted and kicked to free herself from the person’s clutches, instantly thinking of Egmun, her cheeks wet with tears.
“
Vhalla
.” A voice that was made of midnight itself soothed from behind her. It broke through the chaos in her head. “Vhalla, stop. It’s all right. It’s me.”
She gave a small whimper of relief and took a breath through her nose. Then another, until Aldrik finally removed his hand from her mouth, assured she would not alert the whole world to her presence in his bed. In her sleep she had rolled onto her side and Aldrik had curled behind her. Vhalla rolled to face him.
“Aldrik,” she said weakly. Vhalla scanned his face. After seeing his younger self, he suddenly appeared every year of his age and too many more. She choked down a small cry of relief to see his cheeks free of blood. “Aldrik,” Vhalla whimpered before using his chest as a shield from the world.
The prince’s arms closed around her, and he kissed the top of her head. “I’m here. You’re safe. It was just a dream. It isn’t real,” he reassured, running a hand up and down her back.
“It is.” Vhalla choked out in-between shaky breaths and the remnants of tears. She couldn’t deny it any more. The earlier dreams had been too mingled with his consciousness to know for certain, but now she was sure.
“Vhalla, I know of a great many powers in this world ...” He pulled back and ran a thumb over her wet cheeks. “I know of powers to see the future in flame and ash. I know of powers to listen to echoes of the past in waves. I know of powers that can heal almost any illness. I know of powers to walk outside of one’s own body.” Aldrik smiled gently at her. “But I know of no power of dreams.”
“It-
it was real
.”
“Hush, you’re not making sense. Take a breath and go back to sleep. It is barely dawn, and my father didn’t speak of having your demonstration until noon.” He kissed her forehead lightly, and Vhalla’s guilt made her pull away from him to sit up.
“You don’t understand. It was real. My dreams, they’re not—” A shiver ran down her arms. “They’re not always dreams.”
“Come, you’re cold,” Aldrik sighed. “What is it you think they are?” He yawned, blinking sleep away and propping his head up with his elbow.
She relented, lying back down into the covers but avoiding his embrace. “They’re,” Vhalla sighed and closed her eyes, bracing herself. “They’re your memories.”
“What?” Aldrik studied her.
“My dreams, at least sometimes, are your memories. I don’t know how, or why, or when they will happen, but they do.” She gulped at his silence.
“Why do you think that?” he asked, turning serious. “Because there’s no reason why I should dream anything like what I see,” she whispered.
“Dreams are strange, Vhalla. Who knows why we dream what we do.” Aldrik laid back down.
“No,” she snapped; he wasn’t taking her as seriously as she had wanted. She recalled a prior vivid dream. “The man who stabbed you was your brother’s guard, he was a Westerner, and his son was in the town that you attacked.”
Aldrik’s eyes grew wide. “Did Baldair tell you that?”
“No!” Vhalla fought to keep her head from turning into an emotional mess. “Aldrik, they are my dreams! You were at a garden in the West with the sculpture of a woman on an obelisk with a gold and ruby sun. There was a man there who told you—of all people—to stop fidgeting.”
“My mother’s grave.” Aldrik’s lips barely moved. His eyes were suddenly burning with a dark intensity, and he grabbed her shoulder. “What else?” he demanded.
“What else have you seen?”
His fingers dug into her skin.
She struggled to remember anything else but her most recent dream. “You in the dark, with another woman ...”
“Mother ...” He hung his head in shame.
“With, when-when Egmun made you ...” Vhalla struggled to find words, still reeling.
“When he what?” Aldrik’s teeth were clenched.
“When he what?”
For the first time, Vhalla felt a small twinge of fear at his quivering hands. “When-when he made you kill that man,” Vhalla whispered, her lips barely moving.
Aldrik stared at her. “Is that all? What do you know? Tell me, Vhalla, and do not lie to me.” His voice was rough and void of compassion.
“I have never lied to you!”
“Of course not, just rummaged through my head,” he raged.
“How dare you!” Vhalla jerked out of his grasp, offended by his presumptions. “I only just realized it. I was only now, this morning, able to separate myself enough from you in the memories to realize.” She saw the recognition of those facts calm his anger some.
“Was that all you saw?” he repeated more calmly.
“Of that dream? Yes,” she sighed. “I don’t even know where it happened. It was all dark.”
The prince sat and brought his forehead to his palm with a heavy sigh.
“Aldrik,” she whispered. “There’s another ...”
“Gods, what?” he sighed. “
Vhalla
,” he urged softly.
Vhalla bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to form the words. Something about all that had been said, her recent dream, his low opinion of himself, placed this singular memory in the forefront of her mind. Vhalla sat and took his hand gently in hers, bringing it to her lips first in reassurance. He looked at her, a mix of pain, shame, and anger furrowing his brow. She sighed and turned his hand over, so the inside of his wrist faced upward. With her free hand she placed an index finger just below his palm running it up his forearm. Her fingertip caught on his sleeve and pushed it upward, revealing the ghost of a scar which she knew would be there. It was so faint that on the pale of his skin it was nearly invisible, but she knew to look for it. Vhalla brought her gaze up to his slowly.
Aldrik’s face drained of all the other emotions except horror as his lips parted. Vhalla held her breath, letting the shock hit him in silence. He wrenched his hand from her fingers, as though she had actually cut along his forearm. Vhalla could only look at him sadly before his eyes bore into her long enough that she was forced to avert her attention.
They sat facing each other on the bed as the silence dragged on into eternity. His breathing was rough, and he clutched the arm she had touched as though he was in pain. Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she awaited the verdict.
“I never meant to violate you so,” she said weakly. Intentional or not, it remained that she had forced herself upon his most private of spaces, pilfering things that were not freely given.
Aldrik said nothing; he continued to attempt to get his breathing under control as his eyes fixed on her. Vhalla felt power radiating off of him; he was angry, he was hurt, and it made her feel all the more awful.
“I never wanted to.” She tried to explain, “I would’ve never done so—”
“Of course not,” he spat. “Who would ever want to see the twisted broken histories that lurk in my head? Only one person in this world should deserve to endure it.” That brought her eyes back to him.
“Aldrik, don’t say that,” she whispered softly, breaking under the anger in his gaze that she saw wasn’t really directed at her.
“Oh?” He laughed dryly. “How can you think so? You know what’s there now. What’s worse, you’ve lived it. Tell me, Vhalla, what’s it like to find out your prince is a coward? Is weak? Is scared? Is wicked? Is—”
“
Human
,” she said firmly, cutting him off. Aldrik paused. “Aldrik, I don’t know why ...” She took his hand in hers again, looking down at his arm.
“I won’t tell you,” he said sharply. Vhalla shifted, startled, she had hardly been about to ask. “Damn it.” He stood, pacing the room. “Even if I don’t tell you, every time you sleep it’s a roulette to see if you’ll find out.” He spouted a series of foul words.
Vhalla grabbed the blanket tightly; she’d never heard him use such vulgarity. “I wouldn’t say anything to—”
“Not even my brother knows, Vhalla.” He turned back. “Not even Larel knows, and she’s the closest person I’ve ever had to calling a true friend. I tried to tell her once and that just went over awfully.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his palms.