Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II
Chapter 28 - Spirits of the Dreamtime

Brennan woke to the rising sun and saw its light through his closed eyelids. For some reason, he expected chirping from the early morning birds and the feeling of morning dew. But, of course, they were absent. It was just silence and heat gradually warming the unmoving air around him. He’d always taken these little signs of life for granted and now wished he hadn’t.

“Wake,” the Voice said.

A cold wave of energy went in through his ears, down his spine, and into his arms and legs—first through the muscles and then the bones. Then the wave bounced back through the length of his body. Everything became clear, and his bones no longer ached. With this new energy, he looked around.

The woods around him seemed like they were clearer than before, like the trees had become more separate. The space between them seemed far more perceptible and less threatening. He could even appreciate the differences in the many shades of brown of the plants around him. But his sight wasn’t the only thing that was clearer. His thoughts and perceptions felt cleansed of the emotions, the anger, the guilt that had filled him before he slept. For just a couple of minutes, he felt entirely at ease where he was.

Then Brennan felt a familiar psychic wave that was just like the emotions and sensations he had felt the night before. Marshal had woken, and the connection between their minds still hadn’t been severed. The psychic connection caused the woods to suddenly seem darker and larger. He saw imaginary shadows dart silently through the trees. Fortunately, the strength of the bond had significantly diminished since the night before, so it was not as all-consuming or confusing.

Brennan also became aware when each of his other friends woke. Each had a faint hum of energy within them, which revved up when they were awake. And the longer that he paid attention to this energy, the more he realized that each was unique. He hardly even needed to look to see which belonged to each friend. It all came at an intuitive level, and each of their auras seemed to reflect their character.

The change in Brennan’s perception of the world was somewhat dizzying at first. It took several minutes before he could stabilize himself with the waves loosely echoing to and from each of his friends. This energy became a little bit more active when they looked at the table and saw that it was completely empty, even of scraps. And he sensed their combined disappointment and fear grow until he too felt those emotions.

It wasn’t long before Megan joined them in waking. She felt much like the rest, if a little more stable.

Exousia followed behind, finally joining them all after keeping watch throughout the night. No emotions were coming from her, no feelings, nothing. The only energy that she emitted was the scattered feeling of emptiness like static.

However the buzzing energy within Brennan did not seem to like looking at her. And the longer that he watched her, the louder the static and feelings of anger and fear became. So, Brennan forced himself to look away, scared of what the scrambled feeling inside might do. What was more, he now realized something else about the Woodcutter that made him want to keep his distance. Even before he’d eaten the fruit, Brennan had an intuitive feeling that she was able to intuit all of their thoughts far more than was natural. Now, he suspected that their psychic abilities were shared. If that was the case, Brennan wanted to keep his thoughts and plans to himself.

The Woodcutter looked at them and said, “We’ve taken as much time for rest as we can afford.” As she spoke, the others’ tremulous emotions settled a bit. They were like scared members of a dog-pack, taking solace in being allied with the biggest scariest alpha dog that they knew. And, just like dogs, they compliantly fell in line behind her and continued forward into the woods.

Brennan decided to stay at the very back of the group, walking behind the rest of his friends so that he could think in relative privacy. If the tree had been the midpoint or anywhere near it, he knew that he had many hours left before they reached any sort of civilization. In the meantime, he had to avoid attention and remain calm. So, he focused on muffling the scrambled feelings in his head and the energy from his friends.

As the hours went by, Brennan found he could quiet their energies a bit by calming himself and thinking about unimportant things. But then he would accidentally look at or think about the Woodcutter, and the rage would return. So, he kept his head down and focused on the changes within himself. His mental powers were not the only abilities he had acquired. Even though he was hungry and tired, his legs no longer felt shaky. His movements felt stronger and more purposeful than they had even before the woods. He wanted to test this strength further but reminded himself of his need for secrecy.

It was noon before the Woodcutter finally broke the silence. “We’re almost out.”

Brennan was almost too far away to hear the monotone announcement, but the waves coming from his friends amplified the message. This was followed by an airy feeling of hope from each of them along with a return of the angry static.

“We will soon reach an old dirt road that you can easily follow,” the Woodcutter continued, without stopping. “You will come out at a street, close to a small town that is fairly populated. Ideally, I’ll be able to hold off the wolves while the rest of you run to safety.”

For a moment, Brennan felt encouraged by this news. He wasn’t sure if this feeling of hope came from his own mind or if it came from his friends. But he realized that escape might be possible without fighting. He could go home … and things could go back to being almost the way they were before.

“No, Brennan,” the Voice whispered. “I cannot lose this Challenge. As always, you have a choice. But … there is no choice free of trouble or free of consequences, especially to the ones you love.”

Brennan’s cheeks flushed red, and he felt embarrassed for wanting to make a quick escape. But, then again, how could he not? This war wasn’t about him; none of this was about him! It was a game being played by forces that he didn’t understand and didn’t want to. He’d eaten the fruit only because it seemed like the best choice he’d had. But now he had another option, to side only with his friends. With his new power, he could help his friends escape and be free from this chaos.

Brennan’s thoughts were interrupted when saw something move out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a shadow until it came into full view as something muscular, pale, and animalistic. It looked like … it looked like the albino wolf that had killed his best friend. Anger and fear both worked to make him tremble, no longer walking. Could … could it also be the Voice?

“Yes. I am the monster which would have ended your friend’s life.”

Brennan balled his hands into fists, his face hot with rage.

“Yet, I protected you and the rest of your friends at every point that I could. I could have easily corrupted their souls and sent your friends to an eternity of torment and slavery. But instead, I have orchestrated a plan by which their souls will stay safe. And if they die … their eternal selves will become untouchable in eternal bliss. Look into my eyes, read my thoughts as you have your friends. I allow it so that you can see that I am telling the truth.”

Barely able to stop himself, Brennan looked into the monster’s black eyes and felt like he’d been hit with a massive wave of boiling water that made him physically stagger. But even through the pain and pressure, he could feel that he was being shielded. He suspected that he would have been consumed by the being’s memories, feelings, and power had that been the wolf’s intention. But instead, he saw one simple fact. The Voice was telling the truth … about everything. War was coming; there was no way to stop it. And it would with this Challenge. All Brennan could do … was get his friends and his sister out of the way.

Brennan watched as the albino wolf’s body slowly darkened until it was nothing but a shadow that quickly slipped away. Then, he saw only trees. For a moment, fear gripped him. But he forced it under control and listened for the footsteps of his friends. He soon heard them and dashed to catch up.

The Woodcutter had stopped and now stared in the direction of the albino wolf and a dark figure that had stepped out of the woods with something white hanging by a cord.

Brennan’s world slowly dimmed to black.

-O-

Exousia awoke from the blinding pain in her skull; once again, she was in the room of the human child named Emma. The fan above her span around in circles, blowing fresh air through the bandages on her swollen cheek. She listened passively to screaming rage coming through the floorboards; she tasted aluminum from the tab of a soda can that the eight-year-old child flipped end over end in his mouth. The metallic taste from the tab somehow soothed both spirits within the body.

Exousia sensed a sense of numbness coming from the girl. The lack of feeling was eerily similar to the coldness with which she’d tried to kill the boy at the school. None of the pain had ended since then. Rather, it seemed to have become a state of being. But Emma wasn’t concerned about any of that. As she laid back in her bed, she wondered what would happen if she swallowed the sharp aluminum tab. Would it go all the way down, cutting away at her stomach and throat as it went down? Would it leave a scar like the one that ran down her face?

The thought sent a chill down her spine, so she pinned the sharp piece of metal to the top of her mouth with her tongue so that it cut against the roof of her mouth. The pain did seem to soften the sting she felt in her chest as well as the hollow fear–like standing on the edge of a cliff. It was so much easier not to let herself feel what life had done to her.

Though Emma had stopped feeling, her memories had never gone away. In particular, she remembered the day she’d met the priest. He had promised to help fix everything. A similar promise to that of prayer … which Emma had tried countless times … without even a whisper in reply from any god or angel. Emma knew that she had to do something. If nothing changed, she could already imagine herself giving in to the same sadistic rage as her father, just like when she’d strangled the boy at school. Or maybe she’d become like her mother, slipping always further into this unfeeling until she could barely function. Yes, this seemed more likely … it was already happening.

Emma had thought about calling the priest before, but was stopped by the most curious of things. She couldn’t think of what to say. There was no manifesto, no decision, and no great concession she knew to make. All she had was a question. Maybe … all she had left was to ask it. Finally, Emma sat up, shifting uncomfortably, the question on the tip of her tongue.

Before she could even ask, a familiar voice replied, “Yes, Emma?” From the ether, the priest appeared. He was back in his less frightening human clothing. However, his eyes were still black.

Emma felt goosebumps all over her skin, but … the feeling was almost refreshing. It was the first real thing she’d felt in a long while. She spat the metal tab into her hand with a small amount of blood, dropped it to the floor, and with a shaky voice asked, “Why do you want me?”

The priest knelt and looked her in the eye. “I want to fix this world, to free my people and yours. But to do that, the Creator had determined that I must prove myself by defeating you in a battle of spirits.”

“Why me?” Emma asked.

The priest shook his head. “The Creator chose you for reasons yet unknown to me. I … originally came to find you and figure out how you might best be destroyed.”

Emma took a sharp breath.

“But in watching you,” the priest continued, “the first thing that I have learned is that you are not my enemy, nor are you the type of human who should be made prey. Rather, I see much of my own history and that of my kind within you. I decided that I would rather make an ally of you. And if I can win your trust … perhaps we can work together to defeat the ones who wanted to destroy us.”

Emma thought about what the priest was telling her. But her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a short scream and the breaking of glass. She stood to her feet, ran out the bedroom door, and then down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she saw shattered glass strewn along the tile floor. In the center of the destruction was their flat-screen television, shattered into pieces. Her mother stood over it, with a blank expression on her face.

Her father glared at her mother, his eyes swollen and red. He stomped to the guest bedroom and left with a duffel bag in hand. Even when his wife grabbed his arm, he kept walking as if she didn’t weigh a thing. Then, he screamed and threw her. Her mother stumbled, struck her head on a corner wall, and then collapsed onto a small table with a glass center. The glass center shattered, and the wood splintered; more debris swept across the floor. Her neck was left bent at an angle, and she didn’t move.

-O-

As Dufaii floated weightlessly within the blackness of his own dreams, he closed his eyes and tried to compose his thoughts into a state of lucidity. This was difficult, at first. As he had never slept, he had never dreamed. He first had to calm himself and refuse to worry about waking for the time being. His thousands of years’ experience in meditation did lend themselves to cleansing his mind of emotions. Once he had done so, the thought occurred to him that perhaps he could wake if he gained complete control of the dream.

Taking a shallow and controlled breath, Dufaii peeled his eyes open. He found himself standing on an open plain, miles of prairie and prairie-grass on every side of him. The wind blew gently, creating only a little bit of noise as it bent the tall grass in every which direction. It wasn’t day, nor was it night. He could see everything free of darkness, but there was no sun or light source directly illuminating anything around him.

Dufaii looked up, not knowing whether to expect stars or clouds. But in place of any sort of sky were massive tears in the red expanse, with lights glowing around their edges. On the other side of these tears were the images of dozens of times and places within Heaven, Hell, and Earth–ones which he remembered. Each had a familiar scene playing within, as if they were television screens that became clearer as he focused on them. These were memories. Dufaii began to walk, and the scenes above him were replaced by others.

A familiar voice said, “There are thin places.”

Dufaii turned and saw Exousia. For a moment, he felt emotions of relief begin to fill his mind. But there was something wrong with her. Her eyes seemed more glazed, wrinkled, tired. The same wind that blew in the grass seemed to make the same patterns in her brown irises. And she was young … only eight years old. Still, it was Exousia, with her unmistakable glimmer of guarded stoicism and thoughtful melancholy which she now kept her raw emotions buried within.

“What are you?” Dufaii asked.

Exousia looked at him, expressionlessly—the surface of her eyes becoming like a lake that reflected the color of the golden evening sun with water rippling across the surface. But as she seemed to think about the question she’d been asked, her face wrinkled into an expression of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Dufaii felt a pang of emotion in his chest, as if he’d accidentally hurt her. He knelt and shook his head. “It’s alright; don’t worry.” He placed a hand on the child’s shoulder and looked around again. When he did so, the images in the sky changed to his earliest memories of the child in front of him. Not just one, but hundreds of memories filled the sky like a hundred summer storms on the horizon.

Then he looked down and saw that Exousia’s form had changed. Her skin had become gray, her eyes black, with small gray wings folded behind her. In a way, she now looked … as if she were literally his child. This wasn’t the real Exousia. It was a projection, a piece of Dufaii’s mind just like everything else in this realm.

Dufaii almost choked on his words as he said, “You’re a piece … the piece of her that’s within me … but then where is the rest of you?” He looked around as the sky darkened and the wheat around him withered. Some plants seemed to try to grab at his feet. But they were too weak and frail to manage it.

Finally, Exousia shook her head. Of course … she didn’t know any better than he did.

Dufaii tried another approach, “You said there were thin places, what did you mean?”

Exousia nodded and replied, “I saw when you met that dream god, and when you saw the demon with all the scars. They looked into the world, almost like they could have come in here if they wanted to. Maybe you could reach them too.

Dufaii stroked his beard and thought about this. He remembered that the Dreamtime had once served as a meeting place where the old gods could inspire and influence their followers. Perhaps the barriers had never been cemented. If that was the case, maybe a demon could travel through them. If he could … it was possible that he would be able to summon the Seer. He said, “If the real you can hear this … I’m on my way.”

Exousia’s gray forehead wrinkled again, as if something about this confused her. She studied his eyes and thoughts, searching for something specific.

Dufaii did not allow himself to try to figure out why his mind had projected the form of his daughter as a demon child instead of a hybrid youth who was nearly an adult. He didn’t have the energy to dwell on the twisted state of his mind. Even so, a venomous thought began to eat at him, one he dared not think consciously. The words of the Lightbringer and the Warden echoed in his mind even as he tried to drown them out.

“I know you want to reach me,” Exousia said with genuine dispassion.

Dufaii opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He thought about flying or walking away but found it difficult. This felt foolish. He knew that this apparition wasn’t her. But his mind kept him locked there like an animal watching its own destruction. Almost as if it were an act of mercy, Exousia began to disappear into the dream. In a frantic moment, Dufaii placed a hand on her shoulder, willing her to stay.

“You have to go … you can’t stay here forever.” Exousia said and pushed his hand away. There was bitterness in her voice, the same as when she’d run off to the woods after burning down that small country house. Her body crumbled into sand that was quickly blown up and carried away by the wind.

Dufaii opened his mouth to shout in protest before he managed to regain control of his emotions. He shook his head repeatedly and reminded himself that the real Exousia was outside the dream world, and she needed help. So, he took flight across the prairie of his mind, trying to hold off on thinking about what had just happened. Instead, Dufaii focused on his few memories of the Seer, hoping it would be enough to summon the demon

Tears opened in the sky, replaying the scene from hours ago when they’d met.

On impulse, Dufaii flew towards one of these tears. As he did so, the air around him became thick and heavy. At first, this was like the humidity he felt when flying near a swamp or rainforest. But it became stronger until it developed into the feeling of a magnet pulling him back to the ground. Still, he pushed ahead until he felt something like an invisible sheet slowly begin to materialize in front of him. He reached to his side, removed his sword, and sliced into it.

But the material around him was too thick. It resisted his attack and became solid enough to catch him as if in an invisible net. The force tossed him back towards the ground with enough power that his body spiraled out of control.

Dufaii curled and held his weapon tightly, spinning and turning his chaotic fall into a dive. Then he spread his wings, caught himself, and glided towards the ground. Once there, he clenched his jaw and shouted in frustration.

“You are in such a hurry. Don’t you wish to see how the gods pay their debts?” asked Wati-kutjara, appearing from nothingness.

“I saw your illusion,” Dufaii said with a snarl.

Wati-kutjara lifted a hand, and said, “I speak with sincerity when I say that I don’t know what you are talking about, Godkiller. It is true that the gods can lead those in the Dreamtime to visions and self-reflection. But this place only serves to teach you what is hidden within. Your inner struggles are your own business and your own doing. My only desire here is to direct your attention to a memory from long ago. You must relive the horror that you and your apprentice faced long ago if you are to begin your journey to truth.”

“There’s no time!” Dufaii shouted. “Every moment I waste here is another for the challenge to be lost.”

“Time in a dream does not work like time elsewhere. You will wake when you wake; you have my word,” Wati-kutjara replied. “I saw you try to reach the tormented creature that is the culmination of hundreds of demon souls. They are on their way. But I advise you not to rush and miss my gift to you.”

“What gift?” Dufaii seethed.

Wati-kutjara motioned at the world around them. “The truth … your truth. And all the time in the world for you to come to terms with it. For a moment, the earth began to shake. The words of the Warden and of Mr. Green played like the distant wind.

Dufaii clenched his fists and shouted, “Enough of these lies!”

Wati-kutjara regarded him with a sad expression. “If you are seeing … or hearing something, I know not what it is.”

“Then you’re just letting my enemies project their manipulations,” Dufaii replied with a scoff. What difference did it make who had originally tried to fill him with doubt?

“Dufaii …” Wati-kutjara said as he pointed at a memory hanging in the sky. “Those are wear the memories wait. Out here, everything is you.”

The voices became louder.

More than anything, Dufaii wanted to fight and refuse to play into the god’s little game. But he knew that he didn’t have a choice. The god had said that the Dreamtime would end only when it was over. Even if he woke, there was a good chance that the god would put him right back to sleep if he hadn’t seen what he needed to see.

“Tell me what you are experiencing, perhaps I can guide you,” Wati-kutjara said.

“Fine,” Dufaii said in a growl. “I saw Exousia, except she looked like me. And all I can hear are the voices of my enemies, telling me my motives have been compromised. That I no longer hold highest allegiance to demonkind. But it’s all lies! I care about freedom for my kind more than anything! If I thought even for a second that Ammon’s stupid decisions would succeed, I would join him despite the rage Tezcatlipoca cursed me with. I’m broken, but I’m not an animal!”

Wati-kutjara smiled empathetically. “I know you’re not. But maybe … that is the point?”

Dufaii looked down at the ground, trying to make sense of the god’s words.

“Maybe,” Wati-kutjara continued. “Maybe none of this is about Ammon, nor about your enemies who have questioned you.”

Dufaii furrowed his brow. “Who else-” he began to mutter. But even as he said the words, the answer became obvious.

“When you began this journey of caring for the Creator’s Champion, you had what seemed a simple choice,” Wati-kutjara said. “You thought, as well as all others, that there was no way that she could stand up to Ammon. So while it felt like you had to choose between being the monster that would make her win and caring for her as your child, it was not really much of a choice. You’re no monster, Dufaii, and so you chose to become her father.”

Dufaii’s eyes darted rapidly as he tried desperately to regain control of the situation. But no … he felt as if he were free-falling, and there was nothing his wings could do to stop him before he reached the truth like the ground below.

“However, no good parent raises a child as a sacrificial lamb,” Wati-kutjara continued, his voice seeming to echo in Dufaii’s skull. “You evened the odds in her favor. Then Ammon and even your true enemies–the Archangels themselves–surprised you by giving her even greater power still. Suddenly, your child actually had a chance to win. You never questioned it, nor dis you even hint to Exousia that her death at the hands of the Madness within Ammon will be a victory for your people. You never even stopped to consider whose hands you were playing into. Or that if you stopped trying so hard to protect her, even for a moment …”

“… then this would all be over,” Dufaii whispered, the world around him suddenly becoming deadly silent. He looked up, but Wati-kutjara was gone. The memories in the skies had vanished. There was only the dead field all around him. Then he spotted something thin and black was worming its way through the sky. It took a moment for him to realize that the wriggling black things which slowly opened a hole in the orange-red horizon were strands of barbed wire.

The world tore away around him like fabric and was replaced by a new one. It was a blood-red world covered in bones, chains, and every torture device he had ever heard of. Hundreds of misshapen bodies in various tormented poses writhed as if they were prisoners trapped naked under a net of razor wire. But there was no actual force keeping them down; they were tethered only to one another. Some were surgically sewn, some were fused as if by a torch, and others were tied together with barbed wire.

Together, they moved and groaned in misery until they looked up at him in unison. With one united and haunting voice they said, “Wolfy! You came to visit us. Would you like a grape?”

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