If I kill him in here, maybe I can defeat him. If I can kill him.
My first experience in Mia’s dream, I managed to make the crime scene go away, even if I couldn’t do anything else. And although the Test scared me, I passed.
I can lucid dream, too.
I focus on building my own barrier. I put all my terror into it. The barrier grows over Ensi’s, pushing the knife back from my throat. Ensi’s face twists into a snarl. What will unnerve him most? What will give me the upper hand?
I focus. I have the barest bones of a plan, but it’s my best chance. My only chance. The air around Ensi ripples, like I’ve thrown a rock in a still pond.
“I know who you are,” I say. “I know your dreams and desires. I know what you’ve done.”
I imagine Ensi wearing the face he was born with. I imagine Ensi as a young child. I imagine him as the man who has just joined the Ratel, hungry for revenge and power. The three acts of his life: child, Brother, King.
The true Ensi drops the knife. It disappears before it hits the ground. He feels the dream warping, wrenching away from his control.
The air vibrates with energy, and green, crackling lightning flashes overhead. A bolt comes down and hits me, and I scream as it sears my skin. Where it struck my shoulder, fractal burns appear, snaking down my arm like tree branches. The energy travels through me.
Three more bolts of lightning hit the floor of the chapel, creating rents in the fabric of the dream. The sulfur smell of the swamp returns, mingling with the ozone scent of lightning and thunder. The holes in the dream widen.
Child. Brother. King.
I bring forth the three versions of Ensi from the dreams. Ensi, a small boy of eight, his arms spindly. Ensi as the Brother, about to leave the Hearth. Ensi as he looks now, just after he killed a man and left the persona of Veli Carrera behind. None of the three do anything. They stand, waiting for my instruction.
The King of the Ratel looks at his past selves in fear. I take the threads of the dream in my mind. I have no idea what I’m doing. I am only instinct, a result of Mana-ma’s training.
The knife appears in my hand again, cold and reassuring, but I no longer need it. I send the three simulacra toward Ensi. He backs away, pressing against the chapel wall. He’s gone gray, beads of sweat on his forehead. He glances at me, then away, as if he can’t stand to meet my eyes. He’s not the leader of the Ratel, the man who’s tortured many men and women to death, been responsible for many more. He slides down the wall, landing hard. He’s a frightened man, a broken man, huddled with his arms around his knees, completely unable to face himself.
The three versions of him open their mouths wide. Red light pours from their throats, and then the same green muck emerges. Ensi closes his eyes, scrabbling for his own threads of lucid dreaming. Some of the muck pushes away, but I redouble my efforts.
The child, the Brother, and the King wrap their arms around the true Ensi. The green liquid covers them all, until it forms a perfect sphere. Another bubble of memory, sealing the King of the Ratel within.
The chapel ceases shaking. The lightning fades.
I go to Nazarin. He’s awoken, and watched the whole thing.
“What do we do now?” I ask. “How do we leave?”
“You do it,” Nazarin says. He sits up slowly, coughing. One eye has swollen shut.
“Yes.” I gather the remnants of the shattered dream around us. I press my forehead against his. “Wake up.”
*
I open my eyes, and then close them immediately against the brightness. Everything hurts. My entire body feels as though it’s been charred. I wheeze, my tired lungs struggling to take in oxygen.
“Nazarin?” I croak.
“Taema.”
I almost cry in relief.
“Is this real?” I’m so afraid that we haven’t escaped. That we’ve been launched into another memory, another subset of Ensi’s mind. I open my eyes again, ignoring the pain of the light.
We’re in the room Ensi took us to after he captured us on the pier. I’m strapped into the Chair, the bindings pressed tight against my arms, my torso, my forehead.
I hear rustling and just manage to turn my head. Nazarin pulls himself upright, struggling from his bonds. He rips the electrodes from his skin. The mechanical sound of his heartbeat on the monitor flatlines. Mine still beeps, steady despite the lingering fear.
I turn my head in the other direction. Ensi is strapped into his own Chair. His body is still alive, but the line on the monitor showing his brain function barely moves at all.
I did that.
Nazarin limps over and begins to untie me. His face isn’t as swollen as it was in the dream world, but it’s livid with bruises. Tracks of blood have dried from his nose, his ears and even the corner of his eyes. The whites of those eyes are red with broken capillaries, but his gaze is clear.
“Nazarin,” I whisper.
He leans close to take the strap off my chest. “I never told you my real name, did I?”
“No.”