A New Night

Living Our Nightmares

I, the priest Romalla, saw lights, colors, and movement in the darkness. I heard waves crashing on the sand and the fuzzy sound of songs. The music was not from the Night People. No, it was from the Spirit Realm—the place I’d been able to hear since childhood—until I’d entered the accursed jungle. I listened to the sweet melody of the crackly song, barely able to make out some of the words.

I needed help from the spirits—from Krogallo, from my father. If only they could find me, know that I was listening for them. I tried to let out a screech, to shout their names. But nothing came out but silence. I could have tried again, but something stopped me. I felt … afraid that they wouldn’t answer.

When the despair had almost stopped my spiritual search, I heard my name. “Romalla,” said Krogallo. It was fuzzy and hard to understand, but it was him!

I tried to answer, but no sound came out.

“Found … father,” Krogallo shouted, his voice drowned in the fuzzy music. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? He’d found my father! Krogallo was still calling out, but I could only catch the occasional word. “Mountain … to the City of the Gods … Spirit Realm.”

I needed to get there, find Bassello, and tell Krogallo I was coming. But I couldn’t speak, shout, or even move. Then, a shadow approached. It blocked out every other sound. It was a dark face with yellow eyes and ears much larger and less pointed than any of my kind. Its mouth was open, trying to swallow me.

“Romalla!”

The colors and songs and all traces of the Spirit Realm were gone. All I could see was Scraa. His face was inches from mine, wincing with slightly bared teeth. I jolted up and found myself being cradled by him.

My throat was dry, and I could feel wetness on my face and around my eyes. My claws were embedded in Scraa’s fur. I released my grip—surprised that I had held tightly enough to him in my sleep to draw a few drops of blood—and then hopped down. I landed on loose, dry soil and looked around.

We were at the top of a hill, miles from both the jungle and the foot of the mountain. The morning sun was in the corner of the sky; thick but friendly clouds hovered overhead. The wind blew powerfully enough to be heard, and there were no birds of prey close enough to see me.

“You were having a nightmare,” Scraa said and rubbed his arm gingerly.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” I retorted with a low hiss. I’d heard the Spirit Realm in my sleep and knew it had to be more than just a bad dream. “It ... was a vision. Something that the priests of my people have, sometimes. The spirits find us and speak to us.”

Scraa studied me with half-closed eyes. I couldn’t tell if he doubted me or if he was just tired. Either way, it took all my efforts as a priest not to kick him in the nose for it. In an equally vague tone, he asked, “What did they tell you?” He crouched on all fours, looking like he was getting ready to sleep.

And before I could answer, he was lightly snoring.

I growled, shook my head, and then turned to watch the expanse of land from which the Hunters would be coming. Finally, I sat and began to think about the vision.

Usually, it would have taken me very little time to find the meaning in what the songs of the Spirit Realm told me. But as I sat and the time passed, the purpose of my dreams remained unclear. I could think only of my feelings. I felt a bit angry at myself for having been unable to ask Krogallo anything, even if I had been asleep.

I tried not to dwell on it, to be open to the spirits if they chose to speak to me again and finally break their silence. But I heard nothing for a long while. Eventually, my mind drifted to Bassello and where he was. Then I thought about the demons … then Camolla … then the gods. Last and most distracting was when I noticed a pang in my belly—hunger.

With my claws, I dug at the ground for worms and grubs. I found a few, and they did help to settle my stomach. However, I found myself wishing that there was some easily accessible blood. I glanced over at the small demon sleeping beside me. I shook my head and convinced myself that this was a bad idea. It would likely disturb him to wake and see me doing such a thing. Besides, he didn’t look like he had a lot of blood that he could stand to lose.

So, as the daylight passed, I dug passively for more bugs while keeping watch. Only when it felt unsafe to wait any longer did I wake Scraa from his unmoving sleep. He looked startled at first, and then annoyed.

I ignored his grouchy yowls and climbed onto his back. From there, I first pointed at the fat grubs I had put aside for him. From his hesitation, it seemed he didn’t particularly like the idea of eating them. But his stomach disagreed with his pickiness, and he was soon tossing them into his mouth as he walked.

His eating afforded us a while of blessed silence before he again spoke.

“Uh,” Scraa said, beginning the sentence as hesitantly as he usually did. “Are you young, or are you old? You seem like a small fruit bat.”

“I am a priest,” I told him, glaring until he averted his eyes. “The age of a priest doesn’t matter.”

“So...” Scraa said, after another few moments of strenuous thinking. “You are elderly?”

“No!” I said and then sighed, exasperated by his foolishness. “I am 14 years old, near the age of bearing children for Night People. Were I interested, I could begin searching for a husband, wife, or spouse within the next few years. Preferably one with two or three other mates who would occupy their time so they would all leave me to my duties.”

“What’s a wife?” Scraa asked with his head cocked and his eyes wide, almost like some kind of confused little toad.

“You know, a mate that you stay with until death,” I said, only just realizing that perhaps demons did not mate for life. Maybe they only copulated to produce young when necessary. “They live together; they produce children; they share food and warmth.”

“Living together...” Scraa said, looking ever more confused. “Wives never try to kill one another after making children?”

“Wives are only some of them,” I said, feeling like Scraa should be corrected before he made a fool of himself, though I could have hardly been expected to prevent that. “They can be wives, husbands, spouses, or whatever they call themselves. And they don’t kill one another because most Night People enjoy one another’s company.”

Again, Scraa pondered on this for a long time as we climbed hills and made our way closer to the mountain. Eventually, he asked, “How do the children learn to survive if both … parents … stay around and gather all the food for them? And how is there enough food for everyone?”

I shook my head, not expecting that such a simple concept would be so difficult for him to grasp. I had to continually remind myself that a demon’s life was unnecessarily hard because of their viciousness, “The children learn to survive from their parents, and how to work together to find food. If anyone from the Island cannot find food, we have a tradition of forcing the blood we’ve drunk back into our mouths to share with them.”

Scraa opened his mouth to speak—but I had to cut him off.

“And if you are going to ask more questions, Scraa, ask them one at a time,” I said, tired.

Scraa nodded awkwardly.

It felt good to have taught him a little more about civil conversation. So, I went a step further. “Also, if you are going to converse, you address a person by name. Otherwise, you sound pitiful. Understood?”

Scraa nodded even more eagerly this time.

Bassello had been more clever in communicating with their kind than I had previously realized. Hunters, it seemed, truly were very interested in being perceived as strong.

Scraa asked, “Uh, Romalla, why do Night People worry about gathering food if others will feed them? Wouldn’t they just sit, wait, and let others do the work?”

“Because Night People would never waste their life like that,” I said, having never even imagined that a person would ever just do nothing and expect to be fed. The idea was ridiculous. Why would they bother living if they wouldn’t do anything? The question seemed stupid. “Those who have a hard time finding food care for the children or the elderly or the sick. Then, at night, we all eat the same.”

Scraa was quiet and rubbed at the place in his arm where I’d put a hole. “I’m not very good at Hunting. I don’t eat because I can’t get into prey’s head well. The Queen thinks I’m stupid and that I shouldn’t live if I can’t even feed myself. Someone who can’t hunt would not be a strong heir.”

“That demon is your mother?” I asked, disgusted by the thought. I felt a tinge of regret for having treated him harshly … and having cut his arm while I’d slept. “Well ... you’re not smart. But you’re not evil like those demons either. Also, you’re very good at fishing, so you can’t be that dumb.”

“Really?” Scraa said, his eyes lighting up his gaunt and sad-looking face.

“Yes,” I said, not feeling too guilty for the lie, as my words did seem to encourage him. “So, from now on, only I am allowed to call you stupid. And I will only do so when you’re being …. supremely stupid. You no longer listen to the Queen or any other demons. Understood?”

Scraa nodded, looking like a young Night Person being lectured.

I thought about Camolla … and felt an unexpected twinge of loneliness. She would have liked Scraa—sweet, patient, eager to please.

It … made me wonder if she would have been happier to have raised an easier child like him. Camolla would have been a good mother for him—would have happily fed him and never called him stupid. No, she would have happily lied to him and made him feel loved. I thought Camolla would have liked to have given him all the care she couldn’t give to me. Because I was a priest, not a child. Even had I not been able to receive the wisdom of the Spirit Realm, I didn’t think I would ever have known how to properly … need a mother.

“Why does your mind feel lost? Uhm Romalla,” Scraa asked, adding my name to the end as an afterthought. I’d forgotten, for a moment, that he could hear my thoughts to some degree. This made me a little bit angry, but I resisted the urge to sing a song and make his ears hurt for having been spying—even though it would have served him right.

“I’m not lost,” I said, giving him a scolding look. “I was just thinking about my mother.”

Scraa looked at me, arching his eyebrows.

“I … uh. Well, before she knew I was a prophet, she would carry me over the ocean in the early evenings. We would look at the fish. I barely remember, but my mentor told me about it. He said I would screech excitedly when I saw the sea dragons arrive in the winter. So, she would fly behind them with me on her back.”

Scraa listened attentively as I spoke. When I finished, he nodded and looked at the ground again. Then, after a few moments, he looked at me again and said, “I never saw a dragon. But I like fish.”

I almost laughed. Then I nodded and sighed.

-O-

By nightfall, we made it past the many lesser mountains—which I had been able to guide us around with my flight—and to the bottom of the largest one. I spotted a place lined with the bones of the dead, used the most basic amount of sense to decide that it was a bad omen, and then directed us to climb elsewhere. Once our ascent began, however, it was slowed by Scraa’s … “climbing.”

Like with Bassello, I often found myself directing where he could find a handhold and what path would be easiest for him. Unlike Bassello, who was impeded by fear, Scraa’s need for aid was because of a … lack of ability. We frequently had to stop for rest on a ledge, and so I slept too.

During one of these rests, I was awakened by Scraa saying: “Is that…” He rubbed his eyes and then pointed a shaky claw down at a lower point on the mountain.

Though it was night, Sister Moon brightened her light to reveal a shuffling line of shadows below.

“Don’t think about it,” I said, batting his head with my wing. “Just climb, climb!”

Scraa immediately scrambled upwards, as I had instructed.

I forced myself not to think about the quickly approaching Hunters. I mostly felt I needed to do so, so that Scraa would not pick up on my fear.

Obviously, I did a good job of it. But it was for naught; I heard him scream and nearly let go of the rock. I hooked his paw and then grabbed the rock with my other wing. I only barely kept him from losing his grip.

“Why?” I shouted—my voice more frantic than I cared to tell.

Scraa did not look up to reply. Instead, his entire body shook as he looked at something directly behind me. I turned around and felt a jolt of panic go through my body. There, in front of me, was the decomposing body of a demon. Its fang-filled mouth hung open; maggots ate at the tongue; bits of brain matter oozed out of its cracked skull.

Only a moment to panic—I had to do something!

I gagged as I flew up onto the ledge and pushed into the wet corpse with all my strength. Stench filled my nostrils; liquids soaked my fur; bits of flesh tenderly fell apart as I slowly shoved the body over the ledge. Only then could I coax Scraa to climb up to where he could rest.

No! I realized that I had badly cut his forward paw when I’d kept him from falling. Now, it was dirty. Infection was the last thing we could afford, so I licked it clean. This doubled to replenish my own energy.

“Were you … just drinking my blood?” Scraa asked, watching me with eyes that were quite big.

“Yes,” I said and scowled. “It needed to be cleaned, and I did not want to waste it. What does that matter?”

Scraa looked terrified; his eyes dilated. “You’re … eating me.”

“There are more serious problems,” I said with a huff and gave him a look to let him know that I was talking about the dangers below us.

This shut Scraa right up, and he just nodded. I readied myself to join his climbing, but he didn’t move. He trembled and said, “Romalla, I don’t think I can keep going. I don’t want to see another...” He was unable to finish his sentence.

I nearly told him that he would be one if we didn’t hurry. Then, seeing Scraa’s eyes water, I groaned and said, “I’ll climb ahead and move any that get in your way, alright?”

Scraa hesitated, looked down the cliff, and then gave a nearly imperceptible nod. True to his word, he slowly continued to climb behind me. Handhold by handhold, we made our way to the top.

Time seemed to flow with the stiffness of a dram—but we did make it to the top! I pulled myself over the final ledge and immediately turned to pull him up, trying hard not to cut through his fur.

As soon as Scraa was up, I felt something wrap around me. I reacted immediately and sunk my teeth into the black tail. Blood spurted like I had never seen—even hitting me. Then, I heard a painful and angry howl.

As Scraa pulled himself up, I hopped onto his shoulder to go!

Scraa ran as fast as his trembling legs could carry him, but the demons were faster than he was. One after another, they leaped with ease from the cliff face behind us. It didn’t take long for them to surround us. Once there was nowhere left for us to go, they all stood on their back two legs to tower over us.

The Queen, tallest of them all, stepped toward us. There was pure loathing in her stare. “I feel the energy coming from this … offspring of mine. Weaker even than before. Had you simply killed it … you would have saved me the shame. Instead, you ride on his shoulder like he’s some sort of beast. You display my shame for all to see!”

Rage filled me, and I nearly screeched at her. But, instead, I let out a low hiss. “Shame? Him? No … he could have easily eaten me several times. You, I defeated single-handedly, foul demon!”

Right as the Queen pulled back her claw—doubtless to strike me dead—there was a snort. It hadn’t come from me, the Queen, and certainly not Scraa. She paused and turned.

When she did, I saw looks of amusement exchanged between some of the other demons (excluding the one trying to stop the bleeding of his tail). There was clear enjoyment in some at how I had spoken to the Queen. Among these smug Hunters, one now wore Bassello’s mighty artifact of lightning. It hung around the demon’s arm like a decoration or trophy.

It was heresy! Blasphemy! The insult of it made my pulse quicken and my blood feel hot.

The Queen swiped viciously at the nearest smirking demon’s face. The blow took a chunk of flesh from it and left only one eye after. Blood poured; the wounded demon howled. Immediately, the other demons became serious again. They lowered their heads back at me, threatening, now using their powers to get inside my heart.

With righteous conviction, I sang, “Bassello, God of Sleep, traveling through this Hell!” They were immediately rendered useless in their attempt to overcome my heart.

“Shut up, you little rat!” the Queen hissed. She walked toward me with that same bloody claw ready—but then jumped back several feet.

It took me a moment to figure out why. Across both her legs was a shallow but prominent cut. I didn’t know who had caused it until I saw Scraa’s outstretched hand.

Without another thought, I pointed between two of the Hunters and shouted, “That way!”

Though the sound had surely made Scraa wince, all the other demons had to cover their ears in pain. Maybe he was used to my voice, or his hearing was not as keen as other Hunters. But I thought he could withstand better because his soul was not as corrupt as the demons.

Scraa dashed in the direction I had indicated.

The demon wearing Bassello’s holy relic reached for us—as I hoped it would. I hooked one of my claws hooked into his wrist. I tore through fur and flesh but managed to get ahold of the artifact. None of this went quite as smoothly as I had hoped, however, and I went tumbling with my wings wrapped around the artifact.

A tail grabbed me; I almost bit it before realizing it belonged to Scraa. I shouted, “Good job, Scraa!”

Instead of replying to my praise, however, he shouted through labored pants, “Are we going to die now?”

As if to answer, a giant demon jumped in front of us. We tried to turn, but the Queen and her warriors were already there.

Again, we were trapped.