Bridge of Dreams

Chapter 2

Danyal felt his heart lift as he looked at the two females who were now the center of his nephew Kanzi’s life. Four years ago, he had nudged Nalah toward this community of artists and artisans, hoping she was the one who could fill the empty place in Kanzi’s life.

She had done more than fill it. That empty place in his nephew now overflowed with energy and joy.

Holding his hands heart-high, Danyal pressed his palms together and spoke the blessing for newborns. “May she give you a hundred tears and a thousand moments of joy.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Kanzi said.

“Have you decided on a name?” he asked.

“Nali,” Kanzi said at the same moment Nalah said, “Ephyra.”

Danyal laughed. “Ah, well. You have a little time yet before the Naming Day to decide.”

“We’ve already decided,” Kanzi said.

Nalah followed those words with, “We just don’t agree.” Then she smiled at Danyal. “What about you, Uncle? Wouldn’t you like one of your own? Or perhaps just a wife, someone to be companion and partner? I have some friends who…”

Startled, he rocked back, which made her laugh, and that laughter helped him hide the ache produced by the truth in her words. He would like to have a partner, to be a partner. But Shamans weren’t ordinary people. While he’d enjoyed being a lover whenever time and circumstance allowed, he hadn’t yet met a woman who was comfortable for long with the way he saw the world—or saw the core of people’s hearts. And lately he’d begun to wonder when he’d stopped associating the words “companion” and “partner” with sex.

He’d been wondering about too many things lately.

“No response, Uncle?” Nalah asked, her voice still full of teasing laughter that also held love.

“Nalah,” Kanzi said, looking flustered.

“Be easy, Nephew,” Danyal said. “I won’t admit to playing matchmaker where the two of you are concerned, but I’ll allow that I deserved that tease.” He playfully shook a finger at Nalah. “But only once.”

“Only once,” she agreed.

“Why don’t I slice some fruit for all of us?” He retreated into the airy kitchen, wanting solitude. He barely had the sense of being alone before his nephew joined him.

“Nalah meant no harm,” Kanzi said.

“And no harm was given,” Danyal replied quietly as he selected the ripest fruit from the bowl on the table. “Would you loan me your daypack, Nephew?”

“Of course, but…You’re not staying?”

“My mind needs to think, and my feet need to walk. Your house will be crowded tomorrow.” And having a Shaman here will make your other guests uneasy about being themselves, he finished silently.

But Kanzi heard what wasn’t spoken. “You’re always welcome in my house, Uncle. You know that, don’t you?”

Danyal smiled as he sliced the fruit and arranged it on a plate. “I know. Being here with the three of you is cool water on parched land, but I would like a day of solitude in the village where I grew up, a day to listen to the land.” He put a small bowl in the center of the dish holding the sliced fruit and began cracking nuts.

“Then you’ll have your solitary day.” Kanzi hesitated. “I’m glad you’re here. Nalah is too.”

The words were said too heartily to hide the worry. A forty-one-year-old Shaman might take a season’s rest after a demanding assignment, but he didn’t take a year’s leave without a serious reason.

“I am glad to be here.” Danyal picked up the dish of fruit and nuts, a clear signal that the conversation had ended. “Let’s return to the other room and admire your daughter.”

The next morning, Danyal slipped out of Kanzi’s house at first light. The daypack held a slender, stoppered jug of water and a rolled flatbread filled with a mixture of dates, chopped nuts, and sweet cheese. It also held his box of pencils and the sheets of paper he used for quick sketches.

Today that was all he needed.

He walked the familiar streets, relieved so few people were up yet. He’d grown up here, and he still loved the feel of the land in this part of Vision. But he’d known early on that he wasn’t like the rest of the people in this community, wasn’t like his parents or older sister, wasn’t even like the young men and women who were called to the village temples and a spiritual life. He was a Shaman, a voice of the world. Someone who wasn’t quite human—or was a bit more than human. Someone different because of something that emerged in particular bloodlines every generation or so.

It was considered a blessing to have a Shaman in the family, but blessings were often mixed, and many people felt such a relation was best enjoyed at a distance.

Don’t fill your pockets with sorrows, he scolded himself.

After taking a long drink of water, he changed direction to refill the jug at the market well. People were up and about now, opening their booths and setting up their merchandise. Soon the market would be packed with people.

As he walked to the well, he was aware of the bold, assessing looks some of the women gave him—until they looked at his face, at his eyes. Then they turned away, their faces filled with shame and fear, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

What a body wants isn’t always what the heart needs, his mentor Farzeen had said once. Even among Shamans, your eyes are unusual. When a woman can tell you the color of your eyes, you’ll know she sees the man and not just your bond to the world.

“Something I can do for you, Shaman?”

The man’s voice was hearty, but his brown eyes held worry.

Danyal suppressed a sigh. A Shaman put aside his name when he put on the white robes. But he wasn’t wearing the white robes today, wasn’t working as a voice of the world. That didn’t matter to most people, even to a man he’d gone to school with as a boy.

“I’m just refilling my water jug,” Danyal said.

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

He didn’t need a hand, but he let the man haul up the well’s bucket and pour the cool water into the jug.

“My thanks,” Danyal said as he put the stopper on the jug. Because it would matter, he added, “May your heart travel lightly.”

The man flushed with pleasure—and relief. Those words, said by a Shaman, were a blessing heard by the world.

Danyal slipped the jug into the daypack, settled a strap over one shoulder, then headed away from the market, choosing the narrow western road that passed through woodland and fields. A couple of miles down that road was a bridge, and just beyond the bridge was a large tree where he could sit in the shade and enjoy his simple meal.

He wanted to travel, needed to travel. He wanted to spend some time in a place where he could be Danyal instead of Shaman. And he needed to find someone who could help him understand why, over the past few weeks, he felt more and more as if someone was always watching him, always aware of him through his connection to Ephemera. Not a malevolent mind, but not a passive, comfortable one either. Some days he wasn’t sure if that feeling was real or if his mind was breaking in some way.

Only Farzeen was privy to that worry about his mental health and emotional stability; it was the reason Danyal’s old mentor had arranged for him to have a year’s leave from all duties.

He saw the bridge that spanned the stream and, beyond it, he saw the big tree where he would have his meal. His stomach rumbled. He laughed softly and lengthened his stride.

Halfway across the bridge, he wasn’t laughing anymore. The light dimmed and the air cooled with every step he took. The tree faded until it was no longer there. And a voice suddenly whispered, not yours.

Cautious now, and unwilling to believe he’d heard what he’d heard, Danyal took two more steps closer to the other side of the bridge.

A breeze sprang up and pushed at his face, at his chest.

He took another step—and a gust of wind knocked him back.

not yours

A stubborn need to prove that his mind wasn’t playing tricks made Danyal lean into the wind. He regained the step he’d lost and took the last step on the bridge. His hand closed over the railing in a painfully tight grip as the land in front of him swam in and out of focus, making him feel dizzy and a little sick.

“What is that?” he whispered. Light, dark, shadow. The same, but not the same. And…

not yours!

The next gust of wind almost knocked him down.

Danyal carefully backed away from that end of the bridge. The wind swirled around him, pushing until he’d reached the halfway point. Then it vanished.

He stopped and stared at the big tree on the other side of the stream. It had faded when he tried to cross the bridge. Now it was back.

He didn’t think the strange land he’d seen on the other side of the bridge was evil, but it wasn’t part of the city, wasn’t part of anything his people knew. And something wanted him to keep his distance from it.

Retreating to his side of the bridge, Danyal sat on the bank of the stream and forced himself to eat his meal.

What had just happened? Why had land he’d known all his life faded, only to be replaced by something else?

heart wish

Danyal felt currents of power flow around him, through him. He sprang to his feet, alarmed. Then he forced his breathing to slow down. This was the awareness that had been watching him for the past few months. Maybe he could get some answers.

“Who are you?”

A hesitation that held hope and disappointment in equal measure.

world

“Ephemera?”

yes yes yes

Ephemera, the living, ever-changing world was actually talking to him? How? Why?

Danyal did nothing but breathe as he considered what was happening. The voice that whispered to him might be the world, but in his head it sounded like a child, and like a child, it might flee from anger or demands.

He had asked a question. Ephemera had tried to answer.

“What heart wish?” he asked gently. And what, exactly, was a heart wish?

not yours heart wish. danyal heart wish. she will know.

Know what? he wondered. “Who is she?”

Instead of answering, the currents of power drifted away, leaving him shaken.

He needed to tell the Shaman Council at least some of what had just happened. He needed to tell Kanzi not to use the bridge on the western road. And, privately, he needed to ask Farzeen if the Elders knew anything about heart wishes—or had ever heard of the world speaking to a Shaman instead of manifesting emotions into tangible pieces of itself.

Danyal tore up the rest of his meal, scattering it for the birds and other creatures. Then he settled the daypack on his shoulder and hurried back to Kanzi’s house.

When he reached the house, his nephew took the daypack, handed him a sealed letter, and gave him privacy.

Danyal broke the seal and read…

Danyal,

A darkness has come to the city of Vision. We do not know its name or its nature, but now we are certain it is there. Shamans who tend pieces of the northwest and southern parts of the city are reporting that they can no longer see some streets they had walked last season, can no longer sense what is taking place in the hearts of the people who live there—can no longer be a voice for the world because something is making us blind and mute.

We promised you a year to rest from your duties and search for what your own heart seeks. We are breaking that promise, and it grieves me that you will have to end your visit with your nephew and return immediately to take up your new duties as the Keeper of the southern Asylum.

We know you are tired, and we know this is a difficult task—and I alone understand the cruelty of asking this of you when you are concerned about your own sanity. Shamans are not usually Asylum Keepers. We are too attuned to the inner landscapes of the people around us, and being around the broken day after day eventually breaks us too. But the bone readers and fortune tellers are all sending us the same message: there will be a convergence of allies and enemies in a place of shadows—a madman and a teacher, a guide and a monster. The madman is the reason we want one of our own as Asylum Keeper.

The council considered every Shaman, regardless of age, and we all agreed. It comes down to you, Danyal. You are not like other Shamans. You never were, and what your own heart needs is something the Elders cannot give you. Because of that and your unusual ability to see the hearts of others so clearly, you are the one chance we have to save Vision. As much as you love this city, you are seeking something beyond what you can find here. We are hoping the needs of your own heart will lead you to the person who can help us see and understand the enemy.

We will give you every assistance we can, but in the end, it is your voice that will speak for us all—and for our piece of Ephemera.

Travel lightly,

Farzeen, on behalf of the Shaman Council

Danyal folded the letter. Yesterday he would have wondered if they were sending him to the Asylum to find a madman or because they believed he was one. Now that he knew he was sane, he couldn’t tell the council about what happened on the bridge, couldn’t tell them the world had spoken to him. He didn’t want this assignment, but he needed to be the one who took it because Ephemera’s words floated through his mind: not yours heart wish. danyal heart wish. she will know.

The world communicating with him now wasn’t a coincidence. Not when parts of the city were changing and a strange piece of land appeared and disappeared.

“Let your heart travel lightly, because what you bring with you becomes part of the landscape,” he whispered.

Then he left the room to find Nalah and give his excuses—and to find Kanzi and warn him to stay away from the bridge on the western road.