Chapter 1
Dreams plagued her, awake and asleep. She understood dreams, visions, the knowing. It has been part of her all her life, and for most of her life she'd learned to block it out, push it away.
But these wouldn't relent, no matter how much she blocked them out. Dreams of blood and battle; of strange, moonstruck lands. In them, faces and voices of people unknown, but somehow familiar lived with her. The woman with the fierce and canny eyes of a wolf, the man with the silver sword. They roamed her dreams with a woman rising from the sea, laughing, the man with the golden compass.
And through all of them, strongly, the dark-haired man who held lightning.
Who were they? How did she-or would she-know them? Why did she feel such a strong need for them?
With them walked death and pain-she knew- and yet with them came the chance of true joy, true self. True love.
She believed in true love-for others. She would never sought it for herself, as love demanded so much, it brought such chaos into a life. So much feeling.
She wanted, has always wanted, the quiet and settled, and believed she'd found it in her little house in the mountains of Liberio. There she had the solitude she'd sought. There she could spend her days painting, or in her garden without interruption or interference. Her needs were few; her work provided enough income to meet them.
Now her dreams were haunted by five people who knew her by name. Why couldn't she find theirs?
She sketched her dreams- the faces, the seas and hills and ruins. Caves and gardens, storms and sunsets. Over the long winter she filled her workboard with the sketches, and began to pin them to her walls.
She painted the man with lightning in his hands, spending days perfecting every detail, the exact shade and shape of his eyes, deep, dark and hooded, the thin line of his lips, everything.
He stood on a cliff, high above the boiling sea. Wind streamed through his dark hair. She could all but feel it. And he was fearless in the face of the storm as death flew towards him.
Somehow, she stood with him, just as fearless.
She couldn't sleep until she'd finished it, wept when she did. She feared she'd lost her mind, and visions were all she had left. For days she left the painting on her easel while it watched her work, clean and sleep.
Or dream.
She told herself she would pack it for shipping, send it to her agent for sale. And dipping her brush, she signed it.
Annie Leonhart- her name on the edge of the storm-wrecked sea. But she did not pack it for shipping. She would pack others instead, the work of the long winter, arranged for transport.
Exhausted, she gave in, curled on the couch in the attic she'd converted into a studio, and let her dreams take her.
The storm raged. Wind whipping, the sea crashing, jagged spears of lightning, hurled from the sky like flaming bolts from a bow. The rain swept in from the sea towards the cliff in a thick curtain.
But he stood, watching it, and he held out his hand to her.
"I'm waiting for you."
"I don't understand any of this."
"Of course you do, you more then most." When he brought her hand to his lips, she felt love saturate her. "Who hides from themselves, Annie, like you do?"
"I only want peace. I want quiet. I don't want storms, and battles. I certainly don't want you."
"Lies." His lips curved as he brought her hand to them again. "You know your lying to me, and yourself. How much longer will you refuse the life you were meant to live? To love as your were born to?" He cupped her face in his hands, and the ground trembled beneath her.
"I'm afraid."
"Face it."
"I don't want to know."
"See it. We can't begin without you. We can't win until we begin. Find me, Annie. Come find me." He pulled her in, took her lips. As he did, the storm broke over them with mad fury. This time, she embraced it.
She woke, tired still, pushed herself up and pressed her fingers to her eyes.
"Find me," she muttered. "Where? I wouldn't know where to start looking even if I wanted to." Her fingers trailed down to her lips where she could still feel the pressure of his lips. "Enough. It's all enough now."
She rose quickly, and began to pull down the sketches from the walls, the board, letting them fall to the floor. She'd take them out, throw them out. Burn them. Get them out of her house, out of her head. She'd get out, take a trip somewhere, anywhere. It's been years since she took herself out. Somewhere warm, she told herself as she yanked down her dreams. A beach somewhere.
She could hear her own breath heaving, see her fingers trembling. Near to breaking, she lowered herself to the floor amid the sketches, a woman too thin with the weight her dreams have stolen, her blonde hair bundled up in her usual bun. Shadows plagued her eyes of clear and crystal blue.
She looked down at her hands. There was talent there. She always had been, always will be, grateful for that gift, but she carried others gifts, not so gratefully.
In the dream, he asked her to see. All her life she'd done all she could to block out the sight she was born with. Yes, to hide from herself, just as he said. If she opened to it, accepted it, there would be pain and sorrow. And the knowledge of what might be.
She closed her eyes. She'd clean up, give herself time. She'd pick up all the sketches and file them away. She wouldn't burn them, of course she wouldn't. That had been fear talking. She'd file them, take a trip, get away from home for a week or two. Let herself think and decide.
On her hands and knees she began to gather up the sketches, organizing them her way.. The woman with the fierce eyes, the man with the sword, sketches of her dream people together. Seascapes, landscapes, a palace shining on a hill, a circle of stones. She laid one of the dozens she made of the man she just dreamed of in a pile, reached for another. And knew.
She'd drawn the sickle-shaped island from various viewpoints, and this one showed high cliffs, it's hills thick with trees. Showed it floating in the sea, washed in sunlight. Buildings jumbled together to form a city in the foreground, and the stretch of land, spearing mountains in the distance. The pencil sketch took on life and color as she stared at it. So much green, a thousand shades from dusky to emerald. So much blue, deep and rich or frothing with waves surrounding it. She saw boats sailing, figures diving off seawalls to swim. And she saw the promontory where she had stood with him as the storm flew in.
"All right then, I'll go." Was she giving in, she wondered, or standing up? But she would go, and look. It would either end the dreams, or bring them to life like a sketch came to life in her hands. She went over to her desk, opened her laptop, and booked a flight to Corfu.
Giving herself only two days to pack, arrange details, close up the house meant she couldn't change her mind. She slept on the plane, dreamlessly. And still the cab ride from the airport to the hotel near Old Town was a blur. Disoriented, she checked in, struggled to remember to smile, to exchange small talk with the front desk, with the bellman with the cheery eyes and thick accent as they rode the narrow elevator to her room.
She hadn't asked for a particular floor or view. It was enough she'd taken this step, wherever it might lead her. But she wasn't surprised when stepping into the room, she was facing the blue sea, and the spread of sand she knew so well.
She smiled away the bellmans offer for anything more she might wish. But she only wanted solitude. The airports, the plan, too many people, they crowded her still.
Alone, she walked to the window, opened it to the fresh spring air that smelled of the sea and flowers. She studied the scene she'd sketched weeks before, and carried with others in her portfolio. She felt nothing, not now, but the fogginess of jet lag and travel fatigue. And some wonder that she traveled so far on impulse.
Turning away, she unpacked to restore some order once again, then she laid down on the bed and dropped into sleep again.
Lightning and storms, the beat of the sun, the beat of the sea. Three stars, so bright and brilliant, her eyes stung. When they fell away from the curve of the moon, falling in streams of light, the world shook from the strikes of power. Blood and battle, fear and flight. Climbing high, diving deep. Her dream lover taking her mouth, taking her body, making her ache with feelings. So much. Too much. Never enough. Her own, barely recognized, laughter sprung from joy. Tears shed, flooding from grief. And in darkness, a light burned through. In the dark, she held fire in her hands. As she held it up, for all to see, the earth quaked, rocks tumbled. What was fury itself flew at her with claws and teeth.
For God's sake, Annie, wake up! Get your ass moving!
"What?" She woke with a start, the voice still echoing inside her head, her heart thumping with fear.
Just another dream, she told herself, just one more to add to the collection.
The light had softened, and lay now like silk over the water. She had no idea how long she'd slept, but the dream voice was right, it was time to get up.
She showered off the travel, changed into fresh clothing. She ordered herself out of the room. She'd go down, sit on the terrace, have a drink. She would give up her quiet and alone time, and come. Now something or someone had to come to her.
She found her way out, strolled under a pergola twined with wisteria already starting to bloom. Its scent followed her as she turned away from the pool, the canvas swing chairs lined up around its skirt, toward a stone terrace. Clay pots crowded with flowers of reds and purples glowed in the sun. The fronds of palm trees hung still.
Tables under shading umbrellas- all in bright white- scattered over the stone. She saw that only a few were occupied, and was grateful. Not solitude perhaps, but quiet. She thought to take one a bit away from the others, started to angle away.
The woman also sat away from the others. Her short, black hair swept in the wind with one strand in the center of her face, just above the amber rays of her sunglasses. She sat back with her legs crossed, as she sipped something frothy out of a champagne flute. The light shimmered for a moment, and Annie's heart stuttered with it. She knew she stared, and couldn't stop. And understood why when the woman tipped down her sunglasses, and stared back over them.
The eyes of a wold, tawny and fierce.
Annie fought the urge to simply go back to her room where it was safe. Instead, she shoved herself forward and walked over while those silver eyes appraised her.
"I'm sorry," she began.
"For what?"
I...Do you know me?"
The woman raised her eyebrows underneath her thick strand. "Are you somebody I should know?"
I know your face, Annie thought. I've seen it countless times.
"Could I sit down?"
The woman angled her head, continued her cool, unblinking stare. Carelessly, she moved her legs so Annie could pull out a chair. "Sure." Annie sat, tried to find her bearings. Before she could, a waiter stopped by the table.
"Kalispera. Could I bring you a drink, miss?"
"Yes, actually, ah, what are you drinking?"
The woman lifted her glass. "Peach Bellini."
"That sounds nice, would you like another? On me?"
Under her bangs, the woman's eyebrows lifted. "Sure."
"Two then, thanks. I'm Annie," she said when the waiter excused himself. "Annie Leonhart."
"Mikasa Ackerman."
"Mikasa." A name, she thought, to go with the face. "I know how this is going to sound, but...I've dreamed about you."
Mikasa took another sip, gave a small smile. "It sounds like you're hitting on me."
"No, no, I mean literally. I recognized you because I have dreamed about you, for months now."
"Oh. What was I doing?"
"I can't expect you to believe me. But the dreams are why I'm here, in Corfu. I don't- wait." The sketches, she thought, and pushed to her feet. A picture is worth a thousand words, after all. "I want to show you something. Will you wait?" Mikasa only shrugged, lifted her glass.
"I've got another drink coming, so I'll be here."
"Five minutes," Annie promised, and hurried away.
Sipping her drink, Mikasa considered. She knew all about dreams, and wouldn't discount them out of hand. She's seen and experienced far too much to discount anything out of hand. And this Annie Leonhart struck her as sincere. Nervy, wound tight, but sincere. Still, she had her own reasons for being in Corfu, and they didn't include her starring in someone else's dreams.
The waiter came back with a tray, set the drinks, a bowl of olives, another of nuts onto the table. "The other lady?" he asked.
"She forgot something. She'll be right back." Mikasa handed him her empty glass. "Efkharisto." She tried an almond, went back to contemplating the sea, glanced back again when she heard hurried footsteps.
Annie sat again, holding a leather portfolio. "I'm an artist," she began.
"Congratulations."
"I've had these dreams all winter. They started right after the first of the year. Every night." Waking dreams, too, but she wasn't ready to share that much. "I sketched the people, the places in them, the ones that kept reoccurring."
She opened the portfolio, chose the sketch that had brought her to where she sat. "I drew this weeks ago."
Mikasa took the sketch, lips pursing as she studied it. "You're good, and yeah, this is Corfu."
And this...is you." Annie laid down a sketch, full body, of Mikasa. She wore cargo pants, hiking boots, a battered leather jacket and her hand rested on the butt of her knife sheathed at her belt. As Mikasa lifted the sketch, Annie set down another. "So is this." A head-and-shoulders sketch this time, of Mikasa looking straight ahead with a curled lip smile.
"What is this?" Mikasa muttered.
"I don't know, and need to find out. I thought I was losing my mind, but you're real, and you're here. Like me. I don't know about the others."
"What others?"
"There are six of us, including me." Annie dug into the portfolio again. "Working together, traveling together."
"I work alone."
"So do I." She felt giddy now, and a little crazed. "I don't know any of them." She held out another sketch. "I have individual sketches of all of them, and others with some of us together, more with all of us, like this one. I don't know them." The sketch showed Mikasa, dressed much as she'd been in the other, and Annie, in boots, pants, a snap brimmed hat rather then the sandals and dress she wore now. Another woman, with hair tumbling down her back, and three men. Three hot men, Mikasa thought, all standing together on a trail, forested hills around them, grouped together as if posing for a photograph.
"You- Annie, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, Annie, you sure know how to dream men, they're all smoking."
"I've never seen any of them before, outside of the dreams. But I feel...I know them, know everyone here. And this one."
Unable to resist, Annie touched her finger to the figure standing beside her, standing hipshot, his thumb hooked in the front pocket of his jeans. Sharp cheekbones, dark hair- she knew if to be deep black- carelessly curling around his face. His smile spoke of mystery, and charm, and a little bit of shyness.
"What about this one?" Mikasa prompted.
"He holds lightning. I don't know if that's a symbol or what it means. And I dream we- that we..."
"Sex dreams?" Amused, Mikasa took a closer look at him. "You could do a hell of a lot worse."
"If I'm going to have sex dreams with a man, I'd like to have dinner first."
Mikasa let out a bark of laughter. "Hell, a girl can eat anytime. Are you a dream-walker, Annie?"
"Dream walker?"
"Some cultures use that term. Do you have prophetic dreams? Why hold back now?" Mikasa said when Annie hesitated. "You're already telling me you have sex with strange men, and you haven't even had your drink yet."
"I don't have to be asleep to dream." Yes, Annie thought, why hold back now? "And yes, they're usually prophetic. I knew my father would leave before he walked out when I was 12. He couldn't handle what I am. I don't control it, can't demand to see, can't demand not to." Annie picked up her glass and drank, and waited for the wariness or the derision.
"Have you ever worked with anyone on that?"
"What?"
"Have you ever worked with another dream-walker, explored learning how to block or open it?"
"No."
"You look smarter then that." Mikasa shrugged. "Is it just visions, or do you read minds?"
She might have asked if she painted with oil or acrylics. Emotion clogged Annie's throat so thickly, she could barely speak. "You believe me."
"Why wouldn't I? The proofs all over the table. Can you read minds, and can you control that?"
"I don't read minds. I read feelings, and they speak just as loud. I can control it, unless the feelings are so intense they push through."
"What am I feeling? Go ahead." Mikasa spread her arms when Annie hesitated. "I'm an open book, so read it."
Annie took a moment, focused in. "You feel some sympathy for and curiosity about me. You're relaxed, but on guard. You tend to stay on guard. You feel a need for something that's always been out of your reach. It's frustrating, especially because you like to win. You feel a little sexually deprived just now because you haven't taken the time...felt you had the time to fill that need. The work fulfills you, the risks, the adventure, the demands of it. You've earned your self-reliance, and you're not afraid of much. If there's fear, it's more for the emotional then the physical.
You have a secret," Annie murmured. "Closed up tight." Annie jerked back, frowned. "You asked me to look, all but insisted, so don't get angry when I do."
"Fair enough. And that's enough."
"I believe in privacy." She'd never read anyone that openly, that purposefully. It left her flushed, and mildly embarrassed. "I don't dig into people's secrets."
"I believe in privacy." Mikasa raised her glass again. "But I freaking love to dig."
"Your work brings you a lot of pride and satisfaction. What is it?"
"That depends. At the base? I'm an archaeologist. I like looking for things no one else can find."
"And when you find it? What do you do with it?"
"That depends, too."
"You find things." Annie nodded, nearly relaxed. "That must be one of the reasons."
"For what?"
"For our being here."
"I've got a reason to be here."
"But at this time, in this place?" Annie gestured to the sketches again. "I know we need to look, we need to find..."
"If you want my attention, you have to spit things out."
Rather than speak, Annie pulled out another sketch. A beach, a calm sea, a palace on a hill, all under a full white moon. And curved under the moon shone three stars.
"I don't know where this is, but I do know these three stars, the ones near the moon, they don't exist. I'm no astronomer, but I know they're not there. I only know they were, somehow. And I know they fell. See this one." She laid out another sketch. "All three falling at the same time, leaving those comet like trails. We're supposed to find them."
Annie looked up, saw Mikasa eyes stare into hers, feral and cold.
"What do you know about the stars?" Mikasa demanded.
"I'm telling you what I know." In a fast move, Mikasa reached out, gripped Annie's wrist.
"What do you know about the Stars of Fortune? Who the hell are you?" Though her stomach trembled, Annie made herself keep her eyes level with the fierce ones, ordered her voice not to shake.
"I've told you who I am. I'm telling you what I know. You know more about them. You know what they are. You're already looking for them- that's why you're here. And you're hurting my arm."
"If I find out you're bullshitting me, I'll hurt more than your arm." But she let go.
"Don't threaten me." Temper, hot and surprised, leaped up and out. "I've had enough. I didn't ask for this, I don't want this. All I wanted was to live in peace, to paint, to be left alone to work. Then you and these others are crowding my dreams, you and these damn stars I don't understand. One of them's here, I know it, just as I know finding it won't be peaceful. I don't know how to fight, and I'll have to. Blood and battles, dreams full of blood and battle and pain."
"Now it's getting interesting."
"It's terrifying, and I want to walk away from all of it. I don't think I can. I held one in my hands."
Mikasa leaned forward. "You held one of the stars?"
"In a dream." Annie turned her palm up, stared at it. "I held it, held the fire. And it was so beautiful, it blinded. Then it came."
"What came?"
The dark, the hungry, the brutal." Suddenly, she felt queasy, light headed. Though she struggled, what moved through her won. "She who is darkness covets. To have what she desires consumes her. What the three moons created out of love, loyalty, and hope, she would corrupt. She has burned her gifts and all bright edges of her power away, and what remains is a madness. She will kill to possess them, fire, water, ice. Possessing them, she will destroy worlds, destroy all so she lives." Annie lifted her hands to her head. "Headache."
"Does that happen often?"
"I do everything I can to stop it."
"And that's probably why you have a headache. You can't fight your own nature, trust me. You have to learn to control it, and to adapt." Mikasa caught the waiter's eye, circled a finger in the air. "I'm getting us another round."
"I don't think I should-"
"Eat some nuts." Brisk now, Mikasa shoved the bowl closer. "No way you're faking this- nobody's that good. And I've got a sense about people- not empathic, but a reliable sense. So, we'll have another drink, talk this through some more, then figure out what we do from there."
"You're going to help me."
"The way I look at it, we're going to help each other. My research indicates the Fire Star is in or around Corfu- and your dreams corroborate that. You could come in handy. Now-"
She broke off, flicked a hand at her bangs as she looked closer over Annie's head. "Well, well, it just keeps getting more and more interesting."
"What is it?"
"Dream date." Swiveling in her chair, Annie saw him. The man who held the lightning. The one who'd taken her body. His eyes, so dark, flicked away from Mikasa, met hers. Held them. And holding them, crossed to their table.
"Ladies. Spectacular view, isn't it?" His voice, calm and easy, brought a shiver to Annie's skin. She felt trapped, as if a cage had dropped around her. And when he smiled, she yearned.
"Where you from?" Mikasa asked.
"Sligo, a little village you wouldn't have heard of."
"You'd be surprised."
"Cloonacool."
"I know it. Sits at the foot of the Ox Mountains."
"So it does, well then." He waved his hand, and offered Mikasa a little clutch of shamrocks. "A token from home, faraway."
"Nice."
"American? And Oriental?
"Looks that way." Mikasa watched his gaze shift, land on the sketches. She said nothing when he reached down, lifted the one of six people. Not shocked, she thought. Intrigued.
"Isn't this a fascination. You'd be the artist?" he said to Annie. "You've a clever hand, and eye. I've been told I have the same." He smiled. "Mind if I join you?"
Without waiting for assent, he got a chair from the neighboring table, pulled it up and sat.
"I'd say we have a lot to talk about. I'd be Bertoldt. Bertoldt Hoover. Why don't I buy you ladies a drink, and we'll talk about the moon and the stars?"
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