Chapter 15

…There was grit between my toes.

I blinked away the sunlight, holding a hand up to shield my eyes. The light hurt, as if I'd been in a dark place that was suddenly illuminated. Which didn't make sense. I was in the field.

I couldn't recall how I'd gotten there, but I remembered it. From another time. When was… was it a dream? I remembered the path I was on, and the grassy field surrounding it. There were flowers, and a smattering of trees here and there. There were hills in the distance; snow-capped mountains stretching up to the clouds. I was sure of that, even without looking around. It was a familiar dream I'd forgotten, a long time ago.

An old dream, but somehow fresh. Had I dreamt it recently?

I stepped off the path, and knelt next to one of the flowers. It was a violet; I'm not sure how I knew that. I wasn't very good with flowers. I couldn't describe its color. Something between purple and fire and moonlight shining through a bedroom window onto silken sheets. No, that was wrong. Those last two weren't colors. Were they?

I smelled the flower, but pulled away quickly. It smelled like alcohol, or maybe disinfectant. That wasn't right.

I stepped back onto the path, and started walking. I knew the way. I'd walked it before, when my stride had been shorter. Or had I?

There was a shooting pain in my chest, and I staggered to a stop along the path. I grabbed at it, the agony shooting like lightning. It struck again, causing my heart to shutter—

— "-ear!" someone shouted. My eyes shot open as my entire body shook. I tried looking around, and saw familiar faces without names. One was just over my chest, withdrawing his half-gloved hands from my chest and side.

"Stop, that did it!" someone else called, a familiar one. One that I'd heard often of late. I couldn't see her. My vision had faded almost as soon as it'd returned. But I knew that she was beside me. She sounded distraught.

"No, hold it closed!" another person shouted angrily.

"What do you think I'm doing, boy?!" an older voice responded.

"I will cauterize it," said a familiar voice that wasn't familiar after all. It was wrong. Close, but wrong. "Hold both sides together."

"Please wait, lovely creature. I have almost stopped the internal-" —

— stumbled to my knees on the path. What had happened? There'd been a pain… and then I'd fallen. I'm not sure where that pain had come from. It had fled fast enough. Which was for the best. Wasn't it?

I stood tentatively, afraid of another lightning bolt. But after a few moments, my concerns faded away. I was fine. What had I even been worried about?

My feet carried me forward. I knew the way. I'd been here before. Hadn't I?

The field was serene. I heard birds in the distance, calling to each other. A flap of wings. Red eyes. Shadows.

No.

That was wrong.

Where had that been?

I continued on, finding myself whisting a tune. I couldn't recall where I'd learned it. No, that wasn't right. My sister had taught it to me. I couldn't recall where she'd learned it, but I knew she'd taught it to me. That had been just before…

Just before…

Where was I?

Oh. The path. That's right. I was walking down the path. I knew the way.

I whistled the tune, skipping as I went. It wasn't much further. I'd been this way before. But I didn't recall the bees. Had they been here? I stopped to watch them, and they swarmed closer. Their dance was a furious, angry motion. They darted close, and the first one stung me. I shouted in surprise. Then the next swooped in, the swarm of them stinging me along the left side of my stomach. It hurt, how they worked their way across—

— "-most done," the angry voice said. "Hold him still, dammit! I don't want to punch one too deep!" There was a popping pressure down on my left side, twinges of pain shooting in two at a time.

"Woody, can you hear me?" I turned my head in that direction, and saw a flash of silver curling on a pretty face. "Please hear me."

My vision wavered in and out with her voice. As if I could see her only when she spoke, her face fading in a blurry sphere of sound. Another voice sounded, and when they did, I could see them as well.

"Wipe the blood away," the calm voice said, bringing visions of a bald head. It wasn't looking at me.

There was a light pressure low on my stomach. "That's as clean as its going to get," the old voice said, a vague image of wild hair warbling in and out of sight.

"Alright. You need to draw a circle, and then ten pedals on the outside."

"Woody, you need to meditate," the sweet voice said, the one with the pretty silver. It sounded so worried, though. Was she crying?

"Shit! Hold him! He's convul-"—

— stinging me. I shooed them away, and the bees retreated, angrily buzzing as they fled.

I looked to my stomach, and saw where they'd stung. There were two neat rows of stings running parallel to each other, going all the way around my side. They were angry and swollen, but they didn't hurt as much as I thought they would.

I rubbed at them, and then looked around the path. I was almost there. I continued on, skipping and whistling. I was almost there. And then maybe my parents would take me out for ice-cream. I loved mint chocolate chip. That was my favorite.

But no. They wouldn't take me out. They hadn't taken me out much since…

Since…

When was it?

Since my sister went away.

I stopped skipping.

I was there.

The world seemed to throb around me, my vision pulsing as I looked at the fork in the path.

It was right where I knew it'd be. I'd been there before. A long time ago. It wasn't real. It was a dream. I remembered the dream.

It was the same this time. A fork in the path. The field had come to an end, with a forest spreading out before me. The path was shaped like a 'Y', each route heading off to either side of the forest.

The wind swirled around me, the gale pitching high as it soared, sounding like a voice.

…choose…

I looked down the path to my right. I was right-handed, but my mother had always insisted I practice with both hands. That was important. Write with both hands. Shoot with both hands. Right-handers were doers; left-handers were thinkers. Be both.

I looked down the right-hand path.

It was a short path, but wide. A dirt path with cobbles, a hard path that would wear one down. It turned back and forth, meandering to and fro without rhyme or reason. There were gardens, and bogs, and forests, and deserts. There were up-hill battles, and slopes easy to descend. There were other paths crossing that one, some for short times, some for longer stretches. The path wound out of sight, so I wasn't sure exactly where it went, but I knew that it was only so long. Long enough, perhaps. It would be tiring. It would take a lifetime, but no more. And there was always a chance that I might not make it to the end, might not go as far as I wanted…

…choose…

I looked down the path to my left. I wasn't left-handed, and my father said that was a good thing. Left-handed people got into trouble. Don't trust a left-handed person, he'd said. Don't take the left-handed path, he'd said. I wondered if he meant this path.

I looked down the left-hand path.

It was a long path, but narrow. It was straight, and smooth, and pristine, and unblemished by crossroads. There were incredible places and impossible things all along the path, but the grasses to either side were sharp, and would cut your feet should you stray. There was no need to stray, though, because you could see it all from the path. It went on and on, and though it continued far past where I could see, I knew it went further still. A long path, perhaps too long. It would be exciting. It would take an eternity to see it all, if not more. And there was a chance that it might never end, a lonely path that crossed no other…

…choose…

Choose? What did the wind mean? I remembered this place. I had already—

— "gain!" an angry voice said.

"No, he's back!" the sobbing one shouted.

"Oh, thank God," the one over me said, his gloves crackling with energy. My chest hurt. My side hurt. Everything hurt. There was pain everywhere.

"No, a little bigger," the calm one said.

"Boy, I know how to paint a tattva."

"Woody, you need to meditate."

"Is that it?"

"No, he needs to paint ram."

"…telling me how to paint."

"Woody, please."

"There, is that good enough?"

"Yes. Everyone stand back. Outside the circle."

"I'm not leaving his side!"

"Anya, you have to—"

"Come, girl, you can't break the circle."

"But-"—

— chosen.

Hadn't I?

I'd been here before.

Yes. In the dream. I'd been here, and I'd started down the path…

And then I'd seen it.

I took a step forward, choosing neither path. I stepped off the dusty trail and into the grass, where the forest reached out. Just as I'd done before. There was… if you leaned just right…

Yes, there. In the forest, between those two trees.

There was a third path.

A path of my own making.

It was no more than a game trail, a faint depression in the ground marking the way. It led through the forest. It was a hard path, but a long one. A winding path, cutting between the other two. It could not cross the one, but it might cross the other on its way back through. It would show me things from both paths. And if I traveled it long enough, it would take me…

Where would it take me?

Hadn't I traveled it already?

As I stepped onto the path, I couldn't recall. Had it been just a dream—

— "-pha!" someone said, and my world exploded into white light.

I screamed, and then there was nothing.