Chapter 6

D arkness.

This dense, swallowing black is an old friend, now. Close, familiar, and warm. I swim in it.

There is something cold and infinite lurking beneath me, however. I am afraid of it.

Or, no. Not afraid of it. Just not ready for it.

I want to stay in this nothingness for a while.

I feel…something. A Thing in the darkness, a known element that doesn't belong here, not like I do.

Not yet. The Thing which is so familiar, so beloved, it has a voice. It speaks to me. Not yet. Not like this. Not here, Little Sparrow.

Little Sparrow? Who is that? What is that?

The Thing Which Has A Voice is distant, faint. But still, It pushes at me. Away from the infinity of cold which shudders and swells so close beneath me. I feel the ice of it crackling, crumbling, spreading. I grow heavy. The warmth, the dark, I want to be there. Not here in this cold.

I reach for The Thing Which Has A Voice. HELP ME!

Fight it, Little Sparrow.

It's a whisper, barely reaching me.

Fading.

The ice creeps over me, weighing me down, making it harder to swim.

Something nudges me. This is a different Thing. This Thing does not have a voice. Or, maybe it does. I can't tell. The darkness obscures its form, hides its voice. It's close. I feel its power, but I do not fear it.

It lends me its warmth, and the ice weighing me down melts, falls away. The Thing Which Does Not Yet Have A Voice swirls beneath me, insofar as I have a me, and insofar as there is a down or up in this place. It's all relative. It lends me its warmth and guides me upward. It is gentle, but insistent, this Thing Which Does Not Yet Have A Voice.

Not this way, it says. Up. Up. Come up with me.

The absolute black dissolves a bit, into varying shades of black, black tinged with gray, black stained with purple. Shades and shadows, shapes and shifting shallows.

As we rise, the Thing seems to be trying to communicate with me. How I know this, I do not know. But I can tell. I can feel the pressure of speech pressing in upon me.

Higher, we must go higher. Out of these dark depths.

Cuffs. Must…remove. The Thing Which Now Has a Voice…It feels familiar, as well. Not as precious as the first Thing.

Sparrow. Sparrow. Sparrow. Just that word.

What is Sparrow? This Thing has used that word.

Is it a name?

Names are important. Do I have a name?

Perhaps I am Sparrow.

I am, I decide. I am Sparrow. Little Sparrow, to the first voice. Just Sparrow to the second.

A spark lights up the darkness as I assume the name.

I am Sparrow.

I am Sparrow.

I am Sparrow.

It comes with a flutter of nutbrown wings within an endless blue sky. A sharp, quick beak. Clever eyes. A busy tail. Little claws clutching a slender branch that sways in a slow summer wind.

No, no, no.

Not that Sparrow. I do not feel the spark. It winks out.

I am Sparrow.

Auburn hair, which glows golden-white with power. Eyes palest blue, almost white, the color of a belly-up iceberg. Ivory skin. Long, sharp, canines—fangs.

Yes.

High, small, firm, proud, eager breasts.

Yes.

Slender thighs wrapped around the firm body of her bloodmate.

Yes.

This is Sparrow.

This is me.

The spark brightens.

Cuffs, Sparrow. Remove the cuffs. Find me here, Sparrow. Find me. Remove the cuffs and find me. You are Sparrow.

I am Sparrow , I agree. How do I remove them?

It seems like an important question, even though I do not know what it means, just yet.

Don't know. But you have to, Sparrow. It's the only way.

I will. Who are you?

I am *WOLF*.

He—the voice is male, I have decided, as I am female—does not say "Wolf". Instead, he shows an image to me. A huge, brawny wolf, its fur the color of ripe wheat. Eyes glowing amber with unimaginable power, as mine glow white-gold.

Oh! I know you, Wolf.

Yes.

Do I trust you?

No. Not yet. But you will. First, you must remove the cuffs. Get inside them. They are alive—not sentient, but aware. You must kill them.

You said you didn't know how, I accuse.

I'm guessing. I wore them once. I broke them. It's hard to remember.

I have the image of the wolf in my mind. There is fear, and anger, and betrayal, but…those emotions are thin and brittle. Temporary. Beneath them…something more. Big. Dense. Powerful. I peer beneath the transient feelings, trying to find the shape of the larger, permanent ones, but they shift and vanish into the shadows like minnows in a pond. Not yet, they say. Not yet. Not yet.

Very well, I decide. Not yet. First, the cuffs.

But…what cuffs?

Go up, Wolf says. Up. Out of The Dreaming. It is dangerous for you, here, wearing those Blood-be-damned cuffs.

Will I find you again?

Yes. I will be here waiting for you.

Why?

Our fates are bound together, Sparrow.

How do you know?

I feel it. The Fates are close, here, in The Dreaming. My mana is drawn to yours. It's how I found you in The Waking that first time.

I do not wish to go Up. There will be pain and fear in The Waking.

I do not know how I know this, but I know it to be true.

Yes, there will be. But you are strong. You are courageous. You are infinite. You are the WorldBreaker.

That word sends a shock through me, shaking me. I have heard this. I do know what it means.

It means sometimes, things must be broken so something better can be built in its place. You are the Breaking.

I wish to build. To heal. I do not wish to break. Breaking is painful.

Pain is part of life. Without pain, there is no pleasure. Without death, there is no life. Without sorrow, there is no joy. You are necessary. Without you, WorldBreaker, we would all die. Your pain will create space for new life.

You are wise, I tell Wolf.

We shifters live two lives at once.

You do?

Later. Go up. Go to The Waking. Get out of the mage-cuffs, and find me here. I will be waiting. You will know me, then.

Why do I not know you, now?

You ventured too deep into Death. You must go up into The Waking, or Death will drag you back down, and not even I can save you, then.

I fear the pain.

It can only make you stronger. It will fuel you for what comes. Remember the pain. Eat it. Digest it. Pain is the genesis of power.

Wolf gives me a hard push, then. Up.

The spark brightens.

It becomes a pinprick hole in the darkness. I swim up to it, reluctantly. Fearfully.

I look back down, and I see him, my Wolf, sitting on his haunches, tongue lolling in a lupine smile, watching me. He yips at me, a canine version of "Get going. Go, now."

I go. I float up to the pinprick of light.

Up.

Up.

The spark widens, widens. Light blooms, surrounds me.

And then…

I wake up.