“It’s okay, Sailor. It was a moment of weakness, and with everything that’s going on right now, even the gods will have to see that.”
“Are you sure?” I demand.
“Certain,” he says soothingly. “I swore to you I wouldn’t let the gods hurt your dad. And that hasn’t changed. Now come on. Lie down. Let’s get some sleep.”
I scoot down the bed and lie down again. Rye wraps me in his arms and I let myself relax. I know anything could happen with my dad, with the Horseman. But lying here in Rye’s arms, I have never felt as safe as I do now.
I open my mouth to tell him, but I see that he’s already asleep. I snuggle closer and close my eyes, but my mind is whirling again, and it’s a long time before sleep finally takes me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: MISTAKEN IDENTITY
Fire. Fire everywhere. Smoke dancing across the night.
The smoke starts to clear and I see where I am. I am on the edge of a battlefield. Two large armies face off against each other amongst the fires, one army dressed in red, the other dressed in grey.
Gunshots ring out all around me, punctuated by the agonizing screams of dying men. The air smells of gunpowder, blood, and death. I can hear shouting, cursing, and more shooting, more screaming.
I stand watching the scene before me as though I am in a trance. The armies waste no time. Their shots slice through each other like their lives are worth less than nothing as they both try and fail to get the other side to surrender so they can advance.
I see a man walking around in a daze, his left arm gone from the elbow down. He lifts the bloody stump and looks at it, the shock on his face almost comical to see. It’s as though he didn’t realize half of his arm was gone until he saw the blood, the stump.
Another man stumbles around blindly, unable to see for the blood pouring down his face. I have to look away when I see the shiny white of his skull, visible where the top of his head has been blown off.
I see a man on his knees, about to collapse onto what is left of his face. His lower face is gone, his jaw blown clean off, half of his nose missing. I can see the pain and the fear in his eyes. He is very much aware of what happened to him, and he knows what’s coming. I look away quickly and almost wish I hadn’t when my eyes land on a man stumbling across the battlefield screaming for a medic. His hands are pressed to his stomach and I can see why. The top of his uniform has been blown to tatters, and he’s trying to hold his intestines in. They keep spilling out around his hands, and each time, he grabs them and pushes them back in.
I avert my eyes again and I meet the eyes of a man. No, a boy. Certainly he’s no older than I am. I can see the fear etched on his face. I can see the emptiness behind his eyes as his mouth moves. At first I think he’s reciting a prayer or something, but then I see he’s just saying three words over and over again.
“Mommy. Help me.”
Somehow, the young guy’s empty eyes pull me from the trance and I look around properly for the first time, looking for whoever is in charge here. I spot a man in a different uniform and I figure it must be him. I start to walk towards him, my feet moving almost of their own accord. I reach the man, the battle raging all around me, bullets whizzing past my face. I feel no fear.
“You have to stop this. Call them off,” I scream at the man. He looks through me as though I’m not there and I tug on his sleeve. “Stop them. This isn’t your fight and it certainly isn’t theirs. It’s mine.”
Still he continues looking straight through me as though I’m not there, and I realize with a start that to him, I’m not there. I’m just an observer. Someone watching the scene but unable to do anything to prevent it.
“Send in the next wave,” the man shouts, turning away from me and looking over his shoulder.
I follow his gaze and see a wave of fresh soldiers running from every direction to join the melee. They don’t look fresh for long. Within seconds half of them are mown down by gunfire and the other half look battle weary already.
I begin to run through the battlefield, tugging on sleeves, shouting, trying to get someone, anyone, to hear me. No one does. I can feel tears of futility prickling behind my eyes. All of this is my fault. I didn’t act quickly enough and War has been unleashed on the world now.
I spot a familiar figure and I feel a burst of relief run through me when I see that it’s Sunday. It means this is just a dream. I can still stop it from becoming reality. I can still beat War.
I run to Sunday, calling his name. For a moment, he doesn’t turn around and I feel a deep-seated panic start to spread through me when I think he can’t hear me either. I scream his name again and this time he does turn around and relief floods me. I can see the horror I feel on Sunday’s face.
“Sailor. Help me,” he says.
I frown. I don’t know how to help him. It’s him that needs to help me. He needs to get me out of this dream so I can end this thing once and for all. As I reach his side, his face changes. The panic and fear are gone. He
