and he was so lost that he could not find himself. The lightness of his unseen movements felt like flying. Faster and higher, easier than running! There was only one direction – down. A fall, not a flight it was! A fall…
Cates?
Cates!
Now he remembered his name. Like a bell, it woke him up and returned him to a dark corner at the top of the tower. The sensations of prolonged falling, along with the noise in his ears, dissolved without a single trace. The softness of the satin pillows held his head with selfless care and banished the ghosts that left his chest on fire.
Cates took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The dream that started it all scattered into tiny fragments in his brain. The fleeting burning feeling turned into cold needles and then disappeared in the warmth of the leather jacket under which Cates slept. He always found safety within his dreams, but now they had become his torment.
The awakened one's gaze focused and revealed a partially lit chamber. Cobwebs fluttered in the corners, while wide pipes sprawled along the walls, leading to various kinds of rusty capacitors and filters. Their reddish patterns intertwined with noble patina in an attempt to replicate the shades of sunset clouds that crept through a series of thin windows. Aloe flowers blossomed on the windowsills under the care of a lone cactus. Above it all, almost touching the roof, was a large stained glass window.
The wavy rays divided its round and cracked pattern into symmetrical parts. The lower half was slightly open, and a familiar silhouette of a woman in the rays of the departing sun nestled in its curve. She balanced by gently swinging her leg, and her focus was on the mechanical claws strapped to her wrists. Their sharpness reflected the darkening sky, with which her outfit was about to merge. She noticed that the sleeper was no longer asleep and stretched, clicking her claw. A cheerful whisper broke the silence of the twilight, reminding Cates that he still had ears:
"Cates? You're a pretty sound sleeper for a shadow! Sweet dreams?"
She called him by name – that was a rare occurrence, like her uninvited evening visits. The parched throat of Cates rustled like sand under a desert wind in response:
"Vish. I almost didn't recognize you. Have you stopped being a shadow?"
The guest questioningly tilted her scarf-covered head. A scarlet thread quickly drew arrow-like patterns on it, moving onto the high collar that wrapped around her long neck. Cates rubbed his eyes.
"I mean, usually you had the decency to knock."
Vish tapped her claw against the unbroken parts of the glass, and a small smile appeared on her lips.
"Knock-knock? I really wanted to knock earlier, but my hand couldn't dare to pull you out of the world of dreams! As I see, you're not happy to see me."
"I didn't expect you at this hour…"
The attention of Cates sharpened with suspicion of something amiss. It was important to swallow the worry and not show it.
"Ah, I see! You want to say that you didn't dream about me? Another wish of mine got shattered…"
"Don't fret, Vish. It's getting dark, and the unchained faceless will soon go to their dreamlands. For sure, someone will dream of you… How long have you been sitting up there?"
Vish brought up the claw to her chin and muttered something under her breath, then breathed in… and out.
"One. Huh, only five hundred forty-one breaths after I climbed up here. Counting helps me keep my balance, you know. I haven't heard from you in quite a while. You're not writing, not picking up the contracts. I was suspecting that you're in hiding."
The dark corners of the room reminded Cates about the ghost that followed him not too long ago. Hiding won't save him from simple figments of the mind! If only numbers could help with such ghosts… However, he'll try to count if he ever meets one of them again.
Vish stayed up on the window, her teal eyes noticing a certain uneasiness and weakness in Cates in his strange bed made out of countless pillows. His head was heavy from unrest, and he wanted to return to sleep, but he couldn't.
Only one option remained. Cates silently got up from under his jacket, found his boots, and walked over to the filter on the wall, from which purified moisture dripped into a large tray. In it, a spider dangled its legs and struggled in a futile attempt to get out of the water. It seemed like death could have been salvation for the spider, yet Cates wasn't sure. Still, when he was thinking about putting an end to the spider's misery, his hand simply reached for a fallen leaf from the windowsill and with it moved the spider onto the cactus.
Actually, Vish was the liar here – she was the one who didn't write back all this time. Doubts made themselves known and tingled in the mind of Cates. Maybe it was not the night he had been preparing for. He needed to think everything over a couple more times, especially…
"Ca-a-a-tes? You're not in hiding, huh?"
This question pulled him out of his thoughts with an impulse.
"No, I'm not in hiding. What gave you that idea?"
He stretched, yawned, and returned to the tray to wash his face. The night was still far beyond the horizon, and something told him not to rush to conclusions.
"The links now are busy with other pressing matters, so they don't care about me now anyway. Likewise, I don't care about them…"
"You mean to say that you're not bound by a contract right now? Did something happen?"
"No, nothing yet. But this, as we know, is a matter of time…"
The cold water washed away the rust from his thoughts, and Cates looked out of the tower window down onto the city, where the fading flame of the sun's rays was turning to bleak orange. The roofs were shining in anticipation of the pale touch of the moon. It was the 973rd cycle after the Cataclysm, and the 14th day of the Fox was finding its end.
The sands that surrounded the city – unforgivingly coarse, full of ash and tears of the past – would rise with the arrival of the days of the Wolf, which will bring storms of caustic salt to devour the dying fire of the last refuge. Then the bones born from the earth would rot, and the wind would scatter their dust – so the old story went, and there was no end of it in sight. In the city, everyone was responsible for their own stories, while Cates served as an instrument for shaping them. Vish started swinging her leg over his head, looking around.
"Yep, your corner got a bit rustier, and the stained glass cracked – is it because of the storm or something? Anyways, it could use a little measure of patching up, that's your trade, or it was, at least… The next storm will come from the north, it'll be black, they say."
"The last cycle's frost caused the cracks, but I can't get my hands on some glass and paint while the links give out contracts to everyone who tries to look like a shadow."
"The needs of the links are growing, so it is not surprising that the unchained are trying out their flow for the sake of some extra drops."
"By doing that, they create instabilities and ruin their own histories, as if intentionally. Although everyone has their own problems. Just like you, Vish – your problems brought you here at this hour, didn't they? Got a troublesome contract?"
"Hm, you are definitely right about some things. But no, everything is fine with my contracts. In fact, I closed one recently for the Fires. And now, when I was walking on the roofs, I noticed your window!"
Of course, the Fires – Cates thought to himself – who else? It had been a little over a cycle since Vish got involved with the Fires. She had treated him differently then. Perhaps because she hadn't known him as well, or had imagined him differently?
"To me… Stop looking at me like