Dream Hunters by Nazima Pathan

Author:Nazima Pathan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2024-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A Familiar Pair of Eyes

I turn my head towards the hand, and find myself looking up at a tall, wiry man with a greying beard and a strangely familiar pair of eyes. I am ready to make my excuses and deny everything, when he smiles and grabs our hands, shaking them warmly.

‘Who are you?’ I scratch my head and smile at him awkwardly.

The man bows his head. ‘I am Amir. An innkeeper to some, but a dream threader until five years ago, when I met my wife and left the Citadel.’ Amir gives us a conspiratorial wink. ‘Leena Griffin is my older sister.’

We look at each other and smile.

‘So, can you also wither a child’s resolve in two minutes flat?’ I ask.

‘Ha! Sadly, no. That is a skill I never acquired.’ Amir chuckles. ‘Though I too have been on the receiving end of her stare, on more than one occasion.’

I stiffen as a woman walks past. She looks at us with interest then continues on her way, but not before giving Amir a curt nod.

Amir lowers his voice. ‘These are odd times. Your parents came and went – of course, you know that. Then it was quiet until your aunt started letting in all kinds of folk from Ratnagar.’

My throat goes tight. ‘Do you know what happened to my parents?’

‘They said your father wanted to turn the Citadel to the dark side, to take the power of nightmares back into Ratnagar. Your mother seems to have been a willing accomplice in it all, but…’ Amir purses his lips.

I clench my fists. ‘Those stories are wrong. I know it, but I need to prove it to King Ganipal.’

He pats my shoulder. ‘I hope you are right. From the messages my sister has sent, we must get you to Ratnagar double-quick!’

Following Amir, we keep our steps swift and our ears alert to the conversations and questions around us. There is a lot of talk of Ratnagar, how soldiers have been coming through the village for weeks. Ratnagar is hundreds of miles away, the journey is long, so people realize there is something afoot.

Amir takes us to the Cozee Inn, an old, whitewashed building with a verandah running across the front and large wooden doors that lead onto an inner courtyard where a fountain softly trickles. A few guests are making their way to their rooms. There are no red-robed soldiers of Ratnagar, or white-coated library technicians, but Rafi and I tread as softly as we can, following Amir past the guest house lobby and into the staff quarters.

His wife, Alia, a soft woman with beautiful cat-like eyes, welcomes us with a hug. Her gesture makes me realize how much I have missed the warmth of trusted grown-ups.

‘Have some food, and perhaps you might like to freshen up,’ she says, bringing food and drink to the table. ‘And we’ll get you some clothes that fit.’

Our bellies are grateful for the hot, spiced potatoes and some crispy flatbread washed down with ice-cold soda.

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