And Open Your Eyes (1)

'Her heart pounded like the thundering of horse hooves all around, and her breath was rapid with fear. A hand covered her mouth to keep her from making a sound as tears spilled from her eyes. She was hidden out of sight, but saw the chaos through a slit in what seemed like a shed. The forms flashed before her; orange-clad figures storming helter-skelter, swords drawn and voices harsh.

A blood-curdling scream erupted from the pandemonium and she froze. She knew the voice. It rose and fell in a chilling wail that made her heart shrivel.

She peered through the slit and saw the orange-clad forms had stopped moving. In the spaces between them, she spied a woman on the ground. A body was sprawled lifelessly in her arms, a pool of blood growing around her. As the woman wailed, an orange-clad form moved swiftly, plunging a sword through her back to pierce her heart, then yanking it out so forcefully that an arc of blood sprang through the air.

She screamed at the sight, but the hand covering her mouth muffled the cry. Another arm wrapped around her, pulling her from the shed. She flailed about, but the arms held her firm, silenced her screams. Only her tears flowed like torrents as the bloody scene burned into her brain.'

“Please! Agaenaye Emeravwe, please! You must calm yourself!” the nurses of the Palace Infirmary shouted as they tried to hold her still.

Emeravwe screamed and thrashed, overcome by terror and anguish, a headache crushing her skull.

“It is only a dream! It is only a dream!”

The nurses’ cries permeated her own, and as she listened to their pleas and coos, she began to calm. She stopped thrashing, then slowly opened her eyes. The pounding headache blurred her vision, and her tears streamed.

Her body shook uncontrollably. Her breath was wild and soul shaken by what she had seen. She wondered, It was a dream?

No. It could not have been—not when she saw it in such vivid horror. Not when she was still so terrified. She rolled on her side in a fetal position to contain her trembling and held her head, weeping and moaning as the headache pounded. The two nurses standing before her cot watched her in anxious silence.

After a moment, one of them called gently, “Agaenaye Emeravwe, are you all right? You are in the Palace Infirmary.”

She did not answer, but continued to weep. She could not answer; she had receded into a corner of her mind where she mechanically rocked herself, chanting, It was a dream. It was a dream.

The nurses watched her a moment more, then turned to one another. “Let us leave her for now. We shall go and prepare the medicine for her headache,” one of them said. The other nodded and they exited the room.

Emeravwe did not know how long she lay weeping on the cot, but long after her tears had dried, and the shaking ceased, she stared blankly at the wall of the infirmary room. When the two nurses finally returned, they brought with them her medication and meal, as well as matches to light the candles in the now-dark room. Only one of them stayed behind.

She was a thin-faced woman with an emerald in her forehead, who was dressed in the pewter-gray uniform the nurses wore. She pulled up a chair and helped Emeravwe with her meal and medicine.

“How do you feel?” she asked, handing her a cup of water and setting the empty bowl on the table beside the cot.

Emeravwe took a drink and nodded. “I am well.” She was calmer now but felt as if in a trance.

“Do you remember what happened?”

She shook her head.

“You fainted in Joyovwi Market and your colleagues from the Bureau of Court Affairs brought you back to the palace. It seems you received quite a shock.”

It all came flooding back to her then. The case of the missing Onorogu, the protest in the main market square. She shivered. The protest.

“Your colleagues must have informed the Bureau of Court Affairs of your condition,” the nurse said. “But your records show that you had a similar ordeal when you first entered the palace, so a nurse was also sent to notify the bureau that we shall continue to monitor you for two more days before your discharge. Well, then, get some rest, Agaenaye Emeravwe. I shall return to check on you.”

Emeravwe tucked herself in under the sheets once the nurse vacated the room. She was grateful for the illumination of candlelight, for the images of the horrid dream rambled through her mind. She shuddered in fear. She did not want to think of it. But as the night wore on, all she did was think. Of the recurring dreams she had been having recently, and of the headaches and fear that accompanied them.

She had experienced nothing like this before, and she could not help but mull over the fact that her dreams of the man with hazel eyes began after her encounter with Aslan’s attendant. And the fright she felt now began with the protest in the marketplace.

Was there some connection? A trigger effect? But why? Why would she have such dreams? Was she ill? The dreams of the man with hazel eyes were unclear, but the anxiety she felt each time was real. And everything about this dream had been so vividly clear, as if it had truly happened. Emeravwe covered her head with the sheets, shivering as the images of the bloody scene flashed boldly before her mind’s eye, a feeling of foreboding overwhelming her.

She had trouble falling asleep that night, but finally drifted off in the dark hours of morning. When she woke, she felt just as distressed as she had the night before. Though a mild headache persisted, she was able to briefly put aside her worries when Akpokene paid her a visit in the afternoon, followed by Mudiaga and Agaenaye Fatima not long after her departure.

They took a stroll in the garden of the Palace Infirmary, and Agaenaye Fatima informed Emeravwe that she and Mudiaga submitted their report on the case to Aye Chioma and Eunuch Otase. Now, they were all to standby for further instructions from the Bureau of Investigations. Agaenaye Fatima then excused herself on an errand, and Mudiaga escorted Emeravwe back to her room.

As he turned to leave, he hesitated at the door, looking long at her.

“What is it?” she asked.

He smiled. It was not his usual mischievous smile, but quietly tender. “I almost dropped a baby because of you, you scared me so much.”

Emeravwe’s brow scrunched in confusion. “What? What baby?”

He chuckled at her taking his figurative speech literally. “I mean I must like you more than I originally thought.” He watched her a moment more, his gaze unusually soft. Then he lifted a hand in farewell and left the room.

Emeravwe stared mutely at the door, her heart skipping. The tender way Mudiaga had just looked at her surprised her. After another moment, she shook her head and thought with a wry smile, He really is an expert flirt.

Emeravwe was discharged the following evening. When she met Aslan in their garden, he noticed her pallor, and she informed him of her stay in the Palace Infirmary. Hearing this, he fussed over her worriedly. Putting a hand to her forehead to check for fever, he asked, “Are you certain you are well?”

Emeravwe wavered. She wanted to tell him about the dream she had had, but the feeling of apprehension persisted in her, and she did not want to disturb him further. She nodded. “I just had a headache, is all. It is nothing to fret about.”