Dreams That Burn In The Night by Craig Strete Page B

is this
place?" asked Blue Snow.
    "This is the valley
of Aomi. And there, coming alive in the rocks, is Aomi." The old one pointed, and a bright but
dull thing rattled upon the rocks. It rose and it slithered and it rolled and its shape changed. It grew and it went little and
it was a small ani­mal and it was part of the ground and the wind across the grass and the
insects whirring up in summer.
    It flew like a bird
and it went whipping along like a black snake and it did not move at all and it got closer and
stayed where it lay, a demon trapped in the rocks.
    Suddenly it became
a rabbit and hopped across Blue Snow's feet, dragging a lame leg.
    "Catch it and kill
it!" suddenly cried the old one, with a strange, terrible voice that commanded, that could not be
denied.
    And forgetting
everything, Blue Snow chased the crippled one across the ground. He forgot who he was. His fears
and aches and pains and tiredness were forgotten in the run of the chase as he smashed at the
rabbit with a rock. His face was hot with a fever and a wildness. And he struck again and again,
and his muscles raced with the good feelings that swam in his blood.
    The rabbit, its
head smashed into jelly, boiled over and became a small bird fluttering across the ground with a
broken wing. "Kill it!" commanded the old one.
    Again Blue Snow
gave chase, battering the bird down, crushing its frail body in his hands. The bird poured out of
his hands and became a fawn without eyes, and Blue Snow sank his teeth into the fawn's neck,
seeking the jugular, loving the blood taste of the hunt and the animal heat. And the old man
stood and watched, and Aomi died many times.
    And the valley of
Aomi filled with the excited hunger of the chase and the quick snap of torment and death.
Finally, ex­hausted with blood and hate, Blue Snow lay on his back.
    The old one stood
above him, not smiling. His face was grim and filled with the wisdom of one who asks questions
that are not mysteries.
    "You cannot leave
here now. You must stay." Blue Snow sat up, his breath coming in gasps. "I will leave anytime I
like."
    The old one shook
his head. "There is no way out for you until there is no hate left in you. If you do not believe
me, try to walk away."
    Blue Snow got to
his feet slowly. He looked at the old one and then back at the valley where Aomi waited. He took
one step in the direction from which they had come. The old one made no move to stop him. Aomi
rested quietly on the rocks.
    Blue Snow took
another cautious step. Nothing happened. With a cry of triumph, he began running, speeding past
the old one into the forest.
    As he came to the
forest, there was a flash of light, and he felt the earth move beneath his feet. Blue Snow
stumbled, his eyes on the ground, but he regained his balance and lifted his head. He was still
running but not toward the forest.
    The old man stood
in the valley, a sad smile on his face as Blue Snow ran toward him.
    Blue Snow stopped
running, confusion and terror on his face. He looked back at the forest, so near and yet so far
away. The old one motioned for him to come forward, and reluctantly Blue Snow walked back to the
old man.
    "Will that happen
every time?" asked Blue Snow.
    The old one nodded.
"You will not leave until your hate dies. At the edge of the forest, every step away from the
valley is two steps back into the valley."
    "I don't
understand. I want to go home," said Blue Snow.
    "You use empty
words. You are home. Aomi, the demon, is your home."
    "Why me?" said Blue
Snow. "Why was I chosen for the demon?"
    "Because you
chose," said the old one. "I watched you. I watched the children of the village play cruel games
upon each other as children sometimes do. But you were different. You are the kind that goes
deeper than the small cruelties of the small ones. You are a killer whose inside is rotten with
hate like a dead tree. And because your kind never tires of hating and hurting, you are