Chapter Twenty-Two

After finishing the bracelet, Cierra started a list of questions she wanted to ask the transforming person and their group once she found them. She wanted her thoughts to be as organized as possible to get the most out of the Fólkvangr women's sacrifice.

So far, she had:

-What are the dream realms?

-What are nightmares? Who is the 'Bringer of Nightmares'? What in the heck was that monster tree?

-Where are all the gods and goddesses?

-What happened to all the other 'shiny' people? What are they? Am I one of them?

-Why Goldie? Who named her?

-What is Goldie?

-Who are they? How are they able to enter the dream realms if they aren't shiny? How long have they been around? Were they fighting the nightmares? If not, why not?

-Can divine artifacts be used somehow to fight nightmares?

The more Cierra thought about what she wanted to ask, the more it felt like her list of questions was going to be never ending. The only thing Cierra knew for sure now was that whoever the nightmares were, she was going to hunt them down and sabotage whatever twisted scheme they had going on.

She only hoped the people she was going to meet were willing to help her. And that they were people.

It was two in the afternoon when Cierra's aunt called her.

"Have you eaten?" The question was the equivalent of 'How are you?' in a Chinese family.

"Yup, stole some of your yogurt from the fridge. You?" Cierra replied, not really expecting an answer.

"Yeah," She continued, changing the subject, "Don't forget we're making jiǎozi with yéyé and nǎinai this evening. Get there at four, and your uncle and I will get there around five-thirty after work."

With the skogkatts, Goldie, and the search for Freya and her tears, Cierra had forgotten about the monthly dinner with her grandparents. Ever since Cierra was little, they had tried to make time at least once a month to visit. She never remembered visiting when her parents were alive, but her aunt and uncle had made it a point to visit when Cierra was younger. As she got older and Ernǚ and Trevor had moved into higher positions in their work, there had been a natural decline in their visits.

Cierra groaned inwardly before agreeing and then felt immediately guilty for not wanting to see her family members. She had hoped to have the day to herself to recover from the long night, not interacting with people in the real world.

Then again, she thought, it wasn't like taking a nap would help her very much with how eventful things were these days when she went to sleep.

The last time Cierra had seen her grandparents she had just started her summer class, the dream world some distant place she hadn't thought of fully exploring. Now, she felt the mental exhaustion of peeling back question after question only to fight monsters and find goddess. Calculus wasn't even a passing thought.

She walked to her closet, looking for something to wear. She had never been one to wear revealing clothing, but she knew that if she wore shorts, even in summer, her grandmother would ask if she was cold. Cierra couldn't remember a time when she had ever seen either of her grandparents in short sleeves, let alone shorts. Her grandmother, nǎinai, had always told her as a little girl that red was a lucky color, so Cierra chose a red top with flowy short sleeves and a pair of jeans.

When Cierra pulled into her grandparents' driveway, she felt a new wave of guilt wash over her. Their yard was overgrown by a few inches and the grass that nǎinai had cared for so much over the years was now dry and brown in patches. What had happened to the immaculate care they typically showed their lawn? What had it looked like last month? She was relieved that everything else about the home seemed to be the same—the driveway was clean and free of oil slicks, their silver four door sedan looked as though it had recently been run through a car wash, and the ornamental ferns hanging from the porch were still green and thriving.

Before she could get to the front door, her yéyé was there, holding it open. His hair was more gray than black, hairline partially receding but still hanging on. At one point he had seemed like the tallest person in world to Cierra, but now he barely reached her shoulder.

"Come, come," her grandfather ushered her inside, "Have you eaten? We have pumpkin congee left over from lunch. You can have some."

Already has was working his way to the kitchen, and nǎinai was getting out a bowl. Their home was pristine, looking almost new with its wood surfaces that shined and the lack of dust on any of the various picture frames or other surfaces. If her aunt was a neat freak, her grandparents were the reason why.

Cierra knew better than to fight them, choosing to sit at the dining room table and wait for them to join her. It felt nice to be fussed over, and at the same time it gave her the chance to ask them some questions.

"What happened to the guy who used to cut the grass? I thought he came over twice a month?" Cierra asked innocently.

"Ah, Hans?" Yéyé put a small bowl of congee and a spoon on the table and started peeling some clementines, "He left for college at Kennesaw University, doubt we'll see him again for a few years."

"Do you need me to cut the grass for you until you find someone new?" Cierra asked.

"No, no need. You might hurt yourself. We'll ask around." Her nǎinai was quick to decline her offer, picking out a few apples and starting to peel them.

"I'm not that hungry, you don't have to—" Cierra started. Already her grandmother was nodding along, peeling away. Her grandmother was shorter than her husband, hair cut short like boy's to keep it out of her way. From the way her aunt told the story, one day the wind had blown nǎinai's hair, a long lustrous black, in her face while gardening and in a fit of anger she had hacked it all off.

She hadn't grown it out since.

Cierra wondered if her mother was alive when that happened.

"Yéyé, nǎinai," She had an idea, "Do you have any photos of my mom when she younger?" She couldn't bring herself to say 'alive' because it felt the same as 'when she wasn't dead.'

The elders looked at each other, surprised. They never brought up her mom if it was avoidable, something about not wanting to invite death into their home.

"Well," Her grandmother started, putting the peeled and sliced apple on the table, "We have a photo album in the spare room somewhere. Are you sure?"

"I was wondering what she was like when she was my age." Cierra lied, and her grandmother sat at the table, relieved.

"You two aren't very alike," She said, and yéyé nodded in agreement, "She was better at math and hated sports."

Cierra nodded along; she had heard this before, how her mother was gifted when it came to mathematics, Chinese, and memorization.

"Was she…imaginative at all?" Cierra probed, trying to lead the conversation. Maybe her mother and her had something in common, perhaps they had both wondered the same dream worlds at some point.

Yéyé laughed, "No, for all her academic skills, that's where she lacked. I think that's part of what drew her to your father. He had all the imagination."

Her father, also Chinese, was an aspiring artist, one of millions who never received recognition or fame for his work. Not even Cierra had seen one of his paintings, the story being that after he died, his parents simply gave away all his work and cut off all contact with anyone he knew, Cierra and her family included.

"Have his parents ever," Cierra tried to find the right words, "Reached out to you?"

Her grandparents shared a look, and her grandmother reached out a hand, putting it on Cierra's.

"They have never sent us so much as a letter. Your father was a good, honest mine while we knew him, but he never talked about his home life." Her nǎinai paused, "It only became obvious after his passing why."

Cierra nodded. She tried not to let her grandmother's words hurt her, this wasn't a new revelation, but still, she had always hoped that her father's side of the family had at least tried to show they cared about her once.

After her parents had passed away, her aunt and uncle had taken her in and tried to take care of her as best they could. No one liked to talk about the details, but Cierra liked to imagine that if her parents were still alive, they would be with her at this table talking to her grandparents too.