Young Writers Society

"Are you sure this isn't a dream?" Matthew Lynch asked.

Bryde sighed. It was in moments like these that he came across as being like Matthew's true eldest brother, Declan. Both were endlessly tired and done with him, most of the time, but Bryde was the one that was here with him right now.

"This is no dream," Bryde said. "You would know if this was a dream."

Matthew screwed his face up in concentration.

"I don't know," Matthew said, uncertainly. "I didn't know I was dreaming last week until I woke up."

The situation that was making him consider this being a dream in the first place was that he had suddenly ended up here with Bryde during their Monday snack run. Matthew still mourned the baked goods and smoothies that were sitting out on Bryde's table, untouched and previously about to be eaten. Now, instead of being in Bryde's Boston apartment not far from Matthew's school, they were instead in a forest that neither one of them recognized.

Which was Matthew was seriously considering this to be a dream. He hadn't dreamed, really, until a few months ago, so he was rather new to how dreams were supposed to work.

Matthew turned so his back was facing away from Bryde.

"Dream or no dream," Matthew said, walking backwards as Bryde followed him, "we should figure out where we are, right-"

The ground suddenly gave out underneath him. Or gave up underneath him, since a net suddenly appeared underneath his feet and jerked him up into the air with Bryde in tow.

"-now," Matthew finished.

Malvis was hanging back, watching as Geraldine’s team worked. Zylphia fidgeted with a throwing knife, leaning against a tree.

Geraldine sighed. “There’s nothing. I don’t see anything.”

Malvis sighed, fixing the mask over her face. “Maybe the scout was wrong.”

“My scouts aren’t wrong.”

“I didn’t say it was on purpose—“

”Hi! Is anyone out there?”

Malvis frowned. “Now that doesn’t sound British. American?”

“What would Americans be doing out here?”

“Hell if I know!”

Matthew crossed his arms inside of the net, legs pressed up against Bryde's side.

"You could dream something up to get us out of here," Matthew guessed. He frowned, but it wasn't truly a frown. Just an approximation of one. "You'd have to fall asleep, though, and you probably couldn't do that in here-"

Bryde held up a hand. Matthew fell silent.

"We're not alone," Bryde said, voice quiet.

Matthew perked up.

"Great!" Matthew said. "That means someone can let us out-"

"We don't know if they're friendly," Bryde pointed out, tone serious and wary. "We don't know who or what they were trying to catch."

"Okay," Matthew said, "but it kind of sucks being stuck in a net, even if I'm stuck in it with you and not alone. And if you're not going to dream something, then we're going to be stuck here awhile."

Bryde, unfortunately, could see that Matthew had a point.

He didn't protest when Matthew opened his mouth a little later, or when Matthew squirmed in the net so he could cup his hands around his mouth.

"Hi!" Matthew called out again. "Can you let us down? We're stuck in a net."

Malvis frowned. “Well, it sounds like someone got stuck in the net.”

Geraldine scowled. “How will we know what sort of people, though?”

Malvis hummed. “Let me handle this.” She stalked a little closer to where the voices were from, staying low. “Hello? Can you hear me? The people currently stuck?”

Matthew nodded, then remembered that someone who could only hear him wouldn't be able to see him. Bryde, who already wasn't a fan of this whole idea, stayed silent.

"We can hear you!" Matthew confirmed. "I think we're near you. You sound pretty close."

“Good. Good.” Malvis nodded. “Now before I come take you down, I just need to make sure it’s safe. Times being what they are and this place being this place. Are you armed?”

Geraldine seemed to get worked, ready to protest before Zylphia shushed her.

"Let me check!" Matthew shouted back.

He glanced back at Bryde, which really wasn't that hard. They were right up near each other.

"Are you armed?" Matthew asked.

"It's unwise to put that knowledge in the hands of strangers," Bryde said.

Matthew nodded.

"We're not!" Matthew confirmed. Bryde, after all, had been about to have donuts with him. There was no need for him to be armed in his own house.

“He’s telling the truth.” Malvis stepped back. “They’re unarmed.”

Geraldine frowned. “How would you know?”

Malvis shrugged. “I just know. Accept it.”

Geraldine sighed. “Fine. But if we get shot, I’m blaming you.”

“Blame looks good on me. It goes well with red.” Malvis stepped forward. “I’m coming to cut you down now. Don’t try anything, you hear?”

"Got it!" Matthew shouted back, glad to be getting out of the net. When a woman with red hair cut them down, Matthew and Bryde went crashing down. Unfortunately for Bryde, Matthew landed on top of him. Fortunately for Bryde, Matthew was light. It helped that Ronan hadn't dreamed either one of them up with most internal organs.

Bryde groaned. Matthew hopped up to his feet, then offered Bryde a hand. Standing up next to each other, they very much did look like they were related. There was something Lynch about both of their faces, and their blond hair was reminiscent of Mór Ó Corra or Aurora Lynch's hair—depending on which woman you wanted to count as true Lynch mother.

Matthew leaned over to Bryde with his hand cupped around his mouth.

"Are you sure this isn't a dream?" he whispered, loudly. "Because that dress looks like it's from a Ren faire."

"A...Ren fair?" Bryde repeated, bewildered.

"Renaissance Fair," Matthew clarified, no longer whispering. His hand fell down to his side. "Everyone there wears old clothes or pretends that they're from something like a D&D campaign. You've never heard of one before? They kind of seem like your thing. Since you don't like modern stuff much."

"I've never heard of them before," Bryde said.

Matthew stared at him, impressed.

"I'm adding this to the list," Matthew said, which he had started keeping a few months ago when he realized just how little Bryde knew about the world. He found it amusing, discovering how little this supposedly all-knowing man actually knew. "Right up there with chinchillas."

Bryde frowned. "You agreed not to bring that up again."

"I had my fingers crossed behind my back," Matthew said. "I still can't believe you didn't know what a chinchilla was."

Malvis himmed. “I love it when suspicious people stumbling through the woods start whispering to each other when I’m alone. Doesn’t make them look suspicious at all.”

Not that she actually was alone, but they didn’t need to know that. It would be better to sort out who they were when they thought they had the advantage. So if they were going to be trouble, at least it was in a situation Malvis had perfect control over.

Matthew frowned and glanced over at Bryde. It wasn't a true frown, but a close approximation of one. It was more of a thinking expression. Matthew could have believed her, but Bryde hadn't said that he just heard or sensed one person. He would have made that distinction if he had.

"But you're not-" Matthew started to say, but went silent when Bryde met his eyes. This—a tense situation, one where someone was definitely hiding something from them—was the kind of situation Bryde knew better. Matthew was better at the casual social stuff.

"I'm sorry," Bryde apologized, all charismatic like he supposedly was always supposed to be. Matthew didn't see him too much like that, so it always threw him off. But that was the thing about Ronan's dreams: they demanded a certain degree of attention and respect. Both Matthew and Bryde had this kind of pull to them that made them easily trusted.

(Declan said it had something to do with Matthew being dreamed to be the perfect, sweet baby brother, and with Bryde being dreamed to be the perfect, supportive mentor figure.)

"My friend-"

"Brother," Matthew corrected. Bryde paused, but didn't repeat the correction. Getting him to admit they were brothers was a work-in-progress.

"-thought your dress was interesting," Bryde said, "and was asking me a question about it."

All of what Bryde said was true. He was good at that, telling the truth while also hiding some of it to avoid raising eyebrows or to get what he wanted.

Malvis blinked. “Really? My cheap, handmade dress?” She raised an eyebrow. Something was off about these two. She didn’t like it. “Alright. Where are you two from? You’re clearly a long way from home.”

Something was off about this woman. Bryde didn't like it, just as much as he didn't like the fact that he knew she was hiding having at least one other person with her. Bryde wished he had one of his dreamt orbs, or the opportunity to dream something that could be useful right now. Instead, all he had was himself and Matthew Lynch.

Which, admittedly, wasn't a bad combination at all.

Bryde studied her. He studied the way she held herself and the way that she spoke. From the raised eyebrow, it was all too clear that she didn't trust them. There was a tenseness to her body, too, minuscule but clear enough for him to know that she was prepared for a fight if the need arose.

There was also the matter of her accent, which implied that they weren't in the United States anymore. It was concerning, especially when Bryde combined that with the fact that her dress was very much outdated.

"We're from Virginia," Matthew said, having no qualms with sharing that. "Well, I am. Now I live in Boston."

He looked around.

"This definitely isn't Boston or Virginia," Matthew said. "But your accent kind of sounds like Jordan's. Or Hennessy's. And they're from..."

He looked over at Bryde.

"Where's Hennessy from?" Matthew asked.

"London," Bryde replied. "The UK."

"There," Matthew said, giving a nod in confirmation after hearing Bryde's response. Bryde, after all, knew Hennessy better than Matthew ever would, even though Hennessy wasn't fond of Bryde after finding out who he really was.

“Virginia?” Malvis frowned. “Are you a plantation owner perhaps?” She took a step back. She knew exactly what kind of conditions people who looked like her were in in Virginia.

She took a moment to collect herself. “Well. Yes. You’re nowhere near home now. This is Ireland. I’m an out of towner myself.”