The Ramparts of Night

THE RAMPARTS OF NIGHT

by Iori Kusano

The Ramparts of Night can be found in Tales & Feathers Issue 1.

Masae could see the thin fog of her sleep hanging just out of reach. When she stretched out her hand, it drifted further away, until it hovered a meter from her futon like an anemic raincloud. It was a wet-concrete gray, wispy and frail—the sort of cloud that could be dispersed by a single strong breeze. Masae smacked her hand against her pillow, unable to spit out the sob tangled in her throat.

Her head throbbed with exhaustion; every muscle in her body ached from the effort of holding herself together. She sat up, head swimming, and with a groan heaved herself from the futon. 

"Oh no," she muttered, facing down her sleep, pajamas rustling. "I won't let you escape tonight!"

"Macchan?" her girlfriend called from the hallway. "Everything alright?"

"I'm fine!" Masae yelped. The door creaked open anyway, and Ayane peeked in, smiling as if by habit.

"What were you saying?"

"Just that I'm getting a glass of water," Masae lied. "My throat's all itchy."

"I'll get it for you," Ayane said. "Go back to bed." 

Ayane was too healthy to see the wisp of Masae's sleep or how her own hovered over her like a cloud swollen with welcome rain. Masae could, and hated the jealousy that flared in her. If she could only breathe in a scrap of such peaceful sleep—but it wasn't hers.

As soon as Ayane turned away, Masae clambered to her feet and made another grab for her own sleep, stretching out both arms like she wanted to give it a hug. She'd drag it all the way back to the futon with her; it wouldn't be the first time she'd wrestled sleep into submission. It was a feeble thing, like a cotton puff stretched too thin, but it was the best she had at this point. 

"Macchan, here you go," Ayane said, returning, and walked face-first into Masae's sleep.

The plastic tumbler dropped from her hand, fingers suddenly slack. Masae darted forward to catch Ayane before she hit the floor.

Ayane's own sleep still hung over her, lush and soft. Masae stared down at her slumbering girlfriend and tried desperately not to resent her. Of course, Ayane hadn't meant to steal her sleep, but it wasn't fair that someone with so much of her own should get Masae's share!

She carefully steered Ayane to the futon and then folded her fingers down, counting. Four hours last night. Six the night before that, disturbed by nightmares; she'd woken so frequently that it really hadn't been more than four again. Five uninterrupted hours Wednesday night, the best she'd had all week. Nothing at all Tuesday. 

Against her will, Masae felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Why couldn't she sleep like Ayane did? Masae watched her, sometimes, lying awake—watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, the smiles and grimaces that passed across her face. Ayane slept like she enjoyed it.

Masae pulled off her pajama top, too tired to bother finding a towel to mop up the spilled water, and threw it down on the puddle on the floor. She returned to the futon, to Ayane and the thick sleep that hovered over her.

Ayane would never miss it. Sleep was like love or money: taken for granted by those who had plenty, but keenly visible to those who lacked it. Masae could see it hanging over everyone she passed, no two sleeps alike: soft ones, pale ones, sleeps in vivid colours, sleeps that seemed thin as tissue or padded as a blanket. Her coworker, prone to nightmares, had sleeps that looked as spiky and forbidding as a school gate. Her mother's sleeps had been small and nearly transparent, but visited frequently.

Ayane shifted restlessly. She had only been asleep a few minutes, but she'd already burned up most of Masae's sleep. Masae watched as each soft breath consumed a bit more of the stolen cloud, until Ayane began to breathe in her own soft fog. Masae felt a pang of dismay at how quickly her sleep had been spent.

She thought about things they shared, kisses and canned coffees and shaved ice, the dog they wanted to adopt together. Thought about the way Ayane tried so hard to tiptoe through the apartment in the evenings so that she wouldn't disturb what little rest Masae could claw her way to. Then Masae reached out and pulled off a tuft of Ayane's sleep, like tearing off a wad of cotton candy.

It melted into her nose and mouth like spun sugar. She registered dimly the simultaneous ease and ache of clenched muscles softening. The pillow cupped her cheek like Ayane might have, were she awake.

Ayane, asleep, was facing her. Masae idly pictured how they must look from above—shaped like a heart, their feet pointed towards each other, heads hunched in on their pillows—and smiled.

Illustration by Janice Liu

•••

The dread Masae woke with was a different one than usual: not the leaden weight of exhaustion, but the squirming pang of guilt. She'd taken something that wasn't hers. She'd been selfish, and it'd been a relief then, but now—

Ayane, next to her, rubbed her eyes.

"I love you," Masae mumbled, trying to make it mean "thank you" and "I'm sorry" at the same time.

"Shh," Ayane whispered, cutting herself off with a yawn. "I want to sleep in a little more." She scooted closer to Masae, draping an arm over her waist.

"Sorry. It's my fault. I should have let you rest."

"It's not anything you did."

"I took your sleep."

"Good," Ayane said, and kissed her forehead. "You don't get enough, anyway. I'm always happy to share with you."

"No," Masae said fuzzily. "You don't understand. I took your sleep." It was imperative that Ayane understood herself to be wronged. It was imperative that Masae be punished somehow. She bit her lip, but Ayane only smiled.

"Then I hope you got a good dream out of it. Tell me about it later, okay?" Her sleep, rather than diminishing, had swelled. As she snuggled against Masae, the fog rolled over both their faces. Masae breathed it in gratefully.

"Okay. I love you," Masae said again.

"I love you. Go back to sleep."

Masae reached out for her, and did.