The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga)

by Lane Trompeter

  The worst days, such as this one, are when Te’ial is occupied elsewhere. The captain flatly refuses to tell me where she’s going or what business she’s about. While she’s softened to me some over the season of tender treatment, she still makes it evident as often as possible that she despises me with as much of her being as she can muster. Still, she knows I’m weak as a newborn lamb, and, while I regain strength by the day, I need her to survive. The instant she larks off into the jungle, though, her lithe arms pushing aside low-hanging vines with a careful confidence, Ton’kapu appears as if by magic, his broad grin presaging more torments.

  The man is an absolute terror. The first time I accepted a bowl of food from him, it was filled with maggots. He laughed uproariously as I made frantic and ineffectual attempts to shove the writhing worms away from my weakened body. Every time he passes, even when Te’ial is around, he smiles, walks close, and spits on my face. You figure you’d get used to it after the fifteenth or fiftieth repetition, but the unending insolence is maddening. The little savage only has power over me because I’m trapped in a cage surrounded by idiots with spears that would kill me if I so much as step out of place again.

  The rare times anyone else of the People passes, they watch me with wary eyes. I get the feeling that, though they’ve hated Shaping their whole lives, they haven’t been faced with a Shaper in the blossoming of his powers before. They hate and fear me… and the longer I’m stuck in this cage, the more terrified we all become. We. Not just they. Because something is wrong.

  I can’t Shape.

  The thoughts of others, so distinctly available to me before, are now as unfathomable as the bottom of the sea. It isn’t just that my body is weak. I’ve reached the stage where I’m able to get up and move, to walk around the tight confines of my cage for hours, pacing the same one and three-quarters paces thousands of times. I can jump and squat, and I’ve started lifting myself up to the top of the cage, only relenting when I can kiss the twisted wood holding me in check. Honestly, I’m probably in as good or better shape than at any other time in my life. Despite my body’s recovery, though, my mind can no longer reach out.

  The first time Ton’kapu spit on me, I reached for his thoughts so instinctively I was shocked when my power failed. He laughed and walked away, his wizened little back hunching with each shake of his shoulders. I’m Ton’kapu’s favorite joke, and I never get old. Between the nightmares and the absence of my powers I’m terrified something is seriously wrong with me.

  Te’ial left the day before, and I peer eagerly into the morning light, searching the jungle for her return. My first clue to Ton’kapu’s sneaky approach is the spear butt he slams into my kidneys. I cry out and fall to the ground in agony.

  “Lok’ahnae pai’wia, Eo!” he shouts joyfully. Fed by the world’s excrement, Eo. I don’t know why he keeps calling me Eo. His own personal little pet name for me, apparently, since he uses it so often.

  “Thanks, Ton’kapu,” I mutter from the ground. I don’t insult him in return because he hates it the most when I dare to use his name. As if the sounds coming from my tainted lips are a disgrace. “Getting real creative with that one.”

  I hear motion behind me, but I can’t turn because my back hurts so much. A thick stream of warm piss splashes onto my back. I dart up, fighting back vomit, the stream tracking down my leg as I lurch away. He smiles, tucking his penis back in his trousers, and ambles away. I finally lose the battle against my stomach, vomiting everywhere, the thin stream of bile all that remains in my stomach from the early morning breakfast Te’ial gave me yesterday. Of course, Ton’kapu gives me nothing when she’s gone.

  “Ton’kapu,” I spit at his back, probably too far for him to hear but meaning every word. “Nio’pele’stina.” Make-death comes, Ton’kapu.

  The I’wia is a tricky language of nonsense, as far as I can tell. Even after listening to the People speak for nearly half of Spring, I barely feel any closer to understanding how the language actually works. After a dozen days in a row of wheedling and cajoling, I managed to get Te’ial to at least tell me the basics. Apparently, the I’wia isn’t a language, but one long word which describes everything the world contains and all emotion and thought. If you said the whole word, it would take you perhaps two minutes without a breath, but no one bothers to speak the whole word. Instead, the subtleties of life and the world can be described by taking the relevant portion of the world-word and breaking it up into smaller chunks.

  Thus, Lok’ahnae roughly means “excrement-fed,” because the overall portion of the I’wia “Alokahnae” means Food of Life. When broken up, the letters can variously mean breakfast, lunch, dinner, shit, bitter, sour, sweet, spicy, disgusting, vomit, diarrhea, taste, energy, starvation, hunger, sated, delicious, salty, savory, nauseating, stomach, and a dozen other food related words. All meaning exists in where and when the nearly imperceptible pauses occur between the sounds of the world-word. To make matters more interesting, the People use shortcuts and abbreviations for commonly used words, which serve to complete the confusion of anyone not raised on the twisted and absurd language.

  I’ve learned perhaps a dozen of the most common portions on the I’wia, from food to sleep to weather, as well as some of the variations off of them, but I sound less like a child and more like a disabled war veteran struck dumb by a hammer. Perhaps because of that, Ton’kapu speaks his insults in the most basic terms he can manage. He still creates new and unfortunate combinations of words that degrade me in a unique and depressing manner anyway. If I didn’t literally dream of taking a long needle and pushing it slowly through both his eyeballs, I might be impressed with his creativity.

  I spend the day alternating between exercising and languishing against the bars dreaming of lobster dipped in rich melted butter. I go to sleep hungry, Ton’kapu ignoring me aside from the pair of times he strolls by to spit on me, shout a gleeful insulting epithet, and walk away.

  It begins in Donir…

  Nothing moves. Nothing breathes. Clouds of grey and black drift listlessly over mountains melted into smooth and undulating hills, seas smothered in an opaque rain of unmoving grey.

  Dawn brings the same vain search for Te’ial in the dense jungle undergrowth. I start to grow worried the longer she’s gone. Ton’kapu hasn’t bothered to bring me water, and my joints ache as my mouth dries. My stomach, once soft and smooth, now lean and hard, exists in a small knot of pain. Spring is passing quickly towards Summer, and the days are growing hotter. As the sun reaches its zenith, I stop sweating. Two long days in the sun without water... the heat picks up, the tropical sun blazing overhead, and I can’t tell if my vision is swimming or if the heat is shimmering in the air.

  “Ton’kapu!” I call, my throat dry and rasping. “Ton’kapu!”

  The man’s ridiculous hunched back doesn’t appear, and I gasp. The heat pours down, the sun an unbearable burning brightness…

  The flames spread, consuming, destroying, mountains melt, seas boil…

  I blink, the jungle in focus one second, aflame and smoking the next…

  Ash, unending tides of ash, swirling, choking….

  I cough, my swollen throat desperate to breathe, to drink…

  It begins in Donir, in Coin, in Isa, in the center of the sea…

  My heart beats fast, my lungs surging for air so hot my blood boils...

  “Creator, help me,” I call into the void or into the air, I can’t tell. “Save me, Creator. By your forgotten name, by your wisdom, please, save me from this hell.”

  “And what have you done to deserve my aid, Bastian of Coin?” a voice asks from the cloud of ash. The voice is a multitude of voices, the intertwining of dozens at once, their echoes in perfect unison, yet their voices distinct. The voice of the Creator, just as I’ve always imagined it.

  “Nothing,” I answer honestly. “I’ve done nothing but live and wish to keep living.”

  “What will you do to earn my aid?”

  “Anything,” I s
ay desperately. “Anything.”

  “When I call, you will answer?”

  “Yes,” I say, but a warning echoes under the surface of my thoughts. Something… some instinct... My desperation fades, suspicion creeping to the fore. The Creator’s voice… exactly as I imagined it? “I swear it on my blood.”

  “Blood you hold cheap, Bastian of Coin. I know your heart. Hatred for those who birthed you. Pity for a brother who does not know you. Your heart is known only to yourself, and trust is a concept foreign to you.”

  The longer they talk, the more I begin to realize ‘they’ is a better pronoun than ‘he,’ and the more familiar the voices become. The same voices I’ve heard before in my dreams. The moment I recognize the stuffy woman, Ulia, I pick out several others, Jynn leading them all.

  “Why should I trust when I have been constantly misled, Jynn?” I ask.

  The voices break into a babble of noise, shouts and panic. Even as their voices clamor, I catch a glimpse of Jynn, much as I’ve seen her before, her armor shimmering amongst the clouds and dust coating the air. She darts away, her soul disappearing into the darkness of the drifting ash. I give chase as fast as I can think, blasting through the ash and catching sight of her braid curling around one cloud, her foot as she dives into another, the tip of her sword as she hides behind a melted mountain. Every time I close, she breaks at just the right moment, or moves just a hair faster, my outstretched will inches from her trailing back. No matter what I try, no matter the angle, she is just a step ahead....

  What the hell am I doing? Chasing the physical form of a spirit? Through an imaginary dream world? I growl, the whispering will of another suddenly audible in the back of my mind as I become aware of it.

  “Get the fuck out of my head!” I scream, throwing everything I can at whoever whispers in my mind.

  The voice ceases and vanishes with a cry, the distant sounds of pain echoing through the soundless space. I reach for Jynn’s spirit, just as I have before, but something blocks me. A wall, invisible and boundless, edges beyond imagination and yet solid, holds me back. I scrabble at its edges, gouge at its mortar, ram into its center. I feel it buckle, crack, the tenor of panic rising in their voices as I fight to free myself from whatever unnatural magic holds me at bay.

  “Wake up, Bastian,” Jynn says, her voice a calm center amongst the raucous storm.

  I hear it, the call, the urge to head back to my waiting body, but I growl, resisting the temptation and slamming again against the invisible wall.

  “Enough,” Jynn says, her voice reverberating with power on this mental landscape. The voices cease as one, and I stop fighting, my mind exhausted. I might yet break through, maybe, but I don’t know what it will cost me. I’m weak, and the efforts of my struggle make me weaker still. “Bastian, wake up.”

  I can’t resist this time, the command so much more potent, her will so powerful—

  The heat hasn’t changed; the sun is still a torrent of fire, but my mind is clear, my soul revitalized. Standing, I sense the thrum of reawakened power. My body still needs water and food, but the energy of my soul burns those needs away for the time being. My sight is sharp when it has been blurry, my mind awake again.

  Ton’kapu strolls around the corner, carrying a skin of water in his hand loosely. He grins his shit-eating grin the second he sees me awake. I stare at him, my gaze steady, my body urging me to beg for the life-giving water he grasps in his hand. I try to ignore the voice, but it’s impossible. Slowly, calmly, I raise my hand for the skin. Ton’kapu stops, grinning, before taking a long drink. Exaggerating the sigh of satisfaction, he allows water to drip down his chin, wasted amongst the rivulets of his sweat. I simply stare, hand outstretched. My serenity makes him angry, his surface thoughts as clear as day.

  Ton’kapu lifts the water skin and begins to turn it upside down, but then cocks his ear as if he hears something. He frowns and glances behind him. I allow my senses to spread farther into his mind, and suddenly the desperate whispers of Ulia become audible, her clear voice begging Ton’kapu to reconsider. I smile.

  “You should never have shown me such useful abilities,” I call out to the aether. Narrowing my focus, it’s my turn to place a wall around Ton’kapu’s mind. Her voice disappears.

  Ton’kapu makes peace with the strange voice in his head almost immediately. It’s not the first time he’s been afraid he’s hearing things that don’t exist, and he figures it probably won’t be the last. Instead, his joy for my torment rises to the surface like a child seeing a favorite toy. Through his eyes, I look weak, but not frail enough. My calm demeanor infuriates him. His next action is his own, purely and completely. His malice is his own. His hate is his own.

  His punishment will be mine.

  He tips up the skin and pours the remaining water out onto the moist earth. Taking control of his body from his simple brain isn’t difficult. He’s perplexed as he kneels to the ground against the commands of his feeble mind. His confusion grows as he scoops up the wet earth with his bare hands. He only realizes fear when I speak.

  “Niope'lesti.” Death-wishing. Suicide.

  He pushes the dirt into his mouth, the fistfuls of moist soil immediately choking him. Even as his lungs spasm in an attempt to clear his throat, he pushes another handful of dirt into his mouth, and another, and another. Worms wriggle in the earth as he digs the hole deeper, cramming handful after handful of dirt into his waiting mouth. He tries to cough, tries to swallow, but his body will not, cannot respond. His stomach fills with dirt, his throat and lungs packed tight. His lungs can’t move anymore, their expanse filled to the brim. His last moments of life are spent staring into my eyes. I don’t let him blink.

  I stare at his cooling corpse for a long moment. Distant shouts and the sound of hurrying feet drift on the wind. Six warriors, each dressed in armor half-covering their muscular forms, sprint into the clearing. Two immediately fall to their knees next to Ton’kapu, pointlessly checking him for signs of life. The other four shout at me, fanning out and brandishing gleaming spears. I ignore them and take a seat in my cage. They’re terrified, but are under strict orders not to harm me under any circumstances. Though the idiot on the far right is tempted, he doesn’t have the balls to disobey a direct order from the Seer.

  I close my eyes. I want to sleep, but the needs of my body are insistent. Shaping used to cause exhaustion, especially when controlling obstinate minds. Not Ton’kapu. I held his mind in my hand like a violin and played a symphony. I should be drained from the experience, but instead I’m invigorated. My thoughts drift, sharp and dull, clear and cloudy, the needs of my body warring with the exultation of my soul.

  “That was evil!” Ulia shouts into the darkness.

  “The method was evil,” Jynn responds. “The act was not. Ton’kapu was a horrible man, who had already committed murder before, if you’ll remember.”

  “So the ends justify the means?” a foreign voice asks.

  “That depends, and you know that as well as I, Eligio,” she answers. There’s a momentary pause. “He was pushed. Could you, could any of you, have taken Ton’kapu’s torments if you had the power to end them?”

  “Of course not,” the Khalintari responds. “But the brutality of the punishment… his satisfaction afterward...”

  “He is what we have Seen,” a new voice cuts in. It is a woman’s tone, older, colder. “Why argue over that which is necessary? Your approval is immaterial.”

  “What else have we, Kimi, but our voices?” Ulia answers. “What can we do but weep to know the devil of our nightmares first hand? Even in the best of futures, his deeds tarnish our future. I refuse to do it. I will not aid that monster.”

  “In order to have a future in the first place, he is our only chance,” Jynn says, her voice sharp. As always, they fall silent to listen. “Ulia, you aren’t doing it for him. You’re doing it for all of us. When the time comes, you can rest. You know this. But we cannot hesitate now. Not this late in the game.”
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br />   “I know my place,” Ulia answers stiffly. “I also know how eager you are for my rest. You may come to miss my voice, as aggravating as you find it now, Jynn. Nothing is certain, especially not this treacherous path we walk now. Your impulsiveness could kill us all.”

  “And it is the only hope we have,” Kimi responds quietly. “The time for debate is over. The time for action is at hand.”

  “Wake up, Bastian,” Jynn says.

  I scowl into the darkness.

  “No.”

  “We’ve sent people with water. Your body is failing as we speak. This sleep is not one of your making, but of your body shutting down. We’ll answer your questions, soon. You’re to be brought to the Seer, and she will speak for us.”

  “Who in the Eternal’s blasted name are all of you? How are you speaking in my mind?” I growl. There are several flickers of emotion from the edges of the void, flashes of sorrow, hints of humor.

  “Soon, Bastian. You’ll die. Tick tock,” Jynn urges.

  “Fine. But only if you tell me who you are at least.”

  “My name is Jynn Dioran,” she says, a sigh in her voice. “I fought for the Eternal more than five thousand years ago as her Master of Thought. They called me the Mind Razor.”

  “What?”

  “Wake up, Bastian.”

  I cough on the water streaming down my throat. Before I finish convulsing, I grab the skin greedily, bloating my belly but leaving me woefully unsatisfied. Te’ial’s familiar muscular calves crouch next to me holding the skin, and my first emotion is relief. She’s back. Ton’kapu won’t be able to torment me again… I remember suddenly that he’s dead. I killed him. I glance over at Te’ial, but she refuses to meet my gaze, her eyes sliding away. It seems what little rapport we had is destroyed.

  “Te’ial,” I begin, but she waves her hand at me irritably.

  “I am not interested in your words, thriska Cursed. For me to believe Eo to have changed, even some, was the hope of a child.”

  “Is anyone going to tell me why you keep calling me Eo?” I ask wearily.