Seeking the Dream

by Marcia J. Bennett

  Bhaldavin was startled out of his thoughts by another cry of a loring bird. It was very close and was answered by seven or eight other bird calls up and down the mountain roadway.

  Damn! he thought. How many are out there? If this was an all-out attack rather than a simple foray by several young men trying to prove their manhood, Gringers and the others above had to be warned.

  He turned to Gils and spoke softly. “Does Gringers know about the Wastelanders?”

  It was getting too dark to see, but Bhaldavin could just make out Gils’s bob of the head.

  “Did he send you to find me?”

  Another nod.

  “Well, we can stay here awhile longer and hope they go away, or we can try to make it back to the mansion. What do you think?”

  For an answer Gils took hold of Bhaldavin’s arm and pulled him out of hiding. They moved furtively, a few steps, a pause, then a few steps more. It had grown dark enough that they, like the enemy, were effectively hidden unless they did something to draw attention to themselves. They moved slowly and cautiously and worked their way up toward the high plateau to a place heavily overgrown with cara trees. Gils led the way to the hidden entrance belowground that would take them into the mansion by way of the cellars. It was a little-used entrance saved strictly for emergencies. The intricately formed doorway of vine and bush had the appearance of a natural barrier.

  Gils pulled the door aside and they slipped through. Bhaldavin drew it closed behind them. Using the walls for a guide, they threaded their way into the main cellars and began climbing, turning lights off and on as they passed through numerous underground storage rooms. They finally reached the last flight of steps leading to the main floor above. All the rooms they passed were empty, though there were lights on here and there. It did not take any guesswork to know where everyone was. They walked out through the main doors and down the walkway that led to the gates and the stockade walls that protected the mansion from below.

  They were drawn to a fire near the main gate. It was tended by several of the older children. Thura was among them. She waved when she saw her father and ran to give him a hug.

  “Where’ve you been, Adda?”

  “Down to the lake,” he answered. “Where’s your mother?”

  She pointed to the left. “That way.”

  Gringers saw Bhaldavin and Gils and waved them over. Bhaldavin squeezed Thura’s shoulder and smiled down at her. “Go back and tend the fire. We’ll talk later.”

  The child nodded and ran off to gather more wood. It’s just a game to her, he thought, watching her go. Would that it were so. He walked over to Gringers, who had descended from the stockade walkway that stood head high above ground.

  The fire touched Gringers’s face, turning it to a ruddy gold. “I was beginning to worry about you,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I should have been back hours ago. I lost track of time. Is everyone else inside?”

  “You were the last one out. How many Wastelanders did you see?”

  “More than usual. What’s happening here?”

  Gringers rubbed a hand along his beard-stubbled chin. “We’re waiting for them to attack. It looks as if they’ve come in force this time. I think we have enough light guns to keep them away. You’d think they’d learn after all this time.”

  There was only one thing that Bhaldavin could think of that would draw so large a number of Wastelanders. “Have some of our people been raiding again?”

  “No,” Gringers answered. “Everyone’s accounted for, and no one has been gone long enough for any raiding.”

  “Then what do you think they want?”

  Gringers shook his head. “What do they always want? An end to what’s here! The fools!”

  “Davin!” Lil-el’s voice was unmistakable.

  Bhaldavin turned just as she ran up. Like Thura, she threw her arms around him, then pushed him at arm’s length a moment later, anger chasing relief away.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “Why did you leave without telling someone where you were going?”

  Bhaldavin glanced at Gringers.

  “It’s my fault, Lil-el,” Gringers confessed. “Davin and I had a bit of an argument earlier.”

  Lil-el brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face; it had escaped the twin braids she had coiled about her head. “What was the argument about?”

  “What do we always argue about?” Gringers answered. “I was using the crystal for an experiment today, and Davin became upset. I didn’t mean to…” Gringers’s voice trailed off as his glance came to rest on the flat leather bag riding outside Bhaldavin’s shirt. He stepped forward and grabbed at the empty pouch. “Have you lost it?”

  Bhaldavin drew back, the vehement look on Gringers’s face startling him. Then anger blossomed, and he held up his hand. A flicker of luminescence seeped through between his fingers. “I haven’t lost it! It’s right here! And that’s all you care about, isn’t it? Not me! Or Gils! Just the crystal!”

  “Why are you carrying it?” Gringers snapped, relieved to know that the crystal was not lost, but furious that Bhaldavin would take such chances with it.

  “It wants me to hold it!” Bhaldavin cried. He drew himself up to his full height and braced himself for the battle he saw coming. The realization that he had spoken the truth, that the crystal did indeed want his constant touch, gave him a strange feeling of power, as well as a desire to accommodate the crystal to the best of his ability.

  “It wants?” Gringers said incredulously. “What are you talking about? It’s a power crystal, not some living person!”

  Bhaldavin’s chin went up. “You’re wrong, Gringers! Mithdaar does live! And it wants me to hold it! It needs my touch in order to learn!”

  “So what are you going to do?” Gringers mocked. “Carry it around in your fist for the rest of your life?”

  Lil-el finally stepped in. “Enough of this! We’ve something more to worry about than that crystal right now! We can hash this all out after the Wastelanders give up and go away… if they do.”

  Gringers looked at Lil-el and nodded. “You’re right. We can sort this out tomorrow. I’m sorry for hollering, Davin.”

  Bhaldavin drew a deep breath. “Me, too.”

  Lil-el turned and glanced at the stockade wall, worry etched on her face. “Gringers, this isn’t like the Wastelanders. They’ve never come in such numbers before. I don’t like it.”

  Gringers studied the lithe, fine-boned Ni female, his love for her and her need of reassurance pushing his anger aside. His voice was softer when he spoke.

  “Everything is going to be all right, Lil-el. We have enough light guns to turn them back if they try anything. We’ll begin taking shifts pretty soon so some of us can get some rest.”

  Bhaldavin knew Gringers loved Lil-el, but he also knew that it was a love founded on a childhood friendship. Never once had Lil-el or Gringers given him reason to doubt otherwise. Still, there were moments when he was touched by a twinge of jealousy. Now was such a time.

  Gringers turned to Bhaldavin, an apologetic smile on his face. “We’re going to need everyone if the Wastelanders decide to push a fight, so I suggest you put the crystal away for now and find a weapon. Again, I am sorry for snapping at you. Forgiven?”

  Bhaldavin’s anger subsided, as it usually did when Gringers turned on his charm. “Forgiven,” he said. Ten years of friendship, plus the knowledge that they had enemies enough without fighting each other, made it stupid to continue their argument. If Gringers asked to use it again, Bhaldavin would simply say no, and that would be the end of it. He reached for the bag at his neck and slipped Mithdaar inside. The tingle of power quickly evaporated.

  Paa-tol paced restlessly around the two statuelike Ni kneeling near the crystal, his nervous glances probing for any sign of movement or wakening. When one gifted the Tamorlee, it seldom took longer than ten or fifteen minutes, and the physical side effects were never more serious than a headache. Amet and Dhalv
ad had been linked with the Tamorlee for well over two hours, and he was growing very worried.

  Twice in the last half hour he had knelt outside the star shape and had reached for his fire stone ring, thinking to break the link between Amet, Dhalvad, and the crystal. Each time he had stayed his hand, knowing how angry Amet would be if he interfered.

  He turned and glanced at the closed door behind him. Perhaps it was time to go and find Chulu or Tidul and ask their opinion. The thought was instantly put aside as Amet groaned aloud and slumped over. Paa-tol turned just as Dhalvad followed, collapsing onto the floor in a loose-boned heap beside Amet.

  Paa-tol quickly retrieved his ring and slipped it back on his finger, breaking whatever link remained between the two Ni and the crystal. He then checked Amet and Dhalvad to make sure they were in no danger physically. Both were pale and breathing shallowly, but their heartbeats were regular. He tried to wake Amet first, then Dhalvad. When neither revived, he went to the door and called for the guards. A short time later both Amet and Dhalvad were safely in their own quarters, and the guards were once more stationed outside the Tamorlee’s room.

  Chapter 7

  POCO WANDERED THE confines of the two rooms she had been given, her anger at being held prisoner battling against her worry over Dhalvad. Did he know they had been taken prisoner? Or did he think they were still on their way to Cybury? What would he do when he discovered the truth?

  Though she had not seen Amet, she knew he was behind their abduction. Paa-tol had openly admitted that his authority had come from higher up, and knowing Paa-tol and his small circle of friends, that had to mean Amet!

  What did Amet plan to do with them? He could not keep them hidden away forever. Once Chulu or Tidul found out they would… What? Come rescue them? First the prisoners would have to be found—and where the hell were they?

  She looked around the sparsely furnished room, a chill settling in her stomach. The rock walls told her they were somewhere in the caves of Jjaan-bi. The damp mustiness of the room spoke of a little-used section of the caves perhaps deep in the tunnels.

  She passed the bed where Screech lay curled on his side sleeping, his arms tucked to his chest, his long prehensile tail curled over one hip and along his legs. There was a break in the furred skin on the right side of his head just over his ear; dry crusted blood marked the gash. Watching him as he slept made her feel very protective, and she remembered wandering the abandoned hillside homes of the old quarter of Port Bhalvar. There she had found a much younger, scrawnier derkat half buried beneath the rubble of a collapsed wall. She had nursed Screech back to health, all the while wondering how soon he would turn on her. She smiled to herself as she recalled the first yowling sounds he had made, and how she had given him the name Screech. It had been a strange friendship from the start, her doing all the giving, him all the taking. But that had changed with time, and she had acquired a friend who stood by her no matter what happened.

  She shook her head sadly. Now look what your friendship with me has brought you, Ssaal-lr. Her glance took in the metal cuff and chain attached to Screech’s left ankle. The other end of the chain was attached to a metal ring driven high into the wall.

  Jiam began to whimper. She hurried into the other room, picked him up blanket and all, and sat down with him. “Hungry again, little one?” she crooned softly, opening the front of her tunic.

  Screech heard the baby cry and uncurled. He stretched his long arms and legs and a few seconds later stood and moved to the opening between the two rooms.

  Poco heard the clunk of the chain on the floor and turned. “Sorry he woke you,” she said.

  Screech coughed softly, telling her not to worry about it.

  He scratched at his side where one of Amet’s men had hit him with the flat of a sword. His ears flattened as he recalled the brief fight.

  He forced his ears upright once more and watched Poco breastfeed the baby. It made him think about his own stomach. It followed that if he was hungry, Poco was also hungry, for no one had bothered to bring them anything to eat or drink since their being captured late that morning. It was wrong for them to treat his tiyah so!

  Let him get his claws into the one responsible and… A low rumbling growl sounded deep in his chest.

  Poco misread the grumble of anger. “Hungry?”

  “I could eat,” Screech replied truthfully, signing. “You?”

  Poco smiled in conspiracy, trying to lighten the seriousness of their situation. “Tell you what. You eat the first one through the door. I’ll eat the second.”

  Screech humphed amusement, glad to see his tiyah had not lost heart. There was pride in the look he gave her as she pulled the child from her breast and wrapped it snugly in its blanket. She was a strong leader, quick with her mind and undaunted by adversity.

  “She’s stubborn,” Dhalvad had told him once, “and the most determined female I’ve ever known. I trust her with my life, Screech—but there are moments when one must think for himself and be able to take the initiative. I know that you don’t believe that, and among your kind perhaps it isn’t true. But with us, leadership is a yoke of responsibility as much as an honor, one that is passed on often without ritual, many times with misgivings. One must always be prepared to lead, Screech, no matter what age, sex, or race.”

  Screech’s tail snapped back and forth in agitation as he returned to his bed in the other room, for the Healer’s words echoed in his mind like a prophecy. Would there come a day when leadership of the radg would fall to him? He shuddered at the thought, for among the derkat only death could end a tiyah’s rule.

  Dhalvad woke hours later. He opened his eyes to the glow of fayyal rocks and felt a warm presence against his back. He knew without turning that it was Gi-arobi, because the olvaar made a soft wheezing sound when he slept.

  A quick glance at the room told him that he had been returned to his cell. He thought about trying the door even though he knew it would be locked, but his body did not want to obey even the simplest of commands.

  The crystal, he thought. That’s why I’m so tired. He stopped trying to sit up and relaxed, his mind going over the strange union among Amet, himself, and the Tamorlee, and their linkage with the other crystal, whom the one called Davin named Mithdaar. Bold Light, Mithdaar—it was a good name.

  His thoughts turned to the one who carried Mithdaar. Was it Davin, or Little Fish? Or were they one and the same person? What had Davin been talking about when he spoke of a star beacon and the Ral-jennob? And who were the Wastelanders, and why were they attacking the people who lived in the great tall stone building he had seen? The one called Gringers was obviously a man, as were some of the others. He then recalled the strange faces and bodies of some of the others Davin lived with. They were neither man nor Ni, and their strangeness made him uneasy.

  If only we could have spoken to Davin or Little Fish directly, he thought. We could’ve asked him where he was, how we could find him.

  Dhalvad slowly drifted back to sleep, thinking over all he had seen and heard while linked with the Tamorlee. His last conscious thought concerned Amet and how he had fared in the link.

  Paa-tol arrived at Amet’s quarters early the following morning to check on the Speaker. His discreet knock on the door went unanswered. Using his authority as a ranking officer of the Gerri-Mountain Draak Watch, he nodded to the guard outside the door and entered, closing the door softly behind him. He passed through a good-sized sitting room furnished with an array of comfortable chairs and couches, then went into a smaller room that served as a kitchen. Beyond that lay a bedroom that was spacious in comparison to most other tunnel apartments.

  Paa-tol paused in the doorway. Then, seeing that Amet’s eyes were open, he proceeded into the room, coming to a stop at the foot of a large ornate bed covered with a spidermoss blanket with an exquisite flower design sewn at the center.

  “How are you feeling?” Paa-tol asked solicitously.

  Amet’s eyelids were still puffy with
sleep. “Exhausted.”

  “What did you learn?”

  Amet studied Paa-tol a few moments before answering. He glanced at the edge of the bed. “Sit.”

  Paa-tol hesitated, then took the offered seat, curiosity winning out over his usual aloofness.

  Amet gathered his thoughts, trying to put everything in some semblance of order. “First, Dhalvad told the truth about the Tamorlee wanting another Speaker. It said something about my not being right for its needs. I’m not exactly sure what it meant. I was asking it to reconsider its decision when suddenly it began speaking about a brother.”

  Amet closed his eyes, recalling that wild tumble through time and space and the strange feeling of being linked with yet another crystal and the holder of that crystal. Five minds linked—it had been an exhilarating and somewhat daunting experience. There had been moments when he had not been sure who he was, or where his own reality stopped and another’s began. His link with Dhalvad and the Tamorlee had remained quite firm even as the crystal drew upon both his and Dhalvad’s energy; the other two within the link had felt more like ghostly shadows to him, one glowing slightly brighter than the other.

  But the truth was still the truth. He opened his eyes. “Another crystal exists,” he said, his glance fixed on Paa-tol. “And if there is one, there may be others, each perhaps capable of becoming another Tamorlee.”