Seeking the Dream

by Marcia J. Bennett

  Paa-tol’s eyes lighted with excitement, his thoughts running wildly into the future. “The potential for power! It would mean more than one Speaker—and a boost in the energy available through the fire stones. Seekers would be able to travel greater distances, and world gates might more easily be found, and we as a people—with the capability of broadened Seeker travel, we might be able to reclaim the lands taken from us by men!”

  Amet let Paa-tol ramble on for a moment or two before interrupting. “Dreams, my friend, all dreams unless we can find Mithdaar.”

  Paa-tol frowned. “Mithdaar?”

  “That’s the name of the other crystal, and it’s linked with someone called Davin or Little Fish in a place even the Tamorlee doesn’t recognize.”

  “Doesn’t recognize? Then how are we going to find it?”

  “I’m not sure, but if and when we do, it will be ours to do with as we wish. Let the Tamorlee have Dhalvad for its Speaker. I’ll take Mithdaar and see to its education, and then together we’ll lead the Ni into a safer future.”

  Paa-tol’s head dropped slightly, hooding his eyes. “What about the one who carries the other crystal? Won’t he object to our confiscation of the crystal?”

  Amet smiled slyly. “I like your way with words, Paa-tol. I doubt the one-armed one will give us much trouble. His hold on the crystal seems tentative at best, at least from what I observed yesterday. It seems there is a man called Gringers who is also interested in the crystal; for what purpose, I’m not exactly sure. But if it comes down to giving the crystal to him or to us, I’m sure we can persuade him that it will be safer in our hands.”

  “I’m sure,” Paa-tol agreed, rising. “What are your plans regarding the Council? Will you tell them all that you’ve learned?”

  “Tidul and Chulu already know about the possibility of a second crystal, so I believe it will be best if I inform the others also, then no one can accuse me of being secretive about anything. I’ll tell everyone that we intend to seek out this second crystal and return it to Jjaan-bi where it can be incorporated into our network of Seekers and be linked properly with the Tamorlee. That should satisfy everyone right now. Later, after we have Mithdaar, we may have to make a few changes in our plans. We’ll worry about that later.”

  “What about Dhalvad?”

  “I’d like to do without him, but we’re going to need the Tamorlee to help us find Mithdaar, and it won’t do it without him—unless, of course, it’s changed its mind about me. I’ll know later today when I try to link with it again.”

  Paa-tol thought of his own experiences of linking with the Tamorlee as he gifted it with the knowledge his fire stone had picked up on their travels. He knew that the mind-to-mind contact was a union of thoughts that left little room for evasions.

  “Have you ever tried to—not tell the Tamorlee something?” he asked, watching Amet sit up and swing his thin, lanky body out of bed.

  Amet slipped out of his sleeping robe and stretched. “Do you mean lie?”

  “Not lie exactly. Just not tell it everything.”

  Naked, Amet turned and went to the closet across the room. He moved with unconscious grace as he dressed in fresh undergarments and pulled a clean, brown robe over his head. It fell over his lithe, young-looking body and came to a stop a hand length off the floor.

  “You haven’t linked with the Tamorlee as often as I have, my friend,” Amet answered, “or you’d know that though it’s difficult to dissemble while meshed with the mind of the Tamorlee, it’s not impossible. The Tamorlee has the power to touch projected thoughts, and occasionally it may pick up on surface thoughts, but nothing deeper. It’s a simple matter of—if it doesn’t ask the right questions, it doesn’t get the right answers.”

  “So if you want to hide something from it…”

  “You learn how to steer its thoughts to another subject.”

  A shiver of uneasiness sped down Paa-tol’s spine. There was something about Amet’s answer that bothered him, but he could not pinpoint what it was. His thoughts moved on to another subject.

  “What about Poco and the child, and the furred ones?”

  Amet straightened his robe. “They’ll have to remain our secret for now. We’ll have to leave someone we trust to watch them, but they must remain where they are. It’s our only hold on Dhalvad. When we get what we want from him, we’ll decide what to do with them.” Amet raised an eyebrow. “All of them,” he added meaningfully.

  Chapter 8

  THE WASTELANDERS ATTACKED five times that night and each time were repulsed by burning laser fire. Gringers stayed at the stockade wall and directed the thirty-four Barl-ganians who made up the defending force, while Lil-el, Theon, and Bhaldavin saw to the recharging of the light guns as one after the other they flickered and died, their energy drained.

  Bhaldavin dashed back into the mansion, down the hallway, and took the stairs leading down. He ran along the main corridor of the first floor belowground and took another set of stairs down. Passing through a room where Kelsan Watcher was busy tending the wounded, he went on down another corridor. He passed six doorways on the right and turned in at the seventh, where he found Lil-el and Theon each sitting near a machine watching for a red light on a panel above the gun slot that would signal when the gun was fully recharged.

  As he crossed the room, he glanced over in the corner where his two young sons lay asleep under a shared blanket.

  Lil-el looked up and gave him a quick smile. “How’s it going?”

  “Not good,” Bhaldavin replied. He set down three more guns to be recharged. “We’re down to four working guns, and Gringers is looking for another attack any time now. Gils and two others have been wounded, but not so badly that they’ll leave the wall.”

  Worry was etched on Lil-el’s face. “The children?”

  Bhaldavin leaned over and gave her a hug. “Thura is keeping them all busy with the fire. Gringers has them heating water to throw down on the Wastelanders the next time they rush the wall. Are any of the guns ready to take back out?”

  Theon pointed to a nearby table. “Those two are ready, and two more should be ready in a few minutes. It’s taking longer for them to recharge though. I think the energy source for the guns is running low. Gringers says these machines are somehow tied into the large silver panels on the wind towers. If he’s right, and it’s sunlight that creates the energy we use in the guns, it means that these machines also have to be recharged by sunlight, which is still five or six hours away.”

  Bhaldavin picked up the two recharged weapons and carefully slipped them into his tunic pockets. “If these machines fail, it will mean hand-to-hand fighting—and we’re outnumbered. It’s too dark to tell how many are out there, but Gringers figures there’s at least fifty.”

  Theon glanced at Lil-el, then turned back to Bhaldavin. “There is another choice,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck to loosen stiff muscles. “If it comes to a real fight, we might be better off trying to reach the rafts. Once out onto the lake I doubt the Wastelanders would try to follow us. They have no defense against water draak.”

  Bhaldavin nodded. “It’s a good suggestion. I’ll pass it on to Gringers along with these two guns.” He bent over Lil-el and kissed her.

  “Keep your eye on Thura,” she said.

  “I will.”

  Kelsan Watcher stopped Bhaldavin as he passed through the infirmary on his way back upstairs. Bhaldavin quickly repeated what he had told Theon and Lil-el. When the old man heard that Gils had been wounded, he grabbed up several large rolls of bandaging and a bottle of boiled verran sap meant to fight infections. Bhaldavin led the way back upstairs and listened to Kelsan muttering to himself and cursing the Wastelanders for being ignorant savages.

  When they reached the outside, Bhaldavin pointed out the place where he had last seen Birdfoot and handed Kelsan one of the recharged light guns. As the old man shambled off to find his wounded son, Bhaldavin started toward the main gate where he knew he would find Gringer
s directing the defense of the stockade wall.

  He was halfway to his goal when a child’s scream caught his attention. He knew the voice instantly. It was Thura! He drew the light gun and ran down the short tree-lined road toward the fire. It was the last place he had seen her.

  Suddenly there were men pouring over the wall in three or four places. The Wastelanders had scaled the stockade walls and had broken past their defenses!

  He saw a handful of Barl-ganians leave their places on the wall to turn and fight the enemy behind them. Knives, swords, and homemade spears slashed at whatever target was closest, and here and there a flash of laser light cut into the enemy.

  Bhaldavin searched frantically for his daughter as he ran toward the fighting. Moments later he was close enough to use the gun he carried. Screams of agony erupted from the attackers, as he burned holes through arms, legs, and torsos. He slowed his headlong rush as the fighting grew wilder. Friend and foe were so closely locked in battle that it was becoming difficult to shoot.

  “Adda!”

  Thura’s cry sent a dart of fear through him. He turned and saw her running toward him, a tall, ragged-looking Wastelander right on her heels. He raised his gun to fire but hesitated, fearing to hit Thura. He saw the Wastelander swing his arm around; something glinted in his fist.

  “Down, Thura!” he screamed. He fired a fraction of a second later.

  The laser light caught the Wastelander high in the chest and head; it burned through his face and stopped his cry of agony before he could make a sound. He crumbled into a heap, landing on top of Thura.

  Bhaldavin heard his daughter’s cry for help and ran forward. Upon reaching her, he set the light gun down and pulled the Wastelander away. At the sight of the man’s face, he swallowed quickly, trying not to be sick. He picked up the gun and slid it into his tunic pocket, then grabbed Thura around the waist and stood up.

  He looked around. The fighting had overrun them, and more Wastelanders were coming over the wall. Gringers’s voice rose above the din of battle, signaling a retreat back to the mansion.

  Bhaldavin set Thura down on her feet. “I can’t carry you, child. Not and fight at the same time. We’ll have to make a run for it. Stay close to me!”

  Wide-eyed and frightened, Thura nodded and clutched at the side of his tunic.

  He drew the light gun. “Get on my other side where you’ll be out of the line of fire, Thura.”

  She slipped around to his left side and ran along beside him as they angled their way around a knot of fighting men.

  Bhaldavin saw Gringers and a number of Barl-ganians retreating toward the mansion on a run. The four or five with light weapons stayed to the rear to cover their retreat. It was too dark to tell how many of their people had been left wounded, dead, or dying near the stockade wall.

  He looked around, searching for another way to safety, but the Wastelanders were everywhere. So many! Where were they all coming from?

  “Adda!” Thura cried. “There!”

  He turned and saw five or six figures moving toward them out of the darkness, their long ground-eating strides and loose-fitting clothing giving them a ghostly appearance in the semidark.

  Bhaldavin slowed down and fired, once… twice… three times. The light beam cut through the darkness and found two targets. Screams of pain and fear lanced the night as the two Wastelanders fell.

  Bhaldavin realized that there was only one way to go. They had to cross open ground and try to reach Gringers and the others before they were cut off.

  “Run, Thura! Run!” he cried.

  As they raced along the line of trees, memories of another battle came flooding through his mind, memories that lay buried in his past. He had been little older than Thura when he had first tasted the horror of war. His family had been forced to flee their home and had come to a supposed place of safety to take rafts far into the Deep where they would be safe, but the Sarissans had come, killing without thought to age or gender. He remembered seeing his father cut down; he remembered carrying his small brother, running for both their lives; and he remembered finding his mother’s body and beneath her, his baby sister, both dead. It was a scene he would never forget.

  Suddenly Thura misstepped and fell, losing her hold on his tunic. “Adda!”

  Her cry came the same moment that he realized he had lost that pull on his clothes. He had gone ten or twelve running steps before he was able to stop and turn back. By that time she was lost in the darkness. “Thura!” he cried.

  “Adda, wait for me!” she screamed, scrambling to her feet.

  He ran back the way he had come. “I’m here!” A moment later he saw her silhouetted against the light of the fire back near the wall. She was running toward him.

  Suddenly something hurtled out from between the trees to his left. One of the enemy had found them! Bhaldavin pointed the gun, then remembered his daughter at the last second and tilted the gun up. The beam of light cut into the trees overhead just as the Wastelander tackled Thura. Before Bhaldavin could recover and realign the gun, something hit him from the side, slamming him to the ground. A weight landed on his chest, and strong arms closed around him. He tried to knee his attacker in the groin as he twisted beneath him. Another Wastelander joined the struggle. He grabbed Bhaldavin’s wrist and pulled his arm over his head so the gun pointed harmlessly into the grass. A fist smashed into Bhaldavin’s jaw. Another blow landed in his right eye. The third blow sent him sliding into darkness. His last awareness was of the light gun being wrenched from his hand.

  Bhaldavin’s return to consciousness was painful. His jaw and head throbbed with the beat of his blood, and his arm was lashed so tightly to his body that his hand was numb. His ankles were also tied together, giving him no freedom of movement. He carefully opened his eyes and saw a fire just a short distance away. It was one of those the children had been tending. It was still night, and there was no way to tell how long he had been unconscious.

  His first thought was of Thura. He remembered seeing her knocked down. A lump of fear caught in his throat as he raised his head off the ground.

  “Thura!” he called. “Thura, if you can hear me, answer!”

  The words were no more out of his mouth when a tall figure stepped out of the darkness and drove a booted foot into his side. “Silence! Another word and you’re dead!”

  The menace in the voice was real. Doubled over, Bhaldavin fought for breath and bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying his daughter’s name again. He could do nothing for her if he forfeited his life foolishly. All he could do was pray to the Unseen that she was still alive and unhurt. There was even a chance that she had escaped. They had seemed more intent upon taking him—and not so much him, but the light gun he carried. Perhaps she had only been knocked down and left in the darkness. It was a slim hope, but at the moment it was all he had.

  The Wastelander stood over him a few seconds, then turned and walked away, moving among a dozen or so other dark mounds lying on the ground. More prisoners, Bhaldavin reasoned as the man toed several of those lying nearest the fire. One groaned aloud. The other made no sound. The Wastelander knelt and checked the last one over. He stood up a moment later and dragged the body away, laying it alongside several other dark mounds nearby.

  One of the prisoners had died. Who? Bhaldavin wondered. The body was too large to be one of the children. How many had survived that last attack? He would know come morning.

  He lowered his head to the ground and closed his eyes, listening for a voice he might recognize. While he listened, he prayed that Thura had escaped. There was, of course, one other possibility, but he would not let himself dwell on that and turned his thoughts to Lil-el and the others who had escaped into the mansion. How long could they hold out? It was a very large building with many entrances. The Barl-ganians simply did not have enough people to guard all the doors, which meant that in the end they would have to abandon the building and make a run for the escape route that led from the cellars.


  He could envision the fear and confusion as those who had escaped into the mansion left all they owned and knew behind and made their way to the cellars and from there out through the tunnel and down into temporary safety in the lower city. If Gringers was with them still, they would have a chance, because he would do his best to see that as many as possible survived. If Gringers had not made it, leadership would most probably fall to Kelsan Watcher or Lil-el. Both were levelheaded and would take no unnecessary chances.

  He rolled to his left side and watched several Wastelanders come and go, carrying messages to a short, squat man who sat near the fire. One of their leaders, he decided. Another Wastelander brought a piece of fire-warmed meat on a stick and offered it to the heavyset man. He took the stick and quickly devoured the meat, his heavy jowls moving with a fierce grinding motion that made Bhaldavin feel queasy. When finished, the heavy man broke the stick in half and threw it into the fire, then turned and spoke to one of the runners standing to his right. The guttural sound of his voice made Bhaldavin think of the menacing growl of a gensvolf, a four-footed carnivore that was enemy to every other creature in the land. The gensvolf ran in packs; they were cunning, ferocious, and daring enough to tackle a small draak if the opportunity arose.

  Bhaldavin was too far away to hear clearly what the fat man said, but he did catch a few words, enough to know that his friends were fighting odds that left little hope for a standoff. The Wastelanders, like the Barl-ganians and all other men on Lach, spoke a language known as trader. The only difference Bhaldavin could detect in the Wastelander’s speech was a slight slurring of word endings.

  The runner acknowledged whatever the fat man said, then turned and sprinted into the darkness toward the mansion, where the flicker of torchlight reflected off the stone walls.

  The fat man stood up and looked toward Bhaldavin and his fellow captives; his glance finally came to rest on the man who had kicked Bhaldavin to silence. “Watch them, Sola. We’ll soon be back with more.”