Seeking the Dream

by Marcia J. Bennett

  “Stop, Green Hair!” Sola yelled, as Bhaldavin dashed down the hall, flicking out lights as he went.

  Suddenly the hall was aglow with a high-intensity beam of laser light. In the few seconds it took Sola to adjust his aim using the strange new weapon, Bhaldavin reached the end of the hall and leapt up the flight of stairs straight ahead, taking them three at a time. He cried out in pain as the laser light momentarily touched his right leg, then he was up out of sight.

  “Come back here, or I’ll kill your daughter!” Sola screamed as he ran for the stairway. The hall was dark ahead of him, forcing him to slow down and find one of the magic light switches that lighted the underground halls.

  Bhaldavin ignored Sola’s threats and kept on running, praying that his display of power at the lakeside would protect Thura until he could find a way to free her. Zojac and the other men had been impressed by his control over a draak and had quickly seen the advantage of having a draak singer in their possession; though he had not been able to prevent Zojac from confiscating Mithdaar, he had convinced them that Thura, though young, had the potential of a draak singer, hopefully ensuring her their protection even from the enraged Sola. If he was wrong…

  He would not let himself think about that. He paused, orienting himself in the underground hallways. He had counted the Wastelanders and knew there could not be more than thirty-five to forty able to fight, and the mansion was large. Surely he could avoid being recaptured if he tried hard enough.

  He heard Sola coming up the stairs. A light flicked on, lighting the stairwell. Bhaldavin shot down the hallway, moving as quickly and quietly as possible, turning off lights as he went; then up another flight of stairs that took him to the ground floor. One quick glance outside told him that night had come again, which meant that he had two choices: either leave the building under the cover of darkness and try to find Lil-el, Theon, and the others who has escaped, or stay in the building and try to find Thura, Gringers, and the other prisoners.

  In the end it was for Thura he stayed, and as he started toward the back part of the mansion where he could easily lose Sola in the maze of interconnecting rooms and halls near the kitchens, he vowed not to leave until he had secured Thura’s release one way or another. The thought of her small young body in the hands of the sadistic Sola made his skin crawl. Better she were dead than at Sola’s mercy.

  Sola quickly gave up on finding Bhaldavin by himself and alerted Zojac to the Ni’s escape. Zojac cursed him for losing the Green Hair and sent a dozen of his men to help find him. Ten minutes later the search began in earnest, and as room after room was flooded with light, the mansion became a beacon in the darkness.

  Bhaldavin played a harrowing game of hide-and-seek for the next fifteen minutes, just managing to keep one or two rooms ahead of one of the search parties. Suddenly the lights began to flicker somewhere behind him. When he realized what was happening, he drew a sigh of relief. The Wastelanders did not understand about overdrawing on the energy source that created the power for the lights. By turning so many on all at once, they were effectively shutting them all down, which would make it easier for him to hide.

  The Wastelanders were not fools, but sometimes ignorance was just as costly as foolishness, and as moments later the building was plunged into darkness, Bhaldavin heard the men yelling back and forth to one another. The panic in their voices was music to his ears. He stayed where he was as his enemies blundered around in the darkened rooms.

  Gradually silence returned as the Wastelanders found their way out of the building. He knew it would not be long before they built a fire and returned with torches, so he moved from his hiding place behind a door and felt his way out of the room into an adjoining room, and from there into a hallway that led in two directions. He chose to go left away from the main hall that cut down through the mansion from north to south. He walked as quietly as possible and paused to listen for voices at each doorway before moving on.

  The lights flickered on for a few seconds, then off again. Bhaldavin cursed under his breath as he hurried along the hall. Either someone among the Wastelanders had made a connection between the number of lights on and the drain on the energy source, or one of the prisoners had offered the information, either unwittingly or under pressure. The latter was most likely.

  He reached a flight of stairs leading both up and down. He paused to listen but heard nothing but someone shouting outside.

  The upper stairs led to what once had been living quarters for those who worked in the building, but as the remaining citizens of Barl-gan had decreased in number they had abandoned the upper floors for the more convenient rooms downstairs. The lower stairs led to the infirmary and the underground storage rooms not too far from where he had been held prisoner just a little while earlier. That way also led to the escape route under the stockade wall.

  He hesitated, then turned downstairs, deciding to check on the escape route. The lights came on again and stayed on this time. He descended the steps cautiously, staying close to the wall.

  He found the infirmary empty and things scattered about; bottles filled with Kelsan’s precious medical supplies were dripping over on the shelves; many bottles had been knocked to the floor and smashed.

  Kelsan had made most of those medicines with Bhaldavin’s help, hunting out and boiling down roots, leaves, and fruits and barks to assuage such minor physical complaints as head- and stomachaches, fever, diarrhea, and vomiting. The herb and root knowledge Bhaldavin had learned as a child had proved to be invaluable to Kelsan, who had taken it upon himself to act as physician to the sick in Barl-gan.

  Bhaldavin carefully stepped around the broken glass and ceramic pots. It was quickly apparent that what the Wastelanders chose not to steal, they meant to destroy. Over in the far corner was another mess of carefully labeled boxes filled with supplies dumped and scattered about as if a wind storm had swept through the room.

  A sound in the far corner sent Bhaldavin into a defensive crouch. He glanced around, searching for something to use as a weapon. He spotted a daggerlike shard of pottery and quickly scooped it up. He waited, poised for flight, but the sound was not repeated.

  Seconds slipped by. Still he waited, his glance taking in each detail of the disturbed room. The examining table was to his right; several wood chairs were to his left, all of them overturned. The broken glass and crockery scattered about the floor made the footing dangerous for any quick evasive action, he decided. Better to fade back to safer ground.

  He stood and began a step-by-step withdrawal from the room, his glances sweeping from floor to walls and back again. He saw one of Kelsan’s sharp knifelike instruments on the floor and snatched it up, discarding the pottery. It was not truly a weapon, but it would serve, if necessary.

  He was almost to the doorway when he saw movement out of the corner of one eye and turned, his fingers closing more tightly around his makeshift dagger. Someone else was in the room…

  “Come out!” he hissed softly. “There’s no use in hiding.”

  A few seconds passed. Suddenly a small, fur-covered head appeared from behind one of the overturned boxes. Large golden eyes regarded Bhaldavin solemnly.

  Bhaldavin frowned and slowly straightened, the thunder of his heartbeat gradually subsiding. “An olvaar? Here?” he murmured.

  Interpreting the stranger’s body language rather than his voice, Gi-arobi waddled into full view and squatted, sitting with one chubby leg tucked in front of his stomach, the other beneath him.

  Bhaldavin’s frown faded. “Where did you come from, I wonder?”

  In his youth in the Deep, Bhaldavin had seen five or six of the fur children, but always at a distance. Shy creatures, they were said to be extremely intelligent. He remembered his father once saying that the olvaar even had a language, whistling sounds that could be translated into simple trader if one knew their language. Strange, he thought, that in all the years he had lived this side of the Draak’s Teeth, he had never seen an olvaar or signs of any l
iving in the territory. So where had this one come from? He took a step closer and went to a knee, bringing himself down to the olvaar’s height.

  “Well, little one, how did you get inside?” Not expecting an answer, he pursed his lips and gave a low whistle.

  Gi-arobi cocked his head to one side and repeated the sound perfectly, then added a trilling sound of his own.

  Bhaldavin shook his head as he stood up. “I’m sorry, little one, but I don’t understand, and I don’t have any more time to waste. Better find your way back out of here, if you know what’s good for you.”

  He stepped back, took one last look at the olvaar, then reached out and pressed the light button on the wall, returning the room to darkness.

  “Good-bye, little one,” he said as he turned and started back up the stairs. “Good luck in finding your way out.”

  Gi-arobi stood and hurried after the stranger. “Where going?”

  The question, so innocent, caught Bhaldavin in mid-step, and as he spun around on the stairs, he lost his balance and fell. His shoulder slammed against the wall, then he was sliding back downstairs on his side. He caught himself with his hand and stopped his slide, but in doing so he lost his weapon.

  He remained where he had fallen, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness in the room at the bottom of the steps. The light coming from the hallway above began flickering again. He slowly pushed to a sitting position, his heart hammering loudly in his ears. How could he have missed seeing a person in that room? There were not that many places to hide. And who had spoken? The voice had had a strange quality to it. He was sure it was not any of the Barl-ganians—he knew all of their voices—and it had not sounded like any of the Wastelanders.

  He saw movement through the flickering light. Something small, furry, and quick moving. The olvaar! It scampered down the steps toward him, seemingly unafraid. It stopped near his right leg, reached out, and patted him.

  “You hurt?”

  Bhaldavin sat a bit straighter, eyes going wide in disbelief. The voice… the words… the olvaar? Was that possible? He glanced at the dark doorway beyond. There had to be someone else there.

  The olvaar moved closer, coming up beside him, its small-fingered hands touching him. “You hurt?”

  Bhaldavin stared through the flickering light and saw the olvaar’s golden eyes watching him. He had not seen any movement at the olvaar’s mouth, but it was so lost in fur that such movement might be hard to detect. He felt a bit foolish, but he could not stop himself from asking “Did you just speak to me, little one?”

  “Gi speaking, yes! You not hurt? Gi afraid you fall. Hit head.”

  “No, I’m…fine. I just missed a step.” He reached out slowly so as not to startle the olvaar and carefully brushed his hand down a furred shoulder. “You’re not afraid of me,” he said.

  “Afraid little bit, but no more.” Gi said truthfully.

  “I didn’t know your kind could speak trader.”

  “Can when want to. Not always saying right word. Learning alla time. You be Little Fish?”

  Startled once again, Bhaldavin nodded. “Yes, it’s one of my names, but how did you know that?”

  “Mithdaar tell. He talk to Dhal. Dhal say Little Fish be Ni. Have one arm. Everyone looking for you. Gi find first!” Gi caught at Bhaldavin’s hand. “You come! Bring Mithdaar! Then all go home. Amet tell where Poco, Jiam, and Big Fur be hidden. Yes!”

  This is crazy, Bhaldavin thought. I’m sitting on a stairway in the darkness, talking to an olvaar who’s talking so fast I can barely make out what he’s saying, while Sola and the rest of the Wastelanders are hunting the halls for me! I’ve got to find Thura and get us out of here! Maybe then there’ll be time to unscramble what the olvaar is talking about.

  Bhaldavin picked up his makeshift weapon and pushed to his feet. “I’m sorry, little one, but I’ve got to go now. I can’t do anything about—”

  “Not go!” Gi shrilled as he grabbed at Bhaldavin’s pants leg. “Come with Gi! Paa-tol make di-bersion so Dhal, Amet, and others can look for you. You come! Now! Gi show the way!”

  Bhaldavin leaned down and pulled the olvaar’s fingers from his pants leg. “Gi? Is that your name?”

  “Yes!”

  “Gi, I’d like to go with you, but there’s something I must do first.”

  “No! You come now! Bring Mithdaar! Dhal need it!”

  “I’m sorry, Gi, but I don’t have Mithdaar any more. Someone else has it, and he’s not likely to give it back.”

  “Who got?” Gi demanded.

  “Someone called Zojac. He’s somewhere up above, and he’s probably looking for me right now.”

  “You hiding? Gi find good place.”

  “There’s no time for hiding, Gi. I’ve got to find my daughter and get her out of here.” A thought stopped Bhaldavin. “How did you get in here?”

  “Big hole in ground. Theon show the way.”

  “Theon’s here?” Bhaldavin asked, excitement stirring.

  “Theon, yes!”

  If Theon was here, then… “Lil-el?”

  Gi pointed back into the darkness below, “Lil-el, Pretty Eyes back there.”

  Bhaldavin glanced down into the darkness, his need to see Lil-el sending him to his feet again. Then he remembered Thura. He could not leave her.

  “How many more are with you?”

  Gi looked at his five-fingered hand. “This many two times,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “And they’re all looking for me?”

  “Yes. But Gi find! You come now?”

  Bhaldavin knelt down and caught at one of Gi’s hands. He drew the olvaar closer and for long moments stared into Gi’s eyes, wondering how much he could expect from so small an ally. How much did the olvaar understand? How much could he remember? Would he do as asked?

  Suddenly the lights went out again. Gi’s fingers tightened on Bhaldavin’s hand. “Light come. Go. Why?”

  “I’ll explain later, Gi, when there’s time,” Bhaldavin said. “Right now there’s something I’d like you to do for me. Do you think you can find your way back to Lil-el in the dark?”

  Gi whistled an affirmative. “Gi find Pretty Eyes. You follow?”

  “No, not right now. But soon. You tell Pretty Eyes that I’ll come to the tunnel as soon as I’ve found Thura. Can you remember that?”

  “Gi remember good. Little Fish go find Thura, then come to tunnel.”

  “Good, Gi. That’s good. Go now. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” He released the olvaar and stood up. He listened as Gi’s soft footsteps faded, then with a silent prayer that the olvaar would remember his instructions, he turned and started up the steps again, feeling his way along the wall. He had almost reached the top of the stairs when the lights flickered on again. He swore softly but kept going. His search would be easier with light, but it would also be far more dangerous.

  He moved quickly and quietly, searching each floor room by room. It was an eerie feeling to walk through the rooms that had housed the few remaining citizens of Barl-gan for the last twenty years and not find a single soul. Here and there he recognized clothing, favorite chairs, games, and craft items that had entertained those he had learned to call friends. He also spotted partially eaten food that had been left behind when the Wastelanders had attacked.

  Most of the rooms he passed through had been searched by the enemy and stripped of whatever might be useful, but in the back quarter of the building he discovered several rooms that had been untouched. Either the Wastelanders had been in too much of a hurry, or they had simply missed the rooms by following the wrong hallway.

  He paused in the middle of one of those rooms. It had belonged to the old woman, Patra, one of Thura’s best friends. The room smelled of wellen-mint and drenberry leaves, a favorite concoction used by Patra as perfume. He was touched by a pang of sadness as he remembered that she was dead. It was not likely that any of the remaining Barl-ganians would ever return. If the Wastelanders abandoned the city and r
eturned to their own lands, it was possible that he would be the last person to ever set foot in that room. He crossed to another door on the other side of the room, stepped into the hall, and as he closed the door quietly behind him, a feeling of timelessness swept through him; it was an awareness of both the fragility of life and its unyielding spirit to continue. Life would go on, if not here, then somewhere else, for the inner being always rose above death to begin again. So it would be with Patra and all of those who had died there in the past few days, Barl-ganian and Wastelander alike.

  His thoughts on the subject of death were shattered by shouts coming from outside. He hurried down the hall, came to the end room, which was dark, and went inside. The light coming from the hallway gave him enough light to see that Gringers’s room had been thoroughly searched. He pushed an overturned chair aside and crossed the room to look out the window.

  It was dark outside, but the lights from the mansion shone out onto a stretch of ground between the main building and the stockade walls. Judging by what he was seeing, the Wastelanders were under attack. Streaks of bright laser light split the darkness again and again as the Wastelanders raced toward the stockade walls. With both sides in possession of light guns, it was impossible to tell who was who.

  In that moment, Bhaldavin remembered the olvaar saying something about someone creating a diversion. Who was out there? Kelsan probably, and Gils if he had made it to safety. Other faces flashed through his mind, faces of those he had not seen among the dead the day before.

  It did not take long to realize that the numbers were still against his friends, which meant that he had to move quickly and find Thura, Gringers, and the others while the Barl-ganians kept the Wastelanders busy for a few minutes.

  Bhaldavin jumped at a sudden noise in the hall behind him. It sounded like a door moving on unoiled hinges. He crossed the room as quietly as possible and stopped at the open doorway. He leaned out and glanced down the hall. The door to Patra’s room stood open. He was sure he had closed it.