The Last Dream

by Gordon R. Dickson

  IV

  He had just time for one flash of panic as the wall of the tower flashed up past him. Then, with a wrenching muscle effort and a boom of suddenly trapped air, his wings opened. All at once he was wing-spread and soaring, circling out and up.

  Anvra was only a little higher than he, wings moving in what seemed to Doug to be camera work slow-motion, beating up and away from the Cadda Noyer tower.

  He tried to follow her, and the flight reflexes of his body responded. He found that both his arms were extended. His cast-enclosed right hand fitted its wingbone-niche awkwardly but it adequately locked itself in among the under feathers of his right wing. His left hand was no problem. Arm and wing muscles were moving together in great, slow, heavy wingbeats that rowed him upward into the air.

  He had always thought of birdflight as something effortless—but this was not. Against the great area of his wings the air pressed with a mass that felt as heavy as water. He lifted himself with each double down-stroke of his pinions as if he were laboriously rowing a boat.

  He felt the breeze of his movement cold on his face and neck. He was sweating. He looked back and down. Behind him and far below, four figures in the clown-colors of the Cadda Noyer were circling upward. He turned his eyes forward again to search for Anvra.

  She was high above him. She had stopped beating her wings and was now soaring, circling higher and farther away from him by the second. He struggled to lift himself faster—and then he felt the updraft Anvra had already caught.

  Suddenly his body seemed weightless. He turned reflexively into the updraft, circling higher and higher—and all at once the glory of being airborne was upon him.

  Small movements of his wingtips directed him, tilting him into the rising column of air. He was in full effortless sail across the sky—falling upward, gracefully and effortlessly upward.

  “Doug,” called Anvra.

  She was waiting for him to join her. But he could not let go of the ecstasy of riding the updraft.

  “Doug!” Her voice rang in his ears. She had coasted nearer. A second later she flashed upward from below him, turning to face him as they all but collided.

  “This isn’t the time to get soar-drunk,” she said. “The Cadda Noyer are gaining.”

  He looked down. The parti-colored figures were still a good distance below them but climbing rapidly. A cold shock of common sense cleared from him the emotional transport of flight.

  “Where to?”

  “Home,” she said. “My Aerie. If you’re not Kathang, then you have to be a Brotherless man, entitled to unlimited sanctuary with the Water Witches as my contract-mate.”

  He looked ahead and down at the distant, foreshortened tower of the Water Witches’ Aerie for which they were headed. The scene blurred. Far and away through smoke-like layers of double images, he saw a room in which stood a tall winged man, an old man, clad entirely in black. The distortion vanished from his vision. He saw the scene below, again sharp and clear. Decision firmed in him.

  “That’s no good,” he called to Anvra. “I can’t just sit there, locked up forever. Let’s go find those Magi you talk about. Let’s tell them the story.”

  “No,” she called back over her shoulder. “There’s no Brotherhood to speak for you. You’ll never convince the Magi on your own. I won’t take you to them.”

  He gazed at her sailing beside him and a little ahead on the long downward slant. Below, the scene blurred momentarily. Again he glimpsed the old Magus he had seen after he had beaten the two Cadda Noyer bullies in the plaza.

  “Then I’ll find them by myself,” he said.

  He tilted away from her, aiming himself toward the closest tower he saw along their flightpath.

  “Doug…” her voice was a wail behind him now. “That’s an Aerie of the Numerologists. All right. Wait! I’ll take you to the Magi. But they won’t believe. They won’t!”

  He followed her toward a tower some miles off. They flew hard for several minutes. Then he glanced back over the wind-combed feathers of his stiffly extended left wing. The four figures in Cadda Noyer livery were gaining faster now that Anvra had altered course. But from the fund of instinctive flight knowledge in this body Doug wore came an instant calculation. The Cadda Noyer were gaining, but he and Anvra should reach their objective before the pursuers could catch up.

  Soon the tower they sought rose close below. They fell rapidly toward a small circular area on the tower roof. Several black-clad figures were peering up at them. Suddenly he and Anvra were landing in the protected circle.

  Rather, Anvra was landing. Lulled by the easiness of instinctive flight, he had forgotten that his flying abilities were only reflexes. Wings thrashing, he sailed into Anvra and into several of the waiting black-clad figures, who tried to duck out of his path but were too late.

  He felt a collision of bodies and the back of his head slammed against something cruelly hard. And that was all he knew for the moment.

  He opened his eyes to see faces gazing down at him. Anvra’s was concerned. But the other faces— all of males in black or Cadda Noyer-colored clothing—were either blank with astonishment, or set with anger.

  Climbing to his feet, Doug looked around him. There was a dull throbbing in his head. His wings felt bruised and heavy.

  “Magi?” he asked, gazing at the black-clad men.

  “Who else serve the Brotherhoods?” answered one, a thin and elderly man with a pinched, frowning face.

  “Sirs, I told you, just now!” broke in Anvra urgently. “He can’t know that you’re Magi. He doesn’t even know how to use his wings. Didn’t you see how he landed?”

  The thin man’s frown became a scowl.

  “To chambers,” he said, and swung about on his heel.

  An elevator took them down to a room somewhat larger but otherwise resembling the room in the Cadda Noyer tower from which they had escaped.

  There was even a similar if unoccupied table at one end of the room. Doug shut his eyes, trying to will his headache out of consciousness. It faded, but would not go away completely.

  The thin Magus who had answered Doug walked behind the table. He sat down, passed his hand across the bare surface directly in front of him, then stood up. Instantly a silence and a quiet shuffling of position took place in the room.

  Doug found himself and Anvra, with a black-clad Magus beside her, standing before the table. The Cadda Noyer official was standing beside another Magus a little to Doug’s left.

  “Well?” demanded the thin Magus behind the table. Obviously he was a man of authority.

  “Elector, sir,” said the Cadda Noyer official, “our Brotherhood has already entered a claim to the body of this individual. He belongs to us.”

  The Magus now had his head cocked on one side, listening to murmured sounds that seemed to come from the table top. The sounds were completely audible to Doug’s ear, but they made no sense. It was as if they were words in some foreign tongue.

  When the murmurs ceased, the Elector raised his head.

  “I see,” he said to the Cadda Noyer. “We also have a report of the individual in this body defending himself so well against two of your bullies that he disabled both of them without leaving the ground. A hearing was set on the rights of that encounter. Because of your claim, the hearing has been put off until two days from now.”

  “Why a hearing?” demanded the Cadda Noyer. “Kathang du Lein gambled his body to us and lost—”

  “There’s no question that the body is yours,” interrupted the Elector.

  “Then what is at issue?”

  “The question concerns the body right of the soul of Kathang duLein. I assume the Cadda Noyer are planning on dispossessing the duLein soul and replacing it with the first Cadda Noyer soul that needs a new body?”

  “Yes,” said the Cadda Noyer. “Why not?”

  “Because a question of inherent justice concerns itself here,” said the Magus dryly. “You may be entitled to the body, but not to the right of
dispossessing the soul currently inhabiting it. The evidence seems to show that the body was considered lost at the time duLein was transferred to it—and that it survives now only because of his efforts.”

  The Cadda Noyer stared.

  “Even if so—” he said. “What of it?”

  “Kathang duLein may be entitled to lifetime tenancy of the body,” said the Magus, “in which case, you could take possession of it, and put it to use— say, as a wingless slave. But you would not be entitled to give the body for use by another identity.”

  “That’s ridiculous—” The Cadda Noyer began, then changed his tune. “What are the alternatives?” His voice was strained.

  “If you don’t deny—and if evidence appears at the hearing to show the Cadda Noyer guilty of any criminality against the associated Brotherhood Aeries—then the punishment can be no greater than a fine on the Cadda Noyer and their surrender of responsible members, such as yourself, for slavery or execution.”

  “And if we deny—and evidence of criminality appears?”

  “Then the Cadda Noyer must be declared outlaw, its members unprotected from death at the hands of any lawful individual, and its Aeries shall be cast down and destroyed.”

  The Cadda Noyer official stiffened.

  “Self-obligation gives me no choice,” he said. “I must put my Brotherhood first. We shall accept the hearing.”

  “Very well,” said the Elector. “In two days, then.”

  He turned toward the Magus standing with Doug.

  “Lock up this individual—” he began, pointing at Doug. But Doug spoke before the sentence could be finished.

  “I’m not Kathang duLein,” he said.

  “Quiet,” said the Magus. “You’ve got no voice in this matter. Take him—”

  Doug felt something hard jammed against his right side.

  “I repeat,” said Doug steadily, ignoring the weapon and staring back at the Magus behind the desk. “I am not Kathang duLein.”

  “He’s insane,” said the Cadda Noyer swiftly.

  “No,” snapped Anvra.

  The Magus turned to look squarely at her for the first time.

  “What do you know of this, mistress?” he asked.

  “I was Kathang’s contract-mate,” said Anvra hastily. “This man is not Kathang.”

  “Sir,” blurted the Cadda Noyer, “the woman has nothing to do with the case—”

  “Be quiet,” said the Elector without turning his head. To Anvra he said, “If this man—this identity— isn’t your contract-mate, what interest have you in him?”

  “Oh, he is my contract-mate—I mean, he’s my new contract-mate, now that Kathang’s dead. Sir,” Anvra pleaded, “I’ve seen proof he’s not Kathang duLein. Let me speak.”

  “If you’re now the contract-mate of the identity within the body of this man,” the Elector said slowly, “you must know there’s a question to be asked before any testimony from you can be heard. Tell me, mistress, is your self-obligation to this identity such that you’d lie to the Magi in order to protect him?”

  Anvra hesitated. For a moment she gazed at the Elector eye to eye. Then her fierce stare wavered. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Mistress,” said the Elector, “I honor you for your sense of self-obligation. But I refuse to consider any testimony of yours. Remove this individual as ordered—”

  “I am not,” Doug said clearly, “Kathang duLein.”

  The Elector turned and stared at Doug.

  “You keep repeating that,” he said at last, “as if it were a statement that ought to have some meaning for me. Actually, it has no meaning at all. Why do you think I should pay attention to it?”

  “Because,” answered Doug, looking steadily at the Elector, “if there’s the slightest chance that I’m not Kathang duLein, you must stop and wonder what others in your Aeries and Brotherhoods also might not be who you suppose they are.”

  The Elector stood up.

  “I’ll have to think about that,” he said, half to himself. He nodded at the other Magi. “Take him away.”

  This time Doug let himself be herded out of the room into the elevator. They dropped a long distance to a narrow corridor leading to a room that had no open side and felt as if it were deep within the lightless earth.

  Some hours later the door opened. The same thin Magus came in, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Doug got to his feet from the bed on which he had been lying. They faced each other.

  “Tell me,” said the Elector abruptly. “If I offered you the chance to prove you aren’t Kathang duLein, how would you do it?”

  “Anvra Mons-Borroh knows the proof as well as I do.”

  “Her testimony is worthless.”

  “All right,” said Doug. “Let me take you to the underground section of the Cadda Noyer Aerie, near here. I’ll show you—”

  “I have no authority to enter the Aerie of another Brotherhood without invitation.”

  Doug took a deep breath and tried his only remaining hope.

  “Do you know what a Portal is?”

  Thoughtfully the Elector touched the top of his narrow chin with one frail forefinger. “I know.”

  “When I speak up at this hearing—”

  “You aren’t going to speak up.” The dark eyes in the narrow face of the winged man were dispassionate but closely watching Doug. “As you certainly should be aware, by Kathang’s own doing there’s no Brotherhood to speak for you.”

  “Can’t I speak for myself?”

  “Again, you should be aware that you can’t. This is a civil case concerning the right of dispossessing a soul inhabiting a body owned by the Cadda Noyer. You have no more voice in the Hearing than some inanimate object of value claimed by two different individuals.”

  “I see,” said Doug. “All right, I can’t testify. But I’ll be questioned?”

  “If necessary—to provide information not otherwise available.”

  “Then I want someone there who can explain how those Portals work. Say, one of my ex-Brothers in the Sorcerers’ Aerie—preferably the Aerie Master, Jax duHorrel. Can you order that?”

  “I can’t order,” said the Elector. “I can ask if any wish to attend, and perhaps the Aerie Master, if not others as well, will do so.”

  The Elector turned and left abruptly, closing the door behind him.

  After that Doug went through another timeless period of waiting, punctuated only by the occasional arrival of food. When at last the door suddenly opened again, he guessed that at least two full days had passed.

  Two people walked in. One was a Sorcerer—Etam duRel, the lean, blurred, dark man who had been Kathang’s friend. The other was Anvra.

  “Doug—” She stepped quickly to him ahead of duRel and half lifted her wings as if to sweep them around him. But the space of the room was too small. She dropped her feathers and stood back, looking at him yearningly. “Your hearing takes place in just a few minutes. I brought Etam to see you.”

  Her eyes seemed to be trying to deliver some message. He gazed back at her searchingly. There was both love and anguish in her gaze.

  She sighed. “I can’t stay,” she said. “I’ll see you at the hearing, Doug.”

  She left. The door closed behind her.

  “Listen now, Kathang,” said Etam, rather gently, and Doug turned back to the winged man. “What I have to say will not please you. There’s but one way to save your life and keep you from the Cadda Noyer. You’ll have to risk the loss of your wings and your freedom. It’s your only chance.”

  Doug blinked. Before his eyes the blur that was Etam shifted and almost resolved itself, becoming a simple double-image. There was the dark face and short figure of Etam haloed by the ghost of a larger shape with two good wings and lighter-colored hair.

  “What does Anvra think?” Doug asked.

  Etam made a deprecating gesture with his left hand.

  “Well,” he said, “she believes in self-obligation the way dying men belie
ve in reincarnation. I did tell her that I was going to urge you to plead insanity.”

  “Insanity!”

  Etam smiled sadly.

  “It would be a fair enough plea, old friend,” he said. “You really are insane, you know. This whole belief of yours about the Damned World is a fantasy I watched you build, bit by bit, as we worked on the Portal. You’ve even got Mistress Anvra half-convinced your fantasy is true. That’s why she wants you to let me help you—to save your life. And at the same time, that’s why she doesn’t want you to take my help. Because she thinks you’d be pretending insanity only to save your life—the worst sort of cowardice and breaking of self-obligation.”

  “I see,” said Doug. “But if I really am insane, it’s all right?”

  “If you’re insane…” Etam shrugged. “It’s not a matter of right or wrong. How can an insane man understand self-obligation?”

  “How about you?” demanded Doug. “How does your self-obligation face up to helping me with something like this?”

  “I’ve got as much sense of self-obligation as any other man. My family…” He broke off, relaxing. “Of course, this violates my self-obligation to the Magi—even to the Sorcerers. Never mind that. Are you willing?”

  “To say I’m insane?”

  “Not just to say it. That’s what I let Mistress Anvra think I was going to suggest. But you’ll have to do more than that. You’ll have to demonstrate that you’re insane.”

  He reached into a pocket under the yellow lozenge on his red tunic, pulled out a triangular sliver of metal six inches long and about two wide at the base. He handed it to Doug.

  “Hide this up your sleeve,” Etam said. “And before the hearing gets really under way, try to escape. When you make your break, head for me. Slash me with that blade I just gave you.”

  “Slash you!” Doug frowned.

  “That’s important,” snapped Etam. “Just an at-tempt to escape will not convince them you’re insane. But if you harm me—your Brother and friend—”