The Stair Of Time (Book 2)

by William Woodward

  Come to think of it, he didn’t remember any break between reality and dream. Which begged the question, how much of what happened…happened? Surely the bit about the exploding rocks was real. “Grenadoes,” Gramps had called them. He didn’t think even his subconscious could have come up with that one.

  I’ll have to ask Gaven, he thought. In private.

  Andaris stood, took a couple steps towards his friend, then thought better of it, deciding to wait ‘til morning instead. Like as not, Gramps wouldn’t sleep through the sudden climactic snort the big man would loose upon awakening.

  Their previous course disrupted, his feet now carried him to the box. It had been a dream—of that he was almost completely certain. And yet it had seemed so real that, in order to get any sleep, he would have to check…just in case. After all, the gulf separating almost completely and completely is both broad and deep.

  Squatting in front of the box, he reached for the hasp, hand, expression, and heart freezing as a loud thump issued from within. Once the momentary paralysis had passed, he unclasped the hasp and raised the lid.

  Rather than a wonderful-ridiculous creature of absurd proportions, Andaris beheld, of all things, a miniature version of their campsite, the walls of the box serving as its frame.

  Unlike the real campsite, the fire was once again blazing, orange highlights animating the seated figures of Gaven and Gramps. They stared up at him with quiet, quizzical mirth, twin countenances cast in stark relief.

  ***

  With considerable effort, Andaris pulled his eyes away, finding the real campsite, thank Rodan, precisely as he’d left it—Gaven and Gramps snoring away in their bedrolls, smoldering embers emitting a faint glow.

  ***

  “Throw another one of them rocks!” he heard Gramps exclaim from the box, voice sounding far away and muffled. “That’ll wake ‘im! Serves ‘im right for noddin’ off durin’ my story!”

  ***

  Startled, Andaris looked back down. No more than a second or two had passed since he’d heard Gramps exclaim. In that short time, however, the box campsite had completely changed. Now it was identical to the real campsite—well almost, anyway. There was a subtle difference, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The fire was out, so it was dark—check. There were two shadowy forms curled in their bedrolls—check. But still, there was somethi—and then he had it. The image was static, absent of both movement and sound.

  The only snoring he heard came from the real campsite. Considering the volume, he was surprised he could differentiate with such certainty, and yet he could, so…there it was. In the box, Gaven and Gramps had tucked in their heads, and were now just two completely still bulges, bulges that were larger than they should have been….

  As Andaris brought the full force of his flagging intellect to bear on his present predicament, the bedrolls, or rather whatever lay inside the bedrolls—for now he felt certain it was not his friends—came first to a sitting, and then to a standing position, moving in perfect unison. For a moment they swayed in time to some melody only they could hear. Then, again in perfect unison, they began shuffling towards the opening—towards what Andaris could now see was his own sleeping form. “Wake up!” he yelled at himself. “They’re almost there!”

  With sudden inspiration, he slammed the box shut and looked up.

  ***

  Gaven and Gramps we’re grinning at him from across a blazing fire. Gaven had a small stone raised and ready to throw. His grin turned sheepish and he lowered his arm.

  “Well, ‘bout time!” Gramps said with a laugh. “We thought you were down for the count!”

  Andaris looked at his lap, face going slack when he saw that his hands grasped only air. The box still sat on the ground to his right, closed and wholly unremarkable. The wonder that had possessed wood and latch alike, emanating with an enigmatic aura that prickled his flesh, was gone. Again, it was just a box.

  Andaris looked up at his companions, who were now peering at him with marked concern, and said, “Something very odd just happened. How long was I asleep? How do I know this is the real now?”

  Area of Effect

  “What do ya mean how do you know this is the real now?” asked Gaven, bushy eyebrows frowning at the question.

  “I…well…it’s difficult to explain. I guess…it was all just a dream, a dream within a dream, but it was so real….

  Gaven made an impatient “Go on” gesture with his forefinger.

  “Okay, I’ll try. We were sitting around the campfire, like we are now, when there came a thumping and scratching from inside the box. When we opened it, instead of the pages, there was this dog-bird-dragon-monkey thing that made these musical warbling noises. You said it was like it had a harp stuck in its guts. And then it lifted into the air, and we were all amazed. And then we realized the pages were gone, so we started looking around for them. And then we realized the wings of the creature were made from the pages, four per side….”

  Andaris shook his head and sighed. “And that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up. I don’t mean now. I mean the time before. I dreamt I woke up while still in the dream. The camp was dark. You two were sleeping. I was relieved to realize that it had all been a dream. But I had to know for sure, so I—and this is where it really gets weird—I went over and opened the box. Instead of the pages or the creature, I saw an image of the camp; only the fire was blazing, like it is now. You and Gramps were talking about throwing a rock at me to wake me up. Gramps said it served me right for noddin’ off durin’ his story.’ I looked away for a moment and…when I looked back…the image was different—the same as the actual campsite, or what I believed was the actual campsite. It was dark. You two were sleeping, or what I thought was you two. The bedrolls took on a life of their own, rose and started walking towards where I was sleeping, the me in the dream within the dream, if you follow. Not knowing what else to do, I shut the box, and suddenly it was light again and I was here, and the box was back on the ground. I don’t remember closing or opening my eyes. I was simply there, I closed the box, and I was here.”

  “It’s the boundary,” said Gramps, his matter-of-fact tone leaving little room for doubt. “It took me longer to reach it last time, but I guess that’s not surprising considerin’ how it shifts about. Why, I bet if we’re already close enough for it to be affectin’ dreams, that we’ve only got a few hours of ridin’ to go. Provided, that is, it dudn’t shift again. Bet my second wife on it, I would. Course that’s not sayin’ much!”

  “That’s right!” said Andaris, greatly preferring this to the alternative. “It gave you weird dreams too, didn’t it? That must be it. So, if you don’t mind my asking, what did you dream about? Did it feel more real...more vivid than normal?”

  “You could say that twice and mean it,” Gramps replied with a grin. “I’m not as creative as you, but I saw some pretty interestin’ stuff. I dreamt I was a king in a golden palace atop a hill atop a flyin’ turtle. The turtle’s name was Trixie, and she was the fastest flyin’ turtle in the land!” Gramps laughed and slapped his knee. “And I swear young’n’, as crazy as it sounds, it was as real as sittin’ here with you now.”

  Andaris let out a held breath. “Well, that’s…a relief. I was afraid I was losin’…losing, my mind.”

  “Any chance these dreams mean something?” asked Gaven. “Is it possible someone’s trying to tell us something about the pages?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that one,” admitted Gramps. “Suppose anything’s possible. But ya know what I find interestin’? Andaris’ eyes were closed. He was asleep. And yet he described, in perfect detail, what we were doin’ and sayin’.”

  “My subconscious must have been listening,” Andaris offered, “and then my imagination incorporated what it heard into the dream.”

  Gramps and Gaven nodded thoughtfully.

  “By the way, I’m not sure where reality left off and the dream began. I remember Gramps talking about a noble creatu
re with green scales and curling horns. Was that real?”

  “Yep,” said Gramps, sounding pleased. “And I was worried I was gonna have to tell it all over again. Good. Now I can save my breath. Kolera knows I need it!”

  “So, what do we do now?” asked Andaris. “I mean, we have to sleep sometime.”

  “Nothin’ we can do young’n’. A very wise woman once told me—my third wife—that if ya can’t go around somethin’, ya might as well go through it. And if ya gotta go through it, ya might as well enjoy the ride! Just remember none of it’s real, and you’ll be fine.”

  “But it felt real. How do we know the difference?”

  “Well, mayhap we don’t, and I’ll admit, that dudn’t hold any special appeal for me. But the one good thing about dreams is,” and here Gramps winked, “no matter how real they feel, they always end, leavin’ ya physically unharmed. So, if somethin’ really weird’s happenin’, just remember, it might be a dream.”

  Feeling even more unsettled than before, but doing his best to look encouraged, Andaris nodded.

  Gramps’ eyes flashed with sudden enthusiasm. “As far as I’m concerned, this is good news. Ya know why?”

  Andaris shrugged his shoulders, struggling to return Gramps’ smile.

  “’Cause if we’re only a few hours or so from the boundary, that means that the entrance to The Lost City is much closer than we thought. Now, as we discussed, time and distance don’t work quite the same in there, but still…. Odds are, we’ll be there sooner than we thought we would. And even if we’re not, who knows what wonders we’ll see along the way? We might even catch a glimpse of that noble steed from my youth. What d’ya say to that, Andaris?”

  “Yes, that would be something,” he replied.” Unless that was a dream, too, he thought. “I just hope we don’t run into anything magical that means us harm. It almost makes me wish Ashel were here.”

  “Well, Ashel isn’t here,” Gaven grumbled, sounding like he’d just been poked in the belly with a stick. “And like they say, if wishes were gold, we’d all be rich.”

  “They! Humph! Ya stole that one from me!” complained Gramps. “I’ve been sayin’ that since afore ya was born! Except I say, if wishes was gold, like you’re suppose’ ta!”

  Despite his sore belly, Gaven smiled. Gramps had a way of lightening the big man’s spirit even when he was goading him, or perhaps especially when he was goading him. “Well, ya know what they also say, ya ol’ codger—imitation’s the highest form of flattery! So stop your complainin’!”

  Gramps patted Gaven on the shoulder and laughed, the genuine affection in his eyes plain to see. Gaven elbowed Gramps in the ribs, his angst about Ashel forgotten. The scene warmed Andaris’ heart, making him miss his own family even more than usual.

  That’s why we’re here, he thought, standing up to lay out his bedroll. To find some answers—both for me and Mandie. If we can do that, it’ll be worth all the bad dreams in the world. Given the circumstances, and in spite of the previous incorporation, he thought it would be easier to fall asleep while his friends were still awake.

  With this in mind, Andaris stretched out on his back while Gaven and Gramps talked, lacing his fingers together behind his head, looking up at the stars, the same stars he’d looked upon with such wonder shortly after entering this world. It seemed so long ago, but really wasn’t. Really not long at all. It was just that so much had happened. Andaris closed his eyes, thinking about everything he’d seen and done since leaving home, his mind lighting on a memory of him and Mandie eating a picnic lunch beside the Lake of the Pines. It was a place of warmth and comfort for him, a safe place in which he could allow himself to drift off to sleep.

  Strength of Will

  The ride up Hooktooth Hill was proving much more difficult than Eli had anticipated. It had rained most of the night, and was sprinkling off and on still, turning the road to Sarilla’s house into a slipping, sucking mudslide. Fortunately, the ruts beneath were hard-packed and covered, at least in part, by pine needles—else what was difficult would have been impossible.

  Every minute or two Eli glanced over his shoulder to check on Mandie. So far, she seemed to be weathering the ride quite well, looking every bit as cozy as she did in her own bed. Hoping to soothe his frayed nerves, he began to sing a song his grandfather had taught him when he was just a boy, a tune he often sang while working in the fields.

  Through drought and storm, wind and fog,

  A farmer plows to earn his grog,

  When the ground is hard and full of rock,

  A farmer plows to fill his crock.

  High ya do ri day,

  High ya do ri do,

  It’s up at dawn and away we go!

  Yes it’s up at dawn and away we go!

  The longer he sang, the more lighthearted he felt, his voice rising to meet the road head on. It was really quite beautiful up here, now that his disposition allowed him to notice. The forest passed close on either side, mist lingering between the shaggy trunks of hickory trees before dropping into a narrow ravine that fell away steeply to his right. Broad shelves of rock jutted here and there like the blades of buried axes, remnants of a forgotten battle waged by giants—or so Eli liked to think.

  A farmer plows to keep his house,

  A farmer plows to feed his mouse,

  A farmer plows to please his wife,

  A farmer plows to live his life.

  High ya do ri day,

  High ya do ri do,

  It’s up at dawn and away we go!

  Yes it’s up at dawn and away we go!

  The next time Eli glanced over his shoulder, he felt sure that Mandie was smiling. A faint, barely discernible curving of the lips, but a smile nonetheless. He had sung to her when she was a baby, and with her when she was older, and it had never failed to make her smile, especially when they sang, as she put it, “One of his silly songs.”

  A farmer plows to get the goose,

  A farmer plows to slip the noose,

  A farmer plows to earn his keep,

  A farmer plows to shear his sheep.

  High ya do ri day,

  High ya do ri do,

  It’s off to work and away we go!

  Yes it’s off to work and away we go!

  The farther up the hill they went, the denser and more primeval the forest became, limb and leaf conspiring to block what little light the day offered. Soon, a twisting canopy formed above, the branches so tightly woven that Eli could see nothing of what lay beyond. The shadows deepened until it was nearly dark as night, the tendrils of mist now coiling about wheel and leg alike, covering the ground in a ghostly shroud that made the song die on his lips.

  Another few yards and the forest tunnel was complete, so much so that he would have lit a torch if he hadn’t sensed that it was forbidden. At this point, it would not have taken a lot to convince him that he was now underground, deep within the bowels of some castle ruins, lost in a sinister labyrinth crawling with malevolent creatures intent on his destruction.

  His brow furrowed, lantern jaw jutting in defiance. “What sorcery is this?” he asked.

  Neither Marnie nor Mandie had mentioned anything like this. Surely they would have, considering how suddenly the trees had closed in, looming close, suffocating and grim. The air reeked of stagnate, mosquito-infested pools and rotting, worm-ridden timber.

  Must not have been this way for them, he reasoned. Probably some contrivance of the witch to scare off unwanted visitors.

  “It won’t work!” he bellowed. “You hear me, Sarilla? It’s Eli Johansen at your door, and I’m carrying some mighty precious cargo! It’s gonna take more than a bit of sorcery to scare me off!”

  No response. His voice carried little better than a whisper and, if anything, the trees crowded closer. He’d never been claustrophobic before, but this was getting to be too much even for him. The air grew more fetid, swarming with gnats and biting flies. Soon his shirt was soaked through with sweat.

  Hours
later, despite his stout heart, noble purpose, and brave words, Eli found himself on the verge of turning back. If not for the swath of blue that appeared with such suspicious fortuitousness around the next bend, beckoning to him from beyond the gloom, he might have done just that.

  “Thank The Watcher,” he muttered.

  At long last, he’d come to the end of the trail and, in all likelihood, the top of the hill. The sky had apparently cleared while they were in the tunnel, supporting his assumption that the pall surrounding them now was as unnatural as it was abhorrent.

  The end lay no more than a hundred yards ahead, calling to him with the sweet promise of rest and sanctuary—of answered prayers. And although he didn’t trust it, he found himself spurring Bo forward with lusty abandon. After all, false hope was better than no hope.

  Eli was suddenly overcome by an inexplicable euphoria that was so intense and so unexpected that it made him gasp. A broad grin spread across his broad face as his mind was purged of worry and grief. He couldn’t help it. So complete was his relief that he laughed aloud, earning a curious and somewhat reproachful glance from Bo.

  He shrugged his shoulders at the horse, as if to say, “I don’t know. I don’t understand it, either.”

  But this isn’t right, he thought, his grin faltering. I mean, what possible reason did he have to be euphoric? Suspecting some enchantment was at work, he ordered his heart to re-embrace the anxiety expected of it in situations such as this. But to no avail. In fact, in spite of his best efforts, he felt his many burdens continue to drift away, one after another, leaving him more at peace than he’d been in years. A state which, all things considered, he found very unsettling.

  The disparity of emerging from the tunnel into the clarity of a bright spring day was enough to make Eli jerk back on the reins. He surveyed his new surroundings with watering eyes, blinking against the sudden brilliance like a newborn emerging from the womb.