Mytholumina

by Constantine, Storm

  I wonder... Brewster thought. He sent a letter off the very next day.

  Tally, of course, had wanted to go with him. Now she was being difficult. Brewster, although still not sure whether the Waking Dream hint was real or not, had worried about Tally yacking indiscriminately to her friends, so had omitted to mention it until they had nearly reached their destination. She had demanded he stop the car. Outside, she stood tapping her foot on the tarmac, hands on hip, gazing sourly at the mist covered fields that stretched away on either side of the road, where occasional trees reared black, naked limbs like ancient hags stepping from a vast, hot bath. Brewster got out of the car and sighed.

  ‘You’re so childish!’ Tally exclaimed. She was a thoroughbred of the new generation of party girls that liked to live it up while inflicting a rigidly sanitised existence on themselves. She had never smelled even vaguely human to Brewster, who had accustomed himself to her perfume counter synthetic aroma. Alcohol was the legal intoxicant, so that was what she used to get her high. Anything else was looked upon as dirty and therefore repugnant to her. Anything as gutter level as the legendary Waking Dream was guaranteed to offend her deeply. Brewster kicked himself. Why had he been so stupid as to let her nag him into bringing her with him? It was madness. With shame, he realised it was because he usually obeyed her every word. Behind the pretence of girlish sparkle beat a heart of shineless iron. In truth, she was his strength. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well what?’

  Tally rolled her eyes between long, dyed lashes. ‘Idiot! I mean, are you going to take some of that filth or not? There was I, a fool if ever there was one, thinking you’d merely taken an interest in some kind of hobby! It was about time you took an interest in something! I wanted to share it with you. Now I find it’s a front for some shifty drug-dealers to ply their wares. Your stupidity astounds me! Did you really think I’d be into that?’

  ‘If you’ll just be quiet for a moment!’ Brewster interrupted her righteous flow. ‘I’ve no proof of the Dream thing. It was just a hunch I had. I’m curious. Aren’t you? They’ll probably be a bunch of kids living out stale old fantasy writers’ dramas, that’s all. It should be a laugh.’

  Tally sniffed. ‘In answer to your question, no, I’m not curious.’ She got back into the car, folding her pale, woollen coat over her immaculately clad legs. Brewster slumped in beside her. She clicked her fingers. ‘Give me the letter you got.’

  ‘Don’t get so worked up!’ Brewster burrowed in the untidy mound of papers between the front seats. ‘It’s just a game. I should have kept my mouth shut.’ He handed her the letter. It was ringed with coffee mug stains.

  ‘Well, it seems innocent enough,’ Tally decided in pompous, maternal tone after she’d read it. ‘Rather infantile, perhaps, but there’s no mention of drugs in it. Where on earth did you get that idea, Brew?’ Her furious boil had calmed to bubbling simmer.

  ‘Just a comment on the flyer we picked up,’ Brewster muttered, starting the car.

  ‘The only dreams are in your sick head,’ Tally said firmly.

  If only your friends could see you now, Brewster thought, accelerating down the road. Where’s Miss Partypants now?

  The letter had thanked Brewster warmly for his interest and had given him the address and date of the next club meeting. It was to be held at a country estate known as Daxton Manor, which could obviously be hired for conferences and meetings. He had been told not to worry about costumes or props, as all that would be catered for. All that was demanded was a primary subscription fee to the club, which would be refunded after the first game if he decided not to continue with them, and the cost of two nights’ bed and board at the Manor. There had been very little detail other than that. Brewster had had to fill in a brief questionnaire as to which other role-playing games he had participated in, where he lied glibly, and his general interests, which he’d glamorised and exaggerated. In the place where he had to name his profession or job, if he had one, he refrained from inscribing ‘kept by rich parents’ and put ‘freelance consultant’ instead. That could mean anything. Rather shame-facedly, he’d had to leave blank the section requesting him to list the last three books he had read. He did not want to risk having to act out a scenario from something he’d never even seen the cover of. Of course, Beyond Reality might be nothing like that. He had no idea what to expect.

  Tally cheered considerably as they swept up the wide, leaf-strewn drive to the enormous grey facade of Daxton Manor. Seemingly built by a madman, the ancient house sprawled like a weary dinosaur across the countryside. Complicated turrets and domes jutted abruptly from the saurian outline. It made Brewster’s brain ache just to look at the place, but Tally was delighted. ‘Now this really is a Dream!’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to go hiking off round the countryside pretending to be a hero and just relax in this gorgeous pile! All my fantasies will be realised just by walking inside! Look at that door!’

  The baroque double front doors were thrown wide, revealing little of the gloomy interior. They were at least the height of three tall men.

  ‘Must have had some big furniture to shift into this place!’ Brewster said, carrying their cases up the front steps.

  ‘Don’t be so unappreciative,’ Tally said. ‘They knew about style in the old days, yes they did! I love it!’ Tally skipped ahead of him through the door. It was now impossible to imagine such an artless, joyful creature ever being sulky or demanding, other than in the prettiest, most disarming way. Tally was either a born actress or a dangerous schizophrenic, Brewster decided.

  Inside, he found her already chatting breathlessly about what she thought of the house with a person typical of what he’d thought to find; a slight, male figure of medium height with prematurely receding hair and a scrubby fringe of beard. Not many people still wore glasses nowadays, but this person did; either an affectation or a sign of severe poverty. He was dressed in an oversized jumper and faded jeans and carried a clip-board. ‘Hi, you must be Brewster Corley. You two are the last to arrive’ The beard held out a long-fingered hand, which looked suspiciously pale and damp. ‘I’m Warren Blisley, registrar for this round.’

  ‘How grand!’ Brewster said enigmatically, briefly shaking the hand.

  Tally shot him a warning glance. Somehow, enthusiasms had swapped around.

  ‘Well, I’d better show you your room, hadn’t I?’ Warren Blisley said, laughing. Tally laughed too.

  Brewster picked up the bags again. ‘Lead on.’

  ‘So what made you get in touch with us?’ Blisley asked as they ascended a shockingly ornate staircase.

  ‘Oh, we found a little paper thingummy in a night-club,’ Tally answered, sounding like a gushing schoolgirl. Brewster winced.

  ‘Really?’ said Blisley, grinning. ‘Not many people come to us that way. I hope we can fulfil your needs.’

  Brewster was ready to take that as a slimy remark and then met Blisley’s eyes. Now why had he thought the man a wimp? There was a surprising firmness around the eyes, a penetrating look. Perhaps these guys are into some kind of weird occult thing, Brewster thought. He began to take an interest again.

  Their room was huge, and exquisitely panelled, but Tally was disappointed to find the furniture quite functional and modern. She had been expecting a four-poster bed and tapestries. Antique grandeur was clearly reserved for the main halls and staircases.

  ‘We’ll all meet at dinner,’ Blisley said, not venturing into the room. ‘The first game will begin immediately after the meal.’

  ‘What shall we wear?’ Tally asked. ‘Do you have costumes?’ It appeared that now she was all for participating. At least the 200 credits Brewster had had to pay so she could come along wouldn’t be wasted.

  Blisley smiled - carefully, Brewster noted. ‘Not necessary,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you read your pamphlets? Beyond Reality is a game created solely by the imagination. See you both later.’

  Brewster and Tally both raised brows at each other when he’d gone, unified,
for an instant, in conjecture.

  Brewster shrugged. ‘We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.’

  The dining-room was lit by candles. Long windows were draped with floor-length curtains down one side of the room. Twenty-eight people were reflected in the oversized, glossy table as they sat talking, waiting for the meal. They were clearly all well acquainted with each other. Tally and Brewster found themselves nervously hovering in the doorway, before Warren Blisley looked up and saw them. ‘Meet our prospective new members,’ he said and introduced them.

  The greetings were genuine enough. Tally and Brewster sat down. The Beyond Reality Club was a mixed bunch. There were five people who must have been over fifty at least, several gangling youths and the rest middle-twenties to middle-thirties. Every ethnic and cultural permutation in the country seemed to have been represented. Brewster sat next to a handsome, wicked-looking black man, in expensive casual clothes, who spoke like a lawyer, and opposite an overweight motherly woman, wearing a cotton dress in screaming colours, who resembled his last school teacher. Tally’s neighbour was a pretty, coltish girl with cropped red hair. The possible lawyer introduced himself as Guy and proceeded to embarrass Brewster asking him what role-playing experience he’d had before.

  ‘I have to admit, I’m a bit of a new-comer to the whole thing,’ Brewster said, furiously examining his soup.

  ‘Well in this game, that won’t make any difference, so don’t worry,’ his neighbour replied, smiling.

  As the meal progressed an insidious tension began to build up, flowering into unashamed excitement as Manor staff cleared away the remains of the cheese and biscuits. Brewster was reminded of a children’s party. Perhaps a magic show would ensue or cartoons on an ancient projector. Coffee was brought out. The Beyonders (as they affectionately referred to themselves) were positively wriggling in their seats.

  ‘So when does the game begin?’ Brewster asked, turning to Guy at his side. The man was surely a magician. His smile was a voodoo song.

  ‘Why, it already has, my friend,’ he replied, and without warning, the air was full of doves.

  ‘You are to follow me,’ Guy said, and Brewster found they had already left the dining-room. There was faint noise behind them, voices, laughter, an excited whoop! The corridor was dimly-lit, the walls were stone and there was a smell of animals.

  ‘Tally!’ Brewster said and turned round to point at the door. He felt ineffectual and cringing.

  ‘The girl will be escorted by another. Come!’ Guy strode towards the paler oblong of the open front doors. Brewster could see the cloudy night sky. ‘Not much longer!’ Guy said. ‘Shall we run?’ He grabbed Brewster’s hand and then Brewster’s legs were pumping, and the walls of the house were flashing by, and they were leaping, leaping out of the front door, through a veil of scents and sounds into a daylight landscape of towering crags and leaning pine forests.

  ‘What the...?’ Brewster couldn’t even finish the profanity.

  ‘Yes, the Dream is in the food.’ Guy laughed and slapped Brewster on the shoulder. They were both dressed in leather and Brewster appeared to have shrunk in size. For a brief moment, Brewster smiled, thinking of the gushing Tally and how she had consumed the drug without even knowing it. What was she thinking now?

  ‘What happens? What do we do? Where the hell are we?’ Brewster’s voice rose to a squeak.

  ‘We are Beyond Reality, naturally,’ Guy said. ‘And we are here to compete, outwit and, not least, enjoy our fantasy. Come along.’ He was already marching off towards the forest. Brewster tried to march after him but could only manage an effete scamper.

  ‘Why am I like this?’ he asked, catching up with his companion.

  ‘Like what?

  ‘All... small and feeble.’

  ‘It’s your first round. You have to prove yourself, learn yourself, grow. Try it now. Grow.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Fight your fear and stand up straight and think yourself grown.’

  Brewster found himself shoulder to shoulder with Guy, taller than he’d ever been. He managed to laugh.

  ‘Well... How do you get the stuff, the Dream, I mean?’

  ‘We don’t know that. We’re only the players. Only the Games Master knows that and, as long as we get to play, I don’t intend to pry. Neither should you.’

  ‘OK, I take your point’

  They travelled overland until the dark forest opened out onto a vast plain, dotted by towering, stone tables. Leathery-winged birds nested in the stone and Brewster saw human figures falling out of the sky. He made a comment.

  ‘Not all dreams are the same,’ Guy replied.

  An hour later, they came suddenly upon a wooden shack that had appeared from nowhere. In front of it sat a woman Brewster vaguely recognised as one of the Beyonders, although she was now some twenty years younger than he remembered. She stood up and lifted her dress, making lewd offers.

  ‘You won’t catch me this time!’ Guy said and the woman stuck out a long, reptilian tongue at them.

  ‘Had me dead and back home in no time,’ Guy confided, grimacing as they walked by. ‘But it was a marvellous way to go!’

  Then a gesturing group of semi-human grotesques barred their way. Their posture was threatening.

  ‘Swords!’ Guy cried, holding his hands aloft, where they were obligingly filled from thin air with hard steel.

  ‘Swords? Why not a flame-thrower?’ Brewster asked, stepping backwards.

  ‘Brewster, please!’ Guy said, over his shoulder, shaking his head. ‘This is a game. Be a sportsman!’

  ‘OK. Steel! I’ve never fought this way before. I’m going to die.’

  ‘So? Think you’re a fighter and you will be. Don’t be a pessimist.’

  Guy roared delightedly and sprang forward, already hacking limbs. Brewster roared too. It seemed to work. His arm worked effortlessly as if he’d done this appalling thing a thousand times. As he swung and cut, he wondered if these were fellow Dreamers he was despatching. Guy caught the thought.

  ‘No, too easy. These are just dream forms.’

  Eventually, there weren’t any left. Guy and Brewster walked on, without looking back. Maybe there was nothing left on the grass behind them.

  ‘Can’t we ride horses or something?’ Brewster asked.

  Guy shrugged and then they were cantering through the plains grass on spindly-legged, snorting thoroughbreds.

  ‘Like the tassels, Brew. Good touch.’ Guy held his ornamented reins aloft and laughed.

  By day, they rode. They wished for food and it was there.

  ‘You have taken control of your dreams,’ Guy said. ‘The Waking Dream does this for us.’

  By night, they encountered brightly-lit towns and stayed in bordellos. Brewster bedded girls he was never sure were real or not. It didn’t matter.

  The days passed. The countryside changed. Brewster found his real life had become indistinct and without importance. ‘Are we here forever?’ he asked.

  Guy laughed then. ‘So what’s forever?’

  Sometimes, Brewster thought of Tally. Sometimes, he worried about her, but less and less as time passed. Although they didn’t really need to, being able to dream their financial requirements into reality, they decided to become mercenaries for a while. A fat man with one arm and a family problem hired them to find his son, who’d been kidnapped. They journeyed overseas to a far land, where there was nothing but sand, and found the boy, castrated, and slave to a powerful lord who doubled their fee to forget their task and go on a quest for him. They were to retrieve his beautiful young mistress from a warlock of questionable character.

  ‘Guy, this is a cliché,’ Brewster said, as they rode through a deep, yellow canyon into yet another land. ‘All this rescuing stuff. It’s straight out of a sword and sorcery epic.’

  Guy laughed good-humouredly. ‘So? I like it this way. Next time, you do what you want. This time, you’re a novice and I call the shots - most of them.’

&nb
sp; Next time. Brewster hadn’t wondered since the beginning when this would all end and he’d find himself back at Draxton Manor. He didn’t like to think about it. ‘Does this place have any...well, say in what happens to us, or is it all subject to our own will?’

  ‘The place? Don’t know. There are other players here though. They do.’

  ‘Just Beyonders?’

  ‘No. Of course not. Everybody dreams. Some people may have control without the drug. We have an advantage, that’s all.’

  ‘Wait a minute! Are you saying everyone in the world comes here when they dream.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Come here when they dream? We’re here all the time, Brew, my friend. We just can’t see it.’

  For a shimmering moment, as he shuddered, Brewster caught a glimpse of English fields and a cloudy sky. He shook himself and the hot walls of the canyon glared once more beneath a torrid sun.

  The beautiful young mistress turned out to be Tally. Brewster was angry. Not least because the questionable warlock was Warren Blisley and the odalisque Tally Ritter was plainly loath to leave him and his luxurious, if eerie, coastal tower, to return to her fantasy of the harem. This one was better, she’d found. At first, she didn’t recognise Brewster at all and then started to rant and rave that he was evil and had imprisoned her against her will. Blisley threw a few effective spells at the would-be rescuers and it all got rather unpleasant.

  Just as Blisley reared up to a staggering fifteen feet of riled wizard, screaming, ‘I will damn you to hell, warrior whore!’ at Brewster, the ground trembled and Guy and Brewster found themselves falling through space, peering up between the legs of a gargantuan female giant, picking her teeth with a torn-up tree trunk. It was the Floral Print woman.

  ‘Wings Brewster!’ Guy instructed in a no-nonsense voice and they were flying away over the sea.

  ‘I’m tired, Guy,’ Brewster said, and his voice sounded faint and far away.