by Bryan Smith
But then an astonishing thing happened.
The tactile reality of the mattress began to fade. The crackle of fire dimmed, then was gone. She had a sense of falling…
… of plummeting from a great height. …
Then she felt the wind on her face, buffeting her hair and caressing her body like the ephemeral hand of God. She opened her eyes, looked down, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. A green carpet of treetops was rushing to meet her. What happened next was reflex. She flexed her arms, turned her gaze heavenward, and soared back toward the clouds. She entered the swirling white mist, continued moving upward, and emerged above the clouds. She continued up, up, up. She knew if she kept going she would pass through the earth’s atmosphere and enter the icy blackness of space. The prospect initially frightened her, but intuition told her she would be fine. Nothing could hurt her. Especially not the lack of oxygen she didn’t need in this form.
So she kept going.
Slipping the bonds of the tarnished planet that was her home. Earth receded behind her, shrinking to a globe the size of a basketball. She circled the moon, her mouth open in awe as she surveyed the gray, rocky landscape familiar from old NASA films. She swooped back toward earth and hovered above it, raised her arms over her head, and danced like a ballerina, a solo dancer in the celestial spotlight.
The sensation was beyond liberation.
It was empowering.
More intoxicating by far than the most potent drink ever distilled.
And it was real.
She didn’t question it. There was no point. She was reminded of Karen’s angry words to Alicia about the thing that killed Shane. She was seeing what she was seeing. She trusted her own mind and senses. This was her essence up here in space. Her corporeal body was still on the bed in King’s room, but she could feel and experience everything in an exalted way no physical, flesh-and-blood construct ever could.
King’s disembodied voice spoke to her. “Do you like this, Dream?”
Her face had a hard time containing her exultant smile. “Yes!”
“Good.” She felt his smile. “Come back to earth. I have things to show you.”
She released a squeal of delight, flexed her knees, changed direction, and dove back toward earth. She was free of all fear now, and she moved toward the spinning planet at a speed that should have been terrifying. The earth’s atmosphere was like a lover’s hand this time, warm, welcoming, stimulating. She plunged through the clouds and overlooked a desert vista far from King’s mountain home. She saw a pyramid in the distance, a ruddy, four-sided triangle rising up out of the sand. A burst of excitement emboldened her, and she sluiced through the sky-she’d only seen pyramids in pictures, and she coveted this new experience. The wonder of it all filled her like a dazzling inner light, made her marvel at the limitless possibilities.
She could go anywhere.
Do anything.
See anything.
People in primitive attire milled about the base of the pyramid. She flew low and studied their faces. They were workers. Their bodies glistened with sweat as they struggled with their burdens. Dream realized they were slaves.
“This is a glimpse, Dream.” King’s voice was right in her ear, although she was alone in the air. “You asked about subjects. This is the kingdom of one of my forebears. These are his… subjects.”
Realization dawned in Dream. “You were telling the truth about being a King. It wasn’t just a story.”
“No, Dream, it wasn’t. And what you’re seeing is real, but it’s just a glimpse. It’s the past. We can only have glimpses of it, unfortunately. All those people are long dead.”
The vision faded, broke apart like an old television with bad reception, and there was a sense of displacement, a temporal shift. All of existence was blinding whiteness for a millisecond, then a new scene revealed itself, a remote section of English countryside in the early twentieth century. She flew low between hills, passed grazing sheep, and approached a stately old house. A man who looked nothing like King stood on the porch, yet she realized it was King. A fully formed awareness appeared in her brain.
He could look like anything. He wasn’t human. He was something … more.
Something better, she hoped.
The knowledge should have been frightening, but it wasn’t.
“Here’s another glimpse, Dream. This is from my own past, so we can linger longer here. For days, if we had the inclination. We won’t be that long, however, a few minutes should suffice.”
The man on the porch-King, she reminded herself-turned and went back into the house. Dream passed effortlessly through the front door. It was insubstantial to her, offering no more resistance than a breath of air. The man, who was wearing a tweed jacket and sported an Oxford class ring on one finger, turned down a hallway.
“Leave him, Dream.”
She hovered next to a staircase. “Where should I go?”
“To your left, through that archway, into the kitchen.”
Dream did as he bade. Part of her wanted to fly away and see other wonders, but he was her guide through this process of enlightenment, so she went without hesitation.
The kitchen was large and outfitted in the usual way.
“Where now?”
“See that door next to the pantry?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the cellar door. I want to take you down there.”
Dream experienced her first real twinge of apprehension since the beginning of this astounding journey. It was a precognitive, unsettling feeling. Something disturbing lurked beyond that door. But she decided to trust him. It wasn’t like she really had a choice, right? She was on this ride for the duration. So she passed through the cellar door, glided over a dark staircase, and arrived in a dank room. It was empty, but there was an opening in the far wall, a passage carved from the earth. She understood King meant her to go there, so she did, ignoring the renewed sense of trepidation.
She was in a tunnel. The tunnel wound down into the earth, far below the house on the hill. She followed it, floating down, down, down, until she emerged into a cavern. She floated just below the roof of the cavern and surveyed the scene below her.
It was horrific.
She was looking at an underworld society, a realm similar in distressing ways to the pyramid scene. She saw immediately that there was a ruling class and an underclass. More slaves. They were treated horribly, worse by far than the slaves who’d toiled in the desert. Worst of all, she realized this awful place was a creation of King’s. These people were here because … he’d trapped them.
They were travelers, unfortunates who’d turned down the wrong road.
They were-
“Here are my subjects, Dream,” King’s voice revealed.
She noticed the hideous, lupine creatures poised around the tunnel exits.
Shane, she thought.
One of these things killed Shane.
The pitch of King’s voice never altered. “You can come back now, Dream, come back to me.”
That was fine with her.
She suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back in her own body. She didn’t want to see any more of this.
The cavern scene faded.
And she was falling again …
… falling …
Her eyes snapped open and she lurched in King’s arms.
He held her close. “Relax, Dream.” He traced one of her lips with a forefinger. “You’re safe with me.”
“But you’re a monster,” she breathed.
He laughed. “These things are subjective. Am I monster? Or am I a King? What the storybooks neglect to say is that the two concepts are often inextricably entwined. I am only a monster to those I exclude from my inner circle. I have servants. Apprentices. My chosen ones wield a degree of power they could never hope to achieve in the outside world. And there’s nothing as seductive as power, Dream. These people are grateful to me. They love and worship me.”
Dr
eam trembled. “They fear you.”
King chuckled. “Of course.” His smile was disquieting. “As well they should. But they also love and worship me, exist to serve me.”
He kissed Dream on the mouth. “As they will exist to serve you.”
“Love you.”
“And worship you.”
King kissed her again, and Dream felt her body go slack. His mouth on hers still felt good. Bullshit. It felt wonderful. He was a monstrous, evil, inhuman creature. His very existence was an affront to everything she’d ever believed in.
And yet…
His hand traveled down her side, over her hip, along her leg, fingertips gliding over her raised kneecap, then sliding slowly, inexorably down her inner thigh.
It was too much.
Too exciting.
Too exquisite.
So she compartmentalized, stowing away the horror generated by his revelations, and she gave herself over to sensation.
“You are so beautiful, Dream. I’ve waited for you so long.” His deep voice, rich and resonant, soothed her, made her tremble. “My Queen.”
Queen.
What an incredible concept.
She shut her eyes.
Focused on the physical sensation of King’s tongue on her flesh.
And let go.
Surrendered to Eros again.
Lost herself again in sweet oblivion.
And there was nothing better than that.
Chad followed Cindy through a throng of madmen and madwomen. His head was in constant motion, his mouth open in a perpetual gape, as he took in the spectacle of what looked like a medieval marketplace. His mind numbly catalogued countless instances of casual brutality. An old man pitched over after a member of The Master’s police force cracked the butt of a shotgun against his head. Blood gushed from a gash above the man’s ear, and he screamed for help. A shadowy figure emerged from an alley, picked the old man up in its distended arms, licked its chops, and loped away toward one of the distant tunnel mouths.
Chad turned a wide-eyed expression toward Cindy. “What’s the shapeshifter doing with that old man?”
Her expression remained blank, stoic. “Having dinner.”
Chad groaned.
This place was a nightmare come to life. A vendor to their left was hawking canned goods. A woman was on her knees fellating him. The tone of his pitch never altered as the woman’s head moved. “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, step right up!” He sounded like a carnival barker. “Oh, who am I kidding?” He cackled. “Gather round, you depraved sacks of shit, come check out the goodies I have for you today. I’ve got beans, I’ve got soup, I’ve got corn, I’ve got it all. I’m the only authorized seller of spinach in all of Below!”
“Bullshit!” bellowed another vendor nearby.
The canned-goods salesman wheeled in that direction, his wet member slipping free of the woman’s mouth. She scurried after him, drew the dripping cock back into her mouth, and moved her head desperately up and down.
Chad was disgusted. “Jesus Christ.”
The vendor waved an arm in the direction of his challenger. “Do not listen to this man!” His voice rose dramatically in pitch. “He is a liar, a cheat, and a scam. Go to him if you wish to spend your hard-earned currency on inferior product. But don’t blame me when you’re doubled over with food poisoning after ingesting his rancid wares. My goods are fresh. Everyone Below knows the name Elvis Kennedy means quality!”
Chad looked at Cindy. “Elvis Kennedy?”
“A lot of people Below use made-up names.”
“Oh.”
“Like Lazarus.”
The vendor continued, “Ask anyone, my prices are the lowest around! I will not be undersold! Everything’s negotiable. No money? We can work something out!” He grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair. “Hell, just ask my lady friend! She’s a repeat customer!”
Cindy approached the man’s booth. Chad stood back and watched. The vendor regarded her with a lascivious grin. “Hey, good-looking! What can I do for you today? I bet you could go for some baked beans, whaddya say?”
Cindy never hesitated. She strode purposefully toward the obnoxious vendor. Chad could see the coming violence in the set of her shoulders. She was like a snake poised to strike. Too bad for the vendor she didn’t have a warning rattle.
Chad felt a reflexive jolt of fear.
Cindy was too impulsive.
He couldn’t help believing she was endangering their already fragile position here by violently attacking the first person who pissed her off.
And this attack was certainly violent.
But it was also executed with lethal speed and efficiency.
She got the vendor in a headlock before he even sensed danger. She rode him to the ground, planted a knee in his gut, and twisted his neck. He flailed, gurgled, and spit, but Cindy never budged. She kept the pressure on until the man’s face turned purple and his tongue protruded from his mouth. Chad winced at the sound of popping tendons and bone. At last, he went still and Cindy released the lifeless body.
She stood up and turned away from the dead vendor, leaving the grisly scene behind without so much as a backward glance. As soon as she was clear of the area near the booth, the crowd of onlookers converged on the dead man’s goods. They crashed into each other, diving and scooping up stray cans, filling the burlap sacks they carried as shopping bags. Chad saw the woman who’d been servicing the vendor snag a can of soup and wobble away. He watched the nearest guards for signs of retribution, but none was forthcoming. Amazing. A murder in plain sight, and they did nothing. It was a wonder this crude society managed to function at all.
Cindy took his hand and dragged him past more vendors. Vendors selling cooking utensils, vendors selling animal skins, vendors selling bread. One vendor was pitching what he called “contraband” goods from Above. Trinkets of the sort that were sold in convenience stores and truck stops. Key chains, disposable lighters with slogans, and miniature race cars. There were homemade curios, too, including placards with crudely rendered etchings of a longhaired man that bore the inscription “Lazarus Saves.” Children clamored around this booth. Chad looked at their dirty faces and the sea of bruised innocence made him want to puke. Another “contraband” dealer peddled piles of porn magazines. Still another booth was actually in the business of selling people.
Chad said, “It’s like the Farmer’s Market of the Damned, or something.”
Cindy looked at him. “That it is. But there are worse things Below.”
Chad grunted. “Shit.” He looked around at the bustling panorama of filth and corruption. “What could possibly be worse than this?”
“Well, there’s the live sex shows the Overlords force the slaves to participate in.” She didn’t look at Chad. “That’s worse. There’s not a woman Below who hasn’t been made to do some pretty vile things. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Chad.”
The information saddened Chad. Again, however, it wasn’t surprising. “Where do the vendors get their merchandise?”
“The guards bring it in from Outside.” She glanced at him. “A branch of the tunnel opens onto a road outside the mountain. They load up the transport trucks with cheap shit from grocery stores and truck stops, bring it back here, and distribute it among the vendors. The vendors are emancipated slaves. The Overlords stay in their private quarters with their concubines and liquor, while hired thugs tend to their herds.”
Chad frowned. “Herds?”
“Slaves.”
“Oh.” He glanced at her. “How do you know all this?”
“You’ve seen how things are run here, Chad. These aren’t exactly state secrets.”
Chad thought that over. “I should know this shit. What other secrets do you know?”
Her brow furrowed. “Hmm, here’s an interesting fact. Not counting guards and shapeshifters, there are over five thousand people living Below. Not all of them got here the way you and I did, by having the bad luck to wander into Th
e Master’s territory. The guards occasionally go out on scavenging parties, bringing back as many as a half-dozen people at a time. There’s a high rate of attrition here, and they like to maintain certain herd levels.” Chad saw a flash of anger cross her face. “You’ve got an idea of what the guards are like by now. They mostly abduct women.”
“Why so many slaves?”
“What do you mean?”
Chad frowned. Something didn’t add up. There was something missing, some crucial piece of information he didn’t possess. “Historically slaves have served as laborers. I just don’t see what work there is to do around here. There’s no cotton to pick. No crops to tend. So what function do they serve?”
“Slaves Below are walking dead people.” Her voice exuded a chill that was almost palpable. “They are sacrifices in waiting.”
“Oh my God.”
Another layer of horror.
Was there any bottom level to the depravity?
“The sacrifices are offerings to The Master’s gods. Each month each Overlord selects a member of his herd as his contribution.”
Chad cringed. “Barbaric. Absolutely barbaric.”
Cindy snorted. “No shit. It’s why slaves so zealously pursue emancipation. It’s the only way to remove yourself from the ranks of the condemned. The problem with emancipation is the inevitability of becoming what you loathe.”
The obvious implications were unsettling. “And now you’re emancipated.”
A statement. Cindy didn’t reply.
“Are you …” Chad groped for the proper way to express what he wanted to say. “… would you say that… inevitability … applies to you?”
Again, no reply.
Which was not exactly reassuring.
They emerged through another crowd of people and ducked down an alley. An old man with a bottle sat slumped against a wall. “Where are we going now?”
“The Outpost.”
“Oh.” Chad waited for clarification, but none seemed forthcoming. “What’s the Outpost?”
