Dream Stalkers

by Tim Waggoner

  “I’ll live.” I glanced up at the chaotic mass of energy overhead. It was still keeping its distance from the Idyllon, but I didn’t know how long that condition would last. We had to hurry.

  I knew the disappearance of the wraiths meant the Deathmobile had been destroyed, but I couldn’t afford to think about that right then. We had work to do, and not much time to do it in. I had a lot of people to mourn, and I added the Deathmobile to the list. If I survived, I’d honor their memories later. And if I didn’t, then it wouldn’t matter.

  “Jinx, do you–”

  I’d been about to ask if he had anything in his pockets that I could use to wrap around my chest for a brace, but, when I saw him, my words died in my throat. Not only were all his wounds healed, his clothing had been restored and cleaned. More than that, he exuded energy, so much that the air seemed to almost crackle around him. His features were sharper, the colors of his skin and clothing more intense. It was as if he’d been turbo-charged and because of it was more there. The same thing had happened to Bloodshedder: her body was slightly larger, her scales harder and shinier, her teeth, claws, and tail spikes bigger and sharper. Her eyes blazed with a feral light that I’d never seen in them before. Russell flexed his new arm, and it was glowing now, pulsing with multicolored light as if it had absorbed all the M-energy it could hold and then some.

  “Without the Canopy blocking the Maelstrom, M-energy is flooding into Nod,” Russell said. “It’s obviously having an effect on us.”

  “I feel GRRRRRREAT!!!” Jinx said, the last word coming out as a roar that would’ve done any jungle cat proud.

  Bloodshedder let out an excited bark, and her spiked tail thumped the ground, tearing up chunks of the stone courtyard.

  I checked my trancer. It was warm to the touch, and the power readout showed it had a full charge. But I suspected it held even more than that. I decided to keep the trancer until it became too hot to hold. I had the feeling I was going to need it. I realized then that my wisper was warm against my wrist and getting warmer with each second. I slipped it off and dropped it to the ground. I didn’t want the damn thing burning its way through my flesh and down to the bone beneath. Russell wore his wisper on his right arm, but he switched it to his left. Jinx didn’t remove his. As charged as he was with M-energy, I doubted he felt the device heating up.

  “Going into battle with power-ups?” Russell said. “Sounds good to me!”

  “Until you three overload and explode,” I said. I didn’t know if that would happen, but there had to be a limit on how much Maelstrom energy bodies – or prosthetic arms – could hold. I had no idea what would happen once that limit was reached, and I hoped we wouldn’t find out.

  I made the mistake of trying to stand up straight again, and my ribs screamed at me.

  “Uh, Jinx,” I said, once I was able to breathe again. “A little help?”

  He thought for a moment, grinned, reached into his newly restored jacket pocket, and pulled out a canister of aerosol string. I didn’t bat an eye.

  “Russell, help me get my jacket off.”

  * * * * *

  I slipped my jacket back on by myself, although it wasn’t easy. Jinx’s aerosol string was sturdier and more durable than the regular kind, and, while it braced my damaged ribs, it was awkward to move.

  My trancer had heated to the point where it was uncomfortable to hold for long, so I’d holstered it. When the time came to use it, I hoped I’d be able to maintain a grip long enough to get off a decent shot.

  In the time it had taken Jinx to wrap my ribs, the Maelstrom had enveloped even more of the city, until only the blocks immediately surrounding the Idyllon remained. Sometimes in scary stories there’s a part where the protagonist encounters something so big, so awful, so unimaginable that she can feel her sanity slipping away. I’d always thought such scenes were melodramatic exaggerations, but seeing how little of Nod still existed at that moment, I understood that it was possible for one’s mind to become so overloaded with horror that it would snap like a toothpick. I understood because I could feel myself losing it. For all we knew, the entire universe was gone, and there was nothing left but the Idyllon and its courtyard. And us. How could the four of us, even with the Incubi super-charged, hope to hold back the Maelstrom from devouring the last crumb of reality left? We couldn’t. All we could do was stand there and gape while the multicolored energy rolled in like a measureless wave and engulfed us. We wouldn’t die, though. We’d be unmade.

  It was a near thing, but I managed to hold onto my sanity – but only because I felt Jinx’s presence through the link we shared. Our connection was even stronger now, doubtless due to the proximity of so much Maelstrom energy, and I could almost read Jinx’s thoughts. He didn’t want to be unmade any more than I did, but seeing the Maelstrom up close and personal like this didn’t scare him. It thrilled him. He was, at his core, a creature of chaos, and he now gazed upon the full force of ultimate Chaos – the Maelstrom. In a way, it was almost like he was gazing on the face of his god, and it was glorious.

  So I used my partner’s insanity to bolster my sanity. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it worked. I felt my panic receding, and, while my fear didn’t go away entirely, it became manageable.

  Our link went two ways, and Jinx sensed the struggle I’d just gone through. He stepped close to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Just another day at the office,” he said.

  I managed a smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “Look on the bright side,” he said. “We haven’t switched bodies for a while. I think we’ve got the Blending thing licked.”

  Jinx was right. We hadn’t switched recently, despite the stress we’d experienced. It looked like Dr Menendez’s treatment had worked. But it had been some time since we’d taken a dose of the medicine he’d given us. A thought came to me then, not so much as a rational conclusion but as a gut instinct. Maybe the reason Jinx and I had gotten better was because we hadn’t taken the medicine lately. I remembered something Menendez had said to us in his office, after we’d paid Melody a visit.

  The mind interacts with the Maelstrom in profound and mysterious ways. M-gineers can harness the power to a certain degree, of course, but imagine what we might be able to do if we could truly come to understand it. To use it to our – and its – fullest capacity.

  “I know who’s doing this,” I said gently, almost as if speaking to myself. “I know who the Wakener is.”

  We needed to get inside the Idyllon fast, before it was too late – assuming that time hadn’t already come and gone. My mind started swiftly analyzing possible approaches to the tower. The main entrance was out – it was bound to be guarded – and, as far as I knew, there were no other ground-level entrances. There were a number of windows. Jinx and Bloodshedder would be able to jump or climb to them, and, as strong as they now were, they should be able to carry Russell and me with ease. Hell, Russell might be able to climb up by himself with that new arm of his. But the question was, which window should we try?

  “Audra?”

  Not the highest one. He’d expect that. Probably one in the middle.

  “Audra?”

  “Not now, Jinx. I’m–”

  I broke off when Jinx took hold of my jaw and turned my head toward the Idyllon’s entrance. Ecclesiastor Withrow – the priest Jinx and I had encountered the last time we were here – was walking toward us. She appeared unarmed and she was smiling. I was immediately on guard. People are never as dangerous as when they seem harmless.

  “Hello, everyone,” she said as she reached us. “You’ve arrived at a most auspicious moment. I dare say the greatest moment of all.”

  “You mean the moment when a small group of lunatics screw up all Existence?” I said.

  Withrow’s brow furrowed slightly, and the edges of her mouth turned downward a bit, but she maintained her smile.

  “So you’re actually a Wakenist?” I said. “Or did you swallow a little pill and e
nd up hosting an unexpected guest?”

  “I don’t have an Incubus spirit inside me,” she said, almost shuddering at the notion. “I don’t need one. I am a Wakenist, and I joined the Church only so I could get close to the First Dreamer. I once believed that I would be the one to wake him.” She shook her head. “Foolish pride on my part. I was destined to play a role in the Wakening, yes, but as a servant to the true Wakener. He sent me out here to invite you into the Idyllon. He would very much like to speak with you.”

  “Let me guess,” Jinx said. “By speak with he really means kill.”

  Withrow looked surprised. “Not at all. True, he hasn’t exactly been helping you up to now, but at this point he could kill you all simply by wishing it. He truly does want to talk.”

  “And then he’ll kill us,” Russell said.

  Bloodshedder growled in agreement.

  Withrow shrugged. “That’s for him to decide. But you might as well accept his invitation. It’s not as if you have anywhere else to go.”

  She gestured toward the sky – or, rather, what had used to be the sky. There was only the Maelstrom now, and, in the time we’d been talking, it had closed in even farther, until now there was nothing left outside the Idyllon’s courtyard.

  I let out a deep sigh. “Lead the way.”

  * * * * *

  I’d been inside the Idyllon before, as had Jinx. The Church doesn’t conduct official worship services, but the bottom floor, called the Gatherum, is open to any and all, as a meeting place as well as a place for meditation. Whenever I’d needed to rest and for whatever reason couldn’t get back to the apartment I shared with Jinx in Chicago, I’d come here. The floor is an elaborate tiled mosaic representing the Maelstrom, and the domed ceiling is painted with a starfield on which Earth and Nod sit side by side, the latter rendered significantly larger than it is in actuality. The Gatherum was usually filled with people, both Incubi and humans, all sitting on chairs or at tables, or just standing in small groups, talking. But it was empty now. Normally there was an atmosphere of calm, even tranquility in the Gatherum. But now it was merely silent.

  Withrow led us to an elevator and pushed a button on the wall next to it. The door slid open with a soft ping, and she gestured for us to enter. As we did, Russell said, “As old as this place is, I figured we’d have to walk up a dozen flights of stone steps.”

  Withrow stepped onto the elevator last. There were a number of buttons on the inner control panel, but she pressed her thumb to the topmost button, which was unmarked. The button glowed for a moment, and she held her thumb there until it stopped glowing.

  “DNA reader,” she said. “Only the highest-ranking members of the Church are permitted to enter the Sacrarium.” She smiled at Russell. “As you can see, we’ve made some upgrades over the years.”

  The door closed and the elevator started to rise. When we reached the top level of the Idyllon, the elevator stopped and the door slid open.

  “Welcome to the Sacrarium,” she said.

  I was expecting… well, I don’t know what, exactly. Something enormous, grandiose, awe-inspiring… a place worthy of a being who was, for all intents and purposes, God. But the Sacrarium was nothing more than a simple stone chamber in the middle of which lay a primitive bed made from a heap of palm leaves. Upon the leaves lay a small figure dressed in a plain brown tunic. The figure was barefoot and lay curled up on his side. The chamber possessed no obvious light source, but there was dim illumination nevertheless, enough to see by, but not so strong that it might disturb the sleeper. The figure remained completely motionless, but I could hear soft, regular breathing.

  The sleeper wasn’t the only person in the Sacrarium at the moment. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the bed of palm leaves was Menendez. He smiled as we stepped off the elevator and rose to his feet. He strode briskly over to us, and for a moment I thought he was going to stick out his hand for me to shake. But he stopped in front of me, smile still firmly in place.

  “It’s good to see you again, Audra. Believe it or not, I’m glad you’re here. That all of you are.”

  Before I could answer, he gave Jinx a nod, and then turned toward Russell. “I’m afraid we haven’t met. I’m Arthur Menendez. I am–” He broke off with a chuckle. “I was a Somnacologist at the Sick House.”

  “And now what are you?” Russell asked.

  Menendez frowned as he thought. After a moment, he said, “I suppose I’m the Wakener.”

  Withrow bowed her head. “Yes, my lord. You are.”

  Jinx took a step toward Menendez, but I took hold of his arm to stop him. We couldn’t attack the man, not yet. We didn’t know enough about what was going on here. By acting too soon, we could make things even worse than they already were.

  Menendez stepped over to the woman, placed an index finger under her chin, and gently raised her head until she looked him in the eye.

  “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done, Constance. Without your efforts, none of what we’ve accomplished could ever have come to pass. There might never have been a Wakening if it wasn’t for you.”

  Withrow practically quivered with pleasure at the words of praise from the man she viewed as her messiah. He continued holding her gaze, but he now spoke to us.

  “Constance oversaw the distribution of shuteye in the Idyllon. More importantly, she ensured that I was undisturbed during my sessions with the First Dreamer. It took quite a number of them to chip away at his mental defenses. Well, I say his, but I’m not certain the Dreamer has a gender. Not as we think of it, anyway.”

  I looked at the sleeping figure once more. It was small enough to be a child, anywhere between five and ten, I guessed. The Dreamer’s physical form leaned toward the younger age, but there was something about the expression on his face that made him seem older. He had short brown hair, but there was a feminine quality to his features, even more than is sometimes normal for young males. His race was impossible to determine from looking at him. While his features never changed, he sometimes looked more European, or Asian, or African, or Hispanic. It was as if he wasn’t changing so much as my perception of him did. The child looked so peaceful, so at rest, but most of all, he looked so ordinary. There was nothing about him to so much as hint that this was the most powerful being in existence, that the brain inside this small head was somehow connected on a primal level with the Maelstrom and had dreamed all of reality into being.

  Menendez continued to look into Withrow’s eyes as he spoke once more.

  “And when I finally had my breakthrough with the Dreamer, she organized the… dismissal of the Discarnates, as their services were no longer required.”

  I didn’t like the way Menendez hesitated before saying dismissal.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You were the one who created shuteye in the first place.”

  Menendez took his hand away from Withrow’s face and turned to look at me. He seemed irritated that Russell and I had interrupted his monologue.

  “Yes. I first created it as a treatment for patients. It’s a mild sleep aid treated with Maelstrom energy to make it effective for both Incubi and Ideators. But eventually I realized I could use it to help the Discarnate. I became aware of them early in my career. They’re beings of pure consciousness, and, as a Somnacologist, the interaction of consciousness and M-energy is my specialty, after all. You’re familiar with how Faders sometimes attempt to leech life energy from Incubi and even humans to sustain themselves? The Discarnate take it one step further; they attempt to possess the bodies of others. They are, however, rarely successful on their own. Some might view them as monsters, but I took pity on them. All they wished to do was continue to survive, after all, and I wanted to do everything I could to restore them to physical life. To that end, I modified the M-energy in shuteye so that it weakened the user’s psychic defenses, allowing a Discarnated spirit to much more easily enter and share someone’s body. It wasn’t an optimal solution, I admit, but it worked.”


  “It’s only sharing if someone gives permission,” I said.

  Menendez went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Eventually, though, I realized that shuteye was only a temporary solution. One day the new hosts would die – sooner rather than later if they were human – and the Discarnate would be without bodies again. There had to be a better way, and then one night I came to the Gatherum to collect my thoughts, and it hit me. If I had the power of the First Dreamer, I could restore the Discarnate to corporeal form. But why should I stop there? I could fix all of Earth’s and Nod’s problems. I would be the first doctor to heal reality itself! But to do so, I needed full access to the Dreamer, which meant full access to the Idyllon. For that, I would need the help of many Discarnate, and that meant I needed more shuteye. The Sick House has – had – a pharmaceutical division to develop new medicines. But I could hardly use it to produce the amount of shuteye I needed for my plan.”

  “So you made a deal with the Angler’s supplier,” I said. “They’d manufacture shuteye for you, and they’d get to keep some to sell for themselves.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it was the Hand of Erebus.” He made a face. “A criminal organization may not have been the most pleasant of business partners, but beggars can’t be choosers. The deal also helped me further my plans, since I inspected every batch they produced and, using my abilities and some devices I designed for the task, I inserted a Discarnated spirit into each pill. As the number of the possessed increased – especially here in the Idyllon – I was able finally to make progress toward my real goal.”

  “Waking the First Dreamer,” I said.

  “The Wakening is only the first step,” Withrow said. “The true miracle will occur afterward.”

  “You mean when Doctor Doomsday here hits the reset button on reality,” Jinx said. “We already heard this bit from Melody and Trauma Doll.”

  “Believe it or not,” Menendez said, “those two were once my patients. Their problem was the opposite of yours, though. They suffered from Disconnection, a lack of closeness between Incubus and Ideator. I helped them, of course, and, in the process, I discovered how remarkable they were. Their psyches were strong enough to allow them to host a pair of Discarnate each, and the fact they were both Wakenists made them sympathetic to my cause.”