by Tom Turner
“Oh, thank God,” said Plug with a large exhale. “For a minute there, I thought maybe you were an angel. Come to give us the bad news.”
“She’s definitely got the face of an angel,” blurted Charlie. He immediately blushed. He couldn’t believe he said that out loud.
The young guardian smiled at him. “I’m a dream guardian,” she said. “We guard your dreams from Moloch’s evil. It has been that way through the ages.”
“You mentioned that name before,” said Charlie. “Moloch? Is he like the Bogeyman?” He half laughed as he said it.
Plug did too. “Bogeyman,” he chuckled. “I don’t think he has a song.”
“Moloch’s evil is unimaginable, by whatever name you call him. He controls humans by entering their dreams, feeding off their fear, and using it to create nightmares.” Her look was steely and grim. “Or he has his furies attack, infecting countless more with his poison.”
“Furies?” whispered Plug.
“The wolf-bats,” said Charlie, going on a hunch. “That’s why they were attacking the dream portals?”
“Yes,” replied the young guardian. “The more nightmares Moloch creates, the more powerful he becomes and the darker both our worlds grow.”
“Our world is pretty messed up,” said Plug.
“Yeah, something bad on TV everyday,” added Charlie. “People hurting each other. Doing crazy things.” He thought back on the events of his last day in New York. The crazy man on the subway, the newspaper story about the sleep clinic, and the red-eyed man smashing mirrors. It was scary.
“If Moloch’s nightmares are not stopped, it will get worse,” the young guardian warned. “His evil will spread until it controls everyone in the waking world. Soon, you will not have a home to return to.”
Charlie’s thoughts instantly shifted to the person he cared for and missed the most.
“My mom!” he said. “I’ve got to warn her!”
“It won’t do any good,” replied the young guardian.
“I have to try.”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand!” he screamed. “She’s all I’ve got!”
The young guardian laid her hand upon Charlie’s shoulder. “I do understand,” she said. “Believe me, I do.”
Charlie could sense somehow she did. He could see it in her eyes and tell by the tone of her voice. She was telling the truth.
“So if I can help you find a way home, I will.”
“You’re the first person here to say that,” said Charlie. “Thank you.” He smiled and extended his hand. “My name’s Charlie. And this is—”
“William J. Harbison, the third,” said Plug, stepping forward and extending his hand, too. “But my friends call me Plug.”
“I’m Remi,” the young guardian said, shaking their hands.
“Remi,” Charlie repeated. “That’s a pretty name. Kind of like an—“
“Air raid!” shouted Plug. He pointed above the forest canopy. On the horizon, a group of dream guardians descended swiftly. Shafts of light from their forearms cut through the thin twilight air, landing on Charlie and Plug. They were found!
“Go!” screamed Charlie. “Let’s get out of here!”
They sprinted away, deeper into the forest. Charlie and Plug jumped gaps, dodged trees, and hopped the low-lying shrubbery. Each time they touched a bush, it glittered and pinwheeled through a rainbow of colors so vibrant Charlie felt as if they were following him. They weren’t, of course, but Remi was. She was closing in from above, as were the other guardians.
“You know, I was only kidding about the never kissing a girl stuff,” said Plug, huffing and puffing. “Right?”
“You really want to talk about that now?”
They slid down a steep embankment. Plug nearly steam-rolled Charlie at the bottom, but Charlie veered left and face-planted in the sand just shy of another dream portal. It was smooth, circular, and clear, like a bubble or a crystal ball.
“Jump into the dream!” he yelled. “We can hide in it!”
“I don’t know,” said Plug. “The last one knocked me on my backside. Besides, this one looks different. We could end up on Pluto or something.”
“You got a better idea?”
Plug glanced up. Guardians were in a steep dive and closing fast.
“Anywhere’s safer than here!” he said.
They sprinted for the portal, but Remi landed in their path.
“Wait!” she shouted.
Charlie and Plug tried to slip past her, but she spread her wings, preventing their escape.
“Please,” Charlie begged her. “You said you wanted to help us. If that’s true, let us pass.” But it was too late. The other guardians dropped in all around them.
“Game over,” gulped Plug. He and Charlie huddled together.
Remi seemed confused by their fear. “Why are you running?” she asked. “No guardian would ever hurt a human.”
“She speaks the truth,” agreed Rustam, stepping from among the throng of warriors. His white eyes shone like pearls in a sea of gold.
“The Scarred Guardian,” whispered Remi through an astonished gaze.
Charlie and Plug backed away.
“Leave us alone!” said Charlie. “We’re not going with you.”
“I need you to trust me,” said Rustam. He motioned for the surrounding guardians to retreat. “You are in danger.”
“Yes. Grave danger,” confirmed a voice that sent a chill down Charlie’s spine.
Unity’s enormous silhouette loomed behind Rustam, weaving his way forward.
“No! No! Not him,” screamed Charlie. His voice cracked beneath the weight of fear. “He tried to kill us!”
At the sound of Charlie’s cries, Rustam unsheathed his sword and spun to confront Unity. “How could I have been so blind?” he said.
But before Rustam could attack, Unity struck a blow so powerful it knocked him out of sight, into a thicket of bushes and trees. Unity then marched toward Charlie, stroking the razored edge of his crooked black dagger.
“Charlie, the dream!” screamed Plug. He grabbed his friend and they charged the circular portal like two football players.
Remi stood her ground as Charlie and Plug raced toward her, but they hooked her arms on either side and dragged her with them into the bubble of light. Gone.
Unity’s eyes blazed like fire. Dark vapor seeped from his towering frame. Then came a voice that was not his own. It was deep and guttural and rolled from his throat like thunder before a furious storm.
“I no longer have use for this body,” the voice snarled.
Unity tilted back his head, and a stream of black venom erupted from his mouth. The foul muck rained down into a murky pile on the forest floor. From it, limbs emerged and a gruesome face melded into shape — blood-red unblinking eyes, cleaved nose, blistering mouth, and a tangled row of rotted fangs. Unity’s eyes awoke, springing to life. He was suddenly freed as if from a satanic possession, and he knew the monster that stood before him.
“Moloch!”
Unity stomped the desert floor, and a mystical wind encircled him. His vestments whipped and curled, and their gold lining ignited in flames as he conjured a couple of searing fireballs and hurled them toward his enemy. But two furies sprang from the sand and consumed the volley before it could reach their master. They then leapt onto Unity, sinking their poisonous fangs deep into his forearms. He shrieked in pain, but Moloch seized his throat, choking off the sound.
“Not even you, the Keeper of the Archetypes, could withstand my power,” growled Moloch. His wicked voice rumbled across the Dreamscape. “Prepare to know the depths of darkness and fear!”
Guardians tried to advance on Moloch, but he twisted Unity in their direction, squeezing tighter around his throat. Moloch’s dagger-like fingernails
punctured Unity’s flesh, injecting a stream of evil venom. Unity could feel the poison enter his body. He tried to fight it. The hem of his garment erupted in flame again, spiraling up Moloch’s arm, but resistance was hopeless. Unity’s skin creased into dark folds. He vomited black sand, which fell to his feet and sucked him down into its shadowy recess. He was entombed.
A flurry of light arrows sailed toward Moloch, but he opened his cloak and released a swirling gust of black sand. It enclosed him, walling off the arrows and absorbing their energy. The sand gust grew larger, churning until each grain swelled in size and the wall exploded, firing pellet blasts that speared the guardians, entombing them where they stood. When the storm subsided, Moloch’s eyes fell upon the vulnerable bubble-like dream portal. He lurched toward it.
Suddenly, Rustam dropped from the sky with thunderous force, blocking his path.
“Your only way to the boy is through me,” said Rustam. He dug his feet into the sand and drew his sword.
“Courage is no equal for power, guardian,” roared Moloch. “You will not survive this fight.”
Rustam unleashed a battle cry. The crystals in his forearm flared to life, and he fired a shaft of light deep into the ground. The sand reacted, collecting in an expanding wave that he bulldozed toward Moloch. At the last possible moment, Rustam swept skyward in a tight arc, causing the wall of sand to explode upward with volcanic force, burying his enemy.
Rustam rolled his wings and back-flipped, righting himself mid-air. He soared toward the mound of sand and drove his blade deep into it. Everything became deadly still.
Too still.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE POWER OF BETWEEN
Thousands of screaming teenagers surrounded Charlie, Plug, and Remi. They were packed into a large indoor arena, level upon concrete level, like layers of a cake. Blood-pumping dance music filled the spacious hall. Plug bobbed his head to the beat.
“This is unreal,” he shouted. His head spun left to right and right to left. “We jumped into the middle of a concert!”
“Or at least the dream of one,” said Charlie.
“Makes sense,” replied Plug. “Because I got moves most people can only dream of!” Plug’s head bob worked its way down his body and into his legs. He moved like Jell-O.
Remi’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in everything around her. Unlike Plug, she seemed a little shaken.
“It’s not possible,” she said. “No guardian can cross into dreams.”
“Good,” said Plug, as he continued his groove. “That means your creepy bird friends can’t follow us. Now we just need to lay low and figure out how to get back to our side. Maybe there’s a door, or a staircase, or even a…” Plug’s voice trailed off as he tracked a performer across the stage. She was pretty, spirited, and wearing their school colors.
“Excuse me,” he said, yanking a program from the hand of a girl beside him.
Plug eyeballed the program cover and then the singer on stage, back and forth, back and forth, as the crowd erupted with cheers. “Charlie, that’s—”
“I know!” Charlie couldn’t believe it either. “It’s Maryanne DePalma.”
There she was, front and center — New York City School District 2’s reigning beauty queen, hater of bullies, and object of Plug’s desire. She was the band’s lead singer, up on stage, performing her heart out to the screams of twenty thousand adoring fans — Plug probably being the biggest. His toothy grin spanned ear-to-ear.
“Now we’re cooking with fire!” he shouted, as he pounded his fist to a heavy baseline. “Talk about a dream come true. You rock, Maryanne!”
The music lowered, and a warm spotlight focused in on her.
“This next song goes out to a great guy,” she announced, winking in Charlie and Plug’s direction.
“Did you see that?” asked Charlie.
“Sure did,” said Plug a little aggressively. “Was she winkin’ at you?” He puffed up his chest. “I called dibs, ya know! Remember?”
“Relax,” said Charlie. He found Plug’s crush amusing. “Maybe she’s winking at you.”
Plug’s grimace quickly upturned into a proud smile.
“Girls do like my dimples,” he said. “And my style!”
When Maryanne began to sing, the crowd went wild. As they hopped to the beat, a young boy with questionable dancing skills slammed into Remi. It startled her, and she reached for her bow, ready to engage. Charlie stopped her. He placed his hand on her wrist and guided her bow down.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“Not really,” she replied.
Her gold eyes bore into him, and her jaw twitched. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to figure him out or size him up.
“MARYANNE!”
A booming voice shook the arena. Charlie, Plug, and Remi practically jumped out of their shoes. They held their ears tight to block out the deafening call.
“What the heck was that?” screamed Plug.
“I don’t know, but it sounded angry,” said Charlie.
Remi pointed toward the rooftop.
“Something’s happening! Up there,” she said.
She drew her bow and fired a light arrow into the rafters. It exploded like a firework, illuminating the upper levels, revealing what she saw. Row by row, the crowd thinned, vanishing faster and faster, people popping like soap bubbles.
Charlie knew what it meant.
“The dream’s ending!” he shouted.
“Aw, just when it was gettin’ good,” groaned Plug.
“Maryanne, turn that music off! Time to leave for school,” the strange voice bellowed again.
“I’m coming!” a girl’s voice answered in response. It was just as ear-splittingly loud. And familiar.
Charlie and Plug squinted at each other, stunned.
“That was Maryanne’s voice,” Plug said in an uneasy tone. “How can she be dreaming… if she’s awake?”
“A daydream!” shouted Charlie.
“What’s a daydream?” asked Remi.
“No time to explain!” he replied. “We have to get out of here, now!”
Charlie scanned the evaporating arena. His eyes landed up on stage, where mirrors of different sizes and shapes hung from the catwalks. Then he remembered: the vanity mirror and puddle from Joe’s dream!
“Those mirrors!” he pointed. “Go! Now! Go! Go! Go!”
“Why?” shouted Plug.
“It’s the only way! Trust me!”
The three hustled up some narrow stairs and across the stage. When Charlie glanced back, the crowd was gone. The arena was gone, too, and their escape route was shrinking by the second. Charlie approached the mirrors. They rippled like water. In each, a different image appeared — a barn floating in the middle of a lake, a busy freeway with people driving in cardboard boxes, a young man giving his girlfriend an Easter basket under a tree in the snow, and even something that looked like the surface of the moon.
“Which one?” screamed Plug. “There are so many!”
“So long as it’s not another daydream, who cares!” said Charlie. But deep down he wondered if any of these mirrors might lead back home, back to his mom.
The floor faded beneath their feet as a mountain landscape formed in the mirror closest to them. Charlie grabbed Remi and Plug, and they dove into the mirror, like kids into a pool. A tingling sensation surged through their bodies, and they were enveloped by a sudden burst of color and light.
Moloch erupted from the sand just as the bubble-like portal disappeared. His eyes burned with rage. He dropped to all fours like one of his vicious furies and advanced toward Rustam.
“The boy is safe for now,” Moloch sneered. “I cannot say the same for you.”
Rustam looked up. A large, black cloud descended from above, spreading like an ink stain over the twilight
sky. The black mass stretched and rolled, swelling in size from one side of the horizon to the other. As it moved closer, an ominous hum echoed from its dark underbelly. Rustam realized it was not a cloud at all, but a swarm of black beetles. Millions of them! They had razor-sharp wings, needle-like teeth, and three sets of legs, each lined with a series of claws that cut like barbed wire. The beetles moved in unison toward Moloch. They fused with his hands, extending each outward, creating two living bullwhips of clattering teeth and flesh.
“I will show you the meaning of fear,” Moloch growled.
He cracked his whips into the sand.
Rustam leapt out of the way, dodging the strike. He knew he had to get away from Moloch, or he would end up like so many others — trapped in a pit of black sand. But before Rustam could flee, Moloch cracked his whips again, lashing Rustam across the shoulder. Beetle fangs tore into him, opening a wide gash. Gold blood ran down his arm and dripped into the sand. The pain was unbearable, even as the wound swiftly healed.
Rustam tried to ignore the throb of his shoulder. He launched skyward, hoping to escape another painful and perhaps lethal hit, but Moloch lassoed his leg and the beetles feasted once more on flesh. Rustam cried out. His skin was being ripped off in pulpy chunks. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not break free. Then he remembered the medallion hanging from his neck. He squeezed it tight, summoning its power. A band of gold glowed bright. It traced the outer edge of his wings, and Rustam shot forward with a mighty thrust that yanked Moloch from the ground.
Blood spurted from Rustam’s leg and spiraled behind him, marking the sky with a streak of gold. He banked hard left then right, trying desperately to shake Moloch loose. Rustam reached down to try to free himself, but Moloch scurried up the length of the whip. He grabbed Rustam’s arm, and they locked into a vicious mid-air battle.
“You will succumb to the black sand,” screamed Moloch. He released the whips from his hands, and beetles swarmed Rustam, gnawing through his garments.
Rustam struggled to stay in flight. “Even if you destroy me, the Heir is still more powerful than you,” he said.
“He is nothing but a human boy!”
