Sign of the Sandman

by Tom Turner

  Charlie dropped to his knees, absorbing Rustam’s words. He ran his fingers through the sand, letting the grains slip between them, grains that connected him to his father, to this world. This was where it all began.

  As the last grain trickled through, he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. He gazed toward the dunes, where an unearthly wind sailed across the desert floor, carrying the howls of Moloch’s furies.

  “Moloch grows stronger with every passing moment,” said Rustam. “The more nightmares that form, the greater his stranglehold on the waking world. Soon, his reign of darkness will become permanent.”

  “There must be a way to stop him,” said Remi.

  “There is,” replied Rustam. He didn’t utter another word.

  Charlie sensed Rustam’s silence meant this was a choice he wished they could avoid, one fraught with great peril. Charlie glanced at Remi and then back to Rustam. He felt a lump form in his throat. Choking it back, he finally spoke up and asked, “How?”

  “We can wake the Archetypes,” said Rustam.

  His response was followed by deadening silence, and the lump in Charlie’s throat returned.

  “Won’t that stop all dreams from forming?” he asked.

  “That is why it is so dangerous,” replied Rustam. “But it will also rid the Archetypes of Moloch’s evil and stop new nightmares from forming.”

  “Like a reset button,” said Charlie.

  “In a manner of speaking,” said Rustam. “Dreams already lost to Moloch would remain under his control. But this would at least give us a fighting chance.”

  Remi seemed numbed by Rustam’s plan.

  “When the Archetypes are awake, they’re vulnerable,” she said. “Moloch knows that. If something were to happen, if they were destroyed, so too would be the ability for humans to dream. And without human dreams, this world could not exist. The Dreamscape and everything in it would collapse. The human world would descend into madness.”

  Rustam nodded.

  “You’re saying Moloch would actually do something to cause his own destruction?” asked Charlie.

  “It is a risk,” said Rustam. “His hatred runs deeper than either of you know.”

  Charlie struggled with such a thought. All he had heard since arriving in the Dreamscape was how dangerous Moloch was, how much he wanted to destroy Charlie. Now Charlie wanted to know why. He needed to know why.

  “Who is Moloch?” he asked crisply. “Why is this happening?”

  Rustam wavered at first. The way Charlie would whenever he was about to give an answer he knew would displease someone. But then Rustam looked him squarely in the eye and replied, “Moloch means twin, Charlie. He is your father’s brother.”

  Charlie was stunned. The more he learned, the more his world was turned on end. He played the words back in his head, hoping they would change. Remi’s face revealed her surprise too, as if this was a part of the story that had never been told. A secret known only by a select few — one probably better left buried.

  “Long before my time, when your father was first born into the Dreamscape, there were those who feared evil forces would stop at nothing to destroy him,” Rustam explained. “Hoping to protect the child, my ancestors helped the Archetypes conjure an unnatural dream. One they thought could be hidden from evil, because it was not formed within the mind of a sleeping human. It was a horrifying mistake. For when they placed your father inside, the dream became unstable and split in two: one a vision of good, the other a nightmare. And from that nightmare another child was formed. To the horror of the dream’s creators, this child was born lifeless, his mangled face and deformed body a horrifying reminder of the price paid for tampering with the power of dreams. The corpse was quickly disposed of and forgotten.

  “As time passed, the Sandman’s power grew, and he became tormented by horrible visions, visions that led him to discover his buried twin. But Moloch had not perished as his creators had thought. He had clung to the edge of life, forsaken and alone, welcoming a death that never found him. The Sandman was filled with compassion for his brother, but Moloch was consumed by rage. He swore to usher in a reign of nightmares, promising that all would know his pain of being buried alive and forced to live in darkness and fear. For ages we have fought to stop him. But now, with the Sandman gone and the Archetypes infected with evil, Moloch is making good on his threat. Unless we act, he will succeed.”

  Charlie blinked free from his shock. He tried to comprehend the amount of hatred Moloch must have felt and the type of evil that hatred could spawn. Moloch’s story was a nightmare in and of itself, and a small part of Charlie understood him. Even felt sorry for him.

  But then, as if reading Charlie’s thoughts, Rustam quickly warned, “Do not misread Moloch, Charlie. I told you what I did because you deserved the truth. But I assure you: there is no good to be found in him. Your father tried. Moloch is pure evil. The opposite of a dream. We have no choice but to wake the Archetypes and stop his web of darkness from growing stronger.”

  “My dad could help,” said Charlie. “Which is why I have to find out if he’s still in my dream!”

  “If you do not wake the Archetypes first, your dream will form as a nightmare,” replied Rustam. “Moloch will destroy you and your father.”

  The howls beyond the dunes grew louder, closer.

  “Time is running out. We must return to the castle.”

  Rustam held his medallion over the pool of water. The liquid whirled, creating an opening.

  “Through here,” he said. “The Sandman’s gateway.”

  Charlie approached the pool, but Remi backed away. She had tears in her eyes.

  “Remi, come on,” said Charlie.

  “You go,” she said. She looked back toward the dunes. “I will lead them away from the castle. Away from you.”

  “That’s crazy!” said Charlie. “You won’t survive!”

  “Just go,” she said timidly and started out of the cave.

  “What happened at Dorian was not your fault!” shouted Rustam, stopping Remi in her tracks.

  “But I failed the Sandman,” she said.

  Rustam grabbed her and stared into her eyes.

  “We all failed him. But you can redeem yourself. You are now his son’s guardian, as well. Charlie needs you.”

  Remi looked to Charlie. He nodded. It was a wordless exchange, but she seemed to understand. Charlie extended his hand, and she took it, her fingers interlocking with his.

  “Let’s go!” commanded Rustam. “Together, we will fight to end Moloch’s reign of nightmares.”

  They all jumped into the pool and vanished from the cave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WAKING THE ARCHETYPES

  The once vibrant and colorful dome that enclosed the Hall of Archetypes and contained the tapestry of occurring dreams churned with dark images. Layer upon layer of nightmares continued to pile atop each other. But from the darkness a pinpoint of light ignited. It grew larger, like a star descending from the heavens. The light opened up. It filled the dome and dropped Charlie, Rustam, and Remi into the hall. Rustam opened his wings and swept in to grab Charlie before he hit the floor, setting him down with featherlike ease next to what Charlie thought must surely be the six sleeping Archetypes. They convulsed beneath stained black veils, resting atop giant, diamond-encrusted sand slabs. Rivers of black tears ran like sludge from the closed eyes of the six fractured statues that stood watch over them.

  “We must hurry,” said Rustam as he and Remi barricaded the hall doors shut. “It won’t be long before Moloch realizes we’re here.”

  Charlie studied the Archetypes, flinching at the sound of each violent spasm.

  “How do I wake them?” he asked.

  Rustam ushered him to a crystal basin. It was set atop a small platform located at the center of a circle formed by the six slab
s. The basin was chalice-shaped and filled with sparkling gold sand.

  “These are the Sands of Time,” said Rustam. He spoke quickly. “It is cosmic residue, primordial dust. Each grain holds a powerful memory — a dream — dating back to the beginning of all things, back to the first and greatest dream of all: the dream of the Creator. A dream that held the answers to all questions, the very secret to eternity. As the Archetypes sleep, they channel these powerful memories to form new dreams, and only those of the Sandman’s line can sever the connection.”

  “Then I hope you’re right about me,” said Charlie. “Or our day’s about to get a lot worse.”

  He stepped up to the basin. The grains of sand were so fine they were practically powder. When he listened closely, he could swear he heard a million tiny whispers calling up to him, instructing him to touch the sand. He hesitated, turning to Rustam.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “There is no other choice.”

  “Then here goes nothing.”

  Charlie sank his hands into the sand. The effect was as sudden as it was intense. The grains vibrated between his fingers, each twinkling like a tiny star.

  Whoa! thought Charlie.

  Energy surged through his body. It was as if the imprint of every human dream that was or ever would be touched the deepest reaches of his soul — that part that connects everything under creation. Light radiated from Charlie’s fingers and bathed the room in a fiery blaze. The energy beneath his hands peaked, exploding with the force of a rocket launch. The recoil threw him from the basin’s platform, and he landed across the room.

  Rustam and Remi rushed to help him.

  “Are you alright?” asked Remi.

  “I think so,” said Charlie, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. “But I don’t want to do that again.”

  “You won’t have to,” said Rustam, pointing.

  One by one, the tear-filled eyes of each statue opened, casting soft, white light upon the Archetypes. A mighty wind blew through the room, and the veils that concealed them were blown away, revealing six figures, black and decayed. The figures shifted between misty and solid forms, shuddering violently each time it happened. They looked to Charlie like burn victims — ones that were drowning, as if their heads were being held beneath murky waters by a hand that would not let them up for air. Then, the Archetypes became still. Their eyes opened, and they shot upright and gasped for air. As the Archetypes rose to their feet, Moloch’s evil drained from their blackened bodies, spilling out like corroded oil from a car’s engine. What remained was a kind of colorful, ghostly mist — a collection of dreams, past, present and future. Their forms were humanlike, but Charlie sensed, much like a dream, that could change at any moment.

  The six Archetypes — Wisdom, Ecstasy, Misery, Virtue, Humor, and Iniquity — stood in silence, staring out over the Dreamscape.

  Finally, one said something aloud.

  “How long has it been?” asked Wisdom. His voice was billowy and musical, and when he spoke, a wispy face emerged from the mist.

  “Many ages,” replied Rustam.

  Wisdom continued to stare out the triple-arched window.

  “The land is so dark,” he said. “For this reason we were awoken?”

  “I am afraid so,” replied Rustam. “It is Moloch. He survived.”

  The mention of Moloch’s name caused the Archetypes’ mist to briefly flutter gray as a winter’s fog. It was not the only reaction in the room. Charlie was certain the evil sludge that had seeped from the wakened Archetypes bubbled beneath his feet.

  “Moloch not only survived,” Rustam continued. “He has grown into a monster — one filled with fear and hate. His evil had infected you. We had no choice but to wake you.”

  “There is always a choice,” said Wisdom. “And it seems we are now paying for a misguided one made long ago. It was only a matter of time.”

  “Moloch has taken control of the Dreamscape,” said Rustam. “His nightmares spread and grow stronger even as we speak.”

  “Where is the Sandman?” asked Wisdom.

  “Defeated by Moloch. And missing for two days.”

  “It may as well be an eternity,” said Wisdom. “We have descended into an age of nightmares, and without the Sandman, there is no hope to bring about its end.”

  “This boy is our hope,” replied Rustam.

  The Archetypes turned in unison. Rustam placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder and ushered him forward. Wisdom and the other Archetypes drifted like dust through the wind to form a circle around Charlie. They towered over him, more than triple his height.

  “He is the one who saved you,” continued Rustam. “He is the Sandman’s heir. His son.”

  By this time, the evil sludge was bubbling faster, like a science experiment about to go awry. Charlie wanted to alert the others, but Wisdom was studying him so intently he could not muster the courage to speak.

  “Take my hand,” said Wisdom.

  A hand formed from the mist and Charlie obeyed. It was like touching a rain cloud.

  Upon contact, Wisdom’s misty form swelled with energy. He turned a luminous shade of gold, as did every Archetype. The exact opposite reaction, thought Charlie, to what happened at the mention of Moloch’s name.

  Wisdom bowed his head.

  “You are the Heir,” he said with great reverence. “And as we have served the father, so too shall we serve the son. What must we do?”

  Then, as if on cue, a violent tremor shook the castle’s foundation, blowing a hole into the wall behind them. Glass and debris exploded across the chasm, followed by the sound of a thousand menacing howls. Charlie, Rustam, and Remi ran to the collapsed wall. They looked out, beyond the castle grounds. Something was moving through the darkness toward them. Charlie’s gut balled into a tense knot. He could just make out the red eyes of Moloch’s army as they drew nearer. The furies plunged into a churning mist that surrounded the castle, disappearing like alligators into a swamp. A battle that had been building for centuries was charging toward him, whether he liked it or not.

  Rustam pulled Charlie away from the window. He raised his weapon as Moloch’s vapor invaded the room. It seeped in from every crack and fissure, rolling toward them, almost peacefully. Then the ground trembled. It sounded like rats running below the floorboards and through the walls, coming at them from every corner.

  “They’re under us!” said Remi.

  “Charlie, you must put the Archetypes back to sleep!” said Rustam. “Find the white veil and place it over Wisdom! Go now!”

  Charlie dashed toward the Archetypes. They had already drifted back into position above their slabs, but the floor rolled again and the walls began to crumble. Furies were tunneling through.

  “Hurry!” screamed Remi. “They’re getting close!”

  She ran to the blown-out section of wall and fired a shaft of light from her forearm. The light traced the wall’s fractured edges. It activated the sand, which Remi spun like a web, closing up the gaping wound, sealing off the exterior. Charlie hoped it would hold, at least long enough for him to find Wisdom’s veil. He scanned the room, spotting it tucked beneath a chunk of rubble to his left. He was about to reach for it when he realized:

  The black sludge is gone!

  He heard a hiss, and before he knew what was happening, Rustam leapt over him with his sword drawn. He pushed Charlie aside just as a scaly, sludge-formed snake darted from behind a column, about to strike. Rustam swung his blade, severing the snake mid-torso. Its head dropped like a stone.

  “Thanks!” stammered Charlie.

  “Do not thank me yet,” said Rustam. His eyes were cast above Charlie’s head.

  The snake had re-formed. It slithered up a nearby column and into the dome’s tapestry of occurring dreams. Charlie and Rustam watched the snake move in and out of each, absorbing their energy,
probing their images.

  “What’s it doing?” asked Charlie.

  “Feeding off the nightmares,” replied Rustam. “Getting stronger.”

  And bigger.

  The snake had stopped and coiled around one dream in particular. Charlie could not make out what it was. He watched as the snake began to molt. Layers of skin peeled away, replaced by a thick coat of black and brown fur. Four pawed legs sprouted from the pelt, and the snake’s fangs mutated into a row of powerful bone-crushing teeth.

  “Bear!” screamed Charlie.

  The beast dropped to the floor with a thunderous roar. Rustam and Charlie stood face to face with an enormous grizzly. Its jowls dripped with drool. Its claws were the size of railroad spikes.

  “Grab the veil!” Rustam commanded, stepping between Charlie and the bear. “The beast is mine!”

  The bear attacked. Its speed and power were overwhelming. With one quick swipe it nearly took off Rustam’s head. Remi fired an arrow from across the room, but it had little effect other than to inflame the bear further. It roared again, rearing back on its hind legs, towering over them.

  Rustam drew the grizzly away from the others.

  Now or never, thought Charlie. He yanked the veil out from under the fallen debris and made a dash for the Archetypes. He was halfway there when a piercing scream alarmed him. It was Remi! One of Moloch’s furies had broken through the floor and seized her foot. She fell hard to the ground, and her bow was jarred from her grip. Blood spilled from her leg as she reached for the bow. It was just out of her grasp. Charlie changed direction and lunged toward it.

  “No!” she screamed. “You must protect the Archetypes!”

  Remi’s cry must have alerted the bear, because it took one last swing at Rustam before charging toward her. It was an all-out foot race to the bow. Charlie had a head start, but the bear was too fast. It barreled down on him, close enough for Charlie to count its teeth. He was certain to be trampled. But when the beast reared to attack, Charlie dropped to his knees and slid between its legs, like a ball through a goal post.