by Isaac Petrov
“So then,” she spreads her hands, “it’s impossible to fight.”
“On the contrary, Redeemed van Dolah. Although it is indeed impossible to directly apply your will against your opponent’s, it is possible to apply it indirectly, by using the own narrative of the dreamscape to exert pain. I shall demonstrate. Do take a stone in your hands and throw it at me.”
“A stone, a stone,” she scans the ground between the weeds, finds a fist-sized granite stone and tosses it gently towards Rew.
The stone bounces off Rew’s head. “Ouch,” she says in her usual smooth intonation.
“Oh, sorry, Elder Rew. But you didn’t stop it.”
“I could not have, not even with my considerable skills as Walker of the Mind, Redeemed van Dolah. A stone, and the effects that gravity exerts upon it, are concepts both our minds are intimately familiar with, since our very existence began. The world of the wake and its laws of nature are ingrained in the narrative and the nature of all dreamscapes. When a flying stone reaches my area of control, it is not your will that is driving it, but the dreamscape’s own narrative, shared by both our minds. It cannot be voided.”
“Oh, wow. So guns won’t work, but stones no problem? Wait a minute.” Edda frowns and tilts her head. “There’s not much difference between a bullet and a stone. I mean, in essence they’re the same thing: an object flying through the air, yeah?”
“Your projectile was produced and then propelled by devices that are outside of my experience. And outside of most humans’, including yours, unless you are a weapon master. Bullets are technology.”
“So you’re saying that technology won’t work in dreams?”
“Technology does work in the dreamscape, Redeemed van Dolah; only not in a conflict of wills. Technology is not ingrained in our selves like the laws of nature are, and are thus easily voided.”
Edda nods and shrugs. “So sticks and stones it is.” She laughs as her imagination conjures two angry broom-wielding cowboys facing each other with murder in their eyes. “Not very romantic, huh?”
“There is no romance in dream violence, Redeemed van Dolah. But there is access to power.”
“Good enough for me. Teach me how to fight with sticks and stones, Elder Rew.”
Twenty-One
Sticks and Stones
“Ouch,” Rew says in her usual emotionless tone.
“Oh, Goah. I’m so sorry!” Edda says, dropping a primitive-looking bow and running towards Rew. “Are you okay?” She squints with concern at the arrow embedded in Rew’s brow, and then leans to look at the back of Rew’s skull, where the emerging tip drops a transparent fluid. “Does it hurt?”
“It does, Redeemed van Dolah. Considerably,” Rew says, as she grabs the end of the arrow and pulls it out in its entirety. The wound closes in a few seconds. “Fortunately, pain is but a mirage—”
“Of the mind,” a third voice, female as well, reverberates from behind them. A single mare approaches their location from the edge of the dream forest clearing where Edda and Rew have been training.
“Sense and bind, Overseer Yog,” Rew says. “I do take it I am due for inspection?”
“Indeed, Walker Rew. I am particularly keen to gauge the progress that your personal instruction has imprinted in your human.”
A scowl wrinkles Edda’s face. I’m nobody’s human.
“We were focusing our attention on the minutia of the conflict of wills,” Rew says.
“And how is your human coping?” Yog says and steps closer to Edda. Yog has entered the dream with only one of her three bodies. The rest are probably inspecting elsewhere, Ximena guesses. Having many bodies seems very efficient.
“The human’s talent to control the dreamscape with her will has been remarkably easy to unlock. And her discipline is at par with some of my own marai apprentices. I can already certify her abilities as a Walker in the Path, Overseer Yog.” Ximena can almost picture pride in those empty alien eyes.
“Did I pass?” Edda says, her scowl flushed away in an instant by a radiant smile. “Am I really a Walker?”
“Your work has been fruitful, Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew says, again that pride almost leaking out of her alien eyes. “I do congratulate you on your passage across the Path of Light.”
“Yeah!” She jumps and pumps a fist in the air. “What’s next, huh? The final trial? I can sure as Dem take it. Bring it on, baby!”
“So it is possible, after all,” Yog says, still inspecting Edda. “A human Walker of the Light.”
“The first human Walker of the Path of Light,” Rew says. “The first of many, I do hope.”
Yog turns towards Rew. “We shall soon see how many, since some are already failing.”
“Which humans have failed?” Rew asks.
“There is this one you took a keen interest in. The one with the strong traverse halo.”
“Woman Speese,” Rew says. “That is… most unfortunate.”
“Aline?” Edda trots towards Yog, her feet crunching small twigs and pine needles that cover the forested ground. “What happened to her?”
“Walker Qoh did report inability to resist the rigors of the conflict of wills,” Yog says.
“Oh, poor thing,” Edda sighs, “Poor, poor Aline. I guess it was too much. It almost got me too.”
“That is most unfortunate,” Rew repeats. Ximena leans forward and squints at her white, elongated body. Is it shaking or is it the effect of the wind on the naked branches nearby? “I do believe it is a grave mistake to disqualify Woman Speese, Overseer Yog. Her potential is way beyond the reach of all other human candidates. Even beyond Redeemed van Dolah’s. Alas, her Walking potential can only be awakened in the Shadow. Thus, I do hereby officially request her reincorporation. I shall then take personal responsibility over her instruction.”
“Once again you do request a failed human back into the reseeding effort. First, it was Junior Elder Ledeboer. Now it is Woman Speese. And yet, at the end, only two humans shall be allowed to tread the Path in the Shadow, Walker Rew, and it is our duty to guarantee that only the two most worthy are selected. Alas, Woman Speese lacks worth.”
“She did indeed fail the conflict of wills, Overseer Yog. And yet you must admit that our human Walkers shall not encounter dream violence as they pursue our objectives.”
“That’s what I said!” Edda says, spreading her arms. “All this fighting, Elder Rew. I almost went crazy! And for what? It was all a pile of horseshit, and a waste of time.”
“I am intrigued,” Yog says, staring at Edda. “A human trained to fight back. It is a stimulating thought.” She turns towards Rew. “I do wish to taste the abilities of your human firsthand, Walker Rew, if you do permit.”
“What?!” Edda takes a step back.
“I do not permit, Overseer Yog,” Rew says. “Redeemed van Dolah is already a duly certified Walker of the Light, she does not need to be reassessed.”
“Do grant me access to your apprentice, Walker Rew, and allow me to confirm your appraisal. It is, after all, in our interest to guarantee that only the most capable humans do access the last trial.”
“I do not, Overseer Yog. Redeemed van Dolah has already proved herself adequately. There is no profit in risking her already gained success in a senseless confrontation.”
Yeah, bitch! Edda thinks, silently alternating glances between both mares.
“Furthermore,” Rew continues, “Redeemed van Dolah is still quite inexperienced and has considerable trouble controlling her strength.”
“Are you asserting,” Yog extends a long, boneless arm towards Edda, “that this human could best me in a conflict of wills?”
“Not at all, Overseer Yog. What I am saying is that Redeemed van Dolah’s lack of experience makes her unpredictable—and dangerous.”
“A human? Dangerous?”
“Not any human, Overseer Yog. This human.”
“You are stimulating my intrigue to a degree that I have not felt for a long while, Walker Rew.
I shall most definitely fight your human now. You shall yield to my authority.”
“I shall not. Unless you do yield to my former appeal regarding Woman Speese.”
“What?!” Edda gapes at Rew.
Yog watches Edda in silence for a long while.
Considering.
Ximena feels Edda’s discomfort at the gaze, so eager, like a spider’s on a passing fly.
“You do bring Woman Speese back into the reseeding effort,” Rew says, “and I shall yield my instructor privileges to your authority.”
“No, Elder Rew! I made it already, yeah? I don’t want to—”
“I do accept your terms, Walker Rew,” Yog says, her voice drowning Edda’s complaints as it reverberates across the winter forest. “Thus, you are to take personal responsibility over the instruction of Woman Speese. If she, despite your whispering, is incapable of reaching adequate proficiency in the conflict of wills, she shall be confirmed unworthy.”
“I do accept your terms, Overseer Yog.”
“Pure sin!” Edda says. “I won’t risk my—” a tenuous image of Willem holding Hans on his knees flashes through to Ximena, “interests like that! In what, a fucking fight?! Against a fucking marai ninja? No fucking way, alien. Not even for Aline. What if I lose?”
“You shall surely lose, Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew says, floating over the undergrowth towards Edda. “But if you do resist Overseer Yog’s violence long enough, if you do not allow yourself to pierce the wake too early, not only shall you confirm your status as Walker of the Light, but equally important, Woman Speese shall as well.”
“No, Elder Rew. I won’t fight. Too risky—way too risky. Ah, I know!” Edda turns towards Yog, face lit up with sudden excitement. “I’ll do it. I’ll fight you all right and you can kick my ass all you want. But whatever happens, I want my place in the trial. Agree? No more tests—no more nonsense.”
“Alas, that is not possible, human,” Yog says. “I am not to intervene in the instruction except as instructor.”
“Well, okay, sure. We’ll keep it between us.”
Yog turns her gaze at Rew, and back. Ximena gets the distinct impression that the mare doesn’t know how to react.
“What?” Edda asks, looking first at Yog, then at Rew. “Nobody’ll be the wiser, will they?”
Rew speaks to Yog. “The moral flexibility of the human mind counts among the peak achievements of Earth’s evolution. Its ramifications throughout their history and ecosystem are of truly epic proportions. Alas, the concept is too complex to grasp by laymen. If you do excuse me, Overseer Yog, instead of trying, I shall just explain to Redeemed van Dolah that her idea is with no merit.”
Rew turns to Edda, who is already frowning.
“Your idea is with no merit, Redeemed van Dolah. We marai cannot lie. Not even to ourselves in the past, nor in the future. When we commit to do something, we do it. When we assume a responsibility, we embrace its consequences.”
Edda shakes her head in disbelief. “And you’re supposed to be oh so advanced? How in Goah’s Name did you make it so far? An ever-changing world requires… flexibility, doesn’t it? What happens when circumstances change? How do you mensas adapt?”
“We do adapt, Redeemed van Dolah. Without compromising the truth. Now, you shall allow the reassessment of your capabilities by Overseer Yog in a conflict of wills.”
“No.” She folds her arms and purses her lips. “You can’t make me.”
“You shall,” Rew says. “It is imperative that Woman Speese reaches the last trial. We do need her. You do need her more than anybody else. Your interests are intertwined.”
“Why?! I love her to bits, Elder Rew, but she’s… too distracted with nonsense. All that environment-saving and pollution-fighting—always in her head. And then there’s Piet, her lover—always in her crotch. There’s just no space in her life for things that truly matter.”
“You are being unfair and selfish, Redeemed van Dolah.”
Edda blushes. Touché, Ximena thinks.
Rew continues, “You are no fool that falls into the traps of self-deception. So do trust this one truth: you shall depend on Woman Speese’s abilities to pursue your goals to the end. It is in your nature, Redeemed van Dolah, to be weak alone, weaker than you think; yet strong with allies, stronger than you think.”
Edda stares at her in sulky silence, lips pressed in a thin line.
“Should you not comply with my request, I shall hereby drop my support as your instructor, Redeemed van Dolah. You shall cope on your own in the last trial.”
“Whoa, okay, okay!” Edda lifts a shaking hand. “Fine, I’ll do it. No need to crack the whip!”
She turns slowly towards Yog, draws a deep breath and puts her mind to banishing her fear. What is the point of fear in dreams, anyway? Ximena feels how her anger begins to take over. Why did this alien have to show up and mess her chances up so badly? It’s so unfair, so… arbitrary; like the marai has something personal against her. But that can’t be right. These aliens act more like robots than like people, and Edda has done nothing to her. And yet, the feeling keeps creeping inside her that the dislike is mutual.
Edda glares into Yog’s white, soulless eyes. “I’ll fight you, Elder Yog. You might kick my ass, but I sure as Dem will enjoy getting a good bite on yours.”
“You shall begin your attack,” Yog says, spreading her arms and legs in what appears to Ximena like a mock Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.
Edda glances at Rew, as if asking for instructions, but Rew remains stoically silent.
Edda sighs. “All right, let’s do this.” She picks up the bow that was lying on the weeds of grass and ferns that cover most of the forest clearing. An arrow, a simple, sharp stick with gray feathers, materializes in her right hand. She takes aim while drawing a deep breath, gives Rew a last, hesitant glimpse, and shoots.
Yog moves swiftly to the side. The arrow is going to miss.
Pure sin! Edda instinctively pushes the arrow with her will. Gently. Just a tad. Yes! Now it’s aiming true, straight for Yog’s middle body.
Yog appears to move her arms in a protective reflex over her abdomen, but as the arrow closes in, it dissolves in midair. Canceled.
Pure sin! Edda produces another arrow in her hand and tries to aim anew. Ximena realizes that it was a mistake to divert the arrow with will-control. That denaturalized it, removed it from the dream’s natural narrative, making it easy prey to will-canceling.
Yog’s arms and legs flatten at once into what looks to Ximena like elongated fins. She gapes at such sudden display of plasticity. Can mares do that? Maybe they’re also originally underwater creatures, like their masters.
With one powerful thrust of her four new fins, like a squid underwater, Yog disappears behind the wide trunk of an oak.
Before Edda has time to change her aim, Yog pushes herself anew behind another tree.
Goah, she’s getting closer! Ximena feels Edda’s anxiety rising as she once again tries to adjust her bow.
Yog then pushes herself into plain sight, even closer, and locks her blank eyes on Edda’s.
The fucking alien’s too close to shoot. Edda drops the bow. I need something for close contact. Ximena hears Edda’s hasty thinking as flashes of wargaming miniatures cross her mind. A melee weapon. Something simple and primitive that can survive will-canceling.
Yog slashes her four limps in one vigorous push that thrusts her body swiftly towards Edda in a final charge down a fern-covered slope.
A charge. What’s good against a charge?
A pike—a long wooden spear tipped in sharp iron—materializes in Edda’s hands. The ideal weapon against a medieval cavalry charge. But Edda is not a pikeman. Oh Goah, it’s heavy! Edda’s anxiety turns to panic as she fails to move the unwieldy pike with nothing but her own dream muscles.
Yog sweeps easily past the pike tip and throws her four limbs at Edda like a hungry octopus at a crab.
Edda yelps, drops the pike and leaps sideways behi
nd the trunk of a large oak in a last desperate attempt to flee.
But it is too late.
Yog’s four appendages clamp Edda’s arms and legs in four unshakable grips. The sudden contact and Yog’s forward momentum push her body off balance.
Edda falls on her back, shrieking. Yog doesn’t let go, her four extremities firmly attached to Edda’s, the stance of a spider, the eagerness of a leech. Her alien face is but mere inches from Edda’s. Those eyes, white and empty, lock on hers without a hint of emotion.
And then Yog opens her black mouth.
Terror strikes almost instantly. First as a sudden gnaw at the edge of Edda’s consciousness, but quickly crawling up her spine and drowning her innards in ice and dread. She cannot take her eyes off that mouth. So hungry. It’s black folds twitching and contracting with the urge of the feed.
Edda wails without control. Her mind is sinking in the quicksand of dread.
Ximena leans forward with morbid fascination to look at the moist blackness of the alien maw. There are things there, sharp things inside—things that yearn—and plead. Reminds her of a mosquito gobbling not blood, but soul. Goah’s Mercy, the nightmare.
Edda’s awareness wavers, shocked to its foundations by that bubbling drainage of reason. Waves with the sweet promise of the wake deform the texture of the dreamscape as the nightmare reaches its climax. She is slipping away, her mind all but lost, there is nothing left to grip herself onto.
“Ground yourself, Redeemed van Dolah.” Rew’s voice splashes on Edda’s vanishing mind like water on mud. “Recall your discipline.”
Discipline. Edda’s mind whirls around the word. Discipline.
“Fear engulfs you,” Rew says. “Do recognize its texture, its slippery quality.”
Fear. Edda gasps. Discipline.
“Do seek its inner truth, Redeemed van Dolah. Pain is a mirage of the mind. Reach for the truth beneath fear. Embrace that truth. Without truth, there is no reality. Without reality, there is pain—and extinction.”
