by Dennis Foon
“In a few minutes, I’ll become drowsy, and then I’ll be there. In the Dreamfield. You need to close your eyes.”
“I’ve gone there with my eyes open, too. I’ve seen the lion that way, I’ve heard the rat speak to me. But it was never under my control. They just appeared.”
Alandra nods, a look of grudging awe on her face. “Follow the line of light from the soles of your feet up your legs, through your spine, and out the top of your head.” She taps a slight indentation in the center of his skull. “Go with the light out of this spot. And keep your eyes closed. That way, if anyone comes into the room, they’ll think we’re napping.”
Roan closes his eyes and lets his attention drift down to his feet. He breathes softly through his nose, as if drawing some unseen energy up from the floor. Then, like the first flames from a smoldering fire, a column of light slowly rises. Up his legs, merging at his pelvis, shooting through his back and neck and head. A hole opens at the top of his skull and, as the light pillars out, Roan’s consciousness flies with it.
THE DREAMFIELD
CREATURES OF WONDER AND MYSTERY. IF ONLY A FEW OF THE TALES WERE TRUE. BUT I’VE NEVER SEEN A SNOW CRICKET AND I’M BETTING NEITHER HAVE YOU.
—LORE OF THE STORYTELLERS
SMOKE FILLS HIS LUNGS. EVERYWHERE ROAN LOOKS, HOUSES ARE ON FIRE. WALKING IS AWKWARD. BENDING TO RUB HIS LEGS, HE SEES THEY’RE MADE OF CLAY. SO ARE HIS HANDS. IN FACT, HIS WHOLE BODY IS MADE OF IT.
“ALANDRA!” HE CALLS. NO RESPONSE. ROAN’S VOICE FEELS THICK AND STRANGE IN HIS THROAT.
“ALANDRA!” HE SHOUTS AGAIN, HIS VOICE BOOMING ALONG THE EMPTY ROAD. THE ROOF ON A HOUSE COLLAPSES, SENDING A SHOWER OF SPARKS INTO THE AIR. ROAN IS UNEASY IN HIS BIZARRE, UNWIELDY BODY. HE SITS DOWN TO REST, BARELY GLANCING AT THE HUGE WHITE STONE THAT SERVES AS HIS SEAT. THEN IT MOVES AND HE FALLS TO THE GROUND. THE STONE IS A GIGANTIC CRICKET THAT IS NOW CLAMBERING DOWN A ROUGH TRAIL THROUGH A THICKET SO DENSE THAT THE BRANCHES ETCH ROAN’S CLAY SKIN AS HE FOLLOWS IN PURSUIT.
IN THE DISTANCE, SOMEONE IS SIGHING, AND THE CRICKET LEADS HIM TO THE SOURCE. ENTANGLED IN A MORASS OF SHARP SPINES IS THE GOAT-WOMAN: ALANDRA. THE SPINES PIERCE HER, JUTTING THROUGH HER HANDS, HER ARMS, HER FEET. THREE BARBS PUNCTURE HER LIPS, PINNING THEM TOGETHER. ROAN CAN SEE THE PAIN IN HER EYES.
TRYING TO CLEAR THE THISTLES THAT SURROUND HER, HE BREAKS OFF A SMALL PIECE OF BRANCH. ANOTHER GROWS IN ITS PLACE, WITH TWICE AS MANY THORNS. SO INSTEAD ROAN BENDS THE BRANCHES BACK, THEN WEAVES THEM SECURELY TOGETHER.
IT’S SLOW, METICULOUS WORK. FINDING THE RIGHT BRANCHES, FITTING THEM TOGETHER, LETTING THE SPINES LOCK ON EACH OTHER TAKES ALL HIS CONCENTRATION. BUT GRADUALLY HE MANAGES TO FREE ALANDRA FROM A LARGE SECTION OF THE FORBIDDING PLANT.
IN THE INTENSITY OF HIS LABORS, HE HAS FAILED TO NOTICE THE FAINT GREEN AURA THAT HAS NOW GROWN TO SURROUND HIM. HE LOOKS AT IT CURIOUSLY, BUT A SIGH FROM ALANDRA DRAWS HIM BACK TO THE MOST CHALLENGING PART OF HIS TASK. “I’M GOING TO TAKE OUT THE SPINES NOW, ALANDRA. ARE YOU READY?”
THE FIERCE LOOK IN HER EYES INDICATES ASSENT. ROAN PAINSTAKINGLY LIFTS A BRANCH, AND WITH STEADY FORCE EXTRACTS THE THREE SPINES FROM HER LIPS. THE MOMENT THEY’RE REMOVED, HER WOUNDS HEAL.
NEXT ROAN PULLS OUT THE SPINES THAT PENETRATE HER FEET, HER CALVES, HER CHEST, HER HANDS. AND AGAIN, TO HIS GREAT RELIEF, THE WOUNDS HEAL INSTANTLY.
WITH HIS CAUTIOUS HELP, ALANDRA STEPS AWAY FROM THE BRAMBLES, TOUCHES BOTH FEET ON THE GROUND AND TOPPLES. ROAN LOSES HIS BALANCE AS HE TRIES TO CATCH HER, AND THEY ROLL LIGHTLY ONTO THE MOSS.
THE OLD GOAT-WOMAN LAUGHS UPROARIOUSLY, SO BOISTEROULSY SHE’S SLAPPING HER KNEES, TEARS FORMING IN THE CORNERS OF HER EYES. ROAN CAN’T HELP BUT CHUCKLE TOO. EVEN THE GIANT CRICKET’S AFFECTED, WAVING ITS FEELERS. AFTER A LONG WHILE, THE GOAT-WOMAN’S EYES NARROW.
“YOU HAVE AN AURA.”
ROAN LOOKS AT HIMSELF. THE COLOR’S INTENSIFIED.
“YOU RELEASED IT IN YOURSELF WHEN YOU RELEASED ME. IT IS A PROTECTIVE BARRIER.” SHE CLOSES HER EYES FOR A MOMENT, AND SUDDENLY SHE IS GLOWING GREEN AS WELL. “NEXT TIME IT WILL BE THAT EASY FOR YOU, TOO.”
“WHY WERE YOU CAUGHT IN THE BRAMBLE?”
“PARTLY FOR YOUR INITIATION—TO WALK WITH COMPLETE FREEDOM IN THE DREAMFIELD YOU MUST GAIN AN AURA. BUT IT WAS ALSO A STEP IN MY ONGOING PROCESS.”
“AND WHY AM I CLAY?”
“BECAUSE YOU’RE GESTATING. YOU WILL GET YOUR DREAM FORM ONE DAY. WHEN YOU’RE READY.”
HER HEAD SNAPS AWAY SUDDENLY. “THE CRICKET’S MOVING!” ROAN FOLLOWS AS FAST AS HIS AWKWARD CLAY LEGS CAN CARRY HIM, STAYING CLOSE TO ALANDRA, WHO SCAMPERS ON HER DELICATE HOOVES.
PAST THE LONG BROKEN TRAIL, THE LANDSCAPE IS DOTTED WITH SMOOTH RED TERMITE HILLS, EACH AROUND FIVE FEET HIGH. THE TERMITES SCURRY ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS, CRAWLING ALL AROUND A SLEEPING FIGURE.
“LUMPY!” ROAN MOVES AS QUICKLY AS HE CAN TO ROUSE HIS FRIEND.
“YOU COULD TRY WAKING HIM FOREVER AND NOTHING WOULD HAPPEN. IT WAS YOUR LONGING THAT BROUGHT HIM HERE.”
“I’M WORRIED ABOUT HIM,” ROAN SAYS. “THE FORGOTTEN MADE A SALVE TO EASE HIS PAIN, BUT IT WAS LOST IN THE NETHERVINES.”
SUDDENLY THE CRICKET’S SHELL BURSTS OPEN, REVEALING TWO ELEGANT, TRANSLUCENT WINGS. ROAN AND ALANDRA WATCH FASCINATED AS THE WINGS WHIR, MOVING SO FAST THEY BLEND IN INVISIBLE MOTION. THE CRICKET RISES FROM THE GROUND, THEN HOVERS ABOVE THEM. THEY RAISE THEIR ARMS, EACH GRASPING ONE OF THE HUGE INSECT’S HARD LEGS. SOON THEY ARE SOARING.
ROAN LOOKS DOWN. BEHIND ARE FAIRVIEW AND THE RED STICK TREES; BEFORE HIM THE TOXIC LAKE’S MURKY WATERS ARE BEGINNING TO CLEAR. IN MOMENTS THEY’RE AT ITS FAR SHORE. OVER LAND AND JAGGED HILLS, STEEP CLIFFS AND NARROW ROCKY LEDGES, THE ENTIRE LANDSCAPE IS IMPRINTING ITSELF ON HIS MIND, EVERY CREVICE AND PATHWAY OUTLINED, EVERY OBSTACLE OBSERVED.
PASSING OVER A GIANT CHASM, ROAN IS ASTOUNDED ONCE AGAIN TO SEE SOMETHING HE HAS ONLY OBSERVED IN PICTURES: A LUSH GREEN FOREST WITH HEALTHY, TOWERING TREES THAT STAND TALL AND STRAIGHT, SO CLOSE TOGETHER HE CAN SEE SQUIRRELS LEAPING FROM ONE TO THE OTHER. LITTLE RED AND BLACK BIRDS DART THROUGH THE BRANCHES, BRILLIANT AGAINST THE VERDANT FOLIAGE. ROAN AND ALANDRA MARVEL AT THESE WONDERS AS THE CRICKET GRADUALLY DESCENDS UNTIL IT HOVERS SO THAT THEY MAY SET FOOT ON THE SOFT, RICH HUMUS. THE FRAGRANCE OF HEALTHY GREEN FIR IS INTOXICATING. IT’S A SCENT SO NEW, SO FRESH, SO DELICIOUS THAT THEY BOTH FEEL GIDDY.
ALANDRA, THE OLD GOAT-WOMAN, SMILES. “THANK YOU.”
“WHY ARE YOU THANKING ME?”
“FOR THE POWER THAT BROUGHT US HERE.”
ROAN CAN BARELY GRASP HER LAST WORDS BEFORE SHE FADES.
When Roan’s eyes open, he sees Alandra standing by the window, stretching her arms.
“Be careful for the first ten minutes or so,” she says. “You’ll feel half here, half there. It’s easy to lose your balance after you’ve traveled freely in the Dreamfield. You need time to adjust to being back.” She notices the little white cricket sitting on Roan’s shoulder. She leans close to it and whispers, “Thank you.” The cricket’s antennae flutter. “Now we know where we must go.”
“Do you think that place was real?” Roan asks.
“Yes, I’m certain of it. But we have another task to complete first. A new group of children have arrived at the Home. I think you should meet them.”
“Will Lona and Bub and the others be there?”
“That’s where they live.”
Roan hasn’t seen the children since the day they painted his cast. Their faces and voices resonate in his mind, and he still wonders if there’s more to them than meets the eye.
As Alandra wheels Roan toward the school, she explains that it’s a residence as well, the place where all the children of Fairview live. From time to time, children from nearby villages are brought there too.
The Children’s Home is a tall, ungainly house painted powder blue. Swings, slides, a
nd climbing apparatus cover the huge front yard. Children swarm everywhere on the immense playground. They’re strong and active, full of spirit. Roan relishes the sound of so much laughter.
When Bub sees Roan roll up in his chair, he whoops with glee and charges toward him.
“Korr! Korr!”
Other children follow, crowding around Roan, jostling for his attention. Soon Mrs. Fligg, every inch the jolly matron, bustles over to them. “So this is the Korr we’ve been hearing so much about!” she exclaims, shaking Roan’s hand heartily. “It’s about time we met. Welcome, Korr. My little darlings have told me all about you. Sweeter than sugar, aren’t they!” She laughs merrily, pulling Lona close to her and giving her a big hug and a kiss. Lona holds out her hand. Mrs. Fligg chortles and puts a red candy into her palm. Then she nods to Alandra. “Come meet the new arrivals.”
“No, no, stay with us, stay with us!” yells Lona.
“Korr will be with you in a minute,” Alandra says. “He just wants to say hello to the new children.” Mrs. Fligg leads them over to a jungle gym, where eight solemn children are perched on the bars.
“They’re still adjusting to their new environment, coming from all those different towns. It’s a wonder I can get the poor darlings to eat a thing.” Mrs. Fligg looks up at the new arrivals. “Children, this is Alandra, our healer. And her friend, Korr.”
Eight pairs of eyes drift somberly onto Alandra. But once the children see Roan, a startling transformation takes place. One by one, huge smiles appear on their faces. They pour off their roost and surround Roan. “I’m Dani!” a towheaded seven-year-old announces to Roan, grabbing his hand. A little boy, no more than five, hugs Roan’s leg. “Play!” he shouts. The children beg for his attention, for his touch, and Roan’s more than willing to give it.
The Fairview children join the tumult. Lona leads the stampede, jumping onto Roan’s lap.
“Give us a ride! Pretty please!”
“Yes!” roar the kids.
Roan pumps the wheels of his chair more and more vigorously as shouts of “Faster! Faster!” ring in his ears.
Jaw and Bub and a few others decide to help. They get behind Roan and propel the chair with all their might up the walkways, around the play yard, then up a steep ramp, which they struggle to ascend. Once at the top, as many as can fit jump on, and Roan and his passengers zoom down, shrieking at the top of their voices. At the bottom, the wheels hit a pavement stone and they all go flying, tumbling on the grass in a heap.
“Eeks, are you okay, Korr?” asks an anxious Bub.
Roan lets out an agonized groan that makes the children wince. Tears well up in little Lona’s eyes. Then Roan rights the chair with his good arm and hoists himself back in. “What’re you standing there for? Let’s do it again!”
The kids cheer. Lona jumps back in Roan’s lap and they’re whisked at top speed over every inch of the playground. Finally, when everybody is utterly spent, they gather around the water fountain taking turns for a drink.
“Will you come back next day?” asks Lona.
“I’ll try to,” Roan replies.
“And you’ll bring the chair?” pleads Bub.
“I’m only in it for a few more days.”
“And then you’re leaving us?”
“No, I’m here for another two weeks on account of the arm mold.”
“Then we’ll be leaving you,” says Jaw.
“Where are you going?” asks Roan, puzzled.
“To our parents,” Grip pitches in.
“I don’t understand. Don’t your parents live here?”
“No,” answer several of the kids at once.
“Do they come for visits?”
The children laugh at his question. “How can they?” says Bub. “We never met ’em yet!” Roan is beginning to understand. This must be an orphanage. But then why do all of the children of Fairview live here?
“On Family Day,” says Lona happily, “we all get to meet our moms and dads. Jabberwocky Wagon’s coming to take us. All of us are going.”
“The Jabberwocky Wagon?”
“It’s how we get there,” explains Jaw. “To our parents.”
“It’s the best of the best,” says Lona, pointing to the circle-on-triangle symbol painted on Roan’s cast. “And you won’t believe what it has inside.”
Alandra speaks up, her face expressionless. “Korr and I have to go now.”
The children grumble with disappointment. Then Mrs. Fligg calls them in for lunch. They shout good-bye and scramble to the house, racing to be first in line.
Alandra turns to Roan. “You have a way with them.”
Roan smiles. He’ll keep how he feels about the children to himself for now. “Yeh, they master, me slave,” he says with a laugh, then, “You didn’t tell me this was an orphanage.”
Alandra winces a little at the question. “We have a different philosophy about parents and children in Fairview. Brack has convinced people that blood relationships are too painful. Better to cut them off early.”
“But to give your children up—”
“We sell them,” Alandra says flatly. “Our community’s doing well, and the world needs children. That’s what the governor says. The City is filled with rich couples who are barren, desperate for children of their own. Brack has guaranteed that these new parents will offer our children a good life.”
“And bring wealth to the citizens of Fairview,” says Roan, dismayed.
“Before Brack came to Fairview, it was ravaged. The people were starving, the buildings were ruined, the water was poisoned. His economic policies rebuilt this town. People are loyal to him. They do whatever he asks.”
Roan can’t hide his disfavor. “And when this group of children is sent for adoption, how long till the next crop comes along?”
“Times vary. Some prospective parents want infants, others want older children.”
Alandra turns Roan’s chair up a paved boulevard leading away from the Children’s Home. Once they’re a safe distance away, she speaks softly.
“It’s a lie,” she whispers. “A few children may find homes, but the majority are sent to laboratories for experiments. The lucky ones are killed, their body parts used to replace the aging organs of the Masters of the City. I’ve been waiting for you to come. We have to save these children, take them away from here.”
Roan turns in his chair to see Alandra’s face, to be sure she’s serious.
“Please look straight ahead. Smile and nod as if I’ve said something amusing.”
Roan faces front and forces a smile. It’s easy to forget that for all the welcoming faces, they are not among friends. He wonders if it’s the same in Kira’s village. The only children he saw there were in some way disabled, perhaps rendering them unfit for sale. What strange fortune.
“I returned here five years ago at Sari’s behest, to take on this trusted role in the community. For those five years I’ve been healer to the mothers and the children, keeping them healthy for the cursed commerce. It was easier to watch my parents die. At least then I was too young to do anything, I was helpless. But now that you’re here, my ordeal is over. The time for change has come. If you hadn’t fallen into the Nethervines, the operation would already be underway. But in a few days you’ll be able to move freely and we can finally set the plan in motion.”
“What plan is that?”
“To take the children to the place we saw in the dream.”
“Alandra, we flew. How do we get fourteen children there?”
“We’ll find a way.”
THE ATTACK OF THE BLOOD DRINKERS
FOR SEVEN YEARS, THE EARTH BURNED AND THE FLAME UNLEASHED A BLACK FOG THAT CHOKED THE VALLEYS OF THE GREAT NATIONS AND THEIR PEOPLE, STARVING, PERISHED. THE DREAMWALKERS AWOKE AND IT CAME TO BE THA
T THE FATE OF THE SURVIVORS WAS LEFT IN THEIR HANDS.
—THE WAR CHRONICLES
WHEN ROAN AWAKES the next day, the wheeled chair is gone.
“You’re ready to walk,” Alandra announces. Though he’s a little unsteady at first, Roan quickly finds his feet again.
He wastes no time announcing his first objective. “Lumpy,” he says to Alandra.
“Yes. The three of us have much to talk about.”
Roan is surprisingly nervous as they approach the town gate. He’s grown complacent and has come unprepared. He lowers his head, allows his body to look soft, weak, as if not fully recovered from his illness.
“Off again gatherin’, Alandra?” calls out the gatekeeper.
“Yes, I have to put my patient to work.”
As the gatekeeper gives him a curious look, Roan shadows his eyes as if from the sun and offers an easy smile.
“Good to get some fresh air, eh, fella? You look lots better than when we plucked you from the scrub out there.”
“Yes,” says Roan, “thanks to Alandra.”
“She’s something, ain’t she? Don’t know what we’d do without her.”
At the sight of open country, Roan longs to break into a run. But after Alandra gives the gatekeeper a friendly wave, she sets the pace at an unhurried gait. They are two people on an easygoing stroll to pick some herbs.
“He’s Brack’s man, isn’t he?”
“That’s right.”
“The second he closes those gates, he’ll report to the governor where we’re going.”
Alandra links her arm through Roan’s. “He’ll report to Brack, and Brack will take no notice. Bringing a patient with me to pick herbs is something I do all the time. Nothing will seem more natural.”
They amble until Alandra points to her empty satchel hanging from a tree branch.
She lifts an eyebrow. Roan grins. “Hey, termite eater!” he calls in a low voice.
“Roan!” Lumpy leaps out from his hiding hole. Seeing Alandra, he stops in his tracks, covering his face. Alandra can’t help but smile.
