Waking in Dreamland

by Jody Lynne Nye

  Glinn let go of her hand and stepped backward, stretching the hole between them. Taboret feared at first that breaking contact would end the gestalt, but its form had advanced far beyond the primitive structure of the first day. The link held. She took hold of the near edge of the tear, and drew it outward.

  The broad oblong was like an elaborate, silver-gray spider web, spiraling down into an endless center. If one stared at it too long, the whirling took hold of one’s mind. Taboret turned her eyes away and listened to the faint roar. She thought it sounded like a cry of pain. As if he was hanging curtains, Glinn tacked up his side of the hole, and came around to fasten the edges on her side. Taboret felt like bursting into hysterical laughter. Chaos, neatly pinned and tucked.

  “And if he doesn’t see it in time?” Taboret whispered to him. Glinn didn’t answer. She knew. He put his arm around her and held her. She was grateful. He felt so real.

  “Good job,” Maniune said. He and Acton came over to inspect. The two burly men looked the web up and down, approving the stakes of nebulosity holding it in place. “All done, then?”

  “All done,” Glinn said, dusting his hands. “It’s as deadly a trap as we can make it. I think Master Brom would be pleased.”

  “Good,” Maniune said. “We’ll just test it.” Each of them grabbed one of Glinn’s arms, and rushed him backwards toward the web. Glinn scrabbled for a handhold, but they were prepared for a struggle. Grinning ferally, Acton threw a punch at Glinn’s narrow middle, and Glinn doubled up on himself with a grunt. Taboret screamed, and jumped on Maniune’s back, pounding his head with her fists. The bruiser brushed her off without effort, picked Glinn up bodily, and tossed him into the hole. Shouting, Glinn was swept down and out of sight.

  Taboret ran to the edge.

  “Glinn!”

  The infernal winds battered at her face. All she could see was swirling nonexistence, defying her senses. She reached into the hole, hoping to find him. There was no sign, none at all. Had he been reduced to a singularity? Her eyes danced with the gray dazzle. She felt for him with her mind, but the link had been broken.

  She felt a shove from behind. The mercenaries were trying to push her in, too! Taboret twisted and clutched the arms and hands coming at her, refusing to let go.

  “Don’t!” she cried, refusing to let them peel her off them. She found a face: Maniune’s. “Please! Help me get him out.”

  “He’s done for,” Maniune said, carelessly, but his face was pale with terror. He hadn’t known what chaos was like until that moment. “The boss doesn’t like traitors. He wants you both finished. We’re going to do the job.”

  “Please don’t,” Taboret begged. She clung to them both, gripping with an unnatural strength enhanced with gestalt power. “Please! Look what happened to him. He was torn to pieces. Don’t kill me.”

  “All right,” Maniune said. “All right, you can live for now. But that’ll be you next if you don’t cooperate. It’d be easy to throw you right in after him.” He jerked a thumb toward the swirling mass.

  Taboret felt her heart wrench in her chest as if it was tearing itself in two. Maybe that would be the best thing that could happen. If Glinn was dead, there was nothing left in life she wanted to do. She felt dead inside, too. Taboret let the men put her down, and she brushed at her clothes and hair, which felt as lifeless as her soul. She couldn’t even cry.

  “I’ll behave,” she said.

  “Good,” Maniune said, relieved. “That’ll do. The boss will settle for that.”

  “Hey, she bruised me,” Acton complained, rubbing his skinny neck.

  “Tough,” Maniune said, glaring at his comrade. “Take it. You’re getting paid to take what happens.”

  “What does Master Brom want us to do now?” Taboret asked.

  “He wants us to make sure this trap of yours works. He didn’t trust you not to put a monkey wrench into it. Well, it won’t, because you know what’ll happen if it does.” Maniune mimed giving something the heave-ho. Taboret had no trouble understanding him. She glanced behind her at the hole, and saw a pair of unearthly lights like eyes.

  She shuddered. Maniune whistled the bikes to him, and they headed down the railway cut toward the river.

  * * *

  “That way, sir,” Lum said, pointing at the bridge. Roan looked at the slagged grass and jumbled cobblestones leading to the shining silver rails. Parts of the golden-brown bridge bulged and buckled, the result of the Alarm Clock’s passage.

  “Why would they go over a railroad bridge?” Misha asked.

  “Anything else might pass too close to habitations,” Bergold said, casting a look in either direction along the gap. The nearest spans were a good quarter-hour’s ride each way. By then, Brom would have regained the advantage in distance. Roan was unwilling to let him take another inch.

  “We’ll have to walk the steeds across,” Roan said. “The beams look weaker than they ought to be.”

  “Hmph!” Colenna snorted. “Considering what’s been this way, it’s no wonder.”

  Waving her back to a safe distance, Spar and Lum took the lead onto the near edge of the bridge. Misha and Felan came next. The others fell into line, and Roan brought up the rear, ready to pull anyone back if the footing became unsound. As Spar moved forward, the old bridge let out a loud and piteous groan. The captain flinched once, but kept marching.

  “Don’t crowd up too close,” Felan called back to those behind him. “This thing could give at any moment.”

  Roan looked down. The gorge was deep, and the river at its bottom flowed as fast as any train that had passed over these tracks. He pulled back a pace from Leonora, giving her a moment to get a few yards ahead of him. Curious that the bridge had been so badly damaged, but the rails themselves remained in perfect shape. There was a permanence about the railroad that ran deep in the fabric of the Dreamland. Brom might be able to pervert it, but he could not destroy it. When it was his turn, Roan picked his way carefully. Every beam of the bridge seemed to have been transformed into a different material along its five hundred feet: cork, chalk, cheese, leather, rubber, diamond.

  Spar gave a wordless shout, and Roan raised his head. The noise that had alerted the guard captain reached him, too. A train was coming along these tracks!

  Roan scanned the bridge. The first wave was already past the middle of the long center span. Could they and their steeds huddle at the sides, and let the train pass them? No. It was impossible for these spans to support the weight of a train and the party, too. The train would plummet into the river far below, probably killing everyone on board.

  “Turn around!” Roan shouted at them. He turned Cruiser and gave him a swat on the rump to send him off toward the bank. “Come back! I’m going to warn the engineer!”

  The chug-chug-chug sound grew louder. Leonora’s long dress suddenly wrapped itself around her legs and split into trousers, freeing them for action. She wheeled Golden Schwinn in a circle. The others turned, too. Roan beckoned them past him so he could run ahead and stop the train, if he could.

  “Don’t crowd,” Bergold warned, stretching his short legs out to reach from beam to beam. Colenna trailed him by one pace, watching his feet before placing hers. “It’ll collapse under us.” “Hurry!” Felan called from the end of the line. “That train’s getting closer.”

  “Hurry,” Roan said.

  “Hurry!” Spar shouted.

  The clattering and clicking began to echo into the canyon. The train was still concealed by the overgrowth of brush at the top of the bluffs. Roan sprang from beam to beam as fast as he dared. Thank the Sleepers, the length of his legs made the distance between the spans no difficult jump. What if the engine came onto the spans? If they braked hard, would the rest of the weight behind keep the front from falling in? He glanced behind him. The others were passing the tower and moving onto the far span. The train was coming on faster now. He didn’t think he could save it. Could he save himself?

  Two gleaming white lights a
ppeared through the brush, and shot towards him on the rails. The clattering became deafening. Roan stared at the lights. That didn’t look like any train engine he had ever seen. The tan and gold scale pattern of the boiler front looked like an animal head, almost reptilian. Those lights were like slitted eyes.

  Roan gaped. They were eyes. In fact, it wasn’t a train at all. It was a rattlesnake the size of a train.

  “Run!” Roan shouted at his friends.

  The snake slithered forward. Its long tail shook, producing the noise that had fooled them into believing in an oncoming train. But this was worse. Opening its huge, pink mouth, the snake displayed man-height fangs dripping with venom. Faster and faster it came, seeking to engulf the tiny humans. And the bridge began to buckle under its weight.

  “We’ll have to jump for it!” Roan called.

  There was no more time. He vaulted the guard rail, and the bridge crashed into pieces above him as he fell.

  Chapter 30

  Taboret let out a little shriek as the bridge collapsed into the gorge. The giant snake, people, steeds, and all tumbled down the steep banks into the river. She ran to the edge, and parted the brush with her hands. She searched the water for bodies. Was anyone still alive?

  The snake surfaced briefly. Its eyes dimmed, and it broke into sections, each about the size of a train car, as the current carried it off. Once it was out of the way, Taboret could see heads bobbing up above the surface. She blew a gusty sigh of relief.

  “Hide yourself, nitwit,” Maniune snarled behind her. She drew up a cloak of invisibility from the crucible, and continued scanning the silver expanse for other survivors.

  Brom’s intelligence pushed at her mind, wanting to know more, to see more. She poked her head farther out of the brush. The pursuers’ steeds reverted to horses. They swam to the far bank and scrambled up onto the sand, where they shook themselves dry. Their human riders were less efficient at self-rescue. The current shot them in every which way against the banks, so they were widely separated. She couldn’t really tell how many there were.

  “Hello?” asked a small voice, choked with water. “Is anyone there?”

  Taboret looked down. A slender figure dressed in white clung dripping to the rocks almost immediately below them.

  “Someone? If you are up there, please help me.”

  Taboret gawked. It was Princess Leonora.

  “Your Highness!” she shouted.

  Taboret was appalled. She thought the princess was safely back on her way to Mnemosyne. She must not fall back into the river. She would drown.

  “The princess?” Maniune hissed. “Grab her!”

  Taboret pushed him out of the way and flattened herself on the muddy bluff. She held on with one hand to the branches while she extended the other arm down toward the princess. The twigs scratched her face. She spat out leaves.

  “Your Highness, can you reach me?” she called. Her voice was distorted by an echo, but the young woman seemed to have understood. A hand appeared from amidst the wet draperies, and lengthened, stretching upward.

  “Where are you?” Leonora’s voice cried. “I can’t see you.” Taboret dropped her invisible shield. She wrapped her strong fingers around the princess’s wrist, and pulled.

  “I’m making myself as light as I can,” Leonora’s voice said plaintively.

  “Help me,” Taboret gasped over her shoulders at the mercenaries. “Pull us back.”

  Maniune and Acton took hold of her legs, and dragged her along the ground. Taboret tucked her free arm under the princess’s shoulders as soon as she could, and held her tight around the ribs as the two men hauled them to safety. Leonora crawled a couple of paces on her knees, and stopped, rubbing her elbows, which were battered and scraped. She sealed the wounds, and looked up at her rescuers.

  “Thank the Sleepers for you,” she said, pushing back her wet black hair and wringing the water out of her clothes. “I wouldn’t have made it without help. Do you live nearby? I suppose most people live on the border. It is safer, isn’t it? My friends will be looking for me. Have you seen any of them?” Leonora looked up with a friendly expression, which abruptly turned to horror when she noticed Taboret’s blue-and-white summer tunic and pocket protector.

  In a twinkling, she was on her feet and running away like a doe. Just as swiftly, Maniune and Acton had separated, headed her off and pushed her backwards into the bushes where she couldn’t escape.

  “Not so fast, madam,” Maniune said, with a leer, leaning over her. “We’re happy to have you drop in for a visit.”

  The girl stared at both of them, then took a deep breath, but before she could scream, Acton had clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “Hah! This is even better than a trap,” Maniune said. “She’ll make a good hostage.” At that, Leonora started to change, becoming bigger and stronger. She intended to be no one’s hostage. Her clothes turned to leather armor, and a sword appeared in her hand. Taboret stared in admiration. Leonora had an astonishing amount of influence. In a moment, she would break free, and probably slay them all. Maniune rounded on Taboret, who ran up to help her.

  “Control her, damn you! Shut her up!” the mercenary growled. “Take that blasted sword away. Now! Or you know what’s coming to you.”

  Or into the hole, Taboret knew. Much against her will, she sent a wave of gestalt power at Leonora. The sword melted away into air, and the fist holding it dwindled into a small, lady-like hand once more. Leonora stood struggling in the hands of her captors, looking tiny, ethereal, beautiful, and delicate in the huge surcote, and furiously angry. The men seized her wrists. With a snap of her head, she changed her clothes back to the regal white robes, and glared at Taboret. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  “I’m sorry,” Taboret said, wishing she could explain. “I can’t let you yell. I have to do what they say, or else. They won’t hurt you, I promise.” Leonora turned up her nose and looked away. Taboret felt like a traitor.

  “Come on,” Maniune said. Leonora didn’t move, so he dug in his heels, stooped, and hoisted her over his shoulder. The princess kicked and punched at him as best she could upside down. He ignored the attacks. Thanks to Taboret she wasn’t strong enough to hurt him. “Master Brom will be very pleased with us.”

  Behind her, Taboret could still hear voices calling to one another, and shouting out the princess’s name. With a heavy heart, she followed the two men up the bank.

  Roan stood on the top of the bluff above the empty pilings of the ruined bridge with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Leonora!” He bent his head to listen, but heard only the echo of his own cry. There was no answer.

  It had been hours since they had climbed out of the river. Within a short time, everybody else had been found safe, if bruised and shaken. Golden Schwinn had turned up, saddle empty, but Leonora had not followed her horse. Devastated, Roan had run from village to village on the footpath along both sides along the gap, asking if anyone had seen her. No one had. Worried people from every town had come out to help in the search. They roamed both banks, calling.

  “Leonora!” he shouted, huskily. He was growing hoarse. The worst of it was that he blamed himself. Why hadn’t he made her go home to Mnemosyne as soon as she turned up in the desert with the steeds? Why had he allowed her to come along on what he knew would be a dangerous journey? It was all his fault. He had no idea if the snake had eaten her, or if she had drowned in the river current, or if she had come out ahead of them, and was waiting somewhere, wondering where they were. He hoped it was the latter. Roan had no idea how he would break the news to the king of his daughter’s disappearance. He’d probably be ordered to discontinue. If he was responsible for Leonora’s death, he’d do that anyhow.

  She had come back to him after Reverie, only to be lost again. This was precisely what he had feared from the beginning.

  When Bergold had fallen from the bridge fleeing from the snake, he’d become a seal. In that form he had spent the last hours diving and
swimming, searching the water for traces. Roan hadn’t seen him in some time, and wondered if he had found anything. He scanned the river again.

  “Leonora!” he shouted. The echo of his call skipped across the water.

  “She’s not down there,” Bergold’s voice said. Roan turned to look into the seal’s sympathetic brown eyes. “I saw no traces of blood or fabric. There’s no evidence at all of anything ill having occurred, lad. She’ll undoubtedly turn up farther down river, and somebody will see to it that she gets home. She’s more resilient than you think.” His black whiskers lifted in a ghost of his usual cheery grin, and Roan knew Bergold was as worried as he. “You’ll see. We’ll get back to Mnemosyne, and she will meet us at the very gates, demanding all the details before we’re even off our bikes.” He blew out his cheeks, and shook his sleek head, spraying water in a broad arc.

  “She’s spirited, I’ve always said it,” Spar put in gruffly. His eyes were red, and the lines framing his mouth were engraved deep. “Never give up.”

  Colenna laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You can’t kill an ideal, Roan.”

  “We’d better go on,” Roan said, at last. “We must complete our mission to save the Dreamland, no matter what. Leonora would want us to. But I want to leave someone behind, in case she finds her way back to this point. If she does return . . . here,” he added, a little less certainly, “then take her back to the palace immediately. I won’t risk her again.”

  “Alette, Hutchings,” Spar ordered. “Your assignment. Keep the search going. One of you remains on duty here at all times.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guards said in unison, standing at attention.

  Golden Schwinn squeaked piteously, and Cruiser leaned against her and rubbed front tires. Everyone was upset. They all wanted to say something to Roan, but when they met his eyes, they fell silent. Too devastated to speak, Roan mounted, and led the way up the headland. They rode along the rails several hundred yards downhill until they came to the point where the main road crossed overhead. Lum spurred his bike upward and scanned their surroundings as the others walked their steeds up the sharp incline and came level with him. The young corporal’s brows drew down as his gaze fixed on something to the right, and he jumped forward to pick it up.