Waking in Dreamland

by Jody Lynne Nye

  “What is it?” Bergold asked, his whiskers erect.

  “Read it,” Roan said grimly, thrusting the note at his old friend. He didn’t trust his own voice.

  Bergold unfolded the crumpled paper and spread it out on his handlebars. “Yes, this confirms our guesses. How can he think we’ll withdraw? His possession of the princess only doubles our need to catch up with him.”

  “He must have some means of seeing our movements,” Colenna said, digging in her handbag for her handkerchief. “Does that power collective of his have a kind of clairvoyance?”

  “They must,” Felan said. “How else could they know what they do?”

  “It’s a bluff,” Spar said. “They won’t dare hurt her. Does that self-important bully say so?”

  “No,” Bergold said. He rolled the note back into a ball and balanced it on his nose, then flipped it to Roan.

  “Then we go on,” Spar said. “Right, sir?”

  “We do,” Roan said, swinging back aboard Cruiser, who stood with his handlebars quivering, echoing his master’s intensity. “Brom just gave up his last hope of mercy.”

  “We’ll tear him to pieces,” Spar said, spurring his beast onward. “And what’s left, we’ll scoop into a little bag to bring back for trial. I’ll personally give him a grand tour to his insides. And,” he looked over his shoulder at Roan, “I’ll . . .”

  But Roan was staring past the guard captain in alarm.

  “Spar, halt!” he cried. He reached for the rear bumper of Spar’s bike, and Colenna leaned against him just in time. Spar stopped short, almost turning his bicycle over in his haste.

  In the middle of the main road was an irregular rectangle of gray film, or so it seemed. But as Roan looked at it, a pattern emerged in it, like a gigantic spider web, compelling them forward like helpless flies. The grayness tore at his mind, thirsting for his life. Roan shuddered, and turned his eyes away, breaking the spell. It was the largest hole in reality he had ever seen.

  “Nightmares!” Misha breathed.

  “Nightmares, indeed,” said Bergold.

  “You nearly went into that, Spar,” Felan said, the blood drawn out of his face.

  “I saw it,” Spar said, peevishly. “Almost as obvious as the nose on your face. Some subtlety Brom’s showing, hanging this thing in the road like the day’s washing. Ride around it!” he shouted to the others, a little more forcefully than necessary. “Lum, Hutchings, Alette, on guard! Move it! Keep clear!”

  Roan steered Cruiser and Golden Schwinn to the left, guiding them past the pegs of rock obviously securing the web of influence in place. He felt the pull of the vortex. It was strong. Brom and his minions were playing with dangerous levels of power. Left unchecked, a hole this big could devastate a large city.

  “Hurry up,” Spar said. “If we linger too long it might yank us in any which way.”

  “Who’s that?” Misha cried, pointing. Roan gasped as one hand, then another, appeared from inside the hole, clutching the bottom edge for dear life. The fingers were bleeding and burned. They rushed towards it. “Could it be the princess?”

  “Stay back!” Spar barked. “It’s a trap.”

  “No,” Colenna said, holding onto Misha as an anchor. She bent down to peer over the edge. “There’s a man in there. He’s just barely holding on.” She put her arm into the vortex, and Misha braced himself to take her weight. “Can you hear me, sir?” she called. “Take my hand!”

  “Can’t,” came a feeble voice over the roar. “Help me!”

  Colenna looked impatiently at the circle of men. “Well, do something!”

  Roan took a rope out of his saddlebag, and opened the piton attachment of his pocket knife. He tied the rope to it and plunged it into the ground. He unreeled the rope into the hole. It immediately went taut as the vortex took it, and started to whirl in a circle. Holding the rope, Roan inched himself close enough to look in. His hair whipped at his ears and eyes, but he got an impression of a figure with dark hair clinging to a wisp of solidity that was part of the barrier between reality and chaos.

  “Can you take the rope?” Roan shouted to the man. The man’s face turned up toward him, eyes squeezed nearly shut. His body was flat out, feet toward the vortex. He shook his head at Roan.

  “Don’t dare.”

  “I’d better go in for him,” Roan said, over his shoulder. He reached for the rope, and looped it around his arm. The spinning length chafed at his wrist, whipping his skin again and again. He played the rope out a foot or two, preparing to climb into the hole.

  “Not you, sir,” Lum said, holding on to his shoulder. “Can’t risk you. I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll do it, sir,” Alette said, turning to Spar. “I’m good at rappeling.”

  “Well, someone do it,” Colenna said, impatiently, wringing her hands. The man’s fingers tightened in agreement.

  Roan and Misha felt over the edge until they found the man’s wrists, and hauled at him. Felan and the guards held tight to their belts and legs. Bergold stood by and honked raucous encouragement.

  The vacuum pulling at them from the hole was tremendous. Several times Roan felt his feet leave the ground. It was only the determination of Spar and Alette hanging onto him that kept him from being whisked into the next world. He could hardly see a thing in the swirling blankness. The stranger let go one hand and grasped Roan’s sleeve.

  “Ready?” Roan shouted. “One big pull! One . . . two . . . three!”

  “Three!” Misha yelled, throwing his weight back. The man came shooting out of the hole like a greased cork, and landed on top of them. He lay still for a moment, then feebly raised his head.

  “Thank you,” he gasped. They helped him to sit up.

  He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a shock of dark hair and tan skin that was just beginning to regain its color. On one side of his face there was a colossal bruise, and his hands were bloody. Colenna had a wad of cotton and a bottle of disinfectant out of her purse before Roan could even ask for it, and was treating the lacerated palms.

  “Just a minute,” Spar said, looming over them. “Look at his clothes! He’s one of Brom’s people! Corporal, arrest him!”

  Roan glanced at the young man’s attire. He was indeed clad in the blue-and-white tunic of the Ministry of Science, but he had lost all the pencils out of his pocket protector. The man shook his head, open-mouthed, in protest.

  “Left here as a decoy,” Lum said, staring at him fiercely.

  “No, I’m not a decoy,” the man said, swallowing hard. “They threw me in, tried to kill me. Roan, you know me. My name’s Glinn.”

  “They’ll say anything,” Spar growled, thrusting his face into the young man’s. “Don’t trust him!”

  “But I do know him,” Roan said, pushing the captain away. He squatted down beside the apprentice. “Glinn, why did they throw you into that hole?”

  Glinn groaned, and gingerly put the icebag Colenna offered him on the side of his face. “I’ve been leaving clues for you to follow. Brom must have found out.”

  “You’re the one?” Roan asked. Glinn struggled to his feet, and Roan supported him. They were almost the same height. “I cannot tell you how grateful we are. We’d have lost the way a dozen times without your help.”

  “Well, we don’t need it now,” Spar said, dubiously. “That cursed Clock’s leaving a swath of distortion as wide as the great outdoors.”

  “What?” the apprentice demanded, swaying unsteadily at his feet. He politely refused Colenna’s offer of brandy. “What distortion?”

  “Your master’s device has been perverting reality,” Bergold said, pointing up and down the road with a flipper. “It’s grown worse as you’ve gone along. Look at the road. See that glassing effect? Look at that squirrel, er, raven, er, whatever.” Glinn looked up and down at the shiny expanse of the road and the bird-animal perching on a nearby park bench.

  “I never saw any of this,” he said, pale and shocked. “We hardly ever backtracked, and
I was preoccupied. How unaware I’ve been. What horrors!”

  “Well, that’s one bird in the bag,” Spar said to Roan. “We’ll catch the others, too. Do we have to tie him up?”

  “I won’t run away,” Glinn said eagerly. “I want to help. Ever since we left Mnemosyne I’ve been trying to get Brom to go back.”

  “It’s another trap,” Hutchings said, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “No, truly,” Glinn protested. “I mean no harm. I want the experiment ended as much as you! When Carodil and the king said no to the plan, I did try to persuade Brom to stay and study further, but he was convinced, and talked my colleagues into going along with him. I was outnumbered as well as outranked. It was impossible to reason with him. When Brom told me you were chasing us, I welcomed it. I thought when you caught up we could persuade Brom to return.”

  “Didn’t work, did it?” Felan said, unimpressed.

  “Not very well,” Glinn admitted, hanging his head. “I stayed with the group to act as the voice of sanity. I was doing fairly well, too.”

  “What happened?” Bergold asked.

  Glinn shrugged simply. “I fell in love,” he said. “She’s been helping me, but she started leaving by markers behind on her own. She’s a good scientist. Even she was appalled by the reality when she understood it. I think she let a thought slip accidentally, and Brom found us out. She’s still in their hands. Brom is . . . not kind to dissenters.”

  “We’ll save her, but we must get Leonora back,” Roan said. “He took her from near this spot. Is she all right?”

  Glinn closed his eyes. “I think so. All I am seeing right now is a pig. But I can tell you where they’re going.”

  “Good,” Spar said. “That’ll take the guesswork out of things. Where?”

  Glinn started to speak, but Roan stopped him. “Do you have some kind of telepathy with Brom?”

  “The link is a function of the gestalt,” Glinn said. “I’ll explain it all later, but you are right. They can see through my eyes, even hear what I say.” He turned around and put his hands behind him. The hands pantomimed wiggling.

  “Snakes?” Bergold guessed. “A river?”

  Glinn’s hand made an “ok” sign.

  “Follow the Lullay?” Roan asked. No, the hand waved back and forth, then the first two fingers made an arcing gesture. Glinn shook his head. “Ah, over.”

  “Toward the Dark Mysteries?” Felan asked.

  The hand waved no, and Glinn edged so his backside was pointing more toward the north, then he clapped his hands over his ears as the others exclaimed aloud.

  “Ah! In the Deep Mysteries,” Bergold said, enlightened, clapping his flippers together. He tapped Glinn on the knee. The scientist uncovered his ears.

  “Where among them?” Bergold asked. “It’s a big place.”

  The hand wiggled again.

  “On the river?” The hand made an “ok” sign, then bent upward to pat Glinn on the back over his heart. The apprentice certainly had flexible wrists. “To its heart?”

  “The source,” Bergold said, eagerly. He and Roan spread out the great map between them. “But there’s nothing here but the waterfall, and upriver, the Dreamland ends.”

  No, the hand twitched. It arced again, this time angling down. Roan nodded. Underneath. Glinn covered his ears again.

  “To its source,” he said. “The Hall is underneath the waterfall.” He tapped the apprentice on the shoulder.

  “How very interesting,” Colenna said. “Do you know, there are theories to that end, although no one has ever been able to penetrate the waterfall. According to my studies . . .”

  “Don’t,” Glinn said, concerned. “Please. Anything I hear, they hear.”

  “But we’ve only been guessing,” Colenna said. She whipped a large slate and chalk out of her bag. She turned the board toward Roan and the others and began to write. She must have taught school, Roan thought, as she wrote upside down and backwards in perfectly legible script.

  “What he says makes sense,” she wrote. “The Lullay has always been a symbol of the Collective Unconscious. The Sleepers, if they are anywhere, could well be there.” Roan nodded agreement. They would go in that direction.

  “But I must warn you,” Glinn said, when they had finished, “there’s a spy in this camp, telling Brom your every move.”

  “Who?” Roan asked, shocked. “Who is it?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Glinn said, staring carefully at the trees, and not at them. “I don’t know. Brom never let us know his or her name. He or she’s been misleading you at Brom’s orders. But I am a worse spy. As part of the gestalt, what I know is open to the others. It’s still intermittent as yet, but they can see through my eyes, hear my thoughts. They can even use my strength at a remove. I can do it, too, but I am only one of a great and powerful whole. They outnumber me, so they could pull back all influence I try to use. You must not tell me anything or say anything in my presence you don’t want Brom to know. He might already know I am with you. Be very careful.”

  “We should tie you up and leave you here,” Spar said, impatiently. “You’re just planning to lull us into believing you, and then, kerblam!” Some of the others muttered agreement. Roan couldn’t blame them, but he remembered Glinn as a truthful and honorable man.

  “No, truly, I am willing to help,” Glinn insisted. “How can I make you trust me?”

  “Where’s the princess Leonora?” Roan asked.

  Glinn shut his eyes again. “I can see her now, but only weakly. That means only one or two of them are looking at her. She’s alive and well.”

  “Thank the Sleepers for that!” Roan exclaimed. Poor Leonora, in the hands of those unscrupulous villains.

  “We were sent back on the road with Brom’s two mercenaries to set up a trap. They must have kidnapped her when you had your backs turned. She makes a good hostage. Her safety is important to you, and Brom knows it. I can feel that in his mind.”

  “You’ll have to come with us. We’ll blindfold you,” Roan said. He felt in his pocket for a handkerchief, and came out with Leonora’s blue silk scarf. “Stay with us. We have a good map. Will he return?”

  “I doubt it. He’ll know I said this to you, but he can’t afford to waste time turning around to get me. He’ll go on. I would. It is logical to continue.” He held still as Roan bound the scarf around his eyes.

  “Don’t believe this man,” Felan said, astonished. “He’s a traitor! He betrayed one confidence, he can betray another.”

  Glinn shook his head. “Think what you will. My job as a scientist is to discover truth, and I would be less than a man if I didn’t stick to that.”

  With care, they put him on Golden Schwinn, who consented to carry him only because he bore a token that smelled like the princess. Roan spoke to the steed very gently until Glinn was in the saddle.

  “Hurry,” Glinn said. “This is the last push.”

  Spar directed his guards to ride flanking the scientist, as an added security measure, then led the party onward, up the plain toward the gentle rise in the land that hid the Lullay from view. Roan stayed beside Golden Schwinn to reassure her.

  He wished someone would reassure him. A spy in the camp. Who could it be? He liked and trusted all of his companions. They had stuck by him throughout the arduous journey, in the face of personal danger and hardship. Could it be that they had missed catching up with Brom because of some traitor’s machinations? Had he been led astray by design?

  “. . . What do you think?” Glinn asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Roan asked. The scientist had been talking, and Roan hadn’t heard a word. Glinn turned his blindfolded face toward him.

  “We can go directly to where Brom is taking the Alarm Clock, or you can continue to follow his trail,” he said. “Under most circumstances I’d recommend the former alternative, because we memorized no fewer than eight separate plans with variations in the route indicated, but you are concerned about Her Highn
ess.”

  That put Roan on the horns of an uncomfortable dilemma.

  “Will he do anything to Leonora?” he asked.

  “Nothing before he reaches the Hall of the Sleepers,” Glinn said, tilting his head toward the sound of Roan’s voice. “He won’t dare. She’s the only real weapon he has against you. That, and distance.”

  “We have to stop him before he gets there,” Roan said, and gathered the group under his eye. “To whichever of you has been sending Brom messages, you can tell him that we will catch him, and I will see that he’s punished for his deeds.”

  “Can we speed up at all?” Lum asked.

  “I can tap the gestalt,” Glinn offered, “but bear in mind that Brom might snatch the power back at any time. He might even try to control us through me. We are all so near to becoming one entity that I have to fight all the time to keep my mind clear. If he does try, you might have to kill me to break the connection.”

  “No fear, my lad,” Spar said, tapping the hilt of his sword. “Go on, then, give us a boost.”

  “To the river,” Roan said.

  Subtly at first, the bikes began to speed up. Their tires narrowed by half, then half again, humming on the road. At the next turn of influence, they changed back into horses. Bergold went from seal to man in the space of one pace, and clutched the back of his plump steed, which streamlined into a long-legged racer, speeding as smoothly as an express train. Faster and faster the hooves thundered on the slick roadbed. The landscape whipped by, and Roan concentrated on only what was ahead of him: Leonora, Brom, and the Alarm Clock.

  Chapter 33

  “The time has come,” Brom said. He stood with his hands raised beside his motorbike at the side of the road. “Maniune, Acton, to your guard posts. We must not be disturbed.”

  Taboret raised her head. Over the headlands before them, she saw the majestic panorama of the Deep Mysteries, broad, purple-black peaks against the sky, wreathed with ruffs of white cloud. There, on the other side of the broad Lullay River, lay the answer to the question Brom posed, and there would be the end of everything as she knew it. Surely her next existence wouldn’t include a coat of tar. She hated her own smell, and she stuck to everything, including the bicycle seat and handlebars. Brom’s voice boomed out again, distracting her from her misery.