The Dream Hopper (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 2)

by Shawn Mackey

  “Yes, yes,” he said, his voice trailing off with his listless gaze.

  In the distance, the jungle seemed to end, or at least the scenery changed. The trees were smaller and the ground less sandy. The jungle emptied into a grassy clearing. To our sides, the grass was nearly as tall as the trees, while the front was not much higher than our ankles. The short path led to a spring. Unlike the emerald ocean, this water was clear. We rushed to the area, a safe haven as far as appearances were concerned.

  “Don’t touch the water,” the Professor said.

  “Didn’t need the warning. Not after everything back there. What do you think it’ll be this time?”

  “Nothing if we keep moving.”

  We walked around the clean pool of water and onto a new path. The grass had been flattened, the faint outline of footprints discernible. I doubted the inhabitants could be any worse than those trees. Now that we were at least near some sort of population, Beatrice crossed my mind. Was she really gone? If we didn’t find her up ahead, I could no longer ignore the more unfortunate outcome.

  The path brought us to an open field and the first sign of civilization. A dome structure, shaped much like the Professor’s observatory, lay in the rightmost portion of the field, opposite another path broader than the one we traveled. The large dome was supported by pillars, and rather than a hill, four stairways surrounded it. We walked up these stairs, eager to find its inhabitant. The Professor seemed to be taking my lead, probably feeling a bit of dread mixed in with his eagerness. His grave expression made me slow my strides a bit.

  The interior was vacated, only a dusty broken up altar with a headless statue standing over it. The vandal had struck years ago, judging by the decayed debris. The statue’s body depicted a muscular man dressed in a tunic, clutching a bladeless sword hilt in one hand. His other arm was severed at the elbow. The destroyed pieces had been mashed into bits.

  “Doc, if you’ve got anything to say, say it. I don’t care if it’s a hypothesis. What do we got here?”

  “A desecrated altar,” he said. “Not destroyed. It would have been leveled if it were a later period, as well as most of the wildlife we just passed. I’d place us somewhere in Cytherean antiquity, if I were to compare in modern terms. Earthly terms, I should say.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Good? I couldn’t say for sure. Probably not. The Cythereans are still very warlike. Temples don’t lie far from villages. If it’s in ruins, then we’re in the middle of one of their wars. A particularly brutal one.”

  “And if there’s people?”

  “I would rather not run into the Cythereans,” he said. “It sounds blasphemous. I can’t deny the potential danger, now that I’m actually here. While the Cythereans look radically different, we resemble them enough to stir hostility.”

  “But not their curiosity?”

  “Again, I can’t say for sure. It depends on the village. Perhaps they’ve been beaten into timidity. I can only suggest we tread lightly.”

  We traveled the broad path in silence. I could tell the wheels were turning in the Professor’s head. My mind wouldn’t leave Beatrice. The reality was sinking like a slow acting poison, with a tinge of anger at my idiocy. Why did I leave her to drown? Things always had a funny way of working out for me. Why would she be any different? I could only tell myself that so many times.

  The Professor seized me by the shoulder and quietly pointed in the distance. In one of the taller trees off the path, a small wooden fort lay at the top, secured by rope and two large branches. It looked worn and decayed, enough of the interior visible to ensure no one was watching.

  “Tread lightly,” the Professor whispered. We continued to walk, quieting our steps a bit.

  Not far off, the smell of burning wood and flesh permeated the air. That sort of familiar carnage brought a moment of relief, but only for a moment. Around the bend, we found the charred remains of several huts, some barely standing and others less than piles of ashy wood. One stood unharmed. Unlike the ravaged temple, something stirred inside. The Professor and I stopped to regain our bearings. My eyes wandered for a weapon. Nothing but rocks and broken wood planks. Besides, we should probably present ourselves as peaceful. We weren’t looking for a fight.

  “Side of the house,” the Professor whispered so low I thought it was my imagination. A figure hid with its back to the house’s side, invisible if one weren’t seeking it. The creature’s shadow confirmed my eyes weren’t playing tricks.

  “Come on out,” I said. It moved with a jolt, sprinting behind the tiny wooden hut. “We won’t hurt you.”

  “He won’t understand,” the Professor said.

  “Show yourself,” I called out. “There’s two of us and one of you. If we wanted to hurt you, we would have done so already. Step out and make it easy for all of us.”

  “You are a cruel man,” a voice called out. The figure stepped from behind the house, making his way to the front. There wasn’t much distance between us, but I could barely discern him from a human male other than the slight yellow tint of his skin. “Is it not enough for my family to die? Is it not enough to lose my home? Must you pick the bones? Pillage the wounded?”

  “Impossible,” the Professor whispered, fumbling with his glasses. “A Cytherean in the flesh.”

  “We aren’t from around here, if you couldn’t tell. We come from across the sea,” I said. The man’s hand slowly moved away from the sword hilt at his belt. “Not for the reasons you’re thinking. Our boat crashed.”

  “I can trust you. Can you trust me?” he asked. Extending his arm forward with palm up.

  “We trust you,” I said, mimicking the same gesture. “I don’t know what the hell this means.”

  “You mentioned wounded, young man,” the Professor said, clasping the Cytherean’s hand with both of his. “Can we help? Please, give us the opportunity to show our good faith.”

  “Too late for them,” the Cytherean said grimly. “Message of Muego’s wrath.”

  He pointed to the hut’s open doorway. As we neared, smeared blood served as an early warning to our next sight: three bodies. One had been disemboweled, either dead or in his last slumber. Another was covered with dozens of bruises and abrasions, her chest steadily moving with each labored breath. The third was a small boy hunched in the corner. Though his wounds weren’t visible, he was utterly still.

  “Her,” the Professor said. “She can be saved.”

  “My sister,” the man said, his face a few inches from mine. I finally had a clear view of the drastic differences the Professor mentioned. The man’s eyes bulged out considerably, his black pupils swallowing up most of the corneas. The bridge of his nose was like an infant’s glued to a man’s face, and the nostrils just as small. He seemed to breathe out of his mouth, which was indiscernible from a human’s from a glance.

  “May I have a look?” the Professor asked. As he moved inside the hut, the Cytherean seized his arm with a hiss.

  “Not a matter of trust,” he said. “She’s sick.”

  “Are those markings from the illness?”

  “Yes,” the Cytherean said. “She was with me during the attack. Helping me hunt. She fell from a cliff. I tended to her wounds. Her injury saved my life. It would have saved hers if I had listened to our father. I used the pool’s water. It gave her enough strength to return. This was two days ago.”

  “The pool way back by the temple?” I asked. He squinted at me, covering the whites of his eyes.

  “Temple?”

  “The building. With the statue and the altar. Don’t tell me there’s a language barrier all of a sudden.”

  “That,” he said, nodding. “There are many pools like it. This is much closer.”

  “What about the water? Is it poisoned?” the Professor asked.

  “By Muego, right before the attack,” he replied. “A droplet of his blood. It was small. How could I have noticed?”

  “Who is this Muego?”

  �
��Warlord of the north. He wishes to cross the sea. Plunder our villages. What he did not kill he stole for rowing ships.”

  “What’s across the sea?” the Professor asked. The Cytherean squinted again.

  “What does Muego want across the sea?” I asked.

  “To conquer,” the Cytherean said. “He has the tribes on his side. It is enough to succeed.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Are your people strong?”

  “Beyond your ken, pal. Muego’s either a fool or a liar. I’m betting on both, especially the latter. He probably wants to control this side of the world. He wouldn’t make a play on both.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’ve met plenty like him. They think the world’s always ripe for conquering, and they end up with a knife to the back. I bet the tribes are planning on ousting him right now, each leader thinking they’re going to be the one to pick up the pieces. Justice will be served.”

  “His death will not return my home.”

  “It won’t.”

  “But his head would bring me everything.”

  “It would.”

  “The man who kills Muego takes the tribes. My father once told me I was destined for greatness.”

  “So did mine. We can help you. Unlike you, we’ll settle for a boat ride home.”

  “With as many riches as it can carry,” the Cytherean said, extending his hand. I clasped it with a shake. “Muego is two days ahead. His army is too busy ravaging the other villages.”

  “So we follow the freshest trail of blood slaughter?”

  “Allow me to spend a moment with my sister,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said. The Professor and I moved away as he entered the hut. “You up for some adventure, Doc?”

  “I have a question. It’s strange, but please oblige,” he said. I gave a nod. “When we met, did you think I was insane?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ve had a moment of clarity. I believe this is all a dream.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I made all of this up. There are no Cythereans. I’m not an astronomer. I’m not even a professor. This is all an elaborate dream.”

  “What about me?”

  “The only thing straying me from my theory.”

  “I can assure you this isn’t a dream, even if it’s a work of fiction. Just think of yourself as a prophet.”

  “I’m having trouble doing that.”

  “Look,” I said, grabbing him roughly by the shirt. “I lost Beatrice. You may think we’re part of an elaborate dream, but I’m real and she sure as hell is too. You get any stupid ideas like pinching yourself or trying to fly, you’re gonna wish the Cythereans were the worst of your troubles. Until I find Beatrice, you stick to me like glue. Got it?”

  “Yes,” he said. I let go.

  “Sorry for getting violent. Let’s forget all that ever happened. This is serious.”

  “Of course.”

  The Cytherean left the hut, carrying the dead girl in his arms. He started walking toward the surrounding wilderness. With a pause, he faced us and called out: “I must bury her with the rest of my family. Be patient, friends.”

  “Michael,” I called out. “My name is Michael. This is Rufus. Your name?”

  “Gorgo,” he responded, walking south. We were quiet until he was out of sight.

  “Let’s say it is a dream, and that all this was cooked up by your genius. Where are we? Better yet, when are we?” I asked.

  “The very end of the Tribal Period. This Muego is a particularly ruthless fellow, the type seemingly destined to unite his fellow men, even if it is under the banner of war. I believe you summed up his megalomania quite well. He plans to conquer the world.”

  “And he takes a knife to the back.”

  “Assassinated by a Cytherean named Gorgo the Unclean.”

  -

  In the few hours we traveled the jungles of Venus, we found far more dead Cythereans than living. Not a single village withstood the warlord’s wanton lust for plunder. Dwellings were picked clean, all items of value either taken or destroyed. The dead lay naked, many stripped of various body parts, their eyes and ears more valuable as trophies than their meager belongings. One of the dying spoke of Muego’s blood tax.

  The surrounding villages once belonged to the tribe leader known as Magnus. Gorgo insisted we seek his war band for arms and other supplies. His father was the former village chief and an old friend of Magnus, so we would be permitted to enter the camp with little trouble. The massacre was due to an unlucky draw, according to a wandering Cytherean. Magnus pulled the wrong lot, and as a result, forfeited a portion of his territory. Muego had apparently gone too far, with no signs of even considering reigning in the other tribes.

  Magnus was camped outside the walls of a city named Vini. Though we couldn’t see anything beyond the walls, the thousands of tents outside bustled with Cythereans, as though the entire civilization had congregated to a single spot. Rufus and I weren’t permitted near the city or the camp. I wasn’t exactly eager to confront such a large mass of armed soldiers probably itching for combat.

  “Tell me more about Magnus,” I said once Gorgo left. Rufus had been silent since the beginning of our trek across the jungle, though I had no doubt the wheels had been turning in his head.

  “Not quite as cruel as Muego, and not as magnanimous as Gorgo thinks,” Rufus said. “He’s supposed to kill Gorgo shortly after the assassination and takes the place of Muego. It feels cruel not to tell him.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “We won’t be sticking around that long anyway. After Muego drops dead, we disappear.”

  “That’s rather optimistic.”

  “What’s stopping us?”

  “Oh, just an army of a few hundred thousand vengeful Cythereans.”

  “For Muego?”

  “There’s a reason he united the tribes. Do you think Magnus allows him to sack his lands for charitable reasons? He’s biting his tongue, so to speak, but he knows better than to cross Muego.”

  “You’re making it sound like this is going to be difficult.”

  “We were speaking hypothetically before. Nothing is set in stone. Yes, this will be difficult. Impossible, in my opinion.”

  “We’ll find out when we get there.”

  Gorgo returned with hulking two Cythereans, both a head taller than him, their skin yellow as a banana peel. They simultaneously stopped, hands clutching their sheathed swords. Gorgo approached us with a somewhat apprehensive expression.

  “Magnus wants to meet you,” he said. “Not a matter of trust. Says he wants to see the men across the sea. Just wants a look.”

  “That’s it?” I asked. He nodded. “You sure?”

  “Yes. No trouble at all.”

  “Then why do you look scared?”

  “Magnus is strange. He will help us. Just strange.”

  We followed the guards into the crowded camp. The Cythereans stepped aside, opening a clear path. I kept my eyes straight ahead, fully aware of the thousands of alien stares, some hostile and some curious, and all bizarre. Their chatter was too numerous to decipher an overall impression. All I could gather was that we were safe for now.

  The guards opened the entrance of a large tent. Rufus and I followed Gorgo’s lead. Nearly a dozen Cythereans were inside, all of which surrounded a throne. The massive seat was fashioned from glossy tree bark, with the foot of each leg a pale white skull much like the ones we encountered earlier. The Cytherean seated on the throne wore a white toga with flower heads attached to the frilly sleeves. Black symbols decorated the entirety of his milky yellow arms. He acknowledged us with a wide smile. His teeth were large and gleaming.

  “The one is quite fat! And wrinkled like a dry prune. What is his purpose?”

  “That line of questioning is considered rude in our part of the world,” I said.

  “Leaving a question unanswered is rude as well.”

 
“He’s old,” I said.

  “The head is quite small, the nose is large, and the nostrils—”

  “Keep your thoughts to yourself. Let’s get down to business.”

  “Can I offer you tea?”

  “I decline.”

  “I insist,” he said. A robed Cytherean held two small cups containing a steamy green liquid. Rufus eagerly drank it down. I was about to smell it, but thought better and just drank it. Magnus smiled again. “I like the plump one. The other, not so much. What do you say, Gorgo?”

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “As all rabble should, unless queried by their superior. What do you say, Gorgo?”

  “I have no answer.”

  “Then why not bring my best instead?”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Because these are not your soldiers. Your soldiers are swine. My village is dead. These two are the next best.”

  “A superb reply! You do my soldiers a kindness, calling them swine. They are swill, not swine. Your ilk is swine.”

  “Very well.”

  “Back to business, as your friend says. My objection does not pertain to your plan, rather to the outcome. Why forfeit the glory to an unclean one such as you?”

  “I require vengeance for my tribe. The glory is for Magnus.”

  “Is it?” he said, twirling a flower stem between his fingers. He snapped off the head and placed it in his mouth, closing his eyes as the dark pupils rolled back. After a few deep breaths, he swallowed and said: “Your father was one of my best. He taught you well?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have no doubts. You have the look of a savage. If he were not such a scoundrel, I would pity Muego. One more question before we part: Why do you trust me?”

  “Because I have no ill intent.”

  “Unless I were Muego,” Magnus said with a laugh. He waved to the nearest Cytherean. “Arm them with our best. Do not be stingy.”

  We left the camp with two steel swords and a golden hilted dagger. The latter went to Gorgo, who explained the plan upon leaving the camp. Muego had left Vini last night, leaving behind a majority of his troops. He and his vanguard were headed for a village in the north at the behest of his advisor. Their business was pressing and would take up to two days, according to Magnus. That left us ample time to catch up. If we brought back the head of Muego, the city of Vini would fall to Magnus, and we’d be richly rewarded.