by Helen Harper
‘Fine,’ I sigh. ‘In about thirty seconds, another Traveller is about to show up. I need you to attack us. Make it as vicious as you possibly can.’
The imp stares up at me with large, limpid eyes then it slowly reveals its sharp white teeth. I have no doubt that if I’d made any other request, it would refuse. Judging from the way it’s suddenly grinning at me, however, I think it’s going to relish every second of this. The Badlands creatures like this one might be relatively subdued these days, but that doesn’t mean they won’t take the opportunity to show their dark side when they can.
I smile grimly. ‘You can even tell all your little evil nightmare buddies that you attacked the dreamweaver and got away with it.’
It leaps up and starts to chatter in delight. Apparently, I’ve released a monster, something else I might end up regretting. I shake my head in dismay. Bloody Dante has a lot to answer for.
The dreamer, whoever she is, has already left my side and is striding up to the drawbridge. She holds her sword aloft. ‘Open up!’ she commands.
The whole castle shudders in response. There’s another crack of thunder and, appropriately, Dante apparates. Within seconds, he’s soaking wet. He swings his head from the dreamer, who is still brandishing her sword, to me. ‘Who is that?’
‘I don’t know! Just a random person I touched during the day. I waited for you to catch up, Dante, but something’s wrong. There’s…’
I don’t even have time to finish my sentence. The imp flies up towards my face, its lethal white teeth ready to plunge into my flesh. Dante yells and leaps in front of me, colliding with the imp and sending it smashing down to the ground. My hero.
‘I thought the Badlands were at bay!’ he yells at me, although his voice is now barely audible as the storm grows in intensity all around us. There’s a brief illuminating flash of lightning, revealing the imp in all its sodden glory. It pulls itself out of a puddle and glares at him.
‘They’re after me!’ I scream, trying desperately to make myself heard.
The imp shakes itself and launches upwards, its teeth latching onto Dante’s arm. He lets out a short bark of pain and grabs at it with his free hand, doing everything he can to pull it off. Even with his shirt soaked, I can see the blood seeping through.
‘They were in the last dream!’ I babble, the lies tripping from my mouth in desperate haste. ‘Three of them! If you track me, you’ll only end up getting hurt. We have to disapparate, Dante!’
‘Tell me where you are first,’ he yells back.
‘I told you! Copenhagen!’
The castle drawbridge begins to lower. The dreamer is oblivious to the real-life drama playing out in her own subconscious. I gesture towards her as if in warning. It’s not entirely a lie: any kind of monster could appear from the castle’s bowels. My little finger crooks towards the imp at the same time.
‘Where exactly in Copenhagen?’ Dante demands. ‘I’ll come to you. We’ll be safer together.’
Thankfully, the imp recognised my surreptitious hand movement for what it was. Either that or Dante doesn’t taste all that good. It releases its hold on his arm and springs at me instead. I throw up my hands. ‘I have to disapparate! Don’t follow! I need to try and shake them off and find out why they’re after me!’
In another blink – and before Dante can say a word of protest – I zip away.
Breathing hard, I find myself next to a swimming pool and bathed in sunshine. I flash out to a small house filled with yapping dogs, then a school yard with skipping children, a stand-off with the police, a rainbow, a boat, a bicycle, a tree, a giant rabbit eating candy floss… One after the other, I apparate in and disapparate out in quick succession. My movements are so fast and so blurred with confusion that when I reach my twentieth dream I collapse on my knees and start retching. There’s a very good reason why I don’t Travel like this very often.
When my stomach is completely empty, a smooth, blemish-free face peers down and gazes at me. ‘That’s disgusting,’ Lilith says. She wafts her hand in front of her face. ‘And your breath stinks.’
I push my sweat-soaked hair away from my forehead and gaze at her. ‘Thank you for the imp,’ I tell her.
She sweeps a curtsey, her hair flying out behind her as she does so. ‘You’re welcome. Although if I’d known you were a masochist and wanted to be attacked, I’d have done it myself.’ She cocks her head curiously. ‘What is going on with you? Is this going to stop the Department?’
‘I was in a temporary bind. If you’re looking for something in return…’
She holds up her hands. ‘You seem determined to think the worst of me. I’m on your side, Zoe from the quiet lands.’
I wonder if that’s really true. I acknowledge her words with a bob of my head. ‘I appreciate your help. Thank you for what you did.’
Lilith’s mouth curves into a smile. ‘That’s better.’ She stretches her arms upwards and knits her fingers behind her head. ‘I will be happy to help you again, you know. But I would like to know your plans.’ Her body language is deliberately nonchalant but her stillness shows her concern. ‘What are your plans?’
‘Get rid of the Department.’
‘You should hurry up,’ she comments smoothly.
I wrinkle my nose. Lilith’s world is very black and white. She’s also not yet finished. ‘And what will you do after you get rid of them? What will you do with the Dreamlands?’
I blink. ‘I’m not going to do anything with the Dreamlands.’
She laughs. ‘Of course you are. Some weavers are more successful than others and some are more … irresponsible than others. Which kind of weaver are you going to be? We already know you won’t hesitate to kill.’
I feel a surge of guilt. ‘The Sandman gave me no choice.’
‘And the Mayor?’
My voice is quiet. ‘That wasn’t me.’
She watches me for a moment. ‘I’d say it was. You put plans in motion that led directly to his death. You even involved me.’
I glance down involuntarily at my hands; I half-expect to see blood staining my skin. I’m no Lady Macbeth, I tell myself sternly. ‘All I want is some peace and quiet.’
Lilith raises her eyebrows. ‘Then you’re not as smart as I thought. You have a lot of power, weaver. You need to think before you use it or there will be devastation.’
The sudden intensity in her eyes scares me and I look away. Perhaps she has a point. All I’m focused on right now is stopping the Department – and Dante – in their tracks. I’ve not given any thought to what happens if I succeed. I suppose I imagined I’d continue with the status quo but, as the weaver, I might not get that chance.
‘I would like to be good,’ I say quietly. ‘I would like to help people. But there’s a fine line between doing what I think is right and manipulation.’
She purses her lips. ‘Then perhaps there’s hope for you yet and my faith in you is not misplaced.’ She drops her arms. ‘Do not hesitate to call on me again. I want the Department gone. I want my peace and quiet. We can work together, weaver.’ There’s a hiss of air and she vanishes.
I stay where I am for a moment or two, staring at the spot she’s vacated. There is no doubt in my mind that the Sandman was a twisted, evil bastard and both the Dreamlands and the real world are better without him. However, I can see the argument for the Badlands and the nightmares they create, and I understand that Lilith might be concerned about what I could do to upset the balance again. But I don’t want to do anything, I just want to live in safety.
I run my hands through my hair. Life used to be so much simpler.
Chapter Nine
Empty threats are for dreamers. And I fancy myself a realist.
Natalya Vorobyova
I drift through several more dreams, taking care this time not to Travel too quickly and stimulate another bout of nausea. There’s no further sign of Lilith and not a glimmer of Dante. I have to hope I’ve done enough to keep him away; I don’t want him aroun
d for any of this.
There’s a depressing similarity about dreams when you experience a lot of them. We like to think that we’re individuals but, with seven billion of us on the planet and shared cultures and experiences, we’re more alike than we think. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve apparated into someone’s head and found myself falling from a great height or being chased by some menacing creature or person. Unfortunately those kinds of dreams are particularly dangerous for me. The dreamers won’t get hurt, no matter what kind of landing they make or if the shadowy shape in their nightmares grabs them and garrottes them before munching on their entrails. I’m not so lucky. So, when I find myself trapped in a room that appears to be surrounded by lethal-looking spikes, all pointed inwards, I almost disapparate immediately. I catch myself in the nick of time because Frederik Jepsen’s personal assistant is standing next to me. Jackpot.
Initially, she seems confused. She’s turning round in a slow circle and examining the area with a puzzled look on her face. There’s an unpleasant metallic tinge in the air and a rise of indistinct whispers from the gloom beyond the spikes. I cock my head for a moment, trying to make out the words. Just when I think my ears are beginning to attune to the noise and separate the syllables, there’s a deep rumble. Jepsen’s PA squeaks in alarm. There’s a shudder and the ground starts to tremble. Her squeak changes to a high-pitched scream and the spikes move inwards, albeit ridiculously slowly.
I watch the woman; I’m interested in her reaction. She gives up on screaming and darts forward, as if she thinks that she can slide through one of the gaps between the spikes. She’s pushed back almost immediately. She whirls round again, desperately seeking escape. I can taste her rising terror on my tongue.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I consider my choices. I could help her out; after all, if she ends up impaled on a spike then I’ve learned nothing beyond the fact that she feels trapped. I could simply disapparate and leave her to it but the end result would be the same. If I weave her to safety, however, I might upset the balance of all her dreams and I’ll still learn nothing.
I ball my hands into fists and wait until the last possible moment. When the spikes are bare inches away from us, I finally act. ‘Hey,’ I say softly, transposing myself into her consciousness.
She spins towards me. ‘Help! You have to help! We have to get out of here!’
I nod calmly. ‘You have it within yourself to escape.’
Forgetting the proximity of the spikes, she extends a panicked hand and ends up with a nasty cut on her arm. ‘How the hell am I supposed to do that?’
‘You’ll find a way.’ I feel myself tensing; I estimate we have about twenty seconds left. Her blood is dripping in a steady stream onto the dark floor beneath us. ‘Think,’ I tell her. ‘Think.’ I cross my fingers tightly at the same time.
For a moment she doesn’t move. I’m starting to wonder if she’s entirely compos mentis when she straightens her shoulders. ‘I’ll ask my friend for help,’ she declares suddenly.
Just as the thought flits through my mind that her ‘friend’ had better be nearby, she raises her blood-soaked hand and waves. From out of nowhere, a gigantic clawed foot reaches down and hooks into the back of her thin shirt, lifting her body up into the air. I blink, lunge upwards and grab her dangling ankle, praying I have it within me to hang on.
Together we’re hoisted upwards by the creature she’s managed to summon. Within moments the cage of spikes vanishes and the dark edges of her dream transform into translucent blue. I crane my neck upwards. A bird, I finally realise; she’s been rescued by a gigantic bird. Okay.
A smile spreads across the woman’s face. Suddenly I realise what she’s about to do but it’s far too late. ‘Wait!’ I yell. ‘Don’t…’
She lets go and we fall, tumbling through the air. My stomach lurches upwards with a violent heave and my arms scrabble wildly for purchase, even though I know none exists. The hairs on my arms stand up and I forget to breathe. I squash down my rising panic. Disapparate; that’s all I have to do.
The woman flaps her arms and beams down at me. ‘Isn’t this amazing?’ she asks.
Bile rises in my stomach. I open my mouth to shout an answer but my words are swallowed up when I see feathers spreading across her body. Her nose elongates into a beak and her legs are transformed, then she swoops and dives and flaps away from me.
I forget to be scared. I’m in a dream and I should no longer be surprised by the stuff that pours out of people’s imaginations. From trapped in a cage to the freedom of the skies; this woman is certainly interesting. And if she can do it, so can I.
I squeeze my eyes shut, sternly tell myself to forget that I’m falling, and concentrate on copying her transformation. I’m a bird. I’m a bird. I’m a bird. I wave my arms up and down – and then I feel it. There’s a sudden updraft of warm air and I rise. A few heartbeats ago I had no control and now I’m soaring. I open my eyes. She was right: this is amazing.
I whoop loudly, although the sound comes out as more of a harsh caw than a human yelp of delight. I glance down at myself and see sleek black feathers fluttering as I fly. No bird of paradise or colourful parrot for me then; I’m a crow, a portent of evil. I push that thought away. I’m a good person, I remind myself.
I caw once more and test my boundaries, swerving first to the right and then to the left. The motion of flying seems virtually effortless. I could get used to this. I attempt a dive, spiralling downwards as adrenaline surges through me. I can’t see the ground below, there’s just the open expanse of sky and a feeling of liberty that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before. I can do anything. I can be anything.
Not if the Department catches you, says the tiny insistent voice in my head. I grimace. I’m here for a reason – and it’s not to swoop and soar and play around. Where has the woman gone?
I search for her. There’s no sign of the gigantic bird that rescued us. Behind me there’s only blue and it’s the same in front. When I narrow my eyes towards the left, however, I can see something there. I can’t tell what it is but anything that stands out in this turquoise desert has to be important. I veer round and head straight for it, accelerating as I do so.
It’s not until I get close that I realise it’s a tree, quite possibly the strangest-looking tree I’ve ever seen but definitely a tree. There’s no sign of its roots. I still can’t make out the ground below and there’s nothing else to be seen. The woman, still in bird form, is circling the cloud of green foliage at its top and has a look of sharp focus in her beady eyes. I slow down and join her. What’s going on now?
Tracking her gaze, I glance down. Then I see it. There’s a large, surprisingly comfortable-looking nest sitting in the crook of one of the branches. Nestled in its centre is a single speckled egg. Curious, I circle closer. So does the woman.
There’s a barely audible crack. As I stare at the egg, a small fissure appears, followed by a tiny beak poking through. Another fissure appears, then another. More of the baby bird inside starts to emerge. There’s even a little cheep. Warmth spreads through me; this might be an imaginary bird in an imaginary tree but it’s still wonderful to watch.
Then, without warning, the woman rams into me, sending my body spinning. I lurch to the side, flapping my wings vigorously to try and regain control. I right myself in time to see her swoop straight to the nest. With one sharp nudge of her beak, she knocks the egg off its perch. As its head emerges from the shell, the baby bird tumbles down into the blue nothingness below.
Shocked into inaction, I stare. Flapping her wings contentedly, the woman settles down into the spot vacated by the egg and starts to preen her wings. I feel sick.
I fly down towards her, taking care to perch on a nearby branch not too close to the apparently desirable nest. ‘It won’t work,’ I tell her sadly.
Her feathers ruffle and she puffs up. ‘It might.’ Despite her bravado, I don’t think I’m imagining the look of desperation in her eyes. She clucks t
o herself then her wings flutter with growing intensity. Slightly alarmed, I hop backwards but I needn’t have bothered. She raises herself up slightly and out pops a brand new egg of her own. Oh.
I shake my head. Enough of this; I have what I need, whether I want it or not. Leaving Jepsen’s PA to cluck after her egg, I finally let myself disapparate completely.
There’s something very disheartening about waking up in the gloomy cupboard. It’s cold, although the shiver running through my body isn’t because of the temperature. I’ve been backed into a corner by the Department and I can’t see a way out. It doesn’t prevent me from feeling revulsion at what I’ve allowed myself to see. I can’t dwell on it, however. If life were fair then I’d never have heard of the Dreamlands; I’d be a normal person like everyone else.
I heave a sigh, push my fingers through my hair, forgetting that it’s now short and spiky rather than long and tangled, and sit up. I did this and I can’t start regretting my actions now. I push myself up off the floor and check the time. It’s still early enough for the mall outside to be closed. That’s good; it gives me time to scout out the area and find exactly what I need.
***
On the ground floor, directly in front of a lavish display of fake foliage, is a café. It might not be a brand name which I recognise like Starbucks, but I’m certain from its prominent position that it’ll be a busy wee place. Even better, there’s a balcony overhanging the first floor that overlooks the entire area, so there’s the potential for several excellent vantage points. Just because I feel like I have the upper hand doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be prepared for every eventuality.
I pinch off a headache – all this cloak and dagger business really doesn’t suit me – and watch as the first of the morning shoppers bustle around. As soon as I’m satisfied that the café is the best possible place, I make my way to the payphone at the far end of the mall. I tamp down the temptation to call my mother and the others and focus on the matter in hand.
