“And what did you do to earn his ire?” Alec asked.
Veleda shivered as she answered, “He delights in prophecies. Hearing of my talents, he called me forth. Unlike others who sang falsely of his glory, I saw what was underneath. I understood his origin, and in doing so, incurred his wrath.”
“So you fled here,” Alec guessed.
“And found you,” Veleda sighed.
“I’m a temporary saviour, at best.” His voice was subdued. He almost sounded guilty. “What now?”
Veleda approached the image of a door that had been painted in abstract shapes and startling colors, sharply contrasting the drab bricks. “Here, a child dreamed of being an artist, and his inspiration carved a portal between our worlds. Here is where I crossed, where I was pursued and injured, and where I tore the façade open enough for you to peer inside. If you leave me now, you will once more be anchored to your world, but you will also be hunted. Cross with me, and you risk being forever lost.”
The pill in Alec’s pocket suddenly felt like a lead shot. Society would not miss him, nor wonder where he had gone. He had nothing here; nobody to mourn him, no pet to feed, and no valuables save the few medals of valor that had once labeled him a hero, but now collected dust in a cupboard.
There was no decision to be made.
Smiling at the chance to return to duty, Alec walked through the doorway.
CHAPTER 2
Had he been forewarned about the effects of crossing over, he may well have reconsidered. So intense were the nausea, vertigo, and dysphoria that hit him as he crossed, Alec collapsed to his hands and knees, gagging on air that felt too thick to swallow.
The buildings about him that had once been rigid structures of brick, mortar, and concrete, were now composed of mysterious materials festooned with sculptures of hideous creatures. Lines that had once been parallel and perpendicular were now twisted and corkscrewed, and plain windows were now adorned in myriad colors and abstract patterns.
The sky, formerly filled with clouds and glowing yellow from the city lights, was now a kaleidoscope of shifting purple hues and pitch darkness; sometimes glowing, sometimes devouring all illumination. Dirigibles, autogyros, and flying beasts soared overhead.
“Be still, Alec.” Veleda advised from where she sat. The poured-asphalt alleyway beneath her was now a hodgepodge of cobbled stone and brick. “Your mind must adjust to this reality. You normally venture here only in your subconscious, and being here in a wakened state has driven lesser men mad.”
“Thank you…for the warning,” he gasped, breathing in odd yet strangely familiar scents. It was as if he could smell bread baking, but the flour was off, and he could taste the bizarre color the loaf would become. Alec rolled onto his back and saw that naked fires now pulsed and flickered in place of the streetlights as if they were untamed beasts, writhing with a life of their own.
Determined to conquer his pain, Alec pulled himself to his feet. The pulse in his ears beat slowly, then accelerated, only to cease entirely before starting again. His mouth filled with the flavors of burnt ash and seared metal, and distant shadows stopped, sped up and slowed back down of their own accord. Around him, one person became two, and they merged into an amorphous blob, suddenly becoming no more than a slick and streamlined blur. Unable to endure the assault on his senses, Alec stumbled against a wall, gripping it as a man afraid of heights might have clutched a balcony railing.
“You come from Banality.” Veleda explained. “We are now in the realm of magic, faith, and wishes. In this age of enlightenment, your people choose to forgo a part of your world by blinding themselves with science and reason. This land endured in the shadows, and exists as a pillar of all hopes, aspirations, fantasies, and nightmares.”
Through his palms, Alec felt a heartbeat that was not his own. “Your world…”
“Lives and breathes on the back of yours,” his charge smiled. “While itself remaining distinct and individual.”
Closing his eyes, Alec concentrated on the warm stone against his cheek. It seemed vibrant; aware of his presence, even. The sights, sounds, and smells that had tortured him melted away like a cube of ice left in the sun; finally evaporating into a steady placidity that sang a gentle harmony from the depths of the world through the stone to soothe his ragged nerves.
Struggling to his feet, he fought with himself as the distant music disappeared. As much as Alec wanted to hear it again, his sense of responsibility could no longer be ignored. Blood had broken through Veleda’s bandages, becoming a stark reminder of more urgent matters.
Alec and Veleda stepped from the alley into the street. There were people in all manner of odd dress ranging from medieval tunics to Victorian era suits; heads topped with ancient helmets or colonial hats. Some of the people had robotic limbs and bionic implants, while others bore inhuman alien tentacles. They were adorned in everything from opulent finery to nothing at all, in fashions both conservative and erotic. A carriage drawn by dark shadows consumed by flame careened down the street, followed by a fancy car that screamed excess income and wealth, and trailed by a skeleton on a penny-wheel. Having become used to being ignored, Alec started when everyone turned to stare at him with a look of dread and reverence.
“To the hospital, please, Alec.” Veleda reminded him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Casting aside all cares, he hailed down a king-sized bed that galloped upon the eight hairy legs of a spider. The driver, a young boy dressed in a princess costume, and his companion, a lady garbed in a cape and tights, stared awkwardly as Veleda was lowered gently onto the mattress.
* * *
The automatic sliding doors of the hospital were now wrought iron gates that contorted and pulled themselves wide enough apart for the two to pass. The linoleum within had transformed into polished sandstone, and the beds were still familiar wheeled contrivances, but they were no longer built of white plastic and stainless steel. Instead, they were made of ornately carved and lacquered wood adorned with brass fittings.
There was no reception desk or triage nurse. Instead, Veleda reached into a dispenser with an outstretched hand, and a stone marble rolled down a complex track to land softly on her palm. She seemed to relax as Alec lowered her onto an ornate bench carved with images of rebirth and snakes shedding their skins.
Try as he might, Alec could not stop staring at a figure cleaning the floors by directing autonomous brooms with what seemed to be a magic wand. He recognized the man. Unlike the straight and proud position his peer normally adopted, the person in front of him was pale, rakish, and stooped. Instead of wearing scrubs, he was dressed in a transparent mesh shirt. An inverted cross was burned into the flesh over his heart.
A hand closed over Alec's arm, and Veleda looked at him with concern.
“I'm sorry.” Alec apologized, finally looking away from the person he had been studying. “It’s just that I work with this man.”
Veleda's frown was small and sad. “No, you don't. You may work with his Crafter, but he whom you see there is a doppelgänger, a dream-form created from the fantasies of your world. Every time a human is born, a shadow of the original is created here and fed by your world's dreams. If the Crafter dies,” she paused to shrug, “the doppelgänger merely continues in this world, but if the dream-form dies, the Crafter suffers. The loss of the ability to dream has led many on your side to go insane. Sometimes, new dream-forms can be created, but often the loss of a doppelgänger leads to tragedy.”
“And what of you?” Alec asked. “Are you a dream-form?”
“No.” Veleda laughed quietly, her voice pleasant. “I am original to this plane, a dream-walker. We are ones who are born from union in this land. My mother was a dream-form, but my father is like me, born from a relationship within this realm. We are tied to the dreamscape, yet we can escape it as well. That's why I was able to enter your world.”
“Do I have a doppelgänger?” Alec wondered. Before she could answer, the stone in Veleda's hand glowed.
&nb
sp; * * *
The multiple pairs of glasses that the doctor wore turned his eyes into mountains that could reach the heavens from even the flattest planes. They helped him zero in on what he needed to see, but did nothing to hide the grotesque detail of the orbs from anyone who looked at them.
Beckoning her to sit upon a bed adorned with more ornate carvings, he pulled aside the bandage on Veleda's leg, hemming and hawing to himself as he inspected the dressing.
“Immaculate work. Yes, it truly is.” The doctor murmured to himself. “Efficient compression while leaving a path for drainage; wound has been cleaned with acids and bases and salts and water. It’s a stunning job, done, no doubt, by an experienced professional. My compliments to the dresser.”
Alec remained silent as the doctor studied the wound. He was old and bent nearly double, with a white beard and wild unkempt hair. His clothes were faded and weatherworn, and the many buckles of his jacket were scratched and fatigued. His apron was dark leather, better suited to a blacksmith than a man of medicine.
“You, lad, come over and apply pressure to the leg here!” the doctor shouted at Alec.
Alec grabbed Veleda's limb where indicated, noticing for a second the softness of the pliable muscle underneath her flesh before his calloused hand clamped down, limiting the flow of blood.
“That is odd,” the doctor observed, suddenly more interested in Alec than his patient. “You are dressed unusually; rugged, yet so plain. You must have one truly unimaginative Crafter, no?”
As suddenly as he had asked, the doctor was busy again, distracted by his work. Looking away from the man, Alec met eyes with Veleda, who smiled at him in silent understanding.
“While I'm searching for the right herbs, would you clean the wound, young sir?” the doctor asked, handing Alec a bowl and rags before hurrying off to crush a series of seemingly random spices together within a mortar and pestle.
Alec obeyed, cleaning the wound with gentle but firm swipes.
“Good job, lad!” the doctor exclaimed as he returned and dumped the entire contents into the wound. “You've done this many a time before, I see.”
Beginning to mix another batch, he stopped mid-way to look at Alec with more scrutiny. “You look familiar, for an oddball.”
“He gets that a lot.” Veleda said softly.
“Right, right, of course he does. Pull back that bandage on her shoulder there, thanks.”
The same treatment was applied, and without another word, the doctor turned and left the room.
Lowering herself from the bed, Veleda tested her leg and rotated her arm.
“Is it wise to move so soon?” her guardian wondered aloud.
“The wound is closed and numb now. A gift of this land's magic—I heal faster than you, but not as well as a doppelgänger. They can recover from fatal wounds within hours.
“But you said they can die?”
“By the right hand or under the right influence, yes, but rarely by their own stupidity or at the hands of another of their kind.” Placing a hand on Alec’s chest, Veleda shivered. “For all their strengths, they are extremely malleable under the touch of others.”
Pursing his lips, Alec nodded. “So a lethal blow from me…"
“What you can create, you can destroy,” she answered, standing tall. “That is something that cannot be altered in this realm, regardless of your Banality or Fancy.”
After a slow breath, Alec flexed his hands and asked, “What now?”
“Perhaps we should head somewhere less conspicuous? Your Banality is obvious, and is drawing much attention.”
She was right. No matter where Alec looked, people were staring, and the attention made him very uncomfortable.
Taking her hand, he let Veleda lead him through the crowded hospital, and out into the absurdity of the streets.
Alec tried to avoid the inhabitants of them, but shadows plagued him. Silhouettes flitted among the crowds, and dark outlines of people, pets, and wildlife were visible wherever he looked. He took great pains to avoid the mysterious shapes until he realised no one else around him paid them heed. Losing concentration long enough to barge through one, he was surprised to feel nothing. He stood there in bewilderment before urgently calling out Veleda’s name.
She listened as he quietly explained what had happened, and nodded. “It is good that you see the shadows of the other realm; it means you are not lost from it. As long as you are still connected to the other side, you can return; if you wish.”
“This will fade in time?” Alec’s eyes followed a rather appealing shadow, but Veleda didn't seem to notice, or see the entity.
“Unless you have a way to separate yourself from the dreaming, yes, you will lose your Banality. As you gather wonder, the other side will become a false reality.”
Alec bid her to continue the journey with a nod, but when her back was turned, he hesitated long enough to shake the bottle in his pocket, listening for the reassuring rattle of the solitary pill inside. Strangely comforted by its presence when it came, he followed her.
A great globe crested the horizon, its mass composed of swirling whites, oranges, violets, and brilliant yellows. As its light spilled across the land, it pierced Alec’s eyes, rang through his head, and brought agonies anew. Stumbling, he stopped to catch his breath.
They were only paces from a park. Exhausted, he leaned against a sapling, and the melodies he had pined for once more filled his head, growing louder and sweeter whenever he looked in their source’s direction.
If Veleda spoke to him, he did not hear her. Stumbling forward, he found the cobblestone replaced by luscious grass, soft and tender. The woods about him sang beautiful melodies that sapped his strength and soothed his skull.
Unable to support himself any longer, Alec collapsed. He closed his eyes, and under the sweet songs of lullabies, drifted off to sleep.
* * *
The great globe was directly overhead, peaked at its zenith. It burned through the thin skin of his eyelids, dragging him from his blissful slumber and back into the dream-realm.
Where he expected to feel chills, Alec found warmth. The ground beneath him was not wet, but soft and forgiving. The sounds of traffic and the cacophony of the city were gone, replaced with the lilting harmonies of the trees rustling and the twittering of wildlife.
He heard a splash of water, and turned his head to find Veleda kneeling by a crystal-clear pool. Her robes were lowered from her chest, and now her bandages had been removed, Alec could see more of the strange symbols across her skin. His eyes traced the swell of her chest along the patterns until the robe obscured the remaining artwork and the forbidden flesh. She had been washing her hair. As he gazed at her, she rinsed it, squeezed it dry, and began to comb it with her fingers.
“Isn't it strange that we can be so relaxed in the middle of a metropolis?” The coarseness of his voice surprised Alec as he pulled himself to his feet and limped to the water’s edge.
“We aren't in the city anymore.” Veleda corrected. “These are wandering woods. If you show them respect and care, you can journey freely from one land to the next through them.”
“And what of those who lack respect?” Alec asked.
“They will find their destination to be far more permanent and unpleasant than desired.”
“I, see,” he said warily, patting the exposed root of a grand willow gratefully. “Thank you,” he whispered, and it rustled in response.
When he laughed at the reply, it was the sound of dry grass blowing in a midsummer breeze. "Is there a place to drink?” Alec coughed.
Twisting her hair tightly, Veleda indicated a burbling spring that fed the pond. Parched, Alec slipped his face into the stream and sucked greedily. It was sweet, fresh, and peppery. It satisfied his thirst, but failed to satiate his hunger. He had not eaten since the day before, and after the exhausting night, he was famished. While he continued to drink, he grew suddenly disoriented as his ears filled with the sounds of rushing water.
Clutching desperately to the grass, Alec prayed for the memories to cease.
“How far from wonder have you gone?” Veleda’s voice sang from far away. “When was the last time you allowed yourself to dream?”
A bottle pressed against his side.
“You are drunk on this realm,” her voice explained, rubbing his shoulders and back. “Your body is rejecting what you refuse to believe exists.”
“I am here!” He gasped
“But you are not believing the existence of the dreamscape at your core.”
“I am here!” he yelled, pinching his neck hard enough to draw blood. When he did not find himself awakening in his bed or hungover on a cheaply-tiled floor, his head cleared and the ground stopped shifting.
Still unsteady, Alec stood; snapping to attention, his body locked into a forced rigidity. He did not blink, did not flinch. Another familiar song rang out in this head, this one asking a single question. “Where is my mind?” he asked, quoting the lyric aloud.
Closing his eyes, he fought to push away the acrid smell of gunpowder, the coppery taste of blood, the screams of the dying, the pain of old wounds, and the visions of long-lost comrades.
“I am here,” he said again, and he was back in the wandering glen, the music of the trees once more blessing his ears.
Suddenly calm, confident, and in control, Alec turned to his concerned companion.
“So, where are we wandering to?”
CHAPTER 3
“This is a dangerous and ill-thought out idea.” Alec exclaimed, one hand tightly clenched around the stout staff the woods had gifted him. “If your pursuers have any sense, they will be waiting for us here.”
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