Laughing at the confusion that spread across the enemy ranks as they stared after him, Veleda jeered, “Even the land refuses your leader’s sovereignty.”
Alec’s charge continued, bringing him near to the still-dazed machine man. Gripping his dagger with both hands, he severed the thing’s head from the body. Robotic hands clasped the gaping stump in a futile attempt to stem the flow of data, until the headless corpse stumbled, fell backwards, and finally lay still in a growing pool of letters and numbers.
In the center of the melee, there came a roar of pain and rage as a man in a silken suit swelled. Large limbs covered in dark, wiry fur ripped through flesh and cloth as his body split apart to reveal the monster inside. Opening its mouth, the giant bat-like beast grabbed Frederick, prepared to clamp its multitude of teeth over his shoulder and neck as the doppelgänger fought back against the creature’s powerful grip.
Alec cried out to his friend and grabbed the beast’s ear, driving his blade deep into the monster's skull, twisting the blade, and releasing his grip on the weapon only when the beast had slumped to the ground.
Yanking the blade free, Frederick sent it spinning into the chest of a young thug in a hoody who wielded a sharpened skateboard over his head. The knife cut into the lad’s chest with such power that he flipped head over heels, striking the ground with a loud crack as his neck crumpled under the impact.
Alec turned, and was relieved to see that Veleda was safe. There were two broken bodies at her feet; the leaves jutting from them indicating death by topiary. Meanwhile,
M’lanth was running the last of her opponents through with her blade. She had single-handedly wiped out half of their foes.
Seeing that all was quiet, Alec turned to his friend and began to ask, “Are you oka—”
Grabbing Alec’s cheeks, Frederick planted his lips over his friend’s and kissed him with unrestrained passion. It was so unexpected that Alec froze, unsure of how to react.
It was Fred’s doppelgänger who broke the kiss. Reaching out, he brushed hesitant fingers over Alec’s face.
“Oh no.” The doppelgänger blanched. “You’re not a ghost.”
“No, Fred. I am very much alive.” Alec answered, his confusion obvious.
M’lanth walked over to them having collected her other sword. “Ghosts are fabrications of others that Creators form in their sleep. Oftentimes, they don't survive if your kind disappear from their Creator’s dreams.”
“I understand.” Alec said, biting his lip as a new thought occurred to him. “Wait. Fred, have you kissed ghosts of me before?”
Looking at his feet, the doppelgänger shuffled them and answered, “Maybe once or twice…a week.” There was something different in his voice as he continued. “But I never thought you would find out. I'm trapped here because of the pain, and I knew I wouldn't ever meet your doppelgänger, so I thought I was safe to dream.”
Catching Fred by his shoulders, Alec stared into his eyes. “Is this really you talking? You’re not just his doppelgänger?”
“He is both.” Veleda answered, having paid her respects to the glen for its assistance.
“How?” Alec asked.
“It's the drugs.” Fred answered methodically. “I'm kept on such a strong cocktail of painkillers that I’m always asleep. I learned the truth during my surgeries. I was so far gone, so near death, that everything about this realm became clear.”
The voice changed to the doppelgänger's again.
“And now my Creator is sharing space in my head. It's driving me crazy, which is really saying something, all things considered.”
“Now,” both voices merged as Fred’s hands traveled up to Alec’s shoulders. “How am I talking to you, if you’re not a ghost?”
“I've entered the dreamscape.”
A blush exploded across Frederick’s face as Alec continued. “So, about that kiss?”
“You weren't supposed to know.” Frederick admitted. “In our dreams, we can release our inhibitions, be who we truly wish to be, and live out our most taboo desires. We can remove our masks and reveal our true self. Ever since you first saved my life, I felt safe around you. It wasn't until I was dying that I realised why.”
Frederick sighed as he tore his gaze from Alec’s. “And by then, I knew you would never love me. I’m barely alive, just a slab of meat living vicariously in this world.”
“Do you know I visited you more than once a month?” Alec asked.
“I thought that was a dream.”
Alec chuckled as he patted his friend on the back, a sad smile on his face that Fred returned.
“If you two are done, we should not keep Mistress Veleda waiting.” M’lanth was several paces ahead of them on the path, and her scowl was piercing.
“Of course,” Alec agreed.
“Where were you heading?” Frederick asked.
“To the leaders who resist,” the Seer declared. “It's time we changed the tides of this war.”
“Mind if I tag along? I was going that way anyway.” Fred’s question was directed at Veleda, who bowed graciously and handed a spear from a fallen warrior to him in answer.
“Commander, it would be a pleasure,” Veleda replied.
Alec’s confused glance was greeted by only a shrug as M’lanth walked back down the path to fall into step behind the Seer and Frederick.
“Wait!” he yelled as he hurried after them. “Commander?”
CHAPTER 5
“Even here, I could not escape a war.” Frederick admitted with regret as they walked further into the woods. “At least this time I know what I am fighting for.”
“And what is that, exactly?” Alec asked, studying his friend.
“The right to dream. Our enemy already controls half the dreamscape, and those caught within his tyrannical hold are being groomed for war.”
Alec cocked his head slightly, not understanding the implication of an army of doppelgängers in the dreamscape.
When Frederick spoke again, it was in the doppelgänger’s voice alone. “You might not see it yet, but over the past few months, more and more people have endured nightly terrors and unrest.”
“Frederick is awake, isn’t he?” Alec asked
The shudder that ran through the doppelgänger’s body was genuine. “We’ve become so interlinked that I feel his pain even when we’re apart. His skin is constantly burning, and his legs feel tight and restless. If there was a way to change it or break the cycle, I would. Maybe when this war is over and the dreamscape is safe, we will choose a way to end our suffering, but until then,” he shrugged, “we will fight on.”
The sky shifted as they walked out of the woods, transforming from its mottled green hues to a golden glow that stirred memories Alec would rather suppress. It held the honey-colored touch of yellow sand thrown high in the sky in the remnants of a sandstorm.
No words were needed. Holding their weapons loosely, the trio of bodyguards formed a protective ring about the woman who had brought them together.
The scene about them was just one more abstract sight, but the dreamscape’s version of the iconic New York skyline still gave Alec pause. It was partly occluded by the sand that blew through the colorless streets, having long ago scoured all surfaces clean of paint. Only the square patch of woodland behind them was untouched by the storm. In fact, it seemed to make great pains to avoid the centralized parkland as it continued to ravage elsewhere.
They paused at the edge of the blowing grit. Faces watched them from windows and doorways. The shadows of the other realm still hurried past, dancing haphazardly in the distance.
They were harder to see than before.
The bottle and its single pill felt heavy in Alec’s pocket.
“Commander, is your Creator available?” “M’lanth asked.
Frederick’s doppelgänger closed his eyes for a moment, and then replied, “Soon.”
“May I enquire,” Alec asked nervously, feeling very exposed with all the eyes upon them, “wh
y we are waiting? The sands do not seem to be relenting.”
“Nor will they,” Veleda answered, passing her hand through the storm and bringing it back with a palm full of sand.
“Every grain is an idea born or a dream destroyed. For some time, the Sandmen tended and collected this by-product of imagination, but the enemy decided to imprison them. Without their assistance, the storms have grown in power and severity.”
“The lands of the Resistance have suffered the worst.” M’lanth continued. “Our cities have been affected most severely, but we adapt. As the land has become filled with storms, we have retreated to our subways, tunnels, and sewer systems.”
“So those watching us…” Alec wondered.
“Are the tired, poor, and huddled masses yearning to breathe free from oppression once more. Most are displaced doppelgängers, severed from their Crafters by our foe’s efforts.”
“It is for them I fight.” Frederick’s own voice now flowed strongly from the lips of the doppelgänger. Winking at Alec, the veteran spread his arms, and his simple clothing suddenly transformed into an armored uniform covered in embroidered military insignia He had a Keffiyeh wound about his neck and face, leaving only his eyes uncovered.
“Neat trick,” Alec said.
“Thank you.” Frederick’s reply was muffled. “As Creators, we have the power to shape this world. Try it yourself.”
Alec closed his eyes and tried to will a scarf of his own into existence, yet when he opened his eyes, there was none. Noticing his confusion, Veleda, who was wrapping a fallen palm frond around her own face as she watched them, called out, “It may be your distance from our world.”
There was no need to elaborate. The weight of the pill was enough to remind him of his ongoing connection to the banal world, even if he wanted to believe he was free of it now.
Alec removed his shirt and wrapped it around his head, exposing the thin and wiry body he had kept hidden until now, which was so lean his ribs protruded from the sides of a concave abdomen. He zipped his jacket up and nodded to the others. They had wasted enough time.
The sandstorm was as bad as he remembered them to be from those years in the desert. Strong winds blew grit and detritus at speeds that would abrade anything in their path. His bare hands screamed in agony as the skin was battered and torn by thousands of tiny granules. The leeward side of the first building became a sanctuary where the sand only lightly swirled about, instead settling onto any surface. It seemed drawn to their moistened eyes, clinging to them with a persistence that was almost supernatural. Filling their lungs, they darted from one shelter to the next, painstakingly making their way forward. By the time they reached the sandblasted steel towers of the United Nations headquarters, Alec’s legs felt weak, and every step was effort. His lungs and eyes burned from the onslaught. He could hardly see through his own tears, and was taken by surprise when an eclectic group of soldiers bearing an assortment of weapons barred his way.
“Stand down, soldier,” Fred ordered as he placed a calming hand on Alec’s shoulder. “They’re on our side.”
Frederick and M’lanth unwrapped their faces, revealing themselves to the soldiers standing guard. Both were instantly recognized, but were still relieved of their weapons.
As the guards took Alec’s dagger, Veleda leaned close and said, “Don't reveal your face until we have some space from the guards.”
They were led up the stairs to the entrance and ushered inside the main hall. In the waking world, this space held a museum with testaments of disarmament, de-escalation, and aid to the weary of the world. Here, it was filled with exhibits of frightening weapons formed by some twisted and diabolical subconscious. What had in one place celebrated the hope of global unity was twisted into an eternal nightmare of war and genocide in this realm.
There was more on display than visions of war, however. Amid the gallery of destruction were exhibits ranging from implements of medieval barbarism to sleek futuristic machines of untold malignance. Living oil paintings of fallen heroes and tragic victims moved in continuous loops; saluting, fighting, dying, and posing heroically as their clothes fluttered in an unfelt wind. Windows that had once been clear were now festooned with barbed wire running through the glass. Brick and mortar were warped with twisted sculptures of all the demons of mankind’s history. The terrible ambiance of the hall of horrors served only to accentuate the suffering of the refugees who now sheltered here. Ushered into a room of their own, the group were welcomed by a fountain bubbling with fresh water, translucent blue drinking glasses, and a bowl of ice chips.
Frederick rinsed his mouth of grit by sipping directly from the stream, while the ladies chose to use the offered vessels. As they did so,
Alec unwrapped the shirt from his face and shook it out over a wastebasket positioned in a corner of the room. The sand that fell was a fine dust. Content that the shirt was clean; he had been pulling it back over his head when the door opened and several guards rushed in and leveled their spears at his chest.
“I'm sorry,” Alec said slowly. “I didn't know changing was illegal here.”
Interposing herself between her guardian and those who threatened him, Veleda stared down the Resistance soldiers. Hesitantly, they lowered their weapons.
“Sorry, m’lady,” one trooper apologized. “But he looks just like—”
“He is,” M’lanth said, her quiet voice echoing off the walls. “That’s why we're here. Assembly must be called.”
The soldiers stared, hesitating, until irritation crossed the shadow-knight’s face and she commanded, “Now.”
Then they were gone. M’lanth slammed the door in frustration.
“Easy,” Frederick said.
“It is no wonder most of our generals went to The Scourge's side! Discipline is still lacking.”
“The Scourge?” Alec asked, still shaken by the sudden face-off.
“The enemy,” Veleda explained.
Replacing his jacket, Alec said quietly, “It sounds like you admire our foe, M’lanth.”
“I respect him,” she admitted, “and if it weren't for Lady Veleda, maybe I would still be serving him.”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Alec asked, “Why?”
“Because of your kind, the Crafters!” she snapped, displaying a savagery that made her cloak amorphous once more. “Our world is not our own, but instead dominated and controlled by those who treat us as mere figments of imagination. We live, love, and hate based upon your subconscious desires, and are left stranded by your separation from us. Your land’s violence destroys us, your hate envelops us, and all the horrors of your world leach constantly into our own.”
A tear traced a path down her cheek, but M’lanth was too angry to wipe it away. “Do you know how acutely you control us, how little freedom we have? The Scourge has won many of his soldiers by promising to punish the creators, but he has lost many through his indiscriminate methods.”
The shadow-knight ceased her tirade and wiped away the tears that now ran freely from her eyes. Alec stepped forward, suddenly wanting to offer a moment of companionship, but unsure of how his attention would be received.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked softly.
Presenting her back to the Crafter, M’lanth leaned on the wall for support as she spoke, her voice raspy, “She was thirteen, and she idolized those who fought for her people’s freedom. Skin color determined her future, but she still had hope that things would improve so that she could better the world for others like her.” M’lanth’s fist clenched. “She was an optimist—foolish, but she had hope. One night, she went out on her first date. I knew because I felt her daydreaming. It was nothing more than a dance at a local community center. It was supposed to be simple and fun. She was supposed to be home before curfew.
“She never got the chance. The same bastards she fought to rise above—who mocked her, spat on her, and kept trying to break her—were waiting. They caught her and
dragged her out of sight.” M’lanth inhaled a ragged breath. Her misty cloak swirled about her, blocking out all but her face. From the darkness, sounds of violence, abuse, and pain emerged. Shapes formed in the fog, turning Alec’s stomach.
The shroud dissipated, becoming her cloak once more as the shadow-knight whispered, “She died of her injuries days later. She was frightened, ruined, and delirious. I spent her last hours making her passing easier, playing back all of her favorite fantasies, and in the end I was the only one to tell her she was loved.”
When she looked up at Alec, her eyes were red. “You idiots tore her away from me! Your kind callously killed an angel. I was happy that she believed in her dreams, but so many of you damn us instead that I cannot count all those who've suffered under your kind’s dark desires.”
Holding out her hands, M’lanth revealed the tattoos of her arms. “My first act as a soldier of The Scourge was to find the doppelgängers of those who had killed my Crafter. I tortured them for weeks until their own Crafters broke under the strain. For each one I shattered, I marked myself; trying to ease my own pain. This symbol, courage,” she gestured to one particular tattoo, “was placed on my skin to remind me of the bravery that she faced her world with. This mark, purity, was to celebrate how her killers’ deaths cleansed that world; even if only a little.”
The images danced on her skin, each one a yin and a yang, a blessing and a curse.
“To this day, I have no regrets, but I wonder what might have been if I had acted sooner…”
The door opened. A bent over old man with wispy white hair and a long beard stood on the other side of it, escorted by the first uniformed soldiers that Alec had seen. They looked like Macedonian hoplites, but their armor was more complete, including masks and fully armored legs.
“You wish to call Assembly?” The old man’s voice was thin and high, as if he spoke with a tightly pulled reed jammed in his airways. He smoothed his long yellow robes as he spoke.
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