Alice Unbound

by Colleen Anderson

  even the airy stars are all stuff of his dream.

  There were no women. He’ll wake and then,

  you’ll cease to exist.” I saw no truth

  in his murderous logic: “I live and am more

  than a fancied shadow: I feel my reality.”

  “You remain a part, whether real or not,

  of the king’s dream. You cannot deny

  only the dreamer is real in the realm of sleep.

  That makes a syllogism, only solved one way.”

  I saw neither solution nor sense in his words

  and replied, “I will rouse him and reveal the truth.”

  His locks shivered. “A shame,” he said.

  Attitude Three: Bravado

  Down I went through that dismal place

  treading on rocks and treacherous thorns

  to the barrow that shaded the bitter lake.

  As I climbed aloft, the altitude swayed

  and space distended in dizzy perspective.

  The earth receded; the edifice stretched.

  There lay the king all lost and lorn,

  his face a study in stricken lines

  no gentle sleep could slur to peace.

  I put out my hand, then halted in pity

  thinking that, waking, he would be sure

  to relive once more the wretched despair

  that carved his face in furrows so cruel.

  Yet he lay so still that I started to think

  his features formed: a fanciful design

  as if he wore a mask or was made of wood.

  “Where are the women?” I wondered aloud.

  “Just disappeared? Is my doom like theirs?

  A forgotten woman: who wonders about

  one more marked down missing or murdered?

  Is the price for letting my precious sister

  succumb to hardship, for hating her need,

  for saying I hated her, the same dark fate?

  Did I learn too late that I loved her?”

  I closed my eyes and clutched his arm

  but hesitated to speak. A hellish fear

  coursed through me of things unknown,

  and my resolve faltered. Then rage in turn

  drove back my fear. I faced my weakness.

  I meant to act and make an end.

  I wanted my life, my world, my sister.

  I shook him, shouted, then taken by a shift,

  queer and quiet, a quickening and death,

  I woke but not to greet the world of bustling

  joy and sorrow that once seemed so real.

  Attitude Four: Despair

  I lay on my back, and back to me came

  my true memories marching in step:

  the dear, dead demons of my distant past,

  the old happiness all hewn to shreds,

  the land and loved ones lost forever.

  I screamed aloud. I scratched wildly

  at my loathsome face, too late knowing how

  to wit the words of the White King.

  My dreamworld was a wish and no more

  to live another life, love other kin.

  Now they were nothing, nobody, nowhere.

  There were no women, not even the one

  I had dreamed of being; no dreadful stairs

  no sister unburied or hope of salvation

  nor the scant empathy of an enemy lingering

  to meditate on the pain of the man he abased.

  I was the most miserable of mortal men

  recalled unready to regrets and the cruel

  curse of knowing I was the King in Red.

  NO REALITY BUT WHAT WE MAKE

  Elizabeth Hosang

  The little blonde girl ran across the patchwork lawn scrolling beneath her. The children’s laughter reached me from the flowerbed’s far side. I drifted to where my sister Blanche, the White Queen, sat cradling her daughter Lily, soothing her tears. The next moment a piercing light filled my vision and extreme weight pulled me to my knees. Rough hands grabbed me, dragging me forward. A male voice shouted, “That’s seven,” as the hands released me. I landed on my face.

  “Scarlett!” Gentle arms wrapped around my shoulders and helped me up. Roland, the Red King and my husband, crouched next to me. Metal bars separated us from the rest of a harshly lit large room. A black metal chamber stood to one side, surrounding a pale blue glow. As I watched, a figure fell through the light and collapsed to the floor. It was my castle, Beatrice. She tried to rise, but men in black uniforms raced forward and dragged her through our cage’s entrance. Arthur and Abby, the Red Knights, stood inside the door, blocking the men from entering. They dropped Beatrice at Arthur’s feet and retreated. Arthur helped her up.

  I looked around. Across the room, a man in a grey suit frowned at white-coated men crowded around several glowing boards on a wooden table, jabbering to each other. The little blonde girl lay on a bed, wires leading from her forehead to a little black box.

  The blue light grew brighter and we watched, helpless, as Timothy, the Red King’s bishop, fell through the light. When the men grabbed at him, he screamed and struggled. One of them hit him with a black stick and he sagged to the ground. As the men dragged him to the cage I stepped in front of Roland. He was the King, but I was the Red Queen, and it was the job of the entire Red Court to protect him.

  Time dragged on, as one by one the rest of the Red Court joined us, then the White Court. We huddled together, the pawns and the kings in the center, the rest of us surrounding them.

  At some point a door across the room flew open, and a large man stormed in, followed by several other men.

  “Anders! What the hell is this?”

  One of the white coats rushed forward. “Mr. Partridge, sir. We weren’t expecting you so soon.”

  “Monroe called me. What the hell is this?” Partridge stomped to the cage and glared through the bars at us. “How much LSD did you feed the kid?”

  “The usual dosage. It’s the first time we’ve used Alice. Her parents only just heard about our fake drug trial to prevent nightmares. She’s eight years old, the optimal age for dreaming of distinct beings without being limited to what she perceives as the real world.”

  “Why are there so many of them?”

  “We think they’re chess pieces.” Anders stepped next to the larger man. “See? They have either white hair or red, and their clothing looks like the costumes on the set in the playroom.”

  “Chess pieces! What the hell good are human chess pieces?”

  The smaller man flinched. “Well, sir, this is huge progress! It proves our working hypothesis that we create alternate realities while dreaming, and that we can reach into those realities.”

  “I don’t care about alternate realities! I care about this one. When my agency agreed to fund your research, Doctor, you promised we’d be able to extract information from high-value targets while they slept. What good is pulling imaginary people out of children’s dreams?”

  “Well, to be fair, when we approached you, we believed there was only one dream reality, the Dreamscape, if you will. We had intended to create a portal that allowed someone to seek a particular dreamer. Only, after several tests we realized that each dreamer creates their own Dreamscape, rather than connecting to an existing alternate reality. Which also makes it impossible to enter. We can only get things out.”

  “How can you be sure? You’ve been experimenting on children!”

  “Because children create a more coherent Dreamscape. Adult Dreamscapes are muddled, and trying to grab one concept drags along too much clutter. But children of Alice’s age group have less murky dreams, easier to bring into focus. We have actually extracted several animals – cats, a rabbit, and even a cartoon mouse.”

  Partridge’s face purpled, and Anders shrank before his gaze. “You’ve used my money to pull bunny rabbits out of thin air?”

  “But, but, Mr. Partridge look! This time we’ve pulled out sentient beings!” He turned, po
inting to Arthur.

  “You there.” Anders said. “What is your name?”

  “Arthur, Knight Champion of the Red Queen.”

  “There, you see, they can talk!” he said, as if that made it all better.

  Partridge stepped closer to the bars and bent down, staring at Arthur’s chest. “What is that hanging around his neck? A ruby? It’s huge!” He looked over the rest of us, noticing the heart stones we wore. “And the white ones are wearing diamonds. Anders, is it possible the kid dreamed up real jewellery?”

  “Well, I suppose it’s possible. That rabbit was real enough. We dissected it and found real organs.”

  Partridge snapped his fingers, and one of the soldiers stepped forward. “Liquidate them, dispose of the bodies, but bring me the jewels. Maybe we can save something from this fiasco.”

  “No!” Several voices cried out. Anger cut through my fear. A warm pulse came from my heart stone. Suddenly the cold lights dimmed, and the room’s edges softened. The weight that had been pulling me to the ground since I arrived disappeared. I was the Red Queen, and nothing would stand in my way.

  Arthur, Abby, the red knights, and the white knights Melinda and Mark disappeared from where they stood, reappearing on the other side of the bars. The knights attacked the soldiers, grabbing their weapons, and striking them down. The soldiers shot at the knights, but the bullets passed through them.

  In the cage, the two castles Beatrice and Peter shrank, passed between the bars, and grew, snatching weapons from the closest men. I followed their lead, resizing myself next to a man in a grey suit. A knife appeared in my hand and I drove it into his neck, standing back as hot blood spurted from the wound.

  More gunshots sounded until, “Cease fire!” Partridge yelled, but he was nothing to us. It was one screaming little white coat who was our downfall. Backed into a desk by the red castle, he pulled out a black object and pointed it at her. A small explosion, followed by a buzzing noise, and my brave castle collapsed.

  I rushed to her aid, but I was not the only one who noticed her fall. “Stun guns! Everyone!” The last thing I saw was Anders pointing a similar object at me. Incredible pain seared me, and then nothing.

  I awoke in a smaller cell. Female members of both courts lay on the floor next to me. We were still in the same room, but there were now several cages, holding the adult members of the royal court. The pawns, our children, were nowhere in sight.

  The door burst open and Partridge stomped into the room. Behind him came several soldiers, dragging Roland between them. My husband’s head hung, his body limp. Horrified, I watched as they tossed him into the cage that held Arthur and the other men.

  Partridge walked to my cage, glaring at us. “Which one of you is the Red Queen?”

  I stood, shrugging off Blanche’s attempt to hold me back. “What have you done to my husband?”

  “My people ran tests. Without those jewels you are just regular people. Mortal people, who feel pain. Anders thinks you can project the Dreamscape onto reality with those stones, making it possible for you to change size, dodge bullets, and float above the ground. Unfortunately, they don’t work for us. So, we’re going to make a little deal. You’re going to perform certain tasks for me.”

  “Why should we?”

  He smiled then, and for the first time I was truly afraid. “I suggest you take a closer look at your king. My specialists spent several hours with him, trying to coerce his cooperation. The king is the least powerful piece on the chessboard, so we weren’t worried about damaging him. But there are fifteen of you, and I’m not above doing it again.”

  “Fifteen?” I asked, as a cold hand wrapped around my heart.

  “That’s the other incentive. You may notice, Queenie, that your children aren’t here. You will do what I tell you, or you’ll never see them again.”

  Arthur, Beatrice and I drifted down the semi-lit hallway to the door at the end of the hall. I turned to Beatrice, pointing to my eyes. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a sleeping dormouse, curled into a ball. Holding it to her ear, she listened, the mouse’s voice a barely audible murmur. After a moment, she put the mouse back in her pocket and gave me a thumb’s up. In the year we had been serving Partridge we had all developed new skills. Beatrice could impose her Dreamscape onto mice, creating a hive mind and controlling them through a single member. She could send them ahead to scout locations, and create entrances to sealed buildings, receiving their reports through her proxy.

  I nodded to Arthur. Now that he had delivered us safely, he turned back. The next step was beyond his abilities, so he had his own mission.

  Closing my eyes, I pictured myself shrinking. My head spun with the sensation. When I opened my eyes, we were so small that we would have slipped between the fibres of the welcome mat. While the door likely had no space, in the Dreamscape we floated through the two centimetre gap above the tile floor. Once inside, I concentrated on expanding.

  Full sized, I followed my castle through the apartment. The bedroom door gaped open. Inside, the sleepers’ deep even breaths were broken only by the occasional snore. A framed image hung on the wall to my left. According to the dormice scouts, the safe lay behind it. Moonlight peeked around the edges of the venetian blinds hanging on the bedroom’s French doors. I willed them away, and the full moon’s silvery light revealed a woman sleeping with arms akimbo.

  I tapped Beatrice on the shoulder, pointed to the sleeper, to her, and then to my eyes. Beatrice nodded – she would keep an eye on the woman in case she woke.

  I made my way around the bed to the oil painting and gently pulled. The painting swung aside, revealing a wall safe with a keypad lock. Placing my hand over the keys, I willed the lock to undo itself. A beep sounded and the door popped open. Files and jewellery boxes filled the safe. On top of a stack of papers lay a black plastic case with a short USB cord. This was our target, the hard drive, right where Beatrice’s scouts said it would be. Placing it in my pocket, I gestured to Beatrice, and we headed out. At the bedroom door, I looked back. The Dreamscape had left the room with us. The portrait was once again flush with the wall, and the blinds covered the windows.

  Outside the building, we found Arthur waiting. “Any problems?” I asked.

  “None. Our contact came through.” Arthur patted his heart stone. My knight wrapped his arms around our waists, and in a blink the suburban landscape disappeared, to be replaced by the asphalt parking lot outside the Agency’s headquarters. A circle of soldiers surrounded us, their electric stun weapons humming in case we gave them any trouble.

  “Stand down,” said Monroe, second in command of the Agency men.

  I touched my large ruby pendant and closed my eyes. Gravity reasserted itself, weighting me down.

  “You’ve reached the outside limit of your mission window. Again,” Monroe accused, his left arm held so I could see his watch.

  “We got it.” I removed the hard drive from my pocket. “We went to her lab first, but apparently she doesn’t trust the other researchers at the university. She had the drive with her weapons research in her home safe.”

  “You’ve been taking longer with every mission,” Monroe snapped. “You should be getting faster, not slower.”

  “The missions have been more complex. They take longer,” I replied.

  “They are meticulously planned. Follow my instructions to the letter and you should be back on time. If I find out you’ve been sightseeing,” he trailed off.

  You’ll know soon enough, I thought.

  “You will perform to my satisfaction, or face the consequences.” He held a pawn pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Or do I need to remind you what you risk?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Arthur take a step in my direction. I held up my hand. We couldn’t afford to start a fight, not now. “No, sir.”

  “Good.” He snapped his fingers, and a nervous-looking white coat stepped forward, opening a black case. Reluctantly, I placed my ruby pendant in the
case. It always hurt a little as it left my chest. The heart stones were the concentrated essence of the reality from which we came, but we had no choice in surrendering them. Not yet, anyway.

  Arthur and Beatrice yielded their stones. As the locks clicked, the soldiers put away their stun weapons and drew handguns. Monroe didn’t like us in the parking lot, but the facility had been installed with safety measures long before we existed. The electronic shield kept the knights from teleporting into or out of the building.

  The soldiers escorted us back to our prison and locked us in. Over the past year our obedience had earned us living quarters instead of cells, with bedrooms off a large central area furnished with sofas and tables. Blanche and her bishops Camilla and Timothy were awake, seated around a low table. Timothy stood as we entered. “Were you successful?”

  “We were,” I replied. Still adjusting to gravity and the menial task of walking, I tripped over my own feet. Timothy lunged toward me, but Arthur caught me from behind and held me for a long moment. I leaned into him, relishing his warmth, his strength. At last he released me, stepping away with a little bow before heading to the kitchen area.

  Timothy watched Arthur go, his face unreadable, then followed him to the kitchen. I sank into the couch next to Blanche. “Did they let you see Lily tonight?”

  She nodded, but refused to look me in the eye.

  “It won’t be much longer, I promise,” I whispered.

  “You should get some rest,” she said.

  “We all should,” I replied.

  In my chambers, Roland lay on his side of the double bed. Partridge claimed he was respecting our relationship by granting the king and queen a single room, but in reality it was a reminder. Whatever they had done to Roland, his mind had been shattered. He babbled, his thoughts racing feverishly, oblivious to anyone or anything around him.

  I stood in the doorway looking at him. In the last year, we had come to understand that we were not real people. We had sprung, fully formed, from the mind of an eight-year-old girl, who believed in handsome kings adored by beautiful queens, and surrounded by loyal courts. Roland was my love and my life, and even now I remembered those feelings. But as we’d adjusted to reality, we had realized that past life was a lie. The only reality was what had happened since that night. I looked at the man created as my husband, who had only been real for our first hour of life, and guilt flared as I remembered the warmth and reassurance of the knight who had kept me from falling, who had been by my side since, and worked beside me to secure the safety of our people.