Chapter Four: An Old Prophecy for a New Future
Mortiune had served as a Sentinel for twenty-seven years. It was a position which gave a lot of time for reflection. Sat beneath the crystal light, the main duty of the Sentinels was the collection and preservation of knowledge. The Lyng Library was the largest of its kind in Avalen. It was also the oldest, for the Great Fenn had seen the sense in creating an archive of his own endeavours as well as a place to keep hold of their explorations of all that they did not yet understand of the place in which they now dwelt.
Such reflections as he had in the library were often coloured by his surroundings and the tomes on which he worked, deciphering and copying. Up here, however, on board King Corul Geddon’s flagship The Lonely Ghost, he was given to ponder the true gravity of his situation and the world around him.
Most Lyrillian sky-ships tended to be around fifty feet in length. Ravenclaw fleet vessels averaged between seventy five and a hundred feet. The Lonely Ghost was just over two hundred feet long. All sky-ships were powered and piloted by the Gravita Lorgas, a special caste of dream weavers who were trained in manipulating the natural forces of the world. They would provide the lift and propulsion. Most sky-ships had a team of three, The Lonely Ghost had twenty-one.
They sat below decks with their hands never leaving the Lyrillian rods. These rods were connected to bands of Lyrillian which ran all around the hull of the ship; Lyrillian was particularly conductive for this kind of dream-weaving and it helped maintain smooth balanced flight. Though it was theoretically possibly to fly the vessel without the aid of Lyrillian, it would be unwieldy and unstable and Mortiune would certainly not have been able to stand on the foredeck looking out over the clouds as he did now.
Twenty-seven years he had given to King Fenn Corul Geddon and his family, his rule. Yet Mortiune knew that when he died he would be replaced within hours. The King would likely not even be informed until the next time he summoned Mortiune, when he would be introduced to his replacement. To a King who had ruled for eight hundred years, to have known someone for twenty-seven was a handshake and the blink of an eye. Dozens of sentinels had come before Mortiune and dozens would come after. It was a depressing fact with which Mortiune had wrestled for years. Sometimes he even managed to convince himself that he was at peace with his place in the grand scheme of things.
Mortiune had been pulled out of the Dream Sea by the fishers at Whistlewood forty years ago. He was not a young dream, even then. He met with the master-fisher who told him where he was. He also told him that he was a mortal dream, a memory of someone else, and as such he would slowly wither and die in Avalen. When he asked to be thrown back and given a chance at living forever the master-fisher said no, that it would be a contravention of the King’s laws. Once a dream left the Dream Sea it could never go back. He had then told Mortiune that he'd not truly been alive in the Dream Sea, he'd been part of a chaos, a dangerous infinite storm of unpredictability. The master-fisher told him that he would be better off in Avalen where, though he was mortal, he might still serve and make a name for himself, he might be remembered.
So Mortiune had accepted his fate and left Whistlewood. He joined a crystal caravan headed down the Crystal Road. He dwelt for a time on the shore of the Lyr Sea where he met a troupe of dream weavers who plied their trade entertaining passing travellers. When they learned that Mortiune was a mortal dream they insisted on training him up as they suspected Mortiune was a highly proficient manipulator of the forces of Avalen. In time he came to lead the troupe and eventually they decided to make their way to Fenn, the infinite city of legend.
Once there they lived in a small house on the eighteenth pillar. Talk of Mortiune’s impressive displays of fire-walking and living-rock soon circulated. He went from one performance house to another, each one more glamorous than the last. Then, twenty-seven years ago, he was approached by Sentinel Mathazaer who talked him into a life of dignity and prestige. So Mortiune joined the Sentinels and rose through their ranks to become head of the order after Mathazaer’s death. Dignity and prestige were indeed his, though it was still a life of servitude.
Mortiune’s main source of resentment was the indifference. Memory dreams were mortal, in Avalen they aged and died in the same manner as the memory of those who dreamed them. It was Mortiune‘s opinion that the cause of this could only have been that the great Fenn unwittingly brought reality into the dream when he pushed back the Dream Sea and created Avalen.
The same rules did not apply to the unique dreams; they lived for as long as their mortal dreamer had intended them to live. Often they were immortal, for the chaotic minds of the linear corporeal beings did not put expiry dates on their dreams. So had it been with Fenn the Great, so it was with his family, the silver claws, the tallow bears and a thousand other races in Avalen, but all around them the memory dreams faded and died and were forgotten as quickly as they had been conceived.
All these things spun around in the mind of Mortiune as they sailed across the sky. Without his books he quickly became maudlin, the reality of the dream was never far from his mind.
The sword-shaped vessel cut through the sky with ease, the huge silver raven on its prow staring proudly down at the kingdom. The five decks of the ship were almost empty. Normally when the King sailed on The Lonely Ghost it was filled with hundreds of courtiers, guards and family members, but with only a Sentinel on board the vessel was quiet. A handful of silver claws accompanied Mortiune and Clowen to the Mercurial Chambers so aside from them and a few crew members the ship lived up to its name.
It had only taken them an hour to clear the metropolis that was Fenn, still an incredible amount of time given the speed at which the ship travelled. Looking down at the sprawling mass made him appreciate just how large Fenn was, and it was said that the city was deeper than it was wider. Many millions of dreams lived there, more than could be accurately counted, or methodically governed.
Another hour and they would reach the Mercurial Chambers. Mortiune had only been there a couple of times and both were many years ago. They were constantly building new chambers, largely based on advice from the Whistlers’ Guild. They were the ones tasked with bringing in new dreams from the Dream Sea and analysing the temperament of the endless ocean of dreams which lay around Avalen. It was their opinion that the more dreamers which were harnessed by the chambers the calmer the sea became, and the likelihood of a dream storm diminished.
Mortiune and the Sentinels disagreed. They urged more study and caution saying that the evidence to suggest a link was sketchy and tenuous, but they were sadly ignored on this matter. The King’s own brother, Brukiel Geddon, lived in Whistlewood and was responsible for the guild. Family over wisdom seemed to be the ethos behind such decisions.
The Sentinel Forest was below them now, a green mass a hundred times the size of the city it surrounded. On foot a journey such as this would take months, if they had an uneventful trip, which was unlikely. The forest was home to many strange dreams which had never made it as far as migrating into the city. They chose to live alone or in clans and often caused problems for travellers. With the exception of the Mercurial Chambers, Lyrilia and Whistlewood the King’s law beyond the city of Fenn was questionable in its effect.
This did not surprise Mortiune for the criteria for bringing new dreams into Avalen seemed to consist of grabbing whichever dreams floated close enough on the Dream Sea. Mortiune often wondered what different fate might have been his had he not been caught in the nets of the fishers that day.
The Lonely Ghost dazzled in the sunlight, its metallic construct making it look like a star whizzing across the sky. After a time they arrived at the Chambers. At the Palace of Fenngaard, The Lonely Ghost docked on a large platform attached to the side of the dome, reached by a set of external stone steps. There was no such landing platform at the Mercurial Chambers, however. Those that were there were designed to accommodate a regular-sized sky-ship, not a mammoth craft like the Ghost.
; Instead of landing they descended to hover alongside the Mercurial-Pelegon. A movable footbridge was pushed across the short gap which allowed Mortiune and Clowen to descend. Mortiune had spoken few words to the tallow bear. He got the distinct impression that Clowen was unhappy at having been caught up in a matter of such gravity and he seemed to sullenly resent the impact that this mission was having on his routine. The tallow bears were guardians who lived to wake, eat, protect the Chambers and sleep. Any deviation from this set operating schedule seemed to make them irritable.
As they walked down the footbridge Mortiune saw a number of scorch marks on the platform. “You were fired upon?” he asked.
“Yes, Lord Mortiune.”
“I am not a lord, you will call me simply Mortiune or you will address me as Sentinel.”
“Yes Sentinel”, replied the Bear.
“What manner of weapon?” asked the Sentinel.
“Fire, pure fire. The jackal held it in his hand and threw it. My brother, Hujka, stood and died here from its touch”, replied the bear with anger in his voice, pointing at a particularly large burn mark on the metallic floor.
“My sorrow for your loss Clowen”, said Mortiune looking down at where Hujka had died. Dream-weaving was an interesting art. There was still no conclusive reasoning as to why there were dreams that did not seem capable of performing such arts.
The talented jackals were one of the oldest races of Avalen, they were also unique dreams. They were long-lived and though much of their leadership had been decimated during various conflicts in Avalen’s history there were still some from their order who had lived since the early days of the first Fenn.
This made them very dangerous individuals. Command of the elemental forces, in a controlled environment that was safe and secure, following a great deal of practise, was something only achieved by dream weavers of the highest order. To do so in a combat situation from the back of a sorrow hawk would require a master of the art. From Clowen’s description it sounded like well formed balls of explosive fire were being used, not random columns of uncontrollable flame. Whoever the jackal was he was a person of great talent.
“Can you show me the stone from which the dreamer walked”, Mortiune asked of Clowen, who nodded and led the way.
Several other tallow bears had gathered whilst Mortiune was examining the floor where the fireballs struck. They followed in silence as Mortiune hobbled along for many minutes behind Clowen, who was obviously irritated at having to proceed at such a slow pace.
“Would you like me to bring a carriage of some kind Sentinel?” he said at one point, craning his head round. Mortiune answered with a stare that contained all the words necessary; he was old and slow, but he did not need to be carted around on wheels.
As they walked, Mortiune stared with fascination at the sleeping mortals who disappeared into thin air regularly to be replaced by another of their kin. These were all humans, the Whistlers’ Guild thought it prudent to keep different species in different chambers. There were forty-seven currently with many more planned.
Eventually they reached the empty stone table from which Clowen said the dreamer had risen from after waking. Mortiune walked around the table examining it closely with his eyes before eventually stopping and laying a hand upon it. Then he started to whisper the words of a dream weave under his breath and the nearby tallow bears looked on intrigued as lines of thin blue light crept from Mortiune‘s hand like a spider’s web made from miniature lightning bolts.
For some minutes he sat in the same position murmuring. For the bears and the claws it was a tedious silence, for Mortiune it was journey in which his subconscious journeyed to a place that most dreams could only wish to dream of. Sadness and life and the origins of conflict were unveiled to the sentinel. In a flash the lights disappeared and his eyes snapped open.
“What did you see Lord Sentinel?” asked Clowen curiously, “did you descry the identity of the dreamer?”
For several seconds Mortiune ignored him, his mind rapidly calculating the consequences of what he'd just learnt. “I must return to Fenngaard immediately. Clowen, send word down into the trees, all auxiliary units of the tallow bears must be mobilised. Tell them to triple the guards on each watch and maintain round the clock vigils. This stone must not be touched.”
“Of course Sentinel. This is with the King’s authority?” he queried. Corul Geddon had not mentioned any such orders when dispatching them to the chambers.
“The King will not dispute my orders when I tell him of what I have gleaned”, with that Mortiune started to hobble away.
“Which is what exactly?” asked Clowen, but Mortiune paid him no heed as he walked as fast as his old legs would carry him back to The Lonely Ghost.
When he reached the ship he climbed aboard and summoned the captain of the silver claw detachment who had accompanied the vessel: “Captain Asgoth.”
“Yes, Sentinel”, replied the hollow voice.
“We need to make for the Palace of Fenngaard as fast as we can.”
Captain Asgoth issued several short commands, the gangplank was pulled aboard and within seconds the long sleek ship was lifting into the air above the Mercurial Chambers and the giant trees which held them aloft.
Once they were under way, Mortiune addressed the captain again. “You have a telepathic link with your fellow silver claws back at the palace?” he enquired.
In answer Captain Asgoth lifted one of his deadly looking gauntlets to his head and looked off into the distance before shaking his head.
“I do Sentinel, but the distance is too great. We need to wait until we are above the city before I will be able to address my fellow guardians at the palace.”
“I want you to inform me as soon as we are within range”, said Mortiune.
“Yes Sentinel”, replied Captain Asgoth diligently. With that Mortiune made his way back to the prow of the blade ship and stared out as the raced back across Avalen towards the City of Fenn.
As they sped away from the mountains and started back over the Sentinel Forest, Mortiune‘s mind was clouded with doubt and worry. But then he noticed clouds of a different kind, dark, inky and building up in the sky over the forest.
The Magister Elementis controlled the weather over Avalen. He also controlled the movement of the light of Senbel governing the transitions of day and night in Avalen. During the elder days many of the first dreams had argued to abolish the night but the first Fenn stayed their hand, telling them that there were many benign creatures who found life only in the darkness. It would be unfair to rid them of their ability to dwell and prosper in Avalen.
So it was that equal amounts of light and dark were imposed. On the weather front, however, the first dreams got their way. Sunshine was eternal in the daylight hours of Avalen; the occasional cloud could be seen but these were often artistic affectations of the Elementis rather than anything that was needed.
Most of the trees and plants grown in Avalen were of a kind that did not require water. Those who did choose to grow cyclical flora and fauna did so on the banks of the many rivers criss-crossing the land or down by the Lyr Sea in the southeast.
Therefore, when Mortiune saw towering storm clouds building in the sky ahead it was an odd and disconcerting sight. As they came under the first of the clouds and the rain started to fall he held out a hand to catch the drops. So rare was the phenomenon that he did not realise the danger until it was too late. Deep rumbles of thunder could be heard after the flurries of lightning which tore the sky asunder.
Captain Asgoth and the ship’s First Hand, Commander Lione, both approached Mortiune across the slippery deck.
“Your orders Sentinel?” asked Lione, a short thickset humanoid with eyes that pointed in the wrong direction when he spoke to you. “Do you wish to land until the storm has passed?” he added.
Mortiune looked down at the beautiful forest below; yet it was a savage beauty for the canopy disguised all manner of unpleasant dreams which lived there.
Only the four Sunlight Roads which wound their way through the forest could be considered safe zones. They were sturdily built and patrolled by the Kings Lancers, even so they were not immune to attack, and beside that none of the Sunlight roads were anywhere nearby.
“No”, said Mortiune, having to raise his voice above the raging storm, “we would face just as high a level of danger down there as we do up here.”
“It will be hard going on the Gravita Lorgas”, said Commander Lione.
“The information I have must reach the King’s ears sooner rather than later”, said Mortiune.
Lione seemed about to protest again before Captain Asgoth interrupted him: “You have your orders Commander.”
A rain-soaked Lione stumbled off through the wind.
“Do you think it is a dream storm?” asked the Captain once they were alone, his hollow voice somehow making itself heard above the torrent.
That was an interesting and worrying thought for Mortiune. If the Elementis had somehow lost control of the weather patterns of Avalen then what other institutions governing the dynamics of their world might have been compromised? To that particular question, however, he was confident in responding in the negative.
“No Captain, if this was a dream storm we would be contending with more than wind and rain. A dream storm would come with an array of monstrous elements and we would not be able to fly through it. Even the most highly trained Gravita Lorgas would not be able to content with the forces at play.”
The captain nodded at that before speaking again. “Even so, it might be prudent to continue the rest of this journey below decks”, he said before walking away without waiting for a reply.
Mortiune decided the captain’s words were sensible advice. Even with the Gravita Lorgas in place the ship was being buffeted by the storm’s winds. He took one last look at the furious weather before descending the wooden steps to the decks below. Despite the anger and chaos of the storm Mortiune could not help but see a certain beauty there. Perhaps, if the Elementis regained control of the weather patterns, the King could be persuaded to allow a more natural weather course in certain parts of Avalen.
Mortiune had not been assigned rooms as it was only a short voyage so he took refuge in a sparsely furnished visitor’s cabin where he spent the rest of the flight in deep contemplation. Several times he heard tremendous crashing noises which can only have been made by lightning hitting the vessel. The only interruption came when Captain Asgoth knocked on the door to inform him that they were now over the city and that he had managed to establish a link with Guard Captain Reyas at the Palace of Fenngaard.
“What message would you like to forward?” asked Asgoth.
“Inform Captain Reyas that I need the Hall of Providence to be cleared of anybody not of the royal family or the Silent Council. Additionally, please ask him to contact Sentinel Paraya in the Lyng Library and instruct him to bring a book titled The Raven and the Jackal to the Hall.”
The unwavering discipline of the silver claw could not be doubted. He lifted a claw to his helm without hesitation or question. A few moments later he spoke only to confirm that Captain Reyas had received the instructions, “It is done Sentinel.”
“Thank you Captain”, said Mortiune as Asgoth left the room. Mortiune went up on deck not long afterwards. The storm seemed to have less power over the city. Behind the sky-ship he could see the sky was a patchwork of lightning bolts and clouds, but over Fenn the cloud was thinner and the rain less intense. Even so it would be a novel experience for all those city dwellers who had never before seen precipitation.
It did not take long until Mortiune saw the huge dome of the Palace of Fenngaard appear in the distance, towering above the world. What reception would his words find today, he wondered?
Beyond the Dream Page 8