Dreamcatcher

by Christian Rosnell

  Seth took a half-step back and simply drew two words in the air with Iridia’s pen, then crossed his arms, looking for Troy’s reaction as he read them. A slightly amused reaction crossed his friend’s face as he read the words, then shook his head.

  Trust me, they said.

  Seth then waved the pen, and sent each word spinning forward, planting themselves over the tattoos on his upper arms. They would stay there until such time that Seth, as the one who performed the act, decided to remove them. Troy opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opened and a guard poked his head in tentatively, freezing at the scene – Troy tensed at the front of the room, Seth standing tall a few feet away, Dreamcasting pen drawn. “Um…”, the guard started.

  Troy shook his head, “Tch. Come in, it’s fine. What do you want? This is an important meeting we’re having here.”

  The guard drew himself up and saluted, “There’s a messenger here to see you, sir. He says it’s of the highest urgency. He is sorry, but he demands to see you now. You can come back to the meeting with the information he has given you when he is done, he says.”

  “Demands to see me?”, Troy said coolly, but continued on before the guard could respond, “Fine, alright. Lead me to them.” At the door, Troy turned and paused for a moment, then – clearly with some effort, smiled and looked back at Seth – “alright, I trust you. I’ll need you to take these things off me when I get back.” With that, Troy turned with a half-smile and followed the guard out, shutting the door.

  A few seconds went by before Iri sighed loudly and slumped down in her chair. Seth nodded his thanks to her and tossed the pen back, which she caught and sheathed with a careless hand, shaking her head. “Awkwarddddd”, she said into the silence, rolling her eyes. Seth looked apologetically at Kiara, but she did not seem to upset by his actions. She just raised her eyebrows and even smiled a little. This was good, as Seth knew she could be even more hard-line than Troy himself at times.

  Seth just walked over to the window, staring out again at the snow blowing hard past the window. It was almost fully night outside now. Since darkness fell earlier this time of year and this far north, it would be hours yet before The Dark came. He sighed inwardly; maybe his display had been a bit too over the top. He had wanted to make a point of showing Troy that we was not OK with any insinuations that he wasn’t trying his hardest to protect his own people against his own territory. Usually, Troy wouldn’t have said something like that to Seth, anyway. As it was, he probably didn’t mean it. And usually, Seth wouldn’t have overreacted by walking up to him so threateningly – even if he was only doing so to carry out his necessary writing response. Seth sensed that they were all a little on edge lately. He needed to do a better job of not caving into the pressure – the others were doing an admirable job of that as it was. He needed to do better.

  I’ll hold myself to that.

  As it was, Seth had needed to respond in writing to Troy’s accusation. He couldn’t let something that important slide and, as had always been the case, his only means of response was through writing. He supposed he hadn’t needed to go overboard by Dreamcasting with Iri’s pen, but that was over and done with. Seth needed to write to communicate regardless; for as long as he could remember, Seth could not speak. He was mute. It was very odd, because he could hear, feel, taste, smell, and everything else on a much higher level than any normal people, but he simply could not speak. He had made a special point of learning how to read and write – not very common in his domain – so he could communicate with others.

  Seth’s bizarrely heightened senses, along with his natural strength and speed, had essentially given him the tools he needed to become the most lethal assassin in the land – Zero – from a young age. He had only decided a little over five years ago that he could be Seth too. That he could be who he was supposed to be, rather than who he had turned out to be. He still thought he could simply be himself. No more Zero, no more assassinations. That was what he wanted, to ultimately just be Seth. He wasn’t sure though how well it was working out, and that really stressed him sometimes. What kind of twisted person could kill with the best of them, but couldn’t even be themselves?

  Seth’s thoughts were cut off as the door banged open again, and Troy stood in the doorway, arms raised up in a triumphant gesture, eyes gleaming. He seemed to notice his friends looking at the words burned into his upper arms. “We’ll get that later”, he said distractedly. “But guess what, guys? This just turned into the most high-level, significant meeting we’ve had in years.”

  Kiara looked up with interest, “What did the messenger say? Did the enemy withdraw from Fear?

  Troy shook his head, smiling. “No, better. I have it on good information from our ‘top source’ that The Legion has identified and is bringing two individuals to the capital – two young men, from the region of Hope, who are Dreamcasters.” Troy paused appreciatively at the intake of breath around the room. He spread his arms out, “You guys know what this means right? They’ve finally found them. We’ve finally found them.”

  “The Heirs have been found and named. Ladies and gentlemen”, Troy pulled out a pair of pictures, superimposed onto thick paper by a Dreamcasting technique similar to Iri’s ability, “meet Lyght and Mikael. The first two Dreamcasters ever from the Hope region. And according to our source, these two are probably the Heirs. We need to track these two down; to get to them before our enemy realizes what he’s got.”

  “Guys, get your Southern clothes out, if you have any – we’re going to Glory.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Magma swirled and heat rippled the sulfuric, smoggy air as Decimader Vuruman tried to concentrate. He hated the stifling heat nearly as much as the acid rain that fell every night without remorse on his great city.

  The one good thing about the acid rain was that it couldn’t reach underground. Here, in the burning fire pits beneath Mount Victorious, northwest of Glory, it was hard to even tell night from day. Although Decimader knew that it was night above (Dark, as the clueless call it, he thought shaking his head), the fiery light of the pits gave no indication of the time of day. The shifting glow and searing heat gave one a sense of vertigo if they overstayed their welcome, the King had found. He tried to focus in on the manuscript engraved in black twisting letters on the wall. They formed the foundation of his plans, the embodiment of his hopes. They were the Covenant. Short and to the point, these words nonetheless formed the basis for Decimader’s plans and ambitions.

  Hope will rise, and heed its call,

  For at their whim the sky may fall,

  Around the living breathing Heir,

  By chosen two of no compare.

  The fire that burned,

  The one who turned,

  The world to paradise has yearned,

  For this.

  And now, the world will know peace,

  War and death and sorrow forever cease.

  These words had suddenly appeared on this wall a few years ago, found by a group of miners who had previously used this passageway frequently for their operations. Of course, they hadn’t appeared as words to the miners, merely dark scribbles on the wall. They were however, so mysterious that the miners reported their sudden appearance to their superiors. As a result, the King had come across vague mention of them in the veritable mountain of business reports he had to scan annually – one of his more tedious responsibilities. Never had he dreamed that practice would clue him in to something this important.

  Intrigued by the slight possibility he’d sensed, Decimader had come to the mining town personally and made the voyage down to investigate the strange symbols himself. He had been shocked but thrilled to find that he did in fact recognize the strange scratchings on the wall, although they were not at all strange to him. They were his native language, Godran. He never used it anymore, for obvious reasons, but he was the only one in the entire Dreamscape who understood it. Naturally.

  Admittedly, it had taken him a
while, but he had finally connected the dots that the “chosen two of no compare” must be from the region of Hope, based off the first line. Furthermore, they were likely Dreamcasters, for Decimader was sure only a Dreamcaster could defeat the Heir, who would obviously have the power himself. It was very odd, but when the King had made this connection, he had realized there had never in a thousand years been any Dreamcasters born in Hope. The Legion was charged with keeping tabs on all Dreamcasters in the realm, and they had never come across any from Hope. Surely, if two Dreamcasters suddenly appeared out of the Hope region, they would be the ‘chosen two’ described in the Covenant, right? It definitely seemed that way.

  Regardless, he found it hard to get the passages out of his mind – it was like they were burned into his brain and his psyche. Finally, he had a real way to find and defeat the Heir. He was cautiously optimistic about the chances for success, but optimistic all the same. He hadn’t gotten this far by being pessimistic or giving up, that was for sure.

  Molten red lava sprayed against a stalagmite behind Decimader as he turned from his study of the Covenant and looked over at his companion, Lyn. It was funny, really. Lyn was a member of the Legion, indeed, and that made him by default a high-ranking leader in the King’s system. However, despite the fact that he was merely the Academy teacher – one of the lower ranking positions – he was one of Decimader’s must trusted advisors, and even friends. The King trusted few other people as much. Not even the First Legend, to be honest. As much as he admired the man, Decimader never could get himself to see completely past his background. He felt this level of caution was probably a good thing when it came to an important matter like who to trust.

  But with Lyn, no such calculations were present. Decimader didn’t need logic or reasons to trust this man; he just did – implicitly and completely. Had he not, he would never have brought him down to see the Covenant, or have Lyn advise him on such a critical and tricky matter. It also helped a great deal that the two subjects of the Covenant were ones that Lyn had spent the last few weeks traveling with, and would spend the next few months training. Yes, his perspective and ideas were critical on this issue.

  Decimader ran a hand through his thick dark hair, shot down the middle with its line of silver, and sighed, trying to think. But he was getting nowhere with thinking, he thought himself in circles sometimes. He needed to engage Lyn in his plans. That was, after all, why he had brought the enormous man down in the first place.

  “So”, Decimader began, drawing his friend’s eyes away from the burning, swirling magma, “I face a problem here that I have an issue with solving: how do I fully equip these two described in the Covenant to carry out their mission? You will, after all, be charged as their teacher and as a member of the Legion with training them for this special mission. This is the mission I originally created the Legion to complete, as you know. The mission that these two are destined by the Covenant to fulfill; to locate and capture the Heir, bringing a new golden era and a second Ascendance, as promised.”

  Lyn nodded, “Right. It is my honor to be charged with this critical mission. In truth, it’s what I’ve been waiting for my entire life. The chance to significantly aid in the completion of the Legion’s mission is something that every Legend dreams of from the moment the cloak touches their shoulders. Also, as a teacher, I would love nothing else more than to personally train the two individuals mentioned in the Covenant. It’s the highest honor.”

  Decimader inclined his head, looking up at his friend, “And I trust fully that you’ll do as good a job as anybody – better, even.” He paused and thought for a moment. “I know I don’t need to tell you how important this job is, but understand that this is the most important task I’ve ever asked any Legend to undertake, and that includes every First Legend that has ever served under me. I have no doubt as to your ability to work with these two, but I want to know; what do you think about all this? You always were a person who liked to have all the information before you make a decision. Well, you have it. So what do you think?”

  Lyn paused thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded slightly to himself and drew himself up to his considerable height to address the King of the Dreamscape. “You’re right. I do appreciate having all the information. And I must say I am excited to accept this mission. However, I apologize to say it, but I feel as if there are some things missing that I do not understand. The one critical thing I’m missing here is the context. I know some of these questions may be a little personal, and you may not want to answer them, but I would appreciate it as your friend and vassal if you did. I need to know the context here.” Lyn stopped and looked over for his friend’s reaction.

  Decimader nodded curiously, “Go on.”

  Lyn spread his hands out and said, “I need to know the background. You’ve always been King of the Dreamscape, right? Well, what were the factors that led to the creation of all the elements we see here: the Legion, the Heir, the Covenant, the Dark, even Dreamcasting itself? Have these always existed? If so, why, and how do they relate to each other? All of this”, Lyn said expansively, gesturing vaguely above to indicate the world, “how did it get to be this way? I guess that’s my overall question. How did all of this come about?”

  Lyn stopped and looked down at Decimader, who was standing with his arms crossed, a puzzled look on his face. “Sorry.”

  “No”, Decimader said after a moment, waving his hand in the air, “No apology needed, my friend. You ask some great questions. Questions, I might add, that are very legitimate, but that I have never answered. And for good reason. What you’re about to hear is of the highest importance that you keep secret. I will disclose it to help you understand the… context of your mission, as you put it, but you must swear on your honor as a Legend that you will never tell anyone else what you are about to hear.”

  Decimader watched as Lyn nodded affirmatively and brought his right fist over his heart to indicate that he agreed and swore by his status as a Legend. “Right”, Decimader said, turning and walking over to stare out at the twisting mass of lava below. Restless, on fire. He felt as if he could understand it; he burned to get something off his chest as well. Decimader Vuruman closed his eyes in gratitude at himself for finally allowing himself to talk about all of this. It was long past time.

  After a few moments of silence, the King in all-black shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “Where to begin…” He cleared his throat and spoke up louder, “Well, I suppose to understand the Dreamscape, and all the ‘elements’ in it that you named, you first have to understand the past of me, its leader.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Decimader thought he saw a very odd look cross Lyn’s face. Exasperation, maybe? No, he must be seeing things. He couldn’t get distracted or slip up in his explanation. He continued on.

  “Long ago, way before I was born, the story goes that a divine being appeared to my people living in the world called ‘Gaien’ and gave them a gift, and along with it an identity and a mission. Though we were the only highly-intelligent life in Gaien, understand that we were not human. Well, not in the literal sense of the word, anyway.

  Regardless, this ‘gift’ the being gave us was an ancient form of Dreamcasting. Apparently, my ancestors, the mortal ‘Godra’ race, took this power and virtual immortality in exchange for the lives they had been leading in Gaien, and ascended spiritually and physically into their new home – the ‘Aether’. This is known as the Ascendancy.

  Once established with their new powers in Aether, the now unified Godra split responsibilities along the two great clans who had warred for ages on Gaien. From there, each clan split into two ‘families’, and each family created a ‘race’ of its own to populate and inhabit Gaien in their absence. One clan, the Arvin, split into the Kuru and my own family, the Vuru. The Vuru created and operated as deities of the human race, while the Kuru did the same for the humans’ ‘bond’ race, as it was called” Hence my surname ‘Vuruman’ – family of Vuru, creator of man.

&nbs
p; Taking a deep breath, Decimader continued, in full flow now, “The other clan, the Sable, split into the Thyr – they created the Draethynys, the “Sky Lords” race – and the Fyr, who created a race that… well, it’s hard to understand if you’ve never seen them. I wish you could’ve seen them, they were pretty amazing.”

  “Anyway”, the King went on, “the agreement between the original divine being and the Godra was that they would essentially do the job of creation, through Dreamcasting, and maintenance of their races on Gaien via religious worship for about fifty thousand years. The agreement stated that at the end of the fifty thousand years, each Godra would use a special power to be given at this time to create an ‘Heir’, or essentially create a reincarnation of himself to be born as a member of the race he had created. They would then get to live out a full mortal lifetime as a member of a defined race, in the now populated and developed Gaien, before dying a natural death.”

  Decimader shook his head. Natural death. That was an idiotic thing to agree to. What’s the point of being a god if you can die? No, dying is obviously not a befitting fate for my race. I still see no reason to fall, when we can rise again. Why throw away life?

  Decimader sighed and looked out over the lava. He had come to the crucial point. He had to make a quick decision. To tell him or not?

  No, he thought. Don’t tell him yet, if ever. You know how his bias would ruin your credibility. He wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t one of us. You would have to know what it was like back then to understand what happened. Worse yet, what would happen if the information got spread around? I trust him, but…