And Yor--what of the Twig Eater? Would Nightmare kill him too? Moonmist could not imagine a world without the Father Elk. Yor had always been the greatest symbol of Dream, and if he should die, truly life had become a nightmare.
A scream of agony came from a chamber somewhere above. Moonmist had never heard a scream of such pain, and she winced. She tugged at her chains in a sudden outburst of panic, but could not free herself. Even her neck was chained to the floor with a collar. The scream came again, and Moonmist shut her eyes and clenched her fists.
Will Nightmare torture me now? The fear rose in her, and she could not curb it. Battles were one thing, even death, but torture seemed a fate she could not endure. She wished she were dead. She'd have killed herself now, could she. She felt weak and cowardly for wanting to give up, to die, but did not care. Life is over for me. Just let me die quickly.
Sniffing came from the shadows, only several feet away, and Moonmist started in her bonds. For a moment there was silence. Moonmist lay, heart pounding. Then the sniffing resumed, followed by grunts, and in the darkness two yellow eyes shone.
"Who's there?" Moonmist said in a shaky voice. She tried to sound brave, but it came out as a whisper, so weak that she doubted the creature heard.
The grunting came closer, and Moonmist pulled on her chains again, but could not free herself.
The creature emerged into the torchlight, and Moonmist had to look away with a grimace. The creature, now sniffing above her, looked like a demonic mole, its naked skin red, its whiskers bristly and thick. She winced when she felt its nose sniff over her skin, its whiskers prick her flesh.
"You are awake," it grunted, its voice nasal. "Good, good. Very pleased. You go to the master now."
Moonmist heard another creature sniffing toward her from the left, then another from behind her head. She felt their whiskers touch her, their noses sniff her. She peeked to see three of the demonic beings, each more hideous than the other, peering over her. Warts covered them, and their eyes were tiny and white. They are blind, she thought.
"Who is your master?" she whispered, fearing the answer.
The moles hissed, and one bit her thigh, hard enough to make her cry out loud. "You no ask questions," it said. "Bad, bad. Not pleased. No talking. Master is great. Master is owner. Silence! You see Great One soon."
Keys chinked, and suddenly Moonmist's legs, though still bound to each other, were free from the floor. She moved them and gasped in pain as the blood rushed back into her. Her muscles were cramped and her head spun. The keys chinked again, and her collar was unbound from the floor.
"Up, up! Stand, feathered-one. Walk to see Master." The moles jabbed her with claws, and grimacing in pain, Moonmist pushed herself to her feet. Her ankles were still fettered together, a foot apart, just enough to let her hobble, and her hands were still cuffed behind her back. The moles tugged the chain on her collar, pulling her. "Walk!"
She hobbled forward, dizzy, the fetters chaffing her ankles and the floor rough against her bare feet. Two moles, only two or three feet high, pulled on her collar while a third jabbed at her back with a spear.
Give me strength to face this, Moonmist prayed. Whatever comes next, I must be strong.
They walked through the dungeon, the torches at their sides. Dried blood smeared the walls among chained skeletons. From chambers surrounding her, above and below, Moonmist heard screams. She remembered the screams from the battlefields, the Elorians who died under her command. As terrible as those days of war had been, Moonmist would have given anything to have them back. Back then I had some hope, I still stood in Dream, and I fought against evil. Now I'm all alone, in darkness. Tears filled her eyes and she trembled. She missed her parents and friends so much, she sobbed as she walked.
"I never appreciated anything," she whispered. "I never paused to really enjoy my mother hugging me, or the days of beauty in Dream, the taste of wine, the smell of flowers. I took everything for granted, I'm so sorry."
Where is my courage? Where is that strength I summoned to fight in war? It is all gone now, like the leaves of Dream, like the jasmines that glided away on the winds that blew from the mountains.
She took a deep breath, remembering those flowers, the way they swirled in the northerlies. Let my fear be as those flowers and glide away. She looked into herself, at scenes of Dream, rolling fields under towering purple mountains and sunrise. She smiled and her tears, just a moment ago tears of fear, became tears of awe and beauty.
Dream might be falling, might have fallen already, but I still carry a part of her within me. There's still a little life in me yet.
As the moles dragged her forward and her fetters clanked, she nodded. This was good. Let me remain with Dream's beauty within me, not fear. They cannot take that from me. Even here. Especially here. She would walk upon goldenrods and wild grass.
"Go, go!" the moles said, and a stone door opened before her. The moles released her chain, shoved her into the doorway, and slammed the door behind her. Moonmist caught only a glimpse of light before her knees hit the floor, and her head bent forward under the weight of her collar and chain. Her feathers covered her eyes.
* * * * *
They crawled across plains of blowing dust, three suns of howling flame above them, pillars of fire rising in the distance and filling the sky with black smoke. And yet they were cold, so cold that Cade and Tasha shivered.
"Is the compass still glowing?" Tasha asked, voice hoarse.
"More than ever," Cade said. "We're close."
He was so weary, he could hardly move. He could walk only several paces at a time, before dizziness made him crawl on all fours.
"I've become an animal here," he said and coughed, a long cough that brought blood to his throat. "No offense, Tash."
He thought of his life back on Earth. How long has it been? A year? More? Cade could hardly remember his home, and that chilled him. When he thought of himself a year ago, he seemed to be thinking of somebody else, another life. It seemed impossible that the Cade last year, at home, was the same Cade who trudged now, dirty and weary, through Nightmare.
They walked among jet boulders as tall and thin as trees. Cade felt like he was walking through a land of black knives. It made him feel small, which was good. He was hidden here amid the shadows.
He could see his reflection in the smooth black boulders, and he did not recognize himself. His face was haggard, gaunt, blackened by smoke and dirt. His hair hung limp, so long it nearly reached his chin. It was short when he'd left home. I look like a dying vagrant.
He felt like a different person, as if all his life back on Earth was but a wisp of some forgotten dream. He could remember home, but the memories seemed to belong to somebody else. He could recall the taste of the scrambled eggs Tasha would cook up for Saturday's breakfast ("scrambles", she called them), and the smell of Dora Grumbolt's perfumes at work, and the smile of Emily from the fourth floor. Yet he could not remember himself in any of those memories.
Did I truly live there? Does the world truly exist? He had not showered in so long, nor eaten a real meal, nor slept in a bed. Nightmare had turned him into some miserable beast that crawled dirty and frightened upon the ground, a creature that did not belong in civilization.
"Look, Cade," Tasha said. "A river of fire."
Cade raised his head, staring ahead. A river of flames snaked across the black earth. Shakily, Cade rose to his feet, ignoring the weakness in his knees. The river ran wide, at least fifty yards. The flames roared, blurring everything behind them; it was impossible to see what lay beyond the river. He trudged toward it, knees weak, until he stood before the roaring flames.
Cade sat down and lowered his head, thinking. The flames howled, rising a dozen feet tall. They reflected in the towering jet boulders, and a million fires seemed to burn around Cade.
"How to cross a flaming river?" he thought aloud. "Jump over it?"
"Too wide," Tasha said.
"Build a bridge?"
&n
bsp; "Nothing to build one from."
"Fashion a lasso from our rope?"
"The boulders rise as high as buildings; you'd never be able to grab one."
Cade thought long and hard. Finally he said, "What if we tie the rope to a boulder on our side... then walk for a bit... and tie the rope to another boulder on our side of the river? Then we can climb across."
Tasha looked at him, worry filling her eyes. "Cade, are you all right? If you tie the rope to two boulders, both on our side, how would you climb across to the other side?"
Cade smiled. "It's so simple, it's almost not obvious. Because the river curves."
Tasha frowned. "Show me."
Cade smiled and drew a sketch in the mud.
"This is the river," he said.
"And this will be our rope!"
Cade stood up, kicked dirt across the drawing, and walked into one of the inner curves of the river. He stood before the riverbanks, the lava flowing around him, to the right and left. He tied the rope around a boulder and tugged, testing the knot.
Pulling the rope with him, he stepped away from the fire. He walked across a bulge in the river, and stepped into the next curve. He pulled the rope tight and tied it to another boulder.
"Let's go," he said. He climbed onto the rope, so that he hung beneath it, holding on with his hands and feet. Tasha clung to him. He crawled across the river like a chameleon, the flames hot against his back, and jumped down on the other side.
Tasha shuddered. "Nearly burned my tail to a crisp." She sighed. "Cade, do you think that...."
The mouse's voice trailed away, and she stared with wide eyes ahead. Cade followed her gaze, and his own mouth unhinged.
A palace of iron and jet rose in the distance, fluttering with dragons, towering into the clouds and alight with ten thousand torches.
The compass buzzed and trembled.
"Tasha, dear twin," Cade said, "we just might finally be here."
Chapter Thirty
The Labyrinth
A hand touched Moonmist's shoulder.
"It's over now, dear," said a gentle voice, a young woman's voice. "You'll be fine now."
Moonmist's hands were bound behind her back, and she could not clear the feathers away from her eyes. She raised her head, and the soft hands parted her feathers for her. The hands belonged to a young woman, an Elorian like her, with pale skin and black feathers growing from her head. Moonmist blinked.
"Where am I?" she whispered, rising to her feet.
She looked around her. The floor and walls were red marble, and a bronze bath stood on clawed feet, steaming. Brushes, soaps, and burning candles stood on wooden stools while pots of more water boiled on fires. Mirrors covered the walls, reflecting herself a hundred times. Moonmist examined her reflection in silence. She was thin, so thin, and her feathers were matted. Her eyes were haunted.
"You are in his realm," the young woman said. "They call me Candlelit." She pointed to a tattoo of her name, black roses coiling around it, on her arm. "They have sent you here, so that I can prepare you for him."
Candlelit led Moonmist toward the bath. It was scented of soaps and full of bubbles. I've not had a bath since Niv arrived in our city, she thought, the memory of home twinging her heart.
"Who is 'him'?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Candlelit lowered her gaze to the floor. "The master. The great one." She raised her head then, to meet Moonmist's gaze, and fear filled her eyes. "Do not ask questions here, Princess Moonmist of the Begemmed City. Do not speak, if you can be silent." She lowered her blue eyes again. "It is best that way. He brought me into his service just a fortnight ago, but I have learned fast. Serve him, and you won't suffer."
Moonmist stared at Candlelit. "I do not wish to serve Phobetor."
The servant girl turned her head away and shut her eyes. "The old life is over, Princess! Please. Some before you have tried to fight, to speak his name. They suffer now. Please."
Moonmist took a deep breath. She had to be sure. "Candlelit, am I in Nightmare?"
Candlelit lowered her head and nodded, biting her lip, and Moonmist saw a tear flow down her pale cheek.
Moonmist nodded slowly. "Okay, Candlelit. I'll do as you say." Her entire future seemed to flip inside out. She had thought she would die in the Begemmed City. Then, just moments ago, she saw herself remain, tortured and bound, forever in the dungeons. And now... what was her fate now? To become a servant of Nightmare?
For two hours, Candlelit helped her bathe, brushed her hair, painted her nails, applied her with makeup, and beautified her like in her days back in the Begemmed City.
"How long have you been in Nightmare?" she asked Candlelit as the girl applied henna to Moonmist's eyelashes.
"I cannot say," Candlelit whispered. "Years perhaps."
"Are you from the Begemmed City?" Moonmist asked. She smiled at the sudden memory of her home. "You look like a girl from Wine Corner, down under the vineyards. Am I right?"
Candlelit looked up, and Moonmist saw the same twang of memory which filled her own heart. Yes. This girl is from home. She's been captive in Nightmare for a long time, but she's from home.
"Okay," Moonmist whispered. "I won't ask any more."
Finally Moonmist found herself dressed in silk and gold, her hair and makeup perfect, her body perfumed. When she examined herself in the mirror, she bit her lip to hold back the tears. She looked almost like she did at home, before the war began. If not for the collar and chains, she could almost imagine that she looked at a reflection of herself from a year ago. Would that I could exit this chamber now, and find myself back in my palace!
Candlelit stepped toward the door and placed her hand on the knob. Then she paused, glanced around furtively, and embraced Moonmist. With her feathers hanging around her head, Candlelit whispered urgently into Moonmist's ears.
"Be brave, Your Highness. Do what he tells you. Do not fight him. Please. However he harms you, if you resist, he will harm you tenfold. Worship him and you will not return to the dungeon."
Moonmist wished she could hug Candlelit back, but her arms were still bound. She whispered her own words. "And you, daughter of Dream, do not yet lose your hope, and do not yet forget our war. Some still fight for Yor."
Candlelit's body convulsed in sobs. "The Father Elk," she whispered in awe, then, paling in sudden terror, leaned back. "Remember what I told you!"
Candlelit opened the door, and the moles waited there. Sniffing and grunting, sweat covering their naked red flesh, they grabbed Moonmist's chain and pulled her out of the bathing chamber, back into the corridor of stone and torches.
They dragged her down the corridor and up a curving stairwell. It seemed to Moonmist that they climbed forever, for hours, for miles. Finally windows pierced the stairwell, and Moonmist could see columns of fire burning outside beneath a swirling sky of ash. Dragons swirled under that sky, thousands of them. Below upon the red clay of Nightmare, there stretched a labyrinth of black walls. As Moonmist watched, the labyrinth's walls shifted, ever changing. In the distance, chimneys spewed clouds of smog.
So this is what Nightmare looks like. Does Dream look like this now too?
The moles opened a door and jabbed Moonmist with spears, shoving her into a hallway. Thin windows lined the hallway, and skulls bedecked the walls. Moonmist saw the skulls of hippos, wolves, bears, and Elorians. Trophies.
She lowered her head. I never returned King Hippo's teeth to the river. Does his skull hang somewhere in this palace, a trophy of Nightmare?
They traveled through more stairwells, more corridors, and with every step, more opulence revealed itself. Moonmist saw pots of gems, golden statues, ivory sculptures, bear rugs, filigreed swords, a million plundered artifacts. Is this a palace or a museum of Dream?
Artifacts of Nightmare filled some rooms. Moonmist saw shields bedecked with Phobetor's deep purple spiral, black Dreamblades of Kar, jet statues of Eliven, and even a stone carving of Loor. There were stat
ues of demons and monsters, dark crystals, and busts of demonic faces screaming in agony, their teeth made of steel.
Monsters walked the halls. Moonmist saw other evil moles, but also lanky demons with seven horns and three eyes, shaggy fanged beasts, and great slugs that dragged themselves across the halls, leaving trails of slime. They all stared at her as she walked by. She expected them to leer at her, spit at her, curse her, but instead they seemed almost awed, almost subservient. One monster, an insect-like being with three mouths, even bowed before her.
What's going on?
Finally the moles entered a vast columned corridor. Moonmist could not help but gape. The ceiling stood taller than any ceiling she had ever seen, and gilt covered the porphyry columns. Between the columns, Moonmist could see the landscapes of Nightmare stretching into the distance, red lands covered with razor-like black boulders and dunes of ash. Hot winds flapped her feathers.
Towering gilded doors, studded with firegems, stood at the end of the corridor, and the moles dragged her toward them. Two guards stood by the doors, twenty feet tall, burly, their skin dark red. Their faces were like the faces of cruel dogs, and with hands the size of horses, they pulled the doors open.
The moles pushed Moonmist through the doorway, and the doors boomed shut behind her. She found herself in an opulent hall. Gold and jeweled artifacts covered the walls, and a throne of crystals stood in the center.
A man sat upon the throne, dressed in burgundy. His skin was pure white, he was bald, and his eyes were golden. Moonmist had seen so many monsters of Nightmare, and yet this man seemed beautiful.
He rose to his feet and outreached his arms.
"Welcome to my home, Princess," he said with a small, mysterious smile. "My name is Phobetor."
* * * * *
Cade dragged his feet across a field of thorns, the ground writhing with worms. His feet ached with blisters, his muscles cramped, and hunger filled his belly. The world spun, and his arms and legs trembled with weakness. But he was almost there.
The Gods of Dream: An Epic Fantasy Page 30