Fearsome Dreamer

by Laure Eve

  Her fury came then, almost too much to bear. She wanted to twist the knife for what he’d done, for what he’d made her feel and how he’d played with her and then thrown her away.

  ‘He makes me feel alive,’ she said. ‘You make me feel dead.’

  As soon as it was out, she took it back. It was monstrously untrue. White made her feel panicked, alarmed, nervous, upset, awed, heart-poundingly hopeful; he made her feel more alive than anyone. But it was too late. His face had changed – his eyes were bruised with misery. She had managed it at last, and she felt nothing but shame at herself. She ran from the shame, slammed his door behind her and ran, away from the pain and the moment when he had been so close to her mouth he could have kissed her, the thought that made her feel like her heart would burst.

  CHAPTER 26

  ANGLE TAR

  Rue

  The next few days were a mess of churning wrath and shame. Rue couldn’t bear speaking to anyone. Lea’s chatter and giggles seemed to have amplified. Tulsent’s nervousness made her annoyed rather than sympathetic. Lufe had been even more aloof and smackable than previously, if that were possible. Marches told one of his stupid arch jokes; she’d lost her temper and called him a fat, truffler-bodied cock. He had been so taken aback that he’d not spoken to her once since then.

  She couldn’t stand how ignorant they were. She ached to spill the secrets she had, to tell them of the tunnels, to expose White for what he really was. But she was afraid they would laugh at her. She was afraid, most of all, they wouldn’t believe her; and she had no way of proving any of it. And then she would have to tell them who had shown her the tunnels, and who had told her about White. She couldn’t bear giving away that secret most of all.

  She was deeply embarrassed. That she would let a strange boy, whose name she had never even known until recently, invade her and turn her life upside down. She would have to admit that he visited her at night. It would give something very private of her away, and there was no chance she was going to offer such a group of selfish, amoral people as her fellow Talenteds such a weapon to hurt her with.

  So she wrestled with it quietly, worried it was too obvious in her behaviour. But odd moods and phases were such a way of life with them all that it seemed no one had really noticed there was anything wrong.

  And when she was alone, she thought of White.

  She thought of the incredible ability he had; how he had appeared right in front of her, the immense skill and calculation that must have taken in that split second that he had chosen to do it. It made her feel very afraid, but to her private shame, it also made her want him more.

  She thought of Areline, and wondered what White might have done to her. She wanted him to show up in Red House, like Wren had – to be that intrusive and bold. A shameful part of her wanted him to appear suddenly in her bedroom, while she was in bed. Maybe to watch her while she was asleep. To march up to her and demand of her, so that she could reject him again, or scream at him and say everything she really wanted to say.

  But he never did.

  Frith was nowhere to be found. None of the group seemed to know where he was, but they were used to him being away for long periods of time, and then turning up unexpectedly at Red House to catch up with them over a hot chocolate. Rue needed him badly. He would tell her what she should think.

  She would ask him about the tunnels, and he would not know what she was talking about. He would laugh it off, at first. But as she grew insistent, so would he become more serious and promise to find out the truth, whatever the cost. He would tell her about White and Areline and Wren, hanging his head in shame and making her swear not to expose the secret. It would cost the Talent programme too greatly to lose him, Frith would say. Rue would swear.

  This fantasy wound around inside her head at least ten times a day.

  Wren had not visited her again, but he had left a note on her bed, which said that he would come for her Tuesday next. That he would take her away to World, away from lies and boredom and petty things. Everything in World would be extraordinary. Everything in World would fascin--ate her.

  She sat on her bed in her coat, travelling bag at her feet. Wren had said in his note that everything she could want would be provided, and so there was no need to bring any of her clothes or possessions. Truth be told, she would feel strange and exposed without at least some of her things around her, even if they didn’t fit in and reminded her too much of everything she had left behind.

  She looked at her little clock. It would be left behind. Clocks weren’t needed in World. She wasn’t sure how that could be, but Wren said she would know soon enough.

  He was almost two hours late. When he did arrive, Rue was disappointed. She’d never seen him arrive from a Jump before, but as far as she could tell, nothing much happened. He was not there, and then he was; just like White. The air popped gently around him, but that was it. He grinned at her, delighted.

  ‘You’re ready!’

  ‘You’re late,’ Rue snapped, hoping she sounded annoyed rather than afraid.

  ‘You’re right, my sweet Rue, and I apologise. Preparations took longer than I thought.’

  Her heart jumped.

  ‘So this is really it, then,’ she said.

  He came over to the bed and sat beside her.

  ‘Still time to change your mind,’ he said.

  ‘You’re just saying that to be nice. I can’t change it now. I can’t stay here.’

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she said. ‘Which country, I mean.’

  ‘Well – we’ll be going to World. The part of World I live in is called North America South West.’

  ‘Is it pretty there? You haven’t taken me there yet.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. And if you mean by pretty – it’s hard to explain. The real place isn’t pretty, but in Life it’s beautiful. The environment is controlled, you see. What you see, and then what you see in Life, are two very different things.’

  Rue was silent, trying to unpick his words. He hadn’t really seemed to answer her question.

  ‘You know you can’t take those with you,’ he said, pointing at the bags.

  She shrugged. ‘I just want something of here. Just small things.’

  ‘But Rue, clothes don’t Jump. Nothing Jumps except people.’

  She laughed. He didn’t.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’re wearing clothes.’

  ‘Wearing them, yes of course. They’re on you, they’re part of you, they come with you. But your mind can’t cope with taking separate objects along.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It just can’t, love of mine. It’s enough to ask your mind to move yourself. No one can do it.’

  ‘You brought that pen.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you a secret, Rue. It took me four months of practice to be able to take that MediPen on a Jump. Four months, every day. The first few times I managed it, I mangled the Pen beyond repair. That landed me in trouble; those Pens are quite expensive to make.’

  She allowed herself to wonder very briefly if White could do it.

  And then she allowed herself to wonder very briefly if Wren knew the real extent of White’s talent. If anyone did. Then she pushed everything about him away from her and stood up.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ she said.

  This was it. This was the end.

  He had been watching Rue for days. He would leave his body where it was and use his mind to watch her. Just snatches of five minutes at a time. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for longer than that.

  He watched her lie awake, blinking into the darkness. He watched her in Red House’s study in the evenings. He watched her sit alone at breakfast.

  There was something in White that felt immense disgust at what he was doing. He had promised never to do this again, never to be so intrusive on people when they were alone. Sometimes he’d seen things he’d rather not see, but most often it was just dull
. When he was younger and stupid, he’d thought it would help him find out secrets and gain power over the people who could hurt him, like Jospen or Cho, or his mother. When he was older he realised how pointless it was; how it only gained him secrets that hurt him, too.

  All these years later he had broken his promise, but he didn’t care enough to stop. She was leaving. He knew it.

  She packed a bag. He watched her from the corner of her room, panicking every time her eyes roved over the spot he was looking from, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. He watched her sit at her mirror and brush out her hair. Line her eyes. Choose her best travelling trousers, and the beautiful white silk shirt Lea had made her buy. He watched her make every preparation to leave and did nothing.

  But he would, he told himself. Before she went, he would do it. He would step out of his hiding place and tell her everything, every last detail. He would beg her to stay. Screw pride. Screw everything about him that had stopped him from kissing her months ago when he should have.

  But she turned and smiled and a boy with silver eyes was there, and that was the moment White knew he would do nothing. She had chosen who she wanted, and all he would do now would be to ruin himself in her eyes. He couldn’t bear that.

  Wren did look incredible. His face had changed beyond recognition. His body was lithe and smooth – nothing like the original slightly chubby boy that he had known, over a year ago. That had lain before him on the classroom floor, screeching curses with wild, shocking hate in his eyes. That had tried to kill him.

  That had promised to take revenge on him.

  He could see why Rue would prefer Wren. He was beautiful. He had been quite plain, before the modifications. Most people were, in comparison. But he’d always had the luminous quality of the extraordinarily gifted and ambitious. Now of course, his outer shell matched his inner fire. In Angle Tar, you were stuck with how you were born, which had always seemed unfair, when it was obvious that the more well-formed people progressed so much more easily to where they wanted to be in life.

  He watched them talk.

  He watched disappointment ripple across Rue’s face as she was told she would be able to take nothing with her. Wren lied smoothly, without an obvious change in behaviour. He had always been good at lying.

  You could take anything you liked on a Jump, as long as you could hold it in your hand. Your mind incorporated it automatically; it was as easy or as hard as taking yourself. The only thing you couldn’t take was something alive that didn’t have the ability to Jump. Anything that link-Jumped with a Talented died, unless it was another Talented. This White knew. His experimentation on this was a scar on his soul. One of many. He had an ugly soul.

  And he knew why Wren had lied. He was cutting all her ties with Angle Tar, severing emotional connections, making sure she had nothing to remind her of here once she was in World.

  White should say something now. Right now.

  What would happen if he appeared right there, in front of Wren? Would he be afraid? What would happen if he told Rue, in a quiet, authoritative voice, of the lies Wren had said to her? What if he told her the truth about Areline, and who had really tried to kill who? Would she gasp in astonishment, step away from Wren, shake her head and say that she could no longer go with him?

  She would be angry. Angry with herself at how stupid she had been. Angry with him for not stepping in sooner, for hesitating again and again to tell her how he felt. He would tell her he was sorry. He would bend on one knee and look up into her eyes. He would take her hand, touch her skin. He would tell her he loved her.

  He enjoyed the fantasy for a moment more, then dismissed it.

  She wouldn’t believe him. He had no proof.

  And what would he say when she asked him about the tunnels? He knew about them, of course. One of Frith’s favourite evening conversations was the shredded social fabric of Angle Tar, and how messed up everything was. In White’s opinion it was messed up pretty much everywhere you went; it wasn’t as if World was doing any better on that score. But Rue wouldn’t want to hear that. She’d want an explanation. He didn’t have one. Life was not as neat as that.

  He watched. Wren was the one who took her hand, who held it and drew her close. They Jumped.

  White did nothing.

  Nothing, nothing and nothing.

  He went back to himself, alone in his room.

  The fire had almost gone out. Embers glowed dully. His bed was unslept in. He hadn’t moved from his chair all day. None of that mattered, though.

  He waited.

  And waited.

  And eventually, Wren came.

  He opened White’s door, looking cautiously around. Saw him sitting hunched by the fire.

  ‘Aw. You’ve been crying,’ he said.

  White watched him come closer. Felt every part of him scream to get up. To wrap his hands around Wren’s beautifully slender neck. To squeeze. To break his face with a fist, over and over.

  ‘Sorry I took so long to visit,’ said Wren. ‘To be honest, I was a bit nervous of coming back here, the first few times. For some reason, I’d thought you’d be able to sense me, or something. But, erm. Apparently not.’

  He grinned.

  White stirred.

  His grin faded.

  ‘Where is she?’ said White.

  ‘In World. Sleeping. In my bed.’

  White couldn’t stop pain surfacing on his face.

  ‘You’re such an idiot,’ said Wren, his silver eyes narrowed incredulously.

  White gazed at him. Wren’s newfound beauty couldn’t hide the horrible rage he clearly held on to. ‘Why are you doing this to me? Why?’ he said.

  Wren sneered. ‘Gods, White. It’s just all about you, isn’t it? And it always was. Everyone fawning over you like you’re some kind of hero. Well, now I’ve found a place that understands what I can do. What I can give. The same place that rejected you. That stings, right? That must really sting.’

  ‘I have never done anything to you. Nothing.’

  Wren sighed shortly. ‘Really? We’ll go there, if you like. How about Areline?’

  ‘Nothing happened. NOTHING HAPPENED. When she asked me to go to dinner with her, I refused. Did she tell you that I said yes? She lied!’

  Wren’s face flushed.

  ‘It’s not even about that!’ he shouted. ‘What about our plans? The things we talked about? I thought you were different. Someone I could actually respect. Someone who understood. I gave you my secrets! But you’re just as bad as everyone else. You waltzed into my life and humiliated me all the time, fucking showing off to everyone! You think you’re better than me. Don’t you? Well, you’re not. I can beat you.’

  White gazed at him, furious. Bewildered.

  Wren folded his arms, calmer.

  ‘Well. It doesn’t matter any more. In fact, you did me a favour. You really did. So I did you a favour in turn. She was holding you back. Isn’t that what you used to say to me? Don’t bother with girls. Don’t bother with love. It only holds you back from your purpose in life. I used to think you were such a pompous cock, saying that. But you know – you’re right. I came to realise that. You are. So I did you a favour, as a thank you. She’s gone now.’

  White flinched, his body aching to throw itself out of the chair and into that horrible smug face.

  Wren smiled, held his hands up.

  ‘Look, it was just an assignment, at first. They asked me to come back. Check out the competition. Maybe even recruit someone, if I could. I didn’t know about your, er, special regard for one of them, not at first. But when I heard about it, I thought … well. What better way to pay you back a favour? What tickles me most, though, is that you didn’t even know. Didn’t even know that I was visiting her at night. And yes – it was always at night. And she’s actually quite pretty with no clothes on.’

  White’s hand tightened on the pistol he had jammed into the seat cushions, and he pulled it free. Fumbled. Pointed it at Wren’s chest.
r />   It was a small, ancient thing that Frith had given him last year as a birthday present. He’d practised this earlier, a few times. Pointing it. He hadn’t fumbled, before. But then, nothing ever turned out the way it should, when it came to the time that actually mattered.

  Wren’s jaw fell open, and his features spiked in fear.

  ‘I’ll Jump before you can fire,’ he said.

  ‘Try!’ White screamed. ‘Go on and try it! We’ll see!’

  There was a knock on his door.

  ‘White?’ came a voice from outside.

  Frith’s voice.

  Wren was shifting nervously.

  ‘I can do it,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I can’t.’

  White kept silent.

  If you just shoot RIGHT NOW.

  RIGHT now.

  NOW.

  You’ll get him. Do it.

  The door opened, and Frith came in. And stopped.

  Wren took his chance.

  White’s finger jerked on the trigger.

  Too late. The noise made his ears shut down.

  Wren had gone.

  Frith stood, thunderstruck.

  White threw the gun as hard as he could across the room. It smashed into the wall.

  He covered his face.

  He willed with everything he had that the world would fade away. Fade away and leave him alone in the dark, with only his own breathing for company.

  EPILOGUE

  That night, he wakes up in a cold, dank, stone room.

  He knows it is a dream. He also knows it is unlike any dream he has ever had before. He knows that instantly.

  This feels different. The inside of his mouth is tacky with sour thickness. His whole body strums with tension. He feels like he has been running flat out. His lungs struggle and heave.

  He has never been to this place in his dreams before.

  The room is completely bare. The walls are made of huge, thick blocks of stone, solid and real and sparkling with mica. In one corner, the corner he wakes up in, the dusty flagstone floor is covered with tangled, angry black markings, scribbled in something that might be charcoal. He looks around, then down to the markings. These are what he has come for, he knows it. He needs these. More than anything else in the world, he aches with his desperate need. But the more he stares, the more they waver and dance, senseless but lovely. They mean nothing to him, an alien language. Just a series of sharp, tilted lines.