Dream Thief

by Stephen Lawhead

  “They pray for whatever the Spirit lays upon their hearts. But always for love, wisdom, and the strength to do God’s will, and also for his presence to be manifest in the world. We pray that the Lord will come in glory, and for the Father to deliver all men from the evil one. As the name suggests, we intercede for all mankind before the Throne of Light.”

  They talked a little longer and then Devi left them to their rest. Spence crawled into his berth in a nearby pew, one thought uppermost in his mind: it must have been Ari’s mother. That sick child whose illness had galvanized the seminary into organizing the society that continued its vigil of prayer even to this day. Indeed, who else could it have been? Had she paid some price with her broken life? Had her suffering purchased some measure of grace that he now could draw on in his time of need? Even as he held the thought he remembered One whose sacrifice had paid an ultimate price for all of them.

  Strange, the economy of heaven, thought Spence. He had the undeniable feeling that somehow, beyond mortal reckoning, an order, a fine symmetry reigned that counted him and the mad

  Caroline Zanderson in its balance, and linked them in its accounting together with the all-but-forgotten seminary with its humble students kneeling obediently in endless prayer. Against what? The Dream Thief? Perhaps unknowingly, but also against the greater darkness of evil that gathered over the face of the Earth, the vast unreason that threatened always to extinguish the light, but could not.

  And why not? Because a tiny society, together with all the other small and seemingly insignificant ones the world over, held fast to the flame, keeping it safe within the strong fortress of its devotion—even in the midst of the enemy’s own camp.

  Strange, the economy of heaven.

  THEY LEFT EARLY THE next morning before anyone else was astir. No one, not even the three kneeling over the inlaid cross at the front of the sanctuary, saw them go. Kyr appeared to have fully recovered from the aftereffects of the sonic blast that had stunned him. He walked across the seminary courtyard in the silver light of dawn easily and swiftly with Gita, a short pudgy shadow, by his side.

  Spence lifted the wooden latch, pushed open the gate, and stepped out to face the world once more. He felt rested and calm, as if he had been given some deep assurance that his restless groping in the darkness was not in vain. He sensed within him the tiny pricking sensation that quickened the heart and keened the senses, that told of a new awareness of purpose. The night spent in the seminary had been a healing interlude, a blessed convalescence that he badly needed.

  Without speaking they retraced their hurried steps of the night before, working back to the place where they had camped. By the time the sun had risen in the treetops they were standing once more at the site of their campfire, now cold ashes in a blackened ring. There was silence all around as they stared across the nearby forest clearing. Kyr’s spacecraft was gone.

  25

  HOCKING SWEPT NOISELESSLY INTO the murky chamber. Clouds of incense rolled before him and scuttled away as he passed. Ortu sat immobile on his platform of cushions, head upon his chest, long arms resting on his knees. It was the same energy-preserving position Hocking had always seen him in as long as he could remember. The ancient Martian rarely moved.

  But the old head rose as Hocking drew nearer. “What is it?” demanded Ortu. “What do you want? I have not summoned you.”

  “I saw the naga return. What news did they bring?”

  There was an edge to his underling’s voice that Ortu had not heard before. He glared back at Hocking and said, “I will tell you when I choose.”

  “You will tell me now,” said Hocking evenly.

  The great yellow eyes flared open and focused intently on the object before them. “You dare to question me?”

  “I am tired of playing the obedient servant, Ortu. From now on we will act as equals—”

  “Equals! Never!”

  “As equals, Ortu. I have suffered your caprices long enough. For years I have waited in your shadow, but no more.”

  “Get out of here, you fool. Remove yourself from my sight. You are drunk on your own dreams of power. I alone say what will be and when.” The kastak flared and subsided into a steady purple glow.

  “Not any more, Ortu. I have dreams of power, yes, and ambitions of my own that you know nothing about. Some of them I have already begun to put into action, while you sit by and do nothing.”

  “Oh? What are these puny plans, wise one?”

  “Tell me what happened—what did the naga find?”

  “They escaped.”

  “How? What happened?”

  “What difference does it make? They escaped …”

  “And the Guardian?”

  “And the Guardian with them. They are on the way here now.”

  “Then we must be ready for them when they arrive.”

  Ortu sank back into himself. “Do what you will, we are no match for a Guardian … I am too old.”

  “Ortu!” cried Hocking. “Listen to me! I need you! If we are to crush them I need your power!”

  The Martian withdrew further into his normal trancelike state. “You cannot defeat them … it is too late. We have failed …”

  “No!” screamed Hocking. The pneumochair swung closer to the rigid figure before him. Ortu did not move. Hocking glanced at the lowered head of his master and saw the circlet, the kastak, now throbbing irregularly. His own thin hand, shaking slightly, reached out toward it. In an instant the source of Ortu’s power was in his grasp.

  Ortu’s eyes snapped open. “What?” he gasped. A startled expression appeared on his face.

  “Give it to me!”

  “No!” Ortu drew back his head, but Hocking’s skeletal fingers held tight. He felt Ortu tugging away and was amazed at how weak his master was. With a quick snap he jerked the circlet and the kastak was his. “With this I am in control!” He held the kastak before Ortu’s stricken face. “The power is mine!”

  “Give it back” cried Ortu. “You can’t know what it means.”

  “I know enough to save us, if you won’t.”

  “No—I—I need it…”

  “It is mine now, Ortu.”

  The alien made a lunge toward Hocking to snatch the band out of his hands. A finger twitched on Hocking’s tray and Ortu was flung back against his cushions in a heap.

  “I am in control now, Ortu. I say what will be.”

  Ortu did not move from where he lay; his eyes watched Hocking dully. “Give it back to me,” he pleaded. “I will die without it.”

  “Then die!” Hocking backed away from the squirming alien. “You are no longer any use to me, Ortu. I have endured you long enough.”

  “Ahhh!” Ortu raised a hand and rolled weakly forward as if to prevent Hocking’s retreat. But he lacked the strength to rise, and so lay quivering as if chills assailed his frail body.

  Hocking left the room and did not look back. Already he was framing a plan in his mind. He would let them come to him and then destroy them all—except Reston. Reston too would be crushed, but first that stubborn will of his must be broken completely. Before he was finished with him, Reston would beg for death and would die with Hocking’s name on his lips.

  Hocking’s features contorted in a leer of pleasure at the image of Spencer Reston groveling before him, pleading for release. And he would give it, oh, yes, he would give it.

  ON FOOT THE TRAVELERS pushed through sparsely forested hills upward, higher and higher toward Kalitiri. The way was well known and well marked. They could see the mountain itself, serene and majestic, trailing white wisps of clouds from its slopes, standing before them remote and aloof from the world of men.

  They climbed through terraced fields of millet and rice, cut in the sides of the hills like the wide stair steps of giants. They passed the hillfolk working the fields with their buffalo or repairing the breaks where rain had carved out gullies in the terraces and washed the soil away. Others, burdened like pack animals, hauled firewood from the f
orests above the villages. Over all, hung an air of quiet industry which seemed peaceful and good.

  The peasants, with their baskets of woven twigs, went about their work pausing only to glance at the three newcomers and their tall companion in silence, or to hail them with a wave and a shout as they passed. Spence, watching the toil around him, began to feel as if he had been there before—some time ago. It was the same sense of deja vu pricked before at various times along the way. He felt he really did recognize the place. But this time the scene carried with it none of the strange panic that used to seize him in his dreams.

  Of course. That was it! His dreams!—he had been here in his dreams. Spence stopped and looked around as if he were lost in a place that nevertheless seemed extraordinarily familiar. These hills were the hills he had seen in his dreams, and these were the ragged peasants who labored so hard to pull the stones from the ground and haul them away. It was as if he had stepped back inside his own dream; for a moment the world was frozen and unreal. The feeling passed and everything around him took on its normal appearance. The strange flashback receded, leaving behind only a residue of mild disorientation which he shook off.

  “What is it, Spence? Are you okay?” Adjani was beside him with a look of concern wrinkling his brow.

  Spence forced a smile and said, “It’s nothing. I seem to think I remembered this place for a moment. It was in one of my dreams.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing—really, it’s all right. It just kind of gave me a funny feeling.” He laughed. “Maybe somebody’s trying to tell me something.”

  Adjani only nodded and said, “Come on, but let me know if you have any more flashbacks. This may be dangerous territory for you.”

  Spence had not considered that he might be especially vulnerable the nearer he got to the Dream Thief. The idea made him feel that every step closer to Kalitiri drove another nail into his coffin. It unnerved him, making him feel small and weak.

  At last they reached the place where the gorge separated the mountain from the winding mountain pathway. The palace was still some distance away, but could be seen, its dark walls showing between the trees that had grown up high around it.

  “There it is,” said Gita, pointing. “And here we are.” He looked at his friends with an anxious expression. “What are we going to do? There is no bridge.”

  Gita was right. At the place where the bridge had been, all that remained were two huge posts dangling great fibrous ropes swinging in the winds that raced through the chasm.

  “What are we going to do?” echoed Spence. “Is there another bridge?”

  Gita shook his head slowly. “No, sahib. It is not likely. These hillpeople use the same pathways for generations. The only time they make new ones is when a landslide carries away an old one. It is certain that this is the only way. That the bridge has fallen away shows what little use the people have for this path. Kalitiri is not a place they care to go.”

  Kyr looked into the deep gorge. “Compared to the rift valleys of Ovs, it is nothing.”

  “You aren’t suggesting we try to climb down there and back up the other side, are you?” Spence was incredulous. He gazed down into the dizzying depths to the swirling water below and then back up the sheer, jagged rock face of the other side. The gap was a good twenty or thirty meters across. “Without a good rope, I wouldn’t dare try it.”

  Gita rolled his eyes in mute terror at the thought and threw up his hands. Adjani looked from one to the other of the group. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, I suppose. We can buy some rope from the villagers. Perhaps they’ll even help get us across.”

  Spence swallowed hard. “Kyr and I will stay here. You and Gita go and see what you can find. We’ll scout out the best place to climb and meet you back here.”

  Gita left with Adjani, protesting that it was no use, that he would not mind being left behind in the least, that climbing always made him sick to his stomach. His protests diminished as he and Adjani returned back along the winding path and were soon out of sight.

  Spence stood looking at the patch of forest which for the most part hid the palace from view—all but the gleaming hemisphere of the domed stupa in the center and the spike of the thin tower beside it. Nothing stirred that he could see. The place looked overgrown and deserted, a habitation of monkeys and parrots—the same fate suffered by ruins the world over.

  But he also sensed a power in that place which exerted a hold on him. He could feel it drawing him, its pull almost a palpable force. Was it outright foolishness to presume that they could accomplish anything by going there—the four of them, weaponless and very much at disadvantage? Was this a fool’s errand? Was it part of the Dream Thief s plan from the beginning?

  As if reading Spence’s dark thoughts, Kyr turned to him and said, “Do not allow despair to eat at your heart, Earthfriend.”

  “I’m afraid, Kyr. What can we do against him?”

  “Do not be afraid. Dal Elna has not brought us this far only to fail.”

  “I’m not so sure. Why did he let any of this happen in the first place?”

  “Why? That no one can know—the answer is beyond our highest thoughts.”

  “We have no weapons. Nothing to fight with.”

  “We are far from helpless. You had nothing when you were lost on Ovs, yet you survived; more, you increased in strength and wisdom.”

  “That was different.”

  “How was it different?” Kyr looked at him intently with his great yellow eyes. Spence had no answer and so turned away. He began walking along the edge of the precipice in search of a likely spot to descend. He tried to shrug off the feeling of deep foreboding that had begun to swarm over him—as if the close proximity of the palace and its occupant increased his sense of helplessness and dread. But the oppression would not be shaken off. If anything, its grip on Spence was tightening. The fact that Ari also was held in its grasp—a thought which was never far from his mind—made it that much more potent.

  After searching along both sides of the pathway for some distance, they found no better place to make a crossing than the spot where the bridge used to be. So, they returned to wait for Adjani and Gita to come back.

  They did not have long to wait. No sooner had they settled themselves beside the old bridge post than they heard a commotion coming up the hillside. Soon Gita’s blue knob was seen bobbing toward them with Adjani’s slim form beside him. But behind them marched what appeared to be the entire population of Rangpo and surrounding countryside. All were babbling at once and shouting, as if they were on their way to a major sporting event, which they were; they were coming to see the foreigners cheat death on the rocks. Bets were laid and wagers had already been made on the improbable outcome of success.

  Spence looked aghast as Adjani and Gita came strolling up. He glanced quickly at Kyr—there was no way to hide him now, no way to disguise his alien appearance.

  “Sorry,” said Adjani. “We tried to discourage them, but…” He gestured to the crowd around him, who had fallen strangely silent in Kyr’s presence. “They had to come. We’re stuck with them, I’m afraid.”

  Black eyes sparkled, whispers buzzed through the throng as the villagers beheld the alien. Kyr gazed back at them calmly and the awestruck hillfolk became reverently quiet, apparently believing themselves to be in the presence of a god, or at least a very powerful spirit of some order unknown to them. They watched in wonder as he stood and came forward to take the ropes they carried.

  Gita turned to the crowd and said something quickly. “I told them not to be afraid, that he is our friend, and theirs.”

  Kyr took a coil of handwoven hemp rope and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Kyr, what are you doing?” said Spence.

  “Watch and you will see.” He stepped to the edge of the gorge and lowered himself over.

  “Wait!” said Adjani. “Let us tie a safety rope around you.”

  Gita closed his eyes. “Oh, merciful heaven!”<
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  “There is no need. This is one skill all on Ovs possess from the time they are very young. It is a game.”

  With that he threw himself over the edge, much to the chagrin of the onlookers. The crowd rushed forward, most expecting to see his tumbling body smash against the stones. Instead they saw the strange being lightly skittering down the face of the chasm, as deftly as a spider, his long arms and legs spread wide, gripping the rock in impossible handholds. Down and down he went, as easily as a man descending a staircase.

  Spence and all the rest marveled at Kyr’s swift, sure movements. In no time the Martian reached the bottom of the chasm and began propelling himself across the surface of the thrashing cataract. Like some kind of great gangly waterbug the alien skipped across the churning waves in a manner that defied description. Once across, he raised his head to regard his audience crowded over the edge of the precipice, and then reached up and started climbing the opposite face as swiftly as any lizard scaling his favorite sunning rock.

  Then he was standing across from them, weaving his head from side to side, smirking as if to say. It’s easy, just do what I did.

  “Well done!” cried Adjani. And immediately the crowd went wild with shouts and cheers. Spence just shook his head in disbelief and grinned.

  Kyr proceeded to tie one end of the rope to one of the bridgeposts on the other side of the gorge. He then heaved the coil back across to the other side. It took several attempts, but they finally caught it and made it fast to the opposite bridgepost. The villagers then took over.

  Another rope was passed across and tied to the second bridgepost. They then had two parallel lines stretched taut across the chasm. Spence didn’t see how that could possibly help them, but he kept quiet and let the men from the region work. He and Gita sat down on a rock nearby and watched the new bridge take shape.