Visioness

by Lincoln Law

  VISIONESS

  Lincoln Law

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © 20016 Lincoln Law

  All Rights Reserved

  May not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  “All men dream: but not equally.”

  —T.E. Lawrence

  “Cogito ergo sum”

  —René Descartes

  For Megan and Amy who, when questioned which story I should chase, chose this one.

  And were right.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Escaping the Dream

  Chapter One: The Buffer Sickness

  Chapter Two: A Sturding Nhyx

  Chapter Three: Professor Oakley’s Advice

  Chapter Four: A Warning

  Chapter Five: Her Greatest Fear

  Chapter Six: The Halls of the Oen’Aerei

  Chapter Seven: The Aftermath

  Chapter Eight: A Snapping and a Dream

  Chapter Nine: Begin Again

  Chapter Ten: The Freedom of Thought

  Chapter Eleven: The Funeral

  Chapter Twelve: Matters of the Father

  Chapter Thirteen: Under Lock and Key

  Chapter Fourteen: A Shadow on the Fringe

  Chapter Fifteen: Danger from Two Sources

  Chapter Sixteen: Fire on the Horizon

  Chapter Seventeen: Better This Way

  Chapter Eighteen: A New Woman

  Chapter Nineteen: A Darkening Nightmare

  Chapter Twenty: The Discovery of a Sturding

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Distant Fog of War

  Chapter Twenty-Two: The Dreamless’ Betrayal

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Before a Tampered Jury

  Chapter Twenty-Four: A Wall of Black Glass

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The Army Marches

  Chapter Twenty-Six: A Dream Made Real

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Role She Has To Play

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Crimson Rivers, Crimson Cloaks

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: What Is Bravery?

  Chapter Thirty: Therron’s Secret

  Chapter Thirty-One: A Touch of Reality

  Chapter Thirty-Two: The Price of Freedom

  Epilogue: Washed Up on the Shores of Oblivion

  Prologue

  Escaping the Dream

  Nynette held her child in one hand and a knife in the other.

  Her body ached as she fled, legs sore from the weight of the unborn baby within her. There was a jolt of pain within the depths of her stomach, stabbing at her insides with each step as she ran. The houses on either side of her, windows dark, curtains closed, flew past in a blur, such was her speed. Or maybe she was just delirious? Her thoughts muddled about confusedly in her mind as she attempted to orient herself.

  And all the while, Boom! Boom! Boom! A pounding in her head.

  “Mama,” whispered Adabelle, chin smacking against Nynette’s shoulder in time with her steps. “Why are we running?”

  “Because we have to,” Nynette replied. She pivoted about, searching.

  “But why?” Adabelle asked groggily.

  “Because we have to.” Nynette puffed again. She took a moment to kiss her daughter’s head.

  The street opened out to a wide boulevard, mostly empty but for a handful of lamps. Couples wandered about, arms linked, or locked in impassioned embrace. The hour was late, but a number of the restaurants were only just closing for the night, clearing chairs, wine bottles and glasses. Customers departed in cabs, the lights within going dark. And above these cafes, apartments; dark and silent. These all rushed by.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Her arm ached from his beating her, but there was also the pain within her stomach from running. It was like the baby was trying to force her way out, cutting through the womb. It made Nynette wince with every pounding step against the cobbles. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t pause. She pushed through the pain, the fear, the exhaustion, and ran on.

  Not for the first time that night, she extended her thoughts out, touching the minds of those asleep. The world around her seemed to shift; darkening and fading. Colours mixed and blurred, while somehow leaving the outline of the world present, allowing her to continue running. The ever-present pounding softened slightly. There, in her mind’s eye, she found dreams. Children dreamt of flying, or monsters, or of riches. Adults, meanwhile, dwelled on matters more personal. They dreamt of lovers, of other lovers, of family and of friends. But she did not see Therron, her husband, bolting through those dreams like an enigma or ephemeral thought. Dreams rarely made sense, so the appearance of a dark-skinned, suited man seemed entirely unsurprising to those that saw him. But she could not see him, nor smell his cologne, nor hear that blasted lullaby in prelude to his appearance, and for that she was thankful. It meant he was either still catching up, or that he had lost her in the Dream Frequencies.

  That she could not see him, though, still terrified her. He could be, literally, anywhere.

  She reeled her tendrils of thought back into herself, the dreams fading away, as she turned off the lamp-lit boulevard onto the Rue Enloux. The University lay at the end of the street, where the avenue split down two thoroughfares. At least Adabelle would be safe until she’d dealt with Therron.

  She stole up the stone steps to the door. A sandstone lintel, a door made of heavy stained oak, the brass bell dangling from the front lamp. She rang it. The chime was like a shriek in her mind. She waited, legs and stomach and head aching all the while. She took a moment to catch her breath.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! The pounding sounded less like pulsing now. It almost seemed to come into focus, revealing the true sound behind the beating. Like footsteps, heavy footsteps, coming into clarity.

  The caretaker in a blue pinafore opened the door. Mrs. Abeth. The first good sight all night.

  “Nynette? What are you doing out so late?” Mrs. Abeth paused, apparently having just noticed Nynette’s face streaked with sweat and worry. Her eyes widened when she saw the knife. Understanding crossed the woman’s face. “Therron.”

  Nynette nodded and lifted Adabelle off her shoulder. Adabelle’s eyes fluttered groggily open, the white surrounding her chocolate brown eyes bright in contrast to her dark skin. She brushed aside her black hair pulled back in a braid and then raised her hands up to her mother.

  “I want to be picked up again.” Adabelle was sulky, frowning, brow furrowed. Her cheeks were round and bright from the drowsy pout upon her face.

  “You have to stand like a big girl now,” Nynette said, sheathing the knife and feigning composure. “And you have to go with Mrs. Abeth.”

  “But why?” Adabelle asked.

  “Because mama has some matters to tend to, okay?”

  “But I don’t want to go.”

  “No, no, sweety, it is only for a little while. Mama has to go, but just for a little while.”

  She prayed it wasn’t a lie.

  “We’ll take care of her, Nynette,” Mrs. Abeth said. She took Adabelle’s hand.

  “Thank you. I’ll be back in the morning, all matters going well.” She didn’t wish to discuss the alternative, but she had preparations in place should it come to that.

  “We will wait for you.” Mrs. Abeth said.

  Nynette knelt before Adabelle, placing her hand in her daughter’s hair, fingers running slowly down each fold in the braid.

  “I love you.” She hugged Adabelle tightly.

  The one good thing that e
ver came from that man. She paused, glancing at her stomach. Well, one of two good things.

  They were her treasures, and from where they came changed nothing.

  “I love you,” Adabelle replied. She pulled away from the hug, gripping Mrs. Abeth’s skirt, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

  “Now come along, Adabelle,” Mrs. Abeth went on, putting a hand around the three-year-old. “We’ll get you a gown and you can sleep in one of the dormitories tonight.” She pulled the girl into the warmth and light. “Good luck, Nynette,” she said, “I hope to see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Mrs. Abeth closed the door and her daughter was gone.

  There was quiet for a moment on the steps before the University. Nynette didn’t move, her eyes resting on the spot where her daughter had once stood.

  Keep moving, she thought, shaking herself from her momentary reverie. You have to keep moving.

  Boom! Boom! The pounding grew louder again. Boom! Boom! Like a distant drum, or thunder rumbling over the horizon.

  She went down the steps slowly onto the street, deciding if it was better to go right or left. Right led to the park, left to the Odilla River and the Halls of the Oen’Aerei. If her husband had been speaking the truth, then no populated place was safe. All it took was a single mind to fall into dreaming, and he could escape. He could find her, and it would all be over. All this running for nothing.

  Right she went, walking brusquely, for her legs ached and her feet stung. The jolting continued but without Adabelle she found movement easier. She kept one hand around her bulging stomach. The baby was due a few months from now, and Nynette didn’t know if the infant would make it out alive. She knew it was a girl from touching the infant’s thoughts. She had already named her Charlotte. It saddened her to think Charlotte might never take a breath or see the world or meet her sister.

  Adabelle is safe now, she thought, and that is what matters. Take the victories where you can, Nynette.

  Those had been her husband’s words once. Words of wisdom and consolation. It felt odd to use and find comfort in them now.

  The park lay to her right, the entrance coming into view. The gate was open but the lamps were dark. It might not be the safest place for a pregnant woman to go, but anywhere was safer than out in the open.

  She was so very tired, though. Her back and legs ached horribly. All this, because of one man.

  The public park’s paths were lined with thin aspens, leaves turned orange and gold by the touch of autumn. She escaped the path, going into the depths of the gardens, hoping maybe to hide in amongst the brush.

  She reached out the tendrils of thought, latching onto the minds of those nearby. A homeless man slept on a park bench about a hundred metres to the right, while a couple—the pair lying about fifty metres in the opposite direction—were awake and entirely set on their own perversions. There were minds Therron could walk through, but fewer here than anywhere else. Here, in the brush, she might be safe, till morning. Once morning came, she would still be in danger, but with fewer people dreaming it would be possible to find a modicum of peace. Just enough to rest, maybe.

  As she curled up amongst the brush she found an opportunity to settle. She resisted closing her eyes—for in there lay danger—taking a chance to catch her breath. She couldn’t fight exhaustion, though. Her baby within was restless and wanted peace, and so did she. Pat! Pat! Pat! The pounding became like the soft beats in a lullaby. A brush against the drum skin, stroking the rhythm of an all-too familiar lullaby into being. She closed her eyes a moment.

  A moment too long.

  Like thunder. Boom!

  Therron snapped into her thoughts. His face appeared, grey beard slightly yellowed from pipe smoke, top hat donned as always. She fought the desire to scream.

  And it only took a second for him to appear. The dream tendrils told her he snuck from the homeless man’s dreams, to the couples, and then his physical being appeared. Nynette shook awake, jolted by the shock of seeing her husband. She struggled to get up, but she was not fast enough. The bushes rustled with his sudden appearance. The baby slowed her down. Her body roared in defiance, aching as she rose. By the time she was on her feet, he was in front of her, white teeth glowing.

  “Hello, love,” Therron said.

  “You’ve found me,” she said, unsheathing the knife, gripping it tightly. Her hand began to shake from the pressure, knuckles pale. Her mind reeled as she considered her options. There were, in truth, very few. “You’ve done it, then. You’ve stopped me.” From protecting the only things we ever did right, she added. She daren’t anger him, though. The damage to her arm was a result of Therron’s fierce temper. It had only been a punch, but her dark skin was bruised now, a blue spot amidst the brown. He had never once raised his hand against Adabelle, though, and for that she could be thankful.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Not quite.”

  “What am I to do, Therron?” she said. “You’ve cornered me, and I can’t exactly run. Our child in me is well-and-truly keeping me from getting anywhere in a hurry.” He didn’t know the child’s gender, and he never would if she had her way.

  “That may be,” he retorted, “but there is always opportunity, if one only wishes to seize it.”

  She shook her head at him, beginning to sob, however hard she fought it. “I cannot believe I once loved you,” she said, disbelief rank in her voice. “I cannot believe I let you father my children, that I let you in my home. You’re a murderer, Therron. You have killed innocent people.” She considered for a moment to appeal to his more humane side. “You plan to kill me and your unborn child?”

  He seemed taken aback, perhaps even a little hurt. “Not kill. That would be cruel. I am not cruel.” He paused. “Not to a child.”

  The shadows around the pair began to shift. He was summoning the Nhyxes, pulling them from the dreams nearby, tugging them from the Frequencies as only a Sturding could. His reach had always been greater than hers, his power to move his physical form through dreams swifter, too.

  “So you’re going to leave two orphans?” she said, more statement than question. “They will grow up without parents.”

  “Without one parent,” he corrected. He straightened his suit. “You know you were the reason for this. You chose to run. You chose to take our child away from me. Our children! You know my standing in the city. The power I hold.” He shook his head with a powerful sense of finality, eyebrows rising. “You can’t win.” His tone seemed almost sympathetic…sorrowful.

  “I also know you’re sick,” she replied. “What you’ve done; no human should be capable of that. You’ve shown no remorse for your actions.” Charlotte was restless inside her. She probably felt her mother reaching out to the Frequencies, searching for an escape. “I do not love you.”

  He looked genuinely hurt at that, as if a mighty horror had overcome him. He retained his composure, but his expression never fully recovered. Maybe, just maybe, that monster still had a heart. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  She reached out the tendrils of thought towards the dreamers around them, consciously avoiding Therron. If he knew what she planned, if he knew what she intended, he would have the Nhyxes strike now. She only hoped she moved fast enough. Charlotte had hampered her Dreaming, but maybe, under duress, she might manage something. A small measure of hope when all seemed lost. It might be powerful enough to save her. To save Charlotte.

  “How about an ultimatum, then?” she said. “A bargain?”

  She felt her thought tendrils snare on something: a mind, nearby. One of the members of the couple in the bushes nearby had drifted off. Her mind began to fasten on to that sleeper, quietly and gently, so as not to alert Therron. She tied the thoughts with a knot, binding to the person’s dreams. It snapped into place, like a bolt in a lock.

  “I do not think you’re in a position to bargain right now,” he retorted. His voice remained gentle.

  “No. Not now.” And the
n she tugged on the Dream Frequencies, pulling herself in. She felt Therron strike just as quickly. He latched on, tying his skeins of thought around her own, binding the pair together. It gave her a sensation of mental whiplash as if someone had just tugged her bodily, restraining her. She had strength enough to pull herself into the Frequencies though, and for now, that would have to do.

  If he’ll listen, I can bargain, she thought. I might not escape with my life, but I might be able to save Charlotte’s. Her existence in the Frequencies might not be permanent, though, she knew. Pregnancy had made her skills as a Sturding shaky at best. She had to use the time she had carefully.

  In her dreams there was no pain.

  In the Frequencies she could run.

  PART ONE

  Into the Nightmare

  Chapter One

  The Buffer Sickness

  Adabelle stirred in her sleep, for the dream was troubling.

  Like so many nightmares before, she was running. That monster was chasing her, the one that reeked of cologne. He spoke commandingly, but she refused to stop and listen. She had to run, had to keep running. There was no other way to escape this monster. To turn and fight meant death at the tip of a knife.

  “I can bargain,” whispered those words. They were haunting and terrified, and entirely devoid of hope.

  She shook awake, sitting up in bed. Sweat rolled down her face, tears soaked her eyes. It was not the first time she had stirred at those words.

  I can bargain, they repeated. She did not know how, but she knew they were her mother’s. Her voice. Her words.

  She looked to the other bed, to her sister. Charlotte seemed to have been woken by her screams. Again. She stared at Adabelle, eyes wide. Sometimes there were flashes of that night—a dark night, a cold park, a well-lit boulevard, and sometimes her mother’s words, but very little else. Yet the younger one seemed untroubled by the nightmares. In fact, she barely dreamed at all. Never, really.