by Lincoln Law
“So what did they do once they’d gotten rid of it?”
“Well that’s the problem,” said Larraine. “They…err…couldn’t quite get rid of it. Because it was a Sturding. They couldn’t just seal it away in a sphere…or rather, they should have been able to. They just couldn’t.”
Adabelle’s brow furrowed. “So what did they do with it?”
Larraine pursed her lips, the red, puckered set straining towards her own ears.
“Well they’ve had to leash it.”
“But…you can’t leash a Nhyx, can you?”
“Well, apparently you can if it’s a Sturding.” She shrugged, probably just as confused as Adabelle. A Sturding was a Dreamer who could enter the Frequencies, mind and body. What a Nhyx was doing with that ability, though, had Adabelle stumped.
Adabelle imagined the shadowy form, attached to a chain, struggling to break free and terrorise the others around it. There would be no question that it would be caged and they would search for a way to seal it away. Perhaps in a dream sphere, though the fact that it resisted earlier was a sign that wouldn’t be particularly effective. Perhaps they could come up with another possibility, rather than leaving it leashed or caged.
“What did it look like? Out of the dream, I mean.” Adabelle was curious. If the Nhyxes took different forms in the dream depending on who looked at them, then what form could it take when stuck with the limitations of the real world?
“It was a shadow,” Larraine replied, “but not quite, either. It was like it was not only wide and long and deep, the shadow…but like it had something else to it. Like it was…something more. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like looking at it and seeing a hundred million forms, and none at the same time. Like seeing a frequency I was not meant to. Yet it also looked like a kind of demon, with jagged limbs. It was still shadowy. Hard to make out a complete and permanent form. Do you…understand?”
“Not even in the slightest,” Adabelle replied. She might have to ask some of the professors about that one. “How did they leash it?”
“I don’t quite understand how they did it.” She raised her hands in gesture, twisting them around themselves as she spoke. “They had a kind of shackle they were able to use. It was a silver hoop of some kind, and they wrapped it around the creature’s wrist. Three of them, for that matter. It was attached to a leash. I think a few of them might have used their dream tendrils to contain it too. It’s not very clear, because a lot was happening. Despite it being in the real world, it still has ties to the dream frequencies so the dream tendrils affected it like normal. Shame we don’t have the same powers we have in dreams. Imagine what we could do then!”
Adabelle nodded. If she could fly, or grow a million feet tall, or leap buildings in the real world, she would be a veritable god.
“But that’s not what I called you here for,” she said. She gazed down as her hands. There, her eyes stayed for a while. “It was something else I saw in the dream. Your father was there. And he…said he was coming for you.”
“What?” Adabelle gasped. “But he’s imprisoned. And it was just a dream.”
“But he did this.”
She pulled the shoulder of her hospital gown down, revealing another cut, this one sharper and deeper, for it was covered in a red-soaked bandage.
“He had a knife,” she explained. “He said something to the Sturding Nhyx I didn’t understand, and then he struck me, which threw me from the dream completely. Everything else blurs after that. But no dreamer—no dreamer that isn’t a Sturding, that is—can do that. It’s one of the first rules of Dreaming you learn. Sturdings can only hurt other Sturdings. This,” she gestured to the bandage, “should not be possible. Especially on just a regular Dreamer.”
Adabelle didn’t know what to say to that. She felt her breathing shallow, rattling in her now empty, paralysis-stricken chest. It was her greatest fear—the form of any Nhyx she’d ever had to face—and if Larraine was right, then he was back.
“But he was sealed away. The Oen’Aerei did it themselves! It was completely and utterly done, there was no reversing it.”
“Well unless Nhyxes can take two form—which they cannot—he may be back. And he may want you.”
“To kill me?” asked Adabelle.
“I do not know,” Larraine said, taking Adabelle’s hand. “But you have to stay safe. We can’t have you wandering about in the Frequencies anymore. Not while you’re untrained by the Oen’Aerei. I sensed you last night, only quickly, but the feeling is unmistakeable.”
Adabelle felt her hand shivering with Larraine’s, her lip quavering with terror. She fought tears, and overcame them, but could not hide her fear. She didn’t want to go to the Oen’Aerei, but neither did she wish to face her father.
“Does he have a precursor?” she asked. “Do you remember what it was?”
“I can’t remember much,” Larraine replied, “but the only thing that seemed out of place in the dream was the scent of a male cologne. I don’t know which one, but it was strong and musky. Smelled a little like shaving cream, really. Then, he appeared, and it seemed to quell the Nhyx, too.”
“Right,” she said. If ever she found herself Dreaming, she would have to keep her nose open for that scent. It was no certainty, but if she could escape the scent, she could escape her father.
“Now, I could be wrong…but I don’t know how,” Larraine said, looking somewhat guilty for having to bear this news. “But I want you to be careful…I want you to be safe. Promise me you won’t get into trouble.”
“I promise,” Adabelle said.
She left Larraine by herself in the hospital wing, the girl smiling as she left.
The matter of the Oen’Aerei plagued her thoughts for the whole walk to her room, and then for some time after that. Larraine was an Oen’Aerei, which meant she had received formal training from the academy run by Lady Morphier. The moment she began there, she stopped being referred to as a Dreamer, and began her life as an Oen’Aerei. The difference was slight, more symbolic than anything, but in the eyes of the Oen’Aerei, it meant the world. An untrained Dreamer, in their mind, could be incredibly deadly, to their self and to others. Any number of tragic accidents could occur while drifting about the Frequencies.
She took the afternoon to wait for Mrs. Abeth to finish her work for the afternoon before bothering her. She eventually found the caretaker in her office for the afternoon, tending to cleaning supply accounts. She knocked on the open door of the small office. Mrs. Abeth looked up from her papers.
Mrs. Abeth was the closes Adabelle had to a mother. Despite her light skin, and pale brown hair, she spoke with a rich voice that reminded her distantly of her mother’s. Something about its depth and rough timbre from years of use gave it an old and friendly warmth. She had sweet brown eyes, and always walked about with an easy air a head housekeeper may not normally have.
“Adabelle,” Mrs. Abeth said, “did you manage to visit your cousin?” Her head tilted to the side, sympathy in her eyes.
“I did,” she replied. “She’s doing fine. Much better than I thought she would be.”
“And she spoke to you about…everything?” Mrs. Abeth’s face darkened with the implication of her words.
Adabelle stepped deeper into the room, closing the door behind her. Once the catch clicked, she said, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk with you about.” She pointed at the small chair. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Abeth replied. “I’d imagine that you’d want to take a seat after the news.”
“I do.” The seat was something welcome, a nice moment to feel at ease after following the woman around the University all afternoon. Something discomforted her about it too. It was like, while resting, she was placing herself in danger of her father. So long as she rested, she couldn’t be at peace.
“I’m sorry that I could not tell you personally,” said Mrs. Abeth, “but I thought Larraine might be better suited to giving you that. She’d be
able to break it to you, more…err…kindly.”
There were only so many ways, she supposed, to be informed that your life was in mortal peril.
“Well thank you for considering that.” She didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.
“Now, as I’m sure Larraine said, there’s no guarantee. I think it’s possible he’s escaped. My suggestion would be a visit to the Oen’Aerei, were it not for the fact that you fear them so much.” Apparently her fear of those great white-walled halls was public knowledge.
“I’m not scared of them,” Adabelle retorted. “I just…don’t like them very much.”
“You’re scared. You know it.” That tone reminded her of her mother, a distant, fading memory now.
She was, in all honesty, quite terrified. She had never liked the Oen’Aerei building itself, for it was an imposing stone structure, filled with people like her with the power to enter dreams. They had entirely too much influence on the city, and were too powerful for her liking. There were Oen’Aerei in the council building, in the Seat of Parliament, in government espionage jobs.
And her father had been Oen’Aerei. Who was to say, if he had indeed returned, that he wasn’t waiting for her, expecting that to be her first move?
The thought gave her chills.
“I don’t know what to do, really,” she said, folding her arms in her lap. She reflexively grabbed for her handkerchief, thinking she might need it at some point soon. “I can’t go to the Oen’Aerei, as they sided with him when my mother was on the run. It might have only been some rebel Oen’Aerei, but they assisted nonetheless. Only after he had been sealed away, too did they amend their intentions. I can’t go to Larraine, because she’s far too shaken and I don’t want her having to deal with these types of things. And everyone else is at just as much risk of being affected by him. The only person who’s even slightly safe is Charlotte, and that’s only because she can’t dream. The moment he reveals himself in the real world—if he can…I don’t know, and that’s what’s scary—even she isn’t safe.”
Mrs. Abeth bit her lip, pulling her reading glasses off and resting them on the table next to her teacup. “I wish I could do more, I really do. Maybe speak to one of the professors. I’m sure Professor Oakley would be interested in these matters. He spends half his time lost in books about dreams and magic as it is.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to speak to him,” she said. “It’s just a matter of making an appointment with him.”
“I’ll organise it if you want,” Mrs. Abeth said. “He’ll probably respond faster to me anyway, and I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Thank you,” Adabelle said. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I can do, really.”
Mrs. Abeth had been present on the night of her mother’s disappearance. She had been the one to take Adabelle in, the one who accepted her, though she knew not whether the mother would return. Flashes of that night sometimes came to her, though they were nearly always blurry. She had been so young, and for the longest time she had tried to repress it. The door had opened, the woman standing there, in rollers if she remembered correctly—or was that her mind making up details?—and she put an arm around her and took her in. She remembered her mother’s last embrace. She didn’t think mother or daughter had expected it to be their last.
Releasing those memories had been a painful part of her therapy she had gone through as a child. So young to lose both parents—though she only counted one—she was sure to suffer. Her sister hadn’t needed to go through the same therapy; she hadn’t been born and so had never experienced memories with her mother. She had been born and then her mother whisked away. Mrs. Abeth said, almost as a constant reminder, that on that night she had made a deal with her father. She had not known the details, but somehow her mother had ensured Charlotte could be born, and after she was born, she was gone. Adabelle’s father, too.
In some fantasies, her mother tricked her father, sealing him away in the dream without her, and they all lived on together, happy. Better yet, her father had been a kind, loving man, instead of the cruel monster he had actually been, and they all lived together. A family.
But that was not her life, and she could not dwell. That was why she had repressed those thoughts in the first place. That was why there were places in her memory where things went foggy.
“So I guess I’m left with a rather great conundrum,” Adabelle said. “I can either visit the Oen’Aerei and put myself at risk of them trying to conscript me into their army.”
“Now, now, Adabelle,” Mrs. Abeth chided. “It’s not an army now is it? It’s a service.”
“They were originally an army,” Adabelle retorted. “Back long ago.”
“And now they’ve changed their stance on the world. They work for us, rather than against us. They do a mighty good amount of work protecting us. Unlike the Dreamless: they’re just a guild asking for trouble.”
“At least the Dreamless don’t try to pilfer people from their happy lives to serve as conscripts.”
“Maybe not,” Mrs. Abeth replied, “but at the very least the Oen’Aerei are not doing any real physical harm. The way those Dreamless walk around in that forest green uniform of theirs…” she shivered.
Adabelle nodded, conceding that fact. “So I can either go to the Oen’Aerei, and seek their help, which they’ll end up making a bargain for—and we all know what that will result in—or I can just sit like a insect in the light, and wait for him to strike, if he has indeed released himself. Either way, I’m not going to be sleeping well.” She sighed, falling back into her chair.
“Take some comfort in knowing your sister is completely safe,” Mrs. Abeth said. “She cannot dream and never will, and so long as your father is contained within the boundaries of the dream frequencies, she’s safe. And besides, you’re rather a good Dreamer yourself. I think you’ll be able to protect yourself just fine.”
Adabelle grimaced. “I don’t like to sit and wait, though,” she replied, “and I’m sure my father is much better than I am at controlling himself. He has spent most of my life locked in a dream, after all.”
It was the truth. She saw it in Mrs. Abeth’s eyes. Adabelle was at a distinct disadvantage.
“Well I think the best way to stop this from troubling you into restlessness is to keep thinking to yourself that what Larraine saw was nothing, and that until you see it yourself, there is no need to worry.”
“I suppose you’re right there,” Adabelle said, “but by the time I actually see him it might be too late.”
Mrs. Abeth’s eyes rolled. She inhaled deeply, the kind of breath that preceded a rant.
“Well I do not mean to be rude or tough on you. Heaven knows you’ve been through enough for five people in your life. But you need to hear this. Yes, the Oen’Aerei are going to try and enlist you in their ranks, and that’s because you’re quite good at what you do. There is no use denying what you are, Adabelle, because it’s who you are, it’s who your mother was, and it’s who your aunt was. They and your father were immensely powerful Dreamers, and simply by way of blood, you are powerful yourself. But you have to trust others more. Stop putting so much weight on your own back and let someone else shoulder it for a time. Go to the Professor Oakley to talk, and then once you’re done decide what you want to do after that. And I know what you should do. Go to the Oen’Aerei and ask for their protection. They will send Dreamers to protect you—they are on your side, after all—and they will keep everything normal enough for you so you can sleep. I can pull some strings so that you can dip into your inheritance for the payment.”
There had been a rather sizable sum of money left by her mother and father in her and her sister’s name, with the parents as signatories as account holders. After their death, it stayed in all their names, as a family trust until Adabelle turned twenty, when her half would be given. She was not far off twenty, but she didn’t mind any way. Mrs. Abeth was an authority on the account, and was allowed
to withdraw on all their behalves. Adabelle had her job at the café, which offset most of their daily expenses.
“Now that’s only if you really are ready to deal with the Oen’Aerei. I’m not going to force you, but I think it’s about time you faced your own fears and deal with them personally.”
There was silence in the room for a few seconds, during which Adabelle didn’t know whether to be angry, offended or happy. What she spoke was sense—utter and complete sense. But the hard part would be facing her fears.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Abeth said, rather bluntly, “but it needed to be said.”
Adabelle nodded. “Not at all. It needed to be said, you’re right. But I will talk to the professor first, and decide after that.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Abeth said, smiling. “Now I do have quite a bit I have to finish before the evening cleaners come in, so if you would please leave. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” Adabelle said, rising to leave. She stopped at the door, holding it open. “What do you think mama would say were she here? About me? About what I should do? What would she do?”
Mrs. Abeth considered the question. “She would marvel at your bravery, and then she would face it, too. She never backed down. She always fought when she could. You are both so very much alike.”
If only she was here to hold me.
She reached for her handkerchief as the familiar choking feeling that came before tears rose from within.
I would love that so very much.
She left Mrs. Abeth, closing the door behind her.
Chapter Three
Professor Oakley’s Advice
Adabelle had been way off the mark in what would be the hardest thing to do. It was not going to the Oen’Aerei, or even going to sleep that night. It was telling her sister that her father might be after them. Charlotte had never known him as Adabelle had—and even then, her knowledge of her father was a distant one.