by Lincoln Law
A single figure stood, silhouetted in the doorway. Despite her best attempts to run, the door only drew closer. And so did the man. And the music. And that scent.
It was Therron.
The dream snapped around her.
She swam through a turbulent ocean, waves metres tall crashing over her, endeavouring to drown her. Within this dark ocean, Adabelle choked on salty water, blinded by the pelting rain falling from a storm-bruised sky. The wind sung. Sung to her.
It occurred to her soon that someone controlled those waves. Those maddening, crunching, crushing waves, gnashing on the ocean’s surface.
She saw him on a far distant cliff-top. He smiled.
It was Therron.
The dream snapped around her again.
The city streets were burning, exploding as bombs went off. They shook the ground, blasting her ears. Flames licked at the heavens, eating the breathable air, the sturdy wooden foundations, and the fleshy humans, a ravenous, igneous beast.
Each detonation rocked Adabelle off her feet, every wave of heat resolutely and absolutely unflagging.
Someone held the detonator.
It was Therron.
Running along the hilltops; the lightning flashed, the rain pelted. Cold. So cold. With each bolt of lightning, the earth quaked beneath her, shaking her to her core. The clouds swirled tumultuously above, black and grey and blue. With each burst of lightning, the clouds dazzled. The wind carried the scent of Therron; the winds whistled that painfully familiar song.
A face appeared within the clouds above, formed from the wisps, revealed by the light. Rolling upon itself, the misty, airy clouds kept substance. It looked at first like liquid, then ice, and then skin, but grey and ever-shifting.
It was Therron.
“You’ll never catch me!” Adabelle roared, voice lost to the wind.
The world rumbled with laughter. The universe quaked with mirth. His mirth.
Tied down onto a bed, the room was white, the window filled with blinding light. The sheets were white, the air cold, and yet the scent remained. A doorway appeared opposite the bed, the white wall turning grey.
A figure stood in the doorway.
Adabelle struggled against the ties that bound her, arms fighting against the tightness of the straps. She was caught, now. There was no escape. “Why do you want me?” she asked. Pleaded.
There was no reply.
Fly away! she thought. But she didn’t. It didn’t make sense. Fly away! Still, nothing. This was her dream; she could control it. Why wasn’t she flying? Break the bonds and fly away.
The straps loosened. A figure appeared at her side. Silhouetted against bright white lights, it stood at her side, leaning closer and closer. It faded into focus, emerging from dreamy mists.
A nurse. She smiled.
“Where am I?” asked Adabelle.
“You’re in the Odilla Hospital,” replied the nurse. “Remember, you were visiting your Aunt Marie? She had a bit of a turn—quite a bad one—and you got caught in the buffer. Your sister got us quickly enough to pull you away, but your mind was already too deep. We had to tie you down so you didn’t attempt anything while caught in the Frequencies.”
Adabelle sighed, rubbing her wrists, noting the redness from her struggle. They stung beneath her touch, but otherwise, she was fine.
“And my sister?” Adabelle asked. He voice was hoarse, mouth dry, probably from sleep talking. Or screaming.
“She’s a little shaken,” the nurse replied, “but I’ve already had someone tell her you’ll be fine, so she’s calmed down a little. I’ll send her in shortly. I’ll get you some water first—you look like you could use it.”
“Thank you,” Adabelle replied, settling back into the bed. She reassured herself that she was fully released from the dream and safe from Therron.
“I am me,” she muttered. “I am alive. I am awake. I am here. I am here. I am…” She repeated that phrase quietly so as not to be heard. She needed to remind herself she sat in reality, that this hospital and bed were real and not some creation of her imagination. The Frequencies would sneak in on occasion, calling her back, but she fought it.
Charlotte walked in fifteen minutes later, pale, but calm.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Adabelle said, holding her hand out to comfort her sister.
“Why were you yelling out papa’s name?” she asked.
Adabelle could not hide the terrified surprise that crossed her face.
Chapter Five
Her Greatest Fear
“I’m sorry?” asked Adabelle, sitting herself up in bed in an attempt to compose herself. Her expression could not entirely hide her surprise, nor the fear she felt now. The one thing she had hoped she would never have to face was now before her. And Charlotte was waiting, arms crossed, expectant.
“While you were in the dream buffer you kept screaming out papa’s name. Why would you do that?”
Adabelle couldn’t speak still. She drew in air, yet couldn’t release it. She stuttered a little, choking on her own breath, before managing a weak response. There was very little she could divulge without lying, and their situation was hardly the time to be lying.
“I’ll tell you soon,” Adabelle replied. It was the least she could do for now. It wasn’t a complete lie. Not really.
Charlotte gave her a blank, somehow heated stare. One eyebrow rose. In that moment, Adabelle saw herself staring back, incredulous at her own inability to tell the truth. She felt guilty for undervaluing Charlotte. She was an adult, she reminded herself. Or close enough to one to deserve honesty. She was a smart girl, and every bit as strong as her, but somehow Adabelle couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth.
Maybe, Adabelle though, it’s me who isn’t mature enough.
That single, stray thought suddenly terrified her. Charlotte’s scrutiny abated, and she was left alone once again.
Adabelle eventually had a visit from the doctor, who seemed quite content to allow her to leave. She promised him that she would not do anything too strenuous over the next week, and then left with Charlotte.
On the way home, Charlotte pestered Adabelle over her outburst, and despite Adabelle’s best assurances, it was impossible to convince her fully. She was far too sceptical already to accept such ridiculous evasions, as she had done many times in her youth.
“I sometimes wish I could go into dreams like you,” Charlotte said, as they arrived at the University for the afternoon. They walked up the front steps brusquely. At that statement Adabelle grabbed Charlotte by the hand.
“What?” she asked, not meaning to sound as threatening as she did.
Charlotte’s entire body stiffened at the sudden reaction. “I just mean that if this was the case, I could follow you into dreams. Or even ask you while dreaming what happened just before. You can’t lie in dreams.”
Adabelle had so many questions now, so much she wished to say. “How do you know you can’t lie in dreams?” she asked. “Most people don’t know that.”
“Just because I haven’t been a Dreamer doesn’t mean I haven’t studied some of the theory. I’m terrified of it all, but I still learn this. I may struggle with it at times, but I can make sense of it. I know things, Adabelle,” she sounded out of breath now. Exasperated and frustrated, her eyes shimmered. “I know things. Even if you don’t seem to think I do, I do. I know a lot.” She took a deep breath in. “And sometimes I think you forget that.”
She was stunned, burned at her sister’s outburst.
Were this anyone else, Adabelle would have retorted with a smart, snappy quip, as sharp and stinging as any blade. But this was her sister, and she loved her, and all she could do was frown. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Before the University on the steps, the sisters stood. Adabelle imagined her mother on the night she had been dropped off here, handing her to Lady Abeth, dishevelled and frightened. So much had changed here on that night. It was astonishing to think how much of her life, of her daught
er’s lives, had been affected by that single moment; that single choice. She imagined her mother’s pain and frustration, at not knowing what to do, of what would come; and in that moment she understood so much. She felt so much of what her mother would have felt. It only served to remind her of the troubles at hand, though.
“You don’t want to know about Dreaming, or the Oen’Aerei. Please just make do with the knowledge that you needn’t worry yourself, especially with issues such as these. You’re far better off not able to dream than having to see what I see.” She quickly realised what she had said, and added, “Sometimes….”
Charlotte looked up at Adabelle through a slightly downturned face. She felt judgement in that gaze.
“You would tell me if there was anything I needed to worry about, yes?” Charlotte asked.
To that, Adabelle thought, I can tell the truth.
“There is nothing you need worry about presently,” she replied. And it was the truth.
Charlotte’s gaze burned between them, her scrutiny almost palpable. Adabelle struggled to keep her gaze locked down on her sister, her eyes wavering only to blink.
“Okay,” Charlotte said. “I believe you.”
Her tone didn’t sound entirely convinced, but it was always difficult to lie to her sister. Her sister ascended the last stairs and entered the University, leaving Adabelle alone for a time.
A massive part of her wanted to accept her father had returned. That she needed to seek help, find a place to hide. But an even greater part of her spoke of its impossibility. The dream spheres were unbreakable, at least from the inside. And even then, one would have to have a body to break out entirely. From her knowledge, after his mind had been sealed away, Therron’s body had been destroyed. Cremated and his ashes released onto the wind. He could enter their dreams, but he could not harm them in the real world.
But that’s not true, Adabelle corrected herself. He had cut Larraine, had tortured her for information. But that would suggest a Sturding; a Sturding needed a body.
But then again, she thought, a Sturding could only physically harm another Sturding,
It was all getting a bit too much now. Her head began to thump with confusion, the headache seeming to come out of nowhere. She pushed her thoughts aside, and went inside, hoping to find some peace and quiet.
But she didn’t. The rest of the afternoon, she spent troubled by dark thoughts of her father’s probable release, and also of its impossibility. At night, her sister pressed her further for answers. Why had Adabelle been absorbed into the dream? Why hadn’t she run like she usually had? Why had she been so transfixed by the dream tendrils that then snapped her up like a bear trap and forced her to meet her maker?
Only the following morning, after a dreamless sleep and a chance to clear her mind, was she able to think. None of this made much sense at all, so there was no use dwelling on it. She went about her day as normal. Despite trying, she could not deny the feeling within that she ought to do something about this confusion. But how was one meant to seek clarity when so few others would be able to see sense?
On her way to her room, she stopped in the hallway. She moved to the side for a time to allow any students to pass. Despite her best attempts to suppress any unneeded thoughts, she couldn’t find a way to hide them entirely within the recesses of her mind. She needed to let it out to someone. She needed a confidant, to help clear her mind a little.
“Mrs. Abeth,” she whispered, switching directions suddenly, walking brusquely down the halls towards Mrs. Abeth’s office.
She found the woman at her desk, door wide open, and the window, too, to allow the fresh air in.
“Mrs. Abeth?” Adabelle said, after clearing her throat.
“Afternoon, Adabelle. Please, come in and sit.”
Adabelle nodded, closing the door behind her.
“I understand it’s quite stuffy in here, but I was wondering if I might be able to speak to you in private for a minute or two?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Abeth said, indicating a seat. “Get comfortable.”
Adabelle did so, and quickly began explaining the events of the day before, and of her utter confusion. She explained her fears about Charlotte beginning to ask questions, and the more frightening prospect that she had no answers with which to respond.
“I’m feeling so stuck right now,” Adabelle said, “and the more I look into it, the more I realise I may have to face my fear.”
“And what’s that?”
“Visiting the Oen’Aerei,” she said. “Going into their halls and into the dream sphere chamber and searching for my father’s sphere. If it’s broken then I know he is free, without a doubt. If it isn’t, then we must search for any other reason as to why he appears in my dreams. He can’t have done it on his own regardless, and I can’t see him being able to piece together any ash flakes when we consider how widely the ashes were spread.”
“It will be tough,” Mrs. Abeth replied, “but you have to think about the end you wish to achieve. Would you really rather go on living, not really knowing whether your father is free or not? Or would you rather know and have some closure and the peace of mind that comes with being able to see the fire through the smoke. Yes, you could assure yourself that the impossible can’t happen and that it is a Sturding Nhyx latched onto some sick idea, or that another Dreamer is out to get you for one reason or another. Or you can think to yourself for a time that maybe going after answers is much less painful than facing your fears for an hour.”
“You’re saying I go to the Halls?”
“I am,” she replied, nodding. “But that said, if you feel you really cannot face those fears at all, then you are the one deciding your path and I cannot change that. I cannot give you courage as surely as your sister can’t dream, but I can support you if you need the support, and I can be there when trouble comes to be shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen. I cannot take your hand and march you to the Halls of the Oen’Aerei, but I can promise you that if you do go, I will be proud to say that you have faced your fears. If you don’t, I will not think any less of you. This is you decision and yours alone.”
Adabelle lowered her head slightly. She didn’t know why she felt so down all of a sudden. A part of her had hoped for Mrs. Abeth to have all the answers, to speak the truth she needed to here. She imagined her saying whatever she needed to hear, to face her fear, or to give the answer outright. But Mrs. Abeth was only human, and only knew as much as any human. She may have been her surrogate mother, so to speak, but she was not God. She did not know all. She was Mrs. Abeth, and she had done her best.
“I owe it to myself to visit the halls,” Adabelle said, “but at this point, I don’t think I’m ready to know. I don’t know what I’ll face in those halls, and I don’t know if I do want to face them. When I’m ready, I’ll go, unless these…things keep happening. Until then, I’ll just stay blissfully ignorant.” She looked up to Mrs. Abeth. “You’ve done your best here, but I think for now with everything on my plate, I’m best to worry about this when I’m ready. I’m already struggling to invent a story for Charlotte.”
Mrs. Abeth looked concerned at this. “She still doesn’t know?”
“I don’t think she needs to know, really.” Adabelle felt a slight bit of shame at that statement, but it was the truth. Now was not the time for lying. “She can’t dream, therefore she doesn’t have to worry about him appearing.”
Mrs. Abeth didn’t seem entirely convinced by her logic.
“You have to remember that just because she can’t dream, doesn’t mean she’s not affected in some way. She has just as much at stake here. If anything were to go badly, she’d lose her sister.”
Adabelle hadn’t thought about it that way. In many ways, she could lose just as much as Adabelle. And Adabelle hadn’t spoken to her about it. She’d lied and avoided answers, as a child avoids baths. She held the secret, like telling her would mean the end of their world.
“I’ll think about it,” she sai
d.
“And think carefully,” Mrs. Abeth said. “No matter what, I’ll think no less of you. You’re old enough to make your own decisions now, but whatever you pick, you have to be sure it’s what’s best.”
Adabelle nodded. “Thank you,” she said, rising up to leave.
“And Adabelle,” Mrs. Abeth added.
“Yes?” Adabelle turned.
“Stay safe.”
She smiled. “I will.”
That night, she had a nightmare of the Halls.
They were long, with high ceilings, too dark for her to see. And around each corner shadows shifted and undulated, like the surface of an ocean, broad and endless in their depths.
She ran, as she usually ended up doing in most nightmares. From what? She didn’t know; she only knew she had to run.
“Charlotte!” she cried.
That’s right. She was looking for Charlotte. She wasn’t running. She was searching.
“Charlotte, where are you?”
But her voice simply echoed back through the shadows and the endless halls of shadow. She had to find her sister. It was imperative. She hated to consider the alternative if she didn’t discover her in time.
So many gaps in her memory, so many uncertainties. Yet she knew she needed her sister.
As she turned a corner, she saw him. His dark skin, his grey and white facial hair, his expression like stone; inscrutable, yet so similar to her own. Therron. The scent, so thick and rich. The music so beautifully frightening. She bumped into him, thrown back, and awoke with a start.
“You were screaming dad’s name again,” Charlotte said, sitting up in bed, her hair much less messy than Adabelle’s own.
“Was I?” she asked. She remembered the nightmare so vividly. She could barely feign ignorance.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. She hesitated.
“And what else?” Adabelle pressed.
“You screamed my name, too.” She sounded frightened. Horrified even.
Adabelle attempted to muster an answer quickly enough to be convincing, but she couldn’t. She was too tired, still between awareness and sleep. Not quite as bad as the dream buffer, but bad enough to be confused.