by Lincoln Law
“Good evening,” he said, taking one of her hands. “You look…beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you,” she replied, displeased with her short, unimaginative response.
“Now come along,” he said, looking up and down the street. It was empty. “We have to get to the restaurant.”
He opened the door for her, putting her in on the side of the sidewalk. He closed the door, running to the other side of the car, entering on the side of the road. “We’re right to go,” he said to the driver.
“Very good,” said the cabman, nodding in the mirror.
“How are you this evening?” Rhene asked.
Adabelle smiled. “I’m well, thank you.”
“I hope I wasn’t an unwelcome appearance in the café today,” he said. “You seemed a little surprised.”
Adabelle grimaced. “Not at all. Not unwelcome at all.”
“Good, good,” he said.
There was silence for a time, during which Adabelle stared out the window at the passing city. The sandstone facades shining white were touched by streetlamp lights, windows illuminated brightly from within. Over the sound of the car’s engine, she heard the bells of Odilla Tower booming the hour. Seven clangs, loud in their chiming.
Most of their discussion on their way to the restaurant was small and idle. They spoke about their days, and of their respective lives. She explained about her study in the University, in the way it was really just lessons from the music-master there. She avoided her dreaming entirely, explaining she was there with her sister because her parents had passed away. Naturally he responded with a token apology, before speaking of his own life. His parents had died, too, and he moved to Odilla when a career opportunity arose. When she pressed him, he said he was in a special section of law-enforcement, and she assumed it was somewhat secret, so she delved no deeper.
They arrived at the restaurant, a nice little place at the base of Park Hill. They were seated at a table by the window, given menus and a carafe of water, and asked whether they desired any drinks. Adabelle rarely drank, but when he offered her a glass of red wine, she accepted. Conversation continued to flow smoothly, Rhene laughing whenever she made a joke, and her smiling when he commented on her dress or her hat or her coat.
Their meals were extravagant, and judging from the sheer decadence of them, expensive. She couldn’t imagine affording most of these meals in her life. There were roasted chickens, coated in rich, sweet sauces; ducks coated in some kind of alcohol and then set afire. Vegetables were roasted or boiled and smothered in a thick, creamy sauce, and the steaks appeared to fall apart on the owner’s plate. Adabelle chose the chicken, feeling that something as expensive as, say, the lobster would not be entirely appropriate on a first date.
After the mains came dessert, which was a white chocolate crème brûlée, topped with sugar, hardened like glass in a thin layer atop the cream. She savoured every spoonful of it, wishing they had given her more to enjoy. Once it was gone, she was thoroughly full and set for a nice, long sleep.
“Did you enjoy dinner?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly.
“I did, thank you. I’m assuming given the fact it isn’t there any more that you enjoyed your steak.”
He smacked his lips. “Perfect!”
They exchanged conversation for a time longer, letting both their meals settle, before Rhene prompted the both of them to leave.
“We have somewhere else to be in ten minutes,” he said, as they walked the short distance from their table to the door. From there, they wandered up the street, turning in through the gates of Odilla Park and past the crowd presently gathering in the amphitheatre.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why do we have to be somewhere? And why is that somewhere not near them?” She nodded over at the crowd.
“Because, we didn’t pay for that,” he said. “We get far better seats.”
“And what is it?” she asked, as they began up the hilly slope.
“You’ll see,” he said, grinning knowingly.
The pair walked up the hill, then marched, then trudged, exhausted by the time they reached the tree-covered head. From this point, they could see most of the city set out below them, illuminated by the full moon high above in the cloudless sky. From up at this height, the wind blustered powerfully, making Adabelle thankful she had brought her coat. She could see the University, and the Halls of the Oen’Aerei on the other side of the river. There were the Dreamless Barracks, and a little further out of town, the obelisk monument put up from the days of the Civil War.
Most notably, though, from up here they both had a clear view of an orchestra setting up on the stage of the amphitheatre. The brass instruments were sectioned off at the very back, the strings on the middle ring, and the woodwind with their own little slice of space. There was, at this time, no conductor, but there was a platform upon which he could stand.
“This is amazing,” Adabelle said, somewhat breathless.
“No,” Rhene said, quietly. “You are.”
Something caught in Adabelle’s chest, throwing her off slightly. She had not expected it. She turned around to say something witty, but any thought was lost when she saw it. There was a blanket spread out on the grass, and somehow, someone had hung paper lanterns in the trees, having had enough time to ignite all the lights.
“How…how did you do this?” she asked, heart fluttering. Is this what swooning feels like? I’m assuming this is what swooning feels like.
“How did you manage this?” she asked, unable—and not wanting—to hide her awe at this sheer show of effort.
“A little bit of work here and there never hurt anyone,” he replied smugly.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, still not quite fully over the shock of it all.
“Well come on, take a seat. The show’s about the start.”
He pointed down at the amphitheatre, which had begun to glow and hum with the brilliance of the stage lights. A cheer from the audience—those paying for the show—and Adabelle joined in with her own token clap. She laughed at her own silliness, suddenly feeling extraordinarily foolish. Rhene seemed unperturbed by her attitude, smiling sweetly.
“Now, would you like some wine?” he asked, rushing behind a tree to pull out a picnic basket.
“I would love one, thank you,” she replied, extending a hand to the glass he now passed over. He poured two glasses.
“Cheers,” he said, tapping glasses with hers, a loud clang echoing from the hilltop. The orchestra below began to play a song—Kiss Me, My Most Darling, it sounded like—and Adabelle sipped at the rich wine. A gaze exchanged between them, and in this single look, so much flowed. The silence contained a weighty curiosity within it, but neither of them acted on it.
Adabelle felt her cheeks turn hot, and faced the orchestra with a mechanical turn. They moved through more songs, playing The Face-Maker’s Master, and Blanketing the Hornpipe, each one followed by a small applause from the crowd in the amphitheatre.
Song after song, they played, and slowly, Adabelle felt herself drifting towards the man. He seemed to be shuffling too, as she was sure his hand hadn’t been that close before. They sipped at their wine, peacefully enjoying the music. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught Rhene sneaking glimpses at her, and it made her smile.
At one point she laughed, having caught him eyeing her, and then he laughed, too.
The strings in the orchestra below began to bow the first few notes of The Dreamer’s Lullaby. Adabelle’s entire body jolted up slightly, her spine tingling as if imbued with some kind of electrical pulse. Rhene took this opportunity, placing his hand on her own.
It was warm and soft, and from this distance she could smell his cologne. It was sweet and lovely, not musky like she remembered her father’s to be.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, rising slowly as The Dreamer’s Lullaby moved into its second verse.
“I’d love that,” she said.
He lifted her up to her
feet, and began her moving on the rug. They had both set aside their wineglasses, the bottle resting up against a tree so as not to spill. His steps were smooth, his guidance gentle as he carried her through the steps of this waltz atop the hill in the park. The wind seemed to drop now, leaving only the sound of the lullaby: a gentle piece when played by the woodwinds and the string. Somewhere deep below the layers of sound, a cello bowed out a deep accompaniment, shaking Adabelle to her core as she danced.
And then the song ended, and before she had realised what was happening, her and Rhene were kissing. She had not expected it, having been taken off-guard. She hesitated, locked in his embrace, but his hold was firm around her hips. She opened her eyes for only a second, taking in every pore in his face, every hair on his brow, every lash. Then, she closed them again, lost in the kiss once more.
He pulled away slowly, Adabelle slightly lost for words.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking shocked with himself.
“Don’t be,” she replied breathlessly.
He glanced down at the orchestra, who had just picked up another tune: Shall We Blow the Grounsils? “Thank you, for coming out tonight.”
“Thank you for taking me,” she replied.
Behind him, one of the paper lanterns caught fire, the soft, thin, substance burning suddenly. And then another, and then another. But Adabelle didn’t notice the falling embers, or the rising flames, carried on a gentle breeze, as she was once again kissing the gentleman before her.
Chapter Ten
The Freedom of Thought
“How are you a Dreamer?” cried Matthon, thrusting Rhene hard against the brick wall. Rhene yelped as his back struck the bricks. “Speak to me!” Matthon demanded again, pushing harder.
Rhene was still waking up, caught between a deep sleep and full awareness. For a time, while being thrown against the wall, he thought he could perhaps fly away, considering the window as a valid escape route. He thought about gathering the strength to punch Matthon—after all, if he imagined it, it became real. But reality quickly began to set in. Common sense took over and he suddenly found himself able to move his hands to push Matthon off him. He sidestepped the man, stumbling onto his bed.
“How are you a Dreamer, boy?” Matthon asked. “Tell me!”
“What? I have no idea what you are accusing me off, Matthon!” he retorted, rubbing his eyes, wishing he appeared before his leader in more appropriate attire.
“You were in the Dream,” he replied angrily. “You were lucid in there. And you were in someone else’s dream with me.” He paused, apparently realising what he had said. He stepped back.
Rhene’s eyes widened, his head spinning from the discovery. “You’re a Dreamer,” Rhene said, pointing. “An Oen’Aerei!”
“Don’t you dare accuse me of being one of them,” he spat. “I am no Oen’Aerei.” He straightened himself up, composing his thoughts. “I am simply a Somnetii. I can Dream.”
Rhene fell back to the bed, sitting. He pulled the blanket over his waist to hide his shame. “It’s a lie,” he whispered, the epiphany burning as it escaped his throat. “It’s a lie. You. This.” He threw his hands up.
“The Oen’Aerei are dangerous,” Matthon replied. “This much is true.” He turned the light on in the room. Rhene shrunk back slightly from the light. “But I am not an Oen’Aerei. They are dark people, Rhene. Very dark indeed. I am but a man who can Dream. I was born with the ability, and I only ever use it for good. For the ends of my society.”
Rhene couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. He shook his head, frowning. “But if I am a Dreamer…then….” He hesitated.
Matthon was silent, too. He stared out the window, eyes distant.
“No one can ever know, Rhene,” he said. “You understand me? No one can ever know. We shall make an agreement here. I will not reveal your secret to anyone, if you promise not to tell anyone of mine. I do not need those that follow me to question their beliefs.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly; painfully so. “You understand, yes?”
Rhene nodded slowly.
“You have to promise to not tell anyone. I do this to protect my followers. I do it to make sure that we are not infiltrated, that those who would wish to harm us, cannot. Yes?”
“Of course, Matthon,” he said. He had no intention of revealing the man’s secret. He could only imagine the wrath that would have come crashing down upon him had he. Matthon was a powerful man—both physically and politically. He wouldn’t even entertain the notion for the slightest moment.
“Good, then,” Matthon said, only now releasing his vice-like grip. “I will see you in a few hours. We will discuss this later, at a more reasonable hour.”
“Very well.”
Matthon eyed him down as he made the Warding gesture, pressing his fore and middle finger to the space between his eyes. Rhene returned the gesture, and then Matthon left.
Rhene didn’t sleep the rest of the night, his mind refusing to silence, even for just a moment.
I’m a Dreamer, he thought, unable to fully stomach those thoughts. They were dangerous thoughts indeed; deadly ones. But Matthon had his own secret, too, and together they could protect one-another.
He wanted to trust Matthon; really, he did. But a tiny part of him knew that Matthon would not take a second’s thought to betray him if and when the time came. He had status and power, and if he was to maintain it, there were certain standards he had to uphold.
But the leader of the Dreamless being a Dreamer himself? That seemed unthinkable. Unnatural, even. So many unconsidered implications revolving around that idea. And yet, it made so much sense. How else was better to defend the Dreamless than to have a Dreamer protect them? How better to protect the minds of those who couldn’t protect themselves than by having the one who could, guard? He was surprised he had never considered the notion before.
But that makes him a liar, too, he thought, the dark idea caressing his mind with its tainted touch. But does that make me a liar, too?
The thoughts swirled in his mind, doing battle with his conscience. It made his head hurt, and by the time the sun had peeked over the horizon, his head was pounding. He felt woozy and sick, but he got out of bed and dressed in his uniform as was expected. Having been freshly pressed, the uniform felt oddly stiff as he pulled it on, his sleeves fighting to open and trousers struggling to stay flat under the leather of his boots. He shined the medals on his chest with a handkerchief and donned the beret that marked him a member of the Dreamless army. By this time, it was only fifteen minutes before the ceremony, and he would have to hurry.
He marched up the bare corridor, towards the Great Hall, and arrived with a throng of others slowly being bottlenecked through the doors. Everyone was uniformed in their green clothes, some wearing berets, others hatless as they had not yet achieved soldier status. Sure enough, as Matthon had informed him, there was a row of seats at the very front and all had been marked with the names of those that had been interviewed. At first, Rhene thought that perhaps there was no order to the seating. But when he found his seat at the edge of the row, he realised now what that meant. A quick glance at the seats nearest the aisle, and he soon knew who was being promoted and who was not.
Sure enough, a short time later, Dreamless Matthon stepped up to the podium with slow, considered step, casting his gaze out over the hundreds of soldiers before him. He spared a special glance at Rhene, and in that look he felt a reminder of their promise they’d made.
Keep this secret, he thought. No one can ever know. No one.
“Good morning, soldiers,” said Dreamless Matthon. Even his title was a lie. “I thank you all for making your way here promptly. And also to those candidates who are sitting in the front row.”
One seat was still empty, at the very end of the row. A figure suddenly burst from a seat at the rear of the hall, muttering, “I’m sorry,” as he settled down once more.
There’s always one, Rhene thought, returning
his attention to Matthon.
“The timing of this could not be more appropriate. The Oen’Aerei are gradually gaining their strength, and before long they will be ready to enter our minds, control our dreams. In a world that is constantly shrinking, where our lives are becoming less and less private, our minds,” he gestured towards his head with his hands, “are the last place where we may have peace and know our secrets are safe.”
He paused before the podium, looking out at his soldiers. “It makes me proud to know how many people in this world have morals, and are actively willing to fight for their freedom of thought.”
Applause from the audience came in reply to this statement, Rhene joining in this after a few moments of careful contemplation.
“Now, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the time has come to announce those who were successful in their application for promotion. To all who submitted their names, know that we have carefully considered each and every application. With this is mind, let’s begin the announcement.”
He went through four names before he arrived at Rhene’s, calling him up onstage to accept the badge that marked him a general in the Army of the Dreamless. He turned to the audience, saluted, and then returned to his seat, walking all the while to the sound of applause.
Following the ceremony, there was a morning tea, during which all of the Dreamless mingled and talked while sipping tea and munching on cakes and scones. It seemed Matthon had decided to avoid Rhene wherever he could, keeping on the fringes of the gathering where he could watch. Glances between the pair were quick and awkward, yet they occurred nonetheless.
People approached Rhene from everywhere, shaking his hand, saluting him, and congratulating him on his efforts.