by Lincoln Law
Adabelle herself couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t Dream; she’d been an early bloomer apparently though. Most people didn’t start Dreaming till they were eight, when their imaginations were more active than before, and they were somewhat more self-aware. She’d started when she was five or six, though, and could remember walking lucidly from one Dream to the next, curious and often ignorant of the contents.
But Charlotte had been right in some respects. In many respects. Adabelle had grown better over time at Dreaming. It had been a gradual thing. She still wasn’t a Sturding. Even then, she knew they were born, not made. But she was more skilled at Dreaming than she had been before, and that alone was worth something.
At dinner, Charlotte continued to voice her questions about dreaming, musing about what she would do were she able to Dream. Adabelle found some small comfort in the knowledge that everything she said was purely hypothetical. She was safe from Therron so long as that mental wall was in place.
Adabelle heard her name from somewhere behind her, and turned to find another student she didn’t recognise approaching her. He looked slightly red-faced from walking too quickly, and so it was with a rushed, heavy voice he said, “Telegram,” before heading off, far less enthusiastically than his approach.
“Who’s it from?” asked Charlotte, leaning over Adabelle’s shoulder.
“None of your business,” she said, pulling the paper away from her sister. She glanced to the bottom of the page. “But if you must know, it’s Rhene.”
“Oooh!” her sister called. Adabelle just shook her head and ignored her.
Adabelle,
I’m sorry you have not heard from me for a little while. I broke my hand and I’ve been stuck in hospital for a little while. I hope to be able to see you again sometime soon, though. I will send you a letter when I’m well and able.
Rhene.
“He’s broke his hand,” Adabelle said. “He’s just letting me know.”
“How?” Charlotte asked.
“Don’t be rude,” Adabelle said. “It’s impolite to ask.”
She was curious herself, though knew better than to ask. It was his own business.
It didn’t stop her curiosity though.
Chapter Twelve
Matters of the Father
Matthon’s hand was like a dinner plate in comparison to Rhene’s. His fingers were thick and fat, his forearm bulging slightly as he manipulated Rhene’s arm. It hurt to twist his wrist, it hurt to extend his fingers, and it was sheer agony when he touched the fingers presently wrapped in a bandage.
“Looks like you’ve been in the wars,” said Matthon, smiling at his joke.
“You could say that,” Rhene replied.
“How did you manage that kind of razor cut, anyway?” asked Matthon, glancing from Rhene’s hand to his throat.
“I got spooked by something falling in the sink, cut myself, and as I threw down the razor, I punched the sink.”
The hospital ward slowly filled with dawn’s gentle light, caressing the room with its rose-coloured touch. Matthon rose a sceptical eyebrow.
“Well you would be an idiot. I don’t think you’ll be able to do much with that hand. It’s only your fingers, thankfully, but it will be a good three weeks or so before any real bit of healing is done. The doctor will tell you more. Be thankful our plans for war still have a little while to go.”
Rhene’s ears tingled at that. The scent of the cologne and the whisper of the music returning to him for a moment, in ghostly reminder of his ordeal. Then it faded and he was once again in the room with Matthon.
“When are we meant to go to war on the Oen’Aerei?” Rhene asked, hoping quietly that he did not sound suspicious.
“I cannot tell you the date,” he replied, “not yet. But soon enough. Soon enough that we can finally be free of these infiltrators.” He sounded so impassioned, so fanatical to the cause, it almost frightened Rhene.
“But I’m a general,” Rhene replied. “Should I not know the date we go to war?”
“Oh, you will, before too long. But for now, the fewer minds containing the time and date, the fewer risks we have to take.”
The reasoning was sound. When dealing with people who could enter minds, it was only natural to keep as many people in the dark, whenever possible.
Rhene glanced about the hospital ward. It was empty, but for him and Matthon. Now was the time.
“Can I ask you about Dreaming?” he asked.
“Yes,” Matthon replied, keeping his eyes downcast, “but know if someone enters we must change topic immediately.”
“Of course.”
“What is it you want to know?” Matthon leaned back in his chair.
Rhene struggled to search for what he really wanted to ask. He wanted to know, in truth, how Therron Blaise could have caused him physical harm while in the dream. But how could he ask it without drawing too much attention?
“What are the dangers?” he asked. “I mean, is there anything I should really worry about while I’m in there?”
“Well of course there’s the Nhyxes. Nightmares that have taken a form. Most of them are harmless; they’re really just the energy that creates nightmares turned real by the simple presence of Dreamers. It’s the Sturding Nhyxes you have to worry about.”
“Sturding Nhyxes?” Rhene asked.
“Well, there’s Sturding Dreamers, who can enter the Dream physically. It’s reasonably rare, but there are some who can do that. Similarly, there’s Sturding Nhyxes that can enter the real world as surely as they can enter the dream world. They’re particularly dangerous.”
“Can they cause any actual physical harm?”
“Oh, absolutely. They’re real strength lies in terror; not murder, though. It’s very rare you’ll find them able to do much else than scare you. They’re very good at making you run, though. Very good. There’s, obviously, also the risk of forgetting when you’re Dreaming and when you’re not. You’re reality is here, Rhene; remember that. When you forget your reality, or your reality changes, all sorts of odd things can happen. And not necessarily good things, either. There’s a thing called the Dream Buffer, which is basically the time when waking where you can’t remember whether you’re in a Dream or not. People have leapt out of windows thinking they could fly, or have torn themselves apart trying to find other places to go to. Concussions from running into walls, murdering people, when not realising what they’re actually doing. This buffer is, probably, the most dangerous part of the Dream. It’s in this middle time that most people die. When you wake up, I suggest you always try and lie down for as long as you can. Remind yourself that you were dreaming before, but that this is real.” He knocked on the wood of the bed. “Remind yourself you can’t fly or punch through walls, and you’ll find you’ll survive this.”
Everything he had done suddenly made sense. His attempt to punch through the window and his confusion at being unable to change his surroundings all hit him as hard as his punch through the glass.
“Can anyone else hurt me in the Dream, though?” he asked. “You said there are Sturding Dreamers. Could they hurt me?”
“Well, let’s see here. If a Sturding meets a Sturding in the Dream, yes, they can both harm each other. If a Sturding meets a non-Sturding, only the Sturding can be harmed. The Sturdings, you see, have accepted both our world and the Dream world as the combined realities. So their own laws in both limit them. But if, say, a non-Sturding attempted to bring a non-Sturding Nhyx out of the dream…well…I don’t know what would happen. They’d probably both cease to exist, for breaking the Universal Laws.”
“The what?” asked Rhene, sitting up in bed. He winced as his hand ached, but he did his best to ignore it.
“The Universal Laws. It’s what everything in the world abides by. There are obviously powers out there, like Dreaming, that we know nothing about. I do not study any, nor do I know any names; I am above that kind of silliness—but there are other powers. People who can change th
ings in the world; people who can do extraordinary things.
“The Universal Laws combine these powers. They all appear differently, but they all abide by a handful of Laws. The main one is that, no matter what a person tries to do with their power, they can not alter the world in any permanent manner, at its most basic level. A better way to describe it is that every part of this world is a symbol of the desire to survive. The world has evolved, and we continue to grow and survive. We seek survival, so do these laws. Play with them in any real dangerous way, and it will dole out the necessary punishment. Everything has its laws; so does this magic.”
“That’s why you said if anyone tried to pull a non-Sturding Nhyx out, they’d both suffer.”
“Well, they’d probably cease to exist,” Matthon said, “but anyone who’s ever done it hasn’t ever made it…obviously.”
Rhene laughed quietly.
But if Therron was able to harm me, then that would make him and I Sturdings. He paused, the weight of the realisation crashing upon him. His head began to ache, the pain in his hand spiking intensely.
I’m a Sturding.
His dealings with Therron suddenly became more dangerous. Therron could harm in in very real ways. Kill him, if he wished, all within the dream, where the limitations were endless.
But if he can change realities, why doesn’t he find us in the real world. Why doesn’t he find us here?
The answer came to him, before the full question had even arrived. In the Dream he could enter their minds, he could attack them from within. Outside the Dream, he was limited to reality. He had to hold true to physics and science. Elsewhere, he could do as he wished. It was obvious why he kept to the Dream.
“Is there any way I can protect myself, though?” he asked.
“Well just like everyone else, you’re not restricted by reality, either. Get creative. Think outside the box. Someone points a gun at you, you get a bigger gun.”
Rhene laughed.
“It really is the best way. So long as you’re not a Sturding, you’ll be safe there. But you’re not unbreakable. Just because damage isn’t visible doesn’t mean there’s no damage. You need to protect,” he tapped his forehead, “what’s in here.”
Rhene nodded, looking up suddenly as one of the nurses entered.
“Right, well thank you, Dreamless Matthon. I assure you, I’ll be back in training before too long.”
“That’s good to hear, general,” replied Matthon, recognising Rhene’s hint. He winked. “I’ll be glad to see you soon then. Good day.”
He saluted, warded, and then he was gone.
Rhene sat alone on the bed, as the nurse tended to him, insuring his hand was bandaged properly and that he had enough water in the decanter beside him.
I need to see Adabelle soon, he thought. She hasn’t heard from me for two days now. She might be worried.
He decided quickly he’d send her a telegram before the day was out.
He shifted into a more comfortable position, laying down just enough so that he could still reach the glass on the bedside table. He didn’t know how he hadn’t pieced together the connection between Adabelle and Therron before. He’d even known he’d had a daughter. It was obvious now; he even saw the resemblance.
He was falling in love with the daughter of a man who was trying to make a traitor of him. That thought made him quake.
He bowed his head, thankful of the knowledge he now held. At the very least, he would have some kind of understanding of the Dream Frequencies. At least he knew what danger he was in now, and to what capacity he had control over things.
As he had promised himself, he sent a telegram to Adabelle, assuring her he had a wonderful time and that he looked forward to seeing her again. He told her of his broken fingers, but also that it would not stop him from seeing her anytime soon. He wanted to see her; needed to see her. His stomach seemed to flip at the thought of her. It was a light, airy appearing in his abdomen. It stretched down to his hips. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to find out about her past and her life. His thoughts fell by the wayside, slightly, as he began to wonder on her body. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the smoothness of her arms as his hands stroked up them. He imagined her naked form in all its beauty, sure that the real sight would exceed the base idea his mind had conjured.
He pushed those thoughts away, feeling slightly ashamed, glancing about the hospital ward as if people could actually see them.
You’re not the first man to have these thoughts, he mused, and nor will you be the last.
He felt his cheeks redden, heat rushing upwards. These were the imaginings of someone much less mature, much less controlled. Yet he could not help these carnal desires. He only hoped Adabelle, being the Dreamer she was, would never catch him picturing her in such a way.
A sudden sense of paranoia overcame him, and he was able to stymie those thoughts entirely. At least, for now.
I want her for so much more than just…that, he thought.
Being away from his training meant he was suddenly freed to enjoy his time reading. In the Dreamless library, there were a handful of books on the subject of Dreaming—most of them there for students to study their enemy.
In the ones he was able to read, he got mostly confirmation on Matthon’s warnings. Sturdings could only hurt other Sturdings, though non-Sturdings could hurt each other, too. Sturdings could change locations, running through people’s minds as though they were paths rather than thoughts, and it seemed they could also emerge wherever they wished, too. In the earlier days of Dreaming, these were called Thoughtwalkers, going in and out of people’s minds as they wished, using it as a quicker way of travel. There were then diagrams filled with complex mathematical equations explaining the correlation between mental distance and real-world distance. All of it went right over Rhene’s head.
The female Dreamers were called Visionesses, and the males, Visionaires, though the generic term was Visionary or Somnetist. There were stories of legendary figures that caused great events and cataclysms. There was Visioness Lamarre, who was able to create mental prisons within other’s minds, using another person’s mind as the key. There were, of course, odd side-effects. The person’s mind acting as the prison’s lock was then susceptible to addled thoughts and confusion, and the combination of two minds often led to permanent insanity.
There was Visionaire Victor, who gave his own life when he disguised himself as a Sturding, and took a renegade Nhyx into Oblivion with him. When Rhene examined the footnotes, he saw what Matthon had mentioned earlier—when someone attempts to do something beyond their powers, the world chooses to punish those at fault. Oblivion it was called, and in there was only darkness. A person’s mind could wander, separate from its body, for eternity, while the physical body perished. For only the smallest moment, Rhene was glad he was a Sturding. At least he could never make the mistake of taking a dream where it ought not to go.
Then there was an old King, who remained nameless, who apparently had managed to create his entire kingdom from his Dreams, drawing Dreamed-up objects and bringing them into the real world. Rhene wondered whether he’d ever be strong enough to do this, but he decided it best not to try. The word Oblivion echoed in his mind, reminding him that the Dream Frequencies were hardly a place for experimentation.
The Oen’Aerei, as they came to be known, was born from the understanding within the Visionary society for a school of some kind. Too many wildings were getting into deathly situations; thought most could only blame themselves. Count Therron Blaise, at the time courting Nynette Reelee (who would later be Adabelle’s mother, though the book omitted that fact) was the Oen’Aerei Chancellor of sorts. Initially, the school was just a place of training. People would come and graduate after they had mastered their powers and could control their mental wanderings.
It was Count Therron who took matters to the next step that would eventually birth the Dreamless. He saw an opportunity in the Dreaming skill, in that he coul
d hold the monopoly of information, in espionage. He could, in turn, create a corrupt government capable of controlling all aspects of human life.
When this happened, much politicking occurred, and out of it emerged the Dreaming Covenant, signed by the new leaders of the Oen’Aerei—specifically, someone called Lady Morphier, and her fellow co-signatories, the four most powerful Dreamers in the nation. After that, it was promised that any attempt to revive these old thoughts would be met by military action if necessary. Lady Morphier agreed, and then the Dreamless were born. Originally made to insure that if the Oen’Aerei did cause what they’d promised not to, they could act and defend those unable to defend themselves.
Now, with the Oen’Aerei relatively silent, the Dreamless appeared as just a symbol of the defenders that would rise should the time be appropriate.
The rest of the book spoke mostly of the mythology surrounding the Oen’Aerei, their patron in Melréar and her haloed stag, and a lot of other scientific discussion about matters Rhene didn’t entirely understand. He put the book aside when he finally became far too confused by the text.
For a time while in the hospital wing, he toyed with the idea of possibility of telling Dreamless Matthon of Count Therron’s appearance within the Dream Frequencies. If he did, he might at least have support from somewhere should matters escalate at all. But what would that mean for he and Adabelle? He liked her, a lot. Would Dreamless Matthon demand he no longer see her?
Was Count Therron even targeting me because of Adabelle? he wondered. It was a genuine consideration he had to take into account. He could have used her mind to track him down, and have taken the opportunity there to get to her through him. But Adabelle was never mentioned at any point in their meeting. It was entirely about the Dreamless, and the war they intended to charge on the Oen’Aerei.