by Lincoln Law
“Really?” Adabelle asked. “People can do that.”
“Well, Sturdings can. It usually takes practice, and he was lucky too. The wrong person makes the wrong move, and it’s into Oblivion they go. But if a Sturding has the right skill in place, he can bring Dreamed objects out of the dream. Works best with non-organic matter, of course. The flower died in minutes; straight to ash. But the point is he did it.”
Adabelle nodded, not sure if she understood complete. “So if I tried to bring something out of the Dream Frequencies?”
“Then you’d drop into Oblivion. You’d cease to exist, and that would be that.”
She then paused, thinking deeply.
“And what about my father. If he is truly limited to Dreams, what would happen if I tried to bring him out?”
Lady Morphier’s expression darkened, but only for a moment. With that passing shadow came concern and uncertainty.
“I don’t know, to be honest. A person can only really die in this world; no one can really die in Dreams, unless they’re Sturdings of course. But your father is entirely of the Dream now. I suspect you’d have to bring him out of the Dream to kill him. Anything else would be ineffective. He’s just a dream, after all. No physical manifestation whatsoever.”
My cousin has a cut on her body proving otherwise, she thought, but she didn’t voice it.
“But the Dream Frequencies are a rather finicky place anyway. I wouldn’t risk any experimentation. What I think you should focus on is the fact of your sister here.” She turned to Charlotte, and it seemed the fawn around her neck did, too. What was it about that skinned creature that made it seem so alive?
“Tell me, Charlotte,” Lady Morphier said, sitting back down, leaning on her hands, “have you been unable to dream for a long while?”
“Yes,” Charlotte replied, slightly hesitant to talk. She quickly glanced at Adabelle, who nodded reassuringly.
“For as long as you can remember?”
“Yes.”
“And not a single dream?”
“Until the one the other day, nothing.”
Lady Morphier’s gaze passed from Charlotte, to Adabelle, and then down to the table. She seemed to think deeply for a moment, before looking up suddenly.
“Do you mind if I touch your hand?” Morphier asked.
“Not at all,” Charlotte replied. Her answer sounded less certain than the words she had chosen. “Why?”
“I can feel things in person’s mind when I’m connected to them. Rather special gift.”
Charlotte rose from her chair and approached the desk with uncertain steps. She seemed to meander slightly, in the small space between them. Yet when she arrived, she extended her hand bravely and allowed the woman to grip tightly.
Lady Morphier closed her eyes, her fingers appearing to play with the skin about Charlotte’s wrist. Against her sister’s skin, Lady Morphier appeared so pale and white, shockingly so. She looked unwell, even, as if fear had drained the colour from her.
Adabelle saw beneath her closed lids, Lady Morphier’s eyes darting about swiftly back and forth. Her expression changed from one of serene calm, to one of troubling, to one of concern and then frustration. It all happened very quickly, and yet the shift between each of these expressions was smooth.
Finally, with a slight and resigned sigh, she released Charlotte’s hand and fell back into her seat. Despite the exhaustion painted on her face, she still dropped gracefully, like a swan into a lake.
“It is indeed some kind of mindlock,” Lady Morphier said, “but what has caused this, or how, I cannot tell. What needs to be blocked or hidden has got me absolutely stumped. Sometimes, if I push hard enough against the barrier I can make out something through the shadows. But not today, not right now. I do not wish to harm your sister. The human mind is a fragile thing. With the mindlock in place—and for so long—Melrear knows what could happen if it’s broken.”
Charlotte looked frightened as she turned from Lady Morphier to Adabelle.
“So it’s definitely a mindlock?” Charlotte asked.
“Oh, without a doubt. I suspect the dream you had was a temporary weakening of the wall between the minds. It can happen sometimes. Like the tides of an ocean, there can be times when the mind is somewhat weaker than others.” She looked down slightly. “Moments of extreme emotion are one of them.”
The funeral! Adabelle thought.
“But who would want to do that to me?” asked Charlotte. “And why?”
Adabelle turned to Lady Morphier, eyes widening. They both spoke at the same time.
“Therron.”
Adabelle paused at that moment, thinking back to the night her and her mother had run. Her mother had been pregnant at the time, but that had been the last time Adabelle had seen her mother. Yet Charlotte was alive and well. How had she not thought of that before?
“Mama was pregnant with you when we ran,” Adabelle said. “I always forget that fact. The night we ran was the night Therron got hold of her. After that—and much later—you’d arrived. I was told I was your sister and that was that. I didn’t question it.” All the memories came rushing back now, like a dam that had broken its banks. The memories cascaded into her mind and she saw them all as clear as if they were happening before her just now.
“But that would mean mama did something.”
“She made a deal to let you live,” Adabelle said. “She bargained with him to make sure you could survive.” She hesitated on the edge of a thought. “He needed something to hide,” she quickly realised. “Therron needed to hide a thought inside you. A truth. Something he dare not have anyone discover. And in return you were allowed to live.”
“So I’m a vault,” Charlotte said, looking terrified.
“You are an unbreakable vault,” Lady Morphier said. “But Therron is an incredibly smart man. He would have hidden the lock far away. He would have insured it could not be broken easily. He would have stowed it away into someone he trusted deeply; someone he knew would not give up the key easily.”
Adabelle looked from Charlotte to Lady Morphier, her mind reeling. “Well you said the mental key could cause madness.” Then, she turned to Charlotte. “You don’t think it could be Aunt Marie?”
“The one with the Buffer sickness?” asked Lady Morphier.
“Well, think! It makes perfect sense, really! I mean she’s mentally unwell, she would have been easy to get to for Count Therron.”
“But she has the Buffer Sickness,” Lady Morphier replied. “She doesn’t have the mental ability to hold the key on the lock. One moment with the two in each other’s presence and that lock would be permanently undone. It doesn’t take much to let go of a key to a mindlock. It’s made to be easy to undo.”
“Have you ever had a mindlock upon you, Lady Morphier?”
“Oh, a few times, but they all got unlocked after some time. I’ve always been more of a key holder anyway. A few keys here and there. I still hold a handful from what I can remember, but to whose mind they go to I am lost.”
And you two have touched minds, so she can’t be the key holder for Charlotte.
Adabelle began to piece together a mental list of possible identities of this key holder. The more she swept her mind, though, the further away the names seemed to be. She found herself grasping towards impossibilities, knowing fully that there was no way any of those people could be key holders. Once she’d swept the mental list she found it blank once more and quickly gave up considering possibilities.
“But at the very least, you have something to work with,” Lady Morphier went on. “You know what’s happened with her mind, and you can go from there to infer reasoning and meaning. And perhaps it might help in your work towards deciding what your father is doing, if he is indeed back.”
Adabelle fought the desire to shake her head at the woman. “He is back,” she said, rather more bluntly than she had intended. “And I have to protect myself and my sister. And I suggest you come to terms with that fact b
efore he targets your own students.”
Lady Morphier appeared taken aback by Adabelle’s forwardness. “I promise, Adabelle, we are doing all we can, but until we find something conclusive we cannot make any formal statement to the police about these matters. I understands you distress in the matter—I really do—but we can’t just go about falsifying evidence.”
“But the sphere was broken,” Adabelle said. “He had to have broken free from that.”
“But a dream can’t kill, Adabelle. You should know that.”
Adabelle rose from her chair suddenly. “My cousin is dead because of my father. I am losing sleep because of my father. What anyone else says in my opinion is meaningless because I am innocent and there is nothing anyone else can say against that.”
Lady Morphier leaned back slowly in her chair, crossing her arms across her lap, hand grasping hand. “Well if you are going to speak like that to me then you can leave, both of you. I’ll withdraw any assistance I can provide.”
Adabelle’s heart raced, her face brightening from frustration and anger. She held back the intense desire to yell at Lady Morphier.
“Charlotte, it’s time to go.”
Charlotte looked scared and confused, but did as requested.
“Don’t come back here, Miss Blaise,” Lady Morphier said as Adabelle walked quickly towards the door with her sister, “until you’ve thought long and hard about your actions today and are ready to apologise for your rudeness.”
Adabelle paused before the door. “I’m not being rude,” she whispered. “I’m defending myself.”
She then thrust open the door and slammed it shut with all the force of her anger. Charlotte followed close behind her, but kept her distance as they marched down the halls and out into the gardens.
“Call me rude,” Adabelle muttered under her breath. “I’m not rude! She’s ignoring plain facts because she’s smitten by Therron’s own…greatness.” She hated using that word for her father, but it was the truth. He was a great man during his life, doing many great things. Many of those things were horrible and unthinkable, but they had been grand and sweeping in their scope. And now the head of the Oen’Aerei seemed entirely smitten by the man.
“It doesn’t matter what’s happened now,” Charlotte said. “We’ve got what we needed. We know I have a mindlock in here,” she tapped on her head.
“But we still don’t know what she’s doing as far as the investigation goes. I’m classified as a suspect in a murder, Charlotte. I don’t think you quiet realise how bad this situation is.”
The huge gates opened before them, Adabelle pushing her way through.
“She’s smitten by our father and wouldn’t dare sully his good name.” She shook her head. “She will deny it until the bitter end. She doesn’t want to see Therron in a bad light ever. Just…just get me home.”
Charlotte haled the tram down as it arrived at the stop, and handled Adabelle’s money for the ticket. Adabelle really couldn’t be bothered with doing anything for a little while, so she didn’t talk for the entirety of the tram ride, and not once again until they were in her room.
“I’m going to go to prison, I know it,” Adabelle sobbed. “There’s no one to help me, and anyone who can is just going to turn their back on me anyway.”
Adabelle pulled a handkerchief from her drawer, dabbing her eyes.
“I just wish I could escape this all,” Adabelle said. “I wish I could just end this all now. Get rid of dad, get rid of your mindlock, get rid of all…” she threw her arms in the air, “this.”
Charlotte wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her closely, tightly. Her grip grew tighter and tighter, until it almost seemed to hurt.
“What are you doing?” Adabelle asked.
Charlotte didn’t move from her embrace, but she did speak. “I sometimes feel when I hug someone, that if I hug them hard enough, I can just take some of their troubles away. That’s what I’m doing.” She tightened her hug again.
Adabelle laughed, placing a hand on her sister’s head, running her fingers through her hair.
“You’d take all the troubles away?” she asked, smiling.
“If I could, I would,” Charlotte replied. “So let’s hope this is working.”
Adabelle laughed again. Despite all the troubles that lay before and behind her, somehow that hug and that promise made her feel better.
“I think it’s working wonderfully.” Adabelle’s hands settled upon her sister’s back. “What would I ever do without you?”
Chapter Fourteen
A Shadow on the Fringe
Rhene slept very little over the next few days, afraid what he’d find within the darkness. When he did sleep, though, it was deep and dark and dreamless. Not a single fearful note, not a single whiff of that sickly cologne. He thanked the heavens each morning he awoke alive and well, and without any cuts.
But with each day that passed, he knew it was another night he would have to risk the Dream Frequencies and facing Count Therron once more. He had considered on a number of occasions telling Adabelle about her father’s appearance, but was quick to decide it was probably not the best way to go about things. For the time being, he was still discovering who she was as a person; he didn’t want those sorts of things clouding his judgement. She was beautiful and kind and sweet and thought he was funny. He couldn’t fault her!
After some time, his arm was removed from its cast and the sling undone. His fingers were stubborn in their movement, and stiff, too, though the doctors assured him it would be like that for quite some time to come.
“For a little while they’ll hurt sometimes, but it’s just because they haven’t been moved much in the last few weeks. It should be better soon.”
“Thank you,” he replied, thankful he could get back into training with the other generals now that that incident was out of the way.
The next few mornings at training were some of the most difficult he’d ever had to endure. He was out of practice, and the others, it seemed, had excelled in his time away. In keeping to Matthon’s beliefs, though, he didn’t slow down for Rhene, insuring he would either catch up or fall by the wayside.
After each training session, once the others were gone, Rhene stayed back to talk with Matthon, hoping for confirmation he was improving. They were nearly always a short conversation, with a few comments from Matthon. Rhene would hint at plans for the time to assault the Oen’Aerei, but Matthon would not budge.
Yet each time, Rhene felt he was getting closer to the answer. He didn’t know how or why he was able to gauge that, just intuition told him he was getting closer to the answer, drawing nearer to Matthon’s inner circle of trust.
One morning, after training, it was Matthon that approached Rhene. Rhene was entirely taken aback, as he towelled his face down, when Matthon said, “May we speak privately, Rhene?”
“Of course,” Rhene replied, following the man to the corner of the courtyard, away from the others.
“I was wondering if you would be willing to meet me within the Dream tonight,” Matthon said, whispering as softly as he could manage. “I’ve had some thoughts, and I think you might be able to help me.”
Rhene, confused and tired, simply nodded.
“Good,” Matthon replied. “I’ll see you then.”
Rhene spent the remainder of the day quietly curious, wondering what Matthon possibly had to restrict to the Frequencies. He also spent it terrified of what he would find upon entering the Dream. Therron’s words remained in his mind, echoing on forever into insanity.
I’ll let you rest now, my boy, he said. Goodnight.
The thought of that exchange still sent chills down his spine. What if he made an appearance in their meeting? What if he tried to harm Rhene and revealed him as a Sturding? So many possibilities, so many fearful results. He decided to remain quietly hopeful of a good outcome.
So when night fell and Rhene retired to his room, he quickly settled into his bed and entered the Dream. H
e attempted to only let his mind wander within, but he knew no other way to Dream but with his body in there, too. His mind swam with thoughts and he closed his eyes. He imagined tendrils of thought reaching out, grasping for the network of dreaming minds around him. As his body began to rest, his mind entered, gaining a solid footing within the frequencies. Were he a regular Dreamer, the process would stop here. His mind was free to then wander the frequencies, and return after a fashion. Because he was a Sturding, however, there was one more step to follow. With his own thoughts channelling into the Frequencies, he reeled his body in after him. His body lifted from the bed and he folded in on his own mind. A shadow on the plane of reality, he stepped from his own headspace and into another’s.
From there, he leapt from mind to mind. He found a shadowy wall where people were not asleep, or where the mind was sealed with Slugleaf tea. The way minds worked in the Dream Frequencies was nothing short of brilliant. He found they stretched, to compensate of those who were awake or locked. Yet at the edges of the Dream, he could see the minds were…stretched thin. He found it difficult to hold himself together when on the edge of a person’s mind, and even harder to stay together as he passed the barrier between two minds. It was less of a barrier, in truth, and more like two junctions joining as one. At least, in the moment of inception. The second he was in another’s dreams, he no longer felt that tugging sense of his body torn between two mental planes.
In dreams that weren’t his own, any alteration he made wasn’t bound by the laws of his own physics, but another person’s, so sometimes cups floated, or chairs melted or entire sections of the world changed colour.