Visioness

by Lincoln Law

  He has his reasons, she reminded herself. He’s just doing what he has to.

  She wouldn’t forgive him for the murders and for the cruelty and the torture, but she could, at the very least, call him father. That was what he was, and saying otherwise wouldn’t change that. That was where she and her sister were different. Adabelle could be cold and selfish at times, in a way that made her wonderful. All that time holding the secret of her father’s return from her just to protect her. It was a beautiful gesture, if occasionally foolish. But Adabelle needed to know, too, that she wasn’t alone in the world. The world did not revolve around her. There were others there, to help where they could. Rhene was doing his part, and so would Charlotte when the time came.

  The white dome and spire atop the Halls of the Oen’Aerei appeared on the horizon, and Charlotte picked up the pace of her running. A gentle sound began to ring in her ears as she ran. She couldn’t pick its source, and yet she could hear it. It was a gentle flowing tune she recognised from Adabelle’s violin playing.

  The Dreamer’s Lullaby, she thought, hearing the words in her head as it played. Adabelle had told her about precursors, and how Therron would appear whenever she heard that song and smelled that sickly cologne. She imagined a cold, frightening tune, though, like the gentle tap of metal-on-metal made by a music box, the slow, distorted noise echoing through the Frequencies. This was a warm, loving tune, played on what sounded like a violin. Or maybe a viola. It sounded a little deep for a violin. Her head began to pound, and she stopped her running for a moment, catching her breath and clutching at her head, wishing that the beating would stop.

  Charlotte, she heard. A voice. A familiar voice. A woman’s voice.

  As she took in a deep breath through her nose. She caught a whiff of vanilla. It was sweet and warm and…motherly.

  Charlotte.

  The voice chimed again in her head.

  Keep running, Charlotte. Keep running. Be brave, my love.

  The pounding in her head worsened suddenly, like a knife through her skull. And then the pounding was gone, but so was the music and the voice and the perfume. All gone. The wind was cold once more, the only sound she heard being that of a distant marching and the wind whistling in the morning.

  Keep running. It was her own voice that time. She had to keep running. Adabelle and Rhene were doing their part. She had to do hers, too. She had her role to play, and she had to be there for it.

  Keep running. Keep running, she thought.

  I will, she replied to herself.

  The boundaries of the Dream fuzzed as Rhene pushed Aunt Marie through into another person’s dream. She seemed rather settled in his care, considering how distrusting she had been only minutes ago.

  At least, he hoped it had only been minutes. Time did move strangely here.

  Within the Frequencies, Rhene saw Aunt Marie’s mind in a strange way. It was like he could see her thoughts projected about her head, in a clouded mass of mangled thought and muddled musings.

  The wheelchair stopped with a sudden creak, Rhene’s breath catching in his throat.

  “Hello, Rhene,” Matthon said, standing before him, mere metres away. He appeared only moments ago.

  “Matthon?” Rhene asked, “what are you doing here? How are you…?”

  “I came to check on you,” he said. “I was marching with the army and I couldn’t feel your mind at all nearby. It was there one moment, and the next it was gone. I separated myself, found a quiet place to lie down and then entered the Dream, and look what I have found.” He paused, glancing down at Aunt Marie. “Who is this woman you are pushing?”

  “Marie,” Rhene replied. “She’s Adabelle’s Aunt. We need her.”

  Marie began to mumble under her breath. The words were mostly inaudible nonsense, but she babbled nonetheless.

  “You need her?” Matthon said, disbelief very apparent in his voice. “Need I remind you what the task at hand is. There is currently only half an hour or so till dawn, and you are here in the Dream pushing some mad woman in a wheelchair?”

  “She’s not mad,” Rhene said. “She’s sick, and she might have the key to Therron’s defeat in her head, but only if I can get her to the Oen’Aerei in time.”

  “Have you forgotten you post?” Matthon asked, eyes narrowing, finger pointing angrily. “Have you forgotten that you are fighting for me? You are meant to be in the minds of the Oen’Aerei and keeping our soldiers safe from any Dreamers. Not here, pushing this mad woman about.”

  Marie’s babbling turned angry.

  “I’m doing this because this is the right thing to do,” Rhene explained, stepping aside from Aunt Marie’s wheel chair. “There is a reason for all this. I have to help Adabelle because only then can we defeat Lady Morphier and Therron.”

  “And what of the Oen’Aerei?” said Matthon. “What of those that killed your parents?”

  “The Oen’Aerei didn’t kill my parents, Matthon,” Rhene said. “Therron did.”

  “Semantics!” Matthon accused.

  “It’s not semantics; it’s the truth. Therron had nothing to do with the Oen’Aerei when he killed my parents. Absolutely nothing at all. He’d already detached himself by then. The Oen’Aerei are as much at fault for my parents’ deaths as I am.”

  Matthon’s mouth curled into a snarl. “I don’t think you quite understand my words, boy.” He took an aggressive step forward. “You are a member of the Dreamless, those are the Dreamers out there with whom we are at war. If you are one of the Dreamless then you are on our side. Else you are an enemy. I have told those people out there that we are protected by someone wise and strong who will keep us safe from the Dreamers. His breathing deepened, like a bull preparing to charge. “Have you made a liar out of me, boy?”

  “You mean like how you yourself can dream?” Rhene asked.

  “That’s different!”

  “Hardly!” Rhene retorted. “You’ve built this entire society on a foundation of lies. From the very beginning you have made it out that the Dreamers are the enemies, that they are evil and wrong and liars and scoundrels, but they’re not. Therron is, Lady Morphier is; the others are just Dreamers, who were born with a power they couldn’t control and who chose to go somewhere they could be accepted for their abilities.”

  “They’re all evil and you know it!” Matthon replied.

  “I have Adabelle to prove that statement wrong!” Rhene said. He stormed up to Matthon, fists clenched. “She is kind and beautiful and loving and would do anything to protect those she loves. Her sister is the same. She is selfless and sweet and innocent. Innocent, Matthon, just like so many other people; people, I’m sure live in the Halls! And you would risk destroying all that beauty in the world because they happen to be born with one so-called defect.” He paused here, but only for a moment. “And might I remind you that you were born with that exact same defect, just like me!”

  “That bloody girl!” cried Matthon. “You were never meant to love that girl! Ever since she came into the picture, matters have only gotten worse for you, you stupid boy! Don’t you see it’s toxic? She’s turned you into a traitor!”

  “I’m not!” Rhene replied, eyes a hairs-breadth away from Matthon’s own. “I am simply doing what I feel to be right, just like you!” He pressed his finger into Matthon’s chest, harder than he had expected.

  Matthon threw his hand up, flinging Rhene’s own away. “Spy! Traitor!” he accused, pushing Rhene back. Rhene corrected himself to stop from falling, but he reacted by shoving back.

  “Punishment for betrayal is death,” Matthon said as Rhene’s push met his chest. Matthon barely shifted, returning with another push, this one harder. Rhene stumbled on his own feet, falling to the ground with a loud thump. He looked up to Matthon, who had pulled something from somewhere behind him.

  An orbitoclast. The same one he used for snapping, tipped with a brilliantly vibrant emerald.

  “Don’t you see the mistake you’ve made in trusting this girl?” ask
ed Matthon. “She’s changed you. Mutated you into something horrible! And she will only betray you in the end.”

  Rhene rose up, balling his hands into fists.

  “How dare you say anything about her!” Rhene cried. He couldn’t help himself now. Without any inhibition, he punched at Matthon’s face. A loud groan escaped Matthon’s mouth as fist met cheek, and the man began to fall. There was disbelief in Rhene’s expression, but also triumph.

  Matthon’s body struck the ground with a satisfying smack. Rhene was breathless. Anger pulsed through him, dark and molten. Matthon scrabbled to his feet, though, eyes full of rage. Rhene threw himself on top of Matthon. Matthon was ready, though. He raised his own arms, deflecting Rhene’s blow to the right. Rhene tumbled to the floor, body aching. His head struck the ground. The room spun, and Rhene sought correct orientation. He got to his feet, looking about. Where had he gone?

  “Once I’m done with you I’ll kill her, too,” said Matthon, his voice coming from somewhere to the right. “With her out of the picture, Therron can’t return.”

  Matthon threw himself at Rhene. He stabbed as he flew towards Rhene’s face with the orbitoclast pointing forward. The tip glinted with malicious brilliance. Rhene raised his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Crimson Rivers, Crimson Cloaks

  Adabelle knew she had arrived at the Hall of the Oen’Aerei because of the sudden fullness the Dream Frequencies held. Usually, the Frequencies were a patchwork of thoughts and minds, with spaces in between where one could pass through. The Halls, however, were alive and buzzing, a multi-levelled, multifaceted dreamscape. Minds on minds on minds, all stacked upon one another almost to bursting, like the Dream could somehow snap into reality. Some, it appeared, stretched even beyond the gates of the Oen’Aerei’s halls and out into the streets across the river. It seemed odd that those didn’t move the same way these others closer by did, but Adabelle didn’t have time to question. A mess of images barraged Adabelle as she arrived, a mix of sounds, smells and sights; far too many to comprehend quickly. She remembered Lady Morphier explaining that Slugleaf Tea was employed during class time to insure no extracurricular adventures occurred; apparently that same rule didn’t apply for bed time.

  Quickly finding herself bedazzled by the mass of Dreaming skill, Adabelle made her way to the nearest singular mind she could find—as there were very few that didn’t seem to overlap to some degree—and stepped out of the dream.

  A gentle light of near-dawn met her, the grey overcast clouding outside blocking the sunrise from view. It was close, though. Perhaps less than half-an-hour.

  Without disturbing the sleeper—apparently, they were quite used to feeling people wander through their dreams—Adabelle left the room and entered a long hallway, with a high ceiling and paintings all the way along. The red carpet was soft beneath her feet. She had not brought shoes with her in the rush, but she didn’t mind. The Frequency’s foundations were quite soft, and so was this carpet.

  She ran with a gentle step up the hallway, padding along as she searched for Lady Morphier. She had not been able to sense her mind when she had arrived, leaving her to assume that the woman was awake and waiting for the battle. Therron had been feeding information to the woman from Rhene; she was sure to have some idea by now when the battle was meant to take place. These halls were silent and empty, though, leaving Adabelle to assume that most people were still asleep.

  I just have to hope Rhene gets here in time, she thought.

  As she turned a corner of the hall, she stopped suddenly, meeting Lady Morphier. The woman was dressed in a cloak of crimson red over a gown of some kind—certainly not warfare attire at all —yet in her hand Adabelle saw a pistol. She was waiting for something.

  “There you are, Blaise,” Lady Morphier said, in an awfully cool and calm tone. The fawn she had draped over her shoulders seemed even more shockingly alive now she had seen it move, despite that being a limitation of the Frequencies. She didn’t raise the pistol, but Adabelle noticed her finger move to the hammer.

  “My name is Adabelle,” Adabelle replied.

  “And your surname is Blaise,” Morphier said, “and since we are hardly on first name terms I will refer to you by that. Now,” she raised the pistol, “I suggest you come with me.”

  That was easy, Adabelle thought, as she nodded.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked, as Morphier pushed her to the front, keeping the pistol in her back.

  “I knew you were here the second you stepped into the boundaries of the academy,” she said. “We have alarms in place for foreigners such as yourself.”

  Adabelle heard it now. There remained that false sweetness in her voice, a sickly kind of geniality to hide her fury at the girl’s infiltration and actions. Adabelle picked up an odd scent in the air, though. Vanilla? It smelled exactly like her mother’s perfume.

  Going to war, she thought. Odd time to spray yourself. Then again, she reconsidered, Lady Morphier was an odd woman. Nothing would surprise her now.

  “And I’m assuming you know about the Dreamless army, then?” Adabelle asked

  “Oh absolutely,” she replied, over a slight, mirthful chuckle. “We’ve known for weeks now. We’ve had time to prepare. I’ve only just spoken with Therron, and he has assured me the battle will go to plan.”

  Adabelle’s heart sunk for a moment. “Therron is here?” she asked.

  “In the Frequencies?” Morphier said. “Of course! This is where he’s been hiding when he has nowhere else to go. He told me about what that boy of yours did to Giles, though.” She clicked her tongue. “Quite a bold move. I doubt murder will go down well in court.”

  “The body is gone,” Adabelle retorted. “They have no proof.”

  “Bodies go missing every day. Do you think Therron is against fabricating evidence? It’s not particularly difficult when you yourself are a Dreamer. And once you’ve brought him out of the Frequencies then he and I can get to work eradicating the Dreamless like we promised each other we would.”

  “What you’re doing,” Adabelle said, “it isn’t right. It’s…it’s genocide! There are innocent people marching out there, and you intend to mow them down like livestock to slaughter?”

  “They’re marching against us,” Lady Morphier replied bluntly. “It is our right to retaliate. I don’t think they know how prepared we are.”

  The Dreamers in the streets, Adabelle thought, that earlier discovery suddenly clicking into place. That makes sense. They’re waiting for a surprise attack.

  They arrived at the room where Adabelle had had her first meeting with Lady Morphier. Morphier pushed Adabelle in, the door slammed behind her. She fell to the floor.

  On one side of the room, there was a wall of books, and on the other windows, looking out over the Odilla River and the Oen’Aerei grounds. Scattered about the carpeted floor were seats and tables, meant for games and reading.

  “This should be a perfect vantage of the battle,” Lady Morphier said, nodding to two chairs a the window and a pot of tea sitting on the table.

  Adabelle turned to Morphier, who indicated with her pistol at the window. “Well go on. Take a seat.”

  “You’re sick, you know that?” Adabelle said. She got herself up off the ground and wandered reluctantly to the seats. She settled in, staring out the window at the sea of forest green standing on the other side of the gates. They pressed upon the gates, demanding Morphier open them. They brandished weapons; rifles and swords. One group grasped the gate and pushed them back and forth, back and forth, like a tide upon the shore. Each push set them closer to a broken gate. Before long, those gates would burst open, the army would pour in, and people would start dying. “This is sick,” she muttered.

  “Not sick,” she replied. “Not even in the slightest.”

  Adabelle had been right. “You’re in love with Therron, aren’t you. This is why you’re doing all this; this is why you’re working for him. You love him.”

&
nbsp; “And he loves me,” Lady Morphier replied, a slight smile creasing her lipstick-puckered lips. There was something terrifying about a smiling woman holding a gun, and Adabelle wasn’t sure what part of that was the most frightening. “He loves me very much.”

  Adabelle’s brow furrowed. “No he doesn’t! He doesn’t love you, or anyone for that matter. He’s evil, Lady Morphier; can’t you see that? He’s evil and completely incapable of love of any kind. He’s using you because of what you can give him: an army, and me. You broke him out, you did all the work he could not do while limited to the Frequencies, and now you’re doing your last bit. Once you’ve done that, he’ll toss you aside.” Like he tossed aside my mother.

  “No, he does love me,” Lady Morphier said, quietly and with all the truthful conviction her voice could contain. “He loves me like he loves you girls.”

  “You’re smitten!” Stupid woman!

  “I’m in love! And so is he.” The pistol was shaking slightly in her hands, smile completely replaced by a harsh frown. “I love him and he loves me! And don’t you dare say he is incapable of love! He is a beautiful person! He is capable of love, and you girls are the proof; your mother is the proof.”

  Adabelle’s mouth gaped with surprise, eyes widening.

  “You are young, you know nothing of adult relationships. You’ve got that little boy of yours, and that’s great, but adult relationships are different and complex and complicated.” The woman’s eyes were welling with tears, her alabaster skin shimmering with a soft sheen of sweat. Her terse words continued. “In order for anyone to share the kind of closeness your mother shared with your father in order to have you, there has to be love present. In order for her to have two children to Therron, your mother had to have loved him, for some time as well. I’ve heard him speak of your mother, and I know there was love there, and it kills me. It kills me to know he loved her,” she hesitated, voice quavering, tears rolling now. “That there’s still love…for her.”