Dreamweavers: Awakening

by P J G Robbins

magnificent scenery they were passing through. As it was they continued to be wreathed in a thick blanket of cloud, which swirled and parted obligingly to let them through, before lazily closing up the way behind them. Occasionally the heavy grey outline of another car would loom up out of the darkness, taking the return line back down the mountain. These would often pass slightly above them, which left Ryan to ponder how three people, or two and a half if you considered Daisy’s slight frame, could have such an effect on the car’s weight.

  They clattered over another support and Ryan still didn’t feel comfortable with the way the car bounced around with minimal encouragement. Slowly things were beginning to change though. More shapes were drifting in and out of the mist, as though the walls of the mountains were closing in, funnelling them towards their destination. At the same time the prickling sensation returned, not as strongly as before, but enough to demand their full attention. All three of them were sat upright now, staring out of the front of the car. Waiting for something – anything – to appear.

  ‘Okay, I think this could be it,’ said Tristram quietly.

  Talk about stating the bleeding obvious, thought Ryan, who was now so tense that he had to keep reminding himself to breathe.

  It was tantalisingly close, whatever it was, but time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Then suddenly it appeared, fleetingly, as if the clouds themselves had their own sense of drama and knew exactly how much to reveal, and when. It was a castle, certainly, but not in the sense that Ryan had expected. He had been waiting to see a fortress; hewn from the very heart of the mountain and as old and strong as the earth itself. He had been expecting a medieval stronghold, with towering turrets and battlements, imposing and impenetrable. What he got was something torn straight from the pages of a fairytale; all slender spires and towers with conical roofs, some projecting out at inconceivable and impractical angles, before reaching their heads skywards. There were arched walkways spanning immeasurable gaps and narrow windows everywhere; the kind that were impossible to see into but remarkably good for seeing out of. It was breathtaking and baffling in every sense.

  All this was taken in in just a handful of seconds; enough for the clouds to share a taste of their secrets. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

  ‘Beautiful,’ breathed Daisy, her face a picture of enchantment.

  Ryan looked over at Tristram, whom he hoped would offer a more rational analysis of what they had just seen. However, his tutor looked just as perplexed as he was feeling and was slowly shaking his head in time with the gentle rocking of the car. After a few moments he looked Ryan in the eye and the briefest of smiles flickered across his features.

  ‘Dreams eh?’ he murmured. ‘Expect the unexpected.’

  ‘That’s the stupidest phrase in the world,’ said Ryan. ‘How can you anticipate every possible thing that could happen?’

  ‘I know it is,’ said Tristram. ‘But unfortunately it rings true for us at this juncture. Even by the standards of some of the dreams I’ve seen, there’s something really weird going on here. Both of you stay close, okay?’

  Again they sat staring into the grey mist ahead of them; tense, waiting for something to appear. It wasn’t long before it began to grow dark in the cabin and they got the same sensation of everything around them closing in. Another car slipped past quietly, much closer than many of the others had been. They had to be near.

  Then the upper station appeared, buried in the mountain at the foot of the citadel. It was little more than a cave. Peering up, they tried to catch another glimpse of the dreamy towers, but a thick swathe of cloud was hugging the base of the castle and within a few moments they were passing beneath solid rock. Tristram ducked down and indicated that the others should flatten themselves on the benches to keep out of sight.

  It was a nervy few moments for Ryan as he waited with bated breath, unable to tell whether or not things were about to kick off. Their good luck seemed to hold however, and as the car began to turn in preparation for its voyage back down the mountain, Tristram slid the door open and the three of them hopped out and scurried towards the nearest nook that was big enough to conceal them all.

  19

  The station was a real grotto in the side of the mountain. The cavern had been roughly hewn out of the rock, and whoever had done so had presumably gone off for tea and not returned, leaving the engineers installing the machinery to work around the uneven surfaces and protrusions. A string of lamps were strung together round the outside of the room, offering little aid to the sparse light coming in through the cave’s mouth, while everything was damp and clammy due to the high moisture content in the air. It was all so dingy that it was impossible for them to imagine that it was part of the fantasy castle they were now beneath.

  When Tristram was satisfied that there really was no-one else about, they headed towards an opening at the furthest end of the cavern, where the string of lights led away, disappearing further into the mountainside. It was a narrow passage; just wide enough for two people to pass without having to get on first name terms. It appeared to have been made by the same person who had opened out the cavern; someone with an allergy for doing a job properly. A series of rough-cut stairs wound upwards in a left-hand spiral, their slick surfaces making for a tricky climb.

  Tristram led the way, with Daisy following and Ryan bringing up the rear, more out of boyish pride than any real desire. As they climbed, the damp, stale air became infused with hints of more pleasant aromas. There came the smell of freshly baked bread – always a winner – followed by a variety of herbs and spices, all mingling together to form an intoxicating blend that made Ryan feel rather heady. Then came the knockout; the smell of fish and chips. Ryan’s stomach growled loudly and Daisy gave a stifled laugh.

  ‘Anyone get the feeling we’re coming up under a kitchen?’ whispered Tristram.

  It would not be long before they found out, for up ahead the way was growing lighter and soon they found themselves standing behind a rickety wooden door. It had so many cracks and knot-holes in it that light from the other side was leaking through like a sieve.

  They bunched up together, each of them keen to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond. Tristram found a convenient knot-hole and carefully appraised the scene, before addressing his two understudies.

  ‘Okay, right,’ he said quietly. ‘The coast looks clear. We’ve got a long corridor with doors leading off to either side. At the far end there’s a door similar to this one. Basically we’ve got to do this the old-fashioned way and search every room until we find your friend. Now, there may be no sign of anyone at the moment, but that rather tantalising smell in the air would suggest otherwise. As I said before; keep your wits about you. You may be required to put some of what you have learned to good use. Are you ready?’

  Ryan and Daisy both nodded. In truth, neither of them was, but the anticipation was too much to bear and they were anxious to see what the dream had in store for them next. Had they known, they might not have been so eager.

  With a grim smile, Tristram reached down and turned the old cast-iron handle. The door swung open to reveal a long, stone corridor. They were clearly still underground, but this time a great deal more effort had been put into their surroundings; the flagstones on the floor were smooth and well fitted, and the brickwork was laid to a similarly high standard. Even the arched ceiling was smooth and devoid of any dampness. At various points along the walls torches were mounted, and the light these gave off was supplemented by that from a number of oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. For a fleeting moment Ryan recalled an earlier dream in which similar lighting had been used at one of his local train stations. How much had come to pass since then!

  The smell in the air was now wholly that of food, with the dampness and cold of the tunnel already a distant memory. The place felt warm and inviting, despite the prevalence of bare stone, and Ryan began to relax into his surroundings. Perhaps things were going to turn out all right after all.

  They walked thr
ee abreast down the passage, as there no longer seemed any point in trying to conceal themselves. But as they neared the first door, Tristram held out his hand and indicated that they should hang back while he investigated.

  He reached out for the heavy iron handle and gave it a twist. Ryan’s eyes flitted from the door to several points further along the corridor. With Tristram’s back turned it was up to him and Daisy to be ready for any eventualities. He was extremely conscious of the fact that he had no stick to hand, nor any other item he could use to morph into something useful. Better still, he could have done with a ready-made weapon.

  He was relieved when Tristram turned back to them and gave a nod.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s just a store room.’

  Ryan took the opportunity to double check as they re-joined their tutor. It was a store all right; stacked to the ceiling with all kinds of food. He noticed a basket of assorted breads nearby and pulled out a fresh baguette. As Morphing material went, it was better than nothing. And besides, all the smells were making him hungry.

  ‘If you’re planning to use that in the near future, make sure there’s some if it left,’ said Tristram, seeing him tear off a piece and stuff it in his mouth.

  Ryan merely shrugged as they made for the next door. This one, on the opposite side of the corridor, had no handle. There was only a brass plate to push against, which was stained with paw-prints. A sudden clatter from the far side told them that the room beyond was definitely occupied.

  As Tristram reached out and pushed the door ajar, Ryan raised his baguette like a baseball bat, ready to swipe at anything that might come charging out. A waft of steam drifted into the passage as the door opened, and Tristram tilted his head sideways to try and see through the gap. He stayed there for several long moments, while the other two waited restlessly behind him.

  ‘What is it Tristram?’ hissed Daisy.

  ‘Rats,’ came the reply.

  ‘What? In the kitchen?’ said Ryan, wrinkling his nose. ‘That’s gross.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said their tutor, turning to face them. ‘But see for yourself; they’re cooking!’

  Ryan crept over and peered inside. Sure enough, several large brown rodents were toiling away over hot stoves. He pulled his head away and looked at Tristram.

  ‘At least they’re not in the food,’ he observed.

  ‘Quite right,’ Tristram nodded. ‘It’s much better that way, I’m sure.’

  At that moment the next door down the corridor flew open, and one of the rats appeared from the far end of the kitchen. There was no time for them to do anything, for it caught sight of them the moment it entered the passageway. Their presence seemed to neither surprise nor alarm it. It merely stood there with its white apron and chequered trousers on and addressed them in a surprisingly courteous manner.

  ‘My friends, you must be lost,’ it said with a slight bow. Its French accent was easily as bad as Captain Nibbles’ German one had been. ‘Ze banquet is upstairs, and if you are looking for ze lavatories, I’m afraid you’ve come too far. Would you like me to escort you back up?’

  Ryan looked at Tristram, who was clearly trying to gauge whether or not it would be a wise move.

  ‘That would be perfect,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Really?’ hissed Ryan.

  ‘Just go with the flow,’ said Tristram, leading them towards the giant rat.

  ‘You are just in time,’ it said as they neared. ‘We are just about to plate up.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ nodded Tristram. ‘Lead the way.’

  The rat bowed again and led them along the corridor and up a flight of stairs to their left.

  Ryan eyed the rat with unwavering suspicion as they went, keeping his baguette gripped tightly in his hand in case they were being led into an ambush. The rat was much larger than the gerbils they had met earlier. It was bigger even than the hamsters they had encountered along the way. Ryan began to wonder whether all the rodents he had encountered were part of some overall hierarchy, and he tried to remember what the largest species of all was. Again he kept to the back of the group, if only to avoid the creature’s long, pink tail, which swished back and forth in front of them in a rather irritating manner.

  As they climbed the stairs their surroundings began to grow more and more lavish, with paintings and tapestries covering the walls and a thick carpet under foot. Their footsteps could no longer be heard, leaving an uneasy silence in the air as the stairs doubled back and joined another flight that originated somewhere far below. They arrived in a broad ante-room that was more luxuriously decked out than anything they had seen thus far. There was little furniture other than a couple of small tables with vases and ornaments on them, and several large busts of furry-faced creatures, presumably of some importance in the rodent world. By contrast, each wall was covered from floor to ceiling in hugely elaborate artwork that continued to draw the eye whether the beholder wished to be looking at it or not.

  Ryan noticed doors at each end of the room and a larger set of double doors directly in front of them. What really captured his attention, though, were the enormous rodents flanking them. They were easily a head taller than the rat and were garbed in full military regalia, each with machine gun at its side. They were the Elite Guard from which the castle drew its name. The rat led them across the room and nodded graciously at the two massive guinea pigs. Ryan and the others eyed them warily.

  ‘Come on in,’ said the rat, its paw on the brass knob of one of the double doors. ‘Zey’re expecting you.’

  That comment made Tristram stop to reconsider, and Ryan nearly walked into the back of him.

  ‘Everything all right sir?’ enquired the rat.

  ‘One moment please,’ said Tristram as he turned to face the others.

  ‘Admit it, even you are finding this weird,’ said Ryan.

  Tristram gave him a slow nod.

  ‘I’m concerned about whom ‘they’ might be,’ he said. ‘Though, having said that, if there was any real danger I’m sure the Academy would have done something about it already.’

  ‘If you can’t send us back then maybe they can’t get in,’ suggested Daisy.

  Tristram frowned.

  ‘You may be right. Still, we’ve come this far. We might as well see what the end has in store, eh?’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t involve you driving,’ muttered Ryan, as Tristram turned back to the rat.

  ‘Everything in order?’ it enquired.

  ‘Absolutely,’ beamed Tristram. ‘Lead on, friend.’

  The rat twisted a knob on the large, wooden door and pulled it open, ushering the three of them into the room beyond.

  If Ryan had thought the previous room to be lavishly appointed – in a quaint, old-fashioned way – then he could not summon the words to describe the hall he now found himself in.

  A huge, vaulted ceiling stretched out high above them, supported by enormous pillars set into the walls on either side. Each pillar was bedecked with an intricately carved capital and fluted shaft, while the ceiling itself was handsomely decorated, not with religious imagery – the likes of which Ryan had seen on several rather boring school trips to ancient cathedrals – but a massive painting that appeared to depict the entire history of rodent evolution, right up to a rather bloody war that the hamsters and guinea pigs seemed to do quite well out of. Further down, the walls were richly coloured and mounted with ornate candelabras, which just added to the magnificent aura within the room. At the far end was an enormous stained-glass window, again depicting the tumultuous history of the rodent world.

  It was a truly awe-inspiring sight, and that was without mention of the beautiful mosaic floor, the statues lining the walls and the gargantuan table dominating the centre of the room. It was easily the biggest single piece of furniture Ryan had ever seen, stretching for nearly one hundred feet and flanked by dozens of straight-backed wooden chairs. It was set for dinner, with countless pieces of cutlery and crockery glitt
ering in the multi-faceted light shining through the window.

  ‘Whoa,’ was all he could manage as he struggled to take it all in. The baguette dropped from his limp grasp and hit the floor in a scatter of crumbs.

  ‘Whoa indeed,’ said Tristram, who also looked impressed.

  ‘Ryan! Tristram!’ came a cry from the far end of the room. It was such a distance that Ryan struggled to make out the voice’s owner until she got to her feet. Her slender form and long blonde hair were then unmistakable. He breathed a sigh of relief; glad to see that Sophie was there and seemingly unharmed.

  ‘They said there would be more people joining us, and I hoped it would be you guys,’ she called, as she skipped up the room towards them.

  When she reached them she gave Tristram and Ryan a quick hug, and even spared Daisy a smile of acknowledgement.

  ‘I’m so glad to see you safe and sound,’ smiled Tristram. ‘We’ve been terribly worried about you.’

  ‘Really?’ said Sophie, pulling an odd face. ‘No, I’ve been well looked after. As you can see, we’re about to sit down to dinner.’

  ‘Who’s we?’ asked Tristram abruptly, the smile dissolving from his face.

  ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t say,’ she replied, turning to Ryan. ‘Jack’s here. Isn’t that great?’

  Ryan screwed up his face in puzzlement.

  ‘Jack?’ he said bemusedly.

  ‘Yes. You know; your best friend?’ she elaborated, looking at him as if he was a bit thick.

  Ryan heard an intake of breath from Daisy, but he managed to open his mouth first.

  ‘What’s Jack doing here?’ he blurted.

  ‘The same thing we are; dreaming.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa, hang on,’ said Tristram. ‘You’re saying that another of your friends is here with us?’

  ‘Yes, he’s over there. Jack!’ called Sophie.

  The familiar shape of Jack Thomas rose out of a chair at the far end of the table, and she beckoned for him to join them. But Tristram grabbed her hand mid-wave.

  ‘Wait, wait. He’s not a Dreamweaver, is he?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Christ!’ exclaimed Tristram, running his hands through his hair and looking around the room in exasperation. ‘How much have you told him?’

  ‘About what?’ asked Sophie, taken aback by his curt manner.

  ‘About Dreamweaving, of course! About us and the Academy.’

  ‘Nothing at all. At least, I don’t think so. What’s the matter? Is there a problem?’

  Tristram sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Everything has just got ten times more complicated,’ he said. ‘But at least we’ve found you. Now I can start thinking about how to get us all out of here.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with this place? I like it.’

  ‘Butler! What are you doing here?’

  Jack had just realised whom Sophie was standing with and came galloping over to give his friend a dead-arm.

  ‘Ow!’ cried Ryan, recoiling from the punch. He threw Tristram a questioning look, for at that moment he had no idea how he should react to his friend’s presence. He didn’t get a lot in return.

  ‘You big wuss,’ grinned Jack. ‘Hey, I see you brought your other half along.’ He nodded at Daisy.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ shrugged Ryan before she could say anything.

  ‘So, what’s going on here? Some kind of school reunion?’ Jack asked. ‘Can I expect anyone else along? You didn’t invite your buddy Harry, did you?’

  Ryan gave him a sardonic smile.

  ‘Ha ha,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re barely funny at school, and even less so in my dreams.’

  ‘Okay, okay, hang on a minute,’ interrupted Tristram, making a late bid to steer Ryan’s conversation away from dangerous issues. ‘Why don’t we go and sit down? I hear food is on the way.’

  ‘Who is this?’ asked Jack, pointing at him.

  ‘Just a friend,’ Tristram replied, ushering them down the room. When they were all on their way he took Ryan by the arm and pulled him to one side.

  ‘What?’ asked the boy, getting slightly annoyed by Tristram’s erratic behaviour.

  ‘Okay Ryan, here’s the deal: interaction between Dreamweavers and their real world acquaintances is strictly controlled. The Academy prefers to keep a low profile, for fear of being seen as having too much of an influence over international law and order. Careless talk about dreams and suchlike with a non-‘weaver present is not good. The only way I see of resolving this is to get you all out of here. And by that, I mean waking you up.’

  ‘You want to mess around with my head again, don’t you?’ said Ryan, sagging.

  ‘I’m afraid so. It’s just to see whether it’s possible to expel you now that we’ve found Sophie. I’d rather not do it in front of your friend. Things are already weird enough as it is.’

  Ryan rolled his eyes and spread his arms wide, as if he was about to be subjected to a body search.

  ‘Go on then,’ he sighed.

  As he had done in the cable car, Tristram reached out and placed a hand on Ryan’s head. There came the same massaging sensation in his mind, which grew to be more and more forceful until he was certain it couldn’t be doing him any good. He stepped to one side and cast the hand away.

  ‘All right, that’s your lot,’ he scowled, rubbing his forehead tentatively. ‘It’s not a stress-ball, you know.’

  ‘Sorry Ryan,’ said Tristram, looking agitatedly back at the huge doors through which they had entered.

  Ryan followed his gaze, and he noticed for the first time that the two guinea pigs that had been flanking the door on the way in were now guarding the entrance from the inside.

  ‘What do you suppose that means?’ he frowned.

  ‘I think it’s fairly obvious,’ replied his tutor. ‘They don’t want us to leave. I’ll just check to make sure.’

  He strode back up the room and approached the two guards. They towered over him, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle-distance and their rifles clasped rigidly against their chests. It wasn’t until Tristram made to open the door that they even so much as acknowledged his presence. With astonishing speed and well-drilled fluidity they turned to face him, bringing their weapons to bear so that the bayonets were millimetres from his neck.

  Tristram froze, and Ryan heard a gasp from Daisy, who had obediently seated herself at the table. Slowly their tutor raised his hands, not looking at either of the guards, both of whom were stock-still once more. Ryan doubted he would ever be able to go round a pet store in the same frame of mind again.

  He wished he could see what was going through Tristram’s mind. He desperately hoped that his tutor was not about to do something reckless, but past experience did not fill him with confidence. He did not have to wait long for his answer.

  Tristram’s speed of movement matched that of his aggressors as he thrust his hands upwards, grabbing both rifles and wrenching them from their grasp. Almost immediately the guns began to change, the stocks turning ashen and the muzzles crumbling in a cascade of metallic powder. Tristram took several steps back as the guinea pigs rounded on him, baring their huge incisors and brandishing their brutal claws. He cast the shapeless remains of the guns to one side and rolled his neck and shoulders in preparation for combat. As much as Ryan respected Tristram’s abilities, he couldn’t help thinking that his tutor had bitten off more than he could chew.

  Ryan was standing only a few feet away from the table, which was laden with a vast array of Morphing fodder. He made a lunge for one of the knives, but at that moment the prickling sensation he had been ignoring for a while exploded in his head, tearing at the back of his mind and causing his legs to give way beneath him. He cracked his head on the back of one of the wooden chairs and slumped to the floor, as the distressed cries of his friends rang out.

  Lying on his back, dazed and unable to properly focus on anything, he watched the room swim and distort in front of his eyes. The colou
r left the beautiful artwork on the walls and the ceiling became a grim mass of weathered concrete and stone. He rolled onto his side and saw the statues crumbling and changing, taking on human forms but no longer the pristine works of art they had been before; now broken, decayed and uncared for.

  Almost as swiftly as it had arisen, the horrible sensation in Ryan’s mind subsided, this time disappearing altogether. As his head struggled to gather the strands of his sanity back together, and his focus returned, he realised that the room really had changed. The colour and beauty had drained from every facet, and he was lying on the floor of a stark, soulless hall, devoid of any warmth or grandeur.

  Slowly he staggered to his feet. It was still the same room; the table was there, but nothing on it sparkled, the window at the far end was there, but it was heavily stained and only permitted a sickly green light through. Even the pillars, which had probably changed the least out of everything, were no longer majestic to behold, but ominous and foreboding, giving a feeling that they were pressing in and squeezing the remaining life out of the room.

  There came a cry from the end of the room, and Ryan turned in time to see Tristram’s limp body fly through the air, before landing in a shower of broken crockery in the middle of the gnarled, twisted table. Daisy screamed, and Ryan saw that the guinea pigs had been replaced by two enormous creatures, barely human beneath their sallow skin, which was stretched taut across flesh and bone such that every sinew could be seen. The eyes, set deep within their sunken sockets, were cruel and heartless, with no light in them; not even a flicker of humanity. They wore the same brown uniforms, but they were ill-fitting and torn in places, unable to contain the monstrosities within.

  After all his doom-mongering, Tristram had been right; there had been something wrong with the dream. Or maybe a sugar-coated topping had simply blinded them from the reality. All the rodents and fancy décor had just been a ruse. Ryan knew that what lay before him was the truth, and it was infinitely more bleak than anything he could have imagined.

  He turned his gaze to his friends at the opposite end of the table. The faces of both girls were masks of horror, made all the more disturbing by the foul light filtering through the tarnished window behind them. To see the two girls in his life – one, his oldest friend, the other, the object of his affection – looking so distraught was like a poisoned arrow through his heart.

  Already he found himself fighting to suppress a rising wrath that, if allowed to manifest itself, untamed, had the potential to risk not only his own life, but theirs too. Then there was Jack. What the hell was he doing here? Dream time was supposed to be Ryan’s time with Sophie, not his. Did he even have the faintest idea what was going on? Ryan doubted it. He was just a passenger. But that didn’t stop an ugly feeling of loathing from passing through Ryan’s mind. This was his adventure. Jack shouldn’t be here.

  The sudden sound of the doors being thrown open cut through Ryan’s tumultuous thoughts like a red-hot blade, severing any attempt at rationalisation and commanding every bit of his attention. He rounded again, struggling to stay abreast of a situation that was already way out of his control.

  The great wooden doors, now rotting and split like the one at the end of the underground passage, were thrown back, and in the opening, outlined by a hazy yellow light coming from behind them, stood two men. For a bizarre moment it looked to Ryan like the sort of entrance a low rent rock star might make, but then the two men stepped forward so that they could be seen properly and realised that it was just a trick of the light. These guys meant business.

  The two men were remarkably similar in appearance and stature, neither being particularly tall or solidly built. However, their shaven, scarred heads gave them an immediate air of menace. Their eyes were pale blue; so pale in fact, that had they been a few shades lighter they would have probably blended in with the rest of the eyeballs. Their skin was wan and blotchy, as if it suffered from a lack of natural light, and they were dressed wholly in black.

  In fact, the only difference between the two men that Ryan could make out from where he was standing, was that the one on the right appeared to be slightly older, with a few wrinkles bisecting the more numerous scars on his