In the City of Dreams

by Tony Abbott

  “Oh, no,” Eric muttered. “That floating head again.” He didn’t bother turning around.

  “Eric, is that you?” said the voice, growing closer. “You look like a ghost! How did you get here all the way from Jaffa City? Did Galen bring you? Turn around. It’s Neal —”

  “Neal, schmeal!” Eric said, turning on his heel to face the boy he had seen earlier. “This’ll teach you to talk to strangers!”

  His hand went up, and silver sparks sprayed the cobblestones at the boy’s feet.

  “Whoaaaa!” the boy yelled, tumbling head over heels away from the palace.

  Eric gripped the knobs once more and turned them as hard as he could. Click. Pushing with all his might, he swung the doors open wide.

  Torches on both sides of the entrance flickered onto a narrow hallway. The doors shut behind him with a resounding boom.

  “Enter …”

  The word was no more than a hoarse whisper, but Eric heard it.

  And he obeyed.

  Thrown back by the sudden blast, Neal rolled away from the palace.

  By the time he stopped, the boy he thought was Eric was gone.

  “Was that really him?” Neal asked himself. “No way. That wasn’t Eric. Eric would never blast me. It couldn’t be him.”

  The sudden howling of wingwolves reminded Neal to hurry back to his friends. He dusted himself off, felt around, and found the carpet. Covering himself completely, he made his way to the stable and entered right under the noses of Captain Talon and his crew.

  Inside Neal found his friends gathered around the magic mirror. “Guys,” he said, “you totally won’t believe who I saw —”

  “Hush,” Pasha whispered. “The magic mirror. It’s not good. Eric …”

  The mirror showed Galen, Max, and Relna in the royal bedchamber. On the bed beside them lay Eric, his face now no more than a ghostly shadow on the pillow.

  “Every moment that passes, Eric grows more pale, less here,” Galen said into the mirror. “The ice dagger’s curse is drawing him away bit by bit, taking him somewhere —”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you!” said Neal. “Eric is here!”

  Keeah turned. “You saw Eric? Here?”

  “At first he was so pale I almost didn’t see him,” said Neal. “When I did see him, he didn’t know me. Then a dream came out of the palace, and Eric became more real, and he blasted my feet!”

  “My worst fear,” said Galen from the mirror. “The curse has released Eric’s dark side. As he fades away from here, he reappears in Samarindo —”

  “Hold on!” said Pasha. “Another dream!”

  But as the children braced themselves amid the quivering walls of the stable, they were stunned to see what happened on the other side of the mirror.

  As if the dream rippling through Samarindo traveled halfway across the world, the royal bedchamber wobbled and twisted for an instant, leaving Eric paler than ever.

  “That’s it!” said Keeah. “Whoever stole the Dream Crown is bringing Eric here —”

  “The more the merrier!” said a voice.

  At that moment, the stable vanished completely, and the kids found themselves standing in a courtyard of gray stone. There before them was Captain Talon with his band of growling wingwolves.

  “Your hiding place is now our finding place,” he said. “Shall we get ’em, boys?”

  “Get ’em!” the wolves agreed.

  With fierce swiftness, the wingwolves swooped down at the friends.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” shouted Keeah.

  Blam! Blam! She blasted the air with sparks, and the wingwolves scattered.

  “The river’s that way!” said Neal, tossing the carpet up into the air. “Everyone underneath, now!”

  The friends huddled together and disappeared from sight as the carpet fell over them.

  “Where’d they go?” snarled Talon. “Old Red Eyes will be mad if we lose ’em! Spread out, boys!”

  As the wolves flew around, frantically looking for them, the four friends made their way quietly from street to street.

  “Did you hear Captain Talon?” asked Pasha. “Old Red Eyes? He’s the one in the palace!”

  Keeah peered up at the gigantic palace. The last dream had sapped its color entirely. It loomed over them, big and black. A long, curved tower had appeared on its summit.

  “As soon as we find the cure,” said Keeah, “we’re going in there after Eric. That’s got to be the only way to free him.”

  The four friends hugged the riverbank and soon found themselves in a warren of dark streets, winding alleys, and dead ends.

  “You know, Samarindo gets spookier with every dream,” said Julie.

  “No kidding,” said Neal. “Okay, if I were a Silver Dome, where would I be?”

  “If only Isha were here to tell us which way to go,” said Pasha. “Isha? Come back —”

  Tweeeeeet!

  The friends turned, and there was the green bird, perched on the handle of a little wooden cart that stood in the center of the narrow street.

  “Isha! You darling bird!” cried Julie.

  Sitting atop the cart next to Isha was a silver bowl upon whose sides were etched strange signs and characters.

  Keeah picked up the bowl, turning it to try to read the characters. “I don’t know the language. Eric might — oww!”

  The bowl’s sharp edges scratched Keeah’s finger, and she dropped the bowl.

  It landed upside down.

  The children gasped — for upside down, the silver bowl looked like something else.

  “The Silver Dome!” said Neal.

  “Customers!” said a gray-haired old woman in a drab red cloak, appearing suddenly behind the cart.

  Keeah jumped. “Yes. We were told —”

  “Can I interest you in a shirtless collar?” asked the woman. “How about a pair of short-sleeved boots? Perhaps an invisible jacket is what you’re after?”

  She pinched her fingers together and lifted what looked like nothing.

  “How do you know when you’re wearing an invisible jacket?” asked Julie.

  “When you don’t see it on you!” said the old woman. “It is a priceless treasure. But for you, a mere eight kopecks!”

  “Please,” Keeah began. “We’re here because a friend of ours is very ill. We were told —”

  “To find a cure?” the woman said suddenly, folding the unseen jacket carefully and replacing it on the cart. “Let me see, a boy was struck by an ice dagger and now you want to prevent him from fading away?”

  The children were dumbfounded.

  “How did you know that?” asked Julie.

  “I have ears all around the world!” the woman said with a cackle. “But listen! This curse is ancient and dark. The boy will soon fade from the light and reappear in darkness. He will be drawn away from the good in him until only evil remains. Once that happens, he will be lost.”

  “Not Eric,” said Pasha.

  “What about the cure? There must be some hope,” said Julie.

  “Only one hope,” said the woman. “Only one.”

  “What is it?” asked Keeah.

  “Our true selves appear in dreams,” the old woman said. “To save the boy, you must enter his dream before he is lost completely.”

  “How do we enter his dream?” asked Neal.

  The old woman cackled again. “Like you enter anything else. First, you must come properly dressed. Second, you must pay the price of admission.”

  Keeah frowned. “What does that mean?”

  The old woman tapped the upside-down bowl. “We’ll start simple. You discovered that the opposite of a silver bowl is a silver dome. What’s the opposite of a silver dome?”

  “A silver bowl?” said Julie.

  Keeah turned the dome over. Clinging to the inside was a silver necklace the color of moonlight. From it hung a single ruby in the shape of a drop of blood.

  Keeah looked at her finger. The scratch was as
red as the ruby. “That necklace wasn’t there before. How did you —”

  “Wear it when you see your friend again, Keeah,” the woman said.

  The princess blinked. “You know my name?”

  “Oops, I’ve said too much!” the woman said. “Wear that to enter Eric’s dream!”

  “You know Eric’s name, too?” said Neal.

  “Oh, boy. I’m out of here!” said the woman, and she vanished from sight.

  Julie gasped. “Keeah, look! Your neck!”

  The ruby necklace was no longer in the bowl. Instead, it was dangling from Keeah’s neck.

  Pasha studied the necklace. “So if you are now properly dressed, all that remains to enter Eric’s dream is to pay the price of admission, whatever that means. I suggest that if he is in the palace, that’s where we must go —”

  Oooo-ooo! A terrifying howl echoed in the air. Looking up, the children saw a dozen golden wings circling the palace.

  “Fire dragons!” said Pasha. “Hide!”

  But before the friends could escape, hands thrust out of the shadows and grabbed them.

  The instant the palace doors slammed behind Eric, torches flared on either side of a narrow passage hewn out of gray stone.

  Eric smelled smoke, but it wasn’t coming from the torches. It was drifting down the passage from the dusky distance.

  Acting on instinct, he followed the smell down the passage, through twists and turns, until he came to a large stone room. The room was nearly empty except for a wood fire roaring in a pit hollowed out of the floor.

  Eric watched the smoke drift up from the pit and take the shape of … of … what?

  The shape of a wing.

  Just like the shadow on the ground.

  As Eric watched, one, two, three, four wings appeared. Then a massive, horned head, a body, and steely claws.

  On its head was a crown of brilliant gold, sparkling with emeralds.

  Soon the smoke grew into the monstrous shape of a dragon with frightening red eyes.

  “So,” the dragon said. “You came.”

  “I guess so,” said Eric. “Where am I?”

  “Perhaps you are home,” said the dragon.

  Eric wasn’t sure about that. He tried to think back, but he couldn’t actually remember his home, so he said nothing.

  “Does your wound hurt?” asked the dragon.

  Eric touched his shoulder. “Not so much.”

  The dragon smiled. “I didn’t think so. It put you into a dream state, very like death. That is how we are able to meet here. How much do you remember of being wounded, Eric?”

  “My memory’s not so good,” said Eric. “Is that my name? Eric?”

  A snort like an icy breeze came from the smoky dragon. “Not for long. But you remember me, don’t you, Eric? We’re old friends.”

  Eric peered closely at the smoky image. It was strange, but somehow he did remember the creature. He had seen the four big wings before, and the glittering eyes.

  The dragon had an odd name.

  It came to him.

  “Gethwing?” he said.

  “Very good,” said the dragon, growing more substantial. He flexed his wings.

  “But aren’t you in the Underworld?” Eric asked, wondering how he knew that.

  The dragon twisted his mouth in a way that Eric knew was supposed to be a smile. “Even from the Underworld, I was able to call in some favors. The wingwolves stole this crown for me. The fire dragons came to protect me. Since Emperor Ko is gone, I was able to use the crown to take over his curse. Samarindo is an amazing place. It makes dreams come true. And speaking of dreams coming true, you remember the prophecy, don’t you?”

  Eric thought and thought. His mind felt as smoky as the room. It was a fog of shapes and words he couldn’t quite make out.

  “The ice dagger?” said Gethwing.

  Eric’s heart skipped. He touched his shoulder. “That’s right. An ice dagger struck me.”

  “Because of the prophecy,” said the dragon.

  That didn’t sound right. “No,” said Eric. “It was an accident. I tried to save … someone.”

  With each word that Eric spoke, the dragon grew more whole, more real, less ghostly.

  “Whether or not you were the target, you were struck, and here you are,” said Gethwing. “In a way, you did fulfill the prophecy. You are special, you know. You are powerful. One of the most powerful of all the wizards.”

  “No,” said Eric. “How am I special?”

  The dragon stared at him. “Zara.”

  “Ahh …” Eric winced. A pain went through his wound, sending shivers through his shoulders, his chest, his heart.

  “The mother of wizards is called … Zara,” said the dragon.

  Again Eric’s heart ached. “Stop!”

  “I did that just to show you. You are special in a way few others are,” said Gethwing. “I know that because I think that the prophecy is … well … never mind. All in due time.”

  “But wait,” said Eric. “Tell me everything. I really can’t remember too much. My brain feels … empty.”

  “Empty?” said Gethwing. “Good. Let’s fill it up!” The smoky moon dragon fluttered his wings and grew larger still, rising to the ceiling. When he did, smoke drifted from the fire into other shapes.

  “What’s happening?” Eric asked.

  Gethwing’s terrible jaws twisted into a smile again. “Look, and tell me who you see.”

  Eric saw faces in the smoke. The girl wearing the blue tunic and the gold crown. The floating head that had called to him. A tall man with a beard. An odd spider with a mass of unruly orange hair. A purple, pillow-shaped creature.

  The more Eric studied the faces, the less he seemed to know them.

  “Who are these people?” asked Eric.

  “What did you say?” Gethwing asked.

  “Who are these people?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “WHO ARE THEY?” shouted Eric.

  The moon dragon flapped his wings, and the smoky faces vanished. “No one,” he said. “Not anymore. And the dagger’s curse has done its work. Now look at … this!”

  With a wave of the dragon’s claw, the smoke formed a vast battalion of ships crossing a rough sea. Overhead flew a force of thousands of fire dragons, black-winged serpents, and scaly airborne lizards.

  “Is this a dream?” asked Eric.

  “One that can come true,” said the dragon. “If you join me … Prince Ungast!”

  “Prince Ungast?” said Eric. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s … you!” said Gethwing.

  Prince Ungast. The name sounded strange and odd. But in a way it also sounded right to Eric. Ungast. It sounded natural. Ungast. His name.

  “I like it,” said Eric. “When do I get all those ships and serpents and stuff ?”

  “First, you have to dress the part,” said Gethwing. “How would you like a cloak? And some high boots? A pair of jeweled gloves?”

  The dragon whispered, and two wingwolves entered the chamber. They carried a black cloak studded with silver moons, and boots and gloves to match.

  Eric pulled the heavy cloak over his shoulders. He felt as if his wound would smart under the weight of the cloak, but there was no pain. He donned the gloves, stepped one by one into the black boots, and stood tall.

  Suddenly, his fingertips tingled.

  Eric remembered sprinkling silvery sparks at someone recently, but the sparks flying from him now were jet black. As they struck the floor, they jangled like raucous bells.

  “Try them,” said the dragon.

  Eric aimed his hands and blasted great holes into the walls, showering the two wingwolves with dust. They ran squealing from the room.

  Eric laughed. “The sparks are cool. But … I don’t think I need these anymore.” He took off his glasses and dropped them to the floor.

  “That’s better,” he said. “I see perfectly.”

  “It’s a deal, then,” said Gethw
ing, becoming more solid by the moment. “Agreed?”

  Eric felt his gloved hand move through the smoky air to Gethwing. The dragon raised the gnarled claw of his left hand.

  Eric touched the moon dragon’s claw.

  The moment he did, the smoke hardened into Gethwing’s monstrous shape, and the dragon became whole. With a swift flash of his wings, Gethwing extinguished the fire, the smoke vanished, and the moon dragon was completely present in the room. He was his old self again — evil, powerful, and cunning.

  “You see, Prince Ungast,” he said, “you really are powerful. With just a touch of your hand, you’ve helped me return to my world. Now let’s see about getting you the things you want.”

  Gethwing strode toward a dark doorway at the rear of the chamber. “This world of Droon — and the world above it — will soon belong to us. But first I have a mission for you. Some troublemakers have entered our city. I want you to eliminate them.”

  “Can I use my sparks?” Eric said with a frosty smile. “My fingertips are itchy.”

  “Make them sizzle, Prince Ungast!” said the dragon. “And to help, meet … Gondra!”

  The hands that shot out from the shadows dragged Neal to the ground. By his hair.

  “Hey!” he screamed.

  “Sarla! Looma! Leave that boy alone — and hush!” squeaked a little man in yellow robes. “Those fire dragons will hear you!”

  “Yes, Father,” replied the giggle twins.

  They all scrambled deeper into the shadows as a host of golden dragons swept overhead.

  “Forgive my daughters,” whispered the little man. “They’re not used to such hair in Samarindo. I am Boola. Until last Tuesday I was the duke of Samarindo.”

  “You’re still Daddy to us,” said Looma.

  “Thank you, dear,” said the duke.

  The friends watched as the dragons circled over the streets one more time, then again, and finally flew on together.

  “I don’t like them,” said Pasha.

  “You haven’t seen the largest,” said Sarla. “He’s known by the silly name of Gondra.”

  “Why is that silly?” asked Neal.

  “G-o-n-d-r-a,” said Looma, “are the same letters as d-r-a-g-o-n mixed up!”