Stave knocked on the ornately-decorated caravan. There was no answer, so he opened the door and entered.
The interior, by contrast with the outside, was plain and empty except for a broom in one corner of the slat-lined walls. It caught his attention. He went to it and turned it vertically, so that the head was uppermost. The hairs on it were fine and they glistered. He scrutinized them with the magnifying glass, seeing that each bristle was a minuscule broom of its own. Then he quickly flipped the magnifying glass over to stop the broom from enlarging.
The sound of falling masonry from outside broke the silence of his introspection. Upon going out onto the caravan stage, he saw that the group of passengers who had collected together had become a crumbling stone block. Chunks were rolling and falling from it, and splintering when they hit the platform. Stave was startled. Only Dario La and one other stood there, alone on the grey platform.
‘This is all of your doing,’ Dario shouted over to Stave.
‘How so?’ Stave answered.
Dario La merely shrugged.
More falling masonry from the other end.
Stave couldn’t bear to watch the destruction of the stone that had been people any longer. He rushed back inside.
17 : HELP FROM BEYOND THE REALM
He was surprised to find that the interior of the caravan was now lightly decorated with bunches of wildflowers and simple pottery figurines on the walls. And it was inhabited.
‘Good evening, good morning, good afternoon,’ an elderly woman said with sincerity and clarity, and she gave a sweet smile as if in recognition of Stave. She sat at a round table, a linen chequerboard tablecloth upon it. And placed upon this, in the centre, were four clear glass bells. On the woman’s head was a hat of an unusual design. There were glass droplets about the banded and striped circumference. The woman looked tired but intelligent and amiable. She wore a full-length, purple skirt that glistened as it caught the light, with golden streaks appearing and disappearing, not unlike electricity sparks. And around her shoulders was a cape with a silver rose pinned to it. About her neck was a metal ring with a cowbell attached.
‘Please, sit down,’ she said and gestured to a simple wooden chair standing on the other side of the table.
‘The passengers, they’ve crumbled,’ Stave let out with concern. ‘Outside, on the station platform. Take a look.’
The woman’s worn expression changed to curiosity, her saddened eyes sparkling.
A lucid beauty of mind emanating from behind that old face. So familiar and yet, now, not…
‘Do you really believe that those people crumbled if they were real?’ she asked, placing her head to one side and then the other, the glass ornaments about her hat tinkling, and gleaming as though lit from the inside. Her artistic-looking hands, faceted as if made from marble, were held above the table. Her long fingers moved slowly like a sea anemone being wafted by currents, or as if she played gentle notes on a piano, invisible to the eye. ‘The mistakes due to your lack of memory and naivety are charming. But please, see for yourself,’ she added and, after placing her palms together as if an act of prayer, she let them drift apart again. A small concertina appeared. She moved the bellows with slow, silent claps. The instrument produced wistful musical sighs and atmospheric, bowed string vibrations.
Stave looked out of the door; the group of people was restored.
‘How can this be?’
‘You are constantly forgetting and lost, not understanding the reality of the situation. Blame some of that onto the dream winds. Some of the people you have met, or will meet, aren’t real. They are mere dream elements – dream cast, as you might have heard.’
‘Yes, dream cast, I remember again now. And I do swing from being lost in a dream to being lost in a reality like a dream.’
‘All part of Tremelon Zandar’s doing,’ the woman said. ‘Wait a moment,’ – the clear sound of one of the bells on the table – ‘Now how do you see the dream cast?’
Stave went out onto the stage of the caravan and called back.
‘Pink flamingos on the platform, each of them standing on one leg. Though I see Dario La and another still there, arguing.’
‘Then those arguing are as real as you and I,’ the old lady explained. ‘Please, come back inside.’ Stave did as she asked. She continued, ‘You don’t recognise me at all, do you?’ and she looked almost sad.
‘Should I?’ Stave queried.
A peculiar sense of belonging; spiritual comfort, longing.
‘Eventually, I can look like anyone I wish again. At the moment you see me as an ageing person. We have been apart for too long. I have missed you so much.’
‘I’m not certain I know what you are talking about. Madam, you are a stranger to me and old enough to be my mother. Then that’s who you are, my mother?’
The woman let out a delightful laugh tinged with sadness.
‘Oh, if only I could tell you the whole story! Tremelon Zandar has erased your memory again as I’m sure you have come to realise. But once we have defeated him and his army of agents then you will understand, and begin to remember. Learn again too.’
Stave sat and looked into her bright eyes, deep and full of wisdom.
You have the most incredible eyes I have ever seen.
Thank you, that’s lovely of you to say, Stave heard in his head.
‘So you can hear my thoughts as well?’
‘Only if you want. But you’ve lost the ability to shut your mind to others, along with the loss of many other abilities.’
‘Abilities, like what?’
‘The more I tell, the more there’s the danger we are being overheard, the less I must say.’
‘Heard by Tremelon Zandar?’ Stave asked.
‘Yes. He may have overtaken but there are still many secrets hidden from him. He must never know the full story or we are all lost.’
‘I expect he knows because of the cowbells around our necks.’
‘Partly, yes,’ she replied.
‘And marking with rosettes.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that. He has multiple ways of marking people, that much I do know. He tries to be creative.’
‘Yes, two people I met on the bus – Mariella and Quikso – were given them. Now they can’t take them off.’
‘You know them well, Stave. Another mind blank has made you forget.’
‘That’s not surprising. I thought they seemed familiar. I hope they are safe.’
‘When did you last see them?’
‘Quikso Lebum on the bus and Mariella Fortana on the underground train.’
The old woman shut her eyes and appeared to be concentrating. When they opened again, she pointed to the back of the caravan where the slats were decorated with the hanging dried flowers and clay figurines. Amongst them, a wine bottle stuck out at right angles, its base firmly fixed to the wood of the wall.
‘Maybe that dream-summoned item will help in finding one or both of them,’ she said.
A gentle pulsation of light came from within the bottle. Stave skirted the table and went to it, looking through the open end as if it were a telescope. He saw, tinted green by the bottle glass, the interior of an underground train carriage, with Mariella Fortana seated, contentedly inspecting one of her wooden fish.
‘So, Mariella is safe. That’s good news,’ he said and walked over the floorboards to the front of the table. ‘I hope Quikso is safe too. Tell me, are you a magician or a type of sorceress, or perhaps even a gypsy who can foretell the future with the aid of a crystal ball or similar?’
As the woman rubbed her palms together, the concertina was no more. She smiled pleasantly.
‘None of those things. Though a sorceress of sorts, able to amplify and modify frequencies of energy. I will endeavour to explain more of that later. Enough to say, most of my abilities have been taken away, like yours, Stave Swirler, so at the moment I am no more than a stage conjuror.’
‘I don’t know how you know my name, but
that is correct. May I ask your name?’
She picked up a bell and a cloud of moths flew from it to the ceiling.
‘I am Cassaldra Chimewood. One of my many names. We met a long time ago.’
Cassaldra Chimewood: that name rings truth and destiny, happiness even. But why? A subtle remembrance of … now gone. I have a gaping wound in my mind that needs to be filled with positive certainty. For some reason, I feel I want to hug her.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, madam. So we’ve met before?’
‘That is so sweet that you say madam. Please call me Cassaldra, like you’ve always done. And yes, we have met many times.’
Stave went to the side of the table and held out a hand in greeting but flames appeared, made of red crêpe paper, though they were as hot as any real fire.
‘Why did you do that?’ he asked, offended. ‘I wouldn’t have harmed you, I only wished to shake your hand.’
‘Please understand, I know that. This is the doing of Tremelon Zandar. He has me trapped in a dream cage which I am unable to escape from. Sit and gently lean forward.’
Stave returned to the front of the table and did as he was asked. He was confronted with more paper flames emanating heat. And beyond, he viewed Cassaldra sitting in a cage, set in a courtyard with its stone walls streaked with iron bars. Upon leaning back in his chair, Cassaldra Chimewood was in the caravan again.
‘I understand, of sorts,’ He said. ‘It seems Tremelon and his agents have many abilities, to trap people, turning agents’ hands to crab-like claws…’
‘And worse,’ Cassaldra said. ‘He has stolen abilities more powerful than you know at the moment.’
‘Have you known Tremelon Zandar for long?’
‘Nowhere as long as I’ve known you.’
‘Yet I’ve no memory of ever meeting you before. Then what can you tell me about my past?’
‘I could tell you much about your past but that will be for another time. You must first come to terms with the present, try to understand what has been happening, and why. Don’t be upset or perturbed. There are explanations if you are prepared to listen. And I am ready to tell you the truth again, providing you keep calm. We must speak quietly and quickly.’ The old lady placed her two thumbs together and Stave smelled a heady scent of rose petals. ‘But first I will pose some questions, if you have no objections.’ Stave shook his head and then she said, ‘Where are you?’
What a peculiar thing to ask.
‘I’m here, talking to you in a gypsy caravan,’ Stave replied. Cassaldra's eyebrows raised to promote more. ‘The caravan is pulled by an amazing horse made of different types of metal. It’s standing on an underground railway track which has become flooded.’
‘Is there anything unusual in what you have just said?’
With another shake of the head, Stave replied, ‘Why should there be? It all is out of the ordinary but I’ve grasped the fact that I’m dreaming in reality. At least, I think I am.’
‘Good, you’ve worked that out for yourself,’ Cassaldra said. ‘Can you remember how you got here?’
‘I only remember a time from being on a bus, journeying through a tunnel, no more of my past. Except that perhaps I live in a cottage on the edge of the woods. And I might have been going shopping at the Olympian Shopping Mall. Or heading for the gathering? A lot of people I’ve met seem to be going there.’
‘You are trapped in a dream loop. But let us take things step by step. It will take time, because of your memories having been erased, as Tremelon Zandar tries to do with me—’
Stave said, ‘I’m sorry to hear that. As for me, it seems he and his agents want my guts for guitar strings, to put a no finer point on it.’ His eyes were hunting about the caravan interior as if in fear of the enemy appearing from nowhere. Then there was a chime from a mantlepiece clock standing on a pillar by the door. Stave seemed to become calmer upon hearing it.
Cassaldra drew in a breath.
‘After I have explained more, you will ask many questions, which I will try to answer, if we have time. Before that, I will give you an explanation for the appearance of the clock. It was there for me. I thought it into actual existence. It’s called dream summoning. This is one of my abilities I have left.’
‘Yes, I have had experience of that already. I summoned hooks onto Mariella’s wooden fish, and a snorkel to breathe underwater.’
‘Ah, that is good. Obviously your experience and power with dream summoning hasn’t totally been taken away.’
Cassaldra stood. And while concentrating once again, the clock vanished, then appeared upon the table before her. She gracefully sat once more.
‘So, in this caravan we are all in your dream in reality?’ Stave said.
‘Yes and no. If only I could start at the beginning, but there is no one beginning. And even if there were, I’m certain I wouldn’t always remember.’ She sighed. ‘The majority of what you see here at the moment is part of my dream, my lucid dream which I have created in reality. The rest is yours, as well as other people. I am not dreaming you nor are you dreaming me. We are dreamers together. We are all dreamers in the one dream reality.’ There was silence other than a clank of metal from the horse outside. Cassaldra paused and took a deep breath before continuing, ‘I will tell you this much: there is an old man – much older than you can imagine – a remarkable man of wisdom and honour, a man of courage and love, who can be fully conscious within his dreams. But there’s more. He has been given a dream realm, where he can overlay dream elements onto reality while he is awake – I’m talking about lucid dreaming within all that is real.’
‘Lucid dreams?’
‘You have even been made to forget that? When we are dreaming normally, we are not aware of being asleep or of being in a dream-state. But there is a higher state, to be fully aware within reverie, to feel more real even than in an awakened state. That is lucid dreaming. The elements, choices, and decisions within the dream can be made as though consciously. Anything you desire can be.’
‘So this is a lucid dream, albeit shared,’ Stave said.
‘More even than a lucid dream. You were correct to say a dream within reality. This man I speak of was the first ever to be bestowed a wonder, a unique place, an extraordinary visionary world created within the labyrinths of his mind, whilst sleeping or awake; creating remarkable places within lucid dreams but also in reality. To explain further, this world is a separate existence, a parallel universe – the melding of reality as we know it through our faculties, with the infinite universe of lucid dreams. He then passed on this discovered door and key.’
‘A real door and key?’
‘I’m speaking in the spiritual sense. The door would be a turning point, a particular way to enter his complex mind, his remarkable realm. The key is to unlock understanding, enlightenment, a culmination of wisdom, empowerment of mind within. And once through the door, to be able to experience the parallel universe without the necessity of being asleep. And for others to learn the progression.’
Stave was becoming intrigued by what he was listening to, although he was uncertain as to whether or not he fully understood her words.
He realised all at once he had left his chair and had been pacing up and down the floorboards of the caravan. He sat again.
‘A progression to what, may I ask?’
‘A progression to a goal. And the goal?’ Cassaldra gently opened the back of the antique clock, carefully taking out the workings from the casing and placing them on the table. ‘This is exquisite workmanship, do you not agree? It is lovely to see each cog and wheel, each part dependent on each other, every element painted in matching hues with such precision, to match the precise workings of the mechanism. The goal is one’s own state of being where the physicality of self is totally united with the emotional, spiritual conscious evocations within the mind. Space and time no longer need to have firm delineation; no boundaries or limitations. This is all as it was until this special reality was infiltrated by
Tremelon Zandar.’
Stave felt as if, under his turquoise suit, he was made of glass.
An unusual sensation.
He vigorously nodded. This was making sense in some fundamental way although he was becoming overwhelmed.
‘It’s all too much to take on board at once but I think I understand. So basically you are saying that the old man you spoke of has been given the ability to be fully awake but still can have dreams at the same time.’
‘That is correct. As can others who are invited. It’s a difficult concept to comprehend, I know. Your physical, mental, and spiritual body is here, with me; you touch the chair and table as solid, as real. And yet I can do this.’ She held out her purple sleeves. She placed her wrists together, and formed a bowl shape with her fingers. The bells in the clock began to play, the clappers clearly swinging. And about them, a ring of bright moths flew in a circular flight path. ‘Here is a simple dream element in reality.’
‘I see. But one aspect I don’t understand here, Cassaldra. Why would anyone want the reality of pain within a dream?’
‘Anything to do with pain given, or the reasons our bodies give pain, should not be a part of our realm,’ she replied. ‘Only everyday pleasure – the touch of texture and form, the smell of a flower, the hearing of mysterious music, the sight of everyday wonders, these should be felt and experienced. Peace, love, and happiness for those peace-loving kind. The feeling of shaking the hand of another, or of a kiss, making love, or an embrace; these things can be felt. Any pain, any act which would cause pain or any sort of suffering, whether mental or physical, any aggression or attack, is from a small but powerful set only, led by one person: Tremelon Zandar.’
‘The one and the same who is after me. Who is after you too?’
‘He is no longer after me.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because he has already captured me.’
‘Could I ask, this special man you mentioned, can’t he help?’ Stave said.
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