by Adara Quick
Surprisingly, the front door to the castle is unguarded. We both press ourselves into the massive wood planks. The door is impressed with a knot pattern like our ritual jumpers. Hearing no voices inside, Roenin looks into my excited eyes, nods, and throws open the doors. They fly apart like leaves of paper being blown aside. We move into the main chamber, where a woman sits on a throne-like wooden chair - the same woman who had observed Roenin’s duel earlier. She looks up at the sound of our entry, the surprise on her face quickly turning to anger.
“Sister,” I say. Somehow, I know what I should do in this dream.
She throws me a hard, smoldering look, her face pinched and angular from too many years of jealous thoughts. She pulls two sticks from her long, black hair and lets her tresses tumble out across the folds of her dress. “I did not expect you back so soon, sister. In fact, I never expected you back at all. As you can see, I am reviewing the holdings of my new estate.” Roenin unsheathes his sword and moves closer to our adversary.
I look at her and simply state, “The grey warrior is defeated, sister.”
She retorts, “Oh please. The grey warrior is the finest fighter in the land. I advise you to be gone from here before he returns. Besides, I have calculations to conclude.” She returns to her work, dismissing us.
I smile. “In fact, sister, he was defeated by his own code of honor. Perhaps the next champion you choose should not be so noble.” I throw the two halves of his staff at her feet, a slight smile of victory on my face. The woman recognizes them immediately. Like an origami crane that is bigger on the inside, my sister’s anger unfolds before me. How can someone so thin contain such rage?
“This isn’t over,” she spits.
“I’m sure it isn’t,” I sigh. “Now, it’s time for you to go. Take your servants and never come back here.” I sweep forward to take my rightful place in the seat of the house as my sister flies from the room.
Roenin looks upon me gravely. “You really should not have left her alive,” he states with the matter-of-fact tone that only comes from years of taking life.
“Roenin, she’s my sister. We share the same blood in our veins,” I reply. Still, I wonder if he is correct.
He bows his head slightly and replies, “As you wish, lady. Your first battle is won. Come, let us tour the castle and make it yours again.” He slides open the rich tapestry that separates the main room from the others, and I walk with him through the close stone hallways. My footsteps are softened by more tapestries on the stone floor. We pass empty room after empty room, each more magnificent than the last. The estate, my estate, is a marvel. There are sitting areas, music areas, and finally, what looks like a room for prayers.
I pause at the entrance to the sanctuary, which is shaped like a half circle off the side of the castle. The walls begin like the stonework of the rest of the estate, but gradually change and become the trunks of ash trees. Stone turns to living tree as my eyes follow the shape of the room. The apex of the room is all trees: what was made by man giving way to the life force of nature. The trunks become interlocking boughs near the top, forming the roof over my head. These leaves are the most beautiful green I’ve ever seen. This room sparkles for me, like a memory I just can’t place.
I turn to Roenin and ask, “What is this place?”
He replies, “A place of worship, lady. All life was sacred to your ancestors. See the stonework turning to living tree? The sanctuary is here to show you that nature is the most powerful force in the universe and all things made by humankind must yield to it. The Ministry wants you to forget everything about your land. This room was built to be a guide for you.”
I become excited. “You know of the land? What lies outside these walls?”
“Yes, lady. I know of it, from long, long ago. So many magical things were imagined by your people. Your ancestors, the druids, believed in the sacredness of all life and in another plane of existence beyond the physical one. All hidden from you now by the Ministry’s Dream Protocol.”
I wonder about this other plane. I look at my arm and tap on it. “You mean something other than this?”
“Yes, lady. A power inside every living thing sleeps and waits for anyone who will call to it. That power may have diminished, but here in the dream world, it can be felt again and used for good. This is the only power that may shine light through the darkness of the Ministry.”
I ask, “When will this light come?”
He sighs and looks again toward the trees. “That, I do not know. But this room of sacred trees is a promise that it will be soon.” He reaches forward and shows me the fresh green shoots on the branches. “I have waited long for the trees to stir. And now it has begun. But speak none of this outside of here; it is yet too dangerous. When the sanctuary trees are in bloom, then it will be time.”
I study the lime-green shoots and feel suddenly joyful, like something inside me is beginning to grow as well. I step back to take in more of their beauty. Beneath the branches is an altar of sorts, the roots of the trees growing up to hold an object. I notice they form the five interlocking circles of the Dream Makers, and then I look closer at what the altar is holding. It looks like the teak box from our living unit, just missing our Callaghan family pattern on the top. What is that doing in this dream? I wonder why mother has placed our box here in the middle of the sanctuary.
I walked forward, reaching out to touch it like I have done a thousand times before at home. But Roenin’s hand shoots out, stopping me from touching the wood. “No, lady. To touch it is death. You must promise me to never touch it, in here or out there.”
I feel shock. “Wait. How do you know that this is the box in my home? Or about the Ministry’s Dream Protocol?”
He is silent, and the dark pools of his eyes swallow me whole. Then he gathers up the cloth of his robe and in a twisting motion, swings it over my head. Everything goes dark and I feel myself falling backward into the trees. The fresh green shoots on the branches wrap around me and I remember nothing more.
The medical clinic where Flynn was held was blindingly colorless. Except for the red digital time display on the wall, everything was a sterile shade of white - the kind of white that makes a person feel constantly under attack. It was the next morning and Flynn came to slowly, shaking off the nightmare from the Drone’s second ‘Mare burst. When his blue eyes blinked open, he winced and put his hand across them. Gradually, he drew his fingers away, his eyes adjusting to the stark, uninterrupted brightness all around him. He groaned softly and rubbed his eyes with flat palms.
His situation was grim. He was laid out flat on a slab of something that felt like metal and made his muscles ache. He felt sluggish, like he had been drugged. Most insulting of all, his clothes had been taken and he found himself in his underthings. He didn’t even want to think about who had undressed him.
Flynn forced his eyes all the way open and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He was in a small three-walled room about the size of a city bedroom. Beyond his holding area he could see a larger room dominated by a metal worktable at the center. It was littered with beakers, pipettes, and other things that looked more ominous: scalpels, syringes, and bottles of chemicals.
Seeing that there was no one there, he started for the worktable, his eyes fixed on one of the scalpels. But within a few steps, he ran into an invisible electrostatic barrier that separated him from the rest of the medical unit. “Blast it. Should’ve known there’d be a fourth wall,” he said, rubbing his nose where he had bumped it.
His contact with the barrier tripped an alarm, and within moments the Medical Director breezed into the room. “Oh,” he said, walking up to face Flynn on the other side of the barrier. “I see that your dreamlock has expired. Very good. Let us talk.”
Flynn wrinkled his nose in a sniff and turned away. He sat back down on the bed and said, “That was a ‘Mare? Haven’t slept that well in years. I want my clothes.”
Odran pulled up a stool and sat as well. “Your sense
of humor is underwhelming. And you won’t need your greys in here, lad. No visitors. Just you and I. And I don’t care what you’re wearing. Now, tell me about the doctor.”
Keeping his voice even and light, Flynn asked, “What doctor?”
Odran snickered in a high-pitched tone that made him sound a little insane. Then he said, “You know the one. My predecessor, Neala O’Boyle. The doctor who deleted all of your medical records.” The Director crossed his arms over his chest and adjusted his seat. He was a cat settling in until the mouse got tired.
“I don’t see doctors,” Flynn said. “And I don’t want to start with you. Why am I in here? You know full well that I’m not contagious to anyone.”
“Aren’t you, lad? An idea is the most infectious thing there is. And you, Flynn, are an idea.”
Flynn said, “I thought I was a lad. With lots of ideas. Now you say I am just one?”
Odran spoke faster now, “You infect people with tolerance. The ruined are not welcome here. They are hideous and you are one of them. Despite your birth record, we both know that you are one of them. And I have brought you here to prove it.”
Flynn cocked his head and pushed back, needling the Director even more. “It does sound like you have something to prove. Are you sure it has to do with me?”
Odran put an edge in his voice. “You are a defect in the system. People must accept the cylinder at 35. This is our way, determined by the Ministry. The ruined must make space for the vital.”
Flynn demanded, “And why must they?” He rose up off his metal bed once again.
Droplets of spittle forming on his lips, Odran said, “You see? You think your defect makes you special. That the rules the city lives by shouldn’t apply to you. And if the whole city decided that the ritual didn’t apply to them? That they could live until they fell apart and crippled the city with their needs? What then?”
Flynn was ready for him and pointed at the Director. “Then they could leave. Start their own city, and live as long as they want to.”
The Director smiled again, regaining his composure. “There’s only Tír na nÓg and the ritual, lad. Nothing else is out there.”
Flynn asked challengingly, “How do you know there’s nothing out there? What if there is something?”
“You’ve never been Topside, lad. If you had, you would know that there’s nothing as far as the eye can see. Just a dead ocean and a barren coast.”
Flynn’s shoulders slumped as he heard those words. “I won’t believe it. There’s another way to live, if you would just let people choose for themselves.”
Odran said, “This city and the Dream Protocol are all we have, Flynn. The Ministry provides, but it must also be protected. I’m not going to let you work against it.”
“I don’t want it protected. I want it torn apart.”
“You are just as I thought you would be, Flynn. Different and dangerous. When I was a lad, I knew a boy like you. He wasn’t happy with our rules. And he thought that people would listen to him if he kept at it, speaking out against our way of life. But I could see how dangerous he was. He was the sympathetic sort, and no one else was going to turn him in. So I had to take matters into my own hands. On the night before his Selection, I removed the marker from his door. And when the Drones came to collect him on his 16th birthday, they concluded that he had tried to evade the test. And do you know what happened next?”
“I assume you’re going to tell me.”
“He was taken for Selection anyway. And once his weaver was placed, he was sent for a 6-month dreamlock in cold sleep. And Flynn, it was then that I realized how I could best serve, no matter what my eventual Selection. I would do the dirty chores so that the Minister could keep his hands clean. I would assist him in ways he hadn’t even dreamed of.” Odran looked off into the distance and seemed to drift away to some fantasy playing in his mind.
Flynn’s eyes turned almost black with anger. “You’re crazy in the head.”
Odran came back to himself and continued, “Ah, yes. Back to you, Flynn. I know exactly what you were seen for as a boy. A genetic panel will confirm your...abnormality. Your disease was not your fault, but how you have dealt with it is. Your lies and rule breaking are over. Once I verify your true biological age, you will be scheduled for an early descent. The ritual that all of the ruined must abide.”
Flynn’s face turned red as he ran at the barrier and pounded his fists against it. “What do you mean? I’m only 15!”
The Director stood up to leave. Over his shoulder he said, “The ruined must descend, Flynn. The city will be well rid of you.” Then he was gone.
Flynn lay down on his bed once more. He was caught; it was over. There was only one thing he could think to do. He slowed his breathing so it would look to anyone watching like he was dozing. He felt certain that someone was. Then he rolled over and casually draped his hand across his mouth, hiding his jaw and lips. One thing was still in his favor: in the distraction that Deirdre had caused, they had forgotten to check for his earbud. It was still in place, and that meant he still had access to the holo rooms. From underneath his draped hand, he mouthed the letters that would place the call.
His body went limp and he opened his eyes in the holo room. There, he read the code off the ceiling of the room and sent a ticker message to Deirdre. It was early morning in the Callaghan unit. Deirdre was still in bed and hadn’t yet left for school. She saw the message come through and then quickly placed her own call to the room where Flynn waited. Her image materialized wearing a grey nightgown.
Flynn stepped forward and gave her an awkward half-hug. Then he stepped back and said, “Dee. Did they hurt you? What happened after I went under?”
She said, “I’m fine. Just detention and an argument with Da. The usual. Are you alright? Where are you?”
“I’m in the med clinic. One of the quarantine rooms. Basically, I’m a prisoner. The Medical Director was here, Dee. It’s bad.”
Deirdre put her hand up to her lips. She said, “How bad? What are they doing to you?”
“Listen. They’re watching me for sure. I can’t be in this call for long. But Dee...they know.”
She said, “How much?”
“He knows what to look for. Somehow he put it all together. And when he gets proof, I’m cooked.”
Deirdre stepped forward and touched him on the arm. “How cooked?”
“An early descent, Dee. They know I’m ageing, one of the ruined. That I’m different.”
She drew in a breath of air in a gasp. “No, they can’t do that to you. You’re not even old enough for Selection yet!”
“It doesn’t matter. Once my genetics come back, they can do whatever they want. That doctor wants me done.”
“Flynn, I want to do something. Tell me how to help you.”
He shook his head and pulled away from her. “No, Dee. It’s too dangerous. You have to promise me that you’ll stay out of it. I shouldn’t even have called you. Listen, thanks for what you did for me. You’re the only good thing in this place.”
As Flynn started to reach for his virtual wristband, Deirdre called out, “Flynn, don’t go yet! We can figure something out.”
But Flynn’s eyes had started to water, and so he hit the button on his virtual wristband to end the call. Deirdre reached out to him again but his image winked out. She was left alone in the holo room, at a loss for what to do next.
Back in his quarantine cell, Flynn rolled over. And over again. Hours went by like that, but he just couldn’t think of a way out…no matter how many times he turned things over in his head.
4
VOICE 1: “CANCEL THE VISIT FROM YOUR FAMILY. LISTEN, I FOUND SOMETHING IN THE IDREAM DATA TRANSFER.”
VOICE 2: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”
VOICE 1: “YOU KNOW THE ARTIFACT WE’VE BEEN SEEING IN THE NEUROLOGY REPORTS? THERE’S NO ARTIFACT; IT’S FUNCTIONING AS DESIGNED. THERE IS A PATTERN TO THE DATA, LIKE A PULSE. AND IT OVERSTIMULATES THE BRAIN’S SLEEP CENTER. LOOK
, NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT THIS, ALRIGHT? BUT THE TRANSFER SHUTS DOWN NATURAL SLEEP RHYTHMS.”
VOICE 2: “THE IDREAMS CAUSE INSOMNIA?”
VOICE 1: “YEAH. THE MORE DREAMS YOU DOWNLOAD, THE MORE YOU WANT - BECAUSE YOU CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT THEM.”
VOICE 2: “WE HAVE TO TELL SOMEONE.”
VOICE 1: “ARE YOU JOKING? YOU WANT US ALL TO DISAPPEAR? I AM SAVING YOUR FAMILY HERE. DON’T TELL ANYONE ELSE ABOUT IT, OR WE’RE THROUGH. JUST TELL YOUR FAMILY YOU’RE SICK OR SOMETHING. BUT WHATEVER YOU DO, CANCEL.”
-Transcript of a phone call, IDream cloud archive,
June 15, 2050
That same morning, Antrim waited for Deirdre at the usual spot, the intersection of P and Q on Level 25. Antrim’s background was a sad one; she had been orphaned at an early age. Her mother had fallen in love with an older man when she was just a girl and had given birth by the time she was 16. With the age difference between Antrim and her much older father, she had lost him to the descent over five years ago. A year after her father’s descent, her mother had come down with cancer of the lungs.
It was heartbreaking, watching her mother slowly deteriorate after being hit with a radiation leak in the city’s power station. The doctor had said that certain sacrifices for the city were necessary; someone had to be selected to keep the lights on. Antrim remembered her frightened mother holding her hand, pleading with her to be scheduled for the ritual before the end came. She was ready for Tír na nÓg. The doctor had made the arrangements, and then she was gone, taken away to whatever waited at the bottom of the city.