It was so simple, he wondered why he had not figured it out before. He watched as the dreams winked in and out of existence. Each was unique, a different combination of colors, and each in a different place.
Men’ak returned to the beach and sat down. He had learned much this day. He visited several dreams and even tried to communicate with the person in the dream. Mostly, they ignored him, but once in a while they would look at him with bewildered expressions, wondering why he was in their dream. He even had one man ask him why he was there. He told the man that he was a guardian of the dreams and visited everyone’s dreams to keep them safe. The man seemed satisfied and ignored him until he grew tired and left. Several of the dreams were erotic in nature and caused Men’ak to blush. He didn’t stick around long in those situations. There were just some things that should be private.
Men’ak blinked and Lana was sitting on the shore next to him.
“Be careful in the dreams…” she cautioned. “Interfering is dangerous.”
Men’ak looked at her. She was cryptic as ever.
Men’ak forced himself awake and found himself in his room at the castle of Toulereau. He walked down the circular stair to the main room and grabbed a large roll and some cheese. It was near midnight and everyone was asleep. He was starving. Visiting the dream world made him hungry and weak. He had discovered that he needed to eat more to recover and maintain his strength. After he filled his pockets, he turned about and headed back to his room, chewing on the roll and gnawing on the cheese. His stomach finally stopped growling after he washed it down with some wine. He ate another two rolls before he felt normal.
He laid back down in his bed and forced himself to sleep. The room swirled and he was back in his usual spot.
“Where did you go,” asked Lana
“Home.”
“The real world?” she asked.
“Of course, where else would I go?”
She didn’t answer, but her face looked sad to him.
“I don’t understand how I can visit and sort through all the different places,” Men’ak said, while sighing deeply. “There are so many of them.”
“You should try calling them,” she said before winking out of existence again. Men’ak had turned to thank her, but she was already gone!
Men’ak called upon his magic vision and looked out amongst all the colorful dots. He had no idea what Lana had meant by saying to call them. He lifted his hand and called out loud, “come to me all blue dots!”
Nothing happened. He really wasn’t all that surprised. Like everything in this world, nothing worked as expected. Next, he tried focusing on just the color blue. That worked better, as all the dots without blue disappeared, but he still couldn’t call them. Actually, he could call them all day long, but they never responded.
He tired several other variations, but nothing seemed to work. He was about to give up when he thought about asking them to come to him. He wasn’t sure why asking would be different than commanding; after all, there was no one in this place to do his bidding one way or the other. He held out his hand and asked the blue dots to come to him.
To say he was surprised would be an understatement. One-by-one, the dots floated to his palm. As they did, his vision swirled and he saw the landscape. He didn’t recognize where he was, but as the dots gathered, his view of the world expanded outward. It was as if each small dot only contained the thoughts and details of a small square of the known universe.
Men’ak took a step. It was a small unconscious thing. When he stepped, he moved through the vision. He knew he wasn’t really there because he could see the swirling on the edges, not like when he was in his spot.
As he walked, he saw more holes, the holes of dreams. He peered in on them. They were constantly flashing in and out of existence. Most had little meaning—random thoughts—a vision of a person or a place. Some repeated in continuous loops, the same scene over and over.
Men’ak opened his hand and let the dots spill out. He tired several other colors before he found the castle of Toulereau. From the outside, it looked the same, but a little distorted. He searched the dreams and found Dra’kor’s. He was dreaming about Sheila. The dream made Men’ak blush and he forced himself to turn away.
Men’ak searched the dark-red. It showed an inhospitable place, hot, and dry. There were not as many dreams here. He could almost count them on one hand. The first he searched was foreign, a dream of flight. Men’ak found it interesting and watched intently. A woman appeared before him and asked him his name. He had never had a dream talk to him, other than to tell him to go away.
He answered, “My name is Men’ak. Who are you?”
“I am Voltaire.”
“Pleased to meet you Voltaire.”
“I have not been visited by a Dream Walker in many years,” she said. “Are you in the Keep?”
Men’ak couldn’t hide his expression, “You know of the Keep?”
Voltaire nodded.
“I am...from the Keep,” Men’ak said before he became frightened.
Voltaire saw his expression change. “You do not need to fear me Men’ak of the Keep. I am Ja’tar’s familiar.”
“You know Ja’tar? We heard that the Keep was attacked.”
Voltaire smiled. “It was, but Ja’tar is fine. He is with me…you should go and visit him.”
“I will,” Men’ak stammered, before a smile crossed his face. “If you are Ja’tar’s familiar, what are you?”
Voltaire shifted her shape to show him the dragon. It scared him so, that he completely exited the dream world. He felt his forehead. It was beaded with sweat. He closed his eyes and forced himself back asleep.
He searched another six dreams before he found Ja’tar. He knew it was his because the dreams shifted from one thing to the next in quick succession—the Keep, demons, dragons, ice, and the battles of Ror. Men’ak swallowed hard and stepped into the dream.
He was met almost immediately by the mage, who had already cast wards about himself.
“It’s me, Men’ak,” he said.
“Prove who you are—”
“You sent Me, Dra’kor and Grit out to visit Three Rivers and the realms,” he blurted, unable to think of anything else.
“Anyone could know that…” Ja’tar answered, raising a hand filled with magic.
Men’ak held his hands up, “You gave Dra’kor a letter box… he sent you messages when we were attacked by the wolven and catomen…”
Ja’tar lowered his hand warily. “Men’ak? So, you are a Dream Walker. I had thought that meeting you in the between place, the death-world, had been a one-time occurrence.”
Men’ak nodded. “I only figured out how to visit dreams this night. I’ve been guided by this young girl named Lana.”
Ja’tar’s face grew angry. “Lana? Who is this Lana?”
Men’ak shrugged, “I do not know, but she is the only other person I have ever met in the dream world who is not dead.”
Ja’tar snorted.
“We heard that the Keep was attacked.”
“Heard from whom?”
Men’ak’s eyes filled with tears. “I saw Zedd’aki and Qu’entza in the dream-world…death-world. They told me they all died. They said that demons attacked. I also saw Raven and Staven…Rue was there too. It was too much to handle… I panicked and shut them out.”
Ja’tar’s face went white.
“I don’t know if any others survived. I didn’t get a chance to talk to any but Zedd’aki. They all faded before I had the courage to talk much.”
“It is true,” said Ja’tar, clutching his face in his hands. “Only Rua’tor and I escaped. We think that Bal’kor also made it out before the fighting started.”
Men’ak nodded. “Did you get any of Dra’kor’s messages?”
Ja’tar shook his head. “I do not have the box, It is on my desk.”
“That explains it!” Men’ak shook his head, “Well, we are in Toulereau’s castle now. Dra’kor is here,
Sheila too. Hagra left. You’d be proud of Dra’kor, he is quiet a good mage with the old magic. Hagra taught us about real magic and the life spell.”
Ja’tar smiled for the first time. “You both know the life spell?”
Men’ak nodded. “I’m not as good with spells as Dra’kor, but I can keep myself alive,” Men’ak bragged. “See, no medallion. We figured out that someone was using the magic totems to control and kill wizards.”
“Indeed!” Ja’tar’s expression noticeably darkened. He looked vexed. “So it would seem. I haven’t any idea who would have done such a thing, but I have my suspicions.”
“Anyway,” Men’ak continued. “Hagra explained that the other magic races all knew about the totems, but that the Keep seemed to have no idea. They thought that the wizards didn’t care what happened in the world any longer. It’s a pretty long story…”
“Not tonight,” Ja’tar said. “Maybe when we meet face-to-face.”
Men’ak agreed. It made sense to use this time to solve more pressing issues.
Ja’tar rubbed his chin. “Did you say that Toulereau is with you?”
“He is. His castle was overrun with death walkers, skidders and the beasts, but we managed to clean them out. The whole town of Three Rivers is here, and most of the surrounding communities too.”
“Ah, Toulereau…good man he is! You can trust him. You must tell him I am headed into the Wilds.”
“Got it, the Wilds.”
“This is very important. He will know what it means.”
Men’ak nodded.
“Why is everyone at the castle?” Ja’tar asked.
“Toulereau said that Lord Killoroy is attacking Jonovan’s castle. We think there is a dark mage involved. He fears that the war will spread.”
Ja’tar’s face went red. “There is a dark mage. Her name is Quinn.”
“Her?” Men’ak couldn’t hide his surprise. “Will that name mean anything to anyone?”
“Not likely, maybe Toulereau or Hagra might recognize the name, but probably not.”
“Regardless,” Ja’tar said as he spat at the ground. “It is a long story. Back to the main issue here…Toulereau is probably right in his assessment. She will spread the war like a disease.”
Men’ak ran a hand through his hair. “I’m glad I found you. Now that I know how to walk the dreams, we can talk every night. I can keep you up to date and what is going on here.”
Ja’tar frowned. Men’ak didn’t expect that.
“Is something wrong?” Men’ak asked.
“Yes…and no.” Ja’tar replied. “The dream world is a dangerous place. You need to be very careful. There are things that lurk in the dark that will trap you there, or worse. I wish I could tell you more, but I’ve only ever known one other Dream Walker and he did not share the secrets of the dream-world with me.”
Men’ak nodded. “Lana told me much of the same, but she was never specific. She said that she was forbidden to tell me how to use the dream world.”
“Forbidden?”
“Her exact words,” Men’ak said. “I suppose in her own way, she led me to the truth, but she never just came straight out and told me about anything.
“I find that curious. If she were forbidden, it would mean she is bound by someone or something. Has she ever said anything else?”
Men’ak tried to think, but could come up with nothing.
“Oh,” he said. “When I talk about going home, she gets very sad and quiet and then she goes away.”
“What do you mean, goes away?”
“Well, she blinks out of existence.”
Ja’tar rubbed his chin. “Curious.”
“I agree,” Men’ak mumbled. “She is a very curious little girl.”
“You had said something about Hagra. Do you know by chance where Hagra went?”
Men’ak nodded. “She said she was going to a nearby village to retrieve a staff of some ancient Druid. She said the staff was important.”
Ja’tar smiled for a second time.
“It may very well be,” he said. “Do you know when she will return?”
Men’ak shrugged. “To tell the truth, I had expected her back several days ago. She must have had another errand to take care of.”
“Let’s hope so,” Ja’tar answered back.
“Is there anything that we can do?” Men’ak asked.
Ja’tar thought for a couple seconds before he answered. “I think you and Dra’kor need to head to Five Peaks and see what is going on there.”
“But what if the army attacks?”
“The army will either attack, or not, but I know for certain that they will not come through the Peaks. It is impossible to move any army of size through those passes until late Jewel month, sometime they are even impassable in Augmentin.
Men’ak made note of it so that he could tell Dra’kor. “I’m feeling a bit weak,” Men’ak said. “Walking the dreams wears me out.”
“I know,” Ja’tar answered. “All magic has a price.”
“I will see you tomorrow?”
Ja’tar nodded and Men’ak’s eyes snapped open. He jumped up, and nearly collapsed. His knees were weak and he was forced to grab hold of the table to stand. The weakness faded after a few minutes, but he knew that he was fortunate to have left the dream world when he did.
He hobbled down the stairs, clinging to the railing until he got to the common room. He grabbed the spoon in the pot by the fire and scooped out a large bowl of soup. He collapsed into a chair and sat quietly while he ate. As soon as he had strength, he would go tell Dra’kor about Ja’tar.
He sat quietly for a bit before he dozed off and the empty bowl of soup fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Men’ak laid drowsily in the meadow of his home spot. The grass was soft and a breeze blew gently through his hair. He closed his eyes and slept, oblivious to his surroundings. He should not have been there.
Lana stood watch over him, letting him rest.
The air chilled and Lana looked around, recognizing the telltale signs. Panic filled her face, the darkness had come. She grabbed Men’ak’s shoulder and shook him hard.
He failed to wake, and barely stirred. Of course, since this place was not real, she couldn’t forcibly move him, only give him nudges in his mind. She shouted at the top of her lungs for him to wake, but he would not, or could not.
The darkness came. Its inky blackness crept over the ground and swirled like a poison about Men’ak’s legs. It took form, a female form—just notably shaped. The oily, foul creature straddled the mage and laughed. At least it sounded like laughter to Lana.
She tried to stir him again by pushing on him with her mind, but the darkness expelled her, tossing her across the dream world.
She panicked, moving as quickly as she could, jumping from location to location—trying to find her way back.
When she entered his spot, she saw the beast over him, sucking the life from his form. His thoughts and essence escaped his mouth as the beast set its lips to his and inhaled deeply. She cried. There was nothing she could do.
Dra’kor came down the stairs of the castle, unable to sleep—disturbed by thoughts of demons. He spotted Men’ak in the chair, his bowl on the floor and laughed to himself. He walked over and picked up the bowl.
Men’ak’s face was sunken and his cheeks were hollow. His eyes were rolled back in their sockets and it seemed to Dra’kor that he was withering away as he watched.
He grabbed him by the shoulder and shook. Men’ak was as cold as ice and didn’t respond. Dra’kor screamed for Sheila, waking her from her slumber.
She came bounding down the stairs wearing nothing but her under-drawers with her sword drawn, looking wide-eyed for the enemy.
“It’s Men’ak,” Dra’kor cried. “He’s dying…”
Sheila ran to his side and looked at the diminutive mage as his body convulsed and turned ever more sickly.
Sheila used her magic to reach out to Men’ak, but the vile
that had filled him pushed her away, attacking her head and making her scream.
“He is being attacked by something evil,” she said. “It pushed me away when I tried to probe his mind.”
Dra’kor grabbed his friend and felt his hands burn from the cold. “Wake up Men’ak! Damn you, wake up!”
His hands were blistering and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He cast a spell of fire and sent it into his friend’s body. The small mage’s back arched and his color improved, but only for a second.
“Do something!” he cried as he shook his friend again, trying to wake him.
Men’ak was lost in a dream, a sweet dream. The blond girl above him was giving him kisses and caressing his face. He felt her touch—like butterfly wings on his cheek. He smiled as she removed the thin top that covered her perky breasts and let it fall about her thighs. There was something familiar about her, but Men’ak couldn’t identify what it was. She smiled and pressed her cool body against his. He pulled her close, trying to warm her as she moaned in delight.
In the far distance, he heard a voice. It was Dra’kor. That much he knew. He smiled to himself; Dra’kor would just have to wait.
Men’ak watched as the young girl stripped, unbuttoning the shirt and sliding her gossamer dress up over her head. She bent low and kissed down his stomach, undoing his robe. He purred in delight as her mouth explored his body.
He heard Dra’kor again, and this time…Sheila too.
Lana stood by him, watching as the darkness fed. She pushed again against the evil, pounding on its back, but it shoved her back. She screamed at Men’ak and stomped her feet, wondering why he didn’t respond. She clenched her fists and kicked at the beast, but her feet just passed through the nebulous cloud without doing any damage.
Men’ak heard Lana. She was calling him too. He wondered why all of his friends were so insistent on getting his attention now, when he was having the best dream of his life. It was so real and it was so wonderful.
He decided to wake and see what all the yelling was about, but the girl ground her pelvis into his and held him back. The more he tried, the more she changed. She held his arms as her face elongated and fangs appeared. Her eyes went black and ribs protruded from her chest, which sunk and rotted away. This was no girl—this was a demon of some sort.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 49