Dreaming Awake

by EF Joyce

  Genuineness lurked in Alaric's blue eyes, fear on his angular face; the features of a northerner, of a Yerazi, not Dalga or the south. Who had his mother been? Some slave woman? Could she even believe these stories? Every instinct screamed yes, she could, but still she doubted. All these tales, all these things she's never known, how could she find proof? Her father had sworn his friend and co-ruler had died. Could it all be lies? But Alaric's power, it was real. True.

  "I want to believe you, Eide, but I need more." Elixa was a queen, not a fool. "I dream my way to this place. How did you get here?"

  "These ruins are but an hour's ride from Dalga's eastern border. I come here and call you with my magic, the same magic I used to stop you from destroying Dalga. I'm sorry for that, but I cannot allow my kingdom to be put in danger." Manipulating me already, just like my father. So which one of you should I trust?

  Alaric would have to earn trust first. She refused to be led around by her enemy. Her father was her enemy also, but he stood on the side of Yeraz. She had to know the truth. "Why should I believe a word you say?"

  "Tell your father Darian has returned. Tell him he's released the Nameless," Alaric said, his eyes as cold as river stones, his face grim as a funeral mask. "Tell him and you will see a fear in his eyes that you never would have believed him to possess. Tell him and you will know: if you do not stand with me we are all doomed."

  Chapter 13

  I

  As one undulating, stinking behemoth, the crowd surged forward. Feet trampled her, hands groped and shoved and pinched her, bodies piled on top her, struggling, writhing and grappling to get at the jewels. Where were the guards and why weren't they saving her? Blinding pain in her left arm and a sickening crunch finally made the princess scream, a shriek so high-pitched a few of the looters scrambled away from her.

  Yellow ceiling lights, agony, someone lifted her and she swore she'd die right then from the pain. If they could just get her out of here she'd never come back again, she swore, she swore. She'd never try to be brave or strong or a hero if they would just get her out. Rozlyn didn't know who she was promising; her parents or Faifax, herself or some pretend magical force that could sweep down and save her. Garbled voices shouted, mingling together incomprehensibly, then something hot and strong rushed through her body and there was only darkness.

  The princess opened her eyes to a white washed healing room, dressed in a thin gown, her left arm wrapped tightly in stiff bandages. She pressed the blinking touch-screen attached the bedrail and listened to a monotonous robot woman say the break in her arm had been successfully repaired with a bone fuser and to please leave the bandages on for five days.

  Behind closed eyes, the pale, sunken faces of the Old Worlders floated, their feral stares freezing her all over. Every Arcadian knew of the Old Worlders, but they'd been told lies, all lies. That they were just like Arcadians without as many luxuries. That they had to work a little harder, but were rewarded fairly for their efforts.

  Those people down there, they were dying, they were dead – walking corpses, festering with disease, vanishing from starvation. And her family, they had known all along, they had let it happen, and worst of all they were fighting to keep things just how they were. They had lied to Arcadia, they had lied to her.

  The synthetic white plastic door opened with a click and her father walked in, dismissing the hovering medical assistants with an inpatient flap of his pale hand.

  "Your Majesty, we just need to check her status–"

  "You can wait," he said, shutting the door in their faces.

  "Rozlyn, what you did was impossibly irresponsible. You have shown blatant disregard for our city, your family, this war and your own life. You have–"

  "What about what you've done?" she yelled, her voice a panicked siren to her father's hard, even tone. "Those people are practically dead! And you just–" In two steps he closed the space between them, gripping her shoulders with impressive force, his fingers burrowing into her skin, his icy green eyes blazing.

  "Shut up, girl. You have no idea what we deal with, day after day, what it costs this family to keep Arcadia intact. Whatever you think you know, you're wrong, and you've just put us in a very precarious position. Just go back to your clubs and your Lumere and spreading your legs all over Arcadia and stay the hell away from this. Do you understand me? Do you?" His calm, even tone sliced right through her, dousing the fire of rebellion to cold ashes, shattering her like glass.

  "Yes," she replied, staring down at her hands.

  "Good." He walked out, the door clicking definitively behind him. The assistants came in and checked her, poking her and prodding her while she lay still as a stone on the crisp white sheets. Her father didn't love her. He didn't even hate her; no it was worse than that. He found her worthless, a piece of garbage to be tossed out, a pointless, broken object with no use whatsoever. Her whole family saw her this way, and whose fault was that?

  Numbly she wandered the halls in the disguise jumpsuit she'd used to sneak to the Old World, her feet shuffling lethargically over the faux marble, the sun streaming in from the transparent ceiling. Rozlyn wasn't even sure where she'd been walking until Faifax's door rose up in front of her. She pressed the buzzer, imaging briefly that he'd open the door and glare at her in disgust, call her a worthless slut and tell her he never wanted to see her again. A tear slid unchecked down her cheek, and when Faifax opened the door he took her in his arms and held her so tightly that she began to sob uncontrollably like a child.

  He led her inside, to a posh Dante Regaluli sofa where they sat with their arms around each other until her tears ran dry. He didn't chastise her or threaten her or punish her for making him worry, and when her tears stopped Rozlyn told him what the king had said.

  "That's not true, Roz, you know it's not. You are brave and strong and wonderful. I want to be mad at you, you could have been seriously hurt, really, but you also stood up and helped those people. You did something your family will never be brave enough to."

  "I don't understand. Why are all the Old Worlders dying? Why aren't we helping them?"

  "Arcadia was built as a fortress, a refuge in a time of horrible war. The people below were never meant to survive, but a number of them built The Underground and lived. They weren't prepared like the people up here had been. They had stockpiled food, but had no way to grow or synthesize more. Arcadia assumed responsibility for them, but things just got out of control. We have population control, they don't. Now there are five times or more Old Worlders than Arcadians. There just isn't enough food or water or medicine. Even if we wanted to save them, we just don't have the materials."

  "So there's just nothing we can do? We just have to abandon those people down there to suffer and starve to death? I don't believe that. What about the kingdoms outside?" Faifax only shook his head.

  "Someday, we can resettle the Old Worlders out there, at least that's my hope. But we'll have to give them something in return and your parents aren't ready to give up our technological advantage. Those kingdoms have magic; wild, strong magic. Combined with our weapons, our advancements, they would obliterate us. But we can redo the entire system, put the Old World on population control and ration their food in equal portions rather than by what jobs they perform. It would take a few decades or even longer to completely fix the problem, but it could be fixed, eventually."

  "Then why aren't my parents doing this? Why are they fighting the rebels instead of working with them? This rebellion doesn't make any sense at all. We should be negotiating, not fighting." With the conditions below, Rozlyn didn't blame them for rebelling. Arcadia had to do something. She would figure out a way to help no matter what her father said.

  "The royal family doesn't see things as we do," he said, his face crinkling with frustration, as if he'd had this conversation many times already. "If your family had their way, Rozlyn, they would wipe out the entire Old World. They believe that none of Arcadia's resources should be used to help those worthless u
rchins. But the syndicate overrules all their motions for genocide, thankfully."

  Rozlyn felt like she'd been flung into a pool of ice water. Her family wanted to kill everyone in the Old World? Five times Arcadia's population was what, twenty-thousand? More? Just yesterday she'd thought everyone below to be hardy little workers, happy families like Arcadians but with gas masks and jobs. Now that she knew the truth, what would she do with it? Her family – best dressed, always proper, always on her about her chipped nails or her drinking or her boyfriends – were really coldhearted mass murderers plotting execution on the grandest of scales.

  "Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked.

  "I couldn't be responsible for alienating you from your family. But you're starting to see things on your own now, you're discovering the truth and you deserve to know what's really happening."

  "So what happens now? We can't let them kill everyone!"

  "I am not going to let that happen," he said. "The Old Worlders use all their energy to struggle for survival. They aren't organized or disciplined, and their rebellions are always brief and collapse almost as soon as they begin. This time, things are different. They have a leader, someone good, with resources, connections inside Arcadia. As soon as we find and dispose of this guy, the rebellion will break down. And once that happens, I will propose my plan to revamp the Old World."

  "Your plan?" she asked, curious. Surely Faifax could keep her parents from destroying the Old World. If the syndicate had voted down their motions thus far, they wouldn't give in now. Though even saving the Old World herself would not make up for the knowledge of who her family really was and what they wanted. Nothing.

  "Yes, I've been working on it for years, waiting for the right time to bring it to the syndicate. I'll show you everything and you can help me, we'll be partners," he smiled weakly at her, knowing nothing could compensate for the knowledge he'd given her, the terrible truth that had hollowed her out to the core, leaving her scraped and bare.

  II

  The moonlight cascaded through Rozlyn's transparent ceiling, mingling with the soft blue glow of her Luminichi Smart Wall, currently set to display a live feed of the Acadian Aquarium, the lights dancing over her pale skin as she slept. Just beyond the tips of her outstretched fingers an empty Quintaro Ice bottle sat, its shape molding into her Verami comfort foam mattress, the sharp alcoholic scent of the bottle's dregs wafting through the silent room. A single white sleep tablet dropped from her Xera comforter as the unconscious princess shifted, rolling invisibly across the faux marble.

  She loved Faifax, truly she did, and she trusted him, but this was her family he had accused and slandered. After leaving his apartment, she'd gone straight to Kaelor, the only royal who was nice enough to pretend she was worth speaking to. Rozlyn had to know the truth, had to hear it from his lips; that they were murderers and executioners, capable of the utmost evil. He'd admitted he thought the Old Worlders as burdens leeching off of Arcadia and never contributing anything, demanding things they didn't deserve or work for, but denied that they'd ever forwarded motions to exterminate them.

  Arcadia never should have taken responsibility for them, he'd said. But now that we have we're not going to kill them! Who's telling you these things? Who would fill your head with these lies?

  Rozlyn had stayed quiet, not daring to oust Faifax. But why would he have lied to her, about her own family, about something this important? There had to be more to the story. If Faifax was the liar, then he wanted her to turn against her family. Why? And if they were the liars, well, she couldn't think about that. Either way, the Old World was suffering and the royal family clearly didn't want to change that. Until her. Until now.

  Her own voice resonated through her entrance room, the Smart Wall-sized Rozlyn announcing that she had brought gifts. Her hand reached into the bag and jewels fell like rain into a sea of living corpses. Repeat.

  "I am the Princess Rozlyn Lucia-Agresta and I have come with gifts for you." Glittering rain. Repeat.

  The princess had watched the video at least twenty times since she discovered its posting on the A-net. The clip had obviously been taken from the crowd (but how did any of those starving Old Worlders afford comms?) and it cut off just before they'd mauled her, hiding that ugly truth from the public. Hero of the Damned. Champion of the Poor. The very titles she had craved before experiencing the Old World and its horrors scrolled by continually, comments made by all the Arcadians who'd seen it.

  This video, her acts, they were the birth of a movement, of something unstoppable. Even she could see that. Thousands of comments rolled in lauding her and shaming the rest of the royals for covering up the conditions in the Old World, for doing nothing to change it. They called for justice, for change. Charity sites had cropped up all over the A-net with Arcadians donating credit points to assist Old Worlders. One site had already reached 100,000.

  Tracking all of this from her apartment in her Vincent Velini pseudo-silk pajamas, Rozlyn waited eagerly for the royal family's response. More than a day had passed since her and Fallon's (her best friend was fine, also hiding out in her rooms) escapade. Though her father was scheduled to make a statement in a few hours, for him to let the public rage against him that long was more than a little unusual – they were all beyond obsessed with image. What could he be planning? Perhaps it had taken the will of the Arcadian people, their opinions on the matter obvious, to rally her parents to the Old World's aide. At least she hoped that would be the outcome.

  Her favorite hit song began to play suddenly, her comm buzzing across her Lorena coffee table. Faifax. She pressed ignore for the sixth time that afternoon. There was no way she could talk to him, not when she was pretty sure he lied about her family. Rozlyn knew she would have to confront him eventually – why would he say those things? What purpose did it serve? Or was Kaelor the one lying? Either possibility was too horrible to contemplate. She took another shot of Quintaro Ice.

  Two more ignored calls from Faifax and an entire bottle of Quintaro Ice later, the A-net news announced her father's statement. Dressed to the nines in the king's red silk and velvet cape, worn only for weddings, coronations and very important announcements, his bright red hair reflecting from the gold-colored crown (seriously why were they all given red hair? It the most unflattering color, in Rozlyn's opinion) he stood straight and tall, his face grim and serious as usual.

  "Citizens of Arcadia," he began. "Most of you have now seen the video clip of my daughter handing jewels to the Old Worlders. You have called her hero, champion, savior of the poor. While I do not wish to subtract from her obvious bravery and desire to help, what you've been told is not the whole truth. I will now display the video in its entirety, including parts that were intentionally cut by the original source, which remains unknown."

  A pause and the clip played, from the beginning so that everyone would know it was the same video, though instead of ending at the thrown jewels, it continued on to display the Old Worlders attacking her and Fallon, knocking them over carelessly and clawing at the jewels.

  "As you can see, despite my daughter's good intentions, she received nothing in return but cruelty and barbarism. I formally apologize on behalf of the royal family and the syndicate for keeping the conditions below a secret, but we knew once the good hearted people of Arcadia learned the truth, they would call for aid. Though we first and foremost tried to offer the Old World any assistance they needed, our efforts have been rejected time and time again, our guards were attacked and murdered and our supply drops destroyed as open acts of rebellion.

  "The Old World's rebel leaders will accept nothing short of taking over the very halls of Arcadia, something I cannot permit no matter their suffering. My utmost duty is to you, the citizens of Arcadia. I vow to you all to do what I can to assist the Old World, but furthermore I vow to protect all of you, no matter the cost." His exit was announced and the king stepped from view.

  So she was brave and heroic now? No, her father just wanted the
people to believe he loved her and that he approved of her philanthropies. Public image was everything. Had they really tried to help the Old World before being shut down by rebels? Faifax had told her about the illusive rebel leader with his resources and information. But why would starving people choose to fight at the cost of rejecting supplies from Arcadia? She doubted the majority of the people were, but the rebellion was obviously stronger than she thought; she'd never heard her father tell the people they needed to be protected, that Arcadia had real enemies.

  After another day of sulking in her Velini pajamas, quaffing cinnamon lattes and wine and ignoring Faifax's calls, the princess decided it was time to get out, maybe to Fallon's place (who was so ignoring her comm messages). The A-net streams had gone crazy since her father's speech the night before, fear evidently spreading as people discussed possible attacks on Arcadia and the rebellion's next move. The syndicate's official A-net page released information regarding past attacks, the death toll and how Arcadia has responded to each new barrage, though this new information seemed to only increase the people's fear.

  Rozlyn was amazed at how quickly the people had gone from pity to fear and even hatred, though most the charity sites continued to earn credits in hopes that fed and provided for Old Worlders would become less rebellious in return. Heading out the door to Fallon's, the princess's Smart Wall suddenly burst to life with her friend's voice. Her beatific image filled the screen, though she had seriously down played her looks. She was dressed in a plain white sleeveless dress that clearly revealed bandages on her right arm and leg, she had forgone the gold glitter that usually glimmered across her dark skin and her hair was pulled in an abrupt up-do.

  "I was so terrified," Fallon said, larger than life tears brimming in her gold flecked eyes. "Those people down there...they were monsters," she paused dramatically, pretending to stifle a cry.