Bridge Between the Worlds (Dreamwalker Book 1)

by R. B. L. Gillmore

  “You mean… you did it again!? You created the shoes this time? Is that them?” He was coming down with the same excited energy that Amy was exuding.

  “Yes! I fell asleep last night while looking at shoes online. This is one of the pairs that I…”

  “One of the pairs?” interjected Martay with surprise but Amy carried on over the top of him.

  “… created. I think I’ve got a much better idea of how to get myself to dream certain things. I mean, we sort of had the right idea with not over thinking the whole creating thing but it’s sort of the same principle with whatever it is I want to dream about too! Well, sort of. More to do with WHEN you should think about something I guess because it’s more the subconscious things that people dream about. I was thinking though, that’s for stuff that already kind of exists, not like the tree, that was different I guess but I think it’s a good start and I think I can do it again!”

  Martay, who was trying to get a word in, had noticed that Amy was getting a number of strange looks from some of the people passing by. Like Amy, he had already thought about the dangers that her new-found skill could draw to her and wanted to suggest they take their conversation back home where they could speak more privately. With a little convincing and a promise that they could get something to eat first she agreed.

  They tried to enter the house without drawing any attention. They didn’t want Amy’s parents to invite them to do anything together, which they were prone to do on the weekend. They wanted to speak without any interruptions. As such, Amy and Martay delicately took off their shoes when they got inside and tip toed to the staircase that led up to Amy’s room. They were listening out carefully so as to try and determine where her parents were. Down the hallway a little they could make out the dim sound of music and voices, by the sound of it, coming from the lounge room. Amy led the way up the stairs after trying to glimpse through the lounge room door to check what her parents were doing. Unable to see much, she slowly carried on up towards her room. Martay was about to follow quietly when he heard Amy’s mother say something that caught his attention and rooted him to the spot.

  She was speaking Hungarian, or rather something that sounded a lot like it, but he couldn’t understand many of the words. What he could make out was, “I… certain that she…” the middle word he didn’t understand, “…the shoes. We need…” more words he couldn’t follow, “…on her Laszlo.”

  The words were only half as surprising to Martay as the language itself. So far as he could tell it must have been some form of really archaic Hungarian. The overall conversation certainly sounded like Hungarian but it had distinct differences which he either couldn’t understand or had been spoken too quickly for him to follow. If it wasn’t Hungarian, then it certainly wasn’t any other European language, or any other language in the world that he knew of. Hungarian was too unique to be confused with another language.

  Amy hissed down at him to hurry up and with a look over his shoulder, he made his way upstairs as well. As he entered Amy’s room he shut the door as gently and quietly as he could. Amy was waiting expectantly by her cupboard door which she flung open to reveal the small mountain of shoes she had created.

  “It’s incredible, right?”

  She still had an enormous grin and began handing Martay pairs to inspect. The shoes were very impressive, brand markings and all, but Martay's face was no longer an expression of excitement so much as contemplation. He was thinking over what he had just heard, and he was starting to piece together the loose fragments of mystery surrounding the recent impossible events. He was starting to feel like he knew where Amy might possibly have inherited these powers from. It made sense really.

  He tried to get a word in but it was difficult since Amy was still rapidly going through what had happened in detail. She explained where exactly she had seen the shoes online and how they had appeared in her dreams.

  “Amy… Amy! Your parents, where exactly do they come from?”

  Amy stared at him. Where on earth had that question come from?

  “Hungary originally I think but they’ve travelled all over the place for work and things.” She gave Martay a quizzical look as if to ask why it even mattered.

  “You think they are originally from Hungary? What citizenships do they hold?”

  Amy was perhaps too excited to catch on to the fact that something must have happened to make Martay ask these sorts of questions. She stopped picking up shoes and gave Martay more attention as she tried to work out what on earth was going on with him.

  “Umm, well I know they have Hungarian, German, Canadian and Australian citizenship. I don’t know when they got them though.”

  Martay raised his eyebrows at her. She clearly wasn’t seeing what was so strange about what she had said.

  “Amy, you do realise it’s simply impossible to hold that many citizenships? Also, how many people that grew up with their parents don’t know where they are actually from? Surely you know where they were born don’t you? I mean, it has to have come up in conversation at some time.”

  Amy had to stop and think about this. He was right, she had never thought about it before because she was so accustomed to her parents’ oddities but it was impossible to hold four citizenships. Worse than that, she also realised that despite having asked on a number of occasions when she was young, her parents had never told her where they were born. A large number of questions started to batter violently against her skull. One eventually escaped her lips.

  “What made you even bring this up?”

  “Just before I came up the stairs I heard your mother say something that sounded like really, REALLY old Hungarian. It was hard for me to understand but she said something about shoes and that they should keep a close eye on you, I think. They know something Amy. I think they might even know how you made the shoes.”

  Amy was taken aback. “How could they know that, it’s not exactly a common skill.”

  “Your parents don’t seem like common people Amy. Nobody speaks such old Hungarian anymore, barely any Hungarian linguists know how! I think there’s a lot about your parents that we don’t really know or understand.”

  “Wait, wait, wait…” Amy interjected quickly, “we aren’t being very logical. So, my parents speak old Hungarian, that’s got nothing to do with my dreams or what I’ve created, I mean, what’s the connection? It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, it’s just odd.”

  Martay shook his head, more to himself than to Amy. She didn’t seem to quite grasp the significance of what he was saying, or of how unusual it was for them to speak such an archaic language together as if it was their first, natural language.

  “A lot of things are odd about your parents Amy and your mum definitely knows that something funny is going on with these shoes.”

  “She probably thinks I stole them. That would explain why she said they should keep a closer eye on me. You know, to work out if I’ve been stealing things or not.”

  “I’m not so sure. Don’t you think maybe you should just tell your parents what’s going on?”

  “You can’t be serious! If my parents believe I started stealing things, and it sounds like they do, and then I tell them that I just… brought the shoes into existence by dreaming about them, they’ll think I’ve been doing drugs or something! Or that it was the worst excuse I’ve ever come up with. If I was them and heard that, that’s definitely what I would think.”

  She had a point, Martay thought. As understanding and simultaneously odd as her parents could be, this would be a real stretch if he was wrong and they knew nothing about this acquired skill of Amy’s. In the minds of adults, their teenage daughter experimenting with drugs would seem far more likely than some kind of magical power. Martay pondered in silence for a while longer.

  “Well then,” he eventually said, “I think we should at least watch them. I’m sure they know more than we think they do. You should listen for anything strange that they do or say. For now though, do you think you
can create something else? I mean, now that you’ve done it again?”

  He looked at Amy expectantly and she finally perked up again.

  “I think so. I’m just not sure what I should try next. I want to try and create something that doesn’t already exist but then again, maybe I should just stick to real things until I can control it better.”

  They spent the entire day together, occasionally discussing more dream ideas but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. It was well and truly night time when Martay finally headed home. He needed to get back and help out around the house.

  With four siblings, a working mother and no father Martay was often kept busy with home duties that he frequently complained about. Martay had often suggested to his mother that she should hire a maid. He was complaining about exactly this point to Amy as he was about to leave.

  “Maids are expensive though,” replied Amy, “what you really need is some kind of minion, like all the evil geniuses in movies.”

  “Oh Amy, thank you so much for your highly… practical and… realistic suggestion,” he replied, choosing the English words carefully to maximise their effect. “I’ll remember to tell my mum! I’ll tell her what we really need to do is find some kind of… Igor… to help around the house.”

  Amy laughed with him and saw him to the door. Martay hesitated on the doorstep. He was looking into Amy’s smiling face and felt a burning compulsion to kiss her. It wouldn’t have been right though. Instead when he leaned forward he embraced her, wishing her a good night, then turned and headed home. His walk felt excessively long and lonely and he kept berating himself for not being bolder.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Vencel was perhaps one of the least imposing looking people it was possible to meet. His features were simply… average. He was of medium height with brown hair and eyes and a face that was forgotten almost immediately after seeing it because it was so plain. In short, he was the visual personification of a bureaucrat, very fittingly so, since that was indeed his official job. What it hid however, was a deep-seated thirst for power.

  He sighed inwardly as Samuka, the southerland Lord, continued his rant before the council. For a warrior, Samuka was irritatingly insightful and might just represent a problem to be removed at some point in the future. For now, Vencel considered that any form of dissent in the council was of benefit. The tirade continued.

  “How can you stand by so idly when our people are being slaughtered or taken? Are we really to do nothing while the people plea for the protection we are honor bound to provide? If we will not even try then we should be considered unfit to rule!”

  Samuka was everything that Vencel was not: tall and muscular with striking, chiseled features. His appearance certainly added to the strength of his angry rant.

  At this point though, Vencel saw his opportunity and a sense of satisfaction spread through him. In the political atmosphere he had cultivated over the last two years, Samuka’s last comment sounded a lot like an attack on the Duke’s position of authority. Vencel had to resist the urge to smile. Two years ago, the Duke would have responded to this challenge by charging off himself to help the people. Now he sat looking uncomfortable, the red rising in his face.

  He was of similar stock to Samuka, a large bearish man with a great deal of strength, but who had gone slightly to seed after a long period of relative idleness.

  Vencel leaned over and whispered quickly in the Duke’s ear, who nodded in response.

  “Samuka, you may speak for yourself but not for others when you speak of failure. You are right. You have a duty to defend the people and the Southernlands are your charge. And yet, we are told that no enemy has even been seen. No fight has been made. No protection effective! You ask for aid but what have you done so far to require it? You have lost no men and you are well supplied. See to it yourself and stop wasting the council’s time!”

  There was scattered muttering of approval but also much shaking of heads. In reality Samuka was not the only one of them having these problems. Nor was he cowed by the admonishment.

  “I do not deny the stealth of the enemy, rather I say it proves the grave nature of the problem! I have not stood by. I have been most active! Not a night has gone by that my troops have failed to patrol. We place vigilant guards but I do not have enough men to guard every village and hamlet in the Southernlands every night. It strikes me as deeply disturbing that the enemy always attacks where we are not present...” he was cut off.

  “It strikes me that this simply proves your incompetence and lack of tactical judgment!” shouted the Duke. Samuka bristled visibly.

  “Incompetence? Have you become blind Istvan? The enemy must have inside knowledge of our movements. Someone in the kingdom is a traitor! A traitor I say! And I cannot even begin to overcome such treachery because you have passed a ruling last year that all troop movements must be notified to the capital a month in advance!”

  Vencel leaned over again and whispered in the Duke’s ear.

  “You see Lord, he questions your authority and now criticizes the rules that allowed you to identify his incompetence.”

  “I am sure you would like an exemption from the ruling so that you could hide away your failure Samuka but I must disappoint you. Carry on and do your duty! Council dismissed!” he shouted.

  Samuka glared not at the Duke but at Vencel. The look would have pinned any other man to the spot. Certainly, it was an uncomfortable reminder to Vencel that Samuka saw things more clearly than was safe but he was experienced in such games. He stood up with every sign of calm and collectedness, bowed respectfully to the gentry and then departed.

  Another clerk was waiting for him in one of the castle’s many long corridors. He was hooded and clothed in the plain robes that were ubiquitous amongst the court advisors and clerical staff. Identifying him would only have been possible for another clerk.

  “Come by my office tomorrow morning. I will have an order for you to pass on to Eva and Moran,” Vencel said with an acid edge to his words.

  The clerk nodded and went his separate way.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Chapter 4

  That night Amy didn’t bother to try and create anything. She was too excited by the day’s events to focus properly. Her mind kept running over what had happened. She was very grateful that she had someone to talk to openly. Martay was almost like a brother to her and it was such a relief to be able to discuss everything with him.

  A whole world of possibilities was open to her and she wondered what she should do next. Could she create anything at all? How far could this skill be stretched? The questions burned in her mind but content to know she could discuss them with Martay tomorrow, she fell asleep.

  Amy stood in the doorway of Martay's kitchen, watching him bent over the sink, scrubbing the dishes it contained. She was becoming impatient but felt bad about it at the same time. It wasn’t Martay's fault that he had so much housework to do. Really, she admired him for being so responsible and mature. In many ways he had become more like a father than a brother to his younger siblings, but now Amy just wanted to get going so they wouldn’t be late for the movie.

  When he was finally done he changed quickly and met her in the hall. She could still hear the other kids hurtling around the house shouting at each other, clearly caught up in some kind of game. It was snowing lightly outside, so Martay took Amy’s coat off the hanger and helped her into it. He was always gentlemanly like that. As he did so his hand brushed lightly against her cheek and she felt shocked. His hand was incredibly warm. Even in that brief moment of contact she had practically felt the throb of life and energy within it. She turned and looked him directly in the eyes. Every detail about them stood out at her with sharp clarity. She took in every single crevice and ridge that formed in the colour of the eye, considered their open inviting shape which gave an aura of kindness. He seemed so, real to her.

  She smiled and asked if he was ready to go, then they made their way out into the evening, and the g
entle, falling snow.

  Budapest was truly stunning at night and from the hills of the Buda side of the city, amazing panoramic views could be found even as they walked along the streets. Not that they were planning to walk the whole way. They made for the bus first, which would take them to the interchange.

  Martay mostly spent the journey complaining about all of the housework he had to do and the fact that he had been made so responsible for the other kids. Amy felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if they had been having this exact conversation not long ago.

  Martay laughed at Amy when she suggested that he advertise for a maid, making a point of how expensive they were. She suggested that what he needed was some kind of helpful servant, which made Martay laugh even more. Amy’s sense of déjà vu swelled strongly at this point. She had had this exact discussion before, she was certain of it. Now though her feelings of mirth and laughter were mingled with another sensation. She felt a deep sense of pity.

  The rest of the journey went smoothly and Amy soon forgot the odd moment.

  They had come to see a fantasy film by a local Hungarian filmmaker. It didn’t have the polish and shine of the big Hollywood films but Amy and Martay thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless. It was a take on the story of Merlin and was fairly predictable in that sense. What they found really entertaining was Merlin’s little assistant Imp who constantly back-chatted the wizard and complained comically throughout the entire film.

  After they left, Amy and Martay walked slowly along the snow filled streets. It was now very late at night and the city had become comparatively quiet. In fact, the further they walked, the quieter it became until both of them started to question the silence. They agreed it was uncanny. Something felt wrong and both of them started to twist and crane their necks, looking all around them nervously as they carried on.