Finding time to do this was a problem. Amy had argued with her parents about why she still needed to attend school but they had been adamant. She struggled to understand why. If she could really create anything she wanted with a little training, what was the point of her school subjects? This argument had gone down very poorly with Amy’s parents, who had retaliated with an onslaught of lectures about the importance of understanding how the world around her functioned and what rules bound it together.
“Yeah? Well you MADE the rules didn’t you, so why don’t you just teach me at home?” she yelled.
Amy was actually hoping for an angry response from her mother but to her frustration, she remained perfectly calm and collected.
“Firstly, earth is so complex that you need to engage in full time study to understand it. Secondly it makes very little difference if we teach you or others teach you everything because we are no more knowledgeable than the world’s experts. You assume that creating a world is like an engineer creating a machine, and that we must, therefore, have created every element and detail. It does not work that way. Earth is the result of raw creativity, which has immense power. The greatest power there is in fact. We gave birth to the concept of earth but many of the fine details, intricacies and rules were self perpetuating, created of their own volition because they were required to offer stability.”
Amy knew she had absolutely no hope of arguing this with her mother so she didn’t even bother.
In future, Amy would be glad that she had continued going to school, if only because of what she discovered there, unrelated to school work. It was a Monday and she walked the normal way through the park, rugged up in one of her warmest jackets. It was one of the coldest days so far that year. Her classes had seemed to drag on lately and today was even slower again. Just waiting for the lunch bell to ring was torture.
She and her friends retreated to the library where Martay and Richard quickly immersed themselves in a game of chess, like usual. Michelle sat back and watched in uncharacteristic silence. Amy presumed something must have happened between her and Richard because he had been in an odd mood all day as well.
“Everything ok Michelle? You seem pretty out of it.” Amy tried to approach her casually.
“Yeah, fine. I just, didn’t sleep too well so I’m pretty tired.”
There could be no doubt about it. She had shot a look at Richards with these words. To Amy’s surprise, she noted that neither of them seemed angry or upset. They both looked somehow worried.
“Well, come on you two, spit it out! What’s up? Something’s clearly wrong.”
They were slow to answer but Richard did at least take his attention away from the chess game which he was losing badly.
“Not wrong exactly,” he began, “just sort of… weird.”
Amy was waiting impatiently for him to explain himself. Michelle was gazing thoughtfully out of the library windows, which was very strange indeed.
“Well, … have you ever had exactly the same dream as someone else before? It happened to us. Last night Michelle had been dreaming about being back home in England. She was out in London when the sky just started going black. She woke up quickly afterwards and it didn’t seem that bad but… last night I’d been dreaming that I was coming into school in the morning when the same thing happened. The sky just sort of got swallowed up by darkness and I felt really, uneasy I guess. Michelle had the same feeling in her dream. Kind of like when you think someone’s watching you. Weird right?”
Amy and Martay were looking at each other trying not to give away how concerned they were. This sounded just like Amy’s dream and both of them had sort of shared it as well.
“Yeah that is pretty weird” said Martay taking control of the conversation. “Do you think maybe something has happened recently that both of you saw? That’d explain having the same dream I guess.”
“We couldn’t think of anything, but who knows. Anyway, it was just a weird dream. Nothing to worry about aside from being a bit sleep deprived today.”
Amy had to suppress a smirk. Something about the expression ‘just a dream’ was exceedingly amusing to her, despite the fact that she was worried by what Richard had said.
At the end of the day Martay accompanied her back to her house where they planned to tell Amy’s parents about Richard and Michelle’s dreams. They quickly hooked up their coats in the entry hall and hurried into the living room where they could hear voices. As they entered, Amy opened her mouth to speak but got no further. Snipping, Laszlo and Amriel were all seated on couches watching the news intently and Amy and Martay could immediately see why.
A news reporter was doing the wrap up pieces of what were usually considered less important information. In this living room, however, the story was breaking news.
“Doctors have seen a sudden influx of patients complaining of poor sleep and regular nightmares, a fact which came to light when a doctor, speaking to one of his colleagues, discovered that the nightmares their patients had experienced were practically identical. Medical professionals have said that it is likely the result of Seasonal Affective Disorder, more commonly known as Winter Blues. However, many people have been spreading the rumour that the nightmares are being caused by an as yet unidentified chemical in foods. A theory best left to conspiracy buffs, perhaps.”
The news reporter shook his head and laughed before finishing his story.
“The medical world’s response seems more likely and was summarized by Germany’s Dr. Henkler.”
The picture jumped to a professional looking man with a thick accent.
“The only thing that is being spread here is talk about nightmares. It is little wonder that people are having similar dreams when social media is placing the same idea into millions of heads, almost instantaneously. This is a classic example of how social media is causing new types of psychological disorder.”
The news story was wound up and Laszlo switched it off. His face was lined with thought and concern. Amy’s mother Amriel had her chin resting in her hand as she gazed into emptiness.
“Ahhhh,” Amy started, “ok. That kind of explains what we wanted to tell you actually. Our friends Richard and Michelle both had the same kind of weird nightmare last night.”
Her mother looked up with interest.
“Did they indeed? Do you know what exactly this nightmare was?”
“Yeah, they told us. They were slightly different. In Michelle’s dream she was home in England whereas Richard was dreaming about heading to school. For both of them though, they said the sky just started to go completely black and they both felt really uneasy. Then they woke up. It sounded a lot like my dream come to think of it…”
Snipping got to his feet and started to pace about, his brow furrowed in a displeased way. He came to a stop directly in front of the television.
“Well I reckon we can be certain these signs don’t bode well. I suspect Gorhoth is aware o’ this new world and o’ the new power emanatin’ from it. No doubt ‘e’s reachin’ out, tryin’ to locate the source o’ the power ‘e ‘as felt across the dream planes. Trying to locate miss Amy that is.”
Amy couldn’t really feel much apprehension at this grand statement. At least, not until her mother nodded in agreement with Snipping and carried on from his speech.
“There is much that we need to find out but some things are now very clear. We cannot keep Amy hidden for very long. She must begin her training as soon as possible. Without control, she will be both dangerous and vulnerable but I am not sure how this can be done. We have still had no luck locating the Arbiters. Furthermore, we can now be fairly certain, as Snipping said, that Gorhoth has returned. I do not believe he will rest until he has Amy in his control and we cannot allow this to eventuate. He must be stopped. Truly and finally stopped. As to how this can be done I simply do not know.”
A stiff silence followed, broken by Laszlo’s heavy sigh.
“First things first, Snipping, you will need to teach Amy
to block people out of her dreams. That shouldn’t be too hard now that she is getting the hang of consciously allowing entrants.”
Snipping nodded in agreement and Laszlo continued.
“Thankfully, it seems Gorhoth is still unable to distinguish Amy from the other humans, which is a great relief. We have been exceedingly fortunate. He passed over her dream zone without even noticing her, but he will continue searching.”
Amy’s parents and Snipping looked much more nervous than Amy felt. The idea of some phantom evil creature in another world seemed so distant and fairytale-like that she couldn’t even make herself worried. Clearly her father noticed this because he immediately addressed the matter with her.
“Amy, we are very sorry to do this to you while you are still so young. We had hoped you could have grown up unburdened by our past but you need to know. You are tied up in a war older than time itself and you need to understand who your enemy is. Gorhoth may have lost his powers when he was cast out by the Arbiters but the power he retains is still terrible. Tell me, what do you imagine hell would be like?”
Amy looked at him blankly.
“I’m not sure. You sort of naturally think of fire and pain and misery and devils and that kind of thing but that just seems like the church trying to scare people. I think hell would be more like, separation from everything that you want and love.”
“Wisely considered,” her father replied proudly. “Now hold that idea in your mind. Whatever it may be that people most fear, or causes them the greatest level of suffering, Gorhoth can find this and use it against them. He can trap them in a seemingly eternal experience of that which they fear. What greater torture could there be than to torture someone with what they fear the most in their minds?”
Amy shivered uncomfortably. The earnestness of her father scared her more than the thought of her phantom enemy and his words made her feel incredibly helpless. She was only seventeen. She could barely control the ability which apparently made her a target for what sounded like the devil and she had no idea what she was even meant to do.
Her father continued steadily.
“We do not yet know the full extent of your abilities but they are clearly quite unique. For all we know, you could be the ultimate answer to the problem of Gorhoth, in the end, but you are not ready to face a responsibility like that yet. You need a chance to learn how to control your power while we learn what Gorhoth is now capable of. He was pushed to the brink of his miserable existence before, so we can hope that his power has not yet fully recovered.”
Amy’s mother stepped in again.
“The question still remains; how can you be trained unless the Arbiters make contact with us? And even if they do, how can you continue to train and yet go unnoticed?”
Nobody answered.
“Let us take this one day at a time.” Laszlo said. “We should take a break and try to approach this with clear heads later. I’ll order some dinner. I’m sure no one is in the mood to cook.”
Eventually it was time to go to bed and Martay bid everyone a good night before heading home. Amy was about to enter her room when her mother quickly said to her, “Don’t forget to let Snipping in so that he can stop you dreamwalking for the moment.”
She smiled and then Amy closed her door and got into bed. Snipping was now in the guest room. I have the weirdest family in the world, she thought to herself as she climbed into bed. She was thinking about how unreal her life had become. This was something she had never even conceived of before. People often wished there was magic or that they had super hero type powers. Now she sort of did, in her own way. As she flicked off her lamp and darkness filled the room, she was reminded that this newfound ability had come at a price. As remote as it seemed, she was beginning to feel the apprehension that her parents were trying to instil.
✽ ✽ ✽
Vencel sat behind his plain but solid desk. He had risen high enough in the Duke’s esteem lately to have a comfortable room of his own to work in. His paperwork was significant but almost eerily well ordered and stacked and Vencel was attacking the paper-towers with fervor and something that verged on lust. The reports were his lifeblood and he reveled in their power. Most of them existed because Vencel had made it so, and from them he could watch just about everything in the kingdom, whilst carefully choosing what pieces were passed on to the Duke. Not all information could come in reports though.
He looked up every few minutes and thrummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. His messenger should have arrived by now. Had something gone wrong? Perhaps the assassin had failed. Vencel tried to calm his nerves. He planned these things very carefully and for all eventualities. Even if the plan had failed, the blame would fall on the Duke and Vencel would slip through unnoticed. There was a lot to be said, he thought, for asking the Duke to sign trivial but very urgent papers when the Duke was busy with something else. So far, the Duke had approved the removal of four problematic noise makers that had been sniffing too closely at Vencel’s work, and he approved almost daily troop movements which left outskirt villages hopelessly vulnerable.
Vencel heard steps in the corridor again and looked up. The tread was the heavy, dull clunk of boots on stone and belonged to the right man for the moment. At last!
“Ah, Moran! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Vencel was clever enough never to show any particular personal interest in the tasks he delegated. In the eyes of all he remained a very bland civil servant and that was a gift. Moran gave him a curt nod. Vencel was not a superior. He wasn’t even military.
“My instructions were to report back to you after escorting Lord Samuka until he was met by someone else. This has been done.”
Moran turned to leave. The whole situation reeked of secrets and politics. Why would their orders have been so vague and misleading if they were simply escorting the man to an old friend? Sadly, Moran did not escape the matter so easily.
“One moment please Moran. To whom exactly did you deliver Sir Samuka?”
“I didn’t deliver him to anyone and I don’t know who it was, or who it was meant to be that he met either. Wasn’t part of the orders.” Moran sniffed in a high-class way which suggested disapproval. “I do not ask questions above my station, clerk, I suggest you do the same.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I am under orders to ask questions.”
He smiled drily. He enjoyed exercising power over military men as a civilian. It made them so edgy.
“I am sorry if additional information was not trusted to your confidences but I feel your advice is good, so I will adhere to my orders by not burdening you with such information as you are not already privy to.”
This got a look which plainly expressed Moran’s offence and anger but the man remained collected.
Vencel continued. “Would you simply be so kind as to describe the person or persons that Lord Samuka met, and what transpired before you returned here?” Vencel asked with a tone that was very nearly too polite.
“Dark haired lady, moderate height, fit build for a woman, dressed in leathers and an odd-looking travel coat that was sort of a mix of grey, brown and green. In short, a civilian, dressed like one of the old ranger regiment. Makes sense to me since Samuka used to be captain of the Ranger regiment. Say no more though. I really don’t want to know anything about orders for the rangers. When they operated in the past, people who knew too much tended to disappear. I’d personally like to return to my wife. Farewell to you, sir.”
The last word was a sneer. It didn’t take a genius to see this was some sort of top secret plan involving the old assassins, and that scared the hell out of him. But this stupid civilian seemed totally ignorant. He left Vencel sitting carefully blank faced behind his desk.
Vencel waited longer than necessary before actually doing anything. He wanted to be sure Moran was well clear of his office before he followed up on the news. And follow up he would. He had made a potentially huge mistake by not being thorough enough, and it irritated him deeply
that a military buffoon had straight away seen the connection that he, Vencel, had missed. If Samuka and the assassin had known each other…
“Viktor! In here now please!”
It was mere seconds before a young, bureaucratic version of a page boy entered the room with gangly enthusiasm.
“Yes, Mister Vencel Sir?”
“I need a scout sent to Holly pass. They are to report back with any findings immediately.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Chapter 7
Amy strode carelessly down the cobbled road taking little note of the town folk that bustled by on business. It was a bright day but with a bite in the wind, which carried the usual combination of smells from local shops, the horses and oxen in the streets and the multitude of people. She had a strong feeling that someone was meant to be meeting her and her attention was drawn to any doors in the town that were open.
Carrington’s royal bakery was the best not only in town but for many miles around and Amy promptly took a seat at her favourite table by the window. Only the wealthy could afford to indulge in Carrington’s specialties but such was his reputation that the wealthy people of the town did so on frequent occasion. Amy was no exception. Taking care to remove her sword from her belt and place it out of harm’s way against the wall beside her, she waited for Carrington to finish serving another customer.
Gazing absent-minded out of the window, she was surprised at how quiet the busy road seemed to have become. Her foot twitched impatiently. She knew someone was meant to be here by now. She stared at the bakery door as it opened, unable to look away until it closed again. Then her attention was back on the street. The quiet wasn’t from lack of activity, the traffic was as intense as before. Yet the noise seemed to have drifted off and disappeared. She began to feel uneasy. Apart from the quiet, the world appeared perfectly normal and yet her stomach churned with a sensation of anxiety.
She turned away from the window to see whether Carrington had finished with his customer but her head only made it half way around.
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