Dreamscape: Saving Alex

by Kirstin Pulioff

  “Pipes,” I cried, grabbing his forearms. “I’m so glad it’s you. Some of these people…” I didn’t finish the thought.

  He looked down at me with concern. “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Yes,” I answered sheepishly, suddenly remembering who he thought I was. Straightening my back, I pulled my hands away and forced a smile. “Yes, I was just surprised by the size of the market. I wasn’t expecting all of that.”

  “Of course. It takes a moment to absorb everything here.”

  I nodded. He had no idea.

  “We’re almost there. The stage is just around the corner. Hopefully Deakon’s not made a mess of all our stuff. He does that sometimes, you know.” Pipes winked at me.

  “I can’t wait to see it all,” I said, reaching for his hand. I didn’t want to lose him in the crowd again.

  The far edge of the square was quiet. Wooden benches lined the wall, curving around small pockets of trees and flowers. Pipes pulled me forward before I could comment on anything.

  “Wow,” I whispered, turning the corner and seeing the stage.

  Pipes beamed and ran ahead. “Let me present to you our humble arena.” He bowed and covered his chest with one hand.

  Wooden planks and iron benches lined a semi-circle around a lopsided stage. Rotten beams leaned against the distressed posts. When I looked up, a tangled maze of beams and pipes held the structure in place. A crumpled sheet of velvet crowned the top. The older man struggled across the theater with an armload of banners and poles.

  “This is… big,” I said, searching for the right word. “It’s no wonder the vendors were upset when you left.” I rushed ahead and grabbed a handful of metal pipes from Deakon.

  “This is nothing, my lady. You should’ve seen it before we left. Signs, ribbons, torches, we had it all. Now, this is all that remains.” Deakon sighed, dropping his armful of banners by the scaffolding near the front of the stage.

  “All that remains?” I asked.

  “I’ve already cleaned up a bunch.” He grunted and nodded towards a corner overflowing with shredded debris. “I’d say they weren’t too happy with us.”

  “Then tonight we must put on an even better show,” Pipes said. He grabbed the edge of a banner by Deakon’s feet and stretched it between his arms. “We’ll have this stage back in shape in no time.”

  I admired Pipes’ enthusiasm. “Let me help,” I said, reaching for the other end of the banner.

  “No, no, no,” Pipes argued, shaking his head. “You’ve already done too much to help us. You must be on your way. You’ve seen the market. Get your goods and go. Before anything happens.”

  “No, I insist. I’m not going anywhere until I help you set up for tonight. After all, you were delayed because of me.” I grabbed another banner from the stage floor and held it out, reading the scrolled letters. Juggling for the Cause. “Is it safe, announcing your support like this? I mean, you just said that this town is full of Berkos’ men.”

  “If subtlety worked here, my lady, we’d go that route, but it seems to be an excuse to ignore us and our message.”

  Pipes stopped hammering and leaned over the rickety scaffolding. “We won’t be ignored any longer. The rebellion needs more support, and this is one of the only ways we can recruit for it.”

  Deakon grabbed the other end of the sign. “I’ll take that, my lady.”

  He climbed along the rickety scaffolding that held the upper portion of the stage together and hammered one edge of the sign into the rotten planks.

  A loud bang came from above, followed by a clattering of metal. Deakon stopped hammering and dove into me, pushing me off the stage.

  When I recovered, I swore and massaged the spot where my hip had hit the ground.

  “Deakon!” Pipes exclaimed, jumping onto the stage, waving through the dust.

  I clambered up, brushing off the dirt as I limped to the stage. Where I had just stood was now a pile of metal beams and wooden supports.

  “Oh no! Is he…” I let the question linger.

  Pipes turned around with a tight smile. “No, he’s going to be fine. Just a small cut on the head. He’ll be better in no time.”

  Deakon sat up and picked splinters out of his hands. A trail of blood slid from his forehead down his cheek, and red blotches stained his face and arms where the beams from the stage had struck him.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. He didn’t look fine to me. I climbed onto the stage and walked closer, glancing at the beams wavering above us.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s not like this is the first time some stuff’s fallen down.”

  “Deakon, how can you say that?” How could he act like this wasn’t a big deal? “This is more than just some stuff falling. Y-you sa-saved me,” I stammered, falling to my knees at his side.

  “Don’t give him too much credit,” Pipes laughed. “He probably just knocked you out of the way on accident.”

  I knew it was more than that. I was lucky. And Deakon was lucky. Sharp metal edges poked out of the beams at all angles. If he had fallen even a foot further to the side, this accident could’ve been fatal. I was about to say that when Pipes gave a low whistle.

  “This wasn’t an accident, though. This was sabotage. The planks were sheered,” he said, holding out one of the fallen pieces of wood in disgust. The clean lines of a saw were visible on its edge. “This is just more proof you need to leave.”

  “Why would someone do this?”

  Deakon rolled his head forward and rested it in his palms. “It’s simple. You know who we are, or at least who we’re loyal to. So do they. They want to stop us.”

  “They who? And why stop a simple performance?” I asked, dusting off Deakon’s cloak and placing it over his shoulders.

  Deakon rolled his neck side to side. “You know who I’m talking about. The traitors. The ones who switched sides without a thought. The ones who think money is more important than integrity or loyalty. You’ll see them around the capital, wearing Berkos’ dragon with honor.”

  “Berkos’ dragon?” I asked.

  Deakon raised an eyebrow. “For being our hero, you sure seem to have a lot of questions.”

  I tucked my lips together and stayed quiet. He was right. I’d done a poor job of hiding it.

  He shook his head sadly. “When Berkos took control, he drove most of King Helio’s supporters away from town. Berkos’ castle is only a day or two north of the city, so he naturally changed the capital from Flourin to here. His followers run this town and wear the dragon in support. If you see one, watch your back. Dragons strike with more than just fire.”

  “But why stop you? You’re just performers.”

  “Just performers,” Deakon laughed. “That’s like saying you’re just a traveler. We’re all more than what we pretend to be.”

  I blushed, but Deakon didn’t notice. “These shows, they’re in support of the queen and the rebellion. Whatever money we earn goes straight to the cause. The capital tolerates it because they get money too. But I’m doubting their level of tolerance now.” He reached back and shook his head, examining one of the boards. “It’s time you left. Before it gets too dangerous here.”

  I swallowed, glancing behind me. A few heads peeked from behind the buildings. Pipes and Deakon were right. This town wasn’t safe. The longer I stayed, the more I endangered myself, them, and their cause.

  Pipes reached out and squeezed my arm. “We all play a part for the cause. Ours is here. It’s time you found yours.”

  I nodded and felt my insides harden like lead. As their hero, I shouldn’t have to be reminded or directed. Why couldn’t I control my destiny in a video game?

  “You’re right,” I said with a sigh. “I just need to find some new clothes first.”

  Deakon handed me his cloak and pointed behind me. “Go to Auntie Quinn’s. She’s the best tailor in town.”

  “She’s the only tailor in town now,” Pipes said with a frown.

  Deakon shrugged
and adjusted the mechanics on the spinning wheel at his ear. “Best, only… same difference. She’ll have all the supplies you need to get started. Just don’t forget our warning.”

  “Thank you,” I said, turning away as they started to move planks and beams out of the way. Even with the danger, they would not stop.

  But neither would I.

  Chapter Seven

  Heaviness pulled me down as I drifted back into the square, seeking supplies. It was more than the extra weight of Deakon’s cloak. The longer I stayed here, the more threats seemed to pop up—dangers, evil kings, traitors, and now sabotage.

  Surviving high school was tough enough for me, and they expected me to save their kingdom. I wasn’t cut out for that. Insecurities rattled around in my mind, but I knew they were insignificant. Social awkwardness wasn’t oppression. An evil king trying to kill citizens and sabotage a rebellion…the enormity of what I had gotten involved in struck me. And the most dangerous thought of all was the ease with which Pipes and Deakon placed their blind trust in me. What did they see that I didn’t? I needed to find a way home, and quick. I wasn’t a hero, and I didn’t want to be.

  A wave of people blocked my path. I moved in the shadows, pressed against the stone walls as I peeked into every store window. The capital seemed to have everything it needed, yet Auntie Quinn’s clothing store eluded me.

  I pulled the cloak tighter around my neck and crossed the main road. It was better than the torn nightshirt I had been wearing but was still not enough to keep me from notice. The thick fabric created a trail as it dragged on the ground behind me, and its bulky size generated the impression that I was playing dress-up.

  If only this were a simple game of my imagination that I could leave at any point.

  I wasn’t sure what it was yet. I had spent almost a whole day here, and yet I was no closer to any answers about how to get home or where to go from here.

  “It’s her,” a soft voice whispered from behind me.

  “What?” I asked, turning around. Dust swirled up from the ground, blocking my sight.

  “See? I told you!” A child snickered.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the sandy onslaught.

  “No, it can’t be.”

  “It is, just look.”

  “Ouch,” I cried, covering my arm where a rock hit me. The hood of the cloak slipped back, revealing my face and hair. A group of young boys ran off into the crowd, laughing. I fought my growing anger and raised the hood again to simmer in the shadows.

  “I promise, Ma. Look,” a young girl cried, pulling down on the skirt of her mother’s dress with one hand while pointing at me with the other.

  “Hush child. She can’t be, that’s just a fairytale,” the mother said, pulling the girl forward.

  “No, it’s her, I swear it. Look.”

  I rolled my eyes. No more. I turned away from the street, determined to reach the other side of the square and its shops. As I walked forward, my cloak stiffened and then slid off my back, revealing my torn shirt again. I spun and stared at the girl, no older than seven, holding on to her mother’s dress. Wide eyes stared at me from beneath a mop of red hair as she guiltily stepped off the edge of the cloak.

  “See, see, see? I told ya!” she said, pointing at me. The older women scowled and pursed her lips before grabbing her hand and yanking her away.

  “Stop her,” another voice called out.

  I had no clue if they were talking about me or the other woman, and I didn’t want to find out. I ducked behind the nearest cart and threw open the door to the first shop I saw. Leaning against the back of the door, I heaved a sigh of relief. When I opened my eyes, the shop owner was staring at me, one hand draped across her chest, her face pale.

  She stood in the back corner of the shop, half-hidden by shadows cast from piles of fabric. I must have interrupted her mid-hem. She struggled to remove her hand from a red and gray tunic.

  A flicker of embarrassment at my appearance hit me. Her open-mouthed stare only added to my discomfort.

  Well, at least I had found the right kind of shop.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, smoothing out the front of my shirt. “I’m glad I finally found you.”

  The old woman raised an eyebrow and plucked the needle from her lips. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Um, yeah. I need some clothes,” I said, readjusting my shirt. The wooden box shook in my hands.

  The woman smiled at the jingling of the coins and composed herself. She lowered her hand and secured the needle in the tunic before giving me a warm smile. “Then you’ve come to the right shop. What can I help you find today?”

  Her welcoming words stopped the moment she cleared the back counter and stepped into the light, taking a closer look at me.

  “Good grief. Have you gone mad? You’re walking around in nothing but that undergarment?” Then her mouth dropped and she rushed to my side. “Oh my dear, what have they done to you?” She tsked and held up my arms, examining the bruises I had forgotten. Thankfully the blisters had gone back to normal. Besides the few fading bumps and bruises, I thought I’d fared pretty well for my first time traveling through the dark forest.

  “Oh no, no one’s hurt me,” I said, avoiding her stare and pulling the hem of my shirt down.

  She furrowed her brows. “There’s no need to be ashamed. It happens more than we like to admit these days. Don’t worry one bit. Auntie Quinn will take care of you.”

  Finally something seemed to be going in my favor.

  She reached out towards me and waited. I stared at her outstretched hand to find each fingertip sparkling with a thimble. She frowned as she appraised me once more. Then with a loud sigh, she wiggled her fingers. “Take my hand, dear. We haven’t all day to get you presentable.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m a tailor, not a magician.” No matter how sweetly she said it, the words stung. Just how bad did I look?

  I hesitated, then put my hand in hers. The floorboards creaked as she led me to an overstuffed chair situated beneath the largest window. The tight black leather belied its comfort, and as soon as I sat down, it swallowed me. I stifled my laugh, fighting my way to the edge of the seat.

  Auntie Quinn smiled. I suspected she had done the same thing. “The chair’s a hit with the children, and the older gentlemen too. Not that there’s much of a difference between them, really.” She winked. “Just relax. First things first, let me see if I have the right oils to fix you up.”

  I smiled back at her. “Thank you, Auntie Quinn. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s nothing, my dear. Just sit back and relax. I’ll be back soon, and we can talk about what you need.” She handed me a booklet of yellow parchment and pointed to extras on the table beside me.

  Her generosity surprised me. Deakon had told me to find her, but I didn’t expect such immediate concern. So far this world had done nothing but throw challenges and danger my way. This break was long overdue.

  I glanced down at the papers she had handed me. The stiff parchment popped as I turned each page. Across the top, in fancy calligraphy, were the words Lockhorn News. Lockhorn? Where was that? I scanned the first few headlines, but nothing made much sense. I was about to ask about it, but when I looked up, I saw Auntie Quinn gesturing out the window.

  When I looked at her profile, the softness I’d seen at first disappeared. I readjusted my body in the chair and looked at her more closely. When she clenched her jaw, a set of tense lines appeared around her eyes and down her neck. Pointed crochet sticks pinned her hair in a severe bun on top of her head. A few stray strands had fallen from the bun, streaking her face in silver. Unease stirred my insides. Something didn’t feel right.

  When she looked back at me, she gave me a warm smile, but the edges were forced. I recognized that expression. My mom was a pro at forced politeness.

  “Be right back, my dear,” she said, retreating into the bac
k storeroom.

  I watched her disappear and shook off the unease. She hadn’t done anything but show me kindness. I had to stop projecting my feelings onto other people. She just reminded me of my mom; that was all.

  I leaned back, letting the soft luxury of the fabric surround me. I sighed, falling further into the chair. It had been too long since I had let anyone take care of me. Here, I didn’t have to apologize or admit anything. I could just accept the no-strings-attached hospitality.

  But did it really come without strings?

  I needed a plan before it was too late, and the simple thought of playing through the game didn’t seem sufficient.

  A jingle alarmed me, and my eyes shot open. I turned to the door, but relaxed when I saw that it was still closed. Auntie Quinn returned from the dark storeroom with a tray of glass canisters and steaming cups. The glass jingled as she inched around the counters and tables, careful to avoid spilling the liquid.

  When the dimming sunlight hit the cups, small bursts of light reflected over the room, especially on the golden embroidery of her apron. An oversized “A” was sewn into the upper edge, and when I looked more closely, the image of a dragon lurked behind it.

  I swallowed hard. I wasn’t out of danger yet. I shuffled to the edge of the seat and rolled the packet of papers together to keep my hands busy. I couldn’t let her see my fear.

  She lowered the tray to the table and handed me a cup of tea. Green liquid seeped over the edge as her hands trembled. She began dressing my wounds while I regarded the tea with skepticism.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, tucking the papers by my side and pressing the cup to my lips. A sour scent warned me, and I only pretended to drink the steaming liquid. “Mmmm. You do seem to know how to make a person feel better.”

  “It’s nothing, my dear. I’m an old woman. Some things you learn over time, and some things you just know. A hot cup of tea cures most ailments, especially the ones that don’t break the surface.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, staring out the windows. She pressed a lavender-soaked cloth against my arm. I stiffened at the intense burn I felt.