by James Erith
Old Man Wood flew through the air and crashed to the rock ledge where he cried out in agony. As he landed, a pain shot into his ankle and his back. He attempted a parachute roll, but skidded and smacked into a large rock.
He lay in a heap, his breath knocked clean out of him. The old man tried to pick himself up using the rock as a prop. But the burning sensation in his ankle meant that the joint was refusing to take any weight.
He watched Isabella walking out and bending down. He heard her scream. Then muffled cries. Was he too late? Had she found one of the children? Daisy?
Old Man Wood couldn’t believe it. Had he come this far only to fail? Oh apples alive, he cursed, how could he be so hopeless. He summoned his strength, trying to ignore the searing pain that coursed through his legs.
He urged himself on, but his body would not co-operate. He slumped back down and pulled up his trouser legs. Already his ankle was swollen – full of blood, huge and tender, like a juicy summer pudding.
His eyes watered as his fingers probed the swollen flesh. Was it a tear or a break? Had it twisted on landing? He wondered if his back was equally shot. He turned his head and his back screamed out as if a knife was stabbing at his vertebrae.
Even his hands were hurting. He studied them and found that blood was pouring from a cut in the middle of his left palm.
What a pathetic, hopeless disaster. What had he been thinking? Swinging on ropes at his age, he wasn’t a child who was able to play football. He couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at the madness of it.
And now his body was beginning to shut down. It was in shock – Old Man Wood knew it well. Then it struck him – how come he hadn’t thought of it earlier? Resplendix Mix! Of course! He’d self-medicate.
At least he’d know if it worked. With his swollen hand he reached into his pocket. There it was. He transferred it to his bleeding left hand and attempted to remove the lid. Did it twist off?
Old Man Wood set the bottle down and attempted to hold and turn, but when nothing happened apart from his hand slipping round the rim, he inspected it.
No lid.
Harrumph. Maybe it needed a sharp pull, so he tried, but there was nothing to pull on.
Old Man Wood shook his head in frustration. No shaking or twisting or pulling or yelling would make it open.
He felt his eyelids becoming heavy and struggled to keep them open. He wondered if he shouldn’t try and break the top off by smashing it on a rock. But his thoughts vanished like vapour on a window as a deeper yearning for sleep filled his mind.
He tried to fight back, but it was hopeless.
And then his mind slipped away.
38
Betrayal
Gaia, the dreamspinner, flashed back to see Old Man Wood as regularly as she thought appropriate, returning as near to the old man as she dared. Once she understood what the old man was doing, or not doing, she inverted into her maghole so that her movements would not be seen, nor her presence missed.
Gaia knew it was nearly impossible for one dreamspinner to follow another, simply because each one went wherever they chose by simply thinking about their destination and flipping through their magholes to get there. So unless another dreamspinner had access to her thoughts she was safe enough, but in these strange times, who knew who was checking up on who?
Every dreamspinner, Gaia sensed, fully understood the events playing out with Isabella, Archie and Daisy. And they knew that what happened now would affect them for a very, very long time. It wasn’t a game, it wasn’t coincidence, and it wasn’t something they could ignore.
She sensed a strange atmosphere of nervousness around the Great Atrium – the vast chamber where the last specks of dream powders were stored. On top of this was another sensation that she was not familiar with at all. She wondered if this was the feeling humans called fear?
Dreamspinners knew their purpose was now threatened. If they had no more dreams to give, what would become of them? Would they spin only bland dreams and nightmares? But why? Why fill the world with dreams of anguish and sorrow and mediocrity?
Wasn’t the point of dreaming to let the dreamer reach out to something magic or beautiful or bewitching; feel a sensation that was out of the ordinary? Wasn’t it another way of understanding the universe and the complexities of life?
Gaia flicked a couple of her legs. The story of the Prophecy was commonplace. News was spread by the gossip in the great chambers where the dream powders were made and stored. The dreamspinners knew of the loss of Archie’s gift of courage, and whispers abounded that the Heirs of Eden were not really the Heirs of Eden at all, but just three children who happened to be in Eden Cottage with the old man. Gaia had put them right. They were the Heirs of Eden alright – it was their birthright. As for the old man, well, Old Man Wood had simply never expected to live so long. He might be doddery but he was the only one who could help them. And, with any luck, he still would.
The trouble was, Gaia thought, that dreamspinners had never meddled in the lives of others, however terrible the mess, however easy it would be to make a situation better – or worse. That was how it had been since the dawn of time itself. Nature and the forces of the universe might interfere as they wished, but not dreamspinners. They span webs to make dreams but they never toyed with the consequences – not ever.
How dreams were interpreted was up to each individual. As Gaia thought about this, she crossed and re-crossed her long, slender legs, occasionally dipping one in her maghole. She knew that dreamspinners could make a difference, if they wanted, but now that the dreamspinners understood how serious the situation was, would their approach change? Was this, she wondered, a sign that the dreamspinners were finally evolving too?
Gaia dipped two legs in her maghole. What was Asgard up to? Where was he? She sniffed the air and reached out into the cosmos to see if she could pick up a vibration. It was a long-shot. She’d have to feel the vibrations of a physical place where a dreamspinner might be.
A curiously strong vibration from Cain’s palace in Havilah came to her, particularly the roof of the ballroom or even better, perhaps, the fireplace. Dreamspinners loved fireplaces. It was exactly the sort of place Asgard liked to be. Why such a strong feeling?
Gaia didn’t want any other dreamspinner to know of her actions, so she had two choices. The first was to turn up invisible and expect the other invisible dreamspinner to see her. If so, she’d turn the deeper rings of grey into white, like a young dreamspinner, and hope her identity would remain a secret – at least from a distance.
The second was to arrive in a solid, physical form, in which case only those who were in the same state would be able to see her. But that was a risk few dreamspinners would dare. If they were looked upon by a human it would leave a burn and her dream spinning abilities might be tarnished for good … she thought how unlucky Genesis had been with Archie – on two occasions – and wondered if she should go to her and ask her advice. But she rejected the notion. Genesis was old and in pain and her help would be japes and jibes which would not help.
Gaia needed to act fast. She thought of a place where she could be painted white with ease, but which would not hinder her movements. A white powder, perhaps, that was so fine with a colour so pure.
She knew exactly where to go, thought about the place and inverted into her maghole, vanishing out of sight.
Gaia flashed out of the sky and onto the ceiling of Cain’s ballroom. Had she done enough to camouflage her body? She wondered whether the tiny specks of white powder rubbed over her dark parts masked her deep-grey age-lines. She’d have to see.
Young dreamspinners acknowledged the senior ones by means of a simple, subtle and quick movement, a nod of the head, the flick of a leg or a flaring of the mouth. In return, the senior dreamspinner would return the gesture.
Gaia reminded herself that, now she looked a thousand years younger, she would have to remember to do this first rather than in return. If only she felt as slight and as fast as she
had done a thousand years ago.
There it was; a tiny flicker of light. And now she looked closely, masses of dots of light, like faint pinpricks, flashed by the huge, open hearth of the great fireplace. Gaia was astonished that there were so many.
Was this an organised gathering?
She plotted a course for the vast chimney and inverted. Inside, it was crammed full of dreamspinners.
‘Friends,’ said a familiar low vibration. It was Asgard, just as she suspected. ‘I trust you have not given yourselves away?’ A shared vibration went round and Gaia had no option but to hold it and pass it on. Each dreamspinner sent a vibration back. Gaia tried to guess how many there were, three hundred, a thousand – more? She wondered if her vibration would be picked up. Her physical disguise was not so bad, but she hadn’t thought to conceal her vibrations. She tried to muffle them, hoping they would slip through unnoticed.
Asgard’s vibrations continued. ‘There are many here, so shrink your bodies. You are about to learn the bitter truth.’
More arrived. Gaia retracted her maghole. When she looked around there were even more than she suspected, some of whom she recognised.
‘The Heirs of Eden,’ Asgard vibrated solemnly, ‘are on a course to fail.’ A gasp vibrated around the chimney.
A vibration shot back from nearby. ‘You know this, Asgard? You have proof?’
‘Are they are dead?’ another quizzed. The air was humming.
Asgard let the questions shoot around the chimney breast. ‘I have seen them, not long ago,’ the dreamspinner began. ‘Reports come to me regularly.’
‘How can you be certain?’ said another.
‘It takes just one of them to die,’ Asgard continued. ‘I am informed that two of them are on the brink of expiring.’
In vibration terms, the chimney exploded into an uproar. Gaia stuck a leg out and heard a few, feeling the expressions of shock and anguish and worry, but she kept her head down, and hidden. She needed to find out what Asgard had planned.
‘I know how you feel,’ Asgard said, his vibrations rising up above the clamour. ‘The chance to open up the Garden of Eden once more – after so long – is slipping away like the lives of those children. The new time we hoped for will not be. The heirs have failed, and failed at the very first test.
‘A child of man is never going to be strong enough to survive the ravages of nature, let alone the three great tasks. I told this to the great Genesis who ignored my pleas. But I have been proved right, as I knew I would. Perhaps in her great age she is no longer in touch.’
Uneasy vibrations flew around.
‘Be sure of this, dreamspinners,’ Asgard continued. ‘There is nothing I would desire more than for their success, but by this time tomorrow there will be no dream powders to inspire man, no dreams of wonder or evolution—’
‘Then what do you suggest?’ came a vibration.
‘What I suggest is that it is time to look at our options,’ Asgard said. ‘Do we wait until the time of the next Tripodean Dream? And who knows how long that might be – a hundred days, a thousand years, or a million years? It may never happen, and if this is the case we dreamspinners probably won’t even exist. Perhaps, then, we should join with Cain here in Havilah and spin the dreams from the spider webs of Havilah in the hope that he might find a route into the Garden of Eden in the meantime.’
The chimney exploded with furious vibrations.
‘An alliance? With Cain, never!’ cried one.
‘We are independent,’ another shouted.
A strong vibration shot down from near the top. ‘We will never do the bidding of others. Never!’
‘What!’ said a loud vibration from the side. ‘Spin nightmares and stupid dreams for the rest of our days?’
‘What has it come to if we do this?’ said a deeper vibration.
Asgard waited until the furore had calmed down. ‘If this is what you believe, then you had better consider my words.’ The chimney fell silent. ‘You are here because each one of you is fearful for the future. Has it not once entered your mind that perhaps now is OUR time?’
‘Time for what, exactly, Asgard?’ a vibration shot back.
Asgard pounced. ‘Time to evolve, dreamspinners.’
Vibrations of both agreement and disagreement shot back and forth. ‘We dreamspinners are the only species ever created who have neither reached forward nor plunged back. We have never needed to embrace change, either by desire or necessity. The failure of the Heirs of Eden is, perhaps, a sign that we must alter our ways.’ A series of strong vibrations shot out in agreement. ‘If not, we will end up with no purpose. And we all know what happens to creatures that have no worth.’ Silence filled the room. ‘Don’t we?’
Asgard could feel opinion shifting towards his position. ‘And that is why I am helping Cain, because at the end of this, he is the one who will surely come out on top. The dreams of Havilah may be the only ones left for us to spin.’ Angry vibrations shot out once more.
Gaia was bubbling with rage. ‘But they are not dead yet,’ she seethed, ‘and dusk is falling. If they are alive – if there is but a murmur of a heartbeat in them, the heirs will have prevented the destruction of the land. You are fools to write them off.’
‘Who speaks so?’
Before Asgard could find out, there was a tiny flash and one of the dreamspinners had vanished.
‘That dreamspinner has made the wrong choice,’ Asgard vibrated. ‘Be sure you do not make the same mistake.’
Instantly, Gaia was above the battered body of Old Man Wood, who was desperately trying to prise open the lid of a bottle. In no time, she was spinning the old man a dream. Seconds later Old Man Wood was fast asleep.
Good, she thought, the powders are working fast.
So it was Asgard who had betrayed them, just as she suspected – and he had brazenly admitted it! “Helping Cain!” he’d said it, just like that – as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Traitor! Gaia poked a leg in her maghole. In which case, she was going to add balance to the drama.
She needed Old Man Wood to wake up. The dreamspinner hovered around the body of Old Man Wood, waiting – for there was nothing physical she could do to aid his recovery. Shortly, the old man stretched his arms out wide and yawned. Then he screamed in pain. Gaia watched as the old man shuffled, his face contorting in surprise as he found the Resplendix Mix. Then he studied it as he realised exactly what it was.
Now let us see how he does it this time, the dreamspinner thought. Gaia watched as the old man placed the bottle top to his lips, closed his eyes and kissed it. Instantly the top of the bottle opened.
Excellent, Gaia thought. It worked.
39
A Cry For Help
Old Man Wood smiled, put the bottle to his mouth and took a couple of drops, barely wetting his lips. Immediately, a heat like the glow of a hot fire and the burning sensation of eating a hot chilli, coursed through him. Those parts that were damaged or hurt burned with more savagery, the heat intense like a soldering iron welding him back together. He gritted his teeth as the Resplendix Mix set to work.
Shortly, now the heat was bearable, he had the urge to stand. He rolled his head and breathed deeply, the air filling his lungs like bellows. Aside from the glow of the Resplendix Mix, he felt wonderfully well and invigorated. He coiled up the rope and scoured the moonlit ledge. The bottle of Resplendix Mix had re-sealed itself and he slipped it in his pocket.
Right, where were they? Isabella – he’d seen her below him on the rope, but the other two? Old Man Wood headed out onto the ledge. There was Isabella, bent down and holding something. What was it, a body?
Old Man Wood scampered over. As he neared, a terrible wailing noise, the worst suffering imaginable, was coming from her. He prepared himself and coughed as he approached.
‘Looks like you could do with a hand,’ he said solemnly.
Isabella turned. ‘Old Man Wood!’ she flung her arms around him. ‘Am I glad to see you
? Look! It’s Daisy – I think she’s, she’s …’
‘Oh, little ‘Bella, let’s see what we have.’ Old Man Wood bent down and ran a hand over Daisy’s brow. He felt only coldness. He searched for signs of breathing, nothing. ‘My goodness, she’s had a terrible beating,’ he said, trying to locate the Resplendix Mix in his pocket. He noted how her lips were a pale crimson – bloody pink – against her white skin. He felt for a pulse and his heart nearly stopped: he couldn’t feel one. If it was there, it had all but gone. He could sense Isabella staring at him, searching his face for answers.
‘Now, Isabella, there is only one thing I can do.’ He showed her the bottle. ‘She needs just a couple of drops from this bottle of Resplendix Mix. I’ll tell you about it another time, but all you need know is that it’s a very old remedy of mine for healing. Thing is,’ he continued, a deep frown filling his forehead, ‘the bottle will only open if the potion within can heal the person whose lips it touches.’
Isabella frowned. It didn’t make sense. ‘Anything, Old Man Wood – hurry!’
Old Man Wood lowered the bottle to Daisy’s mouth and pressed the top against her lips.
‘Why don’t you just open it?’ Isabella growled, mostly in frustration.
‘As I said, I can’t. The bottle will open if it can heal – otherwise I am afraid we have lost her.’
He shook his head.
‘What is it?’ Isabella cried.
Old Man Wood’s lips trembled. ‘I’m so sorry, but I fear it isn’t going to work.’ A tear rolled out of his eye and landed on Daisy’s cheek. He wiped it off, and inspected the top of the bottle, which remained closed. ‘I am too late.’
He picked himself up onto his knees, his eyes watery. ‘I’m so sorry, little Daisy. So terribly sorry.’ Another tear dropped out. Old Man Wood was bent over, dumb with shock.