But I also knew that some of the things in the dream world could end up being projections of my own psyche, so keeping focus on my objective was critical since the blending of two consciousnesses had all the makings of a slippery slope. One could end up lost in another person’s dream world, which I had been told wouldn’t be so very different from dying.
The doorjamb caught my attention, and when I looked closer I saw that it was made up entirely of small clocks with those little bells on top of them, sort of like not-quite-antique, wind-up, alarm clocks. The idea of a doorjamb being made up of clocks didn’t make sense, but then many things don’t make sense in a person’s dream world.
In unison, each alarm clock formed a mouth and began to scream like banshees. The noise was horrific, and it was all I could do to keep from losing concentration on the spell keeping me anchored in the dreamscape.
As quickly as they had begun their unified wailing, they stopped. When I chanced to look at them closer, their mouths had disappeared and they resembled nothing more than ordinary, old-style, wind-up alarm clocks.
Just as suddenly as the clocks had begun their wailing, there was a terrifying noise from inside the small house and I almost dropped my gun in a mixture of surprise and terror. I tightened my grip on the weapon and looked up at a sight which shook me to the core.
There were hundreds—no, there were thousands of monsters inside the small house, and they were all coming for me! There were serpents with arms, wolves with tusks, boars with lion’s claws and even some combinations of body parts which I knew consciously were anatomically impossible, but which still terrified me.
“Aaron!” they all screamed. “Aaron! Aaron! Aaron!” over and over, and I knew I had to get out of that house. To my horror, each of the monsters had a vaguely human appearance and I thought I even recognized some of their faces…and that sense of recognition stirred anger deep within me. I only had two slugs with me, and there were more of these things every second; there was no way I could take all of them!
I stumbled backward, tripping over the lip of the doorway and landing flat on my back, giving myself whiplash in the process.
The world began to spin, threatening to dislodge me with nothing more than simple inertia—which was physically impossible, of course, but I have to mention once again that belief is more important than reality in a dreamscape. I concentrated hard and was able to maintain my grip on my place in the dream world, and the spinning eventually slowed until the ground was once again still.
I opened my eyes and found that I was looking up at the sky. For a moment I heard nothing but the gentle breeze rushing through the short grass surrounding me, and then I noticed something out of place in my field of vision but I couldn’t quite identify what it was.
I rolled over and saw that it wasn’t grass that the breeze was rushing through: it was flowers, and a whole field of them! The flowers were of every size, shape, and color. I couldn’t help but admire the apparently infinite field of them, which had been arranged into perfect rows that were sorted by colors until they formed a seemingly endless rainbow whose alternating colors repeated infinitely.
The breeze picked up, creating all kinds of soothing sounds as it rustled through the field and I decided to get to my feet. I turned three hundred sixty degrees and was confused when I didn’t see the house I had just been inside, but I reminded myself that this wasn’t reality. Just because something had been there a moment earlier didn’t mean it needed to continue being there.
The wind gusted, and it was almost as though it was speaking to me in hushed whispers just beyond my ability to decipher. I strained to hear the words it was speaking, but while I failed to make them out it was still a soothing sound. Even though I couldn’t make out any specific words, somehow I knew that it was speaking to me, and only to me. It was a more comforting sound than I had heard in years, and I was sorely tempted to give in to it.
Then I realized what was wrong with the sky: it was purple! Why on Earth would the sky be purple? I wondered as a cloud came into view. Watching the cloud drift above was strange, because even though I knew it was impossible, the cloud wasn’t the part that moved to bring itself into my view; it was the sky that flew across so rapidly that it brought the cloud with it!
I laughed out loud, because I hadn’t initially realized that the cloud was formed into the shape of a musical note. Another one came into view, followed by another, and another until they formed what I assumed was some kind of actual song. It had been too long since I’d read sheet music, so I wasn’t able to identify the melody just from looking at the note-shaped clouds. But I was nearly overcome with a longing for the dreams that only come with deep sleep.
I felt the overwhelming need to discover the melody of the song, so I reached up to touch the cloud and was rewarded with a sound which I heard through my fingertips, reminding me of my bedtime rituals as a small child when my mom would tuck me in.
Then I realized the cloud wasn’t a cloud at all; it was made of cotton candy! I grabbed the note-shaped lump of stringy sugar in my hand and brought it to my lips, remembering all those days spent at the county fair as a kid.
I thankfully had a flash of clarity and dropped the cotton candy. This isn’t real! I reminded myself, Focus! I was losing myself in this dream world, which was strange since I’d never experienced anything like this before. I had always known when I was experiencing someone else’s feelings or memories when in their dreamscape, but this time it was proving far, far more difficult to maintain focus.
Then the clouds above me burst in unison and it began to rain. And the rain wasn’t made of cotton candy; instead it was real, honest raindrops which were incredibly cold as they splashed against my skin.
Those raindrops struck the ground, causing overly large, irregular splashes with each impact. In fact, some of the splashes seemed to create temporary images when combined with the refracted sunlight passing through them and the closer I looked, the clearer those images became.
There were people, animals, and even buildings springing into brief, incredibly-detailed life with each drop of the ever-increasing cascade of falling water splashing on the ground. As more raindrops fell from above, those images moved like they were pictures in an old-style flip book—or puppets on a stage—which played out scenes that made absolutely no sense to me, but I intuitively understood that they had a kind of insane logic to them.
There was a milkmaid feeding a hive of bees, but the ‘food’ she was supplying was old shoes. There was a blacksmith pounding away on a piece of paper, which turned to ash as he used his tongs to pick it up and appraise its quality like a real blacksmith might consider a horseshoe. A writer sat at his writing desk, frustration evident in his body language as he carefully dipped his pen in the inkpot before turning that very inkpot over on the open pages of the book in which he had been writing, causing the book to become a multitude of butterflies which scattered on the wind. On and on the scenes came, until I looked up and saw there were so many clouds that I couldn’t even see the purple sky any longer.
The rain was coming down in an absolute torrent, and I watched as the flowers seemed to wilt under the force of the water. I bent down to touch a gigantic, two-foot wide daisy next to where I was standing and it unexpectedly came apart at my touch. My hand recoiled instinctively at the odd texture of the rapidly disintegrating flower, and I looked at my fingertips to try to understand why the flower had been destroyed.
My fingers were smudged with what looked to be white paint. I smeared the paint around and saw a small piece of something thin and soggy underneath the paint.
I couldn’t tell for certain, but it looked like some sort of paper. I looked up at the field and saw the paint beginning to drip off the rest of the flowers, creating an ugly, horrid scene as the colors blended into a giant, monochromatic mess on the ground beneath the stems of flowers—flowers which had been revealed as nothing more than cleverly folded paper.
Something was very famil
iar about all of this, and for the first time since entering anyone’s dream world I wondered if what I was feeling was just a reflection of the dreamer’s own memories or experience.
That was when I knew I had to finish the job. I could feel that my energy reserves were nearly depleted, which meant I had spent far more time inside my enemy’s dream world than I thought I had.
I closed my eyes and relaxed my mind, keeping a tight grip on my weapon. I needed to pinpoint his location—and quickly.
At first there was nothing, but then I saw a beacon of light in my mind’s eye. I turned toward it and saw that it was the same deep, rich, blue color as the light that had poured out of the Iron Butcher’s mount just before it had died. It was all I had to go on, but I felt certain for some reason that I had found my quarry.
I carefully disconnected myself from the part of the dreamscape where I had been anchored and allowed myself to fall toward the blue light. The light grew brighter and brighter in my mind until I had to open my eyes to keep from being blinded.
And there he was. No more than ten feet from me was my quarry, complete with his perfectly shaped, smooth head devoid of any hair. He was seated on a stone block of some kind, and his naked back was covered in tattoos which pulsed and throbbed with that same deep, rich, blue light. The detail of his body was surprising to me, since one rarely ever envisions themselves so completely in their own mind, but I kept my focus on the task at hand.
I had appeared behind him, which was just fine with me. I regretted that there was no other way to end this but this man and his allies had purposefully laid siege to Coldetz, killing thousands in the process. How many more would die if they were allowed to continue such attacks unchecked?
I pulled the hammers back on the shotgun’s twin barrels and I was rewarded with a pair of clicks in rapid succession, confirming that my weapon was now armed.
I closed my eyes, summoning the energy needed to fire the weapon. My finger began to squeeze the twin triggers, and I prepared to end the spell anchoring me here as soon as I fired the weapon.
Then I hesitated. Something really did seem wrong here. I knew I had heard of paper flowers and purple skies somewhere before, but my mind was still clouded from the dream fog—and I was running out of time! What if my hesitation was merely an attempt by my opponent to delay me until I had exhausted my energy reserves? I knew I had to act decisively, or my one chance would be lost—along with my life, and the lives of everyone else who had depended on me. I gripped my shotgun tightly in my hands as I prepared to put an end to this conflict once and for all.
Then, unbidden by my conscious mind, a single image of a woman’s face appeared in my head and I felt my body go numb from the neck down. My mouth opened in shock as I considered what I had just seen flash through my mind. It was impossible. It was almost certainly a trick of some kind, and yet I carefully removed my finger from the triggers of the gun and lowered it until it pointed to the ground.
It was simply not possible…but I had no other explanation. I had only ever seen that woman’s face in one place, and seeing it in my mind’s eye had brought the entire scene of the dreamscape into perfect clarity—regardless of how unlikely it might have been.
Part of my mind was screaming at me that it was just the dream fog, and that I should fire the weapon to end this threat once and for all. But the part of my mind that I actually trusted told me there was no other explanation. I knew it was true, and yet I couldn’t believe it.
Then I felt numb all over, but it was a different sensation than anything I could remember feeling. It was like I had been disconnected from my own body, but I didn’t collapse to the ground or change my posture at all. It was a frightening feeling, and I immediately fought to break through the icy numbness permeating every inch of my being.
I tried to speak, but no words came out. I tried to scream, but nothing happened. Instead, I watched with horror as my finger slowly returned to the trigger of the shotgun, and the barrel slowly began to rise toward the man. I no longer had control of my projected body in this place; someone else was directing its movements!
I tried to scream, to warn the man whose back was to me, but nothing happened!
I fought to regain control of my arms, but they wouldn’t obey. Then I realized that if I cut the spell, I could send myself out of the dreamscape and back to my own body.
I closed my eyes and found the spell. I manipulated it with my mind in the same fashion I had done when exiting Mistress Tyreva’s mind, but nothing happened. It was stuck in its current configuration, and I was completely locked out.
I concentrated as hard as I could, summoning up every ounce of willpower and strength I had in an effort to break through the vice-like control my puppeteer was exerting over me. I repeated one word over and over at the top of my nonexistent lungs, hoping against hope that it would somehow find a way through to my voice.
And miraculously, it did. My lips began to work, slowly and silently at first, but after a few seconds they were rapidly repeating the same movements which were then joined by my voice which screamed one word:
“Duck!”
The man stood and whirled around in a blur of motion, an immediate look of recognition and shock coming over his face when he saw the shotgun. He lunged for it, but it was too late.
The weapon discharged point-blank into his lower half, and the infinite field of paper flowers instantly exploded into a raging, red-hot inferno…where I could hear nothing but the sound of my screaming.
Chapter XXXIII: Decisions and Consequences
I was lying on the ground in the same spot where I had cast the spell. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t move. I waited a few seconds, assuming that my pathetic body would respond after a while but when I tried again…again nothing happened.
Then I noticed my hand (which was the only part of my body I could see from my current position) was surrounded by the same strange, grey aura that had wreathed the Iron Butcher.
I wanted to scream in frustration when I realized I had handed Pryzius the perfect opportunity to spring his trap. He had successfully deceived me into thinking that maintaining the spell required all of his focus and energy, and now it appeared that I would suffer the consequences of my overconfidence.
But that wasn’t the only development to greet my eyes. I saw Pi’Vari kneel beside me, and he began to untie the Spell Key from my hand! Then I heard footfalls coming from the direction where Pryzius had been.
“Well done, Pi’Vari,” I heard Pryzius say as his footsteps came closer. “You have taken your first step into House Tyrdren,” he congratulated, his voice full of self-important satisfaction. “I believe you will find yourself more richly rewarded in our employ, which is no less than a man of your obvious talents deserves. Assess Gaeld next, for I fear he may not be long for this world after such a struggle…and I would hate to have to explain his loss to my father. Gaeld’s relationship with my father has existed for longer than my own.”
I caught Pi’Vari’s eye as he finished undoing the leather straps which fixed the Spell Key to my hand, but it was just a momentary glimpse.
“I live to serve, Master,” replied my herald in that same smooth, silky voice I had heard him use on dozens of occasions in my behalf. He stood and handed the Spell Key to Pryzius, who turned the circular object over in his hands a few times before being overtaken by a fit of maniacal laughter. Pi’Vari then made his way down the stairs and out onto the main deck of the airship.
“You truly have no idea what this is, do you?” Pryzius asked in mock bewilderment after regaining control of himself. “And to think that both you and your pathetic excuse of a Master could have been part of what is to come,” he sneered, placing the device carefully in his pocket which he secured with a drawstring.
“I told my father it was a fool’s plan, including your ‘House’ in the grand design,” he continued, like a villain in the final scene of a movie who was drunk with victory, “but he believed your Master would
realize his error and attempt to make amends.” Pryzius shook his head. “The past has a way of clouding one’s judgment in such matters, would you agree?”
Pryzius knelt beside me, a mock expression of surprise on his face. “Oh, I apologize,” he lied, “I forgot you were unable to speak!” He held the odd staff in front of my face so I could focus on it, and I was momentarily confused.
It looked almost exactly like Master Antolin’s staff, except that it was grey and more metallic than Antolin’s white, stone version. Another difference were the veins adoring the staff’s surface: where the lines of marbling on Antolin’s staff had alternating, natural-looking patterns of red and blue, this one had rigid lines that looked exactly—and I mean exactly—like digital circuitry patterns, and they were the same dark, odd color somewhere between grey and black as the field imprisoning me.
“Do you like it?” he taunted. “It took House Tyrdren’s artificers twenty years to complete. And even though my father’s memory is legendarily eidetic—even among the ranks of Veldyrian’s High Wizards—he was unable to perfectly duplicate some of the finer details.”
Pryzius stood slowly, and I felt my body being lifted up as though I were a puppet hanging on strings. He raised the staff slowly until I was floating nearly ten feet off the main deck, then with a snap my head jerked around to face him as he apparently had complete control of my body.
“He instructed me in the use of some of its more basic functions,” he continued after we were essentially face to face, as he was standing on the landing where I had made my Dream Casting while I hung helplessly in the air on the other side of the rail. “My father said that if something appeared which Gaeld was unable to dispatch, I should use the staff’s primary spell—a spell whose effects will only take hold on a creature from another realm of existence.”
Pryzius turned the staff over in his hands before spinning it like a baton twirler, causing my own body to do cartwheels in midair. I was unable to stop the inevitable bout of emesis caused by the ensuing vertigo, and the contents of my stomach splattered all across my clothing and the deck below.
Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) Page 39