by Steven Fox
Something long and dark squished beneath Jason’s sole. Jason lifted his feet and saw it was blood, now smeared across his shoes. It didn’t faze him. His eyes followed the black trail, which appeared as though something had dragged itself to toward the Track’s End. The blood grew thicker and darker than the pulsating mist-clouds around him. At the Track’s End, like a festering scab, lay a black and bloody mass. Jason’s heart picked up pace. Adrenaline electrified his veins and senses. He was hyperaware of the nightmares crowding the tracks, though he couldn’t see them—the clouds gave them perfect cover. They panted, thirsty for blood. Part of him welcomed them and was glad to have witnesses. Perhaps, if they were a good audience, he’d toss them the body.
Jason shook his head. He only came to absorb his mother’s power.
He drew closer and closer to his mother’s body. His feet splashed in the pool of tar-colored blood. The mangled mass shifted, and Jason steeled himself. He half-expected the creature to lunge at him, to bite his neck. The ruins of his mother lifted its head, and turned. Cuts and gashes were strewn across her face and neck. Her hair stood on end and was caked with black. But her eyes remained untouched, and they pierced Jason’s gaze. The boy almost stumbled back into the pool of his mother’s blood.
Jason, my son. You’ve come to me.
Even her voice sounded warped, as though it were being filtered through an air vent. Still, hearing it almost brought tears to Jason’s eyes. Almost.
“I came to take your power. And become the next Dream Caller.”
She shifted her body completely around, as if she were an owl, so that her body completely faced him. He saw the gigantic, diamond-shaped gash in her torso, exactly where the train had hit her.
That’s impossible. You can’t.
Jason’s fists clenched. “Why not? Already had another kid? Gave them the power, instead? You’ve forged so many of my memories. Why not sew more lies!”
I don’t understand. I’ve only protected you, my prince. Of course, you don’t remember. How could you?
“Bullshit! I’m not listening to this.” Jason strode forward, lifting his hands. He didn’t know how he’d absorb his mother’s power, but he figured it couldn’t be much different than absorbing his dreams. Though he had no clue how he did that, either. Before he could lay a hand on his mother, her arms were up. They were much longer than Jason remembered, and she easily grabbed onto him before he could even step within two feet of her. Jason writhed in her grip, grunting and shouting profanities.
Calm yourself, sweet baby. Just open your mind, and let me inside.
Jason didn’t know what she meant, but he couldn’t resist. The tracks flew away as Jason rocketed backward, a blur of colors rushing past him. When Jason halted, he was staring a masked man in the face.
“It’s a boy!” said the doctor.
The doctor cleaned Jason up and handed him off to Jason’s mother, whose face was red. Sweaty strands of hair stuck to her face. She smiled, wiggling a finger at him. “Jason. Jason Ole McKinney. My little prince.”
He blinked, and his mother stood over him. Gripping a knife in her hand, holding it high above her head. Then Jason’s mother and father were sitting on the couch in their living room in Sheriffsburg. She cried into her palms while Mr. McKinney rubbed her shoulders.
“You can beat it. You’ve grown up apart from it. Just don’t give in, okay? For him.” They both glanced toward Jason.
The lights of Jason’s home flickered away, and now Jason was running. He recognized the sidewalk leading to the alleyway. He couldn’t remember why or how he had snuck outside at night, but there he was, running down the street in cool, summery darkness. The moon’s light washed everything in a creamy glow. Just to the left, the alley’s mouth appeared and Jason turned in.
“Tanya, where are you going? Shouldn’t you be inside, with your son?”
The words were said by a tall, broad-faced man. He wore a cowboy hat and in one of his hands he held a wand decorated with colorful feathers. Just across from him, Jason’s mother unsheathed her wand and pointed it at the man.
“Someone must stop the Dream Caller. I nearly killed my son, and you’re hiding your daughter, just so she won’t have to take on the Dream Caller’s burden. For that I pity you. I’m sorry.”
The man waved his wand, but Jason’s mother was quicker: Light burst from the tip of her wand, stabbing through the man’s chest, knocking him back against the fence. The man slumped over, and his wand rolled away. With the last of his breath, the man looked up at Jason’s mother.
“I love my daughter. I’ve tried to protect her. To protect you, my friend. Yet you’d turn her over?”
“It’s for the best.” But Jason distinctly heard a smile—a smile with green flesh and white teeth—in the voice of his mother.
Jason screamed and his mother whirled around. A bright tunnel of light sliced through the air, encircling Jason’s mother, blinding her. She dropped her wand as the train whistle pierced their ears. The light swallowed both her and the other mage. Then Leech’s howl rent the air; Talshe’s trembling footsteps shook Jason to his bones; Bootelia and Amor giggled from the shadows. Jason loped away from the alley and toward a part of town both familiar and not: South Hollow Ave.
Except, instead of the many second-rate houses that crowded South Hollow, there stood a single mansion. The mansion Jason had—
The tracks came flying back, and Jason fell into the pool of blood. His mother leaned back, staring down at him.
That happened ten years ago. You summoned the train, Jason. Your father altered your memories because of the screaming. You screamed and cried for weeks on end. But it was too late. I was gone. Though not really. You see, I found a way to pass into Caindom. I found your father and the Guardian a little over a year ago. I reminded them what was to be done. So the Guardian put the seal on your dreams, to keep in that Thing. But, somehow, your dreams escaped.
Jason wobbled, gripping the side of his head. “It’s okay, though. I absorbed all my dreams. They’re inside me now. Including Thing.”
Her eyes widened. Something lurched inside him.
No. No, Jason! You must get away! Now! Run while you still have—
It clawed at Jason’s insides. His breath hitched and he gripped his torso. Flopping onto his knees, Jason gagged and heaved. His throat burned as something thick slipped out from between his lips. Everything around him blurred. With each heave, it felt as though his spinal cord might rip loose from his back. He barely heard his mother’s screams. How they got louder and louder, then were muffled. Finally, they faded all together and Jason stopped heaving. Blood thrummed in his ears. Around him, the nightmares hooped and yowled. They pounded against the ground. It was chaotic yet rhythmic. And their cacophony crescendoed to a peak.
Then silence. Except for Jason’s labored breaths.
“Ah, flesh and blood again.”
Jason reached his knees. Clutching his gut, he half-turned toward his mother. And froze. The black mound of battered flesh had transformed: Now it possessed curves—the definite hourglass shape of a voluptuous woman—its hair clean, like an emerald river to its waist. This creature stood tall, its slender hands skimming its creamy-white naked hips. The she-creature’s hands stopped at her crotch. She grinned.
“The pleasure of having a regular body. It’s beautiful, no?”
She looked up at Jason, and it took him a moment to realize that she was talking to him. His eyes locked onto her face. The face he saw first when he was born—his mother’s face—was completely gone. The face before him struck a chord in him, one with notes of fear, rage, and guilt. Her lips widened into a grin, and Jason instantly recognized the hungry smile on her face.
“No,” he said. His head pounded with pain. He wanted to say ‘forth,’ but he couldn’t. He was bound by his word.
“I have to thank you,” she said, eyeing her own body. “I was much too weak for travel. And I could never get Talshe to travel here. Despite my in
fluence.” She shook her head. “But you, McKinney. I knew I could get you here. It was only a matter of escaping your mind. And guess what? Thanks to that suicidal girl, I did.”
Jason stared at the woman, and she chuckled.
“Oh, sorry. I lied; Tara Engel did exist, and you did push her to suicide. How does that feel? Knowing you essentially killed someone? Let me tell you: It feels great. Especially when that someone had something that was rightfully yours.”
“You don’t mean…”
She nodded. “Your mother wasn’t dead before, but she certainly is now.”
“Who are you?” But as soon as the words left his lips, Jason realized.
A screech rent the air, and a riff opened a few yards behind Jason. He prayed a train was coming, coming to smash the woman into mush. Instead, four men in armor walked through the portal. The men were led by a scrawny man with a hooked nose. He lifted this nose to the sky, and snorted.
Sirin grinned. “Ah, found you, McKinney!”
Jason’s hope swelled. He didn’t know how the paladins had found him, but he didn’t care. What mattered was that they were here. They could put a stop to the woman standing behind him. He rose to his feet and pointed to the green-haired woman.
“Sirin, please! You have to do something! Do something about her!”
Sirin stared at the woman at the end of the tracks. And she stared back. There were five paladins and one woman. They could defeat her.
“Please, stop standing there! She’s dangerous! Do something!”
Sirin glanced at Jason, then nodded to his men. All the paladins stepped forward.
And kneeled to the woman.
Jason stared, slack-jawed. He, too, fell to his knees, and vomited.
The woman beamed at her loyal subjects, not bothering to cover her exposed body. She looked to Sirin, who raised his arms. In his hands were a cloak and a wand. The corners of her mouth twitched up into a wicked smile as she took the cloak from him. Slowly, she draped the white cloak over her body. Jason lifted his head, and the woman locked eyes with him. She took her wand in her left hand and raised it high above her head.
“I, Shemillah the Dream Caller, have been reborn!”
NINETEEN
The paladins handled him rather cordially, which made Jason hate them even more. Didn’t they realize what they were doing? Did they know who they swore their allegiance to? Apparently, they did, because they listened when Shemillah told them to stow Jason away in one of the cells. For later, she’d said. The holding block consisted of a long hallway with steel-barred cells on either side. The floor looked clean and each of the cells looked relatively well-kept. But, at least in this block, there were no other prisoners. They took him into the last cell on the right. They told him when mealtimes would be—that is, if he would be around long enough to eat. As the two paladins closed the cell, Jason looked up at them.
“What happens now? Do I get my memory erased, as planned?”
They glanced at each other, the paladins did. And they shared a smirk. “Don’t know. Looks like the Mistress wants you all for herself. You must’ve pissed her off royally.”
“Now, now,” said the other paladin. “Let’s not get carried away. After all, we don’t want to rough him up. The Mistress will do plenty of that, I’m sure.”
Their laughter echoed down the cell block. Even after they moved away, their laughs boomed and bounced against Jason’s eardrums. His stomach felt as though it might fall out of his body, so he sat down on the bench in his cell. The thin mattress spread across the bench crinkled as he tried to get comfortable. No such luck. He closed his eyes, hoping to shut out everything. But all he did was shut out the gray of the cell. The mildewy scent of dirt and mop-water filled his nose. The paladins’ laughter faded. He sighed through his nose, and it sounded like a dragon breathing fire. If only he could be a dragon. At least he could melt the steel bars with his breath.
“How long are you going to ignore me, Jason?”
His eyes fluttered open, darting around his cell. Where had the voice come from? The sink and toilet in the corner? Or the barred window between the bench and the opposite wall—too high to reach? Perhaps, he was only lowering into insanity. That would explain it. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the cells.
Except he hadn’t checked the cell right across from his.
“Over here, dumbass.”
Jason jerked his head toward the other cell. There, leaning her full weight against the bars, stood Lenmana. Len for short. Jason slipped from his bench, falling onto the floor. He scrambled toward the bars, white-knuckling them, shaking them as he stared doe-eyed at his friend.
“Len, is that you?”
“No. I’m a figment of your imagination. Which leads to my next question: Why the hell are fantasizing about me?”
Jason shook his head. “Don’cha know? You’re sexier than cream cheese.”
They laughed so hard, Jason pressed his face against the bars. When he pulled away, red stripes lined his face, and Len pointed. “Well, I don’t want your candy cane.” They tore through another fit of laughter. When they finally settled into silence, they both wore smiles. Len shook her head. “When I first met you, you couldn’t even smile.”
“Thanks to you. Without you, my memory would’ve been gone.”
Len shrugged, as if to say, “Whatever floats your boat.” And she lowered her head, sitting up. Jason’s eyes flicked to her lap, where her hands were holding something. It was the same thing Jason remembered seeing in Len’s room. He’d also seen it in the vision his mother forced upon him.
Len looked up from the wand with feathers. “Hey, don’t get any ideas. As a Dream Catcher, I can’t use this wand. It’s just special, y’know? They say it was the only thing left of my father. They never found a body.”
Jason could only stare.
“Len…”
“It’s okay. I know.” Len’s eyes garnered a wet sheen. Her cheeks twitched as she rubbed at her already bruised face. “Your father told me. After he found out who I was.”
“How did he find out?”
“He’d known. I guess our parents were really good friends. He told me this after Darlene and I were booted out of Visonia. Strange things were going down: Paladins doing mass searches throughout Sheriffsburg. The paladin captain was found murdered in his own home.”
Jason clasped a hand to his mouth, but the gasp escaped. Rashan, his godfather? Dead?
“I don’t think he was one of them,” continued Len. “And that’s the first sign. It didn’t seem like the paladins were taking their hunt for his murderer seriously. It just seemed like they were searching for something.” She looked up. “Then we saw them at your house, ransacking the place. They came out with a wand and white cloak. We went to tell your father. I brought my wand as a good luck charm, and when he saw it, he explained what had happened ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
Len crossed her arms, hugging the wand to her chest. “No matter who my father was, he was my father. I wish I could’ve known him at least a tiny bit.”
Len looked tiny and frail. And Jason wondered just how frail she was. Her face was starting to wrinkle—crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, stress marks on her forehead. Wasn’t she smooth-skinned the day before?
“But now I know the Guardian didn’t kill them” she said. “Though it doesn’t make a difference. I’ll never see Darlene…” She pursed her lips, cutting herself off.
A few moments later, Jason said, “Where’s Darlene?”
“Safe, I hope.”
***
Two hours later, the door at the end of the cell block grated open. Jason’s stomach clenched as Sirin sauntered toward the end of the block. Sirin himself was unimpressive. What caught Jason’s gaze was the red cloak fastened around the paladin’s neck—Rashan’s cloak. Jason jumped to his feet, gripping the cell bars tight.
“You killed him!” said Jason.
Across from his c
ell, Len also stood. Her eyes shot daggers at the man who had kicked her in the side like a dog.
“Come now,” said Sirin. “Don’t give me that look. Neither of you ever liked me much. Same with Rashan, I’m afraid. Of course, when someone with my peculiar talent appears out of the blue only a year ago and asks to become a paladin, I suppose any good leader might be wary. Foolish Rashan only started suspecting me after that little incident in the interrogation room.”
He wheeled on Jason, turning his nose up at him. “Now here you are. Largely useless except for bringing my mistress back to life.”
“Useless,” repeated Jason. Then, something in Jason’s mind clicked. “You. You were there, with the King of Dreams. In the basement.”
This cracked Sirin’s grin even wider. “Clever, but still useless. Just like that pathetic father of yours. He couldn’t even hide the Dream Caller’s wand and cloak in creative places. Kept them locked up in your house. In your mother’s old room.”
Jason knew where they were kept: The locked bedroom door, the door he now remembered his mother locking herself in after she had her episodes—like when she took a knife from the kitchen drawer and rushed Jason. But that night, ten years ago, she hadn’t gone to her room. She’d run from the house, to the alleyway. Jason only followed because he saw that his mother was sad.
“Yes,” continued Sirin, “you’d think an apprentice of the Guardian would be more resourceful. Oh well. No one will have to deal with his incompetence ever again.”
Len’s mouth dropped open. Jason punched the cell bars. Sirin only smiled at this. Enjoyed it. Jason hammered the bars again and again. The fourth strike split his knuckles, blood dribbling down his fingers, dripping onto the floor. He glared at Sirin, who showed not the slightest bit of fear.