Dreamer Page 21

  “Who’s there?” Kendi waved the torch forward, a definite tremble in his hand. Perhaps he should conjure up a weapon. Perhaps he should—

  Kendi inhaled sharply. The shadow was a black iron grating that stretched across the back of the cave.

  a scream and a cry and the knife flashed silver then red

  Kendi’s throat thickened and he backed away. It wasn’t real. This wasn’t part of his reality. The black iron did not, would not, exist.

  It remained stubbornly where it was. The falcon suddenly took off with a harsh clatter of wings that made Kendi jump. She fled out the cave’s mouth.

  a tiny cry quickly silenced

  Kendi flung the torch down and ran. Sand and soil rushed beneath the soles of his feet, but always he knew the black iron lay behind him.

  If it be in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere, Kendi thought, let me leave the Dream.

  And he was standing in his room aboard the Post Script, spear propped beneath one knee. Sweat drenched his body and salt stained his cheeks. Slowly, Kendi disengaged the spear, dried himself off, and got dressed. Already the image of the iron bars was fading from his mind, and he firmly decided to let it go.

  The cave vanished, taking Padric’s rock with it and leaving an empty plain. Padric Sufur uncoiled himself and flicked his tongue. His scaly body felt limp with relief. That had been close. Kendi was sensitive, powerful, and it had obviously been foolish to try to hide in his Dream. Padric didn’t understand the significance of the iron grating that had frightened Kendi off, but he wasn’t going to question a gift. If Kendi had explored the cave any further, Padric would certainly have been exposed.

  He coiled back up into a tight spiral and rested his head on his own back. So the orders of the Empress were still in full force, and Ara wanted them kept secret from Sejal. It was good strategy, if simplistic. Like Ara said, Sejal would almost certainly hate the Children of Irfan if he learned one of them had been ordered to kill him. Yes, he certainly would.

  Hissing happily to himself, Padric Sufur summoned up his concentration and vanished from the Dream.

  The ancient rhythm was slow and soothing. Kendi could have had the computer play a recorded loop, but it was more authentic to have the drum thud and vibrate in his hands. Sejal sat propped up on his bed, the position he had found most comfortable for meditation—and one that did not allow him to nod off. His legs stretched straight in front of him and his hands were folded in his lap. A gold ring with a ruby stone encircled one finger. The ring, which had once been Kendi’s, indicated that Sejal was now officially Kendi’s student. A strange sense of deja vu stole over Kendi as he beat the drum’s ancient rhythm. For a moment, he was a student again and Ara, his teacher, was beating the drum.

  Kendi glanced at the readout monitor on the floor, which interpreted data from the band around Sejal’s right wrist. According to the brainwave patterns, Sejal was deep in a trance. The young man was a quick study.

  Sejal, of course, had been overjoyed five days ago to hear that the Council had approved and acknowledged Kendi as his teacher. Kendi, still a bit shaken from the Dream, had put a wan smile on his face and forced himself to concentrate on his student.

  The student Ara might have to kill.

  Abruptly Kendi shifted the drum rhythm to a jarring 7/4 rhythm. Sejal’s brain patterns didn’t change. Kendi halted the drum altogether. Still no change. Kendi put two fingers into his mouth and whistled so shrilly his own ears rang. No change.

  Kendi nodded, impressed. Five days of steady practice had done their job. Sejal could trance so deeply that nothing short of pain or a double snap of Kendi’s fingers—a prearranged post-hypnotic signal—could disturb him. Sejal had definite talent. It had taken Kendi over two months of practice before he was able to achieve that level of trancing. Within a couple of months, Sejal might be ready to enter—

  The monitor beeped for Kendi’s attention. He glanced at it, and his eyes widened. His heart jumped. According to the brain monitor, Sejal had entered REM sleep, but his physiological signs indicated he was awake.

  Sejal had entered the Dream.

  Kendi bolted to his feet and fled the room. His shoes made slapping sounds on the floor and he sprinted for his own quarters.

  “Peggy-Sue!” he shouted as he ran. “Open intercom to Mother Ara, Sister Gretchen, and Sister Trish. We have an emergency here!” He skidded around a corner, stabbed the entry plate by his door with one thumb, and shoved the doors open when they didn’t slide fast enough. “Sejal’s entered the Dream.”

  “What?” Trish asked.

  “How the hell did he do that?” Gretchen said.

  “You didn’t give him any drugs, did you?” Ara demanded.

  Kendi yanked open the medicine chest in his quarters and snatched up a dermospray. “I’m not stupid, Ara. He got in there by himself. Meet me on my t—”

  The room spun and Kendi staggered. The dermospray clattered to the floor as he flung out a hand to steady himself on the sink. It felt as if he had been shoved from behind.

  !KeNdi!

  “Sejal?” he gasped. The voice had come from all around him.

  “Meet you on your turf?” Trish asked, finishing his earlier sentence. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  !!keNDI!!

  There was a sharp jerk, and Kendi found himself on an empty street. Nausea washed over him and he dropped retching to his knees. His hands wavered, and for a moment he saw the paving stones through them. The sensation was exactly what he felt whenever he moved instantly through the Dream. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He was here, everything else was there. He was in this spot at this time.

  The nausea abated. Kendi got slowly to his feet and glanced around. Where the hell was he? Colorful stalls lined the pavement, but not a single person was in sight. It was the market on Rust. The place was completely, eerily quiet except for barely-audible whispering. In the distance above and beyond the buildings was an area of blackness that looked like it had been cracked with a hammer. Red light glowed through the cracks.

  This was the Dream.

  “All life.” Cold stole over Kendi. He hadn’t visited the Dream since the…incident in the cave. It wasn’t that he’d been afraid. What was to fear? He’d just been too busy with Sejal.

  So why was he cold?

  !!kendI!!

  The world twisted and suddenly Kendi was in the apartment Sejal had shared with his mother. Dry heaves forced him to hands and knees, and it was several moments before he regained his equillibrium. Outside the windows, the sky was dark and streets were empty. Kendi staggered to his feet. It had to be Sejal. There was no other explanation. Except no Silent could snatch someone else into the Dream. It was impossible.

  Impossible, he thought in wonder, doesn’t seem to apply to Sejal.

  Like the street, the tiny apartment seemed to be completely empty. The air was humid and stuffy and the place smelled of curry. Kendi glanced around uncertainly.

  “Sejal?” he called. “Are you here?”

  !!KeNDI heLp ME!!

  The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

  “Sejal,” Kendi said, forcing himself to keep a calm tone of voice, “listen carefully. I need you to relax. Relax and breathe.”

  No answer. Kendi was pretty sure what the problem was. Sejal’s mind had not yet learned how to form a body for him in the Dream, and he was wandering discorporate. If he stayed in that state long enough, the Dream would stretch and thin his mind like the wind dispersing a thread of smoke.

  “Imagine yourself, your body,” Kendi said carefully. “Think about your feet and legs, how they connect and how they move. Think about your stomach and chest, how they feel and how they breathe. Think about your arms and shoulders, where they are and what they do. Think about your neck and head, how they look and what they see. Your body is here, everything else is there. You are this, the world is that.”

  Kendi realized he was pacing and made
himself stop.

  “I am going to count. When I say three, you will be standing next to me. One…two…three.”

  With a soft pop, Sejal appeared in the room with his eyes tightly shut. He was wearing the tight, ragged clothes Kendi had first seen him in. The Dream rippled briefly around him, but he seemed to be fine. Kendi’s knees went weak with relief. Sejal’s blue eyes popped open. He stared at Kendi for a moment, then burst out crying.

  “God!” he sobbed. “God, I was…I was everywhere.”

  Kendi, ready for the reaction, put an arm around Sejal’s shoulder and guided him to sit on the couch. “Don’t worry now,” he soothed. “You’re safe.”

  After a time, Sejal calmed down. “I’m all right,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Kendi told him. “That’s what I’m here for. I freaked out on Ara’s shoulder plenty of times.”

  Sejal looked around. “Where are we? How did we get back ho—back to Rust?”

  “We’re here because you created this place,” Kendi told him. “This is the Dream.”

  “The Dream?” Sejal echoed. “How?”

  “I was going to ask you,” Kendi said. Now that the initial crisis was over, Kendi had time to think about other matters, and his earlier tension remained. Sejal had yanked Kendi into the Dream and Kendi wondered if that meant he would be unable to leave it again.

  “What’s the last thing you remember before everything got strange?” he asked, keeping his voice calm.

  Sejal shifted and the couch cushions creaked. “I was in a trance. You were beating the drum.” He paused. “Then I heard something. It sounded like someone was calling me. You changed the drum rhythm, and I heard it again. I sort of…reached for it, and suddenly everything went crazy. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like everyplace I’d ever been was rushing around me and voices were pulling at me and the wind was ripping me apart.”

  “Then what?”

  Sejal furrowed his brow. “I needed help, and I called for you. I could kind of feel you. I knew where you where, and I called to you.”

  “I heard you,” Kendi said. “We call that knocking.”

  “Then I got really scared and I wanted you there. Like I said, I could feel you, so I reached for you and…and I pulled. Then I heard your voice telling me what to do. I did it, and next thing I know I’m standing in the living room. Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

  Kendi shook his head. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

  Kendi?

  It was Ara’s voice.

  “We’re here,” he called. “Can you find us?”

  The Dream rippled, and Ara popped into existence. Sejal drew back from her slightly.

  “What happened?” she demanded. “Is everyone all right?”

  “We’re fine,” Kendi said, and explained what had happened. Just as he was reaching the end of it, Trish and Gretchen appeared, meaning he had to repeat everything. Then Sejal told his version. Kendi noticed that even in the Dream Trish had dark circles around her eyes. She obviously hadn’t been sleeping well since Pitr’s death.

  “How,” Gretchen asked, “did Sejal pull you into the Dream, Kendi?”

  Kendi shook his head. “I don’t know. It might be an off-shoot of his ability to possess people. I mean, we send our minds out of the Dream to take another Silent. In a way, he’s doing something similar.”

  Sejal said nothing.

  “We shouldn’t talk about this here,” Ara said decisively. “The instability has grown, and it’s too dangerous to stay.”

  Gretchen turned to Sejal. “Are you creating it?”

  “Creating what?” he asked, bewildered.

  “The black cloud,” Trish said. Her voice was quiet. “Didn’t you see it?”

  Sejal nodded. “Yeah, but I thought it was just…part of the landscape or something. I don’t think I created it. I don’t even know how I created all this.” He gestured at the apartment.

  “Reflex,” Kendi explained. “When most Silent first visit the Dream, they create familiar, safe places. Eventually you’ll be able to make whatever environment you want, but for now—”

  “Let’s discuss it later,” Ara interrupted. “Kendi, can you get back out of the Dream?”

  “I don’t know,” Kendi admitted nervously.

  “Try,” Ara urged. “We’ll guide Sejal out.”

  Kendi closed his eyes and gathered his concentration despite a pounding heart. If it is in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere, he thought, let me leave the Dream.

  A falling sensation. Kendi flailed about, but he felt nothing, saw nothing. A scream tried to tear itself from his throat, but he didn’t have a throat.

  Abruptly he was looking at a misty gray thing. Kendi didn’t move. After a moment, the gray thing resolved itself into the ceiling in his quarters. He was lying on his bed. The position was a bit disconcerting—usually he came out of the Dream with his spear propped solidly under his knee. He felt disoriented and dizzy.

  A head moved into his field of vision. Worried blue eyes looked down at him from beneath tousled red hair.

  “Ben?” Kendi asked, and noticed his mouth was dry as Outback sand. Disorientation made his mind wander like the needle on a dropped compass. He needed something solid to hold onto, something to bring him back to earth. Without thinking he reached up a hand and touched Ben’s cheek. It was warm and slightly raspy. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to do that, though he couldn’t remember why. He pulled his hand back, feeling foolish.

  “Are you all right?” Ben asked, ignoring Kendi’s gesture.

  “Thirsty,” he croaked.

  Ben left and returned with a glass of water. He helped Kendi to a sitting position. Kendi felt the quiet strength in Ben’s arm and, sighing, let himself lean against the other man. The room settled a bit. Ben was solid, reassuring, unlike the changeable Dream. Oddly, Ben didn’t pull away. Kendi’s unfocused mind tried to analyze the situation for a moment, then gave up and just drank in Ben’s presence. They sat there on the bed, Ben’s arm encircling Kendi’s back and chest. Kendi could feel Ben’s breathing. Thirst burned in Kendi’s throat and he knew he should check on Sejal, but he didn’t want to move and lose Ben’s embrace. Eventually thirst drove him to reach for the water, but his hands were clumsy. Ben held the glass and helped him drink. Kendi concentrated on the physical sensation of the cool water slipping down his throat, and his focus slowly returned. Briefly he considered playing up the muzziness to keep Ben’s arm around him, then discarded the idea. He didn’t like lying to Ben, even in that small way.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’m okay now.”

  As Kendi expected, Ben moved away, though he didn’t get off the bed. He turned sideways to face Kendi. Kendi could still feel the warm stripe of Ben’s body heat on his back and side.

  “What happened to you?” Ben asked, his voice carefully neutral. For a third time, Kendi explained. As he spoke, it dawned on him that this was an historical event. No one had ever been pulled into the Dream like this. It would probably be best to write a report or something so other people could read it or he’d end up repeating it even on his deathbed. The Grandparent Adepts back on Bellerophon would certainly want the details, and Kendi should record them before they faded even from Kendi’s trained memory.

  “Kendi, do you hear me?” came Harenn’s voice from the intercom as he finished.

  “I’m here,” he said. “And even in one piece. Are you with Sejal?”

  “Yes. He woke up a few minutes ago, so I am assuming Mother Ara and the others showed him how to exit the Dream. Physically he seems to be fine.”

  “Thanks,” Kendi said, relieved. “I’ll come down and check on him as soon as I can. Peggy-Sue, close intercom.”

  Silence fell over the room.

  “Can you stand up?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t want to try yet,” Kendi said. “I don’t know why I’m so…off-balance. I shouldn’t be.”

&nb
sp; “Psychosomatics?” Ben hazarded. “You usually use drugs to reach the Dream, but this time you didn’t. Something’s different, so you figure you should be off-kilter and that means you are.”

  “Maybe.” Kendi inhaled deeply, exhaled hard, experimentally waved a hand in front of his face. Everything seemed to be working all right, but his knees felt a little weak. “Thanks for coming by. I really appreciate it.”

  Ben shrugged. Another moment of silence passed.

  “Ben—” Kendi began.

  “No, Kendi.”

  Kendi started to protest, then halted. He looked away, his jaw working in and out. His throat felt tight. He dropped his eyes and picked at the bedspread.

  “You promised we’d talk later,” Kendi said softly. “It’s later, Ben. I know you still…care. I can tell. So tell me why you made me leave.”

  Ben remained stonily mute, though he made no move to get up. Kendi didn’t look at Ben’s face, afraid Ben would bolt if he did, though he could see Ben’s hands resting on his crossed legs.

  “Is it something to do with Ara?” he asked. “Something she said?”

  No answer.

  “Have you found someone else?” This question was hard to ask, and Kendi kept his eyes down.

  Still no answer. Small relief.

  “Is it because I’m a Child of Irfan?”

  One hand made a shrugging motion.

  “You don’t like that I’m a Child?”

  Smaller shrugging motion.

  A knot grew in Kendi’s stomach, but he said the words. “Ben, if you asked me to, I’d leave the—”

  “No you wouldn’t,” Ben interrupted, and this time Kendi did look up. Ben’s blue eyes were flat, and a thread of anger touched Kendi.

  “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.

  Ben exhaled sharply. “Look Kendi, do you know why I work for the Children? Even though I’m not Silent?”

  “Because your mother’s an Ad—” Kendi started, then stopped. “You’re going to say that’s not the reason why.”

  “You’re right.” Ben licked his lips. “Have you got any idea what it’s like growing up the only non-Silent member of a Silent family?”