“Is the King in today?”
The doors were massive, apparently carved of single slabs of rose crystal, every inch covered with carvings of heroes and monsters and more, cavorting across their polished faces. I could not identify the legends they illustrated, although I recognized several of the nightmarish creatures depicted there, fortunately not rendered in full detail.
At my query, the guards on either side, two rather statuesque women dressed in leather and bronze plates, just looked at me. As far as I could tell, the only thing that moved was their eyes, which flashed over me in a second and away again to return to scanning the plaza.
“Yeah, I know you’re on duty and all that, but could you tell the gatekeeper that Master Richard is here?”
One of the guards, the black-haired one on the right with the double-bladed axe standing at her side, casually reached out to a rose-crystal door with a mailed fist and thumped once. The peephole door popped open at once, and she announced in a soft but remarkably flat voice, “Master Richard.”
There was a flurry of bolts slamming and metal clanging behind the enormous double doors, the right half swinging open wide enough to allow me to enter.
A small Asian man stood there, beckoning me inside.
“Welcome, Master Richard,” he smiled, inclining his head slightly in respect. “Please, come in. The Palace of the Seventy Delights awaits!”
“Master Chuang! How good to see you again!” I said, stepping forward into the relative gloom of the hall. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and just as the massive door slammed shut behind him, the room began to emerge from the darkness into visibility. The enormous hall stretched off into the distance, surely farther than the relatively modest dimensions of the palace could allow, the intricate mosaics of the floor tantalizingly visible as they were revealed in bits and pieces in the cracks between the many carpets scattered about. Colorful tapestries hung from the walls, decorated with fanciful beasts and knights and more.
The marble columns flanking the central walk led the eye straight to the Opal Throne, illuminated by the shaft of brilliant sunlight from above. The King stood on the dais in front of it, obviously listening to the group of rough-clad men gathered at its base. Dressed in brown and green, they looked to be men of the forest. I saw arrows in their quivers but no bows. Or swords. Which made sense, as they were within striking distance of the King. Probably left them at the door somewhere.
I stopped, unwilling to intrude, and allowed Master Chuang to guide me over to a convenient pile of cushions. He sprawled out on the carpet—it looked like a Shindand, except that a few of the creatures depicted were obviously nothing I’d even seen or heard of before, elongated or not: eight legs, scales, and an elephant’s trunk!? Hardly.
Chuang plopped down next to me, reaching out for the decanter and shell-cups that had mysteriously appeared on the low table.
“We have a slight problem, Richard,” he said, neatly pouring the ruby-red wine into the Mother-of-Pearl cups with a clever twist. He handed me one. “Unfortunately, the King has not met you yet.”
“He hasn’t...? What? I mean, we took care of that island thing together years ago!”
To hide my confusion I took a big slug of wine. Bad move... it had the kick of vodka, even if it was as delicious as it looked. After my coughing subsided, I tried again.
“Is this another one of those reality-twisting things you keep tormenting me with?”
“Well, yes and no,” Chuang smiled.
“Dammit, Chuang!”
“Relax, Master Richard. I know it is a bit confusing, but the Dreamlands and your world are not synchronized very well, or even at all. You may recall that the two of you were involved in events taking place in 1925, and possibly some six hundred and forty light years away...” He took another sip. His wine seemed to be a pale green, even though I was sure I’d seen him pour both cups together.
“But you remember me...?”
“Of course! With gratitude, considering that you have saved our lives and probably the realms. But that was then, this is now.”
“If you remember that, why doesn’t he?”
“We move in different circles, I am afraid. These things happen,” he said. “But not to worry; he is used to this sort of difficulty and will take it in stride, I am sure.”
“I guess... Who are all those people he’s talking to?”
“Foresters from the Enchanted Wood, across the Celephaïs Strait. They say that all of the Zoog tribes are gathering. Apparently the Council of Sages has called Zoogmoot, and something is brewing that has them all very excited—and even more dangerous than usual.”
I glanced over toward King Kuranes. It looked like the audience was over: the King grasped the wrist of the group’s leader, a huge man with biceps the size of my thighs, as the other grasped the King’s wrist in turn. I’d never seen one before, but it was obviously an extra-strength handshake.
Chuang stood, and as he stood a cloud of tiny particles fell around him, glittering in the dimness.
“You’re pretty dusty for an old Chinese gentlemen, Chuang,” I admonished, pointing.
“Oh, drat. It is so hard to keep those scales off everything,” he tutted, swatting his robes as he walked toward the throne.
* * *
“Your Majesty? I would like to present Master Richard, a counselor and savior,” said Chuang, inclining his head and simultaneously waving an arm at me.
The King looked up. It was the same King Kuranes, but he looked at me blankly.
“Master Richard... I do not believe I’ve made your acquaintance, but Master Chuang tells me you are a savior of the realms.”
I bowed my head slightly, unsure of how to handle this.
“You brought me here years ago, and together we rode a byakhee to defeat Cthulhu... or at least give him good dreams.”
“I am afraid this is another kink, my King,” interjected Chuang. “It should work itself out in a bit. You two did indeed alter the positions of the stars and ensure that Cthulhu continues its slumbers, or very shortly will have.”
Kuranes, who had been leaning forward to see me better, visibly relaxed, sitting deeper in the throne and simultaneously letting his shoulders sag ever so slightly.
“I see,” the King said quietly. “Most confusing, like so much else that has been happening of late... And why have you come, Master Richard?”
“No reason at all, King. I had put the grandchildren to bed and was sitting on the porch....”
“Grandchildren!? But you are a university student, are you not?”
He jumped off his throne, and stepped down off the dais to face me directly.
“Oh... of course. The rise of R’lyeh, and the death of Betelgeuse... Finally we are in time with each other. The Elder Gods and poor Betelgeuse exploding... I’m not sure that was the best thing to do, given that they are the ones who imprisoned Cthulhu in R’lyeh in the first place, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time, and goodness knows we had little time to consider our options....”
The King chewed on his knuckle as he considered the problem.
“Do the Elder Gods exist, King Kuranes?” I wondered aloud. “There’s so much discussion about what Derleth wrote, and whether it is part of the Mythos or not...”
“As well ask if Cthulhu exists!” laughed the King. “We know that it doesn’t, of course, except in our imaginations, but then again, we only exist as its merest dreams! It would not be unreasonable to assume Nodens and the rest exist as well, and if so they might be rather unhappy with our rash action.”
“In my realm, however, it has been almost a century since R’lyeh sank again, though... surely they would have acted by now if they were going to?”
“Very unreasonable assumption, Master Richard,” broke in Chuang. “After all, while you had become a grandfather since you and the King sank R’lyeh, the King had not yet met you when you arrived.”
I sighed.
“I’m really not used to time being as fluid and impermanent as thought. Although I suppose its malleability is at the same time our greatest weapon.”
“Indeed,” agreed the King. “But I suspect your sudden visit is due to something other than happenstance, considering the coincidence of the affair of the Zoogs. The Council of Sages does not meet often, and I haven’t heard of them calling a moot for all the tribes since the dholes emerged unexpectedly on Mt. Lerion and threatened Kiran so long ago.”
I struggled to recall where Kiran might be... I knew the dholes were found in the depths of Pnath, half a world away from Celephaïs, but geography was never my strong point.
“Shingan Oshō of Ryūzō-ji Temple aided me in forcing them back to their pits, then. I must contact him and inquire about the Zoogs.”
“Ryūzō-ji Temple!? That’s it! That’s what I’ve searched for all these years!”
The King raised an eyebrow as he waited for me to continue.
“I first came to the Dreamlands after a dream involving you, and a temple. I couldn’t recall the exact name after I awoke, and thought it was ‘Rujoji.’ It must be the same!”
“It is a Buddhist temple founded here by the Japanese monk, Shingan. I believe that would have been in about the ninth century. As Buddhists they are a fairly quiet bunch, but I have heard tales of phenomenal martial prowess. And when it came to stopping a dhole in its tracks, Shingan impressed me greatly!”
“And you say you must contact this Shingan... he is still alive, from the ninth century!?”
“Surely the eddies of time don’t surprise you anymore, Master Richard... Remember our own convoluted history, and travels!”
I had to agree... Kuranes must have been born in 19th century, at the latest, and we had worked together in 1925, but also in the present day, and... ah, screw it. Yeah, I thought. Time eddies. Works for me.
* * *
“Britomartis!” called out the King, and a woman stepped forward out of the shadows behind the throne. My God she was beautiful! With the whitest skin and red-tinged cheeks, she looked the very model of an Elizabethan painter’s subject. Her clothing was quite a bit different, though: a rough tunic, mostly hidden behind a leather vest sewn with bronze plates of armor; a leather skirt, of sorts, comprising flaps of leather that twisted and flared to match her every move; a dagger or two joining various pouches and other things on leather straps crossing her chest. She wore two curved scimitars on her back, their hilts protruding up behind her shoulders on either side. I noted that both hilts were well-worn.
“The galleon is waiting, My Lord,” she said, tilting her head slightly in deference to the King. “The ship-master advises that night-gaunts have been seen en masse over the Celephaïs Strait recently—highly unusual to see night-gaunts at all and survive, let alone over the Sea—and it would be best to avoid flight entirely, instead crossing by sea to Hlanith, thence up the Oukranos past Thran and Kiran, until the river is too shallow to allow further travel by ship. It should only be a two-day travel from there, Zoogs permitting.”
“So be it. Provisions are loaded?”
“Yes, my Lord, as you commanded last week, all preparations are complete. The foresters are on their way to the ship now, and are ready to depart at any time.”
She inclined her head once more, and took a step back, removing herself from the immediate presence of the King.
“Last week, King? You said you had never met me, but you began preparations last week?”
“Apparently so!” he laughed. “There are times when living in the Dreamlands can be most convenient!”
He slapped me on the back, and strode toward the entrance, which was conveniently opening as he approached. He paused, looking back at me.
“Well, are you coming or not?”
* * *
The three of us walked down the streets cobbled in jade and chalcedony: the King first, of course, with Chuang and myself just a pace behind. His bodyguards—eight in all, I believe—kept their distance, but were usually visible before, behind and to the sides as we descended the slope toward the harbor.
We crossed the great stone bridge at the mouth of the river Naraxa, and through the enormous bronze gates, and the cobblestones of the city proper gave way to the onyx pavements of the harbor, its markets bustling with the wares and shouts of merchants from a thousand lands.
As always, the spice-fragrant harbor was thronged with ships: a flying galley from the marble cloud-city of Serannian in the sky; one of the ill-favored black triremes that bring their peculiar rubies to the gem merchants of far Dylath-Leen; a few of the long, thin ships of Inganok who brought their loads of onyx and stranger stones; a tall-masted clipper of Ilek-Vad, bold in its brilliant silver and green livery, with a winking mermaid, arms outstretched, revealing her charms on the prow; and of course a galleon from Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, its rose-wood hull resplendent in the sun.
Closer at hand, our own ship awaited us, her sleek lines telling of an eagerness to speed over the waves, restrained only by the hawsers yet tying it to the wharf paved with swirled turquoise studded with ammonites.
“A tall ship!” I drank in her lines… tall, long, a greyhound of the sea indeed. “I’ve never seen one with my own eyes before.”
“Normally I would fly, of course, but with the night-gaunts all stirred up of late, the clipper is surely the safer option, though it take nigh on two days to cross the Cerenerian Sea,” responded the King as he strode up the gangplank.
Britomartis welcomed him aboard—how had she gotten here before us, I wondered briefly, then put the thought out of my mind as another useless question. As well ask if I were awake or dreaming!
A great bustle of shouting and men running about, and already we were in motion, the sails booming and cracking as they billowed into life, catching the wind and pushing us powerfully offshore. Within minutes the ship was moving at a good clip, slicing through the waves toward the harbor mouth.
“What is she named, Chuang?”
“The ship? Tuscarora, of course,” he laughed. “And here is Captain Stormalong himself!”
A giant of a man—quite literally; he must have been close to seven feet tall—strode over to meet us, blue eyes blazing above a gray-bearded face.
“Master Richard! I’ve heard much about you from Master Chuang! Welcome aboard! And call me Bulltop, Bulltop of the Sea!”
The Captain spoke loudly enough to be heard back to the castle, each utterance a blast of vitality and confidence.
“Thank you, Captain. I do believe I’ve heard of your ship before... something about a kraken, wasn’t it?”
He bellowed in laughter.
“That kraken was almost the death of me! I chased him halfway ’round the world! Turns out he’s not dead after all, though... that maelstrom brought him here, and our fight continues now and again, though somewhat mellowed by age!”
“Are you, then, a Dreamer?”
“Goodness, no, man! I’m not that sort! Hurricane brought me here, and I’m here to stay! Enough room here for a man to breathe!”
He turned his face to the sky, arms outstretched wide, and laughed again under the watching eyes of the harbor’s bronzes.
“Now off with you! The King awaits in the stern cabin!”
* * *
The ship was enormous.
The many sails were furled, tied up neatly under the outstretched yardarms, letting the sharp lines of the hull stand out. Her bowsprit extended several meters ahead of the prow and seemed to quiver in the wind. Or perhaps the small figurehead I spotted at its base was merely shivering with eagerness to set sail?
The deck was bustling with crew, too, although it was curiously bare of cargo—the ship was transporting passengers this time, and in a hurry, and cargo would have to wait. I noticed all the crew were armed, although mostly with daggers: relatively short weapons that didn’t get in the way. Here and there I noticed pikes and longer swords mounted inside the bulwarks for quick use.
I was surprised at how huge it was when I boarded, seeing the vast expanse of deck and the three soaring masts, already swarming with sailors, but like the King’s castle, this ship seemed even vaster on the inside. The corridor to the stern cabin was wide enough for six men to walk abreast—surely far too wide even for a ship of the size this one seemed—and it had doors opening into rooms on both sides!
The hallway was carpeted with something soft and reddish; perhaps a carpet of some sort? I stooped for a closer look... no, it looked more like moss, upon closer inspection. Bizarre...
Pictures decorated the walls, and the deck prisms mounted in the ceiling every so often provided ample illumination to enjoy them. Most were scenery, I saw, with scattered portraits. They was no rhyme or reason that I could see, but they were all done in a most precise hand.
One in particular caught my eye, and I approached for a closer look—why, yes! It was indeed a painting of the house I was born in, in upstate New York!
The porch with the ripped screen, the gabled roof next to the attic window I used to keep lookout at for pirates and dragons, the nearby stream with its glorious willow tree dangling its fingertips in the cool water so full of fish and frogs... How!? Why!?
“It is not really a painting.”
Master Chuang patted me on the shoulder, peering at it.
“A special place for you? The frame is empty, and merely shows random memories from passers-by. Apparently this frame was especially sensitive to this memory of yours.”
“Yes, it’s where I was born... the house must be gone by now, that was over half a century ago!” I replied, bemused. “Oh! It’s moving!”
The porch door opened, and my mother stepped out. She was as beautiful as I remembered her, face still youthful and unravaged by the cancer that killed her years later. I hadn’t thought of her for so many years, and to see her now, after so many years... I sobbed.
“It always hurts to remember the good things, Master Richard,” came the King’s voice. “The pain of deep love, and deep loss, and memories you hold dear.”
They all stood for a moment, and when I looked up, the King and Master Chuang were smiling, waiting. I grinned in embarrassment.
“Come,” said the King. “There are things we need to discuss.”
* * *
The stern cabin was most certainly not. It was rather, pleasant, in fact, with thick carpets on the floor and tapestries hanging. The windows making up one wall of the room were open, looking back on the streets of Celephaïs as it receded behind us, Mt. Aran thrusting up into the clouds behind it. An inquisitive serpent seemed to be following us, fascinated by the ship’s wake.
A wood table stood to the side, surrounded by benches, and King Kuranes promptly plopped down on one. I noticed Britomartis standing off to the side, silent and still as before.
“Sit!”
He took three cups and began pouring wine into each from the flagon. It was a silvery metal, delicately chased, and inset with gems. The cup he handed me was full of red wine, as always, while Chuang’s was a bright green, and the King’s his usual amber.
“Master Chuang, may I ask what you drink?” I asked.
“Why, green tea, of course. Clearly the superior beverage for superior men,” he smiled. “The King, as you have noticed, seems to prefer whisky of all things, although I cannot fathom why.”
The King poured a fourth cup, a second full of red wine, and held it up.
“Britomartis? Will you join us, milady?”
I heard a muffled giggle from behind the King.
“Surely not ‘milady,’ sire,” she said, stepping forward. “Thank you; I do so love all this man-talk!”
She turned to me, giving me a nod, and announced herself as Britomartis of Celephaïs, before sitting on the fourth side of the table, opposite the King.
The King smiled, and lifted his cup.
“To the Dreamlands,” he toasted.
“The Dreamlands!” we echoed, and drank.
* * *
The King spread a vellum map across the tabletop. Hand-drawn (of course!) by artists, it depicted the Dreamlands I knew and more, with the Celephaïs Strait smack in the center.
“The Captain says it will take about two days to cross the Sea, Ech-Pi-El willing,” explained the King, “which gives us ample time to discuss the situation.” He pointed to the map.
“We plan to sail to Hlanith, almost directly across the Sea from Celephaïs, thence up the Okranos to Thran. We’ll have to continue on land from there to reach Mt. Thurai, and Ryūzō-ji.”
“So after all these years, I will finally reach Ryūzō-ji Temple. I had come to believe it was merely a real dream, and did not exist at all,” I mused.
“There are dreams, and dreams,” smiled Chuang. “This one, however, is at least as real as you are. I have been there, and it is quite an enjoyable place... many buildings in the Japanese style, with a centuries-old main temple building, a well-provided library, and a truly glorious seven-story pagoda.”
His eyes narrowed as he recalled his memories.
“Not quite in the Chinese style, but excellent nonetheless. I have sent some monks there myself for polishing. And tempering... Shingan is not a gentle teacher. Godsworn Senryū is a much kinder master, but ‘the carrot and the stick’ applies in Buddhism as well.”
“I found Shingan to be a brilliant man of faith,” broke in the King. “And concentration, unlike you two.”
He tapped the Enchanted Wood on the map, just south of Mt. Thurai.
“Something is brewing here, and I don’t like it at all. The fact that Master Richard has suddenly returned to the Dreamlands merely strengthens my unease. And there are other things you must know.”
He paused, and turned to look behind himself.
“Britomartis? Would you...?”
She hadn’t said a word thus far, merely watching and sipping her wine. Still holding the cup in her right hand, she stood, drew a dagger with her left, and pointed to a city on the northern edge of the Sea.
“I was here, in Sarkomand, several months ago, on another errand. I had little choice but to pass through that accursed city, unfortunately, but the trail led through the outskirts and well away from the twin lions guarding that gate to the Great Abyss. Empty for a million years, the city should have been silent but for the whispering of solitary leaves blowing in the cold wind from the sea, but it was full of a chittering and a low murmur, the sound of distant, guttural chanting.
“While I could not tarry long, as my, um, duty called me onward, I left the trail to investigate this unexpected situation. I climbed the ruins of an ancient palace, still encrusted with gems and inlays of orichalc, from the top of which I could see the entrance to that famous stairway. The steps, and indeed the entire plaza stretching in front of them, was packed with dholes. In daylight!”
She took a hearty drink from her cup, lost in thought. Absent-mindedly, eyes still focused on her memories, she flipped the dagger in her left hand, casually catching it again without ever really noticing it. And again. And thrice.
“There were too many to count, I’m afraid.”
“Did they seem to be organized in any way? And was there any sort of leader or speaker visible?”
“They weren’t arrayed in any sort of pattern that I could see; no obvious indication of status or leaders, as one might expect. Rather they were scattered at random, but closely packed, all looking toward those steps and murmuring... something... They seemed to be waiting.”
She suddenly stood up straight, slamming the dagger home into its sheath, strapped along her left thigh, with a bang, and sat. Her cup didn’t spill a drop, I saw... a skill born of long practice, I thought.
“Thank you, Britomartis,” said the King, with a small tilt of the head toward her. “And where is Belphoebe? I thought she’d be with you…”
“She awaits us in Thran, sire, and will lead us to Mt. Thurai.”
He nodded. “Master Chuang?”
Chuang, still seated, took a leisurely sip of tea, and sighed. Eyes closed, holding his cup with both hands as if seeking warmth, he began to speak.
“I had need to visit Ilarnek, south of distant Mnar. I boarded a merchanter to Thraa, and traveled by horseback from there inland to Ilarnek. In spite of unseasonable rains and some trouble in the marshlands of Chaldaea, we reached our destination without serious problem.”
He took another sip.
“The city was in an uproar. It seems that some time ago the jade mines, the source of the fine cups and other works the city is so famed for, had become unapproachable. The mining camps in the region had all been destroyed in the space of a single night, and two expeditions had failed to find any survivors, or determine what had happened. A third expedition failed to return at all, and vanished as completely as the miners.
“I determined to make my own reconnaissance, by means you are familiar with, and was able to explore the area in depth. A Wurm has risen from the earth below, bringing with it a massive flood of molten rock. I do not know if it lingers in the area yet or not; surely it cannot abide the light of day and rose to the surface without realizing where it was, but nonetheless the jade mines are sorely damaged.”
He carefully placed the empty cup on the table, with the merest clink.
“Even if it has returned to the darkness below, it will take years of hard work to restore them, I fear. A younger Wurm is bad enough; if somehow the Great Wurm is able to travel to this realm from Master Richard’s, I cannot imagine the devastation it would cause...”
“There are tales that the Great Wurm itself once appeared in the Dreamlands, burrowing up from deep below, or from a different realm... I always thought them old wives’ tales!” The King’s brow furrowed as he looked at the map. “Sarkomand to the north, Ilarnek, and now something has the Zoogs stirred up. By Ech Pi El, something is happening to the Dreamlands, and I have not heard the faintest whisper of impending change, or doom!”
Britomartis lifted her eyes to meet mine.
“And you, Master Richard? What brought you here so unexpectedly?”
“I... I really don’t know... I thought I had come on a whim...”
Caught off-guard, I tried to think of why it had suddenly occurred to me to visit the Dreamlands after all this time. I couldn’t recall anything in particular...
“Strange indeed,” mused the King. “Master Richard’s sudden whim saved us all in 1925, and I suspect there is something deeper at work here. Let us dine, and talk of pleasant things. It may reveal itself to us.”
“My King? Have you not forgotten someone?” broke in Chuang, with a grin. “I believe you mentioned other things we must know…”
“I… Um, yes… you mean me, of course…”
He hesitated.... most unusual for Kuranes. He looked down at the map for a few moments, then up and looked around the table slowly, spearing each of us with his attention in turn.
“What I have to say is perhaps the most disturbing, and the most difficult to understand…” he began, choosing his words with obvious care. “For some weeks now I have seen the same dream, and it has been gradually becoming clearer and clearer. It’s impossible to tell if it is just a dream, of course or... something more.”
He took a deep breath.
“I am floating in The Churn, and am looking down upon the realms. I can clearly see the Dreamlands, Master Richard’s realm, all the others... and I can see them being pressed together, closer and closer to each other, spreading their areas of contact. There is something outside them, something even larger, pressing inward, but I cannot see it clearly.
“As we all know, soap bubbles can often combine into a single, larger bubble,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
There was a silent pause, broken finally by Chuang.
“True. And often they both pop into nothingness...”
“What is The Churn?” I asked.
“Chaos. Undefined quantum foam, the raw essence of existence that gives birth to atoms and galaxies,” explained Chuang. “We do not really know what it is, to be honest, but it underlies and probably constitutes everything.”
“No doubt she knows,” said the King, pointing upwards.
I had no idea who he was talking about.
“You think this is Azathoth?”
Chuang and the King shrugged simultaneously.
“Who knows?” Chuang laughed. “Your science claims that the Big Bang created everything, but The Churn underlies even that. Nuclear chaos? Or something even deeper, relegating atoms to a mere single method of expression.”
“Azathoth is as good a name as any,” added the King.
“...soap bubbles...” I murmured to myself. It reminded me of something, some faint memory hovering at the edge of my consciousness. What was it?
“Master Richard?”
At the King’s query I quickly returned to myself.
“I’m sorry, King Kuranes. Something you said about soap bubbles has tickled my memory but I cannot recall why. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I suspect, Master Richard,” he replied, “it is exactly what brought you back to us in the first place. But one cannot force memories to float to the surface; they come when they’re ready.”
“I recommend watching the sun set while sipping wine on deck and waiting for our meal to be prepared,” suggested Britomartis. “We have shared our concerns, but there is little else we can do for now.”
“Agreed!” decreed the King, and the meeting ended.
As we walked toward the stairs to the topdeck, I asked Chuang what the King had meant by “all the other” realms.
“I forget that you are a relative newcomer to the Dreamlands, Master Richard,” he smiled. “We are probably the crystallized dreams of long centuries, even millennia, of thinking beings. But not all people dream the same dreams, and surely there are other creatures that dream... there are many realms, and sometimes new realms come into existence, or several realms merge to create a single fusion, or realms just vanish as the dreams that make them possible fade.”
“So the King’s dream of a realm pressing against our own could be a vision of the future...”
“Yes. Or merely a dream.”
“Hmm... What sorts of other realms are there?”
“What would you say the most prevalent dreams in your realm are, Master Richard?”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Umm, hmm.... Disney? Star Wars?”
“Star Wars? What in the world...? No, never mind... I do not want to know. In any case, those are very recent, are they not? Yes, they may have attracted enormous followings and may well exist somewhere, but there are older, even more powerful dreams. Religions, Master Richard. All of them.”
“My God!” I sputtered, then burst out laughing. “And of course I react to it all with that phrase, of all things!”
“Yes, your God, exactly. And everybody else’s gods. I believe that they have all had Dreamlands, at one time or another. Many of them still do.”
“So you mean.... Christianity... Wow! Heaven and hell and everything?”
“And everything. Some of the older religions were truly hideous. Huitzilopochtli, for example... thank goodness that one has faded!”
I walked in silence, trying to wrap my head around all that. So Christ and Buddha and whatnot were all real. Or at least as real as Lovecraft’s creations. Which meant they were inventions... but here I was, walking in the Dreamlands invented by Lovecraft, and... I gave up.
* * *
The sun was approaching the horizon ahead of us, tingeing the dabs of cloud with orange. There was a good wind blowing, and the Tuscarora skimmed along, slicing neatly through the wavetops. I tried to see if the little sea serpent was still riding our wake, but couldn’t spot it.
We must be a long ways from Celephaïs by now.
I saw the King and Chuang discussing something, and noticed Britomartis standing off to the side, shielding her eyes and looking up.
I looked up myself, but could see nothing...
“To arms! Night-gaunts! To arms!”
The shout from the crow’s nest startled the crew into action: they leapt for their weapons, most of them reaching for swords. A few instead picked up one of the harpoons or axes the ship carried.
“Get the King inside!” roared Bulltop, rushing toward them holding a huge blubber hook that only a giant could swing. His was the only voice: the crew were silent, a few sailors quickly tearing off their boots to stand in bare feet. They readied their weapons, took advantageous positions, and waited for the winged attackers to approach. The night-gaunts were blind, and relied on their hearing most of all… our advantage lay in remaining silent, or hiding in cacophony.
One young lad undid the rope securing the noise-maker, a bizarre contraption driven by the passage of the ship through the waves. It was festooned with gongs and rattles, and began making horrendous noise. It we hadn’t already been silent it certainly would have made conversation impossible, and I’m sure it bothered the night-gaunts far more than it bothered me.
I glanced up just in time to see a night-gaunt grab the hapless sailor from the crow’s nest, snatched into the sky by a skeletally thin night-gaunt, its bat wings and thrashing barbed tail pitch-black against the darkening sky, dagger plunging into the hapless lad’s chest.
I was knocked off my feet suddenly by Britomartis, who leapt over me to skewer a black shape with one scimitar, maintaining precarious balance with the other sword stretched behind her. She stepped forward, planting her boot on the black whale-skin of the fallen night-gaunt, keeping it pinned with one scimitar while slashing down with the other to send its head flying.
The barbed tail gave one last lash and collapsed.
“Britomartis!”
She was already gone, leaping away toward the King without a backward glance, swords flashing and dancing in the dusk, a trail of dark blood and twitching bodies behind her.
The King had his own sword out, a long, straight sword of brilliant steel now stained by black ichor. Next to him stood Bulltop, his fearsome whale hook swinging through the air with enough ferocity to kill on impact, and send the shattered bodies of his victims back into the sky they came from. Chuang was standing in front of the doorway to the ship’s interior, swinging an iron-shod staff expertly. A growing pile of twitching bodies on either side proved his skill with the weapon.
And I was not only unarmed, but unskilled... and ignored.
A wail came from above, and the poor lookout came crashing to the deck. I glanced up to see a swarm of black bodies in the rigging and the crow’s nest, hacking and pulling... bits of sail and rigging came falling, then suddenly a terrible crack sounded, and the mast itself slowly split from top to bottom, half falling to the side and overboard, taking a swarm of the foul black beasts and two crewmen with it. As the tangled rigging crashed to the deck it entangled another crewman and a clutch of night-gaunts. The night-gaunts quickly began to free themselves with their daggers, but the crew leapt to finish them off before they had the chance.
I turned to see Britomartis lifted bodily from the deck by two of the monsters. She twisted and kicked, hacking the arm off of one night-gaunt only to have her weapon caught and yanked from her grasp by three more. They pulled her away over the dark wavetops, cursing and fighting.
Britomartis! Beautiful Britomartis! They were taking her!
I knew I only had seconds… but the fear of losing my Britomartis filled me with a terrible anger I knew I could use to solve this problem!
I collapsed to the deck and summoned my strength, birthing a new dream. I dreamt of my time in the Army, riding a chopper over the desert sands...If they were going to fly, I was going to fly better... and deadlier! I concentrated, willing my dream to immediate reality with the fear and anger that consumed me.
The sound of chopper blades came to me faintly, then more strongly. I opened my eyes and could see the familiar lines of an Apache zipping toward us from the darkness. I couldn’t see the crew, but I knew they’d be wearing that familiar uniform, and smiling as they pressed that switch.
“Richard, no! Stop!”
Chuang’s voice came from behind me, and I glanced back... the King was standing in the doorway, looking past Bulltop to view the fighting from safety. Most of the night-gaunts had pulled back, apparently satisfied with Britomartis and unsettled by the unexpected appearance of a giant machine.
Chuang’s staff swung through the air, and I just watched in disbelief as it smacked into my head.
Things got very quiet and blurry... I was lying down on something hard and wet... the deck! And through the taffrail I could see Britomartis hanging from her captors, still twisting in vain, trying to free herself. And I could see the Apache firing and twisting in the air, swarmed by a roiling black cloud of night-gaunts.
I could see Chuang’s sandals next to me. I tried to look upward, but couldn’t seem to move my head... he was chanting something in Chinese.
The sea under the chopper bulged. It gradually rose higher and higher, until it blew open and a monstrous mouth appeared, gaping wide enough to swallow half the horizon. That giant maw closed with a boom, and suddenly the sky was empty of helicopter and most of the night-gaunts... swallowed by that monstrous manta-shaped thing in the blink of an eye.
It slipped beneath the waves almost silently, and suddenly the tumult of battle stilled.
Britomartis was held by only a single night-gaunt, and while she had lost her scimitars she used her now-free hand to pull her dagger and put it savagely to work. The night-gaunt, its faceless visage twisted with pain, released her to fall to the sea, flying erratically away into the night.
“Man overboard! Furl the sails! Get the longboat in the water now!” came Bulltop’s roar, and the bloodied crew leapt to work. “And get these ugly carcasses off my ship!”
He crushed the head of another night-gaunt, silencing its struggles, and kicked the corpse off the deck himself.
Chuang knelt down beside me.
“Forgive me, Master Richard, there was no other choice.”
“You damn near killed me!”
“Yes. And you nearly killed us all,” he replied, calm as ever. “There are reasons we do not use modern technology here, and that noisy flying machine had to be destroyed immediately before something else happened.”
“Something else...?”
“Look up, Master Richard. Here, let me help you.”
He slipped one arm behind my back, helping me sit up. My head was still spinning, but I could still see that something was very wrong with the sky... there was no star, no moon, only one vast eye looking down. A perfectly human-looking eye, with brown iris and black pupil, looking down directly at... me?
“What in God’s name...?”
“No, not in god’s name, at least, not yet. With luck, not ever,” whispered Chuang, more in awe than fear. “We call her Reed when we speak of her, and that as little as possible.”
The eye gradually faded away, leaving the night sky and a scattering of clouds behind.
He waved to a passing sailor, and asked her to bring something to drink.
“What was that? And what happened to the helicopter?”
“A helicopter, you call it? It looked remarkably useless, and noisy, too. But no matter... it was swallowed by the god of the depths, Uruk-Uru. I suspect someone in your realm has had a most distressing dream this night.” He paused for a moment. “Still, it is quite a surprise to find night-gaunts flying over the ocean in this way. They usually avoid it entirely, and rarely attack travelers unless they stray too close to places they should not visit.”
“I’ve never heard of Uruk-Uru...” I moaned, clutching my head. “And you didn’t answer my first question.”
“Uruk-Uru is a rather new addition to our roster of gods and godlets, I believe, and a very convenient one,” replied Chuang. “Ah, and here is something to drink.”
He held a cup to my lips, and I sipped.
Brandy!
I felt better already.
Chuang stood, and turned.
“Accursed night-gaunts! I loved those scimitars, damn them!” Britomartis was in a fury. “It’ll take me ages to make a new set and get it properly balanced!”
The longboat was back, and Britomartis was safe!
I grasped the taffrail and stood on wobbly feet, one hand to my head to keep it from falling off. There was a good-sized bump there... hurt like the dickens, and it was wet...? I looked at my fingers. Blood!?
“Chuang! You hit me so hard I’m bleeding! I might have a concussion!”
“Better a concussion than being noticed by Reed, Master Richard,” he replied quietly. “My apologies, but there was no time to explain things.”
“You’re avoiding the issue, Chuang. Who or what is Reed?”
“Yes, I am avoiding the issue. This is not the time or place to go into it. I have to ask you to please trust us.”
“Us?”
“The King and I. She may be involved in all this, but we cannot discuss it here. That is one reason we travel to Ryūzō-ji Temple.”
“And you’ll tell me there?”
“Yes. It will be safe there.”
He took my arm and led me back toward the doorway.
The crew was clearing the deck now: littered with ugly black corpses, glistening with an oily sheen in the moonlight, half festooned with scraps of sailcloth. The deck was slick with black ichor in places, but buckets of clean seawater rinsed it clean. There were only a few injured sailors, and only one death, although Chuang mentioned another might not make it to dawn. The man from the crow’s-nest was nowhere to be found: lost at sea, or dead.
Britomartis was stomping across the deck, hefting black bodies over the rail with abandon and astonishing energy.
“The battle seems to have been very one-sided...” I looked at Chuang.
“They have to fly, after all... light bones, light bodies. They are pretty miserable at fighting armed human beings,” he explained. “Which makes it all the stranger...”
“Dear Iphis, at last I’ve found you!” shrieked Britomartis, pushing a body aside and grasping a half-hidden sword from underneath.
She swung the scimitar in an arc, delighted to have recovered an old friend she thought gone forever. She whacked through an outstretched bat-wing and kicked it overboard with glee.
“Poor Ianthe is lost forever in the sea, but at least I still have you! And you shall be a pair once again, my love!”
Chuang guided me through the doorway inside the cabin.
“I think our meal will be somewhat delayed tonight,” he said quietly. “The crew will be busy for some time cleaning up and repairing the ship. And you would be advised to lie down.”
He was certainly right about lying down. I took his advice and fell asleep immediately.
* * *
I awoke with a bang.
Literally.
Chuang had opened the shutters on the windows, and the crack of wooden slats slamming into the hull of the ship was enough to wake the dead. Or at least to wake me.
And my headache was gone! Not the bump, unfortunately, but at least my head didn’t threaten to split in half anymore.
“And good morning to you, Master Chuang.”
“Good morning, Master Richard! Time to rise! It is well past dawn and the King awaits!”
It seemed someone had undressed me, and dressed my head, while I slept. I felt almost human again, and although I sorely missed the luxury of a hot shower, I dressed and washed my face in the basin.
“Any chance of grabbing a bite to eat first? Dinner last night didn’t work out too well.”
“It will be a working breakfast, never fear.”
* * *
The room was a little more crowded this time. The four of us—me, the King, Chuang, and Britomartis—were there, along with the Captain, his first mate (a muscle-packed dynamo named Cher, of all things, and woe to the sailor who tried to sass her), and a few of the crewmembers serving bacon-and-eggs with coffee and apparently fresh-baked bread.
The aroma itself was good enough to eat, but fortunately after I sat down a plate appeared in front of me stacked with everything good. And a mug of steaming-hot coffee. I kept one ear open and dug in.
“But why over the sea, of all places, and why take Britomartis at all?” repeated Kuranes. He did not look happy. “How could they even find us?”
“I can’t fathom why the night-gaunts would be involved at all!” said Bulltop. “Blind as they are they’re pretty useless in a fight, and they didn’t even bother to wait until it was dark! Of course we cut them to ribbons!”
“Even blind, they could have heard the booming of our sails quite a distance downwind, and found us that way” mused Chuang, “but the sea is vast. They must have known where to look for us, and whoever asked them must have had a very convincing reason or they wouldn’t venture out over the sea at all.”
“They should know better than to bother me on my own ship!” bellowed Bulltop in a growl that rattled the plates. I guessed that was his usual voice after all. “Close to three dozen of the night-spawn left fouling my deck and for what? Britomartis is certainly a worthy warrior, but what makes her so important that it’s worth three dozen of them?”
“Are we certain that was their purpose?”
“You think differently, Master Chuang?” probed the King. “They attacked everyone on the deck, but only tried to take her.”
“I find it strange that they were able to identify and snatch her, my Lord. After all, they have no eyes in their blank visages, relying on touch and sound. And although she sprang to your defense, she spoke not a single word.” Chuang was leaning back, seemingly examining the grain of the ceiling as he spoke.
“That is true, sire,” she agreed. “When they attacked I was standing silent and still at the rail, and I don’t believe I spoke a single word until they picked me up.”
I swallowed the last chunk of bacon, and raised my hand.
“I spoke.”
All of a sudden everyone was looking at me.
“She saved my life with her first stroke, before she jumped to protect you, and I tried to thank her. I doubt she heard me, but surely the night-gaunts did.”
“So they may have been after you!” The King’s fist pounded the table, coffee sloshing and knives jumping all about. “I’ve been on the road quite a bit lately and not once have these creatures even approached me, but as soon as you arrive...”
“I can’t imagine why. I have no idea why I’m here in the first place, and considering how useless I was during the fight last night I can’t believe I’m much of a threat to anyone.”
“Yes, why weren’t you armed?” asked Bulltop, frowning. “Not even a dagger!?”
“I... I’m an old man, and wouldn’t know how to use a sword in the first place...” I stammered, only to be cut off by Chuang.
“Master Richard, I think you have forgotten where you are.” He waggled his fingers to call one of the crewmen in closer. “Bring a mirror, young man.”
My face in the mirror was not the wrinkled, white-stubbled, balding man I saw every morning... it was me, the me of half a century ago, when I first visited the Dreamlands... Hardly the physique of a warrior, but a healthy, slim, broad-shouldered young man you might expect to see at university, or—as was my pleasure at the time—swimming.
“...My goodness... I had no idea... That’s...”
“I think Master Richard needs a sword, my King,” spoke up Britomartis. “I will take it upon myself to arm and train him.”
“Not even a dagger!” The King laughed, and speared the last chunk of bacon from his plate with his own bejeweled dagger. “Incredible!”
He wiped the dagger off on his napkin (he was, after all, a proper Cornwall man) and returned it to its sheath. “Are we all finished?”
A chorus of ayes, with a grunt or two mixed in, answered him, and breakfast was cleared away, leaving the table bare. Bulltop promptly slammed a roll of parchment onto it with a bang, spreading it out to reveal a map of the Celephaïs Strait and surrounding regions. He pointed.
“We are roughly here, due north of Lhosk. We should reach Hlanith tomorrow morning, if all goes well. The question is, do we expect things to go well?”
Chuang pursed his lips, staring at the map as if he expected it to reply.
The King spoke first: “I cannot fathom why the night-gaunts should attack that way, and have to admit it may happen again today. Or tonight.”
“Your sea-monster is unavailable?” asked Britomartis.
“Uruk-Ulu? It is a god, and while I was able to bend things to my will once, I cannot be sure it will be possible a second time. Even in dreams it is oft difficult to do as one wills.”
He turned to Chuang.
“You’ve been very quiet, Master Chuang. What are your thoughts?”
“Unclear. I have to admit the thought of another attack by dozens of night-gaunts is an unpleasant thought, but if we land at Lhosk we will have to trek west along the coast, cross the Zuro River and through the Karthian Hills to reach Hlanith. From the Hills we could also strike due west to the Oukranos, and upstream to Mt. Thurai, but that would take us very close, or even through, the Enchanted Wood... and the Zoogs are already on edge about something.”
“The Zoogs and I were once on very good terms indeed,” said the King, “and as far as I know are yet. Still, the Council has called Zoogmoot for something. We really need to talk to Shingan, but if we can meet with the Council on the way...”
He tapped the map with his forefinger, thinking.
“Captain Stormalong? What are your thoughts?”
“I’ll never run from night-gaunts, and don’t fear their faceless gibbers! But they have splintered my foremast and torn my canvas to ribbons, and I’m running on half sail now. I would rather refit in Lhosk, whether you leave me there or not.”
“Anyone else?” The King looked around the room, each person shaking their head in turn. “So be it. Captain, to Lhosk!”
“Aye, sir!” The Captain stood and stomped out of the room, bellowing orders as he left.
“And you, Master Richard! You must accompany Britomartis and equip yourself!”
“With pleasure, King Kuranes,” I said, bowing, and followed her out of the room. I heard Chuang and the King talking quietly behind me but could not make out their words.
“Your scimitar is a work of art, Britomartis,” I said, falling into step next to her. “Where can I get one?”
She laughed: a beautiful paean that could have launched a thousand ships.
“Oh, Master Richard, you are so funny sometimes!” She covered her mouth with a hand as she giggled once again, dimples showing. “You don’t buy good swords, you have them made to fit you. And unless you are either very talented or very silly, you want a sword you can actually use, not one that looks pretty!”
“Oh... um, sorry...”
I wasn’t doing a very good job of impressing her. I fell silent, trying to think of something intelligent to say.
“I think you’d best start with a simple straight blade, light enough to wield easily,” she mused. “Maybe a broadsword, or a rapier... after you get familiar with using a sword and build up some strength maybe we can try to find something that suits you better... I learned on a Castillon myself, but for many years used mostly a lance from horseback... Here, I later adopted the longsword for the greater reach. And now I use this pair of... Oh, damn! And now lovely Ianthe is lost!”
“A lance...? That sounds like something out of King Arthur!” I laughed.
“My goodness, Master Richard, have you never read The Faerie Queene!? Outside the Queene Herself, King Arthur is one of the most important personages of all!”
“...The Faerie Queene? Edmund Spenser?” I struggled for a moment. “Of course! Britomartis! That’s why your name is so familiar! I had to wade through that book in high school! And Belphoebe, too!”
“Dear Belphoebe, my beloved wife. I cannot wait to see her once again...”
“Your... wife...? You’re married?”
“Oh, of course. Knights in those days were not quite as chivalrous as the literature suggests, Spenser not withstanding... The two of us were hardly the sort of demure princesses he imagined, and as it turned out we had quite a bit in common with each other. Such as defeating overly boastful men in combat!”
She laughed again, and slapped her thigh.
I slapped myself, mentally. Of course she was married! And of course to Belphoebe! And of course I had been an idiot for trying to pick her up! She must think me just another sexist man...
“My apologies, you’re not wearing a ring,” I mumbled, trying to avoid looking even more the fool.
“We certainly couldn’t have been married in a Christian ceremony, and we are hardly in a Christian land... And even ‘Leap rogue, and jump whore, And married be forevermore’ doesn’t quite apply. Fortunately, there are many alternatives here in the Dreamlands! Sappho says using rings to mark women as property is silly and insulting, and I must say I agree with her.”
“Sappho is here, too?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, she has been visiting more frequently of late. Things must be quite interesting back in your realm!”
“Gender is no longer as important as it once was, or even defined as stringently. And the concept of marriage is quite inclusive, in places.”
“How many centuries has it taken, I wonder!” She shook her head, and took a key from her vest. “Here we are.”
She unlocked the door, and pushed it open to reveal... an arena!?
“Wait a minute. Where’s the ship!?”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Of course we’re on the ship. This is just for practice!” She giggled again. “Stand up straight for a minute.”
She looked me up and down, like a butcher deciding where to cut. It suddenly dawned on me that she was estimating how big a sword I’d be able to use.
“Yes... I think about a one-meter broadsword would be good...” She selected a sword from the rack on the wall, and turned.
“How’s this one, Master Richard? I think it’s a good length and weight for you.”
She thrust the sword forward, hilt first, and instinctively I grabbed it.
It fit perfectly. And I couldn’t recall ever having held a sword before...
“That’s... weird!” I said, hefting the sword, and moving it back and forth to judge its weight. On a sudden impulse, I spun it in the air, hilt and blade spinning and flashing in the torchlight, and suddenly snatched it back, grasping the hilt flawlessly.
I didn’t need to even think about it.
I knew swords.
And I knew, without even wondering how I knew, that what I really wanted was a sword even longer than this: “I need a longsword,” I said, flipping the broadsword in the air and catching it by the blade before handing it back to her hilt-first.
Britomartis laughed again.
“I do so love the Dreamlands, Master Richard!”
She pointed to a rack on the other side of the door, and sure enough, it held three.
I tried all three, finally settling on the one with Sol Invictus inscribed onto the blade.
Since I also needed a shorter weapon for close-in work, I selected a nice dagger with a solid cross, about thirty centimeters long. It felt good in my left, and partially balanced the heavier longsword.
I bowed, one arm outstretched toward the waiting arena.
“Mi’lady? Shall we?”
And we did.
* * *
The Tuscarora limped into Lhosk late that afternoon.
There had been no sign of the night-gaunts all day, and the crew had largely cleaned up the damage—and mess—of the previous night by the time we drifted into the harbor on a weak wind.
It was raining, of course, as it often does in Lhosk, but there was still light enough to make out the twin towers guarding the entrance. The Captain took the wheel himself, shouting orders in quick succession to guide the massive ship to a smooth, bump-free stop next to a particular dock.
As the hawsers flew through the air to the men waiting on the dock, an enormously broad man in flowing, embroidered robes strode up to greet us.
“Captain Stormalong! Welcome back!” he called, bowing deeply. “You haven’t called here for quite some time!”
“Chóng Lán, you old scoundrel! You’ve nothing better to do but walk the docks in search of honest merchants to defraud?”
“I am an honest merchant myself, Bulltop! Why, I cannot recall a single instance of a customer complaining of a deal that was not exactly as agreed upon in advance!”
“Aye, the ones likely to complain no doubt had their throats cut before the words were out of their mouths!” Bulltop roared with laughter, and leapt over the railing to the dock, landing with a boom that sent the gulls flapping and squawking in alarm.
“You damage my teak dock and I’ll be charging your account a princely sum, Bulltop!”
“Nonsense! Any dock that cannot hold a healthy man’s weight is rotten, and no fault of mine!” He reached out with one giant paw to slap Chóng Lán on the back, drawing him in close for a hug. Given the size of both men—Bulltop a giant, Chóng more spherical—it was unmistakably a bearhug.
“How have you been, Chóng?” he asked, in a slightly quieter, almost conspiratorial voice that couldn’t have carried more than several hundred meters. “Strange things are happening.”
“Aye, here as well, Bulltop,” responded Chóng, his brow furrowed. “Two ships lost without a trace this season, and on well-known routes thought safe.”
“The crews?”
“Gone, all of them. Not a single plank found since.” Chóng shook his head. “I fear the Bad Times are coming back.... and Reed appeared in the sky last night, at sea.”
“Ahem... yes, we must talk of that, and other things,” said Bulltop, looking almost embarrassed. “I’m afraid we had somewhat to do with that...”
“Why do interesting events always seem to happen when you’re around, Bulltop?”
Chóng shouted some instructions to the men on the dock, speaking some language I didn’t know, and they began talking to the ship’s crew about something—probably dickering for repairs, I figured.
Chóng and Bulltop began walking down the dock toward the city proper. Chóng looked Asian, maybe Chinese, I thought. He was wearing some sort of flowing robe, covered with extremely detailed embroidery of bird and flowers. At Bulltop’s gesture, Britomartis and I fell in behind them, but the King and Chuang were nowhere to be seen. I noticed three very quiet, well-armed guards—two men, one woman—were spaced out around Chóng, trying to watch everyone and everything on the docks while also keeping an eye on us.
Chóng was a most cautious man, it seemed.
The dock was made of teak, and that much teak alone would be worth an enormous sum, but in addition it was covered with minute carvings of every sort. It seemed almost sacrilege to walk over it, but I noticed that somehow the muck from our boots seemed to sort of scuttle off into the sea instead of merely being crushed into crevices and holes. The dock was keeping itself clean!
Suddenly the rain stopped—we had entered the market. The drumbeats of the drizzle on the crimson tarpaulins overhead reverberated through the space, but underneath their rumble came the dynamic buzz of merchants hawking their wares, geese honking, cattle lowing, dogs barking, cartwheels rattling, and the sights and sounds of goods of every description.
And the scents!
I could immediately identify ginger and garlic and cinnamon and turmeric, but as we walked they assaulted my nose one after another, a flood of aromas so fast and powerful I lost track and merely enjoyed the fragrant feast... and I was getting hungry, now that I noticed.
Chóng noticed me eyeing a skewer of lamb and apples, and nudged Bulltop.
“Don’t fool with that slop from the market, lad! There’s a proper spread awaiting us!”
I turned to ask a question and noticed a middle-aged woman cutting across in front of us. Dressed in a long robe and veil, only her eyes could be seen.
“Radishes! Delicious fresh radishes!” she shouted, pulling a small cart festooned with radishes of all sizes and colors, from tiny red jewels the size of my thumbnail to pale white monstrosities the size of my head. Just at that instant I happened to notice her fingers flash through a complicated gesture as she walked, and as I was wondering what it might have been, Britomartis suddenly announced “I think I’ll buy a radish, Master Richard.”
She waved me to keep walking and stopped to talk to the women. She did indeed buy a few radishes, but I couldn’t imagine why she would want to.
“What was that all about?” I asked as she took her place by my side once again, a handful of radishes drooping down from her hand.
“You saw her hand signal, too, I think,” she said.
I nodded.
“She’s a Kingfisher.”
“A what?”
“A Kingfisher... she works for Mistress Mochizuki, collecting information for the King from throughout the many realms of the Dreamlands. The Mistress herself once invited me to become one of her Kingfishers, but skulking in the bedroom is not one of my favorite pastimes...”
She giggled again.
“Why Kingfisher?”
“They watch for ripples in the water, which can reveal things hidden before they emerge into the light. And they work for the King, of course.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing. She just asked if we needed to meet with the Mistress. And yes, we do.”
There was some tall, official-looking building ahead, with a cluster of guards in front. Chóng ignored them, but I noticed that they all inclined their heads as he passed.
Ahead of us rose a stone wall. A massive gate, made of enormous beams of some pitch-black wood, slowly creaked open as Chóng approached, and several armed guards—again, very Asian in appearance—stepped forward, bowing to welcome Chóng back to what we obviously his home.
It was almost quiet inside the wall; the hubbub of the marketplace was dampened to a low background murmur, and the sounds of singing birds and the small stream flowing nearby were a welcome relief. Half a dozen men and women stood waiting in front of a wooden building, apparently servants of some kind; none were armed or armored. I noted that while there was no apparent roof above us, not even the red tarpaulins of the marketplace, it was not raining. I couldn’t tell if I could see the sky or not, but that blurry mass above my head certainly had the right color for rainclouds. Magic?
It was a simple, one-story building, the lower half of the walls covered with vertical boards, and the upper halves done in an off-white stucco of some sort. I could see most of the building as I walked, and it was certainly not that big—perhaps not even big enough for all those servants and us as well!
The servants all bowed as Chóng passed and entered, and stayed in that position as we followed. Bulltop, not surprisingly, had to duck to enter, and as I passed I felt my hair brush the doorframe.
We were in a narrow corridor built entirely of stone. I glanced up and saw that there was apparently an overlooking balcony above Ahead of me the corridor turned sharply, but directly in front of me was a stone wall with cross-shaped holes cut into it… exactly the sort of arrow slits one would see in castle defenses, allowing arrows to be shot at invading troops from a protected position. Which meant, it occurred to me, that we were in a killing zone…
We turned the corner and there was another small door, open to allow us to pass.
My ears popped; a sudden change in air pressure. I stopped in shock.
Britomartis, right behind me, almost bumped into me, but somehow managed to step to the side with a rustle of leather.
In front of us was a lush forest, with a river flowing to our right, and a road of reddish interlocked blocks leading from the doorway toward a huge pavilion ahead. It stood three stories tall, multicolored tiles on the flaring several rooves shining brilliantly in the... sun? Why was the sun shining?
Hell, what is all this? We’re in some little house in Lhosk, aren’t we? And a river!?
“Surely you’re not surprised by this sort of thing anymore, Master Richard!” came a laugh from my side, as Britomartis pushed me to start walking. “This is Factor Chóng’s humble residence, one of several I know of in the Dreamlands.”
I felt like I’d stumbled into Oz.
* * *
The palace was a piece of art. Not only was it itself a work of beauty, a design modelled after ancient Chinese architecture of the finest quality, but it had been executed with materials the Chinese Emperors of old would have drooled at. Exotic woods, marbled floors of swirling pastel shades, shimmering tapestries that would not have been out of place in the National Gallery of Art.
There were servants everywhere, and what looked like off-duty men-at-arms. None of them had swords or bows, but daggers were evident. I guessed a dagger was just an implement of daily life, though, not really a weapon.
As we proceeded down the way, I noticed a small farm on the other side of the river, with a tier of rice paddies climbing up the slopes of the steep hills behind. A stone bridge arched over the river up ahead.
My eyes busy trying to capture everything, I turned my head slightly to ask Britomartis “Where are we?”
“This is his personal realm in Lhosk.”
“But it’s huge!”
She giggled.
“Well, of course! He has a lot of men to care for, and their families, and he really needed the space to build his palace. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“But... I mean... it can’t all fit!”
“It takes quite a lot of energy to birth a personal realm,” she explained. “I suspect he actually found this, or bought it, or stole it, and has just kept it since.” She paused, then continued contemplatively, “I once thought I wanted one myself, to remind me of my England, but I realized that I’m no longer that person. Malecasta awoke many things in me, and once I realized why I felt the need to run around dressed as a man flaunting my huge lance...”
Still in awe of the magnificence in front of me, I managed to avoid saying anything silly in response to her comment.
“So that corridor was just protecting the entrance…”
“Yes. Portals can be created, at a tremendous cost in energy, or destroyed rather more easily, but they cannot be opened or closed like normal doors. Once open, they remain open.” She smiled. “And Factor Chóng takes his safety quite seriously!”
Factor Chóng stood awaiting us in a spacious room floored with the same beautifully carved teak as the docks, walls decorated with hanging scrolls of Chinese calligraphy, some of only a handful of characters sprawling across the paper like slops of a painter’s brush, other solid blocks of tiny, precisely drawn glyphs aligned as neatly as an Excel spreadsheet. Small birds flitted about, tweeting and singing, and the large, low table in the center was festooned with flowers. Chóng bowed graciously, announcing himself: “Chóng of Lhosk.”
There was a silence, until a sharp elbow from Britomartis suggested that I needed to announce myself. Everyone else had already met…
“Uh, Richard, of uh, Celephaïs.”
He motioned to us to sit; Bulltop at once crashed his bulk onto the pillows at the head of the table, under the enormous scroll on the wall, and waved us forward.
“Sit, Master Richard. Britomartis, you too! Take a seat anywhere!”
I was at a loss as to where I should sit, until I noticed Chóng moving to sit on the right, leaving us only the left end and directly in front of Bulltop.
Britomartis sat opposite Bulltop, and I opposite Chóng. I noticed she knelt on her knees, and copied suit.
Chóng clapped, and a bevy of women came rustling out, robes of all the colors of the rainbow swirling and flashing as they adorned the table with an array of dishes of food, flagons and cups, chopsticks and more. They spoke not a word, completing their work with dazzling speed and grace and total silence.
“I welcome you to Penglai,” said Chóng, voice echoing in the near-silence. “I welcome you to my home. I welcome you to my heart.”
It sounded like some sort of ritual.
He picked up a small silver goblet and looked to us expectantly.
Bulltop immediately snatched his up, the tiny goblet almost invisible beneath his sausage fingers.
I picked up my own, noticing it was filled with a blue liquid.
Chóng raised his goblet high: “To the Dreamlands!”
“To the Dreamlands!”
It was delicious, and after burning a way down my throat set my appetite aflame.
“And now we eat!” roared Bulltop with a laugh, stabbing an enormous chunk of meat from one of the plates with his dagger and cramming it into his mouth. “Where’s my ale, Chóng!?”
Nobody mentioned the night-gaunts, or Reed, the King, or anything else of import as we ate, which was wonderful as it made it possible for us to enjoy an amazing feast of largely unrecognizable foods, lubricated with a never-ending succession of wines and other drinks of every description. Obviously used to playing the host, Chóng regaled us with a succession of tales of the Dreamlands, and some of his adventures along the Silk Road: a wonderful mix of stories that covered the whole spectrum from eerie to humorous and even downright pornographic.
Bulltop roared with delight when one of the servants showed up with a small keg stamped “BURTON ALE.” He grabbed it from her and demanded a “man-sized mug, for grog’s sake!” which she held out silently. It could hold a liter at least, I was sure. He sloshed it full and drank it down in a single breath, then, holding it still in the air near his mouth, gave a china-rattling sigh of contentment, and slammed it down on the table.
“Ah, that was mighty fine, Chóng, mighty fine indeed. Now that my thirst has been properly quenched I can finally do some serious eating!”
After the banquet, when even Bulltop admitted he had had enough “to last me for a few hours, at least, until I can find a proper meal,” trays of fruit and cups of a hot, bitter blue tea appeared. I noticed that Chóng had also begun smoking from a long, very thin pipe, and though I couldn’t see what was in the tiny bowl, it didn’t smell like any tobacco I had ever encountered.
Chóng broke the contemplative silence.
“I had word from the King as to your goal, and will provide you with transport and a proper escort in the morn. I would very much like to hear the details of your encounter with the night-gaunts, however... it troubles me that they should attack a ship at sea for any reason, let alone for no apparent reason.”
We provided him with a complete description of the attack, adding my theory that they had actually been after me and not Britomartis.
“As I mentioned earlier, a number of ships have vanished of late, whether to night-gaunts or other causes. I’d venture that yours was destined to join their number, except for your spirited defense,” mused Chóng. “I think the time has come to add archers to my crews... and a healthy supply of arrows.”
He sipped again, lost in thought.
“Ah, Britomartis,” he suddenly called, “there is a visitor here to see you. She arrived only shortly after your party.”
He reached out one long, neatly manicured finger and tapped a tiny silver bell on the table before him. One of the servants immediately slid open the door to our room just wide enough to peer inside and he motioned with his hand, waving him—or someone—inside.
With a rustle of robes, an Asian woman slipped in, promptly kneeling just inside the door. She bowed her head to Chóng, hands crossed on the floor in front of her. It all looked very Japanese to me...
“Rise, Mochizuki-sama, and join us,” invited Chóng, gesturing to a vacant spot at the table next to Bulltop. She rose, and drifted—I couldn’t actually see her feet, and her motion was so smooth and silent it looked more like floating than walking—over. She was wearing either a long robe or wide, flowing pants; it was impossible to tell. They were a dark blue with some gray pattern woven into the design, but I couldn’t make it out clearly.
“Saké!” called out Chóng, and a servant promptly appeared holding a tray with a small ceramic pitcher and two tiny cups. He set it down in front of Chóng, who lifted one cup and waited for him to pour it full of crystal-clear saké. Chóng held the brimming cup delicately in the fingertips of both hands, leaning forward to hand it to the new woman, who accepted it with a bow.
The servant then filled Chóng’s own cup, and he raised his cup in a silent toast to the woman, who bowed again. They drank it down together, quite slowly in spite of the relatively small size of the cups.
Another ceremony I didn’t understand.
Their cups clinked faintly as they were set down onto the table.
She turned to me, bowed gracefully although seated, and announced herself as “Mochizuki of Shinano.” I announced myself to her in turn.
“Mistress Mochizuki, it is a pleasure to meet you once again. I was unaware you would come,” said Britomartis, as if ceremony were over and it was time to talk again. “Have you met with the King, then?”
“Commander Britomartis,” she nodded in recognition. “Yes, I spoke with him earlier, and am aware of your mission. I relayed to him some information of my own which bears upon it. And your own tale is most intriguing.”
Chóng nodded, and pointed at me with his chin.
“You heard Master Richard’s tale?”
“Yes, Factor Chóng, thank you for allowing me to listen in.” She laughed. “I would have heard it all later anyway, but second-hand...”
She turned to face me, her eyes burning directly into my own.
“Master Richard. May the Force be with you.”
I burst out laughing; I couldn’t restrain myself.
“Where in the world did you pick that phrase up!?” I asked, smiling. “Surely that’s not used here in the Dreamlands, is it?”
“Is it not appropriate for you, then?” she smiled. “My apologies... it is so difficult keeping track of all these changes.”
Britomartis looked at her, then me, then back at her, obviously at a loss.
“It’s a common phrase in his realm, Britomartis,” said Mochizuki, noticing his confusion. “And surprisingly enough it seems to have spawned a new, and quite energetic, shadow realm here in the Dreamlands. Fortunately not interconnected to this one, but that was part of what I spoke with the King about.”
“The melting?” asked Chóng.
“Yes. The realms are beginning to run together where once boundaries were impassable. Kingfishers report a rising number of sightings of things that should not be here at all... the situation is accelerating, and may well be linked to your journey. And Master Richard.”
All of a sudden Luke and Leia seemed rather trivial.
Britomartis leaned over to speak to me quietly.
“Mistress Mochizuki and I have worked together many times over the years. We have a number of... interests... in common.”
Mochizuki bared her teeth at Britomartis in a smile that suggested they shared private memories. Britomartis smiled back quite warmly.
“She worked for some Japanese warlord about the same time I was toppling knights in England... and she was good enough at her job that she’s kept right at it here. And elsewhere.”
Britomartis accented her comment by raising her glass to Mochizuki, who merely nodded her head a few millimeters in acknowledgement, and commented dryly, “We hardly ever skulk, though.”
Britomartis laughed. “Is there nothing you do not hear!? Well, skulk or not, do you bring word from the King?” asked Britomartis.
“Not a message, but a request. He urges you to depart Lhosk as soon as preparations are complete, and head for Hlanith, where he will join you.” She turned to Chóng. “Factor Chóng?”
He nodded.
“All is ready. I received word from the King yesterday. It will take a month to reach Hlanith by land, but the Tuscarora demands a new mast. If the seas are unsafe—and they seem to be—then by land would seem the lesser of two evils.” He nodded to himself. “The deinos are ready, you will be accompanied by a packmaster and a score of raptors.”
“Deinos? Raptors?” I wondered aloud. I had no idea what they were talking about.
“Dinosaurs, lad, dinosaurs!” bellowed Bulltop, punctuating his comment with a thunderous belch.
“The deinos are large riding animals, and the nest will protect us from unwelcome guests. As well as hunting fresh game and an occasional foot,” explained Britomartis.
Chóng laughed.
“My raptors are very well trained, Master Richard, I assure you. The packmaster can dance them through hoops of fire, need be.”
“Hopefully we can avoid that, at least,” smiled Mochizuki. “I will accompany you as far as the Zuro River. I must travel upstream a bit from there before I can join you once again.”
“Will you also need transport, Mistress?”
“Thank you, Chóng, but no. We will ride our horses, and leave the marshes under the Karthian Hills to your scaly mounts.”
Chóng stood, and waved his hand toward a set of doors to the side, which kneeling women promptly slid open.
“Tomorrow will be a long day, I suspect, and the start of a longer journey. It is seven grand dozen kilometers to the River Zuro, and another dozen dozen after crossing. Tonight, rest. I have prepared baths and sleeping quarters for you.”
I calculated in my head, since they calculated most things in twelves. A grand dozen was one forty-four, so seven grand dozen would be... almost exactly one thousand kilometers!
We stood and thanked him for the banquet, and followed the women down the hallway.
As we walked, more women joined us, until there was one next to each of us, guiding us individually to our own rooms. Mistress Mochizuki was nowhere to be seen, but Britomartis and Bulltop seemed quite at ease. Especially Bulltop, who had somehow gotten his hand tangled in his guide’s robe.
I decided it was none of my business, and walked through the curtain my own guide held open for me. Britomartis had already entered her own room, her guide following after.
It was a simple room with reed flooring and sleeping mat already laid out. My pack was standing to the side, apparently untouched, but a low table held a basket of fruit and a bottle of something. I sniffed. Wine!
“The bath is through there,” my guide said, pointing to a hanging curtain at the back. A robe was hanging on the wall next to it. “I am at your service,” she said, kneeling, hands crossed over her lap.
I had a pretty good idea what kind of service she had in mind, and Bulltop had made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t uncommon, but I wasn’t much in the mood. It had been a long day, I had already had a huge meal with drink, and that nugget on my head still throbbed.
I thanked her and said I could manage to bathe and sleep all by myself.
I changed into the robe and stepped through the curtain to find a huge stone bath, probably the size of an Olympic swimming pool, but with ornate dragons spouting (hot!) water. Bulltop and Britomartis were already there, with a number of other people. I recognized one man from a scar across the bridge of his nose: one of the guards at the front gate.
The bath was stunningly beautiful but not ostentatious... it was framed, so to speak, in very dark granite that turned almost black when wet, and the rest done mostly in some smooth, polished stone that might have been marble. It was mostly creamy white with streaks of brown, and contrasted with the black stone edging the baths perfectly.
The walls of the room were done in mosaics, with a fantastic underwater scene on one wall, and a mountain and forest masterpiece on the other.
There were several baths, all with steady streams of water flowing through... I tried a few, and discovered that there was a selection from quite cold to quite hot, although the largest bath—a pool, really—was comfortably hot. Not surprisingly, it was also where most of the people gathered.
Steps ran the entire length on the bath on one side, making it easy to enter or leave. Or sit, as it turned out, because the majority of people relaxing in the bath were sitting on the step that best suited their mood: some only dangled their legs in the water, others sat so deep only their heads protruded.
Because of the way the water flowed into the bath, it was quite hot at one end, cooling down gradually toward the other. Most people seemed to prefer the hot end.
People talked quietly, soaked, drank cold tea, and generally relaxed after a hard day. Except Bulltop, of course... he put on quite an exhibition, splashing a few women, arm-wrestling with guards, roaring with laughter, once throwing a man into the bath after a noisy but apparently quite friendly argument then jumping in to hug him, and of course still drinking liters at a gulp. Fortunately the bath was big enough for him to stake out his own domain without unduly bothering the rest of us.
The hot bath and my general fatigue soon had me drifting, until someone tapped my shoulder.
“Master Richard?”
Britomartis’ smiling face looked down on me from the edge of the bath.
“I suspect that is not the most comfortable place to sleep... or the safest, unless you are perhaps a potamoi in disguise...”
I laughed.
“No, no river god, I’m afraid. Just plain tired.”
I heaved myself out of the bath and waited for my head to stop spinning. I’d been in too long. Britomartis reached out a hand and helped me up, pointing to the snake symbol marking my doorway.
“Thank you for rousing me,” I said. “I think my sleeping mat is calling.”
“And will you be sleeping alone, Master Richard?” she asked, with an overly serious expression.
I glanced at her, wondering what she really wanted to ask.
She laughed, and shook her damp hair side to side with a smile. “No, Master Richard. I’d have no qualms about sharing your bed, were it winter, but no man since Artegall has shared my body, and none shall.”
I stumbled off to my room, and found the sleeping mat warm, soft, and quite lonely.
* * *
I woke with a start, the clangs of an ear-shattering bell shuddering through the building.
People were running down the hall, shouting, banging weapons.
I hurriedly laced my boots, grabbed my sword and looked out to see everyone rushing toward the back of the building, arms at ready. The damned bell was still clanging away somewhere above.
Britomartis burst forth from her own room; our eyes met, and she nodded. I joined her and we raced toward the commotion.
The hallway opened up into a broad patio partially enclosed by a waist-high stucco wall, with a pair of carved dragons flanking the entrance. Between the dragons, dancing in the light of the flaring torches, lay a body. One of the guards ran toward it, sword drawn and searching for an enemy, feeling with a pulse.
A shot rang out!
Here!? A shot?
Even as I gaped, the guard collapsed, hand to chest in astonishment, then folding down onto the ground without a sound.
I grabbed Britomartis and pulled her down, hopefully out of sight of any marksman behind the low wall.
“What was that?”
“A gun of some kind. Why is there a gun here?”
“A gun!? Here? In Chóng’s personal realm!?” Even in the unreliable torchlight I could tell she paled. “We must destroy it quickly, or else...”
I was about to ask ‘or else what?’ when another shot rang out, followed by a bellow of rage.
“Show your face, you scum!”
Bulltop!
I looked up to see Bulltop standing in the doorway, half in shadow, but lit from behind by the torches flaring in the hallway. Dressed only in a loincloth and a sword, he looked the very wargod.
He twisted and toppled sideways as another shot sounded, and the sword clanged to the paving stones. He slumped against the wall, right hand pressed to his other shoulder, trying in vain to stop the blood welling out from under his fingers, black in the dimness.
A dark figure rushed to him, bent low, and dragged him behind the protecting wall. He huddled over Bulltop, some sort of long cloth in hand. Bulltop breathed heavily, grunting with pain as the other man cinched the cloth tight.
He’d have to wait until it was safe before he could get any better treatment... I hoped they had the bleeding under control, because if that shot had opened an artery in his shoulder he wouldn’t have long.
Suddenly, someone grasped my arm from behind and a voice spoke into my ear.
“Master Richard? Do you know what range his weapon has?”
It was Chóng.
“There’s no way of telling without seeing it. It’s impossible to tell from the sound alone, I’m afraid, and my knowledge of weapons is limited to one very specific war.”
“Damn.”
He thought for a moment.
“That’s five of my people down already. And now Bulltop. Even in the darkness it will be difficult to get close enough.”
“Shall I take care of it, Factor Chóng?”
It was Mochizuki. I had no idea where she had come from or how long she had been there, but there she was, right next to me on the other side.
“Mistress, can you? We have to clean this up quickly.”
“Of course.”
“Alive if possible, but at any rate quickly!”
She whistled a few notes at nobody in particular, and then just lay there with the rest of us.
Chóng motioned to the rest of his people to just wait, and then the sputtering and cracking of the torches was the only thing we could hear.
Suddenly three shots rang out in the woods in the darkness, and something fell through the branches to the ground with a crash. A few more crashes, a few unintelligible shouts, and silence returned.
A short whistle echoed from the woods, and Mochizuki stood up, straightening her long robe. How did she manage to move around so quietly in that thing, I wondered.
“It’s safe now. See to your injured!”
Chóng shouted, and all of a sudden the patio was full of men and women, some with torches and many with arms, spilling out into the surrounding woods.
Bulltop actually stood, throwing off the supporting arm of the guardsman at his side, and walked back into the building. I guess it hadn’t hit an artery after all, but a bullet in the shoulder can do an awful lot of damage.
Other people ran to the two fallen at the entrance; one still lived, and a monk came running from inside to staunch the wound.
I wanted to watch what he was doing, because I’d never seen a bullet wound treated with magic and herbs before, but suddenly I noticed that everyone was quiet, watching a black-garbed woman with an unconscious, uniformed man draped across her shoulders trotting towards us. A second, similarly clothed woman trotted alongside carrying what looked like an automatic rifle, and a some sort of backpack.
They stepped onto the patio, and in the torchlight I could see that the woman carrying the rifle—her eyes looked vaguely Asian, although most of her face was hidden in a scarf-like wrapping—was bleeding from a wound in her thigh. Another bullet wound.
Mochizuki motioned her to sit, and called for the monk.
I stepped forward to see if my experience with bullet wounds might help... it was a through-and-through, missing bones and arteries. She’d need time to recover, and depending what muscles the bullet had torn through she might be crippled, but judging from the way she’d trotted up here I guessed it was more messy than dangerous.
I explained as much to Mochizuki, who nodded.
“I thought as much. Not much different than a clean arrow wound, then.” She turned to the wounded woman and said something I didn’t understand. “Zhen-Yue was very lucky this time. We are not used to your guns.”
The soldier—I could see now that he was dressed like a Chinese PLA soldier, but had lost his cap somewhere—was dropped on the ground like a sack of potatoes. He didn’t seem to be wounded, but he was definitely unconscious. I suspected he’d have a heck of a headache when he woke up, too, judging by the sound his skull made hitting the flagstones.
Chóng had opened the backpack and was pulling everything out. He gave each item a quick glance, and either dropped it on the ground in front of him or tossed it to a man standing nearby with a huge metal hammer. The man caught each item—radio, watch, flashlight, and more—and smashed them into tiny fragments that could never be reused, let along identified.
He picked up the pistol and was about to toss it over when I stopped him.
“Let me see it first, Factor Chóng.”
I held out my hand.
He hesitated for only a moment, then handed it over. It was an automatic pistol not much different from what I’d used myself, but of some unfamiliar make. It had Chinese characters stamped on it.
“Chinese Army, I believe.”
I popped out the magazine and checked the chamber—it was empty—before handing it back.
“This man appears to be from my realm, and my time. But why here?”
“We will find out, Master Richard.” He tossed me the rifle as well, which I also cleared, then handed both weapons over to be smashed, and continued rooting through the man’s belongings. “Mistress Mochizuki, thank you for your assistance. I’ve lost three of my people to his man, and more injured, and I need some answers. When will he awaken?”
“I can awaken him at any time, Factor Chóng. Or he will awaken naturally in another six or eight hours. The problem, though, is whether or not we can talk to him... If he is indeed from Master Richard’s realm and time, and judging from his gear, then he speaks Chinese.”
“I am Chinese, Mistress,” Chóng interjected.
“Of course, Factor Chóng. But your Chinese is twenty centuries older than his.”
“Wake him. We must know.”
She tilted her head slightly, sort of cross between a bow and a nod, and took something from her sleeve. She grasped the man’s hair, pulling his head back and touched a tiny vial to his lips. He swallowed, took a huge breath, and his eyes flew open. With his arms tied behind his back there was little he could do to escape, but he tried to kick Mochizuki nonetheless. She effortlessly deflected the kick with the back of her hand, and speared the fingertips of her other hand into his thigh.
He gave a short scream of pain, then clamped his mouth shut and glared.
“He won’t use that leg again for a while, Factor Chóng,” she said, standing and putting whatever she had in her hand back into her sleeve. I realized that you could hide a great many things in a loose robe.
Chóng squatted down in front of the man, speaking quietly. I couldn’t understand a word of it and guessed it was Chinese. And it must have been ancient Chinese, because the captive didn’t seem to understand a word of it either. He rattled off something, and again. I assumed it was the standard “name, rank, and serial number,” or whatever the PLA equivalent was.
“What unit are you with?” asked Mochizuki, in English.
He just sat there, and repeated his identification. I’d guess he didn’t speak English, either.
Mochizuki spoke again, and I could tell she was speaking in Japanese this time. I didn’t know the language, but I’d heard it enough to recognize it.
His eyes shifted to her, his chin lifting slightly.
He understood Japanese.
“Let me see if I can get your answers, Factor Chóng,” she said. “We have a tongue in common after all.”
“Strip him,” commanded Chóng. “Then let Mistress Mochizuki have him.”
He stood up, eyes looking off into the forest, the struggling soldier seemingly forgotten on the ground next to him.
“Captain Gonville!”
A large man sporting a most impressive set of muttonchops stepped closer, holding something that looked very much like a saber.
“Take your men and make sure no one else has come through that portal. Kill or capture, I leave it up to you. Who was on duty last night as guard at the portal?”
“That would be Smythe,” replied Gonville.
“Bring him to me immediately. I need to find out how the soldier got here so easily, and managed to kill my people! Put a triple guard on the portal at once, with orders to kill.”
“Yessir, we’ll take care of it.”
Cockney! He was speaking with a Cockney accent!
Chóng turned back to watch Mochizuki’s captive as Gonville left.
She stood stock-still, eyes fixed on the nearly naked prisoner, watching as her black-clad team skillfully held him helpless and stripped him down.
One of them held out a small object.
“It was in his pants, in the small of his back,” he explained.
Mochizuki took it, studying it as she turned it over.
“Master Richard, do you know what this is? It appears to be a glass tile of some sort...”
Yes, I knew what it was.
It was a smartphone, screen black.
“It’s a smartphone, Mistress.”
“A smart what?”
“Um... a tiny radio, like.”
She smashed it to the paving stones, and gestured to the man with the hammer to crush it, which he did very thoroughly. Apple repair was not going to have much left to work with.
“Radios can be that small now?” she asked.
“Yes, and smaller. That is a new type of telephone, and radio, and many other things. It may also have been broadcasting its location to other smartphones.”
Chóng’s head snapped up.
“Its location? Somebody else may know where the portal is?”
“Yes, it’s possible, if the signal is strong enough to...”
I was talking to his shadow: Chóng was gone, racing back into the building.
Mochizuki smiled.
“Forgive him. He has to close the portal at once. A pity, considering how difficult it is to create them, but there’s no help for it. Fortunately he has more than one back door.”
She gestured to her minions once more, and they effortlessly hoisted the prisoner up and followed her back into the building. He was in for some unpleasant questioning, I realized, and decided I’d go check on Bulltop instead.
* * *
He was not a happy man.
Judging from the way he was cursing he wasn’t on the verge of death; I figured he was just expressing himself in his eloquent fashion. A few of the words were even new to me, and the Army had graced me with an extensive vocabulary over the years.
He was lying on a mat on the floor, the doctor kneeling next to him, face close to his shoulder. There was blood everywhere, but it looked more messy than arterial.
I wondered off-hand just what sort of doctor I was dealing with here; was this a physician, a witch doctor, an herbal doctor, a faith healer—and for that matter, here in the Dreamlands what exactly would “faith healer” mean, anyway?
The doctor sat up, a long, narrow set of chopsticks in this hand. He examined whatever he was holding closely, then dropped it only a pile of bloody rags next to him. It was the bullet, or at least a fragment, of course. That much was obvious, and since the man who shot it had been Chinese military, it was a safe assumption it packed one hell of a wallop. I was amazed that Bulltop hadn’t been toppled backwards instead of just collapsing the way he did.
“What did it hit?” I asked.
The doctor—a thin, elderly man wearing an Arab kaftan—didn’t look up from probing the wound again. I was astonished at how little blood was flowing... he must have blocked the flow somehow, although I couldn’t imagine what sort of tourniquet could be used on a shoulder.
“Seems to have just grazed his scapula, and then out the back... I don’t think there are any more fragments in there, but there’s nothing I can do about the bone damage right now.” He tilted his head and wiggled one of the chopsticks a little.
“Damn you, Ibn Sina! Must you torture me like that?” Bulltop exploded, but I noticed that he didn’t flinch away from the probe. “Just sew me up and be done with it!”
“Hush, child, or you’ll wet yourself fretting,” admonished the doctor, smiling. “Just a bit more and I’ll leave you to get back to your toys.”
“Oh, get on with your silliness. Wake me when you’re done.” Bulltop closed his eyes and gave a great sigh. I could see his teeth were clenched, though.
Ibn Sina finally sat back, and laid the chopsticks down. He picked up a soggy cloth bag, and pressed it tightly against the wound, wrapping Bulltop’s shoulder in a long bandage and cinching it tight.
“That will prevent any infection and hasten healing, Bulltop, but I’m afraid your shoulder may never recover completely. You were very lucky it only grazed the bone and didn’t shatter it, but any remaining bone fragments will probably hurt quite a bit.”
“For how long?” grumbled Bulltop, wincing as he tried moving his arm.
“Until it heals, Bulltop. And I’m afraid it may never heal.”
Bulltop grunted, content to sit where he was. Someone handed him a cup of water, which he sloshed down in a single gulp. He held out the cup for a refill.
“Have you no decent drinks here!? How can you expect me to feel any better when all you offer me to drink is this thin water?”
“Too bad the bullet didn’t graze that thick skull of yours, Bulltop, and knock some sense into you,” grinned Ibn Sina.
“Away with you, you bone-fondler! And you! Bring me some wine!” He waved the cup at one of the servants, who vanished into the hall post-haste.
The doctor turned to me. “And you must be Master Richard. Ibn Sina of Lhosk. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Salam alaykum.”
He held out his hand, which I shook.
“Richard of Celephaïs. Wa alaykum as-salam. And may Peace be upon us all,” I replied. My time in the Middle East finally paid off, and I was unreasonably proud of his look of surprise at my response.
“You speak Arabic!?”
“No, I’m afraid not. But I did learn a few courtesies while I was in the Middle East,” I smiled. “It seems somewhat strange to find an Arab physician here...”
He nodded.
“I was a physician to Ala al-Dawla of Isfahan, and a philosopher... and after a rash visit to Irem which ended rather badly, I found myself here. My Arabic name is rather long, but you may call me ibn Sina, as does everyone else.”
“I am, or possibly was, Richard Saxton, an American student of astronomy.”
“I studied the stars myself for many years, but never did find any trace of our fates written in the heavens. Certainly not my own!”
“I’m afraid astrology has been relegated to the status of a child’s fantasy in my era, ibn Sina. Science holds sway, explaining the movements and the actions of the stars in detail. We—most of us, at any rate—do not believe in there is any guiding purpose.”
“Interesting!” nodded, the doctor. “I would dearly love to be able to...”
“Would you two take your starry selves elsewhere?” boomed Bulltop. “I have some serious drinking to do.”
He turned his head toward the hallway “Sara!”
The walls shook with his shout, and before the echoes had completely died a red-headed woman several centimeters tall than myself, and with an astonishing figure only partially concealed by an extra-large tee-shirt reading “GO YANKEES” on her voluminous chest, came strolling into the room.
Bulltop smiled, and reached up to pull her down.
“Sara! Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted...?”
Ibn Sina and I left, followed by the remaining servants. The last one out closed the door.
* * *
Mochizuki and Chóng were standing in the hallway; through the doorway I could glimpse the Chinese prisoner, stripped and bound to one of the wooden beams in the room. His head was hanging down, his face hidden, but I could see his hair was matted with blood.
He looked unconscious.
“He wandered into the cave in search of bats, of all things,” said Mochizuki. “Apparently he fancies himself a photographer, and captures images of animals when he has the chance.”
“And he just somehow happened to get past the glamour?” asked Chóng in disbelief. “That’s worked very well until now, convincing visitors the cave is just smelly, dark, and dangerous.”
“In search of bats, he was expecting the cave to be that way, and ignored his own fears,” she shrugged. “He seems honest, and never had the chance to tell anyone exactly where he was going or what he was doing. Apparently the guard was sleeping, and the boy shot him first. It’s a pity, really... he’s so young.”
“No help for it, I’m afraid,” said Chóng. “Take care of it, would you?”
She inclined her head as Chóng turned and strode back into the depths of the building.
“Take care of what, Mistress?”
“Kill him, of course,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “He thinks he’s discovered a secret Tibetan rebel hideout, and can’t wait to tell his superiors. He’s wrong, of course, but they’d search as hard just the same.”
“But... kill him? Is that really necessary? Can’t you just let him go? Surely they’d just figure he was having hallucinations or something...”
“Officially, perhaps, but unofficially I doubt there is any nation in your realm that isn’t already aware of the Dreamlands to some extent, and trying to find a way to control them.” She signed. “It really is unfortunate, but this isn’t something we can overlook.”
She nodded to one of her black-clad warriors, and something very long and thin flashed into the prisoner’s chest, and instantly back again into its sheath.
It was over in an instant.
He was dead.
I just stood there in shock as she walked down the hallway, her warriors following behind. One of them had the corpse draped over his shoulder.
They didn’t make a sound, and when they were gone I was all alone in the dimness with my thoughts.
* * *
There wasn’t much point I trying to get back to sleep.
Realizing there was always a chance I could be picked off by some Chinese soldier at any time, I still sat on the patio wall, and watched the sun come up over the surrounding mountains. I wondered why there was a sun, and how there could be mountains, even though we were inside a tiny “personal realm.” It didn’t really matter, I supposed... everything I thought I knew about astrophysics was probably only applicable within the narrow constraints of Cthulhu’s dreams... and Cthulhu only existed in the dreamscapes of humanity’s nightmares... a Moebius strip of reality with no connection to an objective universe.
But that man had died. He been tortured, he screamed and bled and talked and killed and was killed. That certainly seemed real enough, and fatally real for him. Perhaps he suddenly collapsed of “unknown causes” back in the Tibetan mountains? Or had he been transported here physically, expunged entirely from that existence?
This wasn’t astrophysics or cosmology: it was metaphysics. And far outside my comfort zone at that.
But it was a beautiful sunrise nonetheless, and about the time that last traces of orange disappeared from the sky and the morning chill began to heat up, Britomartis came looking for me.
“Good morn to you, Master Richard,” she smiled, absurdly bright and happy as always. “’Twas a beautiful dawn, was it not?”
She handed me a small bag.
“Good morning, Britomartis. And this is...?”
I glanced inside... it was breakfast, with half a load of warm, dark bread, two chunks of cheese, and an apple. “Looks delicious!”
“And some of Chóng’s best tea to wash it down with,” she added, setting down a large jug of tea and a cup. “I assumed you’d prefer a proper English breakfast to his rice, but the tea is really so delicious I just had to bring it along.”
“Thank you, this is wonderful.” I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. “Join me?”
“I’ve already eaten, thank you. Up early to prepare the deinos for the journey.”
“Even after all this, we’re still leaving?”
“Chóng and Mochizuki have scoured this realm, and that portal is closed... there’s no need to delay our journey, and the King stressed the need. We leave in an hour.”
I chewed silently.
After a few moments of uneasy silence, I said almost to myself “I’ve never ridden a dinosaur before. I’ve never even seen one!”
Her teeth flashed in the sun as she laughed aloud, head swinging upwards and hair dancing.
“You’ll love it! Have you ever ridden an elephant?”
“No, but how about a horse? Or a camel?”
“I love horses. Olde England and all that, of course. But horses and camels both bounce too much. An elephant is massive, and as long as they aren’t in a hurry almost anybody can ride one. Deinos are as big, and sometimes drag their tails for even more stability.” She laughed again. “And there are not many animals that will argue with one!”
I stood, slapping my hands together to brush off the crumbs.
“What should I do with the tea?”
“Just leave it. They’ll take care of it.”
She strode to the edge of the patio, and glanced back at me, head tilted elegantly.
“Coming?”
I picked up my longsword and pack, and hurried to catch up.
To the right of the patio, a flight of rough stairs led off into the woods. The treads closest to the patio were stone, giving way to hard-packed earth after a few meters. The woods were quiet, wind rustling the trees and an occasional birdsong to keep us company. It was only a few minutes until the path led out of the woods again, to a large paddock.
To the right was a wood building, I guessed the stables, judging by the size of the doorway. The paddock itself was inclined, and the lower half was swampy.
And standing in the muck were the biggest goddamned ostriches I ever saw.
I stood gaping for a minute until it occurred to me that these were dinosaurs, not ostriches... They stood on their hind legs and were covered in feathers—especially that huge crimson fan of feathers at the end of their tails—but instead of wings they had feathered, mitten-like arms sticking out, which they used quite effectively to root through the waterweeds and find food.
One snaked its head up to examine us better, looking down at me from at least four meters high. There was a rounded hump in the middle of its back, not as abrupt as a camel’s hump, but enormous nonetheless.
It stared at me, a long strand of weed dangling from its mouth as it chomped away. Apparently deciding I was harmless, it lowered its head again, searching for more frogs or whatever was in there.
Britomartis suddenly grasped my arm and pulled me back from the fence, snapping me out of my gaping amazement.
“Careful, Master Richard. The raptors can be quite nasty.”
A dozen smaller dinosaurs, maybe the size of a desk or a Newfoundland dog, came trotting over. They also stood on two legs but were much more graceful and agile than the deinos. Their teeth and claws were a lot more obvious, too, perhaps because they all seemed to be focused on me. They were covered in short feathers, in a range of green and brown hues. Good camo, I thought.
“Properly trained, they can follow simple directions and serve much like large dogs, but the stress of battle—especially the smell of blood—can make them forget their training and revert to their feral selves. Even then they rarely attack their masters, but it’s a good idea to treat them with respect and hope they return the favor.”
“I... see...” I replied, noting how they crowded the fence much like farm animals seeking a handout from visitors, but also how their serrated fangs shone brilliantly in the sun.
“We’ll be taking a nest of them with us for protection,” explained Britomartis. “Not these; these are still in training, as you can see from the red collars.”
I’d noticed the collars, and now I knew what they meant.
“Red for danger?”
“Yes. The color of blood,” she confirmed, smiling wryly. “I have a painful memory with matching scar to remind me.” She patted her thigh, high on her leg and under the leather plates of her skirt.
“His first taste of human flesh was his last, though... and I ate rather more of him than he of me!”
Laughing again, she led the way toward the stable.
As we approached I could hear voices mixed in with various thumps and snorts. We turned the corner of the building, away from the paddock, and I stopped in amazement once again.
Our deinos were snorting in their harnesses. There were six in all: four fitted with riding saddles and the remaining two carrying enormous panniers.
“Why are the riding deinos a different color?”
“The reddish deinos are the females, and it’s usually safer to ride them. They’re a little larger and a lot less excitable than the purplish males,” explained Britomartis. “And the males, of course, will follow them anywhere.”
She turned to face me.
“Can you use a bow?”
I thought for a moment and realized I really didn’t know—things changed unexpectedly here—then looked at my hands. Sure enough, the three string fingers had hard calluses on them. I smiled. Dreamlands!
“Yes, I think so.”
“Let’s get you a bow and guard, then, and make sure... it would be somewhat awkward to discover you can’t shoot after all with a dragolet swooping down at you.”
She beckoned one of the men over.
“Fetch a bow and a quiver-full for Master Richard.”
He nodded, and trotted up the path we’d just come down.
“I think Chóng only uses those double-curved bows from Zar. I haven’t ever seen an honest longbow here.”
“Let’s try it and see. The Dreamlands have always been amazingly helpful so far!”
The man came trotting back after only a few minutes carrying a bow and fully stocked quiver. The bow was a beauty... The recurve was hand-made, of course, but it looked to have been crafted by a master, at least to my unpracticed eye. I could see the multiple layers making it up—looked like two kinds of wood, and bone, with some sort of cover. When I touched it I realized it was sharkskin.
My left hand automatically settled into a comfortable grip, and my right pulled on the string. I could manage it, but it must have been at least seventy kilograms draw, I guessed. A serious weapon, and it might be too much for me to shoot a dozen arrows in a row.
I decided to find out, and looked up to see Britomartis smiling and pointing off to my left.
Sure enough, in the open field running alongside the paddock, there were a few bales of straw with pieces of red cloth hanging on them. Targets.
There wasn’t much any wind, and it looked like maybe two hundred meters of so.
I nocked and pulled, testing the bow and my arm. My hand and fingers knew exactly what to do, but my upper arm was complaining that this was a hard draw. I aimed and released, and watched my arrow peg into the ground a dozen or so meters before the target.
Yup, this was too much for me to handle effectively.
The man who had fetched the bow nodded, and picked up a second bow that I hadn’t noticed, handing it to me.
It looked much the same, except that it had a leather cover instead of sharkskin, and was a tad shorter.
It was also a hell of a lot easier to pull, maybe about fifty kilograms? I could handle this easily, and proceeded to prove it by shooting all nineteen arrows left in the quiver into the same bale downrange. Seventeen hit the bale, ten pierced the red “bull’s eye.”
Not bad for the first time I’d shot a bow since cub scouts!
“I guess I know how to shoot after all,” I said to Britomartis.
“I was sure you did,” she replied. “Chóng said the bow’s yours, and we’ll pick up a good supply of arrows.”
“What will I need it for?”
“With luck, nothing, because the raptors should take care of almost everything at ground level. The problem is what might be hiding in the trees, or in the sky. Our recent encounter with the night-gaunts makes me think this may be an interesting journey.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” came an unfamiliar voice. “but I’m afraid you’re right. I’ve been over this route dozens of times and it’s always an interesting trip.”
He was about my height, but maybe twenty years older than my current age of thirty-something. And a lot skinnier. He looked vaguely Middle Eastern, wearing only a ragged loincloth and leather sandals.
“Good day to you, Donn,” said Britomartis, nodding slightly. “Donn of Dylath-Leen is our guide, and knows the route very well. He’s been traveling it for... for how long, Donn?”
The other man nodded to me, and we announced ourselves.
“Since long before Chóng got here,” he chuckled. “I know every nook and cranny of the Karthian Hills, and where to cross the Zuro River without being noticed or losing a horse.”
“And just totally by coincidence, one of his wives happens to be the daughter of one of the most powerful warlords of the area,” Britomartis added.
“There’s always room for you as my fourth, my lovely, should you change your mind.”
She laughed.
“Hardly. I stand in no woman’s shadow!”
“I see you are the same as always, Donn,” came a woman’s voice from behind me.
Mistress Mochizuki had appeared, from somewhere... the path we had taken down from the house was on the other side, and I would have seen her had she come that way. But there didn’t seem to be any opening in the thick greenery she stood in front of—trees and bushes festooned with thick, flowering vines that I knew from personal experience could be the devil to get through. Or even cut through!
“Mistress Mochizuki, a pleasure to see you again!”
Donn bowed deeply, but I noticed he never took his eyes off her.
“I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer and have come to join my House? I was just discussing arrangements with Commander Britomartis here about her becoming my fourth wife, but I’d be more than happy to begin negotiations on joining our Houses with you as my fifth!”
“Britomartis? Your fourth wife? Really?” Mochizuki smiled. “I suspect you will find negotiations difficult. As far as myself I’m sure you’re well aware I could never consider anything but first, and your first wife Pensri would object rather strenuously to that, no?”
Britomartis giggled.
“Pensri is a dear friend, and you seem to be confused about exactly whose House it is... I’m afraid you shall have to abandon your fantasy.”
“Ah, Britomartis, ’tis a shame indeed. But never fear! I shall hold my love for you forever, and await that blessed day when you may join me.”
I couldn’t tell if this was some sort of extended joke or they were responding lightly to a serious proposal. I figured it didn’t really matter that much either way, though... we were all adults and as long as they (clearly!) trusted the man, so what?
I glanced over toward the stables, and saw that Mochizuki’s team—two women, one man—was ready to go.
They’d swapped their usual black for clothing of an unusual, blotchy pattern. Standing in front of the wood stables I didn’t recognize it as first, but it was a pretty good camo pattern for the sort of jungle we were heading into.
Not much you could do to hide a horse, but once they dismounted I suspected they’d be damn close to invisible. Especially if they were trained at it. And they most assuredly were.
There were four horses; one each for her team and the fourth for Mochizuki herself. They all had saddlebags, but it was clear Mochizuki valued speed and mobility over load.
Our deinos, on the other, could carry just about anything without it affecting their speed. I wondered how fast that might be.
“How speedy are those deinos?”
“The deinos can push through almost anything,” answered Donn. “but they won’t win any races with those horses. In an emergency they can gallop faster than any man can run, but they can’t keep it up for more than half a dozen minutes at a time. They don’t have to run away much, though, at that size.”
“They aren’t carnivores, but their teeth aren’t any laughing matter even if they aren’t all pointed,” added Britomartis. “And their jaws can snap a good-sized tree trunk, if they’re in the mood.”
“The raptors, on the other hand, can run with the horses all day. Given the chance, the whole nest would probably chase, hamstring, and eat the horses, but this pack is very well trained. And very well fed. I raised most of them myself from hatchlings.” Donn grinned. “More proof that I’d make a wonderful father for our children, Britomartis!”
“I’ll let you know, Donn, if I decide I’d like to raise a nest of carnivores.”
She turned to me, and pointed toward the waiting caravan with her chin.
“Shall we?”
* * *
Donn took the largest of the rusty deinos, explaining that she—her name was Celebrant, he said—was the leader of the nest and the rest would follow her anywhere. The saddlery consisted of a broad leather band encircling the hump, holding the driver’s seat on the front slope and various bags and things elsewhere. Two similar bands ran under the deino’s belly, one in front and one behind the legs, with a strap at the very bottom holding them to each other.
The halter and reins looked much the same as those of Mochizuki’s horses.
I noticed there were no stirrups, though...it had a seatbelt instead!
We mounted up. Donn’s beast took the lead, of course, followed by Britomartis, then the two pack animals, me, and the other guide—a silent man named Hakim—bringing up the rear. Mochizuki and her people waited off to the side. apparently travelling essentially independent of our caravan.
“That one’s yours,” said Donn, pointing. “Sho is a nice quiet girl. Let her sniff your hand... don’t worry, she rarely bites!”
“Thanks for the reassurance, Donn,” I replied, walking over to the beast slowly, and holding out my hand. Looking down at me, she tilted her head quizzically, then suddenly her head came shooting down for a closer look.
Unexpectedly face-to-face with a gigantic toothy face, I jumped back in surprise, but Sho was just looking at me. And although those teeth were quite impressive, her jaws were closed... I decided she probably wasn’t going to eat me after all, and stepped back, hand outstretched.
She examined it, sniffed it, licked it once, and decided I wasn’t a threat (or maybe wasn’t edible?), and lifted her head up again to look around at the rest of the caravan.
Britomartis and Donn were already mounted, and Hakim was cinching the belly belts on my deino just to be sure. Sho seemed amused by the whole thing, snaking her head down to see what he was doing and getting in his way.
He smacked her on the nose, and she whuffed and left him alone.
I secured my bow and quiver where I could reach them quickly, and my longsword. I didn’t have much other baggage, but Donn had handed me a large skin of water. Always a good idea to have water at hand, although as far as I knew we weren’t headed for desert country. I tried it to one of the pegs on the saddle, behind me where it wouldn’t get in the way.
Mochizuki’s group had been ready to go for some time. They were already mounted, just watching us and letting their horses graze.
Everyone seemed relaxed... I figured this was a pretty quiet route and they didn’t expect to run into much of anything.
“We’ll ride along the coast to the Zuro,” explained Donn. “It’s mostly passable at the water’s edge, but there are a few places we’ll have to cut inland for rivers, marches, and one section where there’s a sheer drop-off to the sea.”
“It’s over a thousand kilometers to the Zuro, but Chóng’s portal will let take care of a lot of that,” added Britomartis.
“I wondered how you were planning to get these enormous dinosaurs out of here... the door we came in through is far too small!”
“Portals can be created and destroyed, but they can’t be closed,” she continued. “And since they are always open, you have to take care that unwanted guests—like that poor boy last night—don’t come stumbling in. Or worse, an enemy.”
“Any portal big enough to handle a deino, though...”
Donn led us toward a broad path leading away from the stables.
Hakim used a long switch and whistles to control the deinos, but they were already watching what Celebrant was doing, and when she starting plodding toward the path, they perked up and moved to follow. Hakim just stopped them from bunching up where the path entered the trees.
The smaller raptors swarmed underfoot, incredibly managing to avoid being crushed by a massive deino foot. They circulated around the party, constantly peering into the surrounding forest, or scouting out the road ahead, to be sure there were no enemies lurking.
I pitied anyone discovered by those scouts.
Just on the other side of the bend in the path was a stone wall, I’d guess about three meters high. The outer gate was open, and easily large enough for a deino to pass through even with me sitting atop it.
Just inside the gate was another massive wall of gray stone, and the path led to the left.
I noticed one of Chóng’s men looking down at us from the top of the wall, and realized we were in another kill zone. Anyone trying to enter through this portal would have to traverse this path while Chóng’s men attacked them from above!
The road steadily sloped downward, and after another couple turns there was another gate, this one a huge structure of wood and reinforcing iron bars. It looked like it weighed a few tons. A guard was looking through the peephole, I’d guess to be sure there was no-one in sight on the other side, and finally signaled with his hand that it was OK.
I heard a creaking and the gate slowly lifted, revealing another stone arch full of darkness.
“Why is it so dark in there?”
“Oh, Master Richard, you are so silly at times,” Britomartis giggled. “Because it’s night, of course!”
We passed through, one at a time, followed by Mochizuki’s horses, and the gate slammed shut behind us.
My ears popped. We were back in the Dreamlands.
Donn signaled for a stop, and whistled the raptors on ahead. They chuk-chukked off into the darkness, fanning out. Donn’s hand was still up, and we remained quiet, waiting. We were in a small cul-de-sac, surrounded by high cliffs. Another cliff no different than the rest was behind me: we’d ridden through it.
After a few minutes the first few raptors returned, still chuk-chukking quietly, and collected next to Donn’s deino. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a handful of pemmican, tossing chunks to eagerly waiting raptors, and as he tossed, more and more raptors appeared until it looked to me like they’d all returned.
He must have been able to tell them apart somehow, though they all looked about the same to me, because he put the pemmican away and waved them back.
Donn whistled again, a short, up-and-down signal, and the raptors scattered off in various directions, taking up positions around the caravan. I couldn’t tell if they thought Mochizuki was part of our group or not, since we were all packed together in the narrow gorge.
Donn motioned us forward, and booted his deino into a slow walk.
“Where are we, exactly?” I asked Britomartis while we were still bunched up.
“In the middle of nowhere, but far closer to the Zuro River than Lhosk,” she replied. “It is only a few days from here.”
The cul-de-sac twisted a little, and opened up on the sea.
The sun was just rising from the water, almost directly ahead of us, streaking the sky with scarlet clouds.
It was glorious.
* * *
After sunrise, we trotted along the coast, over shallow dunes of rough, gritty sand, and outcroppings of some dark rock. Donn did indeed seem to know his way around, leading us over, around, or through them all without a single backtrack.
I rarely saw any of the raptors, but occasionally I could spot one in the distance when the beach was relatively clear of boulders and scrub. More often I caught something moving quickly just at the edge of my field of vision, and knew a raptor had just passed. The size of dogs, and splotched in a range of brown and green hues, they were almost impossible to see unless the sand was clear.
We had excellent visibility, and the raptors fanned out ahead of us to detect hidden surprises provided even more security. The deinos maintained their line anyway, though, and I was stuck at the tail end with silent Hakim, separated from Britomartis by the two pack beasts. I tried various conversation starters with Hakim and got (at best) only a nod in response.
Falling silent, I spent several hours just watching the scenery flow by... until Hakim woke me out of my ponderings with a sharp whistle.
There was a distant rumble in the sky... it sounded like aircraft!
Here? That was impossible!
I looked up where Hakim was pointing, and could just make out four or five black dots against the clouds.
They were flying this way, growing larger by the minute, and they looked older—the wings jutted out straight from the sides, not swept back like fighters. Five together sure sounded like a military flight, though.
Suddenly two of the aircraft disappeared in a soundless blip of twisted light, leaving only a few bits fluttering down from the sky.
The thunderclap came a moment later, as I watched the remaining three aircraft swept up like dry leaves in a summer storm, righting to regain control. One lost a wing and spiraled into the sea. The other two somehow recovered, much closer to the sea now, and flying in different directions.
Another thunderclap, much closer, as one of the remaining aircraft vanished. The waves shot up from the sea under, as if a waterfall in reverse, then collapsed again with a crash of white foam.
The last plane was headed almost for us, just a kilometer or so down the shore behind us. The pilot tried to land it on the beach, dropping down lower, lower, wheels touching, bouncing, tail skidding left...
...and the wingtip slammed into a projecting rock, cartwheeling it over to smash, headfirst, into the sandy beach at water’s edge. It creaked, snapped, and then sat quiet, tail sticking up like a tombstone.
There might be survivors!
I pulled on the reins to stop, and hopped off my deino. I could run back there about as quickly.
Hakim grabbed my arm as I tried to run past, leaping from his own deino to knock me over, and straddling me to stop me from getting up.
He shook his head. No.
“Master Richard!” came Britomartis’ voice. “Stop! You can’t!”
“Reed will be here any second. We have to go.” shouted Donn, running to help Hakim pull me back to my deino.
“No! There might be survivors! We have to help them!”
“No, we have to leave! Now!”
Donn and Hakim dragged me along, pulling me with them into the woods. The deinos followed.
I stopped struggling, and looked back at the aircraft.
It wasn’t anything I’d seen during my tours in the Middle East. It was mostly dark blue, with a big “28” stenciled on the side in white. This must be another sign of the “melting realities” Mochizuki had been talking about.
It exploded into flames as I watched. Nobody tried to get out.
Hakim began waving his hands, obviously upset about something.
“What’s with Hakim?” I whispered to Britomartis. “I haven’t heard him speak a single word.”
“His tongue was cut out.”
I fell silent. And I’d been miffed because he wouldn’t talk to me.
“Oh... I didn’t know.”
She smiled sadly.
“He lost his tongue, his family, and his city all on the same day.”
She stood, brushing sand from her skirt.
“Hakim wants to keep moving,” Donn broke in. “He is very worried about what She may do if She spots this wreckage. And I agree.”
“Yes. Are you done now?”
“Yes...”
I wanted to go check for a pistol or something in the wreckage, but after watching that one-sided battle I abandoned the idea. And they were dead serious about leaving immediately.
We climbed back on our rides, and set forth once more.
* * *
A few minutes later, as we trudged along the shore near the treeline, the ground shook and a distant peal of thunder rolled.
Donn merely looked up and said “Reed” and kept riding.
Later that day, as the shadows lengthened, Donn signaled we’d stop for the night near a small grove. He dismounted, and tied his deino to a tree on a few meters of rope. We followed suit, but Donn commented that as long as the matriarch was here the others wouldn’t stray.
Hakim went to her with a huge sack, feeding her large chunks of some kind of dried meat.
“They’re on short rations for the trip, but have more than enough food in their humps for this kind of trip,” explained Britomartis. “We’d need a much larger packtrain if we had to feed them all the way! Besides, they’ll hunt for themselves all night, and for much fresher meat.”
“And the raptors?”
“They’ve been eating all day, haven’t you noticed?”
Now that she mentioned it I did recall seeing raptors chasing birds and small animals, or stopping to tear something to pieces.
“They love the treats we give them, but they eat everything, all day every day,” she laughed.
“Is it OK to start a fire, Donn?”
“Yes, it should be safe here, especially with the raptors on guard.”
I knew how to do that much, at least, and quickly gathered enough rocks to build a firepit. There was ample driftwood on the coast, and lots more wood up the slope, where the forest began.
Apparently matches were OK here, although I was a little unsure about lighters... I’d picked up a box of “strike-on-anything” matches at Chóng’s before we left, and they worked just fine.
I had a good fire going by the time the others had the deinos settled down and the necessary panniers unpacked.
Looks like we’d be having sun-dried meat and boiled rice, I thought to myself, and just as I sighed in resignation I saw Hakim walk up holding a fresh-killed rabbit.
I started sharpening a long spit immediately, a smile back on my face.
One of the raptors, a medium-sized specimen with a big splotch of green across his eyes like a mask, came and set next to Donn, waiting for tidbits of rabbit no doubt. It didn’t seem to trust me, which was fine with me—I didn’t trust it, either, not after seeing those fangs and talons up close!
Later, watching the phosphorescent waves roll in after a fine meal, and wondering what the raptors were squealing and grunting about in the darkness, Donn stood and walked over to his deino. He rummaged in one of the panniers and pulled out a long, heavy sack. Looked like a waterskin, but I had a suspicion...
Yes!
It was a wineskin!
He took a swig and passed it to me.
No cups, then.
I was quick study, taking a swig myself and passing it to Britomartis, who followed suit and on to Hakim, and around again.
The warm, heady wine was the perfect way to enjoy the beauty of the moment.
When it reached Donn after the second time around, he hammered the cork back in with his fist and set it down.
“We enter the grasslands tomorrow and will need to be alert, raptors or no. And if we’re unlucky we may need our wits about us this night as well.”
I banked the fire, and we lay down on our bedrolls, roughly encircling the fire pit. Donn was closest to the deinos; I to the sea.
Donn’s raptor sidekick, realizing that there was no more rabbit forthcoming, stalked off into the night. I was delighted it felt the need to stand watch, and even more delighted that it wasn’t standing watch next to me. Damn thing scared me, no doubt because of all those Jurassic Park movies. They sure acted intelligent at times, and they were clearly very carnivorous... and hungry.
I made sure my longsword and bow were close at hand, and lay staring at the unfamiliar constellations until sleep overtook me.
* * *
Fortunately, Donn’s warning about night visitors proved unnecessary, and I slept until the sun rose flaming from the sea to open a new day.
Donn and Hakim were already up and tending to the deinos. I noticed that the same green-masked raptor from last night was trailing Donn like a shadow, no doubt hoping for another handout.
Britomartis was nowhere to be seen; I was the last one up.
“Does that fellow have a name?” I asked Donn, pointing at the raptor. “He seems to like you.”
“I raised most of this brood myself,” Donn answered. “but for some reason this one seems to have taken to me. He is sort of cute...”
Donn reached into his pocket and flipped the beast a piece of food.
“I call him Snarly, which seems to fit his general vocabulary. He’s actually pretty smart for a raptor, and knows a couple dozen commands.”
He faced Snarly and spoke clearly, “Snarly, sit!”
The raptor promptly squatted, lower legs flat on the ground and tail outstretched, neck straight and head high. Its eyes were focused on Donn’s hands, though, and that snaky tongue flicked in and out incessantly.
“Good boy!” He tossed another piece of food, which Snarly snatched out of the air with a sudden dart of its head.
“All done,” said Donn, waving his hands. “Go! Go on, away with you!”
Snarly cocked its head, studying Donn for a moment, then rose and stalked off into the dunes, eyes searching left and right for something new to eat.
“Are they really safe?”
“For the most part... they can get excited easily is there’s blood around, and when they’re excited they sometimes make mistakes. It’s a good idea to get them headed in the right direction and stand back, if you can. I tried raising the youngest brood—Snarly’s brood—differently this time, and they seem to be much more attentive to command. This is the first time I’ve taken them on a long journey, though...”
“How old is he?”
“This brood was hatched two years ago, but the oldest member of the nest here—the matriarch—is eight. I think they pay her more attention than me, and I’d hate to have to force them to decide between us.”
I figured there were about four dozen raptors in our caravan, but had no idea how many might be in Snarly’s brood.
“They seem to take care of themselves just fine, don’t they?”
“Usually. They hunt and feed themselves when they can, but of course if food or water is scarce they come running. And Snarly prefers people food to fresh meat, it seems. His broodmates prefer the hunt.”
He finished loading his gear into the pannier, and slapped the dust from his hands against his pants.
“It’s a pity Snarly’s a male—I would have liked to try raising a new nest with a matriarch who could understand as much as he can.”
“The deinos follow a female, too... It’s impossible with a male, then?”
“It’s just the way they are, it seems. People have tried, but it’s not something we can change, try as we will.”
“Good morning, Donn, Master Richard!”
Britomartis had returned from wherever she had been—which reminded me, I really needed to go to the bathroom myself.
I excused myself and walked off behind a convenient rock.
* * *
After a quick breakfast of dried meat and rice gruel, washed down with ice-cold water from a nearby stream (which also conveniently refilled our waterskins), Donn whistled the raptors back from hunting, and we were off again.
Yesterday had been largely flat coastline, consisting of rolling dunes punctuated with scattered outcroppings and scrub, but the terrain slowly changed to grassy hills as we began to climb away from the sea. Apparently the beach ended some kilometers ahead, giving way to sheer cliffs, and we had to cut inland to get past.
The trail was quite overgrown with weeds, but Hakim showed me the camouflaged markers on scattered tree trunks—no longer broadleaves, now mostly pine—here and there. Once you knew what to look for the markers were quite easy to spot, and follow. The deinos seemed to know the route even without being guided.
It was a beautiful day, with scattered clouds scudding about, flowers blooming in abundance everywhere I looked, and birdsong... wait a minute, the birds have gone silent!
I looked toward the front of the caravan, and Donn had his hand up, signaling halt. Britomartis already had her bow out and nocked. I heard Hakim pull up beside me, as he gave a long, low whistle to the raptors.
Immediately about half of them pulled back to within a dozen meters of the deinos, while the rest vanished into the woods on the landward side. There were plenty of trees on the seaward side as well, but they weren’t packed tightly enough to hide much of anything. Whatever had the birds spooked was in the forest uphill of us.
Donn motioned us forward, arranging the deinos into a half-circle facing the woods. In front of us were the raptors, increasingly agitated... they sprinted, stopped, craned their necks toward the woods, and sprinted off to new vantage points, trying to locate whatever they smelled.
Hakim wiggled his fingers again, and Donn frowned.
“Whatever it is, it’s big... might be a bear, or even a gug, if we’re unlucky. The raptors will give us warning if it...”
A huge crash in the woods drowned out his words. Something enormous had toppled, and the raptors surged forward like a flood of fangs and talons, vanishing into the trees in a flash. Their usual dilatory chuk-chukking was gone, replaced by a ferocious, hissing scream. Dozens of them screamed in unison as they leapt to the attack... on what?
I undid my seatbelt and made sure my feet were free in case I needed to jump off. My bow was ready and nocked, and my longsword by my side within easy reach. The deino was shifting uneasily under me, snuffling and craning its neck here and there.
Hakim had produced a massive crossbow from somewhere, and was pulling the string taut against his outstretched foot, still seated on his deino.
The raptors were screaming in rage now, piercing shrieks that ended in meaty, tearing noises or squeals of pain.
A raptor came flying through the brush, torn almost in half, but something bloody still clamped between its jaws. It thumped to the ground, writhing as it struggled to return to the fight.
Another crash, and a monstrous black shape burst into view. About the size of a small horse, it was covered with patches of hair and ugly blotches that looked like lichen or fungus. Or scabs. It stood on two hind legs like a kangaroo, but all four limbs ended in sharp hooves.
The raptors were attacking it from all directions, festooned upon its body like leeches, tearing huge gobbets of flesh off with talons and jaws, but the beast fought back with its razor-sharp hooves and long muzzle crammed with multiple rows of fangs. A foreleg rose, three raptors hanging off it like burrs, and threw another raptor into the air. It cartwheeled, shrieking in rage all the while, and slammed into tree trunk, to slide down and lie motionless on the ground.
“A ghast!” shouted Britomartis.
“But they cannot withstand the sun!”
“Tell that to the ghast!” she cried, and leapt off her deino. She released her first arrow before she even touched the ground, missing one of the creature’s eyes by only a hair. She landed facing it, archer’s stance, and the tension snapped. We all began firing as we saw our chances, trying to avoid hitting the raptors.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mochizuki’s horses rearing. She had joined the defense together with her three guards.
While Britomartis aimed for the eyes, Donn and I fired arrow after arrow into the thing’s enormous chest. One of Mochizuki’s women ran in front of my deino, throwing something small and black at the ghast, but I couldn’t spare the time to look. Hitting it was not a problem; hurting it seemed impossible. It ignored us, concentrating on the pack of raptors attacking from all sides.
Hakim’s crossbow made a loud thump and a thick bolt flew past me into the ghast’s skull, knocking its head back with the impact.
One of the raptors took advantage of the lapse to leap up and clamp its jaws onto the beast’s throat. Roaring in agony, the ghast smashed its front hooves together, mashing the raptor horribly... but even in death its jaws stayed clamped shut, and the ghast’s own efforts to dislodge it gradually weakened as its lifeblood drained away, painting the dead raptor that had killed it crimson.
It toppled, finally, and the raptors went berserk, slashing it to bloody ribbons. Even drenched in blood and bloodlust, they yielded when the matriarch approached, shuffling back a fraction but holding on tightly to whatever gobbets of flesh they had already grabbed.
She walked up to the carcass, head tilted slightly as she surveyed her prey, and finally leaned forward and sniffed around the ghast’s abdomen. She hesitated for a moment, then dove at it with fangs and talons, ripping it open to reveal the beast’s inner organs. She gorged herself, and as she gorged, her nest returned to feeding, content to grant her the choicest parts.
“My God! What in the world was that thing?” I asked, finally remembering to breathe and wondering just how rapid my pulse was.
“A ghast,” explained Donn. “They live underground, and never come out in the sun. It kills them.”
“But this one did...”
“...but this one did...” he agreed, dismounting to offer his deino some food and help her calm down. “I think we need to move the deinos away from the raptors for a while, until their bloodlust is gone.”
“Doesn’t look like we’ll be able to recover our arrows now, does it?” said Britomartis ruefully, looking at the feasting raptors.”
“Perhaps the heads, later,” said Donn, “but I doubt there’ll be much left...”
He led the way, pulling on the reins of his deino—the matriarch— and guiding her up the path. We followed, stepping around the casualties. I saw Hakim dispatch one terribly wounded raptor with a quick sword thrust to the chest, but there were a number of “walking wounded” about.
“That was a very impressive shot, Britomartis my love,” said Donn as he worked. “Our sons will learn much from your training!”
“We have no sons, Donn, and never shall, try as you might,” she countered. “But I would be happy to teach your daughters how to deal with men!”
Donn snorted and fell silent.
The deinos were snuffling and hooting, still excited by the flurry of action and the smell of blood. Donn advised me to walk to the side of the animals, not in front, to avoid “mishaps” from a clawed foot suddenly thrust forward in all the excitement. Those claws could eviscerate me in an instant; I decided it was probably an excellent idea, much as I trusted my deino to play nice.
A few dozen meters up the path was enough to hide the carnage, and the breeze took care of the smell. The deinos settled down, their snorts of indignation gradually giving way to inquisitive grunts as they returned to their usual pursuit, looking about for snacks. Donn gave them some, then left them to their own devices.
“So what was a ghast doing on a mountainside in daylight!?” questioned Britomartis. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“Hakim says he’s never heard of it before, either,” added Donn, pointing at Hakim’s signing fingers. “And until today, I would have said it was impossible... sunlight kills them!”
“It’s dead now—thank goodness—but it took quite a bit of killing,” I grumbled. “There must be a cave opening around here somewhere leading to the highlands, or Mount Sidrak. Um... Is there any point in examining what’s left of it?”
“I have no interest in approaching that stench any closer than I have to,” sniffed Britomartis. “Ghasts look hideous, and if anything smell even worse.”
“And probably not much left to look at by the time they get done with anyway,” laughed Donn, sitting down on a convenient rock. “It looks like a good time to take a rest, much as I’d rather not. Until the raptors cool down and finish gorging, they won’t listen to a word I say.”
“I think I saw some water earlier,” said Britomartis. “I’m heading back to see if I can find a clean spring to top up our waterskins.”
“I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Master Richard. By all means!”
Since we’d be on foot and probably in the woods, I left the bow and arrows—severely depleted—and strapped on my longsword. It would be hard to swing it in the trees and it might not stop a ghast, but it would work just fine against bears—or brigands.
I hung my waterskins from my left shoulder—one half-full, one almost empty—and Britomartis followed suit. There were certainly no worries about running out here on the mountainside, but I had to admit that an ice-cold mountain spring sounded a lot more tasty than the lukewarm water in the skin!
We walked back down the path, past the raptors. About half of them had eaten to their heart’s content, and were sitting or standing peacefully, tongues snaking out every so often to check for one more tasty gobbet perhaps hiding on their snout.
The last few raptors were tearing at the ghast now.
“Those are the runts of the brood, at the bottom of the nest hierarchy,” she explained. “They always eat last, and get bitten or even killed if they try to butt ahead.”
“The omegas... but that one there is pretty big for a runt,” I suggested, pointing at a rather large, mostly brown specimen in a furious tug-of-war with another, smaller raptor. The prize was a bloody section of ghast intestines.
“Mmm, yes. That’s Cornelius. He’s sort of the leader of the runts, but still at the bottom of the heap to the rest of the nest.”
“He seems large enough to fight for a promotion...”
“He was the brood leader a few years ago. I don’t understand the psychology, but when his brood was slaughtered in a battle and he survived, he sort of mellowed. He doesn’t pick fights anymore, and meekly backs down when one of the other raptors challenges.”
“So, he’s just given up, then?”
“No... I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “Did you see him against the ghast? While the others were going for the throat and vital organs, in the face of those razor-sharp hooves and that hideous muzzle, he circled around back and hamstrung the beast.”
“No, I hadn’t... so that’s why it didn’t just bounce to safety! I wondered why it stood and fought so stubbornly.”
“Well, ghasts are remarkably stupid and stubborn creatures, but yes... the tendon in its left leg was severed, and I think it realized there was no escape.”
She ducked under an outstretched branch, and pointed ahead.
“There... I was right, there is a small stream.”
“A bit too small for our purposes, I think. Let’s follow it and see what else there is,” I suggested.
“OK. Upstream or down?”
“If it’s this small here I doubt it’ll be much bigger upstream. Down, then?”
She nodded in agreement and we crossed back across the path again, following the thin stream back into the thinning trees and toward the sea.
It dribbled off the cliff into the waves, mostly blowing into mist before it even reached the sea.
“Well, I guess we’ll have to look elsewhere,” I said, looking down at the spume-drenched rocks below.
“Not that far, though!”
I looked up.
She was pointing to the left, and sure enough, there was a good-sized waterfall only a few hundred meters away. The stream must cross the path beyond where we had halted.
It was an easy walk to the stream, and a simple task to empty and refill our waterskins in the rushing current. The stream was only about a meter wide—no danger of being swept off into the air—but it was cold and delicious.
After the skins were full, we followed it upstream until we reached the road again, and turned back toward where Donn and Hakim should be waiting.
It was a short walk back, and they agreed the ice-cold treat was a vast improvement over deino-hot, waterbag-flavored water.
In our absence they’d started a small fire just off the path. I noticed Snarly was curled up near the fire; he must have finished his meal and come back to keep an eye on Donn.
“With luck we’ll be able to get moving again in a few hours,” said Donn. “We might as well enjoy our lunch now while we have the chance.”
“Is it safe with all the deinos busy feeding?”
“I think so, Master Richard. We still have all the birds and six deinos to warn us.”
He knew the region and Dreamlands much better than I, and since I was already trusting him with my life I decided I might as well trust him about lunch, too.
“I’m starving!”
Donn was watching Hakim’s signing again.
“He says five raptors are dead—he had to mercy-kill two himself—and another three are unlikely to live another day. Most of the rest are wounded to some extent, but should be able to keep up. He says he’ll spread salve on the wounds to prevent infection, but expects another one or two will either die or have to be abandoned as we go.”
“How many does that leave in this nest?” asked Britomartis.
“About two dozen,” said Donn. “No worries at all. I will always protect my wife-to-be!”
Before Britomartis could snap a reply, we heard heavy hooves. I spun around, longsword springing to hand.
It was Mochizuki’s group, on foot and leading their horses. The steeds seemed skittery, tugging at the reins and tossing their heads. All the blood, no doubt.
“Mistress,” I greeted her.
“Master Richard,” she nodded. “I see you found the falls after all.”
“We managed,” I grinned. “Thank you for the assistance earlier... you’ve suffered no injuries?”
“None at all, but the horses were quite unhappy with the turn of events: first a ghast, then bloodshed and raptors in a feeding frenzy. It took us some time to quiet them down.” She tied her reins to a nearby tree. “It was very kind of you to take care of the ghast for us! Perhaps we should take the lead next time?”
“Yes, by all means, do feel free to take point in the afternoon!” interjected Britomartis. “It will be good exercise, and most assuredly stave off boredom.”
“We’re halting for an hour or two,” broke in Donn, businesslike. “The raptors should be ready to move by then, and I want to reach the Zuro by tomorrow. The King is waiting.”
“The King is waiting,” echoed Mochizuki, looking steadily at me. I wondered why.
She signaled her people to join us, and they tied their horses loosely to the trees, letting them graze.
Mochizuki sat on a rock near the four of us, but her three companions held back, choosing seats that let them look up or down the path, always on the alert. Mochizuki herself was gracious, engaging in simple conversation and wielding a pair of very thin chopsticks with an unconscious dexterity I could only match through determined effort.
Her three warriors ate silently, eyes always jumping to check shadows and movement. Even when they walked to the horses or reached into their saddlebags I couldn’t hear a single rustle... if I had closed my eyes I would have thought they weren’t there at all.
How could she train such people?
They were like ninjas!
My God... I just realized. They weren’t like ninjas, they were ninjas!
I mean, they weren’t wearing fancy masks and carrying nunchuks or whatever, but they were clearly highly trained, highly skilled warriors. And spies, as Britomartis had pointed out.
And Mochizuki came from Japan...
I always thought they were just make-believe, a kids’ comic book, but then again this was the Dreamlands, and here Dreams—even kids’ dreams—could be real.
Night-gaunts, giant eyes-in-the-sky, velociraptors, ghasts, ninjas. And me.
I tore off another piece of the dried meat and chewed on it as I thought.
And Kuranes felt that I hadn’t come here by accident.
But what could I possibly have to do with it?
Sure, I had knowledge of modern technology and weapons, but that was all verboten here... so why, then? I knew now that I could wield longsword and bow effectively, but I was clearly no universe-saving hero.
And now a Spenserian heroine and a Japanese ninja-master were escorting me, at the behest of a king, to meet with some monk in the wilderness while the whole fucking universe was melting around me.
Not to mention I’m half a century younger than I was when I got here!
Things would be a lot easier if Britomartis weren’t so beautiful...
Uh-oh. Dangerous thoughts, there... I clamped down on myself. It would be pretty awkward if she and I were in another public bath and I started thinking about how pretty she was.
I sighed, sat up, and opened my eyes.
Mochizuki was watching me from a few meters away, a metal pipe with a long, thin stem and a tiny bowl in her hand, and a faint smile on her face.
She said nothing, merely watching me as I struggled to maintain my composure.
Surely she couldn’t read my mind!?
Ridiculous... and yet...
“I think our raptors are all done for now,” said Donn, breaking the silence. “They’ll be a bit sluggish for the rest of the day, but it should be fine. Time to mount up!”
Mochizuki stood, and glanced at her ninja. Two women and a man. They stood instantly, moving to ready the horses. One of the women held the reins of Mochizuki’s horse as she mounted.
Britomartis clambered up onto her deino, and I onto Sho. Hakim doused the fire and stomped the embers out before cinching his deino’s waistband tighter and getting on.
Donn was whispering sweet nothings into Celebrant’s ear, and feeding her a little snack before starting. Snarly sort of pecked him in the leg, demanding his own share, and Donn handed him a piece: what Celebrant swallowed in one gulp was enough to keep Snarly busy for minutes. While Snarly was busy with the meat, Donn climbed up on Celebrant and snapped her reins.
“OK?”
We answered or grunted in the affirmative, and Donn gave that short, up-and-down whistle. The raptors came trotting up, fanning out to scout the trail ahead of us.
Mochizuki took the lead this time, riding two abreast up the trail and scattering the raptors.
Donn on Celebrant followed, and we were back on the move.
* * *
The afternoon and night passed without incident, and after an early start the next morning we reached the far side of the highland. The path continued down the slope below us, weaving in and out of high grass and scattered trees, finally disappearing into the greenery far below. Beyond it lay the shimmering expanse of the Zuro river mouth, a huge delta of sandbars and channels dotted with clumps of vegetation that stretched off into the misty distance and invisibility.
We couldn’t spot any ships, although Donn assured me that local villagers usually fished the delta in tiny two-man boats. He rattled off the names of a few villages, mentioning the “excellent rice wine of Fingash, the fishermen of Khor, who could tickle sharks with impunity, and the famous potter of Calizondi” (who had moved there from Hlanith on the advice of an oracle, and had since become famous from Lhosk to far Oonai for his snail-headed creations). Needless to say, they all had delicious fresh-caught fish.
“We’ll arrange for a boat to ferry you two across the river; it’s not that far from there to Hlanith, where the King will be waiting.”
“And you, Donn?”
“The deinos are far too large for these boats, and the closest ferry is a few days’ travel upstream... Hakim and I will take our leave here, for we have other stops to make on this journey.”
“And we will be off as well,” broke in Mochizuki. “I hope to be able to attend the gathering at Ryūzō-ji Temple, but I must attend to several other matters of pressing import. We’ll be taking a different route a few kilometers down the path.”
“How many raptors will we be able to take with us?” asked Britomartis.
“We can take some of the raptors with us?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you or Hakim had to be there to control them.”
Donn chuckled. “Well, yes, they are a lot safer when we’re with them, but the six I’m sending with you are very well trained. Britomartis should have no problem commanding them.”
“I’ve never worked with this brood, but the nest knows me, and I understand raptors,” she said. “It should be fine, and from the river to Hlanith six should be sufficient to keep bandits away. And most other unpleasant creatures.”
We began the ride down, and I was forced lean far back in my seat to keep my balance as Sho trotted downhill. The raptors had all vanished, but I could see half a dozen of them racing through the tall grass, leaving shaking or trampled stalks I their wake. Every so often they surprised some animal or bird and an explosion of noise—and sometimes violence—shattered the air.
Raptors were very good at hunting. And killing.
At least an hour later the path levelled out a bit and the pace slackened, and Donn halted for a rest where the path widened out into a glade. While the deinos were quite comfortable to ride on level ground, the incessant jolt of trotting down that hillside was torture. Given how big the deinos were, I figured they were pretty tired of it, too.
Sure enough, my Sho and one of the packbeasts prompt sat down, honking quietly as they squirmed their undersides into the cool ground.
Donn and Hakim went from deino to deino, offering food and water, and scratching an outstretched leg or jaw now and again.
There was even a scattering of raptors settling down for a rest; presumably, the ones that had eaten something on the way down.
“We’ll leave you here, Donn,” called Mochizuki. “We journey upstream, then across and into the Karthian Hills, thence into the Enchanted Wood and the land of the Zoogs. With luck we shall meet again at the temple.”
Donn bowed.
“Safe journey, Mistress Mochizuki. Another cold, sleepless night awaits me, alas...”
“And you, Donn,” she replied. “Safe journey to you all, and...” She glanced at me, “...may the Force be with you!”
She grinned, twitched the reins, and galloped down the path, her three guards close behind.
“What was that?” queried Britomartis, looking to me for an explanation, “What she said... ‘May the Force be with you’?”
I chuckled. “It’s a famous story in my realm and a long one. The Force is the basic force of life and fundamental good, in a sense.”
“She used it once before, too. A goodly parting indeed.”
“I’m sorry to see her leave... it was comforting to have her on guard.”
“You have so little faith in my skill, Master Richard!?”
“Oh, no! Not at all, Britomartis! But... but...”
She laughed, and I realized she wasn’t upset after all... unsure what I was trying to say I decided the better part of valor was to shut up, which I did with enthusiasm.
“Don’t worry, Richard. I certainly do not lack faith in my own arm, but neither do I refuse assistance from others! I, too, was glad to have her on watch.”
I heaved a silent sigh of relief.
Time for a masterful change of subject.
“How long have you known Donn? And Chóng?”
“I met Donn first, in fact, many years ago...” she answered, head tilted in recollection. “I was on an errand for the King near Mount Lerion, and Donn was having some trouble with river pirates, as I recall.”
“Rather more than just ‘some’ trouble, I’d say,” broke in Donn. “There were half a hundred of them, drawn by the scent of gold in my caravan, thanks to a deino-tender who couldn’t hold his liquor.”
“He was almost overwhelmed, but my arrows from the jungle slowed the attackers down long enough to get his defenses up. After I ran out of arrows I stepped out with my scimitars and cut them down from the rear.”
“Oh, nonsense. We were ready for them and would have slaughtered the bunch as soon as they got closer.”
“As I recall, they already were closer,” said Britomartis. “Two or three deinos were already down, and you were holding off two of the ruffians yourself with some very fancy swordplay...”
“Bah. I was toying with them. You ruined all my fun!”
“And you were so upset that afterward you invited me to share your table, and tried to gift me a bag of gold for my trouble. Hardly appropriate for someone who has ruined your fun.”
“Perfectly natural for one so polite as myself upon meeting such a beautiful and unescorted woman as yourself.”
“Yes, of course... that must be the reason. Merchants are always so generous with their gold dust, I had forgotten...”
She turned back to me.
“Word of that incident got back to Chóng, and it turned out that he and the King were old friends. Hmm. Perhaps not friends, exactly, but allies with many things in common, as it happens... and so I ended up working always for the King but sometimes also for, or with, Chóng.”
“And does Mistress Mochizuki work for the Chóng as well?”
“Oh, no. She’s the King’s, through and through. She’d give herself to a shantak at his command.”
“I’d rather she didn’t have to, though... she’s a mystery to me, always wearing a mask. Even when she smiles it’s only skin-deep—I wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at me like that, as if I were some strange beast she’d caught and was wondering if she should let me go or roast me for dinner.”
“She is privy to many secrets here in the Dreamlands,” added Donn. “And I believe in other realms as well, but only the King would know the truth of that.”
He turned to Britomartis, “Milady, if you would like to continue that night’s discussion I would be honored! My wives would welcome you!”
“I’m sure they would, dear Donn, but if they welcomed me quite so well then there would be none left for you!”
“A true man stands erect and proud as he faces the many challenges life presents, and conquers them with a thrust of destiny.”
The thrust he demonstrated was not a sword-thrust, but came from some centimeters below his belt.
Britomartis laughed again. “Oh, Donn, you are incorrigible. But cute, though, even so.”
Donn looked at the sky, checking the position of the sun.
“We’ve hours of sunlight left, and it would be good to be out of the forest and to the river by sundown. Let’s ride.”
The deinos and raptors shuffled into their places as we started getting ready. I think Sho was beginning to recognize me: she came shuffling over for a snack. Donn quickly tossed me one so I could be the person to feed it to her, and strengthen the bond. I was careful to hold the chunk of meat on the flat of my palm, not wanting to lose a finger to a careless dinosaur.
Sho slurped it right up, and gave me another on the cheek in thanks.
We got under way, wending our way through the quiet woods, deino talons raking through the dry leaves underfoot, and birds singing with delight in the sun-dappled branches. The pines has given way to bushier trees, and the area was rich with flowers and a few red berries peeking out here and there.
An acorn flew past my nose, and I looked up to see an angry squirrel looking down at the deino. The deino looked up, and stretched its neck toward the little morsel, but the squirrel was faster, bouncing to another branch and chittering away furiously at the intrusion.
I patted Sho on the head and we kept walking.
At last the River Zuro appeared, water glittering through the trees, and we emerged onto the coastal dunes once again. We looked down over the river’s enormous delta, a never-ending expanse of sand, water, and mangrove trees.
“There’s a boat, over there,” said Donn, pointing. “Does it fly a crest?”
“None that I can see,” replied Britomartis, hand shading her eyes from the afternoon sun and staring at the boat—just a tiny black dot, to my eyes. “Just two people and a casting net. Oh, there’s a third... she must have been sitting down or something.”
“She?”
“They all seem to be women... or at least have well-developed breasts! They’re close to nude.”
“The pearl divers of Khor, then. Good,” nodded Donn, satisfied. “The village should be only a short distance upriver.”
We set off upriver, Donn whistling a signal every few minutes to warn them that we were coming and meant no harm.
After about ten minutes, Donn suddenly dismounted, signaling a halt as we walked over to a small stand of trees. As I wondered why, suddenly an indigo-tattooed warrior stepped out of the camouflaging pattern of shadows and sunlight, almost materializing from thin air.
“Donn.”
“Tricomatus.”
They greeted each other with that wrist-shake, the same one King Kuranes had used at the Palace of the Seventy Delights.
“You are early this year.”
“These two are to Hlanith,” he said, pointing at us. “We need transport across the River Zuro.”
“For you, Donn, of course,” smiled Tricomatus. “I hope you remembered to bring a little frankincense for me this time?”
“And cinnamon, my friend. I do not forget you!”
“Come,” called Tricomatis, waving his hand forward. “Welcome to Khor!”
Another dozen warriors, men and women, materialized out of the underbrush. Wearing little but patterns of ochre, indigo and ash, they had stayed hidden, invisible, until they knew we were no threat.
They were armed with bows, some spears, and long sticks with no obvious purpose.
I tried to get a better look but couldn’t figure it out... until one of them put a short spear into the end of the stick and launched it at a rabbit some dozens of meters away. An atlatl! I had never seen one before. The rabbit hadn’t, either, and by the time it noticed its danger, it was too late. Someone was having roast rabbit tonight.
Donn was in the front of the caravan, and dismounted to walk next to Tricomatis, talking of this and that. Britomartis, however, fell back to join me, and signal we should dismount and walk together.
“Master Richard, Khor is a dangerous village,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, follow Donn’s lead, and do not, under any circumstances, dally with the villagers.”
“Dally?”
“More than kissing,” she replied, circumspect as one would expect of a Elizabethan lady. “There will be a feast in the evening and they will try to lure you away. Lie down, and do not sit or stand up, no matter what. Keep everyone at arm’s length, if you can. Refuse with force, if needed, but do not draw blood.”
She was reticent to talk, surrounded as we were by the villagers, and I was left wondering what was coming.
Khor was a compact village built atop a cliff next to the river. The boat-landing was at the water’s edge, of course, with a steep path running up the face of the cliff. It looked like the only way to reach the landing was by water, or by that cliff-face.
Another, much wider and easier slope, led up and around on the landward side before turning back toward the village. The cliff itself was sort of an island, connected to the rising hills in the rear by a narrow causeway that had once been natural but was now shaped and walled for defense. It would be a hard nut to crack by land or water... and the cliff’s height practically guaranteed it was safe from floods, unless they were strong enough to cut away the very solid-looking rock it was built of.
Tricomatis led us up through the surrounding fields, and pointed to a large wooden building near the narrow entrance to the village. “Your deinos are too large for the village, I’m afraid. We would be quite upset if you accidentally toppled our homes! We’ll take care of them there for you until... until when, Donn? What are your plans?”
“As soon as these two are off to Hlanith I’ll be heading upriver, then to Ulthar.”
“Be careful. The cats and the Zoogs are on uneasy terms of late, and while they rarely involve outsiders in their battles, the truce holding now is brittle.”
“Truce? They declared a formal truce?” asked Britomartis.
“Yes, the first I have ever heard tell of, although there have been long years of relative peace now and again.”
Donn and Britomartis exchanged a look.
“The Zoogmoot,” said Donn.
“I wonder if the cats will be there, strange as it sounds,...” said Britomartis.
“So you have heard of the Zoogmoot as well, then,” said Tricomatis. “It is to be held on the Dark of Bubastis.”
“A most inauspicious date for the cats... that is the one day their goddess is unable to answer their pleas.”
“Another forty days or so,” mused Donn. “You should have reached your destination by then, although the King set no date.”
“But he did say to travel with all due haste,” Britomartis reminded him.
“How soon can you arrange transport across the Zuro?” asked Donn.
“At any time, of course,” said Tricomatis, “but as it happens we are sending a large shipment of spice to Hlanith on the morrow, and the boat will easily carry two passengers.”
“Excellent!” smiled Donn. “Let me double—no, triple!—the usual fee.”
He pulled a wallet from his belt, and counted out three gold coins, which he held out to Tricomatis.
Tricomatis smiled, and stepped forward to grip Donn in the wrist-shake, his left hand on Donn’s shoulder.
“Thank you, my friend,” he said, then stepped back and the coins were gone. “Now we shall feast!”
He gave a huge hoot, and a flood of children came spilling out of the village, swarming our caravan and jumping up and down with excitement around Donn and Hakim.
Donn laughed with delight, and pulled a sack from the pannier on one of the packbeasts.
“Quiet, now. Quiet! No treats for the noisy!”
The children around him immediately fell silent, eyes huge as they watched him open the bag and stick his hand inside...
“Hmm... is this sack empty? ... My goodness, I do hope I haven’t forgotten them!”
He rooted around a little more, sticking his arm in up to the shoulder, face turned up toward the sky as he apparently searched and searched with his fingertips.
The children began whispering to each other, but they were still smiling.
“Aha!” he shouted, and pulled his hand out holding a smaller bag full of candies of all the colors of the rainbow. “Found it!”
The children erupted with shouts of glee, and began jumping again.
“Line up, now! Are you children or raptors?”
They quickly formed a line—shortest in front—and Donn began doling out one candy to each, nodding individually, and receiving a word of thanks or a curtsy in return.
I glanced toward Hakim to see what he was doing... there were only four children there, seated cross-legged in front of him like disciples to Gautama. They all held panpipes, and he was showing them how to finger and blow. They squawked and squeaked until they were red in the face, and Hakim shushed them, raising his own panpipes to his lips.
He played a haunting tune very softly, the notes swelling up from obscurity to somehow permeate the very air, impossible to ignore—or dislike. Donn’s children fell silent, captured by the music, listening in awe to the gentle, lilting melody.
It gradually sped up, accelerating toward a climax, a crescendo, and suddenly. Just. Stopped.
The silence sat heavy for a minute; nobody could move with the shock.
“He has written the poem for that piece,” Britomartis said quietly. “and will show it to no one.”
“It was so beautiful, and just ended so abruptly. Chopped off.”
“Yes, chopped off. Exactly that.” She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “It is his elegy to his wife, his children, his land, snuffed out in an instant.”
She bowed deeply to Hakim, who nodded, then returned his attention to his music students, twisting their hands and fingers into position, and showing them how to shape their lips.
“Donn is Santa Claus!”
Britomartis looked at me, frowning. “Saint who?”
It was my turn to laugh.
“Never mind... a famous giver of gifts in my realm.”
Young men and women had joined us, walking from their chores in the field or the village to see the strangers. One beautiful woman, or perhaps yet a girl, with an ochre pattern running down the side of her face, to her neck, her breastbone, and deeper than I could see, offered me an apple, and when I took it with thanks, a demure kiss on the cheek. I recalled Britomartis’ words too late and tried to fend her off, but it was too late.
It seemed a perfectly normal peck to me.
She had stunning blue eyes and pitch-black hair. Now that I looked, all of the adults had the same piercing blue eyes... the whites of their eyes were entirely blue. The children, however, looked perfectly ordinary, with brown eyes. Peculiar.
I wanted to ask Britomartis about it, but she had her own bevy of admirers, but while mine were mostly young women, she had a good mix of both genders and seemed to be enjoying the attention. Someone had given her a tiny green-and-yellow marmoset, which now sat on her shoulder munching on a piece of candy (had it stolen it from some unlucky child?) and playfully swatting at anyone who dared come too close to his Britomartis. She named it Chee-Chee.
Some of the men led our deinos away, and Donn himself locked the raptors into a small enclosure where they wouldn’t cause any trouble.
We crossed the bridge, through the massive gates, and into the village.
There were thirty or forty buildings of various size, all wattled bamboo and adobe, with thatched roofs. They were painted in a dazzling host of hues, some with stripes of multiple colors, but the roofs were uniformly untouched, dried-grass brown, each with a blackened stone chimney protruding.
There were no doors that I could see, only woven hangings across the entrance, most now pinned up, open to the sun and air. Obviously there was no worry of theft here.
In the center of the village was a larger structure, built on a stone base to rise above the rest. It was painted in blue, but the color varied from a deep midnight at the base to an almost sky-blue at the top of the wall. None of the other buildings had shading: stripes, yes, but no shading.
“No doors, no locks,” I commented to Britomartis. “but strong defenses against external enemies.”
“Khor is very close,” she explained. “They share everything amongst themselves, under the guidance of the village elders. That payment Donn made will be in the village coffer shortly; it wasn’t paid to Tricomatis, only entrusted to him.”
“Do they marry among the clan, too?”
“Yes and no,” she said mysteriously. “Later.”
We reached the central building. It had no windows and only a single, quite small door made of wood, unlike the cloth hangings in the other doorways.
“You must bow your head to signify your acceptance of the will of the elders when you enter,” explained Donn, placing his hand atop my head and pressing down. “Be careful not to bang your head when you go through.”
I stepped through.
Expecting dark and stuffy, I stopped in shock. It was cool and filled with a gentle blue radiance. In the center of the building was a stone well, sort of, a row of stone blocks on the floor surrounding a hole several meters wide, but instead of blackness, the hole was full of light. It overflowed from the well, flooding into every nook and cranny of the spacious, almost empty room, with energy, and at the same time I felt a cool breeze blowing from the well toward me, rushing past and through the yet-open doorway.
Britomartis pushed me in the small of the back.
“Master Richard...”
I returned to my senses, and stepped to the side.
Behind Britomartis came Donn, and Hakim.
Tricomatis and the other villagers stayed outside, for now at least.
I realized that there was a group of people sitting on the floor on the other side of the well, almost hidden in its actinic brilliance.
Donn stepped forward and faced them, bowing his head.
“We come to you in peace, and in the Name of the Great Mother shall abide by the Laws.”
Britomartis nudged me with her shoulder.
“Do what he did.”
Donn stepped to the side, and I stepped forward to repeat his oath.
Britomartis followed, then Hakim.
Hakim could not speak.
He knelt, and touched his forehead to the ground once, twice, three times, staying in that position for a moment after the third, then rose and joined us.
“In peace we welcome you,” came the voice of a child, perhaps a young girl. “Approach.”
We stepped around the well, and closer to the figures seated on the far side.
There were three of them, all wearing the same rough-woven brown robes. The one closest to us was ancient, his bald head a mass of wrinkles surrounding blank, sightless eyes. He was looking directly at me as he spoke.
“So you are he...” he whispered quietly. “And you, too, come in peace?”
“I do. And I, too, shall abide by the Laws,” I replied, although unsure as to exactly what I saw swearing to obey.
“He lies!”
The face of a young girl, no more than three or four, suddenly appeared from his robe, as if he were holding the child in his arms. Her visage was twisted, angry, and her eyes narrowed as they pierced me.
“I... I do come in peace!” I said, at a loss for this sudden attack.
The elder kissed the girl, and shushed her.
“He comes at the behest of the King, young Chil’elderanan. Trust in the King’s word in this.”
She quieted, glaring at me in silence.
“You may stay the night,” came a quiet voice from one of the other seated figures. A woman, perhaps in her middle age? “but you must leave with the morning light.”
Donn bowed again. “Thank you, Elders. We leave with your grace.”
He turned and walked toward the doorway, but as I turned to follow the robe slipped off the arm of the elder, revealing the child’s body to me...
She had no body.
It was his arm.
Her face, still glaring in anger, grew from his wrist...
Britomartis grabbed my arm and practically dragged me from the building, back into the sunlight.
“What...? That girl’s face was...”
She put her hand over my mouth. “Not now.”
It was hard to talk anyway, with the villagers thronging us. They were singing, dancing, and practically carried us to a wide open space where a huge fire pit waiting. Already a spitted buopoth turned slowly over the flames, two of the villagers pouring some dark liquid over it.
The ground was covered with woven reed mats, dotted with pillows, and huge plates of fruit, and ewers of some unknown drink.
“Our welcome,” said Donn simply, waving his arm to take it all in.
He pulled me close, his mouth to my ear.
“Eat and drink freely as we are welcomed guests here, but remember: no matter how inviting they may seem, do not let them kiss you, or more. Lie down and stay down. Refuse every offer, and they will leave you alone. Eventually.”
I didn’t know exactly what the problem might be, but after seeing that grotesque fusion of old man and young child, I was rather wary of the villagers, cute as some of them might be.
It was a festive night, with lute and drum inviting the villagers to enjoy the feast, the stars, and wild dancing. The buopoth roast was delicious, dripping with some sauce that seemed to have a lot of rum and spices in it, and we all ate our fill of meat and fruit. Even Chee-Chee had enough, devouring a huge bowl of fruit all by herself and then stretching out for a nap next to Britomartis. As the evening sky darkened into night, pole-mounted torches were set up around the ground, and the dancing became even wilder.
Man and women both began stripping off their clothing, even ripping it off, to drop, forgotten, to the ground. The dance became closer and faster, as they entwined arms, rubbing their bodies over one another with beads of sweat glistening in the firelight and flying through the air as limbs jerked and backs arched.
One well-endowed young woman, naked but for a single anklet and an ochre-and-indigo tattoo running up her body from there to her forehead, came to me, grasping my arm and pulling me toward the other villagers. I would have jumped at her invitation any other time, but Donn...
“I cannot. I have drunk too much,” I lied, declining with sincere regret. My newly young body was certainly ready and able to respond as she so most obviously desired.
Her eyes, blue orbs with tiny black pupils, seemed sightless, never quite looking directly at me—why were her pupils so small in the evening light?
I looked about to see similarly (un)clad women—and a few men— surrounding the other three as well, but with little success. None of us rose, and none of the villagers could leave their dance for more than a few minutes, drawn back into the maelstrom of flesh and desire.
A warm hand sliding across my chest drew my attention back.
She hadn’t left, and in fact there were now two very attractive women rubbing up against me, both disturbingly naked. I lifted her hand off me and placed it on the other woman, but it wandered back, and joined another sliding over my torso body. One slipped down into my pants, and gripped me tightly.
I looked to Donn for help... he was in the same situation, with three women wrapped about his body. He was struggling to push them off, but as soon as he dislodged one another took her place.
He caught my eye, and shook his head in warning not to give in.
Britomartis was struggling with a handful of villagers, too, of both sexes, her legs clamped tightly together to stave off incessant suitors. She was flushed in the torchlight, panting, but far more successful than I in protecting herself. I saw her kick one overly persistent man in the testicles... he staggered back with the force of the kick, but evidenced no pain. His erection remained unchanged, but he collided with another villager and they fell to the ground together, embracing.
Chee-Chee was screaming in fear, pulling on her leash and trying to escape, but Britomartis couldn’t spare the time to deal with her.
Hakim was playing his panpipe again, although I couldn’t hear the notes, and the women surrounding him seemed captured in its melody, moving slowly, as if half-asleep. He pushed back their advances easily.
I continued my struggles, pushing the women off my body again and again, in spite of their increasing urgency. My hands were slick with sweat, stained with ochre and ash, in a maelstrom of squirming bodies and hands and tongues on my skin. More than once I had to twist my hips to remove seeking lips from where they shouldn’t be.
The music grew faster and faster, and suddenly the villagers attached to the four of us like leeches abandoned us for the throng of villagers in the center, loping or skittering on all fours to join that growing mass. The music rose to an ear-splitting crescendo, then with a single boom of a drum, silence fell. The torches guttered on, and the mound of human flesh in the center of the clearing writhed and moaned.
Donn staggered up, and gestured to the rest of us to join him, finger to his lips.
We left, silently, and trudged to the small hut they had given us for the night.
It was impossible to shut the door—there wasn’t one—so he huddled with me, speaking softly.
“They call themselves a clan, an extended family, but in fact they are a single, um, person,” he explained. “They, um, collect, certain fluids from passersby—or passing merchants, as the case may be—to keep their bloodline fresh. There is only one elder here, and only one villager.”
He sighed.
“Had you gone with her, there would be another face on the elder’s body in a few months’ time. Your face. For Britomartis, it would have meant birthing a monstrosity.”
Britomartis was silent, sitting with her head hanging between her upthrust knees, still breathing heavily. As were we all.
“Why didn’t you just let us sleep outside the village?”
“Because it is the Law here, and the penalty for breaking the Law is to be stumped, with all your limbs chopped off, and carefully maintained as a donor. Or womb. Once they begin mating they are as dumb animals, so we can participate in the rite as the Law demands, and still not join with them.”
I fell silent, nauseous with the knowledge of what these people were, and what could have happened.
Sleep eluded me that night, and I tossed and turned to the distant sounds of the villagers’ festival till the distant dawn.
* * *
The others awoke with the dawn, and Hakim doled out the usual dried meat and rice, together with some of the fruit and buopoth from last night.
We ate in silence, for the most part, speaking as few words as possible. I wondered if anyone had slept.
After, we prepared our packs for the day’s journey... today we would split up, Donn and Hakim continuing their journey upstream, and Britomartis and I onto the Hlanith, and the King.
The deinos and raptors had apparently been well cared for; they seemed quite content, and well-fed. Donn and Hakim called out six raptors to accompany us, with collars on their necks and leashes for us to hold. We were formally “introduced,” and carefully let them smell us, and fed them buopoth meat as proof we meant them no harm. They were already used to us, of course, from the journey thus far, but from today they would be with us alone, and a little reinforcement seemed a good idea.
I finished scratching the last one between the eyes—they all seemed to love that, pushing their foreheads against my fingertips and twisting their necks so I’d hit the itchiest spot—and stood up.
There was a seventh raptor standing there, no collar or leash, just looking at me.
It was Cornelius, the omega raptor who had circled around behind the ghast to hamstring it instead of attacking from the front like the others.
“How did he get out?” I asked.
Donn cocked his head.
“Absolutely no idea. I took care not to let any of the others out of the enclosure... but here he is!”
“He must have jumped the fence. Or climbed it,” said Britomartis. “You only let six out, I’m sure of it.”
“But they don’t climb, do they?” I asked. “And surely the fence is too high to jump”
“Quite true, but when it comes to Cornelius...” Donn’s voice trailed off. “It looks like you shall take seven raptors with you, not six, after all.”
I bent down to scritch his head, and offer him the last bit of meat.
He accepted both with a very human nod of thanks.
Tricomatis walked up, looking quite the same as he had yesterday. I recalled that squirming mound of human flesh I had seen last night—and only so narrowly escaped!—and looked for a sign in his face, but he was perfectly, unbelievably, normal.
“Let me walk you down to the river, you and your raptors,” he said, pointing vaguely toward the gate we had first entered through yesterday.
I bent over to whisper to Britomartis, “The road to the river? And not the entrance through the village?”
“Only villagers ever use that path, or the tunnels beneath the village. Willingly, at least.”
She turned to Donn.
“A safe journey to you, Master Donn, and to you, Master Hakim. May the Goddess of Good Fortune watch over you.”
“Safe journey, Master Richard. Safe journey, my dear Britomartis. I await your return with pounding heart and aching loins.”
“Ache away, Donn. The cake uneaten looks the sweetest, but then again even roses have thorns.”
“For you, beautiful Britomartis, I would gladly suffer a bed of thorns, and bees as well.”
She laughed.
Donn grasped my wrist in the usual wrist-shake, which finally felt quite normal to me by now, and swatted me on the shoulder.
“I entrust to you my betrothed, Master Richard,” he grinned.
“We are not and never shall be, you lech!”
“Ah, the sweet voice of my love. I know, deep down, you cannot resist me.”
Britomartis lifted her arm to hide her face, and curtsied.
“Oh, my lordship! I am faint with my passion for you, and fear I must flee or lose myself to your manly charms!”
She burst out laughing, and strode off toward the gate, holding the leashes of the six raptors in her left hand, Chee-Chee as happy as ever to ride her shoulder and try to snatch insects from the air.
I nodded to Donn, who was still laughing, and Hakim, who had ignored the whole exchange and concentrated on getting the deinos ready for travel, then followed her. Cornelius—wearing no leash or collar—trotted behind.
There was no landing at the river’s edge, but a fairly small ship awaited us, I’d guess a caravel, twin-masted with a single triangular sail rigged. Only about twenty meters in length, its shallow keel let it come close enough to the shore for a simple gangplank to reach.
If the weather held, the trip should only take three days. The single lateen sail they had rigged now for the river would be joined by the larger sail on the main mast to catch the ocean wind.
“What are they carrying?” I asked Britomartis.
“They harvest a wide range of rare spices and medicinal herbs from the Karthian Hills, they say, and no doubt that accounts for the majority of their hold. In fact, though, I’m sure that carry a king’s ransom in river pearls and Honey of The Goddess.”
I could guess what a river pearl was, but “Honey of The Goddess?”
“It turns back the hands of time,” she said, “and is in constant demand among those with gold to buy it... and people who use it fall under its spell, requiring ever greater amounts to regain their lost beauty or vigor.”
“Also from the Karthian Hills?”
She shook her head. “No. They make it... secrete it... in Khor. Many have tried to steal it, but Khor has never been conquered, or even held. There have been... rumors... of some that tried, and in failing, lost all but life itself.”
“Sounds like it’s addicting.”
“Youth is addicting, but you cannot defeat Death herself, try as you might.”
“You and I, at least, seem to have managed to hold Her at bay for long years...”
“Am I alive, Master Richard? Was I ever?”
“You certainly are here and now!”
“I wonder. If I am merely the dream of a poet, who was himself dreamed by a sleeping God dreamed in turn by you, and others of your realm, am I?”
I had no answer.
I could ask myself the same question, with the same result.
* * *
The captain of the caravel was an enormously stout, short, bald man wearing a foul-looking loincloth and chewing something that might have been tobacco. Spitting tobacco.
He stood next to a huge wolf-like dog, long black and gray fur, that stared at us like he was watching a steak on the grill.
“I don’t know you,” he said, standing at the top of the gangway to prevent us from boarding.
“We come from the King,” answered Britomartis, “and came this far with Donn of Dylath-Leen. Master Richard and I are for Hlanith.”
“Fang!”
The wolf stood, and walked down the plank slowly, obviously suspicious.
He slowly examined Britomartis, smelling her legs and out-stretched hand closely. Chee-Chee squirmed on her shoulder, obviously scared of the dog, and the dog ignored the monkey entirely. Then he turned his attention to me.
I slowly squatted, bringing my head down closer to his level, and stretched my own hand out. He approached, smelling me, and suddenly lay down in front of me, ears flat to his head, and rolled over to show his belly.
Unsure of how to respond, I gingerly scratched it, and he rumbled deep in his chest somewhere with satisfaction.
“Hmph. I never seen Fang do that before,” said the captain, “but you ain’t one of those Khor monsters, and that’s good enough for me. I’m Klot.”
“Britomartis of Celephaïs”
“Richard of Celephaïs”
He stepped back to let us board the ship, and pointed to our raptors with this chin. One of this crew—a loin-cloth garbed Khemite, by the color of his skin—gathered up their leashes and pulled them up the gangway. He locked them in a cage on the deck—there was only a stern castle, no forecastle—and didn’t notice Cornelius until he had closed and locked the cage. He turned to see the last raptor just standing and staring at him, and cursed.
Cornelius just waited for him to open the cage again, and walked in all by himself, quietly.
The sailor cocked his head, then shrugged his shoulders and locked the cage again.
The caravel had already loaded the bales of spice and man-sized ceramic jars sealed with tightly-bound oilcloth.
We expected the journey to take three days, which meant two nights of sleeping on his tiny ship as it wended its way north to Hlanith. Our own bedrolls, at least, were clean, but I had my doubts about the rest of the ship.
The ship set off shortly thereafter, pushing off into the current and drifting down to the Celephaïs Strait. There wasn’t much wind until we left the delta, and the muddy river water gave way to dark green seawater and scattered whitecaps. It began to pick up a bit, and the caravel began rocking back and forth with the waves, beating its way north along the coast. We were quite a ways offshore, in the ocean proper, but I could still see the line of green along the horizon west of us. Captain Klot was using it as a guide, hugging the shore fairly closely and avoiding the deeps.
Klot rarely spoke at all, except for shouting at the crewmembers as needed. There were several dozen of them, a mongrel crew drawn from every part of the Dreamlands, and I never did learn any of their names. Britomartis and I kept to ourselves, and slept near the raptors to make sure they were treated well. Donn’s gold had paid for water and food for all of us but the caravel deck was certainly not a luxury suite, even with an oilcloth awning to keep off the worst of the spray and sun.
We spent much of the time talking, while snoozing or fishing... it turned out that raptors absolutely love fresh fish, especially wriggling fish they can swallow whole, and with seven eternally hungry maws to fill, we were rarely bored. Chee-Chee wasn’t much of a fish fan, but with fewer bugs and frogs available she discovered that fish guts were actually pretty tasty. Messy, though.
The crew didn’t mind us fishing, especially as we provided a goodly catch for their dinner as well, and Captain Klot was probably happy to see us feed ourselves rather than eat his salted beef.
The dawn sky on the second day was crimson, earning the captain’s best scowl. He commanded the crew to lash down everything securely, including the cage holding the raptors, and prepare for a storm.
By noon it was clear he had been right... the whitecaps were rising, and the wind was beginning to whip the sail in strong gusts, one of which carried off my bedroll when I stupidly left it on the deck for a moment, looking for something else in my pack.
“Well, it looks as if you may share my bed after all, Master Richard,” smiled Britomartis. “With a sword between us, of course.”
I would have been delighted to sleep next to her, only wishing it could be more, but demurred. “From the looks of those clouds I don’t expect any of us will be getting much sleep tonight. And dry bedding will be in short supply, I fear.”
“Captain Klot says there is no inlet along this coast we can safely shelter in, and we’ll have to pull farther asea until the storm clears. It’s going to be a rough ride tonight.”
By mid-afternoon the sky was black, and the caravel was bucking like a rollercoaster. Britomartis and I made what preparations we could, and we ate a cold meal under a whipping oilcloth and intermittently driving rain. The captain tied himself to the stern castle, and the entire crew complement was on deck, bracing for the storm. Chee-Chee was very unhappy, screeching her displeasure at the gusts every time the oilcloth snapped.
The waves grew in size, and the ship seesawed more than ever as it rode up and down one after another, first pointing up toward the sullen sky then crashing down, prow first, into a wall of cold water that made the ship shiver like a dog shedding water. The captain’s shouts were lost in the deluge, swept away by wind and wave until all that was left was struggling to breathe, and waiting for the water to subside.
We were exhausted after a few minutes of the storm, and yet it was likely to continue for hours. There was nothing I could do for the raptors, but at least the cage was still there, and the raptors inside looked very wet, very angry, and very much alive.
Someone screamed.
I turned to see what had happened, fearing a man overboard in the wash.
Large scaled figures were advancing along the deck, shuffling through the waves as they came. A crewman slashed the rope securing him to the ship and tried to flee, but he was too late... a webbed hand slashed through the air, leaving a scarlet trail behind as it cut into the man’s side, spinning him around with a wail and ripping off half his chest.
Klot’s shout came through the storm: “Gnorri!”
The crewmen drew their arms at once, moving toward the center of the deck and preparing to meet the invaders.
“To me, you scum! Or the ship founders!”
“We must protect the captain or all is lost,” shouted Britomartis as she cut her rope and jumped toward the stern castle where Klot stood.
I followed suit, and we pulled ourselves through the smashing waves upwards, joined by a few of the crew.
There were seven of us on the stern castle, including the captain, who had his hands full trying to keep some control over the ship. A huge axe had appeared from somewhere, driven into the planking at the captain’s feet, ready for instant use.
The six of us took up positions around Klot, struggling to keep our balance while simultaneously keeping watch for gnorri. They were slow, lumbering beasts afoot, but tremendously powerful and dangerous in or out of the water. While largely human in form, their hands and feet were enormous and webbed, and their heads some horrible mixture of human and fish, with wide jaw and multiple rows of pointed teeth bared in anger.
A scaly arm reached up from below, grasping the taffrail and yanking a section off to be whirled away by the spray. My longsword made its own whirl, slashing down onto that arm with my full force. A shock ran up my arm, and the sword twisted in my grasp—for a second I thought it was caught, but it pulled free. The monster’s arm was cut to the bone, and a roar of pain from below rewarded me.
The other’s faced their own attackers, fighting the off with sword and axe. We had the advantage of position, looking down on the main deck, but they had numbers and strength.
Again and again they tried to gain the castle, and again and again we threw them back. My arms ached from the effort, and the sword was heavy in my grasp. I grimaced and looked to Britomartis.
She was covered in gnorri slime and blood, hair matted to her head and helm gone. Her eyes were bright with battle lust, and she seemed more beautiful than ever to me in that instant.
There were only four of us left now: the two of us, the captain (who had himself decapitated one over-eager gnorri), and one of the stocky crewmen, armed with a double-headed spear.
We could not last.
My glance at Britomartis was my undoing... my attention elsewhere, a hand reached up and grasped my leg. Off balance, I tried to turn and chop it, but I couldn’t swing quickly enough in that direction, and my blow glanced off the creature’s scales. It pulled my leg, and I desperately threw myself backwards onto my back, trying to escape. My foot was dragged over the edge of the castle, and the gnorri other hand latched on... but not to attack me!
They merely pulled, trying to drag me down off the castle!
It gave a chilling hoot, and the other gnorri turned toward it, abandoning their efforts to gain the stern castle, and leaping or loping on all fours toward me.
Britomartis froze in shock, disbelieving her eyes, then returned to her senses and took advantage of the changed circumstances to leap atop one of the gnorri passing below her, back turned. Throat cut, it collapsed with a gurgle, and she leapt to attack the next.
My captor had been joined by another, and together they dragged me toward the sea, each pulling one leg. I tried to swing, and barely connected, not half strong enough to free myself.
Suddenly there was a terrible roaring and snapping behind me... I risked a glance to see what had happened and shouted with joy: the raptors were free!
They leapt onto the back of the gnorri, their teeth and talons rending scaly flesh with abandon. Fish was delicious, but these raptors wanted the joy of the hunt and the thrill of combat, and they fought to their heart’s content. The deck shifted and swayed, and raptor talons dug deep into their gilled prey.
One of the gnorri holding me tried to turn and fight but was too late, and a raptor eviscerated it from neck to groin, tearing out its throat with dripping fangs. The other dropped my leg and fled, scuttling to the broken edges of the deck and plunging into the waves.
I lifted myself up on one arm to see where the gnorri were... those not dead were fleeing, leaping into the sea to escape, one with a raptor still savaging its neck as it fell.
Shortly, the deck was empty save for scattered bodies and feasting raptors, and as we looked on in amazement, the wind began to die, and a tiny patch of sunset appeared to the west. The worst of the storm was past us.
I collapsed to the deck, trying to catch my breath.
Then something caught my eye... standing next to a pair of raptors savaging a twitching gnorri corpse, Cornelius stood, tail braced, licking his talons.
The door of the cage was open, the cage undamaged. Had the door opened in the storm, or had Cornelius... no, that was impossible. But there was no denying that we owed them our lives, and if the boat had been lost, the raptors would have drowned as well. They saved us, but also themselves.
The mast was still standing, but the sail, even though it had been furled before the storm, was gone. A few men crept out of hiding, or down from the rigging, waterlogged and stunned by the storm and the battle. There were few injured, and fewer bodies, but many missing.
Fang, the captain’s huge dog, was gone.
Chee-Chee came down from the rigging where she’d been hiding and leapt to Britomartis’ shoulder, baring her teeth and screeching at the dead monsters.
“Those were not gnorri,” said Britomartis, sitting on the castle, arms on her knees. She untied her pack from the railing and pulled a wax-sealed ceramic jug from it. She cut it open with her knife, took a long drink, and handed it to me. “The gnorri are not a gentle folk, but they rarely attack unprovoked, and have fish tails instead of feet. These were something rather more evil, and new to the Dreamlands.”
Whatever she handed me, it was fruity and very strong. It burned down my throat and brought feeling back to my aching muscles, reminding me that I was still alive and very tired and hungry.
I handed it to Captain Klot who took a long draught, signed with contentment, and handed it to the next man.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that these were the Deep Ones of dark Y'ha-nthlei...”
“Deep Ones? Y'ha-nthlei?” echoed Britomartis. “But they are of your realm, not the Dreamlands!”
“Yes. They were,” I replied quietly.
We sat, and breathed.
A gentle breeze blew, and the waves lapped quietly on the hull.
A seabird cried off in the distance.
Klot had been listening closely.
“They wanted to take you, not kill you,” he said. “I don’t think they were trying to kill any of us, we just got in their way.... Once they had you, they all stopped. If not for the raptors...”
“Yes, the raptors saved us,” agreed Britomartis. “But why you, Master Richard?”
“I have no idea... first the night-gaunts, then being accused at Khor, and now this...”
“Before that, in Khor, remember the elder said ‘So you are he’ when he met you,” mused Britomartis. “I wondered what that meant, but it seemed unimportant.”
Klot broke in.
“We must make repairs and leave these waters. I have a spare sail and enough rope for rigging, but I want you two to caulk the hull. There are always leaks, and no doubt more now than usual.”
“Of course, we’ll be happy to...” I started, only to be interrupted by Klot.
“I want you off my ship.”
My mouth snapped shut.
“I have accepted Donn’s gold and will deliver you to Hlanith as promised, but I want you gone. If we were any farther from Hlanith I’d put you ashore here and now.”
He stood.
“You’ll find shims, cloth and tar under the ladder to the hold.”
There were only about a dozen survivors, and they busied themselves with the sail and rigging. The ship itself was not much damaged, except for the missing rails and other losses not uncommon in storms.
The raptor’s cage survived the storm and attack unscathed, and now housed the three remaining raptors. The rest had been lost overboard, almost certainly dead since raptors couldn’t swim.
I examined the lock on the cage. It would not be impossible for Cornelius to open it, but it would have required for more intelligence than raptors were given credit for. They were about the size of a large German Shephard, and thought to be about as smart, but I wondered.... while I appreciated their timely appearance and successful defense, the timing was perhaps too timely.
Cornelius just cocked his head and looked at me when I asked his opinion.
None of the crew joined us in the hold. There were a number of leaks, none major, and we hammered in a few shims and rags, and tarred the leaks as best we could. By the time we were done the leaks had been reduced to mere drips, and we took turns draining the hold with the burr pumps. The leather buckets were not that large, but when full of water they became quite heavy... and after lifting a full bucket several dozen times my muscles—already exhausted from the battle—screamed with pain.
At last it was done, and we returned to the deck to find ourselves ostracized.
Neither captain nor crew approached, or spoke more than the necessary minimum.
Britomartis and I slept in shifts till morn, worried that the captain—or his men—might decide that we needed to leave the ship even sooner.
It was a cold and lonely night, but the ship was moving again, to Hlanith.
* * *
The waves under the dawning sun were beautiful, dancing and sparkling in the slanting rays. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the mood of the crew was rather darker.
They continued to avoid us as the ship limped into Hlanith, and finally about noon tied up at one of the wharfs on the edge of the city.
One of the crew laid the gangplank down, and Klot stood silently as we herded our three raptors onto shore. The rest of the surviving crew stopped whatever they had been doing, and watched us leave. All our baggage was on our backs, with the raptor’s food in small panniers riding on their flanks.
They were eager to see the last of us, and we were delighted to be back on dry land.
Britomartis led the way with two raptors on leashes, and I followed with Cornelius. When I held up the leash to tie to his collar he cocked his head and looked at me, but consented to let me attach it.
“And now to The Armsman’s Dog, to meet up with the King.”
“The Armsman’s Dog?”
“A local inn, quite famous. The King always stays there when he visits Hlanith; apparently they’re old friends.”
The city felt more like my realm than the Dreamlands, with rugged granite walls, and timber-framed houses and shops with mortared panels painted white, and high-peaked slate roofs. I noticed there were many shops selling hand-made items of all kinds, most beautifully crafted, and as we walked closer to the city center the quality of the shops and the merchandise both rose considerably. The rutted dirt of the outskirts gave way to cobbled roads, thronged with ox-carts hauling goods to market, herds of sheep or ducks chivvied down the street, and people busy with daily life.
The people also reminded me of home: most people had faces that would not have been out of place in New York or London. They were dressed in a multitude of styles and colors, but the majority of the men were in knee-length pants, usually with a shirt, and the women calf-length skirts and loose tops, or dresses.
There were a lot of weapons, of course, but if I squinted a bit I could easily imagine I was at a SCA convention and not wandering through a dreamscape.
Britomartis led us from the main road back toward the sea, into the bustling wharf area. Ships of all sizes were loading and unloading, men carting goods hither and yon, arguments, shouts, and commotion of all sorts.
The wharves themselves were planked in oak in many places, where they weren’t worn granite. I wondered if the entire wharf had once been floored, like the carved teak of Lhosk.
“It’s all oak. And The Armsman’s Dog is over there,” she said, pointing, “right on the wharf.”
The inn was an ancient building, the exposed beams black with age and the mortared sections between them, once white, now shading from grey to black. It was quite large, with several entrances and two stories.
Britomartis headed for the largest entrance, where a troll—I supposed he was actually a man, but he was at least two meters tall and close to that wide—stood guard.
The bouncer, I assumed.
“Good morn to you, Timothy,” said Britomartis, nodding.
“Britomartis! How delightful to see you again!” said Timothy in an absurdly high squeak of a voice. I’d expected a booming bass. “It has been years!”
“It’s good to see you’re still well, Timothy.” She waved at me. “This is Master Richard, the King’s guest, from Celephaïs by way of Lhosk. Master Richard, this is Timothy, better known as Tiny Tim.”
I gave Timothy a half bow.
“Richard of Celephaïs. A pleasure to meet you, Master Timothy.”
“Timothy of Hlanith. And I, you,” he squeaked. “Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.”
“Can you take care of our raptors for us?” she asked. “We must report to the King at once.”
“Of course.”
Tiny Tim gave a piercing whistle, and a boy—couldn’t have been more than ten, I’d guess—popped up out of nowhere, and took the reins. When he tried to lead the raptors away toward the stables, one of them rebelled, pulling toward a fishing boat unloading its catch on the wharf nearby, but Cornelius nipped it on the shoulder, and it meekly fell back in line.
Britomartis apparently didn’t notice, but it struck me as strange... I decided to keep a close watch on Cornelius from now on.
Tiny Tim held the swinging door open for us, and Britomartis stepped inside. I followed with a “Thank you, Timothy.”
Inside was quite dark, especially since we’d just come in from the sunlit morning.
The ceiling was low, with exposed beams lit by a scattering of oil lamps suspended from above, and the meagre light that managed to seep through the greenish bull’s-eye panes running the length of the exterior wall.
It was still morning, but already there were a handful of patrons, most sitting at tables or at the counter; one quietly snoring on the floor toward the back. A quiet, friendly kind of place, then...
The innkeeper (bartender?) came bustling up, smiles and teeth, arms outstretched. He was dressed in rough-spun pants and shirt, with a leather apron and a face composed mostly of wrinkles and white teeth. His eyes, buried deep in the wrinkles, faintly caught the light.
“Britomartis! Welcome back! We’ve missed you! How long has it been? I don’t think you’ve been here for at least three years now. Or was it four? I’ve been terribly lonely! Oh, what a delightfully cute little monkey! What’s its name? May I pet it? Does it eat oranges, I wonder.” He turned to me. “And who is this? Surely you haven’t run off and discovered men now; I’d be so upset after all these years! Quite a handsome young man, though... my compliments on your choice, Britomartis...”
He bowed to me, still talking a mile a minute.
“I am Sam,” he said, “master of this establishment and at your service. We boast a selection of the finest food and drink of the Dreamlands for a most reasonable price, and of course offer a variety of other services for the discerning patron, such as yourself. Allow me to show you our rooms, Master, please, if you’ll just come with me right this way.”
I glanced to Britomartis, taken aback by the firecracker speech and sudden grip on my arm as he practically dragged me to a small wood door and through it. Britomartis just smiled, and lifted her hand to suggest I go along.
The three of us stepped through into a small hallway, where a very hairy man with a loincloth, a shortsword, and a mug of ale awaited us. He was sitting on a narrow bench along the hallway, and nodded at Sam as we went by. A guard?
Another door, Sam still talking a mile a minute in praise of his establishment.
The second door closed behind us, and when it thudded shut, Sam shut his mouth.
“Thank you, Sam. I’m sure The Armsman’s Dog is as wonderful as ever. It’s good to see you hearty and hale yet. Master Richard, this is Mistress Sam. In spite of her appearance and most ebullient speech, she is as sharp as they come.”
“Master Richard, welcome,” said Sam, nodding.
At a loss to discover that Master Sam was in fact Mistress Sam and not as empty-headed as I had assumed, I stammered a greeting and nodded back.
“Among other things, she works for the King,” explained Britomartis. “And Mistress Mochizuki. Hlanith is hardly a hotbed of rumor, but it is a major trading port, and one often visited by the rich and powerful seeking beautiful art.”
“I don’t know what the King wants with you, but he’s been waiting,” said Sam. “Upstairs, first door on the right.”
She opened a door leading onto a set of stairs, and stuck her head through and called out “Badr! Two coming up!”
She turned back to us. “All safe now. It’s not a good idea to surprise Badr.”
“Thank you, Sam,” said Britomartis, walking to the stairs. “Master Richard? The King awaits.”
I followed suit.
The narrow stairway opened up onto another short stairway with only two doors. The door to the room to the left was open revealing three guards—two men, one woman—who looked us up and down briefly.
The man at the door grunted and nodded to Britomartis.
“Heard you lost a scimitar, Britomartis. There’s a good smith here in Hlanith, if you need.”
“Thanks, Badr, but no, I want to have it made by the smith who forged the other one, for a matched and balanced pair. He’s in Ogrothan, and will have to wait until later.”
“Ogrothan! That’s on the other side of Celephaïs, north of the Tanarian Hills, is it not?”
“Yes, but their blades are the finest in the Dreamlands, if they’ll forge one for you.”
“And they forge for you?”
“One does. He and I had an encounter with a dhole once, and he has made swords for me since.”
She knocked on the right-hand door, and the King’s voice rang out “Come.”
The King and Chuang were sitting on cushions on the floor around a low table, and Chuang hurriedly got up to greet us.
“Welcome, Master Richard. Welcome, Britomartis,” he said, giving a half-bow with the fingertips of both hands held lightly together. The King merely nodded, and waved his hand, inviting us to join them at the table.
“My King, Master Chuang,” she responded, bowing in turn.
“We’re glad to be back with friends! Thank you, King Kuranes, Master Chuang,” I nodded in turn.
The table had a tall, elegantly curved decanter and a number of small cups; theirs were half-filled with some ruby liquid. The King himself poured two more and set them on the tabletop as we joined them.
“Please, drink,” he urged. “It’s a delicious pomegranate brandy they make here. I always try to pick up a few kegs because it’s so difficult to obtain anywhere else.”
It was delicious, and surprisingly cold.
Chee-Chee demanded a sip, and Britomartis wet her fingertip in the brandy, and offered it to Chee-Chee. The marmoset grimaced and turned away, sulking.
“I hear you had quite a storm last night,” continued Kuranes.
I glanced at Britomartis.
“Is that all you’ve heard about our journey?” I asked.
“Yes, why? What happened?”
Britomartis leaned forward.
“I’m afraid quite a bit happened, and not at all good, although reaching Hlanith ahead of schedule thanks to that caravel was fortunate.”
Chuang sipped his brandy, all ears.
Britomartis and I filled him in on our journey, taking turns. A plate of fruit and skewers of roast beef and vegetables soon joined the bottle of brandy on the table, making quite a feast for Britomartis and myself after days of salted meat and dried fruit. It turned out that Chee-Chee loved roast beef almost as much as she loved fruit.
Britomartis gave a very brief account of the happenings at Khor. I had expected the King and Chuang to be surprised, but obviously this was old news to them. Britomartis hurried to describe the caravel and the attack.
“They were not after the Honey of The Goddess, and I don’t think they were even interested in the crew,” she explained, then described the battle in more detail.
“They didn’t try to hurt or kill me,” I said, “but seemed to want to capture me for some reason. They were so fixated on me that they didn’t even notice Britomartis attacking from behind. If the raptors hadn’t suddenly attacked I doubt I’d be here with you now.”
The King chuckled. “Good old Cornelius! He always comes through.”
Britomartis fell silent, mouth open in astonishment.
“You planned this!?”
Chuang shushed her.
“Of course not. We had no idea that the spawn of Y'ha-nthlei were here, in the Dreamlands!”
“Very disconcerting. They’ve never been seen her until now,” mused the King, deep in thought. He looked up and smiled. “But we did make sure Cornelius went with you just for unexpected things like this!”
“He isn’t a raptor, is he?” I asked.
“As Master Chuang is so fond of saying,” said the King, “yes and no, yes and no.”
I cocked my head, waiting.
“He is a raptor, yes, but he came from a secret colony deep in Chóng’s personal realm. They’re a new breed, possibly part of the enormous changes happening throughout the Dreamlands.”
Chuang picked up the story.
“Raptors are generally about as smart as dogs,” he added, “but this new breed is significantly more intelligent. Far, far superior to dogs, probably superior to apes, and in Cornelius’ case, quite possibly close to our own level.”
The King poured another cup of brandy.
“Good stuff, this... More?” he asked, holding out the decanter, but there were no takers. “I’ve spared no expense on their behalf, and they are—as far as we can ascertain—loyal. An intelligent raptor would be quite a handy thing to have, wouldn’t you say? Especially if everyone else thought it was just a dumb beast...”
He took a sip.
“But Deep Ones, after you... that is quite concerning,” he said with furrowed brow. “Chuang, call Sam, would you please?”
Chuang rose and left the room to talk quietly with Badr, who promptly went downstairs.
“She should be up in a minute, sire.
“Good. I want to get word of this to Mochizuki as soon as possible, and see if these Deep Ones have been showing up anywhere else.”
“The Deep Ones worship Father Dagon and Mother Hydra,” mentioned Chuang, “but above all, Cthulhu...”
“Britomartis, are you sure they were Deep Ones? And not the creatures that destroyed Sarnath eons ago?”
“No,” she answered. “They were clearly not gnorri, walking as they did on two legs, and their faces were more fishlike than human. I’ve never seen a Deep One of Master Richard’s realm, but they fit the description.”
“I have never seen one, either,” I interjected. “What do the destroyers of Sarnath look like?”
“Nobody knows,” answered Chuang. “The histories just say green and horrible. They probably came from the moon, not the lake, and Ib was on the shores of the Lake of Sarnath, which is fresh water. They’ve never been reported anywhere but there. You were a long ways from Mnar, and on the sea.”
“So you believe they were Deep Ones as well?”
“Yes, my King, I do,” said Chuang. “I have taken the liberty of sending to try to obtain a body or other evidence from Captain Klot. He should return within the hour.”
“Good.”
The King turned to me.
“Do you have any idea why Deep Ones would want you?”
“None,” I replied, truthfully. “But as Britomartis pointed out, this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened... first I came here, I thought of my own volition, but it turns out there are strange things happening here, and I wonder if the timing was mere coincidence. Then the night-gaunts, and then the accusation in Khor, when I said I came in peace, and now the sudden attack in the middle of the ocean, during a mysterious storm that dissipated right after the attack ended.
“I think we’ve passed the point of coincidence... I am the nexus of all this trouble.”
“I fear you are right,” said the King. “And so we must make haste to Ryūzō-ji Temple and meet with Shingan Oshō.”
There was a knock at the door, and the King called out again “Come.”
It was Sam.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and nodded to us.
Chuang motioned her over to the table, where she knelt next to Chuang, near the King.
“Please tell Mistress Mochizuki that their ship was attacked by Deep Ones, several dozen at least. I need to know if they have been sighted elsewhere, and what they may be up to. Urgently.”
Sam nodded.
“Yes, sire. I can get word to her by tomorrow morning, but it will take much longer to collect any information.”
“Of course, Sam. But urgently, yes?”
“Yes, sire. I’ll get to it immediately,” she said, standing and walking to the door. She stopped, turned, and bowed once again to the King before leaving.
“With luck we can get the first reports by the time we reach the temple,” said the King. “And speaking of reaching the temple, we had arranged for a boat to take up the Oukranos to Thran, but Deep Ones... Should we risk it, or take a longer land route?”
Chuang nodded.
“The Deep Ones are sea creatures, and while they can survive in fresh water for some time, I think it is a reasonable risk to take. It might be a good idea to hire a larger boat and more armsmen, though, to better protect Master Richard if necessary.”
“I believe you have already worked with someone here for that?”
“Yes, sire. Commander da Barbiano’s company is nearby, and we have used his services many times. He is reliable.”
“By reliable, you mean he does what he is paid for? Or he supports us? Or both?” queried the King.
“The first, certainly. He has never broken a contract, to my knowledge, although he is not always successful in war. As to the second, I suspect he does support our own aims, but can offer no evidence.”
“I see. You recommend him, then?”
“I do. Given the presence of Deep Ones, however, I wonder if we should go by air after all... with night-gaunts in the skies and Deep Ones in the waters, neither is as safe as we had hoped.”
“True.” The King thought for a moment. “Deep Ones in the Oukranos are less likely than night-gaunts so near the mountains, I think... let us stick with the original plan, and go by boat.”
“Shall I summon him, then?”
“No, he knows I’m here, I’m sure, but I see no need to tell everyone else we’re hiring a company. Please meet with him yourself and arrange things.”
“Of course, my lord. I go,” said Chuang, and left the room quietly, leaving the three of us.
“I had hoped to leave at sunrise on the morrow,” said the King, “but we may have to delay to secure a larger ship and da Barbiano’s guards.”
“Who is da Barbiano?” I asked.
“Alberico da Barbiano runs a mercenary company headquartered here in Hlanith,” explained Britomartis. “He’s a very good strategist, a reasonable businessman, and stinks. Literally. His company would be able to provide excellent protection for the trip upriver. And they are assuredly familiar with the course.”
“I’m confident in Chuang’s recommendation,” said the King. “So you’ve worked with him before, then, Britomartis?”
“Yes, my lord. I’ve met him a number of times to discuss particular jobs, but I’ve never been on a mission with him personally. Just his people, especially a truly brilliant tactician named El Man. And of course numerous armsmen and captains. The company’s reputation is well-deserved.”
“Except that the man stinks.”
“Except for that,” she admitted. “He carries with him the stench of oil and perfume, in quantity sufficient to fell a horse.”
There was a knock on the door—Sam was back.
“The message has been sent, sire,” she said. “I should get confirmation, and possibly some information, tomorrow.”
“We may be onboard and upriver by then, Mistress,” said Kuranes. “If so, please relay it to us immediately.”
“Yes, sire. You’ll need to take a cage of dragolets with you, too, if you plan on replying.”
“Of course. See to it, please.”
“Yes, sire,” she said as she bowed and left the room.
“Dragolets?”
“In England we used pigeons,” said Britomartis, “but the skies are rather more dangerous here in the Dreamlands... dragolets stand a better chance.”
“Ah, homing pigeons. Which means Mistress Sam raises dragolets—uh, dragons?—here as well.”
Britomartis smiled.
“Yes, with training and plenty of meat, dragons. Although none breath fire, to my knowledge, English legend notwithstanding.”
Kuranes called out again. “Would you tell the Mistress to bring up some lunch, Badr?”
There was no reply, but I heard his feet clumping down the stairs.
“How much do you know about the Oukranos, Thran, and the Enchanted Wood?” Kuranes asked me.
“Very little... I recall mention of the jasper terraces of Kiran and the temple there to the god of the river, and of course its iridescent fish. And the ‘thousand golden spires’ and alabaster walls of Thran are renowned in song throughout the Dreamlands,” I replied. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been to any of those places, though.”
“You shall have your chance,” said Kuranes. “Britomartis, you were allowed into the temple grounds once, weren’t you?”
“Yes. The temple complex itself is enormous, enclosed by jasper walls and those seven pinnacled towers, but most may enter after taking an oath. Only the sacred, inner shrine is forbidden. Except to the King of Ilek-Vad, of course... the songs of the god can still be heard even outside the inner shrine, though.”
“Ilek-Vak is on the other side of the Dreamlands. How does he manage that journey?” I asked.
“By air, of course. His galleon is airworthy, as is my own... I would have come by air myself except for the threat of the night-gaunts!” said the King. “Now that they’re bedeviling us anyway, and over the ocean at that, I wonder if I should have come that way in the first place.”
“As long as we don’t swim in the river,” said Britomartis, “the Oukranos should be relatively safe. I think the night-gaunts remain the biggest threat.”
“Why swimming?”
“Very hungry fish, Master Richard,” she laughed. “So hungry, in fact, that they regularly leap from the water to catch unwary birds they lure close.”
There was a knock at the door, and after receiving the King’s permission, Sam brought in a huge tray with platters of some roasted meat dripping with a spicy-looking red sauce, a stir-fried vegetable-and-mushroom dish that smelled delicious, and multi-colored slices of all sorts of fruit.
Three huge mugs of frothy ale, too!
As we ate, Britomartis told us more of the temple at Kiran, and the perfumed meadows and gentle hills surrounding it. She and Belphoebe had been wed at that temple, by Sappho herself, and lived for some time in a small thatched cottage on the banks of the Oukranos.
It sounded very peaceful and romantic, and not at all like the warrior I knew Britomartis to be.
“So there is a King of Ilek-Vak, and a King of Celephaïs,” I said almost to myself.
“Yes, there are many kings, and queens, and other nobility of all sorts here,” explained Kuranes. “Perhaps because of my rather unusual origin, though, and the dream sense that you and I both possess, I am sort of a High King.”
“A King of Kings, then.”
“Only in name, I’m afraid... I can give whatever commands I like, but few would obey them unless they had their own reasons to do so. Over the years I have become very good at convincing people to assist me, one way or another.”
Britomartis giggled.
“Convincing is a very kingly way to phrase it, my lord!”
“But of course! Cooperation gained through gentlemanly discourse, to be sure!”
The King burst into laughter, joined by Britomartis.
After what we’d been through together, and learning about Mistress Mochizuki’s work, I had a very good idea of what they were talking about.
I smiled, unsure of exactly how I felt about pulling strings behind the scenes.
Kuranes lost his smile; the wrinkles returned to his brow.
“The melting is affecting many of us now, and with a common threat it is easier than ever to work together. I fear it may prove more powerful than the kings and queens of the Dreamlands combined, though...”
Chuang returned as we were eating, and joined us.
“I spoke with da Barbiano,” he said, “and we have reached an agreement. He will provide a guard force of a dozen, with arms and provisions, and arrange for a larger rivercraft.”
“A dozen of armsmen, four or five of us, and crewmen,” mused Kuranes. “Did he say how big the crew will be?”
Chuang grinned.
“He did.”
The King waited.
“And!? Out with it, man!”
“One.”
“One? Only one crewmember!?”
“He has arranged a river-serpent boat for us, my lord. A crew of one, and only half a day to reach Thran.”
“A river-serpent boat!” gasped the King. “What did you promise him, half of the Dreamlands?”
“Hardly... I revealed some of the events of the last few weeks, and he offered it free of charge in the hope that it will speed your mission to Ryūzō-ji Temple. In fact, he says that he can take us as far as Kiran, but no farther.”
“We can reach Kiran in half a day?”
“Yes, sire,” replied Chuang. “Assuming there are no unexpected happenstances on the way...”
“We need to stop at Thran to pick up Belphoebe,” interjected Britomartis.
“Chuang, when can he be ready to leave?”
“At first light, my lord.”
The King stood, and strode to the door, yanking it open.
“Badr! Tell the Mistress we need to get a message to Belphoebe immediately! We will dock at Thran tomorrow, and she needs to be ready!”
“Yes, my lord,” Badr replied, and called over one of the other guards from across the hall, giving her instructions. She trotted off, down the stairs.
Badr turned back to Kuranes.
“What about the raptors?”
Kuranes looked back at Chuang.
“Chuang? What do you think?”
“We’ll have to leave them. The river-serpent will never accept raptors as riders.”
“Damn. We’ve lost too many of them already, and I had hoped we could at least bring Cornelius with us.”
The King looked at the floor for a moment, silent.
“See if Sam can arrange to bring them to Mount Thurai later by river or land, Chuang,” he finally said. “We may need them, and I would rather they arrive late than never.”
Chuang walked toward the door to make arrangements, and just then there was another knock. He opened it.
It was Badr again: “Master Chuang, the messenger is back from Captain Klot’s ship.”
“With information?”
“Better. With an arm.”
“Show him up.”
“Her.” Badr turned and called down the stairs. “Come up. Bring it with you.”
A woman stumped up the stairs, boots thumping on the wood treads.
She nodded slightly and touched her brow as she entered the room, carrying a cloth-wrapped object in one arm. She was dressed in a similar fashion to Britomartis… a rough-spun linen shirt with a leather vest on top, protected by metal plates sewn into it front, back, and shoulders. No helmet. A short leather skirt apparently made of strips of material hanging down rather than one piece of leather. Sandals. Short sword in a plain scabbard at her hip. And a bandolier sort of thing diagonally across her chest with a dozen thin knives neatly lined up for easy access.
She looked to be in her thirties, maybe… stocky, hair chopped short, wind-chapped cheeks, dark eyes hidden under bushy brows.
All in all, not the sort of woman I’d want chasing me, I thought.
Chuang pointed to the table as the King pushed the remains of lunch off to the side.
She thunked the object down on the tabletop, and unwrapped it.
The cloth had been a piece of sail canvas, it looked like. It was pretty thick, and had reinforcing stiches down one edge.
It was also stained with blood… as was the arm inside.
Chee-Chee started screeching again, jumping up and down on Britomartis’ shoulder in fear.
“Captain Klot sends his regards, my lord, and hopes that this would be enough to pay for repairs and a new sail,” she said.
The King didn’t take his eyes from the severed arm.
“Yes, of course…” His attention was obviously elsewhere… the arm.
It was about the size of a human arm, perhaps for a very large man, but was greyish-green in color, covered with a shiny, slimy-looking skin that reminded me of a frog’s belly. There was a ridge of small, raised scales running down the outside of the arm, up the wrist, and onto the hand, splitting into five ridges on the fingers. The fingers themselves were much longer than those of a human being, tipped with massive talons, and there was webbing between the fingers up almost to the tips.
With the longer fingers and webbing, this would be like wearing flippers on your hands, I thought… that explained why they hadn’t been holding weapons why they attacked that night. They couldn’t grasp anything very small with any force, so swords were out. Except maybe for thrusting… which would mean spears more than edged weapons.
I filed that thought away for future reference.
“Red blood,” said Chuang. “As far as I know, that means a Deep One…”
Kuranes nodded. “Yes, the description fits…”
Lost in thought, he sat once again, head cocked, staring at the arm.
“…in the Dreamlands…” he continued, almost inaudibly.
He suddenly turned to the woman, who was still standing by the table. He pulled out a small, heavy-looking bag and handed it to her.
“Please give this to Captain Klot for me, with my thanks,” he commanded.
“Yes, my lord,” she nodded, and left.
The door shut behind her and we all stared at the arm.
Finally Chuang broke the silence. “I still think the serpent-boat is our best option,” he said. “Not a good option, but the best we’ve got.”
“Yes,” said Kuranes. “If nothing else its speed alone should make it impossible for these swimmers to approach us. Even the night-gaunts would be hard-pressed to keep pace, let alone attack us while flying alongside.”
“I agree, my lord,” added Britomartis.
“It’s decided, then. The river serpent, with the additional guards from da Barbiano.” He stood. “Chuang, would you double-check the arrangements?”
“Of course,” responded Chuang, rising to leave.
“And Britomartis, would you meet with da Barbiano’s man and let him know what we’ve faced thus far? He already knows I’m involved, but keep Master Richard’s role out of it… he’s merely a minor functionary at court.”
“Yes, my lord. Shall I take Master Richard with me?”
“No,” said Kuranes. “He and I have some things to discuss.”
He picked up the arm, wrapping it up again in the sailcloth.
“But take this, would you? Give it to Sam and ask her to get rid of it.”
She took it silently and left with Chuang. Chee-Chee, sitting in his usual place on her shoulder, scolded her noisily for bringing the arm with her.
“Badr, don’t let anyone in for a while,” commanded Kuranes.
“Yes, my lord,” came a muffled response from the other side of the door.
The King picked up his cushion and plopped it down on the floor next to me. He sat down cross-legged, and leaned close.
“Those three are loyal to me and would die before they betrayed a secret, but the fewer people who know secrets, the better.”
“I have no secrets, Kuranes!”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I suspect you yourself are a secret,” he replied. “Your appearance here, as the melting accelerates and the barriers between the realms begin to dissolve, the Zoogmoot, the unusual attack by night-gaunts over the ocean, the Deep Ones... There are so many things happening at once.”
He sighed.
“Do you have any idea what is going on? Why you might suddenly be here in the Dreamlands?”
“I thought I had come just to see how you were after all those years... close to half a century since I saw you last.”
“No dreams or anything before you came?”
“No, I don’t recall anything... I mean, I always wake up with the remnants of dreams vivid in my memory, but they fade even as I notice them, leaving only tantalizing wisps of imagery.”
I thought for a moment.
“...Before, back in Celephaïs, when you were talking about soap bubbles... there was something it reminded me of...”
“Soap bubbles?” queried Kuranes. “Ah, the realms, you mean. I often think of them that way.”
“Yes, you were talking about how they press against each other like bubbles, sometimes merging, sometimes popping... and there was some memory that hovered just at the edge of thought.”
“You still can’t pin it down?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, but quickly gave up.
“I can’t force it to the surface,” I explained. “The more I try to remember it, the more it wriggles away from me. Usually this sort of memory returns unexpectedly, suddenly bubbling up from the subconscious when you’re thinking of something else entirely.”
“Alas, I know,” he sighed. “But I feel it must have something to do with why you’re here at all.”
“Do you have any idea of why the melting is happening?”
The King shook his head.
“No. Oh, I get reports of all sorts of unusual things happening here and there, but they don’t seem to point at anything in particular, and I cannot see any connection between them. Except recently, and you seem to be the connection.”
“I’m a dreamer, but so are you and Chuang. Nothing has been happening to you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he replied. “Shingan Oshō is also a dreamer, albeit slightly a different sort, and may be able to shed more light.”
“Who is he, exactly?”
“Oshō just means monk in Japanese. He is a Buddhist monk, and travelled to China with Kūkai to study Zen Buddhism. Kūkai later returned to Japan, but Shingan stayed in China and studied the Mythos, including the Black Sutra of U Pao. When he finally returned to Japan much later, he founded Ryūzō-ji Temple, first there, and later here. In a way there is only one temple, but in two realms.”
The King poured himself another shot of pomegranate brandy.
“He founded a temple here of the same name—Ryūzō-ji—and seems to travel freely between them, somehow. He and I have crossed paths numerous times, and while our goals are not always the same, we almost always find ourselves fellows on a common path.”
“Goals?”
“To put it simply, as a Buddhist monk he is concerned with living life properly to achieve enlightenment and thereby escape our phenomenal existence entirely. I am more concerned with living life here and now. A minor difference, it would seem, but rather crucial to someone who’s starving and is more worried about dinner than salvation.”
“Sorry, ‘phenomenal’?”
“What we perceive with the senses.”
“Ah.” I thought for a moment. “I wonder how the Dreamlands fit in with Buddhist dogma as far as what we perceive with our senses...”
He laughed.
“We’ve talked about it, Master Richard. To paraphrase Chuang, it fits either very well or very poorly, depending on how you look at it.”
My turn to laugh.
A short silence.
“But you think he may have some idea of what’s happening, then.”
“Yes. You see, he contacted me over a year ago, before the Zoogmoot was called and before you came, and mentioned he hoped to meet me again. He specifically mentioned this month, and that he hoped I could introduce him then to ‘the molder,’ as he called it. I assumed he meant a craftsman or something and paid little attention to it, figuring it was just a language problem. But it’s clear he knew I would come to visit him now, and I think he meant you, not some craftsman!”
That was unexpected.
“A year ago?”
“A year ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” agreed Kuranes. “So unless this is all just some incredible coincidence, he knows more than I do. And whatever it is, I need to know it, too. There’s too much at stake.”
He stared into his empty brandy glass.
“What were you doing before you came here?”
“Um, let me see...” I thought back. “I had just finished playing hide-and-seek with my grandchildren, and was sitting on the porch. I had some ice-cold tea, and wondered how you were after all these years...”
“And here you are.”
“And here I am, but surely...”
“There is no surety about anything anymore, Master Richard. I think you’re here for a reason, but I cannot for the life of me think of what it may be!”
Some muffled voices, then:
“No!”
“Open the damn door, Badr!”
Kuranes smiled and called out, “It’s all right, Badr. Let him in.”
Chuang stomped in, furious. He was also sopping wet.
“Damn rainstorm. Nobody told me a rainstorm was coming!”
“Welcome back, Master Chuang,” laughed the King. “I gather all went well?”
“Yes, yes, no problems with preparations. Everything will be at the docks by dawn. Damn this rain!”
He yanked off his dripping clothing and pulled a dry robe from his pack. He sat at the table and began wiping down his gear, such as it was: he really only had a robe, a walking stick, and a wallet.
“Master Richard and I have been talking, but unfortunately with little to show for it.”
“Mmm,” grunted Chuang, drying his hair with a piece of cloth.
“I have absolutely no idea why I’m here at all,” I said. “I thought it was my idea...”
“Not,” he grunted.
“Chuang doesn’t like getting wet,” advised the King, “as you have no doubt guessed. He’ll be his usual sunny self again in a bit.”
“Badr!” called the King.
The door opened and he stuck his head in.
“We’ll be leaving early, to the docks, and thence upstream to Thran, and Kiran. Tell Tilla and Raul, and make yourselves ready.”
“What about the raptors, my lord?”
“The river serpent won’t accept them, so they’ll stay here for now. Sam will arrange to get them to Mount Thurai for us later.”
“Understood.”
Badr closed the door again, and I could hear him talking to the other two guards across the hall.
“And now we just wait, eat dinner, and sleep,” said Kuranes.
“And dry my robe, thank you very much,” added Chuang.
“If you take it downstairs and hang it near the fire it will dry faster, you know,” said Kuranes.
Chuang, somewhat more presentable and far less surly, bundled the robe under his arm and left, still grumbling.
“And bring back some ale, Chuang!” called the King to his departing back.
The door slammed, and he clomped down the stairs making far more noise than necessary, I thought.
* * *
The afternoon passed quietly, and Chuang eventually returned to his calm self. The ale helped.
Britomartis finally returned from her meeting with da Barbiano.
“You’re not wet,” accused Chuang as soon as she entered. “Why aren’t you wet?”
Britomartis smiled.
“Tomorrow let me take you to the marketplace, Chuang, and explain what an umbrella is. They’re really quite useful, and I think even you’d be able to grasp the concept quite easily.”
Chuang hmphed and the King almost choked on his ale laughing. Not wanting to offend anyone I tried to stay as poker-faced as possible, but ended up smiling anyway.
Britomartis sat down at the table and picked up my mug, half-full of warm ale, draining it in one noisy chug and setting it down again with a heartfelt sigh of contentment.
“I met with da Barbiano. He is fatter than ever, and is using some new and even more malodorous grease on his mustache and ringlets. A disgusting pig of a man.”
“I’ve never enjoyed meeting the man myself,” said Chuang, “but he is very good.”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
She set Chee-Chee on the table, then undid the leather belts crisscrossing her chest and took the swords and scabbards from her back, laying them on the floor beside her. She twisted her head back and forth a few times and rotated her shoulder to work out some ache before continuing.
“The serpent and boat are more than adequate, and while I can’t speak for the speed of the serpent, it certainly looks strong and alert. I believe him when he says he can get us to Kiran the same day.
“He won’t be coming himself—thank goodness—but has assigned a Flan to handle the guards. Looks like a Viking giant, with blond braids and blue eyes, and carries a double-bladed axe. He also looks very competent, although seems to think he’d be able to beat me in a fight just because he’s half a meter taller. Idiot.”
“So, a dozen armsmen—a dozen, right?”
“Yes, my lord. A dozen plus Flan, plus one crew member, the four of us, and Badr’s team. A dozen and eight—Master Richard, that’s twenty to you.”
“Quite a parade we’ve turned into. I doubted we’d be able to move secretly from the very start, but that many people riding a damn river serpent boat upriver will certainly draw attention,” said the King. “Hopefully the serpent can outswim anyone who doesn’t like it, though.”
“And the boat?” asked Chuang.
“It’s designed for the serpent, Chuang: it’s basically just a pointed barge, flat-bottomed and ugly, and would be pretty useless without the serpent pulling it. Commander da Barbiano says it has ‘feet,’ whatever they are, that let the serpent go full speed.”
“Feet? What are feet on a boat?” wondered Chuang. “Never heard of such a thing.”
“I think I have,” I ventured. “If the river serpent is really traveling that fast, this barge might actually be a hydrofoil.”
“A what? A hydro..?”
“A hydrofoil. It’s a type of ship that has skis or legs under it, and when it moves very quickly, the hull rises up out of the water, standing, sort of, on those legs.”
“A ship on legs!?” exclaimed the King. “You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not joking, but I don’t know if that’s what he meant or not...”
“So it walks up the river?”
“No, no... like skis, but instead of skiing down a slope, it is being pulled forward by the serpent.”
“I think you’re making this all up, Master Richard,” said Britomartis.
“No, no, not at all,” I laughed. “...but we shall see tomorrow.”
The King spoke up again.
“You met the troop?”
“About half of them. They were in the barracks making preparations, and from what I could see they looked like they knew what they were doing. A very mixed bunch, not surprising considering they’re a mercenary company, with maybe a third women, I’d guess. Everyone I saw was human. A variety of weapons, too. Weapons and armor have all seen heavy use.”
“Good. So you’re satisfied?”
“For now. If we get into a fight we’ll discover just how good they are. I told them about the night-gaunts, too, so they’ll be bringing plenty of arrows.”
“We seem to be as ready as we can be, then,” said Kuranes. “No response from Belphoebe yet?”
“No,” said Chuang. “Sam will let us know as soon as she gets word.”
“In that case, I think it’s time for dinner and some drinks!” said Kuranes, striding to the door. “Badr! Order us some food, and for yourselves, too. And something to drink, for everyone!”
Badr gave an enthusiastic “Yes, my lord!” and sent one of his people downstairs to arrange it. Footsteps descended.
The King and Chuang were enjoying themselves talking about all sorts of things, often women, and Britomartis took her leave to go “see some friends,” leaving me mostly to my own thoughts. With a full stomach and plenty of ale, I drifted off without even noticing.
Suddenly, something leapt onto my face and I awoke with a start and a loud “Wha—?” before noticing it was a bedroll. Britomartis was standing a few meters away, laughing.
“Hey, sleepyhead! Since you lost your bedroll I thought you might like a new one.”
I gathered my wits, shaking my head to try to wake up faster.
“Uh, thank you. Britomartis.”
I pulled it down and sat up.
“I thought you were out seeing friends?”
“I was, and I did. And I bought this for you, too, since you don’t have one... although you don’t seem to have had any trouble sleeping on the floor, either.”
“I’d totally forgotten about it... thank you, Britomartis.”
I glanced over at the others... Chuang was stretched out on the floor, snoring away. The King still sat at the table, two empty bottles of brandy in front of him, seemingly as stone-sober as ever, and looking at us.
“It will be dawn soon, Master Richard,” he said. “If you’re eating this morning, you had better get moving.”
Morning? Already?
My head was still a bit muzzy, probably from drinking a bit too much and sleeping on the wood floor without even a bedroll.
“Uh,” I replied, cleverly. “So you two have been up all night?”
The King just smiled, but Britomartis stuck her tongue out at me first, and then smiled.
“Some of us are younger than others, it seems,” she commented. “And although I’ve been in the Dreamlands for perhaps four hundred years according to your calendar, I think perhaps you may be the older one after all!”
“Bah! Time is a human construct!” I cried, jumping up. “And I’m off to find some eggs and tea!”
The first sunbeams were just striking through the bull’s-eye panes running across the top of the wall, casting green-hued light over the scattered tables and stools. I called for breakfast with “three eggs!” and got a shouted “Hai!” from the kitchen.
There were maybe a dozen people there already, some alone, a few in a group. Conversation made a quiet hum in the background, punctuated every so often by shouts for this or that. The waitress—only one, at this time of the morning— trotted about with her trays, usually delivering bread, cheese porridge, fruit, and tea, but to some she also brought eggs.
The porridge was piping hot and delicious, especially with a healthy dollop of honey on top, and the eggs were perfectly acceptable fried eggs, but the bread! My goodness, I hadn’t had fresh-baked rye like this for years! The aroma alone was amazing, and the taste incredible.
Britomartis joined me, and I tore off chunks of bread and cheese for her to eat while she waited for her porridge and fruit.
“They bake their own bread every morning, and of course make their own cheese,” she said. “Delicious, isn’t it?”
The waitress arrived carrying her food.
“Oh, thank you, Eshe,” she said, taking her dishes off the tray the woman held. “How is little Bolanle? She must be, let me see...”
“She’s three and a terror, Brita,” laughed the woman, setting down a fresh pot of tea. “But I’ve keep her busy watching Abedi. Better than a doll!”
“Abedi? You have another baby boy?”
“We do. Three girls and four boys now, and all of them eat like raptors.”
Britomartis jumped to her feet and hugged the other woman.
“Oh, congratulations, Eshe! But surely you can manage one more girl to even the balance?”
“Oh, I’m sure my man is up to it, never fear,” laughed the woman. “We women always find a way, don’t we?”
She walked off to a call from another table, winking at Britomartis as she left.
“Brita?” I asked, raising on eyebrow.
“She always calls me that, much as I hate it. But it’s impossible for me to dislike her for it, she’s such a wonderful person, and her kids are so beautiful.”
“From Parg or that area?”
“No, born and bred here in Hlanith, but she’s still got one of the blackest skins I’ve ever seen. I wish my skin were darker, so I didn’t burn as easily...”
“I think you’re beautiful just the way you are,” I said, and froze, realizing I might have gone too far.
She fell silent for a moment.
“Thank you, Master Richard. If nothing else Spenser at least gave me beauty...”
She turned her attention to her breakfast, putting a very obvious stop to that line of conversation.
In spite of it all, the breakfast was delicious, and conversation slowly recovered as we discussed the plans for the day.
Britomartis suddenly looked up, over my shoulder.
“It’s Chuang,” she said. “Time to go.”
I turned to look toward the stairs... Chuang, Badr and the others, and Kuranes, all dressed rough for travel. Badr lifted my pack—new bedroll attached!— to show me everything was ready.
Britomartis had brought her own with her, and stood to shoulder it now.
We walked over to the group.
The King and Chuang were talking quietly with Sam, who had come out of the kitchen wearing a blood-stained apron, trying to wipe her red hands clean as she came.
She bowed, and the King nodded, and we were out the door and into the early morning light.
The wharf was already bustling with people: oxcarts bringing food and goods from the countryside to the markets, fishmongers loading up their baskets and starting their daily circuits through the city to hawk their wares, fishing boats heading out for the day’s work, or coming back with the first catch of the morning, and cats and gulls everywhere looking for a free meal.
The serpent lay quietly in the water, crushing a sheep’s carcass with its enormous jaws as gulls swooped around its head, screaming. Its scaly body was sixteen shades of green, with a mottled, darker pattern on the top gradually lightening to almost white underneath. In the water the scales caught the sun’s rays and glistened like gems, and looked as hard.
It had the head of a snake, only the size of a small car, and a spiny ridge ran up its back and onto its head, rising to a set of long, spiky fins standing straight up. I imagined they’d stick up out of the water when it swam, and idly wondered if they could be folded down.
It was harnessed to the boat with ropes somehow. I couldn’t make out all the details, but apparently the serpent had fins down in the water, and the harness was cinched there. Made sense: without fins or something to hang it onto the only other option would have been a mouth bit, and making the serpent swim with its mouth open sounded like a terrible idea.
The boat itself looked like a barge, but while the back was cut square, the prow was pointed, and the line of the hull rose in a shallow slant out of the water. I couldn’t see what the “feet” Britomartis had mentioned might be, but if my guess was right we’d see them soon enough.
The guards were already on board, most of them, and settling down for the day’s work. I noted that the ones around the edges of the deck were armed with edged and piercing weapons, and wearing armor of some sort, but a group of four on the rear castle was armed with bows, and arrows in good supply at hand.
They looked ready, and I hoped they’d not be needed.
We jumped aboard and strapped our gear down for safe-keeping.
I glanced up... a few clouds, but the sun was out, the breeze blowing, and in general it looked like the weather would be good. A little rain wouldn’t hurt anyone, but if we were going to be fighting Deep Ones I’d rather be able to see them coming.
Actually, I’d rather see them going!
The pilot was a wizened old man with a long, very thin gray beard, and eyes so narrow I couldn’t tell what he was looking at. He was wearing a light robe, something with green and blue embroidery on it, and one of those enormously broad woven reed hats they always showed the Vietnamese wearing in the fields.
He was chewing on a stalk of grass, it looked like, just watching the river serpent and waiting to get started.
Flan, the towering Viking, circled the deck, checking everything very conscientiously. He may have been solid muscle everywhere else, but apparently he had brains upstairs.
“Tie everything down securely, including yourself. It will feel like we’re going down rapids a lot of the time, and things that fall overboard can’t be recovered. Or people.”
The river was a broad, placid, very quiet flow, obviously mature after its descent from the distant mountains... not a rapid in sight. I suspect I was right about the hydrofoil.
Flan returned to his position on the rear castle—there was only one, and since there was no hold, either, the boat was extremely flat—and tied himself to the taffrail.
“Khamkhen! All set!”
Khamkhen, assuming that was his name, started singing to the river serpent. It had finished its sheep and had been eyeing passers-by on the wharf as possible dessert, but when the song started it immediately turned toward the middle of the stream and began undulating, stretching out the harness so most of its body was ahead of the boat, with only the narrow tail still hidden under.
Khamkhen sang the serpent away from the city, and pointed it upstream, and suddenly changed to a different song, with much higher notes and a faster beat. The serpent responded with an incredible surge of power that knocked me off my feet entirely. The armsmen were laughing and obviously enjoying the ride, but I wish he’d mentioned it to me before. Still, I was glad he’d made sure I was strapped in, and my gear.
Britomartis was standing, holding onto her rope like the reins of a mustang, legs braced, an enormous smile on her face only partially obscured by her hair as it whipped back and forth in the wind. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling, the very image of a beautiful goddess.
It was hard to tell how fast we were going because there were no other boats nearby, but the sound of water smacking against the hull gradually changed, and the prow began to lift up. I glanced over the side and looked toward the prow... sure enough, it was rising up on foils. The struts looked like they were forged from iron, but I couldn’t make out what the foils themselves were made of. It looked like they were covered in some sort of animal hide.
Now that I looked closer, I could see that the entire hull was covered in a slick, greenish-brown material of some sort. Sharkskin? Dolphin? Hard to tell, but I couldn’t see any seams. Whatever it was, it must have been enormous! How did you catch something that huge?
We were zooming!
As soon as the serpent left the wharf Chee-Chee had begun running around the hull and up the rigging, obviously upset to see land receding, but once it picked up speed it returned to Britomartis’ shoulder, teeth bared as it leaned into the wind in their faces.
The King and Chuang were sitting quite at ease, and Chuang even had his pipe out, tamping something down into the bowl. Obviously they were old hands at this. The King was watching the passing banks closely, although there didn’t seem to be anything in particular to look at: lots of trees, random tiny villages and fishing boats, sometimes a larger community or even some sort of stone ruin on the water’s edge or overlooking the river from above... nothing unusual that I could see.
The guards were also at ease, and at work. They were looking outwards, spaced around the deck so each could see a section of the perimeter. The archers were also scanning in all directions, although they had rather a harder time of it because there were so few of them.
Khamkhen had fallen into a steady, sing-song beat, and the river serpent maintained its steady pull... now that the boat was moving at a steady speed it settled down to a persistent vibration. After some experimentation I discovered I could stand, and even walk, without difficulty, as long as I had the rope for security.
People were talking again, everyday banter and jokes, as they watched the water and the riverbanks. It was almost boring.
I worked my way over to Britomartis, who had sat down again, sated by the rush of acceleration. We talked and dozed for a few hours as the serpent maintained a steady pace. Flan called out guards a few at a time for breaks—they would walk the decks, or stretch, or merely doze off with something over their face to keep the sun off. None of them seemed scared of falling off.
After lunch—the usual salted meat, but this time with fresh fruit and river water—Flan came and said we’d reach Thran in another hour or so, and spoke with Britomartis about where exactly to pick up Belphoebe. The serpent wouldn’t need a rest so soon, but it would have another snack. He pointed to a sheep carcass strapped down on the deck.
“I cannot wait to see my beloved Belphoebe again,” said Britomartis. “It has been four months and sixteen days...”
“How long have you been together?” I asked.
“I can easier count the time apart than together, dear Richard,” she laughed. “We have been together since Spenser finished his work, but we were wed only some time ago.”
“In the Dreamlands, ‘some time ago’ can mean anything from minutes to centuries,” I pointed out.
“In the Dreamlands there is often little difference between them,” she countered, “but in this case I think centuries would be closer than not.”
“Can’t wait to finally meet her. If she’s a friend of yours I’m sure I’ll like her.”
“Flight to the north!”
One of the archers suddenly called out, and everyone jumped to action. The guards around the ship stood, checked their weapons and turned to scan the sky. Flan was already looking toward the north, hand over his eyes to better shield them from the sun. Archers had arrows in hand, ready to pull.
I could only make out a tiny black smudge toward the north, in the air over the jungled hills of Kled.
It got bigger quickly, rapidly dividing into about a dozen black dots.
“Shantaks...” said Britomartis, eyes fixed.
“But shantaks are only found around Leng, and that’s half a world from here,” added Chuang. “First Deep Ones, now shantaks.”
“You think they’re after me again?”
“They all seem to happen around you, Master Richard... either you’re remarkably unlucky or there’s something else at work here.”
Flan trotted over the Kuranes for a huddled talk. The King waved us over.
“Flan’s troop cannot defend us. Against one shantak, possibly even against two, probably, but there are about a dozen of the beasts, and heading straight for us.
“We cannot outrun them, even at the speed of this serpent, and we cannot reach Thran in time. Ideas?”
“We have no other choice but to flee into the jungle, my lord,” said Chuang.
“Britomartis?”
“I agree. Land while we can.”
“Master Richard?”
The right bank was a cliff that would be difficult to climb, but the left bank—the southern bank— was a fairly level stretch, covered with rocks and boulders of various sizes, and backed by the jungle.
I thought for a moment. If I had a case of Stingers I could take down this bunch of flying dragons easy, but Chuang had knocked me for a loop when I summoned that copter...
“Chuang, what would have happened if you hadn’t knocked me down when the night-gaunts attacked?”
Chuang shot me a surprised look.
“The night-gaunts? Oh, your machine!” He shook his head. “Reed would have destroyed it, of course, with the night-gaunts and Britomartis and probably the whole ship.”
“The ship as well?”
“When she makes things go away, there is a thunderclap. Whether land or sea, she makes a huge hole, and on sea that means enormous waves... I doubt the ship would have survived.”
“A hole... in the sea... everything just vanishes, and leaves...” I thought for a minute. “The thunder! She’s not only destroying what’s there, she’s taking the air and water, too, and leaving only a vacuum!”
“But by the time the shantaks are close enough for you to call Reed, we’d be too close, too,” said the King, brow furrowed.
“But I can call her there,” I cried, “not here!”
I turned back toward the shantaks, who were already visibly closer. I could make out their huge bat wings beating the air, propelling them toward us at a furious speed.
I concentrated. I knew exactly what I needed... gasoline-engined, radio-controlled airplanes! I used to play with them when I was a kid, and was always getting in trouble because they were so damn noisy. The perfect thing to attract Reed’s attention.
But they had to be flying with the shantaks, in the same direction and speed. I gathered my strength and twisted reality, bringing my old Songbird 310 airplane into existence. It even had that tail number I knew so well, N5348A! My favorite airplane, the one that Mr. Gonzales had ripped apart after it crashed through his window. It was too far to see with my eyes, but I could sense it was there, and as noisy as ever.
The first one was the hard one. It got easier and easier to make more and more of them, one after another, until a fleet of a dozen aircraft flew alongside the shantanks. They grew agitated, and began to snap at them, knocking them out of the sky one by one... until suddenly that enormous eye appeared in the sky once again, and blinked, and hat strange distorted light surrounded them all, shantaks and planes both.
And then they vanished. Just like that.
And the shantaks were gone. Not falling out of the sky, just gone as if they’d never existed.
And then thunderclap came, as I expected, with the air rushing to fill that unnatural vacuum that had so suddenly come into existence.
Still watching the scene with my mind more than my eyes, I saw the shockwave ripple through the jungle, sending trees flying with its force. I saw it reach the river, and blow over the cliff. I saw the boat rock in the force of it even there, in the lee of that cliff.
And I saw the edge of that cliff disintegrate under its blast, with boulders the size of cars splitting off to plunge into the river below.
And I saw one boulder fall straight down on top of Britomartis, and I was frozen with the sight.
“Noooo!........”
Time stopped.
The boulders in mid-air halted, suspended in their flight.
Silence reigned.
Britomartis was gone. Crushed.
My Britomartis! Gone!
No!
I couldn’t accept it, couldn’t permit it.
Not her!
Anyone but her!
My anger and horror and sorrow flared brighter and brighter, a white incandescence before my eyes....
...eyes my before incandescence white a brighter and brighter flared sorrow and horror and anger my her but anyone he not it permitcouldn’titacceptcouldn’tinogonebritomartismy...
Faster and faster, like a videotape on rewind, the boulders flew upward, the spray returned to the river, Britomartis emerged like Aphrodite from the waves, and that deadly thunderclap rolled back, back, back into that reddish sphere of death, and stopped, balanced between now and then, the is and the may be...
Sound returned. The balance was broken.
I leapt for Britomartis, tackling her and knocking her off the boat and into the river.
We crashed into the water, and as we did a boulder smashed into the boat, and through the hull... just where she had been standing.
She was safe.
And I was tired, so very tired.
Floating in the river, I closed my eyes, and felt the waves wash over my face as I drifted away.
* * *
I woke up lying on a thick cushion, on the floor.
There was a bowl with water in it next to my head, a wet towel half-draped over the edge.
The room was bright with sunlight shining in the window. There was a scroll hanging on the wall to my left with some sort of Chinese characters written down the middle. Japanese? I didn’t speak either, but one of them, I guessed.
Straw mats.
Sliding paper door...
Sure looked Japanese.
The door slid open, and in walked Britomartis.
“Master Richard! You’re awake!”
She ran to me, kneeling at my side and grasping my hand.
“You’re awake, finally!”
“Britomartis! You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive, silly man. You saved me, remember? Pushing me out of the way just in time like that!”
She turned toward the door, calling out “Chuang! He’s awake!”
And back to me, holding my hand in hers. It was soft.
“How do you feel?”
“Uh, OK I guess...” How did I feel? I tried moving, and twisting my neck, and I felt fine, actually. “How long have I been sleeping? And where are we?”
“We’re at Ryūzō-ji Temple, and you’ve been unconscious for ten days,” she said, placing her palm on my forehead to see if it was hot. “You were running a fever, and screaming in your sleep.”
“Ten days...”
“Creating those flying machines drained you terribly, Master Richard.”
“Yes, the Cessnas... but that’s all?”
“All?” She looked at me quizzically. “I don’t understand...”
So she didn’t know that she had died, and that I had reversed time itself to save her.
I’d rewritten reality, changed history, cheated death. And nobody knew.
“It’s good to see you awake again, Master Richard,” said Chuang, bustling in the door.
The King was close behind, all smiles.
“Thank goodness you’ve finally awoken!”
I was sitting up now, and realized I was hungry.
“When was the last time I ate something?” I asked.
“We fed you soup and gruel while you were sleeping, but nothing more... I’m glad you’re ready for a real meal!” laughed Britomartis.
“Why don’t you go get Master Richard some solid food, Britomartis?” suggested the King, glancing at Chuang.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised, bouncing up and out the door.
The King turned to me.
“What happened?”
“You mean, back there? I mean, I saw the rock falling and...”
“Hogwash. Chuang and I saw the whole thing. We saw her die, and then not. You undid time.”
“I... I...”
“And,” added Chuang drily, “as if that were not enough, you manipulated Reed into doing your dirty work for you!”
I fell silent.
“I don’t know what I did,” I admitted. “Well, I know about Reed, of course, whoever Reed is, but that’s all... When I saw her die everything just happened!”
“We may all be but a dream,” said Kuranes, “but it’s still impossible to undo something that has already come to pass.”
“But I did it, somehow.”
“Yes. And the only people who know things changed are dreamers—you, me, Chuang, Shingan, probably Reed herself. No doubt a few more.”
“Britomartis, in particular, has no idea,” said Chuang. “We don’t know if it really happened and has been changed, or if that event itself was wiped from existence. What happened was impossible, and it is impossible to know what do to about it.”
I heard dishes rattling—Britomartis was coming back.
Britomartis returned with a large tray packed with food—fresh-baked bread, fruit, eggs, cheese, a whole roast chicken (albeit a small one), a bowl of steaming rice, soup, and more.
Behind her another women walked in, and for a second I thought it might be her twin. She had the same Gibson-girl face, snow-white complexion and rosy cheeks, brilliant eyes, and devastating smile. Unlike short-cut, brunette Britomartis, though, she had magnificent golden hair, a mass of curls and sparkles cascading to her shoulders.
She held another tray, this one holding a large teapot, cups, and a decanter of something reddish.
Britomartis kneeled next to me, arranging a cushion behind me and helping me sit up.
“Is that all right, Master Richard?”
“Yes... thank you,” I replied, a little fuzzily. I shouldn’t have sat up so quickly after all—still a little dizzy.
The other woman knelt next to Britomartis and held out a cup of water.
I reached out my hand to take it, and guessed “You must be Belphoebe?”
She smiled as she handed me the water.
“It is so very good to finally meet you properly, Master Richard. I have heard quite a bit about you!”
“And I, you,” I gallantly replied. “I wondered when I would finally meet you, and it is a pleasure.”
Britomartis tried to hold the cup for me as I drank, but I moved it away from her grasp.
“Thank you, I’m feeling much better now,” I said, and took a sip.
It was ice cold and delicious.
Britomartis was busy, using her dagger to slice the meat into bite-sized chunks. Chee-Chee hopped down her arm and snatched up a piece, earning a slap on the hand but escaping with a meaty chunk to gnaw on.
“Perhaps we should let you eat in peace,” suggested the King.
Britomartis looked up at Kuranes, and her dagger stopped. She actually pouted!
“Yes, my lord. I’ll be good.”
“Britomartis and Belphoebe have taken very good care of you since you leapt from the boat, Master Richard. If I were in your position I’d surrender and enjoy the attention,” the King continued. “Suppose we come back in a bit, after you’ve eaten and bathed.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful,” said Britomartis, grinning, then suddenly looked at me, one hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “That is, if Master Richard would like to!”
I laughed and sat back against the cushions.
“I am yours; do with me as you wish!”
She picked up a piece of meat in her chopsticks, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Chuang and Kuranes slip out of the room.
Everything was delicious, and the company wonderful.
“After you saved us from the shantaks, and saved me from that rock,” Britomartis explained, “it took us the rest of the day to complete hasty repairs on the boat. That night we finally reached Thran, where Belphoebe met us and helped us get repairs started.
“It took until evening the next day to strengthen the hull to withstand the force of the river serpent, and we decided we would spend the night in Thran and leave the next morning at a slower pace.
“We reached the temple dock in the late afternoon, and the monks helped carry you here. Belphoebe and I have been caring for you since.”
“I had hoped to meet you under rather different circumstances, Belphoebe,” I said.
“No matter the circumstances,” she replied, “I am delighted to finally be able to meet you, and thank you for saving the life of my beloved Britomartis.”
“I would do it again in an instant,” I said. “Britomartis is very important to me.”
“And me, Master Richard, and me,” she said. “She is my wife.”
I wasn’t sure of how to answer that without either looking the fool or getting her needlessly jealous, so took a drink of hot tea to give myself time to think. Chee-Chee reminded me that I hadn’t paid my dues yet, and I offered her a choice bit of fruit.
“Britomartis told me you were married by Sappho herself,” I said, steering the conversation. “She is very famous even in my realm, and some of her poetry survives.”
“I wonder which ones... perhaps we haven’t ever read them, Britomartis!” Belphoebe’s eyes were sparkling. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, to see her work from Wakeworld?”
“She is a poet here as well?”
“But of course! She has been writing poems since long before I came here,” said Britomartis. “We must have a dozen of her books, at least... she has always written poetry, but also pens plays now, dealing more with our hearts and minds than the gods or realms.”
“Britomartis reads poetry so much more deeply than I,” admitted Belphoebe. “I am constantly amazed at the way she can uncover new meaning and depths in poems I breezed over.”
“She never struck me as a simple warrior, by any means,” I agreed. “And as her wife I suspect you are more than you appear as well.”
Britomartis hugged her. “She is, of course. She’s one of the finest archers in the realm, but can also heal even the most gravely wounded beast back to health.”
Belphoebe looked down in embarrassment, her hand reaching out to grasp Britomartis’.
An awful lot of the food was gone... When Britomartis brought it in I thought it was enough for two or three people, but somehow I’d managed to make most of it disappear. My stomach was quite content.
I set the plate down, and laid my chopsticks on top neatly.
“Did someone mention a bath?”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Britomartis, putting down her cup of tea and moving the dishes and trays off to the side. Belphoebe rose and walked around to my left side, and together, kneeling, they helped me stand.
I was still a bit dizzy, it seemed... the floor felt subtly slanted.
They led me into the hall, not actually providing much support, just making sure I had something to hang onto if I needed it. Fortunately, I didn’t need it.
The “bath,” as they called it, was actually a series of outdoor ponds, fed by small waterfalls along the edges. The area was a garden, looking out of the forest below... we were high on a mountain! The water in the pool was steaming, too, a little; I guessed this must be a hot spring.
They undressed me, then themselves, and sat me down on a little stool.
There was no soap, but they proceeded to scrub me down with a rough cloth and liberal amount of hot and cold water. It was quite invigorating, and painful enough that I didn’t have any difficulty concentrating on the bath and not the two beautiful women rubbing my body.
There were several baths, ranging from waterfall-fed and painfully hot at one end to downright chilly at the other, also fed by a waterfall, and variety of temperatures in between. At Britomartis’ suggestion I soaked in the “hot tub” until I was hot all the way through, then took a dip in the cold water at the other end to wake up.
Finally feeling refreshed and awake, I stepped out and looked about for a towel.
There were little straw baskets with robes in them, one for each of us. My basket held a light cotton robe, mostly white with a blue geometric pattern dyed into it, and a navy blue sash to keep it closed. Leather sandals on the floor. I donned my robe, and as I was struggling to tie my sash, Britomartis stopped me.
“No, Master Richard. You must always close the robe with the left side on top, never the right. Only dead men wear the right side on top, the monks say.”
She helped me get it right, and tie the sash so it didn’t slip off anymore.
The women had robes of similar design, but with patterns of flowers and butterflies in multiple colors.
I stopped off in the bathroom for a moment, and the women went back to the room ahead of me. Afterwards, I walked down the hall toward the room, and could make out their voices.
“He seems a gentle man, Britomartis,” Belphoebe was saying.
“He is. But he is also a Dreamer—he birthed that ‘helicopt’ in an instant to try to save me, and manipulated Reed herself to stop those shantaks!”
“I think he loves you.”
“I think he does, too, but he is so sweet and kind.” Britomartis giggled. “When I mentioned we were married I could see how discouraged he was! He reveals his heart so clearly on his face.”
“He saved you, my beloved. I am forever in his debt.”
It sure sounded like they liked me.
I stepped back a bit from the door, and scraped my sandals as if I were approaching.
They fell silent, and Britomartis slid the door open for me.
“You look much better, Master Richard!”
The room had been cleaned while we were bathing. Where I had been sleeping was now a low table, surrounded by floor cushions.
Britomartis and Belphoebe sat on the far side of the table, next to one another, and invited me to sit across from them, my back to the door.
I took a seat, wondering what was about to happen, when there was a slight cough from the hall and the paper door slid open.
“Feeling better now, Master Richard?” asked Chuang, looking in. “I see your physicians are most attentive.”
“Thank you, Chuang, yes, much better. Almost human again!”
Chuang slid the door all the way open and stepped back to allow the King to enter.
Chuang took his place next to me, across from the women, and the King sat at the bottom of the table, farthest away from the hanging scroll that was clearly the focus of the room.
“We were very worried, Master Richard,” said Kuranes. “You seemed uninjured, but remained in a deep sleep after your exertions.”
“Birthing those noisy machines and stopping the shantaks must have been exhausting, and then you saved me!” said Britomartis, eyes shining.
“There is more to that story, Britomartis,” said the King. “True, birthing those machines and leaping into the river with you in the nick of time was surely exhausting, but you did more than that, didn’t you, Master Richard?”
“I...”
I wasn’t really sure if he wanted to tell her; he’d suggested it was a secret earlier.
“Speak freely, Master Richard,” added Chuang, nodding.
Britomartis looked at me, brow furrowed.
“Britomartis, it’s hard to explain,” I began. “When that boulder struck you, I...”
“The boulder didn’t strike me, Master Richard. You saved me!”
“No, Britomartis, I didn’t. At least, I didn’t the first time.”
“The first time? I don’t understand...”
“What are you saying, Master Richard?” broke in Belphoebe.
“Britomartis, that boulder struck you, killing you instantly.”
“But I’m not dead! I’m right here!?”
“Yes, it’s... complicated,” I sighed. “When I saw it hit you, something happened to me. Time began to flow backwards, the boulder rose in the sky again, and you were alive once more. And then time started ticking again, and the boulder started falling, and I knocked you into the river.
“I undid your death.”
Britomartis was paler than usual, eyes wide, mouth half open. Chee-Chee hopped from the table to her shoulder, wrapping its arms around her head and burying its face in her hair.
“Master Richard reversed time, and changed reality to make you live, Britomartis,” explained Kuranes. “Somehow. I cannot imagine the power he wielded to accomplish it, or where he got it from. And that’s why he was so exhausted.”
“I don’t remember what I did, or how I did it, Kuranes. I’m glad I did it, though, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, for any of you!”
Britomartis knelt motionless, speechless. A tear ran down one cheek. Belphoebe pulled her tight, hugging her as she began to quietly weep.
“Please, my lord. Give us a minute.”
She helped Britomartis up, supporting her as if she were sleep-walking, and they left the room.
Kuranes turned to me.
“Did you do all that by yourself, or did you have help from Reed, or someone else?”
“All by myself, I think, but not consciously... who is Reed? You said once that you would explain it once we reached the temple.”
Chuang sighed and set his cup of tea back down on the table quietly.
“We can talk freely at this temple,” he began. “Let me explain.”
“Reed was a girl born in ancient Japan centuries ago, before their histories began. In your calendar, about the twelfth century BC, over three thousand years ago. Her name in Japanese was Ashi, and we generally refer to her by the English translation, which is the reed that grows along the riverbanks.
“She was a powerful Dreamer, and when her land was threatened by the dark forces, found a way to leverage her power to actually capture a fragment of Azathoth. She wielded Azathoth’s strength to Dream in your realm, somehow, and defeat the invaders. She saved her people but died in the process.
“She ‘awoke’ in her own Dreamlands, a realm she calls Takama-no-hara, and over the years discovered that she could control the bodies of her descendants. She has ruled Nippon numerous times over the centuries through women such as Queen Himiko, guiding it toward her ultimate goal.
“Amaterasu's plan is to infuse your realm—what we call Wakeworld—with the essence of the Dreamlands. As far as we know, dreamers such Amaterasu—and the King—can only affect the reality of their own realms: the realms they were born to, or created. Amaterasu plans to expand her bubble realm of Takama-no-hara to fully encompass both the Dreamlands and Wakeworld, and establish herself as an all-powerful deity over all of known creation. This would allow her to birth reality in Wakeworld, becoming a true god. Her tendrils have already wormed their way into the roots and heavens of many realms, preparing to absorb them into herself.
“Decades ago she found a way to obtain the energy needed to transform herself, and gained it through the sacrifice of the Japanese people in the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb disasters. A third atomic bomb is needed to complete the spell. There was supposed to have been a third bomb dropped on Tokyo, but that never happened, and she is making plans to obtain a third bomb now.”
“Why doesn’t she just use this Azathoth thingie if she’s so powerful?”
“We don’t really know, but probably because she wove her spell using weapons forged here on Earth, and Japanese sacrifices. We think all three have to share those similarities.
“If she succeeds she would indeed save us all from Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones, but she would become an even more fearsome god herself... and we would be her servitors.”
“So what does she want with me?”
“We don’t know that either,” answered Kuranes. “The fact that you were able to alter reality here in the Dreamlands—and so powerfully, by turning back time itself—suggests you are immensely powerful. Hopefully Shingan Oshō will have some idea of why you are so important. He wanted to wait until you were awake to speak to us.”
We fell silent.
Footsteps in the hall.
The door slid open, and a chunky, middle-aged man in a black robe entered, bowed, and knelt by the door. As soon as he was settled, another man in a dark robe entered. He was taller than the King, thinner and completely bald. He bowed slightly as he entered, his hands pressed together in front of his chest, some kind of rosary around them.
Kuranes and Chuang immediately stood up when they say the monk—for surely a monk he must be—and I hurriedly followed suit.
The monk walked in slowly, deliberately, and approached me, looking into my face.
“I am Shingan, the abbot here. I welcome you to Ryūzō-ji Temple.”
I wasn’t entirely sure of how to respond, but everyone was treating him with considerable respect, so: “I am Richard, a Dreamer from another realm. Thank you for caring for me and nursing me back to health.”
“Master Richard... the King has told me much of you,...” he said, tilting his head a bit as he looked into my eyes. “I too come from that same realm. From Nippon, as you may have guessed from the temple.”
“From Japan, as we call it.”
“Yes. Things change,” he said, deadpan.
He walked to the head of the table and sat.
“I have already heard the tale of your journey here,” he said, “and the diverse events that occurred along the way. The King has also told me the story of your encounter with the shantaks, and the happenings there.”
He paused for a moment, taking a sip of tea.
“Master Richard, do you know what the Butterfly Effect is?”
“Yeah, sort of. Unintended consequences. A butterfly flapping its wings in China or wherever it was could cause a hurricane somewhere else, basically.”
“Yes. It is a way of grasping the concept of chaos, attempting to make sense of it. The Dreamlands, and all the realms, for that matter, are attempts to bring order out of the multidimensional chaos that is existence. And seemingly insignificant events can, like a pebble thrown into a quiet pool, create ripples that stretch outward to the very edges of the pool’s existence... the edges of its reality.
“If you knew some tiny, seemingly insignificant factor that would result in the birth of Cthulhu, Master Richard, what would you do?”
“I... I suppose I’d eliminate it.”
“Even knowing that this realm, and our own realm, exist only as the dreams of Cthulhu?”
“I hadn’t... I mean, I understand what you’re saying, but surely...” I took a breath. “If we create Cthulhu by dreaming of it, and Cthulhu created us by dreaming, who started the whole thing? There has to be something objective!”
“Why?”
I digested that response in silence for a few seconds.
“So that’s why the Zoogmoot was called, then?” finally asked Kuranes.
“In part, yes,” said Shingan. “They sensed the existence of the factor, and called the Zoogmoot to decide what to do about it. In the same way Reed and Cthulhu, and probably some others, wanted to control that factor to pursue their own ends. The Zoogs only had part of the information they needed, though. I have more.”
“Tell us!” commanded Kuranes.
“It’s really very simple, King Kuranes,” said Shingan. “This factor, this butterfly, has done something or will do something that leads to the birth of Cthulhu.”
He stared straight into my eyes.
“And you, Master Richard, you are that butterfly.”
END