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Authors: John C. Wright

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BOOK: Mists of Everness (The War of the Dreaming)
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Azrael leaned forward, his face, for once, not a mask, but showing deep and animated passion. “This world, and man, are mightiest things; yet they have not yet pulled down the stars to do them homage. The thousand worlds and far-flung golden realms beyond, with all their majesty and twilight-haunted splendor, are as nothing to this iron world and its dreadful, daylight strength. It shall all be ours.
“The prophecy reports the next King lives, even now, somewhere upon the Earth; now, even now; the King destined to restore the Empire and knit up the sundered universe. His bloodline shall rule both gods and men; his sway shall reach unbound beyond Heaven, Earth, and Hell, to compass all cosmos entire. No less than the cosmos shall the kingdom be; nations shall be subjects as much as constellations.
“The last King, I lost to Oberon and Nimue, and the promised Empire was stillborn, slain by Cupid’s bow and fairy-scheming.
“Now again he comes, the King; and the gods themselves tremble on their onyx thrones, and the plumes of their wide wings all tremble, for they know the conquests of High Heaven cannot be stopped, if my wit can unwind their spirit-snares; and this world shall be the throne and capital of all creation!”
“New king, eh?” said Peter. “Forgive me if I don’t stand up and clap. I vote Republican.”
Azrael leaned back, his face impassive once more, but his eyes still burning and glittering. “The promised King shall reign a thousand years, his scepter close the gulf between this world and the next; and peace and justice shall issue from his hand.”
Peter said, “Oh? So that’s why you’re doing all this?”
“Indeed.” Azrael spoke in a hushed whisper.
“For peace and justice? Well, well, well. You got a funny way of showing it. I guess the ‘peace’ is attacking and burning your own house. And the ‘justice’ must be throwing your own family in jail without a trial for no reason. Right?”
Peter laughed harshly and continued, “No, Azrael, old boy, I guess things are pretty rough for you right now. You would not even be here talking to me, trying to get me to help you find Wendy Varovitch, if her husband hadn’t already proved to be more trouble than you figured.”
There was a slight glimmer of fear in Azrael’s eye.
Peter said, “He’s escaped! Raven escaped.”
Azrael let go of the chair and took a step backward toward the door. It was fear. Peter realized Azrael was superstitious. Maybe magicians had to be. And he was facing something he did not understand.
Peter spoke in a quiet, calm, relentless tone: “You’re scared. You thought you had it all figured, but it’s coming apart in your hands. Falling apart right before your eyes. You thought you could betray your nightmare-friends the same way you betrayed your family. You thought you could use the Key to shut the Gates of Everness before Acheron came up from the bottom of the sea. You can’t. Silver Key is gone. You wonder what Morningstar is going to see in your soul when he looks you in the eye. You wonder if Morningstar has a special chamber in his black tower set aside just for you. How did you let that Silver Key just slip between your fingers like that? You don’t know what you’re up against, do you, pal? You don’t know who we’re working for.”
Azrael’s face was immobile, but he had gone pale and he was backing up toward the door.
“You are so pathetic, having to come beg your victims for help! But I guess you magician types can’t do anything if we don’t help you hurt us. If we don’t consent. But you! You don’t need to help the ones coming to hurt you. You’ve already consented. You signed a contract in blood.”
Azrael whispered, “By what prophetic art can you know this? How can you know of my contract? Or that the ink was blood? I was warded …”
Peter said, “What are you going to do if the trumpet blows and wakes all the sleeper guys to the Last Battle? Think your tricks and charms can stop the likes of
them?
On the other hand, what are you going to do if the trumpet doesn’t blow and Acheron comes up out of the sea? Maybe Morningstar will let you be his court jester. But how you going to juggle for him, if he doesn’t let you keep your eyeballs and hands?”
Peter continued sarcastically: “But, no, wait! You got this brilliant plan. This King guy is going to stop all that, right? But if he’s so just and fair, what’s he going to think when he looks at the likes of you? You were hoping he’d admire you, right? But what’s he really going to do to you, once he runs the universe? Maybe he’ll just do to you what you did to my dad.”
Peter paused to let that comment sink in.
Then he said in a soft voice. “You’re going to Hell, pal. Down into stinking Hell. You’re already falling down the pit; you just don’t know it ’cause you ain’t splattered on the bottom yet. Going to get out of it somehow? Try flapping your arms. Need my help? Happy landings.”
Azrael turned and fled from the room, holding one hand before his face, middle fingers curled, thumb and pinkie extended, as if warding off a curse.
Peter’s laughter chased him out the door.
Peter stared at the overcoat for what seemed a long time, thinking.
When the orderly came in, as he did every day, to check on Peter, turn him over, and sponge him off, the orderly did not, of course, remove the overcoat. He checked to see that the security camera was still operating; but no one had told him, nor would he have believed, that a graffiti monster chalked on the wall was part of the security.
When the orderly left, Peter was suddenly overcome by a sense of alarm and anger. “How could I miss it!” he asked himself. “How could I be so stupid! Got to go to sleep right now before Azrael realizes what he’s done! Morpheus, Somnus, ah, whatever the hell your name is, Hypnos, and you other guys, knock me out!”
Immediately he was asleep. In his dream he was once more in the barren dungeon of some grim tower, whose barred window slit looked out upon a lonely moor. Peter was on a narrow plank, and in the dream he was tied down hand and foot by many winding yards of cable.
The Beast still prowled outside the tower, roaring in rage, growling, slavering, and rattling its massive chains. Every now and again, it scratched at the tower doors, or smote, and the tower trembled from the blows of its paw. In the far distance, across the windy moonlit moor, Peter could hear a lonely churchbell ringing. Six times it rang.
But when the Beast prowled out to the far end of its chain, Peter could see through the window that the Beast wore an overcoat draped over its head. The Beast stumbled, batting at the coat hem with its massive claws, but it could not dislodge the fabric.
Peter strained at the ropes that bound him, but this was one of those dreams where one is trapped and cannot escape.
“Great,” grunted Peter. “Now what the hell do I do? Wish for a magic mouse to come by and nibble away these ropes?”
And he sighed because he realized that Galen would know what to do. Moody, dreamy Galen, who couldn’t stand up to the kids who picked on him at school, and who couldn’t keep his job as a paperboy because he overslept; Galen knew all the magic words and mumbo jumbo that made this dream-stuff operate.
“Maybe I was too hard on the kid,” Peter said.
A large brown mouse, walking upright, wearing a vest with a pocketwatch and carrying a walking stick, hopped up on Peter’s chest. The mouse was puffing and brushed his little furry forehead with a hanky.
“Good day, sir,” said the mouse. “It’ll take me a while to get through these ropes, but not to worry! I have strong teeth!” And he bent down and began gnawing at the knots on Peter’s wrist.
It looked just like something out of a Beatrix Potter illustration. “Well, the God-damned cavalry comes riding over the hill, and it’s God-damned Mighty Mouse.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s ‘Meadow.’ The words were slightly mumbled, as if his mouth were full.”Sorry I took so long, but I could not get by the Hatred Beast until the Wizard blinkered it with his cloak.”
“Who sent you? The good fairy?”
The mouse scampered back up across Peter’s chest, and Peter could feel the little paws tapping on him. The mouse looked up with beady little black eyes as bright as buttons. “Fairies? Oh no, sir. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”
“The fairies work for Oberon and Titania, King and Queen of the Seelie Court in Mommur, the City Neverending. The Knights of Oberon sleep among the Autumn Stars. I am merely a humble mouse from Shining Valley, trying to do my part to help.”
“Well, keep nibbling. Every little bit helps.”
The mouse scampered away out of sight down to the left wrist, commenting, “Exactly our philosophy, sir, except that we say every little
bite
counts. There! Pull up your arms!”
“Can’t. They’re still stuck.”
“Not if you don’t wish them to be, you big baby. It makes me sick to see a great hulking man like you turned coward. Turns my stomach!”
“What! No stinking little rodent is going to …” And he pulled his right hand up. The ropes spun up into the air and fell away, disintegrating into dust and cobwebs.
Peter pulled up his left hand and rubbed at his wrists. “What does this mean? My arms going to be working when I wake up?”
“That, I cannot say, sir, seeing as how I am not a magician. But I hope that if you remember this dream, you may well be whole when you wake. That rope was woven out of your own hair, so it could bind you.”
“Hair?” Peter rubbed his hand over his crew cut.
“Perhaps you call it by another name in the waking world. When your hair stands on end? Fear. That rope was woven out of your own fear. Only magicians can do spider-work like that.”
“But what if I can’t remember this when I wake up? Damn. My dad taught me this exercise I was supposed to do when I was a kid, but I never bothered …”
“Come now, sir! Every mouse pup and nesting bird knows how to build the Keep to keep Forgetting away! It’s easy! Picture a circle inscribed within a square. The circle is the Tower of Ever, and the square is the four seasons of the High House of Time. Imagine the square now as a door, guarded by a man with two faces, forward and past, and in his hand, a wand that divides.”
“That’s the front door of the house where I grew up.”
“Then this should be child’s play for you, sir. Imagine the door opens, and you are in a tower with four doors. Each door has a guard. The lion carries the golden orb that shows his majesty; the angel has the sword of the four winds; the bull comes from the sea; the eagle carries the torch to reignite the rising Sun. Down each corridor is a season …”
“You don’t even have to say anymore,” said Peter. “You’re describing the very house where I grew up. I remember all those decorations. Dad made me used to repeat every object in every room with my eyes closed.”
“Very good, sir. If you want to remember a new thing, put it somewhere in the mansion of your memory.”
“Uh … Okay. There’re two little brass rat statues in the hall behind the marble Apollo.”
“Mice, sir. The Smynthian is the god of mice.”
“Whatever. From that statue, you go down two flights of stairs, there’s the kitchen in the west wing next to the bonfire room. There’s a table in the pantry where I used to hide when I was a kid. Sometimes we kept a wedge of cheese on top of that table in a box. Let’s say there’s a mouse there, and he’s got a key dangling from his watch chain. The key unlocks my hands. Yeah. Sound good? I think I’ll remember that.”
Meadow Mouse, still standing on Peter’s chest, spoke up. “Did you say you actually lived in the High House of Ever? Then—I suppose you must know Galen Amadeus Waylock!”
“Sure. He’s my son.”
“Oh my! This is a singular honor, I must say! An honor! The father of Galen Waylock! You must be so proud of him, sir, so very proud. The echoes of his name ring everywhere! And, ahem, and what did you say your name was again?”
“Pete.”
“Oh. What dreams have you made?”
“Who cares about that? You got to tell me what to do next. What’s the plan?”
Meadow Mouse twitched his whiskers. “Plan? I haven’t the foggiest notion, actually.”
“What? I thought you magic animal types always knew what to do. You know, Puss in Boots, shaman totem animals, witch familiars, that sort of garbage.”
Meadow Mouse’s whiskers drooped. “Well, I am very sorry about that. Didn’t really get good instructions, you know. My fault, really. All I know is that there is someone who can rescue the Princess; and that someone must be rescued by you.”
“Any idea who that someone is?”
“Well, frankly, er … no.”
“Race? Color? What country they live in? What planet they live on? Maybe I should just rescue everyone in the universe till they’re all safe.”
“He’s trapped somewhere underwater.”
“Oh, that’s a big help. I’ll call the Coast Guard and find out every rowboat and yacht that’s capsized. This is after I walk down the corridor on my hands and beat up all the guards with my teeth.”
Meadow Mouse shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Your commanding officer didn’t bother to give you a briefing before they sent you out?”
“Actually, no. Our commanding officer, as you call her, is dancing in the moonlight, weeping, because she can’t remember her name. You see, we do things differently where I come from.”
“So I gathered.” Peter sighed and looked around the dungeon. He saw nothing to give him any ideas. Besides, it was a dream, so the shape of the stones and position of the chains and cobwebs changed from time to time.
He glared at Meadow Mouse, who still stood on Peter’s chest. Mouse fingered his whiskers nervously.
“So how the hell would you do things in fairy-land?”
Meadow Mouse blinked his little black eyes. “Well, sir, we do things more spontaneously. More naturally. By instinct.”
“Instinct. Great.”
“Well, I am a mouse, you know. Instinct works fine for us.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, now …” Meadow Mouse looked thoughtful. Then he asked, “Of all the people on Earth, whom would you most like to rescue?”
“Me? My dad, of course … .” Peter’s voice turned glum. “Hate to see him kick off before I got a chance to say … well, you know. To tell him what’s on my mind.”
“And where is your father now?”
“Sick. In a coma.”
“Where have his thoughts flown?”
“Raven said he was in Acheron …”
“Don’t say that name!” Meadow Mouse dropped his walking stick in alarm, clapping his paws over his round ears.
Peter had sat up, and Meadow Mouse tumbled into his lap. Peter was saying excitedly, “Hey! He is the guy I’m supposed to rescue! He’s in Acheron, and Acheron is underwater!”
A hideous great voice called out. “Three times you called the name of blackest woe! In service to that name, I come! With each time I am released, I grow! And I shall grow to swallow all the Earth when time is done!”
The door of the dungeon was flung down from it hinges. There, in the doorframe, loomed the Beast, rearing upright on hind legs; and somehow the overcoat had fallen from its face to come around its shoulders, so that the Beast seemed a vast, cloaked being, larger than all things around it, larger than all outer space. Darkness and smoke seethed from its black fur and blood dripped from its terrible, huge claws. Its fangs and eyes were glittering white against the dark mass of its triangular and shaggy, bestial head.
A distant bell rang six times as it stepped into the room.
BOOK: Mists of Everness (The War of the Dreaming)
5.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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