Visioness (19 page)

“Suppose it was just the
emotion of the moment that brought it out?” said Mrs. Abeth. “Suppose she was
so overwhelmed by the sadness that she was drawn from the sickness for a time.
The mind is a beautiful thing, sometimes. It can be a vault for secrets and for
memories, and yet, when unlocked, it can unleash some of the most wonderful
things. I had a friend who was abused when she was very young by her father. He
used to beat her something fierce, and whenever she’d come to school, she’d
always have a black eye or a bruise on her arm. She used to say she fell, and
we all believed her. We thought she was a klutz. But one day she decided to
tell me what was actually happening, and it terrified me. I met with her again
recently and she said she’s moved on, but that she doesn’t remember much of
those times.” She paused. “She’d repressed those memories, so that she didn’t
have to deal with the pain. She’d gotten past it, and she didn’t want it to
define her, so she forgot about it. The mind can lock away some horrible
things, and also wonderful things.”

“So it seems,” Adabelle
said, turning from Mrs. Abeth to the window, to stare at the passing city
outside. The Halls of the Oen’Aerei went by. She wondered whether Lady Morphier
had uncovered anything else about Therron in the time she’d been away. She had
said a full investigation would be undertaken. She wondered why she hadn’t
heard anything yet. Perhaps the delay was owing to Therron’s ability of mental
espionage. He seemed so sneaky, able to move through the dreams with nothing
but
The Dreamer’s Lullaby
and the scent of his own cologne preceding
him.

Still, it did seem odd that
she had heard
nothing
about her father. She’d been taking the Slugleaf
tea religiously, brewing herself a hot mug before bed. And every night she was
able to sleep peaceably. She paused, wondering what Therron would see in her
now that she was blocked from the dream to a degree. Would he see her mind at
all? Was he able to pass through it despite the fact there was nothing occurring
within? Or was it like her sister’s mind, where she saw only a shadow where a
Dreamer’s mind ought to be. A great wall of unfathomable darkness. No matter
how hard she pressed against the darkness, she could not pass through. She
could slam her fist against the shadowy barrier, throw her entire mental weight
against it, and yet there was nothing. Her sister’s mind was completely inaccessible.

“No, no, no, no!” cried
Charlotte, shaking awake suddenly and violently. She looked red in the face,
tears in her eyes. She lifted a hand and banged it into her head. Each thump
released a wince, and yet she continued.

“Charlotte, Charlotte,
Charlotte!” said Adabelle, grabbing her sister’s arm before she could beat
herself again.

“I saw something,” Charlotte
said. “Something in my head. Oh God! It won’t go away! It won’t end. Make it
stop.”

“Charlotte,” Adabelle
whispered, holding her arm strong. Charlotte struggled against her hold.

“There was a person in my
head,” Charlotte said, sounding even more distressed than she had before.
“There was a woman in my head. She spoke to me! She said something.” She
paused, thinking deeply. “It was mama! Mama was in my head!”

Adabelle’s heart froze for a
moment. Charlotte had broken out in a cold sweat, sobbing softly, apparently on
the fringes of waking up.

Or dreaming,
Adabelle added.

“It was just a dream,
Charlotte,” Adabelle said.

“What?” Charlotte looked
entirely befuddled. She stopped struggling, ceased her crying, apparently out
of sheer shock.

“Just a dream,” Adabelle
said.

“But…I can’t dream,” she
said. “We know that.”

Adabelle paused, unable to
think straight herself. “That’s right. You can’t. But you must have if you saw
mama in your head. There’s no other way. It’s the only possible outcome.”

Charlotte nodded. “I’ve
never had that happen. One moment I’m here, and the next I’m somewhere else.
And I can see and I can smell and then mama appears.”

Adabelle hesitated. “Dreams
are always triggered by things we see or hear. It’s our mind making sense of
the world. The fact we visited the grave is probably what had you see that.”

Charlotte sat up straighter,
folding her arms across her legs. She swallowed deeply, exhaled and stared out
the window. She wiped a tear from her face. Her breathing for a time came in
deep gasps till she calmed.

“We’re nearly home, anyway,”
Adabelle said. “Don’t fall asleep again.”

They arrived at the
University, stepping out of the ca. Charlotte was quick to return to her room
to sleep, Adabelle followed, deciding she was quiet exhausted enough herself
and that a nap might be the best idea as well.

She closed her eyes as she
lay on the bed. Within seconds was Dreaming. Charlotte was quick to fall
asleep, too, thankfully. Adabelle had only one task to commit while here. She
turned to her sister’s mind—or rather, where her mind ought to be—and began her
way towards it. The black barrier was still there, locking her away from her
sister’s mind. She ought to not be able to dream at all, and yet she had. There
was no other explanation.

What is happening to us both,
Charlotte?
Adabelle thought, as she raised her hand and touched the darkness. She pushed
against it, the wall forever firm like granite. It would not give, no matter
how hard she pushed.

“You’re still safe from Therron,”
she said, gently releasing a sigh of relief. “I can sleep easy now.”

She supposed the dream she’d
had in the car must have been a temporary weakening in the barrier. Stranger
things had happened.

She pulled herself from
Dreaming, and entered the darkness of her sleep. She hadn’t the energy to make
any Slugleaf tea, and it was only going to be a nap, after all. No need to protect
against something that couldn’t happen.

When she awoke, it was late
in the afternoon and the sky outside was golden. She looked up and out the
window, passing a quick glance at Charlotte who still slept soundly.

She stepped up beside the
bed and shook the girl awake.

“Wake up,” she said, “else
you won’t sleep tonight.”

“What?” asked Charlotte,
groggily stirring.

“You gotta get up. It’s
dinnertime.”

“Oh, okay.”

As Charlotte got ready for
dinner, Adabelle asked her, “How did you sleep?”

“Well enough,” she replied.
“I didn’t dream again, if that’s what you mean.”

Adabelle bit her lip. “I
know. I checked your mind, and that wall is still up, hard as ever. I suppose
it could be a sign you might be able to dream at some point.”

“That would be nice,”
Charlotte said, smiling a little. “I’ve always wanted to. And despite the shock
of it, I want to see mama again. Do you get to see mama in your dreams?”

Adabelle paused, lowering
her gaze. “Very rarely.” It was a lie. She’d never dreamt of her mother. She
didn’t know why, she just never did. She occasionally had flashbacks to the
night her and her mother had run from Therron, but they were memories, not
dreams. There was a difference.

“Well I’m glad I might be
able to dream soon.”

I’m not,
Adabelle thought.
The
day you start dreaming is the day I have another life to protect.

“I wonder if I’ll ever
become a Dreamer,” Charlotte said.

“I wonder just the same,”
Adabelle thought. It seemed entirely likely, given their parentage—two of the
most powerful Dreamers ever seen in Odilla.

“I wonder if I’d be a
Sturding,” Charlotte continued. She then stopped for a moment as she tied her
shoes. “On second thought, I don’t think I’d be a Sturding.”

Adabelle grimaced, brow
furrowing. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte
said. “I suppose it’s the distance I have from dreams. I don’t imagine if I
could Dream that I’d know how to go in physically. It’s like any muscle, isn’t
it? It requires working. The harder you push, the stronger it gets. I mean I’ve
heard of Dreamer children, but Dreamer babies? There’s none!” She hesitated on
that thought. “Well, none that I know of at least.” And then she laughed.

Adabelle herself couldn’t
remember a time when she didn’t Dream; she’d been an early bloomer apparently
though. Most people didn’t start Dreaming till they were eight, when their
imaginations were more active than before, and they were somewhat more
self-aware. She’d started when she was five or six, though, and could remember
walking lucidly from one Dream to the next, curious and often ignorant of the
contents.

But Charlotte had been right
in some respects. In many respects. Adabelle had grown better over time at
Dreaming. It had been a gradual thing. She still wasn’t a Sturding. Even then,
she knew they were born, not made. But she was more skilled at Dreaming than
she had been before, and that alone was worth something.

At dinner, Charlotte
continued to voice her questions about dreaming, musing about what she would do
were she able to Dream. Adabelle found some small comfort in the knowledge that
everything she said was purely hypothetical. She was safe from Therron so long
as that mental wall was in place.

Adabelle heard her name from
somewhere behind her, and turned to find another student she didn’t recognise
approaching her. He looked slightly red-faced from walking too quickly, and so
it was with a rushed, heavy voice he said, “Telegram,” before heading off, far
less enthusiastically than his approach.

“Who’s it from?” asked
Charlotte, leaning over Adabelle’s shoulder.

“None of your business,” she
said, pulling the paper away from her sister. She glanced to the bottom of the
page. “But if you must know, it’s Rhene.”

“Oooh!” her sister called.
Adabelle just shook her head and ignored her.

Adabelle,

I’m sorry you have not heard
from me for a little while. I broke my hand and I’ve been stuck in hospital for
a little while. I hope to be able to see you again sometime soon, though. I will
send you a letter when I’m well and able.

Rhene.

“He’s broke his hand,”
Adabelle said. “He’s just letting me know.”

“How?” Charlotte asked.

“Don’t be rude,” Adabelle
said. “It’s impolite to ask.”

She was curious herself,
though knew better than to ask. It was his own business.

It didn’t stop her curiosity
though.

Matthon’s hand was like a
dinner plate in comparison to Rhene’s. His fingers were thick and fat, his
forearm bulging slightly as he manipulated Rhene’s arm. It hurt to twist his
wrist, it hurt to extend his fingers, and it was sheer agony when he touched
the fingers presently wrapped in a bandage.

“Looks like you’ve been in
the wars,” said Matthon, smiling at his joke.

“You could say that,” Rhene
replied.

“How did you manage
that
kind of razor cut, anyway?” asked Matthon, glancing from Rhene’s hand to his
throat.

“I got spooked by something
falling in the sink, cut myself, and as I threw down the razor, I punched the
sink.”

The hospital ward slowly
filled with dawn’s gentle light, caressing the room with its rose-coloured
touch. Matthon rose a sceptical eyebrow.

“Well you would be an idiot.
I don’t think you’ll be able to do much with that hand. It’s only your fingers,
thankfully, but it will be a good three weeks or so before any real bit of
healing is done. The doctor will tell you more. Be thankful our plans for war
still have a little while to go.”

Rhene’s ears tingled at
that. The scent of the cologne and the whisper of the music returning to him
for a moment, in ghostly reminder of his ordeal. Then it faded and he was once
again in the room with Matthon.

“When are we meant to go to
war on the Oen’Aerei?” Rhene asked, hoping quietly that he did not sound
suspicious.

“I cannot tell you the
date,” he replied, “not yet. But soon enough. Soon enough that we can finally
be free of these infiltrators.” He sounded so impassioned, so fanatical to the
cause, it almost frightened Rhene.

“But I’m a general,” Rhene
replied. “Should I not know the date we go to war?”

“Oh, you will, before too
long. But for now, the fewer minds containing the time and date, the fewer
risks we have to take.”

The reasoning was sound.
When dealing with people who could enter minds, it was only natural to keep as
many people in the dark, whenever possible.

Rhene glanced about the
hospital ward. It was empty, but for him and Matthon. Now was the time.

“Can I ask you about
Dreaming?” he asked.

“Yes,” Matthon replied,
keeping his eyes downcast, “but know if someone enters we must change topic immediately.”

“Of course.”

“What is it you want to
know?” Matthon leaned back in his chair.

Rhene struggled to search
for what he really wanted to ask. He wanted to know, in truth, how Therron
Blaise could have caused him physical harm while in the dream. But how could he
ask it without drawing too much attention?

“What are the dangers?” he
asked. “I mean, is there anything I should really worry about while I’m in
there?”

“Well of course there’s the
Nhyxes. Nightmares that have taken a form. Most of them are harmless; they’re
really just the energy that creates nightmares turned real by the simple
presence of Dreamers. It’s the Sturding Nhyxes you have to worry about.”

“Sturding Nhyxes?” Rhene
asked.

“Well, there’s Sturding
Dreamers, who can enter the Dream
physically.
It’s reasonably rare, but
there are
some
who can do that. Similarly, there’s Sturding Nhyxes that
can enter the real world as surely as they can enter the dream world. They’re
particularly dangerous.”

“Can they cause any actual
physical harm?”

“Oh, absolutely. They’re
real strength lies in terror; not murder, though. It’s very rare you’ll find
them able to do much else than scare you. They’re very good at making you run,
though. Very good. There’s, obviously, also the risk of forgetting when you’re
Dreaming and when you’re not. You’re reality is here, Rhene; remember that.
When you forget your reality, or your reality changes, all sorts of odd things
can happen. And not necessarily good things, either. There’s a thing called the
Dream Buffer, which is basically the time when waking where you can’t remember
whether you’re in a Dream or not. People have leapt out of windows thinking
they could fly, or have torn themselves apart trying to find other places to go
to. Concussions from running into walls, murdering people, when not realising
what they’re actually doing. This buffer is, probably, the most dangerous part
of the Dream. It’s in this middle time that most people die. When you wake up,
I suggest you always try and lie down for as long as you can. Remind yourself
that you were dreaming before, but that this is real.” He knocked on the wood
of the bed. “Remind yourself you can’t fly or punch through walls, and you’ll
find you’ll survive this.”

Everything he had done
suddenly made sense. His attempt to punch through the window and his confusion
at being unable to change his surroundings all hit him as hard as his punch
through the glass.

“Can anyone else hurt me in
the Dream, though?” he asked. “You said there are Sturding Dreamers. Could they
hurt me?”

“Well, let’s see here. If a
Sturding meets a Sturding in the Dream, yes, they can both harm each other. If
a Sturding meets a non-Sturding, only the Sturding can be harmed. The
Sturdings, you see, have accepted both our world and the Dream world as the combined
realities. So their own laws in both limit them. But if, say, a non-Sturding
attempted to bring a non-Sturding Nhyx out of the dream…well…I don’t know what
would happen. They’d probably both cease to exist, for breaking the Universal
Laws.”

“The what?” asked Rhene,
sitting up in bed. He winced as his hand ached, but he did his best to ignore
it.

“The Universal Laws. It’s
what everything in the world abides by. There are obviously powers out there,
like Dreaming, that we know nothing about. I do not study any, nor do I know
any names; I am above that kind of silliness—but there are other powers. People
who can change things in the world; people who can do extraordinary things.

“The Universal Laws combine
these powers. They all appear differently, but they all abide by a handful of
Laws. The main one is that, no matter what a person tries to do with their
power, they can not alter the world in any permanent manner, at its most basic
level. A better way to describe it is that every part of this world is a symbol
of the desire to survive. The world has evolved, and we continue to grow and
survive. We seek survival, so do these laws. Play with them in any real
dangerous way, and it will dole out the necessary punishment. Everything has
its laws; so does this magic.”

“That’s why you said if
anyone tried to pull a non-Sturding Nhyx out, they’d both suffer.”

“Well, they’d
probably
cease to exist,” Matthon said, “but anyone who’s ever done it hasn’t ever made
it…obviously.”

Rhene laughed quietly.

But if Therron was able to
harm me, then that would make him and I Sturdings.
He paused, the weight of the
realisation crashing upon him. His head began to ache, the pain in his hand
spiking intensely.

I’m a Sturding.

His dealings with Therron
suddenly became more dangerous. Therron could harm in in very real ways. Kill
him, if he wished, all within the dream, where the limitations were endless.

But if he can change
realities, why doesn’t he find us in the real world. Why doesn’t he find us here?

The answer came to him,
before the full question had even arrived. In the Dream he could enter their
minds, he could attack them from within. Outside the Dream, he was limited to
reality. He had to hold true to physics and science. Elsewhere, he could do as
he wished. It was obvious why he kept to the Dream.

“Is there any way I can
protect myself, though?” he asked.

“Well just like everyone
else, you’re not restricted by reality, either. Get creative. Think outside the
box. Someone points a gun at you, you get a bigger gun.”

Rhene laughed.

“It really is the best way.
So long as you’re not a Sturding, you’ll be safe there. But you’re not
unbreakable. Just because damage isn’t visible doesn’t mean there’s no damage.
You need to protect,” he tapped his forehead, “what’s in here.”

Rhene nodded, looking up
suddenly as one of the nurses entered.

“Right, well thank you,
Dreamless Matthon. I assure you, I’ll be back in training before too long.”

“That’s good to hear,
general,” replied Matthon, recognising Rhene’s hint. He winked. “I’ll be glad
to see you soon then. Good day.”

He saluted, warded, and then
he was gone.

Rhene sat alone on the bed,
as the nurse tended to him, insuring his hand was bandaged properly and that he
had enough water in the decanter beside him.

I need to see Adabelle soon,
he thought.
She hasn’t
heard from me for two days now. She might be worried.

He decided quickly he’d send
her a telegram before the day was out.

He shifted into a more
comfortable position, laying down just enough so that he could still reach the
glass on the bedside table. He didn’t know how he hadn’t pieced together the
connection between Adabelle and Therron before. He’d even known he’d had a
daughter. It was obvious now; he even saw the resemblance.

He was falling in love with
the daughter of a man who was trying to make a traitor of him. That thought
made him quake.

He bowed his head, thankful
of the knowledge he now held. At the very least, he would have some kind of understanding
of the Dream Frequencies. At least he knew what danger he was in now, and to
what capacity he had control over things.

As he had promised himself,
he sent a telegram to Adabelle, assuring her he had a wonderful time and that
he looked forward to seeing her again. He told her of his broken fingers, but
also that it would not stop him from seeing her anytime soon. He wanted to see
her; needed to see her. His stomach seemed to flip at the thought of her. It
was a light, airy appearing in his abdomen. It stretched down to his hips. He
wanted to know more about her. He wanted to find out about her past and her
life. His thoughts fell by the wayside, slightly, as he began to wonder on her
body. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the smoothness of her
arms as his hands stroked up them. He imagined her naked form in all its
beauty, sure that the real sight would exceed the base idea his mind had
conjured.

He pushed those thoughts
away, feeling slightly ashamed, glancing about the hospital ward as if people
could actually see them.

You’re not the first man to
have these thoughts,
he mused,
and nor will you be the last.

He felt his cheeks redden,
heat rushing upwards. These were the imaginings of someone much less mature,
much less controlled. Yet he could not help these carnal desires. He only hoped
Adabelle, being the Dreamer she was, would never catch him picturing her in
such a way.

A sudden sense of paranoia
overcame him, and he was able to stymie those thoughts entirely. At least, for
now.

I want her for so much more
than just…that,
he thought.

Being away from his training
meant he was suddenly freed to enjoy his time reading. In the Dreamless
library, there were a handful of books on the subject of Dreaming—most of them
there for students to study their enemy.

In the ones he was able to
read, he got mostly confirmation on Matthon’s warnings. Sturdings could only
hurt other Sturdings, though non-Sturdings could hurt each other, too.
Sturdings could change locations, running through people’s minds as though they
were paths rather than thoughts, and it seemed they could also emerge wherever
they wished, too. In the earlier days of Dreaming, these were called
Thoughtwalkers, going in and out of people’s minds as they wished, using it as
a quicker way of travel. There were then diagrams filled with complex
mathematical equations explaining the correlation between mental distance and
real-world distance. All of it went right over Rhene’s head.

The female Dreamers were
called Visionesses, and the males, Visionaires, though the generic term was
Visionary or Somnetist. There were stories of legendary figures that caused
great events and cataclysms. There was Visioness Lamarre, who was able to
create mental prisons within other’s minds, using another person’s mind as the
key. There were, of course, odd side-effects. The person’s mind acting as the
prison’s lock was then susceptible to addled thoughts and confusion, and the
combination of two minds often led to permanent insanity.

There was Visionaire Victor,
who gave his own life when he disguised himself as a Sturding, and took a
renegade Nhyx into Oblivion with him. When Rhene examined the footnotes, he saw
what Matthon had mentioned earlier—when someone attempts to do something beyond
their powers, the world chooses to punish those at fault. Oblivion it was
called, and in there was only darkness. A person’s mind could wander, separate
from its body, for eternity, while the physical body perished. For only the
smallest moment, Rhene was glad he was a Sturding. At least he could never make
the mistake of taking a dream where it ought not to go.