Steven Harper - Dreamer

“Yes?” Kendi prompted, leaning forward. “The Empress said?”

“If Sejal poses a threat to Confederation,” Ara said again, forcing the words out one by one, “I am to kill him.”

Kendi blinked, uncertain he had heard correctly. He turned her words over in his mind, not quite comprehending.

“Kill Sejal?” was all he could say.

“Yes,” Ara said softly.

The simple word crashed over Kendi like a tidal wave. He dropped Ara’s hand. “You can’t mean that,” he sputtered. “Kill him? He hasn’t done anything.”

“I don’t have to kill him,” Ara said, “if he isn’t a threat to the Confederation.”

“How are you going to decide?” Kendi snapped. “And how are you going to kill him? Have you thought about that?”

“Every night since she gave me that damn order,” Ara cried. “I don’t want this reponsibility. I didn’t ask for it. But it’s mine, Kendi. I can’t do anything to change that.”

“So tell the Empress that Sejal isn’t a threat,” Kendi yelled.

“It isn’t that simple.” Ara was wringing her hands now, but Kendi’s earlier sympathy had been swallowed up by anger.

“Yes it is,” he said fiercely. “Choose not to kill him.”

Ara closed her eyes. “Kendi, weren’t your people vegetarian until they were forced into the desert by invaders?”

“What? What’s that got to do with-”

“Just answer, Kendi. It relates.”

Kendi nodded reluctantly. “Well, yeah. The Real People inhabited the coasts of Australia until the European whites forced them inland. The Outback didn’t have enough edible plant life to support the tribes, so they ate meat for the first time. But animals aren’t…aren’t…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Here in the Dream he couldn’t lie. The Real People thought of animals and humans as equals. Taking animal life was no different from taking human life, but sometimes sacrifice was necessary on the road of survival. Sometimes the sacrifice was the animal, and sometimes it was the human.

“Help me, Kendi,” Ara said in a soft voice. “You can help me-and help Sejal in the bargain.”

“How?” Kendi demanded.

“You’re Sejal’s teacher. Make sure he understands what his power means and how to use it wisely. And make sure he follows the precepts of Irfan. If he does that, he won’t be a threat to anyone.” She paused. “But don’t tell him about the Empress. If he knew, he would hate us, and that would make him a threat.”

Kendi had opened his mouth to disagree, then snapped it shut. Ara was entirely correct. Again.

“Well then,” Kendi said, rising, “I guess I’d better get to it.”

Ara nodded and vanished, leaving brief Dream ripples in her place. Kendi was about to do the same when an odd patch of shadow farther back in the cave caught his attention. He peered closely at it. Cold fingers trickled down the back of his neck and made his hair stand on end. Was someone there?

Kendi held out his hand. There would be a burning torch in his hand, the shaft rough, the flame bright. A soft pop, and it was so.

The torchlight flickered and danced, but the patch of shadow retained an angular, motionless regularity. Kendi cautiously moved closer. Behind him, the falcon continued to preen.

“Who’s there?” Kendi waved the torch forward, a definite tremble in his hand. Perhaps he should conjure up a weapon. Perhaps he should Kendi inhaled sharply. The shadow was a black iron grating that stretched across the back of the cave. a scream and a cry and the knife flashed silver then red

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The student Ara might have to kill.

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

Kendi nodded, impressed. Five days of steady practice had done their job. Sejal could trance so deeply that nothing short of pain or a double snap of Kendi’s fingers-a prearranged post-hypnotic signal-could disturb him. Sejal had definite talent. It had taken Kendi over two months of practice before he was able to achieve that level of trancing. Within a couple of months, Sejal might be ready to enter The monitor beeped for Kendi’s attention. He glanced at it, and his eyes widened. His heart jumped. According to the brain monitor, Sejal had entered REM sleep, but his physiological signs indicated he was awake.

Sejal had entered the Dream.

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

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