Steven Harper - Dreamer

A clattering sound brought Sejal’s head around. A Ched-Balaar stood next to them, apparently saying something, though Sejal had no idea what it was.

“Ched-Hisak!” Kendi said, and grasped both the alien’s hands enthusiastically. “Great to see you! Let me introduce my student Sejal Dasa. Sejal, this is Ched-Hisak.”

The Ched-Balaar turned to Sejal and held out its hands. Nervously, Sejal took them in his own. The palms were smooth and soft, like fine suede, and they engulfed Sejal’s hands. As they did, a jolt shot down Sejal’s spine and he gasped. Sejal had almost forgotten what happened when two Silent touched the first time. Ched-Hisak chattered at him, unfazed by the sensation.

“He greets you as one Silent to another,” Kendi said. “You can answer-he’ll understand.”

“Hello,” Sejal said uncertainly. “Pleased to meet you.”

Another monorail pulled up and Ched-Hisak released Sejal. Chatter chatter chatter.

“Thanks,” Kendi said. “We should get moving ourselves.”

They both bid Ched-Hisak good-bye. Ched-Hisak boarded the monorail and Kendi lead Sejal up the platform.

“He was one of my first instructors at the monastery,” Kendi explained. “You’ll probably have him, too.”

Sejal’s stomach tightened. “I thought you were going to be my teacher.”

“I can’t teach you everything,” Kendi said with small laugh. “You need to learn history and literature and computers and mathematics and a bazillion other things.”

“Music?” Sejal said hopefully. The monorail doors started to slide shut, then paused as a man darted into the car. Kendi and Sejal found seats in the nearly-empty car as the train slipped forward and the leaves outside made an emerald blur. The man who had boarded at the last minute stood blinking by the door. He had snowy hair and a few wrinkles. Sejal met his eyes for a moment. The man looked away.

“You mean your flute?” Kendi said. “Sure. ‘The greater your knowledge, the smaller your risk,’ as Irfan said. Once you complete the basic requirements for your degree, you can study anything you want.”

Sejal’s head was suddenly swimming. “My degree?”

“Without a degree, you can’t work in the Dream, at least not for the Children.”

Sejal fell silent for a moment. He was going to college? The idea hadn’t occurred to him, not with everything else that had been going on. Excitement filled him.

“When do we get started?” he demanded.

“As soon as you get settled in,” Kendi said. He crossed his legs at knee and ankle and suddenly Sejal wondered what it would have been like if Kendi had come on to him as a jobber. An image of the two of them in bed together with Kendi handing Sejal a fistful of kesh flashed through Sejal’s mind. He grimaced. That was behind him. He didn’t need to do that anymore.

The white-haired man settled himself in the seat next to Sejal despite the plethora of empty seats elsewhere in the car.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Does this train go to the monastery of Irfan?”

“Sure does,” Kendi replied. “And it’s the last stop, so you can’t overshoot.”

“Is that where you youngsters are going?”

Kendi nodded and stuck out his hand. “Brother Kendi Weaver. This is Sejal Dasa.”

The man flicked a glance at Sejal, then stared at Kendi’s hand as if it were a piece of rotten meat. With a curt nod, he rose and changed seats. Sejal noticed he sat close to a pair of Ched-Balaar who sat chattering on their haunches in an open space further ahead in the car.

“What the hell was that about?” Kendi said, dropping his hand. “Rude son of a bitch.”

Sejal shrugged. People were always rude at the market. Why should anything be different here? He shot a glance at the old man, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Sejal.

Kendi continued to chat but Sejal only listened with half an ear. It seemed like every time he looked away, he could feel the old man’s eyes on him. Whenever he checked, however, the man was invariably staring out the window or at his fingernails or at the ceiling.

After several stops, the monorail halted one more time and Kendi got up.

“We’re here,” he announced.

The old man was still on the train and he rose as well. As they and the other passengers moved to the door, the old man stumbled and reflexively caught Sejal’s bare elbow. A small shock traveled up Sejal’s spine.

“Sorry,” the old man muttered. He hurried off the train and disappeared. Sejal narrowed his eyes. The move had clearly been calculated. If Sejal had been in the market, he would have suspected a pickpocket. Sejal, however, had nothing in his pockets to steal except his flute and computer journal. A quick check showed both were still there. So what was the old man up to?

“Who is that guy?” Kendi grumped, hoisting his satchel.

“He’s Silent,” Sejal said. “I felt it when he touched me. I think he did it on purpose.”

Kendi looked at him as they exited the train. “On purpose? What for?”

“I don’t know.” Sejal scanned the platform for signs of the old man, but he was gone. “He didn’t want to touch you but he wanted to touch me. Is he a Child?”

“Doubtful. He didn’t know this train goes to the monastery. If you see him again, say something.”

The platform was like the others-wooden, wide, and surrounded by leafy branches. The station was also like the other buildings Sejal had seen-a wooden half-circle that curved around the tree. Between the leaves the sky was gray, and the breeze had turned chilly. Sejal, still dressed in thin clothes fit for Rust’s gentle climate, shivered and clasped his arms around his chest. From the platform spread a network of staircases and walkways. The stairs lead to other levels in the tree while the walkways connected the platform to other talltrees. Buildings of many sizes nested among the branches like roosting birds, and the wooden walkways clomped and thumped beneath the feet of human and Ched-Balaar alike. Other races were visible here and there, and almost everyone wore the simple gold medallion that marked the Children of Irfan. The atmosphere was relaxed and unhurried, much different from the frenzied pace of the Ijhan market.

“Come on,” Kendi said. “We need to get you settled in.”

Kendi selected a walkway seemingly at random. Sejal was a bit nervous at first-the walkway was made of wide boards suspended by cables overgrown with ivy, and it swayed beneath the rhythm of the feet that traveled it. What happened if someone tripped? It’d be all too easy to slip between cable and board and plummet to a mossy death below. When he got closer to the walkway, however, he saw that the empty spaces were covered with the same near-invisible netting that had made up the fence around the airfield. Still, looking down made his head swim.

Kendi started fearlessly across the walkway. Sejal swallowed and forced himself to follow, one hand firmly on the cable. The walkway lurched and swayed beneath, the gray sky swooped above. It was wide enough for four humans to walk side-by-side, so Sejals’ hesitant pace didn’t halt traffic, though Kendi gained quite a bit of ground before noticing Sejal was no longer right behind him. He slowed and let Sejal set the pace.

“I’d forgotten how weird the walkways are if you’ve never done it before,” Kendi said. “Once you get used to them, you won’t even think about them.”

A Ched-Balaar galloped past. The walkway lurched and swayed sickeningly, and Sejal clutched the cable with white fingers until the boards settled down again. “Why don’t they make these things solid?” he asked hoarsely.

“Flexible walkways withstand the weather better.” Kendi grinned a wide grin. “You should try getting around during a big storm. The walkways are a real challenge then.”