Steven Harper - Nightmare

"She wanted me to see a therapist. Like I’m some loony head or something. I told I didn’t have time because of all the work detail she laid on me."

"Good one," Jeren said. His green eyes darkened with anger. The white scar still framed his left eye, and he still favored dressing in black leather, even though it was summer. "My teacher’s been the same way. Wants me to spill my guts to some total stranger and think that’s going to make me a model citizen. Fuck that."

"Yeah." Kendi paused. "So what’ve you got on your plate this afternoon?"

"Besides work detail? More Dream practice, natch." His grin grew wolfish. "Yesterday I found this orgy-no lie, guy! Whole group of people rolling around on this giant mattress. I was gonna ask if they’d let me join in-" he groped his crotch "-because I’m hung like a donkey, and I know they’d want it, but my drugs were wearing off and I had to quit. You gotta get there, man."

Kendi nodded glumly. He didn’t believe half of what Jeren told him about his adventures the Dream, but even so the subject depressed him. Jeren and Kite both had reached the Dream last month. Dorna, of course, was in and out of it all the time. Willa hadn’t gotten there yet, but that didn’t make Kendi feel any less like he was failing. He was one of the Real People. Walking the Dreamtime should be easy for him. Why was it so hard?

Jeren gave him an odd look. "What’s up with you? Old lady Rymar didn’t get you down, did she? It’s not like we did anything really wrong, no matter what she fucking says."

"I just don’t want to get into more trouble, Jeren," Kendi said. "You can do what you want, but I’m-"

"Hey guys," said a new voice. "What’s going on?"

Kendi turned. Pitr Haddis stood behind them, one hand in his pocket. He wore brown from head to foot, and an orange topaz ring graced his finger, indicating he had finished his student training and was now an apprentice to someone ranked Parent or higher. He had earned the ring only last week. Kendi, who was now certified for light aircraft and now took lessons in heavier craft from Toshi, smiled at Pitr. He’d definitely been smart to keep his mouth shut and avoid potential embarrassment. That seemed to be the best policy for this kind of thing.

"We’re bitching about Mother Ara," Jeren told him.

Kendi punched him on the arm, not hard enough to hurt but too hard to be just friendly. " We aren’t. You are."

"Yeah, well maybe you should-"

He never finished. Willa, in her modest brown dress, rushed up to them, face flushed with excitement. Dorna and Kite were right behind her.

"I did it!" Willa shouted. "You’ll never believe it, but I did it!"

Kendi stared. Willa shouting? "Did what?"

"She got into the Dream!" Dorna crowed.

A round of congratulations and hugs, including one from Pitr, who barely knew Willa. Kendi himself would barely have recognized her. Her eyes sparkled with energy and happiness and she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She was completely unlike her normal mouselike self.

"And so close to Festival, too," Kite said. "That’s supposed to be good luck."

"What was it like for you?" Kendi demanded. A finger of jealousy poked at him.

"It’s magic." Willa leaned on the railing and the soft breeze stirred her fine brown hair. "You can make whatever you want there. I wanted it to be sunny, and it was sunny. I wanted green grass and I got green grass. It all felt completely real. I want to go back again."

"Not scared of the Dream killer, huh?" Jeren said with a malicious gleam in his eye.

"Jeren!" Kite said. "Leave her alone. The Dream killer’s gone. No one’s been attacked for months."

"Doesn’t mean anything," Jeren said. "He might be lying in wait even now, looking for just the right-"

"Let’s talk about something else, yeah?" Dorna interrupted firmly. "Come on, Willa. We need to celebrate, hey? What do you want to do?"

But Jeren’s remarks had dampened Willa’s excitement. She shrugged and toyed with the ruby student’s ring on her left hand. Kendi glared at Jeren.

"I know," Dorna continued as if nothing were wrong. "Shopping! Time to rack up some serious debt. You boys coming?"

As one, Jeren, Kendi, and Kite backed away. Dorna’s power shopping trips were legend in the student community, and they all knew from experience that they would be drafted into bearer duty. Dorna laughed and lead Willa off. Kendi watched them thoughtfully.

"Something’s weird about Dorna," he said. "Seriously weird."

"What do you mean?" Pitr asked.

"It’s hard to put my finger on it," Kendi replied. "It’s not weird in a bad way. Just weird."

"Kite’s weird, too," Jeren said. "He talks funny. All the time."

Kite, who had spent considerable time with a speech therapist and no longer tore through sentences like tissue paper, punched Jeren on the shoulder like Kendi had done. A friendly scuffle broke out between the two of them. Kendi and Pitr ignored it.

"Is it something we should talk to a Parent about?" Pitr asked.

"No," Kendi said. "It may be just the way her personality is. Let’s get some lunch."

Ara pressed the tip of the dermospray to Kendi’s upper arm and pressed the release. There was a soft thump as it shoved the drug through his skin. Swiftly, with the ease of much practice, he slipped his red spear beneath his knee and assumed his meditation pose. Despite his careful breathing, a small knot of tension formed in his stomach.

"What if it doesn’t work?" he said.

"It will work eventually," Ara told him patiently. "We haven’t lost anyone yet. Ched-Hisak is the teacher on duty in the Dream right now, so if you get there, he’ll be waiting to catch you. And don’t worry so much, Kendi. There’s no pressure. I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be either."

Kendi closed his eyes. His meditation skills had increased to the point where the only thing that could wake him was a double snap of Ara’s fingers or his conscious choice. He never lost his balance on the spear anymore, and at night his dreams were so vivid that he awoke confused about who and where he was. This, Ara told him, was a sign that he was moving closer to touching the Dream. Kendi had never again seen the Real People in any of his nocturnal dreaming, however.

Colors flickered behind his eyes. The dermospray was a cocktail of drugs mixed to react to his own physiology, a recipe refined over many centuries of experimentation. Very few people, Ara said, could reach the Dream without some kind of pharmaceutical aid.

Kendi concentrated as a hypnotic rainbow swirled in the darkness around him. The drugs induced a pleasant, floating feeling but were designed not to inhibit thought processes or become physically addictive. Kendi let himself float about at random for a while, then forced himself to concentrate. His body dropped away until he was no longer aware of the spear under his knee or of his breathing or his heartbeat. Ara had said he needed to create a personal place for himself, a place where he felt safe and happy. Kendi imagined the Australian Outback with its hot breezes and dry, rocky earth. He caught a whiff of desert air, but when he turned toward it, it disappeared. A flash of sunlight caught his attention, but it too vanished when he reached for it. A falcon cried on the high wind, but the sound faded when he tried to sense what direction it came from. Voices whispered all around him, just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to understand. Kendi ground his teeth in frustration. It was just like every other time. He couldn’t seem to-

Make a place for yourself , said the memory of Ara’s voice. A place where you feel safe and comfortable.

And then it came to him. The Outback had never felt safe and comfortable to him while he had been in it. He had hated it. Only recently had it had any kind of allure for him. Maybe he needed to try something else. Kendi cast his thoughts back to his childhood. When he and Utang had been little, they had played at pirates and convicts, people on the run. They had used an abandoned building just up the block as a hideout despite the fact that they had been forbidden to play there. Their imaginations had turned the basement into a cave, and Kendi had liked hiding in the cool, safe darkness. In the games he hadn’t seen cracked concrete walls and a collapsing staircase. He had seen smooth stone, an arched roof, and a clean, sandy floor. A hole in the roof let in dim light and provided an egress for smoke from the campfire he and Utang would have. Ancient cave art danced on the walls instead of graffiti. It was a place to stash treasure and hide from marauding bands of British convicts, broken chains still clanking at their wrists. They would never find the entrance. It was a safe place.