Anne Bishop - Bridge of Dreams

Instead of returning to his office—and all the confused hearts wanting counsel—Danyal went to the apartment on the administration building’s top floor. Some of the Handlers had rooms in another building on the grounds, but he and Meddik Benham were the only occupants on this floor.

He unlocked the apartment door, relocked it, and made a careful inspection of his home before settling into a chair. He felt vulnerable, and a Shaman, being the voice of the world, should not feel vulnerable. Ever.

Something had entered that poor, addled man, making him an instrument of evil. Another whisper of proof that something was very wrong in this part of the city.

Allies and enemies. A madman and a teacher. A guide and a monster. He’d been sent here because the council believed he could find these things.

But would he find them in time?

Sometimes the hated voices whispered in Lee’s ear.

You need to get back to your sister. There’s danger coming.

All you need to do is cross over to one of Belladonna’s landscapes. We’ll help you.

You need to get home before it’s too late.

Sometimes the hated voices scratched against his mind.

Belladonna needs you. You have to reach her.

Your mother is in danger.

Don’t you want to go home?

His answers—whispered or screamed or trapped in his mind—were the same.

I don’t have a sister.

My mother is gone.

I have no home.

I don’t know Belladonna.

Every time he denied knowing her, he felt the last little heart thread that connected him to Glorianna thin a little more. The day would come when he denied knowing her one time too many and that thread would break completely—and he would never be able to find his way back home.

When the soft persuasion didn’t work, they began using the needle that poured fire into his brain and sent his body into thrashing, screaming panic. They laughed as they strapped his head down, forced his eyes open, and put in the drops of poison that clouded his eyes a little more each day until he couldn’t see his tormentors, couldn’t see anything.

Here in the city of Vision, you can find only what you can see. What do you think a blind man can find here, Bridge?

Nothing. No one. How many times had he said to Nadia, “I don’t want to see her!” when she suggested he go to the Island in the Mist to visit Glorianna? Now he couldn’t see her.

Now he pushed her away with all the strength and love in him. To save her from her enemies.

The words they whispered changed, became as painful as the needle and the drops they put in his eyes.

You want to be hurt, want to be punished for not loving your sister enough. That’s why you ended up with us. That’s why we punish you. It’s what you want.

You can’t escape us. We’re always with you, always watching. If you try to go home, we’ll be close enough to grab you, go with you.

There is no one you can trust because you’re surrounded by people loyal to us. No escape, Bridge. We’re always with you because you want us with you, want us to punish you for not loving your sister enough.

The words they whispered became as painful as the needle because, after a while, they became true.

Zhahar grabbed Kobrah’s arm and pulled her out of the way of the male Handlers running into the building toward the sounds of fighting and a man’s raging screams. “Stay out here.”

“What’s going on?” Kobrah asked.

“New inmate. A violent one.” Squeezing Kobrah’s arm, Zhahar joined the other Handlers.

“Warn the Landscapers!” the man screamed. “Wizards and a Dark Guide have come to this place. Warn the Landscapers! ”

“What are wizards?” one of the Handlers asked as he tried to muscle closer to the isolation cell.

“Don’t know,” another said. “And unless one of them drops his pants and takes a dump on a path, why would the groundskeepers care?”

Zhahar tried to slip into the hole left by the two men, but a hand closed on her arm and pulled her back, just as she had done to Kobrah moments before.

“Stay here,” Danyal said. “There is already too much help in that room.”

Surprised by the anger in his voice, Zhahar looked at him—and shrank away from the storm she saw in his eyes.

He released her arm and moved toward the pack of Handlers trying to get into the room.

Thunder shook the building as if the world had given voice to someone’s anger. Handlers looked around and scrambled to clear a path for the Shaman.

Within a couple of minutes, the new inmate was strapped to a bed in the isolation cell, still screaming about wizards and lightning and dark guides.

A couple of minutes after that, Shaman Danyal left the cell with two dark-haired men who looked disheveled and distressed.

As he passed her, Danyal gave her a slashing look that warned her to stay away from that room.

Despite the warning, she waited until she was sure he’d taken the two men up to his office in the administration building. Then she crept to the doorway of the isolation cell.

Two brawny men she hadn’t seen before were bending over the bed, whispering to the inmate who still struggled despite the straitjacket and ankle restraints that were secured to the bed’s metal railings. One of them reached down and pinched the inside of the inmate’s thigh hard enough for the man to cry out in pain.

The other, glancing up and noticing her, mumbled something to his companion. They both looked at her and gave her smiles that made her cold.

::I don’t like those men,:: Sholeh said.

=Let’s get out of here,= Zeela growled. =It would be too hard to explain my sudden appearance or why I got into a fight with these men.=

*They hurt him,* Zhahar replied, squaring her shoulders. *On purpose.*

“We’re just making him comfortable,” one of the men said. The heat in his eyes as he looked at her body…

=Get out of here now != Zeela shouted.

“I’ll put that in the daily notes for Shaman Danyal,” Zhahar said. “He expects to be informed of the care given to all the inmates.” And as much as she quailed at the thought of admitting she hadn’t followed his command completely, she was going to tell Danyal about that pinch—and about that look. If any female at the Asylum was violated by those men, she wouldn’t forgive herself for the cowardice of silence—and neither would Danyal.

She turned and walked away, feeling one of the men moving behind her. Then Kobrah stepped in from the outside doorway, a chilling look in her eyes as she stared past Zhahar.

The footsteps stopped, retreated back to the isolation cell.

Hurrying to the outside door, Zhahar left the building, relieved to breathe in dusty, heated air.

“We have a new Chayne?” Kobrah asked.

“Two of them,” Zhahar replied. Kobrah’s word for men who had power over other people certainly fit the new Handlers.

::I don’t like those men,:: Sholeh repeated.

=I’ll come into view when it’s time to go home,= Zeela said.

*Yes,* Zhahar agreed. Their middle sister was the strongest of them. She carried knives and brass knuckles when she was in view, and had won the bar fight that had given her the jagged scar on her left arm. Most men weren’t foolish enough to look at Zeela the way those new Handlers had looked at Zhahar.

“Isn’t your shift over?” Kobrah asked.

“Yes, but I need to speak with Shaman Danyal before I go,” Zhahar replied. She looked around, feeling too exposed, too close to the men who made her uneasy. “I’m going to the temple for a few minutes. Do you want to come with me?”