~AN~: Yup, another long and entirely uneeded author's note! Joy.
Right now I'm in the middle of getting ready for end-of-the-year evaluations---I swear, PA must be the absolute worst state for home schooling laws---and so I'm now writing a ten-page research paper on Langston Hughes. It'll be awhile before I get done with that, and only then will I be allowed to continue writing the next part of the chronicles. *snif*
You should also know that this story, while certainly a story, is not meant to stand on it's own. Not only will those loose ends mentioned in the first author's note be throughout this account, they will extend to it's very last page. So for all of this to truly make sense, you'll have to read not only this story, but the others I'll be writing in the future.
So where do you guys come in to this? Well, I've got the other two chapters of this story already written, and I had planned to upload them every other week, so it would look like I was doing something and striving to get this up for you instead of just sitting there trying to come up with the next story; and hopefully while I was taking my time posting those chapters up I could get to work on my next piece of work, so you wouldn't get a tale and then have to wait five months for the next portion. However it would seem several people are actually waiting for this thing, so I broke down and decided to just post the rest. It'll be awhile before I put up the next story because I don't have a single sentence of it written down, but you people are patient when you need to be, right?
Yeah, I thought so.
Discombobulator: Woogawoogawoogarubberchicken. Ha ha ha. Figure that out if you can.
This one's for you, NightDragon!
Do not listen.
Do not stand at dusk in the open windows.
We before you have heard this:
they are voices:
They are not words at all but the wind rising…
Night Of Dreams:
Someone Listens
That night, Nights had a dream.
Which was pretty unusual, as nightmaren technically aren't able to have dreams. Hallucinations, yes, enchantments, sure, visions, maybe, but dreams? Well, considering the fact that they were creatures of the dream world, and they created nightmares, dreams weren't uncommon: they were extremely, unbelievably, almost non-existently rare.
All arguments against nightmaren dreaming aside, there isn't really any law that states nightmaren are unable to dream; however it's about as common as having a purple cow juggling seven goldfish while riding a motorcycle coming through your living room window. Because of this, Nights never suspected that he would actually dream. Because of that, he didn't recognize the dream as being a dream while he was in it. Because of that, he thought the entire thing was real. Never a good thing, if the dream is bad.
Which his was.
He first became aware of the fact that he was in a room---no, a cave---no, maybe a cavern---a hall?…He couldn't really tell. Fog wafted all about him, hiding anything out there from view; somehow he knew that he was in an enclosed space, though. How he knew, he wasn't sure, but then dreams are like that.
Of course he wasn't aware that it was a dream. So his first thought, upon finding himself in this strange misty room without any warning, was 'How did I get here?'.
The next thought was 'I'm floating.'.
The third was 'Where the heck am I?'.
As none of his questions seemed about to be answered, he decided to just freeze and take stock of the situation. First things first. He'd been lying down in bed, thinking random thoughts, when out of nowhere he suddenly just found himself here. That meant that someone must have brought him---maybe. Maybe he'd just been dropped randomly in an unknown pocket of time and mass by accident. Maybe his bed was directly over a wrinkle in the space/time continuum. Maybe this was all a mistake.
Maybe he was going crazy.
'No, that's not it,' he decided, looking around. This seemed too real to be a hallucination. Alright, then, he was in an unknown pocket of space and time, or at least a really weird room he didn't recognize, and he was floating, but not by his own power. So what now?
Being the risk-taker that he was, he experimented with reaching down through the mist, trying to locate the bottom with his foot. He found, to his surprise, that he could float lower or higher with just a thought; further exploration revealed that it was the same with moving horizontally. Made a bit more confident with these finds, he shot upwards, hoping to perhaps touch the ceiling of the place.
He hadn't gotten more than a few feet from his starting position when he felt the thing move.
He had no idea how he knew; his sight was still filled with that strange fog, and as far as he could see it stretched in all directions without stopping. Yet somehow he knew that he was in a room of some sort, and that room was morphing.
He paused and waited, feeling the walls about him change; they began to bulge outwards and take shape, twisting and moving beyond his sight. And then it was all over.
He waited for a moment, floating silently, wondering; when nothing popped up and tried to bite his head off, he started up once more.
Without warning, his head broke through the fog, and he found himself staring down at the dusky mass. Looking around, he saw that he was in what looked to be a field---a field? He had been in a room a moment ago…
Glancing towards his feet, he saw the fog start to swirl and dissipate. He watched curiously as it broke apart and disappeared, fading like an early morning mist in June. Squinting, he could make out ground beneath.
Ground---well, that was somewhere to start. He bent sharply at the waist and headed down, touching lightly on what he now saw was grass. He took a breath and looked around once more, examining the valley that seemed to have sprung up about him. Now that the fog was gone he could see the sun, and a brook was running through the grass on his left. Bushes spouted here and there along its banks. All in all it was a very pleasant little place.
'Which explains absolutely nothing as to why I'm here.' He moved towards the brook, stopping at its edge and staring into the clear water, watching it bound along the rocks. 'Nice place, but WHERE THE HECK AM I?'
Well, staring into the water was not getting him any answers… Sighing, he straightened and looked around again. Maybe if he traveled down the valley and found the outlet he would run into someone…
Wait. What was that?
He squinted, suddenly aware of the almost painfully bright rays of sun shining into his eyes; he shaded them with his hand, trying hard to focus on what appeared to be a blob of shadow flying towards him. Probably not a good thing.
The sun abruptly stopped shining in his eyes, and he looked up. Just a cloud flying overhead. Looking back down again he found he could see the thing more clearly, but it still appeared to be nothing more than a large, pulsing cloud of grey heading for him at a fast clip. Almost certainly not a good thing.
He spun on his heel and sprang, expecting to feel the weightlessness of flying---and found himself crashing onto his face. Yes, this was definitely not a good thing.
He scrambled up and whirled about, facing the shadow once more, his mind suddenly filled with panicked questions. Why couldn't he fly?
He tried again, this time just bouncing on his toes a little, hoping against hope that he would continue on up, but he remained solidly on ground. Something was terribly wrong; he'd been able to fly all his life! He couldn't have just lost the ability like that…
'Marvelous time for it to happen, too,' he mused, giving the oncoming shadow one last glance before turning and running blindly. He didn't know exactly where he was going, or even why he thought running would help, since the blob traveled much faster than he could on foot, but it was an instinctive move. 'I've got to get out of this valley and find someplace to hide---find someone else. There's got to be people here, right?'
He glanced back over his shoulder---and the last thing he saw before he was knocked down was the shadow swirling right behind him.
He rolled with the blow, shoving himself into a sitting position and then a crouch, ready to run but having no place to run to. The dark was all around him, now, pulsing, little tendrils of shadow writhing out of the mass to curl about his face. He jerked away, at the same time finding some small, quiet corner of his mind wondering why they didn't feel cold; usually shadow was connected to cold.
'Great time to be thinking about that!' he berated himself, eyes darting back and forth, watching the darkness that seemed content to merely circle about him. 'It's not attacking me, so maybe it doesn't want to hurt me.'
That belief was instantly destroyed when one of the tendrils shot out, burying itself deep in his chest.
He managed a startled gasp, trying to jerk back but finding himself suddenly hemmed in on all sides by the now-shoving shadow. As quickly and surprisingly painlessly as it had entered his chest, the tendril left, leaving no mark on his skin to show where it had gone through---but in it's grasp was a white Ideya.
It was right about there that Nights began to realize he'd probably left reality some time ago.
He stared at the shining orb in the shadow's grasp, mind shouting that it was impossible, that the whole thing was wrong. 'I don't have any Ideya! How did that stuff get it from me? I'm not supposed to have Ideya at all---I'm supposed to gather it from other people!'
The instant that thought entered his mind, the darkness drew back. The Ideya in its grasp disappeared, and the shadow began to dissipate. 'What in the name of Wizeman's going on?'
Nights stood slowly, watching as the last of the darkness faded, leaving him standing alone once more in the middle of the valley that looked like it had come out of a child's book. Whatever the shadow had wanted, apparently it had gotten.
He shook his head wearily, not sure what had happened or if he even wanted to know. Then he yawned, surprising himself.
"Since when was I tired?" he mumbled, a bit startled by the sound of his own voice in the silent valley. "I was scared out of my wits not two seconds ago, and now I'm…tired…"
The last coherent thought he had before falling into sleep was: 'Someone, get me out of here.'
That night, Nights had a dream.
It was an odd day at Nightmare Castle.
That night, Reala had a dream.
It was strange, he reflected, looking at the rows upon rows of bottles. Why bottles? Why would anyone in their right mind fill an entire room with nothing but bottles? And such big bottles, too. What would anyone collect in such quantity that they needed a roomful of nightmaren-sized bottles to hold it all? And if they DID find something that fit that description, why wasn't it in the bottles now? Why were they all empty?
Of course, the first question that came to his mind was where in the dream world was he, but one had to wonder.
However Reala was not one to stand there and conjecture about the contents of the room he found himself in; he wanted to know how he had gotten here, and if someone else had sent him, and why they did, and where the heck he was anyway. But still, the bottles were strange.
'Will you forget the stupid bottles?' he snapped at himself as he walked among the rows, hoping for an exit. He'd discovered within two minutes of finding himself here his inability to fly, and being Reala he was not unduly frazzled over it. Yes, he was worried, and it bugged him to no end, but it wasn't like he was obsessing. So he couldn't fly. He felt confident he could protect himself anyway.
It was odd, he thought, wandering among the bottles. He didn't remember coming here---why, he didn't remember anything, really. What was the last thing he did before he landed here? For the life of him he couldn't recall. That was even more disturbing than his loss of flight.
Warily, he looked at the far wall. He'd been walking for what---twenty minutes now? At least. And yet that wall wasn't getting any closer. But really, it wasn't that far away. Why couldn't he get anywhere?
He glanced around in a manner that could almost be called worried, but then calmed himself. He'd probably gotten turned around while walking through this confounded maze of bottles. Yes, that was it. Confidently, he held his head high and struck a course straight for the far wall.
Half an hour later, or somewhere thereabout, Reala came to the same conclusion his brother had just a little while ago: he'd probably left reality awhile back.
Halting, he stared in frustration at the wall. He hadn't faltered off course once---and yet it was still just as far away as ever. Reala began to have a sneaking suspicion he was the victim of some joke. A very large joke, but a joke nonetheless. Reala hated being laughed at.
Resolutely, he started out for the wall once more---and, after a couple of yards, stopped. The wall was not getting closer, and he sincerely doubted it would be any time soon. There was no reason to keep walking. Sighing quietly, he sat down and began to polish his sword.
He thought as he worked, his mind running over the possibilities. There weren't any nightmaren powerful enough to create this strong a hallucination, at least as far as he was aware. He'd always suspected the High Seekers had more potential than they knew, but none of them could create something like this. And no ordinary nightmaren would dare do such a thing. Wizeman was the only sane choice.
Well, if Wizeman wanted him here, than he wanted him here, and there was nothing Reala could do about it. Looking down and contemplating his dark reflection in the shadowy blade, he had to admit that it would have been a lot easier if his master had given him some sort of instruction as to what he was actually supposed to do.
However, you work with what you have. Standing, he sheathed his now-bright sword and began walking once more.
He'd only gone a minute or so when he realized something was different.
Up ahead of him, in what looked to be the middle of the room, was a tower. A stone tower, like one you would see on castles in old medieval stories. It was tall, but a bit worn-looking; there was even moss growing in some of the cracks between the stones.
'This is too strange,' mused Reala, turning slightly and heading for the tower, as his quest for the wall seemed hopeless, at least for the moment. 'What the heck is a tower doing here? In the middle of a room full of bottles…'
He strode up to the tower, feeling pleased when it didn't continually recede like the wall. For a moment he evaluated it silently. It was at least twice his height, but thin; he doubted more than four nightmaren could sit comfortably on top. The battlements round the top were short, made more for decorative purposes than protection, apparently.
His lips twisted into a wry grin. 'No wonder. Bottles aren't known for their violent rebellions.'
Thoughtfully, he began pacing, wanting to see if the back of the tower looked the same as the front. At least, what he thought might be the back of the tower. Considering the whole thing was round, that was a bit hard to find.
Coming around to the portion he hadn't been able to see before, he was rewarded by finding a doorway.
It wasn't a heavy oak door, or a thin metal one, or even a blanket hung over the space---just an empty doorway, showing a very plain interior. Just a round stone tower, empty inside and out.
No, wait, take that back. Looking closer, Reala found there was a ladder hidden in the shadows to the right; apparently, one had to go in the tower to get to the top. Made sense, he supposed.
Feeling the slightest bit of trepidation, he stepped in. When he wasn't immediately attacked, he moved to the ladder and started up, keeping his senses tuned.
The ladder led him to a small trapdoor in the wooden ceiling; it opened with the smallest of pushes. Climbing out, he found himself kneeling on the top of the tower. He stood and walked over to the battlements; they were ankle high.
He snorted. 'What good is that? They look nice from a distance, but offer no practical use whatsoever. They don't even help keep you from falling off. Useless.'
He looked around, taking in the view with rather mixed emotions. One side of him was merely confused; the other was downright annoyed. Which, considering he was standing on a medieval tower in the middle of a grey-walled room that was filled with head-high empty bottles, wasn't really that odd.
'Now that I think about it,' he mused, 'this isn't like Wizeman at all. He would have had monsters attacking me to test my strength, or mind tests to find out my mental ability---something that would bring him useful results. This entire thing is as useless as this tower.'
A frown touched his mouth. If Wizeman wasn't the one who put him here, then that meant someone else was behind this; and aside from his master, Reala answered to no one. So this was done by a second-level. Reala didn't like being played with by someone below him. Jackle, and several scars across his invisible body, could attest to that fact.
He contemplated his surroundings, quite unsure as to what he should do. His eyes roamed over the bottles, all the same size, the same shape, the same dusky grey-blue color. All empty.
Roaming the room, his eyes found one that was different.
His gaze focused on a single bottle at the very edge of the room, crowded in just like the others. It looked like the others, too, at least in form and color. But this bottle was different. It was full.
Full of what? Some sort of liquid, most likely, although even straining as hard as he was able he could not for the life of him figure out what the stuff was. He would have to go see. It wasn't as if he had better things to do.
Turning, he was about to make his way down the ladder when his eye caught something off-looking. Re-balancing himself, he turned his head and found it. Another full bottle.
Very odd. He glanced around, and was suddenly aware of two more full bottles. Why hadn't he seen them before? They stood out from the others sharply, their contents dark against the paleness of the rest. He should have seen them.
A sneaking suspicion tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around slowly, taking in the entire room. He was right. He found three more full bottles.
Where were they coming from? He halted and looked around, finding five more even as he did so. It was like they just kept filling up…
"What's going on?" he shouted, finally losing his patience. Whoever had put him here owed him an explanation, at the very least.
If anyone was watching him at the moment, they didn't seem particularly interested in answering.
He snarled and turned away, intending to go down the ladder and see one of those filled bottles up close. It was then the sleepiness hit him.
'When I get out of here,' he thought, right before falling into unconsciousness, 'I'm going to find the person responsible for this, and I'm going to hurt them.'
That night, Reala had a dream.
It was an odd day at Nightmare Castle.
That night, Jackle had a dream. And in it were voices.
silence
dusk tread softly
tread softly surely dusk so pure love dusk and silver and shining star
love dusk and wind and rhythm of water
love water and wind and shining starry sky oh! Love dusk
yes love dusk and dark
dark and shadow and night
lovely night love night
yes love night all love night night best night pure night whole night love night
love night night world pretty night! so pretty
song and shadow and mirror and sea so pretty love love love!
song and sea sing loud sing strong sing oh! sing song
love sing love shadow sand singing oh love singing all love sing
yes love sing and love mirrors and glinting glass
glinting glinting glass so pretty
pretty pretty things love pretty things all so pretty
sing oh sing oh sing! sing of dusk
dusk pretty dusk pure dusk whole
love dusk love dark love dusk
yes love dusk dusk filled dusk full
love dusk
yes love dusk
love dusk
love dusk
Silence.
That night, Jackle had a dream. He heard voices.
It was a normal day at Nightmare Castle.