Disclaimer: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

AC: What was THAT for? It didn't serve any use.

I thought we'd decided I'm insane.

AC: We have.

Statements made by insane people don't have to make sense. So nyah.

Chapter Four:

The Coming Tide

flood tide ~ (flud) [OE flod] n. 1. The incoming tide. 2. A high point: climax.

The door opened without a sound; however the arrival of a visitor didn't go unnoticed. Reala, without looking up from his book, answered in a bored tone. "Yes?"

"Lord Wizeman requests your presence," stammered the hollow at the door, and then turned and dashed off as fast as his wings could carry him. Needless to say, he left a rather surprised nightmaren behind him.

'What's this all about?' he wondered, getting up from his chair and turning towards the door. 'And where's that stupid messenger?'

Apparently the stupid messenger had fled. The doorway was empty. Muttering something about lower-level nightmaren in general, and stupid messengers in particular, the Seeker General moved out the door and headed for Wizeman's throne room. He felt no real apprehension; he'd done well for the day, collected more Ideya than was necessary, and even been pretty patient with those younger nightmaren. Probably their leader just had a few smaller details to run over.

Turning into the circular hallway, he moved along the passage, the wall on his right, the stairs on his left, until he reached the door of Wizeman's throne room. He was just about to go in when someone came tearing out of a room further along the passage; he could hear their door slam. He had just enough time to turn and look towards the origin of the sound quizzically before Jackle flew around the corner, nearly causing a head-on collision. It was only by sheer luck the demi-maren managed to skid to a halt before a minor calamity happened.

He paused, gasped in a breath, bowed, muttered a quick "excuseme", and then went flying down the corridor, moving at only a slightly slower pace. Reala stared after him, his face plainly showing his confusion. 'What in the name of Wizeman was that all about?'

Sighing, he turned and headed to Wizeman's throne room. That demi-maren was absolutely bonkers some days.

The giant stone doors in front of him were huge and imposing, and any lesser-level would have felt quite a bit of trepidation when entering through them. Reala himself had no such feelings; he did, however, have a good amount of annoyance concerning both Jackle and those younger nightmaren he'd been teaching. He wasn't in the best of moods.

As always, the doors moved open in front of him with but a touch. He'd often marveled at their smooth operation; their hinges were so delicately balanced that the gargantuan stone structures made no noise whatsoever when they moved. At the moment, however, he was too irritated to admire delicate architecture, and so he stomped past them without any thought.

The room itself was larger than anyone who had seen the outside of the castle would at first believe. The dark walls seemed to stretch beyond the limits of sight, fading into distant black---if they were even walls at all. They seemed to be solid, colored a dark, shifting blue with purple and red mixed in at one moment; the next, the colors and shapes had faded and sharpened into nebula and galaxies of stars, swirling in cloudy patterns like a starry sky at night. If you looked directly at them they blurred back into painted stone walls; once you looked away, they again became views of remote plains of space. It was a very humbling wallpaper design.

There was very little else in the room aside from a giant shape, like a moon but dimmer, hanging above what could perhaps be called the center of the room; the walls made it very difficult to gauge distances here. The moon-resembling sphere hung in a silver cage, the metal delicately wrought in intricate shapes and swirls, so fine that they were barely visible against the light. It was a beautiful piece of work, hanging from a single silver chain that ascended up into space until it faded away into black.

One other object occupied the throne room: it's namesake. A regal thing of carved stone, Wizeman's throne was detailed beyond belief, every inch of it's surface covered in some sort of design. The patterns themselves were so small that, from a distance, they were not visible; at the entrance of the room, all the details one could see were the tall, arching back and four heavy feet spread out like a crouching Gao's paws.

Reala, entering what could very well have been mistaken for the center of the universe, stalked up to the throne and gave a low bow without a qualm. His voice rang out strong in the silent room. "You summoned me, and I came, my lord."

"Come closer, Reala."

Wizeman's voice echoed out through the vast plains of space, not rising above a calm tone and yet somehow stronger and louder than anything else the Seeker General had ever heard. He obeyed, striding across the shir-coated floor up to the very foot of the throne and giving a low bow; then he straightened, and waited.

For a moment Wizeman did not speak, but seemed content to appraise him with several of his eyes; he focused momentarily on the nightmaren's well-manicured nails tapping an impatient beat on his slender arm. There was a momentary pause; finally the ruler's voice echoed out again. "You have begun training the younger nightmaren in the art of flying, as I requested?"

"Yes, my lord." His tone said more than his words.

One of the floating hands came a little closer, the eye in it's palm focusing on his face. "You have encountered some difficultly in performing this task?"

"Of course not, my lord," Reala was hasty to assure him. "I am simply still trying to adjust to the rather wandering minds of the younger generation."

"I see." The eye hadn't moved from his face. "They do not focus as well as you would like on the tasks you give them."

"Yes."

There was another silence. Reala's mouth had tightened into a careful line; he felt as if the blame of their laxness was being placed on his shoulders. If he had been a bit more strict, perhaps…

"Very well." His master's voice cut across his thoughts. "You may go. I wish to see you in ten days, Reala; come ready to give another report."

"Yes, my lord."

The ruler's mouth turned down in a slightly thoughtful frown. "Have Jackle and Clawz returned from their patrol?"

"I don't---" Wait. Who had nearly run over him in the hall? "Yes, they have."

"They are not getting along very well."

Reala had to struggle to keep from bursting into laughter. Wizeman was all-glorious, but really, one had to wonder where his eyes were sometimes… "Not at all."

"No lasting damage has been done so far."

"No, my lord." He paused, then admitted, "Well, the cooks absolutely refuse to make noodles anymore, but apart from that…"

A rare chuckle broke from Wizeman's lips. "Jackle's doing, no doubt."

"Actually, I believe it was Clawz who was responsible for the ban itself. Jackle was the one who brought the whole thing about."

"Of course." Wizeman's voice became thoughtful again. "He's followed the pattern for some time."

"May I ask what pattern, my lord?"

"His reaction; Clawz as well. Clawz refuses to view it as a problem, but will react violently; Jackle knows it's there and continues anyway, but he remains subtle. I do not believe he has ever gone beyond practical jokes and verbal sparring."

"No, he hasn't," Reala affirmed. "He's had to defend himself once or twice, but he's never been the one to originate any actual violence."

Wizeman seemed to be thinking this over. "He is not often willing to take care of a problem immediately and with firm action."

"No, he isn't."

"He used to be."

"I suppose so," admitted Reala, secretly dismayed at his master's seemingly immaculate knowledge of the High Seekers' personal traits.

"He was," said Wizeman with an air of finality. "What do you suppose brought about the change?"

Reala's mind flew back over the demi-maren's actions of the past years, hoping to come up with something that would satisfy his master. He found nothing. "I'm not sure."

"His spat with Clawz has made him weak."

"Weak?" As far as Reala saw, the whole Clawz/Jackle affair had made the demi-maren more outgoing and loud. Not to mention he was much more interested in practical jokes.

"Less willing to confront someone else. His form has something to do with this?"

"…" commented Reala. Wizeman's knowledge of their personal lives and thoughts was absolutely disconcerting. "I suppose it does."

"It does." He paused, thinking again. "When you come next time, bring Jackle with you."

"Yes, my lord." 'Why would Wizeman want Jackle as well?'

"That is all, Reala. You may go."

The Seeker General bowed, turned, and flew out, a new respect of his master's observation abilities planted firmly in his mind.

Gillwing raised his head lazily, cocking it to one side as the knock rang out again. "Come in," he boomed.

The door to his room swung open and Jackle flew through, looking slightly ragged as if he'd just run a race. He alighted easily on one of the rocks overhanging the nightmaren's cave-like bed, knowing exactly where to sit from years of experience. "Hey, Gillwing."

The dragon-like nightmaren sat up, scratching his side with his tail and watching Jackle swing his legs back and forth in nervous time. "What's wrong, Jackle?"

Jackle started, then sighed; Gillwing knew him well enough to read his non-verbals without even realizing he was doing so. "Just---edgy. I wanted to be with someone."

"Well, now you're with someone," replied Gillwing, settling down into a comfortable position on his rocky bed. He scratched at his side again, tried a third time, and snorted in annoyance when he still couldn't reach the exact spot behind his left wing. Finally he gave a deep sigh, giant sides expanding with the leviathan breath, and endured it.

A smile came to Jackle's face. "Lemme try, mister."

He jumped off his perch, landing skillfully on the giant creature's slippery skin without a falter, and swung his feet over the side. He began scratching the spot, moving around until Gillwing gave a sigh to indicate he'd found the problem, and then began scratching harder. Eventually he spoke. "So, how're things going?"

"Fine," replied Gillwing, eyes closed.

Inwardly Jackle grinned. Gillwing would say things were fine even if the sky had just collapsed. He was a very simple nightmaren.

"You doing anything today?"

"Nope." He wiggled one wing, asking for a scratch a little further down. Jackle obliged. "Are you?"

"No, I'm finished for the day."

"Ah." He gave a small, satisfied sigh, signifying that he no longer had an itch; surprisingly, Jackle didn't notice his gesture. He waited for a moment, then finally opened his eyes and nudged the demi-maren's hand with his wing. Jackle started, then stopped scratching; however, he didn't dismount, but staid where he was, staring at the walls with nervous eyes. Gillwing settled down further, realizing that the demi-maren needed to talk. He searched for something to say. "What'd you do?"

The demi-maren sighed. "Went out with Clawz on a patrol, remember?"

"Oh yeah. How did it go?" Gillwing may have been good at reading his friend's moods, but he wasn't known for his brains. Or tact.

Jackle sighed again, and began swinging his feet absent-mindedly. "Not so good. You know, normal day."

"What went wrong?"

"Nothing, really. But you know how we don't get along."

"You argued?"

"Not really argued. He acted all high-bearing and stuff and had me stay in the back, I teased him, he growled at me, I snapped back, he ordered me around, I made him look like a fool in front of all the patrollers, he nearly attacked me, and we went home."

"Oh."

"You know. Normal day."

"Yeah." There was a moment of silence; finally Gillwing blinked. "Can you stop kicking me?"

"Oh, come on," teased Jackle, drumming his heels deeper into the maren's side. "You know it doesn't hurt, Ironsides."

"Hey!" protested Gillwing good-naturedly. "I've got hard skin, but it's not metal! Watch it!"

"You that sensitive?" laughed Jackle, thumping one more furious tattoo before breaking off. He chuckled and rubbed Gillwing's spine fondly. "You know I'm just joking, don't you?"

" 'Course I do," said Gillwing comfortably. "You're nice, Jackle."

The demi-maren sighed and looked down. "Try telling that one to Clawz."

Gillwing blinked. "He wouldn't listen?"

Jackle sighed again. Dim as a broken light bulb. "No, he'd listen, he just wouldn't agree. I meant it'd be hard to convince him that."

"Oh." Not quite sure he'd understood the nightmaren's relaxed English, Gillwing nodded anyway. After a moment of friendly silence he spoke again. "So why'd you come in?"

Jackle's answer was guardedly non-committal. "Oh, I don't know. I just wanted to talk."

"Oh. Okay. So what do you want to talk about?"

"Um…I dunno. Just…y'know…talk."

"Okay. What're you doing tomorrow?"

"Probably just Ideya collecting. What're you doing?"

"Collecting Ideya."

"Oh." He looked up. "You ever get the feeling that we're not going anywhere?"

"Huh?" The big nightmaren looked back down at him with utter confusion on his face. "But we're sitting still, Jackle."

"No, I mean…hang on." He put a hand to his forehead, silently composing himself. 'Don't laugh, Jackle, don't laugh…' "Okay. I meant, you ever get the feeling like nothing we do matters? We're just getting Ideya, dream in and dream out, to add a few more little balls of dream energy to the pile that's probably already as big as Frozen Bell." He paused. "There's a thought. Where's the dream energy go once we give it to Wizeman? He takes it, and we see it kind of fade away into sparkly stuff, and then it's gone. Where's it all go?"

"Inside him?" guessed Gillwing.

Jackle paused to contemplate that; then he shook his head. "Naw. Then his dream energy would have gotten huge, right? We would have felt this major surge of electricity from him…but then, I guess it would happen over hundreds of years, so we wouldn't notice it, really…Has he gotten more powerful?"

Gillwing thought over the matter, a process which usually took him some time. "I don't think so," was his final verdict.

"No, I don't think so either. As far as I can remember he's always been the same…" He grinned and drummed into Gillwing's sides again. "Just like you---he don't change, right, old faithful?"

Gillwing shifted slightly, peering down at him with a look of long-suffering. "Not again."

"Yup," said Jackle cheerfully, giving him one more quick succession of taps for good measure. He slowed, about to stop, then gave a cry as Gillwing rolled over completely, effectively dumping him onto the floor. "Hey!"

A chuckle came from above his head. "You deserved it."

"True," admitted Jackle, getting up from the ground and brushing himself off. He climbed back up to his perch on Gillwing's back. Once he was settled comfortably, he patted the nightmare's tough hide gently. "You're a good sport, Gillwing."

"I have to be," replied Gillwing cheerfully. "I put up with you."

Jackle threw back his head and laughed. "One for the other guy! Okay, so I'm annoying sometimes."

"Not all the time," Gillwing assured him. "You're just weird some days."

"Weird?" Jackle drew himself up to his full sitting height. "I take that as a personal insult. I'm not weird---I'm insane."

Gillwing was chuckling, a great rolling laugh of sound, and thusly didn't notice the demi-maren freeze and a glare of haunting remembrance come suddenly to his eyes. Just as quickly, it was gone, and he joined his friend's laughter. Had Gillwing listened to him a bit more carefully, though, he might have heard a slight hitch in the demi-maren's voice.

Puffy looked up as Clawz stalked through the door. "You're back already?"

Clawz grumbled something indecipherable and plopped down in a cushioned chair. It was his favorite; the red velvet was very comfortable.

Gulpo and Puffy exchanged knowing glances. For a moment, Puffy swayed between staying silent and going on dangerous ground; the fact that it had been a quiet day appealed to her more evil side. "How'd it go?"

Gulpo smirked at her appreciatively. He couldn't have dropped a more volatile question himself.

"Need you ask?" spat Clawz. "That idiot was even more moronic than usual."

"No wonder," murmured Puffy, thinking back to the "proper body" remark. She raised her voice. "So Jackle was acting up?"

"Of course he was. He treated the entire thing like a joke. I couldn't get him to shut up."

"Odd," remarked Gulpo to the ceiling. "Jackle's not known to be extremely talkative."

"You know what I mean," growled Clawz. "Everything he said was meant to tick me off."

"What'd you do?" queried Puffy.

"Ignored him. Why should I be bothered by his brainless chatter?"

"I'm sure you handled it very maturely," assured Puffy demurely.

Clawz opened his mouth to reply, then looked at the two innocent faces turned towards him; snarling something under his breath, he rolled off his chair and stalked away to find a less sarcastic audience.

Once the catmaren was gone, Puffy and Gulpo burst into a fit of snickers. Those two were absolutely classic.

Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth, NiGHTS swung his legs.

Faster. Back forth back forth back forth.

Faster. Backforthbackforthbackforth.

Ow. He stopped and winced as his knee popped. Forgot to stretch after that row of cartwheels.

Then he began again. Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth.

His mind was as busy as his feet. Currently, almost three fourths of the Minions were out searching for Ideya, despite the fact that it was only an hour or so to dreamfall; more than he had seen out in a long time. Personally, NiGHTS wasn't intensifying his search; he saw no reason to. If they hadn't found a Red Ideya after this long, why did everyone seem to think they'd up and find one now just by hastening their efforts? Besides, he wasn't sure if merging the two worlds was a good ambition at all. Judging from the snatches he'd seen of the Waking World, it looked awfully exciting. But once Wizeman ruled over it, wouldn't it just become another nightmare? Where was the fun in that?

"Wizeman knows best,' he decided for the third time that day.

Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth.

'I think.'

Back forth back forth back forth.

'Maybe…'

Backforthbackforthbackforth.

'It just doesn't sound fun…What if he's wrong?'

Backfor---Stop.

'Where in the dream world did that thought come from?!'

Stillness.

'I can't believe I thought that. Of course Wizeman's right.'

He began swinging his legs again.

Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth.