THE RAILWAYS END—CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By Red Star
In which the First Murderer strikes again,
Teenagers are unable to consume alcohol,
War is threatened,
And Shinji learns a lesson.
Something that was there was there no longer. It was a tickle at the end of his mind, as a microscopic parcel of dream-essence returned to the Dreaming—and therefore to him, for the Dreaming is as much an extension of Dream as it is a plane of existence.
Dream of the Endless had been sitting on the steps of the new United States Capitol in the post-Second Impact American capital of St. Paul when it happened, tossing birdseed for the pigeons that had gathered on the marble steps. He had paused, to contemplate the meaning of Odin's death, before vanishing back into his world of impossibilities.
Cain was waiting for him. Dressed in his khaki military-like tunic and black shirt, the man was nervously pulling on his wild red whiskers as the Dream King emerged from the Waking into his throne room.
"My lord, I have been waiting for you for some time now!" cried the rather wild-eyed antagonist as Daniel began walking toward a door on the left side of the massive chamber, "I would like that in the future you would…"
"That I would what, Son of Adam?" Dream said as two red-colored points of light suddenly appeared in his black eyes.
"Uh, that…you might…take it upon your…most worthy and exalted self to…perhaps leave a note on your door…or something…" Cain muttered nervously while pulling at his black turtleneck's collar.
"I see," the red light vanished, to be replaced by a pair of glowing white stars, "No, Cain; I believe that would be most inconvenient. In the future, consult Lucian or the Gatekeepers if you cannot find me."
"If that is your will, sire,"
Daniel's long coat shifted into a long white kimono-like robe that had a long gold chain of ivy woven into its rim and lapel. His arms and legs were covered with rows of white wrappings, leaving only his fingers exposed. The emerald—in a smaller, thinner form—hung from a thin golden chain against his lily-white, hairless chest.
"Now, what do you want, Cain? There are…other matters I need to attend to…"
The man pulled on his turtleneck again, less confident than before his lord had returned.
"Err…yes, my lord, it concerns your orders about the gargoyles."
"What of them?" the Prince of Stories asked, as he tucked his hands into their opposite sleeves.
"You know that Gregory's the best…um…stud in all the Dreaming! He looks forward to this season all year! Will you not please…?"
"I have made my decision, Cain; Koenma himself petitioned me,"
"Koenma! Sire, the little brat's barely off the tit; centuries old and still carrying around that damn…"
"Enough, Cain. My decision stands; as before, I have other matters to attend to…"
The doors swung open, and the King of Dreams swept out…into a puddle of blood.
The stars went into cold, laser-like points as Daniel's eyes followed the pools to a bloated, broken body with limbs that rested in unnatural positions. One of the corpse's hands lay twisted onto his back, the thumb and middle-finger's bones snapped into directions opposite from their intended places.
Beads of sweat emerged from Cain's skin as Dream's impassive face slowly turned to give him a cold stare. A voice that sent shivers down his spine, a voice unlike any he had heard in almost twenty years, came from those ivory lips.
"Take your brother home and put him to bed. Then clean up this mess."
"Immediately, lord!" Cain almost sprinted to his brother's side, grabbing a shattered arm and pulling roughly on it.
"And Cain?"
"Yes, lord?" the murderer queried, looking up from his muttered curses toward his brother's corpse.
Two stars blazed so powerfully that the light reflected off of Cain's sweaty forehead.
"Never do this in my home again." Dream shed the blood that had soaked into his foot-wrappings back onto the floor and stalked off.
"Welcome to an evening at Rising Star!"
The man who called himself Luke smiled broadly at the applause from the night crowd. Tossing his microphone into the other hand, he advanced into the dining floor of his restaurant and club, stopping in the middle and lifting a hand as if in proclamation.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen: you know him and love him—or hate him, depending on whether you wore the tuxedo or the dress at the chapel," he stopped to allow a brief ripple of laughter to cross the room, "I give you: George Sherman!"
The red-haired giant gave a small smile to the wave of applause that spread across the room before settling down onto his stool and adjusting the microphone.
"Thank you; the first song tonight…"
In one booth, a bespectacled youth ignored the singer's monologue.
"I'm just saying that…well, don't you guys think it's weird that this club popped out of nowhere?"
"Shut up, Aida; I want to hear this guy,"
Hikari Horaki—despite her reservations at being so close to liquor—had immediately volunteered for what Kensuke had referred to as a "visual-recon" of the Rising Star club and its evening singer. She hadn't been seeing Asuka as much as before Shinji died; there were no weekend shopping trips or video-game experiences; in the time she had known the redhead Asuka had never seemed so down.
When the remnants of the Stooges and herself had arrived at the Katsuragi apartment, they were astonished to see Misato staring into space on the couch. It took a few shakes from Touji to get her to even acknowledge them. Asuka had shrugged at the first questions about her guardian's lethargy, and then snapped whenever the subject was brought up again.
Hikari sipped from her water as she watched the song begin—a breath of relief had escaped her when she discovered the sign outside declaring the establishment's refusal to serve alcohol to people who could not even vote yet.
The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me, then you disappeared into dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
Asuka stirred her soda with her straw slowly, not really paying attention to anything.
"Hey, Asuka?"
"Hmmm?"
"Is something wrong? You've been pretty quiet tonight," said Hikari.
"Oh…it's nothing. Really…uh…"
"What? You can tell us. We're your friends."
"Yeah, sure," Touji belched between mouthfuls of complimentary pretzels, "To the end."
"Fine. But do not tell anyone or else," she pointed to Hikari, "I will never speak to you again," then she pointed menacingly to the boys, "and I shall see to it personally that you two will never be able to enjoy the sight of panties again. Clear?"
"Crystal," the boys said in unison.
I need your kiss…but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire.
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
Hikari, Kensuke, and Touji stared at the redhead as she finished her narrative.
Asuka stared back before uttering a testy: "Well?"
Recognizing the warning signs of a preventable disaster, Hikari tried to be diplomatic. "…Uh, that's a…uh…"
"Even when you're dreaming, you're a bitch; I can't believe it."
Asuka pursed her lips before plucking a piece of ice out of her drink and expertly flicking it down Kensuke's back. The four-eyed one immediately launched into a dance; onlookers commented on how his moves managed to go along with a basically non-dancing song.
"Well…Asuka…it isn't unusual to see friends in dreams so soon after they pass away," Hikari said cautiously, as if she were speaking to a child, "after Mama died I kept dreaming of her for years afterwards."
"This isn't the same!" Asuka snapped in exasperation, "I mean…we were in this weird apartment with the painting and a bag of tea labeled 'snozberry' or something…"
"Like from 'Willy Wonka'?"
Asuka raised an eyebrow at Touji's statement, "Willy Wonka?"
"Yeah, you know: that old movie with the Oompa-loompas; The little orange dudes with green hair?"
The German girl shook her head and replied, "Never saw it,"
"You never saw 'Willy Wonka'?" Touji almost yelled.
"I was busy; training and all that…"
"My little sister's seen 'Willy Wonka'!
"Then there was the university…"
"My dad has seen 'Willy Wonka'!"
"Then the battles we've…"
"My grandfather has seen 'Willy Wonka'!"
"Shut up!" Asuka snapped at her new fellow pilot. Touji meekly pulled back.
You gave your love to see, in fields of red and autumn brown
You gave your love to me and lay your young body down
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need you near, but love and duty called someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
"Anyway, what I'm saying is…oh, hell, forget it,"
"No, Asuka; if you want to talk about…"
"Nein; drop it. Let's just listen,"
It was dark, too dark to see, you held me in the light you gave
You lay your hand on me
Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love…
May your love give us love.
The final guitar lick resurrected the applause. Asuka and Touji barely noticed that they stood and applauded a song which they weren't paying attention to, but which still echoed in their minds. Sherman produced a bottle of water and began drinking while Luke announced a new karaoke night…in a separate chamber from the restaurant, which led to even greater applause.
"That gaijin is pretty good," Kensuke said as he used his napkin in an effort to mop up the cold water on his back.
"Yeah," Touji agreed, "it's weird, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well…I walk by here a few times each week and this place just…popped up. I mean, shouldn't there have been…"
Touji was silenced by the sudden appearance of the waitress. She gazed down at them with her one visible eye, the left half of her face being hidden by a white smiling mask with red lips and an exaggerated make-up job around the "eye". Her head was covered by a red hood that was part of a short but glamorous red dress.
The right eye stared at him suspiciously.
"Uh…a steak, please?"
"Something…is wrong,"
"That would be an understatement," grumbled Chairman Kiel to the monolith labeled 6, rubbing his temples before looking longingly at a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin that sat beside him. If he took them during the meeting, the others might hear the rattling of pills and the swallowing of liquid; it would be taken as a sign of weakness.
"We knew that Ikari had his own agenda, but his actions with the past two angels—especially the Thirteenth—defy all logic."
"The scenario concerning the Fifteenth must remain unchanged; it is the only way to insert our own Child into NERV."
"We should look to the Dead Sea Scrolls for our strategy in dealing with these insects; perhaps a longer examination can show us how to stay on the correct path."
"An interesting idea," Kiel agreed, "Do you have a specific section in mind?"
"We have had our constant attention fixed to our current times; perhaps we should take a look at the earlier sections, we may find something of use,"
"I second the motion; it couldn't hurt to continue our research of the Dead Sea Scrolls," said the monolith labeled 3.
"Very well; the motion is on the table,"
Seven voted for the motion, the rest disagreed.
"Very well then; motion approved. I will direct our researchers to concentrate on the early sections of the Scrolls.
"Let us all hope that we may find something useful."
People often think of Thor as a tall, proud man with long blond locks, with a winged helmet and a mighty hammer clutched in one hand like a scepter. As some imagine, he wears a long flowing cape and is noble and just in nature.
The Thor that was presently speaking to the Dream King deep in the latter's library was large enough. His muscles bulged out grotesquely, long veins trailing across his body as if there were snakes buried beneath his flesh. His legs—while also heavily muscled—looked almost comical beneath his massive bulk. Little Mjollnir was almost lost within the grip of his massive fingers, while his right hand—in an attempt to appear thoughtful—stroked a crimson beard on which the remains of the new King of the Aesir's feast lay entangled. His breathe stank of mead and seasoned pork and beef.
He wore his usual wine and food stained brown-colored vest and codpiece, with boots made out of reindeer felt and a heavy leather belt that was bound with a large silver buckle. A purple cape with a thin gold chain hung around his neck, and fell to end just above his waist. The cape was clearly intended for a person of smaller stature, and only served to make the Thunder God look even more ridiculous.
A long buried part of Dream wanted to chuckle at Thor, but the ivory-colored figure only lightly sipped from a silver goblet of wine and regarded the god's grand—and amateurish—posturing calmly.
"…and while I certainly do not accuse you of being…uh, helping in Odin Glad-of-War's death, there are some people back home who will have suspicions."
"I see," Dream set down his goblet and leaned back in his chair with a rather bored expression, "Be assured, Thor Lightning-smith, that Odin One-Eye's passing was peaceful and—to all witnesses—entirely voluntary; my servant that attended him did nothing to ensure Lord Odin's demise…although, admittedly, there was nothing done to prevent it, if it could be prevented at all by beings such as my dream-creatures,"
"Yes," Thor rumbled, "the servant,"
The Thunder God settled his rump into a chair at the far end and peered at Daniel intently, as if trying to stare the Dreamweaver down. Thor suddenly drew himself up as best he could—so large were his muscles that they forced his head into a rather hunchbacked position—put a stern look on his bearded face and spoke in an official voice.
"I want to talk to this servant of yours."
One of Dream's eyebrows rose before he replied, "What would be the purpose of that?"
"Odin All-Father died very suddenly; I want to hear what this…whatever it is has to say about it," replied Thor, who began tapping the handle of Mjollnir against the massive onyx-inlaid table.
Dream leaned forward and placed a semi-wrapped hand against his forehead. The black shreds of midnight sky that served as his eyes were covered by his eyelids as he thought.
"No,"
"What?" Thor's voice was calm, but Dream knew that veins were beginning to bulge in the god's neck.
"I do not think that would serve anyone's interest at this moment; while the palace staff serves my wishes I am also obligated to see to their general welfare. Tell me, Thor Goat-runner," Dream's eyes opened, and a star shone brightly, "Does the Aesir truly believe that I will permit your misplaced lust for vengeance to be spent on one of my servants? That I will stand aside so that you can kill one of my creations?"
Thor's eyes suddenly bulged out with anger, as veins popped up all over his reddening face. Many enemies had taken to flight because of this sight, but Dream of the Endless was beyond this Norse deity's comprehension, to say nothing of power.
"How dare you, Dreamweaver…!"
"Baseless accusations will not be heard in this realm," Dream picked up his goblet and sipped as Thor slowly rose from his seat, "The person in question is guiltless. My word of honor would be given on this truth."
"Truth," Thor spat, "You have one of the Angel-slayers working for you! I heard it from my mother, Freya Golden-hair, and word has spread through the Pantheons; one of those thrice-damned mortals who ride those…those beasts of blasphemy is in this castle!
"The Aesir demand justice! We are ready to go to war over this, Dreamweaver!"
The drained goblet was set upon the table, and the milky hands were clasped together in the lap of the Dream King.
"War is not something to be lightly considered, Lord Thor. Bloodshed is completely unnecessary; and besides," Dream's eyes filled with a blast of light, "You are not as…unconquerable as you were long centuries ago.
"My servant has extended over a thousand apologies, and feels great remorse and guilt over what happened. However, I believe this matter is without any guilt."
During Dream's talk, Thor had suddenly sat down again, the veins leaving his face but the color remaining. When Daniel was finished, silence reigned throughout the section where they had met.
"If there is nothing else, Lord Thor," Dream murmured as he stood up, "I am currently in the process of shaping a rather…unique dream. You are free to browse the Library if you wish; if you wish to leave, I will have something escort you out. I wish you well in your new function, Thor Storm-maker."
"Yes, well," Thor grumbled as he stood his bizarrely shaped body up, "I…thank you for your…hospitality. I must return to Valhalla. Good day, Dreamweaver…"
Daniel nodded and vanished.
"Refusing an offer of tea is hardly going to alleviate your feelings of guilt, Shinji,"
The librarian's insistence pushed down the boy's still flimsy resistance, and he took the cup and saucer out of Lucian's hands.
Shinji had learned early-on that—as far as the governing of the Dreaming went—Lucian was considered number two among the Dream-creatures. If Daniel's word was law—in both a legal and universal sense—than Lucian's word was very strict regulation. In the little corners of the castle where Mervyn dragged him to "live a little", it was whispered that he was the second dream created and in fact was among the first beings in the universe to exist.
You wouldn't know it, looking at the man's office, that such an august person was present. Lucian's office was about as large as the Katsuragi living room. There were books, as expected, but they were very cramped. Against the right wall (from the door's position) was a large roll-back desk with a windowed-door book case towering from its top. The blotter was almost covered by a large, thick book, bordered by a pile of official looking papers and scrolls. A lonely looking black quill pen in a silver inkwell sat near the back of the desk. Lucian's chair was low-backed and wooden, with pads that looked to be frequently used. The wall across from the door was overflowing with more books and papers, not to mention an occasional attempt at decoration (Shinji could have sworn that he saw a small bust of a 17th Century gentleman gulp and tremble on his spot between The Oxford English Dictionary and A History of the Korean War, Volume II, 1955-1960). There were notes taped to the desk and bookshelves, written in very neat script and black ink. Shinji had leaned forward to examine one:
Things to be done before New Year's
Finish the sorting of the "F" fictional section. Confront Ms. Granger (or Potter, whatever) on the matter of those loaned volumes. Commence reconstruction of "Adult" section. Collect the ten dollars owed by Mervyn from that poker game. Learn to play the oboe.
To the left, a pair of hinged windows was surrounded by books except for one corner which appeared to be filled with film-cans bearing labels like Underwater by Alfred Hitchcock and Star Wars: The Dark Sun. A small rectangular table sat by the window, flanked by two simple wooden chairs. Lucian had swept the papers piled on the table into a battered black attaché-case that remained the same size though the former pilot could see that the case should have been fattened with papers by now.
The boy watched the bird-like man prepare another cup of tea. Shinji recognized the flavor as Pineberry, one of the many flavors that did not exist in the Waking. The box of tea-bags he had received from Lucian earlier held a great variety of non-existent flavors, from many sources that would be considered impossible on Earth. The cafeteria sported hundreds of meals that—according to his coworkers—were dreamed up by mortals.
The librarian abruptly clanged his tea cup and saucer onto the table and sat in the chair opposite Shinji.
"Now then," Lucian began after his first sip, "How have Huginn and Muninn settled in?"
"Uh…all right, I guess; I found this perch thing downstairs and set it up in my apartment. Mervyn gave me some dead rats for their food and they seemed happy,"
"Mmm," Lucian sipped his tea again, "From time to time they will take flight and go around the world. Upon their return, you will receive news from the Waking; be prepared for that, it can get strenuous."
A flash of light from outside flooded the room. A great crack of thunder followed as Shinji tried to blink the spots before his vision away.
"That would be Thor," Lucian sniffed, apparently unimpressed by the demonstration of the Thunder God's power, "I'll have to make an inspection later; I'd hazard he broke some things on his way out."
Shinji covered his face and sighed.
"Why did he do it?"
"Why did who do what?"
"Lord Dream; I thought Thor was going to kill him…"
Lucian made a strange noise into his teacup that sounded like an amused snort.
"Our lord, dear Shinji, is made of sterner stuff than Thor. He was here before that…ape was a twinkle in the eye of a Nordic storyteller, and he'll be here long after Thor is gone. You needn't worry,"
"But Thor was talking about war; why…?"
"…didn't he just avoid the trouble and give you up? He's not like that. He's never been like that and never will be,"
Shinji frowned, "You've…uh, been here a long time, Lucian? Y-you know him? L-l-lord Dream, I-I mean?"
Lucian stared at Shinji, with owlish eyes that only helped to make his appearance even more birdlike.
"I've known him all my life, Shinji," the librarian said finally, "My memory overflows with facts and figures about the Dreaming—and the Library in particular. I have been by his side as long as I can remember, even when he was…kept away."
Lucian's eyes briefly flashed with a storm of emotions: anger, hate, and shame, all flickering through those gray soul-windows like a candle-flame in its death-throes.
"Without him," Lucian whispered, almost a defensive hiss, "everything here collapses into dust; dreams vanish, without warning. Even my books…waste away. Chaos takes over…I know because I stayed here, when everyone else vanished or left."
"He…was captured; how?"
Lucian snorted, "Some idiot mortal with more followers and ego than sense. I suppose he thought he was doing a service to mankind: he was trying to capture Death,"
Shinji almost choked on his tea, "What?"
"The fool was trying to imprison our lord's elder sister," Lucian answered in clipped tones; he glanced around his office before leaning toward the boy with a conspiratorial look, "I should tell you: Lord Dream himself said it was fortunate that he was snared instead of his sister. God knows what might have happened were she prevented from carrying out her duties,"
"No one would die…" Shinji murmured thoughtfully, briefly recalling dozens of names that the world would be much happier not knowing.
"That's not the only…"
"Attention! Attention! One-thirty! One-thirty! One-thirty in the afternoon of Friday! The Gallery of Unnatural Joy in the Southeastern Wing must be rotated! Picasso's Orange Period to be put up!"
Shinji jumped as Lucian looked up at a squawking coo-coo-clock perched over the door.
"My, how time flies," Lucian mused and then glanced back over at the boy, "Sorry, but we'll have to continue this another time. I'll have to summon my assistants for this. I will see you later."
Shinji had already stood and was about to leave as Lucian said this. He paused, stuttered a hasty farewell, and left the librarian's office. He stopped beside a statue of a Neanderthal with a blunt rock and another pointier stone bearing the inscription "Oog: Greatest Writer of France, 10 million B.C." to get his bearings and turned down a hall/row that was kept darker than other parts of the library.
The former pilot did not stop to regard the painted ceiling above him as he walked down the passageway. He walked for what seemed to be a half-mile before he found the door…and the eyes of a pale, decapitated head seemed to grow even sadder as the boy below him left the Library of Dreams.
They know.
How could they not? Perhaps it was a mistake to bring him to the wedding of that goddess and her mortal consort…Urd has always been the wilder of that particular version of the Three-in-One.
Ah, well. What is past is past. The Creator approved of the boy; the Silver City sends no beings of Divine Wrath to avenge its children. We have nothing to fear from there…
But still, what will others say, I wonder? And more important, what will they do?
So much that these stories made Holy Writ treasured on mortal Earth—destroyed and despised, mocked and looted. They will blame the boy…
This is the Dreaming: my kingdom; indeed myself. I will defend it and its denizens—the children borne by countless generations of humanity and myself—to the end. He will be protected by my helm.
What else can I do? I did destroy and remake him myself…