Stormbringer dreamwalker.., p.19
Stormbringer (Dreamwalker Book 1), page 19
By the time I made it to the next floor—the lobby—I was dizzy with fatigue. I dragged myself through the doors and collapsed near the exit to the employee garage, shivering, sweating, and sick to my stomach. All throughout the lobby swarmed dark bodies, oily silhouettes of fleeing patrons. Their chatter peaked into a panicked uproar as they shoved their way out of the front doors. From one end of the room came shouts, orders barked by a harried security guard. His voice was drowned out by the desperate shuffle of hundreds of feet, the wails of frightened infants, the blaring alarms.
I propped myself up against the wall, resisting the urge to lie down. No one noticed me. This dream, it seemed, was oblivious to me. I sat there and watched evacuees trample each other in their attempt to get to safety, my arms curled protectively over my middle. The pain in my left side had worsened, but I couldn’t muster the courage to look at the offending injury.
Consciousness came and went. At one point, I opened my eyes to find the lobby deserted. Another dip in awareness, and I woke to a sudden, intense chill that formed at the base of my spine and shot up to the back of my neck. Shadows had congregated in the vacant lobby, wisps and plumes of dense, black smoke. They moved with the illusion of sentience, sweeping along the floor and ceiling as if searching for something, pausing at various intervals to analyze their surroundings. They reminded me of small thunderheads, for within their dark bodies flashed tongues of electric violet light, like intracloud lightning.
I did a double-take. Violet. So, color existed in this hellscape after all. Seized by curiosity and wariness alike, I watched the wisps as they explored the lobby, trying to determine what they were and what they sought in this place. Had they not moved with such purpose—deep-sea creatures, single-celled organisms—I would have shrugged them off as a fixture of the environment.
Before long, one stalked close to where I sat. Instantly, I was on edge. I didn’t know whether anything in this dream could hurt me, and I had no desire to find out. I drew up my knees slowly, hunching myself into a protective ball as the wisp nudged closer.
With startling speed, the wisp lashed out at me in a viper’s strike at the same time as a flare of light scalded my retinas. I threw up an arm to shield my eyes too late.
When nothing else happened, I lowered my arm, peeking cautiously over it. The whole lobby had been purged of prowling shadows. Drifting silently in their place was a bloom of jellyfish, at least two dozen of them, each one ghostly and glittering as if molded from stardust. Here and there, they floated, emanating lambent, lavender light.
Even amidst my growing confusion, I was transfixed by the sight of these gentle jellies. They projected an aura of serenity and security into what was previously a stark, sepulchral scene. One descended upon me, its limbs grazing my hair, and came to rest in my outstretched palm. While it had no substance, it radiated warmth I desperately needed. I resisted the urge to cradle it close to my chest and instead asked it, “Where did you come from?”
“I’d like to ask you the same question,” murmured a voice off to my right.
With a terrible start, I snapped my fingers shut. My gaze alighted on a spirit of indeterminate gender, a celestial avatar of the primordial night sky. Their irises were two white dwarfs burning on a backdrop of deep-space black; they were robed in cosmic gasses, long, wispy layers that billowed in some faint, illusory breeze.
Belatedly, I realized I might’ve crushed the spectral jellyfish resting in my hand, but to my relief, it had been unharmed. I returned my attention to the hovering spirit and attempted to regain my composure.
“All right,” I said slowly. “Who are you, and what the hell’s going on here?”
The spirit drifted closer, their bare toes floating inches off the floor. “I was hoping you would tell me,” they replied. “I’ve never seen this happen before.”
“Seen what, exactly?”
“A physical visitor to the Echoes.”
I gently released the jellyfish, processing that. “The Echoes? Like the Cygnian afterlife? Isn’t that just—you know—mythology?”
“It would be more accurate to say the World of Sleepers, both living and dead. It’s not exclusive to any one faith. Everyone comes here to dream.” The spirit regarded me owlishly. “Are you responsible for that rift in the arena?”
“Rift? What rift?”
“High above the field, there was a storm. In the eye of that storm was a rift—a hole that has torn the Flux open.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked bluntly. “I made that storm, but what does that have to do with… Am I dreaming? I’ve gotta be dreaming.”
The spirit shook their head. “No. Not in the normal sense. You’re here in the flesh. All of you. If you didn’t intend for this to happen, you must’ve fallen in by accident.”
“Fallen in,” I repeated, perplexed. “So let me get this straight: you think I tore open a hole into the dream world just by casting a storm in the real world?”
“Yes.”
“And you think I fell into that hole and am now stuck physically in the dream world.”
“Correct.”
“Bullshit.”
But as ludicrous as it all sounded, there were elements of truth to what this spirit was telling me—anomalies I couldn’t account for otherwise. It would explain my surreal, nightmarish surroundings. It would explain why I found myself incapable of waking up despite all the stressors that had arisen since my arrival. I didn’t know much about lucid dreams, but I knew there were limits to what a lucid dreamer could experience in one.
“Who did you say you were?” I inquired warily.
The spirit sat cross-legged in the air, hands nestled in their lap. “A Dreamer. I go by Vision.”
Dreamer, with a capital D. Locals knew them better as ‘Halfsleepers’—a derogatory term of dubious origins. I knew little about them save what I had learned in high school science: They were individuals for whom magic had germinated but not flourished. Any number of internal or external factors could, according to neuroscientists, stunt the development of casting ability, leaving a budding caster unable to cast but granting them extensive power within the realm of dreams. I had not known many Dreamers willing to disclose their identities to strangers, however; most existed in societal limbo, accepted as neither caster nor mundane.
“So you’re, what, sleeping out there in the city somewhere?” I wondered. “And dreaming about me in here?”
“There was a disturbance,” Vision explained. “An incident at the stadium. I came to investigate. I didn’t expect to find you here. But we need to get you out. You’re looking very ill.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered. “So how the hell do I get out? The same way I came in?”
“I would hope so.” Vision unfolded their legs and drifted closer to me. “Can you stand?”
With my back pressed to the wall, I drew myself up to my feet. A wave of vertigo threatened to drop me; I waited for it to pass before I tried to walk. Vision looked on patiently as I managed a few shuffling steps.
“I think I’ll be fine,” I said.
Vision nodded. “You won’t have to venture far.”
But a realization had stricken me. “Wait,” I interrupted. “If I go back to the arena, I’m going to be arrested on the spot. The police, the CEA—they’re all going to be looking for me.”
Vision’s white-dwarf eyes burned a hole through me. “This was all on purpose?” they queried softly. “The storm? The rift?”
“No, no, not exactly. The storm was, but not the rift. I was only trying to— There was another competitor. She had me drugged with something, some potent steroid that almost killed me. It’s killed two other competitors already. This woman has been sabotaging our careers with no care for our lives or livelihoods, and she’s been doing it in ways that make it impossible for us to defend ourselves. I didn’t want her to win the Invocation. That’s why I cast that storm. But the steroid… I let myself get carried away.”
Vision was silent, pensive, so I continued, “Something’s been going on at Spectrum. The officials have been negligent, turning a blind eye to all sorts of shady crap. I don’t trust that they’ll treat me fairly once they get their hands on me, especially since I have no evidence. I was ambushed in a fucking bathroom for crying out loud. I didn’t even see my attacker.”
Vision turned away from me, surveying the deserted lobby. “May I ask your name?”
The question took me by surprise. “Nikkeah. Nikkeah Taranis. I’m known as the Stormbringer in the arena.”
“Stormbringer…” Vision softly sampled the title. “It sounds familiar.”
“I’m a Spectrum champion—an Invocation champion. My name is kind of all over the place.” It occurred to me belatedly that Vision might not have even been a fan of caster sports.
But they said, “You fought in the Pit,” and my heart seized as though I’d missed a step in the dark.
I stared at the celestial Dreamer before me. “That was seven years ago,” I said, bewildered.
“And people in the Pit still remember you.”
“You live in the Pit?”
“Yes.”
I grimaced in sympathy. It couldn’t have been easy for a Dreamer to thrive down there.
Vision returned their attention to me. “It’s not safe for you to stay here. If you’re unwilling to face the authorities, I can take you elsewhere, but it might not be easy for you.”
“How do you mean?” I hugged myself, my damp clothes chilling me to the bone.
“Your only way out of the Echoes is through a rift. You can either exit through the one in the arena, or you can create a new one.”
“By casting another storm?” I shook my head, fatigued. “I don’t think I can do that. I can barely stand as it is.”
“Any powerful concentration of magic should do,” Vision mused. “Enough to open a rift big enough for you to pass through. It need not be a storm.”
I gave them a pleading look. “Can’t you help me? This is your domain, isn’t it?”
“I wish I could. What you’ve managed to do is abnormal. Unnatural. The Echoes weren’t designed to come into contact with the waking world; that’s why the Flux exists.”
“Is the Flux a kind of barrier, then?”
“A protective membrane, yes. It shields living beings from the raw chaos magic that forms and fuels this place.”
“I’ve never heard of chaos magic,” I replied skeptically.
“Most people haven’t. Perhaps it’s a secret only Dreamers can know.” Vision’s gaze swept upward as though they were surveying the heavens. “In any case, I can’t create portals between here and the waking world. You’ll have to manage that yourself. I can, however, give you another exit point if you truly wish to evade the authorities.”
“I need to find my coach,” I said. “He’ll have a better idea about how to deal with all of this. But he would’ve evacuated the stadium with everyone else.” I paused, scrutinizing my monochromatic surroundings. “What we’re seeing in here…how does it relate to the waking world? Is it an exact copy? Is the lobby deserted out there like it is in here?”
Vision considered this for several moments. I imagined it was not easy for them to explain the workings of a dream world in simple language.
“Every inch of the waking world is represented in the Echoes in real time,” they began, “but here, the imagery is mutable. The Echoes are, at all times, composing replicas of the waking world, drawing the imagery from all the living minds in existence.” They swept a glittering arm out across the lobby. “So, yes, this lobby is currently empty.”
It was difficult to grasp the concepts Vision was conveying to me; my poor physical condition wasn’t helping. “This is…a lot to take in,” I admitted sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right.” Vision floated over to where I stood, emanating gentle, soothing heat. “Where do you suppose your coach would have gone?”
I glanced over my shoulder toward the garage exit. “The parking garage, maybe. His car is there. Or should be.”
“Let’s find out.”
I trudged the short distance to the exit with Vision drifting along beside me. Numb with cold and nerve damage, I dragged my feet along the floor, arms wrapped tightly around my chest. My training gear weighted me down like chain mail. Several times, I was tempted to sit down and rest, but something told me if I did, I’d never get back up again.
So I turned my attention back to my celestial spirit guide and wondered, “Those things you saved me from—the smoky shadows? What were those?”
“Shades,” Vision answered grimly. “Entities born of chaos. It’s in their nature to feed on the dreams of the living. They seem curiously drawn to intense emotions, but I’ve found them in all manner of dreams and memories across the Echoes.”
“Memories? There are memories here, too?”
“Of course. What is a memory if not the echo of a dream?”
I observed Vision’s glittering profile, bemused. Were all Dreamers so profound? I supposed anyone with the power to navigate what I previously imagined was a mythological dream realm found the waking world drab and lifeless by comparison. What manner of things had Vision witnessed here over the years?
I had a hundred questions but no time to ask them all. We plunged our way into the parking garage, where muzzy vehicles sat silently in long, funereal rows. Without color to guide me, it was impossible to swiftly identify Micah’s car among them. I tried to recall where he’d parked—somewhere on the north side of the garage—and shuffled in that direction with Vision hovering companionably at my side. Trailing behind us were all the spectral jellyfish, little lavender lanterns undulating through the dismal dark.
“I’m not seeing his car,” I said, my voice trembling with anxiety. “Everything looks the same in this place.”
The garage was suspiciously empty of people, and I belatedly realized that Spectrum’s emergency procedures would’ve likely prohibited patrons and employees from accessing the garages. But if that were the case, where was Micah’s car?
“Perhaps it’s better to simply get you out of the Echoes,” Vision suggested calmly. “I would take you directly to him, but it’d require information I don’t have.” They scrutinized our surroundings and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Best to make the rift here, away from witnesses.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” I confessed, bracing my hands on my knees.
“You must,” Vision insisted. “If you stay here, you’ll die.”
Even breathing was a task my body thought demanding. But Vision was right: I couldn’t stay here—not unless I wanted to succumb to hypothermia, starvation, dehydration, or supernatural predation.
I took a few moments to gather myself, then focused my magic into my palms. The nerves in my arms prickled in warning, but I set my jaw and endured, dry static flickering and sputtering between my fingers. Any powerful concentration should do, Vision had said, and so I pushed every ounce of my power into a point in midair, shaping a small vortex of crackling energy.
“Keep going,” Vision encouraged me. “You’ve almost got it, see?”
Transfixed and horrified, I watched as my magic burned a hole into the waking world like a cigarette butt through a curtain, the edges smoldering as concentrated Stormcasting stripped away the protective membrane between dreams and reality. Twin thrills of fear and adrenaline circuited through me. How could one lowly human influence the fabric of the universe like this? Had anyone thought of doing this before? Had anyone succeeded?
Before long, the rift was half as tall as I was. I dismissed the flow of magic, groaning with discomfort and fatigue, and turned to face Vision.
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly with what was left of my voice. “Whoever you are…thank you for helping me get out of here. I wish I had more time to pick your brain about all of this. I have so many questions.”
“Questions can wait until after your survival,” Vision reminded me.
Still, I hesitated. “What are you going to do now?” I asked them.
“Continue my investigation. What you described about Spectrum worries me. I go now in search of answers.”
“If you find them…will you share them with me?”
“If I can.” Vision’s white-dwarf eyes softened. “Be safe, Nikkeah.”
“You, too.”
With that, I turned and stepped through my small rift, plunging through ice cold into the world beyond.
19
BLOODTHORN
The moment my feet touched solid ground again, I collapsed in a heap, all the strength evaporating from my body. Sensory stimuli broadsided me in a sudden impact: exhaust fumes, blaring alarms, wailing sirens, all the raucous tumult of an urban disaster in progress. Cement dug into my hips and elbows as I tried and failed to pull myself upright. Behind me, my rift provided a small window back into the Echoes. The sight of it was sobering: I hadn’t imagined that excursion at all.
As far as I could determine, I was alone in the parking garage—the real garage. While I heard the shouts of emergency personnel and the frantic screams of bystanders and evacuees, they were muffled, distant, well out of range of where I lay. I was in no immediate danger of being discovered here. I craned my head around, brushing strands of damp hair out of my eyes, and searched the neighboring rows of vehicles for Micah’s midnight blue beauty, but it was nowhere in sight.
All I could think to do next was call him. He had my cell phone, however, and my wallet was up in my private suite. I supposed I could approach a stranger for help, but I’d surely be recognized—and not in a good way. Could I make it back into the building without anyone noticing? Was that even wise?
My thoughts were growing more viscid by the second. My lungs burned with every shallow breath, and moving my limbs felt like hefting bags of sand. I wondered if I could get away with resting uninterrupted for twenty minutes or so, if only to give my ailing body a break.
