Waking in Dreamland
Waking in Dreamland
Roan could tell that Carodil was very annoyed. She wanted to be the last to speak, but Roan's polite deferral would have thrown too much emphasis on a second refusal. Instead, she stood her ground, and addressed the court from where she was, projecting her voice so the king could hear her.
"Your Majesty, the historian's son is quite correct," Carodil said, dismissing Roan with a flutter of her hand. "I am pleased to announce an important breakthrough. The statements made by the other department heads simply prove that what I have to say has not been a moment too soon in coming. The sighting of the precious pegasus would not have been so fleeting, nor would we have seen outbreaks of mountains or mosquitoes, if only the world had had access to the newest process that my staff have created."
"This sounds exciting, Carodil," King Byron said, sitting up alertly among his cushions. "What is it?"
Carodil was only too happy to expound. She raised the orb-headed cane in her right hand. The sphere began to glow. "My liege, ladies and gentlemen, we of the Ministry of Science are proud to announce our experiments in cooperative strength have proved successful. We have succeeded in learning how to combine our intellects, and have full control of reality. Using this technique, we are no longer subject to the whims of passing influences, and can, in fact, change reality even to the exclusion of the power of the Sleepers themselves!" She swept the cane down and thumped its iron ferrule on the ground in emphasis.
Her listeners waited precisely one and a half seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter.
"In your dreams," Micah hooted, flapping his white beard at Carodil with his hand.
"It is fact," the minister said, drawing herself up to greater heights until she stood some nine feet tall.
"I wouldn't believe in atoms until you showed me," Micah said, folding his arms and growing to ten feet so he could glare down on her. "I certainly won't believe in such an outrageous claim as this. Prove it."
"I certainly shall," Carodil retorted, jumping to twelve feet in height.
"Enough escalation!" the king thundered. The herald shouted for quiet. "Have you any proof of this astonishing breakthrough?"
"We would be most pleased to give Your Majesty a demonstration," Carodil said, with a slight bow. She let herself shrink back to a mere seven feet. Micah subsided to an average height, and the historians muttered among themselves.
"By all means," the king said, clapping his hands together. "I'm as curious as anyone else. Proceed."
"Anyone can bend reality a little," Thomasen said to Roan and Bergold. "This had better be really spectacular."
Carodil led the way to the front of the hall. She flicked her hand to and fro, and the crowd opened up before her. She towered above them as she passed. A portly man with heavy-lidded blue eyes and rather broad lips fell in behind her. Ten young men and women filed after him. In contrast to their superiors, who were almost aloof, they looked very excited and nervous. Roan confessed to himself that he felt a tickle of anticipation. The faces of the people around him were turned avidly toward the Science party. This was something new.
Describing another of her spare bows to the king, Carodil faced toward to the crowd. "I turn over the floor to my chief researcher, Master Brom, who has supervised this project for me." She stepped aside and the stout man took her place.
"I heard some complaining here today that the great mystical beasts have been too shy in appearing," Brom said, haughtily peering down his beak of a nose, his half-closed eyes gleaming with amusement. He pursed his lips. His mouth seemed made for supercilious smiles. "Allow us to show you how we can fold reality to produce such a sighting."
Brom turned to face the king, and put out his right arm straight from the shoulder. His minions clustered around him in a circle, back to front, with their right arms out and hands piled at the hub of the wheel under his.
"Behold the crucible," Brom intoned. He closed his eyes and started to mutter. The apprentices at once closed theirs and began to chant along with their senior.
Even at a distance, Roan could feel a significance to their actions, a faint eddying in the air, or a slight pull towards the circle. The air above the knot of hands changed. A brass chandelier visible beyond them seemed to twist in on itself, then snap back only to turn into a new pretzel shape. Roan realized that the chandelier wasn't changing, but his sight of it through the air was. The scientists were folding reality. Astonishing.
"Amazing," Bergold whispered. "They are actually combining their strengths! Can you feel the power they're pulling together?" Roan nodded silently, rapt. This was something new, something powerful.
Threadlike streams of matter flowed in toward the roiling air, filling in an amorphous shape. The shape writhed, bucked, turned over twice, and formed into a small green dragon. As Roan watched with his mouth open, it spread its translucent, batlike wings, darted out of the confines of the circle and flew around the room. People near the throne flattened themselves to the floor and screamed as the glowing beast dove toward them. A length of hanging tapestry fluttered as it went by, and the little beast turned in the air on its tail and burned it to ashes with a spate of flame. Roan jumped. The creature was real.
The dragon described another one of its hairpin turns and arrowed downward toward the thrones. Memory driving his legs, Roan hurtled forward, wondering if he could reach them in time. King Byron sat straight and tall on his cushions, staring fearlessly at the beast as it came. The queen, on his right, screamed and fainted into a heap of silks. Her ladies rushed to her. The guards, guessing that the king was the target of the demonstration-maybe attempted assassination-leaped to interpose themselves between their monarch and danger. At the king's other side, Leonora too sat erect, but Roan could see she was terrified. The dragon opened its mouth and breathed out another stream of hot yellow flame. Roan was too far away. She would be burned to death before his eyes.
Just as the flames would have reached the silk banners hanging above Byron's head, the scientists moved their hands, breaking the connection. At once, the dragon and its fire vanished. Roan skidded to a stop, staring at where it had been. The crowd broke into puzzled exclamations. The guards windmilled suspiciously, looking around for the dragon. Captain Spar, a powerfully built man in his fifties, glared daggers at the scientists, and directed a couple of his men to go and stand by them in case they tried any more shenanigans.
"Very impressive!" the king said, applauding enthusiastically. He slapped his satin-covered knee with delight. "By heaven, that's good!" He looked to his queen, who was reviving under the care of her attendants. She nodded faintly at him. Byron turned to Leonora, silent and trembling beside him, and put a hand on hers where it rested on the arm of her throne. "Are you all right, my dear?"
"I am now, Father," Leonora said, and Roan was proud that her voice was strong, without a trace of a quaver. She swallowed. "As you say, it was impressive."
"Yes, indeed," Byron agreed, and turned back to the scientists. "But apart from party tricks, Madame Carodil, what are the practical applications?"
"Infinite!" Carodil said. Her eyes gleamed. "I think it might serve as a lifesaving measure in times of Changeover, for example."
"Meddling with the Sleepers' will," growled Micah. Roan heard that sentiment echoed throughout the crowd.
"Good thing it's not all-powerful," Datchell muttered. "That monster could have killed His Majesty."
"Not at all," Roan said, with a quick glance at his old tormentor. "The king could have wiped out the monster with a wave of his hand."
"So he could," Bergold said, much relieved. "Just because he doesn't often alter reality doesn't mean he can't. He's worth a thousand of the rest of us. I imagine he could summon up dragons on his own, if he chose."
"He wouldn't interfere thusly with the Sleepers' will," piped up Olmus, waving his walking stick querulously. He was the oldest of the historians. He claimed to have lived so long he'd seen Changeovers in every province at least twice.
"Hmmph!" Datchell snorted, blowing out his pendulous camel's lip. He knew the measure of royal power as well as Bergold did, but he had been caught off guard. His fellows wouldn't forget that kind of a slip. He glared at Roan, who quickly turned his attention back towards the dais.
"Is this study much advanced?" Byron asked the scientists.
Carodil bowed slightly and raised a hand to indicate her assistant. "This has been Master Brom's project," she said.
"It is well advanced, Your Majesty," the fat man said ponderously. He stepped past his senior toward the throne and bowed deeply. "We have done many studies. One person has only so much influence, but our investigations are proving that a group's strength is greater than the sum of its individuals."
"Excellent!" the king said. "I am very impressed by the results." Brom's face glowed.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. In fact, we have so much confidence in our new ability as a group to command reality, we feel we are ready to take the greatest challenge ever this year. Our next great experiment: to wake the seven Sleepers!"
"What?" the king asked, producing a tin ear trumpet from thin air and putting it to his ear. "I beg your pardon. I can't believe I have heard you properly."
"Neither can I," Bergold said to Roan, under his breath. "Look at Carodil. She wasn't expecting this." The Minister of Science looked shocked, but was held upright by her dignity in the midst of the crowd roaring their outrage. Some of them levitated over the others to get the king's attention, but Byron was entirely focused upon Brom.
"Perhaps you should repeat what you said."
"I said," the scientist shouted, enunciating the syllables one by one, "that we are going to wake the Sleepers."
"All of them at once?" Telsander asked.
"On purpose?" Micah demanded.
"Of course!"
"Blasphemy!" Micah exploded. "How dare you suggest such a thing?"
"I serve science," Brom said. "It is our job to question."
"Do you have the least idea what your suggestion could mean?" asked Synton, the Minister of Continuity. "Don't you know the Great Theory? The Sleepers maintain the underpinnings of our entire existence! It's bad enough when there's one Changeover transition, when one Sleeper leaves, or dies, or whatever it is They do! Every surrounding province is flooded by terrified refugees coming over the border from the affected area! Fear! Turmoil! Destruction! How can we be expected to maintain continuity for the Sleepers if there is none for us? This could cause mass rioting!"
"Could," Brom said, smugly. "It's only a theory." He snapped his fingers, and one of his personal minions stepped up, holding a sheaf of papers covered with calculations. The youngster looked around at all the eminent personages staring at him, and quickly assumed a beard to make himself look older. "In fact, we have no proof at all that the Great Theory is so."
"You dare?!" Micah sputtered.
Roan felt a terrible knot of fear and uncertainty in his belly. All that he had based his life upon, his personal philosophy of existence-could it be wrong?
"We intend to prove the Theory true," Brom said. "Or false."
"By destroying all the Dreamland!" Micah said, horrified. "Your own existence could be forfeit!"
"Possibly, my lord, possibly," Brom intoned. "But probably not, if our calculations are correct. That is our theory. For that reason we have created a device!" He beckoned again.
Two men, obviously twin brothers, with heavy, underslung jaws and shocks of unruly light brown hair, bent in unison, and came up holding a litter on which rested a vast, draped bulk. It was so large Roan couldn't understand why he hadn't noticed it at first. The scientists must have been standing in a protective ring about it. Maybe they had used the crucible to conceal it, even from Carodil. Roan lowered his brows thoughtfully. This surprise had been carefully planned.
Brom, his small eyes glistening, took hold of the drapery. "Behold the Alarm Clock!"
He pulled the cloth away. On the litter was a monstrous machine. It resembled a clock in that it had a round, polished metal body, a white-painted dial, and two huge, brass, domelike bells on the top, but the dial was blank except for the spot at the top center, where the twelve would be. Instead, there was the image of a bright yellow sun. No, not a sun. It looked like the blossoming flame of a terrible explosion.
"We must prove whether or not we exist unequivocally," Brom intoned in a lecturer's drone. "The Sleepers, if they do exist, maintain our reality in a ridiculously tentative manner. Sleeping, we are; waking, we are not. Would it not be better to know if we maintain being all the time? That such a tenuous condition does not stand between us and existence?"
"I do not want such an experiment made!" King Byron exclaimed, and the Great Hall shook at the sound of his voice.
"But that is dishonest, Your Majesty," Brom pressed, not at all intimidated. "Surely, if you care for your realm and your subjects, you would wish to be reassured."
"You are mad," Bergold shouted, his face turning as red as his flimsy costume.
"Anyhow, you couldn't possibly know where the Sleepers are," the Royal Geographer protested.
"That, too, is a theory based upon practical knowledge." Brom smirked. "Observations from the first, third, and fourth millennia, not to mention the eighth millennium, indicate that signs were recorded proving the location of the Hall of the Sleepers. We intend to travel along the most favorable route, avoiding certain geographical features. . . ." He turned to the Royal Geographer and reached for her map.
The map cringed away from his grasp. Romney protectively closed it up with a snap of her wrist. It contracted into a fist-sized ball. She stowed it in her belt pouch. Insulted, Brom turned away, waving his hand in dismissal.
"No matter. I don't actually need your antiquated representation. We have our own charts. The Freedom of Information Act gives me full access to the historical archives, and we have been making use of them. We are ready to leave at once."
"No, you can't!" "You madman, what do you think you're doing?"
A dozen ministers pressed in toward Brom, but he held them back with one hand, his eyes glittering. Roan felt the oppression of many minds attempting to create an influence to change Brom's mind. He didn't know what that would do; the scientist had already made it up.
"Silence!" the king thundered, his face red with anger. "You will not leave at once! You are not going! Put an end to that notion at once, Carodil!"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Carodil said, rounding on Brom. "I order you to abandon this . . . this menace. It doesn't meet with my approval. I forbid you to continue in this research. Destroy this . . . this monstrosity."
Brom looked as if he was going to deflate.
"Your Excellency," the scientist began, raising a hand in appeal. He let it drop. "Well, I should have foreseen this possibility. Of course, I defer to your authority. And yours, Your Majesty," he said, making a deep and respectful bow. "I apologize for any distress I must have caused you."
"You are forgiven," the king said, mollified. "But let's have no more talk about waking the Sleepers. That thing," he pointed at the Alarm Clock, "will be disassembled at once."
"Of course, my liege," Brom said. He signaled to his minions, who veiled the device once again. The hulking shape hovered over their heads like doom. Roan found he didn't even like looking at it that way.
"Roan, my good friend," the king said, beckoning him forward. "We haven't heard from you yet. Pray tell us of your explorations."
"Call Master Roan!" the herald bellowed unnecessarily.
Startled by the blast of sound, the king hastily rid himself of his ear trumpet. Roan stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, august members of this court, I am pleased to report that the threatened Changeover in Somnus was only a rumor."
The king settled back in his cushions with a contented expression. Many of the courtiers pressed forward so they could hear more clearly. Now that the crisis was averted, the room seemed to relax. They were ready to listen to someone else. "Those of you here from Somnus will be pleased to know I made an exhaustive investigation, and there are no signs of mass alteration."
"Excellent, my friend!" the king said. "Then, what caused us to believe that disaster was imminent?"
Roan bowed, and half-turned to address the room. "Earth tremors, my lords and ladies! The earth there seems to shift now and again under its own volition. It would appear that this Creative One believes all things have their own consciousness and motive force. This belief has informed the earth and many other inanimate objects with a certain amount of autonomy."
"Hah!" sputtered Fodsak, one of the scientists huddled around Carodil. "Balderdock. Poppycash."
Roan glanced past the bulk of the chief researcher at the small man, who glared at him.
"Not at all, Master Fodsak," Roan said. "Your own principles demand accurate report-" Something about Brom caught his eye. Roan forgot what he was going to say next, as a sudden thought seized the cuff of his mental pants-leg and worried at it. He turned to the king.
"Forgive me for digressing, Your Majesty, but if I had put so much effort, thought, energy, and heart into a project, I would be loath to let it go."
"What? What is this?" the king asked, frowning.
"The Alarm Project," Roan said, urgently. "My king, after devoting what must have taken years of my life and countless hours of mental effort, I'd hate to have to put the fruits of it aside. When I was so near to proving my theorem I'd do almost anything to continue."
"So would I," Carodil said, shrugging her shoulders magnificently. "What of it?" She turned a cold and fishy eye to Roan.
"I've given my command," King Byron said, lowering his eyebrows. "This fool project is to stop, at once, and it has."
"Of course!" Carodil agreed, bowing to the king. "Brom has given me his promise to cease." She turned to Brom, stretching out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Haven't you, my friend?"
But the friendly gesture had a most unexpected effect. At the point of contact Brom started to waver. Crackly lines appeared on his face and body.
"He's breaking up," Thomasen said, alarmed. "What is this?"
In a twinkling, the broad, tall figure was reduced to thin, glassy shards that dissolved in the air. Carodil lunged for the Alarm Clock, but it, too, was insubstantial. When she touched the edge of the litter, the whole thing burst with a pop like a huge soap bubble. Carodil threw herself backward, covering her eyes. Everyone in the hall began to shout at once.
"They are not really here," Roan shouted over the hubbub. "They're already on their way. What he said about combined intellect is true. Using the crucible they've managed to create fully coherent images of Brom and his device. The real man is gone, and all his people with him! They must have left as soon as they finished their presentation."
"Gone?" the king demanded. "Gone where?"
"Toward the Hall of the Sleepers," Bergold gasped, his eyes huge with dismay.
"But we don't know where that is!" Olmus said, pounding the floor with his stick. "No one does."
"They must think they do," Thomasen said, stroking his chin. "More than just a good guess. He must have foreseen that the king would forbid the endeavor, and we'd try to stop him. He knows he would be stopped as soon as he was found out. Brom wouldn't risk his one chance on failure."
"How about these?" Spar, chief of the guard, stepped forward and grabbed Fodsak's arm. His men-at-arms crowded around the scientists. "They're solid!"
"Only Brom was an illusion," Roan said. "He's the only one important enough to have to be in two places at once. These men and women remained behind probably because they haven't got the stamina for such an undertaking."
"They have defied my command?" Byron snapped, straightening up and staring at Carodil, who had shrunk a foot in height, and was losing stature even as Roan watched. "They intend to destroy our homeland for an experiment?"
"Your Majesty, I had no idea," Carodil said. She was now only four feet high, and her voice was turning shrill. "I allow my people autonomy, so they will give their minds free rein."
"So they could plot the destruction of us all?" the king asked.
The room became suddenly very cold. People huddled together. A sharp wind swirled brown leaves through the air. One whipped against Roan's cheek, and he shivered, breaking the spell of immobility that had fallen over him. The tiny, futile motion of a leaf, helpless to control its own actions in the face of the wind, reminded him that he was not helpless.
"We'll find them, my lord," Roan said. All eyes turned to him, filled with sudden hope. "They can't have gotten far." He spun to hurry out of the audience chamber. The crowd parted before him.
"Stop them now, before any harm can be done!" the king called after him.