Maeve woke to the shrill cries of Eric’s odd bracelet, and wondered how he and Christine could sleep through its infernal racket.   It was still dark outside, but there was enough dim light from Anvi’s banked fireplace to see Eric enough to shove him awake.  “Shut that damn thing up - I don’t want to wake Maria and Anvi!”  It was only a mild rebuke - she didn’t even understand how the odd bracelet worked or what it was, and didn’t think they would hear it either, but the odd, un-natural noise grated on her ears and she knew she and her unwanted charges were going to be having a very long day.

 

      Eric felt the shove, and blinked awake.  He had been dreaming - he had impressions of burning incense and chattering voices, of soft linen sheets and... and as he became more aware of the waking world, the remnants of his dream flitted away.  He didn’t mind - it was a dream he had experienced before, and knew he would have again.  Sometimes the dream felt like he was in a hospital - but other times, when he felt he could understand what the voices were saying, he had vague memories of fear, but nothing more.   He coughed quietly, and thumbed off his watch alarm.  “Better?” he said.

 

      “Much.  Wake your friend while I pack our things.  We have many miles to go before we rest, and every moment we stay here puts Anvi and Maria in more danger.”  Maeve turned away, and buckled on her sword, and began gathering supplies into the three packs.  “We’ll eat our morning meal on the road as we travel.”  Eric nodded, and shook Christine gently. 

 

      Christine started at his touch, and for a moment seemed somewhat disoriented.  Eric calmed her quietly and pointed at Maeve gathering supplies, his fingers to his lips to indicate silence.  She nodded.  “What time is it?” she asked Eric.

 

      “My watch says it’s about 4am - but that might not mean much here, since we don’t know how long their day is.  Or their years for that matter.  Or anything else.”  Eric tried to turn the comments into a joke, but they both knew they were in deep trouble, and the tone fell more than a little flat.  “Either way, we’d better pack our stuff, such as it is...”

 

      Christine nodded in understanding, and gathered her clothes, and packed them in the second rucksack, along with the supplies given to the three of them by Anvi and his wife.  Eric didn’t have much to add to the rucksack, not having replacement clothes.  “This may be a stupid question Maeve, but where are we going in such a hurry?”

 

      “Away from here, Christine.  The longer we’re here, the worse for Anvi and Maria.  And since you don’t know where anything is at the moment, anything else I say would be meaningless - so let’s leave it for the road.”  Maeve’s tone was short and abrupt, and both Christine and Eric could hear the frustration in it - so they held their piece. 

     

      Soon everything was packed, Maeve with one pack and the sword, and Christine and Eric with the other pack, each armed with a knife.  Maeve looked them over, and re-adjusted Christine’s belt and knife.  “Easier to grab if we get into a fight.”  She explained.  “This way you won’t cut your belt off trying to get the knife out.”  Eric figured they must look halfway capable, since Maeve nodded and made for the front door.  “Let’s be off people.  We’ve got a ways to go, no matter which way we walk.”

 

 

      The door opened with a scraping sound, as the doorjamb brushed ice and snow.  Outside snow was blowing in tiny flurries, and it was cold - but not anything like the bitter cold of the Void.   Sort of like early spring, thought Eric, as they left Anvi and Maria’s home.  It was pre-dawn, and there was ample light to see, with the light reflecting off the white cover of the snowy ground.  As Eric’s and Christine’s eyes made the adjustment to the greyish light, Maeve closed the door behind them. 

 

      Eric could see the small cottages around Anvi’s home for the first time, and stood staring.   Wooden walls and thatch roofing were what he noticed at first, followed by the complete lack of non-natural noises.   He listened... there were no cars, no planes, no radios and no televisions - just wind and the sounds of birds, the crunch of their boots in the snow, and the occasional crack of a frozen tree branch.  He listened with a quiet reverence until Christine shook him. 

     

      “You okay Eric?”  Christine asked.

 

      “I think so.”  He said, and then looked at Christine with a serious mien.   “I... I’m sorry for getting you mixed up in this.  I didn’t know who else to turn to - I panicked.” 

 

      Christine could hear how upset Eric’s voice was, and nodded.  “I can’t really say its okay.”  She said.  In a way she felt kind of complimented - when Eric needed help the most, she was the one he turned to.  “...But seeing as how I’m doing Angie such a big favour keeping you alive, I figure she’ll owe me for the rest of my natural life by the time we get back.”  She tried to put some humor she didn’t feel into her voice, but they both knew that if going back meant passing those... things... again, they might NOT be going back.

 

      Eric nodded, then turned to their guide.  “Where to, Maeve?”  He was surprised to hear how far his voice carried - it didn’t often do that back in Toronto, in the city.   Eric immediately hushed his voice and muttered a weak “Sorry.”

 

      “Hush - and follow me.  We’re safe for the moment, but we’ll be safer still away from Ogden town.”  The three travellers walked quickly through the snow into the nearby woods east of Ogden.  Small trails had been worn in the snow by others gathering wood the day before so the going was easier for a while, and soon they had left the trails behind and were making their own as they pushed northwards.  After they reached a suitably remote place, away from prying eyes of any townsfolk, Maeve halted the three of them.  (It’s time for something to eat - and I suppose a few questions as well.  I thank you for not asking them while we were at Anvi’s.”

 

      “No problem.”  Eric said.  “I think I know our first question: Where are we going?”

 

      “Easy.”  Said Maeve.  “I don’t quite know.  It depends on what I decide to do.”

 

      “Not much of an answer.”  Christine muttered.  “How about this one - why are you helping us?”

 

      “That one’s harder.” Maeve replied.  “I guess you could say I’m a investigator for my Church - they call me when they have to know what’s going on.  Valris, like I said is a Theocracy.  Priests and Priestesses, Clerists and Lecterns possess much of the power, although there is a hereditary nobility too.  I suppose it’s all rather confusing to outlanders like yourselves.”  She paused for a breath, and handed Eric and Christine a small loaf of bread about 8 inches long, and a long home-made sausage.  “Eat up - we won’t be stopping for several hours if possible...”

 

      Christine nodded and began to eat - the bread tasted sweet, like it was flavored with honey, yet it was coarse like a rye.  It was good - and the sausage, though a little fatty wasn’t bad either.  Eric polished his off in half the time it took Christine to eat hers, and he began again with the questions.

     

      “You didn’t answer Christine’s question; why are you helping us?”  Eric said, wiping the remnants of bun and sausage from his lips.

 

      “Well, it’s a long story.  I was sent by my Church - the Askelinian Church - to investigate the House of Broken Dreams because a large number of Dreamers - don’t ask, I’ll explain later - had been taken there without the public being aware of it.  The House of Broken Dreams is publicly a sanitarium - but as anyone knows, a Dreamer Isn’t insane - so why bring them here, of all places?  I was sent to find out why - but I got caught, and only managed to escape to find His Grace, Vargas Elm, summoning a Demon to find you I guess.  He had some girl - one of the Dreamers - on an altar as a sacrifice.”   The venom in her voice when Maeve spoke the priests name made her bitterness more than apparent.

 

       “So if you’re such a hot-shot professional, how did you get caught?” Eric asked. 

 

      Maeve flushed, embarrassed.  “I got cocky.  I assumed the Dreamers were normal, and that there wouldn’t be a serious effort made to protect them or the House of Broken Dreams.  I should have known better than to assume.  I made a mistake, and I got caught.  It won’t happen again.”   She straightened out and stood, brushing an errant hair the wind had blown into her face.  “As to why I’m helping you, let’s just say it’s in my church’s best interests to keep you both out of his clutches.”

 

      “So you’re some kind of religious zealot, then.  Very devout?”  Christine said carefully. 

 

      Maeve began to speak, then stopped as if what she was going to say died before it could leave her lips.  When she did speak, it was as if she was releasing something long pent up - an inner demon of some sort that could be finally told out loud perhaps simply because Eric and Christine were total strangers.  “I was devout, once... many years ago.  I made sacrifices to Askeline and Isundal, and their children, the Twins - I prayed, just as most Valdans do, until one day it wasn’t enough anymore.  An assassin tried to kill me, for my past work for the church, and instead killed my brother Nile...  And when I brought him to them, covered in his blood, begging for them to heal him, to bring his spirit back to his body, they turned their back on me and refused.  I lost my faith in both Gods and Goddesses that day, but I still serve my country and my church - it’s all I have left.”  Maeve seemed lost in her memory of that day for a moment.

 

      “Priests can heal the sick?”  Christine said in shock “Can they raise the dead too?”

 

      “Yes.”  Said Maeve.  “Although only the priestesses of Askeline can raise the dead, for her dark aspect holds the keys to the afterlife, and only she has the power to permit a dead soul to return to its body once slain.”

 

      “Holy Crap!”  Christine muttered, a bit stunned. 

 

      “What’s wrong, Christine?”  Eric asked.  “They’ve got magic - why not miracles too?”

 

      “Yeah... it’s just that I was having a Ten Commandments flashback and thinking... thinking we don’t know an awful lot about their Gods or Goddesses.  And that we should be careful until we do.”

 

      “Good point, Christine.” 

 

      Maeve looked at Eric and Christine.  “You speak as if the Gods of your world don’t heal their followers, or grant boons to their worshippers and bestow curses on their foes?”  She looked as if she couldn’t comprehend why they would worship such beings.

     

      “No, they don’t.” said Christine, sounding mildly offended at Maeve’s holier-than-thou tone.

 

      “But they used to, at least in legends.”  Said Eric.  “There was a time when it seemed like every country had its own gods - and our legends and stories tell of miracles done at God’s behest.  Over time - a few thousand years - most of the different Gods faded away, until most of the world worshipped maybe a handful of Gods and Spirits, and Miracles and magical healing was thought to be a myth.”

 

      “Then how do you know your Gods are real?”

 

      Christine said “Most of us don’t know.  Some of us accept God - or Goddess, depending on your faith - as being real through faith alone...  Others, who believe in something divine, but don’t claim to know what form he or she takes we call Agnostics.  Those that don’t believe in anything we call Atheists.”

 

      Maeve shook her head in wonder and confusion.  “I daresay I don’t understand your world much better than when we began this conversation - but then I suppose you feel the same way about here.  Let’s save any further discussion until we’ve put some more miles behind us.”

 

      “Where are we going, then?”  Eric asked.  “You’re asking us to trust you - on the basis that you work for a church whose values and beliefs we know nothing about.  I’d like to know a little more about this Askelinian church before I go too much farther, if that’s all right...  And maybe why they’re so hot to break up this Bishop’s plans with Dreamers, whatever they are.”

 

      “Urg!  You ask too many questions - questions that don’t have simple answers.”  She thought a moment.  “If I promise to tell you of the Church, and the Magnate, and the Dreamers while we walk, will you follow me now?”

 

      Eric looked at Christine and shrugged.  “Beats standing around and arguing.  What do you think, Chrissy?”

 

      “I guess.  I’m getting pretty cold just standing here.  Just fill us in, Maeve - we’re totally in the dark here, and everything you tell us could mean the difference between us being useful or dead weight - or us living or dying.”

 

      “Fair enough.”  Maeve said, re-evaluating the brown haired Christine.  She was smarter than she appeared - and seemed to read people well enough to realize Maeve might not be as altruistic as she wanted to appear.  She started hiking, and kept the three of them going at a good pace for almost an hour before speaking...

 

 

      “Let’s start with the Church.  Just so you know, I’m only going into the basics - there are songs and stories that take days to explain all the roles the Gods and Goddesses of Mercia fill, so now I’ll speak only of Askeline and Isundal.   Askeline is also known as Lady Moon, and has three aspects - one for each of our moons.  Seleni is the Maiden, the warrior and a symbol of rebirth and renewal.  Thuria is the Mother, the bringer of life and the symbol of love and unity that draws a family together.   Then Doviar, the Crone, is the bringer of wisdom, and symbolizes that death comes to all things in their time - even Gods.   Her consort is Isundal, also known as The Skyfather - and to others as Lord-Skyblind.  He embodies the Sun and fire, air and the sky.  He is wise, and stern - but loving and protective.  His eyes watch over the flock by day, and his consort’s cool lights guide us in the night, giving us both beacons to find our way, but also a reminder that we are not alone in the dark.  They have two children also, named Feana and Hathor, known as The Twins.  Together, this composes the Divine Familia.  The people of Valris follow Askeline and her family because it was her grace and divine strength that allowed us to escape the yoke of slavery in the deserts of Hserin and find our freedom.  That was three and a half thousand years ago, and we as a people have never forgotten.”

 

      Eric only half listened as Maeve explained her faith to him and Christine - he was distracted by something else... or rather, the lack of something.   Eric paused, unsure of what exactly was wrong.   Christine and Maeve noticed him falling behind, but their call to him went ignored.   It’s my head!  He thought.  There aren’t any voices!  Why?   Eric couldn’t figure it out – he’d been off his meds for at least 24 hours - probably more - and he sure hadn’t been totally stabilized before all hell broke loose in the Neilson Clinic.  How?  Even during those times he’d been fully stabilized with anti-psychotics, he’d heard the voices, muttering in the back of his head, partially unheard - but never absent for very long.  Now they were gone - totally.  As odd as that seemed, it scared him.

 

      For years the voices had been a constant in his life - either on or off his medication, they had always been there.  Yeah, they were malevolent and yeah, they scared him silly - but he was never alone, and his mind was never ‘quiet’ - there was always something buzzing around in there, from veiled threats to nasty insinuations, to seductive promises of peace if he did something foolish.   Now, it seemed as if one of the pillars of his core self - even a flawed and malevolent pillar as the voices were, was suddenly missing, and Eric was thrown off balance by it.  It felt like he was in a house with an unstable foundation, and that the landscape of his mind that he knew would be forever changed.  What was worse was he didn’t know if he was happy they were gone, if he was scared it was a trick and they would return without warning, or if he would prefer them to be there, because it was what he was used to... or maybe a bit of all three.  That’s why it scared him.

 

      “Eric?” Christine said, touching her hand to his shoulder gently.  “You Okay?”  He jumped a little, not because he was hearing things, but because he had been so lost in self examination he didn’t realize his friend had approached.

 

      “Um... yeah.  Uh... Christine, how long does it take for the meds I’m on to get out of a persons system?  I mean assuming I was on them for maybe three days, tops?”   Eric fidgeted, worried, although he doubted Christine would know why he was worried.

 

      “I’m not sure - maybe a day or two... Oh no!”  Christine’s worried expression changed to near panic, and Eric could see Christine’s face echo her feelings.  Eric shared them, but for a different reason.   “Are the voices bothering you?”

 

      “No.”

     

      “Good... I know you don’t like talking about them, it’s just that with what you said I thought you were about to fall down and have a panic attack or something.”

 

      “It’s more than that.”  Eric said, struggling to figure how to explain what was bothering him.

 

      “What’s the hold up?”  Maeve called out, seeing her two charges lagging behind.  She saw Eric and Christine, and Eric’s worried face, and put the pieces together.   “Is Eric all right?  You were living at a Sanatorium, right?  Is he right in the head?” she asked Christine.  She was actually surprised Eric had managed to hold out this long without aid.

 

      “I was.” Said Eric.  “But I’m okay.  I don’t know how to explain it, but I can’t hear the voices anymore... Nothing - like they were never there.”

     

      “That’s great!”  Christine said.

 

      “Yes and no.  Even with the drugs, the voices never went away, not totally - not like now.  It’s like I felt before I got ill, Christine - before Mom.”  Eric’s voice cracked a little when he mentioned his mother.  “It’s wrong - insanity just doesn’t go away for no reason Christine!   I should be happy - I feel like I’m cured - like a weight on my soul is gone - but all I can feel is dread, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

 

      Maeve didn’t know what to say... and neither did Christine.  Eric had been diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia over five years ago - and he was right; schizophrenia doesn’t just ‘go away’.   “Maybe it had something to do with us being brought here - or going through that place... the Void?” said Christine.  “Maybe you were cured?”

 

      “I don’t know.”  Eric said, the tension mounting inside him.  Before he came here, before the night of the slaughter, he would have been reduced to a gibbering wreck from the stress he felt, and what had happened to him.  Now, he just felt anxious.  “I don’t want to talk about it now - I just thought you both should know.  Let’s move on in case I am dreaming and it’s only temporary, okay?”

 

      Christine looked at Eric, and nodded.  “Sure.”

 

      “If you are able, moving on would be good.” Maeve added.  “We’ve only covered five or so miles, and my contact in this area is still at least 10 miles from here.  It will be several hours march to reach him, assuming we can find his camp easily, which is assuming a lot.”

 

      “Your friend have a name?”  Eric asked dryly.

 

      “Kai Rodin - He’s a hunter and tracker, and a damn good warrior.  He followed the trail of the Dreamers to the House of Broken Dreams - and then I was called to look into it from here.  He’s my guide back through the wilds of Valris, so I get home alive and healthy - and now you two as well.”  Maeve shook her head.  “I absolutely know he’ll have NO idea what to make of either of you.”  Maeve motioned for them to go, so they began hiking once more. 

 

      As they hiked in silence, Christine and Eric began to realize just how different this place was - both physically and in other ways...  Of course, it was like being in winter in a temperate climate - but it was more than that.  He could smell the cleanliness in the air - it was sweet and pure - like nothing they ever breathed before.   The trees seemed to bear a tint of blue in their bark, like some pine and spruce needles - but different, and the sky seemed a shade off of what they were used to...  There was no light or sound pollution, no smog beyond that made by common wood smoke.  It seemed unreal - like a time before time - like too few places on Earth truly remained.  To Eric, it felt more like home than home did.

 

      About an hour passed before anyone spoke - this time it was Maeve who broke the silence.  “Hold up here for a moment.  It looks like you two could use a rest.”

 

      She wasn’t wrong - Christine was tired, and the leather boots were chafing in a horrible way - she was sure she was going to have at least one blister come evening, and Eric was breathing hard.  He was able enough - life on Toronto’s streets kept him able enough to run if needs be - but he was far from fit - and his extra weight from dumpster-diving gave him an extra load to carry that neither woman had to contend with. 

 

 

      While Christine and Eric rested, Maeve sipped at her water-skin, and then began speaking.  “You both asked me before about the Dreamers - and why I was at the House of Broken Dreams.  They sort of tie in together, so forgive me if this gets complicated.    Dreamers are children in that in-between stage, where they are older than children, yet not quite adults - who fall asleep one day and never wake up, ever again.  They remain alive - as long as they are cared for they drink if liquids are provided, and even eat if food is carefully given - but they don’t respond to sound or speech, or touch.  They simply fall asleep, and never wake.”

 

      “That’s horrible!”  Christine said.  “Is there no cure?  Even with magic?” 

 

      “None that anyone has ever been able to find.  We don’t even know why they fall ill - why some children are susceptible, and others are not.   Can you imagine the horror of being a mother or father, with a healthy, vibrant son or daughter, full of life and all its possibilities - and then the next day your child sleeps - and you know he or she will never wake.”  Maeve shook her head in horror, to clear from her head the memories of what she had seen.  “Imagine now that you are the parent of this young adult - to what length would you go to revive them?  Would you pinch them?  Slap them?  Shake them?  What if that didn’t work?  Maybe a small cut - or a small burn?  I have seen parents so desperate to have their children wake and return to them that they performed actions that might make a torturer shy away - all from Love.”

 

      “Oh my God.”  Eric muttered the useless oath as he tried to comprehend the odd illness.

 

      “So what happens to the Dreamers, then?”  Christine asked.  “Do their families send them to places like this House of Broken Dreams?”

 

      “Yes and no.  In Valris, we often place such children in the care of Clerists trained to deal with such things, in temples.  At times, their families would visit, but eventually they pass away - some quickly, but most living in dreams until sometime between their twenty-fifth and thirtieth birthday.  In the far north here, it seems they follow the Madragan tradition of sending their dreamers to places like the House of Broken Dreams - Asylums and Madhouses where their families can forget their pain by forgetting their child.  Other lands have other customs - but in every land I have travelled, every place has one similar custom: if a child that has the talent to be a Mage becomes a dreamer, he or she must be put to death.”

 

      “In God’s name why?”  Asked Christine.  “Haven’t they gone through enough?”

                             

      Maeve sighed, exasperated.  “Because, Christine, a Mage has the power to change the world around him or her - just by desiring to do so.  A dreamer cannot tell Dream from Reality - and a Mageborn dreamer who dreamt of say a campfire, might ignite a fire that would burn an entire house down.  And a Mageborn Dreamer who had a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from - a nightmare that never, ever ended - but could inflict that nightmare on the waking world - what then?  They are killed to protect the rest of us.  Whether it seems a harsh punishment or a gentle mercy depends on the circumstances of where you are when it happens.”  She looked at Christine, with mixed anger and melancholy.  “All the Dreamers at the House of Broken Dreams are Mageborn - and that is where the Priest Vargas comes in.”

 

      “Vargas Elm is to the public an upstanding Priest of Isundal - but he revealed to me when he summoned the demon to kill Eric and I, that he was a wearer of the Black Ring - an order of fanatic worshippers of Hrask, the God of Dragons and Magic.  Not only is he a priest, capable of wielding Hrask’s unholy powers, but he is also a highly skilled sorcerer.   Even if he couldn’t trump up charges to have us arrested - which he could - we would be in dire straits, because virtually any citizen would do whatever he asked, in the name of the Faith, not knowing they served his evil purposes.  Our only protection at this point is that he may not suspect we still live, or know we are here, in Mercia.”

 

 

      “Why me?” Eric asked.  “You said he was looking for a bridge or anchor, and there was some girl involved?  What’s going on?”  It felt weird to Eric, being so calm in what was certainly a screwed up situation.

 

      “I don’t know, Eric.  He seemed to think that girl shared some sort of link with you - enough for the Demon to find you through the Void.  He must also have thought you were important enough to send the Demon after...  I don’t know if that means anything - but to me it means we have to keep you away from him, by any means possible.  Whatever is going on in the House of Broken Dreams, it involves unholy magic and blasphemy, at the least - and possibly worse.”

 

      “So now what?”  Eric asked.

 

      “I was hoping to ask Kai his opinion.  Our options are simple.  The first is he and I steal into the House of Broken Dreams and kill every last Dreamer while the staff of the place sleeps - both as a mercy, and to stop whatever plot Vargas and his lapdogs are planning - and then we all retreat South to Wethom and then Arathel and hope we outrun Vargas’s men until we can consult with wiser heads than mine - like the Council of Bishops in Arathel.   Our second option is we simply flee, and pray to the Gods that Vargas cannot duplicate his feat like with Eric, or that he doesn’t find what he seeks.  I don’t put much faith in prayers, at the moment.”

 

      “What do you think will happen, then?”  Christine asked, in a whisper.  “Will he try to catch us all?”

 

      “No - if he catches us, he’ll simply kill Kai and I - you two he’d probably keep.  Eric for the obvious reason that he believes Eric has something he wants - and you because you would be leverage to coerce Eric to do as he says.   You’d probably wish he hadn’t caught you, if it comes to that.”

 

      “So, do you know why he wants Eric?” 

 

      “Yes and No.”  Maeve answered.  “At the moment all I have are questions, which is a position I hate to be in.  He’s looking for a goddess that left Mercia before we began to record time – Hrask’s mate, Tiamat.  All I know for sure is that Eric showed unusual potential for sorcery last night, by bringing us here.  In fact, I’ve never even heard of someone who could do what he did once, let alone twice.  I’m a sorcerer of sorts myself, and from everything I’ve ever heard, learning to travel the Void is the most foolish and dangerous thing you can do, aside from summoning Demons.”

 

      “Um...  I think I’ve heard of Tiamat.”  Eric said.  “She was a Babylonian goddess that was killed by Marduk, the god of the city.  Half her body became the heavens, and half her body became the Earth.”

 

      “How the hell did you know that?”  Christine asked.  

 

      “Um... The History Channel?  I was really into world mythology when I was ... before I got sick.”  Eric didn’t really know what else to say.   Eric’s wristwatch declared it was noon - although the real time looked like late morning.  The three had nothing else to say for the moment, and Eric stopped his watch from beeping.  Christine took a slug of water, and Eric a long draught - and then they capped the water bottle and moved on.

 

 

*          *          *

 

      Vargas Elm woke to feel intense pain.  As he struggled to get his senses about himself, soothing hands with cool cloths dabbed his forehead.  He opened his eyes to see Lady Awai, looking as if she had aged thirty years overnight, humming a small chant and watching him with care.   Lady Awai was the High Priestess of Lady Delirium... she was also his lover.   He was in his chamber in the House of Broken Dreams - someone must have found him, and brought him here, he realized.

 

      “Are you well, Your Grace... Vargas?”  Lady Awai’s voice was tinged with care as well as worry.  In the several weeks he had been here, supervising their special project, she and he had grown intimate, and close.  He felt her hands put down the cloth, and one caress his cheek out of concern.

 

      He felt tired, old and weak.  “Mirror... I need a mirror.”   As he spoke, Vargas pushed the heavy duvet off himself, and struggled weakly to a sitting position.   His vision swam and blurred as if he was dizzy, and the room seemed to swim as he regained his bearings.  As he calmed his senses, Awai returned to his side with a silvered hand mirror, and a goblet of what looked to be wine.  She set the wine down on the table next to the bed, and helped steady Vargas as he took the mirror from her hand.

 

      He looked into the mirror and was shocked to see an old man looking back at him.  Vargas gasped in shock as Lady Awai placed her arm around him for strength.  The day before he had looked a man of about thirty years, with thick black hair and a sculpted mustache, strong features and a vibrancy that lingered about him - an aura of power.  In the mirror was a man of fifty years or more, with wispy white hair, what remained of it.  The image had watery blue eyes that were slowly giving in to the aging he had suffered from the Demon feeding from him - and the aura of power, well it was almost gone, like so much smoke in the wind.   The demon took much, Vargas thought with regret.  Much that will take years to recover.

 

      Mistress Awai hugged him as Vargas recovered from his shock.  “The demon fed on us both, my love - but it left us alive... and while you are alive, there is a chance that all that was taken from us can be regained.”   She spoke the truth - if She and Vargas were successful, enjoying the fruits of eternal youth would be but one of their rewards.   He nodded, and hugged her close as well, and some time passed as the two sat there silently, looking in the hand-mirror at what had become of them, Ringbearer and Priestess. 

           

      As Mistress Awai tried to salve what she thought was his broken ego, Vargas’s mind whirled over the Demon’s last words to him, before he blacked out.   The demon had failed to find the link - because when it arrived to seize the Anchor, the demon’s target left - somehow fleeing his world into the Void... which meant he might still be alive!   Worried thoughts battered Vargas as he pondered the implications.  To flee into the Void meant the young man must have significant magical power - and perhaps training in using that power.   It also meant he was probably alive, somewhere - but it would be virtually impossible to track him... unless his link with the Valdan dreamer was still active, still unbroken.   I can still find him!   Vargas tried to stand, and although he was weaker, and more aged than before, he was neither frail nor withered with age yet.  

 

      “Awai - we can still turn this setback into a victory.  Fetch the Valdan girl we used in the ritual last night - she is the key to tracking the man who holds the secrets we need.”  Vargas moved over to a table where a pitcher of water and a towel lay, to clean himself from the evening before.   “I need to Delve her, and the sooner I begin, the sooner the plans of my Order - and your Mistress can be accomplished.”

 

 

      Mistress Awai rose from the bed, a look of predatory anticipation in her eyes, along with what looked like admiration for the Bishop, for his fortitude, for his conviction to succeed, even though success would mean the destruction their world.  She admired his madness - in it she saw the mirror to her own insanity, and together who knew what they could accomplish?   “It will be done, my love.”  She left the chamber, calling out orders for food and drink to be brought to the heretical priest, and then went in search of the Valdan girl they had used the night before. 

 

      As Awai left the room barking orders, Vargas wondered what would become of them both - now both prematurely aged, both she and he might tire of each other, for gods knew their attraction had been as much a physical one as it had been an attraction to each others mutual power.   It would be difficult, when and if it came time to decide, but he knew he could and would make that decision when it was needed.  He served his Order first and foremost, body and soul.  Only after that consideration was met, could he make his own choices.

 

      An hour later, fed and much refreshed, Vargas and Mistress Awai entered the small room off the dormitory where the mageborn dreamers were kept.   The Valdan girl - young woman would be more accurate - was on a small bed, dressed in a white shift, and covered with a grey wool blanket.  The only indication she was alive was her shallow breathing, and the occasional soft murmur of speech that would escape her lips.   Mistress Awai turned and locked the door to the small chamber, and pulled the drapes.  Then she and the Hserinyar sat in carved wooden chairs next to the Dreamer(s bed. 

     

      They joined hands, and while Awai calmed the Dreamer with her magics and the power of her Goddess, Vargas entered his Nairya and Delved into the girls mind.   Normally, delving into the mind of a mageborn dreamer was impossible at worst and dangerous at best, but after last night this seemed a trivial risk indeed.   He felt his consciousness build within her empty mind - it was if the tableau of her mind had been wiped clean, leaving a blank slate.  It was odd seeing a mind so devoid of anything except instinct.   “Awai, I’m in, and ready to begin the search.”

 

      “Excellent my love.  Her mind is calm for the moment, but I think you should hurry - with the other Dreamers nearby, my control over her may last only a short time.”  

 

      He nodded to himself, and dove deeper into the empty spaces of her mind...expanding his senses into hers until he began to sense what she did... from the smell of the room, to the warmth and scratchiness of the wool blanket.  Still, this wasn’t what he searched for - he needed to go deeper.  “I need to go deeper, Awai - it may take some time.”  He vaguely heard her answer, and continued his search.  The search was tedious, and time consuming, but eventually he found a tiny thread - a connection to another mind, deep within the core of her being.   He examined the thread slowly - the link between this Dreamer and her Anchor.  By the Twelve Divines! He thought to himself.  The link between this Dreamer and her Anchor was like iron - it was strong - very strong, so much so that it may be only the death of one of them would sever it. 

 

      “Your Grace!”  He heard distantly.  “Vargas!  Hear me!  The Dreamers are beginning to break free - you must hurry or I may not be able to keep the way open!”   Damn!  He thought.  I didn’t even notice it either.  You’re getting weak, old man - and stupid.  HURRY!   He focussed his power on the link between the two and suddenly he had it...  he saw Maeve, the spy talking to whomever the Anchor was... and he saw a river in a forest - a river he and Mistress Awai had travelled more than once in summer days.  He pulled himself from the girls mind - she was babbling in some strange tongue he couldn’t recognize - the one she usually babbled in from Mistress Awai’s reactions to her chatter. 

 

      “Did you find anything, my love?”

 

 

      “Yes - they are near the Laneor River, south and west of the House of Broken Dreams - both the Anchor and the Askelinian spy, Maeve!”   Vargas strode to the door, and hurled it open, its lock falling open even before he touched it.  As the Hserinyar priest moved into the hall, he called out with new strength.  They were close!  By the twelve, they were close and they have come here!   “Send word to my riders!” he commanded, staff of the house scattering before him.  “I want those people captured and brought here by nightfall tomorrow or heads will roll!”

 

      Mistress Awai followed him into the hall.  “Milord, I will have my acolytes begin searching the woods around the House - and then, when your riders have received word from you?”

 

      “They will hunt them down like dogs, and bring them here to me - no, to us.”   The two clasped hands, and laughed, their mirth lifting itself into the noonday sky.  Vargas laughed again.  Finally, after fifteen years of serving his Order, after the disaster of last night with the Demon, something was finally going right - so right that the world would soon shake at the mention of their name.  Vargas Elm and Awai Amandeia would be the man and woman who returned Lost Tiamat to her mate, the great wyrm god Hrask.   Whether they would gain physical immortality or not, his name - and hers - would resound in the annals of history and legend from now until eternity.  It was a pleasant madness, and he shared it with Mistress Awai, who savoured its taste, mixing it with her own.

 

*          *          *

 

      Eric wasn’t sure what direction they were hiking now - Maeve claimed it was north-west - although he supposed it didn’t really matter when you don’t know where you are, or where you’re going. They had been walking steadily for what his watch said had been three more hours, and he was tired, cold, and more than a little scared.   Christine didn’t look much better... She was dressed in local clothes, which made her look like an escapee from a Renaissance Fair, but he supposed that was normal and what HE was wearing would look odd here.  I guess I’d better get used to it... There’s no way to tell how long we’ll have to be here.

 

      Eric tried to keep hiking and not thinking about what had happened, until the shock of it all could wear off.  They had spent the morning hiking north along a river through various small forests Maeve insisted on calling ‘thickets’, and Christine looked like she might be limping - the boots she was wearing were probably bothering her.   Suddenly, he slipped in the snow and tripped, falling against one of the not-pine’s bark and scratching his hand.   “Ouch!  Crap!”  He called, and paused while sucking the small scratches.

 

      Maeve was there in an instant.  “What’s wrong - are you alright?”  Then, she took note of Eric’s hand, and looked annoyed.  “Be careful, Eric - if we’re not careful, an outburst like that could get us all captured, if the Bishop has men searching these woods.”

 

      “Well, if we’re all going to pick on Eric for a minute...” began Christine, as she limped her way up to Eric and Maeve.  “...do you mind if I have a quick rest to check my feet?  I think I have seven different kinds of blisters by now, and I can barely walk.”

 

      Eric shrugged and said humorously “Thanks Traitor!”

 

      Christine’s “You’re welcome.” was drowned out by Maeve’s angry hiss.  “You think this is a joke?  Do either of you have ANY idea of what will happen to all of us if we are caught?  I will be killed - and you, you will both pray for death, and thank it when it comes.   That is the kind of people we are running from - do you understand?”

 

 

      Christine stood there a moment, taking the verbal lashing until something gave and she exploded.   “Yeah we understand!  We understand that some magical freak from your world sent a Demon to our world to either kill or kidnap Eric and we both ended up here by bad luck.  I understand that you say these people are evil, and they want to kill us - but you know what?  You can only live with fearing death for so long - and Eric and I are just about out of adrenaline and fear for the moment.  We’re totally alone here except for you, and we have no idea what’s going to happen to us or if we’re ever going to get back home, so cut us some fucking slack, okay?”

 

      Maeve looked at Christine - and from the expression on her face it was obvious Maeve hadn’t expected Christine to have that much fire in her.  About bloody time people started taking me seriously here, thought Christine.  “I’m resting for a minute, Eric’s staying with me, and if you want to take Eric to your camp, you’ll have to wait too.”

 

      Maeve nodded slowly... It seemed Christine, who she had nicknamed The scared rabbit was more a tiny bobcat - timid at first, but all claws and teeth once she got her feet under her.  “Alright then, Christine.  We’ll take a rest - and I’ll check your feet for blisters - you have been having trouble... but I want a few things in return.”  Maeve removed her pack and came over to examine Christine’s feet.

 

      “Such as?”  Christine asked.

 

      “I want us to travel as swiftly as we can, as quietly as we can.  I don’t want you to leave any signs we’ve been here unless we have no choice, and if we encounter anyone, I want you to both follow my lead or we could all end up dead.” 

 

      Christine thought on that; Maeve might a Class-A Bitch, but she wasn’t stupid either, and Christine had to admit she knew the world they were in, and potentially how to bring them to some form of safety.  And that was a lot.   “Alright.”  She said. “I’ll stop freaking out, and we’ll do as you ask - just give us some time to adjust.  We come from a world that is extremely different to yours, and Eric and I are both having a lot of problems adjusting.  I know we don’t have tons of time to adjust in, but we need what we have - or the next time something outside our experience happens, we’ll probably both freak out and be generally useless to you and ourselves.”

 

      Maeve looked at both her and Eric.  “Fair enough.  Let’s have a look at those feet.”   She knelt in the snow, and helped pull off Christine’s boots.  It didn’t take a doctor to see her blisters had burst, and some were fairly bad.   “Your feet are pretty bad - I need to apply some ointment to them, or by tomorrow morning you won’t be able to walk on them.”  After digging in her pack a moment, she found what she was looking for - a small stone jar about 3 inches across and 2 inches high.

 

      Maeve unscrewed the lid of the jar as Christine watched, and showed her a light green ointment, which she dabbed her fingers into and began slathering on Christine’s feet.   The ointment wasn’t the green of an infected wound, but more of what Christine would expect of lime Jell-o.  It even smelled kind of minty, and when it touched her skin she felt the hot pain of the blisters vanish in a cool sensation that kind of tingled.  It’s like mouthwash for your feet, she thought, and then grinned at the silliness of the comparison.   Still, her feet felt better, and Maeve told her to get her socks and boots back on.

 

      “What is that stuff?”  Asked Eric, who was watching over Maeve’s shoulder.

 

 

      “It’s a balm made of Wensin root and Wild Aloe.  Healers use it to promote healing - it prevents infection and helps wounds heal faster than normal.”  She began packing the balm away, then stopped and gave the jar to Christine.  “Since your feet are going to be sore until you break in those boots, you’ll need this every night when we stop, and maybe at noon when we break for lunch too, to keep your feet in good shape.”  Maeve tried to smile - and sort of succeeded.  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a hardcase - I’m just trying to keep us all alive here.”

 

      Christine tried to smile at Maeve’s attempt at peace-making, and the two chuckled as Maeve helped Christine up off the ground.   She took a few steps and her face changed from expecting pain to surprised.  “You know Eric, if Dr. Scholls ever gets a hold of this Wensin root balm, they’ll make millions.”

 

      Eric laughed out loud - then quickly hushed himself. “Sorry Maeve!  It was too funny to hold in - it won’t happen again.”   Then he smirked.  “...Well it probably will, but I’ll try to keep it down in the future.”

 

      “Alright, enough.”  Maeve said, chuckling.  “We need to get moving.”  She shouldered her pack, and pointed north west.  “We need at least another three hours in this direction before we rest again - and hopefully we’ll find Kai’s camp before nightfall.”   Secretly Maeve was pleased... She expected Eric to have given up and collapsed an hour ago, he was so overweight and out of shape - and expected Christine to have a hissy fit saying she couldn’t go any further...  The fact that both were willing to keep going either meant they had more backbone than she had given them credit for, or that they knew they were in too much danger to argue.  Right now she wasn’t sure which, but was edging towards the former rather than the latter.

 

      Maeve started hiking again, leading the way for Eric and Christine through the light snow.  Even though they left shallow footprints in the partially frozen ground, the winds were blowing drifts across their trail almost as fast as it was made - following them would be difficult at best.  

 

*          *          *

 

      Several hours later, two men in suits of studded leather armour, leading fine Valdan Wolfhounds hauled in their charges with one hand, and clutched their spears in the other as their dogs bayed to the rapidly approaching dusk.  Three men on horses who followed the hounds and their masters rode up behind them and stopped.  All three men wore chainmail armor, and had a shield and tabard decorated in the colors of Isundal, yellow and red.  Each had a sword and sturdy dagger strapped to their belts, and crossbows were dangling from their saddlehorns.  

 

      “Any word on the fugitives, Huntsman?”  Said their leader, his mailed hand rising as he called the mounted men to a halt.   Sir Andred, the leader of this particular hunting party had been in the saddle all day at the behest of His Grace, the Bishop of Ogden, and was eager to be the one whose band caught these fugitives...  In addition to the reward the Bishop offered, he was sure to receive a promotion - lands and perhaps a high rank in the army, if he succeeded - and that was worth more to him in the long run than reward money - although that would be nice too.

 

      “We lost their trail a few times, Sir.”  One of the huntsmen said.  “But I think the dogs have caught their scent now.  They tried to hide their trail, but it’s obvious at least some of them have no idea how to be stealthy at all.”   The two huntsmen pointed to a small snowdrift which looked like any other of the snowdrifts they had passed today, except the dogs scented something about it and bayed wildly.  “Here - I think they’ve been here.”   The huntsman brushed some snow away from the bushes and a nearby tree, and his hand came away with red on it - frozen blood.  

 

      Sir Andred smiled in anticipation.  “Good - continue the hunt.”  He and his men waited for the hounds, and followed patiently.  They could cover more ground than men and women on foot, and they would require rest sooner rather than later.  He could afford to wait a little bit longer - but hopefully before the night was out, this hunt would be over.