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In a place of emptiness, a place where there is little to see even if mortal eyes could view it, a spirit passes. Darkness and points of light comprise her universe, shifting shadows and whispering breezes of an unfelt wind. While the world slept, Mare Procellarum traveled the flickering gossamer strands of imagination, hopes, and fears in the dream realms. Though ephemeral, her body held a vaguely equine shape, nearly invisible legs swiftly covering nonexistent ground as a ghostly mane and tail waved in her wake. Both beautiful and elusive, she passed through the whole of the multiverse every night, making her rounds. But hers had been a lonely existence, shepherding and delivering the dreams of beings that rarely appreciated the effort. There was never a thank you or even acknowledgement of her work. Many were more likely to blame their dreams on a bit of bad cheese. So she had begun seeding the dreams with thoughts of her own. She spoke to dreamers that appealed to her nature and shared in both their joys and sorrows. Until the day she was found out.
She was sharing a dream of romance imagined by a young female. The scene shook suddenly, as though in a picture frame that was shaken, and then froze. There was the sound of heavy, leaden hoof beats and the feeling of a powerful presence approaching. The fearful mare briefly considered fleeing, though she knew it would be futile. But when she finally saw the Overseer, her courage drained from her heart and she knew that there was nowhere she could go to escape his wrath. She was taken back to the Dreaming Halls where the Dream Master reprimanded her, reminding the errant mare of the duty and trust given to her kind. She was placed on daytime duty, only to be allowed to carry minor daydreams and restricted from further meddling in the affairs of those outside her own realm. Now, what had once been joyful flight was just short hops, a carefree giving was now a chore. But she did not bemoan her fate. Her world was the dream and she could not help but feel that the Dream Master had been right in his decision. Yet still, she cherished the memory of the moments she had spent, learning the lives, hopes, and reality of those she once brought dreams to.
But it was not to be forever. One day she brought a daydream to an unusual young human. His mind churned with images and dreams even while he was awake. She could see that they were of his own making and not products of the dream realm and she wondered why she had been sent with another. She moved closer intrigued and was suddenly shocked to find herself being pulled into one of his dreams. She spun sharply and turned to flee, fearful of what would be done to her if the Overseer heard of this breaking of the rules once again. But it was already too late. She found herself standing in a green field among softly rolling hills, with blue skies overhead and birds chirping happily in the nearby trees. The dream had engulfed her and the only way out was to experience it to its conclusion or ask the dreamer to end it voluntarily, the later being something she could not risk. She began looking for a place to sit out whatever remained of the fantasy that this mortal had dreamt up; hopefully it would not be too gruesome or long. “Hello,” said a mild voice, “I know I didn’t dream of you, what is your name? And if I may ask, how did you get into my daydream?” She froze, not moving a muscle, afraid of betraying herself. How did he find her so quickly? And why was he talking to her instead of enjoying his dream? “I know you are not mine, so playing a statue won’t work,” the young man said, “I promise I will do nothing to harm you, I merely wish to know why you are here and if you need help. I will leave you alone if you wish it of course.” She continued to say nothing and held her pose until; with a sigh, he turned and walked away toward a fortress of some kind in the distance before vanishing.
Procellarum relaxed slightly. She could hear the sounds of what could only be a great battle coming from the distant fortification. <Just a normal human male,> she thought, <Nothing but fighting and glory.> She moved to a nearby tree and lay down, folding her legs underneath her body. He would undoubtedly be done with his little war soon and she could go on her way, hopefully without anyone noticing. As the hours passed she began to notice the simple beauty of the dreamscape. Why was there so much detail so far from the main dream, and why such a peaceful setting? It didn’t seem to serve any purpose for a martially motivated dream. She also noticed how much time was passing. Why was she still here, how long could it take to finish one battle? The sounds that she had heard from the fortress had long since ceased but the dream had not faded, indicating that it was still active. <Is he gloating over the bodies?> she wondered. Eventually, her curiosity compelled her to stand and head for the fortress herself. She needed to find a way out soon before HE came looking for her.
It took some time to reach the fort on foot but it seemed safer than revealing her abilities just yet. On the way she expected to see the leftover carnage of the battle. However, oddly, she did not smell the smoke from fires, no moans of the dying reached her ears, and the wreckage of broken siege engines and forgotten weapons were strangely absent. What kind of battlefield was this? But as she approached the castle she saw that there was indeed damage done to the formidable structure. There were great cracks, running through the stonework, as though the walls had been hit with a tremendous hammer blow. Pieces of the ramparts were missing and both the chains that used to hold the drawbridge and the portcullis itself were melted and broken apart. <He must be imagining himself a great wizard then,> she thought. But that still didn’t explain the lack of bodies and absence of fires, especially considering the forces used here at the entrance. She moved on into the fortress carefully. If he thought he was a powerful magic user he might try using it on her and she would be forced to show what she truly was. It would be better to attempt to remain unnoticed, despite the earlier awkwardness. As she came closer to the central square of the fortress however she finally began to hear the sound of voices, some raised in anger. One voice called for the death of ‘The Evil Sorcerer’, and though she felt it was a bad idea she hurried forward to see for herself what was happening. The young man knelt at the center of the square alone. Dressed in flowing green robes and with a staff at his side, he appeared an exemplary wizard. In front of him, arranged by careful rows were at least two score wounded soldiers in livery that bore a horned symbol. She waited, expecting to watch him destroy the figments with his imaginary magic, and was therefore surprised to see a green glow spread across the assembled injured which seemed to erase their injuries. <Why heal them? Not only are they his enemies, but they are not real.> Most of the men grabbed for their weapons even as they were made well, and several rushed him, murder in their eyes. Instead of blasting them back as the mare was still expecting, the young man flew up into the air and headed for the main tower, soldiers running in underneath his wake.
Procellarum followed at a more moderate pace, unsure what to make of the dreamers actions. <He treats the dream as if it were reality and his actions mattered.> Even though it was her reality, she knew well enough that most beings not of the dream realm considered it to not be real at all. He was different, but how and why? Her instincts warred with her desires, but in the end it was a foregone conclusion. She reached the tower moments behind the soldiers who were now milling about at the base. The reason why was readily apparent. There were no doors or windows in the entire one-hundred sixty foot height of the outside wall. There was no other way she was going to learn the truth of the matter so she decided to throw caution to the winds. It was too late to hide anyway and she desperately wished to know what was happening. As she increased her speed to a trot, the mare allowed her hooves to lose contact with the ground. In no time she was trotting in a large circle on a seemingly gentle slope in midair that led to the top of the tower. The soldiers pointed and shouted. A couple with bows tried to shoot at her, but she allowed the arrows to pass through her suddenly insubstantial body. <In for a penny, in for a pound.> she thought, a witticism from humans that she used to enjoy.
The top of the tower was empty when she arrived, but a large door opened to the interior of the structure. With her full powers now available to her there was nothing in this dreamworld that could hurt her, yet she hesitated before that dark portal. This dreamer was unusual enough that she did not wish to take chances. She explored ahead, allowing her senses to pass through the darkness, into the room beyond. She could sense the presence of the human and from the strength of his aura he appeared to be in some type of battle of wills, but there were no other beings in the room with him. Not even a soldier figment impinged on the feelers she sent forth. Not knowing what it could mean but feeling somewhat safer she descended into the tower. As she approached the room containing the human she heard unusual sounds coming from within. A mumbling and clicking interspersed with sighs of frustration or relief. She peered around the corner to see him kneeling on the floor in front of a contraption of strange design. He would mumble something to himself and reach into the device, there would be a click. Then he would sigh and begin mumbling again. Obviously it was a puzzle of some kind but she could not divine its purpose. “It is a weapon.” Said the young man without turning, “And it is capable of destroying this whole world if I cannot disable it.” She could not contain her curiosity. “How do you know that is what it is?” she asked. He sighed before turning slowly to look at her. “I know because it is mine.”
“It uses a psychic cascade effect,” he explained, “which breaks apart both material and mental bonds, destroying anything and everything that exists within a few thousand miles. “ The mare stared at the item in question, if that what true it was theoretically possible that she could be discorporated as well, even in the dream. “But why would you build something like that, it’s horrible.” The man shook his head angrily. “That’s just it, I never did. I realized the horrific potential, and knowing there was no such thing as the right hands for a device of such power, I incinerated the one page I had taken notes on and used the ashes to make soap which was sold out years ago. I had almost forgotten about it.” “But then why is it here?” asked Procellarum. “That is what I was going to ask you,” he said, “It is like you, part of a dream, but not part of my dream.” She was becoming nervous under his intense gaze, “But I didn’t…,” she suddenly remembered the daydream she had been carrying. Because of events she had forgotten, but now she realized it had disappeared about the same time as she had been pulled into his dream. “But, but it was only a daydream. It couldn’t have the power to do what you describe.” “It didn’t need power, only access to my memories, and you gave it that,” he said, frowning now. “But it’s your weapon, you said so, can’t you stop it?” she asked, afraid now. He looked embarrassed at the question. “It was a lot easier to imagine how to build it than to actually take it apart safely. Also I am afraid I intentionally imagined it difficult to disarm, and it was years ago as I said.” “Does that mean you can’t stop it?” she quavered. “No,” he said turning back to the device, “It will just take a little longer.” She eyed his deft hands, “How long?” “About thirty seconds.” “And how long do we have?” He grinned, “About twenty-five seconds.” She stared, “You have to leave, stop dreaming before you die with this world.” He grunted, “I only know a little of the dream realm, but I know that you cannot leave until the dream is finished, ‘Night Mare’, and the weapon ensures that this dream will only end when it activates, whether I remain or not.” If she had been human she would have paled. He knew, but…”So then I die. I had not expected to end this way.” Procellarum supposed she ought to feel a sense of lose or sadness, but there was nothing. Death meant nothing to her since she had nothing to live for beyond continued existence. Maybe she would be better off.
“I don’t think so,” said the young man. His words shocked her out of her thoughts. “I have no intention of fleeing and leaving someone else to die.” His fingers flew fast as thought as pieces of the weapon fell to the floor around him. In seconds there was only one piece left sticking out of the base, this he pulled free and tossed out the door before relaxing with a sigh. “See, two seconds left.” The blast from the hallway threw bits of debris back into the room, but it was just the last of the special effects and barely ruffled her coat. She blinked, “I don’t understand. Why did you risk your life for me?” He gave her a gentle smile. “There are two reasons. One, I like you, you are too nice to allow your death in my dreams. And two, you were used, just like my own memory was used against me.” His eyes hardened, “I want to meet the being that would do such a thing, so I can ask why.”
<Then you will not have to look far Man.> a voice echoed in their minds, sounding like the final tolling of the bells at midnight. “The Dream Master,” moaned Procellarum. The room faded from around them and the young man and the mare floated free on the dreamscape. In front of them towered an enormous being. Shaped like a great stallion, it was similar in form to the mare, but where she now was light as mist, he was solid and dark, his coat absorbing what little light was offered in this place. “You have been an irritation to the dream realm. Choosing your own endings instead of taking the dream lessons you were given.” The giant horse shook his head with anger, “I decided to teach you a lesson that would keep you from meddling.” “And in the process risked the life of your own messenger,” said the man, his eyes narrowed. He was not acting as Procellarum expected. It was as if, to him, the Dream Master was no greater than any other being, instead of the lord of all that she knew him to be. “It was not a risk. She is expendable due to her own actions in the past. And yet she failed again, committing the same crime she was punished for last time. I will have perfection, no matter how I must accomplish it.” He stomped one massive hoof, causing the very fabric of existence to quake around them. The mare bowed her head in submission, acknowledging her fault and prepared to accept her punishment, no matter how severe.
“You are a fool,” said the man. Thunder crashed with the stallion’s anger and an insubstantial earthquake shook the firmament. The Dreamer continued as if not noticing, “You act as if such things can be controlled and directed. Real life does not work that way. And even in the dream realms, plans go awry. Treating living beings as tools will never accomplish the total perfection you wish for.” The Dream Master glared at him enraged. “You will be silent, human. You may have beaten my dream but there will be others. Come, Mare Procellarum.” “Stay here,“ said the man, looking at the mare with a sympathy she didn’t understand. “Stay out of it,” rumbled the stallion, “What I do with my own subjects in my own realm is none of your concern.” “I choose to make it my concern,” said the dreamer firmly. “I invoke the Rules. I challenge you for her life.” “What?” roared the dark horse, “How dare you challenge me you insignificant mortal! I have lived for more years than you can count! I have seen nations, races, worlds rise and crumble! You would dare to challenge me for the useless life of this foolish mare?” “Yes,” said the man simply. The stallion fumed, angry that this fool should disrespect him so, but even he could not ignore the Rules. “Very well, what is your challenge?” “The usual, and my favorite subject, riddles,” said the man calmly. “Riddles?” the Dream Master said querulously, “I know more riddles then you could have heard in your life. Where do you think the dream lessons come from? That is a foolish challenge.” “We will see,” said the dreamer, “We will take turns, whoever fails to answer a riddle first loses. You may go first, accepted?” “Accepted,” The stallion pondered,
“I am always hungry,
I must always be fed,
and the hand I lick
will soon turn red.”
“Fire,” said the man, quickly moving on to his own question,
“If you break me,
I do not stop working.
If you touch me,
I may be snared.
If you lose me,
Nothing will matter.”
The horse was miffed at the way his own question had been dismissed but bent is thoughts to the man’s riddle. “I deal with this in dreams often,” he stated, “The answer is heart.” “Correct,” said the dreamer, “Your turn.”
“I'm the part of the bird
that's not in the sky.
I can swim in the ocean
and yet remain dry.”
The man looked thoughtful. “Hmm, I know. It must be a shadow.” “Yes,” said the Dream Master ungraciously, as thunder rumbled in a nonexistent sky. “Ok then how about…”
“What does man love more than life?
Fear more than death or mortal strife?
What do the poor have, what the rich require,
And what contented men desire?
What does the miser spend, the spendthrift save,
And all men carry to their graves?”
“A simple word puzzle,” said the stallion, “It is Nothing.” “Aww, that was one of my favorites too,” said the dreamer, dejected. “We are not done yet mortal.”
“I am the black child of a white father,
a wingless bird, flying even to the clouds of heaven.
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
even though there is no cause for grief,
and at once on my birth
I am dissolved into air.”
The man looked stumped. He gazed around for a moment and his eyes rested momentarily on Procellarum. He smiled. “Smoke is the answer,” he said, the sight of the mares grey insubstantial mane having been his clue. The Dream Master stomped a heavy hoof angrily and cracks spread in the firmament. “I will not be defeated by the likes of you,” he said, lightning flashing in his eyes. “We will see,” said the man.
"You can have me but cannot hold me;
Gain me and quickly lose me.
If treated with care I can be great,
And if betrayed I will break."
The Dream Master flared his nostrils. His tail swished angrily and he stomped his hoof again, making more cracks into nothingness. Finally he spoke, “I do not like being tricked mortal. If you do not have a satisfactory answer, I will destroy you anyway. What is the answer?” The reason you do not know is because you do not have it. It is Trust,” the man said, “And that means, I win.” The great dark horse stood still but thunder and lightning boiled across the dreamscape. More rents were torn and darkness leaked from the holes. Procellarum cringed at the outburst expecting to be destroyed, but the man stood unfazed, confident in the Rules. Slowly, the noises died and the rents closed drawing the liquid darkness back within. “Very well mortal, you win this round. The mare is yours. But be warned, you may have escaped your fate today, but this is not the last time we will meet.”
And with that the Dream Master faded away, back to whatever reality he called home. Procellarum was confused. He had beaten the Overseer? But she had known nothing else for millennia. How would she cope with a new master? She bowed her head to him as the man approached, “Thank you for saving my life master, I am yours to do with as you please.” He chuckled, “I did not save you from the Dream Master just to shackle you again. You are free now, to do as you please; where you please and how you please. But I would not say no to the chance to be your friend.” “Free? I am free?” tears welled in her eyes, “But I do not know how to be free. What do I do?” “As I said, you do what pleases you. The crime he spoke of, was it enjoyable and harmless to others?” “I thought so,” she said warily. “Then I suggest you go do that. If you are still uncomfortable, come back and talk with me once in a while. That is what friends are for,” he said smiling. She didn’t know what to say so she stepped forward and laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you man, for your gift,” she said. The man scratched at her mane affectionately, “If we are going to be friends, then call me Cedric. And I will call you Procell for short if that is all right?” She nodded, enjoying the sound of her shorter name. “Yes, thank you Cedric. I will return, and… I am glad to be your friend.” She turned and ran, vanishing into the mists of forgotten dreams.
“Too many words,” muttered the pixie, “Where is all the action?” “Now Pix,” said the Reader, “You should know that not all battles require a sword.” “Maybe not, but all the good ones do,” she said huffily. And the little pixie vanished with a pop. The Reader chuckled. “I will await your return Procell,” he said looking around the confines of his normal room again. “I cannot wait to share a dream once more.”
 Cedric Igor · Sun Jul 27, 2008 @ 09:13pm · 3 Comments |
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