Dreamshade: Niamago
A. J. Lath
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 A. J. Lath
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1
While he was still young enough to believe that he would never become older, Benjamin Crosskeys had a dream that changed the way he saw the world. It was not simply a nice dream, a happy dream, or even a fabulous one; it was a great dream, and it left a mark on his waking life that would never fade.
There were other great dreams to follow, of course. They were few, and very far between. Yet that, in part, what was made them special. And none proved so special as the first.
It was a dream of fireworks, essentially. But that was like saying a child's doodle could be the equivalent of a Da Vinci masterpiece. For in this dream the fireworks cannonaded across a sky that was infinite, unbounded by the horizon of a land beneath, and it shone with stars so plentiful that it seemed as if all the galaxies of the universe had come to meet him here. He was alone amid this majesty, and he was not afraid. In this place he was the master, and the fireworks were his to command.
It was true: the screaming rockets, the fiery plumes, the flares; all were subject to his whim. If he so wished it, then the rockets might fall into formation, or divide, or change course; or the whole display might rearrange itself, becoming a vast, cartwheeling fire show that served him as solely as an orchestra serves its conductor. Astonishingly, there was a substance to these flames also, for he could ride those screaming rockets, or jump the cresting flares as easily as if he were using stepping stones to cross water. And when he tired of skating the sparks and catching comets by the tail, he reclined against a soaring blaze and simply let it carry him for miles and miles and miles. With the forbearance of a contented king, he saw no need to rush nor any need to be frivolous. His power in this realm was absolute. Nothing could challenge it.
Except the stars, perhaps. Gazing out to them, he began to wonder if they too might be just as compliant to his will. If it was so, then he would certainly have to be closer; his ability, he suspected, had little purchase on things so distant.
He therefore summoned a fresh flare, and ordered it to carry him further, ever further. But the stars ahead did not come any closer. So again he commanded: Further! More! And again, the stars stayed put, twinkling dimly and distantly. He thought, perhaps, that his flare was slower than it seemed, as an age had already gone by and he had made no headway. Yet when he turned and looked, he saw that he had travelled so far from the fireworks that they were now but a glimmer of glints to his eye. He realised then that to reach even the nearest star would take more than a lifetime. And with dawning awe, he understood that maybe even a thousand lifetimes would not be enough.
No matter how much he journeyed, he would never get close to them - and this saddened him. But then he heard singing birds and the chime of a clock; and saw the stars, once unattainable, slowly resolve themselves into the flecks of daylight that pierced the weave of the bedroom curtains every morning. He was awakening, and in a little time he had awakened enough to know that it had all been a dream ... and to know, also, that the dream had not entirely ended.
Because something, he felt, was with him in his room, and it was something remarkable. Being older now, he doesn't remember what it was, though he is sure that it was silky and shiny, and moved with the sinuous grace of a falling ribbon. He knows that it drifted away from him and slipped out through the gap at the bottom of the bedroom door. But he does not recollect how he spent the rest of that day searching for it, peering under the chairs and tables and rooting in every cupboard he could find; nor does he remember how his parents kept on asking him if he was feeling upset. To them, he looked like a small boy with too much of an adult frown on his face. They did not understand that this was a child who’d had his first ever great dream. Neither did they understand that, as with all great dreams, it had taught him something - in this instance, something to do with want and sacrifice and distance - and left him a little more grown-up as a result.
It was not long afterwards that Benjamin Crosskeys began to believe that he would become older.
***
In truth, the great dreams of his life had little impact that he was aware of, and at the age of eleven years and four months, Benjamin Crosskeys remained a largely ordinary boy with ordinary concerns and preoccupations. Age and wisdom aside, the only change of any note was that his father was now gone. He did not know why he had left; he was very young when it happened, and his mother refuses to elaborate upon it. “He just went,” is all she will say, when asked. Nothing else. He ‘just went’ and was never seen again. So far, all he has learned of his dad was that he ‘liked to travel’ and ‘enjoyed long walks’. In other words, he was precisely the type of person who could ‘just go’ and be never seen again. The only things he had left to his son were his surname, and a small but palpable sadness that sometimes arose whenever Benjamin wrote down his signature.
Nevertheless, it was a slight sorrow, and there were consolations. His stepfather Pete, for one, and the sister he had brought into the boy’s life, Maddie. She was four now, and loved cats. Occasionally stroppy, as all little sisters can be, but always ready to laugh. Pete was a good guy too; he wore a beard, had long hair that was tied back into a ponytail, and his favourite photograph was one that Benjamin’s mother had made for him, where she had used her computer to substitute a picture of an Afghan hound’s head in place of his own (like his mother, Benjamin also enjoyed using the computer to tinker with photographs: he tended to be subtler though, preferring to impose very tiny changes such as making someone’s fingers a little bit longer than normal or putting a shadow in the wrong place). He hung the picture in the downstairs lavatory, next to the original untouched photograph, and added a caption that invited the viewer to spot the difference. Benjamin’s mother had cracked up at that. Since Pete has been around, she has laughed a great deal.
His home was a happy home, then, if not a tad eccentric. But in all other respects it was ordinary. He lived at twenty-three Chapterhouse Street, in a town that sat so deeply between London and everywhere else that he could never be sure if was part of London or everywhere else, and had a few good friends but not many. School was a vaguely bearable chore, and his favourite place beyond home was Wandringham wood, which lay only a short walk away from his back gate. Admittedly, he was regarded by some as slightly odd, but not to the extent of seeming outright weird. A few may have occasionally thought that there was something different about his eyes, but they could never say what, while the rest were just happy to let him go on by, an everyday sort of boy in an everyday sort of world.
***
Benjamin Crosskeys’ life became extraordinary on a springtime night which followed a day as unremarkable as any other.
He had gone to school as usual, and returned knowing just a tiny bit more than the day before. Mrs. Dunstable, his teacher, had told him with some relish that Queen Elizabeth the First never took a bath, and Jack Beesley from form 3c farted during assembly. At break time, Benjamin’s team lost the football match; Martin Linklow also lost his jumper, which had served as a goalpost. At lunchtime, a grave discussion amongst classmates about jellyfish had given them all a bit of a scare (“The sting of the box jellyfish is so painful,” had piped Miles Kingdom, over macaroni, “that you scream even when you’re unconscious!”) while afternoon break time brought only the faint satisfaction of a score-draw. Just before the bell had rang for home time, Mrs. Dunstable reminded the class that the latest batch of essays needed to be in by noon tomorrow. Benjamin Crosskeys therefore departed with the sombre slouch of a boy condemned to spend the entire evening doing homework.
So went the day.
After tea, Benjamin’s mother, tired of again having to explain to Maddie why she preferred to be called ‘Jen’ rather than ‘Jennifer’, sought relief by engaging him in a conversation about vacuum-cleaners. Apparently, ‘Old Dougal’ had drawn his last breath, and she was now in the market for a state-of-the-art bagless model. “But that doesn’t mean it moves around by itself,” his mother had chortled, pre-empting the obvious joke. Benjamin grinned, shook his head, and told her that he hadn’t even thought it.
“Oh? Thought what?” asked his mother sharply. Judging by the tilt of her gaze and the barely contained half-smile, it was obvious that this sudden display of tetchiness was only pretend. Unfortunately, Benjamin had been caught completely off-guard by the reply, and his mother was now of a mind to capitalise on it.
“Well - nothing. You know. Hadn’t thought of anything. Really,” he said, hesitating a little.
“Hmmm,” said his mother, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m an old bag, don’t you?”
“No. Really. You’re not - you’re not old at all.”
A bellow of laughter ensued, along with a loud clap. “Good one, Benjy boy. Nice one,” his mother said. “Blessed is the mum whose son would rather think of her as a bag than old. Big good-guy points are hereby awarded. Well done!”
“No problem,” Benjamin returned, laughing also. The mirth, however, did not last long. There was homework to be completed, and his mother was not shy in reminding him. Sighing, he withdrew to his bedroom, opened his books, and spent a long time puzzling over the two incomplete essays that had to be finished by tonight.
He began work on the one about life as a crew mate of Odysseus first. It was his kind of thing anyway - a story about a quest involving monsters and all manner of strange stuff. He’d so far written it from the viewpoint of a seasoned old sailor who’d seen it all before, and when he took it up again, he continued in a similar vein. Though he did not know it, he was the only child in his class who had approached the essay in this way. Everyone else had taken to it in the spirit of wonderment and discovery, writing as fledgling adventurers caught in a constant daze of awe. He completed it about a good hour later, and when he reread the final few lines - ‘that is my story then and I hope you like it. I have many many more just like it,’ - he realised that it didn't really sound like it was finished. Nevertheless, with another essay awaiting, and tomorrow fast approaching, he had to concede that it would have to do. He stretched, yawned, pondered - for all of two seconds - upon why he hadn’t had the sense to complete the essays earlier, and took a short break. After an interval involving a close up study of his nose in the mirror, and a quick session of faux martial-arts poses, he settled back down to his desk and brought all his attention to bear on the night’s second piece of homework: a report of a recent class trip to a local museum, to be written as a stranger unfamiliar to the town. Grumbling with boredom, he sharpened his pencil, shuffled his exercise books, and set himself to the tiresome task ahead.
He was surprised to find that he was nearly finished by the time Pete knocked on his door. It had been another long shift for his stepfather, and he’d brought himself a takeaway on the way home. “How do, mate,” he said, holding up a greasy brown paper bag as he peered in. “Got some prawn crackers - want me to leave you some?”
Despite not being the biggest fan of Chinese food, Benjamin was nonetheless a sucker for prawn crackers. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”
Pete nodded. “Had a good day?”
“It was okay.”
“Hm. Ah well.” He paused. “Got some homework there, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. So I’ll leave these crackers for you in the microwave. Don't have too many though. Your mum’ll skin me if you do.”
“Thanks,” Benjamin said again.
“S’okay,” said Pete. “See ya.” And then he departed.
As ever, Pete had left Benjamin bemused. It always seemed as if he had more to say, yet could never quite get round to saying it. Still, that was Pete: he made mum happy, and knew a lot about Star Wars. Not the best talker, but good enough in all other respects. And he was still here, even after all these years, which was excellent. Unlike -
But Benjamin didn’t finish the thought. He had homework to be getting on with.
The second essay was as good as done when his mother brought Maddie into the room to say her goodnights. Half-hiding her face behind her favourite rag doll, she mumbled “Bye,” then ran out onto the landing with a giggle. Benjamin’s mother raised her eyebrows in mock exasperation, and asked him how the homework was coming along.
“Fine. Finished,” said Benjamin, closing the exercise book with a snap.
“Good stuff. Want to watch some telly downstairs before bed? You’ve got about an hour and a half to spare.”
“I wan’ telly,” piped Maddie from behind her mother. “I wan’ telly.”
“Yep,” said Benjamin, with more than a little delight in his voice. It looked as if the evening wasn’t going to be completely wasted after all.
“As for you,” said Benjamin’s mother, turning to Maddie. “It’s the land of nod for you, my girl. And no misering about it, either.”
“All righty-ho,” said Maddie, making sure not to huff so much that she might get told off for it. After that, both she and her mother were gone from Benjamin’s doorway, and Benjamin himself was soon ready to exercise his Right as an Older Sibling to stay up longer than his little sister.
So went the night.
He watched a game show, then a nature programme about sea birds. Laughs aplenty came when one particularly annoyed sea bird attacked the presenter by being sick at him, and when Pete made a certain crack about how ‘a nasty shag on the cliff-face will do that to you’ - at which Benjamin’s mother had almost exploded - Benjamin found himself in the embarrassing situation of pretending that he didn’t get the joke. Later, he had a handful of the snack that Pete had promised, and then it was time to say his due goodnights. He took himself off to bed at nine o’clock, as was soon fast asleep. Nothing of the day, or the eve succeeding it, had offered any indication whatsoever that the twilight hours ahead were about to become the most amazing of his life.
***
When he awoke it was still dark. A quick, bleary eyed glance at the luminous figures of the bedside clock revealed that it was two forty-eight in the morning, and he would have turned over and gone back to sleep had he not heard that strange swishing, sighing sound. It seemed to be coming from the room next door to his - Maddie’s room - and when he was sure that the noise was not just a trick of the quiet, he sat up, turned his head to where his right ear felt like it could catch the murmur at its loudest, and listened. The sound, without a doubt, was real. He was not imagining it.
Sometimes it was like the sea, but distant; a rush and crash of waves against a faraway shore. Sometimes it was like a whisper in a foreign language. Sometimes a breath, drawn-out and long. Sometimes it was the whirr of a breeze in tall grasses.
It came from nowhere else; only beyond the wall that divided his room from Maddie’s. It did not stop, either.
Benjamin wondered what he should do. The sound wasn’t really frightening - but at the same time, he didn’t quite want to know what was causing it. Should he call out to his mum and Pete? Probably not - if it turned out to be something ordinary, then a tongue-lashing from a mother who hated to be roused at night was as likely as a poor result at algebra. Perhaps it was just the wind. He knew that his mother left Maddie’s window open at night, as her room tended to accumulate stale air. So perhaps that was it, then: just the wind.
Perhaps.
But then again, wasn’t there something familiar about the sound, too? Something infuriatingly recognizable about it, even though he was nearly certain that he had never heard anything like it before. I know it, though, he thought. I’m sure I do. But how? When? Maybe it was deja vu - that odd feeling that he (and most people, he knew) sometimes got, where it would suddenly seem as if something has already happened. It could be, he supposed. But whether it was this deja vu thing or not, it didn’t really help matters. The swishing noises continued; their provenance remained a mystery.
Then came a sudden, terrible notion: what if it means Maddie is in danger? His heart skipped at beat, as if struck by a ghostly dagger. What if it means Maddie is in danger? He lifted the sheets and swung his pyjama clad legs over the side of the bed, but hesitated before going any further.
If it’s dangerous to Maddie, then won’t it be dangerous to me as well?
Yes, it was a horrible, nasty, craven thought. But as horrible, nasty and as craven as it was, the thought wouldn’t go away. What if it wants to get me? What if it wants to -
He took a deep, trembly breath, and ordered himself to get a grip. Aware that his imagination was getting the better of him, he decided to curb it by taking action: he stood up, reached out for the dim shape that seemed likeliest to be his dressing gown, and pressed his chilly feet into his slippers. It’s simple, he told himself, in as strong a tone of mind as he could muster. It’s just the wind, blowing in through Maddie’s window. Nothing to worry about at all. And if it does turn out to be anything more than that, then I’ll -
He knew exactly what he would do: he’d stand at the entrance to Maddie’s room and scream and scream and scream.
But to think now would be folly. To think now would cause him to dither, and in dithering he’d only become even more upset. The horror behind the door, he remembered reading once, is horrifying merely because you cannot yet see it. And very few things turn out to be as horrifying as you imagined when that door is opened. And though it was probably true (he had already watched enough of Pete’s old Dr. Who videos to know that the man in the monster suit was never so scary as when he was only being glimpsed in the gravel pit) it still wasn’t much of a comfort. But by the time he’d become aware of the depth of his reluctance, he’d already exited his room and gone out onto the landing. Beside him, in the dark, Maddie’s bedroom door awaited. He pulled the dressing gown tighter to himself, then reached out with a shaky hand to take hold of the doorknob. Before realising that the best thing to do now would be to knock, the door was already open. And there, just ahead of him, was the reason why all those whispers, sighs and stirrings had seemed so evocative.
2
When he saw it, he was immediately taken back to that first great dream; of the fireworks and the stars, and the remnant left over which had caused him to search so earnestly that day. And now, before him, the remnant was there again; a sash of silver, luminous, twirling softly about itself; a shimmering streak of coiling mercury, dancing languidly in the darkness ahead.
He wasn’t afraid now. The object had too much the aura of a lost treasure, or forgotten friend, for that. “I know you,” he murmured, padding into the room. As if responding, the ribbon - or whatever it was - paused awhile, eddying gently in the air like a leaf trapped by a web. When Benjamin lifted a hand and reached out, it ebbed away a little, as coy as a pet surprised by the sudden attentions of its owner. “I won’t hurt you,” said Benjamin softly.
The uppermost end of the ribbon - the one closest to the boy’s enquiring fingers - seemed to regard him for a second or two, like a snake in thrall to its charmer. Then, as cautiously as an animal attracted to a curious scent, it inched towards him and contact was made. At the touch of Benjamin’s fingertips, the thing resisted no more; fluttering, it coursed around his arm, his head, his body. And with every glancing brush and tickle, there came to Benjamin some part of what could have only been someone else’s dream.
He saw a room - this room - but sunlit and vast; the door was monolithic, the ceiling a second sky. And everywhere - everywhere - there were cats: cats talking, cats taking tea in the corner, cats reading newspapers, watching television, or queueing for a train at the windowsill. Every breed, every shape and size, all going about their pursuits and speaking to each other in a peculiar mewling chatter. There was only one voice that he recognised as human - a small voice that said “hey pussycat, hey pussycat,” or “why won’t you talk to me, pretty cat?” over and over - and though he was sure it belonged to Maddie, it didn’t quite sound like her. So he whispered “stop!” and the dream vision fell away. Immediately, he went over to his sister’s bed, being as careful as possible not to tread on any night-hidden toys.
From what he could make out, Maddie seemed fine. To be sure, he lowered his face to hers and turned his head so that he could feel her breaths against his cheek. Again, fine. For a moment, he considered waking her up, but thought better of it after imagining what her reaction to the silver ‘thing’ in her room might be like. No, Maddie was fine as she was; peaceful, very much asleep, and probably dreaming.
Probably dreaming, in fact...of cats.
That was it! Maddie’s dream - it was the dream he’d just seen. But why had her voice sounded so different? Simple: it was like hearing yourself talk on a tape recording. In the dream, Maddie had spoken like that because that was how her own voice sounded to her. Case closed, then, as far as that particular mystery went. What was not so easily explained, of course, was the very fact of being able to see into her dream in the first place.
He looked at the ribbon. It had moved away from him, and its dance was calmer now, more sedate. “What are you?” he asked, not honestly expecting an answer. “Just what on earth are you?”
Almost as soon as the question was voiced, the thing acted. With a twirl, it looped about the room, and before Benjamin could say anything else, it had flitted out through the bedroom doorway and gone out onto the landing beyond.
Benjamin was about to give chase - then froze. Despite the chaotic jumble of his feelings - the excitement, the trepidation, the amazement, the doubt - he was still possessed of enough common sense to know that charging around at this time of night would not be a very good idea. So he took a moment to catch his breath and compose himself, and only then did he proceed. Cautiously, he crept away from Maddie’s bed and began to follow the ribbon.
When he reached the landing, he thought, at first, that the thing had disappeared. The tiny spark of dismay that rose in him did not last long, however; peering down the staircase, he was gladdened to see that the ribbon was still here. It was slinking away from the foot of the stairs, the mute light of the hallway doing nothing to deter its gleam.
Benjamin ventured carefully, descending one step at a time. Though his eyes had already become well accustomed to the dark, it was still difficult to see clearly, and what he in his haste might take as another stair could quite easily be a potential accident in disguise. Even so, he did not dawdle; there was a determination about his quarry that seemed to verge upon impatience, and he felt that if he were to lose sight of it again, then there was every chance of losing it forever.
The object made its way into the kitchen, and Benjamin caught up soon after. The windows above the sink, he noted, had not had their curtains drawn, and the place was radiant with a shy, dusky luminosity. In this new light, the ribbon appeared to gain a thousandfold in how it sparkled; and when it sailed over to the door opposite - the one that opened out to the garden - it went no further. Like a snuffling creature that suddenly finds its route barred, it waited for a moment, then tried again - except that this time, it drifted downwards, toward the bottom of the door.
Benjamin walked closer. “You want to go out - is that it?” he said.
One end of the ribbon reared up, nodded - or seemed to - and then, like a withdrawing tongue, quickly slipped away through the gap below. Benjamin, blinking like a boy who has just woken up, could only stand there and stare at the place where, a mere second ago, this most amazing...thing had been present.
He felt disappointed. It was gone.
It was over.
But then he noticed that the key was still in the lock; his mother must have forgotten to remove it when closing up for the night. His heart tattooing, he approached the door, and ever-so-carefully turned the key, then the handle. Don’t creak, don’t creak, he thought, as he pushed the door open. Thankfully, the hinges kept quiet. Outside, the fresh, dewy air of springtime in darkness hit his breaths like menthol. He closed the door as unhurriedly as he had opened it, and left it unlocked.
Beneath a sky tinctured with morning light and demure stars, the pursuit continued. The ribbon was fluttering close to the back gate now, and Benjamin knew that it would not be long before it was in the alleyway beyond. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, as the ribbon, by way of reply, flitted out between the gate and the gatepost. Benjamin, left standing, was once more faced with the prospect of crossing a threshold as quietly as he could.
The gate was high, though the uppermost bolt was easily within reach. Catching hold of it, the boy carefully pulled the bolt down. It was cold and stiff, but generally noiseless. The worst of it was a slightly jarring clunk that came when the bolt was finally released, but even the strange, enveloping silence of encroaching dawn couldn’t offer much strength to the sound. Letting the breath he’d been holding go, Benjamin crouched down and likewise worked the lower bolt free. Once done, he gingerly pushed the gate open - and then halted.
What am I doing? he asked himself, looking back at his house. All of a sudden, he felt vulnerable and uncertain, and not a little afraid. Where was this ribbon leading him? What did he hope to find at the end of the chase? He shook his head, frowning, and was on the verge of returning home when another, infinitely more delicious thought suddenly swam up.
Why shouldn’t I?
In the cold twilight of early morning, his house appeared gloomy and lifeless; no haven there, nor adventure. But out here? And further? Something more; something amazing. Something that had intrigued him once and been lost; something that might not only give him the right answers, but the right questions to go with them as well. He smiled, and before taking up the chase again, he whispered, “don’t worry mum, don't worry Pete. I’m only making the best of my dream, that’s all.”
And then he was gone to his secret pursuit, trailing the ribbon as it coursed away to who-knew-what, while the first, fluting notes of birdsong brought a tint of daybreak to the air. He thought about checking the time, then realised that he wasn’t wearing his watch. Not that it mattered, in any case; he was more concerned, at that point, with the cold, and bemoaned the fact that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to put on some proper clothes. Pulling his dressing gown tighter to himself, he picked up his pace, hoping that what he gained upon his mysterious quarry might also be matched by the heat of going faster.
He was not far behind, then, when the ribbon swooped into the short narrow lane that branched off from the alleyway. This was the very same lane that led to Wandringham wood, and before long, both Benjamin and his sinuous target had reached the small, scrubby field that lay between the houses and the woods themselves. When he at last realised where the ribbon was taking him, he faltered. Up ahead, the trees loomed like thunderous clouds. The ribbon did not stop.
Benjamin, panting, leaned over, his hands on his knees. No way was he going to go into those woods. As much as he wanted to see where the ribbon was heading, it simply wasn’t worth risking it in a place so dark and sinister, where every furtive sound would make him wish that he was not alone. Wandringham wood had a reputation of being haunted, too. Perhaps not by daylight, but in darkness, certainly. No, he was not going to go there, no matter what the prize.
It isn’t that I’m scared, he thought, as he rose back up. It just - it wouldn’t be sensible to go there. Not when it’s so dark.
Besides, it had been enough of an adventure already, hadn’t it? To chase this marvellous thing all the way here from his house, and brave both the temper of his mother and the secrets of the night in so doing. Yes, without a doubt, it had been quite an adventure. And now it had come to an end, as all adventures are wont to do. If he wished it to be otherwise, then he would have to attempt the woods.
And that, he had decided, was out of the question.
Nevertheless, he lingered. Amid those benighted trees ahead, amid all that gloom and murk, was a treasure fast becoming unreachable, and it seemed a shame to let it escape so easily. Hesitantly, he took a few steps forward - then stopped again. Silently, he debated with himself: should he go onwards, or go back; brave the woods, or be left wondering, perhaps eternally, at what might have come from continuing with this remarkable escapade. In truth, however, he was stalling, and deep down he knew it. With an abrupt, almost adult finality, he thought: it’s over. The game is finished and I have to go home. That’s the end of it.
He had never been a spoilt child, and was well acquainted with the fact that some things are just not meant to be. Tonight, he had experienced something truly incredible, and he would have to be content with it as it stood. The magical ribbon aside, at least he’d been daring, and gone out at an hour of night not usually reserved for children. So it was not so bad, really. He’d met the first stirrings of dawn, and heard the earliest calls of birdsong; shared a dream with his sister, and -
- and he was still hearing the birds.
Slowly, he began to turn around, in the hope of getting a better bearing on the sound. Although the birdsong was louder, it was not because more birds had joined the chorus; as before, the calls were sparse, as if issued by only a few. Therefore, the only reason that they could be louder was because they were coming closer.
He turned, therefore, and looked, expecting nothing more impressive than a fleeting fly-past of sparrows or starlings. But the wonders were not yet ready to cease, and the adventure, it was clear, was certainly not about to end.
3
Not far behind, there approached a large ornate cage, over which a fleet of singing birds seemed to hold court. It was some six or seven feet above the ground, and, at first, Benjamin couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. A cage? he thought; birds? What is this? Recovering his sensibilities, he soon saw that the cage was not simply floating - it was being carried by the birds, who were themselves tethered to their cargo by means of numerous, intertwining threads. Astonishingly, he could discern a passenger within the cage as well. It was difficult to make out the details, but someone was definitely there, and this someone was also singing, very faintly and very softly.
In the face of such unearthliness, the boy found himself at a loss as to what he should do. He knew he couldn’t run: both the birds and their unlikely burden were directly in front of his route home, while behind him there was only the woods - and he was not going to go there. There was no point in heading off to the left or the right, either; he’d be easily spotted. In fact, all he could really do was just stand there, agape, and hope that this incredible visitant turned out to be friendly.
Which maybe wasn’t such a bad plan. After all, the figure certainly didn’t appear to be menacing. Yes, it was strange; the strangest thing he had ever seen, in fact. But by no measure did it seem hostile. His initial shock at seeing it was probably more down to surprise than fear anyway, and with the shock now gone, what else was there to do but make the best of the situation?
Besides, it was only a dream - wasn’t it? Despite the play at realness - the frosty air, the grassy scent of night-time, the chill wetness of the dew that had soaked his slippers and the lower half of his pyjama bottoms - it was all still a dream, surely. Birds do not fly around carrying people in cages; ribbons do not breeze around of their own accord and show you other people’s thoughts. No, it couldn’t be anything but the flimflammery of the sleeping mind; marvellous, enchanting, and completely unreal.
Or so Benjamin made himself believe. Deep down, he was far from convinced.
In the meantime, the bird-borne cage had drifted even closer, and he could already perceive that the person inside was holding out some sort of rod through the bars of the cage, fisherman style. Not only that, but to judge by the shape of the figure - who, he saw, was actually sitting on a small stool - and the quality of the voice now that he could hear it better, it was plainly evident that this unusual new arrival was female.
Strangely, he felt reassured by this, and not a little emboldened. As jaded as he so often contrived to be, he was still at heart a very young boy; and like all very young boys, he was conceited enough to believe that women were not a threat. Yes, they were fascinating; yes, they could be infuriating; but they were harmless. He was sure of it.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t such a fool as to think his case watertight. Females, he’d recently come to suspect, knew a great deal more than they let on, and were probably inclined to smile sweetly at certain secret things which would otherwise make any male shudder. Not only that, but this particular female was obviously no ordinary female, either. A note of caution crept into Benjamin’s attitude; if he was going to do anything, it was likely to be more out of bravado than boldness now.
But before he could make up his mind as to what precisely he should do - wave and call out a greeting, maybe, or just stand there and think a little more - the stranger took command of the matter. Withdrawing the rod, the silhouette stood abruptly (much to the chagrin of the birds, who squawked irritably at the slight but sudden tilt in the cage) and marked the end the song with a barked exclamation of “HEY!”
Benjamin made to reply - but couldn’t, as he didn’t know what to say. His heart started to jackhammer.
“Hey you,” came the voice again. The figure pointed at him. “You see me? Hear me? What?”
Benjamin shook his head. He lifted his hands, held the palms out, then immediately returned them to the pockets of his dressing gown. “Yes?” he replied, unaware that he’d answered with a question.
“Oh wow,” called the figure. “This is - hey, will you wait a minute? One second? Listen - stay there. Don't move. Stay there - you get me?”
“Okay,” said Benjamin, hoping that his voice didn’t seem as weak to her as it did to himself. He shuffled his feet, both of which felt numb and heavy.
The figure looked upwards, one hand on a hip while the other flapped in a downward gesture. “Pipifret! Mansole! All of you - down! Understand? Nixletter! Nixletter!”
The strange commands were clearly meant for the birds, who pulled together into a tight cluster and began to lower both themselves and the cage. “Guess you don't get the dinnywhit speak, eh?” the figure said, turning once again to Benjamin. “But no matter. They -” she nodded upwards, indicating the birds “- don’t get it much, either. Birdbrains - ha! Sorry.”
“That’s alright,” said Benjamin, unable think of any better response. The stranger, he noticed, had something of a clipped yet lyrical quality about her accent; something oriental. Which would be fitting, considering that her cage, now that he could see it better, was so patently pagoda-like in design.
“The problem, my sweet-faced child, is that I have never been very good at telling jokes,” the figure said, as the cage touched down. “And so you must ask: why keep telling them, eh? Good question, good question. I often ask myself the same, but the conversation just gets too predictable; it’s much better, I think, to drink some tea and forget about it, yes?”
Benjamin shrugged, watching as the birds gradually took roost on the top of the cage. A moment or two later, the whole front part of the cage swung open, and the occupant was free. With small, quick steps, she shuffled over and spared no time in making herself known to him. “I’m Lilac Shun - Ray,” she said, holding out a hand. “That’s Lilac zed, haitch, ee, en, are, ee, eye. Lilac Zhenrei; and it is an honour to meet with you, sir.”
Lilac Zhenrei was a petite, pretty young woman of Far Eastern looks and Far Eastern style. She was dressed in a silky two piece suit, darkly greenish in hue, that was embroidered with a gold confusion of clouds, whorls and dragons. Her black hair was not too long nor too short, and had been pulled back into a frizzy, puffed-out ponytail. Her smile was warm, and her jet-black eyes glittered with good-humoured mischief. Benjamin’s inkling that she had been carrying a fishing rod was also confirmed; tucked under her left arm, in the manner of a swagger stick, was the very same article, albeit much smaller than anything like those used by his uncle Terry. As for the other paraphernalia, it consisted only of a satchel at her side and a long trumpet-like object strapped across her back. When she crooked an eyebrow, it somehow managed to turn her unfaltering smile into the knowing welcome of a long-time friend. It was almost as if he had known her all his life.
“So?” she asked impatiently. “Are you gonna shake hands with me this year, or the next? But take a decade or so to think about it first; I wouldn’t want to rush you.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Benjamin, clasping her outstretched hand with one of his own and shaking it as asked. Her palm was cool and very soft; her grasp gentle but firm.
“Thank you,” said Lilac Zhenrei, unclenching her hand and then flapping it as if something nasty had been left on the fingers. “Though if I’d wanted kelp, I’d have asked for it,” she continued, pulling an exaggerated frown.
“Kelp?” asked Benjamin, still as confused - as unbelieving - as ever.
“Your shake,” she said, pointing sharply at Benjamin’s offending hand - which, embarrassingly enough, he was still holding out. “It’s flaccid. Like seaweed. Hence kelp. See?”
Benjamin hastily drew his arm back to his side. “Oh. Another joke,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound too sarcastic. Thankfully, it seemed to go unnoticed by the lady, who, with her arms now folded, was quietly regarding him by means of a slightly sidelong gaze.
“Well, child,” she finally said. “Have I got some questions for you! Tell me - have you ever crossed the Amar Imaga? Or been to Niamago? Ever met with an atulphi before?”
Ammar-what? Benjamin thought; Niya-who? “Um - no,” he said.
“Right,” she said. “Do you know of the dream-depths? Or the land of sweet visions? Anything?”
Benjamin shook his head. “No,” he said.
“Hm. What about the tulphic silfs? Know what they are? We call them silfs for short.”
“No.”
Lilac Zhenrei sighed, and with a finger tapping at her lips she considered for a moment. “Okay,” she said at last. “Do you know what you are?”
The question threw him utterly. Was it a supposed to be a trick? Or was it proof, by virtue of its sheer absurdity, that all this was a dream? Benjamin didn’t know, and, more confused than ever, he could only reply with: “A boy, I suppose.”
“Yes, yes, yes, I know you’re a boy. Okay -” she paused again “- I’ll ask you what I should have asked in the first place, then: what is your name?”
Benjamin hesitated. Despite being a child whose years could now be counted in double figures, he was still young enough to feel distinctly uncomfortable when it came to giving out more information than seemed necessary to an unrelated grown-up. Yet at the same time he felt sure that if the woman really meant him harm, then he would have already picked up on it. Therefore, in the true spirit of encroaching maturity, he decided upon a supremely adult compromise: “Benjamin,” he replied, and said nothing else.
“Benjamin what?”
Well, she’d caught him there. “Crosskeys,” he mumbled, feeling a little defeated. As ever, he’d proven powerless in the face of adult authority; it was too much like talking to a teacher.
“Benjamin Crosskeys,” the woman repeated, frowning. “No, I haven’t heard it.”
“Sorry,” said Benjamin.
“Pah,” spluttered Lilac, dismissing the completely unwarranted apology with a sharp flick of her hand. “Doesn’t matter. I know what you are, even if you don’t; and an artist is still an artist even if he never picks up a brush. But I have to ask: what brings a boy like you out here when boys like you are normally asleep?”
Benjamin puffed out his cheeks. What was she going on about? “Dunno,” he replied, as much to himself as to the woman. Then, as his thoughts caught up with what she’d asked, he said, “Oh - yeah. There was this thing. I found it in my sister’s room. I was out here following it when you -”
“Aha!” Lilac Zhenrei’s eyes sparkled. “This thing - what did it look like?”
“A big ribbon.” Benjamin briefly held his hands wide apart, like a boastful angler. “This big, maybe. And all shiny and floating around.”
“Colour?”
“Oh. Silver.”
“Silver,” said Lilac, gazing upwards for a second. “Interesting. Did you touch it?”
“Yes,” said Benjamin.
“Well?”
“Oh,” said Benjamin again. “I saw - I think I saw my sister’s dream.”
“Of course you did,” said Lilac, taking hold of the rod that was tucked under her arm. When it was free, and held upright, she wound at the reel for a moment, lowering both the line and the small dark object that hung from it. “What did it mean to you?”
“Mean?”
“Yes,” she said, looking at the device rather than Benjamin. “How did it make you feel.”
Benjamin rubbed at his brow. “I don't know,” he said. “Like I’d seen it before. But when I touched it - it was different.”
“How?” said Lilac, averting her gaze from the fishing rod. She looked at Benjamin intently.
Benjamin shook his head. “I - really, I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “This is all so weird. I’m very tired, and - and I think I need to go back to bed.”
Lilac Zhenrei flicked a finger against the small pendulum, which immediately came alight with a subdued, fiery glow. “You felt wise, didn’t you? Like you’d learned something.”
“Yes,” said Benjamin, before fully realising that the woman had pinned it down exactly. He had felt like he’d learned something; but it was something elusive, as if it was not really meant for him. “And no,” he continued, his face downcast. “Not completely.”
Lilac walked closer and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Too much for one so young to take in, I think,” she said, smiling again. “And too much yet to say for a night so near to its end. Pity. You have the eyes, Benjamin. You have the gift.”
“The gift?”
“Never mind,” she said. “Listen. I’m going to ask one more thing of you. Then you can go home.”
“Okay,” said Benjamin, with some relief ... and just a little sadness, too. As baffling as the whole adventure had turned out to be, he was sure that he’d miss it when it was all over. Not only that, but the idea that it could all turn out to be a dream had suddenly become dreadful to contemplate. The world at large, he thought, deserved magic such as this; it would add so much to its meagre stock of promises. And it was no use pinching himself in order to find out for sure, either; he’d tried it many times before, in many other dreams, and it had always proved useless.
“Now, those trees,” said Lilac, pointing to Wandringham wood. “The silf - the ribbon, as you say - it went that way, right?”
“Yes,” said Benjamin, turning back to look at the dark, forbidding woodland. He hoped sincerely that the lady wasn’t going to ask that he go there; the place was still out of bounds as far as he was concerned, and her presence, bold and commanding though it was, had done nothing to change the situation in that respect.
“Good, good,” she muttered, as if thinking out loud. “And I would expect that the proximity of my emberquick -” She glanced at the luminous object at the end of the fishing line “- has caused it to dawdle. In which case, Benjamin, you must call out to our silf, so we can see and be sure, yes?”
“Call it?” said Benjamin. It was an odd request - but better than what he was expecting.
“Yes. Call it. Use your mouth or your head. Anything. Just use your gift, boy.”
He was about to ask her about this ‘gift’, but the set look on Lilac’s face soon put paid to that idea. So he gave the tiniest of shrugs, the barest example of a sigh, and brought as much attention as he could muster to the matter at hand.
But only for a moment.
“Um, miss?” he asked, turning back to the lady, his right hand raised slightly. “What do you want me to say to it?”
“Summon it,” she said, glaring with exasperation. “Like a - like a lost dog, you know? You throw your stick too far, and the dog chases it too far; so what do you say? What do you think?”
“Oh. I get you,” said Benjamin, resigned to the lunacy of it all. He returned his gaze to the woods ahead, trying to see if the ribbon was still visible. It wasn’t - but he had the feeling that it was of little consequence anyway. “Ribbon?” he shouted, instantly embarrassed by what he’d just uttered. “Ribbon?” he called again, even more embarrassed. “Come back, will you? Come on. Come back,” he cried, half-certain by now that Lilac was playing some sort of crazy joke on him.
But she wasn’t. In fact, she appeared to be taking the whole event extremely seriously. Crouched down a few steps ahead of him, she peered at the trees with all the intensity of a front line soldier. While she watched, she kept the rod and line aloft, the luminous bait - the emberquick, as she’d called it - swinging gently in the air before her. “Carry on,” she whispered loudly, once she realised that Benjamin wasn’t calling any more. “Keep at it, boy. If you don't want to speak, then use your mind. Just don’t let it go!”
“Right,” said Benjamin, and he renewed his efforts at summoning the ribbon. As per the lady’s advice, he called with his thoughts this time, and immediately felt much more comfortable doing so. It didn't last long, though; soon, enough fruitless seconds had passed to make Benjamin wonder if the constant mental recital of come back, come here, hey ribbon, come back was really worth the bother. But before he could ask if there was any point in continuing, something happened: Lilac, drawing the rod upwards, reached over with her free hand and carefully, cautiously, pulled the trumpet-like object from the large case that was slung across her back.
“What is it?” Benjamin said, when he saw that the trumpet-like thing was actually a blunderbuss - an ornate rifle whose barrel funnelled out into a cone. The lady didn’t reply, but then again, she didn’t need to. The answer came with the sudden outbreak of movement within the outlying coppices of Wandringham wood.
Benjamin made a noise of startled surprise, a combination of cough and hiccup that would have been laughable in any other situation. As for Lilac, she was already galvanised; it was almost as if she’d been expecting it. Tucking the rod under her arm (which would have ordinarily been an awkward task for anyone else, yet she accomplished it in the blink of an eye) she brought her weapon to bear on the area of the woods that seemed most afflicted by the disturbance, and shouted, “Run, boy! Now!”
Benjamin should have needed no second encouragement; it would have been a perfect opportunity to put all this madness behind him. But when he saw the ribbon swoop out of the woods he was instead struck by a sudden elation. It’s worked, he thought, jubilant; I summoned it, and it came. He did not, however, get the chance to call out to the lady and tell her that there was nothing to be afraid of, because the lady herself was too quick in yelling first: “It’s too late!" she cried, the sight of the ribbon doing nothing to assuage her alarm. "We’re seen. Get away, boy - GO!”
“I don’t underst-” he said - and stopped, when he realised that although the ribbon had attained a fair distance from the woods, the rustling agitation in the trees behind it was still continuing. “What is it?” he mumbled, unaware that he had taken a few steps backwards. Whatever it was that was causing the commotion, it couldn’t be good; the birds roosting on top of the cage squawked madly, flapping and jostling in manifest panic; Lilac Zhenrei was already retreating, her gaze and the weapon resolved upon the source of the disturbance - resolved, that was, until the rod slipped from her arm and became caught up in her legs. She stumbled, still gripping the blunderbuss, and fell with a sharp and murderous cry of “NO!”
The noise of their mistress’ distress seemed the breaking point for the birds: screeching, they began to rise, making a tangle of the threads as they pulled the rocking, shuddering cage upwards. Benjamin, distraught at the idea of leaving Lilac without her only means of escape, instantly ran for the cage, in the hope that he might catch hold of it before it was beyond reach. Admittedly, if the birds were strong enough to carry both her and the cage, then they’d find little trial in spiriting Benjamin clean from the ground also; but then again, his extra weight could be just what was needed to slow them down, and so give Lilac some time to catch up. With only another stride to go before the rapidly rising cage was within his grasp, Benjamin looked behind, back towards the woods.
Where the horror, crashing through the last outgrowths of foliage, was at last made abundantly, hideously clear.
4
It was twisted and lumbering - but fast; it loped out of the woods, hissing, and immediately made for both Benjamin and the struggling Lilac.
The boy, frozen with alarm, could hardly bear to look at it, despite the fact that his gaze seemed unable to fall on anything else. When first glimpsed, he’d thought it was just a clown that he’d not seen quite right; a second later, and he saw differently. This was no trick of tired eyes and poor light. Far from it, in fact.
It was indeed a clown - but a clown taken to new levels of bizarrerie and nastiness. Its body - mottled by a pattern of harlequin diamonds that seemed more akin to the scales of an adder-snake than anything else - was long and oddly distended, as were its limbs; the overall impression was that of a huge, flailing marionette which had somehow come to life. As with all clowns, the face was painted; but here, with the head so thin and elongated, the effect of the makeup was truly monstrous: the slit eyes - uncomprehending, blind almost - appeared evil under the garish scrawls of colour that caked the brow; the red bulb of a nose fungus-like against the corpse-belly pallor of its skin. Surrounding the mouth was a scarlet crescent that only served to make the vast, idiot grin within appear even more vast and idiotic, and it bore its array of appalling fence-row teeth with the all simple-minded purpose of the unflinching lunatic.
The size of perhaps two men in length, it scrambled towards them on all fours - though not in the way that an animal or a crouching human might. Instead, it seemed to flow into the step ahead, as if there were something distressingly liquid, or unset, about its form. In shape, it was spiky, grotesquely spiderish; in its demeanour, much the same. And just in front of it there sailed the ribbon - sinuous, graceful - and it took only a moment for Benjamin to register that it was this very item that the clown was after.
He would have called out to Lilac then, but for the cage; before he even fully realised it, the edge of the lower deck met his palm, and he grasped instinctively. Immediately, he was pulled skyward, and not wishing to lose his grip, he swung his other hand up and caught hold of one of the bars. Surprised by this new addition to their payload, the birds screeched in protest; the cage dipped a little, but remained aloft. Soon, Benjamin was equally aloft, and rising. The birds, as suspected, had found it easy to accommodate the extra weight; within seconds, there was close to half a metre of air between the ground and the dangling feet of the boy above.
Benjamin, already aware of how fast he was ascending, should have wasted no time in alerting Lilac - who was now back on her feet and taking aim at the monster - but instead he paused, suddenly distracted. A peculiar sensation had forced its way through his fear, a sensation not entirely unlike the one which had occurred when in contact with the ribbon. He was overcome, once again, with a feeling of understanding; he became aware of peculiar new sights and insights, just at the rim of his imagination. Preferring to dismiss it all as the effects of panic, Benjamin shook the feelings off as best he could, and hauled himself further into the cage. As he struggled to bring his left knee to bear upon the deck, he turned back to Lilac and, without any further thought, shouted:
“Hurry! The birds are going up. There’s no-”
But it was at precisely the wrong moment. Lilac fired the blunderbuss - which discharged in a storm of electric-blue sparks - just as he issued the warning, and the interruption startled her. The report was deafening; the birds tumbled into one another, squawking, and the cage lurched brutally, the door swinging to and fro. Lilac, knowing at the instant that she’d missed, retreated with a sound of spluttered frustration and made for Benjamin with her head bowed and her fingers at work on the rifle. The clown had dodged the attack easily; with terrifying speed, it had leapt to the height of a house, flipped, and then come back down to earth with all the agility and ambush-ready precision of a panther. Benjamin’s cry of alarm, it seemed, had achieved nothing except offer a smidgen of extra distance between himself, Lilac and the monster.
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