Flying Lessons

Posted with permission from Metara.

 

 

It happens to me every night
Can't sleep the clowns will eat me
They always want to take a bite
Can't sleep clowns will eat me
And if you think this isn't real
I'll show you wounds that never heal
To them I'm just a Happy Meal
Can't sleep the clowns will eat me

-Alice Cooper

 

 

The day was dull and cloudy and there was not a breath of wind. The air seemed too thick to breathe at times, especially under the shadow of the trees of Mystic Forest. The dream realm seemed to be waiting for something to come.

thud, thud, thud ...

On the outskirts of the forest a sign was being nailed to a tree. Jackle stood by watching in pride as the mephits worked. This was the sixth he had overseen. He felt vastly proud of his plan: it had just the right balance of cunning and underhandedness to be, in his opinion, a guaranteed success.

The five generals were involved in an unofficial competition. Each wanted to be the first to return to the Wizeman with a missing dreamer. For Jackle the competition was even more important. He was driven by a desire, an overwhelming need to get one-up on that ... that court jester, that painted clown. How he loathed Reala. Always it was him, him, him! The djinn was always his master's favourite - never mind how hard anybody else worked. And now Reala got to lounge about back home while everyone else was labouring to secure the captured provinces of Nightopia. It just wasn't fair.

This will show him, thought Jackle gleefully. The Wizeman will have to appreciate my genius when he hears of this! I will deliver to him even more than he has requested! I will singlehandedly end the rebellion of the remaining Nightmaren!

The sign was a copy of the announcement he had made earlier across the silent valley. It said nothing that the Nightmaren of this place had not already heard. But its purpose was not to give them information, but to break down morale among the rebels.

The Nightopians had been warned twice now of the price of resistance. If they continued to oppose the Wizeman's rule they would undergo suffering that would dwarf what had come before. But this did not have to be. They could have peace if they chose. All they had to do was give up the four dreamers and the traitor NiGHTS, and they would be spared. The Wizeman had no grudge against the people of Nightopia. He was not their enemy. If they did this one thing for him he would not only spare their lives, he would consider them henceforth his loyal subjects and stretch out his own hand to protect them. But if they continued to hinder him they would have declared themselves his enemies and would be treated as such.

The mephits scurried out of the way as Jackle came forward. He cocked his head to one side and admired the sign, then reached out and gave it a slight tweak. Perfect.

He clapped his hands sharply. "To the next ridge! Follow me quickly now! I want this task completed by nightfall!"

As they flew he glanced back, and saw with pleasure that a sylph was already examining the sign. World would spread swiftly even to the furthest corners of the dream realm. The curiosity of the sylphs would assure that. All he had to do was put up the rest of the signs and then he could sit back and wait to reap the harvest he had sown. It was no trouble at all.

They came down on another rise a little to the north. It was Jackle's intention to ring the entire forest with the signs so that no Nightmaren could miss them. He selected a suitable tree and set the minions to work with hammer and nails.

When they were half way through he felt a familiar presence in the wind, and groaned to himself. Puffy. Now what did that bloated bag of air want with him? He looked around quickly to see if he might sneak away before the sylph found him - but she had seen him already and was bouncing down the side of the hill towards him. Jackle suppressed a sigh. He and Puffy might share an element but it made them no closer than they had to be: he didn't like her and she didn't like him. He had no idea what she thought about him but he thought she was an idiot.

Puffy gave him no word of greeting. She bounced straight up to the sign and floated there examining it. The mephits scattered away beneath her. Jackle hovered on the hilltop and fiddled irritably with the clasp of his cloak. Finally he said "What?"

"Do you really thi-ink ... that is going to work?" That was another thing that annoyed him. Puffy could not seem to talk without singing. And she was a BAD singer. She warbled her vowels like the lead in a low budget Italian opera and frankly it set his teeth on edge.

"Why, dear sweet innocent Puffy," he said. "Of course it will work. Those poor little mice will jump at the chance to save their mangy skins now their great Guardians are nothing but mythology."

"La, la, la," sang Puffy absentmindedly as she read the sign through. Then she turned. "I think you have forgotten - one Guardian still lives."

"Pssh," Jackle flapped a hand, dismissing the Wind Guardian. "I think YOU forget, my darling Puffy. Our benevolent leader gave him a thorough drubbing yesterday. He'll be licking his wounds up in Frozen Bell - if he isn't dead already. And what can he do, the mighty dragon, now he knows our master is far more puissant than he?"

"Then what of NiGHTS? He is their hero, their figurehead. They will not give up hope while he is alive."

"Do you think so?" Jackle gave her a condescending look.

What a pompous little pest he is, thought Puffy. Swollen with his own importance. He may well be the second general in the eyes of our sovereign lord, but as long as Reala lives he is not the first, and he knows it. How that must rankle! She smiled to herself as she guessed what was behind this scheme. "And Reala?" she said. He flinched. Bingo, thought Puffy.

"Reala?" Jackle forced himself to sound casual. "What of him?"

"Jackle, Jackle, you are an open book. Your jealousy is written on your forehead. Do you think nobody knows what you want so badly?"

"All I want, dear nascent Puffy, is to serve the one who holds my allegiance. I admit that Reala's public humiliation would be a plus but it is hardly the sole purpose of my existence. You are quite the one for spotting ulterior motives, aren't you? Why, it makes me wonder if you have some personal experience of intrigue."

"Do you know how ri-diculous you sound when you use long words without knowing what they mean?"

"The act of applying your own faults to something else is called anthropomorphisation. Or arrogance. Darling Puffy, just because YOU don't know what a word means doesn't necessarily mean I don't."

"Pretentious oik," said Puffy.

"Windbag," said Jackle.

They were six inches apart, eye to eye. The air crackled between them as they glared into each other's eyes.

Puffy was the one who backed down. It is not worth the hassle, she told herself to soothe her wounded pride. Not for this insignificant scrap. If she was truthful with herself she was giving in because she could not beat Jackle one on one - but he didn't have to know that. To cover her timidity she turned away and made another examination of the sign.

"It will never work," she said. "Not while NiGHTS lives."

Jackle grinned. "Trust me. It will. After all what has the sprite done for them except force them into a battle they couldn't win? He wasn't there - he didn't fight. They'll remember the canyon, my darling, and they'll know who to blame." He descended to the ground and leaned against a solitary tree tapping his foot. He felt good. "No. I don't think we'll need to fear sweet little NiGHTS much longer. I know how people think. When things go wrong they look for someone to blame. By tonight they'll spit at the sound of his name."

Half a mile away a purple shape descended to the ground before an old tree. Leaned close to examine what was written there. Then took hold of the board and with an effort tore it loose. Clutched it to his chest and took off flying fast in the direction of Frozen Bell.

 

 

~*~*MYSTIC FOREST CAVE~*~*

In the cave an argument was raging. Three sylphs arrived in the space of fifteen minutes each bearing an identical burden: a sign taken from the forest perimeter. And swiftly the Nightmaren split into two factions - the one headed by Fulcrum the griffin, the other by Phalanx. The two groups were evenly matched.

"For dream's sake give them to him," Phalanx pleaded before the crowd. "Can't you see? He's giving us a chance to save ourselves. What's the big deal about giving him a few lost dreamers? It isn't as if he can hurt them any more than they are - they're already lost in the nightmare. We might as well cut our own losses."

"Even if we handed the dreamers over," Fulcrum answered angrily, "are we to betray NiGHTS? He's one of us. He put his own life on the line to save us last time. Is this how we are to repay him? Do you want to condemn him to death at the Wizeman's hands?"

"Better one alone than all of us!" Phalanx shouted, striking the ground. "What does it accomplish if we all die? The Wizeman will get the dreamers sooner or later no matter what we do. He'll kill us all if he has to. We have seen this!"

"That's not true! NiGHTS will save us!"

"He will, will he?" the unicorn shouted. His eyes burned. "Where is he then? Where is he? Tell me that! Where was he in the canyon?"

"He came! He saved the Wind Guardian's life, and half a hundred Nightmaren!"

"Yes," Phalanx said suddenly low and hateful. "He came. He came too late. And what did he do? We all saw it, we who were there. He struck one blow and then fled the field. This is our great hero? This is our saviour?" His tail lashed. "I will take the Wizeman over NiGHTS! At least I know he has courage!"

Back and forth the debate raged. Neither would give ground to the other and their attacks became steadily more heated. Fulcrum spoke furiously of principles and ideals and the need to remain strong in the face of danger. But Phalanx's accusations struck a chord in the hearts of many and he was beginning to gather strong support. NiGHTS had indeed been seen in the canyon. It had happened just as the unicorn said. One blow, and the Wizeman himself faltered in his tracks, and the Nightmaren cried out as one in joy and sudden hope. But then Reala rose up in challenge and instead of facing him the sprite turned tail and deserted them. That hope died as swiftly as it had bloomed.

In the crowd Asphodel listened with a heavy heart. He was ashamed for his fellows, and especially for Phalanx - this vindictive bitterness did not suit a unicorn and certainly did no honour to the memory of the Lady Rowan. At the same time he was ashamed for himself, for having turned back. He should have been there in the canyon that day. His presence would certainly have made no difference to the slaughter that took place, but now as he stood here unharmed among veterans he felt like a coward. He felt that Phalanx's accusations applied equally to himself.

The Nightmaren of the hill and forest had been hiding within the cave for over a day now. It was cold, it was wet, and it was not fun - even the kobolds and kirin, Nightmaren of combined earth and water, were growing tired of the dank darkness and longed to walk above once more. Tempers were running high. And Phalanx and his supporters stoked the fire until it became apparent that a confrontation could no longer be avoided. There would be an official public debate. They would vote on the question of whether to give up the dreamers.

Asphodel slipped away at this point. He went straight back to the shelter where Finestill still watched over the dreamers with the nixie, Gurry. "Come on," he said as he ducked beneath the opening. "There's going to be a vote."

"A vote?" said Finestill.

"Phalanx versus Fulcrum. If Fulcrum wins we go on as we have been. If Phalanx wins we give up the dreamers and surrender to the Wizeman." Asphodel glanced at the dreamers for a moment as he said this, then looked back to the kobold and nixie. "Come on, both of you. We need to be there. It's a question of solidarity."

"It won't make any difference, you know," Finestill said as he got to his feet.

"What are you talking about? We're split down the middle. One raised hand could make all the difference!"

"I don't mean that. It won't make any difference what gets decided. It will all work out the same in the end."

"You're giving up," Asphodel said angrily.

"No. It's not me who's given up. It's everyone." Finestill got to his feet and leaned on his staff. "You know what I mean. Just think about it! How has it come to this - that we're voting on whether to give in to the Wizeman?" His eyes were bright points beneath his hood. "I've heard the things being said out there, Asphodel, just as you have. We all KNOW who and what the Wizeman is. Even that Phalanx isn't so much of a fool as to believe the Wizeman's word is trustworthy. But despite all that we're talking about giving in to his demands." He sighed. "You know it as well as I do. The fact that the subject even came up is in itself a victory for the Wizeman. He's broken us."

"No," said Asphodel. "Not yet. Not if we win the vote." He tossed his head. "Now are you coming or are you going to sit here in the dark and brood like Phalanx?"

"I'll come, of course," said the kobold. "You know I will. But I still say it won't make any difference in the end."

The debating platform was hung with glowlamps until it sparkled like a Christmas decoration. Phalanx and Fulcrum stood side by side staring down at the crowd. Before them was a large earthenware jug: the ballot box for the vote. The unicorn looked confident, the griffin was somewhat less so. He had got the worst of it in the last argument.

Finestill, Asphodel and Gurry sneaked in at the back. Fulcrum was speaking.

" ... decided that it would be fairest to refer this question to all of you. Therefore please take a stone from the stream bed and drop it into the jar. If you believe that Phalanx is right and we should give up the dreamers to the Wizeman, put a black stone in the jar. If you believe that we should not surrender the dreamers, put a white stone in the jar. The votes will be counted by Chime and Tilde." The two fairies hovering nearby shoved one another and giggled. "We chose this method instead of a show of hands," Fulcrum went on, "because this way, if you want your vote to remain a secret, you will be able to keep the stone hidden as you drop it into the jar."

There was a general rush towards the stream which ran along the bottom of the cave a few yards away. "Come on," said Asphodel as he followed the crowd. The three of them had to range up and down for a while before they found their stones - the white stones were rarer than the black. Gurry waded out and brought back three white pebbles, one for each of them.

The Nightmaren formed into a long line awaiting their turn at the jar. The voting took a long time. Some, under the eye of Phalanx, went up reluctantly and hid their stones as they dropped them in. Others walked proudly with their choice visible to all eyes. Finestill made a note of these. Parse, the griffin who had first brought back news of the battle, carried a black stone in her front claw. She stared accusingly at Fulcrum as she dropped it in. Pilaster the kirin, who had also fought in the battle, held his head high and dignified as he took his white stone up onto the platform. Fairies, kobolds, trolls, all had their turn at the jar. It filled slowly.

Finestill and the others were at the back of the line, nearly the last to vote. The kobold glanced into the jar as he dropped his own stone in. The stones seemed evenly distributed: he could not guess whether there might be more black or more white within. He added his own white to the pile and stepped back to allow Gurry his turn.

"Now," he said to Asphodel, "I suppose all we can do is wait and see."

"We'll win," the unicorn said. "You wait and see. We're not quite done for yet."

Finestill was not so sure. There had been an awful lot of people voting black. It was going to be a near thing no matter how you looked at it. It disturbed him that so many people should be willing to vote to give up the dreamers.

The counting seemed to take forever. Chime and Tilde did it on stage, in full view of the assembled Nightmaren, to prove that no underhanded business was going on. There was absolute silence as the jar was emptied and the stones separated into a pile of black and a pile of white: every eye in the cavern followed each stone as it was lifted out of the jar. The fairies tried to giggle and joke about it but the silence was too sombre and the mood was catching. After a while they worked in silence. Behind them at the back of the platform Phalanx and Fulcrum stood side by side. Neither of them had put a stone into the jar. After all it was obvious to all how each would vote, and the addition of one more black and one more white stone would have changed nothing.

At last the final stone, a black one, was taken from the jar and added to the correct pile. Chime and Tilde conferred in whispers - and every ear strained to hear them. Phalanx appeared calm but the flicking of his tail showed his agitation. Fulcrum rustled his wings to arrange the feathers into a neater position.

"There are two hundred and thirty four black stones," said Tilde at last, settling atop the black pile.

Chime settled atop the white pile. "And of the white stones ... two hundred and fifty six."

"YES!" exclaimed Asphodel. He was not the only one to cry out. The cave echoed with a mingled chorus of joyful cries and groans. Fulcrum beamed as he sat down on the platform, claiming his territory. He was the victor: the dreamers would not be sacrificed.

To his credit Phalanx said nothing in defeat. He stepped down from the platform and walked away into the darkness without a backward glance.

 

 

~*~*THE NIGHTMARE~*~*

The boy lay face down clutching at the smooth stone beneath him. His body trembled as he pulled great shuddering breaths into his chest. In truth he felt as if he was still spinning helplessly through space in a wild ride as the demon swooped and cackled ignoring every plea. Vertigo whooped like a wolf in his brain. Now for one moment he had ground to lie on: he had something stable in his world. He clutched at it as if it were a float and he a drowning man.

What was this place? What was happening to him? Was he dead? Was this hell?

Presently he felt the mad whirling fade away and was able to raise his head and look around. The demon was nowhere in sight. But he was trapped here on an island floating in the middle of a blue and clouded void, so high that he could see nothing but shifting clouds below him. There was no escape from this place. And there was nothing on the island that he could use as a weapon - not even a loose stone. If that thing came back ...

He sat up and checked all his pockets one by one. He found what he was looking for in the hip pocket of his jeans: his flick knife. It was not a very impressive weapon - the blade was only three inches long - but he knew it was sharp and well looked after. And he knew how to use it.

He opened the knife and tested the blade with his thumb, then grinned as he closed it and slid it back into his pocket. If that thing came back it was going to be in for a nasty surprise.

To pass the time while he waited he walked up and down the island. It was hardly worth the name - it was no more than a bit of rock floating in midair. Looking out across the void he could see other islands, both larger and smaller, but there was no getting to them unless one could fly. Someone or something had to have brought him up here. That flying devil clown, presumably, since he already knew that it could fly and support his weight.

It couldn't want to kill me, he thought, or it would have done it already. That was a strange thought. He had been terrified at the time but now when he thought back he realised the extreme care the creature had taken. It hadn't dropped him - or rather it had caught him every time with superior grace. So for whatever reason the thing didn't want him to get hurt. That suggested it would be back. He touched the bulge of the flick knife in the pocket of his jeans.

If it tries to grab me again, he thought, I'll rip the bastard's arms off.

He decided now that he was dreaming. It had been a toss-up between that and being dead and in hell. He chose dreaming because the last thing he remembered was falling into bed. Besides he hadn't intended to die just yet. So this was a dream then. Some crazy nightmare starring a flying killer clown that looked it had come off the cover of a speed metal album - or should be on one at the very least. He grinned at the memory. He hadn't thought he was so imaginative.

There was half a packet of polos in his other pocket. He remembered that they'd been lurking in his jeans for a couple of weeks now - in the real world anyway. It made a crazy kind of sense that he'd have them in his dream too. He peeled back the crinkled wrapper, blew some pocket lint away and ate one of the mints. He was starving.

If this is a dream, he thought suddenly, I should be able to make stuff appear. I should be some kind of god. He closed his eyes and imagined a six course takeaway banquet from the China Garden down King Street. He concentrated until he could even smell the chop suey and feel the steam rising from the foil containers. When he opened his eyes again ... nothing had happened. He sighed. Not that kind of dream then.

 

 

Somewhere either very near or very far away (distance was meaningless in the nightmare) Reala lounged atop a throne of red and black stone. This island was much larger than the rest and ringed with immensely tall pillars of black stone supporting a domed roof. Everything was either red, or black, or a violently checkered mixture of both.

This was Reala's place, a gift from the Wizeman who had made it: it was his inner sanctum. He allowed no other Nightmaren within miles of it. At the smallest intrusion the djinn would rise in a white fury to defend his home, and would chase the unlucky trespassers until they eluded him - or until, more commonly, he caught them and administered a suitably painful lesson which would be sure to linger in the offender's mind. By now the local Nightmaren had learned to stay well clear. Reala's privacy was more or less assured in this place.

He lifted his legs and draped them over one arm of the throne, leaning his head back against the other. One arm hung careless in empty space. The throne was raised a hundred feet or more above the island's floor, balanced on a pillar. The design of this place allowed the wind to move freely through it - which was important, for even Reala grew twitchy when enclosed within walls - and it was also close to the fire at the heart of the nightmare. Which explained the infernal heat.

Reala would never admit to being afraid of anything, but he hated water. HATED it. He wasn't keen on earth either when it came down to it, but water gave him the screaming horrors. That was the best thing about this place - there was not a drop of water within miles, not even clouds. The heat kept it off. Here in this place he felt truly safe. Entirely at his ease.

Happy ...

He sighed angrily. It was no use. He couldn't relax - that cursed dreamer was haunting his mind. By now he would have chewed his own leg off to avoid the Wizeman's order if he had thought it would have helped. Befriend a dreamer? He would rather have made friends with NiGHTS. Or a cockroach. TORMENT a dreamer, that he could do. And had done for a good while earlier - which, although relieving his irritation, had probably not helped his cause.

In one respect at least he had made a good start. He had restored the dreamer's dream and in doing so had given the lost spirit a path back to the body. That was part one of his mission complete. Could he go now to the Wizeman and tell him this? Ask to be let off the other part of his duty? Could not Jackle or another of the generals do the rest? For a moment he dared to hope. Then he imagined himself before the Wizeman trying to explain why he could not do as he had been commanded.

Your lordship, I humbly beg to be released from this service as I don't actually like the dreamer ...

He made a wry smirk at his own foolishness. That would hardly do. No, somehow or other he had to accomplish this. His own pride demanded it if nothing else.

Better go check on the dreamer, he thought. He ought to make sure the wretched pup had done nothing stupid - like jump off the island. That thought made Reala sit up in a hurry. If that was the case it might take a long time to find the dreamer again. The wind could have carried him just about anywhere.

He swung his legs down from the throne, stood up and gave himself into the wind. Like a dark flame he sped from beneath the domed roof of his nightmare and slid out into the cloudy blue of the void.

The dreamer was still there: standing at one end of the island and looking down into space. Reala smirked to himself as he flew down. He was tempted to come up behind the boy and give him another surprise flying lesson. But no. He might know very little about dreamers but he was sure that wasn't the way to make friends with one.

He circled the island once and then stopped to balance on tiptoes on the wind just off its northern end. The dreamer turned to face him, standing casually with one hand stuffed deep in the pocket of his jeans. He showed no apparent surprise at seeing Reala again. They sized each other up.

"What the hell ARE you?" said the dreamer.

Reala grinned but said nothing. In truth he wasn't sure what to do now. If it had been up to him alone ... but ah, that was not possible! he had to fulfil his master's desire.

The dreamer took a step forward. Scared, but covering it well. "You come down here and I'll kill you."

Reala's grin widened. Had he heard right? This wretch, this milk-livered pup, thought he could challenge HIM? Deliberately he lowered his arms to his sides and drifted down to stand lightly on the ground. He folded his arms and smirked at the dreamer who was backing away now with an expression taut and tense.

"I'll kill you, you get it?" Standing square now with one fist clenched and the other still buried in the pocket. Was the dreamer trying to look unconcerned? The rictus of his face belied his calm. Reala laughed aloud at the spectacle.

Only the wind's warning saved him. Even as he leaped back into the air he felt the blade tip scratch across his chest. He clapped his hand to the place and brought it away unbloodied - he had been quick enough. Just.

"Not so cocky now, huh, freak?" The dreamer shifted his weight from foot to foot. The little knife gleamed in his fist. "Come on! Come on down here! Let's see what you're made of! Huh? You want some, huh? Come on!"

Reala's own hands clenched to fists. Up until now he had been too shocked to feel angry. Now the rage came boiling up. Nobody made a fool out of him. Nobody. He stared down at the smirking dreamer and felt his fury shudder through him. He held on to it until it was white hot, then he let it go. There was a blurred struggle. The knife cut him once and then he had the dreamer's wrist: twisted it and the weapon clattered to the tiles. The dreamer swung his other fist and smacked him a good one between the eyes. Reala snarled at him. They struggled.

Then for the second time in the space of ten seconds the dreamer took him by surprise. He brought his knee up and Reala's world exploded into a million shards of pain.

He was never sure what happened next. But it ended with him finding himself alone in the nightmare, the island no longer in sight. For the first time in his life he had fled from a dreamer. Furious with himself as much as the dreamer he nearly turned back - but he was hurting. His cut hand hurt, his face hurt, the other place hurt worse. He admitted it reluctantly: he didn't want to fight any more just now. He wanted to go home and bathe his wounded pride in the welcome heat of his own personal nightmare.

The Wizeman asked the impossible. He couldn't do this.

 

 

Three or four wraiths, Nightmaren of combined fire and water, watched the djinn's retreat from the safety of a cloud.

 

 

~*~*FROZEN BELL: THE TOR~*~*

It was dawn. Amy had spent a surprisingly comfortable night, all things considered: the wooden screens provided some shelter from the ever present wind, and another airy sylph had visited her bringing a light soft blanket whose colour - as with Vendaval's scarf - matched the sky. It made the wooden boards no softer but it was warm, and she had managed to sleep at least a little.

She woke to find that someone had left her a few more apples and a single small hard bread roll, as well as a small jug of water. The bread tasted strange. It wasn't a very impressive breakfast but at least she felt less hungry after eating it.

She ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed her shirt then stepped out into gusting wind and the most glorious sunrise she had ever seen. With no walls she was surrounded by the sky, and the sky was filled with prismatic light. Amy looked around half hoping to see NiGHTS nearby, but there was no sign of him. What there was was a dark figure standing at the rail: long twists of smoky gray hair rippled and streamed in the strong wind. She walked up and stood beside the Wind Guardian. "Hi," she said awkwardly.

He turned his head. "How was your night?"

"Pretty good, actually." She smiled. "Um ... thanks for the food."

"You are welcome, but I didn't bring it."

"Oh." Amy looked away for a moment unsure what to say next. "So, um, who did?"

"A sylph named Mistral, at my request." Donovan smiled faintly and went back to looking at the sky. "I'm afraid I'm not really up to fetching and carrying for you at the moment."

"Oh," Amy said again. She glanced at him sidelong. "And how are you? Still pretty sore, huh?"

He looked back at her startled then began to chuckle softly. "Do you know," he said, "there isn't a Nightmaren alive who would dare to speak to me like that?"

"Because you're a dragon?"

"Partly."

"Well," Amy said, "I'm not a Nightmaren. So I guess I don't count." Privately she thought that no matter what he said he was this old guy couldn't have scared a fly.

He smiled again as he turned his head away. "Well ... to answer your question, yes, I am sore. But I am healing. I will be myself again in a few more days."

"A few days? But your hand -"

"Never mind my hand."

"But you've lost -"

He turned and the fierce look in his dark eyes silenced her again. "I said never mind! Will talking about it now change anything? What's done is done!"

"I only meant," Amy said, quailing under that stare, "you should see a proper doctor. Look, I don't really know what I was doing! I just ... I just took a flying guess what to do. You should at least change the bandages ... I mean, wounds have to be kept clean, I know that much. What if they get infected?"

He looked at her in unblinking silence. That look made her feel like a bug under a lens: she couldn't meet it. She looked down at her feet instead and felt the hot blood rise to her cheeks. At the moment when she felt that she could bear it no more, abruptly his gaze was pulled away. He looked back towards the sky.

"Do you know something?" he said. "You're almost certainly correct." She looked up surprised: he met her eyes and smiled wryly. "To be honest, I'm afraid to look at it all. I'm not usually squeamish about such things, but ..." He sighed instead of finishing.

"I'll do it," Amy said.

Donovan looked surprised. "You will? Are you sure?"

She swallowed and nodded. "I've done it once, I guess. But just as long as you understand I really don't know what I'm doing."

"No Nightmaren would have done for me what you did," he said and smiled. "I will trust you one more time, I think."

Amy led him into the shelter of the screens and shook out the rumpled blanket over the boards. He sat down stiffly, grimacing at the pain the movement caused him. "You should really get yourself some new clothes," she said as she helped him ease off the tattered old robe. A score of stained wrappings were laid bare.

"It's on my agenda," he muttered.

She looked him up and down. "Ew," she said, then frowned. "I just realised something. We don't have anything else to use as bandages."

"Then leave them off - they've done their job." He winced as she took his left arm in gentle hands.

Amy sighed. "Okay," she said. "I guess I'd better have a look at least, now we've got this far." The silken wrapping on his wrist was stiff and dark, caked with dried blood. She didn't like the idea of seeing what lay beneath. Gingerly she began to pick at the knot. He turned his head away and said nothing as she unwound the cracking bandage. Outside the wind blasted at the wooden screens and made them creak alarmingly.

It was ugly. It was not nice. "Oh, gross," she said and screwed up her face.

"I take it that's bad?" His voice was taut with pain.

"It's ... ugh." Amy swallowed hard and forced herself to look. "Actually it doesn't look as bad as it did. It's kind of scabbed over. God, I'm so sorry."

"What for? You didn't do it."

"Well, I'm still sorry." She turned his arm over. As far as she was able to guess, the wound was clean. She picked up the filthy shred of silk that had wrapped it and decided it would be best not to use it again. "Um ... will it be okay like this?"

"It'll be fine."

He sat patiently while she checked the other cuts and gashes. Everything seemed to be healing to some degree. At the very least nothing was actually bleeding now. Amy pulled the discarded bindings together in a heap and helped him with his shirt and the torn robe. "Thank you," he said simply as he got to his feet.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

She shook her head in wonder. "God, you must be made of iron. I'd be screaming if it was me."

"And would it help?"

"No, not really," she had to admit. Then, "What happened, anyway? I mean, how did it happen?"

Donovan's smile died slowly. "There was a battle," he said. "Our last serious attempt to resist the Wizeman. We failed. I suppose I am one of the luckier ones - thre are many more who won't have returned at all."

"NiGHTS was there too, wasn't he?"

He looked surprised, then nodded. "For a short time. Did he tell you? He saved my life."

"He didn't say that," Amy said wide-eyed.

"He's quite a hero, believe it or not. He has fought the Wizeman before, single-handed, and even bested him with the help of two dreamers - that is, people like yourself, from your world."

"NiGHTS?" She giggled.

"Why do you laugh?"

"Well, I mean ... he just seems so ... well, flighty."

"That's wind Nightmaren for you," he said quite seriously. "But don't make the mistake of judging him by the way he appears. People always underestimate him. And I, it appears, am just as guilty of it as anyone," he added more quietly, and his eyes looked inward. In a moment he seemed to rouse himself. "I have been thinking," he said, "what to do with you."

"You're not going to send me away, are you?"

He looked surprised. "Well, I didn't imagine you would want to stay here. I can offer you very little in the way of comfort."

"I'll be fine," Amy said suddenly frantic at the prospect of leaving. "Please, please don't make me go."

"If it's really what you want," he began, then lifted his head sharply and looked southward. Amy followed his look, puzzled. She saw nothing at all in the sky. Then a gentle breeze brushed her face, cool and chill - a light, watery, lowland breeze that made her think of clear streams and sunlit meadows.

"NiGHTS is coming," she said.

Donovan stared at her. "Yes," he said. "He is."

In a few more moments a blue spark appeared over the encircling mountains, rising swift on the wind. Amy marvelled at the speed and grace of his flight. She had not seen him fly before - not clearly, at any rate. The wind was gusting viciously but he approached as straight and swift as if it had been a dead calm. "It's like he was born in the air," she said.

"He was," said the dragon. For another moment he looked at her curiously, then he walked forward and stood at the rail. "Something's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not messing about. He's coming straight here. Something's wrong."

NiGHTS was carrying something: a bit of wood, an old weathered board. He hovered up before them poised as a dancer. His face was ... different. His brilliant eyes were cold and hard now, the pupils narrowed to slits.

"What is it?" said Donovan.

Without speaking the sprite held out the board. Donovan shook back his sleeve awkwardly, reached out and took it. He read it through and then exhaled sharply. His shoulders hunched and his fingers clenched tight upon the wood. Then he relaxed and looked up. "I see," he said.

"What's happening?" Amy asked.

In answer he turned and handed her the notice. She read it quickly, and then again more carefully paying attention to the words.

"Clever," Donovan said to NiGHTS. "Abominably clever. I'd say Jackle was behind it. Reala would have been more direct." The sprite nodded silently.

"Who's Jackle?" Amy asked as she laid the board aside.

"One of the Wizeman's henchmen - wind and earth, a gargoyle. He's not as powerful as Reala and he knows it - but what he lacks in brawn he makes up for in cunning."

"Wind and earth? So what's Reala?" Her eyes narrowed in a moment's thought. "Wind and fire, right?"

Donovan turned to face her. "That's right," he said. "He's a djinn - a spirit of wind and fire, with the wind dominant. And what do you think NiGHTS is?"

She grinned. "That's easy. Wind and water. Since he flies and hates being underground - unless it's a snow cave which is for some reason okay with him." NiGHTS actually blushed.

"That's interesting," Donovan said again quietly. He looked at her for a long time until she squirmed beneath his dark gaze, then he turned and turned that gaze on NiGHTS. "What have you done to her?"

The sprite's eyes widened. He shook his head in earnest denial.

"Don't give me that dumb show. And come down here. NOW." Donovan's voice cracked like a whip. NiGHTS descended to the platform looking like a puppy caught in some act of wrongdoing. "What have you done? She knew you were coming - she sensed you in the wind. She shares your bond with the elements. What did you do to her?" NiGHTS backed away. The Wind Guardian lunged and caught him by the collar, dragging him close. He shook him a little.

"Don't hurt him!" Amy cried.

"I'm not going to hurt him. As long as he explains himself." NiGHTS's eyes were huge as he stared into the searchlight beam of the Wind Guardian's glare.

A whisper. "I don't know."

"You do know. And you'll tell me now."

"It was her dream," the sprite said softly. "Reala stole her dream. So I gave it back to her. I couldn't carry her all the way."

Donovan stared at him for a few more tense seconds. Then he let him go and began to laugh. "So you share a part of your own spirit to get her back on her feet! You are the most ridiculous sprite I have ever known!"

"I didn't mean to - it was an accident."

"An accident! Do you have any conception of what you've done?"

"Well, I certainly don't!" Amy said angrily as she pushed between them. "So how about telling me instead of talking like I'm not even here?"

"I think I'll leave the explanations to NiGHTS," Donovan said. "I need to go to Spring Valley and find out for myself what's happening, since the sylphs haven't brought any news worth mentioning." And he vaulted over the rail in a flutter of black cloth. Amy gasped and moved two steps towards the edge - then a blast of wind knocked her flat on her back.

An immense smoky shape rose above the edge of the platform. Majestic wings unfolded wider than the tower. The dragon stretched and reared its translucent head, then twisted over in the air and exploded away southwards. In seconds it was lost to view.

NiGHTS hovered above her and held out his hand. Amy took it and was lifted gently to her feet. She took several shaky breaths. "THAT'S a dragon?" she said.

 

 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It was the only way."

"To do what?"

"To escape."

She sat on the boards hugging her knees. He was perched on the rail, perfectly poised in the embrace of the ever-present wind.

"So what does it mean, exactly? You say I'm ... tied to the elements."

NiGHTS blinked his gorgeous eyes. "What does it mean?"

"I just asked you that," said Amy.

"What does it mean to you?"

"You're really not very good at answering questions, are you?"

"But I can't answer that question. You're the only one who can answer."

"Thanks for nothing," she said and lay back on the boards to watch the sky drift by. She was waiting for him to say something. But of course he didn't.

"I don't feel any different," said Amy after a while. "If I've caught some sort of ... elemental bond off of you, shouldn't I be able to ... you know, fly and things? Why can't I fly?"

"Because you're afraid." He looked quite serious.

"Afraid?"

"Afraid of the wind. You won't trust it. If you trusted it, you could fly."

She sat up again. "So what are you saying, if I just jump off the edge ... What happens if I jump off the tower? Are you seriously telling me I'll start flying?"

"No. You'll fall."

"Well, then," she said crossly.

"No. You don't understand. Look!" He let go of the rail and was floating in a cloud of drifting sparkles. "Look!" he said again.

"I'm looking. I don't know how you do that!"

"But it's not me. It's the wind."

Amy sighed and got up. She walked back and forth on the boards. "I'm sorry. I just don't get it."

"I could show you," NiGHTS said softly.

She glanced back over her shoulder, frowning, intrigued despite herself. "How?"

"Will you trust me?"

"If you mean, will I trust you to drop me down a mountainside again, then no. I think we already had this conversation once."

"I can show you, but you have to trust me."

"What are you going to do?" she said, folding her arms.

"You have to trust me first."

Amy sighed. "All right," she said. "I trust you. Now what is it?"

In answer he came over, drifting on the air, and held out his hand to her. She looked at it for a long moment and then up into his luminous violet eyes - eyes as wide as the sky, as deep as the sea. There was nothing but kindness in those expressive eyes now. Slowly Amy reached up her own hand and their fingers met and slid to

        geth

    er

Amy opened her eyes and everything was strange. She was the wrong height and the wrong shape and her body felt light as air and she couldn't seem to ... where was the ground? The ground wasn't ... gravity wasn't ...

She looked at her hands as if she had never seen them before. In a way she hadn't.

"What have you done?" she said in someone else's voice. "I'm you!"

No, he said, laughing. We're us. Do you trust me?

"I trust you," she said weakly.

Do you trust me?

I trust you.

She felt him smile. And then his/their arms lifted, and together they were flying ...

 

 

~*~*THE NIGHTMARE~*~*

Dream-cursed devils! thought Reala, sitting up in a hurry. He has done it! He has merged with the dreamer! Even distant as he was he felt the sudden thrill in the wind - no Nightmaren tied to that element could have missed it.

NiGHTS had beaten him to it. The Wizeman would not be pleased.

Reala leaped from his throne and dived into the wind. He was a comet of golden flame as he accelerated arrow-swift from his own nightmare to the place where he had left the dreamer. Sylphs fled squealing out of his path. His mind was a knot of fury. Part of him even wished to encounter NiGHTS/dreamer on the way - he knew he could not win against a Nightmaren merged with a dreamer's spirit, but he would have tried. He would have tried right now even had it meant his death. Shown up again by that purple freak of nature!

Clouds were in his way. Normally he would have gone around them to avoid the water, but right now he was too angry. He blasted through the drifting vapour and it exploded away in whirling plumes of steam. Just a few miles further now ...

Something was strange. Reala could not find the dreamer in the wind. Perhaps he was lying down or standing very still ... An uncomfortable sensation settled in his chest: unease, fear even. His heart moved strangely. He folded his arms against his sides and spun into a drill-dash, nearly mowing down a terrified sylph as he gained his top speed. He was making a hell of a ruckus - any wind-bonded Nightmaren within miles would feel his presence by now - but he was too angry to care. He burst out of a billow of cloud and saw the island below.

THE DREAMER WASN'T THERE!

Gold sparks fountained up around him as Reala came to an ungainly flailing stop above the island. He stared round with wild distracted eyes. How? Had the dreamer jumped? No - he would surely have heard that from the wind. He reached out for a trace of the dreamer and found something else: the receding sense of other Nightmaren fleeing fast towards the north. A fire/water bond: wraiths. His dreamer had been discovered by the local Nightmaren.

His fury reached a new heat. He spun in the air and blasted northwards. This was not to be borne. Whatever his personal opinion on the dreamer this was a direct slight to him - to HIM, Wizeman's right-hand Nightmaren! Did the lesser Nightmaren really think they could steal something of Reala's and get away with it? He'd gut them when he caught them! He'd ...

He could sense water ahead: it showed up in his mind as a great blindness, a chill suffocating darkness that extinguished all life. That shocked the fury out of him. The wraiths were fleeing direct towards water. With their bond to the element they could escape from him that way. They knew his weakness and had begun with it in mind. This was planned, then. How? Who? Jackle? Reala reached within and tapped the power of the dreamer's ideya. It rose and began to orbit him, channeling its power into his body. He was flying faster now than he ever had before. But he did not know if he had the strength to catch up: they had a huge head start on him. He forced still more speed out of himself, wearying now but determined. If he lost the dreamer he would never be able to face the Wizeman again.

He blasted out of another cloud and saw them at last: specks in the distance. Wraiths were peculiar among Nightmaren, often half-mad from the instability of their elemental bond. Those who shared conflicting elements were always unpredictable.

The largest speck dangled something below it. Reala accelerated further. He was gaining on them - but ahead he could see the place where they were bound. This part of the nightmare was somewhere where he would not normally have ventured - the sky was full of thick dark clouds and there were many islands running with water. A great rock island fringed with trees loomed out of the clouds ahead: it was little more than the container for a vast deep lake. The water cascaded down from somewhere far above in an immense waterfall: streams and rivers poured out of the brimming bowl to vanish into the clouds below.

The wraiths were too far ahead. And they knew he was behind them - there was a new urgency in their flight. He wasn't going to make it. He had held onto this drill-dash ever since leaving the dreamer's island and he was flagging now. One immense effort brought him across the final empty space. His taloned hand flashed out and came within an inch of the last wraith's tail - as it slid smoothly beneath the surface of the water.

The water's surface was as clear as glass. Hovering above it Reala saw them fleeing swiftly downwards into a blue darkness. He knew two of them: Party and Calcine, both former associates of Jackle. He knew he could not prove it, but just as surely he knew that Jackle was behind this - it was an attempt to discredit Reala in the Wizeman's eyes. It was going to work. He could not enter this blue death.

All of these thoughts passed through the djinn's mind in the space of less than a second. And hard on their heels came two more: the thought of the Wizeman, and the thought of NiGHTS. Staring down he saw the dreamer's eyes looking back at him, stupid with terror as the wraiths dragged him down. The dreamer could no more survive under water than he could. The dreamer would die. Reala had failed his master. Once again NiGHTS had got the better of him.

NO.

He dived. And the water swallowed him like a monstrous mouth. It met his heat and closed about him tight as iron bands, striving to extinguish his life. He felt the chill of an alien poison enter into his heart. Bubbles were streaming off his body now, taking with them his strength and life. He kicked grimly down, clawing the strange element with his hands, his eyes fixed on the dreamer. In water the wraiths were things of cold slime and darkness. They feared him no longer now that he was separated from the source of his strength. They ceased their flight and turned to meet him. The dreamer's struggles had an air of desperation now: air bubbled from his open mouth.

A wraith flung itself about him and enclosed him in a net of freezing fins. He clawed it in the belly and it fell away from him with a shriek of surprise and mingled pain. Blood coiled through the water like smoke. Reala turned and went for the one that held the dreamer. They had his measure now and easily avoided his clumsy flailings. There was a look of triumph in their deep-sea eyes: the Wizeman's greatest lieutenant was completely at their mercy. Another wraith bit at him from behind and he floundered. He was so weak now. The world was beginning to fade at the edges. He was no longer sure if he even had the strength to reach the surface.

There was a flurry from the dreamer's direction. Something glinted and flashed out and a wraith shrieked. Reala heard it only dimly. His strength was gone. He was drifting downwards now on his back, staring up at a shifting light that seemed unimaginably distant. Slowly the light began to fade away from his eyes. His back brushed against something sandy - the bottom of the lake. His limbs settled limp against the ground: he had not the strength to lift a finger now. The wraiths were gone. They knew he was done for.

Just before the darkness overwhelmed him, a shadow crossed his face.

 

 

The boy's head broke the surface and he threw his head back and drew in a long shuddering breath that ended in a retching cough. His long braided hair dripped and stuck to his cheeks. He trod water for a few moments as he gathered his strength, then struck out for the thin belt of sand and palm trees that served the island as a shore. His swimming was clumsy because of what he was towing.

He found bottom with his feet and stood up carefully. Then, he pulled the devil-clown upright and waded up and out with his arm locked around its slim waist. The thing was weirdly hot to the touch, even slick with water as it was right now.

He didn't know what to think. Whose side was this thing on? Well, it had saved his life ...

Wearily the boy sloshed out of the water, dragging the creature with him. It was surprisingly light despite its muscles and the massive sweeping horns. He climbed the sand bank and let the thing fall on dry ground. It collapsed bonelessly and lay still on its back, long limbs outstretched, claw-like fingers curled loosely into the palms of its hands. He frowned and knelt beside it placing his hand on its chest to see if he could feel a pulse. Its body was almost painfully hot and nearly dry already - water was rising off its body in little curls of steam.

The creature wasn't breathing, nor was there a pulse that he could find. He straddled it and placed both palms on its chest setting the heel of his hand against what was probably the breastbone. Then he pushed down sharply several times using his body weight for added force.

At the fourth or fifth attempt its eyes flew open and it gasped in a startled breath. He stared down into a pair of brilliant blue slit-pupilled eyes that possessed the sparkling intensity of gems. The creature blinked up at him, its mouth slightly open: comically shocked. Then it fought its way out from under him, fell on its side and was coughing and choking, spitting out a quantity of water. The liquid bubbled and steamed on the sand and boiled away to nothing within moments.

"You all right?" he said after a little while.

The creature lifted its head and looked up at him again with those large brilliant eyes. They were a hot pure blue, the colour of a gas flame. Then it rolled over and raised itself, still staring back at him. Hunched on hands and knees like that it seemed poised to flee at any second. He stayed very still, not wanting to startle it.

"Why did you DO that?" it asked. The voice was breathless and afraid. Something had happened. The look in its remarkable eyes was nothing like it had been before. When it had come to him on the island those eyes had been closed, cold as ice: now they were aflame with light.

Carefully he shrugged. "Just repaying the favour."

"Favour?" The devil-clown tried the word out slowly.

"You saved me from those monsters," he said. "Fair's fair, isn't it?" The creature relaxed very slightly at the sound of his voice. But its lustrous eyes remained fixed on him: huge, troubled, dazed. "Look, mate," he said. "I dunno what the hell you are or what you want, but thanks for stopping those guys."

They looked at each other: he sitting back cross-legged on the sand, the other on hands and knees. Slowly the devil-clown stood and brushed sand off its palms, moving with the vague confusion of one unsure as to whether he was awake or asleep. The boy stood too and in another second their eyes met again.

"I'm Ross," he said, and waited for the reciprocation. It did not come. "You got a name?" he asked at last, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his dripping jeans.

The creature was recovering a little of its poise now. "Reala," it said softly, with a peculiar roll of the R.

He snorted laughter. "Reala? What sort of name is THAT?"

"My name." It grinned fiercely as it said that, and the blue eyes flared with inner fire.

There was silence between them for a moment as they re-evaluated each other. Reala folded his arms. He was hovering now an inch or two off the ground: Ross saw it. "You're a psycho, you know that?" he said.

Reala's grin widened slightly.

"So what was all that about earlier?" Ross asked, folding his own arms.

"What?"

"Yeah right, you know what. Throwing me about like that!"

"Ahh, poor innocent, didst thou not like thy flying lesson?" Reala lifted his head and began to laugh. He was still laughing when the fist smacked into his face.

The fight lasted for several minutes and was vastly enjoyed by both parties.

 

 

They sat looking out over the water as the light began to fail. Sunset in the nightmare was an arbitrary thing: indeed time itself was arbitrary and could never be relied on to occur at the appropriate intervals. But now, today, everything seemed to be happening in the correct order. Thus the sky was amber splashed with pink as the great flaming disc of the sun sank down towards the shadows.

"So let me just sort this out in my mind," Ross said. "This is a dream world, and it's currently at war between some guy called Wizeman and a bad guy called NiGHTS."

"Wizeman is the sovereign lord of this realm," Reala said quietly. "And NiGHTS ..." Ahh, even the name made him burn. He suppressed his anger: this was a time to be rational. "NiGHTS is a foul traitor. He betrayed our lord and master most despicably, stealing from him and poisoning the minds of the Nightmaren against him."

"So he's like, the gang leader?" Ross picked up a handful of dry sand and played with it, letting it drift into the wind. "So where do I come into this?"

Reala's eyes flicked sideways. "You are a dreamer. In this realm you have power. 'Twas my master's will that I should learn to do as NiGHTS does."

"And what's that?"

Here it came. Reala looked away again, heartsick. "He may share his body with a dreamer," he said, unable to keep the revulsion out of his voice. "Two minds, one body. NiGHTS alone is powerful, but when he flies with a dreamer he is unbeatable."

"How's that work, then? I end up stuck inside of you?"

Reala wasn't sure: he really had no idea how NiGHTS did what he did. Were he honest with himself he feared the very thought of merging. He didn't want some alien presence inside his body, and that was that. But he remembered fighting NiGHTS/Elliot so long ago. The sprite had moved with blistering speed and phenomenal power, literally flying rings around him. And there was something horrifyingly OTHER about the movement, the manner, the very look in the sprite's eyes. The whole battle had lasted ten, perhaps fifteen seconds, and he was left with the impression that he had fought two people at once - but working in such close cooperation that they were effectively one.

"Is it permanent?" asked Ross.

He shook his head. That he did know. NiGHTS appeared to be able to do it at will - provided that he had a dreamer with him, and knew that dreamer's spirit intimately enough.

"You're not keen on this idea, are you?" the black boy said. "Well, nor am I. Can't you get this guy another way?"

"Only a Nightmaren can defeat a Nightmaren. Only a dreamer can defeat a dreamer. If a Nightmaren and a dreamer merge, there is nothing in this realm that will stop such a one." Reala's eyes narrowed at a memory. "Even the Wizeman could not defeat NiGHTS while merged."

Ross sat quiet for several minutes, thinking things over. "So how do we do it?" he said at last. Reala looked up startled. "Merge. Whatever it is you called it. How's it done? I'm just asking."

Reala shrugged.

"You don't know? You've been told to do this thing and you don't even know how to do it? Great. You guys are real efficient."

Reala shrugged again. He was thinking over what little he knew about the merge. NiGHTS had done it with two dreamers before - Claris and Elliot, the Red dreamers. Now he had managed it with a White dreamer. What was the secret? What linked all three?

"Listen, man," Ross was saying. "You totally need to change your outlook if you're gonna win against this guy. Number one is, you gotta know who to trust. You need to know who's your ally and who's taking you for a ride, know what I'm saying?"

... you gotta know who to trust ...

He'd heard that before.

... do you trust me? ...

NiGHTS. NiGHTS speaking to the Red dreamer from the confines of the prison trap. Of course, of course! Reala's eyes opened wide. He knew. Suddenly he knew how it was done. But that knowledge filled him with a whole new range of fears. He knew how to merge with the dreamer, but now more than ever he was convinced that he did not want to do it.

He got to his feet. "Come," he said.

"What? Where to?"

"It is safe here no longer. Come - I will bring you to another place." He gestured impatiently when Ross did not move.

"You're gonna carry me again?"

"Unless you can fly!" Reala said in sudden hot anger.

But Ross was grinning now as he got up. "Cool," he said.

 

 

~*~*SPRING VALLEY~*~*

It was night, but it was not dark: a vast silver moon hung over the landscape turning everything to silver and shadow. At night Spring Valley was a place of strange monochrome beauty, where eyes became full of inner light and water glowed silver under the sky.

Normally at night the valley would have been full of Nightmaren - kirin and nymphs and other shy creatures that did not dare to show themselves under the sun. But now it was deserted. The dark mounded flanks of Mystic Forest rose to the west: in the north Frozen Bell was a blank white mountainous expanse.

On his hilltop Jackle was beginning to grow discouraged. He had sent most of his attendants away: only two lesser Nightmaren, Hollow and Mudlark, remained with him. He knew the rebel Nightmaren had seen the signs but there was as yet no movement from the forest. Without at least one other lieutenant present he did not dare to venture in. The forest was so dark and dense that anything could be lurking in there. Elder Nightmaren - anything.

And he was here, on the very fringe of the forest, waiting. Waiting for his signs to have some sort of effect. It was a good plan - he knew it was a good plan. But why had nothing happened yet?

In the forest a twig cracked. Jackle's head jerked up in poorly masked fright. Between the trees something gleamed white against the moonlight. It was coming. Coming to him.

Ahh ...

The unicorn stepped out onto the grass. There was nothing graceful or dainty about this filthy bedraggled beast. Its fine legs were splashed and dark with mud, its pelt was stained with the red dust of Stick Canyon. The long silky mane was a tangled mess full of twigs and briars. And the unicorn moved with a hopeless hangdog tread, head down and feet scuffing in the dirt.

In the darkness beneath the moon, Jackle grinned to himself.

Wearily the fine head lifted on its long neck. Even now there was something beautiful about the delicate lines of it - but the beauty looked pathetic on such a beaten creature.

"I know you," said the unicorn, looking direct at him now. Its gorgeous eyes were half lidded and grim. There was a smear of something dark and crusted on its cheek. The spiral horn too was stained.

"Phalanx, isn't it?" Jackle said. His mind howled in triumph and he affected a deep bow, trying not to grin. "And what can I do for you?"

"You know very well why I've come."

"Perhaps I do at that. Well? Where are they?"

"How much do you want to know?"

Jackle's eyes narrowed slowly. "So... You want to make a deal with the Lord of Nightmares, I take it? If you have read the message you know what it says. Those terms are not negotiable."

"Well, I want to hear it from your mouth," Phalanx said. "I want you to assure me now that no Nightmaren will be harmed."

"If they do not resist, they will not be harmed. That too is on the sign."

The unicorn stood four-square and defiant, shivering slightly in a chill night breeze that ruffled his tattered mane. "I can give you the dreamers, but not NiGHTS."

"The deal was for all of them," Jackle said cold in his turn.

"But you're tied to the wind - you probably already know where NiGHTS will be. He's hidden up with the Wind Guardian, most likely. In any case he isn't with us." Phalanx scraped one hoof along the dirt, pulling up a bit of grass in his agitation. His calm voice could not belie the fear he was experiencing, and Jackle began to smile despite himself. "I'll take you to the dreamers," Phalanx said, "and the rebel Nightmaren. I'll show you where the hiding place is and I'll open the way for you. But only if you promise me that you won't hurt anyone."

"Phalanx, Phalanx, Phalanx," Jackle said with a sigh. "How can I promise that? I'll say it again - if they make no attempt to resist, the Wizeman will not harm them. My message was quite clear on that account. Give up the dreamers and come out quietly, and your friends will be spared."

"If they surrender quietly ... you won't harm them? You'll promise this?"

"On my very life," Jackle answered smoothly. He could barely suppress his smirk at that - after all it was only a matter of interpretation. Interpret the word "harm" correctly - or even the word "surrender" - and one could find a lot of leeway in such woolly wording. Phalanx had no idea how useless his extorted promises truly were.

"There's one more thing," Phalanx said and now there was something genuinely strange in his voice. Something dark. "If I do this thing for you, what happens to me?"

"What do you mean by that?" Jackle asked, knowing full well what was meant.

"I want to know what happens to me if I show you the way to the rebels' hiding place. They'll want revenge on the one who betrays them, you know that. I want security for myself. I want to know that I'll have the Wizeman's protection."

"In other words," Jackle said quietly, "you want to enter the Wizeman's service yourself." A unicorn! he thought in secret jubilation. And one of Lady Rowan's folk no less! His lordship would be thrilled!

"Yes," Phalanx answered. "That is exactly what I want." And he shivered where he stood.

Jackle came forward. Normally he would not have dared go near a unicorn but now there was nothing to fear. He reached out and patted Phalanx's neck sympathetically, feeling the unicorn tremble at his touch. "Well, my friend," he said with an expansive grin, "I believe you and I may well have a deal."

 

 

~*~*MYSTIC FOREST~*~*

They never had a chance.

The Wizeman's soldiers came with the dawn, pouring into the cave from both its main entrances. Some few of the smaller fugitives managed to escape through smaller cracks in the stone, or retreated into the underground river at the heart of the cave (none knew where that ended up). But most were caught sleeping as the mephits and goblins poured in. There was no time to put up a fight. They were herded into groups separated by their elements, then bound and hauled away one after the other.

Phalanx stood impassively by Jackle's side and watched the round-up taking place. Many of the captured Nightmaren spat at him as they were dragged past. He held his head up in bitter pride. I am saving you all, he thought, even if you are too foolish to see it right now. I have sacrificed myself for the price of your lives.

They came across the dreamers all together in a little makeshift tent. Jackle tutted at the squalor as he shouldered his way in through the canvas flaps. "You see how these fools live? Ridiculous. No doubt they thought they were being hospitable." A kobold cowered in the corner. He grinned as he surveyed the four unconscious forms. "Sleeping like babes. Hel-LO ...!" - something had caught his attention. He stooped and knelt beside one of the dreamers, a girl with long black glossy hair and an Asian cast to her features. Yes! screamed a strange new voice within. This one! Now! Here! The ideya stirred within him. Jackle was intrigued and for a moment his errand went right out of his head. This girl was the one ... it was her ideya that rested within his own body now. There was a bond of sorts between them. He slipped his hands under her and lifted her without effort. Whatever he had been about to say was lost.

The mephits were looking at him curiously. He glanced down at the unconscious girl once more, then jerked his head towards the kobold who watched. "Take him," he said. "And take special care. I know him - he's one of NiGHTS's friends." He smiled nastily at the kobold, who made no attempt to struggle as the mephits took hold of him. "Quite a friend you have there. I notice he's kept as far away from you all as he possibly could. Sensible fellow. But we'll have him sooner or later, I promise you that."

Finestill said nothing but kept his head down and his eyes fixed humbly on the ground. For some reason that angered Jackle more than outright defiance. Only the fact that he was holding the dreamer prevented him from striking the kobold. "Get him out of my sight," he said roughly to the two mephits. They wrestled Finestill away.

Alone in the tent Jackle looked down at the other three dreamers: a red haired boy, a blonde girl and another bigger boy with darker hair. He wasn't personally interested in any of them now - never mind the Wizeman's orders. Even the thought of Reala's impending humiliation gave him little added pleasure. He had what he wanted right here in his arms. And he hadn't even known he'd been looking for it.

He pushed his way out and called to a couple of passing Nightmaren: wraiths, nominally under the command of Gulpo. "In here. Pick them up and carry them." They went, grumbling audibly. Jackle made a mental note to have them both punished for insubordination later on.

On the way out, Phalanx accosted him. The unicorn's eyes were bright now and glittering with moisture: the passion in them almost gave him his old look back. "What's going on?" he demanded in a voice that trembled. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Jackle glanced around. It took him a moment to understand: Phalanx meant the bound and captured Nightmaren. "Oh. Well, what about it?"

"You promised they wouldn't be harmed!" Phalanx was near weeping.

"Dear, dear Phalanx," Jackle sighed, shaking his head. "So I did. And so it shall be. They won't be harmed - you have my word on it."

"Then what are you going to do with them?"

He grinned. "Can't have dangerous renegades running around the captured provinces, can we? They'll be taken to the nightmare and held there." Patronisingly he added, "And I PROMISE, dear Phalanx, that we won't hurt a hair on the heads of your dear little friends."

"You're going to imprison them in the nightmare?" Phalanx whispered. "Underground? But ... the sylphs ... the sprites! They'll go mad!"

"Well, the unicorns should be quite content," Jackle said with superlative cruelty. "So I suppose it all balances out in the end. Now get along with you if you want to be useful. Puffy is in Splash Garden - go tell her I need her here. There are too many prisoners for me to move alone."

Phalanx stared at him for another moment then turned and fled with a clatter of hooves into the darkness of the cave. Jackle shrugged mentally and motioned to the three wraiths carrying the dreamers. He had little interest in the unicorn now - Phalanx had served his purpose and could be disregarded henceforth. He was looking forward to telling the Wizeman how he had managed to subvert one of Lady Rowan's own.

 

 

~*~*THE WIND GUARDIAN'S TOR~*~*

It was like seeing in colour for the first time.

Or perhaps, a little like driving a dual-controlled car.

Amy's first attempts had been laughably clumsy: NiGHTS had had to intervene more than once to stop them careening headfirst into a mountainside or the ground. But gradually she began to understand the movement of the wind - and learned at the same time to move with it, to let it flow around her or support her or do whatever it was she needed it to do. Now NiGHTS had retreated into the background and was an almost imperceptible presence. He had given his own body over to her, an act of inconceivable trust on his part.

She had spent the most unbelievable night of her life flying freely over the mountains. Now as dawn broke she lay face-down on the wind and watched the sun rise into the massive bowl of the sky. The light bathed her face in gold and set the red gem on her/their chest glittering with inner glory.

Everyone dreamed of flying sooner or later. But the reality made her imagination seem pale. There was quite simply nothing like it.

Amy knew that sooner or later she would wake up and enter a world of gray normality. But last night she had played hide-and-seek with a trio of giggling sylphs, a thousand feet up, dashing in and out of fluffy clouds beneath the silver moon. No matter what the world did to her from now on she would never forget this place or these people. Indeed she was no longer sure whether she wanted to wake up.

But there is a time for everything, NiGHTS said.

"I know," she said, and rolled over in the wind to look upwards. A few faint stars still glistened, clinging to the last shreds of night. "But that can come later, can't it? I don't have to wake up just yet."

Of course, he agreed easily. Then: Watch this!

She felt him move, reaching out to take over, and she deliberately relaxed and let him do it. That had been the first thing she had learned. They had to trust each other, not just on the surface, but implicitly, in everything they did.

NiGHTS, in control once more, stretched and laughed at the sun. Then he lifted his arms out sideways. "Do like this," he said.

Like what? Amy asked, understanding slowly. Oh - do that?

"Yes."

It was a peculiar sensation talking to him this way. Even now she saw the world through his eyes - but at the same time she had the impression that she was standing in front of him in some empty place, looking into those very same eyes. In the darkness NiGHTS smiled at her. His arms were held out stiffly. "Do this," he said again.

Amy looked at him for a second and then willed her own arms to move so that her pose reflected his.

"Now do as I do," he said. Lifted his head back: moved one arm up slightly. Amy mirrored his actions as close as she could

and they were moving - flying over Frozen Bell in a long slow curve, tilting gently down towards one of the snow fields.

Now, NiGHTS said, do this. And Amy turned with him, tilting her body the other way as he showed her - and they turned together as smooth as silk in the still morning air. She was no longer sure exactly who was in control - it was both of them and it was neither. It didn't really matter. The mountains were gold light and shadow beneath them. The world was a beautiful place.

Amy had loved being in control, but working together was something else again. NiGHTS's grasp of the wind was a hundred times better than her own. She felt as if they could do anything and fly anywhere, as long as they were together.

Let's go faster, she said. She felt him smile.

Faster?

He lowered his arms. She did the same. They flew - faster and faster until the mountains were a blur of white and dark beneath them - faster still - NiGHTS twisted to one side and Amy did the same and now they were spinning - entirely given over to the wind - the world was blue and bright and they were soaring up into the sky, through clouds and into blue beneath the brilliant disc of the sun. And was it possible to go faster still? Yes, yes it was! They were an arrow on the wind, so high now that the stars gleamed above them and the world below was hidden in clouds and distance. Amy could see the immense curve of it. And here NiGHTS stopped. And together they looked down.

Ready? he said.

Ready, she said, knowing what he had in mind and not at all afraid.

And once more they folded their arms in and were flying - diving straight towards the distant earth, arrow-swift into the blue and the clouds, fast as the wind itself. Amy screamed at the thrill. There was a blur of wonder that lasted forever and not long enough and then NiGHTS had control again and was bringing them both out of the dive into a long sweeping slowing curve that would deposit them gently on the topmost platform of the Tor.

His feet brushed the rail. There was a moment of parting and Amy toppled backwards and sat down awkwardly on the wooden boards of the Tor. She was breathing heavily. Her own body felt unbearably heavy now, heavy and clumsy, and she had an inkling of how irritated he must have been with her at first.

NiGHTS laughed at her and perched lightly on the rail.

"That was amazing," she said breathlessly.

"Did you like flying?"

"It's the best thing in the world," she said. He nodded simply accepting her statement as the truth. After a little while Amy stood up and went to the rail herself. She leaned over and looked down at the white flanks of the mountains below. She could still feel the wind - as he called it - but it wasn't the same in her own form. The sensation was woolly and distant and even now it slipped away like the memory of a dream. Disappointed she said, "I still don't think I can fly. It just doesn't work for humans."

"Claris and Elliot learned to fly," NiGHTS said. "But not quickly."

"Claris and Elliot? They're the ones who helped you before?" He nodded. "They're lucky," she said wistfully, and came and sat back down on the boards.

"Thank you for flying with me," NiGHTS said.

Amy looked up, startled. "No - thank YOU for letting me. It was ..." She grinned again. "It was the most amazing experience of my life. And that counts everything that's happened to me since I ended up here. Can we do it again some time? Please?"

He smiled back at her and nodded. "But not now. I want to rest."

"Oh - sorry. I guess I gave you quite a workout."

"It was fun," he said, and climbed down onto the platform. He stretched out on the boards and closed his eyes. Amy walked away and leaned on the rail to watch the sky. She felt hungry now and pleasantly tired in her muscles. After a while she left NiGHTS and went down the ladder to one of the lower platforms, knowing that he would not mind. She crossed a rickety walkway only a foot wide and climbed down another ladder to the larger platform with the wooden screens. There was food here again. An orange, a small glass bottle of water, and a large piece of iced cake with a cherry on top, wrapped in leaves. She laughed about that for quite a while. Then she ate it. It was nice.

It was later in the day when she felt it: sometime past midday. The air was suddenly muggy and close as if a thunderstorm was about to break - but the sky was clear. Amy felt suddenly afraid. Something huge, she thought, is coming this way. She climbed back up to the top platform and found NiGHTS sitting up and looking around curiously.

"What's happening?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He blinked at her. "You feel it too?"

"What is it?"

"It's just the Wind Guardian," he said and lay back down again without another word. Amy stared at him for a moment and then turned to face the south where the sensation was strongest. Something strange happened then. Something within her looked out beyond: through miles of clear blue sky to a place at the foot of the mountains where a darkness was speeding swiftly up towards them. The sense of sheer power, of electric potential, made her teeth tingle. He is angry, she thought, and trying not to show it.

NiGHTS stood up silently as the wind began to move about the tower. Everything was drawing together and reaching out southwards. The southern sky was black with clouds that spread out slowly towards the tower. They went to the rail together and watched the spark appear in the heart of the storm.

"I'm starting to understand why you people are so scared of him," Amy said quietly.

NiGHTS turned his head in her direction for a moment, blinking his beautiful eyes. "He's an elder Nightmaren. There aren't many of them left now."

"Is he really dangerous?"

"Yes," came the simple answer.

"But just to his enemies, right?"

"It depends."

"On what?" Amy asked.

"On how angry he is." There was nothing disapproving in NiGHTS's tone - it was nothing more than a fact to be explained. "He's wind. It's a destructive element."

Smoky and indistinct the dragon rose out of the southern sky and the wind whipped at them as they stood. Amy stumbled and would have fell but NiGHTS grabbed her arm. "Don't push at it," he said for the umpteenth time, and she gave him an irritated look. Then there was a peculiar sensation in the wind - a drawing-in, a focusing - and there was a foggy flurry in the air, and then the black robed figure stood facing them across the boards. His hair flicked about and then was still.

"Hi," Amy said weakly.

Donovan looked at them both sharply for a moment. "And what have you been doing?" he asked in the tone of one who already knows the answer and doesn't like it.

"Nothing," NiGHTS said, guilt written across his expressive eyes.

"Nothing. I see. You do realise that your nothing was felt on the wind as far as the nightmare. If I hadn't been busy ... You've been flying with her, haven't you? Do you think she's a Red dreamer?"

"What harm does it do?" Amy asked crossly, folding her arms. She was angry herself now. Who did this guy think he was - her mother? Was he going to tell them not to do it now?

Donovan turned the full force of his stare on her. "Maybe none," he said. "But on the other hand every wind-bonded Nightmaren in the dream realm now knows who and where you are. My dear, sooner or later you're going to have to make a choice. Either you stay here in safety and in secrecy, or you join the war against the Wizeman. You can't have both."

"Join the war?" she said in shock. "But ... I can't fight! What can I do?"

"Have you told her?" Donovan asked, turning to NiGHTS instead.

The sprite nodded, then looked thoughtful and shook his head. Then he looked simply confused. "Not all of it," he said reluctantly at last.

"Perhaps you should? Just a thought. After all, if you're going to go around merging with her, she should at least be told what she's letting herself in for."

"What do you mean?" Amy asked, pushing forward. "And can you please stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"

Donovan sighed. "You've been told that NiGHTS was the one who defeated the Wizeman last time, correct? And I assume you've been told that he did it with the help of two human dreamers. Their names were Claris Sinclair and Elliot Edwards. They did the same thing you've been doing."

"Flew?" she said shocked. "With NiGHTS? Like that?"

"Yes, like that. There is nothing in this realm more powerful than a Nightmaren working together with a dreamer." Donovan's eyes were dark and cold. "So. Now the Wizeman knows you're here and he knows what you've managed to do. You'd better decide what you're going to do, my dear, because he won't let you be now - not after last night. He'll come for you sooner or later. He may even come here. And frankly I don't have the power to resist him."

"I'm sorry," NiGHTS said unhappily. "I didn't think."

"No," Donovan said. "I gathered that." He looked from one guilty face to the other, his eyes dark and fierce. "Anyway, that isn't my main concern right now. I've been to Mystic Forest." He paused, seeming to struggle for words. "I'm afraid it's bad news. Jackle's trick worked."

"They surrendered?" NiGHTS asked, shocked.

"They were betrayed." Donovan sighed. "It was Phalanx," he said at last.

Amy recognised the name: her eyes opened wide. "The unicorn in my dream?" she asked in disbelief.

"I am afraid so," said the Wind Guardian. "He's gone over to the Wizeman. Poor Phalanx - I don't blame him really. He's been through a hellish ordeal in the last few days. With Lady Rowan gone he should have become the Earth Guardian, but he's too young and unsure of himself. And he blames himself for what happened in the canyon."

"What about the lost dreamers?" NiGHTS asked.

"Captured. And all those Nightmaren who were in the cave with them. They have been taken to the nightmare as hostages."

"Finestill?" the sprite asked, his eyes huge and liquid. "Asphodel? Sposh and Gurry?" Donovan shook his head at every name.

"I'm sorry, NiGHTS. I had no power to stop them. The low lands are swarming with the Wizeman's minions DON'T GO DOWN THERE!" The sprite had leaped from the tower in a fountain of blue sparks. There was a whirling struggle in the wind that ended with NiGHTS pinned against the boards by the dragon's claw. "It's suicide," Donovan said in a fierce soft voice, bending his head close. "They've brought the Ideya Palace. Is that what you want - to be imprisoned there again? Or worse? The Wizeman can't wait to get his hands on you. If you want to have the chance to save your friends, you'll stay here and think up a proper plan instead of dashing down there to your death!"

He waited for several moments. At last NiGHTS stopped struggling and lay still. The dragon flurried down into the shape of the man and stood back, his dark eyes hot with suppressed emotion.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "If it were up to me, I'd do the same. But it wouldn't accomplish anything, you know that." His shoulders hunched in anger. "I even saw Jackle down there, sauntering about in broad daylight. And I had to come creeping away like a coward - even I! Don't you see? We have no choice. We are none of us powerful enough to fight him as we are." The figure on the boards did not move.

Amy came forward and knelt beside him. NiGHTS lifted his head and looked at her. A single tear glittered unshed. She put her arm around his shoulders and then looked back to the dragon. "What about me?" she said quietly.

"What about you?" Donovan said.

"You just said, a Nightmaren working with a dreamer is the most powerful thing in the dream realm." Amy swallowed hard. "I guess I've just made my choice. I mean, there isn't really another one." She glanced at NiGHTS again. "I'll fly with you," she said quietly. "If you want, and if it'll help."

There was silence for a few moments.

"That may be your best chance to stay out of the Ideya Palace," Donovan said quietly to NiGHTS. "Think about her offer. In any case we can't stay here much longer - they'll come here the moment they've secured the low lands."

NiGHTS breathed in slowly and then, at last, nodded. He reached out and took Amy's hand in his.

"So you're both decided," said the Wind Guardian. "Then good luck to you. I suggest you follow the river down into the woods on the lower slopes. Stay near water and don't fly unless you have to." He paused. "One more word of warning. Don't spend too much time merged, no matter how fun it is. I don't think it'll be good for either of you."

"So this is goodbye?" Amy asked.

"It seems so. I have other things to do." He stretched and in a burst of wind was the dragon once more. "Go now. I am going to destroy this place - I'm not going to let the Wizeman's minions get their hands on it."

NiGHTS stood up. Amy felt him reaching, questing towards her. I trust you, she thought, and let herself slide into him. Together they walked to the rail, climbed over it and glided out on the wind. He set the course: down towards a ribbon of shining silver in the snow, a mountain meltwater spring. Behind them in a vortex of dark cloud the wind swirled and blasted at the tower that had stood for eons. Girders snapped, boards tore away and with a groaning roar the whole edifice collapsed into the snow.

 

 

~*~*SPRING VALLEY~*~*

In the valley things were changing. Strange sounds filled the air.

"He wants us to do WHAT?" said Puffy.

Caracole the sylph shifted uneasily. He would rather have been anywhere but here in front of the angry general, but he had a message to deliver from the Wizeman himself. He had no choice. "Cut down the trees," he said again. "And build a lookout tower overlooking the valley."

"That sounds like something a dreamer would do," Puffy said in disgust. "Did his lordship give any specific instructions as to how we are to accomplish this miracle?"

"No, milady."

"Hmm, hmm, ahh..." She scowled as she thought it over. This was a job for Jackle or someone else with a technical mind - not her. But Jackle had gone back to the Nightmare with his captive dreamers and half a hundred Nightmaren hostages. She sighed at that thought. The nasty little gargoyle would be insufferable for months if the Wizeman rewarded him formally over this affair. At any rate Jackle was going to be no help to her now. Who else? Mentally she ran through the list of Wizeman's lieutenants. Gulpo was too stupid. Clawz was busy in Stick Canyon hunting down remaining fugitives from the battle. And dream knew where Reala had got to. "You," she said, grabbing the unhappy Caracole. "Go find Gillwing and tell him to come here at once. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, milady..." Caracole stuttered as he was shaken back and forth.

"Then go! Get out of my sight!" She watched him as he fled towards Splash Garden. He was one of the more peculiar looking sylphs: yellow-black and fuzzy as a bumblebee with four translucent wings. He was also one of the few that Puffy trusted implicitly: she knew he was entirely faithful to the Wizeman. She should probably not have been so harsh on him - but this was tiring work and she had had enough of it. She wasn't getting very much help either.

Now, how did one build a tower? Puffy had a very vague idea of what was meant by it. Something tall with a platform on top to watch from ... something like that ridiculous thing up in Frozen Bell maybe. She pondered the thought until Gillwing finally turned up with ten or twelve lesser Nightmaren. The great wyrm wasted no time in getting down to business.

"Just what in dream's name is all this nonsense about a tower?" he snarled in a hissing rumbling voice. His voice was slow and gravelly and immensely deep, as deliberate and unstoppable as the movement of continents.

"You tell me," Puffy answered crossly. "We're to build some sort of tower at the head of the valley. And his lordship wants us to get rid of the trees."

"All of them?"

"I suppose so."

They both turned and looked. Some of Spring Valley's trees had stood since elder times. The trunks were many times bigger than the largest Nightmaren - even Gillwing could not wrap his length around one of them. It would take a massive effort to uproot even one.

"What exactly did his lordship say?" asked Gillwing.

"Build a lookout tower, cut down the trees and secure the valley."

The wyrm's yellow eyes narrowed in thought. He growled deep in his throat and swung his huge head left and right surveying the terrain. At last he said, "I know how it can be done. We don't have to get rid of all the trees, we just have to thin them out so that nobody can creep out of the forest unseen. And the tower ... yes, I can see how to do that. Tell your sylphs to cut down the smaller trees and bring them to the top of that hill. The mephits will dig fortifications."

"This all seems like a lot of work for very little point," Puffy complained.

"But it's clever. Think of this as phase two. Phase three will come when we have the dream realm fully under our control." There was a shadowy gleam in Gillwing's reptilian eyes. "Yes indeed ... It will be a great triumph."

"Has he told you what he's planning?" Puffy asked jealously.

"His lordship?" The wyrm laughed throatily. "Why would he tell me? No. I have been doing some ... guessing, that is all. It seems clear enough what his lordship wants. First the remaining Guardian. Then the Stone Circles. He will open the dreamer's path and pass through it once he has the Wind Guardian's power to add to his own."

"But what of NiGHTS?" Puffy asked. She turned and looked towards the center of the valley where a new thing had appeared. The Ideya Palace, the Wizeman's prison trap, stood in the heart of the valley awaiting its prey: it was a trap designed purely for one being, a spirit of wind and water.

"Reala will deal with NiGHTS," Gillwing rumbled. "That is the way it should be."

"Reala! But he's back in the nightmare playing with some dreamer! And the sprite has already managed to merge with the final dreamer -" Puffy stopped talking as an idea hit her. Her eyes opened very wide. "Really?" she asked in a high breathless voice.

"I believe so," said Gillwing. "But if Reala is successful he will be only the first. There is a dreamer for each of us." He chuckled. "I don't think NiGHTS will be much of a problem. His dreamer doesn't even possess ideya any more."

 

 

~*~*REALA'S NIGHTMARE~*~*

"Got a thing for red and black, have you?" said Ross looking around with raised eyebrows. "Man, it's like walking into a migraine."

Reala made no response to this. He was tired and irritated and already wondering if it was a mistake to bring the dreamer here. This was HIS place. It was his private place. With a dreamer wandering around free and able to poke into everything he felt curiously violated.

He swooped down and dumped Ross without ceremony on the floor of the arena, then flew up and dropped butt-first into his throne. At last he could let his tired body go limp. He sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the warm stone. He was exhausted after carrying the dreamer all the way back here. And what a very strange day it had been.

When he concentrated he could still remember the feel of the dreamer's hands on him, that terrifying sensation as his abandoned body was beaten back to life. His head was still in a whirl from the experience. For the first time in his life he had been on his back and at another's mercy. To say that he had loathed it was not entirely right. It had been an experience of such profound strangeness that he was still not sure what to make of it. He had never been in this situation before. The dreamer had saved his life. There - he'd admitted it.

Nothing seemed as important now. NiGHTS - who cared? What mattered was that this incomprehensible creature had dragged him out of the water. Reala simply couldn't understand why. Would it not have been easier, not to mention safer to strike out for the surface alone? Why come down for HIM? There was nothing at all between them that would explain such a strange action.

He sighed again and tried to stop thinking about it. But the water - that horrible sense of fading away - that was going to stay with him for a long time no matter what he did. He made a determined effort to think about something else instead and ended up thinking about what he had been told to do with this dreamer. To merge. He thought he knew how to do it now. But what was required was more than he was willing to give even for his lord. How could NiGHTS stand it? To have some strange alien consciousness taking control of your body? It was the only thing Reala could truly call his own. Now more than ever he feared the thought of losing himself that way.

So NiGHTS was right and it was a question of trust. You had to trust the other person completely so that you would surrender to them in body and spirit - without that there was no hope of success. Reala groaned inwardly. That brought his thought back to the dreamer and the strange thing that had happened earlier.

The dreamer had saved his life.

Was that not a reason to trust such a one?

No, no! Never -

He could not. The whole idea was repellent to him. He had never in his life trusted anyone other than himself. Not even the Wizeman whom he served had the whole of his spirit at his command: always Reala kept one last piece of himself apart, fearing that last surrender. Death by drowning - that was the one thing he feared. And suddenly with that thought he understood everything: why NiGHTS had been able to merge with a dreamer, and why he himself had not.

He lifted his legs up and draped himself over the throne, tilting his head back over the arm of the chair to look at the world upside down. It was the restless movement of a trapped creature seeking escape. No, he thought. No, I cannot. Do not make me do this.

Suddenly he sat up. He had felt something very faintly in the wind - the echo of something far away. In his heart he knew what it was. NiGHTS had merged with the dreamer again. They flew together now. Tentatively Reala reached his awareness out to find them: spreading himself thin over space and time. As his thought approached on the wind something lashed out and drove him back. He opened his eyes with a shudder and looked up at the domed ceiling of his nightmare. The Wind Guardian was alive and well then. After the battle he had doubted it. He had seen for himself the moment when his master's mighty hand tore away the dragon's claw.

Reala blinked a couple of times and looked down towards the distant floor of his nightmare. The dreamer had been wandering around down there but was now leaning against one of the pillars, staring out across the dark spiked mountains that fringed his island in the sky. The distant figure looked bored.

Reala could have left him there. Would have liked to have done so. Nothing would have been easier: this place was the safest place in the nightmare. He had the local Nightmaren so well trained that they would never even venture within sight of his own dream. But something told him that it was not so easy as all that. Running away would solve little.

He stood and glided down the wind towards the dreamer. Ross turned to meet him but said nothing. Reala's eyes lingered on the small silver knife in the dreamer's hand: he had been playing with it. So that was how he had fought off the wraiths.

"What?" said the boy, after a short period of silence.

"Why did you help me?" he asked.

Ross raised his brows. "You helped me. What's your problem with that?"

He was balanced on the wind, standing on his toes a foot above the arena floor, looking down at the dreamer.

"Look," said the boy, "come down will you? And stop floating, it's freaking me out." He dug around in his pockets and came out with a battered green and white package. "Polo?" he said. Reala stared at him without understanding. Ross sighed and stripped away some of the silver paper. "Do you want a polo?" he said very clearly.

"What is polo?"

"It's a mint, you retard. You eat it. Here."

The candy was small and white and hard. He tasted it and it was sharp and peppery, an unexpected sensation. Ross peeled another mint and ate it himself. "God, I'm hungry," he said under his breath.

Reala hadn't thought of that. There was no food in the nightmare. If he wanted to keep the dreamer here he would have to fetch food himself, and w... no, not water, he wasn't having water anywhere near this place. The problems mounted every time he thought about the situation.

"So I'm dreaming, huh?" said Ross. "You know, it's kinda funny but at first I thought I was dead or something. How come I haven't woke up yet? I mean, usually when you realise you're dreaming you just wake up, you know what I mean?" He glanced at Reala. "I guess you wouldn't know," he said more quietly. He sighed then and turned away. "No offense, man, but this kinda sucks. It was cool for a while but now it just sucks. What is this place anyway? Do you actually LIVE here? There's no walls or anything!"

"Why do you want walls?"

"Hello? So the wind can't get in?"

What a peculiar idea, Reala thought, staring at the dreamer. Perhaps he was bound to earth ... no, he remembered, dreamers did not have elemental bonds. A good thing too - he had no idea what he would have done otherwise. If he was going to merge with anyone he wanted someone to share his own elements.

Ross looked right back at him for a long moment. Then he sat down on the tiled floor. Reala watched him carefully and then settled to the ground a few feet away. They sat together in silence and stared out through the pillars at the shifting clouds of the nightmare.

After a while Ross began to talk. He grumbled quietly to himself as if not even aware that he was not alone. He talked about the house where he lived with his mother ("that old cow"), and about the school he had dropped out of, and about the part time job he had now. He complained bitterly about his boss ("a right bastard"). And Reala listened, at first just curious and then genuinely interested in a world he had never seen. This was the world, after all, that the Wizeman wanted to control.

He was struck by the sheer force of pent-up rage that could exist even in a dreamer.

When at last Ross had run out of things to say, Reala told him of the dream realm - haltingly, for it was difficult to find words a dreamer would understand. He explained as best he could why the Wizeman was right to believe as he did, leaving out only the intended fate of Ross's own world. And at last they got onto the subject of NiGHTS.

Reala hated NiGHTS. He was hard pressed to explain why - it was just the way things were. Perhaps it was their shared elemental bond that pitted them against each other so fiercely: if their elements had been entirely opposed they would simply have been indifferent to each other. But they shared the wind, and while NiGHTS was bound also to water, Reala possessed the opposite element - fire. From the very beginning Reala had placed himself in competition with NiGHTS, and again and again he had lost: he was not even sure how half the time. Each defeat both major and minor was a thorn that rankled forever. Reala would have been happy to see the sprite tortured to death if that had been in his power. If it had been in his power he would have done it himself.

Ross seemed to understand this perfectly well. He nodded coldly at everything Reala said. "Bastards like that, they need to be taught a lesson. Hey, listen. I knew this guy once: I'll tell you what I did to him, me and a few others..."

 

 

Much later it was Ross who brought up the subject again. "So, this merging thing. You got any idea how it works? At all?" His voice was casual.

"Trust," Reala said after a moment.

"Trust?"

"I have thought on it. Trust ... 'tis the key. To put oneself in the power of another, one must first trust that other." He suppressed a shiver at the thought.

"I get it," Ross said after a moment. Then he frowned. "Is that it? If we wanna do this thing all we gotta do is trust each other not to screw up?"

"Is't not enough?"

Ross looked at him, then jumped to his feet and dusted himself down. "Come on, man," he said. "Let's try it."

"Now? Here?"

"Why not?" Excitement danced in the black boy's eyes. "Let's go! C'mon, you freak, you scared or something?" Reala glared at him: Ross just grinned. "C'mon man, don't be a pansy. Let's see what all the excitment is about. If it doesn't work it's no skin off our nose. If it does, well, cool, least we know, right? C'mon!"

Reala got up slowly. They faced each other across the red and black tiles.

"You know what to do, right?" Ross said. "I know you do. C'mon, let's try it." He raised his arm suddenly and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Man, turn your thermostat down a bit or something, you're cookin' me where I'm standing."

It was true, Reala thought: it was because he was agitated. He made an effort and got himself a little more under control. Ross grinned across at him and swung his arms as if warming up for a run.

"Right, so what do we do?"

What had NiGHTS done? Reala had seen this only once, which was just before he had fought with the merged NiGHTS/Elliot. The sprite just reached his hand out towards the dreamer and there was a whirl of colour and light ...

He raised his own hands slowly. Ross looked at them for a moment and then held out his own. Their palms met clumsily and clasped together.

"Now what?" Ross asked, looking doubtful for the first time.

Reala looked into the dreamer's eyes and wondered: what more did he have to do? Very tentatively he reached out with his wind-sense. Ross watched him silently, alert. Some communication passed silently between them then. As one they moved closer together. Suddenly Reala felt the dreamer try to reach out with his own awareness - a clumsy, fumbling, inexperienced touch against the wind, like a child's first step. Two breezes brushed together. And in that instant they both understood how it worked.

"I got it," Ross said quietly.

Reala nodded. "Ready?"

"Ready." The boy grinned. "Let's do it."

and there was a BLUR
     and in that moment Reala thought: no, no! And flung up a wall against
          the invasive presence that tried to
shoulder into him
           were              too many eyes
   there        stop this!

In a flash they burst apart and fell to the ground, their bodies racked with identical pains. It hadn't been right, Reala thought in a daze - it could not have been. No - for a moment, for a fraction of a second it had been right. He had been the one at fault. He hadn't ... he ...

He was lying on his back looking up at the domed roof of his nightmare. Painfully he sat up. His body felt as if every muscle had been wrenched at once. Ross lay a few feet away, sprawled on his front on the tiles. The dreamer opened his eyes and saw him, then hauled himself upright with a groan that effectively represented the way Reala felt right now. "That was ..." Ross began and could not find the words to finish.

"Yes," Reala said with wide eyes. "It was."

They looked at each other carefully.

"You okay, man?" Ross asked after a little while.

Reala nodded. "My fault," he muttered.

Ross got to his feet and offered Reala his hand. They stood. "You wanna try again?" the boy said eventually.

Reala thought about it for a moment, then breathed out and nodded. "Yes," he said.

They linked hands again feeling silly and awkward and glad that nobody was around to see it. Around them both the wind stirred, curious and excited by this strange series of events.

"You ready?" Ross asked.

Reala nodded.

"Hey." The dreamer grinned at him. "Whatever happens ... I trust you, okay?"

I trust you. (He saved my life). "I trust you," Reala said, and for a split second he truly meant it. He grinned back.

SPINNING -

He opened his eyes and was lying once more on the arena floor. Another failure? He tried to roll over and get up - at the same time that Ross decided to move in a different direction. There was an indescribable sensation of two minds moving at cross purposes, followed by blind panic and then some extremely unpleasant convulsions as they fought to get away from each other.

Ross was calling to him: Reala, Reala! Don't fight so hard, man - you're making it worse!

Ross? he asked. Where are you?

Right here. Cool it down!

Against his instincts Reala willed himself to become still. There is no danger, he told himself repeatedly. I am safe. There is nothing to fear.

He was lying on his side. One arm was pinned painfully beneath him and the tiles were cold against his body.

You want to try standing up? Ross said. I think it's okay as long as we work together.

Tentatively Reala tried to move, and felt Ross backing off gently. He rolled over onto hands and knees and got clumsily to his feet. Too quickly, Ross tried to move as well, and they collapsed stiffly onto the tiles.

Sorry, Ross said. My fault that time. It's cool.

Once more they stood and swayed for a moment or two to get their balance. Reala had just enough self-consciousness left to wonder what this must look like to an observer - the Wizeman's greatest lieutenant was wobbling about on his feet like a newborn sprite.

Let's try and walk, Ross said. Let's see if we can get to the next pillar.

And they walked. It seemed almost impossible to synchronise two minds to do one task. How was it that NiGHTS had done this so easily? How could he fly so closely twinned with Elliot that it was as if they had combined into a new whole? It was hard enough to put the correct foot forward. Stumbling, falling often, they made it to the pillar and then turned back, gaining a little more confidence with each correct move. They reached the place where they had begun and paused there.

Reala lifted his head and looked out towards the clouded sky of the nightmare. He was getting an idea. In another moment Ross sensed what he was thinking, and he felt the rush of sudden excitement from the dreamer.

You wanna try? asked Ross hopefully.

In answer Reala lifted his arms. Ross did the same, copying his movements as closely as he could. They rose slowly and drifted into the wind. Ross was exhilarated, content to watch the world fly by beneath him: he was flying as he had always dreamed. Reala flew straight for a while with no particular destination in mind. Then he tried speeding up a little folding his arms back. After an instant of confusion Ross did the same. They accelerated together.

And now Reala was beginning to understand just what it was that had given NiGHTS the edge. He and Ross were clumsy together now - but it was so much easier this way. Or at least it had the potential to be so. They could draw strength from one another and attain speeds even he had never dreamed of.

"Up," Reala said and they rose smooth through billowing blue clouds into a night of brilliant stars. A sylph stared curiously and fled.

"Left," Ross said raising his own arm. They wheeled together, learning, growing ever closer in their efforts to match each other's movements. Ahead gleamed a golden hoop in the sky: one part of a long aerial obstacle course that eventually went right around Twin Seeds.

In the dark place they grinned at each other. "Faster," they said together.