Dreamscape: Saving Alex (7 page)

“Don’t give him too much credit,” Pipes laughed.
“He probably just knocked you out of the way on accident.”

I knew it was more than that. I was lucky. And
Deakon was lucky. Sharp metal edges poked out of the beams at all angles. If he
had fallen even a foot further to the side, this accident could’ve been fatal.
I was about to say that when Pipes gave a low whistle.

“This wasn’t an accident, though. This was
sabotage. The planks were sheered,” he said, holding out one of the fallen
pieces of wood in disgust. The clean lines of a saw were visible on its edge.
“This is just more proof you need to leave.”

“Why would someone do this?”

Deakon rolled his head forward and rested it in
his palms. “It’s simple. You know who we are, or at least who we’re loyal to.
So do they. They want to stop us.”

“They who? And why stop a simple performance?” I
asked, dusting off Deakon’s cloak and placing it over his shoulders.

Deakon rolled his neck side to side. “You know who
I’m talking about. The traitors. The ones who switched sides without a thought.
The ones who think money is more important than integrity or loyalty. You’ll
see them around the capital, wearing Berkos’ dragon with honor.”

“Berkos’ dragon?” I asked.

Deakon raised an eyebrow. “For being our hero, you
sure seem to have a lot of questions.”

I tucked my lips together and stayed quiet. He was
right. I’d done a poor job of hiding it.

He shook his head sadly. “When Berkos took
control, he drove most of King Helio’s supporters away from town. Berkos’
castle is only a day or two north of the city, so he naturally changed the
capital from Flourin to here. His followers run this town and wear the dragon
in support. If you see one, watch your back. Dragons strike with more than just
fire.”

“But why stop you? You’re just performers.”

“Just performers,” Deakon laughed. “That’s like
saying you’re just a traveler. We’re all more than what we pretend to be.”

I blushed, but Deakon didn’t notice. “These shows,
they’re in support of the queen and the rebellion. Whatever money we earn goes
straight to the cause. The capital tolerates it because they get money too. But
I’m doubting their level of tolerance now.” He reached back and shook his head,
examining one of the boards. “It’s time you left. Before it gets too dangerous
here.”

I swallowed, glancing behind me. A few heads
peeked from behind the buildings. Pipes and Deakon were right. This town wasn’t
safe. The longer I stayed, the more I endangered myself, them, and their cause.

Pipes reached out and squeezed my arm. “We all
play a part for the cause. Ours is here. It’s time you found yours.”

I nodded and felt my insides harden like lead. As
their hero, I shouldn’t have to be reminded or directed. Why couldn’t I control
my destiny in a video game?

“You’re right,” I said with a sigh. “I just need
to find some new clothes first.”

Deakon handed me his cloak and pointed behind me.
“Go to Auntie Quinn’s. She’s the best tailor in town.”

“She’s the only tailor in town now,” Pipes said
with a frown.

Deakon shrugged and adjusted the mechanics on the
spinning wheel at his ear. “Best, only… same difference. She’ll have all the
supplies you need to get started. Just don’t forget our warning.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning away as they started
to move planks and beams out of the way. Even with the danger, they would not
stop.

But neither would I.

Heaviness pulled me down as I drifted back into
the square, seeking supplies. It was more than the extra weight of Deakon’s
cloak. The longer I stayed here, the more threats seemed to pop up—dangers,
evil kings, traitors, and now sabotage.

Surviving high school was tough enough for me, and
they expected me to save their kingdom. I wasn’t cut out for that. Insecurities
rattled around in my mind, but I knew they were insignificant. Social
awkwardness wasn’t oppression. An evil king trying to kill citizens and
sabotage a rebellion…the enormity of what I had gotten involved in struck me.
And the most dangerous thought of all was the ease with which Pipes and Deakon
placed their blind trust in me. What did they see that I didn’t? I needed to
find a way home, and quick. I wasn’t a hero, and I didn’t want to be.

A wave of people blocked my path. I moved in the
shadows, pressed against the stone walls as I peeked into every store window.
The capital seemed to have everything it needed, yet Auntie Quinn’s clothing
store eluded me.

I pulled the cloak tighter around my neck and
crossed the main road. It was better than the torn nightshirt I had been
wearing but was still not enough to keep me from notice. The thick fabric
created a trail as it dragged on the ground behind me, and its bulky size
generated the impression that I was playing dress-up.

If only this were a simple game of my imagination
that I could leave at any point.

I wasn’t sure what it was yet. I had spent almost
a whole day here, and yet I was no closer to any answers about how to get home
or where to go from here.

“It’s her,” a soft voice whispered from behind me.

“What?” I asked, turning around. Dust swirled up
from the ground, blocking my sight.

“See? I told you!” A child snickered.

“Who’s there?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the
sandy onslaught.

“No, it can’t be.”

“It is, just look.”

“Ouch,” I cried, covering my arm where a rock hit
me. The hood of the cloak slipped back, revealing my face and hair. A group of
young boys ran off into the crowd, laughing. I fought my growing anger and
raised the hood again to simmer in the shadows.

“I promise, Ma. Look,” a young girl cried, pulling
down on the skirt of her mother’s dress with one hand while pointing at me with
the other.

“Hush child. She can’t be, that’s just a
fairytale,” the mother said, pulling the girl forward.

“No, it’s her, I swear it. Look.”

I rolled my eyes. No more. I turned away from the
street, determined to reach the other side of the square and its shops. As I
walked forward, my cloak stiffened and then slid off my back, revealing my torn
shirt again. I spun and stared at the girl, no older than seven, holding on to
her mother’s dress. Wide eyes stared at me from beneath a mop of red hair as
she guiltily stepped off the edge of the cloak.

“See, see, see? I told ya!” she said, pointing at
me. The older women scowled and pursed her lips before grabbing her hand and
yanking her away.

“Stop her,” another voice called out.

I had no clue if they were talking about me or the
other woman, and I didn’t want to find out. I ducked behind the nearest cart
and threw open the door to the first shop I saw. Leaning against the back of
the door, I heaved a sigh of relief. When I opened my eyes, the shop owner was
staring at me, one hand draped across her chest, her face pale.

She stood in the back corner of the shop,
half-hidden by shadows cast from piles of fabric. I must have interrupted her
mid-hem. She struggled to remove her hand from a red and gray tunic.

A flicker of embarrassment at my appearance hit
me. Her open-mouthed stare only added to my discomfort.

Well, at least I had found the right kind of shop.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said,
smoothing out the front of my shirt. “I’m glad I finally found you.”

The old woman raised an eyebrow and plucked the
needle from her lips. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Um, yeah. I need some clothes,” I said,
readjusting my shirt. The wooden box shook in my hands.

The woman smiled at the jingling of the coins and
composed herself. She lowered her hand and secured the needle in the tunic
before giving me a warm smile. “Then you’ve come to the right shop. What can I
help you find today?”

Her welcoming words stopped the moment she cleared
the back counter and stepped into the light, taking a closer look at me.

“Good grief. Have you gone mad? You’re walking
around in nothing but that undergarment?” Then her mouth dropped and she rushed
to my side. “Oh my dear, what have they done to you?” She tsked and held up my
arms, examining the bruises I had forgotten. Thankfully the blisters had gone
back to normal. Besides the few fading bumps and bruises, I thought I’d fared
pretty well for my first time traveling through the dark forest.

“Oh no, no one’s hurt me,” I said, avoiding her
stare and pulling the hem of my shirt down.

She furrowed her brows. “There’s no need to be
ashamed. It happens more than we like to admit these days. Don’t worry one bit.
Auntie Quinn will take care of you.”

Finally something seemed to be going in my favor.

She reached out towards me and waited. I stared at
her outstretched hand to find each fingertip sparkling with a thimble. She
frowned as she appraised me once more. Then with a loud sigh, she wiggled her
fingers. “Take my hand, dear. We haven’t all day to get you presentable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m a tailor, not a magician.” No matter
how sweetly she said it, the words stung. Just how bad did I look?

I hesitated, then put my hand in hers. The
floorboards creaked as she led me to an overstuffed chair situated beneath the
largest window. The tight black leather belied its comfort, and as soon as I
sat down, it swallowed me. I stifled my laugh, fighting my way to the edge of
the seat.

Auntie Quinn smiled. I suspected she had done the
same thing. “The chair’s a hit with the children, and the older gentlemen too.
Not that there’s much of a difference between them, really.” She winked. “Just
relax. First things first, let me see if I have the right oils to fix you up.”

I smiled back at her. “Thank you, Auntie Quinn. I
appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, my dear. Just sit back and relax.
I’ll be back soon, and we can talk about what you need.” She handed me a
booklet of yellow parchment and pointed to extras on the table beside me.

Her generosity surprised me. Deakon had told me to
find her, but I didn’t expect such immediate concern. So far this world had
done nothing but throw challenges and danger my way. This break was long
overdue.

I glanced down at the papers she had handed me.
The stiff parchment popped as I turned each page. Across the top, in fancy
calligraphy, were the words
Lockhorn News
. Lockhorn? Where was that? I
scanned the first few headlines, but nothing made much sense. I was about to
ask about it, but when I looked up, I saw Auntie Quinn gesturing out the
window.

When I looked at her profile, the softness I’d
seen at first disappeared. I readjusted my body in the chair and looked at her
more closely. When she clenched her jaw, a set of tense lines appeared around
her eyes and down her neck. Pointed crochet sticks pinned her hair in a severe
bun on top of her head. A few stray strands had fallen from the bun, streaking
her face in silver. Unease stirred my insides. Something didn’t feel right.

When she looked back at me, she gave me a warm
smile, but the edges were forced. I recognized that expression. My mom was a
pro at forced politeness.

“Be right back, my dear,” she said, retreating
into the back storeroom.

I watched her disappear and shook off the unease.
She hadn’t done anything but show me kindness. I had to stop projecting my
feelings onto other people. She just reminded me of my mom; that was all.

I leaned back, letting the soft luxury of the
fabric surround me. I sighed, falling further into the chair. It had been too
long since I had let anyone take care of me. Here, I didn’t have to apologize
or admit anything. I could just accept the no-strings-attached hospitality.

But did it really come without strings?

I needed a plan before it was too late, and the
simple thought of playing through the game didn’t seem sufficient.

A jingle alarmed me, and my eyes shot open. I
turned to the door, but relaxed when I saw that it was still closed. Auntie
Quinn returned from the dark storeroom with a tray of glass canisters and
steaming cups. The glass jingled as she inched around the counters and tables,
careful to avoid spilling the liquid.

When the dimming sunlight hit the cups, small
bursts of light reflected over the room, especially on the golden embroidery of
her apron. An oversized “A” was sewn into the upper edge, and when I looked
more closely, the image of a dragon lurked behind it.

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t out of danger yet. I
shuffled to the edge of the seat and rolled the packet of papers together to
keep my hands busy. I couldn’t let her see my fear.

She lowered the tray to the table and handed me a
cup of tea. Green liquid seeped over the edge as her hands trembled. She began
dressing my wounds while I regarded the tea with skepticism.

“Thank you,” I murmured, tucking the papers by my
side and pressing the cup to my lips. A sour scent warned me, and I only
pretended to drink the steaming liquid. “Mmmm. You do seem to know how to make
a person feel better.”

“It’s nothing, my dear. I’m an old woman. Some
things you learn over time, and some things you just know. A hot cup of tea
cures most ailments, especially the ones that don’t break the surface.”

“Hmmm,” I said, staring out the windows. She
pressed a lavender-soaked cloth against my arm. I stiffened at the intense burn
I felt.

“It has to hurt to heal, you know,” she said
briskly.

I nodded. The sting eased as the soothing aroma of
lavender filled the room. Through the dusty windows, I heard the commotion of
the courtyard. Above the wagons, golden banners swayed, and rings of smoke rose
from the butchers’ carts. Shadows danced along the bricks below the watchful
eyes of the guards. A shiver ran down my spine.

The harder I looked, the more the facade seemed to
dim. Between the golden banners, worn ridges and dilapidated bricks threatened
to fall from the walls. I smiled, recognizing the technique. I had a few
posters hung strategically in my room as well. When the damage wasn’t visible,
it was easy to ignore. I just didn’t understand why, here of all places, the
walls would be broken.

“Is it always so busy out there?” I asked.

“Oh yes, especially this time of year.”

I smiled, forgetting my earlier unease. “Summer’s
a great time to celebrate.”

She stopped for a moment and re-dressed my arm.
“It’s not quite summer yet, my dear. This spectacle is for the rebels and their
pitiful refusal to accept the inevitable. They’ll be parading around like fools
all month.”

I jumped up and walked to the window, holding the
rag in place. I watched the women twirl, coins glittering at their hips, and
thought back to the deliberate destruction of Deakon and Pipes’ stage. The hand
that held the cooling rag to my arm slipped.

“The rebels?” I whispered. “Whose side are they
on?”

“You must’ve hit your head in that forest,” she
said, chuckling, waving me back to the chair. “The rebels are against King
Berkos, of course. Some of these peasants still hold out for the past. They’re
convinced the queen will be freed. But I know better. I hope you do too.” She
began mixing a bowl of crushed apples and colored oils. “I won’t deny things
were different under King Helio and Queen Elin, but times have changed. Like my
papa always said, you can either jump on the cart or get trampled under its
wheels. No, when they let King Berkos in, they should have known what was
coming. The signs were there. Had been for years.”

She reached for her vials and mixed the blue and
green oils with something smelling of vinegar. The mixture dripped off her
fingers. “You can’t blame someone for acting the only way he knows. I never
blamed King Berkos for taking over. You don’t turn your back on a snake. No, my
dear, he’s been good to his supporters, provided safety and trade
opportunities. I won’t turn my nose up at that, and certainly not my back on
him. Everything has to change at some point, even the good.” She waved her hand
towards the celebration out the window. “All of that’s foolish. You can’t eat
dreams.”

“Why do they do celebrate, then?”

“In remembrance of the queen, so they say. But
some things are better left forgotten, or unspoken. Now, let me work on your
hair,” she said. “It’s not right, someone as young and beautiful as you walking
around like this. What does your mother think?”

I shrugged. Auntie Quinn covered her mouth. “Oh
no,” she said. “She’s not—”

“No, no, nothing like that. We just haven’t been
talking lately.”

“Well, perhaps if you talked more, you wouldn’t be
dressed like this in public.”

“Ouch,” I protested as she rubbed the dirt and
dust from my head.

“Sorry dear, there’s quite a few branches tangled
here. This mixture will strip the mud. Just a moment more. Now, where did you
say they assaulted you?” The steadiness left her hands when she yanked out the
branches. The longer she worked on my hair, the more strained her demeanor
became.

“I wasn’t assaulted,” I replied cautiously. “I was
just lost in the woods.”

“The dark woods, you say? That’s a dangerous place
for a girl to be out wandering. Don’t you think?” It was rhetorical and
accusatory at the same time. “I’d take better care about where you go and who
you meet.”