The Dream Widow (27 page)

The door closed and the sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor.

Kaya wedged the bottom of the door with a small triangle of wood then lay on her bed and screamed into the pillow until hoarse.

She got up after a while and mopped up the wet patches of spruce tea on the floor, then washed her face with cold water in the basin.

Her door-latch turned quietly. Someone tried to push inside but the wedge kept the door firmly in place.

Kaya looked around for another book to throw. “Go away!”

“It’s not Tran,” spoke a low voice.

Kaya ran across the room in bare feet. “Stop pushing!”

She shoved against the door and grunted as she kicked out the wedge at the bottom. She jumped back as the door swung inside.

Two black-faced ghosts in gray and brown clothing slipped into the room. The one with braids closed the door and held a finger to her lips.

“Quiet,” she whispered.

The other, taller ghost began to search the room, throwing clothing and items onto the bed.

“Are you going to kill Tran?” asked Kaya.

“We just came for you,” said Badger.

“Me? But what about the others?”

“We’re working on something but it’s not ready,” said the tall one. Kaya realized it was Zhang.

“Right now only a few at a time,” said Badger.

“But it’s such a waste! At least take Leela––she’s next door.”

Distant shouts came from outside the door and down the corridor.

Badger grabbed Kaya’s hand. “We don’t have time!”    

Kaya snatched her hairbrush and slippers. Zhang had already tied the ends of her blanket together and made a bag full of everything within reach.

Badger took a crossbow off her shoulder and loaded it as voices galloped past the doorway. When the corridor was quiet again she chopped a hand toward the door. Zhang stood to the right and opened it slowly. Badger crept into the empty corridor and Kaya followed.

A voice yelled nearby. “Kaya!”

Badger’s trigger clicked and a figure in a green uniform slammed into her.

A strong breeze whirled up the skirt of Kaya’s dress and long brown hair flew over her face. The floor shook with three rapid thumps and something that felt like warm water sprayed onto her bare legs and feet.

Kaya stepped back and brushed the hair out of her eyes. On the corridor in front of her Tran lay on top of Badger, a knife sticking from his back. Zhang was on his knees and breathing hard, like he’d run a marathon.

Badger pushed Tran’s body off her and stood up. Bright blood covered her neck and the front of her jacket.

Kaya touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Zhang, take her to the tunnels. I need a second.”

Zhang wiped sweat from his face. He pulled the knife from Tran’s back and took Kaya and the bag of gear down the corridor.

Badger watched the pair until they disappeared around a corner, then pulled out her soot-blackened knife and began to cut.

ROBB PULLED at Mast’s shoulder. “Come on! Hurry!”

“Telling me that doesn’t help!”

His breath curled white in the night air as Mast flicked the firestarter at the wax-covered bundles of dried grass.

The three soldiers tied to poles were dead, their throats slit. Two were already on fire and crackled bright on the snow like ghastly candles of flesh.

The metal stick of the firestarter jammed every time Mast clicked it. Shouts came from the direction of Station. The first bullet spat over their heads.

“Wait! I’m so stupid.”

Robb grabbed a taper from one of the burning piles. He touched it to the unlit bundles and the wax-permeated grass burst into flame.

Both Mast and Robb whispered a chant as more bullets zipped through the thick smoke around them. Robb disappeared into the dark with a fountain of snow and Mast’s blurred shape followed. Their feet cut wide-spaced divots across the fields, like a mountain cat shot from a rifle.

Darius watched the lanterns of his soldiers bob weakly into the dark. He lifted his chin and blew white puffs into the starry sky, then walked down the steps into the warm rectory. Inside the office, the Consul and an assistant were watching the screens.

The Consul pointed at the display on the wall. “There go your rabbits.”

A pair of white rectangles––one labeled “Sergeant Timothy Masterson”, the other “Colonel Antonio Roberts”––blinked across the map at high speed.

Darius bowed his head. “Your Grace is a quick learner of the old machinery.”

“You don’t need a quick learner to see we’re being poked with a thousand needles. The supply thefts, the strange dog that attacks anyone in the forest––if we don’t take action we’re going to starve to death.”

Darius moved to the wall and touched a finger to each of the white rectangles. A small box unrolled and blinked with vital signs for Mast and Robb.

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s my fault for underestimating the rest of the savages. I thought they would have perished of thirst or hunger by now. The little devils are obviously resourceful.”

“I suggest a trap.”

Darius nodded slowly. He watched the white symbols loop south across the valley to the faint outline of a box––a cluster of ruined concrete structures from before the war––where they disappeared from the map.

Darius pointed at the ruins. “And we know exactly where to do it."

He bowed and went back to his room for a few hours of sleep.

A cold heaviness on his pillow woke him in the morning. Darius looked up and wondered at the open ventilation duct above his head. He rolled over and screamed at Tran’s yellow eyes.

FOURTEEN

T
he valley became colder with each new sunrise. After a few days the boy decided it was time to lead the herd back to his village.

Wilson helped the boy to pack his and Reed’s meager possessions into brightly-patterned sacks. The tent was folded up and the wooden flag-sticks rolled and tied with string. Everything fit snugly on the back of a brown-and-white pony.

Once prodded across the grassland by the ugly dog, the animals seemed to remember the way. Happy for the exercise, the pony trotted along paths that were barely visible to Wilson.

Reed’s English had improved day by day. Was it because of the fight with the dream tiger? Wilson couldn’t tell. He wondered sometimes if the old memories would ever come back, and what would happen to him if Reed became a floating vegetable like Jack.

He turned to his old teacher, who walked beside him in a black robe.

“Iek yuik meng silo? What is the name of your village?”

“Station,” said Reed. His eyes opened wide.

Wilson thumped the old man on the back. “See! You’re remembering.”

“Ha goi mon––I don’t understand. This word I just said is strange, and I’ve never heard it before,” said Reed.

“Every journey begins with–”

“–tying a shoe, yes I know,” said Reed impatiently.

They followed the herd of sheep and goats over parched hills.

Reed shook his head. “What I don’t understand is your purpose.”

“What does that matter?”

He waved an arm at the white and black herd. “Everything is here for a reason. The sheep provide wool and meat. The goats give milk for cheese. The dog has a purpose, the boy has a purpose.”

“What’s yours, then?”

“I don’t know what it is, but I have one,” said Reed.

“I’m in the same boat, Father.”

“No, I can see it. Since you defeated the dream tiger you no longer flicker and fade. That means your feet are solid on the ground. You’ve come here to do something.”

“Not about the dream tiger again ...”

“Tell me the truth,” said Reed.

Wilson sighed and the ugly dog barked at a pair of stray sheep.

“I came to help you. In the real world you’re sick and might even be dying. I came to see if I could bring you back.”

“But I feel fine.”

“That feeling is fake, like everything else here. The sky, the earth, the animals––all fragments of memory from someone else. None of it actually exists.”

Reed laughed and pointed to a dry stream bed. “Stub a toe on those rocks and tell me it’s not real. Lift your head and smell the cold air coming down from the mountains.  None of this can be faked.”

Wilson spread his arms. “Ever have a dream? Each one of us has a mind that’s weak and easily fooled. If that weren’t the case, how could we believe the strange things that happen when we sleep?”

Reed scratched his beard. He watched the boy pick up a clod of hard dirt and throw it across the hill.

“Wise thoughts from one so young.”

Wilson smiled. “I can’t take credit––it was one of the first things you said when I became your apprentice.”

THEY CAMPED UNDER THE STARS, and on the evening of the second day approached the boy’s home.

Wilson expected only a few scattered huts, but as the herd topped a rise he saw a vibrant city in the valley below. Houses covered in emerald or rust-brown tiles lined the banks of a river and clawed up the green slopes of a mountain. At the summit spread dozens of brilliant white buildings; square-shaped and with mustard-colored roofs. A massive white citadel with a red, pagoda-style roof squatted in the middle like a mother surrounded by her children.

Wilson pointed at the white buildings. “Does that belong to the army?”

“Ngok yui Tawang yin,” said the boy. “No, that is the monastery.”

“What do you mean, a monastery?”

The boy shrugged and switched a lagging goat with a long twig. “The monks sing to the big buddha and have many old books. People ask the monks to pray for them, but I say it’s a bunch of spitting in the wind. Ie ngei shatu ha goi-duwa?”

“Do they believe in God?”

“Yes, but not in your way of thinking.”

“They are men of peace,” said Reed. “I have heard many stories.”

As they approached the city, part of the sky began to rotate through all the colors of the spectrum. Bright magnetic waves rolled orange and yellow to the north.

Wilson pointed up. “Is this normal?”

“Of course. Does it frighten you?”

“Not really, it’s just strange to see.”

At the edge of the city the boy stopped beside a wooden corral. He opened the gate and the sheep and goats rushed inside to a barn faded gray from the sun. The boy found a bucket and dumped cracked corn in a trough for the animals.

A tiny house with a jade-green roof stood outside the corral. After they unloaded the pony and Wilson gave him a good brush, they headed further into the city for an evening meal. Wilson kept scratching his neck and looking up at the waves of color in the sky.

People thronged the muddy streets in all types of clothing. Many wore dark blue or black robes like the boy and Reed. Others wore trousers and short jackets in unusually bright colors. Some were strikingly pale-faced in a variety of hair colors while others had tanned faces, flushed cheeks, and almond-shaped eyes like the boy.

Compared to the men, the women were a rainbow of colors. Some wore dresses that dragged the ground, but the skirts of a few girls were so high that Wilson blushed. Some painted their lips crimson or pink and some completely covered their hair with white scarves.

A few rusty vehicles honked and pushed through the crowds. One man drove by on a loud two-wheeled machine and shocked Wilson so much that he sprinted for half a block.

The streets were filled with the noise of dozens of languages. Wilson recognized a few words as the same language Reed and the boy spoke.

He pointed at a buzzing oval that passed overhead. “What’s that?”

“A Sparrow,” said the boy.

“That’s not a bird.”

“Of course not, it’s a flying car. The name is Sparrow.”

A blond man in a puffy red jacket brushed by Wilson.

“This place is amazing,” said the man in strangely accented English.

Wilson grabbed his arm. “What did you say?”

“Let go of my arm, mate. I’m not buying anything.”

Wilson stepped back.  “You speak English!”

“Of course I do.” The man walked away with the woman. “Bloody locals always flogging something.”

Wilson stood in the street and watched them disappear into the crowd.

“The place to eat is this way,” said the boy, and pulled Wilson forward.

The buildings in the city were a patchwork of styles. Some were clean and painted white surrounded by concrete sidewalks and lighted iron gates. Others were dark hovels of mud and straw covered with sheets of orange tin. The street varied too––in places the surface was only mud and gravel but after crossing an intersection it could change to a hard, tar-covered material. Wires hung over the street and connected to metal poles shining with bright cones of light.

Wilson touched the cold metal of a light-pole. “This place doesn’t seem normal.”