The moment Gyfree had winked out of existence to follow the vanished Dreamer, Mischa was left with her hands not just full, but overflowing. With two Figments potentially on their trail and no real means to defend themselves without Gyfree, the last thing Mischa needed to contend with was Timi's sudden onslaught of hysteria. Instead of diffusing the indelible traces of their scent with some well-placed pepper as Gyfree had taught her, and then searching out a secluded place to hide, Mischa was forced to wrestle the screaming and thrashing Timi to the ground, and to hold her there while the younger woman drummed her heels in the dirt as if even now she was running away. As Mischa pressed the other woman's flailing arms to the ground, Timi tossed her head wildly from side to side in some furious denial, although her inarticulate sobs and mind-scraping moans failed to explain what she so fiercely wanted to deny. Tears raced across her pale cheeks, wiping away what little color she had possessed, and Mischa wondered, as she had countless times before, what haunted this young woman's peace. Whatever possessed her now certainly held her in an unshakeable grip, for nothing Mischa could say seemed able to break her free. A shield of delirium surrounded Timi, and all of Mischa's words, whether comforting or bracing or threatening, simply bounced off to land harmlessly in the restlessly swaying grass that bordered the trail. Despite all of her efforts, Mischa couldn't convince Timi to calm down, or more importantly, get up and move. She even failed in an attempt to drag the younger woman away from the exposed path, for Timi dug her heels into the ground and twisted so frantically that it was beyond even Mischa's ability to budge her. If anyone other than Mischa had been left there, jeopardized by Timi's inexplicable tirade, Timi would have been deserted, but leaving a companion, however frustrating and irrational, was not Mischa's way. Time dragged by dangerously, and she could almost feel the beasts slathering as they lunged at her exposed back, but still she cajoled and bullied, and still Timi screeched and writhed.
Then the crunch of footsteps directly behind her induced Mischa to release Timi and spin around, but instead of the Figments she feared, Gyfree and Drew wobbled before her, both stupidly smiling and soaking wet. But they were not alone. Behind Drew, and leaning against her, was the most incredibly handsome man Mischa had ever seen. And behind the man were two bees as large as a man's fist, both graced with pulsing, rainbow-colored wings.
"What took you so long?" Mischa asked Gyfree with a crooked smile, although her eyes were unabashedly absorbed by the stranger's face.
From where she sprawled in the dirt, Timi screeched so piercingly that even Mischa, inured to her shrieks, was forced to wince. Then flopping over like a fish on dry land, Timi wriggled across the ground and threw herself behind the nearest tree.
Gyfree raised a questioning brow that Mischa more sensed than saw since her eyes had yet to break free from the stranger's face. "Don't ask me," she responded. "Since the moment you left in pursuit of Drew, she's been completely out of control."
Gyfree stomped over to where Timi cringed, her face pressed into the rough bark of the tree and her arms looped around its trunk. Grasping her by her armpits he pulled as she dug her nails into the soft bark, and although she wrestled wildly to free herself, even in her desperation she could never match his strength. He lifted her effortlessly from the ground, and despite her frenzied kicking, carried her back to the others as she covered her face with shaking hands and sobbed loudly. Gyfree dumped her unceremoniously, and roughly wrenched her hands from her face before grabbing her by the arms and shaking her so that her head snapped back and light glistened across her tearstained skin.
"You're the one!" gasped a voice, and three additional pairs of eyes, including Timi's, turned toward the nameless man. "You're the face I've seen as long as I can remember," the man continued. "The one I've been waiting for. You were supposed to set me free, but these others did instead."
Timi stared at him as tears continued to course down her stricken face. "You look exactly as I remember," she finally whispered. "Exactly as I dreamed you."
"Timi!" exclaimed Mischa in a voice so filled with horror that Drew shuddered.
"Timi!" Gyfree echoed, dropping his hands and rolling back on his heels. "Is there something you need to tell us?" he asked quietly.
Timi closed her eyes and a shudder traveled down her body, starting with a mere twitch of the head, then a tremor of the shoulders, growing as it plummeted downward to shake her body and rock her legs. "Dreamers frighten me. You've seen how they make me react, you and Mischa, but you never thought to question why. You never even asked why I volunteered to become a Sentry in the first place, especially since I seemed so unsuited to the task. You see, I was hoping to learn something about myself, but I was unprepared for what I did learn. All of the Dreamers I've seen come through the Barrier have been so insubstantial, and their hold on this world has been so weak, that it made me feel as if my own grip was slipping, as if I was in danger of losing the only life I've ever known. How could I continue to exist in this world if Dreamers held such a feeble hold? Ever since joining the Sentries, I've felt myself slowly fading away, as if every frail Dreamer was still more real than me. Then when Drew showed up, so alive, so aware, so vital, I suddenly felt not less alive, but more. Finally there was a Dreamer other than Gyfree who could see this world, could feel this world, could taste and smell and live in this world. Maybe if she saw me, talked to me, touched me, then I was just as real as she seemed to be. Maybe by understanding her I could even learn to understand myself. When she vanished, I felt as if the ground had vanished beneath my feet. If she couldn't hold to this world, then I knew I couldn't either. When Gyfree vanished, Gyfree of all people, I knew I had to be next."
"Just say it, Timi. If you're here at all, then say it," urged Gyfree.
Timi looked him in the eyes, her most recent tears trembling on her lashes as if they were suddenly uncertain of what path to take. "I'm a Dreamer," she whispered.
"How is that possible?" Mischa questioned, her voice brittle with fear although her eyes were still absorbed by the stranger's handsome face.
"I don't know," admitted Timi, her eyes flitting to the same face that held Mischa in thrall. "If I understood it myself, then I wouldn't be as frightened as you are now. Maybe I stumbled through the Barrier years ago, and was somehow overlooked, left to wander here. Allowed to live here. I don't remember that happening. I don't remember a time when I wasn't here. I have memories of this world from the time I was a child, but maybe I've dreamed those memories, dreamed everything I think I know, everything I seem to remember."
"And maybe you've always been here," Gyfree remarked, "and still been a Dreamer."
"Do you understand what you're saying?" Mischa demanded, her voice harsh although her trapped eyes had grown progressively softer and softer. "You of all people should understand what this could mean."
Drew had been listening with an increasingly perplexed frown gathering between her eyes. "I don't understand," she interjected into the silence that, following Mischa's last words, had thickened like quicksand in the air, and now threatened to smother them all.
"There are no Dreamers from this world," Timi finally muttered.
"But Gyfree's a Dreamer," objected Drew.
"He's not from this world," replied Timi grudgingly, as if the words had some hidden power to harm.
Drew turned her head and found herself once again tumbling into Gyfree's eyes, floundering through the flecks of brown and gold to touch the darkness at the center. When he smiled, Drew, and only Drew, could see the shape of something familiar springing to life behind the smile and inside his eyes. When his lips parted, she already knew what he would say, and what she would answer.
Gyfree whispered, "I'm from yours."
And Drew whispered back, "What nightmare follows you?"
For a long moment they stood in a different place, locked in each other's eyes, both aware of the dark shapes hovering in the corners of their shared vision, dark shapes that only they could see. Then in unspoken agreement they lowered their eyes and returned to the world to which Gyfree was safely tethered. "We need to get moving," mumbled Gyfree.
"What about him?" Mischa asked, and everyone else returned their eyes to the nameless man. He had wandered away from the others and now knelt near a patch of bright blue wildflowers, his hands cupped around the brilliant blossoms, his nose inhaling the rich perfume, tears trickling down his perfect face, a hummeybee buzzing contentedly on each shoulder. "Is there any reason he can't come along?"
Timi turned startled eyes toward the other woman. "Don't you understand?" she blurted. "I dreamed him. That makes him a Figment."
"Well," mused Mischa, "he seems harmless enough, and solid enough, to me. He hasn't altered even once. If he's a Figment, he's the most amazing one I've ever seen. I guess if this is what you dream, we may not be facing the end of the world after all."
The Figment raised his eyes to Mischa's and smiled. "This world is so beautiful," he breathed, "so full of life and color. Like you." His eyes shifted to Drew's face as he added, "And like her. You are both so vivid, more vivid than the one who should have set me free."
Timi stumbled to her feet, face drained of what little color she had possessed, the tear tracks on her cheeks leaving smudges that made her appear slightly out of focus. "I dreamed him, and I don't want him here," she announced, the hurt in her voice more distinct than her face. "I banished him once, and even if I don't have the strength to banish him a second time, I know Gyfree does."
The hummeybees buzzed dangerously as they darted over to hover directly in front of Timi's face, their stingers pulsing and wings scattering light. "He will ztay here. We will ztay here. There will be no going back," whirred the larger hummeybee.
"You heard the bugs," laughed Mischa as she offered the Figment her hand and pulled him to his feet.
"Not bugz," buzzed the smaller of the two. "Hummeybeez."
"Fine. Hummeybees, I'm on your side," Mischa replied. Without a backward glance, or any glance that would have removed her eyes from the Figment, she set off down the path, the Figment at her side and the hummeybees flying close behind. With the possibility of other and quite different Figments soon rediscovering their trail, first Timi, then Drew, and finally Gyfree, fell in behind the besotted and suddenly, disconcertingly, carefree Mischa.
His blood ran bitter down his throat as he watched his minions twitch and writhe in the grip of the poison that had felled them, the poison of creatures armored in a menace even greater than the beasts themselves. And because of these fierce and seemingly impenetrable creatures, the Dreamer had already returned safely to her new world, and even now was slipping farther from his clutch, while the worthless beasts continued to convulse in the dust, in a world that slithered through his talons whenever he tried to take hold. From here he could reach the damaged Barrier through which his minions had passed, but whenever he attempted to move beyond, he felt as if he was trying to grasp a fistful of water. There was something about this world that eluded him just as his Dreamer eluded him, so there was nothing he could do but watch, nothing he could do but wait for the beasts to revive, nothing he could do but anticipate the feel of their bones snapping in his grasp, their blood dripping off his skin, their minds dangling from his ragged claws. He would have them again, would punish them for their latest failure, would give them yet another chance because the alternative was one he still refused to confront.
Despite the intensity of his attention on the untouchable distance, he sensed the cold of her approach, just as he always sensed her approach. Fingers like icicles bit into his shoulder, and frost ringed his ear. "Not a very impressive picture," she murmured. "Definitely flat and out of focus. Perhaps even a bit grainy. Lacking in plot and character development as well."
"Be quiet," he snarled. "They're waking up."
A chill laugh misted the air, but she said nothing, watching with him as the eyes of the two beasts slitted open and the creatures struggled to their knees.
Memory flooded first into Hund's dirt- and blood-streaked face, submerging the confusion in his eyes. His snout quivered frantically as he swept his head from side to side in search of their escaped prey, and when not a single trace led away from the path, he gnashed his fangs and slashed his claws through the bark of the nearest tree, then threw back his head and howled in unappeased hunger and uncontrollable fear, the fear slowly superceding the hunger and shaking his limbs, for he knew that they had failed again and the consequences would be unimaginably severe.
Hund's wracked howls returned Auge fully to himself, awakening his own anguished hunger and staggering fear, and he too howled until every tree surrounding them stood barren. "We had her!" he wailed, punctuating every word with a swipe of his extended claws through the bare branches of a leafless tree while a shower of splintered wood rained at his feet. "How could we lose her? Now we will pay!"
"We will pay," echoed Hund, his own fury abruptly extinguished. He collapsed to the ground, curling his long hairy arms around his legs and huddling in a quivering ball, face pressed against his knees as if he could hide from his fate if he just refused to look up. "We will pay," he moaned over and over while Auge paced furiously back and forth, digging trenches in the dirt with his restless talons.
For a time neither Figment knew how to measure, the only sounds in this world were Hund's despairing moans and Auge's gouging steps. Then suddenly Auge stopped, his yellow eyes narrowed on Hund's cringing and shaking mass, and with a vicious swipe from the back of one paw, knocked his partner flat. "Why aren't we paying yet?" he growled. "Why are we still here, waiting? It is not like our master to delay punishment."
Hund didn't answer, but instead buried his head even further into the knees he still firmly clasped.
"I'll tell you why," Auge continued. "He must not be able to reach us here. Even he has his limits, or he would never have needed us in the first place, and we must have finally reached a place beyond the end of his limits."
"We will pay," moaned Hund. "There can be no escape. We will pay."
Auge lunged at the prostrate Hund, fangs bared inches from the back of the other's neck. "We will pay," he rumbled, "only if we go back. And I for one have no intention of returning. Not through that fiery hell. And not for the sake of experiencing an even more harrowing hell. This may not be a large world, but it is big enough for us." His paw cupped the tender spot on the back of his own neck before he added, "And there is prey here worthy of the kill."
Hund loosened the grip on his knees and tentatively lifted his head. There was no dark retribution waiting there, no demon smile slicing through his skin, no razor-sharp claws reaching out to rip through his body; nothing but dirt and grass and stripped trees. His nostrils flared, but there was no smell of blood, no trace of the rotten stench that preceded his master's touch, no acid air to burn a path through his veins; nothing but the rich smell of a suddenly decaying land. "We will stay," he murmured in wonder. "We will be free."
Neither could hear their master roar as he unleashed his unfathomable fury. Neither could feel the distant void shake with a force that would have flattened any waking world. Neither could see the murderous tempest that lashed through the inferno to pound against the damaged Barrier with fists of darkness. Nor could they hear or feel the ice-hard laugh, or see the beautiful cold face that jeered at their master. "You left them just a little too much mind of their own. A brain is a dangerous thing when it's not completely under your control. It reminds me of one of the sleepers' silly sayings. No pain, no gain. No endless pain for them, no gain for you."
She didn't flinch as he rounded on her, face writhing as wild flames roared across his crimson skin, fangs bared and already dripping blood, eyes impossibly insane. She didn't flinch, but the layer of ice shielding her thickened until her face was a distant blur, its mockery softened. "Quiet!" he howled, and although the ice fractured, tiny cracks adorning its surface like delicate lace, she still didn't flinch.
Through the ice she watched him rage, his features as clear and cutting as if there existed no barrier between them, as clear and cutting as they always were for her. In all the dreamworlds, in all of the void, even in all the waking realms, he was for her the one being the most real, the most desirable. She wanted everything he was, his unquenchable fierceness, his hot cruelty, his unchangeable presence. She was a creature of shifting ice, a treacherous surface with countless hazards hidden beneath, but for all her menace, and all her unplumbed depths, she was nothing but ice at the core, uncertain, fragile, impermanent ice, as changeable as the water from which ice was formed. She desired his quickness rather than her glacial slowness, his passion rather than her cool distance, his fire instead of her ice, for whether it roared to immensity or quieted to a single flame, fire was never anything other than itself, and his was a fire that nothing and no one could ever extinguish. But to have those things, to seize hold of something more enduring than she could ever be, she must first have him, and not as she had already had him countless times before. She needed to not just touch him, to not just be touched by him, but to possess him, utterly and completely, to carry his entire being to her icy inner core so that his essence could ignite her from the inside out. Then she would be as complete, as vibrant, as alive as he was now. But first she would have to trick him, for he was strongly independent and would never agree to surrender even a fraction of himself to another, and she needed far more than a fraction. She needed him whole. And she would have him, she would catch him with her glacial patience, for she knew what drove him, and he never guessed the hidden things that drove her. He didn't trust her, but even so, he trusted her far too much.
His rage seemed as alive and unchanging as he did, but she knew his emotions were the only changeable aspect of his character, and she could sense the perfect moment to interrupt. "I can help you," she murmured.
"I still refuse your help!" he stormed. "I will travel to that world myself and tear those two apart. Then I'll put them together again to suit my purposes better than before, and when I bring them back, they will be too lethal for anything or anyone to stop."
"And what if that world still eludes you? You can't grasp it in your claws, so why do you think you'll be able to slip inside?"
The flames in his eyes leapt wildly, but his only answer was a growl.
"Even if you could ultimately force your way in," she continued coolly, seemingly impervious to the threat blazing in his eyes and rumbling in his throat, "how do you know you can afford the time such an effort will take? Where will your precious Dreamer be by the time you have gained an entry and your minions are once more ready?"
"Wherever she is, I will find her. It doesn't matter how far she goes, I will always be able to detect her as surely as I can detect the raging of my own heart."
"And what if she finds some other pocket world, some other place closed to not just you, but also to your minions? After all, you and I are living proof that far more is possible than anyone imagines. Or should I say that anything imaginable is possible, perhaps even probable?" she breathed with a sigh of ice.
"I will not send you for the kill," he growled. "I welcome any risk that doesn't involve you, even if it means my Dreamer slips forever from my grasp."
"I wasn't suggesting that you send me anywhere at all," she chided. "I've decided that I'm not really interested in providing that level of help, not when you don't really need it yet. When I offer those services, it will only be when you are so desperate that you will meet any price. That is obviously not now, and may actually be never."
"What do you have in mind then?" he demanded, his breath hot enough to melt the ice from her face.
In answer she trailed an icy finger across his cheek, seemingly entranced by the thread of steam that spiraled into the air. "There's a trail of ice that leads straight through the wall, right up to your uncooperative servants," she purred. "Alone you don't have the ability to reach them, but I do; the feel of the ice will take me straight to them. I could bring them to you here, or drop them in that inferno, directly into your waiting hand. It would be such a simple thing to do that the price would be quite small."
"You're playing games," he accused, sinking his claws through thick ice to prick her arm, raising bright blue drops that immediately melted and diffused into the surrounding ice.
"Not at all," she replied coolly, careful to hide her pleasure in the pain he had given, for she knew he would only be drawn in, at least at this point, if she maintained the icy indifference that had always fired his desires. "In fact, I'm in a whimsical mood which makes me far too honest. It simply takes too much energy to lie to you, and right now I don't feel like making the effort."
"So what is the price?" he rumbled, tightening his grip so that a thrill of pure sensual delight shot through her and it took all of her strength not to moan in abandon.
"A kiss," she whispered. "Just a kiss. Payable on delivery."
"Since when is a kiss worth so much?"
"Since you stopped giving them freely," she replied with a frosty smile.
"What trick are you playing?"
"No trick. Not this time. Your minions for a kiss. A simple task for a simple price. But decide soon. I'm growing bored. You know how quickly I can change, especially my mind."
His eyes burned into hers, burned through the ice, through her nerves, through her brain, igniting that spark of fire deep within that only he could ignite. "Very well," he growled, his breath as quick and hot as hers was quick and cold.
Closing her eyes she reached through the dark, clinging with spectral fingers to the long arm that was already stretched across space to mark the way. Through the void she sped, and through the inferno, its heat unable to penetrate her cold, for even here only he could penetrate her cold. When she finally gained his twitching hand, and slipped her own fingers across his, she could feel his fist close around her, squeezing sharply to remind her of his power. Far from her body and far from his keen eyes she could unabashedly glory in the heat of his hold, could glory in the power that he wielded, the power he didn't know would someday be hers. For her the pain came fiercely not when he tightened his grip on her, but when he once more set her free.
The path cut by the ice opened before her, its scent and texture hauntingly familiar. Ice was her element, and where it had passed, she easily followed. It led her that last step up to the wall and through, a distance that was a short footfall for her, but an impassable chasm for him. She thrilled with pleasure to know that for once he had to rely on her power, and back where she stood motionless and silent by his side, the ice obscuring her face cracked apart in the shape of a smile.
Just a short distance along the route of the ice and she was there, her phantom eyes watching as his minions romped through piles of dead leafs like children who had never felt the grasp of a nightmare. With the patience of a glacier devouring the land one small bite at a time, she watched and waited. Eventually the beasts felt something cold at their backs and their wild reveling ceased. Hund turned toward the cold and his nostrils flared, but all he could smell was winter as the dark veins in his snout slowly froze. Auge focused yellow eyes on the empty path, his shoulders tensing in anticipation of some pending attack, but there was nothing stalking them other than the sudden cold. He started to turn slowly away when a flicker of silvery blue caught his eye, and there on the ground was a web of frost expanding rapidly as if a giant invisible spider was busily at work. It took him only a moment to realize that he and Hund were the intended flies, but it was a moment too long. The web was already racing toward their feet, the blue strands heavy and thick as ropes. Auge howled a warning, but it was too late, for Hund had been snared by the thrashing blue cords, his feet bound by ropes of ice that his frenzied claws couldn't sever. Auge tried to run, but his feet were far too heavy to outrace the swelling web of ice. Intense cold grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him from his feet, and as he fell the cold shackled his wrists and coiled around his neck, slicing through his skin to freeze the blood in his veins. "It's her," he tried to gasp. "He sent her."
The two beasts futilely dug their claws into the ground, but the web of ice encircled them and hauled them away as if they were fish caught in a net. Inexorably they were tugged over the rough ground, but they didn't even notice the rocks that bruised and cut them, and they were indifferent to the cords of ice that sliced into their skin. All of their awareness was focused on the wall looming above them, and on the certain anguish that awaited them on the other side. The lattice of ice absorbed the flash of heat near the wall, and repelled the blistering fire that pounced when they passed through, but they would have been grateful to vanish in the heat if burning alive could have spared them from the approaching moment of judgment.
He was waiting just beyond the wall, his shadowy hand open before her to let her know he would not wait another heartbeat for the gift she brought. Sliding her fingers in a cold caress against his open palm, she released the ensnared beasts within range of his twitching claws. As his heat melted the web of ice that had trapped them, the creatures shrieked, shrilly and briefly, and then his fist closed around them, and his claws sliced through their throats to silence them in midscream. She lingered long enough to watch from up close, to bask in the pain he inflicted, to wallow in the blood he spilled, to revel in his presence while he was too preoccupied to maintain his defenses against her. She shivered with pleasure as he ripped his minions open from chin to groin, nailing them to the fiery sand with fragments of their own broken bones. She moaned in ecstasy as he poured smoking sand into their open wounds, but as she felt the torrid excitement melting ice from her body as she stood at his side so far away, she knew that she would expose too much of herself if she stayed. Racing back along the path of his arm, she returned to her body with a shudder, and shutting her eyes against the distant and arousing spectacle, she once more armored herself in a thick layer of ice to patiently await the return of his attention.
When at long last she could sense his eyes burning into her, she raised the icy lids from her own eyes and gazed back glassily. "Since when are you so squeamish?" he growled.
"Not squeamish," she answered coolly. "Just tired. That little excursion was more tiring than I expected."
"We already agreed to the price," he rumbled dangerously. "Don't try to extort more from me now."
"There's nothing else I want," she sighed. "At least not yet. But I would appreciate that kiss so I can be on my way."
His eyes drilled into hers as if he could unearth her deepest secrets, but as far as he could see, there was nothing but ice. He was still suspicious, for he knew she could not be trusted, but a bargain was a bargain, even for creatures such as they, and a kiss was little enough to pay for the service she had rendered. After all, there had even been a time when he would have kissed her freely. For there had been a time when she had fooled him completely, had made him believe that she too had been created immutable, had convinced him that they were the only two of their kind. He knew better now, but she still had the power to tempt him, and it was sometimes difficult to guard against her when he secretly longed to be tempted.
His lips crashed down, dissolving the ice around her mouth, splitting her pale lips apart as his forked tongue darted between her teeth and his fangs pressed down to bruise her flawless face. Where his mouth met hers he felt a welcome coolness, an icy tingle that thrilled along his spine. This was the price he had agreed to pay, but he was careful, very careful, to not let her draw him in too far. With a shiver of pleasure he tried, but failed, to suppress, he lifted his head and glared down at her now bloodred lips.
"Thank you," she whispered, her breath still faintly warm from his touch. "Good luck with your latest installment of new and improved servants." It was difficult to keep her voice cool, difficult to rein in her breath so it would not race away from her, difficult to disguise her exultation, but difficulty had never hampered her before. He might be suspicious, as he was always suspicious, but he still thought he had the upper hand, and so had no idea what she had truly accomplished. This time the price had seemed like nothing, for she had made sure that it was nothing other than what it seemed. Yet it was also more than it seemed, for next time, or perhaps the time after that, when she asked him to pay the real price, the price she needed him to pay, it would seem no more significant than that single kiss. And he would pay that price gladly as well, for now it would be the price he secretly longed for and expected, and it would be too late when he finally recognized that her price was far more than he could easily afford. No, she thought as she dissolved into a silvery mist, he didn't trust her, but he still trusted her far, far too much.
Drew's perplexed frown was focused on the tense lines of Timi's back just as Timi's eyes were focused on the carefree forms of Mischa and her new companion. There was more happening here than Drew could readily understand, and many questions that she needed to have answered. For reasons she was unprepared to pinpoint, she felt self-conscious approaching Gyfree, and Mischa was far too engrossed in the handsome Figment to notice anyone else. That left Timi, and despite the stiff and unpromising set of her shoulders, Drew slipped up beside the pale young woman and fell into the rhythm of her steps. For a while her presence went either unnoticed or unacknowledged, but when Drew carefully brushed the other's arm, Timi turned dull eyes in her direction.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Drew apologized, "but—"
"You're feeling lost and confused, right?" Timi interrupted. "Well, you're not alone." Her eyes turned back toward the laughing pair leading the way.
Choosing to ignore the obvious rebuff, Drew asked, "What is it about him that bothers you so much?"
"Him?" Timi repeated, pretending not to understand.
"Yes, him," responded Drew, gesturing ahead.
Timi turned back, eyes stricken, what little color she possessed draining from her face. "You're so powerful, like Gyfree, that it's easy to forget that you're new to all of this."
"Well, I am, and as you've already noted, I'm feeling more than a little lost and confused. There are just so many things I can't quite grasp."
"Such as?"
"Where are you taking me? And why do you seem to be doing something different with me than you do with other Dreamers who find their way here?"
"Other Dreamers have such a weak hold on this world that the most a Sentry usually has to do is retrace whatever path they have followed, and return them to the fracture in the Barrier they slipped through. Once there, the Dreamers just slip back through without any help, back to where they still lie sleeping. And sometimes it's not even necessary to find where they broke through. Their presence here is so weak that one moment they'll be here, and the next moment they'll just wink out, for their minds and bodies will flit away on their own, back through the Barrier and all the way to their homes. Their presence in their own world is still so strong that they pull themselves back without any help from us. There are Dreamers who arrive and disappear again so quickly that we don't even know they've been here," Timi answered flatly, as if mindlessly repeating a lesson that had been drummed relentlessly into her head.
"So what makes me different?" persisted Drew.
"You're a very strong Dreamer," Timi answered with a shudder. "Your hold is so strong that you can withstand the pull of the Barrier itself, even withstand the pull of your own dreaming self because you are more here than you are back in your own bed. Unlike you, most Dreamers aren't even aware that they are here. They just barely slip through, and to them this place is as hazy and indistinct as the places which do exist only in dreams, as hazy and indistinct as they themselves are to us. They don't truly see this world; they can't touch it, not like you. It's been a long time since a Dreamer like you has entered here, but it's that possibility more than anything else that has long made us keep a close watch on the Barrier."
"And now that I am here?" queried Drew.
"We must take you to the one place in the Barrier that has the power to draw you back into your own world."
"The Source?"
"Yes, the Source."
"How far is this Source?"
"A long way. A very long way," sighed Timi, her voice trailing away into the faintest whisper.
"There's no simpler way to send me back?"
Timi shook her head. "There is no simpler way. And because you are being followed by a couple of impressively frightening Figments, our task will be all the more difficult."
"So what exactly are Figments, and why are two of them trying to kill me?" Drew pressed, her eyes suddenly intent on Timi's face.
Timi dropped her eyes to the ground, hunching her shoulders as if she wanted to curl into herself. "Sometimes a Dreamer dreams of something, or more accurately someone, who seems, at least for a moment, so real that what started as just a dream is granted life. We call such a being a Figment."
"So you're telling me that Figments are living, walking nightmares? That the monsters haunting my dreams are more than just bad dreams?"
"Yes, although most Figments never leave their own world, a world that exists somewhere between the world of dreams and what we call a waking world. They can slip in and out of dreams, but where they truly belong is their own world, the world of the void."
"Then what are Figments doing here, in your world?"
"Although it is far more common among the strongest Figments, even a weak one can sometimes slip into a waking world. A world like yours, or mine. These Figments are usually drawn to the Dreamer who brought them into existence. That's how most of them find the strength, as well as the resolve, to enter a waking world. Sometimes they are just following their Dreamer, longing to be near the source of their own power. Sometimes they even try to approach their Dreamer, looking for love or acceptance, or something we can't even begin to comprehend. And sometimes they seek to kill their Dreamer, for the one thing that limits them, the one thing that can exert at least some control over them, whether consciously or unconsciously, is the Dreamer who brought them to life," explained Timi, agony spilling from her eyes as she gazed once more at the Figment she had claimed as her own.
Drew felt first her eyes and then her thoughts dragged away toward the handsome Figment. "So you dreamed him," she questioned with another gesture at Mischa's escort, sight and mind suddenly filled with nothing but the graceful line of his shoulders, "and in the process created life?"
Timi's shoulders hunched even lower as her eyes sought the safety of the ground. "Yes."
"And that bothers you?"
Timi's eyes darted furtively ahead before once more clinging to the ground. "Only in part. What bothers me the most is that he's not normal. Watch him. His form never wavers. Figments, no matter how strong they may be in other ways, cannot hold the same form for more than a few minutes. That means my Figment's unusually powerful, and someone like me should never have been able to dream him at all. Not only are there no Dreamers from this world, but Dreamers who can live here, like Gyfree and maybe even you, are so vibrant and full of life. Not like me at all."
Drew shook her head as if to break free from an invisible fist entangled in her hair, and as the ghostly fingers loosened, she found herself once again watching the Figment, but this time dispassionately. Timi was right; his form never wavered. Yet there was still something ethereal, something insubstantial in his softly glowing eyes and hazy smile. In her opinion, the hummeybees on his shoulders were far more vivid and felt far more alive, although there was something in his bearing, in the turn of his head, that was evocative of Timi, and that was the one elusive quality that gave him the life he did possess. "Maybe you're just underestimating yourself," she suggested.
Instead of responding, Timi continued as if Drew hadn't spoken. "And that's not all. I dreamed him. I'm not imagining that. I dreamed him. And then I was so frightened of what had happened that I locked him away. I found a secluded world and I dreamed him there. He should never have been able to find a way out. I'm still not sure how he got here."
Now it was Drew whose eyes sought the ground. "After the Keeper died, I started dreaming. What we call in my world daydreaming. It was a horrible dream, full of pain and fire, but through my dream I seemed to hear a voice calling me, promising that everything would be fine if I just followed wherever that voice might lead. And in my dream I followed. And shortly after I came to myself again, there he was. It may sound ridiculous, but somehow, when I looked into his eyes, I could see that he had been the one calling."
Timi's hand clasped Drew's arm as if in search of support. "That shouldn't have been possible. He should never have been able to call anyone but me. And look at him now. He's interested in everything around him, everything but me. I dreamed him! I should be the center of his attention. He should love me, or he should hate me, but this indifference isn't normal. None of this should be happening, not like this. Figments don't act this way. Yours certainly don't."
"Mine?" Drew echoed hollowly.
"The Figments that are chasing you. Don't you understand what I've been trying to tell you? Figments don't just randomly chase anyone."
Drew gulped as a lump formed in her throat, threatening to choke her. "So the beasts that are chasing me . . ."
"Are probably your own creation," Timi finished when Drew couldn't.
For a brief second, Drew closed her eyes, only opening them again when she tripped over a rock in the path. "Then I killed the Keeper," she whispered.
"You didn't kill the Keeper anymore than I'm seducing Mischa. Figments may spring from the mind of a Dreamer, but they are their own creatures," Timi replied, her eyes again fixed on the couple leading the way.
Drew stubbornly shook her head. "If I created the Figments who killed the Keeper, then I am ultimately responsible for his death."
"Perhaps, but perhaps not. Things aren't quite that simple. Let's say you had a son, but you were too young to raise him, too young to even understand what had happened, so someone came and took him away. And then you grew up, not even remembering that you had ever had a child at all. Then someday he murders someone, and only then do you learn that he was your child. Are you to blame for his acts, or is he to blame for what he became between the time he left you and the time he chose to kill?"
"What are you talking about?" asked Drew irritably, her annoyance temporarily superceding her renewed anguish.
"Most Figments, especially powerful Figments, are created by children," Timi replied, her attention finally diverted from the Figment who strolled just ahead. "Children are far more apt to dream vividly, and far more apt to populate their dreams with real horrors. And far less likely to exert control over the creatures they dream to life."
Drew shook her head, and a frown darkened her eyes until they were bleaker than any nightmare riddled mind. "But monsters don't learn to be monsters, do they? If I dreamed something as a monster, then I must be the one responsible for whatever it is and does. Even if I was a child at the time. Even if I didn't realize what I was doing. Even if years pass before it causes harm. The horror was still born because of me."
"I meant it when I told you that it's not that simple," Timi persisted. "Dreams are not an easy thing to control. Especially when you're small and frightened and you must face each night alone, with nothing but your fears to keep you company. And when your dreams do slip free, and everyone tells you that those dreams couldn't possibly be real, how are you supposed to gain control over what supposedly doesn't exist? That is the experience of most children who are Dreamers. Their nightmares are at their most powerful when they are at their weakest and most insecure. Nightmares change as most people grow up. Even though most Dreamers may never realize it, and may still feel enough of the old terror to be frightened awake, adult minds learn to diffuse the power inherent in dreams, and to safely neutralize what they accidently create, at least most of the time. Especially strong Dreamers like you may still dream a Figment to life, but I doubt it would have the power of any Figment you dreamed as a child. Even among children the creation of a truly potent Figment is rare."
For reasons that reached deeper than she could understand, Drew shivered. The Figments stalking her were truly frightening, but there was still something about them that made her feel as if, with a little effort, she could master them. They might be frightening, but somehow she knew they weren't frightening enough. Her nightmares as a child had been vivid indeed. A few in particular. Those dreams were as real to her now as they had ever been. She shivered again, thrusting her remembered dreams away. "So what do you do when a Figment invades your world?"
With a quick glance over her shoulder, Timi answered, "Either the Figments follow when their Dreamer leaves, or if they show a tendency to stay, the Keeper of this world expels them. It is of the first importance, though, to keep a Figment away from its Dreamer."
"Why? All of you clearly feel some urgent need to get rid of me, and although I appreciate not being left to fend for myself, I still can't help thinking, as horribly callous as it sounds, that if you left me to the mercy of those beasts, at least one of your problems would be solved for you."
Timi shuddered. "That's the worst thing that can happen. If a Figment kills its Dreamer here, that Figment is empowered and gains so strong a hold on this world that it is almost impossible to expel. There was a Dreamer killed here once, before our Sentries could reach her, and it took the Keeper weeks to rid this land of her Figment. Needless to say, in the meantime there were countless Figment bites for Gyfree to heal, and several fatalities. A Figment freed from its Dreamer is the most dangerous kind of all."
The memory of a terrifying dream that seemed more real than ever before again forced its way into Drew's mind, and again she deliberately pushed it away. "Since there are supposedly no Dreamers in your world, how do you know so much?" she asked. "From all I've heard, my world must be full of Dreamers, and there we know nothing of Figments at all."
"Dreamers are more rare than you realize even in your world."
"Is that why we know so little?"
"Only in part. You see, most people in your world ignore a child's nightmare visions, even when they're real," Gyfree stated from behind, so that Drew started guiltily.
"But in this world," Timi added quietly, "they can't be ignored."
"Why?"
"Different rules apply here," Gyfree answered curtly.
"I still don't understand," Drew admitted plaintively.
Timi turned around, facing Drew and Gyfree as they paused side by side, sudden and uncharacteristic anger enlivening her face. "Haven't you figured it out yet? What do you think you and Gyfree have done several times already? Dreams aren't just dreams here. They are power. For Dreamers like the two of you, dreams are the power to change things, the power to alter reality. Whatever a true Dreamer dreams here is reality. Don't you see? Everything a Dreamer dreams, waking or sleeping, has the power to change this world. Everything. Look what has already happened here because of you and your dreams. In your world a daydream may seem like nothing, but here you were able to throw your mind and body into such a dream, and now a Figment who was banished years ago is back walking this world. For good or bad, you changed something, and you changed it without thinking about or understanding what you were doing. One little daydream, and who knows how much damage has been done."
"That's enough, Timi," Gyfree warned, voice hard and eyes narrowed forbiddingly.
"No, it's not," Timi insisted, her eyes stubborn even though her hands were shaking as she clenched them at her sides. "There are dangers here she needs to understand."
"It's okay," Drew interjected before Gyfree could respond. Meeting Timi's eyes, she smiled weakly. "What else do I need to know?"
Some of the anger drained from Timi's face, but she still addressed Drew with unusual intensity. "Even if you are only here in a dream, you will still be able to sleep in this world. Consider it just one more part of your dream, a part that only the strongest of Dreamers is able to experience. Dreams within dreams, remember? A dream of sleep within a dream of this world. And within the dream of sleep, there may come other dreams. So it's important, when you do sleep, to be as careful as you can with whatever other dreams may come to you. Whenever a Dreamer like you sleeps, your dreams divide your mind and body between two realities, but there is still sufficient force even behind these diffused dreams to cause serious trouble. It doesn't even make a difference if you're dreaming from within countless other dreams; whatever dream occupies you at any given moment is the only dream that matters. Especially when the Dreamer is as powerful as you. No matter what, your sleeping dreams will still retain their power and, most importantly, their potential for danger."
"So are these sleeping dreams more dangerous than daydreams?" queried Drew.
"With experience a Dreamer can learn to control daydreams, but sleeping dreams can be tricky. These are the dreams that can slip beyond any Dreamer's conscious control. These are the dreams that usually create Figments." Timi's eyes turned abruptly up the path toward where Mischa and the handsome Figment strolled side by side, oblivious to the fact that their companions had stopped. Once more her pale face filled with anger, and her voice was harsh as she continued. "As far as we know, most Figments born into your world slip almost immediately into the void, and even if they manage to slip back into your world, only a few can maintain a hold for more than a short time, or become more than one of the insubstantial ghosts that you fear as children but ignore as adults. They flit in and they flit back out, unable to stay for any longer than they can hold a single shape. Yet it is not the same in this world." With a wrench that Drew could feel, Timi pulled her eyes away from her Figment, and again fixed them on her. "As Gyfree could tell you, when a Figment is born here, it does not slip away. It must be consciously and immediately dreamed away, and somehow kept away, or it will wreak havoc. And as anyone in this world can tell you, all Figments finding their way here gain the strength denied to them almost everywhere else, enough strength to cause real trouble; it doesn't matter how insubstantial and weak they may still appear, or how inconstant a form they take. Just as Dreamers like you can somehow realize your fullest potential here, so can all Figments. And once here, once they learn their own power, once they see the damage they can do, they rarely choose to leave. That is why this world would never have survived without a Keeper who was stronger than even the strongest Figments. Yet even for the Keeper there are limits. And that's why this world has no Dreamers of its own, why I am such an aberration. If this world was full of Dreamers with only a fraction of your strength, the result would be a living nightmare, a realm of total chaos. This world would collapse under the weight of so many realized dreams. Why do you think we are so quick when it comes to sending Dreamers back to your world? Someone like you could destroy us. Even I could destroy us. In this world, there is nothing as dangerous as a Dreamer."
"What about Gyfree?" Drew inquired, not even fully aware that his fingers had closed around hers.
"I've always been the greatest danger of all," he stated in a voice that darkened the sky and shook the leafs on the trees.
Without another word, Timi turned to trail behind her Figment and Mischa, and hand in hand, the two most dangerous Dreamers to survive childhood silently followed.