Visioness (17 page)

A black cab pulled up on the
other side of the road, and Rhene stepped out of the passenger’s side onto the
sidewalk. He rushed across the road, dressed in a blue shirt and brown
trousers, tucked in with a brown belt. The shirt fitted nicely, revealing just
enough to make Adabelle feel fluttery inside, and somehow insufficient for this
man. Why her? There were so many other better-looking girls. What about her
excited him?

“Good evening,” he said,
taking one of her hands. “You look…beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” she replied,
displeased with her short, unimaginative response.

“Now come along,” he said,
looking up and down the street. It was empty. “We have to get to the
restaurant.”

He opened the door for her,
putting her in on the side of the sidewalk. He closed the door, running to the
other side of the car, entering on the side of the road. “We’re right to go,”
he said to the driver.

“Very good,” said the
cabman, nodding in the mirror.

“How are you this evening?”
Rhene asked.

Adabelle smiled. “I’m well,
thank you.”

“I hope I wasn’t an
unwelcome appearance in the café today,” he said. “You seemed a little
surprised.”

Adabelle grimaced. “Not at
all. Not unwelcome at all.”

“Good, good,” he said.

There was silence for a
time, during which Adabelle stared out the window at the passing city. The
sandstone facades shining white were touched by streetlamp lights, windows
illuminated brightly from within. Over the sound of the car’s engine, she heard
the bells of Odilla Tower booming the hour. Seven clangs, loud in their
chiming.

Most of their discussion on
their way to the restaurant was small and idle. They spoke about their days, and
of their respective lives. She explained about her study in the University, in
the way it was really just lessons from the music-master there. She avoided her
dreaming entirely, explaining she was there with her sister because her parents
had passed away. Naturally he responded with a token apology, before speaking
of his own life. His parents had died, too, and he moved to Odilla when a
career opportunity arose. When she pressed him, he said he was in a special
section of law-enforcement, and she assumed it was somewhat secret, so she
delved no deeper.

They arrived at the
restaurant, a nice little place at the base of Park Hill. They were seated at a
table by the window, given menus and a carafe of water, and asked whether they
desired any drinks. Adabelle rarely drank, but when he offered her a glass of
red wine, she accepted. Conversation continued to flow smoothly, Rhene laughing
whenever she made a joke, and her smiling when he commented on her dress or her
hat or her coat.

Their meals were
extravagant, and judging from the sheer decadence of them, expensive. She
couldn’t imagine affording most of these meals in her life. There were roasted
chickens, coated in rich, sweet sauces; ducks coated in some kind of alcohol and
then set afire. Vegetables were roasted or boiled and smothered in a thick,
creamy sauce, and the steaks appeared to fall apart on the owner’s plate.
Adabelle chose the chicken, feeling that something as expensive as, say, the
lobster would not be entirely appropriate on a first date.

After the mains came dessert,
which was a white chocolate crème brûlée, topped with sugar, hardened like
glass in a thin layer atop the cream. She savoured every spoonful of it,
wishing they had given her more to enjoy. Once it was gone, she was thoroughly
full and set for a nice, long sleep.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” he
asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“I did, thank you. I’m
assuming given the fact it isn’t there any more that you enjoyed your steak.”

He smacked his lips.
“Perfect!”

They exchanged conversation
for a time longer, letting both their meals settle, before Rhene prompted the
both of them to leave.

“We have somewhere else to
be in ten minutes,” he said, as they walked the short distance from their table
to the door. From there, they wandered up the street, turning in through the gates
of Odilla Park and past the crowd presently gathering in the amphitheatre.

“What’s going on?” she
asked. “Why do we have to be somewhere? And why is that somewhere not near
them?” She nodded over at the crowd.

“Because, we didn’t pay for
that,” he said. “We get far better seats.”

“And what is it?” she asked,
as they began up the hilly slope.

“You’ll see,” he said,
grinning knowingly.

The pair walked up the hill,
then marched, then trudged, exhausted by the time they reached the tree-covered
head. From this point, they could see most of the city set out below them,
illuminated by the full moon high above in the cloudless sky. From up at this
height, the wind blustered powerfully, making Adabelle thankful she had brought
her coat. She could see the University, and the Halls of the Oen’Aerei on the
other side of the river. There were the Dreamless Barracks, and a little
further out of town, the obelisk monument put up from the days of the Civil
War.

Most notably, though, from
up here they both had a clear view of an orchestra setting up on the stage of
the amphitheatre. The brass instruments were sectioned off at the very back,
the strings on the middle ring, and the woodwind with their own little slice of
space. There was, at this time, no conductor, but there was a platform upon
which he could stand.

“This is amazing,” Adabelle
said, somewhat breathless.

“No,” Rhene said, quietly.
“You are.”

Something caught in
Adabelle’s chest, throwing her off slightly. She had not expected it. She
turned around to say something witty, but any thought was lost when she saw it.
There was a blanket spread out on the grass, and somehow, someone had hung
paper lanterns in the trees, having had enough time to ignite all the lights.

“How…how did you do this?”
she asked, heart fluttering.
Is this what swooning feels like? I’m assuming
this is what swooning feels like.

“How did you manage this?”
she asked, unable—and not wanting—to hide her awe at this sheer show of effort.

“A little bit of work here
and there never hurt anyone,” he replied smugly.

“It’s beautiful,” she
whispered, still not quite fully over the shock of it all.

“Well come on, take a seat.
The show’s about the start.”

He pointed down at the
amphitheatre, which had begun to glow and hum with the brilliance of the stage
lights. A cheer from the audience—those paying for the show—and Adabelle joined
in with her own token clap. She laughed at her own silliness, suddenly feeling
extraordinarily foolish. Rhene seemed unperturbed by her attitude, smiling
sweetly.

“Now, would you like some
wine?” he asked, rushing behind a tree to pull out a picnic basket.

“I would love one, thank
you,” she replied, extending a hand to the glass he now passed over. He poured
two glasses.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping
glasses with hers, a loud clang echoing from the hilltop. The orchestra below
began to play a song—
Kiss Me, My Most Darling,
it sounded like—and
Adabelle sipped at the rich wine. A gaze exchanged between them, and in this
single look, so much flowed. The silence contained a weighty curiosity within
it, but neither of them acted on it.

Adabelle felt her cheeks
turn hot, and faced the orchestra with a mechanical turn. They moved through
more songs, playing
The Face-Maker’s Master,
and
Blanketing the
Hornpipe
, each one followed by a small applause from the crowd in the
amphitheatre.

Song after song, they
played, and slowly, Adabelle felt herself drifting towards the man. He seemed
to be shuffling too, as she was sure his hand hadn’t been that close before.
They sipped at their wine, peacefully enjoying the music. Out of the corner of
her eyes, she caught Rhene sneaking glimpses at her, and it made her smile.

At one point she laughed, having
caught him eyeing her, and then he laughed, too.

The strings in the orchestra
below began to bow the first few notes of
The Dreamer’s Lullaby.
Adabelle’s entire body jolted up slightly, her spine tingling as if imbued with
some kind of electrical pulse. Rhene took this opportunity, placing his hand on
her own.

It was warm and soft, and
from this distance she could smell his cologne. It was sweet and lovely, not
musky like she remembered her father’s to be.

“Would you like to dance?”
he asked, rising slowly as
The Dreamer’s Lullaby
moved into its second
verse.

“I’d love that,” she said.

He lifted her up to her
feet, and began her moving on the rug. They had both set aside their
wineglasses, the bottle resting up against a tree so as not to spill. His steps
were smooth, his guidance gentle as he carried her through the steps of this
waltz atop the hill in the park. The wind seemed to drop now, leaving only the
sound of the lullaby: a gentle piece when played by the woodwinds and the
string. Somewhere deep below the layers of sound, a cello bowed out a deep accompaniment,
shaking Adabelle to her core as she danced.

And then the song ended, and
before she had realised what was happening, her and Rhene were kissing. She had
not expected it, having been taken off-guard. She hesitated, locked in his
embrace, but his hold was firm around her hips. She opened her eyes for only a
second, taking in every pore in his face, every hair on his brow, every lash.
Then, she closed them again, lost in the kiss once more.

He pulled away slowly,
Adabelle slightly lost for words.

“I’m sorry,” he said,
looking shocked with himself.

“Don’t be,” she replied
breathlessly.

He glanced down at the
orchestra, who had just picked up another tune:
Shall We Blow the Grounsils?
“Thank you, for coming out tonight.”

“Thank you for taking me,”
she replied.

Behind him, one of the paper
lanterns caught fire, the soft, thin, substance burning suddenly. And then
another, and then another. But Adabelle didn’t notice the falling embers, or
the rising flames, carried on a gentle breeze, as she was once again kissing
the gentleman before her.

“How are you a Dreamer?”
cried Matthon, thrusting Rhene hard against the brick wall. Rhene yelped as his
back struck the bricks. “Speak to me!” Matthon demanded again, pushing harder.

Rhene was still waking up,
caught between a deep sleep and full awareness. For a time, while being thrown
against the wall, he thought he could perhaps fly away, considering the window
as a valid escape route. He thought about gathering the strength to punch
Matthon—after all, if he imagined it, it became real. But reality quickly began
to set in. Common sense took over and he suddenly found himself able to move
his hands to push Matthon off him. He sidestepped the man, stumbling onto his
bed.

“How are you a Dreamer,
boy?” Matthon asked. “Tell me!”

“What? I have no idea what
you are accusing me off, Matthon!” he retorted, rubbing his eyes, wishing he appeared
before his leader in more appropriate attire.

“You were in the Dream,” he
replied angrily. “You were lucid in there. And you were in someone else’s dream
with me.” He paused, apparently realising what he had said. He stepped back.

Rhene’s eyes widened, his
head spinning from the discovery. “You’re a Dreamer,” Rhene said, pointing. “An
Oen’Aerei!”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of
being one of them,” he spat. “I am
no
Oen’Aerei.” He straightened
himself up, composing his thoughts. “I am simply a Somnetii. I can Dream.”

Rhene fell back to the bed,
sitting. He pulled the blanket over his waist to hide his shame. “It’s a lie,”
he whispered, the epiphany burning as it escaped his throat. “It’s a lie. You.
This.” He threw his hands up.

“The Oen’Aerei are
dangerous,” Matthon replied. “This much is true.” He turned the light on in the
room. Rhene shrunk back slightly from the light. “But I am not an Oen’Aerei.
They are dark people, Rhene. Very dark indeed. I am but a man who can Dream. I
was born with the ability, and I only ever use it for good. For the ends of my
society.”

Rhene couldn’t believe it.
Didn’t
want to believe it. He shook his head, frowning. “But if I am a Dreamer…then….”
He hesitated.

Matthon was silent, too. He
stared out the window, eyes distant.

“No one can ever know,
Rhene,” he said. “You understand me? No one can ever know. We shall make an
agreement here. I will not reveal your secret to anyone, if you promise not to
tell anyone of mine. I do not need those that follow me to question their
beliefs.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly; painfully so.
“You understand, yes?”

Rhene nodded slowly.

“You have to promise to not
tell anyone. I do this to protect my followers. I do it to make sure that we
are not infiltrated, that those who would wish to harm us, cannot. Yes?”

“Of course, Matthon,” he
said. He had no intention of revealing the man’s secret. He could only imagine
the wrath that would have come crashing down upon him had he. Matthon was a
powerful man—both physically and politically. He wouldn’t even entertain the
notion for the slightest moment.

“Good, then,” Matthon said,
only now releasing his vice-like grip. “I will see you in a few hours. We will
discuss this later, at a more reasonable hour.”

“Very well.”

Matthon eyed him down as he
made the Warding gesture, pressing his fore and middle finger to the space
between his eyes. Rhene returned the gesture, and then Matthon left.

Rhene didn’t sleep the rest
of the night, his mind refusing to silence, even for just a moment.

I’m a Dreamer,
he thought, unable to fully
stomach those thoughts. They were dangerous thoughts indeed; deadly ones. But
Matthon had his own secret, too, and together they could protect one-another.

He wanted to trust Matthon;
really, he did. But a tiny part of him knew that Matthon would not take a
second’s thought to betray him if and when the time came. He had status and
power, and if he was to maintain it, there were certain standards he had to
uphold.

But the leader of the
Dreamless being a Dreamer himself? That seemed unthinkable. Unnatural, even. So
many unconsidered implications revolving around that idea. And yet, it made so
much sense. How else was better to defend the Dreamless than to have a Dreamer
protect them? How better to protect the minds of those who couldn’t protect
themselves than by having the one who could, guard? He was surprised he had
never considered the notion before.

But that makes him a liar,
too,
he
thought, the dark idea caressing his mind with its tainted touch.
But does
that make me a liar, too?

The thoughts swirled in his
mind, doing battle with his conscience. It made his head hurt, and by the time
the sun had peeked over the horizon, his head was pounding. He felt woozy and
sick, but he got out of bed and dressed in his uniform as was expected. Having
been freshly pressed, the uniform felt oddly stiff as he pulled it on, his
sleeves fighting to open and trousers struggling to stay flat under the leather
of his boots. He shined the medals on his chest with a handkerchief and donned
the beret that marked him a member of the Dreamless army. By this time, it was
only fifteen minutes before the ceremony, and he would have to hurry.

He marched up the bare corridor,
towards the Great Hall, and arrived with a throng of others slowly being
bottlenecked through the doors. Everyone was uniformed in their green clothes,
some wearing berets, others hatless as they had not yet achieved soldier
status. Sure enough, as Matthon had informed him, there was a row of seats at
the very front and all had been marked with the names of those that had been
interviewed. At first, Rhene thought that perhaps there was no order to the
seating. But when he found his seat at the edge of the row, he realised now
what that meant. A quick glance at the seats nearest the aisle, and he soon
knew who was being promoted and who was not.

Sure enough, a short time
later, Dreamless Matthon stepped up to the podium with slow, considered step,
casting his gaze out over the hundreds of soldiers before him. He spared a
special glance at Rhene, and in that look he felt a reminder of their promise
they’d made.

Keep this secret,
he thought.
No one can
ever know. No one.

“Good morning, soldiers,”
said Dreamless Matthon. Even his title was a lie. “I thank you all for making
your way here promptly. And also to those candidates who are sitting in the
front row.”

One seat was still empty, at
the very end of the row. A figure suddenly burst from a seat at the rear of the
hall, muttering, “I’m sorry,” as he settled down once more.

There’s always one,
Rhene thought, returning
his attention to Matthon.

“The timing of this could
not be more appropriate. The Oen’Aerei are gradually gaining their strength,
and before long they will be ready to enter our minds, control our dreams. In a
world that is constantly shrinking, where our lives are becoming less and less
private, our minds,” he gestured towards his head with his hands, “are the last
place where we may have peace and know our secrets are safe.”

He paused before the podium,
looking out at his soldiers. “It makes me proud to know how many people in this
world have morals, and are actively willing to fight for their freedom of
thought.”

Applause from the audience
came in reply to this statement, Rhene joining in this after a few moments of
careful contemplation.

“Now, as I’m sure you’re all
aware, the time has come to announce those who were successful in their
application for promotion. To all who submitted their names, know that we have
carefully considered each and every application. With this is mind, let’s begin
the announcement.”

He went through four names
before he arrived at Rhene’s, calling him up onstage to accept the badge that
marked him a general in the Army of the Dreamless. He turned to the audience,
saluted, and then returned to his seat, walking all the while to the sound of
applause.

Following the ceremony,
there was a morning tea, during which all of the Dreamless mingled and talked
while sipping tea and munching on cakes and scones. It seemed Matthon had
decided to avoid Rhene wherever he could, keeping on the fringes of the
gathering where he could watch. Glances between the pair were quick and
awkward, yet they occurred nonetheless.

People approached Rhene from
everywhere, shaking his hand, saluting him, and congratulating him on his
efforts.

It was only after the crowd
began to dwindle, and the tension had fallen slightly, that Matthon approached
him.

“Congratulations, soldier,”
he said, extending his hand.

Rhene shook it, feeling the
man’s grip painfully around his fingers.

“Thank you, Dreamless,” he
replied, returning the grip with his own tightened touch.

“The time to destroy the Oen’Aerei
is drawing close,” said Matthon. “Will you be ready to fight those who wish to
invade our minds?”

“I am,” Rhene replied.

An intense stare passed
between the two, as if Matthon were sizing up Rhene, reading his thoughts for
any sign of heresy. He would surely find none.

“Very good,” he replied.
“Then be prepared for training. It begins tomorrow morning. Oh-six-hundred
hours.”

“I will be,” Rhene replied.

“Very good.” Dreamless
Matthon nodded. “Good day.”

Matthon then left.

Rhene, now tired of smiling
and nodding, saluting and warding, turned towards the door and left. He had so
much to do the following day. He had training, he had to send a telegram to
Adabelle and let her know the time for their date, and somewhere to get
candles. He needed candles if this date was to be perfect.

As he walked down the
streets of Odilla, just beside the channel, he wandered past the Halls of the
Oen’Aerei, in which all the Dreamers now resided. He had always imagined them
all as being evil, with dark thoughts and darker intentions. They wanted to
enter his mind, sap any free thought out, and replace them with new ones. They
wanted to intrude on his dreams and kill what memories they could. They wanted
to unleash their Nhyxes and infiltrate with their Sturdings.

But he was a Dreamer now,
and he wasn’t evil. He was innocent. He barely knew what he was doing in those
dreams, and yet he had the same powers of those he was fighting. It seemed he
faced two choices now. And both had extraordinarily different outcomes.

In one, he would emerge a
Dreamer, an Oen’Aerei. He could leave the Dreamless and become one of
those
that invaded the minds of the innocent. He would be a traitor in the eyes of
the Dreamless, but he would be fighting with those of his kind. He wouldn’t be
a liar, even in the eyes of Matthon.

In the other, though, he
could keep his skill secret. He could avoid using it entirely, wherever he
could—surely enough Slugleaf tea would help with that! He could fight for the
Dreamless, and repress his ability that made him a liar.

But of course, there weren’t
really
two options. There were three. He could use his ability the way
Matthon did. He could insure no Dreamers infiltrated the Barracks. If he could
keep them out, then he knew his soldiers—those soldiers now serving under
him—were safe.

He paused, staring through
the gates at the Halls of the Oen’Aerei. Deep in there, Dreamers were being
trained to control their powers so that they could be used when the opportunity
arose. In espionage, in the government, in agencies that allowed Dreamers. They
had their uses, of that Rhene could not argue. But the morality of it all still
troubled him.

The decision was obvious. He
barely needed to contemplate it for a moment before he’d decided. He had to
stay with the Dreamless; betrayal was unthinkable. But he needed to see more
fully what the Oen’Aerei did. He had to know what he was fighting for was noble
and right and good. He couldn’t follow blindly as he had before, listening to
every word of Matthon’s without a second moment to reconsider. He was high
enough in the ranks now to make his own decisions, and so he would.

The following morning, his
alarm went off at five-forty-five, giving him enough time to dress into his
training clothes—pants, boots and a plain shirt—before heading out to the
training grounds.

When he arrived, he found
Matthon standing in the field, dressed in full greens, the new generals
standing before him—four others, it appeared.

“And now we’re all here,”
said Matthon.

The sun was only just
beginning to rise, the first beams of light illuminating the grounds. There was
an odd, early silence to the city at this hour, like it was holding its breath
in anticipation for the day to come. The belltower chimed six in the morning,
echoing through the city. Nothing but the trees in the wind stirred in response.

“Right, you have all been
chosen because of your ability. As you are all aware, we are preparing for war,
war with those creatures that call themselves the Oen’Aerei. There is only one
outcome we can have in this war. We have to win.” He kept his expression
serious the entire time. It was stoic and hard, like stone, his voice gravelly
this hour of the morning.