The Nothing: A Book of the Between (14 page)

She had been waiting, though. Waiting for the change that would take her away from here into a wider world. What it was or who would bring it, she didn’t know, only that it was coming. She raced to the next mirror, hoping it would show her more. This one, embedded in the stone sweep of an old lava flow, reflected only empty sky. The one beyond was dark and unresponsive, and the last was fractured across its entire surface with a network of hairline cracks.

There was no point going back to the castle; the Master would tell her nothing and her brother was too stuck on following all the rules. Maybe the dreamflowers would talk to her. Not running now—the trees didn’t like sudden movement—she followed the familiar path to the grove. The trees towered over her, a silent, watchful presence. They never said anything, didn’t judge or offer opinions on her behavior or shortcomings, or the fact that she was a girl. On a good day, when there was not much to be done, she could linger her for hours, lying on the soft grass between the broad trunks, breathing in the smell of the dreamflowers and letting them carry her mind from one world into another in an ever-changing stream of consciousness.

Not today.

There was a darkness among the trees that made her glance up to be sure the sun was still shining. It was there, bright and round, with no obscuring clouds. An unfamiliar smell lay beneath the heavy fragrance of the dreamflowers, dusty and bitter. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she looked around for its source. What she saw frightened her for the first time.

The vine to her right held six flowers in all, and five of them were dead. Not only dead but black and slimy. Small white worms crawled over the surface, sharing space with ants. In all of her sixteen years, Kalina had seen maybe two or three dead flowers, and never all at once.

The dead flowers had no stories left to tell. The other seemed normal enough, even though it shared a vine. She bent her face to it, breathing in, and caught a vision of a world that was all flowers, fields and fields of them. Over and through the floral scent she caught a whiff again of that bitter smell.

And watched in horror as the flowers just—went out.

A black shadow at the horizon, thin at first, but growing, expanding, moving toward her and consuming everything before it. The whole dream went black, leaving an emptiness in her brain where once there had been words and thoughts and other images.

She floundered there, unable to move or form a thought, trapped in emptiness; only a tiny spark of consciousness, the part that was purely Sorcieri, let her know that she should do something, take some action, before she, too, became nothing. But it was not strong enough to allow her to move or act, and she hung, suspended, waiting for what was coming.

VIVIAN WAITED by the river, dribbling water into the baby griffyn’s mouth at intervals and watching, always, the place where he had vanished into the jungle. This was Zee, she kept reminding herself. He could take care of himself, could fight off anything that attacked him.

Unless the destruction of the Dreamworlds stretched into the Between. A million and one things could happen. She hated for him to go off on his own like that. She also wasn’t happy about her own situation.

The griffyns weren’t into small talk. They lay down in the grass, apparently resting, but this didn’t deceive her. Their tails twitched and their sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. Poe stayed close to Vivian’s side, but Godzilla crouched down in the grass between the griffyns and Vivian, restless and watchful. She didn’t really think he’d be much protection if the baby died, and the little creature seemed to her to grow weaker by the minute.

She would have liked to take a bath, even in the muddy river water, but dared relax her guard only enough to rinse the dirt off of her face. It seemed like forever that she waited for Zee to come back, long enough to imagine a wide variety of painful deaths for him.

He came back, though, more or less unscathed, with a sheep slung across his shoulders. A second glance told her that maybe it wasn’t a sheep after all. It had sheep ears, and wool, and the general shape was right. But its muzzle was bound shut with a length of vine and the feet, also tied, ended not in hooves but in sharp claws. The thing stared at Vivian out of a wicked eye.

Zee bent over and let the sheep slide to the ground at her feet, where it struggled to free itself. There was fresh blood on his face, his own, from a deep scratch across his forehead and the backs of his hands were torn and bloody.

“It’s got milk,” he said. “Bring the baby over here. I’ll hold the monster down.”

She just stared at him. “It’s too weak to nurse, even under good conditions.”

“You’ll have to squirt milk into its mouth.”

Vivian looked from him to the sheep thing. He grinned, that pure clear flash of joy that was purely Zee’s, his agate eyes filled with light and a little something more. “Only in the Between,” he said, laughing. “Fought off a whole pack of ’em. Getting this one alive took some doing.”

“Um, Zee? I’ve never milked anything before.”

“Easy. Just squeeze and pull. Or else you hold this beast and I’ll do it.” He flung a leg over the creature’s back and sat on it. Instantly it darted its head at him as if to bite, making a totally unsheeplike growling noise. Its legs thrashed in a frenzied attempt to scratch at him with its claws.

“That’s quite all right. I’ll let you manage that part.” Vivian carried over the little cub and set it inside the bound legs, next to the udder. Under Zee’s direction, she grasped a teat with her thumb and forefinger. It felt hot and swollen, with very little give. When she squeezed and pulled, nothing happened.

“Try again.”

She did so, and this time a stream of milk squirted out and hit the limp cub in the nose. It sneezed. She squirted again, and this time a pink tongue came out and licked experimentally.

“Here.” Zee tore a strip from the bottom of his flannel shirt and held it out to her. “Soak it, then squeeze into the cub’s mouth. Easier for the little one.”

Soaking the rag was easier than expected. And when she squeezed milk into the cub’s mouth, it swallowed. Encouraged, she repeated the process again and again, until the little creature’s belly was rounded and full. It yawned, stretched, and curled up in a ball with its tail around its nose and went to sleep. A real sleep.

“I’ll be damned,” Zee said. His hand settled onto her shoulder and stayed there, and she leaned her cheek against it, finding herself wishing once again for what she couldn’t have. Time to just be with Zee. They could stay here in this warm grassy place by the river. Feed the sheep thing whatever it ate so it would produce more milk. Nurse the griffyn back to health.

With a regretful sigh she stood, with the cub in her arms, and turned toward the griffyns. “I have done what I can for now. It is time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

The mother griffyn padded over, lithe and sinuous as a lion, crest raised on the fierce eagle head. Vivian felt Zee tense; knew without looking that his hand had gone to the sword hilt. One false move and everything would blow up into bloodshed from which none of them would emerge unscathed.

She held her breath.

The griffyn bent its head to inspect the sleeping cub. A long moment passed.

“I will carry you. My mate will carry the Warrior. Time presses.” The other griffyn came forward and both lay down in the grass, offering their backs.

Zee gestured at the sheep thing. “I can’t just leave it to die,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

The two griffyns exchanged a glance. “It would be food for the young. But time does not permit.”

“Very well. If you will permit.” Zee stepped away from the waiting griffyns, drew his sword, and sliced off the sheep’s head with one clean blow. “Perhaps you will eat it when you return.”

No answer from the griffyns, but neither did they attack, and Vivian drew a breath of relief mixed with regret. She knew the monster couldn’t be released or it would attack, but it seemed twisted and wrong to use its milk and then kill it. No time to linger; no time for regrets.

“Poe,” she called. “Let’s go.”

The penguin stayed a distance, looking warily at the griffyns. Godzilla huffed, snorting out twin jets of dark blue smoke. Zee went after Poe, scooping him up. “Come on, your chariot awaits.”

The penguin struggled briefly, his feathers all puffed up, still hissing. The dragon lay down flat on the ground, chin on his forelegs, looking wilted.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Poe doesn’t like predators. And your dragon is just jealous.” She couldn’t help the laughter, even as she pressed one hand over her mouth. The realization that the baby dragon had imprinted on the slayer was such a delicious irony.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“He brought you here. Now you’re choosing another ride.”

“Seriously?” He looked from her to the waiting griffyn to the dragon, who managed to look even more mournful. “Surely he’d be better off not carrying the weight, what with that wing and all.”

“Tell him that.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She shook her head. “You know dragons. Give him a formal speech. Show him some respect. Last thing we need is a sulky dragon.”

“Yeah, I know dragons, but I haven’t spent much time talking to them. Oh, hell.” He stalked over to Godzilla, hesitated, and then made a deep bow. “O noble sky lord, I am ever grateful for your service. For this time, I must cast my lot with the griffyns, but I owe you a favor in exchange.”

Godzilla contemplated him for a long moment and then nodded and got to his feet, ready for flight. Vivian quelled a little tremor of unease at the promise he had made. Dragons did not forget such things, and she had no doubt Godzilla would exact some favor in the future. She stifled the misgiving and buried one hand in the griffyn’s feathers, holding on to the cub with the other.

Zee settled himself onto the back of his griffyn, holding onto Poe. The penguin looked decidedly unhappy, but didn’t put up any more of a fight. The griffyn ruffled and then smoothed the feathers on its head and neck, stretched its wings, and launched into the air. Vivian’s griffyn followed. Behind them came the dragon, veering about in an erratic zigzag flight and narrowly avoiding a collision with the trees.

J
ARED
SLEPT
fitfully, falling into one nightmare after another, each time waking just long enough to remember that he was blind now and scarred before drifting back into sleep. The dreams were vivid and technicolor in a way his dreams had never been, as if making up for what he would no longer see by daylight.

It was impossible to tell the time. No passage of light, no clock, no ability to look outside and judge from the passing of the stars or the shifting of the moon, not even the ability to see dawn begin to lighten the dark.

It would always be dark.

In the last of his dreams, he stood in the garden where he had once killed a penguin with his sword and tried to rape the woman who rejected him.
No, not me. Somebody else wearing my skin and hair and speaking with my voice.
A man known in Surmise as the Chancellor, clothed in satin and jewels, enjoying the roses and the splash of the fountain and the way the sun made rainbows of the drops of water cast up into the air.

But then it all began to crumble at one edge, as though it were only a picture turning to dust. A tree developed a web of cracks and fell away, leaving nothing behind. No sky, no grass, no stars, as though a pair of scissors had cut through and simply removed it. A rose bush went next, the emptiness advancing and devouring all things before it. As it reached the fountain and the drops of water fell into nothing, he woke, heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

For a moment, he thought he had wakened into the dream itself, because of the darkness, but he could feel the bed beneath him, his hands tightening and twisting in the coverlet, and in a moment, he sensed the old woman at his side.

“Only a dream,” she said.

He didn’t know how to tell her that the dream was real.

The weight of her compressing the edge of the mattress let him know she was settling in. “Tell me. I know a thing or two about dreams.”