The Stuff of Dreams (12 page)

“Just what’s that supposed to mean?” Sheriff Krutz was gazing back at D. For the first time, a mood of impending violence hung between them.

Their eyes shifted in the same direction simultaneously. A plump female form burst energetically into the cell while her feverish knocking still echoed from the door. The face, now pale, was that of the jack-of-all-trades—Maggie.

“Sheriff, we’ve got serious trouble!” she bellowed, her tone perfectly matching the energy that carried her into the room.

“What is it?” the sheriff asked.

The woman pointed out the door. “Well, I hadn’t been out there in a dog’s age—to Old Mrs. Sheldon’s, I mean.”

D’s eyes sparkled with sudden interest.

“But when I got there, you just wouldn’t . . . When I got there, I found the old woman out back in her garden . . . with
a black arrow through her throat . . .”

.

I

.

It was thirty minutes later that a trio arrived at Old Mrs. Sheldon’s house: Maggie the Almighty—who discovered the body—Sheriff Krutz, and D. The sheriff himself had requested that D accompany them. “Are you coming?” he’d asked, and D had stood up. That’s all there was to it. For some reason, the sheriff
had brought the Hunter’s longsword with him. D didn’t seem
to care at all.

When the little house came into view beyond the ever-changing contours of the hill, the sheriff furrowed his brow and looked over at Maggie, who rode by his side. Smoke was rising from the chimney. Apparently she had noticed it, too. “That’s odd. When I left, there wasn’t anything coming out,” she shouted.

Her words were soon obliterated by the thunder of hoofbeats as they quickened their pace toward the house. With riddles locked in their hearts, the three of them halted their mounts in front of the little house. The sheriff was the first one through the front door—where he froze on the spot. Peeking around from behind him, Maggie let out a scream of terror. “It can’t be . . . When I saw her, I’m sure she was—”

“What’s this you’re so sure of?” Old Mrs. Sheldon asked, setting her steaming cup of coffee down on the living room table and glaring at her boorish intruders.

“We’re not . . . It’s just . . . We got word that someone had found you murdered, you see,” the sheriff explained with a rare feebleness in his voice.

“I’m not sure I want to hear any more of that talk, Sheriff. Sure, a lonely old bird such as me likes to have company, but certainly not on account of that sort of rumor.” The old woman closed the front collar of her coat as she stood up.

“But this can’t be! I saw her lying in the garden out back, covered with blood,” Maggie bellowed, her meaty jowls shaking. “Check into it, Sheriff. Check into it real good.”

“Take a good look. The person you claimed was dead is standing right in front of us. If there’s anything human that can survive getting shot through the neck, I’d sure like to see it.” And saying that, the sheriff turned around and suddenly exclaimed, “Where’s D?!”

It appeared that the Hunter had vanished from the doorway without anyone noticing.

Maggie and the sheriff circled around behind the house to the flower garden and found a tall figure in black swaying with the breeze.

“You stay where I can see you,” the sheriff told him.

“There’s not even a trace of the blood. That’s impossible,” Maggie said from behind them. Stepping in front of the two men, she extended her hand toward part of the riotous mix
of blooms. Amazingly, her limb wasn’t even trembling. It was this same courage that allowed her to work as a jack-of-all-trades visiting scattered villages across the Frontier. “She was
lying right over there and the ground all around her was bright
red with blood . . . There was a black arrow jutting out of her neck . . . What’s this?!”

The sheriff squinted at her exclamation.

Maggie’s hand then pointed to an area a little in front of the first spot she’d indicated. “Even the flowers have vanished!” she shouted.

“The flowers?”

“There were blue flowers in bloom. Right in here. Prettier than any I’d ever seen. And now, as you can see, they’re just gone . . .”

As if in a daze, she turned to Sheriff Krutz, and as their eyes met, D asked the lawman, “When’s the last time you were out here?”

“About five days back,” the sheriff replied in a voice as thin as paper. “But I didn’t actually see her then. I was just in the area—and I saw the smoke coming out of her chimney.”

“Were there blue flowers in bloom then?”

Thinking a bit, the sheriff shook his head. “Nope.”

“So, they bloomed and then disappeared, did they?” the Hunter mused.

“I think her eyes might’ve been playing tricks on her.”

“Wait just one minute there—you think I dreamed all this?” the woman roared angrily, but she immediately fell silent at the result of her words.

The trio was enveloped by tension as tight as a nerve at the breaking point. D quietly looked at the sheriff. The stiffness that’d taken hold of Krutz’s whisker-peppered cheeks was gone in an instant, and the placid atmosphere returned.

“What kind of flowers were they?” D asked Maggie.

Perhaps thinking him her ally, the traveling merchant stared at his profile as if hypnotized, then hastily made some gestures with her plump fingers. “They were about this big, and just the most beautiful shade of blue. Though I’ve never been there before, I have to wonder if it’s the same color as the ‘sea’ that I’ve been hearing about since I was a kid.”

The sea—a blue petal.

D turned right around. Faster than anyone else, he’d determined there was no use staying there any longer.

The sheriff apologized to the old woman for their sudden call, and then the three of them mounted up.

“You should show your face around here from time to time, Sheriff,” the old woman called out, her words clinging to them as they rode away.

On the road leading back to town, D alone wheeled his horse around.

“And where are
you
going?”

“I can’t leave the village.”

“You’re in custody,” the sheriff said bitterly.

“Your wife told me all about the girl. Where’s the shortcut to the dance?”

Giving it some consideration, Sheriff Krutz then pointed in the direction of the forest to the southwest. “Go about two miles,” he said. “When you come out of the forest, there’ll be a little path. Follow that for three-quarters of a mile.”

“I’ll come back when this is finished.”

As D finished speaking and prepared to give a kick to his horse’s flanks, a long, thin shape flew toward him. Catching the longsword in his left hand without even turning, D galloped off.

“Not the most social type, is he?” Maggie muttered as she smoothed her hair. “But that’s how the lookers have to be. I don’t care how cold he was to me; I suppose I’d still try to move heaven and earth for him . . . even knowing he’d leave me for sure.”

“You can tell how it is?” the sheriff said as he watched the dwindling figure.

“Hell, anyone can tell. He’s not trying to do it, but he makes the people around him unhappy. At my age, and with me leaving the village behind real soon, it’s not a big problem . . .” She looked at Sheriff Krutz with a sort of pity in her eyes, then turned the same gaze toward the old woman’s home. “But I figure it’s gotta be pretty hard on the rest of you folks . . . Gotta wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if you’d never let him in.”

.

By the time D arrived at the vacant lot, the sunlight was already fading and the sky was graced with a languid blue tone. Tethering his horse to a tree trunk, D trod across the yellowed grass. The scene around him was a familiar one. The lot was fairly large—some might even call it vast. At present, it held no mansion steeped in blue—just a grassy field stroked by the wind. Not speaking a word, D stood in the center of the lot where, in the dream, the great hall would have been. Here, the girl the sleep-bringer loved had imagined dance parties every night, and here in this overgrown lot she’d danced with furtive steps. And her partner had been—

“Can she come out of the dream?” D asked, as if putting the question to the wind.

“I don’t know,” the unsociable reply came, riding on the wind.

“Shall we give it a try, then?”

“Sure, why not?” the voice said.

D moved a little to the right. The tall grass hid him completely where the garden would have been. If he went still further to the right, he’d come to the gate, and beyond that, to the road that led to the mansion.

Catching strange sounds on the wind, D quietly turned around and saw two figures approaching from the path at the opposite end of the lot. The slender one was a little quicker. Squinting, he saw that it was Nan. The young man behind her was about the same age, though his face was quite boyish. The two of them probably lived close by.

“Aw, don’t get so mad about it,” the young man said, trying to keep his tone down, although the wind carried it clearly enough.

“I’m not mad at all. Go home,” Nan said tearfully. This wasn’t a quarrel between siblings, but between lovers.

“I didn’t mean to say that, it just came out. You don’t have to get so hot about it,” the boy said. “C’mon. Let’s go back. The sun’ll be going down soon.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve been coming here for a long time. You can go home alone.”

“Stop being such a ninny,” the boy said, anger tingeing his words. Then he reached around from behind Nan and grabbed her by the wrist. Nan shook her arm free of his grip and quickened her pace.

The boy stopped following her. Cheeks flushed with indignation, he shouted, “Do whatever the hell you please, then. No matter what happens, your precious Hunter’s not coming for you!” And then he turned his back on her.

Nan stopped in her tracks. Once the young man had vanished down the road, she turned around. She looked worried. She looked sorry, as well. Standing on tiptoe, she was about to go after him, but she soon abandoned that idea and settled back down on the ground. With the back of her right hand, she rubbed both her eyes. If silent tears could be called crying, then that’s just what she was doing.

Waiting for her to finish dabbing at her eyes, D came out of the grass. When he was about fifteen or twenty feet away, Nan casually turned in his direction, and then finally she noticed him. Her eyes opened wide and her cheeks flushed instantly. “Oh, no!” she gasped. “How long have you been here?”

“I just arrived.”

Nan seemed relieved. No one liked to be seen crying by other people. “But you saw us, didn’t you?” she asked bashfully. Voice dipping lower, she said, “And I suppose you . . .” She wanted to ask if he’d overheard the boy mentioning a certain Hunter, too, but caught herself and never finished.

“You shouldn’t fight like that.”

“Stop it. You sound just like one of my teachers at school. It really doesn’t suit you. And it wasn’t even anything worth fighting about.”

D said nothing.

“When I said I’d dreamt about you a few times, he said that was really strange because he’d only had the one dream. That irritated me, so I went ahead and told him I’d gone to see you and talk about it. And that’s where the argument started . . .”

What would D make of this little dispute that centered on him?

“One of your childhood friends?” the Hunter asked.

Nan nodded. “The boy next door. His name’s Kane.”

After answering, Nan noticed that D had turned his back to her, and she went off after him. The same boy was coming back down the road. D was ready to move away.

“Don’t. Stay here,” Nan said, clinging to his arm. Perhaps she was just being obstinate.

Kane froze in his tracks and stayed that way for a while. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or amazed. “Asshole!” he shouted.

Nan hollered back, “Too bad. Looks like I already have a date!”

“The night creatures can eat you for all I care. Hop in a grave with the Nobility, why don’t you?” And with those typical Frontier curses, the young man ran off.

“He’s worried about you,” D said, his voice calm. For some reason, the young man’s voice got like that when he looked at a youthful, lively figure.

“What, that little bastard?” Nan sulked. She tried to act like an adult, but that unbelievable bit of childishness made her expression run the full gamut.

“Why did you come out here?”

“No reason. It’s close by, and I’ve been playing here since
I was little.”

“Apparently Sybille used to come here a lot, too,” said D.

“How do you know that?”

“Do you want to go to dance parties, too?”

“You don’t talk about yourself at all, do you?” Nan said angrily. The Hunter was the cause of her quarrel earlier. She felt like since he knew it, the very least he could do was be a little kinder when he talked with her. But he was far too distant for her to ever say such a thing to him. After all, he was from another world. So, why did she have to dream about him three times? All of a sudden, Nan felt a sense of hatred toward someone, but she didn’t know who—a fact that only further churned the emotions inside of her.

“You said you were in the bed next to hers, didn’t you?”

“The
room
next to hers,” Nan corrected him. “I spent two years in the hospital with foam worms eating through my chest. You know what happens when you get a case of those buggers?”

“I hear it hurts.”

“Yeah,” Nan said, holding her left hand over the soft swell of her bosom.

The worms were a favorite food of spear-carrying sprites, but the girl didn’t realize they were part of the air that filled her lungs until the damage was done. If even one of the thousandth-of-a-millimeter-long creatures was allowed into the body, the toxins it contained could turn the victim’s every breath into flames. Yet they actually hardened the lining of the lungs, so their host went through an agonizing hell before their body was completely burnt. When treatment came too late, the flaming breath could spread throughout the entire body, eventually serving up a corpse that had a glossy sheen on the outside, but was charred and crumbling on the inside.

A case of the foam worms was only treatable if caught during the first four weeks in the body—Nan had barely made it in time. Strapped down to her bed, she was pushed to the brink of madness by the pain, begging more than once for them to kill her. What saved her was the encouragement she got from her parents and Kane, and the wisdom the hospital director showed in the decision to move her bed.

Dr. Allen had used these words when he introduced the quietly slumbering girl in the next room to the agonized Nan: “You’re going to get well someday. I know it hurts, but that’s just proof that your condition is improving. If you just bear with it another year or two, you’ll be able to race around under the blue sky again, free as you please. You’ll be able to kiss boys, too, I suppose. But that girl won’t. Chances are she’ll never awaken again as long as she lives. All the things you’re going to go on to experience ended for Sybille thirty years ago. And now she just sleeps, never aging. Is that any kind of life?”