Wakeworld (19 page)

W
eston ran for his life.

Even with the fire roaring behind him, the wind it created breathing down his neck like a giant beast of prey, the irony of this was not lost on him. Mere days ago he’d planned to throw himself into an inferno, would have welcomed this turn of events as a gift of the gods and turned to embrace the flames. Now he had things to do and the idea of a death by fire did not appeal to him.

A trio of deer plunged past, not bounding gracefully but blind and panicked. Smaller animals scurried by on all sides, the fire sweeping everything ahead of its destruction. All of the creatures were faster than he, even the snakes.

So far he’d been able to keep ahead of the flames, but he was tiring, could feel himself slowing as his breath grew shorter and his heart beat harder. Poe, clasped against his chest, slowed him down. Not that the penguin was heavy, but he was an awkward shape and his feathers slick; it took both hands to hold him. This left no way to balance himself on the uneven terrain. Twice he’d stumbled and only just barely caught himself from falling.

Damn flightless bird. It was easy for the raven, flying far ahead, growing ever smaller and more distant. The odds were all against him, Weston thought. If the wind shifted, the flames would easily overtake him. Or if the fire jumped to the canopy it would leap from the crown of one tree to the next, far faster than any man could run.

No matter which way he looked at it, his chances for survival were grim.

For the first time in his life, Weston wished he had a dreamsphere and could walk into another reality. He wished he had honed the ability to create and open doors. He wished he hadn’t tossed his dreamsphere into the fire.

The raven had circled back, flying low, demanding attention. It croaked twice and veered left. Weston followed, hoping that the bird had some sort of knowledge he lacked, because he wasn’t going to be able to keep up the pace much longer. The fire was gaining. Heat played over his body with increasing intensity. Smoke choked him. His legs felt odd and lifeless, as if they’d been injected with Novocaine.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, he thought, even as he made the turn. It would take him slantwise in front of the wall of flame, increasing his need for speed even as he was tiring. Poe slipped again in his grip and he slowed his steps a little while he shifted the bird back upward. The fire gained on him.

But then he saw his salvation in a wide sweep of water. In the mad dash and panic he’d forgotten about Halcyon Lake. If he made it, he might just survive this after all.

He had to survive.

And so he flailed onward toward that liquid gleam, his body barely under his control, wild animals dashing past him, all with the same goal. His lungs were going to burn up with the heat. His hair was stiffening and lifting from his scalp, the fire wind swirled around him. And then his feet were slowed by some strange, cold encumbrance. He overbalanced and was falling, falling.

Water.

Poe wriggled out of his arms, and Weston dove beneath the surface, swimming as far as he could before coming up for a breath of air. It wasn’t far; his body was oxygen starved and the water was icy cold. He bobbed up to the surface for another breath, lungs cramping, heat of the fire scorching his face. Black ash rained down.

Again he immersed himself beneath the saving grace that was water, shutting out the roar and crackle and snarl, forcing his arms and legs to move. When he came up again, he had gained enough distance to stay safely on the surface. The fire had slowed as it neared the lake—less fuel, fewer trees growing close to the rocky shore. The raven circled high overhead.

A loud splashing to his left drew his attention—a bear swam by, fixed on its course and paying him no attention. The water was full of other animals, all seeking safety, all on a temporary truce from the usual hunt-and-be-hunted in their common goal to escape the force of the fire. The penguin swam in circles around him, staying close.

Reality of the new dangers settled in: hypothermia and drowning. Already he was shivering, and it was hard to draw a full breath. His boots and heavy clothing weighed him down, and he realized there was no hope of making it across the lake.

And he couldn’t go back.

All of which made it crystal clear that he was simply going to have to figure out how to be a Dreamshifter after all of these years of avoidance.
Step One, make a door.
Right. Easier said than done. So many years of forgetfulness lay between this moment and the far-distant childhood in which his father had tried to share the lore. It was hard to focus when he was descending into the numbness and confusion of hypothermia.

Grace would know about the doors. She was always listening, storing away knowledge. The thought of her was a knife to his heart. All those years ago he had done nothing to protect his family, to protect her. Had allowed her to do the thing he should have done. If she had turned to the dark arts as Vivian believed, then that was another sin resting on his own head.

He choked on a mouthful of water. He hadn’t even noticed he was sinking. The hiking boots felt like rocks on his feet; his soaked clothing was a weight he didn’t have the strength to fight. He should take them off, he thought, but it was a distant and vague idea. He was barely moving, his arms and legs circling in a slow paddle that barely kept his head above water. He tried to renew his efforts, but his body didn’t respond to the directions from his brain. A deer approached, swimming hard. Maybe he could catch a ride. A few kicks, grab it around the neck, hold on.

But his feet did not kick, his hands did not move, and he slipped below the surface.

Something pulled him back up, a black-and-white bird, swimming like a fish. But it was small and he was heavy and again he slid below the surface.

Drowning,
his brain said.
Interesting.
His body had enough sense left to hold its breath and he drifted, eyes wide open, peering through the murky green light, letting everything go because there was nothing else to be done. In a moment he would fill his lungs with water. A momentary panic of the body seeking oxygen where there was none, and then his brain would turn off and it would all be over.

A vague regret drifted through him, that he would die before he made things right. All he needed was a door into a Dreamworld.

In the instant before he opened his mouth to accept the burden of water pressing against lips and nostrils, the door he’d been imagining appeared directly in front of him. A tiny pressure of his mind and it opened. Water poured through it, carrying him along on the flood. The penguin followed, easy as a fish. Once through, his head was out of the water and he gasped in a great gulp of oxygen and then another. His brain cleared enough to command one last wish. The door closed behind him.

Through vision hazed by cold and fatigue, his body shivering so violently it felt like muscle would wrench away from bone, he sat up and looked around. Barely conscious and far from rational thought, he pictured in his mind the things he needed. Warmth. Dry clothing. Something hot to drink.

And for the first time in his very long life, he knew the pleasure of a Dreamworld shifting to accommodate his need.

W
hen Jared woke again, the fuzziness of the fever had retreated. His head felt clear, his body light and easy.

Maneuvering himself into a sitting position, he checked out the leg, which was still numb. He supposed he should be grateful for the absence of pain, but it worried him. The only evidence he had that it was still attached was the shapeless lump of bandages stretched out on the bed in front of him.

He was thirsty and drank another glass of water. His own skin drew his attention—dry, stretched tight over his bones. His scalp itched, hair tangled and slicked with oil. Beard growth stubbled his jaw. Healing ulcers pitted the skin of his arms. And when he breathed he could smell himself, the stink of sweat and the permeating sweet reek of putrefaction.

Disgust overrode his fear and he rang the bell.

When the door opened a moment later, he wished he hadn’t. He’d expected a serving woman or a page. Instead, a moving mountain lumbered into the room, literally shaking the floor with each step. Over ten feet tall, as wide as three men, but without an ounce of fat. The face looked like it had been carved from granite by an inexpert hand—a low, bulging brow, a slash of a mouth, cheeks and jaws that jutted in sharp and jarring angles. The eyes were deep-set and black enough to reflect the light in shards of blue and green fire. The voice matched, hard and uninflected.

“What do you need?”

Jared stared up at the thing looming over him and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m—it was an accident—”

“You have the bell in your hand.”

Dismayed, he looked down to see that this was true.

“I’d expected one of the healers . . .”

“I am Kraal, apprentice healer. What can I do for you?”

“More water, please,” Jared said. He would have felt safe maneuvering a serving woman into getting him a bath, a shave, and a peek at his wound, but he wasn’t about to make requests of a slab of granite that could crush him without even trying.

Gnarled hands, each as big as Jared’s head, picked up the pitcher and glass, pouring water with surprising delicacy. “It is good that you drink. The fever has burned the water from your body and it must be replaced. Could you eat?”

To his surprise, the question brought saliva flooding to his mouth; his stomach felt cavernous. “I could.”

“I will bring a light repast, as your body is not accustomed to food. And then I will carry you to the baths.”

The heavy footsteps thudded out of the room, making the water in the glass Jared was holding vibrate. “I’ve landed in fucking Jurassic Park,” he muttered under his breath.

But his gigantic nursemaid turned out to be efficient and gentle. He returned in short order with a tray of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. Jared thought he was ravenous but was able to eat only a little before he pushed the plate away.

“That is well,” Kraal said, setting the plate aside and covering it with a white cloth. “It will take the body time to be used to eating. Now, we will go to the bath. Can you sit?”

It was a good question, the answer not at all certain. Jared pushed himself up with both hands and swung his good leg over the edge of the bed, noting with some surprise that the insensate lump of bandages beside it followed the commands from his brain and slid over with its mate. It felt wooden and heavy.

“I don’t think I can walk,” he said, hating his weakness.

“No need,” Kraal replied, scooping him up in his arms like a small child.

Jared felt himself flush with humiliation. Perfect. How could he ever hold his head up again after having been seen carried around the castle by this overgrown numbskull? On the other hand, the bath was sorely needed and struggling would be more undignified than quiescence, as well as futile. Kraal had arms like small tree trunks, if tree trunks could be corded with muscle. He could break a man’s back like a matchstick if he took the notion.

Outside the door was a wide courtyard. Jared had assumed he was in the castle, high up, a prisoner. Instead, this was ground level. Sunlight filtered down through the screening branches of shade trees. Beyond the stone courtyard lush green lawns swept outward, intersected by flower beds abloom with a riot of color. White-clad invalids sat in small groups, both on the covered plaza and on bright squares of blankets out on the grass, soaking up the sunlight.

Healers moved among them, carrying trays of water, medicine, and food. There were several giants among them, filling the purpose of carrying the patients from one place to another. Wind chimes in soothing tones hung from the trees, creating a pleasant undertone to the quiet hum of voices.

Kraal took a left, striding along the side of the plaza, and then another left, through a covered walkway that would keep the rain off during inclement weather but allowed the fresh air to blow in. They reached a wooden gate in a stone wall tall enough that even the giants could not look over it. Kraal knocked twice with a dragon-shaped knocker, paused, then knocked three times.

The gate swung open, and they entered a geometric wonderland of pools and gardens. Here there were no flowers, although there was a wide variety of plants. A rich herbal scent permeated the air—pungent, spicy, bitter, acrid, sweet. In spite of himself, Jared found himself drawing breath after breath, filling his lungs with a heady invigorating sensation that was close to a high, only it smacked of health.

“Almost overwhelming at first, I know,” Kraal said. “The herbs are carefully chosen for different purposes, as are the pools. We go this way.”

He set a course that led along the edge of the complex, past pools of varying sizes. In some the water steamed; others appeared to be cooler. Some had herbs strewn across the surface, some were murky with sulfur or other minerals, others were crystal clear. All had giant attendants lifting people out or lowering them in, carrying them from one pool to another.

At last they came to a small space screened by privacy hedges and closed by a gate. Kraal pushed against the gate, and it opened into a small square of grass and a basin just large enough to accommodate a tall man. A stream of water ran into it on one end and flowed out again on the other. Along the inside of the sheltering hedge, a low border of green with tiny white flowers gave off a scent that stung Jared’s nostrils.

Kraal lowered him onto a wooden bench and instructed, “Take off the robe.”

“No privacy?” he muttered, hesitating.

“You have nothing I haven’t seen before. Robe off. Then we will soak away these bandages. This pool will cleanse all infection that is near the surface—from your wound and from your skin. When you are clean we will move on to another, more restorative. The water cannot do its work if you are clothed.”

Jared complied as far as removing the robe, but then said, “Just help me, will you? It’s not far.”

Kraal grunted something unintelligible but helped him up and supported him as he hopped over to the pool and slowly lowered himself in. The water was blissfully warm; it stung a little, an effervescent buzzing that was not unpleasant. Without asking permission, he tilted his head back and immersed face and hair, scrubbing at his scalp with both hands while his body floated weightless.

This was a far sight better than that damned frigid pool Zee had tortured him in. Thought of his enemy ruined the moment and he surfaced, blowing and snorting, tossing his hair back out of his face.

“There is a barber to tend to your hair,” Kraal said, and Jared thought he heard a hint of humor, although the giant’s face remained expressionless. “Here, drink this.”

This time Jared accepted the glass without question. Some sort of wine, warmed and laced with herbs. As he drank he had the sensation that it cleaned the inside of him as the water scrubbed at the outside. Tension seeped out of his pores and the flowing water washed it away. Even his hate seemed a distant thing, not worth the energy. It tugged at its moorings, following the other toxins out of his body.

He might have let it go, but at that moment he felt hands on his wounded leg. Startled by the return of sensation, he opened his eyes to see Kraal kneeling at the edge of the pool, supporting the leg in one hand and unwinding the bandages with the other.

When Jared saw the pulpy mess of what remained of his leg, the calm fled. His gorge rose, and he pressed both hands over his mouth, swallowing desperately to keep from fouling the water. Strips of dead gray skin floated in the current. In places the bone was exposed, all muscle eaten away. What remained of the flesh was mottled green and angry red.

Either amputation or death. He could see it now, all the denial stripped away.

“It can be healed,” Kraal said, in a voice almost below Jared’s hearing. He thought he’d imagined it for a moment. The giant wasn’t looking at him; there was nothing about either face or body language to indicate that he had spoken.

“How?” he answered, gambling that his senses still functioned and he wasn’t delusional.

“Not by Aelfric’s methods. But the giants know.” There was an undertone of disrespect in the usually uninflected voice.

“What do the giants know?”

The black eyes fixed him with an acute stare that made his heart skip a beat. He had dismissed the giant as stupid, based maybe on account of old fairy tales and the flatness of his facial features. But what looked out of those stone-black eyes was a sharp intelligence, coupled with something dangerous and wild.

“Nothing is for nothing,” Kraal said, in that voice that sounded less like words and more like a slow rolling stone. His hands continued winding up the discarded bandage. He tossed it into a trash receptacle and held out a fresh white robe. “Come, it is time to move to the next pool. Then we will put on new salve and bandages.”

“Whatever it takes,” Jared said, clinging to the hard hand with both of his and using its strength to climb up out of the pool. “I will give anything for the healing of my leg. Besides, I fear they will kill me if I stay.”

“Do not promise lightly to a giant.” The warning was clear.

“I would sell my soul to the devil,” Jared said.

Kraal grinned. “This is good to know. Now, silence. Later we will speak of a visit to my Queen.”

“I have nothing to trade—unless she really wants my soul.”

“That could be arranged.” The giant’s face showed no sign of humor, and Jared shivered a little as he realized that this was not a game. Last week he would have scoffed at the idea that souls really existed. So many strange things had happened since then that anything could be possible.

“She sounds formidable, your Queen.”

“Indeed. She is not to be trifled with. But she can heal you.”

Jared looked down at his leg and shuddered again. There was no good option here, no safe and easy path.

“What would it take? What would she want besides my soul?”

“Information.”

“About what?” But he already knew. What had happened in that garden. She would want to know who was there, who fought. About Zee and about Vivian. It wasn’t a betrayal, he told himself. There was no reason to think this Queen of the Giants would harm Vivian or Zee, although he would have been more happy about the latter.

Kraal didn’t answer right away. He picked Jared up and carried him to another pool, this one cooler. Only a short dip, and then out again, dried this time with a towel and bundled back into the robe.

Still he kept silence, not saying another word. Only when he had laid Jared down on a high wooden table covered with a clean sheet and was spreading a thick, cream-colored paste over his leg did Kraal speak again. His voice was low, meant for Jared’s ears alone. “Tell me what you were doing in the Dreamworld, as a gesture of good faith, and then I will arrange to take you to the Queen.”

And so Jared told him—about Vivian and the dreamspheres, the attack, the Key, and the black dragon. As he spoke, the giant’s eyes glittered, but the big hands continued steady and gentle, swathing the ruined leg in bandages.

“You have done well to tell me,” he said, when at last Jared was done. “Now you are weary, and will rest.”

Jared’s eyes were heavy, and it was all he could do to keep his lids open, to not let his head drift down and rest on Kraal’s hard chest when the giant picked him up to carry him back to bed. Pride held him until he was laid on the soft goose down mattress, with the clean sheets pulled up to his chin. But as his eyes were drifting shut he heard the giant’s slow voice say, “Rest well. When you wake, you will find yourself in the Kingdom of the Giants.”