Warlocks Index – Previous Chapter
The process of Dream Walking is typically a cooperative experience. One with the gift of seeing is able to experience the dreams, and thoughts, of another willing participant. They have to allow you in however, and the roll of the Dream Walker is to observe, to take the side seat in the cart so to speak. The dreamer is in control. We are taught that to take control ourselves comes with consequences that will cause harm to the dreamer, or to both dreamer and Walker.
The crystal we use is a focus. It both enhances the gifts of the Walker and acts as a safety moat between the dreamer and Walker. Its source is a well-guarded secret of the Academy at Haven. All a Walker needs to know is how to use it, and that starts by developing a familial awareness of the crystals form and structure. Each is unique and may present the Walker with differing challenges when using it. Finding the paths of least resistance is a long process and often meant that a crystal would only ever work with one Walker. Some suspected that the crystals were learning as much about the Walker as the Walker did the crystal. This was pure speculation, yet some Walkers had reported experiences where their crystal seemed to whisper to them.
None of this prepared me for what came the next morning.
The man in black with my face had gloated over me for some barely recognised time before exhaustion overtook me. I had woken slowly, hungry, tired, and incredibly sore. Apparently alone, I had tried to loosen the restraints that held my wrists to the post I rested against, but I could not make out what they were, other than not being rope. My best efforts ended up twisting my shoulder painfully the wrong way.
I was not offered any food or nourishment, and my stomach was letting me know. I could feel it contracting when a shadow rose up on the tent door flap. It stopped at full height, a figure wearing a broad hat, when another shadow reached across, and with a sharp flourish, the flap was drawn back and the man in black walked in. He stood there looking down on me as the flap fell back down behind him. Even if I had the capacity to speak, I had nothing to say.
His face was still mine and still had that disturbing grin. He seemed genuinely excited and spoke at length about things I can barely remember, things about being hard to find, and being clever. I do recall him saying “Oh the things we could do together.” along with a happy little shuffle dance.
I vaguely noted his accent was unfamiliar, and he often use slang and metaphors I did not know. I do very much remember him squatting down in front of me, lifting my face to look into my eyes.
“I wonder what they told you about me.” He turned my head to either side. “I’ve never seen a twin before. Thrilling to think you’re my first. My own twin.” He brought my head back to face him. My twisted mirror reflection filled my vision. “I could tell you, well, so many things, but why tell when I can show.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a long silver pipe. “I believe you have seen my good friend the Silver Tongue already.”
Thus it was that I was formally introduced to the Silver Tongue, its name floating to my mind from the memories of Cassinda. Even though she had never revealed the name directly, it had been a part of her memories all the same. There was something troubling in that thought, but I was too weak to explore it further.
“Let me show you have she can do.” He positioned the pointed end to his lips and began to blow.
The music was deep and soothing. There was a broad spectrum of notes that played an unfamiliar yet pleasant melody, and I felt like I was sinking into an incredibly soft blanket. I wanted to resist but had not the energy to do so. Numbness and emptiness took me away.
*****
I was in darkness and smothered. A deep thumping pounded through me. Muffled sounds like voices. Someone in pain. A sudden constricting pressure pushed at me. It came in waves. I felt something crushing my head slowly slip apart. The sense of smothering became intense and painful as I was forced through an incredibly tight tube of sorts. It dawned on me that I was experiencing birth, or at least an interpretation of it.
My suspicions were eventually confirmed as I emerged into a strange room, somewhat similar to the halls of Haven, between a set of legs. I was quickly gathered up by another in the room and shown to the mother. My mother. Toa Freyah, and apart from looking pained and sweaty, just as I had seen only days ago. I was quickly taken from the room and taken to another, before being placed into a small crib. I heard renewed cries of pain and effort beyond the door.
Then there was someone looming over me. A man, grizzled with grey whisps of hair above his ears. His eyes were like mine. His expression grim. He reached down and lightly touched my face.
“First born.” He said softly.
“That’s right. I was first.” I was surprised by the voice beside me. I turned to see my twisted face under a hat peeking at the edge of the crib. “You came after. Well, as far as we knew, you didn’t come at all.”
The older man was oblivious to the stranger’s presence and remained at the side of the crib looking in, lost in thought it seemed.
“He never knew he had a second born. She hid you from us. Then banished our father because he questioned their methods.” He stood and started strolling around the crib. I lay there, a child, wrapped in cloth I did not remember being wrapped in. “All he did was ask questions, and they banished him.” He cupped a hand to his ear. “Did you say what questions did he I ask? Oh, just why they didn’t use their full abilities. He felt our gifts were wasted, that the academy was a factory for overqualified counselors, but now you’ve met our Old Man, I need to show you this.”
The world shifted before my eyes, and I found myself as a young boy seated as a rough table in a ramshackle hutch. Opposite me was an older and shabbier looking version of the old man who I supposed was the stranger’s father. Our father. He looked gloomy and withdrawn.
Before me was a simple and sparce meal of barely cooked vegetables and bread. I clearly had been given the larger portion. The old man noticed my hesitancy, and he encouraged me to eat up, smiling with some effort.
“They ruined him.” The stranger stood behind me. “They took his gift somehow. Left him without anything. He took me and went into hiding. We moved a lot for a few years, before he felt sure they weren’t looking for him.” He moved and knelt by my side looking back at me. I felt uncomfortable and threatened, his presence accompanied with dread. “A poor old man trying his best to care for a young child.” With a sigh, he glanced across the table and to a window beyond. “Then my gift started to grow.”
Once again, the world shifted and this time, I found myself, as myself, in some non-descript location outdoors. A familiar young boy, playing hunt and hide with a number of other children.
“That’s me.” He stood to my left, that grin and my face. “I was a cute kid wasn’t I.”
The young boy sat facing a tree whispering a little poem to himself while the others scattered finding places to hide. Once he finished, he got up and started searching. It didn’t take long before he started getting frustrated with his efforts.
“I was a little impatient.” Said the strange, followed by a soft chuckle.
The boy angrily dropped to a sitting position on the ground. “Show yourselves.” He said, then again, and again. It became a soft-spoken chant and one by one that other children came out of hiding, stood around the boy, knelt together, then each reached a hand to rest on one or the other of his shoulders. He opened his eyes, and his expression showed his thrill at seeing all his friends around him.
“I just wanted them to like me, and then they did.” The stranger turned to me. “That’s the true strength of our gift. We can make people like each other.” The glee in his face did not match the hole forming in my stomach.
Reflection of a Ham 