She launched the rifle javelin style, and Benjamin - absolutely determined that he should not fail her - intercepted it with relative ease. But just as he was about to consider what he should do next, the cage suddenly tilted, and he found himself lurching towards the edge. His stomach leapt. Something collided lightly with his legs (a small footstool, to judge by the brief glimpse he caught) and toppled over the deck; just beneath him, a timorous female voice issued a yelp of surprise. Benjamin, with one hand still clasped to the door and the other clutching the gun to his chest, kept his feet planted as firmly as possible, and did as much as he could to keep his balance in tune to the pitch and yaw of his surroundings. Now on its downswing, the cage juddered again, but Benjamin was ready for it. A second later, and the cause of all the commotion was made clear: two sets of fingertips, clamped to the edge of the deck for dear life - just as his own had been only moments earlier - followed by the head and heaving shoulders of Lilac Zhenrei. Hooking a plimsolled foot over the threshold, the woman clambered up the framework with astounding ability, not coming to rest until an arm was safely knotted to a bar and her feet were at tiptoes upon the slight overhang that divided the entrance of the cage from the drop below. “No time,” she bellowed, her face flustered, her free hand outstretched. “My gun - now!”
Benjamin didn’t dawdle. He flung the blunderbuss at her, and she snatched it away almost as soon as it left his grasp. To his horror, Lilac then released her grip and fell from the doorway.
“No,” said Benjamin, neither knowing nor caring if the word came out as a scream or a whisper. Yet his distress was short lived. Looking down, he saw two feet wedged between the bars either side of the entrance. Plimsolled feet. Lilac, as it turned out, hadn’t fallen - she was with him still, only hanging upside down outside the cage.
As to why she was doing so, it was soon made clear: the clown - which Benjamin then noticed as an abrupt movement at the edge of his vision - had jumped. At that very moment, it was in flight, a mere breath away from catching hold of the cage. The boy gasped - then staggered as another ear-splitting report brought cloudless thunder to the night.
A cascade of electric-blue sparks struck the beast. Where they hit exactly, Benjamin couldn’t say; by the time he was even vaguely cognisant of what had just happened, the monster was spinning away from him. Trailing both a cloud of inky black smoke, and a wail that the boy could only liken to the noise of the air-raid sirens he sometimes heard in old war films, the creature plummeted back down to the ground, becoming lost to the weave of shadow and sodium lit avenues of the world below. With the monster now gone, there came an brisk and triumphant shout of “Hah!” from the woman hanging underneath, who immediately followed it with: “Hey, boy - you still there? Speak to me, please.”
Benjamin tried to reply, but found that his throat was too clotted. He gave an ahem, then said: “Fine. Still here. I’m okay, I think.”
“Good,” came the voice once more. “Now, keep that door open, will you? I need to get back up. Let me see your hand there, child!”
“Right,” said Benjamin, realising that he’d retreated to the rear of the cage. It only required a single, somewhat shaky, step forward, and Lilac’s request was fulfilled. With all the ease and agility of a gymnast, she curled herself upwards, took hold of the bars, and hoisted herself up to the entranceway. Gazing skyward, she called to her birds - “Naffapret - go on! Slipfrit, Hammerty; be calm my darlings.” - then joined Benjamin within the confines of the cage, pulling the door to a clanging close as she crossed the threshold.
“Well,” she said, shooing the boy aft with - typically enough - a flapping hand. “That was not expected. And I say so as someone who once dated Folding Cecil.”
“What was that thing?” Benjamin asked, the lady’s flippancy compounding his shock. It was, for all the world, as if she’d just gotten rid of an irritating house-guest rather than a monster. Even in the way she looked - a slight sheen of perspiration on her skin, a few stray hairs at her fringe - there was nothing that really spoke of the daring and danger of the events involved. Rather, it seemed as if she’d simply resolved a tiresome but mundane task, such as washing the dishes or mowing the lawn - the kind of task, in fact, that anyone might reasonably expect to face day in, day out.
“Leopold,” she said, lowering herself so that she came to a rest on her haunches. With such limited space within the cage, it meant that Benjamin had to shuffle even further back to accommodate her. “Though some call him Papascrill. Or Peter Rot.” She paused, taking a moment to gaze out at the vista - which was now more sky than land - beyond the cage. She had her blunderbuss slung across her knees, and her fingers drummed absently against the stock and the barrel as she reflected. “But most of us know him as the warpclown.”
“Warpclown,” Benjamin repeated.
“Uh-huh. And you know what else? He’s an atulphi too - like me.”
“Like you?” said Benjamin, in the manner of someone striving to get a punchline. The idea that this cool, fearless lady could be even remotely akin to that horror was laughable, surely.
“Okay. Maybe not like me,” she said, looking up at him and flashing a smile. “I don't try so hard to be funny.”
Benjamin, though still numb from the conflict, smiled in return. It was a pretty good joke, he had to confess. And a reassuring one, too.
“There!” she said. “See? I knew I wouldn’t lose your smile for long. It’s good to have you back, boy.”
The boy in question, lost for an adequate response, made a small noise in his throat instead. In need of some further assurance that the danger had well and truly passed, he asked if creature was dead.
“No,” said Lilac. “I didn’t have enough charge in Mr. Personality here.” She patted the blunderbuss fondly, as though it were a pet. “Besides which, the hit was skewed. So he’s still alive, alas.”
“And down there,” said Benjamin, turning to watch the townscape below. All his fears of the clown dissipated when he saw how high they had already come; and fresh fears came anew when he remembered that there was only a thin deck between himself and what would be a very protracted fall. Fighting it, he forced himself to remain as collected as possible, doing his utmost to ignore the fact that the only thing keeping him aloft was a small flock of birds, and resolving to keep his eyes set firmly upon anything that wasn't outside. Which was difficult, considering the tininess of the cage.
“Are you all right?” asked Lilac.
“I reckon so,” said Benjamin, even though he knew he really wasn’t. “I suppose it’s too dangerous to take me back now, isn’t it? What with that...clown down there.”
“Not at all,” said Lilac. “He wasn’t after you - or me. It was the silf he wanted -” she nodded to the satchel, which stirred in the corner of the cage as though stuffed with restless animals “- not us. You’ll be safe, I assure you.”
“Oh,” said the boy. Somehow, the news hadn’t turned out to be as welcome as he thought it might.
“Or,” said Lilac, pausing for effect. “I could let you come with me. To Niamago. What do you think?”
Of course, he knew all about the danger of accepting invites from strangers. As with most children, it had been regularly drummed into him since infancy: don't take sweets from the stranger, don't get a lift from the stranger, and no matter what the stranger promises, always say no. It was sound advice, and Benjamin had heard enough playground horror stories involving the stranger to be heedful of it. But, as he’d already surmised, Lilac was no commonplace stranger. In fact, she was no commonplace anything. Which made him wonder...did it make the present situation better, or worse?
And then, abruptly, he was struck by what she’d just said:“...I could let you come with me. To ny-amago...” So where on earth was this ny-amago place? How far away was it? How long would it take him to get there? Days? Weeks? Genuinely curious now, he asked her about it.
“Niamago is my home,” she said, turning wistfully at the eastern hor
izon, where the first, tentative rays of the morning sun had woven a silk-sheen into the sky. “It’s the land of sweet visions, set amid the corals of calling and the dream-shallows. It’s a very nice place.”
“How far is it?”
“Not far. It never is, not for anyone.”
“How long does it take to get there?”
“To the Amar Imaga? Not long. After that, who knows. I can only guarantee that you won’t be old and grey by the time we reach the shore.”
Some reassurance that was. “Is - is it safe?” he asked.
“Is anywhere?”
“Oh.”
Then Lilac looked back at him, her friend-winning smile writ large. “I jest. Yes, it is safe. And you would be made very, very welcome.”
“Why?”
“Because you are of the dreamshade, Benjamin.”
5
Much calmer now, Benjamin took to the role of reposeful passenger with enthusiasm. The birds above, too, had settled somewhat; meeping softly, they carried their cargo with nary a waver in attitude or bearing. In all, it was a fairly comfortable mode of travel, and though there wasn’t much in the way of space, the boy was quite ready to believe that he could get used to it.
Even the terrifying heights at which he was travelling had their benefits. The air, for example, was so refreshing up here. Minty, almost. And, surprisingly, not that cold either. Perhaps it was the magic of the cage that kept him warm; considered alongside all recent events, the idea was certainly not as outlandish as it should have seemed. Or maybe, after having faced such terrors, his mind had become greedy for the tranquil, and was therefore content to suffer any illusion provided it was amiable.
Well, whatever. All he knew was that he’d eventually agreed to accompany the lady to this Niamago place - for there were too many questions that needed answering by then - and had decided that there was nothing to be gained by any further fretting. Besides, it was only a dream anyway - wasn’t it? No need to worry what will happen to your family when they discover an empty bed in the morning; not when you know that you will awaken there, safe and content, when the adventure is over.
In any case, there were better, less troubling things to think of: the view, the destination, the moment. And Lilac, of course, who was currently preoccupied with a large sheet of paper that was draped across her lap. She had described it as a map when she’d first pulled it free of the satchel (at which the silf had reared up inquisitively, only to be patted impatiently back down) though it was quite unlike any map Benjamin had ever seen before. For a start, it didn’t appear to show any countries or landmasses; instead, it seemed more akin to some sort of constellation-chart. Secondly, there was no writing upon it that he could determine, only various lines of what looked to be mathematical formulae. The boy had asked about it, naturally enough; in fact, he had so much to ask - about everything, and not just the map - that it had warranted a raised finger and hard glance from the woman to stem the interrogation. “Rest,” she had said to him. “You’re still panicked, child, even if you don’t feel it. And all this babble will only make you feel worse. We’ll talk in time, I promise. Until then, concern yourself with the stars and the sky and the air, and let me find our way home.”
It had proven to be good advice, as it turned out. Then, at last, Lilac looked up, scrutinised the sky for a moment, and gave a small nod, as if to say, There! She promptly rolled the map up, set it down beside her and folded her arms. Still sitting cross-legged upon the deck, she took a deep breath, and said “Begin!”
“Um,” said Benjamin, not knowing really where to start. He had become more relaxed than he’d thought, and his mind had drifted. Before he could utter anything else, Lilac began for him.
“Right,” she said. “I’ll start you off, and I’ll start with this: when you see me, am I clear or faint?”
Benjamin shrugged. “Clear, I suppose.”
“No ‘I suppose’ about it. I’m either clear or I’m not. So which is it?”
“Clear.”
“Good. And let’s not have any more of this ‘I suppose’ business, okay?”
“Okay.”
And then, abruptly, the conversation stopped. An awkward silence ensued, until Lilac, making an exasperated ‘hurry up’ gesture, said “So ask me, then!”
“Oh. Ask you what?”
The lady tutted, rolled her eyes. “Ask me why I asked if I looked clear to you.”
“Um,” said Benjamin again, lost as to where the conversation might be progressing. Already, he was coming round to the idea that it might’ve been better to have not asked her anything at all, and just let whatever was to happen pass on by. When he finally complied, and spoke what she wanted him to speak, he made sure that his tone was a close as possible to the one employed when forced into apologising to his sister for some small, trifling slight (such as offering a light-hearted threat to one of Maddie’s dolls). “Why did you ask if you looked clear to me,” came the words, dully.
“Because if you didn’t,” said Lilac, falling back into the conversation as if there had been no interruption whatsoever, “then you would not be a dreamshader. Sure, some people - sensitive people - catch glimpses of us. Usually out of the corner of an eye. They used to think of us a fairies, or -” and she snorted disdainfully at this point “- little people. But we atulphi are nothing of the sort. Just a bit different, that’s all.”
Benjamin was ready for the cue, but found himself stumped as to what he should ask next. Should it be “What is an atulphi, then?” or “How, exactly, are you different?” Determined that he should not become a victim of his own confusion once more, he instead blurted out the next question that arose in his mind. “What is a dreamshader?” he said, hoping that he’d not dallied long enough to incur further flapping motions from his cool but admittedly waspish host.
“A dreamshader is someone - a human someone - who is capable of transfiguring the tulphic silfs without material aid. Dreamshaders are also the only people who continue to see us throughout their lives, and they are rare. We’ve not had one in Niamago for...oh, ages, I think.”
Nope. He had absolutely no idea what she was going on about. “How do we do it?” he asked, simply because he couldn’t think of anything better to say. “I mean, transfigger these -” he stole a glance at the satchel “- silfs. How does it work?”
“I like that,” said the lady. “You said ‘we’, not ‘they’ or ‘dreamshader’. And you who have the dreamshade about you are always sure of what you are, even if you’re not really aware of it. As to how you people do what you do...I don't know. But it’s in you. It’s intrinsic.”
“Is that why you asked me to call it?” Again, he glanced at the restless satchel. “I mean, this silf thing. It obeys me?”
“Oh yes. And more.”
“More,” Benjamin repeated, letting the word trail off. He thought back, to when he’d first seen the ribbon, and recalled how weirdly responsive it had been. And yes, it had indeed obeyed him - or so it seemed - later on in the proceedings, when he’d summoned it back from the woods. But what did it all mean? That the silf was alive?
“Unsure,” said the lady, once Benjamin had voiced the question. “I would say yes, but then I am so easily charmed by pretty things. A few others think not; they suppose them to be essentially lifeless objects that are infused with a kind of reactive anima. In truth, child, most of us do not waste time chewing stones over it; just as you, I expect, would not ponder much upon the trees and plants which give you your air and food.”
Air and food, the boy thought, latching on to the insinuation; trees and plants. “So you’d die if the silfs weren’t around, is that it?”
“Absolutely. But the silfs don't simply bring food to us; from them comes everything we hold dear: our homes, our cities, our civilisation itself. Even this carriage we sit in: it was all distilled from the silf-stuff.”
Something clicked inside Benjamin’s head at that point, and he found himself recalling the strange
sensations that had occurred when he first climbed into the cage. If he was to press his hand to the bars - or any part of the structure - would the same thing happen again? Would he still feel imbued with some faint insight that lingered between knowing and not-knowing? Lightly, he brought his fingertips to rest against the floor, and closed his eyes for a while.
It was still there, but subtler now, like a noise in the background which seems loud at first, but falls to a near-silent drone once the listener gets used to it. Lilac, who had been watching him, smiled to herself. “You feel it, don't you,” she said, when she saw a similarly self-absorbed smile arise on the face of the boy.
“I do,” said Benjamin, opening his eyes. “What is it?”
“A remnant. A residue of the potentials inherent in the silfs used to build it. Dreamshaders past have always said they can sense them. We don't know why.”
The boy nodded slowly, as if allowing it time to sink in. “Where do the silfs come from?” he asked.
“From you. From everyone in your world. Every time you dream, a silf comes into being, like a shoot arising from well-tended earth. Most are small - minnows, really - and fade as fast as the dreams which delivered them. But when there is a great dream, one which -”
“I know that,” interrupted Benjamin, unconsciously raising an arm out of schoolboy habit. “It’s a dream you don’t forget, isn’t it. A dream that makes you...think more.”
Lilac grinned, and slapped her hands together. “Yes. A dream that makes you a bit more grown-up; though if being more grown-up equates to more thinking, then trust me child, the theory is about as likely as me making a good joke. But I understand what you are saying. Really, I do. A great dream is the one that leaves you changed.”
In hearing such a deep and private idea confirmed, Benjamin warmed ardently to the subject. “In my first great dream, there were fireworks, and I could command them,” he said, the words coming out in a torrent. “I could make them do - do anything. So I made them take me higher - because I could ride them too - and they took me high, way high, into the sky. But there were all these stars there, and they never came closer; and when I looked back -” he paused, his tone quieting a touch “- when I looked back, and saw how far away I’d gone from them - the fireworks - I felt...afraid. But not scared. Not really. Just lost. And small.”