“But you learned something important, yes?” said Lilac softly.
“I did. I learned that everything - all the world, the countries, the people in it - were too much for me. It was all just too big. And no matter how hard I tried at things, or how good I was, it wouldn’t make any difference. But I didn’t feel bad about it. I wasn’t sad, or anything. Because I knew that if it was okay for me - if I could keep on doing what I liked doing - then that would be good enough. It was what made me special. It was what made me different.”
“If only I could dream the way you do,” said the lady, staring pensively at nothing. Then, with a slight sigh, she looked over to the satchel and said, “when you touched that silf, you told me you saw your sister’s dream -”
“Yes. I did.”
“So what exactly did you see?”
“Um - cats. Lots and lots of cats. Maddie - that’s my sister, she’s four - really likes them. They were all over her room, and talking. And she was there as well, but they kept on ignoring her.”
“Do you remember what the cats were saying?”
“No. It was all in some weird language.”
“Hm,” said Lilac thoughtfully. “Cats. I wonder what we could get from that. Was there anything else?”
Benjamin shrugged. “Well, the cats were doing things that people would normally do, like reading papers and stuff. Some were waiting for a bus, which is strange ‘cos they were on the windowsill. The room looked massive. And - oh yeah! - I heard Maddie, but never saw her.”
“Curious,” said Lilac.
“Guess so. I could hold that silf for you again, if you want,” he said, turning also to the satchel. “Find out more about it, or something I didn’t see the first time.”
Lilac shook her head. “No need. You got the important stuff, I’m sure. The rest would be too trivial to be worthwhile.”
“Why don't you have a look? You know more about all this than me anyway.”
The lady held out her hands, palms up, and with a faintly downcast expression, said “I can’t. We can’t. Only those of the dreamshade see, my child. Not us.”
“Oh,” came the response. And somewhere, deep-down, Benjamin felt a kind of guilty elation at the news. He was significant, it appeared; possessed of a wonderful and unique capability. Yet the very people that would benefit most from it - Lilac’s people - were bereft of the talent. Many times had he heard the phrase ‘bittersweet moment’; and only now did he know what it meant.
“Sometimes we can tell by the colours,” the lady continued. “The silfs come in many shades. Silver, like the one we caught tonight, often resolves into small luxuries, or liquids. Gold might bring food and light. Duller hues frequently offer raw materials. But it’s not an exact science. We get a lot of surprises.” She then raised an arch eyebrow. “A dreamshader could tell us the dreams that forged these silfs, you know. And much more besides.”
“Is that what you’d like me to do? Help you find out what you might get from the silfs?”
“It depends on if you want to stay,” said Lilac.
Benjamin swallowed hard and shook his head. “I don’t think I can,” he said.
The lady laughed. “Don’t worry. You won’t be bound to us. You could come and go as you please. But this is your first trip, and I’m sure you’ll want to stay awhile. Especially when you see what your gift can really do for the people of Niamago.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, intrigued - yet oddly afraid - at what he might hear.
“To take a silf - any silf - and draw out the potentials without any need for distillation. Quite simply, child, you can transform the silfs into many different things, and it requires nothing of you but mere will. Of course, you’ll feel tired afterwards - exhausted, even - but I doubt it will deter you much. Besides, certain laws - like, say, those of thermodynamics - are a little looser in my realm. A little more uncertain. But always good fun.”
Benjamin stared at the satchel. “So that silf in there-”
“Don't think it,” said Lilac, cutting him off. “Else our carriage is liable to be filled with who-knows-what in an instant, and it would become very uncomfortable. When we get to Niamago, there’ll be plenty of opportunity to put your gift into play. In the meantime, enjoy the anticipation; it’s always the best part of anything, I find.”
“Well, okay,” said Benjamin, not wholly convinced by the lady’s theory regarding his present predicament. He’d seen too many schooldays drag for what seemed an eternity before the bell rang for home time, and the final few days leading up to Christmas Eve had more often than not been tortuous (though in that particular instance, he did have to confess that it was not always so tortuous). Nevertheless, he was hungry to test this so-called gift, and not just because he wanted to see what would result when he pressed his will upon the silf. More than anything, it was the possible confirmation of power that engrossed him the most; the idea that he was not as ordinary as he had always supposed. And though he hardly dared to believe that what Lilac had told him was true - though why she should lie, he didn’t know - he was still eager to find out for himself, and thus put an end to the restless, sniping doubt that was ever the inevitable companion to waiting.
But the boy did not ruminate upon the subject for long. A little while later, and Lilac was up on her feet and barking orders at her birds in that strange dialect. The cage, rocking, began to turn on a large arc in the air; Benjamin gripped hard upon the bars. “We’re just about to translate planes,” said Lilac, beaming down at him. “Are you ready?”
“Uh - I suppose so,” replied the boy, understanding that even if he wasn’t ready, it wouldn’t make a jot of difference. Lilac would continue whether he liked it or not, and with no idea at all what this talk of ‘translating planes’ meant, he knew had little option but to keep his counsel and hope that she was as much an expert as she appeared.
“Good,” said Lilac, taking her gaze eastwards once again. “I’m having to use the Mirfak vertical, which is aligned to a very volatile aquastat. It’ll be bumpy, but it’s the only one available right now. The Amar Imaga is at hand, dear child; don't be disturbed by what you see outside, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Benjamin muttered, peering out into the silken sky, and then to the rose-burnished land below, half lost to the morning mist. And she was right: it was disturbing. They were so high, so unreachable; a speck in the heavens, lost amid a nothingness which was every bit as oppressive as a cloying crowd. Then, as promised, the cage jolted - and the vision before Benjamin’s eyes began to shimmer.
He blinked. The cage lurched, shuddered - and all the depth went out of the world. Suddenly, everything everywhere appeared small, not huge. Close, not distant. And flat, like a photograph, though one that seemed to ripple as if caught by the waves of a sea. And then he knew: there was a sea out there, one that lay just behind this image - this mirage - of an English dawn. He tried to fight the idea, feeling it wrong somehow. I’m waking up, he thought. I’m waking up, that’s all. But he was not: an instant later, and the image dispersed into an iridescent play of rainbows, like those seen when sunshine catches oil-slicked water; and what he was left with was not a reassuring welcome to the waking world, but a glimpse of something else entirely.
Benjamin put his hands over his eyes. His head throbbed. He muttered something, or cried it perhaps, but Lilac did not hear him. Instead, she yelled joyfully, “We’re here, Benjamin. You’ve made it. Welcome to the sea of dreams. Welcome to the Amar Imaga.”
6
How he had arrived here, the boy couldn’t say. The best he could assume was that he’d somehow crossed dimensions, a deduction based solely on what he’d gleaned from superhero comics and Pete’s collection of old science fiction videos. Either that, or it meant that there was an ocean in the sky - which, of course, was impossible.
But wherever it might be located, there was no denying the evidence of his senses. That it was an ocean was plain enough; he could see it, smell the salt
air, even faintly taste it. Crisp, rolling breezes coasted off from the waves and buffeted the cage. Spume gilded swells clashed, erupting into a spray that tickled his skin with a thousand tiny chills. And yet, despite these details, it was as clear as day that this was indeed no commonplace ocean.
The Amar Imaga was a sea of strange colours. For a start, the overall hue was lighter than the greeny-greys or blues that he was more familiar with; it was milkier, as though infused with a whitish, kaolin-like pigment. Seen as a whole, the effect was unnerving; such a pale expanse should surely be the province of deserts, not oceans. Secondly, there were the pearlescent, luminous streams that could be seen to run through the water when the cage dipped close to the surface or narrowly missed a large wave. It was an effect that made the boy wonder if the sea was not so much white, but comprised instead of a collection of shifting colours that only made it seem white when seen at a distance - like the way the tiny, flickering elements on a television screen appear as uniform bars of red, green and blue when studied close-up, but resolve into completely different hues when watched from further away.
There was another attribute to this remarkable sea, also, though it was something which he couldn’t quite bet on as being entirely real. Every now and then, some part of this Amar Imaga would appear as blurry, or undefined. It wasn’t the spray, he was sure of that. In fact, it was fleeting and uncertain enough to leave him doubtful of what he was witnessing, and the boy eventually concluded that if it was not some optical illusion peculiar to this sea, then it could only be the lingering result of the crossing; the aftershock, echoing upon his eyes, of having seen his world melt away like a recoiling tide...
But at least the nausea had passed. That had been the worst part of this ‘translating planes’ business - or whatever it was that the lady had called it. The episode itself had been momentary; disturbing, yes, but done and over with in a blink. The resultant discomfiture had, unfortunately, not been so brief, though he was helped greatly by having fresh sea air to breathe and a companion who was generous in her soothing reassurances. Eventually, the sense of sickness eased off, and he became better. Not as well as he had been before the crossing (and even then, he had not felt that great) but definitely better, and possessed of at least a semblance of his former composure.
Lilac, naturally enough, had been left unfazed by the event, and was quick to resume her navigation once it was clear her fellow-traveller was fine. At the moment she was wholly immersed in the task, scrutinising the horizon by means of a small telescope that she had disclosed from her satchel. She didn’t address him as she studied, preferring instead to hum to herself, as softly as if she were alone. And then, a little while later, the mood was broken; she lowered the spyglass, ended the song, and turned to her companion with a set, firm expression that could have been read as being either serious, faintly amused, or both.
“Benjamin,” she said, her voice slightly hushed. She handed him the telescope and pointed to a nondescript portion of the seascape directly left of their current bearing. “Look over there. Tell me what you see.”
Benjamin brought the device to his right eye, and did his best to comply with what the lady requested. A veteran of many icy winter eves spent watching the stars through Pete’s battered old binoculars, the boy once more found it nigh-on impossible to keep the image steady. All he could see was a wobbly horizon, with nothing between the sky and sea but an edge. Or so he thought. Decreeing his efforts pointless, he was just about to give up when he noticed something different. It was only a glimpse, quickly lost to the sweep of his gaze, but it was enough to let him know that the scene was not as featureless as he had supposed.
Steadying the focus as much as he could, Benjamin carefully scanned again. Before long, the thing that had transfixed him was back, and held as tightly as possible within the aperture of the scope. Prior to reporting the find to Lilac, he took a second or two to observe it, so as to be sure of what he was seeing.
Far away, at the cut of the horizon, a small smudge of deep darkness made a blear of the line that normally distinguished above from below. True, the sky itself was dark; but this patch was darker still, and rent with faint, pinkish flashes. It was like watching a thunderstorm, but at a great distance - and then the boy understood that this was exactly what he was witnessing.
After describing the scene to Lilac, he asked her if it was what she’d meant him to see.
“It is,” she replied.
“What is it?” said Benjamin, still holding the scope to his face and the sight to his gaze.
“Id Carnifor,” said the lady. “The place where our friend Leopold lives. The storms there never stop.”
The boy turned to Lilac. “But you said that he was like you. An atulphi.”
“He is,” she said, the trace of a smile creeping into her lips. She did not look at him. Instead, she kept her stare set upon the place where this Id Carnifor lay. “But that doesn’t mean we can't inhabit different countries.”
“Is that what it is, then? Another country?”
“A city,” said Lilac, flashing a glance at the boy, her eyebrows raised. “In a land full of nightmares. Not a place for anyone faint of heart. Not a place for anyone, really.”
“And Niamago is...”
Lilac chuckled. “Oh, infinitely better. Trust me on that, okay?”
Benjamin nodded, and smiled back at her. Finally, he asked, “so...what are you, then? I mean - are you human? Where do you come from? ”
“Me?” replied Lilac, yet again raising that mischievous eyebrow. “I’m from Peckham Rye. Well, that’s where I started.”
“Peckham?” said Benjamin, finding it difficult to believe that so astonishing and magical a creature could have such everyday origins. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”
Lilac laughed. “It’s not a joke, my dear child. It’s true. All us atulphi have our beginnings in your world.”
“So why did you come here?”
Lilac Zhenrei took a deep breath, as if readying herself for some kind of confession. “So now the question arrives,” she said. “Of who we are, what we are, and why we are. I cannot give you all the answers, Benjamin, because I - we - know so little ourselves. But I shall offer you what I can.”
“Okay.”
“We start as companions to your kind. Sprung forth from your dreams, as are the silfs. Except the we are truly alive, and tend to stay around for a while. When those that dreamed us into being then begin to stop seeing, we come here. To our home.”
“Who is it that dreams you? I mean - are you real?” asked Benjamin, who would have been completely mystified had he not felt such a strange rapport with what the lady had said. It was like being aware of a subtlety, or a hint, which he could not fully grasp, even though he was almost half-sure of its meaning.
“If you must interrupt,” said Lilac, “then please have the courtesy to deal me one question at a time. Otherwise, we end up just like a pair of broken supermarket trolleys; a lot of clatter that goes nowhere, gains nothing, and ends up in a creek. Without a paddle. You get me?”
“Yeah,” mumbled Benjamin.
“Okay. Now, I’ll answer your second question first, because it’s the easiest. Yes, we are real. You can take my word for it. If you doubt, then prove to me that you’re real. Understand what I’m saying?”
“Fine,” said the boy.
“Good. And as to those who dream us...well, put it this way: have you ever met a human - a young human - who claims to have a companion that no-one else can see?”
“Yes,” said Benjamin, suddenly aware of what it was the lady was actually talking about. “It’s those kids who pretend they’ve got an imaginary friend. Like - like Carl Marsh, this kid I used to know. He used to say that he had a white rabbit-”
“Ha!” interrupted Lilac. “Another bloody hurrix. You can’t get away from them back home. They’re everywhere. But let me tell you something, my friend -” a note of seriousness crept into her voice “- most of those c
hildren are not pretending; what they say, and what they see, is true.”
But Benjamin, somewhat preoccupied, didn’t quite hear her. Abruptly, he spoke up: “The thing is...I’m sure I saw that rabbit sometimes. I think I saw it, anyway. It was ages ago. But I think I knew it was there. Would that be because-”
“Of the dreamshade?” Lilac finished. “Yes. As I have said, you are the only people amongst your kind who are capable of seeing us after childhood. You probably saw many more afterwards, I’d wager. And not just rabbits.”
The boy shook his head. “No. I haven’t,” he began, then stopped. Could he be so certain? What about the shape he’d once seen in Mark Lemmon’s back garden - the very same Mark Lemmon whose little brother professed friendship with an oddly contoured being named ‘Mr. Gloamy’? What about young Stacey Wilds, and the hound he sometimes saw her with - even though her parents maintained that she never even owned a dog? And how many times, he wondered, had he actually glimpsed an atulphi - which, as Lilac had proven, could appear as entirely human - only to dismiss it as just another person? They were troubling thoughts; the kind of thoughts more suited to an adult who has seen his world-view smashed, and they made Benjamin feel uncomfortable. It all seemed too close to madness for his liking.
“What is strange,” Lilac went on, ignoring the boy’s abrupt turn to taciturnity, “is that no single dreamshader has ever spoken of having such a companion. I trust the same applies to you?”
“Oh. Yeah,” said Benjamin, gathering his wits and thinking back in response to the query. “No, I never had one. Not as far as I remember, anyway.”
The lady nodded. “So it goes,” she said, letting that particular strand of the conversation tail off.