

### Dreamweavers

### Among Us

### RED

### Book One of the Draumrs Series

By: Ross Peacock

Copyright 2018 by Ross Peacock

Smashwords eBook Edition

# Smashwords Ebook Edition License

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

©2018 Ross Peacock - All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-0-9959759-0-3 

# Table of Contents

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Ekans

If You Can Dream It

Lester

The First Circle

Julia

Duck

Going Up

Emma

Downstream

Red Sky at Morning

Cathedral of Trees

Leutnants

Halls of the Circles

Snow

Whiteout

Oksana

Aachen Dawn

Kriegshauf

Roger

Beaucage Camp

Do Your Best

Pay the Piper

Cherry Tree

One Step Forward

About the Author 

# Introduction

Dreamweavers – Red introduces the Draumr Clans, which have ancient roots, but are thriving as everyday folks in modern societies. Mostly peace-loving and gentle, the extended families share the obligation to serve the rest of humankind as the makers of dreams: the very best dreams. They also serve as humanity's first line of defense against nightmares that can become too real.

A new generation of Draumr faces a challenge that the Clans have not seen in 75 years: a distant rogue Draumr family has gained control of the one of the most powerful politicians on earth, simply by entering his dreams. As the leader loses touch with the difference between real events and dreamed possibilities in his quest for ultimate power, the threat of global war looms once again. Past defenders, now aged, must depend on their students to prevent this disaster. The young Draumr fighters are called out to rapidly learn secret ancient skills and to step in as the last line of defense against a dream apparition that most thought was long-dead.

Dreamweavers - Red is light fantasy where the characters are just people living their lives in familiar places. As might be expected, in the dream settings, exploits are surreal and can be very sexy. An adult story with attractive female and male leads, the adventure is as much about their coming of age as it is about dangerous possibilities in the shadowy realm of controlled dreams, where fantasies are fulfilled and uncertain liaisons are always risky.

Because this novel is set in our world and includes occasional cameos by fairly familiar political leaders, there is a downside to the extended period needed to document the story. Presidential elections, can, for example, require a re-write of more than one character. And, when the gender of a newly elected leader is different from the predecessor, bedroom scenes also need updating to avoid confusion. Apologies, if some of these 'entirely fictitious' characters end up just one election or one uprising out-of-context; we tried our best.

RP

# Acknowledgements

### Contributors

Many thanks to everyone who contributed thoughts and comments on the drafts of the Draumrs books. Particular thanks to Grace Peacock, whose original manuscript provided the concepts and some of the story lines for the fascinating world of Draumrs.

### Dream Weaver

Entertainers Gene Adkinson and Wade Buff were given a twice-weekly, half-hour program slot on Miami radio station WRUF in 1955. With the program ending at 10:30 p.m., they felt it appropriate to sign off with a song they had composed while in high school in 1953: "It's Almost Tomorrow" (words by Buff, music by Adkinson). Buff served as the lead singer, and the harmony part was sung by various female singers (Sally Sanborn, Mary Carr, Mary Rude, and others).

The announcer of the show, Chuck Murdock, couldn't figure out how to introduce the unnamed group and the song, so came up with the idea of running a contest on the show to name them. The contest winner stated that because the song they wrote was dreamy, they were weavers of dreams, thus 'The Dream Weavers.' Atkinson and Buff played together under that name only until the end of 1956.

John Lennon picked up the idea in his song 'God' in 1970 and Gary Wright made the term ubiquitous with his hit, so named, in 1975. As far as we are aware, Lennon was the only Draumr among these.

Cover Art Credit

Best Designs, iStock, Getty Images 2015, licensed for publication.

# Ekans

Anasko had her hands full in a deadly struggle. She had a death grip on the thick scaly tail of the two-meter long ekans mik that was desperately trying to get away by pulling itself into the tangled underbrush. From its size and flashy markings, she knew that it was the leader of the nasty clutch of vipers that ruled the northern territory. It had brazenly come across the southern border once again, apparently believing that there was no threat to worry about. Anasko intended to kill it.

She had very nearly gotten in position to lope its head off in open ground, but even though surprised, the spitting and striking ekans had eluded her sabre swings; then it had made a break for the low underbrush at the border. In a split second, Anasko had to decide to either miss her opportunity entirely or to drop the sabre and leap onto the back of the disappearing ekans. She managed to grab on to the tail at the edge of the brush and to brace her legs against the first stout branches. Her decision now left her in a deadly tug of war with the poisonous beast and without her sabre. Every instinct said to let it go, but she could see no break in the thick brush before the wires that signified the border that she could not cross. If the ekans got back across the line, she would have forfeited her best chance so far to kill the world's most dangerous pest.

The stupid part of the argument in her head was that she could just walk away and leave the damn ekans to its own business with no further threat to her. The last thing the beast was going to do was to turn and come back at her on its own. It knew that she was too fast to be struck. It also knew that only the lucky proximity to the brush had saved it from being sliced up in the first encounter. The ekans preferred helpless prey, or at least prey that didn't carry sabres. Across the border, the mik ekans was considered a god among the timid species that lived in paralyzing fear of its crushing bite. It could live happily enough over there as long as the border stood as a barrier to its only real enemies in the south, who saw the creature as the nuisance that it was. But, ekans loved the warm sun of the south and this one would surely continue to test the strength of the border defenses again.

Anasko could feel her muscles cramping-up and weakening. The ekans was all muscle and it had leverage inside the woody bushes. There was no way to pull it back. Her sabre lay out of reach and for some stupid reason, she wasn't carrying a knife. Normally, she travelled with one on her belt and one in her boot. Even a small knife would have been useful as she could either have gutted the ekans or at least given it a reason to come back to fight. She considered whether sinking her teeth into it might achieve the same response. But the reptile wasn't that dumb. It had little concern for human teeth that probably couldn't penetrate its tough scales anyway.

Anasko also remembered that the back end of the ekans featured its asshole. For some reason the beast hadn't unloaded on her yet, but this was just a matter of time. Pretty soon she would lose her grip anyway, while being covered in a stream of stinking poo.

Now the old man in blue robes came over to her. He had periodically walked into the scene in past dreams and here he was again. It was the last goddamn thing that she needed to deal with right now. He was useless in the fight as he apparently had some sympathy for the ekans and apologetically begged off as only a neutral observer. She knew that he would never kick her sabre over to her.

Neutrality didn't stop him from making entirely useless suggestions however. Anasko doubted that she had the patience to engage him in his riddles and truisms, but she couldn't just walk away either. She was stuck as much as the ekans was until one of them gave up the fight.

The old man opened his hands to her as he observed the situation and spoke. "Would it be so bad if your foe lived another day? You will surely get another chance."

He might mean the ekans gripped in her arms or he might mean the leader of an army in some parable of war. Anasko had to guess the context of the question first, or face mild rebuke for not seeing the problem correctly. _Fuck it, I only have one enemy right now._

She barked back at him, "Yes, it would. For every day that this piece-of-shit lives, a hundred innocents die to feed it and its nest." She was gasping for air as the struggle wore her muscles down. The burning pain was making breathing difficult. "I may never catch this fat little fucker out in the open again. I can't just let him slither back home."

"But, he means you no harm." The old man now shook his head and smiled, as if acting as an emissary for the ekans. "In fact, if you hadn't attacked him, he might just have kept on sunning himself and done no harm to anyone out here. After all, he only eats over there."

The old man in blue pointed across the border wires.

The few stands of rusty wire on rickety posts designated the border that separated the north from the south. The south, while a ruthless and demanding place, at least provided some measure of balance in its ecology. Most species could find a niche to occupy that didn't unduly threaten the survival of others. Those that wished to grow fat and lazy could usually find some protected spot to call home. Those that chose to be lean and energetic could expect to command a wealth of resources and to multiply their numbers. The warm and fertile south stood in stark contrast to the forbidding north.

North of the border, a mountainous terrain crept up into cold and mostly barren lands that provided only bare survival means. A limited variety of species scrabbled for enough to eat and for a place they could defend against numerous hostile predators. The most vicious of the predators: the mik ekans, chose to exploit the weakness of lesser species, killing and consuming young and old, while stealing meagre resources from those healthy enough to escape its attack.

The setting of Anasko's dream was similar to the geographic and ecological makeup of several extended peninsula regions in the world, where a thousand kilometers of latitude and a few thousand meters of altitude essentially produced these characteristics in the natural biosphere. The difference here was the predominance of nearly-human creatures that exhibited the worst of real human behaviors. The nastiest of these behaviors was the deadly defense of the border wires. Armed, biped reptiles on both sides kept any movement across the wires to a minimum, as the open space on either side of the border was essentially a free-fire zone. The capable noom alig in the south were unlikely to kill an innocent escapee from the north. But, they would happily shoot any rotagilla that challenged them across the wires.

Fortunately, the shooting scenario was never played out, as the rotagilla sentries of the north watched their own territory most closely and killed any lesser species caught approaching the border wires from the north. They postured and threatened well outside rifle range of the southern sentries, but in many decades, had not attempted to breach the border.

The question of whether they might similarly shoot a human crossing the wires in the opposite direction remained unanswered. They were terrified of humans for good reason. Humans killed ekans mik and rotagilla on sight. Anasko believed that the 'rots' would certainly open fire if she charged across in pursuit of their spiritual leader.

How Anasko knew all of this was a mystery to her. There was no guide to her dream and she had never actually encountered any humans other than the old men: one in blue and one in red. She almost always entered the dreamscape in a stealthy stalking approach to the same fat, sleeping mik ekans. She had tried different tactics, sometimes quietly sneaking up and sometimes just bursting forward in a screaming rage of sabre slashes. Each time she missed her prey, who usually just slithered away and got back across the border. Sometimes she got in behind it, cutting off the path to the border; but then she had to dance away from vicious strikes of the poisons fangs.

She had yet to get into a position to deliver a killing blow. Each time, she couldn't prevent the escape. Then, sitting in the dirt, she either got a lesson in the form of an opaque life parable from the old man in blue or an explicit lecture on her technical ineffectiveness from the old man in red.

This was the first time that she had tried just tackling the retreating ekans. It was also the first time that he hadn't just escaped. Not yet, anyway. But she couldn't see how that wasn't going to be the outcome this time as well. _Maybe I just needed that knife. Can I bring it next time?_

As she was considering the possibilities, the ekans finally did let go with its considerable colon, covering her in stinking reptile shit. She closed her mouth and eyes just in time to avoid an intrusion of the nasty stuff inside her body. As she expected, the beast now renewed its struggle to get free and eventually forced her hands down to the slippery scales of its extended tail. One more violent shake and it was gone. She saw the scrub bushes parting as the fat reptile slithered under the border wires and escaped north, yet again. She was left sitting in the dirt once more, this time covered in shit and already attracting flies.

"Will you give me a knife next time, father?"

Anasko hadn't looked up, but knew that the shadow that had entered her field of vision was the old man in red: her father Olikim. He created these fucking dreams over and over, seemingly presenting unwinnable scenarios that were designed to frustrate her and to draw out her best abilities in a life and death situation.

"Possibly there may be one to be had, but nothing just given to you would have sufficient value in your heart. The better question is: how you can acquire a knife, if that is the secret to winning this fight?"

Anasko shook her head as she wiped shit off her face. She wouldn't be released from this dream until Olikim believed that she had learned enough of herself.

"I took a big risk in grappling with the poisonous beast; this alone should be all the effort needed to earn the means to end this battle. Isn't risk taken the true determination of rewards earned?"

Olikim hadn't been smiling, but now his countenance turned visibly sullen.

"Can you tell me that your embrace of the ekans was done in anticipation of a future dream where you will possess the knife; or was it a desperate and poorly thought-out last gasp in order to convince yourself of your current superiority? What if the beast had turned? You were helpless on the ground with your weapon out of reach. I might argue that it is only because of its fear and stupidity that you are alive at all. Other enemies are neither stupid nor fearful."

He paused, then concluded, "You should have taken the blue man's advice. Certainly, once you had gained the critical bit of knowledge, even if acquired at considerable risk, your priority should have been surviving long enough to apply it. You should have let the beast go before it learned its new tactic: the stinking one that now covers you."

Anasko felt like the shit she was covered in. Her momentary elation at apparently gaining some advantage had now evaporated under the valid criticism delivered by her father. She had let her pride get the better of her wits. Certainly, she was following a course that might eventually lead to victory, but she had made mistakes that should have been obvious and would now prolong the dangerous fight.

Even though it was all just a dream, she would now feel the weight of the failed effort as grief for all the souls violently destroyed by the mik ekans until their next fight. How many more would die horribly? How many hundreds of death screams would echo in the reaches of her mind before she could finally shake off the nightmare that kept bringing her back to this place?

The intense memory of the screams only faded from her consciousness as she greeted her father, wide-awake and coming down for breakfast together. She knew someday she would face a mik ekans for real and then the screams would be real too. She must be ready.

"Almost there, daughter. We're almost there." They hugged and smiled.

# If You Can Dream It

Will Green considered the flickering warning light on the banged-up cockpit instrument panel in front of him. The engine failure alert didn't seem sure if it should be on or not. The old-style incandescent bulb under the small amber lens wasn't binary like today's electronic displays. It could sort of be on, while sort of being off. But now, it was definitely more on than off; Will knew that he had a little problem.

A visual check of other dials and gauges showed a slight variation in RPM and some uncertainty in the engine output. There was plenty of fuel in the tanks, but, for some reason, not enough was consistently getting to the cylinder injectors to satisfy the needs of the decades-old deHavilland Beaver float plane that he was flying today. He listened carefully to the rumble and whine of the engine and to the hum of the prop. She was a little off-key from her normal perfect pitch.

Next, he checked his position on the lined and weary plastic-coated map clipped to his flight book. He was a long way from an airport, but unlike wheeled aircraft, the Beaver had landing ability just about anywhere there was water. The step-wise process for getting down safely began to roll out in his head.

Will finally looked out the window. He calmly scanned the unbroken green carpet of trees far below. None of these observations gave him any immediate solutions to the failing engine, but each was part of his practiced routine for landing the big plane. The only obvious thing missing was some open water. _I need to find a place to park her; probably better sooner than later._

He was flying back home from his last bush camp drop-off at a Northern Ontario lake an hour behind him. He was taking a direct route back to his base at the south end of Georgian Bay with almost no baggage and half a tank of fuel. The open water of the Bay was still a considerable way ahead. His chosen route should have made for a quick, safe flight. Of course, if he had known that he was going to have engine trouble, he could have taken a less direct route that kept him closer to a service center or at least closer to lakes that he knew. But, lakes and flat rivers were so common east of Lake Superior, that this route itself should have been fairly foolproof. Now, seeing nothing but green, he briefly wondered if he had outsmarted himself by flying over the only totally dry spot in the whole province.

It was late in the day, but that was nothing more than inconvenient. The sun was still above the horizon and a bright blue sky would last for a long time after sunset. The day was waning, but he trusted that the clear horizon should still give him enough working time for a visual sighting and landing. From his map position, he calculated that he would need approximately 30 minutes flying time to get to the dock at the Burnt Lodge Lake camp, if he could keep his airspeed up.

He rolled over 35˚ to head straight there. While he still had mostly full power, he pulled the bush plane into as much of a climb as he thought she would tolerate. The extra altitude might prove useful down the road.

Will had in mind tying up to a dock with lights and maybe getting a helping hand to hold a flashlight or tool while he figured out her problem. With luck, he might be up again in a few hours. Or he might enjoy the camp's hospitality for the night. A hot coffee, at the least, would be nice.

Just as he was about to radio Sault St. Marie ATC with his necessary, but not emergency, change of plans, he felt the first full cough from the engine. A misfire at a full throttle on the rotary turbine sounds like a bomb going off, but he knew that the engine was quite capable of regaining its composure. For a few more seconds, he hoped that he had full power back. Then a second cough and a definite loss of power told him he wasn't going to make a normal landing at Burnt Lodge. Tipping the Beaver slightly back on wing to start a wide arc, he scanned for any suitable lake in sight. There hadn't been one visible minutes early, but he was an optimist. He had wheels if needed, but a landing strip out here was even less likely.

As he scanned the horizon, he spotted an oblong of silver among the green, a few kilometers to the west. It was water, reflecting the bright sky. The little lake could be his out of a tricky situation. He patted the dash of the vintage plane and said a near silent, "Not tonight then, eh?" As if in agreement, the Beaver rumbled on as if nothing at all was wrong. It couldn't talk, but it could certainly provide hugs when needed.

Will felt surrounded in calm capability, as if he was getting an assist from every pilot who had ever sat in his seat and asked the old girl to just get him or her through the next ten minutes. Now fairly confident of the opportunity for a safe landing, he gave up the hard-won altitude and speed, setting a direct course for the lake that was now forming in the silver blue exception ahead.

He was pleased to see a good-sized lake coming up below him. There should be lots of room to land and get up again. He decided that he could risk one pass to be certain that it wasn't full of tree stumps, gravel bars or moose grass, all of which tended to interfere with float plane landings in a most unpleasant way.

As he was making his pass, he also managed to get a short message off to Sault ATC confirming his GPS coordinates and status; he added a simple statement on his immediate requirement to land. He was still fairly confident of a spot repair and full-power take-off, but probably wouldn't have daylight to complete it. He would definitely be down for the night. He didn't indicate any emergency codes and said he would get right back.

At only a few hundred feet off the surface on his last turn to approach, the engine suddenly died entirely, leaving him to dead stick it in. He could handle the plane as a glider, particularly as he was flying mostly empty of cargo, but dropping without power certainly wasn't his preferred method of getting onto the water. He knew that there would be a rather sudden stop when the floats grabbed the surface. He braced for it and dropped the plane onto the inky water. He had to keep a nose-up attitude to ensure that the rear of the pontoons touched first to get the maximum counterbalance to the heavy engine up front. Somewhat like an inelegant goose, the Beaver completed an ungainly three-point touchdown, with the tail just clipping the water. With no engine noise, the splash of the floats was louder than normal, but everything quickly turned to silence as the plane came to a complete stop mid-lake. The splashdown waves spread out in all directions and slowly dissipated. Eventually all was calm. There was no wind, so they sat quietly bobbing on the shore return of their own waves just about where they had stopped moving.

Will made sure that all switches were off, calmly logged his coordinates and landing time, unbuckled and climbed out onto the float. Following a practiced routine, he checked for any visible damage and then patted the plane's side in silent thanks. Yes, they were a good team. He took the opportunity to stretch and pee. Peeing in swimming pools was bad. One man peeing in a remote lake was just marking territory and celebrating his dry pants.

Only after about ten deep breaths did he allow a mental review of the possibilities that hadn't happened: no lake, shutdown much earlier, miserable weather, pilot screw-up. Bad luck came in a lot of shapes and sizes. Each could be a precursor to a smoking wreck in the bush. None had been the case here though, so he spent no more time thinking about them. He knew he was good enough to handle any challenge; being lucky was a bonus.

After thoroughly shaking off any shivers, Will climbed forward to examine the underside of the engine cowling. Sure enough, while he watched, a single drip of gas formed at one of the seams. As he had suspected, the old girl had probably shaken a fuel line coupling loose. With tools in the back and some daylight to find and reset the weepy joint, the fix should be no more than a few minutes. He found a rag and carefully wiped the gas drip away several times until it didn't appear again. Even one drop of gas in any lake was against his principles.

Another call to ATC confirmed that he was down safely at the lake's coordinates and expecting to leave again after daybreak. The helpful flight specialist on duty congratulated him for not making the night too exciting and then said that she would pass the message along by phone to Will's home airfield and to his employer. She checked her detailed topographical map at the GPS coordinates Will had given her and indicated that there was no marked lake at the location. This information left Will puzzled, as this lake was certainly permanent and big enough to rate a mention in the maps. Will suggested that it should be called Good Luck Lake, if and when someone got around to correcting the map. They signed off with a laugh.

Down on the water, shadowed darkness was quickly closing in as the sun was now well below the trees. He would get an unplanned, but relaxing night of sleep in the back of the plane. Rummaging in the storage hold, he extracted a small anchor and line. Tossing it in, he found that the little lake was only about ten feet deep. Just a glacial puddle, apparently left here for his exclusive use, as there was no sign of habitation anywhere around the lake. He tied-off the nose of the float to the anchor line. If enough wind came up to drag the anchor, he preferred to be backed into shore, so he wouldn't have to turn the plane around to fire it up. It was dead calm with a clear sky. He didn't anticipate any weather problems.

As he stared down into the pristine water, he wondered about a fish for supper. He had his tackle tucked in the back too. Catching a fish was one thing, eating it would mean inflating the dingy and paddling to shore, starting a fire and, possibly, doing battle with crazed and carnivorous mosquitoes. Even with all that downside, the delicious reward of a fresh walleye was almost tempting enough.

Out loud, he said, "Thanks for the offer, but another time maybe." He grinned at the shore and sky, adding: "Oh, and thank-you for putting this beautiful little unnamed lake right here. Both of us really appreciate that." He patted the silver and yellow sheet metal side of the Beaver as he smiled. He waited, but no-one answered back. No crows cawed, nor did an angry beaver smack the water. Silence from the spirits was generally taken to mean: "You're welcome." They were good.

He was suddenly very tired. He knew that the sudden stress of an emergency landing took more of a toll than he would admit. Sleep was always his best friend when he needed to recharge. Considering the rapid approach of full dark in the surrounding trees, he gave in to the prospect of some welcome rest. Cold thermos tea, a granola bar and a bounced-around apple would do for both supper and breakfast.

Will had always had vivid dreams. Other people talked of fuzzy encounters and flighty fantasies that half-played out and then faded into convoluted scenarios of frantic airport gate runs or unprepared high school exams. Their descriptions often puzzled Will, as he felt very much in control of what he dreamed and of how the plots worked themselves out. He could recall many great dreams, some of which seemed like well-scripted plays of passion or intrigue. He met and recognized people in his dreams, sometimes walking or sitting with them for long discussions.

When he awoke, he often smiled at a joke that grandfather or father had told. Extended family members came and went. And of course, he regularly had great sex in his dreams with a variety of women; some were known, but some were complete strangers, apparently. He had occasionally been slightly embarrassed to meet a distant cousin face-to-face and realize that he had made out with her doppelganger just a few nights earlier. But, only in his dreams of course, so it was his secret.

Will could also take a problem to sleep with him and work through possible solutions in a planned and managed dream. This ability worked particularly well for designing engineering solutions, as he could build a system, float above it or pass through it, and see both flaws and perfections in the design. Visualization was his own little CAD system. Or as he joked, to himself: 'Dream Aided Design' system. He didn't let on to profs or bosses how he could master new information or techniques so quickly. "Just a quick study, I guess," was his usual answer. He wasn't going to let his secret advantage out of the bag.

This evening, he got himself ready to mentally walk through the fuel line connectors, pumps and relays on the old Beaver. He would work through the potential repair spots in advance, hopefully ensuring that there wouldn't be any surprises in the morning. It seemed like a good plan as he turned off the small interior cabin lamp and pulled up the zipper on his sleeping bag.

Almost immediately, it seemed, Will found himself standing on the shore of the small lake looking out at the anchored Beaver a hundred meters off-shore. He knew that he was dreaming, so attempted to put his location into some sort of context. _Should he be seeing something about the plane?_ _Was there something over here that was relevant to his upcoming repair?_ It didn't seem likely.

Looking around, he couldn't see the dingy on shore, so was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to attempt to get back to the plane. He scratched at a couple of new mosquito bites and silently cursed the reality factor of his dreams. _We could do without the bugs, please._ He hoped that the message would get through to his sleeping brain.

As he surveyed the bush around him, Will was surprised to discover a well-worn path leading directly into the trees. The wide path was obviously not just a large animal watering route. Looking closely, he saw that there were some cleanly cut-off branches extending the path into the forest beyond: the passage was human-made. He now assumed that the path was the connection to this location; maybe someone lived near this lake after all. As it was bright as high noon in the dream, he guessed that he was meant to walk the path to see what was there. Checking his direction against the western horizon where the sun had set last night he headed off due-south into the bush.

The path stayed level only until it was full enclosed by the forest, then it immediately turned steeply upward over a series of flat rock plateaus. Will scratched his sleeping head again. The actual land around this lake was fairly flat. This dream rise in the land was here for some other purpose. After many small climbs over rock ledges and switchbacks across steep slopes, Will reached the top of the climb. He emerged into a small clearing that overlooked a wide valley. There was a convenient rock to sit on; he immediately plunked down to rest. He was actually a little winded from the climb. This was another strange twist, as he was never exhausted in dreams, no matter how strenuous.

Just below him was a flat granite plane, maybe 200 meters wide, ending at a cliff edge. Misty air beyond the cliff indicated an open chasm perhaps a half-kilometer wide. The air was still and warm, under a cloudless sky. Will picked up the distinct smell of wood smoke. As he scanned the landscape, he could now see that what he initially took for mist was actually smoke rising gently from the valley beyond the cliff. It was too much smoke for a camp fire so might be a smoldering forest fire.

_Plane crash?_ Briefly, an image of a smoking wreck crossed his mind. But, he dismissed it just as quickly. He was thankful that he could just clear bad thoughts. He could fly over in the morning to see if this is what he was supposed to find. It wasn't him, but there were lots of planes in the sky.

As he was resting and taking in more detail of the amazingly precise landscape, Will picked up on something out-of-place. In the natural and fairly barren setting, the background was a consistent milieu of black tree trunks, brown dirt and gray and white rock surfaces, with the odd green scrub tree or bush. All were expected shades and hues in this rocky Canadian Shield setting.

Will's eyes had stopped scanning when he picked up a bundle of unexpected colors right at the cliff edge. This object was definitely a mix of bright red and dark blue. The combination of colors wasn't part of the natural display here in early-summer. As he shaded his eyes and concentrated on the exception, he brought the detail of the six-foot-long lump into focus. It wore a red shirt above blue jeans. It had a head and feet. There was a man, or the body of a man, lying right at the cliff edge.

Will concentrated as hard as he could to pick up any movement, but could see none. The only thing moving anywhere was a lone golden eagle, circling slowly on the upward heat riser of the cliff face. Interestingly, it seemed to be keeping station several hundred feet above the man. Big eagles weren't normally carrion scavengers and it would have no interest in a live human, so it must just be coincidence. Or maybe the sleeper has a little dog with him. That would be fairly tantalizing eagle food out here. If the circling bird had been an equally-impressive turkey vulture, he would have guessed that he was actually dealing with a corpse. Will scratched his various bug bites, but resisted the urge to curse this stupid dream again. It was his creation and he could wake himself at any time. But now, he was even more curious about where the plot was taking him.

With renewed energy, Will began working his way down to the wider plateau below his resting spot. He eventually got down onto the same rocky plane as the body. He was still over 100 meters away and gingerly began moving towards it. He didn't want to surprise the man if he was just resting, so he attempted a whistle at about 50 meters out. Nothing came out, except a dry tweet. He followed this with an intended shout of "Hello there," but his dream vocal cords only croaked a weak whisper that might have carried ten feet. He shrugged, laughing a little at his feeble effort.

He would need to work his way cautiously over to the sleeping man, or to the body, with hope that he could give some advance warning that he was there. He carefully and silently picked his way between the few loose rocks and crept to within five meters of the body.

Now Will could now make out steady breathing and could see the sheen of sweat on the man's face. _He is alive_. He was lying completely still staring into the sky. Will could make out that he was young, only lightly tanned and dressed like a twenty-something on a first camping trip. Designer blue jeans were useless in the bush; it was a sure give-away. _So, what the hell is the kid doing way out here, lying right at the cliff edge?_

Will was just about to try calling out again when he noticed definite movement. An arm and hand had moved slightly and the kid's eyes blinked. His jaw and lips were moving as if forming words. He wasn't speaking out loud, but seemed to be having a fairly tense argument with himself or with some imagined companion. Will felt an involuntary shudder of realization about the risk of the situation; but, was the kid now talking himself into, or out of, killing himself?

Just as Will was about to reach out to grab the quivering kid, he moved. In a sudden violent motion, the kid flung an arm and leg across his body and pitched himself right over the cliff edge. Just like that, Will was staring at the empty space where he had been lying. Briefly, he could hear the dopplered fading cries of the victim, as he plunged down the cliff face into the valley far below. He had never seen or heard Will right next to him. _Or maybe he had?_

By the time Will dove on his stomach to get his eyes over the cliff edge, there was no trace of the man against the dark valley floor several hundred meters below. He could see that the smoke in the air rose from a small patch of smoldering trees directly below; the smoke obscured the view. It was probably a lightning-strike fire. Somewhere in there, the now-for-sure body of a young man had come to rest. What was Will supposed to make of this dream? It made no sense at all.

Will woke in the plane just before dawn with the detail of the dream etched clearly in his memory. He had not gotten to his repair planning; the stupid cliff dream had taken up the entire night. He shook his head to try to get his thoughts into the present.

He still retained the feelings of helplessness and frustration. He couldn't help but to rerun the sequence, thinking about what he could have done to prevent the death. He was never useless and that was what he had been. The thoughts kept repeating in his head, until he cursed them out. This was one dream that he would have to ask grandfather about.

Finally, his head seemed to be clear. After some stretching, he ate his apple and set about actually repairing the Beaver. Occasional glances at the far shore still gave him little shivers and, once or twice, he was certain that he could make out an actual opening to a path. As much as he was repulsed by the outcome of the dream, he was curious to know how much of the dreamscape could be accurate to the land beyond the shore. _Could there really be a smoking corpse up there?_ He reminded himself again that it had only been a dream.

The novelty of this dream was still sticking in his head. He hadn't been in control of either the setting or the plot. It was a new feeling, which must be what others wake up to. He didn't like it. Probably, the sooner he was out of there, the better. He found himself scratching numerous bug bites and searched for the AfterBite in the first aid kit. _Where did I get these bites? Must have left a window open_.

But, he knew that he hadn't.

# Lester

Lester opened his eyes and immediately squeezed them closed again as the bright daylight overwhelmed his too-slow reacting pupils. He was flat on his back. Once he could safely open his eyes beyond a crack, he brought a clear blue sky into focus. Or lack of focus. There was no definition whatsoever. The sky color was squeezed directly from the tube. No mixing of tones, no clouds and no hints of haze; just a consistent blue edge-to-edge. He could only really tell that it was sky by its sole feature: a feathered raptor circling slowly above him. The big bird was a discordant kite against an otherwise continuous phthalo blue sky.

The centerpiece bird was monstrous in size, but apparently far above him. It could be a hundred feet up or a thousand. He had no idea how big this creature actually was. Still, he could make out its nasty details. It was a caricature of a real bird; it had a plate-size unblinking eye and a razor-sharp can-opener beak. It shone iridescent red like a polished June bug, with big brassy claws. It was an impossible combination in nature, but perfectly suited to the impressionist dreamscape.

The bird was watching him intently. Its effortless glide suggested the patience of a skilled hunter; one that was used to ignoring the frenetic scrabbling of its victim. Time was this beast's best friend, time and a parching sun that would do most of the work for it. But for all the heat, the sun was no-where to be seen. Dreams didn't need an actual sun for him to be stretched out in it.

The observation that the monster bird was red gave Lester some small hope. Red birds were parrots, cardinals or hummingbirds, weren't they? None of those were meat-eaters; although he wasn't too sure about parrots. Parrots had those nut-cracker beaks that looked like they could snap a finger right off, so maybe here they had evolved to join the carnivore parade. And he was damn sure that he wasn't looking at an eight-hundred-pound hummingbird.

The presumed predator really was way up in the, really blue, sky yet somehow, he could see the edges of every feather. He suspected that if it squawked, it would have a gruesome bloody red maw that would permanently freeze his muscles. He was outside, in apparent bright daylight, but his arc of peripheral sight presented no horizon and no other shapes; he just had the big ugly bird, with impossibly wide wings, bald head and steely eye glaring back at him.

Sometimes just looking at really scary stuff froze you up like a deer in the headlights. Deer could outrun wolves and jump over small houses, yet when they stared at a set of halogens coming at them, they froze on the spot while waiting to see what the fuck this noisy bright thing was. Raccoons, skunks, groundhogs, all seemed to share the same dumb instinct, and worst of all were those goddamn chipmunks that went back and forth twice and then made the wrong decision about one more shot for the far side just as a ton and a half of metal and rubber arrived to interrupt the game.

This bird was all alone. It probably wasn't a vulture because then there would be lots of them, going round and round, seemingly never actually flapping their wings. He'd heard that in the desert, vultures circled over injured or failing animals, knowing that a few hours of waiting would deliver a nice warm, ready-to-eat, corpse. Whatever the species, this one was good at waiting.

_OK. So, we've eliminated hummingbirds and vultures, with parrots still on the possibilities list._ He was running through an ornithological checklist in his head.

_Good for me, though,_ he thought. _At least I'm a live meal prospect, not already a stinking corpse with all the best parts eaten by the early arrivers._

He was worried about concentrating on the bird too long. Like with the ridiculous huge marshmallow man in _Ghost Busters_ , he feared his thoughts would determine what the bird actually was. He briefly tried to think of a pigeon or sparrow, but realized that any bird this big would be a nasty specimen, even if it was a chickadee.

He tried to put the bird out of his mind.

He now thought that he could feel a breeze across his sweat-beaded face and that he might be hearing trees rustling. A breeze would improve the setting a lot, because really being outdoors usually meant that he still might have some space to escape.

He was probably the focal point of some idyllic landscape, cut right out of last year's Nat Geo calendar. But, this was no gated and trimmed national park. Death owned this land. And death was its game master. Whether he could see it or not, there was more here than a bird and a man. There was a master hand arranging the players in a Faustian epic. Escape had to be inventive and quick. And, as always, there would only be one chance.

Like spiders tending their webs over gaps in the foliage, he imagined the death dealers here with a clawed limb pressed to their land, feeling for any vibration. And they kept a predator's eye out for any movement. Jump up and run, or even, stupidly, try to tiptoe away and they were on you like a fat brown spider on a hung-up moth.

Experience had shown that they were damn quick. They could cover hundreds of yards in seconds. There was no way to outrun them. He had tried that and been caught before he got twenty feet. Then, just like the spider would, they had trussed him up and let his panic build, taking agonizing minutes before they began eating him alive.

_How could I remember being eaten alive?_ This was the most obvious of contradictions. The dead don't remember. But, he felt that he had perished in this freakish landscape before. How else could he know what not to do and what the horrific consequences of doing it were? Practice wasn't making him any better. But, he sensed that there was a dedicated scene-maker, who was repeating this all once again to correct small imperfections in the construct. He didn't want to be here for the final act.

He gave the slightest involuntary shudder at his morbid thoughts and then froze rigid with fear. Even his shallow breathing must be giving off unwanted waves of sound and smell in the otherwise deserted landscape. He felt panic building in a rush from his toes to his heart. He started to quiver as tensed muscles screamed for relief. He knew that it was just a matter of time until something zeroed in on him.

_His next thought was: Can I actually still move?_ Now the focus of his panic shifted. _What if I'm already paralyzed by slug venom? What if they are already poised inches from my head savoring the smell of my sweat and the pounding of my heart?_

Involuntarily, he felt one of his fingers twitch. Sensing his extremities for the first time in what seemed like hours of catatonia, he knew that he had to take a chance. Ever so slowly, he closed his hands, and waited. Nothing happened. Just as slowly, he reopened one hand and searched for the ground by extending the tip of his finger. It fell on a rocky edge; he was at the edge of the cliff. The setting was almost familiar and was a great relief.

A cliff edge was the source of gut-grabbing fear for most people. Gravity seemed to reach around the granite and pull you not just down, but out. Balance and control, the unconscious essence of a pleasant stroll along the edge of a sidewalk or the descent of a stairway, were made conscious and incredibly difficult by a mere gaze over the precipice. Perfectly capable of balancing on one foot halfway over the edge, otherwise confident adults would flatten like an ambivalent house cat creeping up to a strange object. Spring-loaded for a leap back to safety, they would paw the ground for any hold that would save them from an involuntary stumble to a horrific death. Or maybe it's not so involuntary; perhaps this fear was really of the small second voice inside that would initiate the unfortunate but intentional step into space? That small voice hissed and whispered of the indescribable bliss of the fall. It foretold of the calm pleasure of those last seconds when worries were over and life could truly be enjoyed.

That small voice was whispering to Lester now. It wanted some action and it knew nothing of pain or fear. It hated waiting. It wanted to move this show along.

A big move would definitely attract their attention, but, if he was still in control, that movement could be one quick roll over the cliff edge. Going over would let him fling his arms wide and, if he was in control, would wake him up. It had worked perfectly in his early dreams. It worked less well lately.

_First: feel the ground._ He commanded the thought, replacing the hissing whisper in his head with his own voice.

If it's the usual cliff-top, it will be hard, unyielding, maybe poking me in a few places. _Feel with your head, your tailbone, your elbow_ —those parts that touch it. _But don't move doing it!_ Just gather sensations. Process it into a picture.

He had to know what was beneath him before he moved. Frozen in place, he might still appear to be just a pile of dirt or a fallen tree to those so intent on finding him.

To help his case, he projected a declarative thought outward: _Nothing worth anyone's attention over here..._ He was the friendly cop guiding folks away from the oozing crime victim, still uncovered and rather obvious on the street. Good citizens and nasty wraiths should just keep moving along, in spite of the apparent contradiction.

Were he still naïve, he would have explored the edge, slowly, casually even, like he had once explored the sand on Wasaga Beach. Flaked out on a towel, shivering from icy Georgian Bay water, but drying in a baking sun. Half asleep, with fingers or toes out in the hot sand, exploring for shells or pebbles, but often only finding a beer bottle cap or cigarette butt.

Geez, what he would give to just be on that warm beach right now. He ached to roll over to find a sand coated beach towel in his face, to hear the crappy, battery-powered iPod speakers rattling out the _Suburbs_ , with every lyric already heard a hundred times. He longed for just one lazy stretch. But, of course, he was completely paralyzed by an icy fear and not here for his tan. He knew from past nightmares that moving even a finger again could pretty much guarantee a bloody banquet with him as the main course.

_Don't even consider it,_ he reminded himself.

His body sensations were forming a picture in his head. Yes, he was on something hard and unyielding. But, he could just be feeling the tent floor; that would be bad. Tent dreams were deadly in another whole claustrophobic sort of terror way.

_Please, don't make it the tent floor,_ he appealed, still silently, but now to whomever might be in charge.

He was back to watching the bird. It made sense that a bird would be circling above a cliff and not inside a tent. But, then again, that would be applying sense to things that usually made no sense at all.

_Birds go up at cliffs, don't they?_ Hot air rising or something like that? This was some hideous, condor-like creature and they could go up. _Right?_

_Go up!_ He silently projected the command in the bird's direction. One thing that he did know was that he could sometimes change how the plot unfolded. It was rarely a change to his actual benefit, but sometimes he could delay the inevitable.

_Did it go up?_ He demanded proof from his tired, unmoving eyes. Even exerting that little control had consequences. Others could see a bird suddenly going up for no good reason. That would attract attention. But, now it did seem to be circling upward on the rising warm air.

" _Be careful vhat you wish for_." The whisper now had crisp edges. Was it just his thoughts breaking through to actual voice?

No, someone was talking to him.

_Fuck! Had that been out loud? Sh...sh... Don't even think loudly._ But, he knew that he wasn't alone.

Panic seized him again. He had to believe that he was on a cliff edge and could try to go over. He knew that in only seconds more he could be locked in place. Time was another stupid concept here. The whole world could reorganize itself in an instant. Doors could connect continents. But, minutes passing could feel like forever.

" _Forget vaiting seconds, yust to go_." The voice spoke again, unfamiliar, but not that unfriendly.

Could he have an ally here? _Who said that?_ he demanded, risking very loud thoughts. Were his lips moving? _Shit, shit._

" _Not important, yust go. Is all OK."_

_OK, OK, I'm rolling over,_ he thought, in hurried response. I'll just heave an arm and over we go. Easy as falling off a bike; easier, actually. Cliffs were the easiest thing to fall off of.

He knew what to expect. Falling was his specialty. Wendy could fly in her dreams, or so she said. He couldn't fly; he could just flail at the air and plunge towards the jagged rocks or black crashing waves. He never knew what was over the cliff, but rocks were the best. No survivable landings were possible. There was always a quick wake-up just before bashing his skull like a ripe watermelon hitting the parking lot in of those ridiculous punk movies. He didn't know how he knew, but he was absolutely certain that dream skulls would burst like ripe watermelons on the dream rocks, if they ever actually got that far.

" _So ve go already?"_

Was it the bird talking? He refocused on it, but it didn't seem to have a mouth capable of talking. No, it was someone else, very close by.

It kind of sounded like Geoff with a strange accent, but Geoff wasn't much good at giving advice. Particularly, not advice on falling. Geoff's nightmares always had him stuck in buried boxes or imbedded in concrete. Or, as he claimed, locked in dungeons. Lester thought that they were probably just creepy basements, but Geoff swore they were dungeons. Like it was a competition for worst deep dream shit possible.

" _Qvit stalling_. _"_ The voice was now insistent.

Again, he suspected that it was the bird talking. He caught a glimmer of polished metal from its beak and knew that that it was poised to dive into his back the instant he rolled over. Damn bird probably already knew that he wasn't at a real cliff edge. Probably already had his liver lined up for lunch.

" _Forget this bird, come on...GO_." Damn, now it sounded like Geoff talking to him. He thought he heard a foot fall right beside him. How close was he?

He went. Flinging his left leg and left arm across himself, he heaved his stiff body right over the edge. He tried to turn himself into a tumbling log that nothing or nobody could stop. His view changed from sky to canyon wall to smoky forest far below and he cried out with joy. And then he was free in the air. "Ye..ss..ss...ss...s....s"

Nothing but rushing air and it was speeding up quickly. His gut went weightless and his head spun with vertigo. He was so pleased to be falling to certain death that he almost forgot to flail for a tree root or rock edge. The last thing he wanted was to stop falling, but flailing was required part of the plot. It was supposed to wake him up with a jerk and a gasp. He did a good couple flails and gave out a lame, squeaky dry-throated cry.

He was still plunging downward. Not neat skydiver-type falling either, but upside down out-of-control falling. He caught glimpses of the rock rushing by and then of blackened stumps through a haze of smoke below.

Burning forest? _Where did that come from?_

_Damn it._ He cursed himself. He had watched a forest fire item on the news before they left and now he was hurtling towards smoldering tree stumps. He wished that he could get a fix on them to see how much longer this stupid dream would last.

Then the falling stopped. He came to a thudding, crunching stop. And his exhilaration was replaced by an explosion of noise and excruciating pain in every part of his body.

What the hell?

His back screamed as it broke into fragments and his limbs cracked like match sticks as they whipped against a blackened stump. White hot pain shot through the middle of his body. He vision was washed in red and he coughed a spray of hot blood. His head should have come off, but it bounced off unforgiving wood and then came up with a snap that sent another shock through his whole dissolving skeleton. His teeth ground into his tongue and bit it through. His torn skin burned and sizzled against the embers of the smoldering wood.

Somehow, he was still conscious and seeing his flayed body and steaming guts running down the jagged edge of the stump that now pierced him though. Though most of his insides and all of his blood were splattered down the stump and in all directions on the black smoking earth, he could still see and still feel searing pain in every muscle and broken joint.

_"Not supposed to hit,"_ he groaned. _"Never supposed to hit."_ He was in pieces, but still talking to the rules-maker, like it made a difference.

Now the stump and ground shook as reptilian feet pounded his way. Claws and beaks seized his various parts. They were trying to drag him off the tree in pieces. Christ, they still wanted to eat him.

_"Piss-off!"_ he screamed. _"Just leave me on my tree stump. Piss-off, all of you!"_

Geoff grabbed Lester's shoulders and gave him another hard shake.

"Come-on, Lester," he yelled. "Quit telling me to piss-off and just wake up." Looking to Wendy across the tent, he pleaded, "Why is it so hard to wake him up?"

Wendy was too shocked to speak. Her screams had brought Geoff running. Sarah was at the tent door and crying on the verge of hysteria, although she was still half asleep and probably thinking that there was a mouse in the tent or something just a little scary.

Wendy's flashlight on Lester's face showed anguish that she hadn't seen before. He should have woken the first time he jerked. He should be telling them about running for his life again. Instead his mouth was full of blood and his limbs flopped like there was no life in them.

"Piss-off." Lester heard himself, saying it out loud this time.

And then he slowly brought Geoff into focus. The pain drained away with the fading dream, replaced by lactic acid burn in clenched muscles. Except for his badly bitten tongue, he was in one piece. It was dark and confusing in the narrow confines of the tent. In a moving circle of the flashlight beam he was seeing familiar sleeping bags and tent walls. Then he heard Wendy and Sarah blurting fearful questions at Geoff between sobs.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Is he really hurt?"

"I'm awake," he finally got out. Geoff stopped shaking him, locking relieved eyes with the girls. But, Lester was less sure this time. Less sure and more scared.

_Could dreams kill you?_ If you were broken and bleeding and feeling all that pain, how much farther away was death?

They had to figure this out before one of them didn't come back.

# The First Circle

Wherever they actually were, the summoned members of the Draumrs First Circle were asleep. One was in a fine old bed, set high in a modern castle above the Rhine. One was in a glass-enclosed penthouse at the crossroads of commerce in New York City. One was in a First-Class sleeper high over the Atlantic. Another slept on an unadorned pile of pine boughs, deep in the Canadian Carolinian forest. One slept with dusty streamers of sunlight penetrating the shaded window above a well-worn sofa.

They slept and, as only Draumrs can do, they dreamed as one. In their shared dream, they came together in a great hall, under banners that flapped gently on an imperceptible breeze. Fine carved marble and polished oak provided a backdrop to well-upholstered chairs and the silky gloss of the multi-colored, six-sided meeting table between them. Overhead light without a source spread from the center outward, lighting each of them at their place but leaving pools of darkness beyond the small gathering. The hardness of the room was softened by the gentle sound of nearby rippling water and the peeps and buzzes of forest fauna; this was a meeting gift from the real forest surroundings of one, shared with the others. It had seemed a better alternative to the more ominous drums of war that could have crept in.

The clothing of the participants stood in sharp contrast to the setting. This was a working meeting of just the Elders; nobody to impress allowed individuals to choose to just be comfortable. At other times, business dress might be needed or, at infrequent events for awards and promotions, something more medieval in embroidered silk could be called for. Today was just comfortable.

Each of the Elders beamed with the peak of health and only slightly-aged attractiveness; although some, in their sleeping bodies, were far into old age in calendar years. Appearances here were the choice of the individual. As there was always the possibility of a romantic liaison outside the meeting, but still in the dream, most Elders and certainly all younger Draumrs, chose to be as attractive as possible, without overdoing it.

The group had been summoned together in the dream via a shared sense that is deeper than any other. Among human potential abilities, it ranks highest in usefulness, but possibly lowest in prevalence. Many do have it; only a few know that they do. The Draumr deep sense defies understanding to those who chose to only share in sight, hearing, touch and smell. For sentient species on earth, it is a powerful ability if one has the knowledge to apply it. Very few humans have the patience or attention required by this ancient skill in a noisy and over-stimulated world. In other, quieter species, it emerges among the old ones, many of whom leave their physical body quietly asleep on the final approach to death.

Skilled Draumrs can step in and out of the dreams of others. They can change the setting and can interact with the dreamers. When connected together, they can share a common dream with precise control and perfect consistency. In earlier times, Draumrs had regularly used the dreamscape to collaborate across great distance. Today, they use their IPhones most of the time. A command-appearance meeting, in this dreamed place, was an ominous throwback to earlier, more hazardous days.

These Elder Draumr sleepers were the highest masters of the deep sense, but to a person, they felt sadness and trepidation as they engaged it. Decades of peaceful times had allowed them to raise families and to extend their lines. The eldest had considered themselves nearly-retired from the First Circle. Some had an offspring fully groomed to take this place, if only a little more time had passed. Considering the dark undertone to the room, it was clear that this meeting wasn't for reminiscing, wishing or enjoyment.

"Let's get going." A gruff, actually-old voice commanded, as the designated Senior Elder entered the room. The others now brought their full attention to the shared dreamscape. The forest sounds stopped, leaving an ominous sudden silence.

"I have called us together again," announced Armand Grau, who was appointed as the Senior Elder, by agreement of the others, "because there is a growing problem in our practice that must be addressed. We have the responsibility to deal with it, even if our old bones argue otherwise."

He paused, as if realizing that other than him, they didn't look all that old. The long pause, more likely reflecting the grave situation they faced, now gave way to a shrug and smile.

He finally spoke again, "Does anybody else have to get up to take a piss?" Several grunts around the shared dreamscape told him that at least a couple did.

"Damn old age... OK, wake up—back here in five minutes—dressed." He brought his hand down and the room around them dissolved as they woke.

Jake Brun used the break to apologize to his bed mate for being called away. He asked her to call him later in the week to book their next 'appointment'. She nodded, smiled and headed for the shower. She knew that he wouldn't need her services for the rest of this night. They had a very nice, rewarding long-time relationship.

Emma White rearranged her forest bedding to get rid of an offending branch under her butt. She also sat up and apologized to the nearby creatures who had been startled by Armand's gruff entry. She caught their attention and said quietly, "Just go on being noisy; I don't mind at all." The forest sounds resumed for her benefit only.

Others actually hit the toilet or made sure that their alarm was off. These meetings sometimes dragged on.

When they were back together, Water Green advised that his flight was about an hour out of Montreal, so unless they wanted to create a dreamed snowstorm for the flight crew to keep him circling, they needed to get on with it.

"It's August," replied a motherly voice from the far side of the room.

"Just saying," said Water. "Time is precious."

"Yes, let's go," said Armand, also clearly anxious to get going again. "Are we all back? Roll call for the record, please."

Various brief comments indicated that those present were: Armand Grau, Emma White, Jake Brun, Gloria Black and Water Green. Several thought, but didn't project: _We are missing Mikilo Chervoniy_. Although diminished from the whole of six, this group would have to do.

"I had hoped," continued the Armand, now more gravely, "that the situation might prove coincidental or that it could be waved off to stressful times, but I am now advised that there is more to the shit going on than normal anxiety and stress. The dreams of many people have grown to include fear and hurt that stays in the mind and in the heart. Too many are losing the natural gift of rest and recovery. We know, from sad experience, that, in some, it may be only a matter of time until the fear of their bed leads to wakeful hate and aggression. We believe that this is happening already."

He was confirming suspicions that they all had. As the Elders of the Clans, they had broad awareness of the dreams of others. They had received individual reports from their extended family members that various sleepers were suffering nightmares that repeated, with growing dread in the heart of the dreamer. Even their most-skilled children, nieces and nephews were struggling to understand the problem. They had each been experiencing the growing unease for quite a while.

Close to eighty years ago, their predecessors in the First Circle had hesitated in similar circumstances and the sentient world was almost lost to global destruction. A war on three continents killed millions and forever scared a generation of humans. It had also destroyed many of the most capable Draumrs, some in actual battle and some through shear exhaustion.

"It certainly seems like old times again," said Jake. "I was very young, but I remember the struggle in the time of the big war. A happy dream was a rare thing for many years. Control slipped away from the First Circle then and destruction followed."

"It's not that bad yet," cautioned Gloria. "Many people still have wonderful dreams and wake with smiles and the occasional hard-on. It's kind of a rough measure, but terrorized people don't wake-up wanting a morning quickie."

"You're right, if a little graphic," added Emma. "It's an anomaly now, but the disruption has been gaining momentum for some time. Hot spots and, maybe, hot heads are emerging. It is time to start to turn the situation around or we will have an uncontrolled crisis, again."

"There is more to this," stated Armand, pulling the focus back to their primary obligation. "We believe that there is a pattern behind the problem and that it is Draumr-created."

He paused, this time to actually consider his next words. The other Elders shallowed out their breathing and cleared their thoughts to both hear and sense where he was going. There was bad news and then there was gut-punch, devastating news. They had good reason to fear the worst.

"We all know that the history of the Clans is not without internal power struggles." Armand was carefully building his argument. "We also know that there are some in Clans today who do not fully share our beliefs and commitments. The allure of power and control is a constant temptation that is all too easy to give into."

He paused again, then quietly stated. "We have concluded that these dreamers are being manipulated by Draumrs. My staff has been gathering anecdotes across all Clans; some are more forthcoming than others. But, suffice to say, there is a definite pattern which now begs our action to break."

This revelation by the Senior Elder caused some muttering around the table. And it caused them all to consider possibilities. They each had the knowledge of a lifetime as a Draumr and, in some, decades as a First Circle Elder. For hundreds of years, the tiered circles of Draumrs strove to help selected dreamers balance fear with confidence, to fight remorse with hope and to counter depression with joy.

"We are not charged with the responsibility of universal good times." Armand carried on, stating what they already knew, for the record.

The Elders all knew that the Clans normally only intentionally intervened with selected individuals in dreams, to help them to recover from despair, fear or paralyzing worry in their waking lives. Draumrs did this cautiously and only when it was critical that the specific person regain their strength quickly for the challenge they faced. When directed to do so, Clan members carried on supporting these individuals to let them experience modest joy while dreaming, by repeating and enhancing pleasure, by sparking possibilities, by prompting recall of successes and by revealing inner strengths.

All Draumr intervenors were counseled: "When we are doing our job, these individuals will wake to lead in invention, in vision and in compassion. Chosen dreamers must never know anything of Draumr influence or remember anyone met while dreaming."

In carrying out their guiding role, Draumrs were forbidden by ancient lore from influencing dreamers' experiences for any personal motive. Their forbearers, among them Zen masters and those known now as Prophets, espoused a common view, that the world would unfold as it should if only man could see clearly and not resist the natural flow. Dreams are part of the gift given to only chosen species. Draumrs, through greater understanding, were commanded to clarify this vision, never to cloud it.

As handed down through their lines of ancestry, the Draumr Clans, under the established banners of the colors, lived and worked in specific parts of the world and selected a special focus for skill development. Some were warriors, when needed, and some were empaths. Some were close to nature, while others served at the heads of the world's corporations. Together, they shared an unquestioned obligation to maintain the positive balance of courage and emotion that kept civilization moving forward, with both optimism and great anticipation.

As part of their purpose, Draumrs had also developed unique skills, including heightened anticipation of events to come and an ability to cross the boundary between the physical and metaphysical realms. It would be an unforgivable abrogation of this trust to use the ancient gifts to harm other sentient beings.

Jake now raised the most-difficult subject of the discussion, as he had agreed to do with Armand before the meeting. "I have heard that some dreamers are waking with injuries. Injuries not caused by thrashing about or falling out of bed, but injuries received in the context of their dream."

He paused to make eye-contact around the table. "Only a few of us have ever seen this before, and as we all must know, the necessary artifacts for creating 'lasting effect' are strictly forbidden in Draumr use. If the reports are accurate, then we may have the proverbial barn door open already."

The other First Circle Elders nodded agreement. Certain ancient practices and well-guarded 'artifacts' had power to pull both the mind and the physical body of the dreamer across the sleeping boundary. Dreams could then become deadly. Only the oldest of those at the table, knew that this craft was both the cause of the problem and the source of the eventual solution eighty years-ago. No-one spoke, although Jake, Armand and Water raised eyebrows when their eyes met. These oldest First Circle Elders were the only ones who had been there as young Novices fighting for their lives. They were the only ones who had seen the damage that the artifacts could do.

"I am still very optimistic," said Water Green, interrupting in order to break the silence. "I see very little pervasive anxiety and despair around me. Whether or not some Draumrs have lost their way, we have only to employ the energy and strength of our Leutnants, under our guidance, to reestablish order."

"For now, I will keep the rest of my worries to myself," said Armand. "I must accept your wise and hopeful council. What do you propose?" The question had been discussed ahead of time. They were speaking now for the permanent record.

Water responded, "I would join the hands, hearts and minds of the strongest Leutnants in our Clans in an exceptional dreamscape intervention team. They will be tasked with finding and correcting the anomaly appearing in selected individual dreamers. Once they find the culprits, we can deal with them appropriately; hopefully we can put the wayward 'horse' back in the barn."

He continued, voicing the thought that they all shared, "If there is ancient practice behind the problem, the First Circle must step in to figure out who has failed us and to contain the damage. If containment involves direct confrontation on the dreamscape, we may need to apply our own tools."

Water paused again, the continued, "The activation has been done before. The old skills are known and can be employed, if needed. Together, we can counteract any small group of individuals, no matter how practiced."

"Sounds too easy," interjected Gloria, "to just task a handful of youngsters? What if they fail?"

"Then, I fear, we are off to Hell in a hand-basket, again. Most of us are too old to punch it out ourselves. Our strength is in our Leutnants now; even though some of us will surely have to mix it up when the battleground is clearer." He smiled in turn at the two women Clan Elders, who were closer in age to the younger next circle members.

Water spoke with certainty, mostly for them. "I already know who we will call on. And, I know how strong they are. Let's just make sure that the Leutnants don't see failure as one of their options."

"Any other suggestions?" asked Armand

None were forthcoming.

"OK, then." The Senior Elder was wrapping up. "Water spoke up: Green Clan leads."

"We'll reconvene with the two-circle assembly and the nominated Leutnant guides in a few days. That's it for now."

They casually prepared to wake, but not before Water and Emma locked eyes.

Are they ready?

You must be the judge.

Tomorrow then; we'll unlock the door.

They are strong. It will be fine..

The connection was fading and they all returned to their sleeping spots. On a plane coming in high above the St. Lawrence River, an old man woke with a worried mind. He looked at his hand where the ancient stone had once laid. He hadn't killed since putting it down, but his hand still felt the warmth of the stone and of the blood running over it.

# Julia

Julia was back in a house that she left at 18. Or, at least, she was in one room of it. She could tell by the light pattern on the wall. It was a vintage two-story full of creaks and drafts, but with high ceilings and lots of character. Her old window had always let two colors in with the sun through the 1900's era stained glass in the upper pane of the casement window. Not great stained glass, not very pretty, but with a distinctive border pattern that repeated in all the windows facing the street. She couldn't remember the wall paper or the posters on the walls, but she was sure it was the house by the damned track of red and blue rectangles stretching up the wall.

She lay passively on her back with her head turned away from the window. Logic said she should straighten her head and start to get up, but it wasn't happening. She might as well have been tied in place. She knew that she wasn't, not yet anyway, but neither could she move a muscle to change position.

It was either early morning or any time after dark. Morning, if that was sunshine making a pattern on the wall. Night, if it was the nasty sodium street lamp just outside her window. She should be able to tell by the light in the rest of the room. But, she couldn't get any of the rest of the room in focus, just the red and blue track.

That was the problem with being stuck in this dream room again. It lacked options. Only one door in and out—always closed. She had a brother and parents to keep out. When it had been her room, she always kept the door shut. She had tried locking it, but her brother just took that as a challenge and persisted in breaking in. The unlocked closed door with a threat of dire consequences for entering worked better. He had secrets that she knew about and that he didn't want anybody else knowing about. It was better than a lock.

Maybe another door in the other corner was still the closet. Or, maybe not. She could never get a good look at that side of the room. The closet had been where she hung her life in sections of in-fashion; out-of-fashion, but too good to give away; right size; wrong size, but too good to give away; new and unworn– stupid purchase; old and worn-out, but with too many fond memories; and on down the rack. She could never just look in and come away with something quickly. Each possible item had to be gauged against the prospects for the day. Who would she hang with? Anyone to impress? Important to show absolutely no intent to impress? She loved winning the game by being the one out of synch with the cloned girl's pack. And she had nicer boobs than most of them, so could have worn almost anything as long as it had a little gap or a scoopy neckline that held boys' attention so completely. She actually had a lot of good closet memories, which was probably why it played no part in these stupid dreams.

Often, improbably, a toilet would somehow be right in the room with her. This was always the case when she had to pee. It sat there tantalizing her, just steps away, but it may as well have been a mile. She suspected that if she ever made it over there, she would find that the setting had changed mid-pee and she would have just soaked the pale-blue front seat of Greg's Mazda. The seat didn't match the green exterior. It was an after-crash replacement. But, her half-grown brother would still be pissed for real if she pissed on it.

There was no toilet.

She hoped for a morning setting as it would mean that she might be fully dressed. Protected by layers of underwear and tights. Maybe even a Light Days pad down there. Not vulnerable at all and her hands would be properly kept at a distance from her crotch. Lots of layers to soak up the tell-tale wetness that signaled a problem with her needy friend down there. That little problem would signal a twitchy heating-up that could soon slick her whole body.

Nothing at all sweaty about morning in the bedroom though. Maybe she was just relaxing with a school book before a tuna sandwich lunch with Greg and mom downstairs. But, there was no book and she didn't feel a lot of cloth covering her.

More likely, following the pattern of recent dreams, the time was evening and she was naked again, except for a silky sheet ending just below her chin. Why wish otherwise? She might as well accept it, wet ass-crack and all. She wasn't waiting for lunch while catching an episode of _All My Children_ on her little hand-me-down TV. She was waiting for a complete stranger to come through the door and start working on her.

'Working on her,' was her police-blotter description for what this stranger would do to her, because she couldn't think of a better way to say it. Honest, officer, "He was working on me, like it was his job to make me come all over his hands."

He certainly wasn't making love to her, because she knew absolutely that he didn't love her. He showed all the emotion of a meat-cutter at the delicatessen. Great with tools, he knew right where the hard spots and the soft spots were. He zeroed in and divided her defenses like an expert butcher divides a side of beef.

She suspected that she might love him or have thought about what loving him would be like—from a distance. She did like capable people with a purpose. All her fantasy lovers in high school had sat one row over and one seat ahead. Or rather, if she could, that is where she sat in relation to him, once she had him in her sights. They were boys with big hands and long feet, boys who wore clean shirts that didn't smell, boys who had time for every girl in the room. They were smart and not afraid of anything. Maybe, once a week, hunky Liam or Matthew would even touch her arm while passing her an exam book and allow the potent contact of a fingertip to rest just a second longer than needed. They knew she was there for the taking. Oh, what she would give for one of those boys to come back just once to apply that touch for a few seconds now.

The buzz in her lower body told her that she was in the grip of the fantasy. No question about it. Twitches were starting already. Nipples rose up and were burning. Even her jaw was starting to ache as she held off the inevitable moan that would signal her fall.

The door started to swing in. A funny door this time—not vintage house-of-her-youth at all. It looked more like an institutional door. Plain beige with a small peak-through window and an oversized handle suitable for pushing the heavier weight. Her bed was also way too high off the floor and way too narrow. Was it an exam table? A focus on the pattern on the floor now revealed vinyl tiles in pale colors instead of window light. The trappings, smells and safety of a teenage bedroom were gone. Cold counters and fluorescent lighting took over. She was going to be made to reveal her inner workings again.

The Doctor entered. Of course, it was a doctor. A lover would have at least paused and knocked before entering a room with a naked woman in it. Doctors just barged in looking at some damn file and mumbling a mix of pleasantries and embarrassing questions all at once. They looked everywhere but in your eyes, knowing where they would be looking next. She had to find a woman doctor. The whole stir-ups thing with old Doc McLeod could put her off sex for a month.

This one didn't mumble anything. He approached her cautiously, considering her entire length before speaking. Was he fidgeting or just stalling while he tried to understand what he had found here. He was supposed to be one of her confident fantasy characters, but she could see through the veneer to a very nervous learner, who was also trying to figure out his role.

He finally asked, "Are you happy to be here?"

She could turn her head. She stared back and thought hard. Excited to be here sure, but happy? That was a complex question and there wasn't much room in her confused head for complex answers. She was burning up to be here. Is that a form of happy?

"I'm aching," she said. "Can you see if that's normal?"

_What a stupid answer._ She had the thought immediately, wishing she could reel the words back in. She wanted him to make her ache more. She wanted a full-body ache that started as a jet engine in her ears and ended with spasms in her toes. God, she wanted just a little potent touching here and there. She would do the rest.

He lifted the side of the sheet, drawing a cool wisp of air across her legs and stomach.

"There are indications," he said, examining the naked side of her body carefully. "These indications are important; they tell us where the problem is."

"Please, there's no problem," she was groaning it out now. "Please just touch those parts that matter and you'll see that there is no problem at all."

He touched her thigh instead. Or maybe she imagined that he did. Just a warm brush and then a light settling of fingers. He kept his hand floating there, barely in contact, hovering on her skin as if it had no weight at all. Electricity jumped across the space between his palm and her inner thigh. He moved it higher, leaving a trail of sparking nerve ends in its wake. Ever so slowly, the hand moved up and inward, its destination clear, but its arrival time clearly uncertain.

An involuntary quiver went through her as all of that heat found an outlet in the few square inches of skin under his touch.

"Oh, please, yes," she pleaded. "That's what I need." More electric touching was driving her inward and down until only the possibility of the final touch remained in her gut. "Please, please..."

"Please, please..."

She was suddenly aware of an echo. Or more precisely, of her exact words coming from someone else to her left. She rolled her head to see her best friend Carol also lying there on a gurney under a sheet. The 'doctor' now wasn't a doctor after all, but really was one of those clean-shirted boys with the big warm hands. His hand had departed her thigh and left her with rapidly cooling embers of the fire that raged a few seconds earlier.

Damn, he was now over exploring under Carol's sheet, while she moaned and twitched. Carol had her hand locked firmly in her crotch and was unabashedly masturbating while the cautiously smiling Liam or Matthew, or whatever his name was, moved his hand on her thigh. He gently replaced her hand with his.

LiaMatt wasn't fully dressed anymore either. His clean-smelling shirt was falling to the floor and his, certainly clean-smelling although she had never smelled them, blue jeans were unbuckled and unbuttoned, just barely hanging on his hips and wonderful gluts.

This wasn't right at all. Carol could watch her if she liked, they had spent lots of time with their hands in each other pants, but if there was more boy touching to be gotten here, particularly if it was by an equally naked LiaMatt, it was her that should be getting the attention.

She complained, "Hey, what about me?"

Carol gasped and then rolled her eyes back with a huge grin. The jeans were now around his ankles. She had her hand wrapped around his half-mast dick, which was clearly was going to be something amazing at full salute.

Julia was suddenly on her feet, trying to wrap the slippery sheet around at least part of her with little success. She was headed towards the show. She would go wet hump his thigh if she had to. There wasn't much she wouldn't do to get back some of this action.

Illogically, Carol was up too. LiaMatt was put off and not pleased that he had lost control of his patients, although he was obviously still fully engaged in his version of the fantasy with an impressive erection preceding him around the room as he grumbled and ankle-pants shuffled towards them. Something about this guy now projected bad attitude.

"I don't like where this going," Julia said to Carol, who was losing the struggle with her sheet as well. "I'm getting out of here."

"I can't get out," Carol said. "I can never get out."

"What do you mean, never?" asked Julia. Now looking around and wondering where that window might have gone. "You've been here before, too?"

LiaMatt's dick had grown even more and had now turned about the color of a pink Highlighter marker. It glowed brightly and even seemed to have a cap on it. He was clearly expecting some relief from one or both of them.

Carol was trying to cover her breasts with both arms crossed. The sheet was a goner. She was looking very afraid. She was shrinking back and away from LiaMatt, who now seemed a lot less sure of his role. He finally kicked off the pants and stumbled towards her, still muttering.

"It's always my first time, with Barney from the football team," said Carol. "This is his parent's cabin at the lake and we're fairly drunk. I never know exactly how he gets me out of my clothes, but I know that I'm stuck until he decides to take me back to town. But, you've never been here before," continued a puzzled Carol, "Are you here to watch?"

"Barney?" gasped Julia. Barney had stunk of jock strap and cigarettes most of the time. He was a bully and a lout. He was repulsive. If that was Barney in some strange disguise, she was damn sure that she wasn't relieving him. Wet ass or not.

"You're not at any cabin," implored Julia. "This started out as my bedroom and now I think that it has turned into some kind of examination room. The 'doc' over there is fairly OK and he doesn't smell at all. And it's not either of our first times."

But, she still pretty much accepted that they couldn't leave. Not without some accommodation for LiaMatt.

"Let's see if we can just offer him a hand-job," suggested Julia. "You know, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Oh, Barney has had lots of hand-jobs already," countered Carol. "Now he needs to lick my clit and come inside me, and I have to let him. He's already made that pretty clear."

Carol was starting to drift backwards towards a dilapidated sofa that was now in the room with them. As Julia watched her, she was aware that the walls were becoming brown paneling, with family pictures and faded art here and there. A dim table lamp was the only source of light. The smell of wood stove heating combined with musty furniture brought the lake cabin setting into clear focus.

There were clothes haphazardly strewn on the floor and empty beer bottles everywhere.

A naked Carol was now uncomfortably reclined on the sofa while a clumsy and over-excited actual Barney descended onto her. Unless she could move or turn away, Julia was about to get an ass-on show of her best friend getting fucked by an oaf.

She locked eyes with Carol, who was obviously frightened, but doing nothing to save herself.

"STOP." Julia tried to shout, but no sound came out.

She tried to move towards them, thinking that she could give Barney an unwelcome foot in the balls or maybe an ash tray stand to the head. But, she couldn't move. Her feet were too heavy to lift.

Her own excitement was a memory now, driven out by cold juices freezing her crotch and thighs. She was still naked and starting to shake from frustration and the cold air.

The scene in front of her became boxed in and grainy and she realized that she was watching an 8mm home porn movie of the event, somehow complete with sound. It had already happened and was caught on film. It was a documentary porno film from Hell. She had a terrifying realization that the scene might actually be on someone's camera. Had she seen it for real on the Internet?

Barney had finished nuzzling Carol's crotch. His hairy round ass blocked the view as he crawled up, flattened his haunches and pushed forward with his bright pink penis. His first try completely missed Carol's vagina. Her hand and second try got him in. A dozen quick thrusts led to a groan and provided the relief that he had apparently so desperately needed. There was nothing romantic about it. It must have hurt Carol like hell. Seconds later he was up, dripping and looking for his beer.

Then she and Carol were alone, still naked but with wash cloths and towels in an oversized bathroom. It was her oversized bathroom in her undersized condo.

They smelled of cabin dust and human musk. They were sticky with drying sweat. Carol was slumped on the edge of the tub and looked shocked, with blood on her legs. Julia looked down at herself and realized that she was bleeding too and that she was also covered from pubis to asshole with what had to be Barney's smelly semen. The bastard had done her too.

A pain shot through her from deep in her vagina. A nauseating the wave of revulsion and sorrow rolled over her.

She wrapped herself and Carol in big soft towels from the rack. She ran a washcloth under warm water.

"I can fix all of this," she told Carol, gently cleaning her with the warm washcloth. "We can drop a couple pills, take a shower and get dressed in our slob gear. We'll kill some wine and Barney's smelly dick will fade like the fucking wallpaper on that shack. After all, this is just a dream and I'm in charge of what happens next."

"I wish that you were," said Carol. "If it was just a dream."

Julia looked around and realized for the first time that they were really in her bathroom, naked, sticky and crying. Finally wide-awake, she was now scared to death.

# Duck

The yellow duck bobble-head teetered back and forth, a ridiculous grin plastered on its orange bill. It had the best view of the flight—sitting suction-cupped to the dashboard of the Twin Otter float plane as it flew south along the rugged and beautiful eastern shoreline of Georgian Bay.

The bobble-head was an old gift from Will's grandfather in recognition of his childhood nickname. William Angus Green was "Will" to most everyone but to his grandfather, who still called him Duck. Usually, he used the imperative form, as in "Duck!" Will couldn't help but dodge, even after all these years. As a child, there had usually been good reason to duck as a fat pine cone or clod of dirt whizzed by his ear. His grandfather aimed to connect and leave a good-sized bump and, at first, often did. Will, or Duck, developed the best reflexes around and could now dodge a punch as if it was coming in slow motion.

Will absentmindedly tapped the bird's head to set it fully bobbing, before checking altitude, coordinates and fuel levels. He wasn't much into superstitions or charms, but since the emergency landing days before, the duck now traveled with him. He shook his head, _dumb superstitions, where do they come from?_

He then turned up his headphones volume several notches to drown out the rattle of the plane's old engines with Stevie Ray Vaughan's _When the House is Rockin'_ playing through the auxiliary input _._

Even though he was made up of a 50/50 mix of indigenous and European blood, Will wasn't even partly good at representing the First Nations' part. He sucked badly at traditions, those involving groups of people in particular. And his interests certainly weren't confined by any traditional territory. In fact, in the three years since he had qualified on the dual-engine turboprop float plane, he found the wide earth much more interesting from the air, where people were just ant-size, if visible at all.

His politics were pretty much 'live and let live', which didn't leave a lot of space for discussion. At 24, he was just beginning to realize that there was too much to explore and not a lot of time to do it, as he saw it, before unavoidable family commitments and a career anchored him down.

North of the big lakes, most of the earth was still a green carpet without visible boundaries. He loved the land, but mostly because there was so much of it. He valued the money he made flying freight and fishing charters to far-flung lake outposts for Gossett Air out of Penetanguishene. He'd miss a lot of it, but he'd miss the lakes at dawn the most: flatter and smoother than any hard runway. Sometimes still reflecting stars and the moon as he swooped down on them.

Will was a month away from leaving for Boston where he would attend MIT on a graduate scholarship in aeronautical engineering. His couple-years-back undergrad degree was in electrical engineering, where he had topped his class, as he had in every grade since entering elementary school. He had good job offers at leading companies in Montreal and Seattle. Some of the positions would let him fly even bigger planes, but he felt that he still hadn't figured out enough of the science. And he was very sure that he couldn't switch to flying a desk just yet.

There were still too many unanswered questions in papers that he had written and, occasionally, published. He regularly saw flaws in others' work. To him, they were obvious errors and gaping holes in the theorem. Too often, to colleagues and to faculty advisors, they were his angels dancing on a pinhead.

"Just accept that the forest has trees; who cares the species?" a weary advisor had once cautioned him with an ill-chosen metaphor, unaware that Will could tell a white pine from a jack from 8,000 feet. In his considered view, details kept planes in the air and details would lift the next plane, that he planned to design to go farther and faster.

Plus, Will bought into his grandfather's belief that your success should come from your hands. So, he wanted to build something. He'd already sketched some thoughts on a new and even more durable bush plane design. He hoped that grad school wouldn't slow him down too much.

The cabin of the 1972 Otter rattled as if in insult to the thought. Will laughed, patting the console. "Don't worry baby, I know you've done me well-- but I think we both can agree that binder wire and duct tape is hardly real engineering."

The plane had seen him through countless journeys. He had just finished a dawn drop-in of supplies to a camp on Brunswick Lake, near Cochrane. It would be his last scheduled flight for a while, as he was under a command appearance request from his dad and grandfather to join them on a trip north. 'North' certainly meant up to family land, which meant that there were several possible destinations.

Will figured that the old men wanted to take a shot at a three-generation backwoods trip again before he shipped off to school in the States. It wasn't something they had done for at least 10 years. The last one was anything but memorable, as all three had pretty clear personal ideas of how things should go. None of them were particularly good at compromise. He now admitted to being a bit of a shithead, even at 14. It was one good reason why they rarely took on common tasks like cooking or even where to pitch a shared tent. He felt mild dread of the days to come.

Will realized that he had only fuzzy memories of most of the early extended family events. A few distinctive gatherings were well-framed and clearly remembered, but the wide spaces between them seemed to have no specific texture or distinctive content.

"Postcards," he muttered, trying to come up with an exact description of his memories. _The memories that I have could easily be of postcards of the places and people, for all the connection I have to them_.

He thought that knew his cousins pretty well, but they seemed to have grown up in broad jumps rather than aging day-by-day as he had. They all crossed paths in various trips or holiday visits. He guessed that it was just symptomatic of a family spread over a lot of country. With all the Web-posting going on these days, it seemed like he now experienced the changes in his close friends' families minute-by-minute. Babies couldn't dump a bowl of Cheerios without six-direction coverage on Facebook.

The big gaps in his experiences hadn't seemed to hurt family relations or his enjoyment of the few actual gatherings. As he was sure that some part of this trip would include visits with various extended family members, he would have to brush-up his sketchy memory of nicknames and connections. He patted a notebook in his jacket. Note taking was a habit picked up from Grandfather Water. He started thinking about the big family org chart he would need to pencil out for himself as they would surely cross paths again with lots of cousins who all, quite reasonably, expected to be remembered.

Will came out of his reverie as he spotted the south arm of Penetang' Bay coming up on the horizon—its mild chop softened by the last bits of dissipating mid-morning mist. He gave his head a small shake to clear his senses fully for the task at hand. Although he thought he could probably land the plane in his sleep, it wasn't a theory that he really wanted to test.

He circled around for a landing into the prevailing wind, while scanning the bay for random fisherman or other hazards. A low buzz-by on the turn-around told anyone down below that the plane was coming in. The limp "windsock" told him he was only dealing with a light breeze at the surface. He could come straight into the private bay that served as his home air field. As he dipped his wing on the way past, he thought he could spot his grandfather and dad standing on the dock, but from up here he couldn't be sure. Of course, they would be there to make sure he didn't get away. He grimaced at the prospects of the three of them heading north together, by truck, no less.

"Patience, Duck." He would be prepared for complete boredom without a whimper.

Will lined the plane up, eased in the throttle, set flaps and glided down onto the bay's surface like a loon making her graceful landing. After the imperceptible touch-down, water sprayed up briefly and the big plane nosed in to a quick stop. Will navigated towards the dock as he feathered the engines, where, indeed his dad and grandfather waited, without a gunny sack, to his small relief.

After brief greetings and the required log-in and sign-off of the plane, they were on their way up Highway 69 with little fanfare. Will had been up since the middle of the night, so immediately begged the back seat to nap. As always, sleep would be only a thought or two away. He knew that he could cover some ground in a dream if needed, so did a mental toss-up between the family org chart and revisiting his turboprop design. He chose the turboprop and dozed off immediately with a set of drag-coefficient charts unfolding in his head.

Will woke an hour later after being violently thrown against the door of the truck. He had been spread out in the jump seat of his father's big-ass Tundra stretch cab pick-up. All leather, all electronic and all man-toy. There were more displays and read-outs across the dash than in his Twin Otter cockpit. And it was all engaged–GPS, Sirius, Bluetooth IPhone, eight-speaker surround sound, sensors for everything from mileage to individual wheel torque. Not that any of it kept his father's attention while flying down a brutal gravel side road 'shortcut'. The bump had either been a log across the road or they had just crushed a Honda.

_Did this beast actually drive itself?_ He was sure that his father wasn't doing much to keep it on the road. With one of his tooled New Mexico calf-skin boots keeping the gas pedal on the floor, driving was mostly reduced to hanging on while waiting for the all-wheel drive to get at least one big lug tire back on the ground.

Jack Epoch (never call me that) Green: Litigator, Queen's Counsel, visiting Osgoode Law professor and advisor to grand chiefs and prime ministers, was a hazard to both man and beast when behind the wheel. Today, he wasn't even in a hurry.

Grandfather: Water Emanuel Green, was riding shotgun. Incredibly, he didn't seem to be holding on at all or even paying any attention to the trees flying by. He was in a serious discussion with his son. He considered Jack to be a free-loader on the public purse and was constantly trying to prove that his great intellect didn't amount to a good pile of dirt in the real world.

"Don't follow Ep'rs crooked path," he advised Duck loudly whenever Jack was snuggled into yet another high-paying appointment. "Hands like a 10-year-old girl." Apparently, no more evidence was needed.

Water's own hands were tougher than tanned moose-hide and stronger than a C clamp. He had used them to create his personal fortune, starting with a shovel and ending with dozens of earth movers. Green Water Construction had built four lane highways across four provinces and, through its many subsidiaries, designed and built much of the infrastructure in the towns and cities that they connected. Apparently, Water's crooked path assessment of Jack applied to the lack of sweat and blisters, ignoring the observation that his own contracts were mostly paid for by the same taxpayers that kept his son in fine suits.

At somewhere well over 80, Water Green had recently quietly sold most of his company stock and set up the Green Water Foundation with the proceeds. Other than Jack, no one knew much about the foundation or what the funds were for. Water would only mutter "survivors." when pressed. Some assumed he meant of distant wars or disasters. Locals hoped it meant of alcoholism and domestic troubles. Water never elaborated and he hadn't given anybody any money either.

Today's front-seat argument was about Middle East politics. Nothing about this made much difference to either man, so like high school debaters, they could each dig in on an extreme view with no risk of losing much other than their patience.

"Just tell them they are all on their own to either live or die by their own actions." Water said "With no big brother to protect them, slip them arms or bluster on their behalf, they will quickly discover that peace is better. Or they will get their ass kicked in an all-out fight and quietly limp back to their homes when the bullets are all gone. Either way it will be over with."

"That's never going to happen," Jack countered, "The region is a powder keg. War spreads, resources get chewed up and thousands end up bloody dead on CNN each night. Just a little war can kill a million. All-out war isn't an option anywhere today. The powers that be won't let it happen. Influence and quiet negotiations are the only way."

He punched the wheel to emphasize the point. "They just need better lawyers."

Will tuned it out. He was noticing the trees brushing the cab and, probably for good reason, wondered what he might hang on to if suddenly none of the tires made its way back to the road. He also had lots of other changes in his life to think about.

They were all in the truck today because Water and Jack had said that they needed his help with an important task back on the family land. Neither lived there, but they kept ties to family lands that various Greens had lived on for many generations.

At the lake, which had now been revealed as their destination, a cousin served as resident and caretaker, running a money-losing gas station out on the main highway. From the road, the entrance to their tended land had nothing more remarkable about it than the rundown gas station and several old buildings, suitably ramshackle. The cousin was well-paid by Water for his efforts. But, officially, the gas station supposedly earned him his keep.

Green Lake had road access and was near the highway, but had no development. It was big enough for the float plan, so Will had offered to fly the trio up, but for reasons yet to be revealed, this had to be a road trip.

_Old men, reliving their youth_ , thought Will. _I just hope this doesn't involve killing and eating some ceremonial beaver._

Water had apparently carried the front-seat argument, as the debate now turned to how long it would take to bring one side or another to its knees.

"Just days," said Water, "when they realized that cavalry wasn't on the way, they would get to serious peace talks quickly."

"What do you know about war?" retorted Jack. "It could drag on for years, with Twitter broadcasting every excruciating encounter."

Water countered: "War is only long when the politicians use it to manufacture corruption and votes. Remember, I said it was hands-off. That means all of the big brutes pack up their planes and bombs and go home. Just plain ground war with no other agenda and it's over quick."

Jack countered again, eager to win any part of the debate: "Sure, a good war is a quick war. Six days in the desert and all that crap. But, that only happens when one side outguns the other by ten to one. When balanced power is unencumbered by moral considerations, it is brutal and fought to exhaustion, regardless of politics."

Water looked ready to argue more, but instead finally gave his attention to the moving forest walls outside. As if on cue, neither seemed interested in the discussion any more. Will saw a chance to ask again what the road trip was for.

"So, do I get to know any more about this urgent task or should I just keep running lame possibilities through my head?"

There was no answer, so he continued, "If it's just a Green family pow-wow or some kind of gag send-off for me, I'll be fairly irritated. I could have cleared $1800 flying twice this week-end."

"For us to know and you to find out," Jack laughed. "Maybe we're going to present you with a moose rack to take along to Usania and a real rack on some young squaw to enjoy in the T-P."

"Or, better yet, we're going to send you out buck-naked with only a slingshot to kill your first pigeon." Jack could never resist rubbing-in Will's lack of interest in traditional skills, even though his own were just a distant memory.

Water couldn't resist the rolling pun. "Or, maybe all of this stuff, but you don't get the racks, unless it's a really big pigeon, or maybe a goose."

"That would be worth watching," snorted Jack, "A duck with his balls flapping, being chased by a pissed-off goose."

They were both cackling now.

"Stop. Please. It was a serious question," snapped Will. "I have lots to do and lots to get straight before I go the States. I'm not sure that being gag fodder for you two is on that list."

"OK, OK. Don't get all prissy. We're just old farts having fun," said Jack eventually, but with a smirk threatening to become yet another giggle fit. He added, "We have something to explain to you, and it is pretty important."

"We have to show you something about the land; it's about our little piece of the land," Water now added, with more obvious care in his choice of words. "The land requires something from us in return for its blessing upon us. You are old enough now to understand that."

Will didn't get it. "The land requires something? What can I do for a scrubby patch of trees, rocks and fished-out lakes? Are we tree-planting or picking up litter and other junk?"

"No, nothing like that," Jack smirked. "Grandpa, Emanuel, is using a metaphor, even though he has no idea what that is. It's not the land, it's the place. A place that needs care-taking and, in this case, Cousin Eli can't do it for us. Only we three and maybe your daughter one day, can do it."

It took Will a second of struggling with Jack's metaphor that was supposed to explain Water's. The 'activity' was almost certainly some time-honored thing involving a campfire, hooch and ancestor stories. Mercifully, they didn't do this often and the bugs were pretty much over for the summer. He still felt that he was out $1800 for no good reason, but these guys probably carried that much in a pocket roll, so he decided to just let it go and try to be suitably reverent when they finally got there, hopefully in one piece.

Then he replayed it: _daughter?_ He wasn't married and didn't plan to be anytime soon.

"What do you mean, my daughter?

Jack and Water got the giggles again.

"Duck! No, jump! No, run! Otherwise the goose will get your balls," exclaimed Water. They both burst out laughing all over again. This was not a good sign.

"Just keep it on the damn road. It wasn't even that funny the first time"

# Going Up

When they finally cleared the gravel road shortcut and turned north on the Highway 11, Will breathed a small sigh of relief. He shifted position to stretch out and relax a little more. It was still early, maybe even a little more sleep was still in order. The ride north would take at least another couple hours just to get to the gas station and he was pretty sure that they were traveling on beyond that directly to the lake.

Rest though, now didn't come easily. Not ten miles up the highway and Water called a pit stop.

"Ep'r, pull over, right here!" Water said suddenly, like there was some urgency in him getting out of the truck right away.

Without signaling, Jack jerked the truck across to the slow lane and just as quickly heaved the wheel right again and made a fishtailing sliding stop in the loose gravel of the shoulder. A chorus of horns dopplered by them. Whether he knew the other cars were there and didn't care or just wasn't aware at all, his driving only confirmed Will's opinion that he should have his license revoked, soon. At least he hadn't taken anyone else with them.

Water bailed out of the truck, hopped over the guard rail and was scrambling down the embankment into the ditch. Except for his grey pony tail, from the back he could have been 50. He moved quickly along the ditch and back under a side road underpass, disappearing entirely from sight.

The other two got out to stretch. "Guess he's got to take a dump?" quipped Jack, now standing alongside Will, looking down toward the ditch. "Kind of a dumb place though," he continued looking down the hill. "The road down there is busier than the highway."

Sure enough, there was a lot of traffic moving along the secondary road below them. Mostly, it was cars coming up to the on-ramps on both sides of the highway. But many others were headed down the road to houses and businesses along a nearby lakefront. There would be lots of moms and kids who would be more than a little surprised by an old man squatting beside the road.

Water didn't return. After ten more minutes, Will and Jack jumped the guard rail, slid their way down the embankment and followed his path to the underpass. He wasn't there. He hadn't walked back out in their direction and the road under the bridge didn't appear to lead to anything nearby going the other way. He had just vanished.

Will looked up and down again while considering their options. Water didn't carry a cellphone. He always seemed to call you from his house or office just before you were planning to try to get hold of him. They could wait here, but that would just add further delay in finding him if he had wandered off in the wrong direction.

Will was also conscious that they were two, fairly grubby, 'bloods' standing at the side of the road in exactly the spot where two guys might stand if they were trying to hitch a ride up the highway. He picked up glances from some of the passing drivers. Just curiosity probably, but it wouldn't take much more than curiosity to have a provincial cop pull over to give them a more thorough look. Nothing about that was necessarily bad. He might even ask the friendly constable if he had seen Water wandering around. Except, of course, he was with Jack.

J.E. Green, to his associates, knew every statute and article of the law a lot better than your average patrol cop and he couldn't resist baiting just about anybody in authority. If they wanted to get anywhere today, it was better not to start that conversation.

"Maybe I should go up and get the truck?" Will suggested, but Jack wasn't paying attention. He was squatted down on his haunches and appeared to be studying tracks on the ground.

"There's a smoking butt here," said Jack, pointing to an un-crushed cigarette butt just burning down to the filter.

Will bent over and looked at the butt. It didn't have a long ash. It had been lying there less than five minutes. Water didn't smoke, so there had been someone else here about the same time as he had passed through.

"Someone was here," said Jack. "And I bet that he had something to do with Water's panic stop."

"Would he have hitched a ride to somewhere else?" asked Will, standing up again and wondering now whether his thoughts about the location hadn't been that far-fetched.

"Nope, not without telling us," said Jack. "This was a planned meeting and, for whatever reason, it was planned to happen quickly, in secret and without us."

Will studied his father for a moment, waiting for more.

"Is this just your considered opinion counselor or do you have some real evidence to back up this leap to conclusions?" asked Will, knowing that Jack never jumped to conclusions about anything.

"I have it on good faith, sir," said Jack, using his most convincing courtroom voice, "that Water Green is still completely in charge and is moving the game forward."

"What game?" asked Will.

"Well, let's see...the game of life, the game of survival against all odds, the game of monumental effort and achievement and the game of checkers, most importantly," lectured Jack. "Somewhere, we just got kinged and now we can race back to lay waste to the white side."

"There is no white side...Epoch. Checkers are black and red," countered Will, figuring that formality could cut both ways. "And, it's not much of a paradigm for life as neither black nor red wins hardly any of the time out here."

"So true," said Jack, now apparently deep in thought searching for a better analogy.

"Duck!" a voice barked, almost in Will's ear. Involuntarily, he ducked, knowing almost immediately that Water would be standing behind him laughing.

"Got you again, smart youngster ass," laughed Water, appearing, as he often did, to have materialized out of the background.

Turning around, Will was almost ready to give it back to him. From anyone else he would have demanded an explanation and chewed him out for causing worry, not to mention wasting their time. But, that wasn't something you did with an Elder and when the Elder was Water Green, it wasn't something you did if you wanted to stay standing. Will just forced a smile and waited for the story.

"Had to meet an ally," said Water.

_An ally_? thought Will, to himself. _Strange use of a term from a man who rarely spoke any word without a lot of consideration._

"In the public tender, I mean... to rip up county road 672 here." Water jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the secondary road behind him. "We're closing in on the contract and I needed to ensure that the right politicians get their cash, booze and broads."

Now he was pulling Jack's chain.

"Jeez, Water," exclaimed Jack. "You'll create your own damn royal commission on the mysterious winning ways of Green Water Construction. What if I'm ever asked under oath what I know about your business practices? Not much, I'd say, except that it occasionally involves bribes, bootlegging and prostitution."

"Relax, old-fart-before-your-time Commissioner," laughed Water.

"The Reeve here is an old battle-axe broad who hates my guts, because I've never tried to get into her pants. Not that anybody could get them off over her fat ass anyway." He grinned as the, likely fictitious, story rolled out.

"The last thing that she would ever do is to allow any favoritism for Green Water." He scowled. "But, we'll win the bid anyway. Best price has an amazing winning quality about it with these jobs and we're always the best price by a couple bucks...when we want the business."

He winked and laughed again, enjoying some private joke of his own.

"I got us some beers and cheese buns," he continued smiling, while lifting a bag about big enough for a six-pack.

Where that came from would be another story for later. As far as Will could tell there wasn't a store or bakery anywhere within a 30-minute round trip of here.

Jack wasn't impressed and, like Will, bought none of the story. But a beer or two would be good, so neither pressed for a more logical explanation.

"Guess, we'd better hike back up to the highway," said Water. "I think that I hear a tow truck backing up to your rig."

Jack cursed and scrambled back up the ditch towards the embankment. Several backsliding attempts in his wholly inappropriate cowboy boots got him far enough up the embankment to see his truck sitting peacefully where they had left it with no-one else in sight. He cursed again in Water's general direction and continued, slowly now, making his way back to the main highway.

Water stopped Will before he could follow.

"I got something for you," he said, now completely serious. "It is something that you should carry for a while."

He stretched out his hand to reveal a leather-bound stone about the half the width of his palm. It was tightly wrapped in shrunken buckskin with continuous fine stitching around the single seam connecting the two halves. The thick buckskin was tinted green and engraved in intricate detail, in lines and symbols that meant nothing to Will, but had obviously been very important to the maker.

"It's a mystical rock," said Water. "It's seen a lot and it knows a lot. You will learn from it when you need too." He handed the object to Will.

It was surprisingly heavy. For a second, it felt like it was solid lead, but then seemed to get lighter. Will's hand came up slightly as if the rock had actually gone weightless. He surmised that he had just gotten used to the weight or maybe wasn't ready for it in the first place.

"Close your hand around it," directed Water. "I want to make sure that it is the right one."

Will closed his hand around the smooth leather. Other than the weight, which had returned, he could no longer feel any of the features of the rock. The shape, edges and engraving were all obviously still there, but he couldn't feel any of them.

"Open your hand slowly," said Water. "Look closely at the markings."

Will slowly opened his fingers, revealing the hide-covered rock nestled perfectly in the contour of his hand. Now, he saw that some of the engraving aligned with his fingers. Turning it over he saw that the markings underneath were an exact match to the creases and folds of his palm.

"Ah," exclaimed Water. "A perfect fit. You can never be sure with off-the-rack and this one has been on the rack for a long time." He laughed his pleased-with-himself laugh and winked again. Then, he bounded along the ditch and, with no apparent effort, continued right up the embankment to the four-lane highway.

Will continued staring at the object and trying to accurately weigh it again on his open palm. He brought it close to his face. He smelled tobacco smoke. Looking down at the butt on the ground, he guessed that, if he picked it up, it would smell just about the same.

Now there even seemed to be smoke in the air, as if the smoker were still nearby. But, as before, there was no one in sight as far as he could see. Still, he felt like he had not only been given the mystical rock, but had also been observed and somehow judged worthy to keep it. The smoky presence in the air seemed to come along with the 'talisman', even after he had carefully zippered it into his vest pocket.

# Emma

Jack took a restless while and a couple beers to settle down after Water's unscheduled pit stop. He couldn't resist lecturing the old man about his lack of consideration and the bad habits he was passing on to Will.

"What would you have thought if I had just pulled in somewhere and disappeared for half an hour?"

"I'd hope that you were in a motel room getting laid," replied Water, avoiding any indication that he might feel even a little remorse for his stunt. "It might put you in a better mood."

"Well, if I was getting laid, you'd at least know where I was and that I wasn't being dumped off in some ditch for coyote food," Jack said. "You're worth a lot of money and I wouldn't put it past some of your cronies to kidnap your ass for a couple grand in cigarettes and beer money."

"If they set the bar that low, I'd kick their ass around the block myself," huffed Water.

To Will in back, he said, "Duck, I'm putting you in charge of paying off ransoms. If some numbskull can't get his sights above a few grand, you be sure to pay him at least half a million on my behalf. And then kick his ass off a cliff."

"Can't have the tribe thinking that I'm not worth at least as much as a good bulldozer."

"Tribe," snorted Jack. "What tribe? You're more worried about your standing on the Order of Canada list. Which you know that you would already have, except they're afraid that you'll try to feel up the Governor General." He laughed at his own joke.

"She'd be pinning the goddamn flower on you and you'd be unpinning her bodice, on national TV." He kept adding to his joke. Two beers were working their magic.

"Just don't laugh us over a guardrail, Ep'r," countered Water, as if only now aware that they were going 130 kph, with Jack giving the road about one-quarter of his attention.

"Don't worry, I've got it on cruise control," replied Jack.

As if to emphasize the lack of risk, he then proceeded to stab the Sirius control screen looking for his standard 80's, not Funk, not British, not Disco, not Pop, Rock Classics. Amazingly, the truck stayed dead center in the fast lane and after two or three attempts, Geddy's rolling bass kicked off a Rush classic.

Will was sure that both of Jack's hands had been off the wheel for more than a few seconds. He touched his new talisman through his vest pocket and found himself speaking to an imagined deity. _Please get us there in one piece..._

Water had been flipping through a small notebook that looked to be filled front-to-back with his minuscule left-handed printing. He filled a lot of notebooks, observing and documenting everything he saw. He also wrote out detailed plans for construction improvements and listed questions to be answered by calling his long list of experts, movers and shakers, all of whom were glad to take his call. With Water, helping was always a two-way street and he was also happy to open a door for just about anybody who asked him.

He could fit what would be a full foolscap page for most writers neatly into the 5" by 8" pages of the little notebook. He kept several superfine, instant-dry, artist pens in his jacket pocket for note taking. He drew diagrams and illustrations as much as he wrote in the note books. Water famously once submitted only a notebook, with a cashier's cheque for $100,000, in response to a road construction tender. Once blown up on a photocopier, the bid was found to be complete and fully compliant; Green Water Construction got the job.

"The cheque was just to make sure that they took me seriously," he laughed afterwards. Across four provinces and a good part of two northern territories, both politicians and public administrators took everything Water did seriously.

"This notebook is an old one," he now said, holding up the worn leather-covered book for Will to see. "It's full of old answers that I thought weren't needed in this day."

He continued, "It will be needed again, I'm afraid. I hope that you can read my chicken scratching."

"What's it for?" Will asked.

"It's for sense-making," replied Water. "It's just a little diary of a year in my younger life, but it was a year where the sun shone just like this year and the birds landed on the same branches. Unfortunately, the clouds ran just as fast then and the rats took on the cats, too."

_Sense-making?_ Will thought: _Had any of that made sense?_ Water could be awfully circumspect, when he wanted you to do some of the work of understanding on your own.

"Can I read it?" asked Will. Jack was silent, but had turned down the music and was paying close attention.

"Not yet," replied Water, with a little laugh. "It would give you a headache and a hard-on at the same time. Not a good condition to be in. We need to find you some Aspirin and a box of condoms, and then you can read to your heart's content." He laughed again and the serious spell was broken.

A half-hour later, Water suggested that they stop to get rid of some beer and to get something to eat. "Where should we stop?" he asked Will, ignoring Jack entirely.

"I don't care as long as the can works," said Will. But Water wasn't having it.

"Nope, you have to pick a place. What do you want, home-cooking or fast food?"

Will said, "I guess if I have to pick, I'll take something resembling home cooking over cardiac arrest fries and burgers."

"OK. So now pick a town," said Water.

"Let's hang on until Temagami. It's what, a half-hour out?" replied Will.

"Yep, but I can make it in 20 minutes if you really have to go," offered Jack.

"NO...half an hour will be just fine. Thanks anyway, dad," said Will, trying to imagine how Jack would do that on the two-lane highway they had been on since North Bay. Probably by just driving everyone else off the road.

"Good decision. You know where the Rainbow Restaurant is, Ep?" asked Water, as though he had this in mind all along.

"Yup. Out of the way, run-down and with coffee that will clean paint brushes. Who could forget the Rainbow?" quipped Jack. If there was a conspiracy, he was in on it.

Will wondered what they would have done if he had just said: Harvey's?

At the Rainbow, it didn't take long for Will to confirm his suspicion. When they entered, a woman was seated near the back facing away from the door at a table for four. All Will could see was her baseball hat over silvery hair, a multicolored scarf and a buckskin jacket with beautiful beaded tassels. She was the only customer in the place.

Jack headed straight to the can, but Water hesitated and then slowly made his way towards her. Will, with big city manners, wondered why he would invade her space by sitting right next to her, but Water had no reservations. He walked directly towards her.

"Well, Nibi, it's nice that you stopped in," she said, still without looking at them.

Will heard 'water' in native dialect, but with a distinct accent. Irish or maybe Newf, mixed with a little Acadian French? He was no language expert, but he got all of these impressions in the few words that she had spoken. That and a feeling that he already knew this woman.

"Nice to see you again, Emma," said Water, then, after a pause, "I'm sorry that it's so soon."

The greeting really puzzled Will. How did Water know this stranger and how was it that she was sitting in a restaurant that he had apparently picked at random? Stranger still, she hadn't yet looked at them and there was no mirror. How did she know that Water was standing there, now looking as sheepish as Will had ever seen him look? And why was the meeting something to apologize for? But, he was learning not to jump in with questions. There was probably an explanation and he now suspected that his random and apparently free choice of what to eat had been anything but.

"You already know Duck here." Water continued as Will came around the table to face the woman. "But, Duck, er...Will, you probably don't remember Emma by name. Let me reintroduce you to Emma White."

"A long time ago now, Emma was there when your mother got sick and she was one of your stand-in mothers after she died," said Water.

Emma looked him up and down, apparently pleased that a handsome full-grown man had emerged from the boy that she last knew.

"Hello, Duck," she said, curiously picking up Water's familiar nickname for him. But when she said it, Will got an image of her actually holding a young Wood duck drake with its spectacular multi-color feathers just coming in. He also heard a familiar voice from somewhere in his past. The image and his memory seemed to merge into one very pleasant mental vignette.

He realized that he had been daydreaming and shook his head slightly to bring his focus back to the table.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It must have been the drive, I drifted off a bit just there."

"That's the trouble with her, when she's got your number," laughed Water.

"Better turn down the flame a bit Emma, or you'll have this poor boy snoozing away with a big smile on his face." Water took her hand and brought her focus back to him.

Will now had time to take in Emma's overall appearance. She was incredibly beautiful and of indeterminate age. Her perfectly featured face was very finely lined with creases that matched her smiling eyes and mouth. Her skin texture seemed to match the texture of the magnificent white elk-skin jacket that she was wearing. Her hair was straw-blond with silver and white streaks throughout. Blue eyes matched a denim shirt and were also picked up in her brilliantly colored scarf, which appeared to be a map, as rivers and mountain details were visible between the folds. She was wearing a vintage Expos baseball hat that apparently had seen many seasons. It was faded almost to the color of the mid-day sky and the ragged brim was expertly bent to shade her eyes.

The most startling observation was that Emma was clearly not native and was pale-skinned. She could easily have walked out of a Swedish travel poster. How had she connected with Water and the extended family and why would she have been there 19 years ago, when his mother died? The longer he looked at her, the more questions popped into his head.

Jack was back and he too greeted Emma warmly. They were obviously very good friends.

"Jack, you look wonderful, as always. The burden of being newsworthy doesn't seem to have gotten under your thick skin."

"Not a chance, Em," Jack replied. "I'd give it all up in a heartbeat, if it ever got in the way of a good life."

He continued, "You are a vision of all that is beautiful and fine to behold." He took her hand and almost bowed as he said it. Emma nodded ever so slightly and cast her bright eyes and broad smile on Jack for about ten seconds. Jack, normally a grump, smiled as if he were catching the sun's spring heat on a late winter day.

Will wondered briefly whether there was more to the relationship. But this question seemed to be answered as he was thinking it. Both may have wished that there was more, but their physical partnership wasn't intimate. But, something else was?

Where had that come from? He really lost it when he allowed his thoughts to focus on her. Emma White was a very special person and he felt very pleased that they were finally all back together.

Emma and the older men shared pleasant recollections and caught up on news of friends and acquaintances. Surprising for Will, some updates on deaths and births were several years old. It was obvious that some time had passed since this threesome had been together. There were also brief references to other names in current terms, with apparent confirmation that they were in contact or were on their way to an, as yet undetermined, meeting location.

Eventually food arrived, creating a break in the conversation.

"Duck," said Water, as he stirred about four spoonful's of sugar into his coffee. "Apologies for talking about things that you don't remember. We don't mean to talk over your head, but our little circle is getting larger again and it's a lot like seeing friends again at summer camp. When Suzie snake-chaser from last year shows up this year with boobs, the boys need a few minutes to plot strategy."

He laughed at his continuing problems with analogies, "Not that Emma here didn't have boobs last time we saw her."

He poked Jack in the arm. "She's always had great ones, right Ep'r?"

Jack almost choked on his sandwich and Emma giggled along with Water, who lived for moments when he could catch Jack with his mouth full. Jack turned red with either embarrassment or with disgust for Water. It was hard to tell which. He finally seemed content not to have to respond to the comment.

Water spoke again, "As you will learn more about later, Emma is the daughter of one of my very best friends, who left us too soon, like your mother. Emma became my daughter just as you became her son. We are family, even though great distance comes between our homes. We share special knowledge of the world that keeps us close together in our hearts."

"Will," Emma now gave him her full attention, "For many reasons, your memory of me is clouded. But, I believe that you can remember our last days together, if you try."

Will was a little confused by the comment, which seemed to confirm his own consternation with family memory. But, as he looked into Emma's blue eyes, his mind flooded with a clear memory of blue sky and deep blue water. This image expanded and now included a village at the edge of forest and small boats floating on a sheltered bay. High above the bay, he was walking hand-in-hand with Emma towards a passenger train that waited near a small station. A much younger Jack leaned against the station wall.

In his daydream, the younger Emma picked him up and looked deeply into his eyes. "Now is your time to go and to grow as a happy child, without the weight of too much knowledge too soon," she said. "But when the time is right, we'll look through our picture book together and laugh once more about your summers in Pictou."

His memory was now flooded with sparkling images of children at play and of Emma, Jack and even Water, on the beaches of this distant oceanfront land. Although he couldn't have described how, the spaces between the pictures filled in and like a moving picture travelogue, memories of years of his childhood filled in an empty space in his mind. He had never realized that any of it had been missing. Now, he felt as if he were waking from the best dream of his life.

Just as he was about to return from the daydream, he was also aware of the presence of painful memories of losing his mother and of the details of her illness and death. These too had been absent, but not missed until now.

He came back to the table, now aware that Emma's hand was covering his.

"I'm sorry that it could not all be happy, Duck," she said and waited until he was fully back with them.

"But, the memories are what they are and they have always been there. All that was missing was your desire to know them. That's coming back now."

Will was still struggling to understand the sudden expansion of his memory. He now looked from Emma to Jack and again saw them together, leading him along rocks, reading him stories, even tucking him in bedroll. He was more perplexed that none of these recollections seemed new. It was if he had been remembering these things all of his life. He should have been dumbstruck as years of his past filled out like a sail catching a powerful gust of wind, but he felt more like he had simply found the lost key to a door that had been temporarily closed. Everything in the room of memories through this door was familiar and was left just as he had always recalled them. Now, he was forgetting that the door had ever been closed.

"I miss mother," Will finally said.

"I know that you do," said Emma, releasing his hand, "You always have. We all do."

And then Jack began a story about the summer of 1998 at Merigomish Harbour.

"That was your mother's last trip to the east coast. Joannie was never much for roughing it at hunt camps or on canoe trips, but she fell in love with that little B&B where the Merigomish River meets the ocean in Nova Scotia. We always stayed there when we traveled east. It got a little more complicated with a five-year old in tow, but she wanted to stay there one more time and we knew it would be her last trip." He smiled with obvious sadness still there.

"Her cancer was mercifully quick. Most people didn't even know that she was sick. Except, of course, Our People, who all could see her days would be used up by November." He continued, "Many of them, including Emma and other close friends surprised us there with a great gathering on the open beach across the bay before the end of our trip."

Will remembered it all clearly now, although through a five-year-old's lens, he mostly remembered looking up at big people, with only vague recollections of a few other kids his age.

"This was when your mother gave you the tribal name of Duck, or rather Sesap, in our old language. We were living in Toronto already and were far from any place requiring a First Nations name. Joannie was an adopted-in native mother, being fourth-generation Canadian with only Scottish roots way back in her family's history. She was also only aware of our special knowledge by anecdote."

"I was busy working on how a supreme court ruling might change the impact of the Charter on torts and really only cared about native issues as they might need to be worded in new laws. Even then, it was mostly an academic interest, as I had long since moved on to defending wealthy old white guys when they inadvertently and with no malice whatsoever, your honor, beat the figurative crap out of one of their business rivals."

Will's ears perked up at the second reference to special knowledge in the last ten minutes. He probed his memory, but couldn't come up with a useful recollection or meaning for this.

"Anyway, the three of us reverted to native ways almost the same way that society types dress up for toga parties," continued Jack. "Either up here at Green Lake or when visiting other lands like Merigomish Harbour. On this trip, which Joannie also sensed might be her last, she decided that little William Angus was finally ready for a tribal name. She waited for an inspiration."

"It came one hot day when we were swimming in the ocean," said Jack. "Will, you were pretty confident in the water already and I guess you just decided to chase a fish underwater. You didn't come back to the surface for close to two minutes, when you popped up about 50 meters down the beach." Jack wanted to laugh, but stifled it, as he tried to be serious enough for Will to hear the important story line.

"Joannie screamed blue murder after about the first thirty seconds." Jack emphasized the panic reaction by shooting his hands straight up.

Both Water and Emma now joined in laughing at their own recollections, while Will, who had been the one underwater, was missing that memory.

Jack continued, "By the time a minute had gone by, Joannie was appealing for the Coast Guard, David Hasselhoff and Aqua Man to come to the rescue. And she was plenty shocked that none of the rest of us seemed very concerned."

"I tried to assure her that everything was alright, while she caught her breath between screams, but, of course, she couldn't understand how I knew that and just kept on getting more hysterical."

"When you finally did pop up, she about flew across the water to get to you and like all mothers, to hug you for about ten seconds before giving you shit for the next sixty. I suspect that this was a little surprising to you, as you probably had no idea what was wrong. That's how these things work. One day we just know tomorrow's headline, just look across twenty miles or, like you, go for a two-minute deep dive, when you didn't even know that you could swim."

They all looked at each other with conspiratorial smirks and then to Will with full smiles. Will, assuming another anecdote was coming, was still trying to figure out what Jack was talking about. He remembered the day now, but wasn't smiling.

"Anyway," Jack said. "All we could say was that you must be part Sesap, or diving duck, in English. It was a big laugh all around the shore. She looked at you, finally over the shock and tried it on. "Duck, eh?" she said and hence you became "Duck."

Will still wasn't fully caught up with the rest of them. Although, each elaboration that Jack added brought a new series of memories into focus. Yes, he could now remember the lecture from his mom, as he stood wide-eyed, dripping and perplexed before her. Everyone else's laughter had been his cue to take-off up the beach, happy that whatever he had done this time, it was forgiven again.

Jack continued, "If it had been the first time something weird had happened, it might have taken more explanation. But, I guess that once Joannie added it to her list of strange things about her son, she began to realize that she would never fully understand."

Will was still adding up new information: _prescience? distant vision?_ He knew that he had advantages all through his life, but had assumed that it was just due to his hard work and constant desire to learn more. Now they were telling him that there was something more?

Jack wanted to keep moving along, as he knew that they could never answer all of Will's questions, just yet.

He changed focus. "It was on this trip that Emma and the other 'mothers' each came to Joannie in their way to let her know that her Duck would be well looked after, regardless of how her illness went. We knew that it was time for the family to take this on. Joannie was thankful, but hesitant as yet to step back at all from her role. Before she died a few months later, she came to a full understanding of how important this family commitment would eventually be."

_Commitment?_ Here was another new term. Will remained very confused. It had been sort of a funny story; Will suspected it was also a parable and only a hint of much more to come. They were gradually opening up his knowledge. So, he filed his many questions for now. If he had been near a lake, he might have jumped in to see if the 'Duck' would ever have to come up. He now suspected that boredom would bring him back up before lack of air would.

# Downstream

Geoff sat with Lester on the soft sand bank at a turn in the Missinaibi River. They were exhausted from the demands of the trip and from the lack of restful sleep.

"What can we do?" questioned Geoff. "We're only halfway down this bloody river; it only runs one way at better than five knots and we're probably 100 kilometers from any kind of civilization. Even if we flag someone else down, they can't help us unless they've got a satellite phone."

"And, what do we tell whoever we call? That we're being plagued by nightmare monsters and want to be rescued," he added, in frustration. "They would just tell us to boil the river water before we drink it. Too much wood pulp juice getting into our canteens."

Lester didn't have the energy to argue or to make any better suggestions. He had already figured out that they were probably on their own for at least another three nights. Maybe then, with luck, they would be clear of the last rapids and could limp to the take-out at the Moose River railway crossing. The Northland's train would pick them up if they could make it that far.

The girls were cleaning up after the half-eaten evening meal. They were quiet and frightened too, but were putting on a brave face for the boys. All of them dreaded losing the sun's light at midnight. Even though it only set for about five hours at this latitude in the late summer, those five hours of darkness were becoming more terrifying than any other threat. A wandering bear might even be a welcome companion. By local Indian legend, bears could be worthy humans reincarnated with fur and much wisdom. A wise old bear might just be a welcome ally in a fight against the non-human creatures now prowling their dreams.

They had tried staying up all night and sleeping in the morning. Wendy had been pecked nearly to death by the same green bird in a mid-air attack. No sleep at all worked for one day, until Geoff dozed-off while they floated on the current and ended up capsizing their canoe as he fought for breath, while being buried alive. Sarah slept very little, but always woke shrieking at ghosts or some other kind of spirit that gripped her heart with icy fingers. Nothing worked. None of them could understand why these dreams persisted, coming back the second they closed their eyes.

Lester was still looking for a logical explanation. The other three seemed to be accepting the theory that they must have camped on an ancient native graveyard or other sacred place and, being stupid city kids, not have realized that they had taken the disgruntled spirits with them. They had even made a clumsy attempt at appeasing the river by throwing some of Geoff's pipe tobacco and pieces of Juicy Fruit gum into the current while asking sheepishly for forgiveness. That had been on day three when this all still just seemed weird. Now, three nights later, it was quickly becoming deadly.

Lester had actually suspected the water at first. He had dismantled the carbon filtration hand pump to look for some contamination. He had also insisted that they start double treating and boiling the river water before they drank it. A hallucinogenic parasite of some sort? He was aiming for pre-med, if he could keep his marks and finances up, but nothing like this had ever shown up in his chemistry or biology courses.

The girls were done with dishes and now joined them. It was a beautiful summer night. Ten thousand mosquitoes whined in the nearby bush, but out on the sand bank a steady breeze kept them relatively bug-free. Geoff was quiet. They were all looking at Lester for some idea on how to survive this night.

"What are we doing different here than we would do at home?" Lester asked. It was a dumb question, but he was hoping to get them back to being focused on a solution. He could sense that there was a real risk of hysteria lying just under the surface. Dreams aside, any loss of wits out here could kill you without the help of dream freaks.

The Missinaibi River canoe trip had been a 'dream' for all of them since they had started planning it two years ago. With more than 300 kilometers of untamed river, the route ran from the Mattice in the heart of Northern Ontario and then joined the Moose River south of Moosonee on the shores of James Bay. Still pretty far south by Canadian geography, but close enough to Hudson's Bay that they could say that they paddled down one of the mighty rivers to the 'Near Arctic'. Most people had no clue about geography anyway.

The Missinaibi was famous in fur-trapping lore of a century or two ago, with boiling rapids and sudden waterfalls waiting to swamp _'courier de bois'_ pushing huge fur-laden transport canoes down a river, that at times is kilometer wide and five meters deep, while still running as fast as a horse can gallop. You didn't paddle down this river as much as paddle like hell in it to dodge the boulders coming at you like gull-shit covered asteroids. They had portaged around some scary falls, but for the first days, had fun trying out some of the milder rapids. The whole trip should have been one big adrenaline high.

"On the first couple nights, we all slept at the same time and, as I recall, we slept like babies for about ten hours," Lester said. They had been exhausted from the drive up and half-loaded from celebratory drinks around their first camp fire in the long warm evening. The next few nights were simple dead-to-the-world recovery from exhausting paddling and portaging. It was only when they passed the lower falls and got onto flat water that the entire script changed.

"Now, we each sleep only when we individually drift off and the others watch like nurse maids for the slightest sign of a nightmare, so that we can help the person back to consciousness."

"Maybe, asleep together, we somehow protected each other from the dreams," he suggested, without much conviction. Just going to sleep all at the same time sounded like a lunatic suggestion, given the terror of their individual nightmares of the past four days on the river. Each of them had found some small comfort knowing that another was watching over them. Leaving no one awake sounded scary. But, they all knew that no sleep at all could kill them for real.

"We don't really die in the dreams," whispered Sarah. She was normally quiet, but fun-loving, a perfect match for Geoff's normal off-the-wall antics.

"I mean, we're terrified by them and wake-up scared to Hell, but they are just dreams." She added, "I'm willing to try it."

Her apparent bravery caused Geoff and Lester to exchange glances. Now the onus was on them to show some manly grit. Wendy was poking their blazing fire with a long stick and hadn't looked up.

Lester could tell that Geoff was still very frightened. No proposal that involved just going to sleep was going to be an easy sell with him.

"I don't know about not dying in the dream," Geoff finally said. "If you hadn't woke me up, or if I hadn't fallen out of the canoe, I think that I might have died for real the last time."

"Not that falling into that river asleep is something I want to repeat." He tried a smile on the others.

"I guess that is the bottom line though, isn't it?" said Lester. "Not just falling out of a canoe, more likely crashing head-on into a rock or into each other in a zombie state. If we're going to get down this river in one piece, we have to get some sleep."

"I'm OK with it," Wendy said quietly. She turned bloodshot eyes and a fatigued face to Lester. "Something is testing us. Maybe a brave front will show it that we're tougher than it thinks we are."

"Who or what could be doing this?" questioned Geoff. "I mean, we're a million miles from nowhere out here and on the move. It sounds like you think some alien is tracking us with a nightmare ray-gun." He was clearly on edge.

Wendy was thoughtful and they all allowed a few seconds silence. A loon called somewhere near and they all smiled a little. Just talking was making them feel better.

Wendy finally continued, "No, I don't mean that. There's nothing sinister out here. It's just a place where other stuff doesn't get in the way and we don't have our normal crutches of soft beds, beers or TV. Maybe it's like when young Indians in stories go on their spirit walk. The air, the night, maybe the forest spirits kick in, who knows? But, being brave is the only way through it. As it's told, if a young native kid ran home crying, he'd likely lose manly status in the tribe. So, on balance, surviving the ordeal is the only way."

Sarah had moved close to Wendy and they hugged each other. Geoff was left sitting alone on the other side of the fire. As if noticing his exposed back for the first time, he shuffled around beside the girls.

"So, how do we do it?" asked Sarah, now whispering, looking to Lester and Wendy as the guides. _Could they share a secret plan without who-knows-what and his ray-gun hearing?_ They glanced at each other, connecting on the thought— _what if this was the worst idea that they had ever had?_

"What do you mean, how?" asked Geoff. "We just go to sleep."

"No, I think that we need to anticipate it not working," Sarah added. "We could still need help and we know that tent flaps and mislaid flashlights can make waking someone almost as dangerous as dreaming." She had a nasty bruise on her arm from one of Geoff's dreaming punches in the dark.

"I think that Sarah's right," said Lester. "We really have no idea if this will work and we know that Geoff and I are too strong for you girls to hold down while we're still asleep." He hoped he was giving Geoff a little relief from remorse for his wayward punch; it could just as easily have been him.

"We might only sleep for a few hours anyway," he continued. "I suggest that we rig the kitchen tarp over the canoes and all sleep together out of the tents. It's a beautiful night, we only really need cover from the dew. And maybe, a raccoon, or at least a mouse, will come by to watch over us."

They all laughed.

Lester had been grabbing at straws when he proposed all sleeping at the same time. He suspected that whatever was causing this, it had joined them on the river and was still very much with them. But, as they all were realizing, they had no choice but to get some sleep. Going to their fate bravely and together was at least giving them hope. He suspected that they were all putting on the same stoic face and trying hard to believe that this might make some small difference.

It took them a few minutes to arrange the over-turned canoes, rig the tarp and to drag out sleeping bags and pads. Pegging the ends, after pulling the lightweight waterproof rayon taught over the spread-apart upturned canoes made a covered space large enough for all four of them. The sides were left open to keep the breeze and mosquitoes moving through. The outside sleepers might get wet if it rained hard, but that was unlikely with the clear sky. It was the least of their worries.

The camp fire was on the open sand, so they decided to stoke it up and turn in with the comfort of its flickering orange light. The sun had now been down long enough that semi-darkness was starting to take hold in the north-east. The sun's glow would work its way around the south horizon from west to east, keeping some light in the southern sky all night.

Lester and Geoff took the outside spots. Wendy and Sarah were between them. The girls had briefly whispered to each other that they should considered reversing this, so that they could get out of the way quicker, but knew that it would lead to an argument. Even exhausted and dopey, the boys would feel some need to remain the protectors.

When they were finally all lying together, Wendy asked: "What do we do if it doesn't work?"

There was silence. "I mean, what if we just find ourselves right back in the same nightmare? Should we wake each other up if we're struggling or crying out?"

"Of course," said Sarah. "Every time, it's waking-up that saves me."

"From dream dying," she added. It was unclear whether she actually meant that.

"But, the plan is not to have the nightmares at all, right?" Geoff sounded tentative. "I don't think that I can go to sleep, if I'm going to end up back in the same pit."

He had never given them much detail on his recurring terror, so they all looked over to him to see if he was starting to lose confidence.

"Yeah," said Lester. "That is the plan. We need to all concentrate on staying together in our heads, in a safe, protected place. Maybe having a great time together."

"We have to believe that we can still take control of this. We're only as strong as our conviction."

He was making it up as he went, but felt it was the role that he was now expected to play. The guy that says: "Sure we can make it across the railway trestle before the train gets here." The guy that lives while all his friends get turned into mincemeat. He shook his head, trying to clear the stupid thought.

"I think that I'm ready to drift off," said Wendy quietly, as she rolled over and snuggled closer to Lester. She interlocked her arm with his.

"OK, then, maybe me too," said Geoff from the other side. Sarah was already breathing steadily, but she squeezed his hand.

Lester stared up at the gently flapping tarp. He felt his eyes getting heavy. This had better work. He repeated: "fun place, great time," mostly to himself, and let the breeze carry him away.

After feeling a series of bumps, Lester looked down to see a BMW logo directly in front of him. It was so illogical, that he kept his gaze there for a few seconds, trying to figure it out.

Geoff shouted from the back seat: "Hey, watch where you're going." He had to shout over the _Arcade Fire_ ballad blasting out of the 16-speaker entertainment system. Lester looked up, just in time to turn his hands ever so slightly and steer the black X6 SUV away from a country mailbox that whizzed by them at the edge of the road. The muscular suspension snapped the buggy back to straight and level without a whimper. Lester noted on the heads-up digital readout on the windshield that they were going 120. He hoped that he was reading kilometers.

He glanced sideways and saw Wendy lounging against the far door. She was wearing a hiked–up silvery mini-dress that was covering none of her legs and not much of her apparently bare ass. She had on full make-up and her hair was cut and streaked in a radical style. He did a blinking double take; she never dressed much beyond retro jeans and a simple, but still hot, blouse. This almost looked like a different woman. She wore all kinds of jewelry and had a designer bag—Gucci? against her thigh. She pouted back at him, blew him a kiss and laughed. Drunk or stoned, she was having a good time.

Glancing back, while trusting the X6 to hold the road, he saw Geoff and Sarah with similar get-ups. Geoff looked oddly European, with a linen jacket over a gaudy shirt and ridiculous checkered silk scarf. He was smoking a foul-smelling cigarette.

Sarah was busy pouring some kind of sparkling wine into a glass, or trying to, as she kept missing the glass. She was laughing her ass off and finally just took a big swig out of the bottle.

Lester had a moment of shivering panic as he realized that he wasn't watching the road again, but this time the SUV was keeping its own path straight and true. It was still going 120, although Lester wasn't aware of his foot on the gas. _Must have it in cruise-control,_ he rationalized.

He finally became aware of his own clothes and was surprised that he was dressed much like Geoff. He noted bright gold buttons on an open blue blazer, a loose soccer club tie and a deep solid gold tie bar with some kind of horse head crest. He was puzzled to see a heavy gold Tag chronometer on his wrist that was obviously as much for show as for telling time. He never wore watches.

They each had a crystal glass of the fizzy wine in their cup holders. There was white powder on the burled wood center console and Wendy appeared to have a fine dusting of it on the end of her nose. The pounding music and now almost constant laughter completed the picture.

He congratulated himself. He had wished for a good time and they were certainly having one. Owning stuff and doing stuff that they couldn't imagine in their waking lives, but, what the Hell, this was a dream. He laughed out loud at the success of his weird idea.

Coming back to his driving, he noted that the two-lane paved road was straight as an arrow, but had started to rise and fall with gentle hills in the land. There were quaint little farms and cabins here and there. Most looked like something out of the 1900's. They were uniformly drab in color, however the countryside made up for it with bright wild flowers and fields of golden grain looking ready for harvest.

The road had no shoulders, but ran away level into the fields, so didn't prompt too much concern. Still, 120 seemed excessive. Lester tapped the brake pedal to disengage the cruise-control. There was no perceptible change in speed.

He glanced down at his feet and saw that his right foot was back on the gas pedal. He consciously lifted it. There was still no response.

Now, he pressed hard on the brake pedal. He could feel the massive disc brakes on all four wheels engage, however the car slowed only slightly. Pressing harder, he could hear and smell the calipers grabbing the discs. Probably red-hot, they gave off the smell of burning brake pads. Still not much effect. He lifted his foot to let them cool and concentrated on keeping the SUV centered on the road.

He had never driven this kind of car, so didn't know where the ignition button or gear selector were. Neither appeared around the wheel, on the dash or on the center console. The inside of the car was too sterile, with no displays or knobs of any kind.

His friends were now partying even harder, singing along to the band and stuffing their faces with some kind of ' _hors d'oeuvres'_ from a picnic basket that Geoff had hauled out of the back.

"D'u..u..you wan some?" It was Wendy slurring and waving a fishy-smelling canapé in front of his face.

"No. Not now. I've got a little driving problem to solve first. Be right with you," Lester replied. He was staying amazingly calm.

As he looked up at the road a warning sign came into view. At least that what he thought it was. It was diamond shaped, but rusted badly and appeared to have Cyrillic lettering on it: вперед попереду

He had no idea what that meant. But, just over a rise, the SUV rocketed right through an intersection clearly marked all ways with small rusted versions of stop signs.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled, long after it would have been too late to do anything if there had been another vehicle there.

"Hey, Geoff," he now appealed to the back seat. "Settle down and help me here."

Geoff gave him an unfocused and puzzled look in reply.

"Do you know how to shut this car off? Who's is it anyway? It's not responding and we're going to crash if I can't get it out of gear."

Geoff laughed and poked Sarah, who also had trouble focusing on Lester.

"Lester wants me to drive." He howled. "Oh fuck, sure, let me see if I can climb up there..."

"No. No. Stay where you are," Lester cried back. But Geoff was already trying to get out of his seat belt. For some reason it was a multi-point racing car harness, that securely held him in his seat. There were no visible latches or buckles. He pawed at it for a while, then shrugged.

"Guess I can't help you." He spoke in the general direction of the rear-view mirror. He laughed like it was very funny and then fumbled to light another cigarette with a gold lighter that shot a flame about six inches long.

Lester looked over at Wendy and noticed that she was also now strapped in with a five point harness. He knew enough about race cars to know that it should have had a release buckle that would free the person with a single jab. Hers had none. She was securely strapped into her seat, but still drinking and singing away at the top of her lungs.

Lester twisted around and glanced back at Sarah, already knowing that he would see the same set-up. Each of them was now strapped in securely. "Great, if you're about to be in a high-speed crash why not be strapped in tight?" he thought. Maybe someone was looking out for them.

When he looked down at his own lap, he was shocked to find that he wasn't wearing any kind of seat belt. He felt around for one and couldn't come up with any belts or latches. If he rolled this buggy, he would be the crash test dummy that wasn't strapped in.

_He was ejected from the vehicle and died when all two and a half tons of it rolled twice and squashed his head like a ripe watermelon._ He imagined that he was reading about his death in tomorrow's newspaper. _Ripe watermelon_?

Now, he was noticing the road again through the windshield. The heads-up display said 100. Good news, they were slowing down. The bad news was that the road had narrowed and was now partly covered in gravel. Regular rises and dips were taking them from a couple G's to weightless, but the magnificent suspension and traction control system were handling it with no problems. _Maybe we can survive this_. He just had to keep it on the road.

More warning signs whipped past. They were just as unintelligible to him. Various driveways and unmarked intersections went by. He didn't know what was coming, but he could at least anticipate something with each sign.

He tried the brakes again, with no more success. Although this time, he felt the steering go loose and almost locked up a rear wheel. That wouldn't work. Without accelerator control, he would have no hope of driving out of a rear wheel skid on this loose gravel.

Stones were spraying and there was a huge dust cloud behind them. He couldn't see anything back there, so was completely surprised when another vehicle blinked its lights, honked and started to pass them. What kind of idiot would try to pass at this speed on a twisting road that was only about a lane and a half wide? A bright red car was off his left rear bumper and coming by fast. He eased right until he could feel the wheels hitting the edge of the scrub grass growing there. There was nothing else he could do. He hung on to the wheel for all of their lives.

The passing vehicle turned out to be some kind of low-slung roadster. It was barely half the height of the X6 and appeared to be all engine and massive tires. He couldn't figure out what it was, but knew that the deep lacquered finish was getting the crap beat out of it by flying stones. He chanced one glance at the driver and saw only cleavage and a flash of red hair. Female and crazy. It figured.

Seemingly with no room to spare, the roadster coupé glided by and then enveloped him in a dust storm as it pulled away. He had no idea where the road was and could only hold the wheel dead straight. The road was all gravel and dirt now. Even the slightest turn at this speed and they were goners.

As the dust cleared, he saw that the coupé had disappeared into the distance. The pace felt slower now and he saw that the heads-up read 80. He was hanging in there and was going to get them through it.

Another warning sign whipped past and they blew through another intersection. The road narrowed even further and now appeared to have a grass strip growing down the middle. It was rutted and threw them from side to side, bouncing drinking glasses, _hors d'oeuvres_ and purses all over the place. His companions, were making exaggerated 'oh's and ah's' after every bounce and still laughing as if nothing at all bad was happening.

Lester clung to the steering wheel. The heads-up now said 60. Still way too fast for a cow-track, but maybe survivable if they went off the road. He was starting to wonder where a little track like this could lead when they came to an unannounced curve in the road. He steered hard, overdid it and had to correct quickly to keep on the track. They fish-tailed back into the ruts. He sensed that this was about to get more interesting.

He tried to relax his grip on the wheel to get circulation back into his hands. He peered as far as he could down the track. Another curve came up, sharper and more chewed up. But, he had been ready for it and handled it smoothly. Another and another. This was now a wandering path cut around boulders, big trees and ponds. They were traveling deep into a forest.

The music had switched to some kind of beat-driven electronic dance music, which seemed to be matching his heart rate at about 150 beats per minute. He would have killed it, but there was no visible radio. At the rate that the track was weaving, he had no time to talk to anyone about it. He could feel the tension starting to pound behind his eyeballs.

The track now took a wide arc around a small lake. The constant radius turn was easy to manage and he glanced at the speed: 50. They were positively crawling. This was the speed limit in school zones. He could have handled this in his old min-van. The ruts and bumps in the road were still throwing them around, but the all-wheel drive was having no trouble keeping them on the track.

As the little road curved around the lake, a rock face was starting to rise on the left side of the road. The lake was on the passenger side and as the road also gained some elevation, the land started to fall away just a few feet from the wheels. The rock face was cramping the rutted track, so that he had to drive on a ledge just a few feet wider that the car. It was starting to become uncomfortable again.

Looking up, he saw that the road switched left around a point and then disappeared from his sight. He got ready for the turn and nimbly hauled the buggy around the sharp left turn without losing any ground.

As he got around the curve, he realized in horror that the red sports car was parked less than thirty meters ahead, dead in the center of the road. The driver was leaning against the trunk, looking casually back at him. She smiled.

Lester slammed on the brakes. The wheels actually went into ABS mode and tried to give him maximum stopping on the loose dirt without locking the wheels. Regardless, he had no hope of stopping in time. He stared into the redhead's eyes and yelled for everyone to brace themselves. He prayed that the seat belts were still there.

He was considering how gruesome it was going to be to squash this women against the back of her car, when an opening in the trees appeared on his right. He couldn't see down the hill, but the first few meters were clear of trees and rocks. At the last second, he released the brake pedal and threw the SUV over the road edge into the opening.

The next thing he knew he was clipping saplings and plowing through low brush on the way downhill towards the lake. The car was actually losing speed with the resistance of the soft ground and stayed straight and upright over a couple large mounds. Coming over the last one before the water, they clipped a fallen log and were bounced hard down a rock incline and into the mud bottom of the lake. They were stopped on a steep angle into the water. The engine wasn't running.

Lester counted their blessings. They had missed huge trees and rocks, stayed upright, weren't on fire and didn't have a ragged log sticking through the front window and right through one of their heads. He hadn't squashed the crazy redhead. They were nose-first into the lake, with the front of the hood at the water line, but with the passenger compartment high and dry. Other than booze glasses, food and bangles bounced all over the place, they were unscathed. He tried his door and it opened easily. He got out and patted himself down—no injuries. His designer pants were quickly turning black as he sank in the boggy bottom. Laughing, partly in relief, he tossed his useless jacket and tie away.

He crawled back into the car and started checking everyone else. Wendy and Sarah were dumbfounded, asking what the hell had happened. Geoff was laughing too.

"Nice fucking parking, Lester," he said. "Remind me not to lend you my Mercedes."

"Get out." Lester barked. "We've got to make sure that everyone is all right."

But nobody moved. Geoff finally opened his door and made an effort to get out, but was still firmly held in place by the latch-less five-point harness. The girls were similarly strapped in.

Lester went around and pulled on Geoff's harness to try to move it, but the aircraft nylon strapping was sewn tight into a single web that disappeared over his shoulders and into the seat back. He couldn't move it or help Geoff get free of it.

"What the fuck," said Geoff, finally sobering up. "Get me out of here."

"Hang on, I'll see if there is something that we can cut it with." Lester opened the back hatch and jumped up to rummage for something sharp. All that was there was the remnants of the picnic basket, with no cutlery. There was no toolkit and no other hardware.

He climbed back out, leaned against the bumper and scratched his head. This wasn't a real crisis. Probably with a little looking he could find a sharp piece of broken rock or a discarded glass bottle.

That thought gave him an idea. He jumped up and ran to Sarah's door. Throwing it open, he asked: "Where's the wine bottle, Sarah?"

She looked up at him with groggy eyes. "It was all gone. I tossed it back on the highway."

"You threw it out the window?" Lester was dumbstruck. Sarah wouldn't throw away a gum wrapper.

"Yeah, I was hoping for a peasant to bonk with it, but settled for a big rock. Good shot too; eh, Geoff?"

Geoff glared at her through his own drunken haze and didn't respond.

Lester shook his head and leaned on the car to think. He had handled this dream this far. There must be a solution. As he was leaning on the car, he felt it move forward an inch, then another.

He ran around to his seat and jumped in to set the parking brake. But, of course, there wasn't one. The car moved another couple inches and the first trickle of water appeared in the front foot wells. He now knew that this dream wasn't over. He stared at the black water dripping down the inside of the compartment under the dashboard. Looking outside, he could see that it was just inches from the front door post. No-one else seemed to notice it yet.

Lester jumped out and ran up the shore to find some rocks to put under the wheels. He quickly found a couple the size of bread loafs and brought them back. He jammed one in front of each of the rear wheels and kicked them tight. Falling back against a stump, he checked the car.

At first it didn't move, but then, to his amazement, the rear tires started to climb up the rocks. The car was leaving the ground to go over an eight-inch high rock. He realized with growing horror that the car wasn't moving due to gravity or sinking mud. It was being pulled into the water.

The water was now pouring in his open door and filling the front foot well. He ran back to his side of the car and slammed the door. He had to hope that these cars were damn near water tight; he needed time to think.

Wendy screamed as she pulled her feet out of the few inches of water pooling beneath her. She was staring hard at the water now steadily moving up the hood as the car continued to inch down the slope farther into the boggy bottom of the lake.

Lester thought about trying to get in front of it, but only a couple steps confirmed that it was all the foul-smelling peaty bottom that could be a meter deep of mud. He racked his brain for ideas as all three of the strapped-in passengers now realized what was happening and began screaming for help.

The sports car.

Lester looked back up the hill. Could he still make out the roadster up there?

He scrambled and clawed his way up the hill shouting for help. As he went he considered possibilities. He couldn't drive the low-slung car down here, but maybe it had a tool kit with a sharp blade. Or maybe a tow-rope he could tie around a tree. Whatever the possibilities, he had to be up and back down in only a couple minutes.

As he crested the roadway, he was heartened to see the car still sitting there. The redhead was randomly kicking pebbles and appeared to be waiting for him.

He couldn't resist giving her hell. "What are you doing parked in the middle of the road? Are you crazy?"

"Vhat road darling?" she purred back at him. He looked beyond her car and, sure enough, there was no road, only boulders and large trees. The road ended abruptly, right here. They would have had a collision with the trees or careened into the lake even if she wasn't parked there.

"You vere stoppink here anyvay," she laughed. Her accent was Russian or at least Slavic.

He shook his head. Remembering his friends, he now appealed for her help.

"Have you got a knife or a tool kit? Or maybe a rope? I need to get my friends out of the car."

"Hmm... not likely a rope in this car." She seemed to be considering. "Possible, I can get you a knife though."

She moved closer to him and he got a hint of musky perfume. She was wearing skin tight jeans, leather boots and a denim blouse buttoned tightly across substantial breasts that didn't appear to need any other support. Three top buttons were open and the rest were gaping widely. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but couldn't help taking in the luxurious freckled skin under her blouse. She moved closer and brushed her chest against his arm.

"About your friends..." she brought him back.

_Jeez, what am I doing?_ He was now panicked. "Give me the knife."

"Maybe," she smiled again. "But, first ve need a deal."

"A deal?" He was incredulous. "Anything you want, just hurry up."

She ran a finger down his jaw line and had his entire attention again.

"You have to decide who vill die," she said, matter-of-factly. "Someone has to. Ve don't care who."

Lester was losing himself staring into her deep blue eyes.

"Do you mean in the dream?" he said lazily. He could feel an erection growing in his pants.

She slid a hand lightly down his rib cage and then inched her fingers forward along the top of his belt. She paused at the buckle.

"Yes, of course in the dream, darling. It's the only vay that you vill get home." She whispered it in his ear, leaving her lips against his neck.

"If you want it to be all three of them, ve can just stay right here now. Her other hand how encircled his lower back and pressed his groin into hers."

Lester blinked and then closed his eyes. _This was just a dream, right?_ Anything could happen and be all gone when they woke up. His balls were starting to ache.

She smiled and pressed her whole body into his. Electric energy streamed from every point of contact toward his crotch. _Were they naked? Was he inside her?_ His mind spun around his aching hard-on. It was just a dream and this might be the best dream sex he had ever had. He was consumed with the buzzing urgency of an impending climax. Her hips were moving against him. Just a little more contact and he would explode...

He bit his tongue hard. The pain in his mouth snapped him back. No, they might not wake up. This deal could be for their waking lives. He knew that this was no simple dream.

"No." He found his voice. He had to stop the seduction. He pushed her back. He stared directly into her eyes.

"OK," said Lester, now unblinking. "You've got your deal."

"I'll die."

She quickly pulled herself away.

"You?" She was puzzled. "But, don't you vant to continue here, now, with me?"

"Maybe," said Lester. "But, only I can die. The rest have to live. That's the deal you offered and that's the one I want."

She seemed to be considering whether this was good enough.

"OK. Deal is done." She was matter-of-fact again.

Her right hand came up and a four-inch thumb blade snapped open next to his neck. Lester thought that he was done for on the spot. His hot lust was suddenly replaced by an icy contraction of dick, balls and asshole. He expected the cold steel to a slice his exposed neck in an instant.

But, she just took his right hand and brought the knife down quickly, puncturing the middle of his palm. It was painless. Blood pooled around the blade, then filled his palm as she took the knife away. She touched a finger to it and brought it to her lips. She winked at him. He couldn't move. She neatly flipped the knife around, closing it, and slapped it into his bloody hand.

"You'd better hurry," she said, dismissing him as she turned back to her car.

Lester regained his full awareness. _How much time had passed?_

He leapt over the edge of the road and tumbled down the track left by the SUV on its way down to the lake. He rolled and was back on his feet, only to trip again and tumble on his knees and arms. He regained his feet and slowed his descent. He couldn't risk spraining an ankle or cracking his skull.

He knew that Wendy was most at risk. By now, she could be completely under water in the black ooze. He yelled that he was coming and listened hard for a response. Immediately, Geoff and Sarah hollered back. Their panicked voices told him that he had no time to get there.

As the SUV came into sight, he was dismayed to see the water most of the way up the front door windows. If Wendy had any space left it must be down to inches. And he couldn't hear her. _Was he too late?_

Arriving at the car, he plunged into the water at Wendy's door. He pulled on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He could just see her face at the top of the water. She was gasping and spitting out muddy water. He considered breaking the glass, but somehow thought that it was likely too hard to do. Instead he dove across the roof and landed at his door. He sank about a foot into the mud in four feet of water. With a couple pulls it came open and fell forward out of his grasp. He swan and clawed his way across the compartment with just inches of head room. Wendy saw him and sputtered out his name.

"Lester?"

Then, she breathed black water in and coughed. She struggled, but was clearly at the limit of the harness holding her there.

"Hold on. Get as good a breath as you can. I'm cutting you out," he screamed at her. She locked eyes with him and seemed to understand.

He got the knife open without slicing himself and slid the blade under her shoulder strap. Amazingly, it severed the strap in one cut. It was razor sharp and gleamed against the black murk of the water. Another cut and both shoulder straps were open. Wendy got an inch or two of slack and lifted her head above the water, flush with the ceiling. Now, he had the tricky job of lining up the knife with the side straps. He should have proceeded carefully, considering the tool he was using, but he knew another movement of the car and they could be under water.

With some difficulty, her found the strap and slid the blade between Wendy's rib cage and the flat nylon strap. First one, then the other cut easily and Wendy was free. He handed the knife up and back to Geoff as the final air space in the front seat disappeared. He pulled Wendy out his door and into the muddy lake. They struggled together to shore, where she collapsed half out of the water, sputtering water as she desperately grabbed for air.

Knowing that he couldn't wait, Lester went back to help Geoff who had only cut one strap. It was too close to his arms and he had no leverage. Taking the knife back, Lester cut the other shoulder strap and worked his hands down to get the side straps. As he was doing this both he and Geoff froze. The car was moving forward steadily and water was quickly rising to the top of the back seats. They were also now down to inches to spare.

He finally had Geoff free, but realized that Sarah was going to be completely underwater by the time he cut all her straps.

"Geoff, tell her to get a big breath," he yelled, as the water got to their chins.

Geoff got his face next to Sarah's. "Hold your breath, Sarah. 20 seconds is all we need." They were both submerged as the passenger compartment completely filled with the stinking black water.

Lester had to go with the half breath that he had grabbed. He worked in the dark. Hearing his heart pounding in his ears, he tried to stay calm and just get the job done. He had one of her shoulder straps cut. Never leaving Sarah's body, he ran his hand down to the side strap. As quickly as he could, he positioned the knife and sliced it. He moved his hand across her stomach and found the other side, cutting it in another single move. She was free enough.

Lester felt Geoff pull her towards him. She slipped out of the other shoulder strap and he had her completely free. Lester found the door opening and pushed out along with her. Another push up and he was at the surface.

Sarah surfaced, pushed from below by Geoff. She let out her held breath, drew in a new one and screamed. She might have been a new born baby screaming at the pain of its first breath. It was just as glorious.

Lester caught Sarah's arm to pull her to shore. Panicking again, he looked around for Geoff. He hadn't surfaced.

But just as he was considering going back in for him, Geoff came up behind them. He spit muddy water and grabbed for a breath.

"Went the wrong way," he gasped. "Damn blackness, took me a few seconds to figure out up from down."

He saw Sarah's mud and stick covered face and lunged to help haul her out of the water with him. They all crawled to shore and collapsed beside Wendy. Stinking and completely exhausted, Geoff and Sarah found each other's hands and just lay there panting, wondering how they had made it out.

Wendy wiped Lester's face and held onto him so tightly he could feel her heart beating over his. He was still panting, but put on a brave smile. They had made it out, unharmed. Not the usual end to his dreams.

He looked back up to the road, but could only see sunlight filtering through the tall trees. There was no other car.

Lester woke looking up at the sunlit canopy, now flapping steadily in the morning breeze. He was stiff from lying on the hard sleeping-pad, but he felt like he had been given a new lease on life. From the angle of the sun, it was well into the morning. He rolled over quietly and saw Wendy, Sarah and Geoff still sleeping soundly. He rubbed his eyes and tried to get his bearings. He was dry, clean and well-rested. He had to take a monster piss.

He crawled out of his bag and exited the lean-to. He walked well down the beach and picked a bush to water. During the long, relieving piss, he thought back to his dream. It was a vivid as all the rest, but obviously very different.

Had the others really been there? And where did the redhead come from? He searched his memory for any standout redheads in his life. There was none. None that had looked like her anyway. He realized that he was getting a chub on just thinking about her. Embarrassed, even though no-one was around he tucked his troublesome dick back in his shorts and headed back to the campsite.

The others were stirring now. Wendy smiled out at him and stretched in her sleeping bag. Sarah was still half-asleep, but also seemed to have a refreshed and happy look.

Geoff emerged from the other side.

"You're a genius, Les." He was almost giddy. "It worked. That was the best sleep I've had in years and no nightmare."

Lester cocked his head, but said nothing.

Slowly Wendy and Sarah crawled out.

"How about you guys?" Geoff asked. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a baby," Sarah said, yawning and starting into her yoga stretches.

"I don't know if I dreamed about anything," Wendy said, smiling. "But, I can't remember a thing and I feel like I caught up on about a week's missed sleep. It was great."

Lester was confused. "So, nobody remembers anything about a drunken road trip to Russia in a big ass BMW?"

They all looked at him with some concern and puzzlement.

They hadn't actually been there. Lester breathed a sigh of relief. It had just been his dream after all. Not a very nice one, but with a happy ending and a horny episode with a dazzling red head. _OK, he could live with that._

"Did you have a nightmare?" Wendy asked, seriously.

"Nah, just a horny dream about you with no pants on," he whispered back to her. She noticed his bulging shorts and punched his arm. "Well then, I'm glad that I contributed," she winked at him.

Geoff said, "So tell me about this BMW. What the hell were you doing in Russia?"

"Maybe later," said Lester, as he reached for the water treatment kit to go fill a pot with water for coffee. He winced as the handle hit his palm. There was a deep, fresh puncture wound in the center of his right hand.

# Red Sky at Morning

Perestroika hadn't been kind to Mikilo Chervoniy. 'Cherry' to the few associates close enough to speak to him without his former honorific preamble of 'Most Honored Comrade Direktor'. He had once led a marvelously complex bureaucracy where rules and procedures apparently controlled the work of government offices and agencies, but where influence and favors-owed were actually more important in any decision. He had been at the center of a masterful board game called 'payback', where he both made the ever-changing rules and threw the dice for everyone's turn.

With the fall of the Communist Party system, the game changed overnight. He astutely stepped out of his big office just before drunken hotheads with pistols went 'round to settle old scores. Not that he was personally at risk, but why get blood on your boots if you don't have to? Better to let the new pretenders flex their muscles and knock some heads to get it out of their system. The upstarts quickly found out how tough leadership is. Most gave up on political aims for running things and quickly went off to grab whatever state booty they could get away with. A new 'populist' government had survived for a while, before slowly sliding back to one that was heavily invested in keeping the people out of government as much as possible. Unfortunately, with neither long-time political experts, nor enthusiastic and capable newcomers in charge, the leftovers were both bland and boring.

Cherry still had tremendous influence and could have been wealthier than any of the rest if he had gone for riches only. He could read success or failure on the faces of the new 'entrepreneurs' long before their bets paid off, or more likely, long before they crashed and burned due to their excesses. Many came to him still: the old and desperate he helped; the young and headstrong, he simply pointed in a better direction, when they would listen.

"Mikilo, Comrade, please just look for a minute at this? Please could you tell me what you think? Mikilo, should we invest in this opportunity?"

The questions never ended. His answers were always correct, but he carefully chose who got his best advice. For some idiots, misdirection was in order. So, he still needed to watch his back.

He cared little for cash hoards and trinkets. Lamborghinis and Rolex's bored him. Pocket rolls of U.S. $100 'Bens', flashed for maître d's and big-breasted women, put him off during the few meals he shared with the newly rich and the newly self-important.

Cherry felt that he had a cavity growing in his chest where his energetic heart used to be. As former associates grew rich and powerful, now only occasionally due directly to a word or two of advice from him, he also felt their fear of him dissipating. Once their fear had limited their vision and strengthened his. Now, fear was drifting away like mist on the lake on an August morning. He suspected that they thought that he was too old to worry about. When almost any gamble could pay off, who needs the advice of an old fart? Nothing scared Cherry, but being ignored was starting to piss him off.

Smart men still stayed out of arm's reach if they could. The real wariness of a broken nose or, on occasion, a broken neck, tended to persist, even it had been more than a decade since he had punctuated a meeting by crunching bone with his rock-hard knuckles and lightning quick left hook. This sort of behavior was frowned upon now, or was to be done in the dark of night by hired thugs; but like a blade spinning without safety a guard, his physical presence still prompted due caution.

Respect gained through physical fear didn't do much for him. It never had. If he was a dangerous brute, it was only because violence was quicker than words. Sudden consequences made for a visible point of learning. Others got it immediately. He hated repeating himself.

No, the fear that was dissipating was the once deep and gnawing fear of being disconnected from him. In the old days, thousands had gone to fretful sleep every night praying that Comrade Direktor Chervoniy would smile upon them, that Comrade Mikilo would spread his countenance over them and that 'He' would protect them for the rest of their days. He had been their flesh-and-blood god. Now, he was seen as little more than their cantankerous uncle. For many, naïve and newly brave, he was a symbol of the worst of the totalitarian past. Supposedly now free to think, they made little effort to hide contemptuous thoughts behind flat eyes.

To Cherry, their thoughts were bold-lettered placards held out towards him at every turn; they were easy to read, if not to understand. He felt that he had been a benevolent and caring symbolic deity. Hundreds of thousands had dreadful lives improved a little. Meat, bread, vodka, cigarettes—all had been made readily available for almost nothing. Energetic sons got positions. Good daughters got sober husbands. Old men got pills and old ladies got warm boots. All good things were due to Mikilo. How could they forget so soon? He cursed the warmth of this August dawn.

Now there was this new vortex of investment spinning in the free countries and sucking money and influence into it. Europe beckoned with its millions of consumers, freedom of movement and the protection of the NATO treaties. He had no particular nationalistic prejudice; he just hated them all for their presumption of superiority. They were playing his old game with a new twist. Central banks and big multinational made all decisions. The prospect of riches was a powerful motivator. Hundreds of new millionaires in the once communist countries was a new reality that was once unthinkable.

He had lost more than once in head-to-head business competition with the West. Worse, he had given the wrong advice based on the old systems. Now China was becoming a dominant source of influence and investment power. He should understand them better, but he had misread the threat through the fog of held customs. He had underestimated the party stalwarts who now formed the Chinese leadership. He was even suspicious of his distant Draumr brethren in their midst. Ancient mysticism, including Draumr lore, was unofficially banned but quietly practiced. He still had alliances that he could call on, but that was admitting that he needed help, which was the worst of it all.

He was embarrassed by the gaps, but had been able to put the blame on others, so far. Many people still owed him loyalty. But, their half-assed commitment to his causes was both useless and irritating. Lately, he just avoided any engagement at all. This protected his ego but meant that he watched as huge investment poured into his domain without going through him; the capital weakened his base and created new power brokers all around him. One after the other, resource companies, utilities, transport hubs and real estate developments fell under Western or Chinese ownership. He could almost feel the erosion of his influence happening minute-by-minute as the constant pressure washed away bits of his kingdom like sand banks beside a raging stream.

The loss of status frustrated him and enraged him, but he saw a possible solution on the horizon. It meant abandoning the few principles that he had left, but decisive action could reestablish the Red Clan as the dominant force it once was.

Cherry normally resided in a luxury residence making up the top three floors of a Dnipropetrovsk apartment block, overlooking the Dnieper River. 'Dnipro' was a great place to do business with the Russians, without having to put up with them crawling in the streets. Twenty years ago, the building had been gutted and rebuilt within the original outside walls, which still gave it a nondescript gray cinder block exterior that attracted no attention. Inside his space, the suites had their own power, protected computer installations, broadband network hub and a state-of-the-art security system. Cherry kept all the systems current with each iteration of technology change. His few employees were the best in their fields. He paid them well and expected no surprises.

A private elevator, well-hidden at the back of a restricted access parking garage, led directly to a spacious foyer on the penthouse floor. Fine woods from all over the Crimean Peninsula highlighted a dozen rooms, including his offices, library, spa, dining room and gourmet kitchen. His bedroom was a private suite with its own stairway entrance. Special female guests could arrive or leave with no unwanted attention. A loyal and discreet personal staff of five looked after his every need. Private access to a reinforced roof-top safe room also led to a helicopter landing pad. Never used, it stood ready for an emergency evacuation to a nearby Russian naval base, if need be.

Cherry also kept a traditional dacha on the Black Sea coast and an apartment in Moscow. Both were little used, except for his now infrequent trips to meet with his old cronies. But, he really didn't need to travel to meet the most important people in his life. A comfortable bed and a warmed snifter of St. Remy brandy were sufficient.

He did have one person who dominated both his waking and sleeping attention. His daughter Oksana was his only child, as was the tradition of his Clan. She was now an accomplished business woman, with advisory roles in several global corporations. 'Xana' Chervoniy had been a capable archer and sabre duelist with several Regional Championship medals to show for her competitive years. She maintained her connection to sports as an in-demand speaker and consultant in high-performance training. To all appearances, she had an enviable full life with many successes.

Although he was proud of his daughter's public achievements, Cherry was much more concerned with her growth and success within the Draumr tradition. He had only two personal priorities for her, never discussed, but certain as far as he was concerned. The first was eventual marriage to a selected mate within the Red Clan. The second was her successful procreation of an heir, to ensure the Clan's place at the head of the Draumrs' First Circle for the next century. As far as he knew, she cared about neither right now, which was fine while there were other things to get to. Only a little persuasion and the right motivation would be needed when the time was right.

Cherry had introduced Oksana to the Draumr craft as soon as she could understand the difference between being a dreamer and being a dreamweaver. Already a precocious young teen, she had listened and studied patiently, first working cautiously through development of her own skills, then aggressively churning through the convoluted and often murky history of the Draumr Clans.

For selected young Draumrs, ascension to leadership meant years of learning and practice, first as a Novice and then as a Leutnant. By 15, Oksana graduated to Novice status and, privately, also came to understand the great responsibility she was to inherit as Red Clan leader one day. She spent her late teen years in Draumr skills practice with her father and her cousins. Cherry proudly showed her off at the Halls of the Circles, where, by 18, she proved herself among the most adept of the young Leutnants. Under her father's private tutelage, she had come to understand that her ordered priorities were first to him, second to the Red Clan, third to the First Circle, and only distantly fourth to the well-being of the rest of the world. She knew that a time of war could mean a call to 'save humanity,' as the Red Clan had frequently been the shock troops in all-out conflict. At 26, she was retired national athlete, a savvy business woman and deadly senior Leutnant, at her father's private call.

Cherry smiled in his bed, deep asleep but physically still very present, as he walked with his daughter through the dream landscapes he created for her. Here he was master or student, at his whim. As he exercised his ancient abilities, he glimpsed rare but exhilarating bridges between dreaming and conscious states in just a few humans. To him, finding these bridges, or building them for the right individuals, was a path back to a waking world that he longed to recreate. He not only wanted to be a god to sleepers, he wanted to be god again in a disrupted world order that would return leadership to him and to his chosen, even if that meant another round of destructive conflict. The rubble of past wars had been his garden—he saw the dirt of misery as rich in the potential for sprouts of resurrection.

Cherry had encouraged Oksana and the Red cousins to test the limits of their ability to bridge dreaming and waking states in susceptible individuals. He had provided the means to accomplish lasting effects through his access to forbidden Draumr craft. The Red Clan's keeper of these artifacts was an old ally that Cherry had made certain to reward with status and some privilege. In return, the cousin had been only too pleased to provide Xana and her cousins with useful old tools that only needed oiling and sharpening. Conveniently, it also meant that they, among few others still alive, now understood how to use these ancient tools.

He knew that he had only a narrow window to prove-in his theory before the First Circle descended on his Clan and demanded an explanation. He had both old allies and lifelong foes in the First Circle, but most were now slow to react or to condemn. They had been busy keeping bank presidents in line and placing positive thoughts in Western politician's heads. They were not at combat readiness. this gave him the window.

Once Oksana confirmed what he anticipated, that she could dictate behavior to a dreamer that would actually compel that behavior when awake, in complete opposition the dreamer's own prohibitions, he would be ready to move. Until then, practice and patience were all important. If confronted, he would take his lumps and promise never to stray again, all the while laying the groundwork for a dystopian world that would need him again.

Cherry had watched as a uniquely accessible conflict among tribes and sects had grown to threaten an entire region, almost on his doorstep. The confused and bumbling efforts of world leaders had only made the situation worse for more than two decades. In Cherry's mind, worse translated to ripe—for picking. He could see a solution that no one else would voice. One powerful leader would need him for critical advice and direction. Once that need was established as an addiction, Comrade Chernoyiv would once again control much of the fate of the world.

# Cathedral of Trees

Green Lake is a couple kilometers up a barely passable logging road off the main highway. It's on reservation land, but is open to public and used to be a good fishing lake for small mouth bass, or so it is said. Maybe it still is, but no-one fishes there. It's landlocked except for some marshy streams and not part of the extensive canoe routes in the area. Most people wouldn't plan to head out on the lake; any that did would probably just change their mind on arrival. The lake itself is nearly inaccessible other than by foot, except for one overgrown set of tire ruts in long grass leading to a mucky and uninviting launch point on the lake's only flat piece of shoreline.

The trio: grandfather, son and grandson, had headed for the lake immediately after a few brief words with Cousin Alan, or 'All-In,' as he is nicknamed, mostly for his curious betting habits at Green Clan poker nights. All-in regularly lost his stake quickly to his relatives, who could read him like a book. At other poker venues, outsiders weren't so lucky. His always-on poker face had showed little emotion today when the head of the Clan arrived in a cloud of dust.

_Was he expecting them?_ Will would never know. Several nods and some passing of hard-to-get Danish pipe tobacco, apparently his only request of any big-city visitors, and they were hooked up to his ancient boat trailer and off down the dirt road.

The process of getting onto the lake was all bad news. All-in's loaned aluminum boat and trailer were too heavy to push through the boggy land by human muscle. Jack's attempts at backing the rickety trailer down the track had proved almost fruitless. More than once he had jackknifed the trailer into the thick grass. Both Water and Will had to dive for cover as the truck careened forward and back with all four wheels throwing off grass and mud. Once the trailer was finally at the water's edge, it became apparent that the boat wasn't going anywhere quickly.

The shoreline consisted of three inches of water over three feet of sinking peat bog that threatened to strip-off footwear. Slippery logs thrown in lengthwise years before provided a rough launching ramp, but also proved treacherous to stand on. Will was soon covered in mud, while Jack cursed some unfamiliar ancestor, who was supposedly charged with building a proper ramp and dock, but never quite got around to it.

Eventually, they were afloat and, after many heaves with oars against anything solid they could find, they were released from the mud. The good news was that there was no litter, no abandoned wrecks and no cabins. Once past the stink and ooze of the entry point, the little lake opened to a beautiful vista of granite boulders and scrub pines, with stands of birch and maple evident up the surrounding hills. Jack dropped in the 10-horse motor and they putted up the lake at a leisurely pace.

Will took in the view and was once again thrilled by the stark beauty of wilderness. He had been on hundreds of Canadian lakes and rivers and seen thousands more from the air, but was always unnerved by the individual beauty of each one, once you were on it.

"They are just like women," he would tell his college buddies. "Each is fascinating in her own appeal and each more beautiful that the last." The buddies would roll their eyes and make references to "the beer talking again", but Will never had trouble taking any woman home from the party. He only had to tell them how their skin was like shining water and their eyes like reflected starlight—the rest was as easy as paddling in the still mists of dawn.

Following Water's directions, they now approached a slender point that broke up the lake's western shore. Sharply cut, windblown rock was smooth on top and craggy at the water's edge, with just a few bent and thin pines clinging to shallow-dirt filled cracks. The bleached white rock was bisected by dark lines that spoke of the ancient cooling of deep granite, which was later scraped and formed again by miles-thick glacier ice. A rock plateau held several sheared off slabs that had once been part of the whole and now sparkled on edge with quartz and mica. There were also random foreign and mismatched truck-size boulders, left behind courtesy of the ice sheets.

The rock formation stood in sharp contrast to the uniform wooded hills that rose abruptly on all the other shores. At the back of the outcropping, the land disappeared into thick forest. They headed towards the point in All-in's boat, but rather than landing there, Jack suddenly headed off-angle towards a marshy shore dominated by almost impassable bull rushes, swampy ground and fallen trees. It looked like no human had ever landed there.

Confused, Will pointed and asked, "What are you doing? This spot is impossible. There are perfectly good landing spots right along the point."

Water waved his arm across the whole bay. "Not possible to land on the point," he said. "It is only an image. If you approach it directly, your mind will turn you away. There is only one entrance door to this place, just over here...to discourage tourists."

Will, really confused, asked Jack, "What is he talking about. I don't see any buildings at all, let alone doors?"

"Water's explanation are the worst," Jack snorted. "But in this case, he's right; there is only one way in and it's a son-of-a-bitch. Just be glad you're not carrying a case of beer."

So, they nosed into the bull-rushes and got stuck again in the boggy bottom. After what seemed like an hour of sinking in muck, scrambling over fallen trees, fighting with grabby brush and stumbling on jagged rocks, the trio finally covered the 100 meters of rugged shoreline approaching the point. Covered in more mud, scratched and bruised, Will had fallen many times and was soaked above his boots from treacherous slippery logs and swamp land.

"OK, stop here," said Water, throwing down his tattered day pack on the first patch of the clear solid ground. Compared to Will and Jack, he was almost pristine for lack of mud. "We must unlock the final door."

"What the door again?" asked Will? But, catching his father's eye, he saw if not heard his response, in a slight uplift of his hand: " _Just be patient_."

"This door protects our special sleeping spot," continued Water. "It keeps this place in and it keeps most human minds out."

Both Jack and Water settled into a squat and stared at the rocks in front of them.

Water motioned to Will, "Duck, look here, see if you can see the key. Only some Greens can see it."

"Greens?" asked Will, "As in environmental activists?"

"Don't think so; meant Greens as in last name Green," replied Water.

This made no sense at all to Will, but then, so far, not much had made any sense and he still thought he might be the butt of an elaborate ruse. "Oh, OK then." He shrugged and squatted beside them.

"Do you see it?" asked Water.

Will saw nothing but rocks and dirt.

"Don't try too hard," said Jack. "More like, see the whole scene play out in your mind, not just the obvious parts that your eyes see."

"What?" Again, with the _non-sequiturs_. But the rest was welcome anyway, so Will relaxed, figuring they'll eventually just show him the hidden box or whatever it was. He stared, but only sort-of intently.

Jack and Water had now gone completely still. Will glanced over, hoping for more directions, but saw that their eyes were closed. _How the heck can they see a door or a key with eyes closed?_ But, sensing that no further instructions were coming, Will tried now closing his eyes as well.

Then, he thought that he opened them again. He saw the land in front of them. The rocks were shifting and seemed to be spreading out away from them. Some now seemed very heavy and appeared to be sinking, while others appeared lightweight and seemed to be rising up. The land beyond the rocks was opening as well, with dirt and leaves sliding off to the side of a gravel path as they if they were in a heavy rain storm. One particular rock in front of him was under a light or, rather, was emitting its own soft light and, for some reason, he knew that it would be warm to the touch.

Will's eyes actually snapped open. "Jeez, I was asleep and dreaming," he muttered to himself. Nothing in front of him had actually changed.

Jack and Water were now standing, looking intently at him.

"So, did you see the key?" asked Jack.

"Maybe, I dreamed it," replied Will, still wondering how he fell asleep and stayed balanced on his haunches. He was now standing too, stretching stiff knees and looking at a rough ground that hadn't actually changed at all.

The rocks now had no light, but he could still remember which one had stood out. He asked, "Is it that rock?" pointing to the now-dull stone.

"Perhaps, if you can actually touch it," replied Water. "But, first, try to pick-up another one."

"What?"

"Just pick up another rock."

_OK, this is their trip_ , he thought. _Wouldn't be surprised if a gag snake shot out_. These two were notorious pranksters. He was suitably cautious.

Will leaned down towards another rock about the size of a softball. Or he intended too. As he started to bend to it, a sudden breeze in the trees attracted his attention and he thought that he saw a bird move overhead. _Was an owl up there watching them?_

He stood and turned to look up, searching the dark spaces above the branches. There was nothing moving now. As he turned back, he looked at the other two, asking, "So, what are we waiting for?"

Water and Jack started laughing. At him, surely, but what was so funny? Only then did he remember that he had started to pick up the other rock.

Water grasped his arm. "You now see, the place protects itself so gently. You cannot step foot unless permitted. You cannot move another rock because there really is no rock," explained Water. "It is only what we believe we see, like a paint splattered tarp spread over the real land. Without the key to the door, no human can ever come near. They might intend to, but they will always be pleasantly attracted away by something more interesting."

Will was still struggling to get it.

Water continued, "It has been this way since our ancestors first hunted nearby. Because this place is not what it appears, it would be very dangerous for anyone but a Draumr to actually enter. Selected Draumrs can now only approach as a reward for great effort and with the gift of dream knowledge."

Will tilted his head and blinked, trying to decide if this was another metaphor or just Clan lore. But, he now recalled stories late at night, often in the woods, of people called Draumrs and of their ancient traditions. He had always taken them as mythical or symbolic of early original peoples. He felt a cascade of memories pouring into his consciousness. Had they been stories or had they been actual adventures? Briefly, he wasn't sure. He shook his head. _N_ _o, they must have just been stories._

Some of the stories had been about times of great conflict and suffering. Balance versus imbalance had been a constant theme. He had understood them as parables meant to keep his mind on business and his teenage dick in his pants. Now, these two were telling him that Draumrs were real? And that he was one? It was too much to swallow. Going along with Water would surely result in a great guffaw at his expense as cousins jumped out of the bushes. He was still betting on a well-disguised drunken initiation to the old-boys story club. His hesitation reflected completely reasonable skepticism.

_"So, grab the right rock, let's get on with it."_ Jack butted in to his thoughts. Had he spoken out loud?

Will thought, _OK, I'll continue to go along just a little farther for now. But things need to start making sense pretty soon._

On this attempt, there was no distraction. He just hefted the highlighted rock from his dream. It was warm and settled wonderfully in his hands. It felt well-worn by many hands before. He stood there cradling it.

"OK, then. Put it down—where only you can find it," said Water, now stepping quickly by him and onto the point of land.

His father just shrugged, smiled again and followed. So, Will set the selected rock behind another larger rock—still half expecting some trap or snare to go off. Nothing happened. Birds chirped, frogs croaked and insects buzzed. Everything was, apparently, as it should be.

Will hurried to catch-up, expecting to emerge on the rock outcropping that he had seen from the boat. But, his climb over the first large boulders led not to a barren point, but to a completely enclosed clearing in the woods. He turned to look back and saw that the path they had followed now led back into the forest and not down to the open shoreline. This was truly strange and beyond even his father's ability to pull off a stunt. He must have been asleep for a while. _Could I walk while asleep?_

Grandfather was now speaking gently to each trunk of the huge trees that formed a ring set apart on the outside of the clearing, saying hello to some and thank-you to others. Some, he kissed while hugging their massive trunks. All of the trees appeared to be old growth, the pines and oaks were colossal buttresses that formed a cathedral canopy high above them. The three men could not have linked hands around some of the trunks. Younger, but still massive, birches, cedars and beeches filled in the space beyond the first ring. There was no undergrowth until very near the barely visible shoreline. A solid wall of saplings and brush obscured the view to the water and would be hiding them from anyone looking in their direction from the lake.

Will gazed upwards in amazement. None of the ancient trees had been there when the point of land was viewed from across the water. In fact, the point had looked desolate; it should be mostly scrub brush, dead fall and bare rock. He wondered if they had gone the wrong way on the shore and ended up on a different point. But, then, these trees would never have been left anywhere on this land. The old growth hardwoods and pines had been harvested in this area long ago. Trees like this would only stand a chance in a protected park or preserve, neither of which was the case here. And even then, wind, fire or disease should have destroyed or at least scarred them on an exposed point. But these trees were pristine and majestic.

Will rubbed his eyes, just to make sure that they were open. His father laughed again, "Always good to check." Jack had made his own rounds, just touching trees. Now, he was spreading out nylon tarps for them in front of small boulders forming the innermost ring of the clearing.

"The trees are part of us," said Water, coming back to Will. "They are the most precious thing that we could want, so naturally that is what is presented. Animals are not here, but if we longed for them, the wolf, bear or eagle would come and sit with us. Too scary though... Even invited, they might still feel like chewing our heads for dinner."

The older men laughed again. This time Will laughed with them, if a little nervously. Clearly these were old jokes, being repeated again for a fresh audience.

Will continued to look around. Now, he noticed that there was none of the refuse of a campsite or of any human passage. No loose rocks, no fire pit, no branches or even dead leaves underfoot. The solid rock emerged in small outcroppings and there was a flat central area of soft grasses and packed ground inside the inner ring of boulders, but it was clearly an unusual place. There was light but it didn't come from the late afternoon sun. It seemed that the tree trunks, granite and earth provided their own light. It could easily be a surrealist painting or perhaps a dream, except that the trees were alive, moving in the breeze. Minerals sparkled in the stones and flat rock. He had dismissed the old beliefs and sayings as quaint traditions, but now felt like he was standing in the presence of strong and curious spirits, who might be showing off their best silver and linens for welcome guests.

Water now motioned them to sit down on the tarps. The ground should have been damp and cold, but was soft and dry to the touch. Will stopped looking around and focused on his father.

Jack started speaking slowly and quietly.

"Will, there's something we've been keeping from you for a long time, and—God rest your mother's soul—it's because of her that we haven't let you fully in on the secret."

"Not, that we're blaming her," he immediately corrected, "because she had every right to make us promise."

At the mention of his mother, the new pang of longing hollowed Will's stomach. He was missing his mother more than he ever had when younger.

Jack continued. "This may be hard to understand, but I think because this is coming from us and because we hope we have your trust, and because you've been brought up in many of the Green Clan traditions, maybe you won't find it all too far-fetched."

Will nodded, still wondering where this was going. He gave a cautious, "OK."

"We—the three of us—are Draumrs. The common name comes from old Germanic, meaning Dreamers. Our ancestors had other names in our language, but, for today, Draumrs is good. You met Emma earlier. Cousin All-in, too. We're all direct descendants of an ancient sect of peoples with origins before the migrations. Many of your cousins are part of it too." Lots of others out in the world are also descended along similar lines." He hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "Draumrs possess special abilities."

Now he continued without a break, hoping to head off a disbelieving reaction. "I hope that you now remember the stories told around campfires and at bedtime. Not all are completely true. We like juicing up our stories with bravado and mystery as much as the next set of old farts. But, as the name implies: we dream; we can create dreams, share them and manipulate them—our own and those of others. Just like you saw with the doorway and that rock, we can close our eyes and consciously access another realm, if you like. We're in an ancient Draumr space that crosses the boundary between awake and asleep right now."

Will glanced from one to the other. He realized that there was no mirth in Jack or Water. Still, this revelation was stretching his ability to take them seriously. But, he also felt pieces of a puzzle clicking in place. He had often wondered how so much good luck seemed to come their way. _Were they cheating fate, when others couldn't?_

Water now added, "It's not complicated. We have just inherited and fostered one of humankind's many senses; it's one of the senses that most others don't realize exist. It is very difficult to describe to outsiders, so we don't include many outsiders in this knowledge. Your mother was one of a very few. For Draumrs like you, especially skilled ones, like you, it is both a gift and, unfortunately, sometimes a burden."

The two men watched Will for a reaction.

Will stared back at them, trying not to blink. As had happened earlier, with each revelation, pages of memories seemed to click open. He was temporarily lost in the confusing partial knowledge, not knowing what he had dreamed or what he had actually experienced. Or maybe there was no distinction, because he had dreamed most of it?

At the lack of a response, Water continued, just to fill the silence. "Our kind is very old. There are many others, across the world, though not as many as there once used to be. It's hard to pass on this knowledge, and fewer and fewer people continue to have the gift."

Will had been glancing from his father to grandfather, but now turned to stare at the trees—perhaps to better process the unfolding awareness, or because he felt the trust he had for these men was, indeed, slipping. What was it they were saying? What was he supposed to do with this information?

Not knowing what else to say, he finally asked, "So what did mom have to do with this?"

Jack jumped back in. "Joannie—your mom—knew what we were. But she wasn't a Draumr herself. I tried, unsuccessfully, to tell her what I was one long night after we had been dating for a while. She laughed at me and, probably just like you, assumed it was some prank I was playing on her. But, then I just took her on the dream of her dreams, so to speak; that worked." He chuckled at his own pun.

"I had told her that night I'd show up in her dream dressed as Elvis driving in a silver Cadillac. She thought that was silly and said how would she know it was me doing it; maybe because I mentioned it, it was now in her subconscious and she'd dream it anyway? So, then I told her that I'd tell her something specific in the dream and then in the morning, when she woke up, I would know what it was. And, so would she."

Will raised his eyebrows to his father. "So, what did you tell her?"

"I asked her to marry me." He grinned, "I asked her to marry me as Elvis, and drove her off in the Cadillac, singing 'Love Me Tender' with the band playing in the back seat."

Even Water laughed at the image.

"I reminded her in the morning, minus the Elvis tribute, that she had said: "Yes." She said yes, she had and she believed me. I continued to take her on dream adventures whenever she would let me, to continue proving myself, but after a while I didn't have to. She became an 'invited one' among the Clans and a favorite of all of us. The Clans are all of the families who live as Draumrs and continue to train descendants with the gift. After we got married and had you, we both knew early on that the full Draumr ability lived on through you. Joannie probably had a lot of our skills lying dormant from some long-ago ancestor. Many people do."

Will realized that both Jack and Water were completely serious now and that this conversation had been a long time coming. But, he still didn't understand the blanks in his memory and experience. After 20+ aware years among Draumrs, he should have a million memories and experiences. And, what was this 'special skills' bit? He felt that he had no clue about either Draumr lore or skills.

Jack and Water seemed to know the question before he asked it.

"So why now; why haven't I been aware of all this until this trip?"

Water now took over the explanation. "It was your mother's wish that you would experience life as a normal person, with just normal skills, normal challenges and normal failings like everyone else. She was very astute in her assessment of many of the young Draumrs around her. Cocky and full of secrets, they lost interest in many of the day-to-day joys of just being human. Too many did no other personal development and became sort of louts when awake. It's a problem we struggle with. She was very afraid that would happen to you."

He continued, "Jack and I knew that you would need to be groomed for a role that you couldn't avoid. Your mother wanted you to have a normal life. She saw you completing a great education and succeeding like your father. So, we compromised." Water nodded to Jack, in the smallest of gesture of recognition.

"Compromised?" Will was unsure what kind of compromise was at play. _Was he only half-Draumr?_

"How so?" he asked.

Jack took over. "I made the promise of a normal life for you, until such time as that would no longer be possible. Joannie accepted this."

"We initially had no idea how to do this, but among several of the Clans' eldest, there was a solution known. It was an approach that had been utilized for the odd Draumr or two in the past; it was created for individuals who were being driven psychotic by the duality of our existence."

He now locked eyes with Will to be certain that he had his full attention. "Simply, we made it so you would do what every other normal human does. We planted a little 'store-for-later' compulsion in your head, so you would forget most of your dreams when you woke up, just like everyone else around you. But, they aren't actually forgotten, you just needed a key to re-open them. Like the stone back there."

Will blinked, "What? I remember my dreams. In fact, I get a lot done in my dreams."

Jack nodded and smiled, "Of course you do. You're very good at using dreams. It's just the ones like this that you completely forget, up until now. You've been with us all along, done your training, and attended our dreamscape celebrations. A whole set of great experiences is stored in your memory, just waiting to come back to you."

He now paused before continuing. "Emma White's touch this afternoon offered you the key to remembering. All you need to do is accept it. Or, if you chose not to accept, you will forget this dream, just like all of the others and you can go on with your life. The compulsion to forget remains in place, but it will be gone tonight, if you agree."

He paused again. "We fulfilled your mother's wish for you: to experience a normal life...until now, that is. Now the Draumr world needs you. And, it is life or death."

# Leutnants

For more than two hundred years, the Green Clan had brought many of their young soon-to-be Novices to the Green Lake clearing for their introduction to the lore of the Draumrs' Circles. Although most adult members of the Clan were aware of the special role played by the Elders, few would ever fully experience the Inner Circles, where knowledge and power were concentrated. Most were happy to be excused from the role. It was fine to talk about dreams and to dream about many things, both good and bad. It was quite another to be responsible for them. This burden scared even the toughest hunters, loggers and hockey players. The last group was quite happy just anticipating where the puck was going to be next, a little ahead of everyone else on the ice.

For Will, the introduction was the culmination of a tumultuous day. His head still rang from the sudden realization of a childhood previously hidden. People, relatives and family friends, now moved in his head like an animated photo album, each smiling down at his child's view of the world. His mother came to him again and again, at first frail and quiet, but later vibrant and laughing as toddler memories emerged. He should feel sad or angry for not having these memories all along, but he could only acknowledge the absence of the memories by reminding himself that they weren't there just a few hours ago. Inside, he was coming to the realization that soon he wouldn't remember not remembering.

"Will." Jack was near him and asking for his attention. "You OK?"

"I think so." Will searched for anything wrong, but couldn't find any misgivings. "I feel a little like a back-country kid suddenly dropped into a busy city street. There are things around me I've never seen before and things I feel that I should know about. But, in my case, not knowing them isn't scary, just disconnected." He was fumbling to use words to describe very complicated feelings.

"Well, good, I guess. But, if you thought the trip so far has been fun, it's about to get a lot more interesting in an exploding-brain kind of way. We're heading to Times Square." Jack smirked at his own joke, as always.

He continued, "So far, just appreciate the sleep; not sure how long that will last though." He paused, but didn't elaborate.

"Grandfather will take us deeper into our dream soon." Jack was now trying hard to be serious. "Tonight, you will meet people you've grown up with, but actually won't know until you place them in your memory. That's not just us screwing with your head and your dream. The old folks said that it all would come back into focus pretty quick. We got their guarantee of no harm back then. But, these were guys who also talked to animals. Trees is one thing, but having an argument with the dog is right out for me."

Will waited for Jack to come back from whatever personal memory he was dragging out.

Jack finally snapped back. "I can guarantee the babes will be worth a good look for a young buck like you. Just keep it in your pants until you get permission to pounce, OK? Nothing worse than looking down to discover you're not wearing pants and there's three birds perched along your prick." He now roared with full blown laughter and got a snarl from Water, who was just emerging back in the center of the clearing after several complete circles and various one-sided conversations, apparently still with trees, bushes and rocks or just with empty spaces.

_Meeting people?_ As far as Will could tell there was no one else for kilometers in all directions. Had others arrived while he was in a daze? Were they in the area? He looked around, again impressed by the magnificent trees and sparkling granite and quartz, but could neither see nor hear anyone else.

"Duck." Water Green realized it might be the last time he would use the familiar greeting.

He started again. "Will. In a few moments, we are going to step farther into this dream together." He watched carefully as Will absorbed his words. They had cheated the system by excusing Will from the all-encompassing challenge of his role, first in consideration of the loss of his mother, and then, as conspirators, in hopes that he might avoid the call-to-arms that was now before them. Water and the other Greens, had always known that he was the one. They had hoped, in apparent futility, to let him lead a full life first.

_Stupid, old man._ Water knew it was his thought, but wondered if he wasn't sharing it now with his enemy.

He addressed Will again. "I know that you understand that this is a dream and that part doesn't scare you. You are a young bird newly on wing. Moments ago, you perched, not knowing what flying was. Now you are soaring and about to learn that we are falcons among pigeons." Water hoped that he was making sense, as they needed to move forward soon.

For Will, he couldn't have picked a better metaphor. Flying was something he already did better that anyone else, in his opinion. Flying was unimaginable until you did it, then it opened worlds and capabilities only _dreamed_ _of_. He smiled at Water and then Jack.

He finally replied, "I think that I get it. All things are possible in a dream; everyone would know this. That we are doing it together is only a slight stretch, as you both could still just be in my head. That others will join us is fine as well. I have had lots of dreams where others join in."

Now, he paused. "That you can control all of this is the jump that seems a little like magic. And even that idea may just be part of this dream. I guess you may need to bring Elvis back to convince me of that. But, I'm enjoying every minute." He was feeling quite giddy and Jack was grinning ear-to-ear as they locked eyes.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Jack interjected. "A great dreamer never needs to have any regrets in the morning." He laughed again.

"Cut it out, Epoch... This is serious stuff tonight." Water knew the next revelation would be more challenging.

"I won't explain how or why for now, but you will soon meet more people like Emma White, who are members of other Clans and who each bring important abilities to the table. Some are old like me; some are Jack's generation; some are your peers. Each will be here tonight for a reason."

Water was picking words very carefully and Jack had slipped into his lawyer mode, appearing ready to jump in to explain the law or the code or whatever allowed this fantasy to play out.

"What I do need to tell you, and maybe this is the Elvis moment, is that you will be joining a cadre with others like yourself, but perhaps with a little more experience."

"A shit-load more experience," Jack added helpfully. From Water's expression, it was clear that it was help he didn't want.

_Cadre?_ Will flashed back to his premonition of doom on the drive up. _Was he passed-out on peyote at some embarrassing initiation after all?_

"It will be sort of a training camp." Water brought the focus back. "But before then, others will take over control of the dream and you will go with them first into an amazing dreamscape. Jack and I will still be sleeping right beside you here and staying put for as long as it takes." Water was back to searching for terms that made sense when most of this conversation made none.

Will was now wondering how this complex a story had gotten mixed into his dream. Normally his dreams provided clarity; this one was getting confusing.

Water continued, "Simply, others very much like you have also been training for years for the task that is before you. You have been there with them, although you don't realize that just yet. We chose not to start your final training until later, but a situation—no, a crisis—has arisen that requires you to move forward with your peers now. I wish that it were different, but we have assessed all options and this is the best hope—no, the best choice."

Will had never heard his grandfather change even one word in a sentence and now he had changed two. _Crisis? Hope?_ This did sound ominous. But, he had learned to take everything he heard for these two with many grains of salt while awake, so he could play along in this dream.

He asked, "If I'm untrained, why would I be picked to do anything,"

Jack got the jump in responding. "Well, you are actually pretty well trained; you just don't remember it yet. Fixing this situation isn't about skills as much as it is about mental toughness. And no one else has anywhere close to your ability to hang in there when it gets tough. We know a lot about the adversary you'll face. It's not dueling pistols and who is the best shot. This is about who can impose their will on the mind of a nearly-equal foe. You never back down from a fight, but then you never have to actually fight, because the other guy decides to give it up. That's exactly what this will be about."

Water blinked and actually appeared at a loss for words. Jack had just about summed it up. They were headed into the rowdiest bar in town, with beer bottles already flying and they were expected to win the fight through shear intimidation. That was pretty much what this was all about. He looked at Will expecting many more questions.

"Well, once you put it that way, let's go." Will smirked along with Jack and, finally, Water grinned as well.

"I have only one question," Will continued. "If I'm dreaming all of this, why am I still wearing stinking swamp muck-stained jeans and a torn sweaty shirt? Can't we do a little better?"

Jack laughed out loud. "Well, yes we can. How does green snakeskin, tooled leather and silk underwear sound? Or maybe a metallic jump suit? Or how about a $5000 tux with an immense emerald tie tack?" He wandered off, running through possibilities.

"I think that it's time to go in." Water beckoned Will to the center of the clearing. "Just reach into your closet and pick your favorite duds. Remember, your future wife will be there..."

Before he could react, Will, now wearing fresh worn-in denim jeans over black kick-ass boots and a fine-checked button-down shirt, was walking up to a set of large oak doors with Water and Jack on either side. They pushed through the doors and into the foyer of a grand building, where lots of other people were already standing around. Most turned and smiled. Some waved. No-one seemed surprised to see him.

Will felt clean as a whistle, with neither beard stubble nor swamp muck anywhere in sight. He briefly concentrated and then felt that his talisman stone was warm and accessible against his ass in a back pocket.

The complexity of the setting had now moved beyond anything that he could remember from any past dream. But, as each scene unfolded, he experienced more recognition that he had seen it all and had done it all many times before. He now realized that he could remember beyond the doors leading out of the room, to the shapes and sizes of many other connected rooms. And, as he looked at faces around him, many fell into place, not by name, but by past interaction. They were people that he knew and hung out with. _Yes, maybe he could get the hang of this._

# Halls of the Circles

The Halls of the Circles could never be built of stone and wood as they appeared to be. For one thing, the construct had no outside, only an inside. The laws of physics also argued against expanses of unsupported ceiling and colossal top-heavy columns that stood freely in open space. There was soft light but no obvious light source. Dramatically carved inserts crisscrossed the walls and ceilings; each was stained and finished to perfection. Tapestries and banners hung in free space high above the chambers. The floors were polished granite blocks in random shapes, with pencil-lead seams filled with sparkling white grout.

The dynamic spaces were always just large enough to accommodate all who were in attendance, meaning the Central Hall sometimes simply held just the hexagonal Table of the Clans, with its six pie-shaped sections, each represented by inlaid tiles and jewels in a Clan color. At other times, the Central Hall held up to a five additional tiers of suitably-themed Clan desks rising in rings like a stadium around the main event table.

Back-lit wall panels offered elaborate visual representation of past Draumr history and lore, with images that changed in response to the meeting purpose and mood. Bright and celebratory events were pictured during times of great joy; however, the theme was currently dark and somber, reflecting the concerns of the Elders. No-one ever dictated one appearance over another. The Halls simply responded to the collective sentiment and expectations of the Draumrs present in the dreamscape.

While the Central Hall was the focus of the construct, its many connecting passages and side chambers were often the more interesting places to be. Draumrs of all ages and stripes allowed their unrestricted desires and dream fantasies to play out, without pretext or embarrassment. Old friends might become lovers again, if both held good past memories. Eligible Novices and Leutnants could meet and couple without restrictions or rules, as long as they came in good spirit and shared a desire for each other.

The interior of an anteroom was often the private creation of a couple for their own use. A room might include on a single large bed or it might be a forest clearing with a bed of soft grass. Long-connected couples knew each other's preferences and could initiate a coupling by simply leading their partner into a room set up perfectly for their ongoing fantasy.

Anterooms could also be party spots where groups of friends could meet for lighter titillation and near-naked encounters, with only slightly more social constraint. This setting was frequently employed by young Draumrs, still feeling their way with interests in many potential partners. The party setting allowed for flirtation and propositioning; there was no loss of face if a connection didn't happen. As it was all a dream, monogamy wasn't expected, nor was philandering criticized, as long as feelings weren't hurt.

Those Elders and Leutnants who were all business kept to the Foyer or used adjacent anterooms they set up specifically for small meetings. Major decisions by the Elders were built on consensus; at least a four-of-six majority agreement by the Elders, or their delegates, was needed on most issues. In actual practice, issues were decided outside the Central Hall with some Elders meeting privately, then pulling in others until they had agreement by all. The discussion in the Central Hall of the Circles was mainly for the record and to communicate decisions to the full assembly. It was rare for a contentious decision to reach the floor of the Central Hall with major disagreements still in the way of going forward.

When there was a split of opinion between the Clans preventing an issue from coming to resolution, it was incumbent on the designated senior Elder to review the consequences of indecision or disagreement for all present. As Draumr inaction, or misplaced actions, closely paralleled the most disastrous conflicts in world history, this was sometimes a somber preview.

A lack of consensus on the current crisis had heightened the tension leading to the current assembly. No-one was pushing for a vote too quickly. Often things had a way of being worked out in the anterooms, through discussion or fucking; either was considered acceptable negotiating practice.

As Will Green entered the Foyer of the Halls, he was overwhelmed by the beauty of the setting, but comforted by familiar themes and feelings. Many of his remembered dreams had taken him to similar places in the company of familiar people that he couldn't always identify. He had just begun to accept that family and other Clan members had been preparing him for this day. But, this was all taking place in a dream; he would need to spend some awake time to consider it all before fully accepting what he was seeing.

Previous dreams had included great gatherings of people, generally with a feeling of anticipation or celebration. Water and Jack had obliged the request to spare the 'burdens' but felt no obligation to leave Will out of the good times. Only now, with the artificial forgetters coming off his dreaming mind, could he clearly remember what happened in those dreamscapes. The prospect of being able to create it again, as he chose, was still just beyond belief.

"Who determines what we are seeing?" he asked Jack, who was still at his side. Will was trying to take in the detail of the ceiling and the various formal get-ups of participants. There was everything in view from renaissance brocade robes to military dress whites. He wondered if he was under-dressed.

"It's a permanent dreamscape setting that changes very little," said Jack. "Except for the visuals and the size of the Central Hall, the rest is so deeply embedded in our collected dream memories, it would be impossible for any one individual to change it. Guess, if we all concentrated on it at once, we could change the wall insets from carved stone to flowered wall paper."

"But, don't even start thinking that way," he said, laughing. "There are enough distractions imported from exotic boudoirs in the small rooms. This place is a welcome, no-nonsense anchor. Just wait until someone invites you into the Sumatran hot mud soak—you'll see."

He continued, as if he had read Will's thoughts. "You can choose to wear whatever you want. Generally, the Elders and older Leutnants are a little more conservative, or if they wish, elegantly flamboyant. Novices and young Leutnants tend to show up in whatever their favorite street clothes are." He considered Will's casual comfort attire. "Think that you're dressed just right."

Will looked down at his plaid shirt and faded jeans, committing to add just a little more style next time, even if it wasn't expected. No sense appearing to be a bumpkin as well as acting like one.

Jack, in contrast, was wearing a midnight blue 1900's era evening tuxedo, complete with spats, satin vest, and starched collar. His bow tie sparkled with chips of gem stones. He was certainly including himself among the elegant and flamboyant.

Water hadn't appeared again since they had come through the doors, so Will assumed that he was off on business somewhere. He sensed that Jack also wanted to be off to cover some ground before the meeting started. Jack was scanning the faces, nodding and exchanging small greetings with a few, but obviously intent on finding someone specific.

Jack briefly took him into the Central Hall and explained how seating would work later. "You will sit as a Novice, meaning up there in the second tier behind me, as Leutnant, in the first tier and Water in the Elder's seat at the Table.

Considering the title of Novice, Will asked, "Shouldn't I just be observing from the back row somewhere, as it's my first time here?" He looked around, but there were no 'general public' seats. Every place in the Hall was there because there was a known participant coming to sit in it. His place as a Green Clan Novice was already designated and waiting for him.

"You can observe or contribute if you are asked, but the expectation of all is that you will be among the active Draumrs dealing with our problem, meaning that you get a Novice seat, for now."

Jack paused, and then continued, putting his hand on Will's arm and leaning in to whisper, "There isn't a test, so don't sweat it. Just imagine a stall at 1500 feet, in the fog, with the local ladies auxiliary as your passengers; it will be sort of like that."

He roared at the startled look on Will's face. They walked together back to the foyer, as, by custom, all entered the Central Hall more or less at the same time.

Just as Will was trying to decide where to go next, he felt someone behind him. "Don't listen to a single word he says." Emma White put her hands on his shoulders and whispered in his ear.

Will turned around to greet someone he definitely knew already.

Emma continued, out loud now, "He's the worst at freaking out young people with his ridiculous attempts at humor." She gave Jack a little punch in the shoulder, and then linked her arm through his.

She put her other hand on Will's arm where Jack's had been and met his eyes. "It is so good to finally have you join us fully Will, even though you have been around here many times before. I wish that we had time for just fun and recollections for a while longer, but it's not to be, unfortunately. But, you're not a stranger and you'll remember every part of those past nights soon. You will do fine."

Her penetrating blue eyes made it seem more of a command than a good wish.

_Yes, I'll do fine._ The thought cleared all others from Will's mind.

Emma was dressed in a startling white evening dress, also 1900's era, with horizontal rows of tiny embroidered pearls and rhinestones. She shimmered as if multiple spotlights were hitting the dress, but, of course, none actually were. She had a lengthy white silk scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders, deftly covering a dramatic non-Victorian neckline with a very sparse lace bodice. There were tiny white flowers in her nearly-white, flowing blond hair, which was held back by a brilliant diamond encrusted hairpin.

Will was stunned once again by Emma, but had a better grip in the unreality of the dreamscape, so could take in the entire effect, rather than just her hypnotic eyes.

"You look beautiful tonight, Emma." Will, who never had any problem complimenting women, got stuck again as she turned back to him.

Jack saved him. "She certainly does. As does Sacha, right Will?"

It was only then that he noticed Sacha White now standing beside her mother. She was dressed in casual clothes similar to his, except that her theme was white and blue and everything fit like a glove. He connected with her as she looked up. She had her mother's brilliant blue eyes, but with turned-down intensity, for now. He blinked first though.

"Will, you know Sacha, or as you kids call each other: Snow." Emma pulled her closer with a gentle tug on her elbow. And yes, Will did now remember all about Snow as well. She was just enough younger than him that he at first remembered her mostly as a little sister or tag along kid, but then suddenly saw her maturing through her teens at his side.

_We are best friends. Holy-crap, how could I have not known that?_ His mind was racing again, as it opened a new vault of memories.

Snow had her pale blond hair cut medium short. Her sparkling eyes and brilliant white teeth shown out from skin that glowed all on its own with no make-up. A hint of a goggle tan line carried through from her waking life in the mountains. The slight blush was natural. She wore an embroidered and tailored white denim shirt, unbuttoned to the top of uplifted breasts, then tucked into perfectly cut blue jeans topped with a tooled leather belt featuring an oversized sapphire-encrusted rodeo buckle. The clothes gave every indication of a very buff body underneath. At 5' 10" in boots, she was looking straight across and deep into Will's eyes.

"Wow, Duck. You made it back to the big show. It's great to see you again."

Without any warning, she stepped in close and gave him a full body hug that lasted long enough to kick his sleeping dick out of bed with a rush. She smelled like a forest in winter and seemed to have a breeze blowing all around her. His face was buried in her hair, which felt like falling snow. There was an electric current sparking at every point where her body pressed against him.

He shook himself back to the present, slightly embarrassed as she let go and stepped back only an inch or two. She was still well within his intimacy zone and doing a number on each of his senses.

_These Whites are dangerous in a very good way_. His mind finally caught up with his thoroughly indulged senses.

"Snow-wow, too. You look...amazing. Beautiful, I mean. I'm really happy to be here. Really... happy." It was all he could get out that made any sense, if it did. He was grinning like a kid with a new present.

"Sacha, why don't you give Will a refresher tour of the rest of the place." Emma saved him from any more mumbling pleasantries. "Jack and I have some old business to review."

"Just be back in plenty of time to compare notes for the meeting. You'll be center stage tonight; both of you."

Jack was also beaming and not saying a word. He winked at Will and moved off arm-in-arm with Emma.

"Those two are like bunnies in heat when they get together." Snow laughed, as she led Will away in the opposite direction.

"Mom tells me that you're not going to have your memory half-erased each morning going forward. It's about time. I would have gone crazy, if it had been me. But, then, I guess that you didn't know, so maybe it was OK?" She cocked her head and gave him a quizzical sideways look.

"You don't know how often I wanted to just drop in on you while you were awake. But, they made me promise: hands-off. And one thing that you'll now realize is that Draumrs take promises pretty seriously."

Perhaps realizing that she was yammering on, she stopped them and leaned in to plant a kiss on Will's ear.

Will was startled, but as with everything else that Snow had done in the last few minutes, was just about lit-up by the lasting electricity of her touch. He smiled back, this time finding his voice.

"I am pretty sure that I haven't gone crazy yet, but that may be changing." A growing desire to experience that spark through his whole body was becoming very distracting.

Snow smiled coyly, but then tugged him forward.

"Do you now remember the Cavern where the kids all hang out?" Snow asked Will, as she led him around a corner in the hallway, now holding his hand more tightly. Will didn't mind that at all.

"I think that I do? Funny how these memories kick in full-blown when you ask about them." Will was aware of another chapter his life being opened.

"I'm not sure that I like the possibility of a more bad memories jumping in as well. I suspect that it's not all fun and games here."

"You may have a few surprises, but I think that they just left us at home when the dreamscape was a little tense," Snow replied. "Doesn't happen often, anyways."

"Although, I've do have a score to settle with one of our former playmates. I suspect that she's been lurking around some of my dreamers and fucking with their dreams."

The electricity coming off Sacha was suddenly about 110 volts. Duck pulled his hand away for safety, expecting to see smoke coming off his fingers.

"Oh, sorry...," Snow was also concerned and took his hand back in both of hers, looking closely at it as well. "I get a little charged up sometimes. Especially when innocent people get beat up."

"What?" Will pulled his hand back again. "We hurt people?"

"Not you. Not me, either. But there is something going on right now that is pretty nasty." She paused, staring straight into him again.

"We'll fix it though. You and me and the other good guys. Shit won't be a problem much longer."

_Yes, we'll fix it_. He was absolutely convinced of that without having any idea what the problem was or how he could possibly solve it.

Snow now smiled at him, "Forget all that for now, here's the Cavern. Empty tonight, no kids invited."

Snow tugged him closer, now putting her arm around his waist. Will put his arm around her shoulder. It was very familiar and comfortable. The hip-to-floor contact actually did make him forget about anything other than his growing desire for her.

They now stepped into a cavernous room filled with enormous replica dragons, castle walls, dirt hills, wagons, catapults and other battle paraphernalia; there was even a pond with a half-sized replica pirate ship. The porticos were lined with racks of armor, weapons and banners matching Clan colors. Everything was kid-sized.

Duck had a rush of memories where the entire scene came to life, including plodding monsters, fire-breathing dragons, and formations of war horses and kid armies of the Clans. Children of all sizes took up weapons and banners and charged into battle against monsters or against each other. Swords clashed, shields rang, monsters bellowed and armies moved forward and back under command. He had been here many times and been a battle leader in many victories. He shook his head with the sudden weight of the memories.

"Kind of sad now to leave it all behind." Snow was feigning attacks against an imagined foe wielding a short white-handled sword that appeared razor sharp and capable of doing considerable damage.

Duck stayed well back from the weapons rack. He fingered one of the green-colored banners.

"Yes, it is. Or was?" He sensed that he had been away from this place for quite a while.

"You were a great battle leader, Duck." Snow moved in close again.

"You fought tooth and nail to rescue me lots of times. I was always swept away with pubescent longing for the brave Green prince, who could just carry me off." She paused to look at him.

"Fair-maidens won in battle should be the prize for the chivalrous and brave victor, right?"

"Guess so?" Duck couldn't remember what the rules were.

"So, you've never taken your prize."

Snow moved against him with unmistakable desire. She caught his face in her hands and kissed him deeply for a long time. Will lit up with a burning ache in response.

Breaking for air, Snow said: "Let's fix that right now."

Taking his hand, she led him through a door into the next room, which was unmistakably the brave prince's bedroom.

In another anteroom, off a different passage of the Halls, an early 20th century seduction was going well. The bedroom featured an enormous four-poster bed, full-height windows looking out onto a manicured estate, intricately detailed wall decorations and various pieces of period furniture, including a chaise lounge in luxurious pink satin.

Jack and Emma had never made it to the bed, as usual. She was reclining on the chaise lounge with only some of her French lingerie still intact. Her shoes, dress and various other undergarments formed a trail leading from the door.

Corresponding piles of men's clothing formed a parallel track. Coat, vest, tie, shirt, and pants had been left behind during various stops on the short path to the chaise lounge.

Jack, now wearing only his shoes, spats and polka dot boxers, was on his knees at the foot of the lounge. His face was buried between Emma's legs. Emma, still wearing her full bustier and gartered silk stockings was reclining, but not relaxing. She arched her back and dug her heels into Jack's back as he reacquainted her with his marvelous tongue.

"Jack...oh...OH." Emma was having trouble getting uninterrupted sentences out.

"I really think...Oh dear...that I should be over making some alliances ...Oh... with the Browns or Blacks...ahhh!"

"Don't you think...um..OH!...so?"

"Allcnesssm...mff..whooo?" Jack was deep into his finest work, in his opinion. There was no opportunity to stop for conversation at this point so his responses came when he could find a breath.

"Well, you know...Jake or Tom...or maybe Gloria...aaah...Oh!...Ummm."

Emma loved to tease Jack about other lovers, particularly when he was intent on making her come over and over in increasing waves of pleasure. He really did know his stuff and her parts, so little encouragement was needed. But, just a hint of jealousy, was always a useful whip to bring the stallion now frothing at the bit between his lips, to a full gallop.

Jack bore down and Emma nearly leaped off the lounge. She got her hands behind his head and locked legs tight around his shoulders. She now became the rodeo bareback bronco, bucking her rider in all directions while he and she held on to make sure the ride made the bell.

"OH...OH...OH...AAAAH! Emma actually rattled the crystal chandelier with her final exclamations.

It was useful that the anterooms were also sound proof.

As the ride gently slowed down, both participants finally got a chance to breath.

Jack had long ago learned how not to breath at all, but being breathless during the denouement was an enjoyable part of lovemaking, so they both heaved and panted their way back to regular heartbeat and breathing rates.

"What was that about Blacks or Browns?" Jack finally got enough wind to speak. "Kind of hard to hear with milky white thighs clamped over my ears!"

"Nothing that important now." Emma was finally reclined, with her head back and arms stretching. She reached down and pulled Jack up alongside her.

"It might be good to talk a little business while we rest up a minute," she ventured. Her finger tips were still actively exploring new parts of Jack that she could finally reach.

"Do you think that the kids are up to taking on Xana? Seems like she's been fully grown since she was ten and Cherry has been schooling and drilling her since she was a child."

Jack needed to focus his head in order to reply. Other body parts were out of his control.

"Only a designated agent may hurt another Draumr and then only under full First Circle auspices. This is an inviolable directive embedded in Draumr practice for centuries. Even in the darkest of times, no Clan leader could allow an unwarranted direct attack on another Clan without risking expulsion from the Circles or worse."

He continued, "I'm concerned, mostly for innocent dreamers. Our kids are quite capable of defending themselves and of regaining control of the dreamscape, with a little help from us, of course."

Emma was less sure.

"I guess so. It just seems like something is different this time. Like Cherry is testing the limits and setting new ones; or he's hoping to have none at all."

Emma's fingers had now found Jack's cock and were slowly bringing it up to a quivering fullness again.

"I think that we should get back to the discussion later, in another place." Jack was losing whatever focus he had.

"I believe you are correct, Mr. Green. Now how about we get rid of those incredibly silly spats and go see how nice a bed you built for us this go-round."

With foreplay not needed, their remaining garments simply fell away of their own accord as she led him to the now-turned-down bed by keeping a firm grasp on his cock.

She pushed him onto his back and bent to trail her silvery hair over his legs while slipping her hands under his buttocks.

"I think it's time that I repaid some of the horrid torture you put me through over there."

Her hair and head descended over his crotch and Jack let out his own wail.

"Mercy please, Madam. Mercy...MER..CY!"

In yet another room, Water Green sat at a polished table made of a single diagonal cut of a 100-year-old teak log. The deep finish revealed oblong spiral growth rings that were mere millimeters apart in the hard wood. The table edge still reflected the approximate shape of the log and included many imperfections in the edge line. The wood had been stained almost black so that from a distance it might have been a piece of black granite or other polished stone. But, then it wouldn't have had a beginning in their time like this simple piece of wood. Following the progress of the rings proved a useful distraction for Water in the long conversational pause. He puzzled at the contradiction of something this specific and detailed coming from Gloria's mind, when she was predictably little concerned with details, except related to herself.

"I'm not at all sure that we have enough information." Gloria Black sat across the fine table in a leather armchair in the Black Clan anteroom. "Or, that we understand the information that we do have."

The room might have been an executive office high in a British bank's century old headquarters. Fine art reproductions graced the walls and display racks held various apparent artifacts of conquests, both in battle and in industry. The deep leather wing chairs were black leather on deep black wood, with glistening gold tack heads down the seams.

Gloria was dressed in her Baroness robes, black satin with white mink trim, over a shimmering orange silk oriental wrap that highlighted both her full figure and her luxurious black curls, now highlighted with faux-ivory hairpins holding one side back over her ear. Rings, necklace and robe clasps appeared to feature about 30 carats of diamonds. Not in the presence of the Queen, as she sometimes was while awake, she played the entitlements of privilege well over-the-top without fear of outdoing Her Majesty.

She glanced at her daughter Luise, who was leaning against a far wall of the room. Luise put up with her mother's excesses, but wanted no part of them herself. So far, Luise, or Lulu to all, had listened without comment to Water's summary of what was known.

Lulu provided a startling contradiction to the elaborate setting. She wore skin tight black yoga pants topped by two singlet style sleeveless jerseys. The outer one in bright gold was loose and long, providing just a hint of modesty to the top of her marvelous young ass. The purple inner jersey one was her only undergarment and it kept threatening to slide of her shoulder revealing the top of young, high breasts just busting to get out and show off.

With her mother's springy hair and dark eyes, her almond skin hinted of an exotic parentage, which was almost certainly true. Her mother had never married the Arabian Draumr prince who was acknowledged as Lulu's father and who still secretly indulged his daughter's every wish.

Lulu shrugged and rolled her eyes. She was generally thoroughly bored by the political arguments of the Elders, although her upbringing had taught her not to express that opinion. At 20, showing real interest in anything but boys and good times was seriously hard for her.

"So where is Cherry...er, Elder Chervoniy, in all this?" Lulu was highly astute in spite of her feigned lack of interest. "Seems like he is still in control of the Red Clan, unless I missed an announcement."

She raised her eyebrows as she ended the sentence with a typical youthful tonal uplift that suggested every statement could be a question.

"I could go find out." She grinned. "I'd love a trip out to the Black Sea to kick around with Xana for a while." She couldn't resist baiting her mother.

Gloria took the hook. "Oksana, or Xana, is five years and several decades older than you my little girl."

"She was a challenge to all of us when she was your age and she's now a very scary, fully mature woman." She paused to take a breath.

"One thing is certain, Luise, you won't be hanging out with her any time soon."

"OK, OK." Lulu was hoping for an early out from the meeting so she could head off to see who else was here.

"I'm just saying that, in the movies, before every ultimatum, there is a meeting where the option for a truce is laid out by the villain, under his horrendous terms. The good guys never agree, but that's just in the movies. At least there is a meeting."

"Nothing about the Reds scares me, so I'm available to hike over with a couple cases of beer to see what shakes out."

She paused with a dead serious look on her face.

"Or, maybe they would prefer a case of vodka. I'm good with either."

She winked at Water as her mother was winding up to let her know that she wasn't going to be doing any ambassadorial drinking any time soon either.

"Save it, Mom. I'm only kidding." Lulu was grinning now, sliding towards the door.

"Just, if you older folks do need the services of the best little fixer in the west, I'm your gal."

"Now, I really have to go see if I can find your grandson, Mr. Green, er...Water. They tell me that he's cleaned up pretty good and is just my type."

Gloria was left sputtering something about "no more boys either," as Lulu dissolved out of the anteroom construct. Water was slowly shaking his head wondering what he had led poor Duck into. Lulu was definitely part of the plan, not because she was young and fool-hardy, but because of the deadly force that she hid so well under the care-free demeanor.

"Your daughter is right on one count, we do need to go find Cherry and put the question to him directly." Water was leading up to the difficult part of the conversation. He actually appreciated that Lulu had left, as he had to cover the Central Hall strategy with Gloria and it was a little tricky.

"Tonight, we need to take two steps. One is to seek peace; the other is to prepare for war."

They lost whatever frivolity Lulu had left behind in the room.

"History tells us that you don't get the first without the second."

"Jake Brun will certainly demand the war preparations begin and, to ensure that he is tempered in his actions, I have prearranged with Armand that I will be charged with this delegation."

Water laid out the plan. As Gloria already knew, it included Lulu.

"I'm too old and, fortunately, too smart to fight myself, but I have fought often enough to know what is needed to win. This battle, if it comes, will be a proxy fight by the worst of human kind, directed by Draumrs on both sides. Let us all hope and work to ensure it never comes."

He stopped to ensure that he could present the other part of the agreement that he had negotiated in an appropriate way.

"The delegation to find and confront Cherry will be led by Armand himself. Cherry probably wants nothing more out of this than Armand's job, so the bulls each need to see what they are up against in the other. But, Armand is old and edgy: not a good choice for a negotiator. Plus, he cannot lose face in any resolution."

"We know that Cherry also has his weaknesses." He held Gloria's eyes and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. He let a pause hang in the air.

She puzzled at his expression while walking back over what he had said.

"Oh, ancestors preserve us; you want me to go fuck Cherry into submission."

"Not in those few words, but sort of, yes." Water was a little sheepish, which was unusual for him in any setting.

"Water, I haven't had awake sex in five years. It's gone to ground. Put in a jar and parked on a back shelf." Gloria was sputtering again, trying to come up with more analogies to describe the dusty state of her vagina.

"I'm bloody fifty, Gottverdammt." She never swore, but used the old language when she wanted too.

"And hot as a kettle, that just needs to come to a boil again." Water was past the age of complimenting women into bed, but he still knew what was needed.

"Don't let these kids fool you. For a Draumr, you're just entering your prime. Men still plan to father a child at your age and there's no reason why you shouldn't get back in the saddle while wide awake. Ancestors aside, you will look just fabulous again to Mikilo, given your history."

Gloria actually blushed. Yes, there was a time after Cherry's last wife left the scene, that they were a very compatible couple in the sack. And he was really good to her, for a Bolshevik brute and complete chauvinist.

Gloria liked being ravaged by a strong man. Cherry had stripped and fucked her on a luxurious bed of wolf hides in an ice cold room. Or maybe it had actually been outside in the depths of winter. She had memories of incredible heat tempered with icy shocks that kept them going for what seemed like hours. She wondered if he was still up to it.

She realized that she was zoning out and Water was letting her.

"Might be nice to see the old coot again. Maybe I can knock some sense into his thick Ukrainian skull. Or, give him a heart attack and solve this another way."

Water raised his eyebrows again, this time sharing a sly grin with Gloria.

"I'm not saying that anything has to happen. It will be good to have you there to soften up Armand a bit too and, if other opportunities present themselves, then I'll trust your judgment, and the vigor of your very lovely working parts."

Gloria blushed again. Had there been more time, she might just have jumped on Water's tough old bones right there.

Gentle klaxons began to sound at intervals within the Halls of the Circles. The distant bell encouraged Draumrs to move their focus back to the Central Hall. Although time was a fluid concept in the dreamscape, in order for a meeting to proceed with all minds connected, a virtual gathering of all dreamers around the Table of the Clans was needed. In addition to following long-established procedure and expectations, the gathering also let the powerful Elders exclude other minds, preventing any misinterpretation, when that was an issue.

The Central Hall conformed to the session participants needs with outer circle seating for precisely the number attending, ordered by Clan color and rank. These seats began to fill, first by those who had remained in the Foyer and more slowly by laggards returning from anteroom encounters. Everyone would now dress or get dressed again for the formal setting of the Central Hall.

Armand Grau made his appearance in the Grey Clan chair, which in recognition of his election as senior Elder, was slightly larger and more ornate that the others. In reflection of his supposed neutrality in the Chair, it's neutral beige was only lightly trimmed in dark grey colors. Other Elder chairs were entirely upholstered in the full color of the respective Clan. The table similarly reflected Clan colors in the embedded tiles and jewels of each other segment: Black, White, Green, Brown and Red. Over a few minutes all of the Elder chairs were occupied, with the exception of the Red one, which stood empty and obvious.

Armand wore a finely-tailored traditional business suit in grey tones. His silk shirt and tie featured silver threads. He had a thick stock of pure white hair neatly combed back from his wide forehead and chiseled facial features. His steel-grey eyes scanned the room, with some impatience evident in his huffy breath. He didn't like to be kept waiting.

Armand's dreamscape persona precisely reflected his waking roles as a lawyer and political advisor to presidents and prime ministers. His current discomfort was plainly evident on his face and in his manner. Grey Leutnants variously approached and crouched with him to review information. He nodded as "understood", but showed no sign of being happy about it or in any way appreciative. The wall panels behind the Grey segment of the room were uniformly dark and ominous.

Water was at the table early as well, attired in his traditional buckskin tribal jacket, with no other flourishes. He settled on an open green shirt as his nod to his Green Clan. As he sat down, neither Jack nor Will were in their seats behind him, however the final klaxon hadn't yet sounded. He knew Jack's habits well, but wondered what had become of Will. Lulu Black's attire and wink briefly flashed in his head. He again shook his head ever so slightly, now wondering again what Will was in to. He noticed that Lulu was also missing across the room.

Gloria Black had entered earlier on Water's arm and smiled graciously as he tended her chair for her. She had only recently ascended to the Black Elder's chair on the death of her aged father. Her current partner was Baron Carlton Black of Coal Narrows, a Draumr cousin, who focused his work on the former British Empire's well-being. His title was a non-heredity House of Lords induction for his valued service as business leader in Britain and the Commonwealth; the title carried no particular royal significance.

Gloria, however, was having fun rubbing shoulders with the various lords and ladies of the minor aristocracy, so now chose to wear both her robes and very conspicuous jewelry in any formal setting.

A few Leutnants and Novices in the room mentally poked each other and shared quiet smiling comments on Gloria's entrance. Her previous partner had been a footballer and for the entire period of that relationship, she had taken to showing up everywhere in the team jersey. As there were no actual rules, either mode of dress was acceptable, so the joking, if overheard, was good-natured.

Jacques 'Jake' Brun reentered the room, followed by his son Tom Brown. Jake was attired a military officer's tropical uniform, reflecting his waking designation as a colonel (retired) in the French Legion. Jake didn't have much good to say about the military-industrial complex, but found like minds on his views of constant threat and necessary vigilance among the military leaders he hung out with.

Tom, in his early 30's, wore a simple, but finely-tailored, wool jacket over a pale sand-colored silk shirt. Although still a relatively young Draumr, Tom brought highly-valued insight as the most experienced, globally-active Leutnant in the room.

Emma White swept into the room from a door opposite her Elder's chair and White Clan segment. She now wore one of her various tooled-leather jackets over a brilliant white blouse. She made a point of circling the table, touching each of the other Elders and some of the Leutnants as she went. She bent and spent a long minute with Armand, holding his hand while talking quietly. It was certainly a non-business conversation. Armand allowed his one and only smile of the evening.

Emma glanced at the empty chairs behind both Water and her chair. Brief eye-contact with Water, provided only a shrug in response. She smiled back and took her chair.

As if on cue, the remaining members of the White and Green Clans entered from opposite sides of the room. Jack hustled in, dressed in a dark business suit, with white linen shirt and green silk tie. He carried a portfolio and moved directly to his first-tier seat behind Water. Once seated, he grinned at Emma, then Water, as he turned around. The grin was short-lived. He handed Water a sheet of paper with a grimace; it was back to business.

Sacha and Will entered near the last of the stragglers. They had been holding hands until they approached the threshold of the room, but then walked separately and solemnly to their seats. Fairly obvious back and forth between her and Emma, involved only eye-contact, but ending with a smiling nod from Sacha.

Lulu Black had materialized directly in her newly assigned Leutnant seat while the others were walking in. This mode of entry or exit was generally frowned on as show-boating, but this made little difference to her. She had changed to black jeans and a black sweater, anticipating that her previous fun attire would just irritate her mother and some others.

She was the youngest Leutnant and still a little perplexed to be in the first tier. She glanced first at Will, smiling broadly, and then over to Snow seated in the next segment to her, scowling for effect. Based on their entrance together, it was obvious that Snow had gotten to him first. She now grinned, mentally transmitting: _How was he_?

Snow blushed visibly, sent little virtual lightning bolts back at her from sparking blue eyes, but with sly grin, and mouthed, _Tell you later_.

Armand called the room to order, then spoke from notes.

"As all of you are now fully aware, we face a serious threat that is emerging in the dreamscape. As has been reviewed for the record previously, we are witnessing an increasing provocation by one Clan: The Red Clan to be precise. We now are aware that dreamers are being plagued with horrific dreams. In some cases, there is the little-known intrusion of lasting effect, which, for now, results in dreamers suffering real harm from injurious events in their dreams. This effect in only possible through the application of ancient practices and the use of banned artifacts. It would appear that our Red Clan brothers and sisters are testing these capabilities. Given the prohibition and prescribed penalties, they cannot be doing so casually, so we must assume that they have, or will have, a greater goal than the initial discomfort of a few dreamers. "

Armand paused to consider his next words carefully.

"We have not seen the use of these ancient practices in more than seven decades. When they were last employed, it was under the considered direction of the First Circle, as is prescribed in the Laws. We needed to resolve deadly problems, which in no small manner were created by Draumrs. From that experience, we know that even our most astute compatriots can go astray when they lose sight of our Principles.

"We also know that the ancient practices can have even more devastating effects, which we will not go into now. Suffice to say, the actions of the Red Clan are a clear violation of both our Laws and Principles. There must be consequences for this transgression. And, the problem needs to be fixed quickly and decisively."

He had said all that he intended to, mostly for the record, as almost everyone in the room had been briefed already and consulted as need be. All heads, except Will's had nodded as Armand spoke.

"The First Circle has asked the Green Clan to lead our response to the challenge. I'll now turn over to the Elder of the Green Clan. Water, please advise the room on your plans, remembering that anything said here is part of the Draumr record, so should not divulge specifics, except as a warning to those who will read this account."

Water knew that Armand wanted him to be very clear and determined in his comments; a serious threat to bring down the entire Red Clan might be appropriate; but Water wanted to keep his options for quiet diplomacy open. He would need to find a tone that could deliver the threat and but leave open the option for peaceful retreat. He proceeded to lay out the plan.

Will had been thrilled with the brilliant clarity of the shared dreamscape and had felt nothing but joy in his carnal reunion with Snow. The entire dreamscape experience had been one of pleasure and astonishing release of his doubts. He was thrilled to partake in the full Draumr experience among a kindred folk who used a special gift for such amazing delights.

In the moment of Armand's speech, he had felt the pleasant music stop with the sudden scratch of a record needle being dragged off a turning platter. Through the silence ringing in his head, he then heard his grandfather say that they were going out to fight, to the death if necessary, to prevent these same Draumrs from destroying the world.

A dark room of very bad memories welcomed him in.

# Snow

Awake and back at the final morning of her current job, Sacha 'Snow' White was breathing hard again. But, this was for real in the crisp, thin air. A nagging bit of phlegm high in her throat was giving her a comical wheeze with every gasp. She concentrated on keeping her feet and arms moving, but 40 centimeters of fresh powder was making trail-breaking a tough job. A 20-degree upward slope meant walking was pretty much like climbing stairs, without the treads.

Looking back, she was a full body length above her closest client, even though she was only a few meters in front of him. No matter how she breathed, the biting cold dried out either her nose or her throat, so keeping enough of the thin air coming to her lungs was rapidly dehydrating her from the inside out. The amazing part of the experience was that enthusiasts paid thousands of dollars and traveled half way around the globe to do this.

She was in superb shape, but thirty pounds of camera and avalanche gear on her back was starting to take its toll. Plus, she was carrying three water bottles on her waist and a two-way radio in a chest harness. It was all necessary and in the worst case situation, would save their lives. On this calm, sunny day at an altitude of 4700 meters on Chile's Mount Acongagua, she wished that she could just dump it right now and turn her board back down the mountain. But, she had been well paid to do this last job and she never failed to deliver.

Snow White was the best 'female' guide on the mountain, according to her male work associates. Everyone else knew that she was just the best. As the male guides were all neurotic Europeans or locals with considerable egos, she let the modifier stand. She didn't really need anyone else's endorsement anyway. At 23, she was one of the youngest guides in the business, but was in constant demand wherever she worked, whether trudging off-piste here in the southern hemisphere winter or dropping out of helicopters in the Canadian Bugaboos during the northern winter.

She was wearing several layers, including wicking fine wool long johns, a superb micro fiber primary layer and a wind-proof top layer which could be zippered tight for deep powder riding or vented wide-open for hot slugging. In spite of minus 20°C temperatures, she had the vents open to keep her inner layers dry and cool. In a combination of hand signs, broken Japanese and much pointing and showing, she was trying to keep the other four members of the trek in the same condition. Their gear was worth about five times what hers was, which meant that it would overheat them that much quicker as well. If they were stuck up here for any reason, sweat-soaked clothing was as dangerous to survival as falling off a cliff. Sweat also meant dehydration, so she was closely monitoring their water use, with two of her bottles ready in back-up to the single bottles that they each carried.

The rest of the group was clomping skyward on skin-covered, wide-track skis, with all-mountain boots that could hinge for cross-country travel. Attached only at the toe piece, the boots allowed the wearer to walk as if they were wearing snow shoes. Once they reached to top of the summit bowl, they would strip off the rough skins and lock down the heel bindings to return their all-terrain equipment to its primary downhill purpose. Their 230+ centimeter long skis, were half again as long and almost double the width of standard hard-pack skis. They would allow the advanced skiers to conquer more than 2500 meters of vertical drop through continuous un-tracked and bottomless powder.

The following group consisted of the slightly-famous Japanese entrepreneur and a goofy Japanese TV personality, along with two expert Japanese skiers. Toshio san, "Tosh" was handsome, determined and portrayed as always being a step ahead. He was a mover in business and in life. The tabloids had him pegged as a future political star as well. Kazuo "Kaz" was the TV-made resident anti-hero of the popular reality series.

On camera and on cue, Tosh became all-knowing and unflinching, while Kaz made inane comments and tried to run away from every risk. When the camera was off, they were both fairly normal and equally capable. Each adventure, with a designated hero and the resident idiot, was scripted, edited and packaged to maintain the assigned roles and to meet the expectations of the adventure show's huge viewer audience in Japan. The elaborate fiction left Snow scratching her head.

The pros were more straightforward. Tadashi "Toad" and Michio "Mich" were both level-four equivalent instructors, with considerable heli-skiing experience. They were all business and were ultimately responsible for the quality of the skiing shots. Tosh and Kaz were already very good skiers, but had been up on the track-driven Snow Cats with the pros for four straight days tuning up their powder skills. Snow was impressed with everyone's work ethic. She also sensed that she had been cast in a very specific role as well, as both the hot female guide and potential conquest for the hero. She was waiting to see how her roles would play out once the editors were done.

They had left their Snow Cat transportation below 4000 meters and been on foot, going straight up the ridge line for close to two hours. For the first hour of their climb, a camera crew had been with them and another film crew in a helicopter had tracked their progress. Periodically, when they stopped to drink or rest, the Tosh and Kaz duo would go into their shtick, providing a kinetic and totally unintelligible commentary with much arm waving and vista pointing. They were both enamored with Snow and she had to appear in almost every shot. She assumed that someone would voice-over her commentary with something in context once all the footage hit the studio. So, most of her comments were intentionally nonsensical. She was waiting for one of them to break into perfect English and embarrass her, but, so far, no one had questioned her running commentary on snowboarding sasquatches and unseen, lurking snow snakes.

Snow had now taken over as the designated camera person, with the $15,000 Red Scarlett camera in her pack and a radio-equipped, transmitting GoPro camera on her helmet. She continued the ascent footage as required and she would be filming in-motion as they descended the mountain. Both the helicopter and another crew positioned across the valley would also pick up the trip down. The intricate planning and complex logistics were time-consuming and frustrating to Snow, who normally rarely stopped moving either up or down. But, the gig paid well—so there were no complaints from her. She just wanted it to go precisely according to the script with no problems as, right now, they were above the helicopter's reach and the lives of the other four were 100% her responsibility. A huge spread and tub of beers would be waiting for the whole crew down at the lift-top mountain chalet when they got there, so there would be a pretty good party as a bonus when all was done without a hitch.

Sacha White was American by birth, but couldn't actually remember ever having a street address in the States. Her mother told her that she was born at the side of a mountain trail in January and that her first cradle was made of muskrat fur lined snow blocks. Her mother tended to exaggerate.

Her high plains Nannie called her something involving a snowshoe hare, so Snow was a natural and immediate nickname. Until she was about 14, she hadn't realized that there was another Snow White. All of her bedtime stories had been of unpublished Clan adventures.

As far back as she could remember, she had lived outside. Although appreciated in the deep freeze of the mountain winter, heated buildings were something she avoided until absolutely necessary. She could build a stormproof igloo with the right snow or a watertight lean-to with the right trees, so it rarely occurred to her to go inside anyway.

Snow was wearing a custom Burton S Series split mountain snowboard, with skins, which functioned exactly like the broad skis of the others. At the top though, she would assemble the two halves into a solid 178 centimeter, ultra-wide powder board and ride the uncut snow down in the graceful arcs of an expert deep powder rider. Part of her commitment to the assignment was to lead the two Japanese pros off the hundred meter drop of the Muerte Larga cliff above the mid-level bowl. This twenty-story drop was unique in the Andes and only a handful of riders and skiers had gracefully completed the free fall and landing. Snow conditions, wind, light and humidity all had to be perfect to ensure a clean approach, a controlled fall and a survivable landing in soft powder more than thirty feet deep. Style points were awarded if you managed to stay on your feet, with your equipment on, but that was only a minor concern. Huge, 'yard sale' wipe-outs made for better TV anyway. She just had to ensure they all came up laughing.

Snow had a special talent for understanding nature and for sensing subtle changes that would lead to dramatic and dangerous turns in the weather. She rarely led her clients into anything but perfect conditions. When she had to deal with worsening conditions on multi-day treks or when clients demanded to go out into challenging weather, she unfailingly gave them precise advice on equipment needs and expected conditions well in advance. There were many days when others left in bright clear skies while she refused to go. Inevitably, those groups would return early with a storm closing in on their heels.

Today, she knew that conditions would be perfect. Consistent temperatures and continuous dry snow had built up a uniform base of light powder that posed no real avalanche threat. The sun was warming, but steady light breezes kept the snow surface cold and fluffy. It would be nice to have a plowed path right to the top, or better still, a helicopter ride all the way up. But, the severe pitch at the peak didn't give them a convenient landing zone. The trek up had also been stitched into the script as a test of the adventurers' abilities. Somehow, Snow sensed that this was being spun as: "not letting this chick show us up." So, up they trudged.

Nearing the summit of the ideal face for riding and showboating, Snow started to calculate their best drop-in point. She needed to ensure a good angle for the distant camera and also needed to find a path that would allow each of the skiers to pick their own wide line through the bowl. A narrow gully between two standing rock faces was the inflection point between the concave upper bowl and the convex face that would allow some shorter drops off outcroppings leading to Muerte Larga cliff. She would send Toad and Mich ahead to a stopping point to ensure all was well, then send the celebs, while she filmed the up-close shots on their tails.

Finally, she called a halt to the trek and through arm-motions and pointing, laid out the track she wanted them to take. After another half-hour of filming the celebrities' antics, twice-over gear preparation and radio confirmations that cameras were rolling, they were ready to go. She hoped that that she had been clear enough on stopping and gathering points. There were above thousands of acres of open terrain. She knew how tempting it could be to just keep going once you caught the rhythm of the descent.

Snow had one advantage that none of the other guides knew about or could ever hope to understand. She could ride the mountains twenty-four hours a day if she wished. Her mother had revealed her abilities as a Draumr to her when she was only a child and, with much practice, she could now move as freely in a dream state as she could wide awake. Better, in her dreamscape adventures, she wasn't limited by constraints like gravity or distance. She could simply open the vista of a mountain top and fly down the bowls and glaciers just above the snow to actually feel the way the mountain wanted to be ridden. Her waking day-time trips, with gravity and distance fully in play, were simply repetitions of the best lines she had seen in her dreams.

She also had one ability that was rare even among the most capable Leutnant Draumrs, she could create complete dreams for others. So, her favorite clients were sent off with a recurring dream of the best skiing or riding that they could ever imagine. It was why she didn't need any other self-promotion. For those clients, the memory of the absolute joy of deep powder riding was refreshed every time they dreamed about it again. And if they wanted to be young again, be naked, have wings or ride under a bright purple sky in their dreams, well that was all OK too. She was a commiserate enabler of pure bliss.

Today's test wasn't about her Draumr skills. It was about her ability to keep four adrenaline-pumped aliens safe as they hooted and hollered down the real mountain. She confirmed again with them, via a translator on the radio, that they would drop no more than 800 meters before re-gathering at the gully entrance to check camera angles and to prepare for the second stage. Head nodding and pointing to the spot all round gave Snow pretty good confidence that they were ready. Following a radio countdown, Toad and Mich dropped off the cornice, cutting precisely left and right respectively to set the outside lines for the celebs. Perfect.

Radio chatter confirmed that the distant camera had the shot. Now she started the countdown for the Tosh and Kaz, dropping her arm three times and shouting, "Go" then "Yoi".

They both laughed at her attempt at Japanese and, in character, went off screaming. They dropped in with better skills than she had expected, staying to the prescribed lines. After only a second or two, she was on her board and flying straight down to catch them. She had the Red camera in her hands and would cut across their backs to capture close-in shots of the rooster tail turns the guests were making in the perfect powder. Hoots, hollers and constant big grins were part of the action and she got in as close as possible to get some great shots. With only a few hitches and missed turns, the celebs did a great job of getting down the bowl. Ninety seconds later it was all over. They collapsed in a heap beside the pros, laughing, high-fiving, and, apparently, congratulating each other on a great run.

The top-end clothing was now doing its prescribed job of keeping the snow on the outside, so after a few shakes and brushes, the team was pretty much ready to go again. Goggles filled up with snow no matter what you did, so these had to be emptied, wiped off and re-positioned.

The next section posed the greatest logistical challenge. They would all leave together, in single file through the narrow gap created by a split in a vertical rock face. Tosh and Kaz would head left to catch an easier slope that would carry them safely down more than 2000 meters of wide open terrain. Snow and the pros would cut right along the rocky face, jumping and dropping over house-size outcroppings for 1500 meters, leading to the edge of Muerte Larga cliff. They would stop 200 meters from the edge and wait for radio confirmation on cameras and for positioning of the helicopter team. This was a one-shot effort, so everything had to be just right. The pause would also give Snow a chance to point out the precise line that she would take and where each pro should ski through. No sense landing on top of each other after a perfect drop. No sense landing on the rocks either, but she didn't plan to mention that.

As she prepared to lead the way, she again made sure that the Tosh and Kaz knew that they would cut left away from her when she signaled them. Both nodded. She wished that she could see their eyes, but their high-end goggles had copper-tinted lens that just showed her a reflection of her distorted self, waving arms and pointing. She checked again by radio to ensure that all was understood. "Hai. Hai." Yes, yes. OK then, they were ready to ride again. Snow dropped in and the others followed in tight formation.

Snow couldn't film in the lead, so had packed up the Red rig, but was still capturing footage on her helmet cam. Even though leading, she looked back up the hill to catch the rest of the crew in her tracks. If they wondered how she could do this, the Japanese pros didn't ask. Probably, by now, their expectations were completely blown away anyway. Wait until she started clearing boulders without looking. That would give them something to wonder about.

As she approached the cut point, she started to move right, while pointing left for Tosh and Kaz. Kaz made a precise move left and headed away to the open terrain. Tosh though, made no attempt to move left and stayed hard on her tracks. She cursed the screw-up and pulled up quickly, assuming that he would stop too. Instead, he cut wide right around her and headed straight towards a rock outcropping.

She screamed "Stop," but he was quickly out of hearing range. She was dead in snow, so could only watch in surprise and frustration.

Toad and Mich were in motion though and now pressed to a straight fall line drop to catch the other skier. She could hear them both screaming in Japanese as they closed on the celeb. Snow kicked her board downhill and as quickly as possible got back to full speed in the pursuit of the trio. She tucked and put her board on the fall line with no turns. Quickly, she was gaining on the others whose skis couldn't handle the same speed as her board. But there was nothing she could do. Tosh was too far ahead and would have to survive on his own abilities now. A full-speed crash in deep snow was no problem. Hitting a rock face full-on was a completely different matter. Snow actually started processing the steps they would take to medivac Tosh out if he somehow managed to survive the inevitable wipe-out. She could hear from the radio chatter in her ear piece that the rest of the crew had now picked up the drama. Cameras still rolling, she guessed.

Mich was now parallel to Tosh and considering his options. Ironically, Tosh was still making perfect turns, even as chaos reigned around him. With less than a hundred meters to the rock face, Mich took his shot and skied directly across the celeb's line, barely avoiding a full speed collision. The celeb continued making perfect turns and didn't appear to have even seen the pro. The hard cut caused Mich to tumble in the deep snow. He was unhurt, but he was out of the chase. Toad had closed in as well and now aimed a full body check at Tosh. Broken arms or legs were a pretty good probability, but the collision was still survivable. He cut hard, tucked and rolled into the side of the other skier. They both went down in a colossal explosion of powder snow and ski equipment.

Snow was only forty meters back by this point and pulled up hard, expecting to see two bodies partly buried in the snow. With luck, neither would be too badly hurt.

Toad had disappeared, but she had seen one of his skis cart-wheeling away, so she knew that he had come apart hard and was down somewhere in the deep snow, hopefully still conscious. She hadn't seen any of Tosh's equipment, so feared twisted limbs and broken bones from the wrenching stop. Maybe this footage wouldn't actually make it to the show.

But, now she saw something moving. It was Tosh's ski suit and then it was all of him. She was amazed and completely befuddled as Tosh emerged from the snow cloud on his feet and still skiing. Somehow he had avoided the full impact, had kept his momentum through a hard tumble and now, amazingly, rolled back onto his skis. She couldn't have done that. How had he managed it? Although they were both moving more slowly in the same direction, he never looked back at her and proceeded to ski away again right towards a rock face.

There was no hope now. Snow couldn't catch him soon enough and there was no other means to stop him. She pursued, but with a growing dread of what would come next. Tosh closed on the rock wall and without appearing to even see it, missed it by inches, as he skied full speed through a gap less than two meters wide. He continued toward the near vertical pitch of the main rocky face. Snow didn't believe what she had seen. She bailed hard and cut through the same gap, barely skimming the ragged edge of the rock. As far as she knew, Tosh couldn't ski this well. Snow searched for explanations in her head. A ringer? Was this all a scripted set-up to put one over on her and further enhance Tosh's fearless image? Had they planned this all along to create a really exciting show? She would have someone's balls if that turned out to be true.

Whatever the answer, very soon, Tosh would be in terrain way beyond almost anyone's ability and would likely become a tumbling rag doll bouncing off rocks and outcroppings until some ledge or crevice caught what was left of him. Snow couldn't imagine what was going on in his head. He was quickly running out of survival options. Any awake person would simply fall down while he still had some deep snow around him.

That thought tickled her mind for the briefest of instants as she regained her speed and, in desperation, tried to find a jump point to get in front of him. He was gaining momentum without doing much to slow himself down. She would need every bit of her ability to try for one last cut-off. She switched on her mental map of this face of the mountain. There was one possibility for her, maybe one last possibility for the runaway skier.

Snow cut hard right and pressed all her speed into a wide arc around a twenty-meter wide outcropping. She flattened and gained as much speed as possible, then cut hard back left towards the top of a narrow rock ledge, that, unfortunately, was only partly covered in snow. At the last second she collapsed her legs and sprung up as hard as possible, leaving lots of Petex on the rock ledge, but clearing its face to drop close to twenty meters to the next deep gully. She landed in an explosion of snow, but kept her board under her and rode out of the snow cloud. If Tosh was still on his feet, she should now be ahead of him. She looked back up hill and, to her amazement, watched him clipping rock edges and spraying ice chunks as he calmly jumped turns down a near vertical rock-filled ice face. Now, the jig was up, this wasn't any week-end skier. It was a Japanese Glen Plake. He was way over his head. She blocked the narrowing path and waited. She was about to give this TV character a major ass-whopping.

Tosh regained the powder snow at the top of the gully and resumed his casual turns, straightening out his line and gaining speed quickly. He was headed right for her. She stood her ground and waited for the collision. He kept his line and closed the distance between then in seconds. At the last moment, Snow timed her move, ducked under his arms and grabbed his pack straps just as he unweighted his skis for a quick turn around her. Her arms nearly came out of their shoulder sockets, but she hung on. They both went down in a slow motion tumble. The deep snow provided no resistance and it was all Snow could do to hang on to the straps.

After a few meters they came to a stop. Snow had a mouthful and now a jacket full of snow, but she sputtered it out and came up cursing.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she fumed. "You endangered four lives, including your own stupid one and just about took us all into the rocks." She was howling. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Tosh didn't move at first. Then, he turned his head around and smiled. He apparently already knew that he had both skis still on, so rolled onto his back, thrust them high in the air and neatly carried his momentum back on top of the skis. He was getting ready to go again without saying a word.

Snow was still attached to her board, but took one more lunge to try to grab Tosh in a head lock. She succeeded only in knocking his goggles down around his neck. Then she lost her grip on his helmet. He finally turned towards her, but only by chance. He couldn't see her there because his eyes were completely closed. Keeping them closed, he re-positioned his snow-packed goggles back over his eyes and with a couple jumps and pole plants, was back on top of the snow and moving away downhill in lazy, but consistent turns.

Snow was aghast. _Tosh was asleep._ He must have had his eyes closed since they took off from the upper gully. Whatever turns and cuts he was making, he was doing them in a dream-state. Somehow, his dream was an exact match for the incredibly tough terrain. He was dreaming that he was the world's greatest skier and here on one of the world's deadliest mountain faces, he was not only surviving, but handling terrain that was almost un-skiable.

Now Snow had some options. She could follow and hope that the dreamscape continued to match the terrain, and wishfully, that it would take them both away from the approach to Muerte Larga. Her second option was more aggressive and a lot more dangerous. It was a stretch, but she could try to influence the dream. Maybe substituting in the image of a baby hill with a nice patio waiting. With a few hundred meters of working space, she might be able to bring him to a gentle stop. Or forgetting his dream-state, she could just try to catch him and wrestle him back to wakefulness. This was the only option that actually made sense, but having tried it once, she knew that it was also a long shot.

As she jumped her board back to the surface and got going again, she realized that she probably didn't really have any of these options open to her for long. He had cut hard right and was now making a straight track towards the edge of the cliff the Chileans called 'long death'. She moved as fast as she could to at least try to get into his dream. She had to see this from the inside. Unfortunately, that would mean closing her eyes and riding on her own dream track.

She leaned forward, pressed her board for maximum speed and got within a few meters fairly quickly. Taking one last look at the waking terrain, she let her eyes close and after a second or two, came back to full vision in a new version of the landscape. Like an animated 3D movie, her dream landscape glowed hot white directly ahead and curved away to magenta edges in a near 360° view. Quickly, she moved alongside Tosh and now easily got his attention. He was skiing in a skin tight lime green racing suit, with immense sunglasses and long hair billowing behind him. Instead of ski poles he held glowing samurai swords, which he swung in wide arcs on every turn. His snow plume was sparkling like a million diamonds and he skied towards a brilliant silver and gold entranceway that was rising in the distance.

Getting further inside his head, she now saw that, as he saw her, she was also in a second skin racing suit that could have been made of titanium white Mylar, had billowing blond hair and wore both an ermine trimmed cape and ermine covered boots against a translucent mother-of-pearl snowboard. The celeb called out to her and with his swords gave her what must be the equivalent of a wolf-whistle in classic samurai tradition. No frigging wonder he didn't want to stop. Only she knew that the shining portal ahead was the lip of Muerte Larga. He was skiing towards certain death and loving every second of it.

She started to try to wind his dream back to reality and to substitute a good reason to stop. Reaching inside his mind, she gently got a small piece of his attention and began to substitute images. At first nothing happened, but then little kids on skis started to appear around him and the ground began to level. He was distracted by them and started to slow. His outfit didn't change, but Snow could sense that he was losing the samurai thing as he became more conscious of not running over any kids. She was doing it. A couple more distractions and he might just coast to a stop. She just held the line she was on so that she could concentrate entirely on the dreamscape.

Without warning another snowboarder rocketed in from her blind side and sliced in front of her. The new rider did a hard laid-out turn and came back uphill at full speed directly towards them. It was another female, dressed in a blazing red skin suit with a shimmering silver board and iridescent silver streaked red hair. As she tore past, the kids either skied away screaming or were mowed over and disappeared in the plume of brilliant snow she kicked up. Snow plunged after her and Tosh in the dream, now willing her board to barely touch the snow. Looking ahead, she saw that he was all Samurai state again and was now hot on the heels of the new boarder heading straight back towards the looming portal.

The crimson dream boarder turned again, gave the finger to Snow and disappeared in the snow clouds with a long piercing laugh, as she led the Tosh back on his doomed path down the narrow snow face of the mountain. Snow could only watch in despair. With just a hundred meters to go, she shook herself awake and popped back to reality.

Moving quickly, she knew that she was also on a deadly line and would now have to fight for her own survival. She could see the Tosh's back ahead of her and quickly assessed that he was too far right along the cliff edge. The deep landing snow was in a narrow fall away left of the rock piles that made up most of Muerte Larga's foot. Cheating death meant hitting a blind launch point only a few meters wide with no landmark to guide you.

Snow had only a few seconds to cut hard left and find the spot. Tosh would miss it by at least thirty meters. Whatever thrilling conclusion he was dreaming of, he was headed for a short flight to sudden death. Snow watched him launch into the clear mountain air. She shuddered, knowing that he was dying as she made her final turns. _Cameras rolling?_ she couldn't avoid the thought. She cried out in frustration, but there was no one to hear her.

Once aligned on the spot she knew from her dreamscape reconnaissance, Snow let her edge go and pushed forward hard for speed. Today, there would be no pressing wind, so the drop was predictable and safe. She hit the cliff edge, uncompressed and launched with all her leg power, putting her board nearly vertical in front of her, then rolling it forward to ride it down beneath her. She experienced five seconds of free fall, but with none of the usual exhilaration. In the last few meters she tipped her board back to match the angle of her entry to the deep powder. She hit the surface and disappeared from sight in a mushroom cloud of snow. She felt her weight again a few feet down, leaned back and rode the board neatly back to the surface. Breaking into the air like a rising killer whale, she spun and landed with a thud, standing dead still, upright on the compressed snow. _Never a problem._

As the snow cleared, she looked to her right for any sign of Tosh. The boulders were the size of dump trucks and had an icy, unforgiving surface that spoke of centuries of calm waiting. He was in there. It would take some time to get him out and there wouldn't be many unbroken bones left in his body. She grimaced again and silently gave the cameraman his final instructions. _Cut. Print it_. She was about to become a YouTube item, again.

She heard the helicopter coming in and, finally, just gave in to the tragedy. She fell back in the snow and started to cry.

It took more than six hours for Snow to get through the initial investigation with the local police and other government officials. Even though the whole sequence of events had been captured on video, including a continuous video record of her helmet cam, the police proceeded with pen and paper, having everyone involved describe who, what, where and how on a minute-by-minute basis for the whole trip up and down the mountain. They acted as if there was definitely a criminal here and their primary job was to find him, or her. The trauma suffered by the survivors was none of their concern and everyone was treated with the same ungracious suspicion. It was brutal.

Unfortunately, the Japanese production company refused to release the unedited video, so access to the self-evident record of what occurred wasn't going to happen quickly. Snow sensed that they were discussing how to maximize the broadcast value of the tragedy. Toshio was a leader-in-waiting in Japan and news of his death would create a media storm of coverage within a few hours. She calculated that a 10 hour plane trip from major centers, plus about two hours to the mountain from Santiago, meant that in less than 12 hours this place would go nuts with reporters and TV crews. She could sort of understand why the production bosses wanted to keep the film out of public hands.

Based on the producer's first comment to her, she was also pretty sure that they were going to try to hang the blame for his death at least partly on her. They could hardly say that their series hero had gone nuts, ignored all advice and skied off a cliff to his death all on his own. A better story would be that he was led astray, given poor advice and died trying to save the team in a blizzard with zero visibility. Snow wasn't sure how that would be supported by video, but then nothing that you see on TV is ever what it seems. A little time in the editing suite and the whole episode could be spun out to whatever they wished.

Her boss had connected with her between police interviews and said that he had full confidence that she had done everything possible to save the guy. He also said that he had signed liability waivers from everyone who went up and from the production company. He had already been in touch with his lawyers and was prepared to go to the wall for Snow with either the company or the police, if push came to shove.

Well, that was something to add to the 'good things' list, which so far, was blank. The 'bad things' list filled several pages in her mental notebook record of the day. She would try to get more objective about it tomorrow.

As she was leaving the base lodge to head back to her chalet, she was intercepted by 'Toad' Tadashi, the Japanese mountain pro who had tried to stop Tosh with her.

In surprisingly good English, he said that he would ensure the true story got on the record.

He said, "We believe that Toshio must have suffered altitude sickness and gone psychotic." Snow nodded and agreed that this could be the case.

"You must not to worry about the investigations. I am certain that I can obtain the unedited footage, including from your helmet camera." He smiled and bowed slightly, with just the quickest of winks.

"Your effort to save our companion was nearly superhuman. When the story is all told, you will be recognized as a hero for trying so valiantly."

Snow was exhausted and ready to drop, but she accepted his thanks and returned the compliment.

She said, "Your flying body check was as good as any in our National Hockey League. This was also incredibly brave, considering the risk of injury. I only wish that we had been successful in stopping Toshio. He deserved a better fate."

They wished each other good luck with the challenges ahead and parted with another series of small bows. In that part of her mind that was still processing, she wondered how the last part of her helmet cam video would be explained. High altitude psychosis didn't give you the ability to ski with your eyes closed and your goggles jammed with snow. Hopefully, they wouldn't ask her to explain the impossible.

She continued through the small base village to her rented chalet, which she shared with three other guides for the June to October season. While she just wanted to fall into bed, she had to plan an escape before dawn tomorrow. She couldn't risk being caught in the media circus to come. As much as she hated to admit it, this season was probably over for her anyway.

The others were waiting for her when she came in. They shared hugs and each expressed their grief for her guest and their support for her in their own way. They had a bottle of twelve-year-old Canadian whisky and a set of shot glasses waiting. If she had wanted to drink herself into oblivion, they were ready to go along as her support team.

Over her one and only drink, she told them of her apprehension about tomorrow and her conclusion that she had to bug out before she got trapped here. Although sad to see her go, they all agreed that it was the right plan. With no hesitation, a driver volunteered, someone hit the Web to book a ticket to Toronto and one of the women started packing her stuff for her. Then they all pushed her towards her bedroom. In six hours, they'd wake her and the escape would be carried out before anyone else had time to even wonder where she was.

Snow staggered to her bed and stripped off her mountain gear. A shower would have to wait. Tugging on her favorite flannel PJ's, she took one last look at the resort hills above her, now twinkling with the lights of big cat groomers. Somewhere up there, a crimson dream wraith had stolen a life today. Snow rarely gave in to anger or worse, to the desire for revenge, but this crime needed payback. And it was personal.

She fell into her bed and was gone.

# Whiteout

Unknown to Snow at the time, there were other minds connected to the runaway skier's dream on the Chilean mountain. Emma White was one of them. She was just opening a connection to invite her daughter to join her on a stroll around their favorite meadow in the high arctic summer, when she was suddenly in flight down the face of the mountain. If she was seen by the others in the dream, she might have appeared to be a snowy owl, far from its normal habitat, but well-adapted for a high-speed glide down the snow-covered mountain.

She observed first in wonder, then in shock, as the dream chase and battle of wills had played out. She resisted involvement, sensing that anything tipping the balance between the two foes might endanger Sacha. Her daughter wasn't in danger, except by miscalculation, which might happen if she was suddenly aware of her mother's presence. With a predator's keen eyesight, she saw enough of the crimson antagonist to know who their enemy was. She could now see for herself the danger that this Leutnant posed.

Unseen by Emma or any of the others, another set of eyes had watched the drama, including her flight above Snow and the skiers. The dream had been a test, planned in advance and carried out with precise intent. For the Elder, sitting high on a rock outcrop in a fox tunic and Cossack boots, it confirmed that dreamers could be compelled to kill themselves and that one of the Draumrs' most capable Leutnants could do nothing about it once the artifact was engaged. That Emma White had been there was a minor concern. A direct confrontation with the First Circle was inevitable, perhaps now sooner than planned, but unavoidable nonetheless.

Later, Emma surrounded Snow with a protective circle that kept all outside connections closed while Snow got five hours of deep and dreamless recovery sleep. No lines crossed Snow's brow and no tell-tale eye movement or body reflexes of the dreamer disturbed her rest. Emma watched over her with every mother's wish: that her daughter could just stay peaceful and innocent forever.

As dawn approached, Emma gently connected with her daughter and drew her into one of their favorite dream settings. They were still high in the mountains, but now back in Canada, in a rustic cabin down a forest path. Snow was asleep in a duvet covered bed in an immense bedroom, filled by Emma with paraphernalia Sacha collected over her dozen years as a Novice and now Leutnant. In that time, she had interacted with many of the Elders, and, as was their habit, they had left her with permanent memorabilia, that were now Snow's most prized possessions.

Emma had brought the tokens out of the closet, so to speak. Even though they only existed in the dreamscape, their form and function was determined by the Elder who had gifted them. An ancient book of dream lore stayed just as dusty and tattered as it was on the day that the Grey Elder gave it to Snow. A carved soapstone lamp from a White grandparent, was lit by seal oil, never went out and its wick never burned down. Its flickering light now cast moving shadows of great bears, lumbering musk ox and ever-vigilant foxes. The shadow animals formed a protective ring around the bedroom, darkening walls and corners now filled with useful tools of their art and with completely useless fragments of junk that Snow had dragged in from adventures with other Leutnants.

As Emma gently raised her daughter to dream awareness, the shadow animals turned their attention to the intruder. But, with a quiet "shh..." and wave of her hand, the animals were released from guard duty. Each stretched and settled to sleep where it was on the wall.

Snow became aware of her surroundings and smiled at the familiar setting amid the clutter of years of happy dream adventures. She knew that her mother was there and turned the smile in her direction.

"I thought about running here as I went to sleep," said Snow. "But, I was so exhausted, I guess I just crashed in a lump."

Now recalling the events of the skier's death, she shuddered. "Yesterday was the worst day of my life."

"I know—I was there."

"You were there?" said Snow, incredulously. "What the hell was that? Couldn't you have stopped the whole thing?"

"Perhaps," said Emma. "But, there were powerful forces aligned behind the events as they unfolded. I'm not sure that you and I together could have stopped it without destroying poor Toshio's mind, in any regard."

"I couldn't risk either a dreamscape or waking danger to you. They picked their place to strike carefully, to ensure that you couldn't mount a fight back on solid ground. You did everything that you could. This was an ambush by our new enemy, designed I believe, to test our champion: you."

She smiled at Sacha. "You won't be surprised again."

Sacha wanted to complain more, but Emma held up a few fingers, "We have only a little time. I need to discuss what we saw with others of the First Circle and get their counsel on what is happening now. You need to wake in a few minutes and get up to Toronto as quickly as you can make connections. Jake Brown and Water will want to hear from you in person. Get north and then to a safe sleeping place; at this point, we don't know how far the Reds will go to make their point."

Snow was still trying to make sense of what she had experienced. Now the prospect of having to recall each detail made her head hurt again.

"So, you saw the red-headed skier, too?" She wanted assurance that she hadn't somehow caused the tragedy through her inept dreaming.

"Yes," said Emma. "And we both know who she is. Unfortunately, this isn't the first horrific dream that has been manufactured."

She continued, "But, I suspect that these dreams are not just her doing. She could not have prevailed against you so easily on her own. Something else was in play too. Something powerful enough to create horrific dreams that reach across the waking boundary. As Armand said, sadly, this isn't the first time that dreamers have been badly injured while dreaming."

Now Snow was on her feet and angry. "Well, let's go and punch her lights out right now." She fumed, "No-one does that to me or to a dreamer and gets away with it."

She looked around. "I bet I've got something right here that would crease her skull and permanently dissuade her from screwing with sleepers." She extended her arm and an Algonquin war club leapt out of the corner and into her hand; an added set of mottled white feathers were raised in a menacing hackle.

"No, not yet," said Emma, motioning for Snow to relax. "We have to know what we're dealing with first and we can't afford an out-of-control confrontation, that could include many dreamers as injured bystanders. It would be a logical and effective defense for them to wrap themselves in human souls. We would never hurt them intentionally, but, I suspect, the Reds would happily toss them away as shields against any attack."

"No one is that callous," said Snow. "It would forgo every principle of our being."

She walked to the corner and set the club back in its place, smoothing its feathers and whispering gentle words to it.

"Sadly, daughter," replied Emma, "I believe that destroying both our craft and the Halls of the Circles is the intent here. This has been tried before, long before your time. The Elders had hoped that your generation might be spared a war, but it appears that this was just a fond wish. Some in each of our generations carry this malevolent trait and it's just a matter of a few decades before it surfaces again. When the evil intent infects the most malleable of dreamers, too many can perish before the balance is restored."

She paused in thought. "But, if we act with cunning, the correct path can be calculated and decisive actions taken. We must align sufficient power to control both the setting and the outcome of any confrontation. This is the only way to prevent an even bigger tragedy."

Snow was thoroughly confused. Nothing in her upbringing had prepared her for the idea of a war among the Draumr Clans. She searched her learning and the memories of many encounters with Elders, some who had close to a century of experience. None had told her stories of battles fought and won. If this happens regularly, why hadn't her training prepared her for it? Why hadn't her mother told her until now?

On the series of long connecting flights coming north, Snow slept again, but this time she used the sleep to do what she was best at—getting prepared. Emma had indicated that they were both moving to the secure Green Clan compound north-east of Georgian Bay in Ontario. It would take Snow another full day to get there, including a six-hour drive up from Toronto.

The dreamscape meeting with the Elders was in preparation for a full, on-the-record report to the First Circle. This review would give both Jake and Water a chance to set expectations all round. They would also advise her on what they wanted reported. She could rail at them in full frustration, something that she would need to avoid in the full assembly. Even so, it would be a trying dream. As sleeping while driving wasn't a good idea, she calculated that an overnight in a B&B was needed. She picked one of her favorites in the Caledon Hills outside Toronto, where the Draumr owner assured absolute privacy, a perfect mattress and an early and hearty farm breakfast. She reached out and joined her mother's close friend Annie, asleep, but dreaming of sitting on the front porch swing.

"It's been so long. Thought that you were buried in an avalanche somewhere," Annie kidded with a broad smile.

"I've been in a few, real ones and lately some scary ones in my dreams—not that they slow me down much."

They laughed and exchanged a few family updates.

"I'll be in by 10:00 p.m., Annie. Straight to bed, I'm afraid, I'm having my butt dragged up to the Halls for a command performance."

"I've heard that there is trouble," replied Annie. "Hope that it doesn't come here."

"How could it? It would need a reservation and you're always full."

"Now, now, that's just good luck and good service, I would never ensure that visitors here have the best dreams of their life."

"Course not," Snow replied with a smirk. "I may need a little TLC myself after the big wigs get through with me."

"See you tonight then and I'll have your favorites for breakfast tomorrow. Give me a shout if you need a little run in the hills after the pow wow to wind yourself back to deep sleep." Annie and the porch faded out.

Snow now had time to anticipate and prepare for the Elders briefing. She moved herself back to her high cabin to relax and review what she had seen again in her own mind. She was sure that everything that had happened, and was going to happen, was now on a need-to-know basis.

Snow hoped that Will would be there when the full First Circle was convened again. Based on her mother's update, it seemed likely that a number of Leutnants would be tasked with fixing the problem. He was officially only a Novice, but she knew how tough and determined he could be. She would gladly stand back-to-back with him in any fight. She couldn't wait for her marching orders to go have it out with Xana. It would be an interesting test. Maybe it had been a long time coming as White and Red were often opposed in everything from children's games to real life interventions. That they lived mostly in the U.S., while the Red Clan slunk around behind the old Iron Curtain had never helped. Détente was a good front that they all put on in public, when it suited their purpose.

Thinking of standing back-to-back with Will quickly turned into pleasurable memory of front-to-front. Being ready didn't mean that she couldn't complete her recovery with another round of luxurious and dreamy making out.

As an itinerant mountain guide she had had the benefit of instruction from several skilled European lovers of both sexes. Wide-awake sex was pretty good when the setting was right and the man or woman was considerate. She knew that she could bring some much-appreciated techniques to a dream coupling. She kept her hands where she could see them. Right now, she needed to keep her head straight and she was asleep on an airplane, after all. Wouldn't be good to be squirming and moaning next to the business suit flyer in the adjoining seat.

_Prepared enough, darlink?_ crossed her mind in an unfamiliar voice. Suddenly ice cold, she blinked and tried to replay the thought. Nothing came.

"Of course," she said out loud to herself and maybe to the owner of the voice. She and the Boy Scouts had that in common—they were always prepared. But, to herself, she wondered: _prepared for what?_ This frontier was new and, to this point, unknown territory. She allowed one tiny needle of worry to prick her gut, but then got control back.

_Whatever it takes_ , she was going to be ready. The flight was on approach. It was time to wake-up and to start moving north.

# Oksana

Mikilo 'Cherry' Chervoniy sat on an old stump in front of a burdei hut at least 100 years out-of-date. It had rough cut posts supporting a sagging and weedy sod roof. Split poplar logs still covered in old, crumbling bark, formed rough outside walls. Gaps were plugged roughly with clay mixed with horse hair. There were no visible metal latches or hinges; everything was held to together with wood pegs or carved supports. The nervous downhill slope of the walls suggested that a good wind or even a good push could topple it. A smoky cooking fire vented through a hole at the peak of the roof.

Cherry was wearing period proletariat clothes—dull, grey, mud-stained and bagging from both age and the ill-fit. He had better boots on, but they too showed years of use under layers of dried horseshit. He had tipped back a wide-brimmed felt hat that bore the salt-stains of sweat earned through hard field work. The impression of a depression-era peasant was completed with a deep farmer's tan above the neck and week-old grizzled beard.

He was sitting quietly, which drove his nephews crazy; but the quite peace was perfectly fine with Oksana. Cherry carved a long piece of hardwood that was beginning to look like a soup spoon. It would be a gift for his mother, from his father, who, for all appearances, he was. Or, that's who he was in character. Draumrs could do many things in dreams, but they could not bring the dead back. Only the dead themselves could choose if and when to return to another's dreams. The hut was his creation, based on recall from a childhood long ago. He came here when other places seemed too noisy or too demanding. It never changed, the smoke always curled, the farm animals clucked, grunted or neighed from their places. Flies buzzed. Barnyard shit stunk. It always felt like it might rain soon.

The spoon would go into the kitchen alongside other presents his father had once given his mother. They were hanging beside the stove on pegs, worn and stained from use. When he returned again, the new spoon would have made many pots of borscht or potato soup and be likewise stained. He liked to think that she came and did that, even though it probably never happened.

"Sloue-hy," he called their attention in Ukrainian, but then changed to English for the benefit of his sparsely-educated nephew. "Tell me." Then he waited. It was both a command and permission.

Oksana Chervoniy, 'Xana' to all but her father, had the privilege of speaking first, even though her Chervoniy 'cousins' Alexander 'Lex' and Bohdan 'Bobby' were busting to impress the old man with boasts of achievements. But, they knew that caution was a better approach.

Cherry carved with a heavy black knife that moved gracefully through the wood. It was razor sharp. The nephews knew that similar knives had suddenly found their way up through thrusting chins, pierced wagging tongues, crushed huffing nasal passages and sliced into squirming pretentious brains many times in Cherry's waking life. Even more deadly in a dream, this knife now seemed to hold a lot of menace. Their eyes carefully followed every cut and shaving of the wood.

"We now know that they cannot stand in our way," stated Xana, speaking in the precise English of a worldly European intellectual. She could speak however she chose in the dreamscape, so adopted accents much like she selected her clothing. She knew words were only a small part of communication. Delivery was much more important. Right now, she didn't want to sound anything like her boorish cousins.

Xana was now dressed somewhat modestly, in respect for her father and in disdain for her cousins. She rarely covered much of her stunning athletic body, either in her dreams or when out in the world, wide awake. Together with flaming red hair that fell in cream soda waves, startling blue eyes and a perfect cover-model's face, her sex-of-your-life body was a devastating tool that she knew how to use to perfection. Today, though, in her father's childhood village, faded denim jeans and buttoned-up shirt matched the farm yard setting.

She moved to sit on the only other stump, leaving Lex and Bobby shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot, not knowing if they should come closer, squat, or sit right on the ground. They looked around for something to drag over but there was nothing. They hovered at a distance that showed interest, but stayed out of reach of that knife. They would wait to see Cherry's first reaction before committing too much familiarity.

"We are much closer to collapsing dreaming and waking behavior together," Xana continued, in a matter-of-fact tone. "The dreamer simply went to sleep while moving and was completely in our control. He didn't wake even when attacked; as he saw it, this was just another part of his dream. He adopted outrageous form and perilous behavior. There was no hesitation. He displayed skills that he didn't have because I told him that he had them." She was just stating facts.

Cherry nodded but said nothing. He stopped carving and looked up at her.

Xana carried on, "Unlike our early attempts, the dreamer's ego stayed intact this time. He wished for things that he could not have or hope to accomplish in his waking life. He achieved them and died smiling. I have no doubt that he would have taken a room full of friends or a plane load of strangers with him, if the action fit his self-image and ego."

Cherry considered the report. He had expected good news from his daughter. Although he frequently gave her tasks that he knew were a stretch or even well beyond her demonstrated abilities, she rarely disappointed. He now realized that she would soon pass him in both ability and ambition. She was a rare child, now full of adult potential, but still dangerously vulnerable as a youth in the face of the combined strength of the First Circle. They were on exposed ground needing to move quickly forward, but also needing to stay 'off the radar' of the powerful overseers.

"But, he was just one." Cherry had been there observing. "His friends might well have stopped him. They were not dreaming and reacted quickly, if unsuccessfully, once they saw his intent."

"I'm confident that I could have weaved them all into the dream if needed. But, the surprise caught them ill-prepared, so they were no threat. The most important part of the test was of our ability to control the dream in the presence of a strong opposing Leutnant."

Xana was building the case. "Sacha White could have inserted herself sooner and more effectively, if she had immediately suspected another Draumr at work. As it was, my tight control of one individual meant she understood too late what was happening. I prevented her from intervening soon enough or with any effect."

She continued, "Besides, I have worked on a group in isolation, far from other Draumrs, where there is no chance of intervention. With time, a series of dreams can create control of many dreamers in a common dreamscape. But, each must have a deep fear or hidden desire that can be manipulated."

"My other trial continues. I anticipate that one in the group will kill another in apparent full wakefulness once the distinction between dream and reality is sufficiently blurred."

Cherry nodded again and considered his next steps and the advice he could give to his daughter.

He spoke with caution, "We are known to the First Circle now. I have been absent from the Table. Almost certainly, Emma White observed you and the others on the mountain. She will get a full report from her child, and both will carry the details to Elders. She knows you and she knows our Clan's presence when she sees it and senses it. While the Elders do not know our full intentions, they now know for certain that we are the enemy. Our work will become more difficult."

He added, "If they were not old and naïve, they would attack now with full force and wipe us off the map. But, I am counting on the likelihood that they will send an emissary while they organize their forces."

He laughed, placing his calloused hand gently on Oksana's knee. "I am ready to talk to them. I have a story about two out-of-control nephews to spin. While they offer stupid advice and help in solving this problem, you will disappear from their view and quietly move on to our real target."

Lex and Bobby forgot about their planned boasts temporarily, when they heard that they would be bait for the First Circle hunters.

Lex was older by a few months, a son of Cherry's sister. Awake, he was moderately good-looking with a high Caucasian brow and wide-set dark eyes. He topped out at a 5' 8" but was fighting trim with the rough hands and knuckles of a country brawler. In the dreamscape, he was always taller and even better looking, flashing designer clothes, rich leathers and lots of bling. But, it never seemed to be well-fitted to his character and left other Draumrs with the impression of a tarted-up poser. He carried no personal style or warmth. He was a short mean killer, cloaked as a TV star, with no more believably.

Bobby was more honest. His dream appearance didn't change much from his waking look. His regular clothes were worn denim and tailored cotton. Square shouldered and powerful, he carried a well-muscled 200 lbs. on a compact frame like his father did at a young age. He was the illegitimate son of Cherry by a second cousin, but was always simply called a nephew. He hadn't inherited any of Cherry's calculating decisiveness and simply lacked any ambition at all. Other Clan families had encouraged Cherry to make him his son and raise him as his male successor, but Cherry rejected the idea. Their tradition was one child at a time and that was all he needed. Bobby was a tolerated, but unnecessary offspring. Cherry's primary and only required weapon was Oksana. Bobby understood his place from when he was a toddler, almost as soon as he could meet Cherry's eyes.

Lex spoke up first, as he always did. "Uh, you're not talking about sending us out against some crack-shot Leutnant are you? We're really just middling Novices. Not really that good at too much, even at providing a distraction."

He looked very worried. Bobby just looked bored.

"Oh, but you've come here to boast about your conquests." Cherry felt the old juices kick in. In another time and place Lex might die where he stood as an confirming example to Bobby that his plans were never questioned.

"Tell me more about your latest efforts." Cherry fixed steel grey eyes on Bobby, encouraging him to speak before his cousin.

"They've been playing doctor and fucking young girls," Xana interjected. "There is no purpose other than getting their dicks wet."

"That's not true." Bobby spoke up, now eyeing her with caution. Xana was a dangerous person to antagonize, even if she was kin. She also carried plenty of knives that could also find your throat in an instant.

"Ve are doing vhat ve were told to do. You burn and pillage. We fuck. We're terrorizing them none the less. And ve too have reached across the vaking boundary. You leave them covered in real jizz, eh, Lex?" He laughed a put-on laugh and poked his cousin, hard. Lex, surprised, stumbled back, just barely avoiding falling on his ass.

"You two are worse than the bullies you conjure up. What purpose is there in just hurting women and leaving them emotionally shattered?" Xana was usually all business, but she had a streak of feminist furor that these two could ignite with their brutal, often misogynist, predation on the most helpless victims.

"But, it is part of the plan, right Cherry? Er, Mikilo...?" Lex tailed the question off, clearly not sure if he was allowed to use the more familiar name.

Cherry smiled and looked at each in turn, ending with his daughter.

"Unfortunately, in every war, there is a place for the brutality, rape and other cruelty that is the true signature of the human species. Each side does it in the name of their cause, their god, their kin, whatever. The truth is that all combatants do it. And the potential to do it is embedded in the psyche of every person. They seek to demoralize as well as to kill. We do not create the brutality, we only let it out, if it serves our purpose."

He looked to the nephews. "Alexander and Bohdan," he smiled warmly, "You have an important role to play and will prove to be highly valuable in our conquest. I have foreseen this."

Now Lex glowed with his praise. Bobby just looked relieved that this encounter had turned out OK. No split lips or broken bones this time.

Cherry was well-practiced in sending men to their deaths just as they became convinced of their immortality. He made them feel indispensable. Then. he tossed them away.

Cherry continued, "We must now assume that there will be hostile Draumrs present in any of our next actions. Hopefully, they can be distracted providing sweet dreams to young children, but they will eventually need to be eliminated none the less. When we strike for the final time, we cannot risk early detection or even a feeble attempt at interdiction by a local hero wannabe. Your role will be to intercept them, quickly and fatally, if need be. Your choice of methods is your own call."

He now looked to Xana, reminding her too that he made all decisions.

"If you need more practice at whatever now, get on with it as quietly as possible. When you are needed, you will be called."

Bobby thought to high-five Lex, but pulled back when Lex's eyes sent an indisputable "fuck-off" message. He giggled instead, relishing the thoughts. _They were indispensable. And they could carry on fucking._

"Now, get out of here while Xana and I talk more about her mission. You do not need to know this information and it is better that you have nothing of value to hide if you are questioned."

The nephews bowed together and stepped away, de-materializing into the landscape.

"When can you leave?" Cherry asked.

Xana replied "In five days. I have one more practice session to complete and must cloak my physical movements. I am to be a speaker at a legitimate conference in Hong Kong next week. I have a professional visa for mainland China and have added six months of visitor status. It will take some time to complete preparations there, but I will be out of sight after the conference and any who are watching should believe that I have traveled back to Kiev."

"Is it wise to be in the country already?" Cherry was confirming more than questioning.

"It's close enough to reach out easily to the conference site. I expect that I will also have to throw off a tail or two. Our friends are ready to assist when I arrive. They will then provide a sleeping location that cannot be entered. The cousins can join me there later. It will be safe."

"Besides," she added, smiling again, this time coldly. "I'll be the only person who will know which day all hell will break loose. I'll be careful; I have very capable help on the ground. Don't worry."

Cherry responded, but with muted enthusiasm. "It sounds like you are ready for your greatest challenge. We must remember that we are only the catalysts for a confrontation that is overdue and must be moved along quickly. Form no attachments and expect no quarter. The designates of the First Circle will come and will attempt to intervene. I would not choose to harm any, but with the plan now in motion we must not be distracted or delayed."

Xana replied, "I will be most vigilant and will strive for a resounding victory for the Red Clan. For too long we have suffered under the weak leadership of Greys and Browns. White has been an obstacle in our way. Now is our time to lead, again." She was repeating his words back to him. It was what the revered Chairman expected. Over the years the drilled-in message that the Red Clan must rule again had become her mantra.

Cherry now turned up his encouragement, "Go with speed. Call me when you need me. I will let you see the diversion here. No matter the outcome, do not let it distract you. Under no circumstances, reveal yourself to help out here. Some may be sacrificed to achieve our goal. This is how it must be."

Xana was a little concerned by his final admonition. She believed that he was invulnerable. But he was old and frequently tired. _Could I see him die without responding?_ She knew what the answer must be. She didn't know if she accepted it.

"Iwi şanslar" he concluded, wishing her good luck in Turkish.

"Seni seviyorum," she responded. "Biz başarısız olamaz." (I love you, we cannot fail.)

They hugged and faded back to their own beds. Both had much to do on waking.

# Aachen Dawn

The dawn view from the ancient fortifications at Aachen, Germany showed what weeks of intensive artillery bombardment can do. The dreamscape setting was mid-October, 1944; the German army garrison would surrender tomorrow, after a month under relentless attack. Many structures were reduced to rubble and those that still stood showed gaping holes and windows torn open from relentless blasts. Smoke filled the air and curled out of most buildings. There was a persistent ammonia smell from the amatol high-explosives in the Allied shells, that had only stopped raining in because time was, just now, standing still.

Certainly, hundreds were dead in the rubble, but there was no one in sight and no voices or cries could be heard. It was just the stage, set for a brutal morality play, but devoid of actors.

"Why do you come here?" Tom Brown asked his father.

They stood together at the edge of the ancient stone roadway leading up to the 14th century battlements. Mercifully, the heights were now of little strategic value and had not been a target for the deadly accurate American 105 Howitzers now arrayed across the river.

"I need to remind myself of how bad it can be," replied Jake Brown. "It's easy to forget the true misery when wars are only small and far away. This is what war looks like when it sweeps across a whole continent."

"You will never forget, why relive it?" replied Tom. "We could be meeting in more comfortable quarters, or for that matter, while wide awake. I'm only a couple hours away in Zurich."

Jake shrugged. He rarely explained his actions.

He then picked up on Tom's offer. "Yes, we certainly will get together. Come to the coast tonight, so that we can talk and then sleep close-by for tomorrow's First Circle summons. It will be a war council, if I get my way, and we will have much planning to do afterwards."

Jake looked east, towards the brown ribbon of the Rhine visible below them. For centuries, the most westerly German city of Aachen or Aix-la-Chapelle, when occupied by the French, had been a pivot point for bloody conflicts. This dreamscape recalled when it was the western point of entry for Allied forces finally pushing German fighters back to their own land. There should have been calls for an armistice or negotiations that would preserve lives on all sides. But the lunatic dictator, maddened by dreams of glory, would hold out until most of the country was reduced to rubble, just as much of this medieval city was, once again in its long history.

This war had been Jake's introduction to deadly combat between Draumrs, paralleled in a dreamscape by mindless 'puppets'. Losses in dream conflict might hurt the ego and, possibly, result in a rebuke and sanctions at the Circle, but they weren't fatal. Draumrs very occasionally fought to make a point, often violently, but then moved on to other dreams. That is, until the artifacts came into play.

Unfortunately, there was never any such protection for dreamers or the Draumrs who went with them into real war. In dreams, psyches are vulnerable to repeated assaults that can leave them exhausted and terrified. Take that exhaustion onto the real battlefield and it's only a matter of time before a mistake is made. More than one sentry had his throat slit while sound asleep at his post. When the mistakes imperiled entire companies of fighters, Draumrs died too. They are only flesh and blood.

Berlin: April, 1945

The narrow stairwell shook as another blast tore up the neighborhood, causing Frau Venhaus to stumble against the railing. It creaked in protest at the weight of the woman. If it gave way, she might tumble to the landing below. Plaster dust fell to the steps before her and she doubled her grip on the covered food tray in her sweaty hands. She must complete the climb before another shell hit.

"Schiza," she puffed, continuing up to the third floor and praying to God to forgive her for what she was about to do.

It had been months since they had any regular roomers—no one wanted to stay in Berlin, with the Russians getting closer every day. Their neighbours left, their friends and family left, trying in desperation to get the Venhauses to come too. There was word neighbors were making their way to Kremmen—a little town about 40 kilometers northwest of Berlin's limits and that much closer to the American troops front line. It was out of the way; the soldiers had their sights on Berlin and the Fuhrer. The others all asked her, "Why stay here to die, or worse, be captured by the Russians?"

The iron door that came into view before her on the third floor was that very reason. It stood an ominous black mark among the yellow primrose wallpaper. Their one and only boarder remained there, locked in his room. On the floor lay the last tray of food the inn keeper had left for him the previous day. She set down the new one and lifted the lid on the old one; the beef stew was still there, untouched, cold.

She 'tsked', shook her head and stood up, grasping onto the door frame as the building rattled again.

She knocked on the heavy door with the butt of a spoon, "Herr Brun? It is Frau Venhaus, to bring you some more food."

She strained to hear over the roar of a plane overhead. Men were yelling in the streets. But no response came from behind the door. She placed her palms to the door and pushed, but the door was unyielding.

A chill ran up her spine, despite the sticky, dusty air trapped on her third-floor landing. Charles Brun was a university professor; he had said as much upon arriving to book a room—nearly a year-ago. He was a tall, clean-shaven man with dark eyes and a shock of black hair. The Frau remembered how pale he was and thought the man could use more time in the sun, or perhaps some time in a woman's arms, and immediately began considering what female connections she still had left in the city who might like to meet him. She rarely had chance to exercise her matchmaking skills in this time of war.

She didn't get the opportunity however, as he came and went very often in those first few weeks, often returning with fresh bread or some difficult-to-find pastry for the Venhauses. This gesture improved her husband's opinion of the man tenfold. It also helped that he always paid on time and was polite. He began to sleep a lot—often retiring early in the evening, waking past breakfast. He was very gracious to find Frau Venhaus kept some sausage and egg warming for him.

When she'd inquire if he was feeling ill, he'd wave her off and just say "My work makes me very tired. We are so short-staffed now. I'll be alright."

She believed him because it was easy to trust a man like Charles, which perhaps had been the man's plan, she reflected, staring at the black iron door.

It was three months into his stay when he requested the big door be installed on his room. It was a ridiculous request of course—such material was nearly impossible to find and expensive. The Venhauses asked him, "Why would an inn need a room with an iron door"

He answered, "I know you need this money. I want you to have it, if you allow me this request. I've already secured the workers and paid bribes for the door, please just allow them to install it. I will give you the money; pay them when you are satisfied with the work."

Though both husband and wife still stood in shock at the stack of Reichsmarks sitting on their kitchen table—an amount they'd probably never see again in their lifetime—there was still doubt in their eyes.

"Meine Freunde," Charles said, "We all hope for a quick German victory in this war. But for Berlin, the fight will most certainly take a terrible toll. The city will need to stand up to a vicious attack before we reclaim momentum to prevail. As your friend, I think it best you leave the city until the Fuhrer claims his victory. I will be protected behind my door."

Frau Venhaus began to protest, while Herr Venhaus set his jaw and let out a long slow breath.

Charles continued, "I will give you more than a year's worth of rent—I fully expect the war to conclude by then. If I can fortify my room, I shall be safe, and you need not worry. But I must stay. I am needed in the war effort."

He was persistent; the couple agreed—though their suggestion of moving him to a first-floor room to avoid having to carry such a weight up three floors was dismissed. He liked his room, he said. Herr Venhaus told his wife later that if Charles thought one iron door would protect him from the ravages of war, he clearly had never seen the damage left by the allied air raids.

"If a bomb wants to drop on his room, there's nothing that iron door's going to do about it," he huffed.

Frau Venhaus furrowed her brow and wringed her handkerchief.

After the door was installed, they began to see very little of Charles Brun. Every day Frau Venhaus would bring up plates of food for a meal. Perhaps one in three would get eaten, the empty plate left outside the door for her to find on her next ascent. When he did leave, he didn't stop to chat as he once did; only sometimes leaving another envelope of money on the hall table as he swept through and out the door, looking more-gaunt and ghost-like every day.

Then he stopped coming out altogether. He ate even less.

Herr Venhuas said they must pack and get ready to go, but his wife felt an obligation to her last tenant. Was he sick? Maybe he needed a doctor. Though any attempts to communicate with him through the door were met with silence. And the key he had given them to the door was useless. He had several deadbolts added on the inside and he had locked himself in.

So, it was this day that the Venhauses would finally leave. Perhaps too late—they knew, for the Russians were on Berlin's doorstep. Frau Venhaus laid a hand on the iron door and said a silent prayer for the man inside – "Passen Sie auf sich auf," she whispered, _take care of yourself._

As she turned her back to the door and descended, another chill took her spine.

_Ach, du lieber Gott in Himmel,_ _I hope he's not already dead._

Two days later, a youth in a stolen German military uniform smashed a back window and broke into the Venhaus inn. He was accompanied by a young Ukrainian spy, who carried the Russian military papers needed to get them out of Berlin to the east. The owners were gone, but they sensed the presence the sought on one of the upper floors and quickly ran up the stairs. Sunlight burst through a gaping blast hole in the wall of the stairwell and the men nimbly jumped over the chunks of brick and plaster. _Jacques knew he had finally found Charles, but was he too late?_

The iron door stood sentry to the last bedroom of the inn and the men knew it was locked before even trying. The Russian pulled a charge from his bag, set it against the door and lit a sparking fuse, before diving back into the stairwell with Jacques.

The explosion nearly ripped the house in two. It rattled the men's teeth and bones and covered them with plaster and brick dust. Coughing through the dust and smoke, Jake pulled himself up and heaved vertically up what was left of the stairs. Pulling himself to the top floor, most of the walls were destroyed, what were left were broken and ripped – the framing of the rooms was balancing precariously on the building's fragile beams. The door to the last room itself was intact, but the wooden frame around it was blown apart. There was enough movement for the men to pry open a gap.

Taking his gun from his holster, Jacques cocked it and slipped through the opening. The Ukrainian bowed slightly and let him go alone. They both knew who they had finally found. Coughing, Jacques waved through the dust and allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust. The smell of the room also hit him at once: the stench of feces and sweat.

"Father?" he called.

He spotted a figure laying on a bed against the far wall, a beam from the ceiling had fallen over it. The figure lay motionless. Jake approached cautiously for fear of knocking more of the building down.

Charles Brun appeared dead. His sunken eyes were shut, his face hollowed. His hair was thinning and white with fallen plaster. He lay in what one might have been a uniform, but was now torn and stiff with dirt.

Jacques knew the man wasn't dead yet. He could still sense a presence. _Oh father, what have you done?_

Reaching a hand down, he gently shook Charles's shoulder. "Father—Charles—can you hear me? Wake up."

One leathery eye peeled open, then the other, to look upon the intruder. It was a blank stare, then slowly, one of recognition. Charles's face twitched with what might have been a smile.

"Jacques, my son," his voice cracked. "I am nearly there—we are so powerful. It is a glorious time."

"Father, no—you can't go back into the dream, it's too late. The war is over. Germany has lost."

Charles only grinned; he began to close his eyes again, but Jacques grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him. "No. You're coming out with me. You've done too much; do you hear me?"

The gaunt man took one last look at his son and smiled, "I wish you had been here with me." He closed his eyes and whispered "Sieg heil..."

"No." Jacques shook him again, but he had lost consciousness. If he still dreamed, he had left them behind. Jacques lowered him down, and stepped away, cursing. He heard yelling and shooting in the street. House-to-house clearance and executions were underway. The Soviet troops were overwhelming the district. He had to change clothes. They had to go now. Jake closed his eyes, to summon some peace, some calm in these last moments.

"Damn you," he said, as he turned away. "It should have been different. We could have been different."

The Ukrainian, who had now joined him, aimed the pistol in his hand at Charles head. He had no hesitation. Jake was walking out as he fired.

It was 3:30 p.m. Only moments later, in a bunker under the gardens of the Reichskanzlei at government headquarters, another gunshot went off. Charles's dreamer was also dead.

The irony that Cherry, the Ukrainian spy and his ally, was now likely the enemy, was not lost on Jacques, or on Tom. Tom knew the story of his grandfather's death intimately. He saw that his father was now lost in deep thought about both the past and the future. With his step-brothers and sisters, he had heard about and been led along the path his father took from Aachen to Berlin in search of his grandfather.

When faced with roadblocks, loss of troops and misery, commanders had found both inspiration and renewed confidence in their dreams, thanks to Draumrs in their midst. Jake had helped move the war to its inevitable end in Berlin as both a dreamscape combatant and a muse to the Allied leaders of men. When the time was right, he had moved across the lines and found Cherry on the Soviet side. But, they had been too late to stop the madness.

Tom was born Thomas Isaiah Brown in 1982, forty years after the war ended. He was the youngest of Jake's children and his favorite. The offspring of a much younger mother, wife number three for Jake, Tom was Jake's last child and, in his mind, his last chance to do it right.

For the childhood of each of his older children, Jake had been off fighting someone, somewhere, on his own and had returned to find the children were strangers sheltered in their mother's house. Whatever they had been told of their father, their reaction to him reflected caution ingrained by his reputation as a superstitious coot. It had taken a long time and many stories of his adventures to bring each of them around, first to loving him, then to working for him.

With Tom, he was able to stay home. Of course, the Middle East was perpetually aflame and the industrial war machine was always picking a new fight somewhere, supposedly over injustice, but really, for profit opportunities.

He now wanted to leave the wars to others. To his oldest children, in fact, who were grown and quite capable of manning a post in Baghdad or Damascus, as needed. He gave young Tom his full attention, encouraged him to grow and prosper, made sure that he got the best education and then left him to succeed or fail without the overhang of a raving father pushing him into the fight. But, in his own time, Tom had gladly picked up the reigns and was now one of the best intelligence operatives on any side.

Awake, they met hours later on a busy street in Nice and hugged for a long time—for two men. Father and son rarely met in the flesh and neither was the least concerned about appearances. Jake has requested the back table in his local gastronomic restaurant, conveniently located in the hotel that he owned—the top floor of which served as his home. He tried never to meet others up there and absolutely never ate in the rooms, even though the same fare would certainly have been brought to him. He appreciated the roles of the maitre-d'hotel and the chefs in creating the perfect setting and presentation for the fine cuisine. He rarely ordered, but was simply brought the best of the house for that evening.

They enjoyed the fine meal for over an hour before they talked about the urgent matter before them.

"You have thought about the new problem?" Jake finally opened the discussion over coffee and cognac. It was more as a statement than a question, as Tom was as connected as he was.

"Yes, but tell me what you know. I'm sure that I have only heard the things that others want heard." Tom knew his father would share his insight only in a physical meeting, never in a dream setting.

Jake assumed that all dreams were bugged, even his own creations. Awake, he had the entire hotel, including restaurants, swept for bugs weekly. The electronic sweeps frequently turned up a small collection of various listening or video devices. None were ever directed at him, but his hotel guests were both rich and influential; they attracted all manner of spies looking for advantage in negotiations or for dirt to spread. Jake could not risk having Draumr business overhead, even if inadvertently. He had swept the restaurant less than an hour before they sat down.

"I'm not at all sure what I know or what the entire First Circle knows at this point," said Jake. "It is more of a case of so much nothing that there must be something. It is like the absence of light in a spot in a faraway galaxy that tells you a dark presence is there. There is no other proof, but there can be no other explanation. Our dark presence is likely a Clan leader 'fallen from grace' as our house mothers so eloquently understate it."

He continued, "I personally believe that the Red Clan has chosen to let evil back in. Mikilo Chervoniy has walked a tightrope his entire life, but may have finally lost his balance and taken his family with him into the pit."

"Cherry?" questioned Tom. "He has been our ally so often. His methods were always rough by western standards, but he kept an entire bloc of eastern powers in check for so many decades. It's hard to believe that he could be corrupted against his will."

"I'm not sure that it is against his will," replied Jake. "He enjoyed a lot of power and prestige that has fallen away with the democratization of the east. He obviously wants for no physical comforts, but the mind of an old man can play tricks with suspicion and fear. Don't I know it."

It was a small self-effacing poke at his own fabled paranoia.

"But, it's one thing to openly voice fears and ask others what they think. It's quite another to ruminate in suspicion and hatred until you can no longer tell real threats from imagined ones."

"Cherry has been absent from the Halls while dreams have grown dark and frightening. Still not clear why this is happening or if he is personally involved, but we have strong suspicions that his close family members are behind some of the night terrors."

"Xana?" Now Tom was ready to take a real interest in the discussion. More than a few times, he and Xana had hooked up for some spectacular and very kinky dreamscape sex. They had enjoyed plain old awake lust as well when they had passed through the same cities. He did business; she competed. When they were both winners, they shared a night or two of celebration. He had never thought of her as a lover though, as they both saw the trysts as having a good time for a short while. Or maybe they just hadn't allowed the possibility of something more?

Now that he thought of it, Xana had been absent from public view for quite a time. He knew that she was a powerful Leutnant, well-practiced and highly skilled. She was absolutely loyal to her father. If Cherry had directed her to exact a brutal response to some threat, whether real or imagined, she would act without hesitation. She could be a deadly foe if they were on opposite sides in a fight. Jake now had his full attention.

"Is there reason to think that there will be an attack on another Clan? Are they seeking a war within the Circles?" Tom asked. Over the centuries there had been fabled splits in the leadership of the Draumrs, often due to an alignment with kings or emperors in the waking world. Clans found themselves facing each other across the waking battlefield and on occasion this led to meta-skirmishes in the dreamscape as political tensions grew.

"That's the funny thing," Jake continued. "There has been no declaration or any sort of overt push from Cherry or any of the Red Clan members towards another Draumr. There has just been a dramatic increase in terror-filled dreams that are under obvious Draumr control. Precise repeated settings, reappearing ominous dark beings and minor physical harm to sleepers; all of these manifestations point to a controlling influence."

"Until this week, no one has seen through the dreams to identify who is behind them."

"What happened?" Tom was still struggling with the idea that the Red Clan was involved.

"Emma's daughter Sacha encountered a powerful female Draumr in a dream that resulted in the death of a prominent Japanese citizen in the Andes. We don't have the full report yet from the Greys and the Draumr was well-disguised, but it was clear that she was a very capable Leutnant, with flaming red hair. Sacha and Emma are convinced that it was Xana."

"Not the death of the celebrity skier?" questioned Tom. "The reports said that it was an accident." He had seen the limited and tightly-edited TV footage that indicated the death was an unfortunate error in judgment. There had been no mention of any others involved.

"There are no accidents," Jake said sternly, repeating one of his truisms.

"The deceased skier was Sasha White's mountain guiding client. Apparently, he skied willingly to certain death, with Sasha doing all she could to stop it. She reports that he was sound asleep while skiing like a maniac and she was powerless to stop him. At full speed down a mountain, she managed to join the dreamscape and confirm the presence of the other Draumr, but she could not wrest control of the dream. Except for a last second bail-out, she would have gone into the rocks with him."

Now Tom had another reason for a growing disquiet in his gut. He and Snow had never been a number as she was ten years younger than him, but that hadn't stopped him from admiring her great body and athleticism as she became a 'legal' and very attractive older teenager. He found himself doing mental math and placing her at a very respectable 23 or so by now. If she was in this fight, maybe an alliance might lead to a dalliance. The possibility was intriguing.

"What's the matter?" asked Jake. He was expecting more questions and now wondered if Tom had heard everything he said.

"Nothing, nothing," said Tom, too quickly. "Just starting to formulate scenarios for how this might play out."

"I'm sure that you have 'scenarios' forming, with the possibility of several attractive young female Leutnants involved." Jake was way ahead of him, as usual.

"As much as I too would like it to be otherwise, I think that it is wise for us all to keep our powder and our peckers dry until we see where this leads. If a female Draumr is off-side, your worst move would be to see her as tits and ass, rather than the brilliant foe she probably is. Many an agent has died doing just that."

The discussion was over anyway. Tom topped up the cognacs, then raised his to toast his father. "I'm sure that we'll head this off quickly; I don't expect to be abstinent for too long."

They both grinned, acknowledging that young Draumrs rarely did anything without considering the opportunity for great dream sex; Jake had been one of the finest opportunists in his day.

"I've had your room upstairs set up as usual." Jake was wrapping up for now. "The full First Circle will meet in the late evening tomorrow for the east coast of North America as most members are there now in anticipation of a physical get-together. We'll need to be asleep by about 4:00 a.m. here."

Tom was familiar with the protocol. When they entered the shared dreamscape of the Halls of the Circles, he would sit in the second circle of ranking Leutnants. His father was the First Circle Elder and would sit directly ahead of him at the Table of the Colors. Some of his step-brothers, sisters or cousins might be there, sitting alongside or behind him, but that would be by Jake's invitation only.

Tom rarely attended the First Circle meetings, but now had a great curiosity about where this dialogue would go. He also had a considerable curiosity about the current talents of a number of the female Leutnants from other Clans.

"I'll probably head over early." He smiled at his father as they finished their cognacs. "Good opportunity to connect with some old acquaintances."

Jake wondered again at his son's grasp of the serious nature of the threat, but also remembered that nothing had made him hornier than the prospect of heading to war.

"Get some real rest tonight. I'll see you in the Central Hall tomorrow," replied Jake. "Don't fall for any old broads in silk and feathers. They are better left to us more durable types; they might break something on a youngster like you."

They laughed together. For a moment, Jake forgot the ominous black cloud he felt building in the east.

# Kriegshauf

"Are we finally all here?" Armand growled without looking up. He knew full well who had entered and been seated.

He eventually did look up and noticed an empty Leutnant chair in the Red Clan segment. The Elder chairs remained in the construct whether filled or not, but other chairs only appeared if there was a dreaming mind asking for one. An empty chair was unusual, if not impossible.

"Is there a Red Clan representative among us?"

Armand was asking the other Elders. Unless invited by name to reply, no-one but Elders spoke to the room in the Central Hall.

Shrugs and "don't know..." came from each the Elders present.

Then a thin voice, with a thick Eastern European accent, responded from up one of the passageways. The sound gained in volume as the speaker entered the Central Hall.

"Oh dear; hurry, hurry...apology, apology...your Eminence and to all Elders. May I have permission to enter and to speak further."

A figure was shuffling quickly into the Central Hall, but with some obvious difficulty. The red-robed man appeared old and a little stooped. He wore the clerical vestment of an eastern orthodox catholic bishop. Fortunately, he had left the traditional conehead hat out of his presentation.

There was silence all round as everyone in the Hall attempted to make sense of what they were seeing.

Regaining some control of the room, Armand finally spoke. "Of course, please continue." He was as curious as the rest, trying hard to place the voice and attire in his extensive knowledge of eligible members of the Clans. _Could there be a Leutnant that he didn't know?_

"Dia-ac-o-u" (thank-you).

"Apologies again, I must use English, correct?"

By now the mysterious character had moved close to the vacant desk in Red Clan first tier, directly behind the empty Elder's chair.

"I am late because I got lost." He laughed a little at himself, then immediately became quite serious again.

"Who knew that this was possible?" He had turned away from the Elders' Table and appeared to be starting a side conversation with the nearest Novice. It was unclear if he was referring to being lost within the Hall or to the dreamscape in its entirety. The Novice politely pointed a finger back to the Elders, indicating that the visitor should tell them.

After a moment of confusion, the visitor did turn back.

"Oh, yes." He turned half-way back to the Table. "I'm afraid that in my confusion, I entered someone's bedroom, recently vacated, in fact. Quite a bit of clothing spread around. I called for the owner of the clothing while averting my eyes, to seek clarification, but to no avail. I suppose that I should have known immediately that I was in the wrong place. But, perhaps standards had changed. Who knows these things without asking? I appreciated when a young Grey Clan gentleman retrieved me and pointed me in this direction. Very difficult this, when you are out of practice..."

He appeared ready to wander further off topic, but then snapped back to where he was and to whom he was speaking. He repositioned himself to speak directly to Armand again. He nodded almost to a bow and then, finally stepped in front of the correct chair, in the row behind the Red Elder's empty chair.

"Oh, dear, yes, a message, please." He was apparently very nervous. He didn't sit. Instead, he searched the various pockets of his robes, finally finding what he was looking for. He then unfolded a piece of paper with shaky hands and started to read.

"I am sent to bring official greetings and heart-felt apologies from Comrade Elder Mikilo Chervoniy on his unfortunate absence. He is ill with a malady that prevents extended sleep. Otherwise, he would surely be here for this exalted gathering. He is saddened to be absent and misses seeing each of you."

After a pause, the cleric's voice rose, as if in benediction. "Blessings to all of you for your continued good health and sound sleep."

He smiled broadly, clearly pleased that he had got the statement out without fumbling.

Without asking further permission, he continued, once again letting his focus swing to others around him. The lesser Draumrs had never seen anything like this is the Central Hall. No one ever spoke, except by direction. None would ever consider a rambling aside while under the gaze of Armand and the other Elders. It was an event worth remembering.

"I too, have for twenty years been afflicted by this curse of wakefulness. It must be something in our water. Damn Chernobyl, maybe. Oh, forgive my sailor tongue. Not sleeping is quite useful in the church. It's quite a limitation as a Draumr."

He paused to put down his paper on the desk and straighten his robes.

"I am afraid that I am rusty at all of this, having only recently been called back into service of the Red Clan by Comrade Mikilo Chervoniy."

He finally stopped talking and took a slow look around the room at a dozen sets of eyes watching him. He seemed to deflate quite a bit, having spent a lot of energy on his introduction. He pointed at the Red Leutnant chair and then back to himself, apparently asking if he could now sit.

"Please do sit," replied Armand, "Comrade Holy Father...er, Leutnant."

"Not sure exactly how we should address you. Is that rig really your occupational gear?"

Having sat down, the new Red entrant apparently didn't realize that he was being spoken to and just smiled, continuing to look around the Hall.

"Father." Armand added a little mental push this time to get his attention. "What is your name?"

The Red Bishop snapped his head around, then stood up again, unsteadily. "Oh, apologies again. I am Father Stefan Macijewych. You can just call me Stefan."

"Well, Stefan, please do stay seated unless you have a presentation to give."

Stefan plunked back down in his chair.

Armand continued, "This is a very serious meeting which will have significant consequences for all Clans. If you are the sole representative the Red Clan, you must pay very close attention and respond as fully and accurately as possible. Can you do that?"

Stefan considered the question for several seconds, then spoke hesitantly.

"Well, I'm not sure. It will depend what you ask me. Until three days ago, I had not been outside our parish Priori in Lutsk for more than three years. When I dreamed, it was only of a peaceful meadow where I could contemplate my duties and my fate. I believed that Draumr responsibilities were long behind me."

He paused to refocus, now realizing that he needed to be more direct.

"Comrade Mikilo has given me this assignment, I think, mostly to bring any questions back to him. Yes?"

"I see." Armand was clearly put off by this development and appealed to the other Elders with his eyes for any thoughts or suggestions.

Jake Brun rarely minced words. "I think that we're looking at a ridiculous disguise for a spy and infiltrator. I, for one, think that he should be tossed out. Send him back to Cherry with a tag that says: Nice Try Asshole."

"Please, please. Let's be polite." Emma White spoke to Jake, but the message was to all as a distinct rumble had started to grow.

Emma continued, "If Father Stefan were not a qualified Red Clan Leutnant, there would not be a chair for him. That it is present and that he is sitting in it establishes his credentials. What he chooses to wear is his choice. The critical point is that he cannot lie about his purpose here."

"Stefan." Emma pushed the command for attention at him. When he looked at her she locked eyes and held his attention fully.

"You have told us the truth and will continue to tell the truth, correct?"

Stefan could not speak until she allowed him to do so. He blinked as he was released and then cast wide eyes around the Elders.

"Why, yes. I could not do otherwise. I can neither lie to God nor to this gathering of His angels."

Jake expelled a noisy guffaw through half-open lips, as if he was punched in the stomach. Others gasped or laughed, depending on their manners. The younger Draumrs snickered while looking down at their desks.

Emma had felt a disconcerting push back and was pretty sure that this wasn't the whole truth. If he was really out of practice, he wasn't showing it. She shrugged a thought to the other Elders. _Due caution, let's just hear him out, for the record only._

"Order, please." Armand had had about enough.

"We are certainly not angels, Stefan. Given what goes on around here, I might suspect a more hellish influence. Regardless, we will accept your pledge as given."

Stefan nodded without saying any more. He looked down as he fumbled with a small notebook and pen that he now brought out of yet another pocket. They were only a prop. Deep in his attentive eyes a red glow grew brighter. The eyes were a portal for his distant commander. He blinked once or twice and it subsided. Their communication was complete for the moment.

Armand growled again, "Let's get on with this..."

"We'll hear first from the field reports." Armand didn't bother calling the meeting to order. After Stefan's entrance and statements, everyone in the Central Hall of the Circles was wondering to where the meeting would go next. Surprises were uncommon, so quite entertaining when they happened.

In addition to the Elders, there were Leutnants of each Clan present. Armand had two administrative staff, Grey Leutnants, behind him. One was an official recorder and another served to obtain information if it was not already available in the room. These positions were not necessarily blood-line, but could be filled by any senior Novice through appointment. Serving as a Recorder or Page was also second route into a valued Leutnant's chair for their Clan when there was more than one potential heir to the single Clan Elder's seat. His information provider was his actual nephew, Philip.

All other seats in the room were filled by the blood-line Leutnants or Novices of their respective Clan. While not specifically nominated as yet, everyone in the Hall knew that they could be 'requested' to take action, up to and including a physical attack on a foe, if so directed by the Elders. As with all other decisions at the Table, individual actions had been pre-agreed by the Elders, but the selected ones had not been officially given their individual assignments as yet.

Will Green was taking it all in for the second time, now as an active participant. With a couple days of intensive briefing and a repeat of exactly the same setting, he was finally having to fully give in to the concept of the shared dreamscape. Snow had more or less convinced him of that on the first visit, but the experience had been surreal, as in a dream. He had continued to shake his head and argue with himself: _Can't be real. Just a dream._

He had been fully briefed in long discussions and through more released memories by Jack and Water. Emma White had filled him with self-confidence, again. Snow, whether she had intended to or not, had released a bucket of testosterone-driven bravery, that now actually had him itching for a fight. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

He could now remember getting the upper hand on his peers, time and time again in the Cavern battles, which often ended with a sword through the heart of an opponent. It had happened to him on rare occasion, so he knew that it felt only like a pinprick—but the gushing blood and staggering death were very real until they all got up laughing as the lights came up. Well, usually they got up laughing. He now remembered several Brown Clan kids who took the game way too seriously and several Red Clan kids who were poor sports and preferred beating up on smaller kids before running away. As all of these kids were now young adults, he tried to put names to faces in his memory, wondering if they would meet again in a more-deadly engagement. From his briefing, he knew what was coming, but sat quietly waiting for it to be made official.

When asked directly by Armand, one of the Grey Clan Leutnants rose with a summary report.

"I am Philip Grey, for those of you whom I have not met, recently. He bowed slightly to the Elders and swept the room with his eyes, as if asking if anyone had objections to him continuing. He made direct eye contact with Will and nodded his head just enough to transmit a _Hi again, Duck_ message.

"Considering the recent disturbances, we have asked resident Draumrs in all regions to monitor the dreams of sleepers for unusual patterns or negative outside interference. Obviously, this can only be a sampling, however repeating patterns are detectable, particularly if they are highly stressful for dreamers."

"As I believe many of you are aware, we have found a disturbing repetition of interference that is terrorizing for some dreamers. This interference is limited to very specific individuals or groups, but is clearly Draumr-controlled."

Philip paused and looked around the room again, as if begging any questions. There were none. That this was a Draumr problem was already accepted by all.

"Where we have been able to monitor actual dreams in process, the repeating patterns include terrifying images as well as forced actions which are contrary to the natural flow of dreams for these individuals. These actions include rape, suicide and murder. It would appear that dreamscapes are being created and maintained purely for the purposes of testing the limits of this interference."

"Most disturbing, we have recorded a number of dreamscape events which actually caused injury to the sleeping individual. For example, a finger lost in a dream was actually severed and missing upon waking. We have the hospital report on this event."

There was an audible intake of air by many of the Draumrs in the room. Although Stefan of the Red Clan was apparently paying attention, he showed no reaction until he realized that others were buzzing about this revelation. He then shook his head slightly and feigned a troubled look, in case anyone was watching him. He made furious notes in his book.

"Order, please." Armand nodded to Philip to continue.

"The range of injuries is slight to fairly serious, but, to-date, we are only aware of one death caused only by a dream injury. Obviously, there are cardiac arrests and strokes happening to sleeping individuals all the time. We are specifically looking at events in dreams: attacks, collisions, falls and the like, where the dreamer experiences pain and destruction in the dream, then wakes with injuries that could only have been caused by a similar real life occurrence. In some cases, the dreamer has never left his bed. In others, as Snow, er...Sacha, er...Leutnant White will describe more fully, the dreamer is acting as if awake and actively puts himself in a position of peril."

Philip paused and looked to Armand for direction.

"I have more to report but perhaps now would be a good time to hear from Leutnant White, sir?"

"Yes, yes." Armand had been deep in thought somewhere. He had read all the reports ahead of time, but had not been formally briefed on the death in the Andes. The rumor mill had been having a field day, including adding hand-to-hand combat and Snow's near-death escape. It was time to get the true account on the record.

"Sacha, please tell us as much as you can about the unfortunate death of the Japanese skier in your company."

Snow was a little non-plussed by the wording of the request. Even though she was busting to accuse Xana, she hesitated in getting up. It had almost sounded like Armand was putting some blame on her. Emma turned to her, caught her eye and said, only to her: _He means nothing by this—I will back you up_.

When she did stand, she used the formality of the Central Hall to get her thoughts back in control and to take a few controlling breaths. "Respected Elders, Fellow Leutnants, Brave Novices, I am sorry to bring disquiet to this Hall."

She thought about continuing with the preamble, but caught Water's eye and received a very gentle push. _Just lay it on us—blast the Red bitch_

"Well, let me get to it then." Snow knew what she wanted to say and felt no fear of being direct.

"Yes, a Draumr interloper and manipulator took control of an individual in my presence and caused him to ski directly off a cliff to his death—while asleep."

The Hall was abuzz again. Armand simply held up a hand to quiet the rumble then turned his palm to Snow to continue.

Will Green was the most surprised person in the room as he had received very little specific information on this event before the meeting. His recollected knowledge included much about Draumr capabilities and the role that they played in ensuring the welfare of human kind. He had also learned that this was an ancient obligation of mystical origin.

All Draumrs were taught these lessons as children. His lessons had been thorough, but then were stored for his entire life until unlocked only in the last 72 hours. His head hurt a little, but there was no confusion here. These new revelations, that Draumrs would do intentional harm to other humans, were something that did not fit his understanding. He began to appreciate why this meeting was so important.

Will looked over to Snow with both affection and respect. He briefly flashed a memory of her guiding him into the big bed the last time they were here. She had taken charge with whispered appeals to another fantasy conquest, while sliding both his and her clothes off without apparently touching either. Soon enough she was laying back demur and naked before him, softly pleading for the 'captain' to be ravish her, as was his privilege. Will held the image of her tanned athletic body, soft brown nipples and fluffy blond pubis ever so briefly in his head.

_Cut it out_!

Will received the message loud and clear. Neither Snow nor Emma was looking at him, but he hoped that it was only Snow sending. He was thoroughly embarrassed to think that he had somehow broadcast her carnal image to the room. He felt his face flush and redden. But, no-one else reacted or looked his way. Eventually, he saw a small grin on Snow's down-turned face.

_Sorry_. He tried to send the thought back although he had no idea how to do it. Then, he also saw a much bigger grin on Lulu Black's face. She raised her eyebrows and then winked at him. _Geez, this was tough; I still have a lot to learn, or re-learn._

Snow now looked up. With renewed conviction, she began to describe all that had happened on the mountain. She described a sound-asleep Toshi skiing way beyond his abilities. She also described the silver-suited instigator, with the flaming red hair. She described her frustration in watching a fellow human-being ski off the high cliff to his death.

"I accuse Oksana Chervoniy." Snow felt no hesitation in stating her view and no need to mince words. She had a score to settle.

"I ask the First Circle to authorize an immediate retaliation for this abrogation of our sacred trust." She was steaming again as she thought about poor Toshi's fate and her inability to stop it at the time.

There was another buzz in the room as various minds and eyes connected. Protocol said that Leutnants did not make demands of the Elders, under any circumstances. Snow was considerably off-side and was placing a new decision before the First Circle. It just wasn't done. She hadn't previewed this demand with any of the Elders.

"Order. Order." Armand had to say it twice to bring the room back to mental silence.

"Thank-you for your valuable information, Leutnant. I can see that this has upset you very much. I'm sure that all Elders here present feel both your sorrow and your frustration at the apparent death of a human-being at Draumr hands."

He continued, "As Leutnant Grey has detailed, the evidence has been built and is further being assessed. As We see fit, actions will be taken."

"For the moment, you are excused from further testimony." Armand was politely telling Snow to shut up while she was ahead.

Water and Emma both nodded to Snow. It was time to sit down and let them take it from here.

"Thank-you, your Eminence." Snow used the formal acknowledgement to say: _Got the message—I'm cooling down now_. She sat down.

Will could see her taking her breath and pulse rate down to normal almost instantly. When she looked up there was ice in her eyes, replacing the fire that was clearly not her element. She gave him a small, _I'm cool_ smile.

Armand knew that there was more information to consider.

"Leutnant Grey, is there more to hear before we proceed with our discussion?"

"Only one other detail, sir." Philip Grey knew that Armand and at least three of the other Elders in the room already knew these details fully. His input was for the official record that would eventually be available to all Draumrs and would go into historical archives along with every other word uttered around the Table.

"We have assessed how many Draumrs would need to be involved at a minimum to account for all known incidents of interference. We believe that that number is four." He paused again, this time turning to make sure that the recording Leutnant was fully connected. He received a nod in return.

"During each of the periods of known interference, one of four members of the Red Clan was engaged in the dreamscape and can be directly connected to the incidents. I would concur with Leutnant White, that the identified parties are all family members in the Red Clan."

There should have been some reaction in the room, but there was none. Philip knew that he was the first to 'officially' declare an enemy and that it was the first step towards sanctions. He paused only to ensure that he would be heard clearly by all.

"Leutnant White has named one of the involved: Leutnant Oksana Chervoniy. Two others are former Novices Alexander and Bohdan Chervoniy. The fourth Red Clan interloper has not been identified by name as yet, although this is only a matter of time."

"Former Novices?" Water now asked a question as this was a new qualification to him. He knew the names, but as Novices only.

Philip seemed very pleased that an Elder had caught his leading statement.

"I say this based on the capabilities demonstrated." Philip Grey wasn't used to adding personal opinion to anything brought before the First Circle.

"While the Red cousins have never formally been elevated by the First Circle, I believe that we must consider them equivalent to Leutnant in threat potential. Quite likely, they are the students of two excellent and very skilled instructors."

He was referring to Cherry and Xana. Everyone in the room knew that there were no better teachers, nor any more focused on using whatever means necessary to achieve an end. There was no disagreement with Philip's assessment.

Armand was considering the lack of reaction from the Red Clan representative.

"Are there any other comments or is there other information to add?"

This should have been the point where Stefan would ask to address the accusation. If true to expectations, he would give an obtuse and flimsy set of excuses that would disconnect the evidence from any member of the Red Clan. He should immediately demand that the Red Clan names be withdrawn from the record until more evidence was gathered. He should demand that no conclusions be reached until he had a chance to bring the information to Mikilo Chervoniy.

Everyone else in the room was waiting for him to say something.

However, he maintained his attentive appearance while clearly not actually being fully engaged in what was going on.

Jack Green shot Water a small message.

He's connected to Cherry, almost certainly. Been broadcasting the whole show and is now getting his orders. Count to ten and I bet he snaps back.

Sure enough, at about the count of ten, Stefan shook his head and rose to ask to speak. _He had his script downloaded_.

"Your Eminence, may I address the Hall?" He was looking down, perhaps not wanting to risk an inadvertent slip of the tongue or mind with so many formidable Elders and Leutnants focused on him.

Armand wasn't in the mood for the excuses and obfuscation, but protocol demanded that any Clan reprimanded for the consequences of its action or lack of action, should have the opportunity to speak in its defense.

"Please go ahead Stefan. But, keep it brief and on topic. What has the Red Clan to say about this matter?"

Stefan now began speaking slowly, still appearing to be reading notes, of which he had none.

"Eminence, Elders, fellow Draumrs...These are very disturbing revelations. If it were my place, I would apologize for any discomfort or harm caused to any dreamer. While it is early to attach blame, I can say that we too have had concerns with one or two members of the Red Clan, who seem to be exercising misguided youthful exuberance. The names you mention include two of these."

It was a partial admission, intended to shift guilt to expendable players. Jack had seen it in the courts many times. It even had a name: tossing pawns to protect the queen. You were vulnerable to the ploy if you were clutching at small victories while your adversary was focused on the end game.

_Careful in accepting or even acknowledging his claims._ Jack was briefing Water, but wasn't too concerned that the feint would work. Water had heard it all before as well.

Stefan continued, "As I'm sure that many of you know, Red Clan members have frequently been called on to carry out the demanding tasks of attack and engagement in times of war. It has often fallen to our Clan to be present in harm's way and to take decisive action for the benefit of all humankind."

He paused, possibly to allow the statement to be considered. It was a reasonable acknowledgement that the Reds often did the dirty work. In Jack's and Water's minds and probably a few others, it was now clear that this would be a disjointed dialogue as Stefan was getting his words from Cherry a sentence at a time.

"Stefan, please get on with it." Armand was losing patience.

"Yes, yes." Stefan now appeared to have his thoughts together or at least knew most of what he was supposed to say.

"Our history unfortunately requires that we train our youth in the necessities of war and that we give them the opportunity to practice these skills. Many times, in the past, this preparation has allowed Red Clan members to act decisively for the First Circle and for the benefit of all."

He looked around for agreement or support from the Elders, but received only attentive, non-committal stares.

Again, after pausing for an unusually long time, he continued, "What appears to have happened is that this training and practice has been taken too literally by one or two Novices. This will be dealt with by the Clan. We will start this process now and will report back in a few weeks on what we have found and what discipline has been enforced."

The Hall erupted with objections and guffaws. Comments were allowed out, in spite of protocol.

"Fat chance of that."

"Who are they kidding?"

"Dead dreamers aren't practice."

Armand quieted the hall with a stern _Order_ command that spiked each upper tier mind sharply enough that silence was instant.

"We will consider your proposal, Stefan. That is enough for now." Stefan had another five second delay while staring at Armand, then promptly sat down without saying any more.

It was an opening gambit. The Elders knew Cherry would have many more up his sleeve.

"I would like to hear from each of the Elders present, including any actions that that the First Circle member recommends." Armand had been briefed on the agreed plan of action and already knew it was more than a recommendation. The process now was to establish the plan as a formal First Circle agreement.

Jake Brun, as expected, was first to speak. He was accepted as the protagonist on matters related to Draumr intervention in political or military intervention.

"In spite of the denials we have heard from the Red Clan representative, the evidence speaks for itself. We are witnessing the early stages of a destructive initiative by our Red Clan brother, most probably with the intent of threatening individuals who are useful to him in some nefarious plot."

Jake knew that he was often alone in the extremity of his views. Others either didn't get it or they were too quick to whitewash facts with excuses of coincidence or uncertainty. Jake was never uncertain and had long ago learned not to accept coincidence in any encounter. Common folk might make false presumptions without consequences. Draumrs couldn't afford to accept either excuses or apologies. They were one of the few controls in a very dangerous world. Humankind left to its own devices and, with today's armaments, would almost certainly destroy itself in a few decades.

With the emergence of an advanced world civilization, Draumrs had accepted the new urgency in their role in containing and diffusing threats as they arose. But, they weren't any different in their failings or foibles—they weren't perfect and could also be led astray by ambition or illness. Perhaps this was the greatest threat in the end. In Jake's view, the First Circle needed to act on any anomaly, particularly if Draumr-caused, before it became a global problem. The need for action was accepted by all of the Elders, but there were always differing views on what to do.

He continued, "If Cherry will not come to the mountain, the mountain must go to him. We need to demonstrate our ability to crush this threat in a way that causes him to step back and reign in his minions. For now, it can be accepted as a simple failure to act appropriately. There is no reason for loss of face. But, we must shut this down at the source right now."

His proposal had already been accepted by the Elders. The form had been changed subtly, by making the intervention more political and less confrontational. And Jake would not lead it. His and Tom's mission would be to work incognito to find Xana's base of operations and to head off any independent action by her. This was a fail-safe, covert action in case the direct dialogue with Cherry proved unsatisfactory. It would not be discussed in a public forum.

Jake now set the stage for the visible intervention by tabling the proposal for others to travel to Kiev and to demand accountability from Cherry.

"As we have been told that Cherry cannot join us in the dreamscape, I would propose that a delegation of Elders travel to Kiev to meet with him and get both his explanation and his commitment that this harm to dreamers will stop immediately."

This was Gloria's queue to step-up and offer to be part of that trip. It was important that the planned meeting be spun up as a positive action. Now that Jake had tabled the proposal, it was her role to ensure that Cherry would actually receive them

Water made eye contact with her. _He is hearing every word._ He led her eyes toward the motionless Stephan and nodded. She nodded back, indicating understanding.

Gloria raised a few fingers from the table, ensuring that she had the floor.

"I, for one, am prepared to offer Mikilo the benefit of the doubt. Not that the pain and suffering of dreamers isn't real or that it isn't the result of Red Clan intrusion and control of dream setting and outcomes. These facts have been admitted and are undeniable in any regard. But, it is not clear to me that my old friend...no, my wise and loyal long-time friend, is somehow behind it."

She paused looking down, so that she did not have to make eye contact with Jake or either of the Whites. When she looked up it was directly at Stefan and through him to Cherry.

"I will gladly go to my ailing comrade to hear the truth directly from him."

There was an undercurrent of murmuring in the room, as various players considered her defense of Cherry. Some understood this as a tactic, others were confused that an Elder could be fooled this easily. Some wondered if the Black Clan was somehow off-side with the consensus that must be found.

Armand held up his hand ever so slightly to quiet the room and the thoughts of those in the outer Circles. Telepathic discussion was supposed to be one-to-one, but with this many in the room the unspoken buzz could become a din if not silenced.

"It would appear then that we have our delegation. I have already decided to go myself to see to Elder Chervoniy's health and well-being. I too will hear the truth from his lips directly."

He cast an icy glance at Stefan. The pretense of his representation was now dismissed by all. Each assumed that Cherry had found a way to monitor the proceedings through this naïve and malleable Leutnant's eyes and ears.

"But, we will not wait for the offered report. Elder Black, myself and my official investigators will be in Kiev next week. Is this understood and acceptable to the Red Clan?"

His question was left hanging in the air, while Stefan received the response.

Stefan raised his hand, got a curt nod in response and started to stand.

"Sit," growled Armand, "but do reply to my question."

Stefan sat down again and spoke slowly, as if reading a script for the first time. He appeared quite apprehensive, perhaps having been yelled at from afar. Or, perhaps, it was a lack of direction causing him consternation in an ad-lib response.

"If your Eminence wishes to call on my ailing master, you will be received with great joy and appreciation...I'm sure." He added the final confirmation statement in an effort to still appear to be an emissary rather than a mouthpiece.

"Of course, any other Elder is most welcome. We shall look forward to your arrival as soon as you can make the necessary travel arrangements...I am certain of this."

Armand nodded, "Good enough, I assume that you can get this message to Mikilo Chervoniy without delay. Let's move on."

Armand was well aware that his next steps would either set the stage for a decisive response to the threat or, if the excuses were actually valid, possibly be the last actions he would take as leader of the Elders.

"Regardless of what we hear and what we find out, we are now aware that dreamers are being damaged. Is it the opinion of the First Circle that dreamers are at further risk of death?" He already knew the answer.

One-by-one each of the Elders spoke a distinct "Yes."

Armand let the responses hang in the air for many seconds.

"Then, as it is prescribed, I propose to authorize countermeasures, including injury and death to any Draumr who is actively creating or supporting a dreamscape in which a human being's life is put in jeopardy. He paused and made eye contact with his recording Leutnant. The Leutnant stood and moved his hand from one Elder to the next. Each nodded and stated agreement.

Armand continued, "Let the record show that this decree is unanimous among the Elders present. It can only be withdrawn by majority agreement of the First Circle. Who shall lead this interdiction?"

This was Water's cue to speak.

"Eminence." Water used as much formality as he could muster. It wasn't his natural style.

"Regardless of the truth or deception in the Red Clan explanation, we are aware that the attacks on the innocent are the work of only a few individuals. In fact, it can only be the work of a small number of misguided, but highly-skilled Draumrs. The brutality and randomness of the actions indicate that, for the most part, there isn't a great deal of intelligence or forethought here."

Water glanced at Stefan just to let Cherry know that he was talking to him directly.

"Our response should be to cut-off and isolate the culprits and, if they are cooperative, bring them without harm before the First Circle for discipline. As grievous crimes have been committed, this cannot be left to the Red Clan alone for resolution."

Water looked to Emma and then to Gloria before continuing.

"Although we will not discuss details now, we have prepared an intervention plan that will be supported by each of the Clan's present. Jack Green will lead a team of formidable Leutnants to carry out the necessary apprehensions as quickly and as decisively as possible."

It had already been determined that the actual contact team would be Sacha, Lulu and Will. Water knew that the selected team was capable of a powerful intervention. He also knew that Will's steady hand was needed to contain and channel the kinetic energy of Sacha and Lulu. Either of the women was a combat equal of the extended Red Clan members, but, individually, they might not be a strategic match for Cherry or Xana, who were certainly pulling the strings.

For now, he did not want to disclose Will's involvement, so Jack was the apparent Green Clan designate. Hopefully, Cherry was rubbing his hands thinking that his henchmen would be up against a mismatched and dysfunctional force of a middle-aged bureaucrat leading several hot-headed youths.

"I will work with this team to ensure that our containment actions are both swift and successful. This team will be in place next week as well."

_Our response will be within 48 hours—let them think that they have several days to get ready._ He transmitted this additional information only to the Elders present.

Emma had not spoken to the challenges, but had agreed to the plans with Water, Gloria and Jake ahead of time. She feared for the safety of all of their children, as she alone among the Elders sensed that the threat was much greater than any of them had understood to this point. When she had cast her exceptional telepathic vision to Cherry's domain centered over the Ural Asia mountain divide, she had come up against a dull haze surrounding the Red Clan master. Was this a shield created with the intent of blocking her vision? Or was it a complication of his illness? Many questions bothered her about the encounters they had seen to date.

Most troubling in her mind: Why interact with dreamers in the west and in particular with dreamers that were most visible to their very Draumrs who would act to contain the threat? Heaven knows that they could have practiced their technique in back country villages or on isolated islands, which would not have come to First Circle attention immediately or necessarily have even prompted a response. By challenging a connected Leutnant like Sacha immediately, they were clearly waving a 'red' flag with the intent of being noticed. Was it a trap? If so, Cherry would now have drawn his most formidable enemies immediately onto the battleground, with very little consideration for tactical disadvantage.

She had tabled these fears with Water and with Jake

Both senior Elders had understood the risk and felt that the covert Brown Clan operation was an appropriate way to handle it. But, Cherry and Xana were smart too. They would soon notice the absence of Browns in the visible initiatives. They must anticipate an unannounced attack from the most aggressive Clan in the Central Hall.

Emma was still troubled. Was the trouble just what Stefan had claimed: an unfortunate and sad episode caused only a small number of delinquents? Could they be dealing only with a failure of parenting or the influence of too much violent media? Past troubles had often been that simple—one bad apple using abilities intended for good for his own gratification and enrichment. Draumrs were human and humans were fallible. It was possible.

Emma didn't feel any need to put her concerns on the Central Hall record, but she would connect with each Elder to ensure that they were fully prepared for what might be coming. Their combined influence and power would certainly be enough of a shield for their children as they went to war. She hoped.

"That's it, then." Armand wanted to wrap up the meeting. "I will convene the First Circle once we have met with Mikilo Chervoniy. I expect that we will have a positive report from the Leutnant team at about the same time."

"Until then, schlaf gut."

# Roger

Roger's dream started, as usual, in an elevator riding upward. He cautiously checked what he was wearing: white shirt, plain polyester tie. Thank goodness, he actually had pants on. He scanned for an employee ID card on his shirt pocket: nothing.

The elevator opened on a hushed foyer before a tall entrance door. He walked towards it across the polished tile floor. The unmarked door was solid wood with a deep lacquer finish and a silky brushed metal door handle. He opened it with almost no effort and went through cautiously. The immense door closed with a whisper behind him.

The hushed setting behind the door was the executive floor corridor. He felt nervous being up here without a scheduled executive meeting to attend. During his years with the company, he had always entered the executive floor with a thick file folder under his arm. He found the prominent file was the only way to ensure that a perky executive assistant or snooty old-school 'secretary' didn't give him the 'look'. The file was his permission to be there. He was a worthy commoner bringing an important message to the High Court. It was the sure sign of a real 'contributor'.

For some reason, there were no secretaries or assistants anywhere in sight. Spotless desks and open-door offices suggested that no-one actually worked here. It was still just as scary.

Roger became aware that a female was now approaching up the corridor. Fear iced up his gut and he trembled as he frantically tried to compose a defense for being there. He couldn't turn around and run out the door, it would be too obvious. He searched his memory for a VP's name or key project to reference. He drew a blank. But, luck was with him; she ducked into an executive office without even looking his way. As she turned in profile he realized that it was his former co-worker, now clicking along in high heels and a red power suit.

He tentatively approached her door. He could remember her name: Angela. They had struck up a working-dating relationship outside the office shortly after she was hired, which evolved into being collaborating co-workers with very occasional benefits. She was a mousy brunette then, sort of dumpy and usually distracted on her phone or her computer. He had great hopes for more than casual sex, but had taken what he could get. Whenever she had to get something done for the boss, she pumped him for help with her work, which was often off-base and incomplete until he jumped in to fix it. If he did good work, she rewarded him with quick half-hour of petting and a hand-job on the sofa. He had never crossed the thresholds of her panties or her bedroom, but had assumed that this was just a matter of time and more effort.

He was pleased when she received great reviews on work that they had completed together. She didn't acknowledge his help to their boss, but had been thankful over drinks and take-out later. It was obvious that she was going someplace and Roger just assumed that he would go along in a support role.

Angela dumped him unceremoniously a few months in and started up a new relationship with one of the big bosses. Except, the boss was married. Angie didn't seem to care as she had also received a promotion to the boss's staff in the deal. She told Roger to mind his own business when he warned her that the boss was a shark, just cruising for conquests.

She said, "Face it, Roger, we're all sharks. Or, we're shark food." She smiled at her analogy. "Keep plugging though; maybe I'll have an opening for you down the road."

In the dream, he was now in front of her office door. He couldn't help but feel the tug of the lost relationship on his heart. Could she be available again to pick up where they left off?

"Ang..?" It came out as a horse half-word. He had to clear his throat.

"Angie?" He spoke more clearly. "Hi, how are you doing?"

No response. He felt the slide into rejection starting all over.

"Angie. Do you know where the meeting is? Am I supposed to be up here?"

No response. He was trying desperately to keep misery and desperation out of his voice.

"Angela...can you help me out here?"

Angela finally looked up and stared at him. She was now a fairly gorgeous red-head, leaner, well made-up and dressed in a tailored wool suit. She looked the part of an executive. Her time with the boss had obviously paid off.

"Oh. Er...Ro..." She seemed surprised to see anyone and was obviously having trouble coming up with his name. But, she recovered her poise with a slow blink.

"Roger." She paused, still looking for words. "Well, how nice to see you." The words were ice cold.

She didn't ask how he was or what he wanted.

She checked something in her desk calendar and said, "You're back for the Rewind Conference."

Was it a statement or a question?

"I guess that I am," Roger replied cautiously, again checking the pants with each new development.

"Why aren't you in there then?" she asked, now with a hint of something. Was it admonishment?

_Damn. There it was._ The door was open for him to come back to work, to rejoin the team of valued employees and he was missing the meeting that would decide who should be re-hired.

He mumbled a quick excuse. "I'm going, just on my way in, but I needed to get my stuff."

"Well your, stuff, would probably be at your desk, don't you think?" Angela said it bluntly and pointed down. She was dismissing him. She had more important things to do. She had never felt anything for him. _Bitch._

Still, having a desk was a revelation. He could still be somewhere that he was supposed to be. Now, he had to get there. With one last look, he spun out of the office and hurried back in the direction he had come.

"Who invited you back?"

The question came out of the blue from the man standing beside him. Roger was suddenly back in the elevator, now heading down, hopefully to his floor. He and the questioner were leaning against the back wall. He could feel a 'suit' standing beside him as they both watched the floor numbers descend. He didn't turn, but kept his focus on the numbers.

The question could be friendly, as in "Hey...good to see you. Glad that you're here. Who invited you back?" This executive would be thinking, "That guy: the inviter, is obviously looking out for the company, bringing great assets like Roger back in. Boy, did we make a mistake in letting Roger go."

Or, it could be one of the pricks that fired him. He knew that there was a gang of them. They had "white-boarded" names.

He had inadvertently walked into one of those headcount reduction meetings once, when he was presenting his project update later on the agenda. The pricks were running late and hadn't wrapped up the decisions on reductions. The cold, impersonal decision process had sickened him. He watched as a couple of his best clerical friends got the erasable-marker axe. When the pricks realized that he was sitting there, he had been sternly sworn to silence by his boss. He put on his best almost-a-manager face and nodded, "Of course, mum's the word."

For some names, a case for retaining that employee was made and the name was removed. At a later meeting, for the name 'Roger,' no case was made. Roger could be replaced, his role worked around, his tasks reassigned, his life screwed-up. Roger's name had stayed on the board as HR got its direction to go prepare packages and letters. Roger knew that Angela had been in that meeting.

So, the question might really be: "Who the hell let YOU back in here?"

He never did see the face of the questioner and heard nothing else from him. Besides, he was no longer in the elevator. He was now quick-stepping across a huge floor between rows of cubicles. Was his desk somewhere in here?

_Forget the desk. Where is the auditorium?_ He spoke to himself, almost out loud. The rewind meeting had to be in the largest meeting space. That's where he had to go.

He was hustling as fast as he could go, which, apparently, wasn't fast enough to get anywhere. He wasn't making any progress in clearing the big open office setting. It seemed to go on forever and he wasn't at all sure that he was even going the right direction.

Then, he was just walking slowly again and was surrounded by people moving towards the multi-door auditorium entrance. There were familiar friendly faces. These were people that he had worked with over the years. He'd made it in time.

"Hi, Kathy," he said, as he fell in beside one of his former best friends at work. She had disappeared from his life the day that he carried out his cardboard box of desk clutter. They all had.

"Roger." she smiled warmly. They were moving through the entrance doors together. Then, she frowned and whispered, "You're going to have to look at the projector again; it just won't work."

_Projector?_ He needed more details, but this was a good sign. He had always been the guy who knew which plug went where to get hooked up or what combination of function keys got the screen back up after it timed out mid-presentation. He knew that he had been valuable at meetings.

They were now in the packed auditorium which had projectors and screens randomly located all over the place. The screens were each blank or they showed nonsense test-patterns. Roger could sense that the presenters and the audience were impatient to get them working properly.

He checked for pants. Still there and, best of all: blue jeans. He was going to be very comfortable in jeans and a golf shirt from here on. He was going to be The Guy who got all the projectors working during this important meeting.

"Roger, can you get on with it?" demanded a clear, loud voice from the front. It was Angela, leaning on the podium and looking straight at him across the room. Heads turned to see who she was talking to.

He wanted to shout back: "With what?" but then realized that he was already supposed to know. Ice returned to his gut. It was a condition of his potential re-employment that he have all the plugs in the right holes and all the projectors projecting. How could he have known? He wanted to scream at the injustice of the setting.

Before he could do anything, he was sliding backwards to a distant back corner of the room. Someone else had turned on the projectors and Angela was already talking about things that made no sense. Graphs of revenue forecasts and tables of needed employee hiring scrolled down the screens. He could barely hear or see, as rows of heads in front of him multiplied, pushing him further back. Eventually, he was sitting by himself beside the back door. Everyone else was cheering and throwing papers in the air. They were all moving on, without him. He'd blown it.

He knew that he was now a trespasser here. He had no name tag and no file folder. Soon, Security would come to hustle him out again.

Embarrassment and frustration welled up in him. He rose and punched through the crash bar door out of the room. He kept moving until he was clear of the building and careening down a deserted street, as anger burst through.

_Damn them!_ He had been right there, inside the walls and close to being back with a purpose and a reason for living. But, as always happened, he had screwed it up. He was truly useless and it was fucking Angela's fault. That single thought kept repeating as he came awake.

The room was dark except for the city lights angling through the windows as he swung his feet out of bed and to the floor. The now never-touched clock-radio said 3:19 in glowing red numbers. His cheeks were wet with tears and his tee-shirt soaked with sweat. _The same damn dream again_. He was still shaking with anger that would keep him awake for the remaining hours of another night.

He considered the bedside table and pulled the drawer open a couple inches. The pills were in there. Loading up on them and some more booze would knock him out. But, he only got dead man's dreamless sleep that left him tired and stupid all the next day. He tried not to give in every evening but, when he was clear-headed, his nights were now dominated by the punishing nightmare that he somehow couldn't escape.

He pulled the drawer farther out. His father's army .45 pistol was at the back of the drawer. It was a keepsake. When he held it, he enjoyed the weight and the oily smell of the old weapon. It offered comfort that seemed to be left over from his dad and the stories of far-away victories he used to tell.

He often loaded and unloaded the gun, feeling a pleasant nervousness when there was a shell in the chamber and the hammer was cocked. He actually felt much better when he pretended to shoot lampshades, pillows, calendars, TV images—anything the size of her head. He wished that, just once, he could have the dream and have the Colt with him.

# Beaucage Camp

Will was suddenly aware, again, that he was lying on soft ground out in the open. Birds chirped and bull frogs thumped nearby. It was near dawn and the sky visible through the branches above him was milky grey with the first tint of blue starting to appear. The sun was still well below the horizon, but the clear sky was already reflecting a pale light to the trees and water around him. He blinked his eyes a couple times and realized he was back in the cathedral of trees at Green Lake. As quickly as the second dreamscape of the Hall of the Circles had formed, the setting had dissolved with everyone returning to wherever they slept. He had slept on in quiet dreamless sleep.

Water and Jack were already up and moving. They needed no reorientation time or space. Although sleeping in one location at Green Lake was a special occasion, they were so comfortable moving in and out of shared dreamscapes they could start a conversation on one plane and finish it on the other. Will would need some practice to catch up to them.

They had been here for three days. Daylight was spent on discussion and explanation from his grandfather and father. Nights, when not at the Halls, were spent moving among the favorite settings of his Clan, with many cousins waiting to welcome him back, for good this time. Now, it was time to move.

"Damn meetings make you hungry."

Will heard a nearby grumble. Water was busy getting provisions out of the bear-proof blue food barrel cousin All-In had packed in for them. The rest of the camping and kitchen provisions came out of a timber shack back of the clearing. Will found the contrast of 100-year-old tools mixed in with state-of-the-art nylon and aluminum camp chairs interesting; tradition was good only to the point that comfort needs took over.

Water already had the Coleman stove lit and was getting some bannock mix ready for the bush version of blueberry pancakes. He had a small pail of local blueberries ready to mix in the flour and water batter. The banged-up old kettle, half-full of steaming water was perched precariously on one of the burners.

"How long were we asleep this time?" Will asked, as he stretched stiff limbs and surveyed his clothes, which had reverted to the traveling apparel of the last couple days. They had washed the shoreline crap out of their clothes by beating them on the rocks at the rocky shore, but would get just as muddy slugging out as they did slugging in, so whatever cleanliness they had achieved was temporary.

Jack chuckled at Will's disgust with his own clothes. "Maybe five or six hours of dreaming, couple more of just rest in there somewhere. It's about 6:00 a.m., based on the sun just getting over the trees. We crashed out and joined the Green Clan party at around 10:00 p.m."

"Sorry, that we didn't get the overnight laundry to spruce up your duds." Jack was going to have fun with every aspect of initiating Will to full Draumr awareness. "There are actually little faeries that come out of the bush, strip you naked, shave your balls and wash your clothes. But, we forgot to leave the room service card on the door."

Will looked at him a little sideways and then caught Water's grin as he kept his focus on the mixture he was now spreading in a little skillet. Will shook his head and rolled his eyes. Just like nothing had happened; the world was going to Hell and Jack was determined to play it for laughs.

"OK, OK—I'll stop asking questions if it just means I'll always be the straight man or goat, whichever comes first."

Will was still grappling with the time distortion of the dreamscape. "Felt like we were away for a full day or more this time."

"Time can stretch for many days in a single dream, if the circumstances require it." Water was being serious and actually imparting some useful information.

"You only sleep one night, but the kicker is that you burn the energy of the dreamscape time line, so you wake up ready to eat anything that's not moving. Thirst can also be a problem; a long dream can dehydrate like a day or two without drinking."

As if he only needed to be reminded, Will realized that he was very thirsty.

Jack tossed him an oversized water bottle with a greenish liquid inside. "It's just our version of Gatorade—specially prepared to recharge your system and clear out your head. Might recharge your dick as well, considering the abuse it's taken."

Jack laughed at his joke and got the rising blush out of Will that he was looking for.

"How many of the daughters did you actually do anyway?"

Will ignored him, but couldn't stifle his own grin. He cautiously tested the green liquid, expecting swamp water and another joke on him, but got something pretty close to an energy drink he was used to.

He finally replied, "Just one White woman, I can advise you counselor. That would seem to be all any man could handle if he wanted to live to tell about it. But, then, you would know all about that."

Now it was Jack's turn to blush a little, but not from embarrassment. Just thinking about Emma got his blood rising, dreaming or not.

Jack took a last shot at Will. "I hear that Black Clan girls are all right too...you'll have to tell us about that another day."

Their mutual grins signaled a truce from further punning.

Will took another long pull on the bottle and started to feel somewhat better. His head was clearer and he now realized that he remembered every detail of the dreamscapes and of the various meetings, and couplings. Was his memory block fully gone? Would he remember the details of all his dreams from now on? Catching up with the seemingly endless store of past experiences would take more time. His brain was wisely waiting for cues before bringing memories forward. The natural focus by relevance meant an occasional cascade of connected memories arrived all at once, as he met someone or arrived somewhere. Even after only three days, the rush of awareness was easier to deal with now that he had stopped resisting his abilities.

He already had a lot of good feelings from the dreamscape settings: old memories relived, old friends seen anew, but now remembered clearly and, of course, fantastic sex with the most amazing woman he had ever bedded.

The experience was real and repeatable for his kind. It was a huge gift that he had enjoyed freely as a child. Now, as a man, he was learning that the gift came with obligations and even the possibility of sudden death. He still wondered if he shouldn't just walk away, as many had. There were hundreds of Draumr relatives just in the Green Clan. But, very few had ever accepted the call and taken on the full responsibilities of the Halls of the Circles.

_Did I ever have the option of stepping back? Or was my future predestined? Could I kill if I had to_?

The awareness of all these things had come so quickly. He hoped that he was up to the challenges that he would surely face. Others had trained for leadership their entire lives. He felt and was certainly acting like a green rookie. His own pun made him laugh to himself.

Maybe Jack's approach was best: laugh long and hard whenever you can. Getting stuck on all the bad possibilities would wear you out. _The Browns can carry that can_.

He grinned again, then realized that Jack and Water were giving him the thinking space, while both were grinning as well. Damn, he still wasn't sure that they couldn't just read his mind—asleep or awake.

A hot slice of blueberry bannock covered with melted butter came over from Water, steaming and smelling like food from heaven.

"That'll fix you up," Water said. "Tea's coming too, soon as I get the old pot boiling." He had dumped a half-dozen tea bags directly in the pot to create the black-as-night tea that he seemed to run on.

Within a few minutes, they were each feeling well fed, were sipping piping hot tea and were ready to get going on the next leg of the journey north.

Water brought Will up to speed, with details of the plan that hadn't been discussed in the open meeting.

"We're headed down to our camp at Beaucage, west of Lake Nippissing. Emma is probably there already. Sacha flew into Toronto yesterday and is driving the rest of the way up today."

Will hadn't realized that he was going to be with Snow in the flesh. This brightened his outlook considerably. But, then he remembered that dreamscape appearance could be altered or enhanced. He put any possibility of disappointment aside. He expected that the real Snow would be just as beautiful as he had dreamed her.

Water continued when he thought that he had Will's attention back.

"Luise Black, er, Lulu to you, will arrive on connection from London today and join us by tonight. A Green cousin will pick her up at North Bay airport and bring her out. We are stronger if we are all physically together. We need to be prepared to strike back at the Red Clan by their next nightfall, which is late-afternoon tomorrow for us. It doesn't give us much preparation time, but I don't think it's needed."

Jack continued from there, "Unfortunately we can't get a handle on Oksana. She's either not active or has managed to block us somehow. The Grey's have been continuously monitoring Lex and Bobby Chervoniy, who are less of a challenge. As soon as they are active on a dreamscape we'll get the dreamer information and can step in." He paused and turned to Will.

"Or rather, you can step in, Will."

Will realized that he would have no time for apprehension. He had to hope that these wise old men knew what they were doing. He wasn't sure that he did.

The private entrance to Beaucage Camp was another Green Clan mirage to the outside world. Ramshackle buildings and derelict equipment flanked a two-wheel dirt track that wandered across the few acres of property visible from the highway. Mud-covered ATV's were moved around and a banged-up truck was taken to town once in a while. Anyone wondering, might assume a local family of contractors and hunters lived there. A faded and rusty Green Water Construction van was parked permanently on flat tires beside the dirt track where it entered the bush. Unseen inside, sophisticated remote control systems directed various video and motion monitors that covered every inch of the ground from the edge of the public road. The van also contained an effective deterrent system for stopping anything that might test the defenses of the compound. To-date, it had not been needed.

Just beyond the point where the rutted road disappeared into the bush, the dirt track widened and turned to packed gravel. A hundred meters further in around another curve it turned to pavement. After another hundred meters it passed through a steel bar perimeter gate anchored in formidable concrete piers. The rolling gate was controlled electronically, opening automatically for vehicles providing the correct electronic signature. Video cameras, now visible, confirmed the identity of both vehicles and occupants to a control room in the Camp as an added level of security. A second deterrent system, capable of removing the undercarriage of any vehicle, was built into the roadway just inside the gate.

The full perimeter of Beaucage Camp was guarded by natural barriers that would slow or prevent the entry of anyone wandering onto the property, either by accident or by intent. Bogs, rock faces and dead falls were all apparently natural, but the combination formed an effective barrier to casual entry. There were gaps in the rugged landscape, to allow movement of wildlife and to funnel all others to natural choke points for interception. If not deemed a threat, a hiker or hunter would be met by a friendly Clan cousin who would gently re-point the trespasser. Except by authorized entry, no one would ever learn that the Camp was a large compound of a dozen buildings, all well-disguised from view, either from land or air. It was simply not interesting and attracted no attention.

Of course, Will had been here many times. He knew it as the working headquarters for Green Water Construction. He had always come in through a more traditional industrial entrance on another road that stood beyond a study set of fences and a manned guard shack. Not thinking like a combatant, he had just accepted the entry security as normal industrial property protection.

Entering the private gate for the first time, he brought along an ominous feeling of potential threat, which was only heightened by new seriousness in all of the precautions.

A visible Green cousin in the yard was almost certainly armed, even if the weapon was tucked up under a bush jacket. He carried a radio and could be seen initiating a conversation as Jack hauled the 4x4 around the tight corners of the track. Even as they passed through the automatic gate they never slowed below 80 kph. It opened just in time and was closing the second they were through. Will hung on as before, now trusting Jack as much as the beefy Toyota.

When they arrived at the main lodge, Emma White was standing on the porch waiting for them. The real, flesh and blood Emma White was still a vision who seemed to radiate her own light. Of course, she was wearing none of her dreamscape regalia. She had swapped her previous buckskin jacket for a functional jeans and work shirt combination—although still with white embroidery, but much more suited to the camp setting. She looked fabulous to all three of the Green Clan men.

Jack gave her an extended hug, but with appropriate waking restraint. She also hugged each of Water and Will. It was wonderful, but only slightly more tingly than hugging any other close relation. Emma had the White afterburners turned off to allow the men to focus on the business at-hand.

"You made good time." Emma knew that Jack just needed a little compliment to get him started.

"We barely touched the ground—certainly never more than one wheel at a time," he boasted. "Nice of the various local constabularies to be somehow distracted just as we flew by." He laughed again and winked at Will.

"I'm worn out from hanging on for dear life," said Will. "Next time we really fly and I'm doing the driving."

Will had ready access to his employer's float planes. Green Water Construction was one of Gossett Air's best customers after all. It made much more sense to fly, but as they had told him at the start of the trip, this had been as much about the journey as the destination. Will now believed that long gone ancestors had been present at the Cathedral of Trees. He had been presented and been blessed by them, although he was no further along in understanding how.

Will palmed the talisman rock that Water had given him at the roadside stop. In response, it warmed and snuggled into his closed fist. He opened his hand and studied the fine engraving on the tight leather covering. No sense to it yet, but he did feel like it was offering both energy and protection. _Guess lots of people have things in their pocket or around their neck for that?_ He could accept that being a little superstitious was a good thing right now. Damned if he was going to keep his dirty socks on or grow a beard though. They hadn't won anything yet. But who knows, he might get awfully twitchy as this thing played out.

He was now starting to wonder about getting back to school. He was due at MIT in about three weeks and didn't want anything to jeopardize the precious spot that he had earned in the graduate engineering program there. Not that he was worried about catching up, but he had no idea if dreamscape wars lasted for days, week or months. Presumably, he could be there, while still being part of any dreamscape as necessary, but Water had said he wanted them all together in one place for now. Was there a real physical threat of attack or assassination? And why the heightened security? None of this had been discussed, but would need to be laid out for everyone to understand what they were dealing with.

Will had to admit that he was tantalized by the stories of Xana as a wicked Red Clan temptress. He accepted that she was now a very formidable Leutnant. She was older than him by a few months, and they must have been play combatants, but he still had only vague recollections of her as a real force among the cohort of Draumr kids in dreamscape fantasy battles. There were legends of various players, almost like all-time high-scorers in sports. Oksana Chervoniy had her name on a lot of virtual trophies. He knew that he should be a little afraid, but it wasn't an emotion that he ever wore. He had stared down lots of larger physical foes, both man and beast, and had found a weakness in each that allowed him to win. He now wondered: _What is her weakness?_

"OK, Duck, let's get cleaned up and into some un-smelly work clothes." Jack was leaning a little in front of him to bring him back to the present.

"Sorry, I'm a little tired I guess." Will shook his head and pocketed the talisman. _Have to remember to focus on the present when I'm holding that thing._

Once again, he considered how much of his waking thought process was visible to Jack and Water. Or were they just so good at anticipating that they only seemed to know what he was thinking?

Water had already disappeared, so Will followed Jack into the main lodge, where his usual room was already made up for him. His kit bag had been retrieved from the truck and was beside the bed. There was a clean pair of jeans and a light denim shirt already laid out on the bed. He knew that the chest drawers held underwear, T-shirts and anything else he would need. He draped the clean clothes on a chair near the bathroom door and then turned back to consider the neatly made double bed with a warm hand-stitched quilt now covering it. _Would it get any use beyond sleeping?_ It was an interesting question considering the wide-awake reunions with both Snow and Lulu about to happen.

He guessed that Snow had some sort of dibs on him, but in truth she might not have the slightest waking interest. And he had heard that Lulu was pretty radical in both dress and appearance. She might be a punched and inked head-banger for all he knew. She was kind of young. _Maybe dangerous to even consider a liaison with her_. He looked himself up and down in the dresser mirror: _Pretty boring...and smelly._ The latter he could fix. He stripped off and headed into the shower.

Snow arrived at the camp while Will was busy cleaning up. After a long reunion embrace from her mother, she headed into a room made up for her in the visitor wing. She was packed light and pleased, but not surprised, to find several sets of great clothes already hung in her room. Her mother's influence, but actually the doings of Green cousins who had been briefed on what she would need. Inspecting the clothes, she found that they were new quality but apparently well-worn in. Each piece had a discreet small piece of green embroidery thread sewn in the traditional leaf pattern of the Green Clan. It was a good-luck talisman that would always be there while she wore the clothes.

She was a little anxious about the face-to-face meeting with Will. They had been kid friends when he was just Duck. Now a man, and one that already knew her intimately, he presented a new challenge. Emma had warned that some dreamscape romances proved short-lived in the cold light of wide-awake. The real person could be well-hidden in dreamscape persona, so there was always a risk of a nasty surprise. But, she felt that she was just who she appeared to be. She hoped that Will was too.

She felt herself getting a little flushed and decided that a nice cool shower was probably overdue. And, of course a little puff or two of White Magic bath powder to follow. Couldn't blame a girl for being considerate.

Lulu Black's arrival was anything but discreet. Her Green cousin driver from the airport was a young local who knew all the spots and most of the ropes of having a good time. They had back-seated a box of beer and collected a couple other cousins for the meandering 60 km drive in from the airport. A perfect airplane sleeper, Lulu was well-rested and ready to rock after 12 hours in the air. They had a rolling party, with several quickfire stops at bars on the way out.

The heads-up call from the front gate sentry had not only advised of their arrival, it had made it pretty clear that all of the car's occupants were fairly drunk. The mud-covered Escalade arrived at just about full speed and slid sideways to a stop in the gravel parking lot well back from the lodge. After a minute, Lulu mostly fell out the passenger door, got her feet under her, then went around to each of the other doors and kissed or hugged the rest of the occupants. She grabbed a small flight bag, checked her bearings on the entrance and began to stagger the remaining 30 meters up to the lodge. The big SUV peeled off after a few toots of the horn and fish-tailed out of the lot. Lulu waved them off with several elaborate 'call me' hand signs.

"Great guys, these Green kids," she said to no-one in particular, but loud enough that she knew the security monitors would pick it up. Then, she added, "Ish all my fault. I made them do...do it." She laughed at her joke and finally straightened herself up enough to head unsteadily through the front door. Very fortunately, the first person she ran into was Jack Green.

Lulu walked right into Jack before she even realized that there was someone in her path. He had been on his way out the door while chewing on a Monte Cristo and listening to a teleconference on his IPhone, so wasn't paying attention either. Their minor collision sent Lulu's bag sliding across the foyer and ended up with Jack catching her just before she sprawled on the same polished wood floor.

Catching the fumes, Jack was ever the gentleman. "Well, young lady, I'm terribly sorry. All my fault, of course. Here, let me help you back up." He did his best to hold her up, straighten out her jacket and point her back in the right direction.

"Jeez, Jack, if you're going to cop a feel, at least buy the lady a drink first." Lulu leaned on him, took his arm and the two of them did a little spin around in the foyer.

"But, I suspect that there's no bar...right?" Lulu was working hard at not slurring her words.

"'Fraid-not." Jack was fairly pleased that there wasn't one, as more booze was obviously the last thing Lulu needed. He did quick math to try to figure out if she was actually drinking age and came up a year shy.

"Oh well, on the wagon I guess; again." Lulu grinned. "Worse still, that ass at Heathrow took all my little bottles away. They do make little shampoos that look exactly like little vodka bottles, you know. But you straight-laced types always suspect the worst."

"Would you like to get some food or maybe a little nap, Lulu?" Jack wasn't unfamiliar with the top-end of a drunken stagger, where the only motivation is to drink some more to keep it going. Generally, the higher the high, the harder the landing. He was already feeling sorry for the poor girl, who would be on command appearance before Water and Emma in only a couple hours.

"Could use a little nap, I guess." Lulu was considering the dull surroundings and temporary lack of fellow partiers. "This seems like an ideal place to be bored to sleep anyway."

"Good idea." Jack was relieved that he could scoot her through the building and into her bed before she had any further encounters. He looked up and met eyes with two female green cousins, both about Lulu's age, who were having a good laugh at his expense, as Lulu was still leaning on him to stay upright. He silently called them over with a two finger, 'come here' motion.

When the cousins had successfully taken over as support for Lulu, Jack made sure that they understood their VIP guest needed both an aid to walking and a look-out against any unplanned encounters.

"See if you can get her to bed via the shower," Jack was thinking ahead. "Put out some water, juice and fruit along with fresh clothes. Maybe, make sure there is a bucket near the bed."

He considered her apparel and added, "Send the stuff she's wearing right to the laundry and keep them and her away from any open flame."

"Well, thanks, Jack." Lulu looked back at him, smiled and did a half bow, that nearly toppled her and the cousins.

"You are a gentleman after all. You should really do something about those Facebook pictures." She rolled her eyes to the cousins, who both looked sternly at Jack and shook their heads.

Jack made an open-handed gesture and gave a "beats me what she's talking about" shoulder shrug. _Damn cellphone cameras, you never knew who is snapping what at the most inappropriate time._

Lulu was still running out the joke. "If you get bored and want to join me in that shower, just bring along a bottle of Stoli and you don't need to knock..." She winked at him and then spun the cousins around for their trek to her room.

Three hours later all three young Draumrs were present in the briefing room. Each appeared to be well-rested and completely sober. Jack was left wistfully longing for his youthful days when he could have kept up.

Will now had his first chance to connect with the two beautiful women in person. What guy wouldn't be happy about that? As he had hoped, both were just about identical to their dreamscape representations. Snow had just come right over and hugged him when she entered the room. She looked and smelled just the same as he remembered and was as electric as ever. He understood the protocol was to keep business and pleasure separate, but he was fascinated by her all over again. He couldn't help but desire the real person just as much as her persona. Will now wondered how Draumrs kept their dream presence and their physical presence separate. Or, how they could stand to live apart once they had fallen for someone so completely in a dream? He would have to ask Jack for some fatherly advice on this dilemma.

Lulu had entered with a much more subdued presence. She briefly touched her head and stomach as she came up next to the other two. "Still recovering from the ride in...but don't tell the bosses." She leaned in and kissed Will on the mouth. It was friendly, but with a hint of something else. She stayed in full body contact and looked him straight in the eyes. "Nice to meet you again, Duck," she laughed. "Guess the forget-everything-the-next-day jig is up? Now, you pay for your dream trysts just like the rest of us."

Both women shared a conspiratorial grin that broke into laughs. Will laughed along at the joke, but now wondered if he had many past 'trysts' to account for. He was quickly learning that every Clan had its attractions. Lulu Black was the dark and dangerous counterpoint to Sacha's shiny white brilliance, and possibly just as enticing. _Where was he in this mix?_

These were exactly the women that he had shared dreams with; two dreams that he remembered, and probably many more that he would recall soon enough. The thin distinction between real and dreamed was disconcerting. He continued to think of dreaming as something different. He had long understood it as a creation of the individual mind, maybe to clear and organize memories or maybe to work through some of life's problems. The occasional happy dream was just a nice bonus that the mind threw in to keep you coming back.

But, now he realized that there was much more potential for dreaming on a completely different scale. He could connect with people, take real actions, have conscious interactions, and even, as they had done, complete important business that would never see the 'light of day'.

The Draumr world that was now fully open to him challenged many things that he had believed and some that he had proved in hard science. As far as he had known, there was no physical medium to connect minds halfway around the globe. Yet, he had seen it happen. And everyone around him seemed to treat the magic of all this as nothing special. He knew that he could either believe in what he was experiencing on a lot of faith, or reject it and live a very unhappy life wondering what he had given up.

For now, with Snow and Lulu at his side, he could believe in dreams as something to be explored and possibly used for a higher purpose. But, believing also meant accepting the challenge that was before them. They had been given a task which might kill them at the slightest mistake. Even if the culprits had only been identified in a dream, he knew that behind the dreamscape presence they were real flesh and blood foes, who had a lot more experience that he did. He was about to enter their world to take them on. He smiled to himself. _Just the kind of challenge that gets my interest._

Water asked the Green cousins helping out in the room to leave now and close the doors. They arranged food and drink to be left behind, sharing last laughs with Jack about the likelihood of a fresh Walleye or two for breakfast.; it would probably happen. Jack gave Will a double thumbs-up as he turned back to the remaining Draumrs.

In just a few hours, the cousins had welcomed Will and the women, making them feel completely at ease. Will was pleased that he didn't need any special powers to remember their names. These were all family people that he had played with when young and worked with when older. One had taught him how to handle a bulldozer. Another had come with him on a few delivery flights over the last couple years. The familiarity had been a welcome respite from all the 'new-old' connections his mind was making beyond the Green Clan family. The extended family members were all very proud of his emergence in the Halls of the Circles. But, in some of the older women, he sensed a great deal of worry as well. Even outside of the private briefings, the feeling of pending gloom was working its way through the whole Clan.

When the doors were closed, Water and Emma took seats on soft chairs in a corner of the room and waved the others over. It was an informal gathering, mostly to review their plans and to answer any questions. Water could make a state dinner informal by his relaxed presence, so everyone felt both comfortable and safe in his house.

Emma White was content to let the two senior Greens lay out the plan for the next few days. She and Sacha had already talked about the threat posed by Xana in particular. Emma had imparted her wisdom, but knew that this would be a severe test of Sacha's skills no matter how the fight played out.

Emma knew that Luise Black was very capable, with a couple black belts in her locker, but couldn't help but feel that she was somewhat of a wild card. She might be better than any of them realized. She would also know that, unlike the others, her Mother would be directly engaged with Mikilo on his turf. She would want to prove a point by screwing-up the Red Clan plans early on. Emma hoped that was an advantage the Reds might overlook. And of course, Will was a complete unknown, other than through Water's and Jack's endorsements.

Water had said, "He's tough as nails and twice as determined," when telling her why Will had to be part of the team. Emma wasn't worried about his commitment, but any skill could gather rust if not used. She hoped that they hadn't made a mistake in leaving his Draumr reintegration until the last minute. Only time would tell now.

Water nodded to Jack to start the briefing. He smiled at each of them, making them even more comfortable that he was fully confident in their abilities.

"Unfortunately, we have very little time for rest and planning," said Jack. "The window to intervene is very tight, mostly because of the recent escalation that we have seen in the Red Clan-controlled nightmares."

"As you all know, Sacha experienced a dreamer death, probably under Oksana's direct control. We now fear for several others who appear to be progressing to a similar fate through a series of nasty dreams created by the Oksana or the Red Clan cousins."

Jack paused to let the information sink in.

"The Grey Clan intelligence unit advises that we should expect one or all of them to be active again as early as tonight." Jack now showed none of his normal joviality. "We would prefer more time, but we must act if the opportunity presents itself—both to save the innocent dreamers and to catch the Red's by surprise if we can. Our intervention may not be as elegant as we would like, but it can certainly be decisive. You have the First Circle's directive to take whatever action is needed. Hopefully, a good push will set them back, but if the push comes to shove, we will do what's necessary to end these attacks on dreamers."

Will sensed that these were the marching orders that both Snow and Lulu had been waiting for. Neither looked particularly concerned, and if he had perceived it correctly, Snow had actually smiled as Jack completed his assessment. He knew that she was still very pissed over the mountain incident. She certainly had payback on her mind. He hoped that they weren't flying into an all-out, life and death brawl on day-one of the campaign.

Jack continued, "The Reds won't know about our change of team composition or about the Brown Clan team now on its way east. If they took the meeting comments at face value, they also may not expect to see us for a couple days. All of these factors should give us some temporary advantage."

He paused again, this time searching for the right words to talk to the risks that he knew were there. "We must be aware, however, that we are probably seeing the culmination of a great deal of planning and forethought. This preparation will have included anticipation of our response and a plan to counter it. We may run into measures that we can't overcome and outcomes that we can't change. There is no suggestion that any Draumr life is threatened directly, however we know that mistakes can happen. We need to balance decisive action with due caution; there is no need to win the war on the first skirmish."

Will wondered if Jack had picked up on his concerns and was providing specific instructions to the other two. He had certainly heard real concern, even if it was voiced in Jack's unemotional verbiage. He anticipated that he would probably be the one to carry the need for caution to the actual dreamscape, whenever they actually got into a direct encounter. That was if he would have any control over the other two at all. He suspected that he would mostly be scrambling to keep up with them.

Will had hoped for a few days of preparation and planning, not because he was afraid, but because this was the way he approached every challenge, when he had the luxury of full consideration. A little time to get to know each other, not in bed, would certainly help. Of course, if events moved more quickly, he would just have to trust his instincts.

The conference room was set up with a shared 'working' sleeping space off one of the side entrances. There was nothing sexy about it; just three comfortable single beds side by side. After the briefing and a few questions back and forth on who was working on what outside the room, the short meeting was adjourned to the adjoined bedroom with just Snow, Lulu and Will together.

Emma had closed the discussion, by suggesting that they all get to sleep as soon as possible. Like many of her suggestions, it came with an immediate feeling of tiredness catching up to the designated fighters. She had said, "Take care of each other first, then look for your opportunities to make a difference. We'll be with you at every step, including actually stepping in, if the encounter escalates to a direct confrontation with Mikilo."

Will wondered what the Elders anticipated that maybe they weren't letting on at this stage. The Eldest in the Hall had suggested that there was more going on here than simple dreamscaping. Certainly, the reaction to the Grey Clan intelligence report had caused some unforeseen consternation. He hated not having all the information. But, front line soldiers never did. Else, many would never willingly charge into the enemy's big guns.

Lulu was already heading for her bed, still muttering about needing to recover some more, when Sacha stopped her. "Let's make our own notes here. I'm sure that we'll be into this sooner than we think."

Will was happy for the guidance and said, "I'm still not sure how we engage someone who doesn't want us there. Won't they just blip the dream out and leave us wondering where everything went?"

Snow smiled. She was the expert at creating pleasant dream for her clients and the same principles applied.

"No, the dream belongs to the dreamer." She could see Will's confusion. "Draumrs can influence it, create settings, even impose things that the dreamer hates, but the dream continues only while the 'owner' dreamer continues it. When he or she wakes up, the dream ends. Our stupid-ass Draumr counterparts can zip out anytime they want, but if they leave the dreamscape while it's active, control should move to the strongest Draumr present.

She hoped that the concept of controlling the dreamer made sense to Will. "If we can chase them off while keeping the dreamer in his dream, we can plant awareness and resistance measures that will keep any other Draumr out of that person's head for a long time. Our first goal is to catch the bad Draumr in the act, hopefully holding him while a Grey Clan recorder joins in to confirm their identity for sanctions to follow. But, if we only chase them off, we will still rescue that dreamer. It's just not as useful an outcome for us."

Will thought that he now understood better, "So, the dreamer keeps dreaming, but we just change the outcome?"

"Precisely; this is more or less exactly like we do in the Hall, except there we're also dealing with the fears and desires of the dreamer mixed in." Snow grinned, as she continued. "She, if it is a she, or maybe even if it isn't, might be awfully horny, seeing you joining them in a hot tub, if that's the dreamscape we join." Snow winked at Will.

Lulu was already horizontal, but couldn't resist the opportunity to re-complicate the too-simple scenario Sacha had just created.

"Pretty sure it won't be that simple. First, these assholes are unlikely to run off. More likely they are waiting for us to arrive to spring some trap." She sat up on one elbow. "I for one, plan to do considerable damage to the first shithead I can get my hands on."

"Me too," Snow grinned at Lulu. "I haven't looked forward to a fight in a long time, but this should be lots of fun."

"So, how about you, Duck?" Lulu had flopped back down and was talking to the ceiling. "Ready to flash some old skills?"

Will was in the strange place of being the nervous kid in the gang who was cautious about leaping of the cliff into the river. It never happened in his real life. He was damned sure it wasn't going to happen here.

"You two probably know better than me if I'm up to this. But, I am absolutely certain that I'm in for some serious knuckle bruising." It was a little bit of bravado, but said in growing confidence. _Yeah, this might just be fun!_

Before they slipped off, the trio agreed that they would separately take some time in their own preferred dream hang-out to get ready for the shared dreamscape, if it came tonight. By unspoken agreement, there would be no romance or coupling in the dreams until they had a break from ready status. Emotions might be a point of vulnerability for their foes to exploit. Outside of the protection of the Halls, they were exposed to anyone who might slip into their dream unseen. They drifted off with softly spoken wishes for a safe first night.

Will pressed himself back into the cockpit seat of the Grumman Wildcat WWII-era Navy fighter plane. He had a clear view of blue sky and endless ocean ahead, with only a minor swell providing a gentle rocking to the whole carrier. He had his engine at fast taxi, with the release lock holding the plane against both the prop pull and the tightening hydraulic catapult that would launch him off the deck in about five seconds. On cue from the launch master, he opened the throttle full and set his flaps for optimum lift, wedging himself back for the sudden G-force of the launch sequence to come. The roar from the engine and the prop chewing up the air was deafening.

As the launch master dropped to the deck, the cable let go and the catapult took the plane from standing still to flight speed in about two seconds. After an expected dip off the end of the ramp, he was airborne. The 1200 horsepower radial engine literally pulled him straight into the sky high above the ocean. He was flying light with no external armaments and no extra fuel tanks. Getting up was a breeze for the powerful fighter bomber. It was a marvelous piece of mechanical engineering that had more or less single-handily won the Pacific naval and air battle. He eased off on the stick and leveled the big fighter, then banked hard back around the ship to give the traditional tipped-wing thank-you salute to the flight crew.

Will hadn't thought about where to fly the plane in this dream, but now knew it was one of his best recurring dreams of power and control. He had always thought that it came up as a random creation of his mind, when his overworked brain or body needed a refresh. Now he knew better. He could call it up whenever he wished.

Staying close to home would be good to stay focused. He pointed the beast west and was soon flying in from the Gulf of Saint Lawrence up the river towards Quebec City. He would keep it at 500 meters off the deck while looking for a bridge or two to fly under. Maybe the odd rock pile would get a few rounds from the quartet of 12 mm automatic guns mounted in the wings. But, as this was Canada, that might be a little over the top.

He pushed the stick forward as the north channel d'Orleans bridge came into view. A couple hundred feet of air space was a picnic. The next bridge combo, only a few yards apart and much lower to the water would be more of a challenge. He banked around the bend in the river and was lining it up, when his seat companion interrupted his concentration.

"Jeez, Duck. Is this the other thing that you do to relax? This is pretty amazing. Sort of orgasmic too." Lulu was strapped in beside him in a black jumpsuit with her own headpiece and goggles. He heard her through his earphones on the plane's comm system. She was yelling to be heard in the noisy cabin that wasn't built for conversation.

Will was momentarily distracted, but realized that the double bridges were coming up fast. He had no option to pull out now, but had lost concentration on his height above the racing water below and the center of the pylons he had to split under both bridges. He scrambled to get the plane back in control.

"I think that it's very Zen-like," yelled Snow, now strapped in on the other side of him in a white jumpsuit, with her own headpiece and goggles. Will glanced from one to the other. It wasn't a three-seat airplane. Three people across was an impossible fit for the narrow confines of the cabin. But, like in some vintage mini-van back seat they were now all strapped in next to each other. He still had the stick and normal displays in front of him.

"Just a minute," he screamed over the roaring engine. With just a few feet to spare he threaded both bridge structures, also managing to miss the communication array and stack on an east-bound freighter that was suddenly smack in the middle of the river ahead. The pass had been close enough to scratch the paint at more than 250 knots. Inches either way and they would have been a fireball.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Will had pulled up from the river and out over the land, gaining back his 500 meters and clear air with some relief.

"Oh, we're just out sight-seeing of course. What better way to do it than in an old fucking plane piloted by our romantic hero? Lulu reached across and 'high-fived' Snow, who was pressing her chest in on Will and leaning dangerously close to important cockpit controls.

"So, this is really how you wind up the juices? I like it. I've never flown in a beast like this before. It is really something else. Do they just let you take it out all tarted up like this?" Snow was actually amazed at the detail in Will's dreamscape replica.

The vintage plane was authentic down to rusted bolt heads and worn leather seat covers. A bullet hole in the canopy had cellophane tape over it. This was certainly the real thing and spoke to the amazing detail that Will could remember and use in a dream. She hoped that he had paid as close attention to other deadly tools they might need.

Snow put her hand on Will's arm. She yelled in his headset: "Bad news, I'm afraid, for the fun of flying this baby under bridges and around boats; but, good news for our mission—the boys are active and we got a bead on their dreamers. It's time to go kick some ass."

Will looked over to be sure that he had heard correctly. "Right now?"

Snow nodded.

"How do we get there?"

Lulu leaned in and yelled to both of them, "This beast pretty well sums up about how nasty we want to be." She grinned. "Let's fly it right down their throats."

Will was now really confused. Where they saying that he was going to take on the nephews in an air combat battle? He tried to remember if he had mentally loaded the guns. You never took a fighter plane up without the ability to fight, even in peacetime. He was pretty sure that he had, but he wasn't as sure about flying into a dogfight with only a few hours in the cockpit behind him.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," he yelled back, trying to remain calm. "There are lots better planes out there now. What if they show up in a MIG 20?"

Lulu punched his thigh, hard. "Relax stone temple dude, we're just going to get there in it." She giggled again, "but a little strafing might not be a bad idea. They have no idea that we're coming, we hope."

Snow now pointed to the east. "Fly out to the U.S. coast; I know where we're going. I'll merge us into the dream out there already underway."

Will looked up to the east and could now see a distant coast line and ocean beyond. The steel grey water told him it was the Atlantic. The forest cover and development below told him it was in the north-east U.S. He gained some altitude and speed, heading directly for a point that Snow kept her finger on.

After only a few minutes of flying, the ground below became completely grown in, with the only visible feature being a black top highway running straight to the coast. Snow pointed down. "That's it, take her in."

As he lined up the road and dropped altitude, they all became aware of a single pick-up truck ahead of them driving fast to the east. Looking up, Will now saw the outlines of a low-rise beach town in the far distance.

Lulu pointed down. "That truck would have been our strafing target, but they've already got the dreamers aboard. Stay up high and circle in behind them until they enter the town."

Will did as instructed, turning into a broad circle while making sure that he didn't cast a shadow near the truck. As he looked for the sun, he realized that there wasn't one. The bright daylight came from the whole blue sky. There were no shadows on the ground.

The truck passed into the town, turned and hauled up a side road at full speed.

"Let's set it down on the highway." Snow was grinning at him, "Assuming that you can do that, Captain."

"Yes Sir, er, Mam. Down we go." Will dropped the bottom out of their flight by more or less standing the plane on one wing, counting on lining up the highway at the last possible second with maybe 50 meters of air below them. The women screamed in delight as they went weightless and then were pressed hard into their seat harness by the high-speed maneuver.

Will dropped the gear and brought the nose up just as he reached the ground, still going about 140 knots. As the wheels touched, he reversed the prop pitch and used the powerful engine to slam them to a halt a few yards shy of the first town buildings. It was a perfect landing in his book. The women looked a little green, but finally broke into big grins.

"Far fucking out!" Lulu screamed. "We've got to do that again."

Snow just shook her head. She was pretty used to speed and falling. She just preferred it a little quieter.

They climbed down off the silver wing of the fighter. Will jumped off first and then lifted each woman down by the waist. Snow just smiled, but Lulu took the opportunity to steal a rather long and intense kiss as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. Will couldn't help but respond in kind. Finally setting her down, he glanced at a grinning Snow and shook his head. He sensed trouble ahead, caught between these two, if they ever got a break from the dreamscape battle they were now into.

The women stood back and gave him a quick look up and down.

"The ugly flight suit is OK for now, I guess." Lulu observed. "A little baggy in the ass though." Will was in vintage gear that showed about as much wear as the plane.

The women's suits both fit like gloves. "We'll fix that later, once we get that thing off of you." She winked at Will, again.

Snow pointed into town. "Let's go in quietly. I want to see what these ass-holes are up to. We'll talk tactics for ending this once we have them in sight."

# Do Your Best

julia and carol were walking down a long highway, stretching to vanishing points of infinity in either direction. The perspective wasn't broken by a laneway, a house or even a signpost indicating that humans lived or traveled here; but the road itself was made of immaculate black asphalt, which was neatly lined with a bright yellow paint lane divider and crisp white painted edges. The highway was shouldered in manicured gravel and ran dead flat away from them in both directions.

Beyond slight drainage ditches, scrub grass fields led to small widely spaced trees, which eventually filled in to a full height dense forest on both sides of them. The forest was highly differentiated on close examination, with apparent variety of both species and growth. But, looking ahead or behind, it became a uniform green corridor broken only by the black line of the highway running up the middle.

The women were trudging down the road in a direction. Which direction they couldn't know as there was no discernible sun or any other indicator of east from west or north from south. They walked right on the asphalt, because there was no traffic. As far as Julia could remember they had been walking for hours down the middle of the right lane, backs to traffic—so not as they were taught in some long ago, mostly forgotten _Elmer: The Safety Elephant_ filmstrip. What did it matter? With several miles of highway visible behind them, nothing was going to be overtaking them any time soon.

"Where the fuck are we going?" Julia asked in exasperation.

It was rhetorical; she knew that Carol wasn't leading. Julia was sure that if she stopped walking, Carol would just stop too. There was no answer either from Carol or from any kind of narrator. Her legs were aching; blisters were starting to raise their voices where her old sandals rubbed her feet on both the instep and sole. She wished that she had worn better shoes to walk to nowhere.

As if in some small response to her question, she became aware of the pack she was lugging. She stopped and pulled it off her shoulders. The red canvas pack was heavy enough to contain something useful, but there was no apparent opening. She dropped it on the pavement with a thud.

Predictably, Carol had also stopped a couple steps beyond her, but said nothing. She also had a red pack that had no flaps, zippers or other means of entry. Carol removed and dropped her pack as well. She looked at Julia in resignation, but with none of Julia's frustration.

Julia now compared their clothes. Each was dressed in rag-tag acid-washed jeans and patterned tees, with belts that were too wide and colors that were about two decades out-of-date. Julia wondered what had possessed her to dress out of the very back of her closet, with clothes that rarely saw daylight. It was all too confusing.

She sighed and said, "Let's at least take a break. I'm just about wiped out here and until I have some idea where we are going, I'm not walking anymore. What if we're going in the wrong direction?" It was rhetorical again. Carol just shrugged.

They sat on the packs at first, but pretty quickly just stretched out right on the pavement. Julia used her pack as a head rest and tried closing her eyes to see if any sense of purpose or direction would come to her. She must have dozed off as Carol nudged her and pointed to a silvery dot far off in the direction they came from. It was hard to see against the shiny surface of the road, but the dot was slowly growing in size.

"It's a car or truck," Carol declared. It was still too far away to identify, but this seemed like a pretty good guess. Carol was already up and dragging her pack to the shoulder.

Julia couldn't see any urgency, but eventually arranged her aching limbs under her and also stepped off the pavement, dragging her pack with her.

She looked up to the left and was surprised to see a bright red oversized pick-up rolling to a stop. It definitely hadn't been anywhere near a second ago.

_Crap._ Julia now understood. _It's another fucking dream._

Julia had always wanted a pick-up truck. She had absolutely no practical use for one and it would be the worst possible choice for her city condo, but dumb functionality had never stopped her from wanting one just for the bravado of driving around two feet above everyone else.

The decked out, F-150 4x4 idling in front of her pretty much fit the bill for exactly the kind of rig she occasionally fantasized about owning. Maybe not with the honkin' big lug tires, but everything else was perfect. She bought fully-into the advertising image of open-country destinations, dirt bikes in the back, and outdoorsy boyfriend up front; or she did at least until common sense came back to her each time. So, maybe in the dream, the big-wheeled rig was being delivered to her. The prospect raised her spirits considerably.

It soon became apparent that this truck already had an owner though. There were people in the front seat. As it sat beside them, the deep rumble of the piped-up engine shut off and a tinted side window came down to reveal a pretty good looking guy, smiling from inside the cab's air-conditioned and, probably, very comfortable interior.

"Vell, hello girls."

The voice carried an Eastern European accent, but was friendly and light. The young man grinned broadly. Beyond him another man, the driver, was also leaning forward and grinning.

"You are goink our vay?" He was struggling with his English a bit.

He tried again. "No, no—ve are goink your vay." This rearrangement of the observation appeared to please him. There was some back and forth in a foreign tongue inside the cab.

"My cousin says that I am a rube? Is that good?" He looked from Julia to Carol and back. He appeared to genuinely want an answer from them.

More conversation followed in the cab.

"Oh—now he corrects that I am being rude." This assessment appeared to deflate him. "Can ve start again?" At least his English was improving.

Julia responded, "Please do. Who are you anyway?" She had her antennae up and was wary of any male showing up in a dream. It was logical that some kind of vehicle, with some sort of driver would show up in a dream about a highway, but these two were unknown characters and, lately, strangers had been worse than rude, they had been downright nasty.

Her recent dreams regularly included strange settings where she ended up bruised or scratched from fighting off attacks by bullies, sicko rapists, bike gang members, you name it. Carol was usually there, but not always. Julia's salvation was her recently-found ability to recognize the dream for what it was and to end it by yelling: "WAKE-UP", loud enough to shock herself back to consciousness. Good thing that she lived alone and in a soundproof condo, else the neighbors would probably have called the cops for all the yelling lately.

Based on the discovered state of her bed and other furnishings, her struggles in dreams translated to a furor in the bedroom. She often woke in a rage, usually on the floor, with bedding scattered in all directions, while clutching the furniture for dear life. Sometimes, she woke up in completely strange settings, like Carol's couch, with no idea how she got there. Once, she and Carol found themselves naked in her bathroom. Frequently, she now woke injured in a way that even a very scary dream shouldn't be able to make happen at all. Memory of the actual dreams faded, but she retained vivid recall of the scary characters.

The passenger door now opened and the first speaker sort of tumbled down. He was tall enough, actually very cute and dressed in good quality, but not-designer clothes. He had an engaging goofiness that didn't project any immediate threat. He didn't move towards them, but made a quick hand check to ensure his red plaid shirt was tucked in and even that his blue jeans fly was done up. He self-consciously checked his reflection in the second window of the truck. If Julia caught it correctly, he actually checked to be sure that there weren't any food bits in his teeth. Then, the smile came out again as he turned back towards them. He didn't advance, but kept one hand on the truck mirror, as if to anchor himself there.

The driver eventually got out and came around the front of the truck in a more self-assured manner. He was compact, but smartly dressed in stretch dark jeans and a body hugging deep red t-shirt. He had visible pecks and a washboard gut that couldn't be missed. A big silver buckle glistened on his belt. The dark outfit gave him a slightly sinister edginess. The get-up projected some attitude; that plus the fact that he gave both Julia and Carol a slow toes-to-tits once over with his eyes. He smiled, but there was something less friendly in his face and posture. Perhaps he was just the older brother. Or, maybe he was actually the shy one and it was a faked confidence smile.

Julia reminded herself again that this was a dream. _All in my head_. She was creating and controlling all the characters. She repeated this thought as a mantra and got ready to use her wake-up scream if this suddenly went bad.

Goofy-the-passenger spoke up again. "I'm Bobby...and this is Lex." He looked cautiously to the driver and got an almost imperceptible nod, which seemed to mean that it was OK to keep talking. If this was a pick-up, Bobby was delegated the first pitch.

"Ve can give you girls a ride into town if you vant. Long valk from here and ve're headed in anyway."

Julia blinked a couple times and nothing changed. She checked on Carol, only to find that she was already picking up her pack to throw it in the truck box.

"Just a minute." Julia caught Carol's elbow on the way by and moved her back a bit.

"Those may be your names, but what are you doing here. Where is this town and why are you—we—going there?"

"Oh, ve work there. You do too. It's maybe ten miles up the road. Don't know your names yet, but ve've seen you around the property." Bobby was playing up the good old local guy theme.

Julia still drew a blank.

Bobby raised his hands and pointed at them, like he was playing six-guns. "At the resort? You're the lifeguards, aren't you?" Bobby was nodding away and had succeeded in getting stone-cold Lex to nod once too. Even Carol was nodding.

Julia had the location and time in her life snap into place. It was summer, prior to second year of college and she was back at Blue Water Resort, where she actually had been a life guard. The coastal resort town was at the end of a fairly straight road in from the nearest city on the other side of the Interstate. She had hitched in and out lots of times, or just started walking and been picked up by the first co-worker who came along in a vehicle. Those had been fun times.

"Blue Water?" she ventured, saying the name.

"Yeah, that's right. Ve're Maintenance department." Bobby pointed back and forth to Lex and himself. He was now grinning ear-to-ear. Of course, they would agree with anything she said. She was unconvinced.

Bobby continued, "Are you OK? Pretty hot day out here. Have you been valking a long time?" Bobby and Lex were now putting on looks of real concern.

Carol suddenly said, "Screw the discussion." She walked widely around Julia to toss her pack in the back of the truck. "I'm done walking—let's go Julia."

Julia knew that some things were still out of synch. A brand-new truck in a setting that was 15 years back, for one thing. Plus, Carol hadn't worked there. These guys weren't familiar and what was with the accent? Blue Water was in middle-America—any accents were regional only.

In spite of a lot of anxiety, she didn't see much alternative but to catch a ride in with them. Otherwise, she'd be left standing on the road with nothing but two hours of walking ahead. OK, two hours of dream walking, but still a pain. Who knew what other aberration might roll up next? Maybe there were some good old times to relive at the end of the road.

Still against her better judgment, she followed Carol into the back seat of the truck.

The ride was really nice, deep seats, cool air and OK tunes, with lyrics she couldn't understand because they were in some Slavic language. Bobby handed them each a beer from a front seat cooler; the bottles had Cyrillic alphabet labels, but were cold and very welcome. Carol downed hers in one long gulp and was promptly handed another. Julia was more cautious, although she was starting to loosen up. The empties went out Bobby's window, which wasn't something she liked very much. She dropped hers on the floor mat.

While they were driving, Carol and the guys each drank two or three beers. Julia cut it off at one. Then, a mickey of bourbon was pulled out of the glove compartment and passed around. Julia declined that offer, but Carol took a long pull. The driver did too. Julia was starting to worry about his driving ability, but he showed no signs of being drunk.

Ten miles should have taken about ten minutes at the speed they were going. It seemed like at least half an hour had gone by. Carol was showing signs of being fairly loaded and Bobby just kept turning up the music. The two of them were singing ridiculous English lyrics to the songs that they made up as they went.

"How much further?" Julia yelled into the front seat.

"Couple more hours," Bobby yelled back, laughing his ass off at his own joke, obviously very drunk.

Julia didn't appreciate the lame attempt at humor.

"Is there." Lex finally spoke, in a stone cold sober voice. He pointed ahead over the wheel.

Julia looked ahead and could see the taller buildings of the town starting to appear on the horizon, still a long way off. This ride seemed like one of those running-in-sand dreams where the destination stays just out of reach ahead.

Now a fat joint appeared and the cab quickly filled with pot smoke as both Bobby and Carol took several great coughing tokes. Lex and Julia declined, but they were all getting a good lung-full anyway as the windows were all closed.

_Thank God, Lex is a slow drunk,_ thought Julia. We'd be dead by now if Bobby was driving. He and Carol were now convulsing with laughter.

Julia pawed for a power window switch but found the interior door panel completely blank—no window switch, no lock release, no handle. _No way out_ , crossed her mind, leaving a little icy trail that briefly ran down her neck and spine, but the thought passed.

Blue Water had pretty strict rules on drinking and drugs. Getting back in without being caught out was going to be tough. Julia could feel a little buzz from the pot sneaking into her head. She giggled a bit at an imagined scenario of her and Carol staggering drunk and stoned through the resort lobby, trying to get to the lower level staff rooms without being intercepted by anyone who mattered.

_We'll have to sit out this stone somewhere off-resort._ Her right brain was still functioning a little. Not sure about the left side, so slurred speech was likely. Avoiding talking was a good idea.

"Just drop us anywhere in town," Julia leaned forward towards Lex's ear, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Away from the resort."

He gave her a little thumbs-up and nod, but didn't turn around.

Bobby and Carol were now having such a good time that Bobby proceeded to climb between the front seats and into the back. There was room for three, but three would be a crowd with these two. Julia leaned out of the way while his lanky frame and boots found their way into the middle of the seat. Then she climbed over him and into the front. Good thing that it was a big truck cab.

Lex now looked over to her and smiled his fake smile again. Her first thought was that he is nervous about something. With all the booze and pot he should be enjoying this more. Julia smiled back, but quickly turned her head forward and scanned for progress towards town. She could make out more buildings; they now seemed to be only a couple miles out.

She casually looked down at the front passenger door panel. Relief flooded in when she saw the normal complement of switches and a door handle. She could be out at the first stop sign. She looked over to Lex and pointed to her window with a "down" motion and OK sign with her fingers. She faked a cough and choking motion. He nodded and then lowered both his window and her window a couple inches. She gave him back one of his little thumbs-up motions and she saw him actually crack a real smile at the corner of his mouth. Maybe he was OK after all.

The singing in the back seat had stopped and a glance told Julia that Carol was going to be a problem again. She was lip-locked with Bobby and they were sliding sideways in the seat. She could see her belt-buckle already undone.

_Jesus Christ._ This was going to complicate things. She could bail, but getting Carol out easily was going to be a challenge. She thought about possibilities. The simplest was probably to just let them have fun for a while. It was just a dream after all. They would both probably pass out and she could drag Carol home.

But, that might imply that Lex should be getting some too. She had no interest in having any of her clothes removed. He wasn't bad looking. Maybe just something quick at arm's length? She shook her head. _Why do all these dreams have to involve unwanted sex?_

Lex must have been reading her mind or at least the look on her face. He caught her attention with a glance and rolled his eyes and shook his head in sympathy with her dilemma, as the back seat encounter now added considerable groaning and bumping.

He turned the music down to background level. He motioned with his thumb over his shoulder without looking around. The lack of heads in the rear view told him everything he needed to know.

"Maybe we should go park the truck at the beach for a little while these two work off some energy?" It was the first sentence that he had said and came out pure mid-west smooth and Sunday morning sober.

"The ice cream stand is open. I'll treat you to a cone on a bench while we wait." He worked really hard at getting the smile right and it came across as mostly sincere. "You could just walk up the beach to Blue Water, if you want. I think your friend—uh, Carol—could use the walk time."

Julia was a little concerned about any detour, but couldn't see much option without leaving Carol behind. The beach stretched in both directions a fair ways, but the concessions were fairly close to the center of town. There should also be lots of people around. It was a reasonable compromise. She wondered if she could actually start to like this guy.

"OK. But we'll still have to encourage them along, we have a dusk curfew." She lied. Better to be safe.

Lex nodded. Suddenly they were coming in to the main intersection at the edge of town. He hauled the truck around a left turn without slowing down much, which resulted in the pair in back sliding off the seat onto the floor. For some reason it was now a very big floor and easily accommodated them. Julia didn't turn fully around, but was aware of bare skin in her peripheral vision. This could get embarrassing if she and Lex didn't get out of the truck pretty soon.

Then, without any apparent passage of time, they were turning into a beach parking lot that should have been a good half mile away. Lex picked an empty space was at the end of the row that was well-removed from the food stands and beach souvenir stores. There were lots of cars parked, but no people in sight. Putting the window fully down, Julia could hear kids yelling and music playing as you would at the beach on any summer day, but they weren't visible here.

_Just as well if they are all up the other end_. Wouldn't do to have the lovers in back grossing out a family packing up for the day.

She closed the window, opened the door and started to get out. As an afterthought, she shouted, without looking back. "Carol, you need to be ready to go in ten minutes. We're late and they will be looking for us." Another lie. She had no idea if Carol heard her as there was nothing but grunting and moaning coming from the back. She hoped that the reference to others might gain them some leverage in wrapping this up fairly quickly.

Looking back across the front seat, she saw that Lex was already gone from the other seat and the door was closed. _Shit_.

Julia closed her door and looked around, but Lex was nowhere in sight. She checked that their packs were still in the back. They were right where they had thrown them. The tinted windows on the truck now blocked all inside visibility, but she thought that she felt the truck rocking back and forth. Bloody Carol, gets drunk with a strange guy and ten minutes later is humping hard enough to rock an off-road rigged, 3/4-ton.

She pulled both packs out and headed for a picnic table on the way to the public washrooms. Thinking ahead, Carol would want to pee and maybe clean up. It would be a good chance to plan their escape without the men listening in.

Shortly after she sat on top of the table, Lex reappeared coming towards her with two ice cream cones. He was walking lightly, with a little spring in his step. He held the waffle-cone ice creams out in front of him. His ice cream was fire-engine red. He was already licking it to catch drips, making his tongue just as red. Hers was vanilla or something plain, but with red sprinkles running off the top. He had perfected the sincere smile and was now grinning with kid-like anticipation of giving her the cone.

"Here, Julia. Hope that you like the fire mountain sprinkles." He turned the cone so she could get the full effect. It did sort of look like a mini-volcano. "Concession kid said it is all down this summer; every dude is asking for them."

She took the cone and looked it over. She guessed that the kid hadn't said quite that, but that Lex was trying out some more American-speak for her benefit. The European accent, if there ever was one, was long gone and he now sounded vaguely Jersey shore. Thank-you, dumb reality TV shows. She would have much preferred a little Russian or Hungarian or whatever he really was.

"Thanks, Lex. This looks great." She was a little apprehensive. "I'm sort of plain vanilla girl, but sprinkles are always good too."

She took a tentative lick at the top and got a tongue full of sparkly cinnamon sprinkles that immediately burst into a flaming overload of every taste bud in her mouth. She felt like she had just chugged a juice glass of frozen vodka. Between icy head rush and mouth burn she couldn't catch her breath or speak. Almost instantly, the pain was gone from her mouth, but she could feel the fireball going down her throat and expanding to fill her entire upper body. The hot wave moved lower though her guts and settled right in her crotch. Her vulva lit up like a Christmas tree and it was all she could do not to have an orgasm right on the spot. She clenched her knees and gasped, sucking in air as the wave moved down her legs and left her through her toes which were in full spasm. Then, it was over.

"Pretty good, huh?" Lex was really grinning now.

"Holy shit." Julia was still gasping and now looking warily at the rest of the cone. It took her half a minute to get all the twitches out of her system.

"Is this stuff legal? I'm not sure that I could handle another rush like that."

"Oh, it's just the first one that fills your pants. Try another bite, you'll see." He had eaten most of his cone without any apparent reaction.

_She stifled a little laugh. He's got to work on his clichés a bit_. She cautiously tried another little lick, which produced a nice little buzz, but nothing like the first. It was actually pretty good ice cream. She had a couple more licks, getting all of the sprinkles before they ran off the melting cone.

She checked in on her faculties. _Hmmm, there was something other than ice cream here._ She was feeling a lot more relaxed all of a sudden. The beach scene was taking on an edgy brilliance and the colors all seemed to have deepened a shade or two. The wind carried in a perfect salty ocean fragrance and the sand sparkled with light. The ice cream was now incredibly good and she took another couple bites.

"This is really great, ol' Lex my man...really, really...great."

_Shit, again_. She was slurring her words. He had drugged her and she was very stoned. But, it was such a nice stone that she really couldn't complain. _Could she complain?_ Her thought process was disconnected to the point where she had trouble following any line of argument. She was left staring at the ocean in absolute amazement that any place could look this perfect.

Just as she was going to attempt to form a complaint about the unrequested acid or whatever this was, her head snapped back to clarity and the full body stone drained out of her like water from an unplugged bath tub. She could feel the swirl around her ankles and then out her toes again. She was back to normal.

Again, it took her a few seconds to determine that all of her parts were just functioning as they should be. No more buzzes and no light shows.

"Glad that you like it; we aim to please." Lex's smile was a little less broad and more knowing. He knew exactly what the ice cream did. Each bite unleashed a dopamine cascade that left nothing behind but good feelings. It was the perfect drug or the perfect ice cream anyway. _Look-out Ben & Jerry if this stuff ever gets to mass market_.

"Wow." She was definitely sure that she couldn't handle round three, whatever the next kick was. "Hope you don't mind if I stop there. But, that was just about the best ice cream cone I've ever had."

He smiled back in silence this time. She hoped that he hadn't mind-read her criticism of his speaking.

"So, where are you guys from again?" She thought that she had better try to get back on a sober path, even though, up to this point, this had been a pretty blurry encounter.

As she looked at Lex, waiting for his answer, she heard the truck door open and the sound of someone running, panting at first, then screaming.

She turned around in time to see a mostly-naked Carol running and falling in sand, then scuttling backward away from the truck. She was up and moving again, but then lost her footing and fell face first. She now got up with sand sticking to her stomach and legs and attempted to run once more. Behind her, Bobby came out of the truck with a lot more ease. He casually began to pursue her. He had no trouble staying on his feet.

Julia anchored her feet on the table seat and was just about to push off to try to run to Carol when Lex's right-cross punch caught her high on the cheek, snapping her head around and carrying her body right off the table. She never saw it coming or knew what hit her. She was in a black hole detached from her body and watching the light fade away far above.

Julia came back to awareness with a feeling of dread. She should have been waking up in her bed or near it anyway, but she could clearly tell that she was still on the beach. She had sand grains in her mouth and the side of her face ached. She felt one eye half-closing from swelling and her chest hurt when she breathed. She opened her eyes and found herself on her back, looking at a cloudy sky hung with the ashen clouds of deepening twilight.

She tried to bring her hand to her face, but found it bound to a stake in the sand. Her other hand was tied too, staked out well-away from her body. It was no surprise when she pulled her legs up and found them staked spread-eagle as well. She could feel the warmth of the sand under her back and buttocks, but she was lying on some sort of tarp. As her head cleared and she squirmed, she could feel that she was naked, although something soft and musty was covering her.

She raised her head as much as she could and saw a lot of people just outside the light of a bonfire burning ten yards from her feet. Some had their backs to her. Others were farther away and facing her, but were busy looking into the fire or pushing each other around. They all had beers or other drinks in their hands. She could smell pot. She realized that the individuals looked like teenagers or even younger; they were mostly kids; some were in rough uniforms that she didn't recognize. Most of the voices were high, pre-puberty male, with lots of giggling and name calling. There appeared to be about ten or fifteen of them. The fire cast an orangey-red glow on everything, but some also had red berets or red ties on. They were frigging boy scouts or some other youth troop.

This was the point where she should start screaming to get herself out of this before it got worse. She almost did, but then was stopped by a spoken question in her head. _Where is Carol_?

She believed that this was her dream, but knew from past episodes that Carol could be dreaming the same dream at the same time. She couldn't understand how that happened, but they often shared the same bad experiences and the same injuries when they woke up on their own or together. She wasn't being raped or dying at the moment, although that was sure to come given her exposed arrangement before these guys. She hoped that could take a few moments to see if she could connect with Carol before bugging out.

Cautiously looking around, without moving a lot to avoid attracting attention, she scanned the area that she could see for any sign of Carol. She was nowhere in sight. There was nothing that she could have done for her anyway, other than to hope that the dream ended for both of them when either woke up.

Julia checked her mouth and swallowed a couple times to try to get some moisture to her vocal chords. It usually took a few yells and sometimes a few slaps to her face to wake-up. In this situation, the yells would have to do. For sure, everyone at the fire would know that she was back to consciousness in a second or two. _Maybe that is what they're waiting for_? The thought went through her head and she shuddered violently—it was getting fully dark and she was terrified.

Her screams pierced the night. "WAKE-UP" WAKE-UP" 'WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

All conversation stopped and there was an ominous silence. None of the kids said anything, although she now had everyone's full attention.

"WAKE-UP" "WAKE-UP" 'GOD DAMMIT, WAKE UP!" She continued screaming while her air and vocal chords held out.

Nothing changed for her. The kids still stood transfixed, the fire still flickered and she was still spread-eagle on the ground. But, there were fewer kids—she had actually woken some of them up and they had winked out of the dream.

_Shit._ _Lot of good it does me._

She was getting up her wind and spit to try it again when Lex leaned into her view. He was dressed in the same stupid uniform as the kids, with lots of strange badges and insignia. He had a red chord whistle lanyard under his epaulet and tucked into his pocket.

He held up a finger and then brought it to his lips. "Shhh...you're scaring the kids."

He stood and glanced at the boys who were all looking their way. He calmed them in a fatherly voice. "Now, back to the fire stories boys. It's almost time for our big surprise, but we have to get everything just right first."

The remaining boys all turned back. Someone farted. Some other squeaky voice told a lame schoolyard joke about fucking. There were laughs and arguments about the correct punchline. Then, they all just went back to being kids.

Lex shook his head as he leaned over her. "You probably confused them for a bit there. Too bad about the light sleepers. The rest know that something is over here under this nice Ranger Bill sleeping bag, but they don't know about the surprise yet. They think that maybe it's S'mores or hot chocolate or something typical. Ve vouldn't vant to spoil tonight's special guest performance for any more of them, would ve?"

His tone was menacing. She wasn't quite under his full control anymore and it was pissing him off.

Julia was outraged. "What the fuck, Lex. Why am I tied up? Where are my clothes? Where the hell is Carol? Did you punch me, you son of a bitch? Let me loose if you want to fight or is a sucker punch all you know?" She was spitting the words out she was so mad.

Lex leaned farther in and hissed in response, just inches from her face, "Answers are all comink, so to speak. Sorry that the vake-up thing didn't vork tonight. Ve vere really impressed that you could do that. Must be some Draumr blood way back in ancestry. You'll have to look that up...Oh, sorry, if you're still alive tomorrow, you'll have to look that up."

"What the fuck is a Drammer?" Julia had heard the "if-you're-alive" part, but chose to ignore it. In her experience, straight-ahead aggression was the best route out of these situations.

He leaned back and smiled. "So, not at all curious about life-threatening situations then? You really are my kind of girl. Maybe vhen ve're all friends again ve can get together. You can come visit in Kiev. Is a great city in the summer." Lex now could have been making small talk over coffee.

"You have me staked out naked in the sand, for Christ sake. What am I supposed to be doing, pleading for mercy? Fuck you and fuck your idiot side-kick Bobby. I want to talk to Carol or I start screaming blue murder again."

Julia kept thrashing against all of her tie downs, hoping any one of them would come loose, so she could bash Lex in the face.

"Now ve're getting down to the essentials." Lex gave her his icy smile. "Fucking and murder—you got them both in one sentence, almost. Extra points for that. I should explain vhat's coming pretty soon for you, even if you're not, you know, a detail person."

Julia just glared at him.

"Tonight is an extra special night for the young men over there. You don't know it, but Troop 31 is actually on a sleep-out. These little guys are snug in their tents, having talked themselves to sleep with stories of tits, cunts and getting some pussy. None of them has ever actually gotten any pussy, mind you. They're hardly old enough to have pubes, but you know that pussy is on their mind just about any time they're alone in the bathroom or unsupervised in a pup tent. Little boners just waving in the night air."

Lex smiled his smile again, clearly impressed with his grasp of pre-teen male fantasy.

"Vell, tonight we have a special treat for these brave scouts. They are going to have the most realistic vet dream ever."

Julia had calmed down as she tried to follow Lex's narrative and connect any of what he was saying to her. She started to speak, but he made the 'shh...' sign again and held up his hand.

"Not finished," he said. "This is the best part."

"Each of these boys has day-dreamed about putting his little pecker into action vith some girl or vomen in his life. Older sister, mother, teacher, lady next door who forgets to pull the blind all the vay down, maybe even a girl his own age. Each has his best fantasy; the fantasy that he kicks-in while heaving on his vang to achieve one of those great pre-puberty orgasms—you know the ones that are all nerves exploding and none of the sticky ooze."

He paused to let her digest the new information. Maybe she didn't know about them?

"Anyway, tonight is going to see a sticky sleeping bag for the older ones and just plain hot times for the younger. It's all good clean fun. Tonight, each gets a vet dream that vill just blow his little mind. Tonight, he gets to dream about sticking their little pecker in his fantasy girl and really fucking her."

He had been getting more excited himself as his narrative rolled out. He grinned a ten-year-old's Christmas morning perfect present grin. "This is vhere you come in!"

"You can't be serious." Julia was starting to understand what he had planned. "You want me to lie here while some twelve-year-old sticks his little dick in me?" She was fuming again.

"No fucking way. I'll yell so loud in each one of their ears that they'll wake up pissing their pants back at the camp or wherever they're sleeping. Or I'll squeeze the first little pecker that does get inside me right off. One thing I won't do is lie here and let you play out this sick fantasy."

"But, I think that you vill." Lex had regained all of his East European accent. He leaned in close again, clearly wanting to raise the menace-level of his threats. The grin was gone.

"I guess you can see that Scouter Lex and Scouter Bobby have been pretty poor leaders and are already setting a very bad example for the boys. Beer, pot, even a little coke, if they vant it." He was back to a slightly apologetic smile. "Not good role models at all, based on vestern rules. But, maybe very good models for vhat's coming soon."

"Ve also brought along something vhich no scout should ever carry. Much too dangerous."

He withdrew a glimmering 12-inch Bowie knife from a sheath at his waist. It was polished bright. He drew it lightly along the top of Julia's arm leaving a red trail behind as the skin was neatly cut. Not deep, but he had barely touched her. Blood ran freely for a moment then stopped as if frozen in place. She hadn't felt a thing.

"You can see that it's very sharp. Sharper than any surgeon's scalpel, actually." He rested his own finger ever so gently on the blade, then withdrew it and sucked the drop of blood blossoming up.

"Look there." He pointed back to the fire. "You can also see, Carol is still partying vith Bobby and the boys. They have had a lot of fun, but the party may soon be over for her. Very soon, I may take this knife and slice her neck open from side to side. She wouldn't feel much. She'll probably vonder vhere all the blood is coming from. Then, she vill just sort of topple over. Vhether or not I do this depends on you playing along, entirely."

"This is just a dream, asshole." Julia was still willing to fight back. "Bad one, but we'll live on just fine."

"Oh, sorry, no you von't. Do you think that the vake-up connection is limited to a sore cunt and a few scratches? How did you think those happened? Vhen the big dream biker fucked you with that enormous cock, you burned for a veek."

He was right. She had assumed that she hurt herself somehow. But, the pain was consistent with a forced entry and rough sex. She just hadn't wanted to believe it.

"Ve could have killed you any time. It was more fun playing vith you though." He smiled and shook his head at how naïve she was after all.

"So now, I've got to go get the kids in the mood with some dirty Scouter stories. You know, about how Scouter does it with his girlfriends. How Scouter gets his pecker good and hard. How he pushes it in and pulls it out. I assume that they've all had their fill of Internet porn, so should know how already—but a little refresher never hurts." He laughed as he made jerk-off motions with his hand.

"You should think about how quickly this will all be over. Maybe, faster if we give you a hand free and you can help get the little pricks in. Ha-ha, good joke, no?"

"Maybe gently squeeze their little ball sacks and make them come in ten seconds. They're just innocent little fuckers—none has anything but the nicest horny thoughts for whoever they vill see you as. It could be kind of fun seeing them try out their stiff dicks for the first time."

Julia wracked her mind for a way out of this nightmare. She couldn't wake up. She couldn't change the way things were or what was going to happen. Carol was a walking zombie, who seemed to be completely unaware of Julia, the boy scouts or anything else, except Bobby, who kept a menacingly tight grip on her shoulders with his arm.

Bobby could see her and whenever she tried to get Carol's attention, he made a throat-slitting gesture and mouthed to her to "Shut up."

Any second now Lex would be bringing the first kid over. It wasn't like she was going to be raped. The kid didn't have any mean intent. As far as junior knew, he was being welcomed into bed by his mother, who was going to help him achieve some oedipal fantasy that would be all hugs and kisses. And, of course, fucking mommy was a favorite fantasy.

One possibility was to just go along with it. There were less than a dozen kids left. Some probably wouldn't be able to figure it out. Others would probably come in her hand with a little encouragement. She probably wouldn't even feel the little peckers after the first couple. It seemed like the only way to avoid dying. But, that would mean Lex and Bobby could come right back tomorrow or the next day with another equally ridiculous and abusive dream. Maybe dying was inevitable and it was better sooner than later? She was so mad that she had no tears and certainly no fear anymore. But, it was her outrage that was telling her to fight; Carol didn't deserve to die just because she was disgusted. It would have to play out; there seemed no other way.

Lex, now back at the fire, was sharing laughs at gross jokes and bravado claims by the boy scouts. They were now full of questions: "So, who gets to fuck first?" "Is there a merit badge for fucking?" "What if you get stuck in there like dogs do?"

Then, the night went quiet and she could hear him organizing a procession on the way over to her. He quick marched them over to her sleeping bag cover.

Lex stopped beside her and announced to the boys that they each had someone here just dying to welcome them into her bed. He laughed at his little joke and winked at her.

He reached down and flipped the Ranger Bill sleeping bag off of her. All dozen little boys got a good eyeful of her naked body spread-eagled before them. Lex put his arm around one of the shorter boys and led him forward.

"Kyle here is going first. He von the grossest joke contest. I hope that you show him and the rest of the boys a very good time."

"Bastard." Julia was determined to put all of her hatred of Lex into her response even if it meant a disciplinary kick or two. She raged at the ropes and bounced her body against the tarp. Lex waited for her to calm down or to exhaust herself, either was fine.

Julia said, "I can't help Kyle here with all the other kids watching." It was a last attempt to gain some decency in a hopeless situation.

"OK. The kids vill stand in straight line. Just the next one vill get the show." Lex rearranged the kids behind Kyle, who was still fully dressed but showing a ready-to-go hard-on bulging in his pants.

"I'm going to free your right hand," Lex said, leaning in close with his menacing sneer. "Just be smart and get this over nicely. Then you can go back to your pretty bed and your stuffed animals." He cut the rope holding her right arm.

_Shit._ How did he know about stuffed animals in her room? They were leftovers from when she was a kid or dumb presents from a lover or two that had made it that far. She considered them as her guardians. He must have actually stood in her bedroom observing her. The future was completely hopeless if she couldn't even escape there.

Kyle now moved forward and undid his pants. After some fiddling, he kicked off both his pants and underwear; a very man-sized cock waved above her feet. As Kyle moved closer, Julia picked up a five o'clock shadow and smelled aftershave.

Kyle said, "Hello, mother." It was a deep, fully mature voice.

Julia stared up at him as he now kneeled between her thighs. "Bloody hell, he's a dwarf."

Lex caught the surprised look on her face and roared with laughter.

"Ve are an equal opportunity boy scout troop. Thirty-year-old dwarfs are quite velcome. Particularly, one who is serving 25-to-life for raping and killing his mother."

"You vill find quite a variety in the line—just to keep your night interesting."

Lex put his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "OK, Kyle. Let's see what you want to do to your mother, again."

Kyle didn't try to enter her, but instead climbed up onto her abdomen and shuffled forward until he was sitting with his full weight right on her tits. His bouncing dick was slick and dripping and lay on her neck just inches from her chin. Julia had her free hand on his chest and was holding him from moving any farther. But, she could feel her arm strength giving out. He was as strong as a full-sized man.

"Guess, Kyle wants a little mouth-time first."

Jesus. Is fucking Lex going to provide a play-by-play through the whole thing?

She was done-in. With no strength left and almost suffocating under Kyle's weight on her chest, she opened her mouth and closed her eyes.

Snowflakes appeared in the air. Within seconds it was a blizzard. Everyone was frozen in place as the first snow accumulation started to drift across the beach. Just icy flakes at first, then heavier skivs, then, quickly, windblown drifts of snow coming across the sand as if it were the dead of winter. A fierce wind howled and anything not tied down started to blow out towards the ocean. With the snow came a piercing light rising in the west that cut through the dark and blinded everyone on the beach.

The kids screamed and fell back in the face of the stinging snow. As they did a shadowy black-clad figure moved among them touching each on the head. They winked out one at a time. They were awake back from wherever Lex had gotten them and their dream was over. Blue balls would abound tomorrow.

In the center of the beach, the wind whipped the fire and tossed drinks, coolers, wrappers and sparks towards the ocean. Eventually, there was nothing but blown snow, everything else was gone on the wind.

In the center of the snow field, Lex cursed and spun, looking for the adversary he knew was there. But, the blinding white light and howling wind confused him. He had his knife out and was stabbing the air, connecting with nothing.

Then, it stopped. Ankle deep snow surrounded them and covered Julia almost entirely.

Kyle, his dick shrinking into a frigid lump, tried to stand but couldn't move. He was shielding Julia's buried body from Lex.

Lex screamed in rage and dove at Kyle with his knife—he would cut right through the fucking imp to get to Julia if he had too. No one could interrupt one of his dreams and get away with it. He would show the White bitch what a mistake she had made.

But before he could reach Kyle, a war tomahawk, feathers blazing, pierced the air and caught him square in the temple, sending him sprawling in the snow ten feet from the half-buried dreamers. He went down hard, then rolled, shook his head and attempted to rise. The tomahawk came around again and caught him in the center of his chest. The air was knocked out of his lungs and he went down in a lump.

He was out for a few seconds, but used all his ability to regain consciousness. He coughed blood and started to roll over. He still hadn't seen his attacker, but now felt an icy boot heel on his neck and looked up to see Snow leaning over his body. She was putting her full weight on the boot heel, which was collapsing his windpipe.

Lex gagged and struggled but couldn't find either the breath or bearing to get out from under her boot. He finally stopped struggling and blacked out again.

"Ah, so soon?" Snow leaned close to his face bending her knee and grinding the boot heel into his neck. "I was hoping that we could have a little more discussion."

Just then Bobby yelled and came into view dragging the mostly naked and dazed Carol with one hand clamped around her throat. In the other hand he held a nasty looking black knife, double-sided and about ten inches long. He was terrified of just this knife in Cherry's hands and now wielded its replica as bravely as he could.

"Get off him bitch or the dreamer dies. You know that ve can do it."

The image of a crazed Scouter, kerchief and all, choking a nearly naked woman presented a visual contradiction that took the edge of his threats.

"I do know how powerful you two are," said Snow. "Please don't do anything rash." She smiled at him. "I'll happily release Lex here and you two can be on your way. But, you have to give me the knife first."

She took her foot off Lex's throat and stepped toward Bobby.

While this was going on, Will had moved in beside Kyle and Julia. As he had been instructed, he touched Kyle's head and the dwarf winked out. Kyle would wake up back in his jail cell, probably shaking his head at the strange fucking dream about his goddamn mother again, never knowing that he had been moments from death.

Will found Julia in the snow and lifted her up. The ropes on her arm vanished at his touch. As he lifted her in his arms she came free of the other attachments. Although covered in snow she was warm to the touch. He materialized a wolf-skin robe and wrapped her in it. She was fully conscious and still terrified.

"Shhh...it's over, almost." Will spoke softly to her. His job was to rescue her but also to ensure that she didn't wake herself up. They needed her dreamscape to deal with the Red Clan cousins. Now, her small bit of Draumr blood was going to work for them and she could help in the punishment of her assailants.

But, she wouldn't know this. She also knew how to wake herself up. Will was instructed to use all his persuasiveness to keep her with them and wanting this dream to continue.

Julia didn't recognize her rescuer's face and was very certain that this was just another trick along the road by the same crew that had terrorized her so many times before. She was getting ready to scream herself awake.

Will smiled and said quietly, "Stay with us Julia. We're not them. We need you to help rescue Carol once and for all time. It is something that only you can do."

Will pointed to the confrontation in front of them. It took Julia a few seconds to place what was happening in this snowy field, but she focused and made out three people. Carol, dressed only in a ripped tee-shirt and panties was trapped in Scouter Bobby's grasp. Bobby was screaming curses and waving a big knife. A young woman in a skin-tight white jump suit was standing beside a lump in the snow and offering Booby some kind of deal. She had her hands out, palms up.

This was interesting enough to continue observing. At least now the odds seemed balanced—two of each type: victims, assailants and rescuers. She, of course, couldn't count in Lulu, who was calmly walking up behind Bobby and Carol. In solid black she reflected no light, so appeared to just be a shadow moving across the ground.

"Like hell," Bobby screamed. "I von't give you anything. Fuck-off out of here or die along with this cunt."

He brought the knife across his body and in front of Carol, so that it was inches from her neck.

"I've got the cards all in my hands." Bobby was feeling his nastiness again. Maybe he would kill the cunt and rape the White bitch too. That would settle this and pay her back for what she had done to Lex.

Lex was starting to moan and roll around on the ground.

"Lex, comrade. Get up. You can beat on this bitch now, I've got it all in control."

Bobby glanced over at Will and Julia. The two of them didn't make any sense in his plan. Why wasn't the guy trying to help the White bitch and why was Julia still here. He assumed that Carol was all that was keeping him in the dreamscape. One quick slice with the knife and he and Lex would be out of here. But, maybe Julia was the anchor? Lex always set everything up. He was confused without his cousin's direction.

"Lex. Prochu (please). Get up. Even if you don't want to beat on anyone, ve've got to bug out."

Lex came to his hands and knees and rolled his head up to look at Bobby. "You fucking moron. Don't you know who this is?"

Bobby just blinked.

As the question hung in the air, Snow spun and caught Lex in the side of the head with the full force of a round house kick, focused through the heel of her Doc Marten. Lex went down again, unconscious before he hit the ground.

She turned back and smiled at Bobby. "Now where were we before we were interrupted?"

"You shouldn't have done that bitch." Booby screamed. "Now she pays."

He started to bring the knife down into Carol's chest but found his arm locked in a vise grip by an unseen force. Puzzled, he tried to thrust it again, but now found the knife moving the opposite direction.

Out of the shadows around him first a dark clad arm materialized, then there was a whole body behind him. As he turned, a beautiful, dark-eyed face appeared directly in his view. She was inside his arm grasp, right up against his chest and breathing directly into his face.

"Who pays?" Lulu held the arm lock a moment longer while posing the question. Then she spun her body and reversed the grip. With one last look in Bobby's now terrified face she dropped under him and kicked out his legs. He was still holding the knife in his locked arm and trying to hang onto Carol at the same time when he went down awkwardly, face first, directly onto the upturned knife. It slid between his top ribs, tore off a piece of his lung and stopped embedded in his heart. He was dead where he lay.

"Oops." Lulu had now fully materialized and was standing over his body with an attempt at sheepish innocence on her face.

"Tell me again, were we supposed to bring both of them back alive or just one?"

She shrugged. He was shit and shit deserved to be shoveled out.

She moved around Bobby and gathered Carol in her arms. As she did, a full length black ermine robe slid around Carol. She collapsed as Lulu eased her down to the ground.

A warm gentle wind picked up and blew the snow away as if it were confetti. They were left in a white space without edges or surfaces. The lumps that were dead Bobby and unconscious Lex lay where they had fallen.

Snow surveyed the scene and said, "We need to bring in a Grey to verify this as a fair enactment of the directive. Clan relations are at risk unless this is recorded as a justified killing in the face of Bobby's direct and imminent threat to a dreamer. The dreamers can verify this by telling what they saw."

Will now stood up with Julia and brought her over to Carol.

He spoke to them with the same gentle voice. "Trust us, this is now all over. All these dreams are over. I wish that we could have acted sooner, but you are both alive and you will forget this bad dream when you wake. Please stay with us for just a few more minutes."

Julia looked carefully into Will's face, nodded ever so slightly then sat down with Carol and hugged her close.

The Draumr trio walked a short distance away to talk.

"Philip Grey will join us shortly." Snow said after a moment's disconnect. "I've let the folks know only that there has been a Draumr death, not any of the circumstances."

Will asked, "Are you alright Lulu?"

"Not the best. I'm not sure if I could have prevented that by releasing his arm. But, he still had a tight grip on the knife and his other hand on the dreamer. Unless he went down hard there was a chance he could have harmed her. Too bad about the knife, but it was his creation and he wielded it. I never actually touched it."

"And that is what the record will show." Snow agreed with the entire series of events that led to the accidental death.

"We wanted to hurt them bad to send a message. The intent was to send them limping home after being suitably punished. This is a funny twist for sure. How did the knife stay upright long enough to plunge right through him? There may be a rat here that we've missed. The Red Clan can make some hay with a death. Maybe Cherry didn't care about tossing off one of his nephews?"

They all looked around, but there was nothing except the girls sitting a few yards away and the unmoving bodies in the other direction.

As they waited, Will suddenly felt the hair on his arms raise up and a cold chill go through his body.

"There's someone else here."

Both Snow and Lulu shook their heads ever so slightly. They couldn't feel it. They each had different innate skills and abilities. Will had always been able to sense changes behind him or beyond the trees. He was a skilled, if reluctant, hunter as a result. The prickle on his skin now was the same feeling he had when a bear was moving just over a ridge out of sight ahead of him.

Will sensed a different kind of danger here. He quietly said, "Let's get back around the dreamers."

But just as they started to move, a bright red puddle formed on the white ground in front of Julia and Carol. At first it was just an expanding puddle, but then a horrid lobster-like beast suddenly rose straight up out of it. It was a blur of tentacles and claws. Then it became clear, it actually was a fully cooked lobster. Four feet tall, dancing around and waving its bright red claws.

Snow yelled, "No, it's a trick, don't be afraid!"

But, the inevitable happened and both girls screamed. Then Julia could be heard yelling: "WAKE-UP. WAKE-UP."

And with that, they were gone, back to their bedrooms to wake in a cold sweat, tangled in bed clothes, maybe on the floor across the room, with a brief terrifying memory of yet another nightmare. This time, the memory would fade. The original dreamscape was over.

"Shit." the young fighters said in unison.

Snow continued, "That was a screw-up. Definitely someone was here and now is gone."

But the apparition remained. The lobster stopped dancing and fell forward, landing on a materialized silver platter, with bowls of melted butter appearing at the edges. The steaming shell neatly split and rolled back to reveal tantalizing chunks of lobster meat. Long forks, bibs and napkins spread out around the feast. A small red-bordered card appeared, stood up and flipped open; it read: Please Enjoy

It was a Red Clan version of a joke on them.

The transformation had transfixed them for a few seconds. Now realizing what was happening, they turned to where Lex and Bobby had been laying. There was now just empty space. All trace of the encounter was gone, including the only impartial witnesses to how Bobby had died.

They were being thanked either for solving the problem, unlikely as that was, or for firing the first shot of the war, which was much more likely. Either way, they realized that they have been manipulated to do Cherry's bidding.

There was no sense trying to maintain a useless dreamscape so they all closed out and reverted to their adjacent beds at Beaucage Camp. They woke together. Moments later, Water, Jack and Emma came in with Green Clan recovery drinks. Hugs were shared all around; Emma spent extra time with Lulu, giving her an emotional squeeze to ensure that she was dealing with the death fully and openly. There was little discussion except about how they felt and if they were injured in any way. Injury while dreaming was a new concept, but obviously one that they would need to understand. Death was clearly possible; they had just seen it happen.

They then gathered in the conference room to analyze the encounter. Philip Grey joined them to record their statements. He must have been at the camp all along or near-by. With him present, this would be a formal debriefing.

Snow gave a precise blow-by-blow description of what they had experienced, the condition of the dreamers, the engagement of the Red Clan cousins and the apparently accidental death of Bobby. Will and Lulu were asked to verify that this is what they had experienced. All three had identical recollections.

"Let's leave the dancing lobster out of it for a minute." Water was more interested in the circumstance of the knife penetrating Bobby's chest. After asking each to describe exactly what they saw again, he pushed a button on a table-top speakerphone that had been lit during the entire discussion.

He spoke to the box. "What do you think of what you heard, Jake?"

In reply, a slightly static-edged and hollow voice came back.

"If we had time, I'd like to try to repeat that with a rubber knife, but I don't think that we have the luxury of proof. In my view, there were two hands on the knife handle: Bobby's and either Cherry's or Oksana's. They either knew our intervention was coming or they were monitoring the entire sick dreamscape all along and responded once it was obviously going off the rails. In either case, it sets the bar awfully low on both moral and ethical grounds for a First Circle member to stoop to this sort of crap. But, I believe he wants to set wheels in motion and this premeditated death is just the first step."

He continued, "I would advise extreme caution for Armand, Gloria and others when actually on the ground in Kiev. If the Red Clan devil is capable of this, he may be just as capable of adding assassination to his playbook."

Static cut out the signal briefly.

Emma asked, "Should we continue this discussion in a dreamscape?"

Jake replied, "No—telephone technology only for me, I'm afraid. I am off the job on a little vacation, as you know. Getting rested up for what's to come."

Water knew that the 'vacation' was an assignment to counter the threat, should it be necessary, by any means, including an assassination of their own. Only he and Armand knew the details of this scheme beyond Jake Brun and Tom Brown, who had the assignments. Jake's current whereabouts were undisclosed, but it was likely in-transit to northern Turkey, where a mercenary team was waiting for him. The team would head across the Black Sea on local boats to the Ukrainian coast.

Although all present suspected that their war council Elder was unlikely to be on vacation right now, no-one questioned the statement. Water hung-up the telephone line.

"Too bad you didn't bring some dancing lobster back—I could eat a whole ten-pounder right now and it sounded pretty fabulous." Jack was trying to lighten the mood as much as he could. "I do think some real food is in order and then we have more work to get to."

They broke up the formal meeting and headed for the kitchen. More Green Clan cousins had come in to cook, clean and generally watch over the camp. For every one of them visible to the guests, there were two heavily armed cousins in the bush walking a perimeter and casting ancient prohibition spells against entry of either spirit or body. No-one was getting in here without a fight.

# Pay the Piper

With the good night's sleep and fine weather, the canoeists were in much better spirits and anxious to get on the river once again. The continental river flowed north with relentless energy. Draining a huge watershed, the Missinaibi River moved vast amounts of water down from tributaries across the Canadian Shield out to James Bay. If it was aware of its passengers, it's motivation was only to move them along with minimum delay. Just getting on the river and letting it carry them north and out of the isolating wilderness was such a relief.

The shoreline was now broken by the occasional man-made clearing and hunt shack, visible up against the forest wall. The evidence of humans meant that they were below the last of the impassible white water. Durable boats with strong outboards could now churn up-river against the current to deliver hunters and trappers to these camps. The green curtain that had enveloped them was slowly easing open. Some of their anxiety was also retreating as open space filled more of the horizon.

When they started in the late morning, they were a full day's paddle south of the Moose River railway crossing, where they could take out the canoes and flag down the twice daily Polar Express train to carry them and their equipment back to Cochrane. They had planned to ride the train north and stay a night in Moosonee, but had used up that day in delays on the river. They had no desire to spend another night far away from home, if they could avoid it.

They all agreed that they would now catch the southbound train to take them to the van parked in Cochrane. Once there, they could choose to use the pre-booked rooms at the Comfort Inn or just get into the van and drive all night home. One more good night's sleep and they would be up for either. Just being around other people was going to be a huge comfort all on its own.

_Just one more night on the river._ Lester kept repeating the thought. He was certain that a similar thought, or wish, was in everyone's head, although no-one voiced it. Everyone was superstitious of ruining the good luck of the last 12 hours. Lester wished he could forget his dream and the red-haired temptress, but his personal finale and the exhorted promise stayed at the top of his mind. She was just part of his dream. It meant nothing. But, how had he injured himself?

Lester did feel refreshed nevertheless. Wendy and he had cleared out the tent and snuck in a very nice make-out session, with her doing most of the work while he just laid back and smiled. Seeing her smiling too, farmer tanned with tank-top lines that she would hate later and really enjoying herself, had almost cleared his mind of the night terrors. They had even napped a little more with the tent rustling in a light breeze and had no dreams at all. He still had no explanation, but wanted desperately to rationalize it all away. He had said nothing more to the others about the crazy car ride, the redhead or their near deaths in the black water. _It was just a dream._

They set their last camp on a sand beach on the west side of the lake-wide river. Still carrying summer rains, it was now deep enough to give the impression of less current. They were approaching the wide delta section of the Moose River which would eventually simply open to James Bay. Only the occasional branch floating by at twice walking speed gave away the river's continued power. Paddling with that current, with no more rapids or portages to worry about, they had covered more than 60 kilometers and had only half that to go, when they finally made camp. It was 8:30 in the evening, but at this latitude they were still in mid-afternoon sun.

"Lean-to again?" Geoff asked, as he pulled the empty canoes up onto the flat and grassy bank. They had started a fire immediately and the girls were organizing a feast of everything left in the food pack. For many days, they hadn't felt like eating so now had the benefit of several unused freeze-dried meals to eat all at once. By home standards, it was the kind of stuff you leave on your plate. Up here, it was gourmet gastronome. They even had one box of wine left. It promised to be a nice evening.

"Worked well last night," Lester said, although without really committing to the idea. It came out like a question.

"Absolutely." Geoff replied, reaffirming the belief, shared with the girls, that sleeping together was the secret to warding off any bad dreams. Without further discussion or consultation with the girls, he pulled the canoes further up and started clearing twigs and stones from a sandy flat spot.

When they had arranged the ground sheets and stretched the big tarp with rocks, they tossed in the sleeping pads and bags. They set up one of the tents to put the packs in out of the dew.

Geoff winked at Lester, "You never know, maybe we'll need the tent for a little shagging in the morning. Not like we'll be in a hurry tomorrow."

Lester laughed, only a little embarrassed. He hoped so, too. He really hoped so.

A little later, stuffed and a little drunk, they all crawled in for the night with no apprehension. The pleasant twilight setting seemed like a perfect end to the horrid trip. Like with so many trips before, mostly only the good stuff would be talked about later. They had no wish to recall so many nights of the worst dreams of their lives.

Dawn. The 4:00 a.m. sun came up over a war-zone that had once been their campsite. Crushed, strangled, bloodied and suffocated; dead but for a last-second reprieve, the friends were now not-quite corpses littering a battlefield. They were discarded rag dolls in a dog's yard—shaken, ripped up, covered with dirt, soot and blood. The big dog was off somewhere resting up for another good shake and chew later. There was no hope in their nearly dead eyes.

Only Wendy could actually move on her own. Her arms and face were pitted with stinger marks from the giant dream insects that had swarmed her. She was swollen from the venom and could barely see out of puffed eyes. A contusion on her scalp had bled dry, leaving a hardening clump of bloody hair hanging over her forehead. Her shoulder muscles were torn from swinging her hands wildly, making her arms nearly useless. Her knuckles were scraped and swollen as if she had been pounding rocks with closed fists. She rolled to all-fours, then, painfully, struggled to her feet. She wanted to call out to the others but couldn't get any voice out of swollen, scream-shredded vocal chords.

She could see part of Lester a few feet away. Struggling fully to her feet, she staggered to him, placing one foot in front of the other as if it belonged to someone else. She had little feeling in her legs except for the pain in her feet with each step. She dreaded what she might find.

Lester was still clutching a driftwood club of sorts that was coated in drying blood. Whether or not it mattered, he had gotten in a few devastating blows of his own. He was wedged sideways between two small boulders. One leg lay crooked, the bones below the knee obviously fractured. His clothes were shredded; nasty gashes on his arms and chest were still oozing blood. His face was a technical knock-out all on its own—bloody, cut and with one whole side an array of bruises in colors from green to purple. He couldn't move out of the gap between the boulders, but turned his head and after several seconds of slow blinking and focusing, gave Wendy a missing-teeth crooked smile. Being alive and seeing her alive was the answer to a little prayer that he had been repeating over and over to maintain consciousness.

"Too luk ike chit," were Lester's first words to her. Wendy was crying uncontrollably, but couldn't help smiling weakly through tears.

"U do 2" she squeaked back. It was all she could get out.

Wendy wanted to pull Lester upright, but knew that she wouldn't have the strength. He would have to supply some of the muscle power. The leg would have to be set somehow. They had no medical supplies for these kinds of injuries. It all seemed impossible.

With hand signs, she told Lester to ditch the club and take her hand. It took several failed attempts to finally get a grip through the blood and slime. Slowly, she leaned back and found small leverage with her legs. She grabbed onto his tattered shirt with her other hand. When she thought that she could brace herself, she nodded to Lester to try to pull himself up over and in front of the smaller boulder. With heart-wrenching screams from the pain, he progressively worked himself through until his back was against the rock. Wendy panted as pain raced through her shoulders, but she hung on. Lester slid towards her and was finally free from the grip of the rocks. The broken leg splayed uselessly. He obviously had many other injuries, possibly including a broken pelvis.

After she had propped Lester up with what was left of a life preserver, Wendy looked through scattered and burned camp gear until she found a water bottle. Mercifully, it was ¾ full. She limped back it to him. He rinsed his mouth and spit dirt, blood and tooth fragments several times, before finally taking a full drink.

"Not too much..." She pointed to her own chest. "May be more injuries down there." Lester nodded and gave the water bottle back to her.

Ignoring the bloody spout, she carefully rinsed her mouth then swallowed a little several times. The water soothed her throat and she found a stronger voice.

"What about Geoff and Sarah?" she then asked. She knew that Lester didn't know where they were, but maybe he knew if they were dead. She couldn't see herself searching out their bodies—yet. If they were dead it didn't matter much when she got to it.

"Not...dead." Lester slowly formed the best words he could. "Still alive when the man came."

Now Wendy recalled why they were alive at all. The man had simply stopped the dream. He said something like: "Sorry, I'm late." Then he had backed off the hideous creatures that had been attacking them. The next thing that she remembered was waking up in early morning light, in the now quiet and deserted campsite. If Lester had seen Geoff and Sarah still alive, they should be survivors too.

Wendy struggled to her feet again and started a slow search of the blackened and torn-up perimeter. After a minute or two, she heard Sarah moaning and found her tangled in vines and razor grass 20 meters down the shoreline. She was pale and barely moving.

Although the vines were now slack, deep-red ligature marks around her neck showed that she had nearly been strangled to death. Her face, arms and legs were ripped as if someone had slashed her with a real razor. The nasty edges of the nearby grasses were red with her blood.

With huge effort, Wendy pulled away the vines and brought her face close to Sarah's.

"Sarah, can you hear me? It's Wendy; it's over." _For now_ almost slipped from her thoughts to her lips, but she bit it back. She gently massaged Sarah's neck, thinking maybe her air or blood supply was still cut off.

Sarah's eyes suddenly popped open and she flung herself back away from Wendy. Crab-scuttling backwards, she very nearly plunged into the razor grass again. Wendy painfully caught her foot and held her back. Her shoulder screamed in pain again. Slowly, Sarah gained a hold on reality and quieted down, while still frantically looking around and pawing at her neck.

"The vines are off. You're alright now." Wendy struggled to croak the words out. Sarah finally focused on her and let her own body relax. She fell back, breathing hard out of both exertion and relief.

"I was being dragged and strangled," Sarah finally said between gasps. "It felt like knives were cutting my arms and legs and then I couldn't breathe. I thought that I was dead for sure when it all went black."

"We all should be dead." Wendy was still struggling to get out words. "Something or someone decided that last night wasn't the night. That's all." She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself, but had the sickening feeling that they were alive only so the game could be played again. They couldn't move and would surely pass out from their injuries and exhaustion again later.

"Where is Geoff?" Sarah now asked, with terror creeping back into her eyes.

"Wasn't he with you?" Wendy questioned. She had hoped that Sarah could point her to where Geoff would also be laying, in similar bad shape, but still alive.

"He ran past me and then disappeared." Sarah was slowly pulling horrific memories back to the surface. "He stopped running and just sank."

"Sank?" Wendy looked towards the river's edge. She assumed that Sarah meant Geoff had fallen or dived into the river. "Did he go under the water?"

"No. He wasn't near the river. He just sank into the sand."

Now they both looked down the shoreline beyond the camp. Wendy wondered if there was a bog or sinkhole up there. She painfully helped Sarah to her feet the same way that she had tugged Lester upright. _At least tonight will be quick, I have no fight left to give._ She silently cursed their dire situation.

As the struggled down the shore, Wendy and Sarah almost fell over Geoff's body buried the sand. Eight inches of arm and a limp hand were visible sticking out of a lump on the ground like some strange red plant. The hand was covered in dried blood. Sarah screamed and Wendy let out a painful moan as they realized at once that Geoff was below the hand, completely buried in sand. They both fell down in front of the spot desperately seeking each other's arms as they were overcome with grief.

Then the hand moved.

For a second neither of them moved or said anything. They were too stunned to comprehend what they were seeing. _Maybe just a reflex,_ thought Wendy after a few seconds had gone by. But the hand moved again—deliberately making a fist and springing open over and over. _Five, Ten, Fifteen...?? No, stupid, it's not a number, he's saying get me the fuck out of here!_

"He's alive." Wendy shouted, ignoring her protesting vocal chords. "Dig."

Both girls dove at the sand around the arm, feebly moving almost none of it with their hands.

"Get the camp shovel. Get a paddle." Wendy now took charge and directed Sarah, who went limping into the campsite. Seconds later, she was back with both.

Working painfully slowly, but with more effect, the girls brought more of the arm into view, and then started to hit blue rayon.

"Knife," commanded Wendy.

Sarah humped off again, returning in moments with a camp knife. Thank God that the boys were compulsive knife sharpeners—it was sharp enough to easily cut the thin fabric. Sarah pulled fabric tight and Wendy carefully started cutting it away. They had only made a cut or two when they heard a tremendous gasp from below as Geoff's lungs grabbed the sudden supply of fresh air.

With more work, they were able to clear the fabric layers and sand away from his head and shoulders. He was crying with joy and relief. Seeing Sarah and Wendy alive, brought excited yelps and a couple whispered hallelujahs. As far as the girls knew, Geoff had never seen the inside of a church. Apparently though, he had now found religion.

With more work, they were able to free Geoff's other arm. He joined in to throw sand away. He was buried on an angle, with less than a foot of sand above his head. Any more and he wouldn't have lived. As he had struggled in the night with the sucking sand, he had grabbed the corner of their awning tarp trying to keep from being pulled under. The churning sand had rolled him around and most of the tarp ended up in a ball around his head. The little bit of trapped air kept him alive long enough to be found.

When he was finally free, it was apparent that he had also battled hard before being buried. He was badly cut up and, like Lester, had received many punishing blows to his face and torso. Thankfully, other than teeth and nose and maybe skull, nothing else was broken.

They dragged themselves back to Lester to share water and to try to make sense of the night.

It was still only about 5:00 a.m., but the sun was fully up and the river looked idyllic. Beside the postcard river, their camp resembled an airplane crash site. The canoes were half burned. Some of the paddles had been turned to match sticks. Supplies, tarps and tents were scattered, some hanging on tree branches yards back into the forest. Various patches of ground on the edge of the forest were black and smoldering. The long grass was flattened from the camp center outward for more than 30 meters. It had been the site of a huge battle.

"All that I can remember is that we were all fighting together, but that each of us had our own separate foe," said Lester. "What the fuck was that?"

The drinking water was helping his battered mouth, but it was still taking him a long time to puts words to his thoughts.

"When I tried to take on Wendy's demon, I could hurt it and drive it back. But, I was powerless against my own. It just tossed me around like a child's toy."

"Yeah," Geoff connected his thoughts. "But, I could beat the shit out of your bird or raptor, or whatever that was. It wasn't until they separated us that we were finally completely screwed. No-one could help anyone and the beasts just had their way."

"I'm losing my memory of the details already," Wendy added. "But, not of the effect. This wasn't a dream. Dreams don't burn canoes and flatten grass." They all looked around again; none of the damage was fading. And they were truly beaten up and severely injured.

"I don't know what happened when, but I really thought that I had died." Sarah's voice was barely steady enough to get the words out. She paused, then blurted out, "Are we already in Hell? Maybe this is just how it is?" She was the only one of them who professed any faith and also the only one who had been indoctrinated to Dante's images of Hell as a catechism student.

"It can't be." Wendy took her hand. "You would be in Heaven if you were dead; you're the best person in the world. No, we may be in a pretender to Hell, but it's still part of the living and breathing world."

"So, do we have any hope?" asked Lester. He had none left, but had to ask for the others sake. They couldn't give up. At least not until they all were dying for real, using their last strength to fight to the end.

"I don't know if it's hope," answered Wendy. "But, there was a man who saved us last night. Maybe he's the thing that's different now. I'm willing to hope for that."

They all wished it to be true, but knew it was a faint and likely unrealistic hope.

Joe Green came around the bend of the river in his canoe at about 7:00 a.m. He was moving downstream in a perfectly controlled paddle, even though he was sitting in the front seat of the canoe and there was no-one in the back. It was improbable and likely against the laws of physics. He wasn't paying attention to the shore, but was watching the water in front of the canoe with great intensity. Periodically, he would extend his paddle in the water forward of the bow and apparently apply the brakes. The canoe would sit dead still on top of the moving water. It was during one of these pauses, that he casually looked over at the foursome. The battered friends stared in silence. They weren't really sure that they weren't seeing a new demon entering in broad daylight.

Joe let the canoe go and it quickly moved away downstream. But, with apparently no additional effort, he turned the bow back upstream and paddled into their sand beach. He stepped out of the canoe in a foot of water and waded onto the shore. The untied canoe floated on the spot, unaffected by the current madly pushing water against it. It was waiting patiently for him to come back.

Joe reflected his years on the river in his face but not in his body. His face skin was the texture of an old baseball mitt and about the color of a chestnut. He was clearly well-on in years, but walked like a young man. He wore green rubber Wellingtons, rough jeans, a faded checkered jacket and a beaten down baseball cap. He carried a well-worn custom paddle that might have been carved out of apple or cherry, but looked like it was nearly weightless.

As he got close, he touched the ground with the paddle. It had a distinctive wood grain that might have been the map of a great northern river. He gave the group a grin with more spaces than teeth and walked right through the war zone camp as if it wasn't there.

"Looks like you kids need some repairs to your canoes," he said, flicking a thumb back at the broken and smoking hulls that used to be Kevlar whitewater canoes.

"Lotta work needed, for sure." He laughed at his own joke and seemed to wonder why no-one else was joining in.

"Sorry, I can see that you're not much in the mood for my stupid old man jokes." He smiled the toothless smile again. "I was too far up the river and they called me too late. Plus, I'm not the best at this shit anyway." He waved his hand around him, apparently meaning the destroyed campsite.

Finally, he stopped moving, but slowly looked far up and then far down the shore, then apparently, deep into the forest.

"Should be OK now, though." He paused to consider if more information was needed. Apparently, it wasn't. "I'm Joe."

He came close to them, squatted down and looked carefully at each of them. He was assessing the damage. He tipped his head and examined each injury as if making a mental note of the carnage.

Finally, he quietly said, "Sorry, I'm late."

It was the same voice that they had heard at the end of the dream battle. Joe Green had saved them once already.

When he was done his survey of their injuries, he went back to the river and got a canteen out of his canoe for them to pass around.

"Better than water." He had retrieved and wiped out some cups and now poured the greenish liquid for each of them.

"I hope that's whisky," Geoff suggested, feeling for the first time like there might be a way out of this.

"Better than that, too," said Joe. "But, pretty much the same result." He winked and left the canteen with them.

Joe now rolled a cigarette and went to calmly smoke while sitting on a boulder apart from the group. Only then, did he fully take in the damage around him. As he had done with their injuries, he paused as he swept his eyes over the scene, apparently making more mental notes.

When the cigarette was done, he improbably dug a little hole with his boot and buried the butt. Whether he was protecting the environment or covering his tracks, he followed a routine that was both considered and practiced. It was oddly out of place here, in the middle of a burned-over junk heap.

After saying almost nothing for fifteen minutes, Joe finally came back to the group and squatted lightly across from them. He commanded their attention even though they were now fighting desperately to stay conscious.

"You have suffered a great wrong for many days now. This should never have happened." Did he mean the fight or the whole agonizing series of terrifying dreams that had plagued them on the river?

"I'm sorry that we could not act sooner and that you have lost the peace and enjoyment that this river gives to all who join her. She will gladly welcome you back into her arms when you are healed. I will see to it that you are equipped and welcomed back when you are ready." He stopped talking and sat waiting, knowing that their questions were about to burst out.

They peppered him with what, why and how questions.

"Sadly, I cannot answer most these questions now. I hope that in time you may gain some of this knowledge. For now, you are safe and your trouble has ended. Soon a big bird will be here to fly you home. "

"Big bird?" Lester almost screamed. He wanted nothing to do with big birds.

Wendy whispered to him, "I think that he means an airplane."

The others heard and each face brightened at the possibility of being air-lifted off the still-terrifying river.

"Right." Joe blinked at the confusion and then continued, "Yeah, a plane, not a bird, I guess. Flying otter with floats. Will Green is coming."

"But right now," he continued, "you need some real sleep." Their stomachs jumped again in fear. They still believed that sleep now meant certain death.

"You can sleep for a few hours before Will Green gets here. I will make you a special potion to bring restful, dream-free sleep. I guarantee it."

"What is it?" Geoff was still wary of psychotropic chemicals in anything.

"Sleepy Time Tea," answered Joe. "I get it at the Northern Store in Moosonee. He had hauled a little propane stove and a larger water jug from his still-waiting canoe and was already putting a pot on to boil. While the water was heating, he gathered flat rocks and made four piles of two stones, one at each point of the compass around them. Then, he dragged his paddle tip in the ground connecting the piles with more or less straight lines on each side.

Geoff couldn't help asking what he was doing.

"Making you a castle," Joe grinned. "Watch tower," he said, pointing at a rock pile. "Moat" he said, pointing at the small trench his paddle had left. "Godzilla can't get in now." He laughed and started a slow rocking step dance around the 'castle' walls, quietly murmuring a native song that none of them could clearly make out. But, somehow, they believed him.

Joe completed two circuits, then stood defiantly staring into the bush as if daring anything to take him on. He eventually smiled and came inside the castle to help settle them for some sleep.

Lester's broken leg was the only injury that would prevent them from humping out of there together. Joe examined the leg carefully and then found two pieces of drift wood that miraculously made a perfect custom splint. Wendy held one of Lester's hands, while Geoff wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Sarah, rather reluctantly pinned his upper leg to the ground and blocked his view of his lower leg. Joe had given Lester a small sparkly rock, which was now commanding his entire attention.

In one smooth move, Joe extended and set the leg bones in place. Lester never felt a thing. Joe expertly wrapped the splint tight to his leg using strips cut from the damaged tarp that had saved Geoff's life. It wasn't comfortable, but the severe pain was gone and Lester could now move himself about on the other leg without a searing pain from the break.

Geoff and Joe each got under one of Lester's arms and all three men went to piss on a smoldering patch of ground. The girls headed the opposite direction, just far enough away to squat in the grass.

When they had finished Joe's amazingly good tea, Joe made each of them as comfortable as possible, then returned to his murmuring song while rolling another cigarette. By the time he was ready to light it, they were all asleep. They slept without moving.

Did you see the entire dream?" Water Green asked Joe.

Once the injured kids were asleep and safe under his protection, Joe Green had alerted Water on his satellite phone. The two men met in the dreamscape that now protected the sleepers. It was an exact replica of the damaged camp including the sleepers, who were unaware of the meeting taking place around them. Water had walked around the campsite and then bent and looked at the faces of each of the sleepers.

"Not all of it—I was late. They made better time that I thought they would yesterday. I paddled into the dark, but they must have gone to sleep early. I didn't get to sleep early enough to catch the start of the dream in time. Then, I was blocked out by the red hag. She had a very neat circle around the dream that I could see through but could not break down."

He paused with turned up hands. "I never graduated beyond Novice, and it was a long time ago. Sorry."

Water nodded. He was asking a lot of Joe and appreciated that he had probably saved four lives through his all-night effort.

"Think that she knew exactly when to bug-out just as I was about to call for reinforcements. Suddenly, she was gone. I then stepped in and stopped the fight."

"She wanted us to see what she could do," Joe continued. "She looked straight at me and laughed. Unfortunately, not being here yet I could not reverse the damage or rescue any of them. Fortunately, none died and they could help themselves a little when they woke up."

"The entire fight was just between the four of them?" Water asked. He was still amazed at the carnage.

"Yes, they ganged up on each other or fought in pairs. Whatever they were seeing, it terrified them and they wanted to kill it. She must have created separate dreamscapes for each, but merged the common elements, so they were responding to what was happening, but each was seeing and fearing something terrible. Sometimes, two beat the monster that they saw in another, while one tried to run away. Then, they would change focus and go after the fleeing one. Each had their turn at being beaten. One was buried by the others. At one point one grabbed a burning stick, broke the butane lamp on a rock and lit the whole camp on fire. Just good luck that none were burned alive.

"Describe the red-haired hag to me." Water had seen a lot in eighty years, but this level of motor control over four separate dreamers was new and frightening. If the Red Clan was behind it, which seemed to have been confirmed, he would need to figure out their motive quickly as well the means for creating the chaos.

"She was old, craggy—teeth missing. Looked like she had been kicked around a lot herself. Wore a bush jacket and army surplus type gear. Maybe wanted to appear like a hunt camp floozy for my benefit. Who knows what was really under there. Only thing out of character was a whole lot of red hair. Should have been gray and sparse on the old broad."

"She say anything?"

"Nope. Just kind of cackled, then turned and walked into the bush."

The description sounded more like some older Green Clan members, who preferred the bush to the city, than of a Red Clan Leutnant. Water knew only of Oksana Chervoniy as an opponent in this fight and she could never be mistaken for somebody's granny. But, like Joe said, her appearance was probably part of the show.

"Funny place to attack someone. And why a group of harmless kids?" Water was now asking questions for his own consideration. Joe just shrugged.

"They were alone on the river for more than a week. Apparently, they got this far, half-a-day from pull out, then she decides to have them kill themselves. So, why does she send an anonymous tweet yesterday telling us to check in on this kid Lester right here, when at that point they weren't even in trouble?" Water was looking for a reason, obvious or otherwise.

He answered his own questions.

"She wanted to show off. She could have just had them kill each other to prove to herself what she could do. She wasn't satisfied with that. She needed us to see it. We're the real targets for her terrorism. Coming up here ensured that a Green Clan member would respond—she specifically wants me or Jack to know what she can do."

Water continued, "Well, she has my attention now. Hopefully her father still remembers all that he owes us and can tug her back in." He had enough information to act on for now.

"Thank-you for moving so quickly, Joe. Sorry that you'll have to paddle upstream now to get back to your camp."

"The fish swim upstream too; I'll have good company." Joe was just as concerned as Water, but had long ago given up on saving far-away souls.

"Just a shame that I'm too old and too stupid to have prevented this."

Water shrugged and changed the subject. "Duck is on his way in the float plane. He has the GPS location. He is leaving from North Bay and will drop right down here before noon. He can load the kids and start them on their way home via the hospital in Timmins. Ep'r will be with him and is handling details. Medic, too. People will be waiting for them. Maybe, ask some guys to drive up a boat to collect the stuff and clean up this site."

"Already arranged," said Joe. "I'll stay here until everything is clear."

"Good. You've done all you could. That's all any of us can ask." Water clasped his hand and hugged him, then stepped out of the dream.

Joe woke himself, checked again on his sleepers, turned on the stove for some more tea and then sat on the boulder to roll another smoke. He gazed out to the river and throat hummed another old tribal chant used for protection from spirits.

With the noisy propane flame of the stove, Joe never heard Lester stand and move gracefully and silently behind him. The rock Lester swung fractured Joe's skull and he went down with an uncontrolled thud. Blood seeped out of one ear. His still-open eyes recorded nothing of the real camp. If he was able to dream, he may or may not have recorded the smooth steps of a young and naked Xana walking up to him. She bent and considered him where he lay, red hair falling on his face as she kissed his forehead.

"Sponi (sleep), old soldier. Var's over for you," she whispered.

Now she turned back to Lester. Joe had been correct that she could not enter the castle and engage the sleepers, but she had drawn Lester out by simply being irresistible. Once out of the protection, he was hers for the taking.

Lester was unaware of what he had just done. He stood gaping at her with a flood of desire from the previous dream rekindled by her obvious availability for sex, now with no other pressing concerns.

"I have decided that another may stand in for you. She nodded towards the image of Joe on the ground."

Lester now saw Joe for the first time.

"He is really dead. You just killed him. Lots ov explainink to do."

"So now, whether you go to jail or maybe this all gets fixed, is up to you."

In his dream, Lester was inexplicably wearing only his father's oversized boxer shorts with a split fly in the front. An enormous hard-on was poking straight out.

"I see that you are ready to work on your alibi." She laughed and took his cock in her hand. Lester was still trying to deal with Joe's image on the ground, but now felt his entire focus move to his throbbing dick.

She moved closer and began rubbing the head of his cock between her legs. A warm and very wet set of lips was poised to welcome him in. She held him just at the point of entry.

"Not too quickly, young stud," she whispered. "You need to last at least ten minutes if you want that alibi."

Lester was about ready to explode, but he could feel her squeeze hard at the base of cock and he regained some control.

"Now you may come in, but you may not come...tak? (yes)"

She turned them and pushed Lester down until he was sitting on Joe's boulder. He had two strong and unbroken legs again. She climbed up over top of him so that she was hovering just above the tip of his cock. Slowly, she descended and enveloped him. Her luscious tits moved up and down on his face. She rose up and dropped down slowly, then more rapidly, building a rhythm. Her hands were around the back of his neck and she drew him into the movement.

Involuntarily, his hips started to rise against her downward thrusts. He was completely overwhelmed by the heat and sensations of a dozen small muscles in her vagina squeezing him with each stroke. This could never last ten minutes, he wanted nothing other than to let go and fill her with a thunderous ejaculation right now.

Then, over her shoulder, he saw Wendy sleeping on the ground. He found some control and held on. Concentrating, he moved his focus away from Xana and over to his friends. It wasn't going to work forever, but he gained precious time.

Meanwhile, Xana was starting to groan louder with each thrust. She began to grunt and howl to the point where the noise should have woken the others. Lester had a sudden fear that Wendy would wake and find him fucking this ginger bombshell. Their relationship would be over. He could never explain how he got here or that he was fucking for their survival. He was lost in the confusion of deciding if this was a dream or really happening.

The fear got him through another minute, enough time for Xana's climax to finally hit in one last high note that echoed through the forest for a long time. She collapsed forward against him and slowed her movements.

He was still hard and able to keep her attention on the receding waves of her orgasm.

"OK, darlink, you can come like a jack rabbit now," she was still panting. "Do you need a little more help?" She leaned in, working her mouth down his chest.

"No." Lester spit the word out. As she lifted completely off him, the cold air helped by quickly deflating his erection. Xana leaped neatly to the ground and bent to plant a wet kiss on one of his nipples, then bit it hard. Lester yelped.

"Next time you keep your mind on the job at hand or I'll make you watch while I fuck your little girlfriend over there with an axe-handle."

She pushed him away from her and spun—coming back around dressed in a tight red leather jumpsuit. Lester was still nearly naked, sticky and cold.

"So, not ten minutes...but good enough." She smiled again, with her teeth showing, but there was no friendliness in her face. "I vill help you out of your little jam here. Then you vill owe me again. That's how it vorks."

"You vill vake now before the others. If you vant to avoid jail, drag the old man's body into the river. Make sure it's in the current then push it downstream. Put his paddle and other stuff in his boat and push it out to. Everythink goes downstream."

"When others get here, tell them he left going up stream. Tell them he left early in pursuit of something urgent. Say that he mumbled something about "The hag is up there." Get that right, darlink. "The hag is up there."

"Then my dearest, when they find him, they will all believe that I killed him."

She leaned in and put her lips to his ear, now whispering.

"For being so good, your bad dreams are all done, for now." She murmured softly and Lester, inexplicably, could feel his cock stiffening again.

"But, just a little something to remember me before I go." Her hand moved towards his shorts, but before it got there she suddenly clamped her teeth on his earlobe and bit the bottom off. Lester screamed and jumped back as blood streamed down his neck and chest.

Xana spit out the tiny piece of flesh.

"Soon everyone's dreams vill be bad." She laughed out loud.

"Until ve meet again." She disappeared.

Lester woke standing unsteadily over Joe's body. He was still dressed in last night's filthy clothes, with the leg splint over his pant leg. Now he had no strength to stand any longer. He almost toppled over and lunged at the boulder to hold himself up. His neck and shoulder were covered with blood and his hand came back blood-covered when he touched his damaged earlobe. He was a mess and feeling miserable again.

He looked to the others who were all still sleeping peacefully.

Then he looked to Joe's body and the bloody rock beside his head. He struggled to bend down, picked up the rock and heaved it towards the river. It landed in a few inches of water at the shore. It was the best he could do off one leg. With resignation, he collapsed to the ground with his back to the river, got Joe's jacket in his sore hands and started the slow drag of the body to the river using his only good leg.

Joe had been their rescuer only a few hours back. Now, he had killed him and was covering up the crime. Whether she had been lying or not about no more bad dreams, Lester knew his nightmare was now his forever.

# Cherry Tree

Gloria Black was regretting giving in to Water's request to travel to see Mikilo. Not that she didn't want to see Cherry again, but the uncertainty of the agenda, the lack of prior communication, not knowing how he was or if he was amenable to seeing her, not knowing how tense things might be; all these gaps in information nagged at her like an old-country mother and were messing up her preparations.

On one hand, the Elders had been informed that Cherry was anxious to see them to clear up misunderstandings and to recover relations with the First Circle. The delegation would be welcomed with open arms, wined and dined, and assured of complete cooperation; so they were told. It was predictable window dressing on a very bad situation. On the other hand, evidence was mounting that Cherry was actually behind a terrible series of destructive dreams that had injured and killed the very dreamers Draumrs were sworn to protect. How could he expect the First Circle to ignore the obvious?

She held onto her recollection of Cherry as a tough guy, but a gentle lover who treated her like royalty any time she was with him. Chivalrous and polite when she was with a current partner. But, when she was on her own, steamy nights with caviar and champagne ended in great sex. She had loved the palatial surroundings of his home and his various dachas when she was younger.

But now, though the trappings all seemed to still be there, she had sensed an underlying shadow of a very different man. On her last visit, several years earlier, servants had bowed and scraped, rarely making full eye contact. Associates, when they interrupted, did so with something that could have been either fear or loathing in their eyes. They smiled and said all the right words, but Gloria could see that they wanted to make the contact brief and risk-free. She never felt threatened, but that was during much better times. Now, she might feel the same trepidation as those who suffered his other side.

"I'll need clothes for business and for pleasure, all kinds of pleasure." She was talking in the general direction of her secretary and assistant, a Black Clan cousin who also served as a public representative for her whenever a buffer was needed. Right now, her assistant was helping to plan the trip that would start when she joined Armand on a private jet at Heathrow that evening. Mostly, Gloria was muttering to herself to keep her thoughts on preparations and planning, rather than letting them drift into worries about any of a dozen things that could go wrong. Her secretary knew it was one way that she worked through uncertainty. She nodded and added "mmhm" positive responses whenever Gloria looked up, which was exactly what the boss wanted her to do. It wasn't her place to point out the obvious. But, she thought it all a very dumb plan.

"I have no idea if he is bed-ridden or just had a sniffle. He used illness as an excuse for not showing up, but I've never known him to be sick a day in his life." She wondered about the ploy. "Hell, he used to pass out in a snow bank in his skivvies and we'd find him two hours later. Never as much as a sniffle, then."

"For all I know, he'll be in perfect health and want to drag me out on a boar hunting trip or something equally grotesque. But, if I'm supposed to get him in the sack for real, I'll need to find a way to rub him the right way and get in very close."

Her secretary was aware of the full plan. Gloria suspected that her partner was as well, although they had discussed it only as a diplomatic mission. But, there had been no objections or questions from him on the morality of seducing a foe. He had shared her affections before and trusted that she would be back to him when the task was done. This kind of 'wet-work' was just accepted as part of her assignment to try to head off this damn conflict.

"Or he might want to go out dancing and partying." She didn't expect a response from anyone now. She was off on a rant. "I should just call him up and say that I'm coming to fuck and what does he want to do to get his dick hard?"

She actually toyed with the idea. Cherry wasn't stupid. Sending an ex-lover with newly waxed legs and neatly plucked bush sort of gave away the secret plan.

"Maybe I'll forget to wear underwear and just flash him while Armand and he are going at it over who did what to whom." She smiled at the imagined scenario and felt better. "Fuck formality...no pun intended." She found a little giggle that lightened the mood.

Her secretary busied herself with the valises, but smiled too, while casually looking away. Her boss had the plan committed; she was glad that her advice wasn't expected in matters of the heart or the cunt.

Once on the plane and headed east, Armand and Gloria had time to talk about what a goddamn bitch this all was and how it had been better once, not so long ago. There was always some crackpot or despot to be looked into, but the interventions were mostly left to the kids. Simple tugs on the leashes of their susceptibility usually brought them back from the brink. Subtle suggestions for a change of direction worked pretty well. Little wet-dream ideas that started a different way of thinking were always useful. The creeps were still despots, but usually they could be inspired to take up whoring or hunting, rather than the genocide they originally had in their mind.

Gloria was well into a bottle of Tanqueray, with lime and tonic. "Remember when Cherry would show up at the Halls looking like a frigging Cossack, minus the horse, and chase all the tail he could for two days before a gathering. He fucked us all, twice if we were enthusiastic, and even more if we said that his big Uki dick was only matched by his muscular Slavic tongue for penetrating wit."

She laughed at her pun and even Armand was caught up in the Cherry reminiscing.

He recalled, "He was always out of control in one way or another. I don't know anything about his dream fucking, but I do know that he was the man to go to if you needed something done with neither moral qualms nor much concern for fair play. He simply cut to the heart of the matter and, all too frequently, also arranged to have the heart cut out of some pompous bastard who thought he was the new king shit. He used to say 'Cut off the head and the body smartens up,' meaning if he took out the dumb shit stirring everything up, the followers would just shrug and go home."

He shook his head. "We shouldn't be surprised that he's at it again, this time without asking our permission. Maybe, he has already told us how this has to be handled."

Gloria was sobering up in the twenty minutes that had passed since her last drink.

"What do you think he is up to Armand? Is there any simple and innocent explanation that might provide a way out of this before we have total war on our hands?"

"We have considered this with no conclusion, to-date. His motivation must be extreme. He has delved into past practices that have been banned for decades; banned with very good reason. The mystic elements of Draumr practice are unpredictable at best. The skills to fully control them existed centuries ago, but are uncertain today. The artifacts are like old dynamite. Anyone who uses them takes many unknown risks."

He continued, "Scholars on my staff have confirmed that the effects are known in the records. In the ancient past, before the prohibition of their use, Draumrs would use artifacts to command dreamers to get up and do their bidding. Where do you think the myths of the walking dead come from? It was too easy to go astray." He paused to let the image sink in.

"Graceless use of these powers produces exactly that, zombies that walk the night and act without conscience. They were sleeping and innocent, but were often burned as possessed. It is a heinous practice that must not return."

He continued after a long pause. "Likewise, we are able to inflict damage to individuals on the dreamscape that carried through to waking. Assassinations were common. So-called 'lasting effect' is never without consequence and is immensely dangerous to the Draumr as well. As sleepers are exposed, so are we. A wrong calculation and death waits for anyone in the dream."

Armand was pensive for long moments. He was obviously tired. His station required him to confront Cherry and to demand compliance. But, this battle might be his last act as leader. It definitely would be if this got out of control. Then, there might be a fight for the Chair. Like all leaders, he hoped to leave a lasting legacy, not to have some off-base hothead come in and undue it all.

Gloria made a small diversion in quietly mixing another gin to give him time to start again. The tinkling of her ice was the only sound for most of a minute. Armand wasn't drinking. She wondered if maybe he should ease into it a bit, because Cherry would certainly be pouring.

Armand finally let go of old worries and his personal concerns. He came back to the expectations for the meeting to come. "I believe that Mikilo would not invoke these practices just for his own gain, nor would he do it casually. There is a bigger picture that we must see if we are to understand his actions."

"We will be told a story that might make some sense, but it will be a lie. It is our job to get beyond the lie and to determine what he is really up to. It may take time and persistence, so may fall to you to ferret out, if you are still willing to stay on with him?"

Armand now raised his eyebrows to ensure that Gloria knew he was asking if she wanted out.

She replied with a steady voice. "I have no doubt that I can tolerate him and, with time, work my way under his armor. He doesn't scare me one bit."

She was putting on some bravado. "He was always a pussy-cat once there was no-one but me left to impress. Of course, I was barely in my twenties at the time and fairly easily impressed." She had lost most of her nervousness to the bottle, but was still clear-headed and focused when it came to the task ahead.

"I just hope that we don't find a broken-down and bitter old man who's lashing out at a world he feels owes him something." Gloria was now as serious as she would get.

She continued, "I fear that we will never get him back to the Table. I hope that he will remember what we've all pledged and why we are here. The Red Clan was always masterful in its use of power and dependable for the toughest challenges. From what I've heard, many times in our long history they were given necessary tasks that were too messy or distasteful for the rest of us. They should have some credits in the bank for that. It would be a terrible thing to waste that legacy now. That's my message to old cherry balls himself."

She laughed and caught herself. "Er, you might want to forget that nick name. It was just among us girls, you know..."

They were starting to descend into Kiev. Soon they would be face-to-face with Mikilo Chervoniy, on his turf and under his control. Beneath the polite and gracious veneer of politics there was a raw and raucous struggle taking place that could mean many deaths on all sides. The stakes were high.

Cherry had arranged for a limousine at Boryspil airport to pick up Armand and Gloria and take them directly to his dacha in the Ural foothills outside of Kiev. The 35 minute drive took them out of the city and into mature forest dotted with mansions and near-castles that really didn't fit the 'cottage' translation of dacha.

At the Chervoniy estate, they drove through open iron gates and up a winding drive. They made several turns inside a tight forest pathway, before emerging before a reasonably modest group of buildings that looked very western in both design and landscaping. The three-story main house would have fit perfectly on a ranch near Dallas. Modern stables, horse pens and machinery sheds completed the western farm motif.

Cherry greeted them at the front entrance, looking, to Gloria, like he was in the best of health and good humor. He shook hands with Armand in the formal manner of emissaries meeting to discuss a trade deal; then he turned to Gloria and swept her up in his arms, giving her a full body hug that lasted for about ten seconds. She had to admit that the old electricity was still there as she came away a little week-kneed.

"My dear friends, velcome to my home. Prochu, prochu...please, come in and rest after your long journey. I hope that it vas not too tedious or too troublesome."

Armand rolled his eyes at Gloria. "Less than three hours by Challenger jet out of London, Mikilo. Neither tedious, nor too much trouble, although thank-you for your concern."

Cherry looked seriously from one to the other; then he burst into laughter. "Vell, dobre...good." Then we will have lots of energy for dinner, drinks and reminiscing about old times. And maybe for some entertainment. Maybe ve'll dance a polka even, eh, Gloria? Just like years ago."

Gloria couldn't help smiling along with him. If the bastard wasn't killing people, the wrong people that is, he could pass for the same old rapacious Cherry of endless energy and magnetic personality. She reminded herself of Armand's caution that they would be presented with both a great fiction and a fictional character, only resembling the nascent Cherry she still held dear.

Armand wasn't smiling. "I think that we should get to our business. We will judge later whether there is any room for relaxation."

"Vell, good then." Cherry was only slightly less exuberant. "Ve shall talk over dinner. Assuming that the challenging airplane did not feed you on its short trip getting here?"

There was no malice in the question. But, Gloria could feel an icy gap between the two men. She suspected that no matter how much talking was done, Armand would leave dissatisfied with the outcome.

Armand nodded, and then looked Cherry straight in the eye. "That arrangement will be fine." They turned together a walked down an oak-paneled hallway towards a central staircase.

Armand now asked, "Will your daughter be joining us? He hesitated and waited for Cherry to turn back to him, so that he could look into his eyes. "I have not seen Oksana in the last year, but I have been impressed with her triumphs in sports and now in public leadership. I would very much like to congratulate her personally and on behalf of the First Circle."

It was an opening gambit, intended to put Cherry on the defensive and force him to come up with an excuse for her absence. Each deception presented the opportunity for contradiction or disproof. Armand was a skilled lawyer, many years removed from the courtroom, but not out of practice at hoisting fraudsters by their own petard.

"Sadly, she cannot be vith us." Cherry displayed disappointment via slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, but only for a second, then he brightened to boast. "She has the great honor of addressing a youth conference in Hong Kong, by special invitation of the Peoples Republic sports confederation. It vas an opportunity that she could not turn down. I am afraid that she vill be avay for several veeks as she is heading off to lead youth training in Romania on her return."

"She will be quite disappointed that she had missed you. It is not often that ve have such esteemed visitors and I am sure that she will appreciate your very kind words, particularly on behalf of the First Circle."

Cherry wrinkled his brow as if pondering a great mystery, then broke into a smile in an 'ah-ha' gesture. He raised his palms together, then opened his arms as if presenting a brilliant new concept.

"Perhaps, she vill join you later in a dreamscape if ve let her know that you are vishing to see her." Cherry appeared completely serious, but the offer held the subtle intent of a threat—meaning: _leave my daughter out of this or she might just visit you in a dreamscape and we both know how that can turn out._

Armand maintained the gracious demeanor of the politician. "No, no–not necessary at all. I'm sure that I will see her in person very soon, in any regard." An implied counter threat: _We'll have her in chains soon, you bastard_.

Gloria was only a spectator to the back and forth, but judged that it was a good time to intervene and move the meeting to a fresh start with a little more distance, and maybe, a dining room table between these two. But, that would involve cutlery. _Hmmm_? It was a risk, but the prospect of one of Cherry's rich traditional meals now seemed worth the possibility of bloodshed.

"I think that we should meet again over a meal as proposed, Armand." She gave Armand a quick serious look then turned back smiling to Cherry.

"Mikilo, we would love to sample some of your wonderful cuisine. Vodka cured caviar? Boar and borsht? Elk nuts and perogies? Or will you surprise us?" As if those dishes wouldn't be surprising enough. She intentionally baited Cherry with two of his three weaknesses: food and drink.

"All that and much more, my little Slava." Cherry now beamed again and put a big arm around Gloria's waist. Years ago, he had more trouble with English and took to calling her Slava or 'Glory' in Ukrainian. That and a few other exalted endearments that derived mostly from their experience together in bed, where she regularly called on God and the angels to save her during yet another earth-moving orgasm.

Gloria moved her hand up to Cherry's waist, but made a point of brushing his ass on the way by. "I'll need an hour or so to freshen up... _and to ditch my underpants_."

Was he still good at reading minds? Maybe one more distraction and he will forget which stories he intends to tell us? She steered him away from Armand.

"Now," she asked, "Can you point us to our rooms?"

"Better." Cherry smiled and made a small 'come here' motion to no-one with his hand. "You vill be escorted and your every need seen to."

Two lovely young women in traditional embroidered dresses emerged from an alcove. Both had flowing red hair. They might have been look-alikes for a younger Oksana, based on Gloria's recollection. One held a serving tray with sliced dark bread and a small bowl of salt. The other held a tray of three ornate shot glasses filled with dark liquor. They bowed slightly and held the trays forward in ceremonial welcome to the visitors.

"Bread and salt. Shots. Velcome, again, to my house. You are as my family here. Please, have one small drink to our good health." Cherry motioned the girls forward. "Crown Royal, Black. Your preference, as I remember, Armand?"

The guests each took a glass and Cherry took the third. He said "Nostrovia" and drained his glass.

Armand downed the drink and found it, as indicated, perfectly to his taste. But, it had been years since he had drank Canadian whiskey. It was a curious choice, selected over many excellent brandies of this region. He recalled that they had killed more than one bottle of just this whiskey as conspirators working together on some tricky past missions.

_Nothing is done without specific purpose._ He reminded himself. But, outwardly, he allowed a small smile.

"Thank-you, Mikilo. Very nice." Armand bowed slightly to the young women as well. They were also very nice.

Cherry motioned to the girls. "My nieces vill now show you to your rooms and then vill bring you down to dinner vhen ve are ready."

The girls set down their trays and moved beside their chosen guest, each saying in perfect English, "Please follow me."

Armand mounted the stairs, following the moving head of red hair in front of him. He could already hear Cherry's excuse when confronted with the deeds of his daughter. "But how can ve be certain that this was Oksana, for all the girls in the Clan have red hair?"

He had needed the drink.

As they came down for dinner, they were met in the dining room by both Cherry and Father Stefan. This was a surprise to the visitors as there had been no mention of Stefan attending. Remembering their first encounter at the Halls, Armand gave the real life Stefan a cautious once-over. The last thing he wanted was some bumbling mouthpiece getting in the way of serious dialogue.

In person, Stefan wore a fine dark suit fitting a cleric, but no clerical color. His embroidered traditional shirt was buttoned to the neck, giving the impression of a pious individual, but perhaps not one restrained by any formal obligations to a religious order. He also didn't appear any older than Gloria, making him a couple decades younger that Armand or Cherry.

"I trust that you remember Stefan, who of great necessity had to represent me at the last meeting of the First Circle?" Cherry had his hand on Stefan's shoulder, both presenting him and possibly ensuring that he knew his subordinate role.

"Yes, we do recall Father Stefan." Armand was still cautious. "How do you do Father? I trust that you have now gained some better understanding of the seriousness of the situation?"

Stefan now answered for himself. "Most certainly, Elder Grau. My apologies again for my ineptitude at the Halls. As I said at the time, the appearance was my first serious dreamscape connection in many years. I'm afraid that the rust showed quite clearly. I hope that I didn't make too great a fool of myself?" He bowed slightly and nodded, with a half-smile. He was clearly much more in control under these circumstances. Under his own control, presumably.

Stefan displayed no discernible Slavic accent. Armand picked up an Italian lilt, that possibly spoke of fluency in Latin as well. Although he may have passed through a priory in Ukraine, he was definitely more worldly than any hermit and had the air of a man used to political summits. He would bear careful watching.

Armand responded, "No, no, not at all. We would welcome you back, in the company of Elder Chervoniy at a future date. Assuming, of course, that his illness is abating."

The message was clear: If Mikilo wants to know what is happening at the First Circle, he needs to attend himself.

"I asked Cousin Stefan along as he is now serving as my spiritual advisor and has been a great help during my long illness." Cherry had finally released Stefan's shoulder. "The Father has seen his charges in the church through many challenging periods—both spiritually and politically. I believe that he vill be able to provide us with some vise and useful counsel."

Cherry now turned and swept his arm towards the elaborately set-out table with four chairs.

"Please, please, my dear friends, let us sit and enjoy our meal together. There will be time for serious talk later."

The dinner was even more sumptuous and exotic then Gloria had anticipated. The meal started with dark meats as appetizers: raw, cured or roasted to perfection; each dish with its own tangy and mysterious sauce. Local greens and unfamiliar steamed root vegetables were then served in small portions with oil dressing so light it almost floated off the salad.

Cherry gave a running commentary on the source of the dishes, how they must be made and even occasionally referred to the name of the poor beast that had been slaughtered to stock the larder. Through it all, he was jovial and gracious. On several occasions he offered reminiscences that brought them all to laughter. Gloria was feeling the long-ago comfort of his boundless joviality returning. She occasionally caught Armand's eye and received the slightest of nods: _Keep him on this path._ Armand himself was pleasant enough, but contained and clearly not willing to set aside the serious intent of their meeting.

The dinner courses moved on. Deep burgundy borscht rich with beets, leeks and wild boar fat, was cut with sour goat's cream to form a thick and delectable soup. Main course treasures included tender veal patichka meat skewers, potato and cheese perogies and aged sauerkraut cured for many months deep in the cellars beneath the dacha.

They also drank significant quantities of the best of the local spirits. Armand being the exception, although he did allow himself a taste of each. For the others, drinks moved from sparkling aperitifs to local beers that rivaled the best in the world for flavor and smoothness. Cherry kept another bottle of more rare whiskey moving around the table, to fill delicate ½ size shot glasses for those who wished. Each silky smooth portion seemed like nothing to down, but if anyone had been counting, the glasses were refilled a dozen times.

Chilled dishes of sweetened fruits and doughy deep-fried pompuska finished the meal as rich dark coffee was served. Each of the guests was presented with their favorite liqueur by the same gracious red-headed nieces, who were now their servers and who, quite visibly, never stopped smiling.

Gloria felt like she was on the movie set of a grand historical drama. The room, the furnishings, the meal and the servers, were all staged according to a screenplay and each act was executed without missing a line or cue.

Then the table was mostly clear and they were left to consider how this talk should go.

Stefan, having been nearly silent throughout the meal, now offered an opening to conversation by reviewing what he took away from his participation at the Circles. It was intentionally vague and misleading, intended to give Cherry the chance to further the pretense that he had not monitored it directly through Stefan's eyes and ears at the time.

"Pardon my forward nature, honored guests." Stefan put on his most humble of guises, keeping his eyes mostly down and opening his hands to the other three.

"But, I would like to ask you to briefly relate your impression from the First Circle meeting and resolutions for Comrade, er Elder, Mikilo, as I am certain that I have done an inadequate job of briefing him." He paused, but not long enough for anyone else to speak up.

"I have related how your skilled Leutnants, Elder Grau, have determined that one or two Red Clan youngsters have taken significant liberties with the rules and participated in some unfortunate bullying of dreamers, due to what appears to be a simple lack of maturity." Stefan nodded in affirmation, as if accepting his own premise, then raised his eyebrows to Gloria.

"Surely, Elder Black knows only too well what a challenge youngsters can be as they spread their wings and test the limits that we place on them, for their own good." Stefan now rolled his eyes and put on his most sympathetic face for Gloria, as if the meeting were about her child in trouble.

"I have also related the recent accounts of the dreams, more or less as told by the young White Leutnant and others, adding the unfortunate circumstances of the dreamer's accidental death as well as the fact that this entire incident happened high in the Andes mountains, where skiing is recognized as quite a challenging and hazardous endeavor in any regard."

Stefan paused in his long dissertation, apparently considering how to further weaken the argument against the Red Clan.

"Bullshit." Armand finally spoke quietly, but clearly. He had had quite enough of Stefan.

"Cut the crap," Armand said bluntly, this time at full voice.

"We all know that various Red Clan members have been terrorizing dreamers, and one, almost certainly your daughter Oksana, managed to kill an innocent person, whether by intent or by shear lack of concern for his welfare."

"I'm inclined to judge that there was intent and the entire First Circle agrees. Whatever the fuck is going on, it stops now and the aggrieving members present themselves before the Circle to accept both censure and appropriate punishment."

Gloria blinked and looked between Armand and Mikilo. They were locked in a stare that invited no other interruptions. Stefan was trying to shrink entirely out of view, his finger poised where it had been as he was about to start his finishing platitude. The digit now sagged back to the table.

It was Cherry's turn to speak directly to the accusation.

"I must apologize again for Stefan's inexperience in these matters." He nodded towards Stefan, but showed no anger or reproach. He smiled and shook his head a little. He took the time to sip his coffee and to finish the last of the brandy in the cut glass snifter at his left hand.

"All of the brothers and sisters of our Clan are embarrassed and taken aback by vhat has happened." He paused again as if searching for words. It was either a practiced feint or he was actually having trouble apologizing.

Gloria kept her eyes on Cherry, but had all of her other senses tuned to Armand. She got nothing back but the silence of an icy, black night. He would show no reaction, positive or negative, until Cherry was done with his response. The gaps in conversation wouldn't be filled by interruption or reply.

Mikilo continued, "From vhere I sit, Armand, my old friend, I can see no more than vhat you have described. It is certain that Red Clan members have taken part in some destructive acts on the dreamscape. I vas not aware of anyone's intentional death, but if this is true, then these actions are not the simple expression of youthful delinquency, but something much more serious."

He paused again and considered his empty brandy glass. Nothing more than a tip in the direction of the bar would bring a pretty red cousin running with the bottle. But, he set it down again.

"If this situation has become serious enough that a trial and punishment is required, it should be a punishment on my head for, ultimately, I am the cause."

If Armand was maintaining a stony visage, Gloria was doing anything but. She was feeling sorry for Cherry and wishing that they all could say things were simply a series of misunderstandings. But, she knew that they weren't. Everyone understood exactly the same thing: that the seeds of inter-Clan conflict had already been sown. What they couldn't know yet was how they could prevent the weeds of war from taking over the garden they had so carefully tended for so many decades.

Cherry continued, "I blame myself for losing touch with my emerging young nephews at a time vhen they vere most in need of my guidance. My recent illness has prevented deep sleep for many months, so I have had to rely on others to vatch the flock." He now glanced at Stefan, with a little more disappointment showing.

Gloria wondered, _Is Stefan to be the fall guy? Has this poor old man been hauled out to be ceremoniously punished?_ She knew that Cherry had a reputation for summary judgment. Surely, he wouldn't decapitate the old fool as a ritual for their benefit. She shook off the thought and the image of the suddenly headless Stefan that it had kicked up in her mind.

"Just as you have done, I have determined that a few cousins have formed a gang of sorts and, lately, have been taking many liberties in the belief that there was no consequence." He shook his head slowly.

"You must know that every Red Clan Novice is taught how to be brutal and decisive in battle, for it is a skill-set that the Circles have often called upon. Armand, you vill recall that in our lifetime, this has been the case. Torture by dream, psychological terror and murder by our agents have each been necessary to bring an end to brutal dictators and villains more than once. Vhether it is ever needed again, it is part of the Red Clan creed to be ready vhen called."

Cherry raised a finger and now did tip his glass towards a side door to the room. Within seconds, a cousin emerged with all of the bottles on a tray. Each diner now accepted a re-fill. It was a useful break in the tension and the liqueurs might provide a needed strengthening of spirit.

"So," Cherry continued, "vhen you sow these capabilities, there is the risk that they vill grow into unruly plants, particularly if the plants are bored and lacking the meaningful attraction of a sun to keep them growing in the right direction."

Gloria blinked at the metaphor. It had just crossed her mind and now Cherry was using it. Had the old codger picked it up from her? She could sense that Armand was about ready to speak again. This story was leading to the same place as Stefan's. At least now, Cherry was taking responsibility.

Cherry was getting to his final point. "Ve have identified three or four Novice male cousins and perhaps a female or two that have formed a little gang with the intent of rampaging on the dreamscape. Vith a bit of practice, as you've seen, they have become quite adept at terrifying dreamers and getting a good laugh out of it. Vithout my personal guidance and lacking other fatherly relationships, they have posed a kind-of "dare you to do vorse" challenge among themselves, with horrendous effect."

Cherry paused and took a deliberately slow sip on his brandy. He spoke again in a much lower voice. "This is all I have to offer; there is nothing more to it and it vill be stopped."

Armand considered his response. He had dressed in a jacket and tie for dinner and now made one of his characteristic motions of straightening an already straight deep grey silk tie.

This time he spoke clearly and without emotion. "As you have said, my friend, we all have known times when a decisive and merciless hand was needed for the greater good. It is part of our nature, particularly as we lead our Clans, to look ahead and to attempt to create the future we believe is best. Many of my Clan's encounters are with individuals who must in one way or another pass on a legacy to their family or to their nation. Death, when it comes, is easier if the book has been written and the plan is in place."

He paused. Cherry had been nodding along and seemed prepared to accept the first part of Armand's rebuttal.

Armand continued, "But, what we sometimes ignore as a collective, is our own need and desire to do the same thing. We too live in fear and confusion, until we are assured that our passing will amount to something—that we will leave a suitable legacy for our children and community."

"I wonder," Armand now tipped his head and raised his eyebrows, "if you have had these troublesome dreams of your own, Mikilo? Are you seeking to recreate glorious days of old by bringing back brutal ways that have been put away for years, or decades, in the case of the artifacts?"

The question hung in the air. Stefan, suddenly quite nervous, raised his hand just off the table as if he was going to ask to speak. A single wave of Armand's hand silenced him. Cherry looked slightly bemused as he glanced between the two men. Turning to Gloria, he actually smiled and may have winked. She couldn't be sure if it was a conspiratorial wink or just a half-assed blink. Cherry could be up to anything.

Armand was nearly finished, for he had no intention of getting into a debate. He had come to hear Mikilo out and to state the First Circle's judgment. If there was to be confession and remorse, it would be Gloria's job to ease it out.

"I don't expect an answer." Armand now smiled slightly himself. "My appeal is only that you consider that the legacy of the Red Clan under your leadership is already well-established, that you have a wonderful and accomplished heir in your daughter and that that you are welcome to return to the First Circle, just as soon as this distraction is ended. It is a serious situation. It has already gone too far. But, it is not beyond repair."

There was a welcome silence. Cherry nodded slowly and kept his eyes down. He was playing the part of the remorseful family member to a tee.

Armand concluded, "This is all I have to say and now I think that our meal and our discussion is over." He knew when to stop beating a dead horse.

Changing the subject, he added, "I understand that Elder Black will be staying on to visit for a few days." Armand now smirked a little; it was his own conspiratorial tell.

"I hope that she will be an aid in your full recovery. For myself, I must return to London first thing, so will bid my farewell now. Thank-you for the wonderful meal and for your hospitality, Mikilo. It certainly does make me wish for more good times still to come."

It was an olive branch. Unsaid, but the offer was clear: _Give it up now, don't take this any further, toss up a few sacrificial nephews, who will be lightly punished, and we can move on._

Cherry smiled back to both Elders and even to Stefan, who was visibly more relaxed now that the tension in the room had been dissipated somewhat.

"I vill consider your advice Armand and take whatever steps are necessary to bring my family back on the path. You can be assured that they vill be receiving our full attention over the next few days. I vill appreciate wise advice from my Slava as well." He grinned at Gloria and reached over to squeeze her hand.

The obvious message from Cherry was that this was an internal Red Clan issue to deal with but that there might be a role for an invited outsider. The stalemate left a wide gap of full accountability that could prevent any progress towards a full resolution. Not much was settled.

Gloria saw that her work was cut out for her. They were two stubborn old farts, and possibility both were prepared to go to the wall to achieve their rigid expectation of how this would play out. These were the pleasantries of politics. Perhaps, only she and her once-formidable bedside manner could prevent an inevitable turn to the hostilities of war

# One Step Forward

Armand Grey saw that all were present who could be present and nodded to Water to begin. This was all the formality that this meeting would see. The Central Hall of the Circles was dark and still as dreamless night, with light concentrated only on the table Elders and the single outer circle of Leutnants, now, Fighters, in their seats. Ceiling panels and columns bore dark images of turbulent times long ago. No-one looked at them, for all knew what they forebode. Each participant was here by specific invitation and purpose. Extra steps had been taken to ensure that all other minds were excluded.

Water spoke slowly and quietly, in the native peoples way, "We must first pause to acknowledge the bravery of our brother and hero, Joe Green. He stepped into danger for the protection of dreamers, with no hesitation, even though his was not the way of conflict. He was a peaceful keeper of the river and of those who passed on it. He contributed much to great joy among his people and to those he guided. His death is a great loss to our Clan and to the Draumr community. He will be sadly missed."

There were small expressions of shared loss among the participants. Most had not known Joe, but all now felt the enormous weight of his death on their task ahead. The small group included Elders Armand Grau, Emma White, Water Green and Jake Brun. In the Leutnant Circle were Sacha, Lulu, Tom Brown and Will. Philip Grey sat behind Armand, but was not recording. There would be no record of the meeting.

Will had been unceremoniously elevated to Leutnant as sort of a battlefield promotion. He sat uncomfortably in the chair that Jack would normally fill. Jack had moved over to the counsel chair behind Armand. He had been drafted to 'headquarters' while the Elders tried to figure out both the complexities and politics of Cherry's scheme.

The conclusion drawn from all the evidence was that everything up until now was some form of stage-setting and perhaps a test of the First Circle's response. The Red Clan now knew that the Circle was quite prepared to respond on the dreamscape and to engage Draumr combatants. However, only one side had killed intentionally. They were still being tested for their commitment and their limits.

Two Draumrs had died. Both deserved equal consideration, but Joe's death in innocence seemed completely disconnected from Bobby Chervoniy's death during his savage attack on innocent dreamers and those sent to rescue them. Who had killed Bobby was still unclear. For now, discussion of his death was set aside until more was known.

The evidence collected on the northern river made it clear that a dreamer had killed Joe, under command of a Draumr interloper. There was little doubt about who had been in control. With the death count at three, everyone wondered how many would die, either in battle or as innocent bystanders as this conflict wore on.

"Thank-you, Water." Armand now spoke to the task before them. "We have now encountered both the masters and the puppets in this pantomime challenge to our principles. I'm very sure that we have only seen the first acts of this play. And I know for certain that we have not yet uncovered the entire book and score."

Jack winced silently at the extended metaphor. He preferred to deal with simple facts. Motivation was the hardest part of any prosecution. Who actually knew or could prove why someone did something?

Armand may have sensed Jack's slight frown. He continued, but now without the poetry, "We must go forward with what we know and prepare for what is unseen at this time." Here, he paused to carefully consider his next words.

"As you know, our approach to Mikilo Chervoniy did nothing to clarify his aims and motives, much less illuminate his overall plan. We were given a grand reception and then presented with what must be seen as a grand deception. We made clear that the First Circle would not tolerate the brutal actions of Red Clan family members. He is aware that all of the other Clans are aligned against him. He acknowledged that this would be a no-win situation for any single Clan and would lead to its destruction. Our threats were not veiled."

"Unfortunately, lacking any proof at the time to counter his claims, we could not demand immediate surrender of the guilty parties. He, of course, gave excuses and flimsy explanations for his nephews' actions. He attempted to put the entire sequence of attacks and night terrors on them as part of some misplaced youthful exuberance. A 'gang prank' is what he called it. Perhaps, he hoped that we would grasp on to these fictions as a simple means of rationalization and accept the concoction of lies. He appeared to hope that we would leave, after only wishing better luck to him and his kin. We did neither."

After a pause, he continued, "But, he may believe that we did. This is to our advantage, if only temporarily. Now, we are balanced on the knife edge. We have our agent in place, in the person of Elder Gloria Black, who has willingly stayed in the enemy captain's camp. She has some leverage through her long relationship with Mikilo and perhaps some advantage, if he begins to accept her as no threat to his plan. The risk, we must acknowledge, is that she will feel compelled to remain there at his persistent request and may, in fact, become his hostage. She bravely accepted this possibility. We have the means for forcible rescue if needed, but this can only be seen as a last resort, given Mikilo's formidable defenses and brutal history.

Will involuntarily glanced towards Lulu at the mention of her mother and the risk that she faced. Lulu, clad in a black British military sweater with tied back hair didn't show any emotion. She was presenting a battle persona that reflected nothing of the enticing young vixen Will had finally met in the flesh only a day before. There was already ice in Lulu's veins and the prospect of personally killing a few more Red Clan members to ensure her mother's safety wasn't a problem. She hadn't been asked to comment, so said nothing.

All of the Leutnant fighters were clad in some semblance of military garb. Will wore a dark green military blouse and pants, drawn from the Royal Canadian JTF2 Special Forces field uniform. Tom Brown pale brown desert camo, drawn from France's Paratroopers. Snow wore dark clothes, for her, with only a hint of white in a typical U.S. navy blouse. They had all made the transformation from civilian to soldier in their heads and their dreamscape presentation reflected readiness to wade into the fight once again.

Water now raised a finger from his steepled hands on the table and was acknowledged by Armand. "Please take it from here as you are able; Water go first then others, including our Leutnants present." It was permission to drop the normal formality of the First Circle.

Water now spoke quietly, "As I have reported, before his death, Joe Green confirmed the presence of a red-haired, apparently female, visage at the site of the tragedy on our northern river. This location and the means of attack have to be seen as a show of abilities designed to get my Clan's attention." He paused, looking around the room, then concluded, "It could have been a diversion, but much more likely was intended to show us who we are dealing with. I'll let Jack provide the information we were able to get from the injured dreamers.

Jack nodded and replied, "When Will and I arrived with a medical tech in the float plane, Joe Green was gone. One of the male dreamers told a story of him leaving on his own, but the physical evidence on the ground, including blood and drag marks told a different story. The male dreamer had been under near constant attack through many nights and was barely coherent. The evidence is consistent with a skilled Draumr leading a dreamer to an action which he would never commit otherwise. This individual was in shock, both from his severe injuries and from the events of the morning. I believe that this male dreamer killed Joe Green while in a trance state and is fully aware that he did it. He may remember the dream command or not, but he was powerless to change the outcome."

"This same dreamer reported having numerous connected dreams involving a red-haired female. He obviously didn't tell us everything, as we didn't tell him who we were, beyond a rescue team, but he was absolute on the nightmarish female who was making him 'do things', in his words.

Emma was aware of this conclusion from their debriefing with Will and Jack at Beaucage. She added to Water's summation. "Based on what we have seen, the Red Clan female Draumr has the ability to cause injury or death in a dreamscape for the purpose of eliminating a dreamer. She also has the ability to cause actions by dreamers, who would appear wide-awake to observers. If we combine these interventions, we can imagine a potentially devastating scenario in a terrorist group or military unit. She could cause some kind of chaos that would lead to violent reactions. No-one would know that what they were experiencing weren't the planned and conscious actions of an enemy. It could have disastrous repercussions."

The room was silent for a few moments while the possibilities were considered by everyone there.

Jake Brun then added to the discussion, "It is simple reduction to positively identify Oksana as the controller. No other Red Clan female has ever progressed even to Novice abilities. But, while we know that she has a central role to play, we can't rule out Cherry as a direct participant either. I think the story of a sleeping disorder is complete bullshit. Based on our observations and the comments of some of his household staff, he now appears to spend almost all of his time sleeping. So much for the claimed insomnia. He is off doing something and it isn't good. Hopefully, Gloria can keep him awake and distracted while we get to the bottom of his plan."

He paused, and then concluded, "There are dozens of senior politicians, military brass or industrial leaders in the eastern part of Europe that have come under Cherry's influence at one time or another. We know that this number includes several current heads of state. Suffice to say, if he's going rogue on us, it is a dangerous situation, one way or another."

Tom Brown now spoke up from the Leutnant circle. "I can comment more on Oksana and what we know of her whereabouts at this time. It isn't much I'm afraid." He waited for a nod from Armand, even though he already had permission to speak.

"I followed Xana to the Far East ending up in Hong Kong. Her travel itinerary wasn't secret. In fact, she was a speaker at a sports management conference and she was widely seen in public. Normally, you wouldn't judge this behavior as consistent with any guilt or subterfuge. She then apparently traveled back to Kiev two nights ago by commercial air; but this is where the deception begins.

He continued, "Her ticket was used by a red-haired female, who to all outward appearances was Oksana Chervoniy. This individual passed through several border security checks without a hitch using Xana's passport. Video cameras in the security area show a convincing Xana. Interpol data confirms it was her passport. As far as the local governments are concerned, she returned to Ukraine on connecting flights."

He now looked up from his notes. "We know, however, that the traveler was actually a near perfect double, apparently recruited and moved to Hong Kong ahead of time, just to carry out this ruse. We are uncertain if she is a Red Clan member, but this seems likely. Not sure if any Draumr tradecraft was involved, but they may have planted helpful instructions to the right security employees."

Tom paused again, anticipating comments, but the others were waiting for his complete report with actions. He continued, "Unfortunately, we don't know what became of Xana. There is no other evidence that she ever left the city. What interest she might have there or in the region is also unknown. It is entirely possible that she did travel out of the country, but in a perfect disguise under another name and passport. Or, simply, she could have left on private transportation. Bottom line, I'm still in Hong Kong looking, but we have a cold trail at best unless she chooses to reveal herself again."

He now questioned the leaders, "Should this information be routed back to the NATO or Interpol authorities? We could start a man-hunt, or person-hunt, through the hotel or other site video. Not that many of the surrounding countries keep very close tabs on foreigners. An alert might turn her up and put her in custody temporarily, but wouldn't necessarily keep her from her role in this, if it is via a dreamscape intervention."

"Hold off on that for now," Armand directed. "We don't want to involve any more government agencies than necessary. We have some our skilled watchers tuned to pick up Oksana if she enters a dreamscape with a new dreamer. We will focus this effort to the region on the likelihood that she is still in the area."

Armand now held up his hand to pause the conversation while he considered his next words.

"The move to the Far-East may have other implications. We are potentially intervening in Blue Clan territory and we must advise them of the risks we perceive before we go any further. I pray that even Cherry would not abrogate the trust we have worked so hard to regain over 60 years with the Lapis since the last big war. This could be an even bigger tragedy than all we have imagined so far."

Now the younger Leutnants exchanged looks of confusion. Tom made hand motions downward, indicating 'don't ask now' and rolled his eyes. He was apparently aware of what the Lapis was, but didn't want to explain. Snow, Lulu and Will just shrugged. None were students of ancient Draumr history, so did not know anything of the split of Draumr Clans a century before or of the ancient Blue Clan in the far-east, now known as Lapis or mystic Blue Gems in literal translation from Tibetan Buddhism. This was turning out to be a very interesting meeting.

End of Book One

# About the Author

Ross Peacock is a resident of Haliburton, Ontario, Canada. **Draumrs** is his first multiple volume series, published in two books: **Red** and **Blue**. A third book: **Black** , is due for publishing in 2018.

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# Excerpt from Book Two: BLUE

### Lapis Means Blue

On waking, the young Leutnants made their way to the dining hall to get food and hot drinks. Water and Emma knew that they were busting with questions about the next steps and about the revelation of a previously unknown Blue Clan based in Asia, referred to as the 'Lapis' in English. An explanation was needed and the task of explaining fell to Jack Green.

"I could tell you that this is someone pulling your chain and that there is no Blue Clan. If we had the time or the luxury of a lark, I'd be the first to do it. Unfortunately, we don't have either, so I'll be brief and as forthcoming as I can. If the explanation sounds a little sketchy, it's because I don't know the whole story either."

He looked around at the assembled crew. As they were wide-awake and in-person, they now wore the workout gear of trainees, actively building both knowledge and skills. Tees, sweats or yoga pants were standard apparel around the clock. They were moving in and out of dreamscapes to practice skills, so clothes were mostly for comfort. Still, the women looked hot enough to cook a duck and Will looked half-cooked.

Jack started with a preamble. "The Blue Clan, or family last name of Lapis, are part of our lineage going back to the recorded origins of Draumrs in Europe. Until the late 1600's, there was quite a bit of movement between Clans on the continent and in Asia. America was still a wilderness. In the 1700's, a Lapis child assumed the 'reincarnated' role of Dalai Lama for all Tibetan Buddhists. This was Kelzang Gyatso Lapis. Whether or not he was a reincarnation of an earlier leader is inconsequential for Draumrs. His actual blood line was pure Draumr. What is relevant, is that by the time he consolidated his role leading the Buddhist sect around 1750, he had also taken the Elder's chair in the First Circle for the Blue Clan."

"With the spread of Tibetan Buddhism, the Draumr Blue Clan also spread its influence. The role of the monk was a great cover, but it also set the widespread beliefs of the primarily faithful Buddhist Blue Clan at odds with the non-religious European Clans of the times. Harsh words and minor skirmishes ensued. Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, the influence of Western culture—mostly our Black and Grey Clans, rubbed up hard against Asian culture—the Lapis, until conflicts threatened to break apart Draumr unity of purpose entirely."

Seeing nothing but blank looks, Jack continued, "The Lapis leadership declared it had no further use for the hierarchy of the Circles and pulled out of all functional and oversight roles. In the 20th century, as global politics and wars broke up Western-led Asian empires, the First Circle agreed that Asian lands would come fully under Lapis control. The 'treaty' with the Lapis effectively established exclusion terms. In short, we didn't muck around on their turf and they didn't fart around on ours. But, we acknowledge each other's existence and maintain some connections."

Jack took a breath and looked around to see if the truncated story was making sense to all. No-one said anything as it was clear that he hadn't gotten to his point yet. He was still warming up the jury before asking them to do something with the information.

"So, let me get to the meat of the issue." Jack held his hands together and upward as if holding a five-kilo rump roast.

"Global boundaries are breaking down everywhere. There are no longer any clear-cut lines of demarcation, particularly as various regions move in and out of western or eastern influence. It is damn difficult not to walk on each other's toes. Of course, dreamers don't hold still either. Asians immigrate here. Westerners work there. We interact at a diplomatic level to seek permissions, and sometimes, to ask forgiveness, with a First Circle Elder designated as the primary contact for the most senior Lapis Elder."

He paused again. "Here's the kicker; for the last thirty years, the role of Lapis emissary from our Clans has been Mikilo Chervoniy."

This information finally caused a hubbub in the room. The realization that their number one enemy was also the First Circle's pathway to a whole other Clan, that could be vitally important, was a lot to accept casually.

"Why hasn't he been replaced?"

"Isn't someone doing something about this?"

"Are we fighting two Clans?"

"Did Xana get her new skills from the Blue's?"

They all had questions as it appeared that the entire strategy of surrounding and neutralizing one rogue Clan now appeared misdirected. All Cherry had to do was to ensure that the battle was dragged east and the Red Clan might well have the protection of another territorial Clan, probably with cousins everywhere.

"I can't tell you what the current situation is, so let's not jump to conclusions." Jack needed to restore their confidence.

"There may be nothing to Xana's trip east. It did have a legitimate purpose, apparently. She was a speaker at a conference. She may not be planning to do anything there, but saw the other-side-of-the-world junket as a useful way to disappear right back onto her home turf. Certainly, nothing that we have seen to-date would suggest any interest in Lapis affairs whatsoever. We now have to use channels and make appropriate inquiries. The last Blue Clan Elder: Lapis Lazuli, was a wise and pragmatic centenarian who was a Buddhist temple master by day. He would not have counseled, nor tolerated any Draumr action that would harm sleepers. But, he is gone now some 30 years. Any Blue Clan representation in the Halls disappeared entirely about then; we took it as a clear indication that he had died."

He wanted to get off the topic. "You can be confident that Armand is on the blower already seeking assistance and assurances from whomever he can find in charge over there. I would put my faith in him to resolve any issues with the Lapis in short order. Until this is done, we are somewhat limited in what we can do. We certainly cannot drop an assault team into Asia unannounced, so whether or not you want to jump in, you can't. Tom Brown has his resources already engaged quietly and out of sight. This is all we can do for now."

He also wanted to leave them feeling engaged. "Our primary challenge is to figure out what the Red Clan agenda is and where they want to take this. Whatever you can add to this picture is valuable. Detached speculation is a waste of energy. We'll have Xana back on the radar soon enough—then your work starts again. For now, clear your heads and stick with your training."

The Leutnant team was on its own as Jack left to consult with the Elders. Water and Emma were still in the camp, but both had indicated that they would soon need to move on to other business if there was no new activity. Jack rarely stayed in one place for long, so they expected him to just disappear as well. If they were to act as a team, they would soon need to ensure that they could do this from wherever they were, on short notice.

Snow was dissatisfied with the explanations and let it show by dropping the temperature in the room about five degrees. She shouldn't be able to do that, but both Will and Lulu felt the chill emanating from her. She wisely moved off to the big kitchen out back to spend time boiling water and fixing a green tea. The room warmed noticeably as she exited through the swinging door.

Will locked eyes with Lulu and gave a small shrug, indicating that Snow's frosty mindset was beyond him. Lulu winked and stuck her tongue out a few millimeters, leaving it there provocatively. Then she came over, kneeled in front of him and took his hands, focusing intently on the lines on his palms.

"Still got that stone?" she asked. She knew that Will kept it in a pocket at all times.

"Put it in your palm and close your hand."

Will wasn't sure where this was going, but didn't mind being petted a little by Lulu. She was a dark pool of exotic possibilities next to Snow's sparkling airborne aura. The two of them in the room together left a man wishing for a great big bed with him lying in the unbelievable space between them. It hadn't happened, but it was such a frequent fantasy that Will hoped that it was only a matter of time before the women fulfilled his wish.

Will had fished out the leather covered stone and found the alignment needed to make it seemingly sink into his palm. He closed his hand and could feel nothing of the stone, but his hand gained weight again as if it held three or four times the mass of the stone.

"Now, make it smell like fresh cut grass in here." Lulu's face and lips were just centimeters from Will's. She seemed to be offering a greater reward if he would follow her instructions. Will had no idea where this was going, but willingly went along. He closed his eyes and imagined being face down in a lush lawn just after the mower had passed.

"That's pretty good." Lulu was smiling from ear-to-ear when he opened his eyes.

Will sniffed the air and picked up the distinctive smell of fresh-cut green grass.

"How did that happen?" Will was pleased to have controlled the stone, even if it was just for a demonstration.

"Not sure, but I'm guessing that stone is older than anything else in the place by many thousands of years. I've heard about ancient practices that could control the waking world just like we now control the dreamscape. A Grey Novice I know in London is studying the ancient lore. Over drinks and you-know-what one night, he told me that he believes that there was once no boundary between sleeping and waking for Draumrs.

She let this sink in a bit, while running the tips of her fingers down the side of Will's neck and back up under his chin.

"I think that Cherry and Xana have figured out how to invoke these old powers. It's how they break your arm in a dream and you wake up with a fractured humerus. Or you can make sleep walkers do things among wide awake companions. It all makes more sense when it's connected through the ancient artifacts. My talkative little Grey told me that any still around were buried deep during a reform period, but if you can follow a set of coded instructions, you can locate them in crypts under cathedrals in old Europe. It's supposed to be a big secret."

She tapped his hand holding the stone. "Guess Water had this one hidden here somewhere? Funny that it seems to have been made for you long before there was a you. Or were you made for it?"

She smiled, "I guess either case makes you pretty special."

She lifted his head and brushed his lips with hers while she talked. Will was turning into a puddle under her caresses. Her dark eyes were all he could see.

Lulu continued, now whispering. "Funny how the weird little bishop Stefan shows up just about the same time we start seeing these reach-through effects. So, they apparently hid these stones under churches. Guess who spent a lot of time bopping about between old churches. I'm betting that Cousin Stephan pilfered some rocks like yours and Xana has one stuffed right up her ass."

She stopped talking and stuck her tongue deep into Will's mouth. She locked lips with him and drew him deep into a dark soft cubby of their minds, where Will could feel the heat of her body pressed completely against his. He wanted nothing more than to tumble together with her into a long deep embrace.

Then, she pulled her lips away and it all faded in a millisecond. She was grinning again. Nothing had been touching other than their mouths.

"See," She giggled. "Nothing to it among Draumrs; particularly horny ones like us. It's no stretch to imagine that the delusions can cause wide-awake people to do strange things. Particularly, if it's already in their nature."

Will was having a little trouble coming back to reality. His cock was hoisting a very distinctive tent in his sweats. He shuffled a bit to re-holster his junk. Lulu grinned and flicked her eyes down, just for a second. She whispered "later" in his ear, and then gave him some space by walking around his chair.

Will was intrigued with the theory and now considered his talisman more carefully. The ancient powers would explain the strange feeling he got when holding the stone. Having no developed skills, he wasn't sure that he could direct it or hope to control it, but the fact that he had it and that it appeared to be specifically made for him was intriguing. Had Water retrieved the stone as a weapon of last resort, knowing where this fight was going? Maybe he had been well-trained in its use and the knowledge was still stored away in his head somewhere. Some sort of preparation might also explain why a relative Novice like him was being dropped into this battle among master Leutnants.

"Have you told Snow what you suspect?" Will hoped that this wasn't a secret he was supposed to keep.

"Of course," Lulu was now climbing back into the sofa chair with him and was actually wrapping herself around his torso. She whispered again, so close that her lips were touching his ear. "And in just the same way," Her tongue was exploring his ear lobe. "when we were discussing your black, white and green fantasy movie."

_Damn, they could read his mind._ Just as Will was trying to figure out whether he should apologize or just be happy, Snow came back in the room. He had a moment of concern for Snow's reaction, given that Lulu was clearly claiming some private attention from him.

Snow laughed at his discomfort.

"I see that you two needed to huddle for warmth. Sorry about that."

She plunked herself on the rug against their legs and sipped her tea. They made room for her to snuggle back against the big sofa chair. Clearly, she had calmed down considerably. Whatever distance there had been between all of them before their training, there now was none needed. They each saw the others as intimates in a union of both minds and bodies. It was a wonderful new feeling for Will, who had been put off more than once by a possessive and jealous woman.

"I've just told Duck our theory of the artifacts."

_Our theory?_ Will had the impression that this had been a flyer by Lulu. Now, he was wondering where and when these two had constructed this theory, apparently without involving him. It wasn't a stretch to imagine them in the sack together. As soon as the image crystallized in his head, he wiped the thought away. It seemed that he couldn't get his mind off sexual fantasies. He was now certain that he was broadcasting almost everything he imagined. Snow though, seemed to be quite content and was even absently playing her fingers down their calves. Concentration was going to be a challenge if they kept this up.

Snow stopped caressing and turned around to look up at them.

She opened her eyes wide and spoke with a cooling breath that seemed to make everything brighter and more detailed. It was impossible not to focus on every word.

"I think that we are supposed to figure it out and be ready to counter their next moves." She tapped his hand, holding the stone. _How did she know it was there?_

"Tonight, Will, you sleep with the stone in your hand and we'll see where it takes us. It will probably feel like the first time on a snowboard or taking the controls of a different plane, but we are experts at those hard things. We are here and together for a reason. Maybe the Elders can't admit that they are letting it out of the box. Maybe, we have to move beyond what they let us do."

For Will, Snow's assessment fell in place like fresh tracks in morning dew. He could see the connection to things that Water had said days before, but which now seemed to have been in a previous lifetime. He saw the impatient college kid questioning a ridiculous drive north in Jack's truck. He tried to relive the unplanned stop where Water had left them and returned with the stone. He had shaken off the possibility of an invisible man and a winking in and out Water, but it was starting to make more sense. Water knew about the artifacts and was probably highly skilled at using them. But, this wasn't his fight. He was too old. All the long-time Elders were. They needed new champions, but could not break ancient rules by laying it all out for them.

"I have to go see Water first. There is something else I need to get from him."

The women obliged by gracefully parting contact with him and letting him up, although they stayed together in the chair.

Will was now excited and a little nervous about where this revelation might be going. He also missed the contact with the women immediately, feeling alone even though they were just a few feet away.

"Where are we sleeping?" he asked. "In the loungers or in our beds?" Neither appealed to him right now.

"Hmmm, that's a toughie." Lulu grinned again, and leaned forward to run her hands over Snow's shoulders and down over her breasts.

"I think that very close together would be best." She feigned serious consideration of possibilities.

"It turns out that I have a king size bed that you have never visited, naughty boy." They both laughed and Snow now nuzzled Lulu's arms.

"Why don't you make your way back there when you're done with Water?" Lulu now feigned complete innocence. "We can work on our theory a bit before we dash off to sleep."

"The theory about the artifacts?" Will was a little confused.

"No, silly, our theory about what color Green, White and Black make when mixed together. I hope that it's not Brown, because we've already been down that road.

Both women laughed again, rose as one and headed off arm-in-arm.

Will shook his head and headed towards Water's room.

Concentrate. Concentrate

Please read-on in _Dreamweavers Among Us: Book Two: BLUE_
