Nightmare - A Novel Part 14

Worry, the most familiar of all Ben's emotions, settled over him like a heavy blanket. It seemed like he was always worrying. When he was little and Mom lay comatose on her couch doing business in the Dream, he worried she wouldn't come out of it. When he was older and Mom regularly left Bellerophon to hunt down enslaved Silent, he worried she would be enslaved herself and never come back. Now he knew she was hunting down a murderer who had, according to the Bellerophon news services, killed at least two Silent women, and he worried that the killer could come after her.

Don't be stupid, he scolded himself. he scolded himself. Mom can take care of- Mom can take care of- "Attention! Attention!" chimed the computer. "Incoming call for Mother Araceil Rymar."

Mom excused herself, then came back a moment later, her face tight with annoyance. "I'm sorry, everyone, but I have to go down to the monastery. Kendi-my student-is in trouble. Again. Make yourselves at home while I'm gone. I'll be back as soon as I can and we can go down to the games."

"We'll clean up," Aunt Sil said. "But really, Ara, I don't understand how you can work with these people. Ex-slaves always make trouble. You'd think they'd be more grateful-and on Festival, too."

"Not all of them make trouble," Ara said lightly. "And it's a fine reward to see them take formal vows."

"All that trouble and next to nothing in return." Sil shook her head. "I couldn't stand it."

"Yes, Sil dear. That's why you're still a Sister and I'm nearly a Mother Adept." And she swept out the door. Ben held back a snort and Sil's face colored. Hazid adjusted the napkin on his lap. Tress and Zayim exchanged glances.

"She always has to throw it in my face, doesn't she?" Sil whined the moment the front door had shut. " 'Look at me. I'm going to be a Mother Adept.' Well, la-dee-da."

"That's just how she is," Hazid said philosophically. "She'll never change."

"Working with her little slaves all the time," Sil raged on as if Ben weren't sitting at the same table. "The woman gives time and shelter to every little bit of trash that darkens her door. Doesn't she realize how that looks looks?"

Tress nudged her brother and smirked at Ben. Ben's hands shook. He wanted to fling his plate into Sil's face, into all their faces. Instead he got up and left the dining room. Sil and Hazid, still deep in conversation about Mom, didn't even seem to notice. In his bedroom, Ben lay back on the weight bench and, heedless of his dress clothes, started a series of reps. The room was still warm from the afternoon sun and sweat quickly soaked his good shirt, but anger pushed him onward, anger at his aunt and uncle, anger at his mother for leaving him with them so often, anger at his cousins for being so self-centered.

Anger at himself for not standing up to them.

Ben let the weight stack fall harder than he should have and set the machine for some leg work. What would it be like, he wondered, to belong to a real family? One with a father and a mother and more than one kid? Mom had tried to make Tress and Zayim into a brother and sister for him, but- "I feel sorry for him," came Zayim's faint voice. "It's like Mom said-it isn't his his fault he's not Silent. It's probably Aunt Ara's." fault he's not Silent. It's probably Aunt Ara's."

"Yeah. You think she did some kind of drug while she was pregnant and that's what screwed Ben up?" This was Tress.

Ben very carefully lowered the weight stack, letting it make only the tiniest clank as it touched down. The voices were coming in through his open window. Tress and Zayim must be on the deck that wrapped around the house.

"Maybe. You get a look at that weight machine in his room?" Zayim said. "What a waste of time. First the computers, now this. He might be able to hit the Dream if he kept working on it instead of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with this other stuff. Dad says he just doesn't try hard enough."

"I read somewhere that guys who lift weights a lot do it because they think they're d.i.c.ks are too small and they're trying to make up for it," Tress said.

"Completely true. And the proof is that I've I've never had any interest in weights." never had any interest in weights."

Tress snorted. "He always was a twerp."

Ben's jaw trembled with agitation. It was always this way with Tress and Zayim. When they were small, they had called him names like paleface paleface and and shorty. shorty. When it became clear that Ben was unaware of the Dream and would never enter it, the names had changed to When it became clear that Ben was unaware of the Dream and would never enter it, the names had changed to loudmouth loudmouth and and mutant. mutant. Tress used to pinch him under the dinner table, leaving black and blue marks on his arms and legs. Zayim liked to break Ben's toys and blame it on Ben himself, which got him into trouble with Sil and Hazid. Staying with his aunt and uncle while Mom went off on her "recruiting missions," as she called them, became a form of h.e.l.l. Computers and studying became at first a way to escape and later a habit. It was with great relief that Ben received permission from Mom to stay by himself while she was gone. Tress used to pinch him under the dinner table, leaving black and blue marks on his arms and legs. Zayim liked to break Ben's toys and blame it on Ben himself, which got him into trouble with Sil and Hazid. Staying with his aunt and uncle while Mom went off on her "recruiting missions," as she called them, became a form of h.e.l.l. Computers and studying became at first a way to escape and later a habit. It was with great relief that Ben received permission from Mom to stay by himself while she was gone.

Tress and Zayim continued talking about him and Mom, and he became pretty sure they knew he could hear. Ben wondered what would happen if he stuck his head out the window and yelled something at his cousins. Something witty that would flatten both of them.

Something completely out of character.

Ben stared at the window. It would all be bearable if he had some decent friends, even just one. But he didn't. In the school for non-Silent relatives of the Children of Irfan, Ben had firmly established an ident.i.ty as a loner. Tress and Zayim had taught him that friendly overtures could be disguises for jokes and teasing, and he had never been very good at talking to people to begin with. Being lonely was better than being a potential target.

Benjamin Rymar turned grimly back to his weights and let their clanking drown out the voices from the window.

Kendi wandered up and down the crowded evening walkways. Although the sun had long since set, everything was brightly lit. Paper lanterns hung from every eave and balcony rail, drenching the darkness with suffused golden light. Circles of drummers sat on balconies and staircases, thudding out steady rhythms and calling out encouragement to each other. Humans and Ched-Balaar alike carried a candle in one hand and a bowl in the other. The candle symbolized the campfire shared by the Ched-Balaar and the humans at the ceremony that had allied the two races. The bowl symbolized the vessel that had contained the ceremonial wine drunk by Irfan Qasad and the others-including Daniel Vik. The drugs in the wine and the drumming of the Ched-Balaar had brought a few of the original Bellerophon humans into the Dream and ultimately lead to the founding of the Children of Irfan.

Irfan must have had a h.e.l.l of a lot of talent, Kendi mused darkly, getting into the Dream so easily like that getting into the Dream so easily like that.

His mood was at distinct odds with the people around him. Everywhere people were laughing and singing and dancing to the drums. Street-walkway?-vendors sold wax candles and clay bowls and hot food and cold drink and decorative trinkets and cheap toys. Music was everywhere, timed in rhythm with the drumming. Favored instruments seemed to be recorders and pennywhistles. Kendi wondered how they would react to a digiridoo. He knew somewhere, on the wider platforms, Festival games were held, but he wasn't in the mood.

It shouldn't have been that big a deal. A pod of dinosaurs-those big ones with long tails and necks-had thundered slowly by right under the dormitory. They were nothing like the fast, agile creature Kendi had encountered on the ultralight. These were big and slow and stupid. What was the big deal if Kendi ran down the stairs to get a closer look? And so what if he had climbed up on the back of one of the smaller ones? The thing hadn't even noticed he was there. He had just wanted to see if he could do it, prove to himself that he wasn't afraid. But Mother Ara had thrown a fit. Now, Festival or no Festival, he had even more work detail. In fact, he had been a.s.signed to help clean up in the morning. It was stupid and unfair.

A familiar laugh broke through the drums and laughter. Kendi twisted his head around, his heart suddenly beating fast as he caught sight of a familiar figure on a platform a ways ahead of him. Pitr. Kendi had forgotten all about Pitr, how he had promised himself he would talk to Pitr tonight. It was Festival, night of beginnings and changes. Kendi's palms sweated.

For someone who just rode a dinosaur, he told himself, you're acting awfully scared you're acting awfully scared.

Pitr was talking in a small group of people, each of whom carried a bowl and a candle. Kendi had neither, hadn't wanted to get one until now. He remembered Dorna telling him that it would be customary to offer drinks from his bowl to other people as a way of greeting. Kendi cast about and saw a Ched-Balaar sitting dog-like behind a table piled high with Festival bowls for sale. Kendi hurried over and grabbed one. He thumbed the Ched-Balaar's pad, charging the bowl to his student account. The Ched-Balaar filled the bowl with a purple liquid that smelled vaguely alcoholic to Kendi. Kendi thanked the merchant, who chattered something back to him. Kendi, who didn't understand a bit of it, merely nodded politely and turned away. He took a big gulp from the bowl-it was indeed something alcoholic-and caught up an unattended votive candle burning on a nearby rail. Forcing himself to move forward with firm steps, he approached Pitr Haddis. This was going to be it. He would find out one way or the other. As he walked, a prayer came to his mind, one he remembered from the Real People Reconstructionists.

If it be in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere, he thought, let Pitr choose me tonight let Pitr choose me tonight.

Mouth dry despite the weak wine, Kendi came up behind Pitr and cleared his throat. "Hey, Pitr. Want a drink?"

Pitr, who had been leaning his elbows on the platform rail with his back to Kendi, turned and smiled. So did several of the people around him. Kendi didn't recognize any of them and he briefly wondered where Trish was.

"Kendi," Pitr said brightly. "Joyous Festival. I was wondering if I was going to run into you."

"Really?" Kendi raised his bowl. "I'm here. I was wondering if I-" he had to pause to clear his throat again "-if I could talk to you for a minute."

"Sure," Pitr said, and Kendi's insides twisted at the sight of his smile. "Oh wait-I'm being rude. Kendi, this is Holda." He gestured at a pet.i.te blond girl who looked to be about Pitr's age. She had brown eyes and a round, pretty face. "Holda, this is Kendi Weaver."

Holda held out her hand. Kendi automatically set the bowl on the rail so he could shake it. No jolt-Holda wasn't Silent.

"You're the guy who was attacked on the ultralight?" she asked. "Pitr told me all about it. You were pretty brave."

"Yeah, thanks," Kendi said, wondering how he could get rid of Holda so he could talk to Pitr alone.

"Tonight's our one-month anniversary," Pitr said, and he kissed Holda loudly on the cheek. She laughed and pushed him away.

"Don't," she admonished lightly. "You're too cute when you do that."

Kendi's heart froze solid in his chest. He stared first at Pitr, then at Holda. They were holding hands. He didn't know what to do, what to say.

"Anyway-you wanted to talk to me?" Pitr said.

Kendi continued to stare, then something broke and his wits rushed back to him. His face began to burn. "It can wait," he said faintly. "It was just something about ...about the ultralights, but it's no big deal. I just remembered that I'm supposed ...supposed to meet someone at the games. I'll catch you later."

He caught up his bowl and fled before either Pitr or Holda could say anything. He kept walking, dodging around Festival partiers, until he found a place away from the noise and the lantern light. His candle had gone out. Darkness closed in around him. Insects called and night birds sang. Two walkways met here, and Kendi leaned on the rail to stare out into the night. The drums were only a faint sound in the distance.

Stupid, he thought fiercely. I was so stupid I was so stupid. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to ask Pitr if he had a girlfriend, a perfectly innocent question, a question people ask all the time in idle conversation. But for some reason it hadn't occurred to Kendi to ask it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had come within millimeters of making a complete fool of himself, just as he had done with Pup. Thank all life something had stopped him. Otherwise he'd have never been able to look Pitr in the face again and flight lessons would have been impossibly awkward. Sudden loneliness welled up in him. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed like he was always alone these days. That was the worst part of it-being alone.

Festival night, he thought. Beginnings, changes, and new directions. Well here's a change for you. Beginnings, changes, and new directions. Well here's a change for you.

Kendi flung his clay bowl over the edge. He heard it collide with something, probably a tree branch, and shatter. They wanted resolutions? Here was a resolution-from now on, Kendi was going to leave well enough alone, no matter how lonely he got.

And he wasn't going to cry about it. No, he wasn't.

The latter resolution lasted less than a minute.

CHAPTER NINE.

Just because I can reach the Dream doesn't mean I want to spend my whole life there. Unlike some people.

-Daniel Vik

Mother Ara turned a baleful eye on Kendi and Jeren. Kendi tried to meet it and found he couldn't. Mother Ara had the best glare of anyone he'd ever met and he still couldn't stand up to it. Even after repeated practice.

"Didn't we go through this at Festival last year?" she growled. "I truly don't know what to do with you two."

"You could-" Kendi began.

"I didn't mean for you to give an answer," Mother Ara snapped. "I'm tired of all this. You've been here for-what?-a year now. An entire year. You've signed your contracts with the Children, you have your own teachers, you wear the ruby ring. And still you keep breaking the rules. This may come as a surprise to the both of you, but yes, it is is against the rules to hijack an ultralight and buzz a pod of mickey spikes. You caused a stampede, for G.o.d's sake. What if someone had been standing in the way? They would have been killed." against the rules to hijack an ultralight and buzz a pod of mickey spikes. You caused a stampede, for G.o.d's sake. What if someone had been standing in the way? They would have been killed."

"I-" Jeren said.

"And don't think I know how it all works by now," Mother Ara continued ruthlessly. "You, Jeren, cook up some c.o.c.keyed scheme and you egg Kendi into joining you. Kendi, I'm especially surprised at you. I thought you'd been making real progress. Then you go and do this. What would the Real People say about that kind of treatment toward animals?"

Kendi ground his teeth. That line always got to him, and Mother Ara knew it. He replied with the only defense he knew. "Most of them are dead. They don't say much."

"Don't get flip," she answered. "You know I'm right. And you, Jeren ..."

In the end, they each got an extra four hours of work detail. As they headed out the door of Mother Ara's tiny office at the monastery, Mother Ara called out, "Kendi, wait a moment."

Jeren caught Kendi' eye. "I'll catch you outside," he murmured, and shut the door.

Kendi turned back. Mother Ara was still sitting behind her desk, her hands folded on top of it. The little room was crammed with ...stuff. Kendi couldn't think of any other way to describe it. Shelves of bookdisks on the walls, a bulletin board covered with cartoons and little comics, two small statues of Irfan Qasad serving as bookends, brightly-woven wall hangings with quilting and ta.s.sels, little trinkets-some tacky, some tasteful-and a dozen awards and framed certificates all crowded around a desk top littered with more disks, a data pad, and a portable telephone. Two pots of red and blue flowers had been somehow squeezed in as a concession to Festival. A head-and-shoulders hologram of a teenage boy with red hair and blue eyes occupied the ledge below the room's only window. The boy was good-looking and bore no resemblance to Mother Ara whatever. Kendi wondered who he was. Nephew? Family friend? He was definitely cute, whoever he was.

Mother Ara gestured to one of two chairs opposite the desk. "Kendi, sit down again."

Kendi obeyed with all the annoyed reluctance he could muster. She had already slammed him with more work detail. Like he had a lot of free time as it was. Now she going to hit him with something more? He mentally reviewed the recent past, trying to remember if he had done anything else she could get him for. He had broken the dorm curfew for underage students twice last week, but no one had caught him sneaking in, he was sure. His grades weren't great right now, but official reports weren't due out for almost a month, so it couldn't be that. Unless one of his teachers had complained about him. He clenched his jaw. That was probably it. Sister Bren must have called Mother Ara again. Sister Bren had had it in for him since the first day of cla.s.s, and Mother Ara would take her side. She always did.

"I've been wondering if you've given any more thought to the suggestion I made to you last week," Mother Ara said. "And the week before that. And last month."

The head of steam that had been building up inside Kendi abruptly evaporated. He knew what she was talking about, but pretended ignorance. "Suggestion?"

"Do you think about your family a lot?" Mother Ara asked.

Kendi nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Kendi. I'm worried about you."

Kendi just looked at her without speaking.

"I said it before-you've been through a lot," Mother Ara said. "That kind of thing makes you angry, and the anger doesn't just go away because you've been freed from slavery."

Kendi remained silent.

"You're not alone, Kendi," Mother Ara continued quietly. She pushed aside a couple data disks and leaned her elbows on the desk. "The Children take care of their own, and you're one of us. Kendi, please-let's make arrangements for you to talk to someone about what you've been through."

"You mean a therapist. Someone who talks to crazy people."

"A counselor," Mother Ara said. "Someone who listens and helps you through-"

"I don't have time," Kendi interrupted. "All that work detail."

"If you'll agree to see someone, I'll cancel the work detail."

"Is that why you gave it to me?" Kendi snapped back. "To blackmail me into seeing a therapist?"

Mother Ara's face clouded and she looked ready to give a sharp retort, then stopped herself. "You know that's not the case, Kendi. I want to help you. The pain you're in is-"

"-is none of your business. Look, can I go now? I have stuff to do."

Mother Ara sighed. "All right. But at least think about what I said, all right? And don't forget your lesson this afternoon."

"Yeah, sure," Kendi said in his least convincing voice. "Can I go?"

Mother Ara nodded and Kendi quickly left the office. Who did she think she was? Who did she think he he was? Some kind of loony? Yeah, he was angry, but he was angry at Mother Ara for giving him work detail, at Sister Bren for getting on his case all the time. If they just left him alone, he'd be fine. was? Some kind of loony? Yeah, he was angry, but he was angry at Mother Ara for giving him work detail, at Sister Bren for getting on his case all the time. If they just left him alone, he'd be fine.

Outdoors, Kendi wandered over to a railing and peered down into the green depths of the forest below. Festival flowers and decorations had sprouted on houses, balconies, and walkways everywhere. It was sunny, the first sunny day after a solid week of clouds, and the air was balmy and warm, exactly as it had been on the day he had first arrived on Bellerophon last year. A lot had happened in that time. Kendi had gained several centimeters of height and survived a year of cla.s.ses without exactly failing any of them. It hadn't been easy. More than once he had been tempted to take the free one-way pa.s.sage Mother Ara said he could use whenever he wanted and run off to search for his family. But each time he hadn't gone through with it. Part of it was practicality-he had no idea where to start looking. There was also the fact that he knew his mother was Silent. The most viable place to find her, it seemed to Kendi, was the Dream, with the Children to help him. That meant working hard to reach the place himself. More than once, however, he lost sight of this and Mother Ara was always there when it happened.

"So what'd she want?" Jeren asked at his elbow. Kendi jumped.

"Don't do that," he said. "All life, you scared the s.h.i.t out of me."

Jeren grinned. "Good. So what'd she want?"

"She wanted me to see a therapist. Like I'm some loony head or something. I told I didn't have time because of all the work detail she laid on me."

"Good one," Jeren said. His green eyes darkened with anger. The white scar still framed his left eye, and he still favored dressing in black leather, even though it was summer. "My teacher's been the same way. Wants me to spill my guts to some total stranger and think that's going to make me a model citizen. f.u.c.k that."