SWNOVELS Chapter This is war, then.
A small part of him mocked his actions. Who was throwing a tantrum now? But it wasn’t enough to soothe the welling anger, the frustration, the piercing helplessness. With a desperate need to destroy something, he marched to the sitting area and heaved the low table. The table resisted, slipped from his grasp, and clanged back on the floor.
“Let me be, Centisom,” he called out.
In a rebuke, the chair repaired itself, the clutter flew back on his desk and ordered itself.
Spotting the half-eternity symbol on the table, he felt his anger deflate. He dropped onto the couch and stared ahead, his eyes unfocused, his heart heavy.
Day four of their search and rescue mission had passed, and he had no choice but to terminate it. He had already lost a Guardian the day before. If he didn’t change strategies, he would lose a trainee and fail to rescue Rahima for the second time as well… and in the process endanger everyone in his care.
That wasn’t an acceptable outcome.
Life was good. And Rafael was bored out of his mind.
Moreover, he was beginning to suffocate under his parents’ stifling care.
Of course, he wasn’t an ungrateful brat, and he loved every minute of pampering, but his parents’ constant hovering was getting old. They were acting as though he would disappear if they took their eyes off him for even an instant. The walls of his bedroom were beginning to close on him, and he was dying to get out, play soccer, feel the ball race through the air.
He sighed and continued shuffling through the pile of gifts that poured in while he had been in a coma. It struck him how everyone was oblivious to him – even hateful – before the attack but tried to make amends when he was half-dead. How the tokens they had sent could have benefitted him while he was unconscious was anyone’s guess, though.
He was sorely tempted to discard everything except the gifts from his family and friends. Patrick and Jan, both his pals, knew him well and had brought Pokémon cards. Their visit the previous day had been like a bucket of water to his parched soul.
He considered the gifts once more. They were most likely a cheap means to ease the guilty conscience of their bearers. After all, they didn’t regret their attitude. They just didn’t want to be held accountable for their indifference.
No need to grant forgiveness when there was no real regret. Decision made, he dumped the greeting cards full of empty words – that, in his mind, mocked the pain he had suffered – into a box, along with the unwanted items. He’d recycle it to the Red Cross, where it would make some kids happy.
The small task didn’t take long, though, and soon he was back to brooding.
He took a shuddering breath. He was home. Safe. So why did he feel so... hollow? Even his faithful companion, the dragon inside, didn’t stir much these days.
His eyes landed on the framed picture near his bed. For the hundredth time, he wondered if the vivid dreams he had during his coma were pure fantasy. He had acquired weeks, even months, worth of memories during the short week he had been in the hospital. How was that possible?
Exasperated by myriad unanswered questions, he stepped out of his familiar, but suddenly gloomy, room.
Annoying his brother had become his most rewarding pursuit these days.
“You can’t terminate the search party!” Niklas shouted, voicing the collective opinion.
Medeor planted the palm of his hands on his desk. Centisom’s finest Guardians, including the teaching staff, were looking back at him with grim bleakness in their faces.
“I don’t need to remind you how volatile this overall situation is. All of you have reported a steep increase in activities from the new – and still unexplained, I might add – dangerous creatures. We can’t risk a repeat of yesterday.”
He caught Niklas’s eyes flicking to Madlen. Her gaze was downcast, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. One of the Guardians had risked his own life to save the trainees under his care from a vicious attack, and the gentle Healer felt guilty she hadn’t been able to save him. The dangerous encounters had multiplied, and Medeor wouldn’t risk losing another soul under his watch.
Elvina scooted closer to her colleague and put a supporting arm around her shoulders. “I can’t communicate with the creatures. It’s as if they have no will of their own.”
“Yes, and they are multiplying… along with what appears to be a sudden influx of astral bodies wandering all over Dreamland.” Chen Zhou’s hands were grabbing empty air, his usual aloofness gone. “I theorize there is a correlation.”
“Something is going on, and we need to stop it,” Medeor resumed. “I’ll close Gateway Hall. That will at least give us time to regroup.”
“What about Rahima and Rafael? They’re still out there!” Mr. Santiago asked with a growl in his voice. He had taken a liking to Rafael and had been tireless in his effort to find him.
Medeor sighed. “Some possible sightings of the girl have been reported. None of Rafael.”
Feet shuffled. Breaths hitched. Medeor lifted a hand to stop the brewing protest. “Calm down. As I said, once the Horolock is on hold, we’ll have some breathing room. We can continue the search later when we have a better strategy, but blind wandering is no longer an option. It’s too dangerous.”
A hush of cautious relief wandered through the gathering. Medeor heard a muffled sob coming from Madlen. Niklas shook his head and stomped out, leaving everyone puzzled.
“We also need to know why hundreds of thousands of astral bodies are suddenly wandering Dreamland outside of their Glabs,” Medeor continued. “Chen, please investigate the matter at once. There must be a reason Glabs are not forming.”
Mr. Santiago cleared his throat. “Fine. The last search and rescue team is on its way back as we speak. We’ll be ready to stop the Horolock in about three hours. Let’s hope nothing happens in the meantime.”
Elvina stepped forward, her face hard. “This is war, then.”
Rafael sat, devastated, at his brother’s bedside.
Lennart’s eyes were open but vacant.
He heard the pounding of his parent’s feet racing down the stairs to them in response to his scream. Help was on the way.
Too bad Lennart was beyond help.
Rafael felt numb. He stared at the askew tablet on his brother’s lap. The terrible image on the screen didn’t waver.
His stay in Centisom hadn’t been a dream.
Strong arms plucked him from the bed and moved him out of the way. With his trembling legs unable to support his weight, he slid down the wall, listening in agonized silence to his parent’s futile efforts to raise Lennart.
They shouted questions at him, but he could only shake his head in mute grief. They wouldn’t understand anyway, should he tell them the truth.
At one point, he glimpsed the raw anguish in his mum’s face, and it stabbed his heart. Hot shame overcame him, chasing the numbness away.
He should have believed Poppina. Instead of helping himself escape, he should have been helping her to figure out T.P.O.D.’s identity.
There was no getting around the ugly truth now. The cursed game they stumbled on in Media Room was available on Earth.
DarKNight was a trap, and it had taken Lennart’s mind.
Now it was too late.
Niklas sat, devastated, in front of his mirror.
He wondered if Medeor had seen the shadow of betrayal in the depth of his eyes.
He leaned in toward his reflection. He could.
Worse, all had been for naught. Rafael was gone.
If Dreamland had ejected him, as he suspected, there was no way he could get back to Centisom. On the other hand, if he was still somewhere in Dreamland, his survival depended on a level of resourcefulness he wasn’t sure the young Padawan had.
He had put such faith in the boy, even convinced himself that Rafael could be the first step to heal the chasm between the planes.
He’d been wrong.
On so many levels.
And now it was too late.
Because Dreamland’s slow demise, however unspeakable the thought of it, was the least of their concerns. If something didn’t change quick, doom was coming directly for Centisom, in an army of zombied-out astral bodies and fearless feral creatures.
He hadn’t foreseen it. Although in his defense, no one had.
“Cease your brooding!” It’s highly unbecoming.”
His eyes refocused on the old man’s face in the polished surface. How long had his mind been adrift?
“What could you possibly want from me? He’s gone... or lost.”
White brows lifted. “Yes. But he isn’t without the means to come back.”
Hope rekindled for a split second, but cynicism crushed it right away. “We’re facing war. He’s probably better off if he’s back on Earth. Safer, too.”
The old man looked, for the first time, pained. “That’s not a conflict of our making. You should know that I support your efforts.” He sighed. “But the worst is yet to come, I’m afraid. You’ll need to let your trainees do what they do best. I have an inkling that the resolution resides in their hands, as well as in young Rafael’s special gift.”
“Then we’ve lost already because Medeor won’t allow the trainees back in Dreamland. He’s afraid of losing another one.”
“Ah, then you’ll be glad to hear the boy is getting plenty of incentive to return,” the old man said with a smirk.
“No.” Dread filled him. “We can’t – we won’t – put our trainee at risk,” Niklas vowed.
The old man’s smug eyes turned cold and calculating. “Very well. I have the remedy for your stubbornness.”
His eyes slid past Niklas’s shoulder, and Niklas felt cold fingers on the back of his neck. He spun around in time to glimpse a shadow hovering in the half-opened door. Was that... Poppina?
“Run!” the old man shouted to her. “Go to Dreamland and wait for Rafael!”
The shadow darted out, and Niklas sprang up after her. This was madness dished out by an old, senile man.
His nose met the solid wood in a painful thwack when the door refused to give way. What the hell?
“Oh see, even Centisom is on board,” the man in the mirror laughed. “Well done, my old friend.”
Niklas cursed and disintegrated the door with a sweep of his hand.
He ran out, leaving the lunatic’s gleeful cackle behind.
Rafael felt the emptiness all around him. He wondered if Lennart had felt the same way when he saw his little brother carted off to the hospital... if he had felt the same visceral angst that a huge part of his life was gone and would never come back.
The overworked paramedics had taken one look at Lennart and declared he was one of a million victims who had recently suffered an unexplainable catatonic reaction. There was no known cause, they said. It was pandemic, they warned.
Rafael knew the cause. The cursed tablet back in Dreamland was the origin of this sickness. To think he let it go… and now his brother was gone and could never find his way back on his own.
He wondered if his friends, Poppina and Maddox, were even aware of DarKNight’s catastrophic power in the real world.
Huddled inside the blanketed tent in his room, he rocked back and forth, clenching the coin in his fist.
Go, stay. Go, stay.
The risk of disaster was high.
Who knows how far along his friends were with training now? Maybe they had already forgotten him, their memories erased.
The Transcry had fallen out of his pocket during his mad dash in Dreamland, reducing his options to the worst possible one: embracing his other gift.
There was no halfway or middle ground, nor any way to undo it if he failed. He would no longer be a Guardian in training; he would be… The Guardian.
The one whose very life force would be embedded into the foundation of Centisom.
The one who could restore the planes’ energy field.
Because he would be the last Planeweaver in existence.
The enormity of the duty would consume him. He’d have to give up his soccer dreams. There would be no room, no time for anything, with no one else to share the load. The Great Breakup of the land had taken the lives of all other Planeweavers.
He wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to help the land, whose needs would become intertwined with his own. The books he read about Planeweaving in his secret lairs said as much.
It would essentially be an act of delayed suicide.
His heart gave a painful thud, reminding him of his brother’s predicament.
He rocked harder, the coin biting into the tender flesh of his palm.
Was it wrong to hesitate?
How could he live with the knowledge he could have saved his brother and so many others, but took the coward way out?
But how could he give up his dreams, his life, if victory wasn’t guaranteed?
Pictures flashed in his mind. Lennart. Mum. Dad.
He stilled and straightened.
He had to do it.
Now.
He surveyed his room in satisfaction. His workstation was humming, along with a soft ping announcing each new game download. These days, the sounds were blurring into each other.
They had tried to stop his program, but he was quicker, more cunning, and brighter than any of the government puppets.
Powerful. That’s how it felt to have the world at your fingertips, he thought.
His eyes moved back to the screen. Almost there. A few hundred thousand more game downloads and he could activate his transport.
The Prince Of Dreamland was going home.
Where was the girl?
Niklas was aggravated beyond measure, as he paused under a large tree to listen to the song of nature.
Informing Medeor that another trainee had vanished and that the Horolock was still ticking, giving the problems time to grow, didn’t go over well.
Manifestation could only help so much when attempting to locate a wayward girl. He was glad for his secondary gift, Maintain, which offered him the power to read the land and nature in Dreamland. If she didn’t hide, he would be able to find her.
He concentrated on pushing away all the wildlife echoes from his mind and a moment later, he felt a slight human disturbance in the distance. He adjusted his course, and his lips stretched in triumph as he approached.
Gotcha!
He was doing something wrong.
Even though the coin was the key to his brother’s life and his ticket back to Centisom, the temptation to hurl it against the wall was strong. Rafael kicked the wall instead.
Reading was only getting you so far, he sighed. His jaws clenched. He didn’t have time for another life lesson.
Taking a regrouping breath, he sat back on the floor, Indian style, and primed the round piece of metal for another go.
He flicked the tip of his fingers while letting go of the coin and leaned forward in anticipation. The disk whirled in a blur, creating the illusion of a golden sphere. He held his breath, his eyes glued to the miniature globe.
There! The symbols he had previously mistaken for an S and an I merged, ignited and glowed inside the sphere. A wave slashed with a line became a three-dimensional infinity symbol suspended in the air.
This time, the coin wasn’t showing any sign of slowing down, the true, secret symbol of the Planeweavers glowing crisp and bright at its core.
He couldn’t afford to hesitate. Still, his hands hovered over the coin for a second before he steeled himself and clapped his hands together, imprisoning the spinning globe between his palms.
He let go with a curse.
It. Hurt. So. Much.
Niklas approached the slim figure with the care of a tiger on the prowl. He couldn’t afford the time-consuming pursuit if Poppina decided to flee.
“She conned me, the ugly witch!” came a female voice. Angry clatter punctuated the raspy invective.
Puzzled by the unfamiliar voice, he crouched and peered through the foliage.
The owner of the voice moved into the light, and he frowned in frustration. He had followed the wrong person. It was Rahima with the broken remains of a tablet dangling from her fingers.
He used his gift to conceal himself with a brown and green camouflage cloak. Blending into his surroundings, he took a careful step back.
He was about to leave – Rahima wasn’t his target, but he made sure to note her position – when she walked over to another figure in the tree line and entered into a heated discussion.
Regretting he couldn’t distinguish a single word, he manifested a looking glass and tried to identify the newcomer. He ground his teeth in frustration. It could be a short adult or any of the trainees, but the low hanging hood hid any facial features. After a while, the figure handed yet another tablet to Rahima. She took it and pressed it to her chest.
What was going on?
And where was Poppina?
Rafael blew into his palms. They were smarting something fierce. He let the tears drop unchecked and counted the seconds, the minutes, of searing agony. To distract himself, he calculated how many minutes he had been on Earth since his birth date.
Aware that time was against him, he unfurled his fingers and took his first real look at the symbols etched in his skin. To his surprise, they blended so well that he couldn’t tell they were there unless he paid attention to the odd twists and turns of the lines. The faint red of the modified pathways would fade, leaving only the hint of a thin wave – a half-infinity symbol – crossed by a slash.
Other than that, and the pain, he felt like his old self.
He swept at the tears. What was done was done. No need to dwell on the consequences.
It was time for step two.
The instructions had been a bit fuzzy, but the gist of it was simple: Complete the infinity symbol to activate the Planeweaving power by pressing your palms together. Then use it.
He chuckled. Things weren’t ever that easy.
The clang of a door somewhere in the house told him he was out of time. Hanie had come to check on him. He surveyed his room, his eyes resting for a spell on the letter he had left on his desktop. Although he regretted hurting his parents, he saw no other alternative.
He was learning the hard way that the right thing was seldom the easy thing.
Pushing that thought aside, he moved his hands and concentrated hard on Dreamland, his friends’ faces rotating in a random pattern in his mind. A light pulsed, and he felt a sensation akin to launching off on a wild theme park ride.
It was over in a blink.
Ah, well, he forgot to focus on a specific target. He was back in Dreamland but had no idea where.
Rafael turned on his heels, taking in his surroundings, and tried to think positive. First, he hadn’t passed out, which was a massive improvement because he was tired of waking up in foreign hospital beds. Better yet, he wasn’t anxious about losing himself anymore because he knew how to get back home without a Transcry. Sweet.
The only drawback was his vision, which vacillated between the tangible world and an energy grid that now overlaid it. The constant focusing and refocusing made him dizzy, and he hoped it would subside soon.
Without warning, a body hurled itself at him, and slim arms imprisoned him into a cage of warm steel.
“Rafael! It’s true! You’re back!”
“Hi, Poppina, fancy to see you here. Did you lose somebody?”
She drew back. “Oh, shut up. We thought you were gone for good.”
“I was. Then everything fell apart. How have you been?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual,” she said, feigning boredom, “terrified and sad that my sidekick got kidnapped and was possibly lost forever.”
He had missed her spunk.
She threw her arms around him again. “And now I’m happy he’s back, although his eyes are flashing like a broken lamp right now.”
“Really?” He blinked a few times until his sight stabilized on the tangible world. “Always glad to make you happy,” he quipped.
She mock-punched him and linked her arm to his. “We need to regroup.” She looked around with probing eyes. “It’s not safe here. I know the way to the portal, come on.”
As they set off, he felt a sudden cold chill run down his spine.
“Tell me, Poppina, how did you find me?”
“You were hard to miss when you did a comet-like show.”
“How bright?”
“Very.”
The cold chill turned to ice.
“Run!”
Wiping away the stinging sweat in his eyes, Niklas wished for the thousandth time that Centisom – and Dreamland in general – weren’t this restrictive when it came to electronic devices.
Life would be more comfortable if he could manifest an air board or something equivalent, but he knew from experience that the electronic controls would fail after a short time.
Hence, he had strapped running blades to his feet and was sprinting at full speed, the ground a blur underneath the slashing steel and each tree a potential head-on collision.
A few dozen feral creatures were racing behind him. When he had tried to veer off to lead them away, they had remained on course. They, too, had seen the silent explosion of bright light in the distance and were just as eager to reach it as he was. No matter their target, if he faltered, he would be dead all the same.
If his intuition was correct, Rafael and Poppina wouldn’t be far from the lightshow. Their life might depend on him.
He readied the electric whip and prayed it wouldn’t fail him.
“Move your left foot a bit higher. There’s a stone.”
Rafael obeyed Poppina’s strained order without looking down, his undivided attention on the thin shield of compacted air he had manifested, which was the only thing standing between them and a horrible end. Hideous snarls and snorts erupted from the mass of creatures as they probed and scratched at his protective globe.
Safety was only a few meters behind them, but the creatures had emerged from nowhere before they could reach the portal. Without time to react, he had been unable to electrify the shield, and it was taking all of his might to hold it steady against the increasing pressure. Now, they were forced to take one... agonizing... slow... step backward at a time as Poppina guided him across the treacherous forest ground.
He had always feared that nature would be his demise. Soccer green was safe green, and everything else was a fairy tale waiting to ambush the fool. Wait until he could rub Mr. Santiago’s nose in that wisdom.
But first, they had to survive.
The wall of creatures shifted and parted.
Rafael and Poppina used the reprieve to gain a few steps back.
“Oh, no. I think that one is the boss,” Poppina whispered, horror deadening her voice.
He nodded, unable to tear his gaze from the enormous, yellow-eyed beast that strode through the clearing like a king toward them.
As soon as the king beast reached the shield, its brethren spread out, reacting to an invisible signal, and began to push against the barrier at multiple points.
Rafael tried to reinforce the air layers all around. “I can’t hold it much longer, Poppina,” he said, staggering under the crushing load.
She grabbed his hips and pulled him, taking the brunt of his stumbles, steadying him, and guiding him. “Once more, almost there. On the count of three.”
He prepared to spin and sprint the remaining distance, but the lapse of concentration cost him, and a few beasts made it through. One stomped toward them, its menacing growl echoing deep in his bones. Its brethren turned and attacked the barrier from within.
It took but a few seconds for the wall to collapse under the double strain.
In a blink, the beasts had fanned out to encircle them and the king beast, its malicious eyes fastened to them, was crouching, ready to pounce. Rafael felt blood trickling from his nose, and by the time the red drops hit the ground, they had turned gray. He was now within a few heartbeats of losing all of his power.
They wouldn’t survive.
“Run at my signal. Don’t look back. Just run,” he whispered to Poppina. Her skin was cold under his hand. He squeezed in reassurance. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“No, I stay.”
“Don’t be silly. I can’t worry about you while I shoot.”
She hesitated but swallowed the lie and nodded. Rafael pulled the last of his energy reserves together. He couldn’t shoot anything anymore, but he sure could create a diversion.
The creatures twitched.
“Now!”
Julia’s numb fingers let go of the letter, and it fluttered to the floor.
Mum of my heart,
I’m away for a while. Don’t worry on my account. I know what I’m doing. I’ll get Lennart back, and we will be happy together again. Love you forever.
Rafael.
Her heart stopped, and her legs gave out. She was so tired.
She needed to get up, inform the police, do something. A great sob wrenched itself from her throat. And she gave in. Resting her head on her knees, she let the grief pour out of her.
Could it get any worse?
Poppina darted, and Rafael hurtled himself at the airborne creature, hoping the maneuver would give her a few precious seconds to get to the portal. But just as he was about to make contact, a flash of steel cut through his visual field, and he was jerked upward. He hung like a rag doll, supported by a muscled arm, and flew through the air toward the portal.
“Close the doors!” a rough, commanding voice shouted near his ear.
There were scuffles and shouts, silent explosions of dark light, then it was over.
He didn’t even have the energy to wince when he landed on the floor. “Poppina?”
“She made it first.” Mr. Santiago’s face hovered over him. The man was grinning as though he just had the most fun of his life. “Look for yourself.” He gestured to the side.
Rafael turned his head a fraction. Sure enough, there she was, a shy smile lighting up her drawn face, all cradled up in Mr. Dowotski’s strong arms. The teacher set her on her feet with gentle care, whereas Rafael had been tossed like a potato sack. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t have survived without his savior’s help. He turned back to Mr. Santiago. “Thank you.”
The bloodied and sweaty Guardian bent to unstrap the steel blades from his feet. “My pleasure, Rafael. I was near the portal when I heard the commotion, and Mr. Dowotski came running.”
“What are those?”
“Sprint springs. Paralympic athletes use them. They are convenient when you need speed, but have to stay low tech. Mr. Dowotski manifested them,” Mr. Santiago said, still grinning like a madman.
Mr. Dowotski approached and ruffled Rafael’s hair. “Glad to see you back, young Padawan.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mr. Demetriu strode in, eyeing the scene.
Rafael became aware of the multitude of Guardians in Gateway Hall. They were responsible for the flashes of black light, slaying each creature that had managed to come through the portal with Rafael, Poppina, and their rescuers.
“I’ve got the girl,” Mr. Dowotski said.
“I’ve got the boy,” Mr. Santiago announced at the same time.
Mr. Demetriu stopped cold upon spotting Rafael.
“Well, glad to have you back,” the Headmaster said in a restrained tone, sounding as though he was happy but sad at the same time.
Rafael pushed to his feet.
“So am I.”
Strangely, it was the truth.