How do you know when you’re in deep shit? That is a question with many answers which change depending on the person you’re talking to. A soldier might tell you that their ‘oh fuck’ moment is the very second before the charge begins, while a mage could tell you it is the moment they feel a Spell getting out of control and backfiring spectacularly and horrifically.
Point is, everyone has a their ‘I’m very fucked’ moment, that moment when they know shit is about to get very nasty and there’s no way out of it, no backing down, and the only way to go is forward or down.
Liam was having one such moment as he looked at the red sky over the blood drenched battlefield, soldiers all around him killing each other senselessly, their armor bathed in bloodlight that made them look drenched in gore, dirtied to the point that he couldn’t even see any kind of insignia anywhere.
But what really scared him was the thing moving towards him: wearing black plate armor, a hulking figure that was probably two meters tall, maybe even more, slowly stepped towards him, gait unhurried and steady, because it knew he had nowhere to run, because it knew that, one way or another, it would reach Liam, and when it did, it would make him pay for having tried to escape from it for so long. The being didn’t have a head, reminding Liam of the stories of the dullahans, only this one wasn’t holding its head in one hand and swinging a scythe made from his spine with the other, it didn’t have one at all.
And yet, Liam could feel eyes looking at him, eyes with a playful glint in a background of death and suffering.
Oh, it was going to take its time with him, absolutely! Because it didn’t know if the boy would find a way to escape it again. So, in case he did, it would make sure to leave behind something that wouldn’t allow him to forget.
The Knight walked.
Liam blinked.
And the Knight was on him.
Its sword was raised, ready to strike at him, but Liam knew, he remembered, unlike the other times when he’d dreamt of this bloody battlefield, that this wouldn’t be a fast, relatively painless, execution.
The sword fell.
Liam closed his eyes, ready for what was to come.
…
And nothing happened.
He opened his eyes, hoping against hope that something had happened, that something had stopped the Knight.
The first thing he saw was the tip of the sword just a few inches away from his torso, angled to slide through the space between his lungs and heart. The second thing he noticed was the craftsmanship of the blade: it was smooth, the center decorated with swirling patterns that reminded him slightly of veins (wow, they were really going all in with the Blood theme), all connected to a single central groove that traveled from tip to crossguard.
The third thing he noticed, and arguably the most important, was the calloused hand holding the Knight’s gauntlet in place without strain, the armored arm beneath it trembling with the force it exerted in an attempt to end the blow. He looked up, from the hand to the arm to the face, and was greeted by a middle-aged man’s tired smile. The thing that struck him most of his face were the eyes: they were a dim green, a complete contrast to the reds and blacks and browns of the rest of the dream. The rest of the face was pale, as if he’d just come out of a decade spent sleeping in a coffin somewhere underground. His thin lips were a light pink that was real close friends with the white and were currently closed in an even thinner line as the man seemed to be concentrating on the Knight.
“Leave. Now,” he finally said in a calm tone that sent shivers down Liam’s spine.
The Knight’s shoulders slowly turned towards the being following the movements of an absent head, and Liam could feel its burning gaze finally lift from him, a weight suddenly leaving his shoulders as his stomach unclenched just a little. His heart though didn’t begin to slow down, not yet.
“I said to leave,” said the stranger.
And the Nightmare rebelled. The Knight, which was the Nightmare, which was the [Dream Painted Red], and at the same time which was only a small part of itself, tried to move its sword and skewer this intruder, but it couldn’t. It tried to wrestle out of the grip, but the man held fast and all the Knight could do was move around and look ridiculous. Then it tried to bend the space of this nightmare to its will, try to move out of the grip the same way it had stepped across an entire battlefield in the blink of an eye, but the man’s grip was stronger, reaching out through the non-space of the nightmare and still holding on tight, pulling the Knight back where he was.
The Nightmare screamed at the man, said that he had no right to interfere, that it was here because of a call from the System, that it had a right to be here and administer its fear and punishment.
The man took the non-verbal assault with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, before he said: “You are breaking the rules of your Skill, Nightmare. You wish to torture. Your purpose is to remind. For tonight, you shall leave. The House will welcome you among its other Nightmares. Tomorrow night, if it will be necessary, you will come back. Now. Leave.”
There was something else in the man’s voice when he said that last word. A strange undercurrent, like a presence… of absence. Ok, that felt extremely strange and wrong on his brain, but it was what he felt. The literal presence of absence.
The Knight ‘stared’ for a moment, before it disappeared in a puff of red smoke.
Together with the rest of the Nightmare.
Liam looked around at the empty void he was currently in and… heaved a sigh of relief.
“Whoever you are, thank you. You can’t even begin to imagine how much you helped me.”
The man turned away from the place where the Knight had been standing a moment ago, his eyes settling on Liam… and he smiled.
“It was no problem, young man. Although, I fear this truce will last for tonight alone.”
Liam hesitated at that: only tonight? Well, if all went well, tomorrow he’d manage to repair the pendant, since it had clearly been damaged, and these nightmares wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Oh, sure, he was only applying a band aid over a bleeding wound this way, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have the strength to face his trauma. Not now, at least.
“I still thank you, mister… actually, how rude of me. My name is Liam Roy. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. What’s your name?”
The man smiled and nodded: “Ah, yes, sorry. I don’t interact often with people, I tend to forget myself. My name is Soma. Just Soma, no last name. And this,” he opened his arms, as if trying to encompass all of the nothingness around them, “Is a Primordial Space of the Land of Dreams. A place of absolute possibility contained inside absolute nothingness. It’s… not much of a sight to behold,” he chuckled, snapping his fingers.
A steel table not unlike one of those you could find outside bars appeared out of nowhere, two foldable chairs beside it with green, worn cushions on the seats, flowers and random lines patterned all over. The sight made Liam feel slightly nostalgic.
“Would you like to have a seat? Since I’ve come here, might as well have a chat. I do feel so very lonely in these strange new times,” he proposed, sitting down on one of the chairs, putting a leg over the other and crossing his hands over his slightly pudgy stomach.
Liam sat down with a nod, and silence fell over them for a moment.
Finally, he broke it: “So, Soma? Like the God of Dreams? Is it an art name or something? And how are you here?”
The man chuckled, laugh lines appearing around his crinkled eyes and mouth: “Ah, that’s what everyone always gets wrong. Not that I can blame them. No, Soma, isn’t the God of Dreams. Oh, sure, he created the Land of Dreams, but he isn’t its god. He’s actually the God of Impossibilities. And as for the second question, who knows,” he smiled enigmatically, before continuing, “And as for the last question, I’m a Dreamer. We’re… we’re a small bunch, not more than a few hundred people all over the world, who can walk the Land of Dreams. There used to be more of us, but… things happened. First the persecutions after the Traitor Queen ‘abused’,” he did inverted commas with his fingers, a look of disgust marring his plain face, “then the results of the War of Glass, and not long after the arachne.”
In the back of his mind Liam noticed the absence of the brackets around the word ‘Dreamer’. Strange.
The man sighed, his smile bitter now: “And now, if that wasn’t enough, the wars that once were fought only in the Waking World have reached the Land. ‘The Game is on’, as they say. And Stars is it going.”
He looked up at Liam, his face serious now: “Please, do not tell anyone in the Waking World about us Dreamers. It’s… it’s better if our Class stays largely forgotten by the people. It’s better if there’s only a few of us that are genuinely good people than a lot of us with the risk of… very bad people appearing. Can you give me your word you won’t tell a living soul about what you’ve seen tonight from the moment I appeared?”
Liam nodded his head, uncertain: “Erm… sure. It’s not a problem. I promise I won’t tell.”
The moment he said that a small metal chain affixed itself to his leg, passing through his clothes and sinking into his flesh. He screamed out in surprise and fear: “What the fuck is this?”
The man raised a placating hand and, very calmly, said: “It’s just a way to make sure you’ll keep your word. It’s a bit… inelegant, I know, but Mina seldom visits the Dream, and the [Old Man by the Mountains] even less so, so I’ll have to make do.”
Liam tugged on the chain, which disappeared into the all encompassing darkness and nothingness. He expected to feel some resistance, anything, from pulling at something that was stuck to him, but every time he pulled more chains just rattled out of him.
“Again, don’t worry. The chain is merely metaphysical, it will only make sure that you won’t rat us out.”
Finally, Liam stopped, turning back towards Soma and glaring: “You could’ve warned me this would happen.”
He shrugged: “I could’ve, yes. It wouldn’t have changed the end result, only delayed it, and my time with you is very limited Liam.”
Liam sighed in defeat and, after righting the chair he’d accidentally overturned in his fear, sat down with his arms crossed: “I don’t like this.”
“It is understandable, but your fear is unfounded. You will probably forget all about this come morning, and the chain will disappear with it.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
They looked at each other for a while, just sitting there in silence, Soma changing positions and making himself more comfortable in his chair. After a while, he snapped his fingers again and two cups of coffee with the words ‘Segafredo’ painted in red on the sides appeared out of nowhere: “Have a taste. I find this drink to have the most loveable taste. I do have to warn you, it is quite bitter.”
Liam stared at the coffee cup in front of him in marvel, no, nearly reverentially, and, lifting it from the small ceramic plate, sniffed it. Immediately the smell flooded his mind and made his salivary glands go into overdrive, flooding his mouth with spit, his brain begging him to taste the delightful ambrosia of the humans again for the first time in months, because apparently this world did not have it.
He shed a tear of joy: “Coffee…” he whispered, before taking a sip.
His tongue screamed in joy, the papillae on it dancing a jig as he again tasted his favorite drug, and when he swallowed he wanted to actually cry at the aftertaste left behind.
“You know what this is?” asked Soma, surprise clearly visible on his face.
Liam nodded: “Yes, thank you. Rodar doesn’t have -” he stopped mid sentence, a chill going down his spine, followed a moment later by a mote of hope blooming in his chest.
“This world doesn’t have coffee. How do you know about it?” he asked.
Soma stared at Liam in open mouthed stupor for a moment, before he snapped out of it and asked: “Liam… where are you from?”
Liam narrowed his eyes: “You answer first.”
Soma snorted: “That ain’t how this works Liam. You will answer this question first, and then I will answer yours. It is not negotiable.”
Liam opened his mouth to say something witty, but all that came out was the answer: “I’m from Earth.”
He froze in place, hand flying to his mouth to clap it shut, but it was already too late.
Surprisingly enough though, Soma only smiled: “Ah, one of the Wishers then. Well, you got really lucky, that’s for sure. Or unlucky, depending on the point of view. Used to be that all the Wishers that came here called this world much better than Earth,” he smiled bitterly as he looked far away into the darkness, “But the last ones… they saw the truth, that’s for sure.”
He turned back to Liam: “Well, a promise is a promise. So yes, Liam, I am actually Soma, the God of Impossibilities. Congratulations, you’re the first person in millenia to manage to speak with a god without being a [Priest],” he chuckled mirthlessly.
Liam just stared open mouthed (he had been doing that quite a lot in this conversation), then felt the distinct need to fall to the ground and bow, because that was what you did with gods, right?
“Please, don’t start with the veneration act and the likes. Haaaaa, this is why I didn’t want to reveal who I was. It’s so difficult to have a normal conversation with someone who speaks to you while fearing they’ll be struck by lightning the moment they step even a bit out of place. Which, by the way, is completely forbidden.”
Liam listened to the god and desperately tried to grasp for something that could help him center himself, and he found that anchor in that last sentence: “Forbidden? Why?”
The god sighed and smiled a bit: “Well, it all goes back to the Era of Hunts, when the arachne attempted to conquer the world and nearly succeeded. Now, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but then, the other gods don’t care about me, so: we made a deal with Death, the creator of the arachne. Well, alright, I made the deal, the other gods feared Death too much. Anyways, it was decided that Death would stop creating more and more arachne, and in exchange all of us, every god that was at the time, and any go that would be born from then, or any god that would, somehow, come back to life, would be forbidden from interfering with the world in any way, be it direct of indirect.
“Of course the deal had a lot more nuance, mainly thanks to Mina, the First Dealmaker, who was there to witness it. Girl nearly pissed herself when Death looked at her in the end, and the devil inside her feared I’d try to put him back in Airm. So the idea that a god could strike you down with lightning is pure bullshit because that would be a form of interference of the highest order, which would bring upon us and the world itself retaliation by Death.”
Liam had visibly started to calm down, although his thoughts were still a bit in turmoil. Still, he had managed to follow Soma’s explanation, and it was interesting, but now he had a doubt: “Wait, if you can’t interfere, then doesn’t helping me right now count as breaking the deal? You helped me, therefore you interfered.”
Soma nodded, a small appreciative smile on his lips: “Ah, yes, that is right. But it is a small form of interference. Which means there is only a small price to be paid.”
And then the smile slipped, sadness appearing in his eyes: “Truth be told, my interference here is… not unlike that of the other gods sending messages to their [Priests] via their dreams. Luckily. Or not, because Luck died long ago. Still, the price for a dream is the birth of a Nightmare. Normally it would be released into the Land to wreak havoc. There was a time when a Nightmare such as the one I’ve sent away could’ve been killed by two or three [Dreamers] working together. Now though… maybe an army of them could do it, and even then at a high cost. So… the House decided to help. She’s… taking them all in. The Nightmares born of the gods’ interference. Keeps them in her own dreams and lets them do their thing there when She sleeps.”
He sighed dejectedly, looking down at the black ground, and the smile he’d been sporting all this time, be it true or bitter or fake, was completely gone: “It’s been a long time since she’s had the chance to sleep well.”
He looked up then: “I try to help in the little ways I can: I don’t interfere in the Dream in any way. At most, I walk around and give cryptic tips to the [Dreamers] I meet. Same goes for my [Priests], and even then I seldom make an appearance.”
Liam had followed all this explanation with great interest, his eyes shining with curiosity and hungry for knowledge, even if it was this esoteric. But he had a doubt, and he couldn’t help himself, again, and ask: “Couldn’t Death understand and let it go for this time? I mean, you helped me. And your help here won’t affect the… Waking World, was it?”
Soma chuckled: “Oh, Death understands perfectly. We’re old friends, me and her. Really old friends. But it doesn’t matter. If she made an exception for me, then the other gods would start thinking that she’d make one for them, and she wouldn’t, which would lead to… complications. Consequences, as the Old Man by the Mountains so loves to say. And I agree with her course of actions. The best, and only, way I can help, is by not doing anything. I like this world and its people too much to see it destroyed by my desire to help. So I’ll pay the price. Or let the House pay, rather, and then not interfere again for a long time.”
He sighed and looked thoughtful for a moment, chin placed theatrically on his hand, before he nodded: “Well, since I’m here, might as well do it: tell me, Liam, is there anything you’d like some help with? I’ll allow you to ask one question and one question only to which I will give a cryptic answer to help you through. Yes, only cryptic, because then where would the challenge be, eh?”
Liam stared incredulously at Soma and, for a moment, forgot that the being in front of him was a god. It had happened a lot during this conversation, what with him acting so aloof and nonchalant, completely unlike what he imagined a god would act. Then again, Liam had also never read a single story from Greek mythology, or he would’ve known that most gods didn’t act like the strung up, pole-up-his-ass, God of christianity.
Then he registered what the god had offered, beginning to think.
What was a good thing to ask a god about? Well, maybe -
“And before you start wondering, or, myself forbid, use your question on this, no, I do not know how to solve this world’s problems, be it hunger in Aknos, or the ‘misfortune’ of Rodar, or how to stop every war. I have no trouble admitting that people better than me have tried to find the answer and failed miserably.”
He stopped for a moment, before adding: “If you want a suggestion: be selfish. Ask a question about a problem concerning yourself. I can help better with those.”
And that removed a weight from Liam’s shoulders: he had seriously felt compelled to ask a question to help humanity as a whole. Although, now that he thought about it, the world contained a lot of things other than humans. Didn’t calling all the people of the world humanity make it racist? Or specesist?
Whatever, why was he thinking about that right now. It wasn’t important. He had to think up a question for… oh. He was stalling. He feared he would ask the wrong question and… lose something in this god’s eyes.
“Oh,” said Soma, as if he had forgotten something and just remembered, “Another thing: there’s no wrong questions. I won’t look down on you for anything you ask. Airm, or Hell, whichever you prefer, once one of my followers asked me what was the best position to fuck his girlfriend,” he chuckled fondly.
Had.. had he just read his mind?
“No boy, I’m not reading your mind. ‘S just that I’ve been doing this for a long time. Also, we’re quite literally inside your head in your dream… in a way. Your doubt is clearly visible as a rainy cloud over your head.”
Liam frowned, then looked up. And indeed, there stood the traitorous rainy cloud, seemingly ready to rain on him.
Soma waved his hand and the cloud disappeared, together with all his doubts and questions, leaving his mind clear.
And he sort of knew what to ask.
You see, at the moment, other than his Nightmares, he… didn’t have any problems. He had a good job as an apprentice under one of the most competent men he’d ever met, he was making good money, he had a roof over his head and food in his belly. He had fun in the evenings and, a few times, had even gone out for drinks at a nearby bar, beginning to make himself some friends. And that was without taking into consideration the [Knights], who sometimes came to visit when they had leave from the army.
And, while talking about the Nightmares, if all went well by tomorrow night he would have a new necklace to stop them.
So that left only one thing to ask about: “Recently I’ve had an idea: a weapon, a gun… wait, do you know what a gun is?”
Soma nodded: “Oh, yes, I do. I’ve been around Liam. Traveled a lot in my younger days before I decided to settle down here,” he motioned at the darkness around them.
“Erm… yes, well, I had this idea about… creating a gun that can shoot without pause. No need to recharge, no need to do anything other than press the trigger and aim. Possibly first aim then shoot, actually,” he chuckled.
Soma cocked his head to the side, curiosity piqued: “Hmm, seems interesting. Certainly more interesting than the sexual position at least. What’s your problem with this creation of yours?”
Liam mulled that over for a moment, wondering how to phrase the question.
Then, finally, he found it: “Sigmund, my teacher, says that to enchant an item one must inscribe a Spell into an item. And I’ve been wondering: how would I go about inscribing a spell capable of doing what I desire? It would be complex beyond imagination. And then there’s the issue of storing ammunition, of getting it back, of actually shooting it. It’s… it’s impossible, is what it is. But I want to try. So… do you know where I should start? And how.”
Soma’s eyebrows had been steadily raising towards his light brown hair (he really didn’t have anything special about his looks, except for the extreme paleness), and when Liam finished, he crossed his hands under his chin and began looking thoughtful.
Then he spoke: “You know? There was a time when they called me the God of Crafters. It was eons ago. Practically another world,” he chuckled at some inside joke, “But I guess that’s what I get for being the God of Impossibilities and, sometimes, helping crafters making impossible things.
“But here’s the thing Liam: what you’re asking me, it’s not impossible. Oh, it’s certainly complex, don’t get me wrong. So complex it could actually be considered impossible, but only complex. After all, I don’t see anything like it in my Domain. Still, I can help.”
He moved slightly forwards in his chair, his eyes completely on Liam, and said: “Here’s the thing: I think yours is a problem of space. What you’re describing, it’s going to take up a lot of that.”
He snapped his fingers and, out of nowhere, a gun appeared in his raised right hand, a dusty old Colt, and showed it to Liam: “Look at this. I think guns are still more or less this big, right? Well, imagine having to scribe a Spell like the one you’re thinking about into something this small. Now that, that would actually be impossible, even if the world hadn’t forgotten how to layer Spells.
“So, what you do is, you create space to scribe on. It’s as simple as that.”
Liam frowned: “Wait, how do I create more space? It’s a gun. I can’t just add more spa -”
Before he could finish Soma flicked his hand and the Colt’s cylinder clicked to the side with a clean sound. He upended the bullets inside, which clacked noisily to the ground one by one, five of them, and looked at Liam through the holes where they’d been stored for who knows how long, putting his finger into one, or rather, trying to, and moving it around to clean something.
“Damn, I must’ve forgotten this one there for a millenia at least. Gotta remember to clean it,” he said, taking an oiled rag out of the air and beginning to pass it slowly over the gun’s barrel.
But that didn’t matter to Liam. What had mattered had been that single moment of Soma showing him the cylinder and putting a finger in it, looking annoyed at the fact they were too small.
“Spatial magic. Like… a Bag of Holding. I could do the same to the components of the gun, inscribe the Spells on them, and then assemble it all. It… it could work!”
And at that, Soma smiled, still cleaning the single action gun.
And then looked up, as if expecting to see the sun or the moon.
“Well, it looks like you were just in time Liam. Night’s ended. Time to wake up.”
He waved at Liam and, before he could wave back or even so much as say ‘thank you’, he found himself opening his eyes in bed and staring at the ceiling, goosebumps all over his arms.
Then he got up. Now that he had an idea of how to start, there was work to be done.