The Land of Dreams is a place of concepts, of ideas that come to life and certainties that go to lie in their graves. It is a world all of its own, an underground that shouts at the rest of Existence and it says something very simple: Leave me Underground. Leave them Underground. All of them, all the stories, all the concepts, all the ideas, both dead and alive, leave them underground, let them turn to mulch that will help new ideas grow.
The Land of Dreams is a place of death with a facade of eternal life.
The Land of Dreams remembers all that dies, for all things’ minds pass through it – involuntarily – before reaching the afterlife. So the Land remembers, and from those memories arise things new both wonderful and horrifying. It is not a choice, it is an obligation, collateral damage, an unpredictable effect that came from Its creation, something deemed impossible.
The Land of Dreams knows. It knows all that has ever happened. It is, in a way, the greatest archive to ever exist. An archive without index, nor shelves, nor books. An archive that must be literally dug up, each truth hidden in strata upon strata of impossibilities, an archeological journey where falsehood is indistinguishable from what was.
Alice didn’t know that.
She also didn’t know that she was a part of this eternal ecosystem of truths and falsehoods. Even her name here was one of the latter: Garda. A group of good memories, tied to a place that existed in another world, used as something false to mask the truth. But, you know what they say: there is no lie better than the truth. Lies built upon truths are the best, for it is difficult to untangle them, to see the minute differences between them.
She pranced, these days, around the woods that formed the Land of Dreams… for now. It had changed, as all things did. There had been a time when the Land was a sprawling, endless, city, with fountains bigger than oceans and houses as small as a rat’s nest, towers so tall you could climb them for years and then touch the sun or the moon depending on your perspective, and then a sprawling nexus of sewers illuminated by torches that seeped water and blood, where Nightmares dwelled and planned and schemed to invade the dreams of the sleeping.
Then the Dream had changed, the old city covered in rock and stone and dirt and sand, burying it all underground, creating a land of savagery and lawlessness, a desert of eternal meaninglessness where the only thing that mattered was the whispish will of a race that didn’t want to die. They built towers and fortresses of their own corpses and they watched them be burned until nothing but ashes remained, and still they built and rebuilt and rebuilt and rebuilt onto insanity and beyond until the Land was but ashes and corpses.
Then the tides came, bringing with them waters deep and dark where the dreams of krakens and sea creatures brought to life things that drove people to create havens in the skies. Islands arose from the waters, washed clean from the memories of the last breaths of a people who had done nothing wrong but exist. The dreamers built and built, they covered their islands in trees and they cut them down, they mined downward for stone to quarry but they ran back up, scared of the things underneath, unable to distinguish truth from lie and both of those brought fear, for the lies were too beautiful to be believed and the truths too horrifying. They built in wood and sandstone, they built up and up and up until they feared no more that which lay underneath and then, only then, they built everywhere. The wooden foundations were solid, the wood was good, so they made and built a city sprawling from one horizon to the other and then the next one, a city so big that the waters beneath were covered in darkness, truths they feared and lies they loved too much forever hidden. And all the while they sung: ‘Underground, underground, leave them underground. Underground, underground…’
Then came the silk, and they fought it with all their might, a war bloodier than most that no side won in the end, for an armistice was signed. Then they built again, they hid these truths and lies, hid their labyrinths of wood, hid all they could and still it wasn’t enough, so they begged and begged and begged for more. The Land of Dreams answered, and all was sent underground as more land was given. The people rejoiced and, for a time, there was peace, for all that the Land slowly began filling up again with the corpses of its folk as they were hunted again for a time.
Time passed and, again, war came. The cats remembered they could dream, so they walked the Land anew and not for the first time, for they came more than once but every time they were disgusted by what they saw, by the denial and the hate and everything. They started a war, the War of Cats, and with their truths they brought destruction and false death. So it was that the dreamers called upon the only true enemies of the cats: the dogs. And they did exactly what all dogs do: they went a-hunting. They hunted for old, powerful, unstoppable truths, sniffing out every corner of the Dream, until they found what they were looking for and began digging and digging and digging, bringing up memories of forgotten weapons from the age of silk, finding wooden homes filled with mementos of a time of hasty, desperate, building, and then, finally, bringing up the dreams that had started that same impossible project.
The cats surrendered, the war ended, and again the dreamers tried to find a way to forget all. They found their salvation in an idea, a concept that would haunt the generations to come: the Bingo Nights of Doom. A lie brought upon reality that everybody chose to believe in: the idea that the Dream played a game which It couldn’t win, a game so infuriating that It scrambled the geography of the Land. They chose to believe in this, and so it became truth, the Land, the surface of it, breaking into fragments and reshaping and reworking and adding and remaking itself anew. A new place to stay in. A new Land of Dreams.
But all that had come before? All those truths and lies? It was still down there, still fertilizing the earth above, still birthing new ideas, new concepts.
And yet ancient things dwell down there still.
As Alice was about to find out.
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She opened her eyes in the Dream.
And immediately closed them because the grass under her was too comfy to do anything but lay down and rest.
Flowers bloomed under her head, making a cushion that perfectly conformed to her skull and seemed to massage her every hair follicle.
She sighed, as relaxed as could be, ignoring the world around her completely.
Or so one would be led to believe.
It could’ve been hours, it could’ve been seconds, time was meaningless in dreams after all, but in the end she opened her eyes and, very slowly, began rising from the ground, first propping herself up on her elbows, then her hands, until she was finally sitting. She shielded her eyes from the brightness of the distant, setting sun, her world coloring purple for but a few moments, the shade of it turning everything into a mystery of occult delights and religious meaninglessness.
With a humpf she rose to her feet, her spine cracking, the noise more spectacle than actual necessity.
She looked around, her eye changing for a few seconds, first becoming that of a fox, before remembering she no longer was a kit of dreams and turning back to that of a human, a shade of green pervading it. The rose blooming from the other opened up, the petals drinking in the illusory light, reminiscing of a time when she had served another goddess.
Her arms opened wide as she stretched them, vegetation hidden under her skin flexing together with her muscles, spines of thorns piercing through here and there, letting blood flow freely for a few seconds before the damage was repaired.
Alice felt right. This was how she should be, who she should be, what she should look like. But it was all a dream, all the Dream, not real, or as real as something that was imagined. How much that was, only she could decide.
Finally… she looked around.
Her poisoner’s station, as she’d come to call it, lay by her side, a rather large table covered in vials and plants, a clean alembic waiting for her to brew something phenomenal, something lethal, while the mortar and pestle beside it told each other the tale of Baba Yaga and how she had flown through the sky inside a brother of theirs. She hated the tale, for it was false, made by people who demonized her legend, but she would be the first one to tell people to use even the things they disliked if they helped them achieve their goals.
On one side of that table sat a small bag filled with vials of poisons and antidotes, weapons both in the right hands against the right beings, and she had the former and knowledge of the latter. She didn’t need anything else, for she had Skills that would allow her to summon anything else she might need.
With confidence in her every move she took the bag, plopping it on her side, and called upon the small promise she’d made to the Skinwalker, the memory of that simple handshake.
A chain formed around her right wrist, an unsettling presence that reminded her of the deal she’d made: ‘One night of nightmares for a life of rest.’ Or rather, one from her. She would need the eyes of the skinwalker, which would most certainly not be a pleasant experience. The deal just meant that she would only get one shot at this.
As if to remind her of this, the chain around her wrist tightened. She knew for certain that if, one day, she chose to break the promise, that same chain would take her hand. The fact that it was made of silver, a metal beloved by the Faefolk, also made her think it would be better not to assume the damage would stop at the Dream.
She smiled gently at the chain, patting the links around her wrist, and the metal released its hold like a snake changing its mind on killing its prey. Then she followed the direction they were going to, knowing full well they’d connect her to the skinwalker… and stopped.
The chain was going into the ground.
“Ok, what the fuck?”
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“Well, this complicates things,” said Albert.
The old [Dreamer] had come to help her after she’d called and now, with his head tilted in that typical animalistic way, he was looking down at the ground where the chain met the earth and grass.
“Is it normal for dreams to be underground?” asked Alice, a frown locked on her face, although the leaves forming her mask didn’t make that easy to understand, for all that they were emulating her expression.
“Only the old ones. Or the ones of old things. I gather, from the chain, that it’s the latter category,” he answered.
“You gather correctly old fox,” she said with a sigh so loud that a small cloud came out of her mouth, “Why can’t anything be easy? How am I even supposed to reach it? Do I really have to get a shovel and dig it up?”
“That would be unwise,” said Albert, immediately turning to look her in the eyes, her rose contracting and getting smaller under his attention, as if scared.
“Let me guess, the Dream wouldn’t like it.”
“It’s not a matter of liking or not liking. It’s a matter of concepts. Only [Miners] mine or dig downwards and you’ve shown plenty of times that you’re anything but a miner. Therefore the Dream would follow the rules It always does: when someone goes way beyond that which they’re meant to do, things happen that humble them.
“You’re a [Herbalist], or something along those lines. You work with what the earth gives you… on the surface. You don’t work with the underground.”
Alice sat down and grabbed her head in exasperation.
“So I’m back to square zero.”
“Whoever said that?”
She looked up, a nonplussed expression on her face: “You said it!”
“I said it would be unwise for you to dig the hole. Have you not considered hiring someone to do it for you?”
“I’m not keen on finding a [Miner]’s dream and getting them out here to dig.”
The fox’s lips slid back in the imitation of a smile, the effect distinctly uncanny thanks to the amount of teeth on show.
“You’re in luck then. I happen to know some people who can help you. Well, ‘people’.”
That last word he underlined with his fingers, giving her the distinct sensation that she wouldn’t be working with… humans? But then, Albert didn’t seem to be the racist kind of person who’d say a lizardkin or some other non-human race wouldn’t count as people, so what could he possibly be referring to?
She got her answer a second later as something soft and furry touched her leg.
Looking down, her eye and rose were met by the brilliant azure eyes of a cat, a tabby with russet red fur and a long tail that was now tickling her hip. The cat meowed up at her, then licked his (or her, she hadn’t checked) whiskers, retched a bit towards the ground in a very ungentlemanly but definitely endearing way – for some reason it also reminded her of a smoker trying to clear his throat – and then, very out of the blue… he spoke: “Well now, it would seem you’ve led us to something interesting, you old fox, you.”
Alice’s mouth hung open, although not for long as she regained her composure. She’d seen things much stranger than a talking cat.
“Good evening… good sir?” the voice was definitely masculine, after all.
“My oh my, and she has some manners too. So much better than the reaction you had the first time, Albert.”
“In my defense, I didn’t know cats could talk in the Dream,” said Albert with a very unapologetic tone and looking not the slightest bit miffed.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The cat drew closer and jumped upwards, landing lightly on her shoulder as he conspiratorially whispered: “He screamed in fear and tried to kick me. Me, can you imagine? An [Ambassador], he kicked, and he didn’t even apologize.”
“Stop feeding her nonsense, I apologized plenty.”
“Words are just that, words. We are cats, we don’t care for words, we care for facts, and you didn’t even give me some milk.”
“You said you didn’t want some fake memory of milk that wouldn’t actually feed you,” said back Albert in a slightly strained tone.
“Indeed, but you didn’t even try to find me in the waking world.”
“Oh yes, because you’re the only tabby with russet red fur in all the world,” his tone was now bordering on impatient, something she’d never heard from him.
“I have a distinctly fluffier tail than most, I’ll have you know!”
Alice couldn’t contain herself and said: “I do have to agree with that, his tail is very fluffy.”
So much so that she’d inadvertently started stroking it, together with his back. The cat didn’t seem to mind in the slightest if the purring that was vibrating through her neck was a sign to go by.
Albert sighed and, for a moment, he looked his age – as in, the fur of his face became gray and white with streaks of black instead of its usual, healthy, red – before he put himself back together and said: “Alright, alright, I’ll… I would like to say that I’ll look into it, but I can’t leave my bed on my best days, so I’ll just deal with the jabbing on your side, Sir Archibold the Great, Ambassador of Fortune and Bringer of Sweet News.”
He stopped and motioned for Alice to stop: “And yes, Garda, that is his full title and you should refer to him as such.”
The cat curled around her neck like some kind of warm, too big, scarf: “Since you immediately showed respect and your caresses are acceptable quality I’ll allow you to just call me Sir Archibold. Now, what may I refer to you as, Girl of Nectar and Blood?”
She smiled upon hearing that title: she liked it.
“You may call me Garda.”
“Garda? Hmmm, such an unusual name. I know not of any place in the whole world that is named like that. Nor have I ever heard anyone called like that, but then again, I haven’t traveled everywhere in this green world.”
Albert coughed: “Sir Archibold, while I –”
“Who said you could refer to me in such an informal way?” interrupted the cat, causing Alice to snicker. It was extremely funny to watch Albert being the one put back in his place for once.
Through gritted teeth the [Dreamer] started again: “Sir Archibold the Great, Ambassador of Fortune and Bringer of Sweet News, while I find it extremely positive that you like my ex-apprentice so much, I’d rather we not lose any time and go where required to have the audience I requested.”
“Wait, you requested an audience? With who? Is it a King? I’m not ready to meet a King! I don’t want to. Albert?”
“I requested an audience the moment I got your message and understood the garbled part of text mentioning you needing to go underground,” answered the old fox.
“Consider yourself lucky, girl, the Court has a very full schedule!” said the cat.
“Full schedule? I read your schedule and all I saw was a stream of ‘Nap under the light of the false sun’.”
“It is a very important activity that helps keep my fur in great shape. You should do that too! And as for the Court, it’s already here.”
A moment later they were surrounded by furry animals of all shapes and sizes. It took Alice a moment to notice that they were all cats and dogs.
She stared at them.
They stared back.
She had no idea how she was managing to stare each and every animal in the eyes considering they were all around her but that was not what worried her.
Not that she was worried at all, actually: they were in the Dream. Nothing could truly hurt her! Except for mirrors apparently. A paradox would just give her a bad headache when waking up.
Still, she stared at all those eyes and her mind tried to comprehend how it was possible, for she was only looking in one direction, so how could she be looking everywhere at once, how could she be seeing this, them, all of –
A gentle tail covered her human eye.
She blinked, her mind settling back into place as the rose closed slightly, as if trying to filter out the sight in front of her – and only in front this time.
“Now now, no need for those tricks Your Majesties. This girl has manners, unlike Old Pawless here.”
That was when she noticed them.
A dog and a cat, both wearing rather elaborate golden crowns, stepped forward. The dog was not of a race she’d ever encountered on earth, but then again, she’d always been more of a bird person to begin with, so maybe it actually existed back in her old home world; her fur was blonde, long and flowing, as if some model had decided to let her hair grow and then a coat of it had been made for the animal. Her eyes were deep black, the tongue lolling out of her too-long snout long and dark red, as if the dog had just drunk from a bowl of blood. The crown it was wearing was shaped to look like a… leaf? Or was it a shovel? She couldn’t quite see it.
The cat, on the other hand, was black, or rather, had once been black. The fur was more gray and white than that dark, absolutely wonderful, hue, and it made it look like an ancient beast of legend. The eyes that were staring deep into her own, ignoring completely the rose, were one gold, the other milky white, a scar traveling through it telling her the story of its loss in battle.
Instinctively, Alice bowed.
The ambassador on her neck yowled in surprise and jumped off, huffing in disappointment, but then bowing himself.
“You are in the presence of Her Majesty of Dogs, Queen Most Gracious of the Ever Flowing Cascades of Sunlight, Regent of the Throne of Sticks and Balls, Thrice Crowned Hegemony of the False Stars, Princess –”
Alice had to stop and ponder for a moment why the [Ambassador] cat had appended the title of princess at the end. Then she understood that wasn’t the title: that was her name.
In that moment she had to muster all of her will not to crack up and chuckle. Nope, this wasn’t funny at all! AT ALL!!!
“ – and His Majesty of Cats, Wisest of Kings of the Forever Lost Shadowed Woodlands, Defiler of the Yarned Seat of the Failed King of Dreams and Protector of the Moon, Blinky.”
Alice was trying really hard. So hard, in fact, that she had to force the muscles of her face to stop moving with the help of the rose’s roots. She also managed to stifle the movements of her diaphragm with the vines circling her lungs, which was surprisingly not painful but exceedingly uncomfortable. Had she fried her nerves in the Dream? Was that something that could happen? Or had she just gotten so used to the pain she didn’t care anymore?
The [Ambassador] cat looked back up at her and smiled knowingly. Had he figured her out.
“Would you like to present yourself, my lady?”
Yep, he had figured her out. Damn cat!
With an almighty use of her force of will she managed to force herself to take a deep breath and calm herself.
She still couldn’t control the singular snort that escaped her nose before she answered shakily: “Th – the name’s Garda, Y – Your Majesties.”
The dog, the Queen, Princess (oh gods above and below help her this would be so impossible to take seriously) showed a few more teeth and did the doggy equivalent of a smile that probably intended to be benevolent but, instead, ended up looking playful: “There is no need to be so nervous, young one. We won’t harm you.”
Her voice was sweet like honeyed water and, as it entered her ears, it seemed to flow right through her thoughts, settling pleasantly amidst the fertile soil that was her mind.
Fertile soil that suddenly sprouted thorns and strangled the waters, leeching them of anything that could be used. It left her feeling refreshed, the headache from the paradox from before disappearing. It also gave her knowledge on the abilities of the dog in front of her.
Knowledge that sobered her up.
“I thank you for your kind words, Your Majesty, but, if I may be so bold, I would rather nobody use Skills to keep my mind in check. My mind is mine only and I’ll do what I wish with it.”
The smile on the dog’s face only seemed to get bigger at that.
“Oh, you trained her well, Old Pawless.”
“She is one of my best disciples,” said Albert with a nod, looking completely calm.
At that the cat finally spoke: “And you should really stop, Princess. You and your underhanded tricks will be our downfall.”
The dog snorted, a sound which came out feeling wrong in Alice’s opinion: “We already were the downfall of you cats,” she said in a light tone, and it felt like a jab.
“Yes, and in doing so you nearly killed all of us.”
“Details, details, my dear.”
The ambassador coughed slightly – the sound again reminding her of a smoker clearing his throat – to attract the two royals’ attention.
“Your Majesties, please.”
“Oh right, right,” said the Queen of Dogs, “It is just so rare for my dear friend Blinky to interact with anyone these days. You should spend more time with me, the light would help abate your tiredness.”
“Princess, whenever I’ll need to be active I will do that. For now, I’m old and I don’t want to do anything.”
For all that they were a king and a queen the two very much still somewhat acted like the animals they were. Princess was active, emotional and mischievous, but in a kind way – if one didn’t consider her attempt at forcing Alice’s mind to calm down – while Blinky was lazy, although not in the way of someone who didn’t want to do things. It was as if he was resting up, getting ready for… something. Whatever that something would be, it would find him ready.
“You, Old Pawless, requested an audience with us. You said you would need our help. Why?” asked the Cat King, his one good eye turning towards Albert, his body not moving a single inch.
“Garda, she was my apprentice, although she’s now left my wing to pursue a path of her own. We are still good friends though, and she requires help in a… complex project. She needs to gather some material from the deep. Sadly, among my allies, there is nobody who specializes in digging or exploring the depths of the Dream. Nobody, except for you.”
The Dog Queen nodded: “Ah, I see, so the Nightmare Hunters have lost even their [Depth Explorers].”
Albert sighed before nodding: “Apparently we lost the last ones before I first walked the Land. Not that there was much to see to begin with.”
The Dog Queen laughed, the sound mellifluous and kind. It sounded like an old, long forgotten, song to Alice. She’d never heard it, and yet… it was as if the name, the title, was just on the tip of her tongue.
“Indeed. There was nothing of importance. Nothing worth remembering.”
She turned back to Alice: “You should remember that, young girl. There’s nothing down there worth anyone’s attention. [That Is What Was Decided].”
Alice blinked. She shook her head.
And then, before she could wonder what had just happened, the Dog Queen spoke again: “One of my own will help you along your journey. Ozzy, step on out please.”
A dog stepped forwards. It was a hound and, from the name, she guessed it was male. His fur was brownish, his nose covered in scars from a thousand battles and, from the huge body, she guessed he was one of those types of dogs which were used to guard sheep.
“I will help with all that I can give,” said the dog, nodding his head in a small courtsy.
Then he turned towards Alice: “Show me the place to dig. I shall lead the way.”
He stepped closer.
And then the Queen started talking again: “Now, Old Pawless, you may be an honorary member of this court, but you’re still not exempt from the matter of payment. Nothing for free and all that, that’s how you humans taught us to do things.”
Immediately she turned towards him: “Albert, there’s no need for any of that, I’ll pay! You’re doing this for –”
He turned towards her, his mouth clicking open, as he said: “Garda, shut up. This is my choice. And there are debts I owe this Court that I must still repay.”
He turned back towards the Queen: “One payment. One for everything I owe you. Plus another thing.”
The dog smiled: “Oh, how intriguing. You do know that we are in no rush to get paid, right? The payments of us [Dreamers] are so much harsher than those of the Waking. But first, do tell me: what is it that you wish more help with?”
“Tracking. I need to track someone. One of the Labyrinthine, hiding in the dreams of the House.”
The dog closed her mouth immediately at that, her expression souring as she lay down on the ground, a whimper escaping her mouth.
“More like the House’s nightmares.”
She turned towards the cat who, for the first time since he’d been brought here, moved on his cushion to take a better look at the old fox.
“Why?” he simply asked.
“Apparently? To end the nightmares.”
The Cat King laid silently on his cushion, his crown – which looked like a ball of yarn – glinting in the light of the setting sun.
“The main reason I let you be part of the Court, even with your debts, is that you are not a liar, unlike all the others. The Court agreed, back then, with you [Dreamers] because we saw no reason not to, but you were the ones who lied to yourselves.”
What’s he talking about? wondered Alice.
The Cat King kept on staring deep into Albert’s mask’s eyes, looking for…she couldn’t tell.
Finally, he spoke again: “Your debts to the Court are repaid, Old Pawless. If you were lying, or if you fail, I will come personally to find you.”
Claws came out of one of his front paws: “And I will cut you apart with the same claws that once ripped to pieces a kraken to the very Waking.”
The Dog Queen nodded.
“We move out!” she ordered, and just as suddenly as they’d appeared, all the animals were just gone.
Albert stood there for a moment longer.
Then he fell to the ground.
His fur turned gray, then white, his breathing ragged, and she was by his side a moment later.
“Albert? Albert! What –”
A hand rose to stop her.
“I… I’m fine, Garda,” he wheezed out, “Just… stressed, is all.”
He chuckled drily, shaking his head: “I shouldn’t allow myself to be so emotional. Too old. Too… too.”
She tried to open her mouth again, but he shushed her with a finger as he spoke again: “Don’t worry about me, Garda. You just do your best. I set up the board for you, now you’ll just have to play as good as you can.”
“Don’t talk as if you’re going to die soon! You’ll bring yourself bad luck!”
He smirked: “Luck is dead, Garda. All that’s left is misfortune on Rodar.”
“Still –”
“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, Garda. I’ve still got plenty of time. But don’t weigh your decisions down with the fear of what’ll happen to me. What you’re doing, it’s good, but not easy. So… just do your best. Just be Garda, the Garda who killed a child’s Nightmare in under a week of training. The Garda who, on her first night, already knew who she was going to be. If you’ll be that Garda you’ll manage it.”
He let his hand fall to the ground and breathed in deeply.
She stepped back: “I promise I will.”
“Good.”
And all the while, the dog looked over the scene. He spoke only when he was sure they’d ended the conversation.
“Stinky told me to tell you this: ‘Goodbye. You were a great father. Don’t forget to wake up now and then.”
Albert looked at the dog.
And he laughed. He kept on laughing as he rummaged around in his pockets and, ever so slowly, took out… a tooth. Some animal’s tooth, yes, and pricked his finger, disappearing from the Dream.
Meanwhile Ozzy, the dog, said: “Shall we start digging then?”