Dreamshade by A. J. Lath
“Okay,” Benjamin returned, confused as to what, exactly, it was that Lilac was on. Then, remembering that Lilac Zhenrei was not exactly human, he concluded that it was just a natural part of being a wondrous dream creature living in a wondrous dream world. Content, then, to simply settle into the moment and take a break from thinking too hard about where he was, who he was with, what he himself might be, and all the other paraphernalia thrown at him in the course of this mad adventure, he set himself to the sleepy, soporific task of allowing his gaze to wander aimlessly about the place.
With the moment now better suited to a more leisurely appraisal of Lilac’s abode, new details were soon forthcoming. Near the far left-hand corner, for instance, Benjamin saw that a sideboard he’d previously dismissed as a typically over-the-top accoutrement was, in actual fact, a perfectly functional cabinet surmounted by one of those large, old-fashioned radios of the type he’d seen during his journey here (and then he realised that Lilac didn’t appear to have a television set. Which was strange, but also strangely apt; the atulphi, for some reason, seemed like the kind of people who would prefer radio to TV. He didn’t know why; it just suited them). Further along, and against the wall opposite, he spied another well-stocked bookcase, and though he was curious to see what passed for literature in this realm, he couldn’t quite muster the urge to walk over and study the volumes close-up. And then, directly to his right - and he was amazed to find that he hadn’t actually noticed it until now - he discovered a small, round table topped with a framed pencil-drawing of the face of a young girl. The table was close enough for him to reach out and take the picture if he so wished, but Benjamin felt that to do so would probably be a breach of etiquette. She was apparently Chinese, this girl, and she looked a great deal like Lilac. But there was something about her expression (or, at least, in the way it had been caught by the artist) which told him that it was not an image of his new-found friend. Her eyes were too serious, for a start. Too studious. And there was a subtle downturn to her smile, a hint of someone who, despite her youth, might secretly believe that no fun comes without cost.
“That’s Rose Lin,” said Lilac, returning to the room with a tray of what looked like small, flat biscuits. She set the tray down on the coffee table, brushed some imaginary crumbs away from her midriff, and went over to the picture that had so caught Benjamin’s interest. “Pretty young thing, yes?” she continued. She picked the picture up, studied it for a moment, and then brought it up alongside her face, image side out, so as to invite a comparison. “See the resemblance?” She pointed to herself, the picture, then herself again. “She’ll be a lot older now, but I think you’d still find a lot of me in her.” Carefully, she returned the picture to its place on the tabletop. “This is the girl who gave me life,” she said, letting her gaze linger on the drawing for a while. “I hope she is well.”
“What happened to her?” asked Benjamin.
“She went somewhere else,” Lilac replied, returning to the coffee table. “I used to go back to her sometimes; to the places we played, or to her home. She never saw me. One day I went to her house, and it was empty. She was gone.”
“Oh,” said the boy, unsure if he should offer a commiseration or not. If truth be told, Lilac didn’t seem all that fazed by it. “Did you ever try to find her?”
“For a while,” she said, poring over the biscuits. “But not now. Maybe later, when she and I are both old, it might be worth it. Anyway -” she plucked a few biscuits from the tray and held them out to Benjamin “- that’s enough of that, I think. Try these!”
As he reached over and took hold of his share, Benjamin glanced once more at the drawing, and understood - by virtue of the picture’s prominence, and the lady’s gentle handling of it - that Lilac was perhaps not as unaffected by the loss of the girl as she had appeared. This, after all, was the very same girl who had dreamed her into being, the very same girl who had been her earliest playmate, and a bond as intimate as that could certainly not be broken without anguish. Aware, however, that it was not seemly to press people on such matters (particularly if the experiences with his mother were anything to go by), Benjamin let it go. Lilac had dealt with it, had found her peace, and she needed no buffoonery from a too-curious-by-half young boy to remind her of it.
“I should just say,” Lilac went on, as she gathered some biscuits for herself, “that these -” she held one of the biscuits up “- are the Crip’s Tattleflit Poppers. I thought I had more, but obviously not. I’m nearly out of them, as it happens. You might, uh, find them a bit stale, too.”
Benjamin give a slight shrug, as if to say ‘no problem’. He brought a biscuit to his mouth, took a bite, and actually found it a lot crispier than the lady had indicated.
“I should also say,” said Lilac, returning to the arm of her chair, “that you probably aren’t used to this sort of cuisine. Let me reassure you that the effects are perfectly natural, and nothing to worry about. But then again, you’re a dreamshader, aren’t you? In which case, you’d -”
But Lilac had no chance, nor need, to finish; as per her plan, the effects that she’d only half-warned him about were already happening. Yelling with surprise, shock, and more than a modicum of delight, Benjamin began to spit lightning at the ceiling.
11
Considering all that he’d seen of Niamago already, Benjamin should have guessed that there might be something unusual about the biscuit. Yet even if he had, he would have never surmised that it was loaded, in one way or another, with electricity. Obviously, it wasn’t real electricity, otherwise he would have been fried to a crisp by now. And neither did it hurt. No, it was magic, or the result of some strange science that was peculiar only to the atulphi. Whatever; all he knew was that it was amazing, astounding, and probably no more remarkable to Lilac and her kind than the idea that one could quite happily sail away and cross dimensions in a bird-borne cage.
At first, he had wondered if this biscuit-bestowed ability to shoot lightning out of his mouth was a condition unique to himself. Hadn’t the lady, after all, hinted that the experience might be different for a dreamshader? But when she also partook of one of the biscuits, the same gleeful spray of electricity shot from her mouth as well, so it definitely wasn’t that. Maybe something about the buzz - the very same buzz that had hummed quietly at the back of his mind throughout his adventure here - changed, though he couldn’t be sure. It might have been louder, or a mite more insistent, but that could simply be down to the fact that he was making himself notice it more. Anyway, the deliberations were short-lived; with a sizzling arc just missing his right ear by inches, Lilac made it plain that she wanted to make a game out of this curious phenomenon. And Benjamin, suddenly energised, found that he was all too ready to oblige.
***
He couldn’t tell how long it went on for. When one is feverishly exchanging lightning with one’s friend - or firing it at the furniture, the wind chimes above (which tinkled softly with every strike), or at a mirror (just to see if the lightning would bounce back. It didn’t) - one quickly loses track of time. The lightning, he soon discovered, was completely harmless; he was struck plenty during the contest, and it never left him with anything but a mild tingle in his skin. Everything hit remained intact and untarnished; no trace, not even a scorch mark, marred a single target. Few pastimes, he knew, could offer such an enjoyment as this, where nary a thought need be given as to the consequences. Consequently, when the game had to end because the biscuits were finished, it seemed as if hardly a minute had passed.
But the light outside the windows suggested different; a subtle ochre had crept into the day, implying that it was close to noon. He tried to count back the hours, from his awakening at close to three in the morning to the moment at hand, and approximated that he had been awake for about nine hours. Nine hours! Chillingly, he realised that if he had risen at his normal time, he would probably be having his tea right now. He thought of his mum, preparing an evening meal for a family of three instead of
“Lilac?” he said, returning to his already favourite chair. “Can I ask-”
“Light energy,” interrupted the lady. She was fussing at the coffee table again, busily brushing crumbs onto the plate which she’d used for the biscuits. “The Poppers were infused with it. It’s energy that’s so light, you can’t really do anything but have fun with the stuff.”
“No, I meant - will I still be able to go back?”
“What - home?”
Benjamin nodded.
Lilac regarded him seriously for a moment. Then she smiled. “Missing it already, eh?”
“I dunno. I think so.”
“Don't you even want to meet some of my friends? Do the tourist thing?”
He looked out of the window; at the towers, the strange clouds, the atulphi soaring distantly. What do I say? he thought. What do I do when I don't know if this is a dream or not? Lilac said I could come back - but a dream like this may only ever happen once. And if this is a dream, then I could stay for as long as I like, and not have to worry about hurting anyone. And here was the problem: If he stayed, would it be because he was bold, or because he was being selfish? If he left, would it be down to his being responsible...or scared?
“I take it that you’re not sure,” said Lilac. “In which case I’ll ask you this: do you want to go now, at this very second? Or later?”
“Um -”
“Later it is, then.”
“Hang on-”
Lilac raised a finger. “Stop!” She cleared her throat. “If you really cared about quitting me so soon, you’d have said ‘yes’ to it already, right?”
Benjamin kept quiet for a second. He tried to glare at the lady, but found it impossible because, deep down, he knew he wanted her to come up with a damn good excuse for staying. “I guess so,” he muttered, trying his utmost to sound suitably chastised.
“Exactly. And I assure you that if we were on our way out of here, and I was taking you back to the pier at this very instant, you know what you’d be doing? You’d be looking for every reason to stay just that little bit longer. ‘What’s this?’ you’d ask, when some odd trinket caught your eye. ‘Who’s that?’ you’d say, when some passing stranger appeared more an exhibit than a person. And there’s something you haven’t done yet, either, which you’d regret if events conspired to make this your only trip here.”
“And what would that be?”
“Find out what it’s like to be a dreamshader, silly!” said Lilac, triumphant.
***
If this was a dream, it was unique in at least one respect: it was the only dream in which he’d felt the need to go to the toilet. The urge had come on while Lilac was entertaining him with the individual names of her wind chimes (making the things was a hobby of hers, as it turned out; their names, it should be said, were so arcane that he forgot them almost as soon as he’d been told them) and, as feared, the lady responded with pure ignorance when he finally got round to asking her where ‘the washroom’ might be.
The atulphi, apparently, were so far removed from the human that they did not require such facilities. Lilac, therefore, did not have a toilet. They were as alien to this world as flying cages and electric biscuits were to his.
This left Benjamin with the unsavoury prospect of having to inform Lilac just what it was he needed this ‘toilet’ thing for - and it wasn’t, alas, the pleasanter of the two. Thankfully, he didn’t have to explain in any depth - he didn’t have to explain anything at all, as it happened - because the lady, unable to restrain herself, burst into a fit of giggles that told the boy everything he needed to know.
The atulphi, apparently, were not so far removed from the human that they did not know what a toilet was. Niamago was abundant with them. “Although some don't look like toilets at all, “ Lilac said, once her mirth had subsided enough to allow a modicum of sensibility. “At least, by your standards. There’s so many shapes and sizes and characteristics to accommodate. But you’ll be pleased to know that my personal variation on the esteemed device is one you’d probably find agreeable; I wasn’t just dreamed up to look human, you know. And I’ll leave it at that. So yes, go forth unto your exile, and do not return to me until the deed is done. Okay? You’ll find it through there -” she pointed to another door, one he’d not yet seen her use “- first on the right. Enjoy!”
“It still wasn’t funny,” mumbled Benjamin, already en route to do ‘the business’. His barely suppressed grin spoke differently, however.
Little needed to be said of Lilac’s bathroom except that it was pristine, perfumed, and as well equipped as Benjamin had hoped. The only curiosity was the soap: yes, it was an ordinary-looking, discreetly fragrant white bar, but when he washed his hands with it something unusual happened.
He saw another dream. Not as clear as those conferred when he touched the silfs, but still distinct enough for him to get some idea of what it actually represented. He saw a waterfall, and a robed, alabastrine woman who seemed to be dancing under it. He felt the presence of soft white birds, and then found himself watching them as they took shape and flight from the spraying spume. The shadows they cast upon the lake below were thick and smoggy, but they sank into the water easily, somehow becoming a part of it in a way he could not discern. There was more to this dream, he was sure, even though he couldn’t see it. He was sure, also, that there was connection with that persistent, resonating sensation which seemed to underlie everything he came into contact with here. The vision ended when he let go of the soap, and he was left with the impression of having solved one of those picture-puzzles where something - usually a dog - could be made out if you looked carefully enough at what appeared to be a random, patternless arrangement of blots on a page.
He pondered upon it as he dried his hands: a dream that needed no silf to be seen; a dream strong enough to make its presence felt against all those indecipherable others that hummed so subtly in the background. What was its significance? He looked again at the soap, the fingers of his right hand tapping abstractedly at the pocket which held his emberquick, and tried to add-up what had just happened. Maybe it was all down to purity: that some things just had a lot more of one particular dream in them than others did. Soap, after all, was meant to be clean, wasn’t it? And if cleanliness meant pure, then it stood to reason that its essence - in the shape of that balmy, aseptic dream - might be so concentrated, so undiluted, as to be entirely legible to someone such as himself.
Inevitably, his thoughts got round to the emberquick again, despite the fact that the buzz he got from it was completely different to the one just experienced. It was not simply a matter of degree, or even clarity; with the emberquick, the noise was genuinely musical, and responsive to his musings in a way that the dream residues were not. The only vague similarity he could think of was that the item seemed to be trying to tell him something whenever he took it into his possession - but what? Back at the market, he was certain that, at one point, he’d caught the gist of it; unfortunately, in being so vague and fleeting, it was of no more use to him than a half-heard whisper in a crowded room. Leaving the bathroom, he again took hold of the emberquick, tumbling it around the inside of his pocket like a piece of loose change. He considered luring Lilac into a conversation about the thing, before remembering she’d already demonstrated how little she knew about the subject both at Macallory Lane and the factory. Still, there was always the chance that she might have some clue to impart, and with that in mind he ventured back into the lounge in the hope of bringing the topic to the fore. Immediately, however, it was obvious that his enquiries were about to be left for a later time: he found her leaning out of an open window, otherwise engaged in a conversation with someone outside. “Ah, there you are,” she said, when she
“Guest?” repeated Benjamin, stealing a glance about the room and finding no other person present but the lady herself. A little confused, he joined her at the window, guessing that the ‘guest’ must be on the balcony. And yet, looking out, he saw no-one there. He turned to her, a quizzical frown on his brow.
She nodded towards a building opposite that looked like a stocky lighthouse. Approximately two floors up, on the staircase that corkscrewed around it helter-skelter style, there stood a slender, manlike figure whose features were lost to a smoky, ever-shifting veneer of dark and light. It was as though cloud-shadow was constantly drifting across him, and it put Benjamin in mind of that star-flecked atulphi he’d seen at the pier. The figure raised a hand and waved. Benjamin waved back.
“Who is it?” he asked Lilac.
“Mickey Dim,” she replied. “You can say hello if you like. But don't shout, okay? He hates it when people do that.”
“Fine,” said Benjamin, wondering how the hell this Mickey Dim was supposed to hear him. Still, if Lilac said he shouldn’t shout, then fine; it wasn’t his problem. “Hello,” he said, with as much volume as he thought reasonable. “I’m Ben. Ben Crosskeys. How, uh, are you?”
At which the figure replied:
“I’m fine, young sprout, and‘tis good to hear,
Some words of a shader, once far now near.”
“Oh wow,” said Benjamin - though he said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it made Lilac laugh. “How did he do that?” The boy could hear him perfectly, as if he were standing no more than a few inches away.