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Chapter 65. The Meaning of Dreams |
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abane said nothing as Xiang Yi gently unwound the loose bands of linen from his right arm. His pale eyes roamed listlessly over the other beds with their suffering and injured. The servants who had doted over him when he had first awakened here were now busy attending to others. He had asked to go back to his little bedroom to stay with his mother but Xiang Yi had forbidden it. The wounds stank and itched. His left arm was now bandaged against his body to prevent him from ripping off the dressings and scratching them. He had to be fed and changed like a babe but the humiliation had long since faded and he no longer cared. Someone was always there to keep an eye on him and if he left the bed for any reason, it was with an escort. “Did you feel that?” Xiang Yi asked him and he shrugged. “Why doesn’t my mother come to see me any more?” Mabane replied instead. “She is sick,” the man replied quietly but Mabane knew he was lying. “You think I’ll lose my arm,” he said, “It’s rotting.” “Do you have any sensation in your hand?” the monk persisted. “No.” “I can draw out the disease,” Xiang Yi replied quietly, “There is improvement now that the wounds have been left alone to heal.” “I don’t care.” Xiang Yi prayed softly and laid his hands over the injury. Mabane had no sensation below his elbow, which was a small blessing considering how badly the initial rush of chaos energies had hurt the night he had struck down Belenus. He was made to drink a numbing draught in the morning and before sleeping at night, but Mabane sensed it would make little difference now. His right arm was dead and Xiang Yi was just prolonging the inevitable. It was a shame the rest of him was not dead as well. Mabane’s fondest wish was to go to sleep and never wake up again. “Master Bei is coming to talk to you,” Xiang Yi said when he was finished. The pungent odor of ointment stung Mabane’s nostrils as the monk slathered it over the raw oozing flesh then loosely wrapped flesh linens over it, “Would you like breakfast now or after he is gone?” Mabane shrugged and gazed down on the neatly wrapped wreckage of his hand and arm. It was like gift-wrapping a foul secret. Xiang Yi lifted it carefully and laid it on the blankets beside him. “Is there anything I can do for you, son?” He looked away, annoyed when an unwelcome knot of emotion arose at the sound of that once magical word. He belonged to no one now. He was an orphan and an object of pity. The only people who had ever mattered to him were dead and gone, or driven mad with their own grief. He mattered nothing. Master Bei was standing on the left side of his bed. He had not detected the man’s arrival and he wondered how long he had been watching. Blood rushed to his cheeks as shame and anger vied within him. Zhou should have done something to save Pen. It did not help matters that the man’s expression bore the same lines of anxious pity as Xiang Yi. “Good morning, Mabane,” Zhou said, “Do you mind if I stay to talk to you?” Mabane glared at him then looked away, unable to face the compassion he saw in those warm brown eyes. Xiang Yi nodded to Zhou and departed, leaving the two of them alone in Mabane’s quiet corner of the infirmary. Master Bei waited politely until Mabane made a single sharp nod. Only then did he move to where Xiang Yi had been to sit on the lone bedside chair. “Why haven’t you found Pen?” Mabane demanded when the man said nothing. “I admit, I have been negligent,” Zhou replied, “I apologize.” Mabane opened his mouth to protest then closed it, not expecting such a reaction. Pendaran held Zhou in such high regard that Mabane had thought him infallible, perhaps even perfect and therefore powerful. Now when he gazed upon the man he saw crow’s feet of age around his almond eyes and frown lines on his forehead and around his grim mouth. When Mabane said nothing, Master Bei continued. “I want you to know that it was always Pendaran’s wish that in the event something happened to him, I would take care of you. I regarded him as my son and brother, both.” “He’s not dead,” Mabane croaked, “I keep trying to tell everyone that.” “I believe he is alive, also.” “Why won’t you save him?” Mabane wept, “If you know he is alive, why?” “I do not have a good answer for you, Mabane. I am sorry.” “You promised.” “And I will keep my word, but I need your help.” Mabane looked away. What did he mean by that? What could he possibly do that would make any difference? “Your mother mentioned that you had nightmares. Do you remember what they were about?” Mabane swallowed. He had not dared to speak to anyone about what he had seen. Pendaran, he might have entrusted, but his mother would have been upset. “There were Margonites,” he murmured, “I saw them killing people.” Zhou hesitated, his brows down-turned. “How do you know they were Margonites, Mabane? Did Pen teach you about them?” “I saw them in Torment… when I chased after Pen.” “How did you enter Torment? No one spoke to me of this.” Mabane frowned, wondering why Zhou looked so sad and horrified. “I know this will be difficult, but can you describe to me what happened while you were in Torment?” Mabane’s chest tightened with grief and remembered fear. Slowly he began to recount everything he remembered from the moment he had entered the portal until Pendaran was borne home sick and incoherent. He described how the Margonites had bound him and how one had invaded his mind and caused the aura to come too soon. Zhou was mostly silent during the retelling, his face grim and his lips moving occasionally to chant something. Strangely he began to tremble as he neared the end of his tale and Zhou pulled the chair closer and laid his hand upon Mabane’s shoulder. “Speak to me now about the Margonites in your dream. Tell me as many details as you can remember.” “There… there were a lot of them. I saw them gathering and there were men with them in metal armor. There was a woman, too, in a purple gown, and they listened to her. I saw them go through a valley and murder all the people who lived there…” “Where they in Torment?” “No. It was not ugly like there. It was like the pictures in the bestiary with the harpies and the djinn. There were feathery looking trees and a big river and a beautiful palace like the ones in the stories Pen read to me.” “Did these dreams happen before or after you went to Torment?” “After… and Pen was having them, too. He did not remember, but I heard him crying out in his sleep.” “What was he saying?” “Haodrim… and he was telling him no and that he wouldn’t let him do those things.” “Do you know who Haodrim is, Mabane?” “He’s a Margonite, a really old one.” “What things was Haodrim trying to do?” Mabane looked away, ashamed. He should have told someone, he realized. “Make bad things happen.” “What kind of bad things?” “I think he made the dreams happen… I don’t know. I just had to stop them from happening and so did Pen.” “What do you mean?” “He made the dreams happen.” “He gave you dreams?” “He made them really happen.” Zhou got up unexpectedly and turned away. “Did one of your dreams become real, Mabane?” “Yes.” He watched the man wring his hands behind his back as emotions roiled his normally placid demeanor. “Tell me, what dream did you see that became real.” “I saw Belenus come through the window to kill Sabina.” “You dreamed this first?” “Yes.” “In the dream, did Belenus succeed?” “Yes,” Mabane said, the memory almost unbearable. “And based on this you decided to protect her?” “Yes.” “Because you knew it would come true?” “I had to stop it. Do you think my other dreams came true as well? The ones with the Margonites and the villagers…” “Yes, but I was able to prevent them,” Zhou murmured. “You see the dreams as well?” Mabane asked, strangely relieved that he was no longer alone, “What about the ones with Pen? Are those real, too?” Zhou turned to gaze upon him, pale and trembling with emotion. “Which dreams are those, Mabane?” he asked as if afraid of the answer. “He’s…in a cave and there’s angry ghosts and a golden monster and they are trying to make him dream worse things.” Zhou swallowed and ran a hand over his face. “Do you know why they want to do that?” “Because… Haodrim makes dreams real.” |
