The Waking Dreamer (22 page)

“Fascinating,” Dr. Hazrat said from behind his steepled fingers. “Fascinating. You can see it in his eyes even now, can’t you?” he asked to no one in particular.

Emmett’s eyes flashed upward noticeably with Dr. Hazrat’s choice of words.

“Please do not mistake my comment for a sign of disrespect of your upbringing,” he said soothingly as he motioned with a hand around the table. “You need not feel shame among others who share in your pain, your brothers and sisters.”

Dr. Hazrat then leaned toward his Attendant. “Take Eitan here, an orphan in Saint-Philippe, Quebec, fleeing the abusive home he had once been a prisoner in to the false promise of comfort offered by the streets of Montreal. Homeless, starving, and relying on the generosity of strangers, which does not come without its own price. But that was before I found him and gave him a home and a family.”

Emmett saw that most of the Lighthouse members nodded at this statement, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Keiran cast his eyes down at the table.

“Look at Eitan now: a respectable young man with a future of his own making and a family to support him on each step of his journey.” Dr. Hazrat passed an extended arm over the entire table. “All of this is possible because of our Grove. You’ll find a similar story with every Druid or Bard that you meet here.”

Emmett felt the burden of the continuing stares from the other Children, and as Dr. Hazrat fell silent and looked at him, he felt that he had to say something.

“Why is that?” Emmett asked with feigned curiosity, wanting only to leave. “Why the same story?”

“Most never ask the ‘what’ of a situation, fewer ask the ‘how,’ and the fewest ask the ‘why.’ I commend you,” he smiled without a hint of condescension, toasting Emmett with his glass.

“But that is the question, isn’t it? Why? I, of course, have a theory, one which you will never hear uttered within another Grove.”

He inclined his head as if to further impress upon Emmett the full measure of his words. “Would you like me to share this secret with you, Mr. Brennan?”

Emmett felt Keiran’s foot pushing against his underneath the table but was uncertain what he could do to end the conversation. “Yes.”

“Would it surprise you if I told you that the attack against you by the Underdweller was
not
by random occurrence?”

“Are you saying that they chose me?”

“If by ‘they’ you refer to the Underdwellers and Revenants, the answer is no, I do not mean them. I believe we are touched by destiny; a touch of grace for some and misery for others, but such is the fickle nature of destiny. I believe that the concept of randomness—that each of our free, individual choices leads to random and unpredictable outcomes—is ultimately meaningless. The truth of creation is that we are all on predetermined paths that, no matter what choices we make, we still eventually arrive at.”

“I don’t understand. How would my past have anything to do with my attack? You said that we all had that in common.”

Dr. Hazrat nodded. “Yes, and this is my best evidence of my belief.” He motioned for a server to refill his glass from the silver decanter seated directly in front of him. He permitted himself to enjoy a long, leisurely sip before continuing.

“All the Children come from broken homes or have suffered great loss. Neglected, abandoned, abused, and yet they hear the clarion call of the Wisdoms and of the Song.”

Emmett sat stiffly without comment.
Where the hell is this going?

“Why is this? I know you must wonder this. All who come before me ask the same question. Why? Why those gifted with the strength to resist and defeat darkness share a common, universal origin of despair. Some believe that even as children, we are uniquely responsible for the things that have happened to us because of the decisions that we and others around us have made. Now, Mr. Brennan, I am sure you will conclude from my expression that I do not share in this belief.”

Several Druids around the table chuckled at this while other Bards nodded with expressions of condemnation, and even Dr. Hazrat suppressed a laugh of near-condescension.

“With all that I have seen and experienced, I cannot escape the conclusion that there is and always will be a definable purpose guiding our every movement. I believe in destiny that sets our feet before us, guides our hearts, and fuels the dreams by which we dare to imagine the unknown. If existence is defined by a limitless collection of random occurrences in this world, what purpose would any of us have for doing what we do to defend it?”

Several Druids and Bards across the table from Emmett were nodding in agreement. “So,” Dr. Hazrat concluded, “where does that leave us? If you believe as we do that destiny exists in our lives, and that all of us share in this common story, then one must inevitably arrive at the most frightening question of all.”

As before when Keiran and he first met Dr. Hazrat, their conversation had begun as a sort of nebulous cloud. Before his eyes, it had drawn itself inward, redirected, and taken a different form. Now when Emmett looked plainly at the conversation’s direction, it was so clear that he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t seen it before.

“Were we always destined to experience the pain that we suffered as children?” Emmett said before he realized that he had spoken aloud.

Several members of the Lighthouse beamed at Emmett. Oliver was nodding enthusiastically at him. Even Eitan’s face was filled with seeming ecstasy. Dr. Hazrat clenched his fist and shook it with an expression of rapture.

“Exactly, my son! Bravo!” he exclaimed triumphantly, pointing at Emmett, and several people applauded him. “Yes, you have named it precisely! The question establishes a sense of providence; the inevitable answer brings us greater sorrow, but only if we do not act upon it!”

Emmett looked down at his plate, finding that he no longer was hungry. He could feel that nearly all of those around the table were still watching him, though by the sounds of silverware to plates, many had returned to finishing their meals once they saw that Dr. Hazrat had finished his thoughts.

Underneath the table, he felt Keiran’s hand pat his knee reassuringly again, though for whatever reassurance Keiran could offer, Emmett felt only a sense of hollowness and great exhaustion. Perhaps most of all, Emmett once again understood why Keiran had not wanted to come to the Lighthouse.

“Dr. Hazrat, may I ask a question?” Keiran asked, drawing attention from the obviously stricken look on Emmett’s face.

“By all means, son,” Dr. Hazrat responded.

“If destiny rules our lives and all is predetermined, then who decides that fate?”

“Has your Elder not instructed you in this?” Dr. Hazrat asked with a slight leer.

“I’ve never met the Archivist,” Keiran answered, and Emmett did not hide his surprise at hearing this. “So I wouldn’t know.”

Dr. Hazrat’s unreadable face eventually warmed with a grin, though its exact meaning was unknown to everyone at the table. “Let us ask Eitan what he knows of our history, and see if a boy under the tutelage of the Lighthouse has not received a better education in three months than a man who has spent years in the trees of Silvan Dea,” he said with a stinging rebuke that Keiran accepted without reaction.

The young boy stood immediately from his chair, his tumbles of blond curls falling into his face. He nervously pushed them back with trembling hands. Clearing his throat, his soft, almost feminine features drew quickly into a determined expression, his shaking hands moving quickly to button his black, double-breasted jacket over his red silk tie as he nervously cleared his throat again.

“At the beginning of creation, the Composer sang a Song that pierced the void and divided it into two halves: one of pure light and the other of total darkness. Both were given equality in the composition of our experience, and with the formation of our world, the influence of light and dark waxed and waned predictably throughout the ages. Both pursued each other in an endless dance of ascent and descent, progression and regression.” His high voice stopped as he looked to Dr. Hazrat for approval, for which he was rewarded glowingly.

Eitan looked out across the table. “To this earth where the first life was born, the Composer sent the Children to watch over the balance. Across and over the many waters, we found solace in the Song. Wicked though the world may be, we remain its only sentinels.”

With an approving nod, Eitan quietly sat down. “It is my belief that the Composer gifted us with the Song and the hidden voices of the Wisdoms for one purpose: to provide a resolute and unfaltering presence for good in a world that is plagued by such unrepentant and wicked evil. That our lives all share a common thread and that we all can empathize with similar pains and challenges confirms this belief for me. As it should for you.”

Keiran nodded silently, allowing his face to convey an expression of acceptance. Emmett saw that without exception, every other Druid and Bard around the table joined in their appreciation for Dr. Hazrat’s words. Though this was the first Elder Emmett had met, he had to wonder if the passion of their reactions was uniform in other Groves.

Clapping his hands together loudly, Dr. Hazrat stood up from the table. At once, all in attendance joined him. Emmett and Keiran followed their lead.

“As always, I have enjoyed our time together. The responsibilities of my position dictate that other issues await my attention. Be of good temperance and cheer, and fear nothing that lurks in shadow. May the Song lift you all.”

All in attendance except Keiran and Emmett responded: “And guide us all home.”

Those around the table sat as Dr. Hazrat exited the dining hall with his Attendant, Eitan, in step behind him. Emmett looked at Keiran, who made the briefest shake of his head before continuing with his meal.

After a comfortable amount of time had passed and few remained, servers began to clear the tables away. Keiran signaled to Emmett and they withdrew quietly from the table, returning to the grand staircase leading to the upper halls.

“All right?” Keiran asked when they were alone.

“T.M.I. on an epic scale. If ever there were a lesson in the value of not asking questions, that was it,” Emmett said as they ascended the stairs.

“How so?”

“Remember what I told you, K? First rule of a David Fincher film: Don’t ask what’s in the box.”

CHAPTER 21

They returned to Keiran’s room, Keiran lying down across his bed and rubbing his temples. Emmett paced before him, barely contained energy bounding around in his mind as he replayed the dinner over and over.

“I’ve visited two Groves so far, and no offense, Keiran, but you people are trying even
my
affinity for the ‘strange and unusual.’ And that’s not an easy thing to do.”

“They are both extremes, Emmett. The Archivist guides through wisdom that is expressed in self-discovered truths. Dr. Hazrat does not hesitate to teach you what
he
thinks you should know. It’s not my place to judge, and the concept of choice is something I value. It frees me to believe my life is anything I make of it.”

“It’s just been a ‘My God, it’s full of stars’ sequence of moments since we arrived,” Emmett admitted. “First there’s the throne room where, funnily enough, a river
actually
runs through it. What is it with you people and caves, anyway? And then there’s the creepy boy Attendant who’d keep slash-fic writers busy for the next decade. Oh, and then that speech of Hazrat’s? It was legit
ridiculous
. Like, ‘Hitler Reacts to Omar Hazrat Speech’ YouTube-video-worthy ridiculous.”

“Emmett,” Keiran began slowly, clearly exhausted and struggling to keep up with him. “Until this moment, I have been circumspect with you. Not because I believed you couldn’t handle what I had to tell you, but rather because I felt like it needed its proper context.”

“And now?” Emmett asked.

Keiran looked down at his own hands. “I think we are beyond the need for withholding. Despite the death you’ve seen, you approach the world with new wonder and something that I believe is hope. To me, that is enough and everything at the same time.”

Emmett was at an immediate loss for words, and despite his tumbling thoughts, a part of him felt something resembling pride. “Coming from you, that means a lot.” Emmett was as surprised at those words as Keiran obviously was to hear them. Uncomfortable, Emmett busied himself with taking off his shoes.

“Yes, well, as I said before, the Lighthouse promises to be a trying experience. It is ironic that in our coming here you will likely learn more about the nature of evil than anywhere else.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s so important to them. It defines them. It’s not enough to defeat evil; they have to understand the nature of it. The struggle.”

“And you don’t agree,” Emmett said.

“As it is, there is already enough mystery in this world for me to spend a lifetime trying to understand. Some people focus their lives on knowing the motives of evil. I have no need to understand it; only to defeat it.”

“No offense, but that almost sounds like something Dr. Hazrat would say.”

“The truth, Emmett, is that there is much to agree with Dr. Hazrat on. Yes, there is great evil in this world. Given the destruction that is bore by innocent people like you, Derrick, and Emaline, I would of course give anything to destroy it once and for all.”

“Yet you support the Great Preclusion?”

“Evil cannot
be
wholly destroyed. It’s a concept, not an entity. A promise of power that tempts those who are weak of spirit. Which is why it does not merit exploration.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ll take your word on it over anyone else’s.”

Keiran looked at Emmett with his mouth slightly ajar as if uncertain what to say. It was an expression Emmett was not accustomed to seeing on Keiran’s face, and it was the second time in one evening Emmett had complimented him.

“Thank you.”

Emmett fidgeted again with his shoes. Only days before, Emmett had found Keiran irritatingly perfect, his Companion the woman of his dreams. But he had saved his life twice already, and Emmett knew that at his core, Keiran Glendower was a decent guy.

Keiran yawned, and seeing how tired he was, Emmett began to feel guilty for keeping him awake.

Let him sleep. He’s earned it already. Exposition can wait.

“Okay, Atreyu, it’s time for some epic sleep. The Nothing can wait for tomorrow. BT Dubbs, in this analogy, I’m Bastion and not Artax.”

As always, Keiran understood none of what Emmett said but saw him heading for his own room. “I don’t want you sitting awake worrying needlessly.”

“Nah, I’m good, K. Serious. Creepy dinner, but I’ll live. I’ll shut up about movies long enough so you can get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

Keiran nodded as he began to unbutton his shirt. “Leave the door unlocked. In case you need something.”

In his suite’s darkness, a sliver of moonlight breeched the diaphanous curtains bound to the windows. His mind groped through the terrified faces he had passed on the train. With a prescient shudder of discomfort traveling down the length of his chest, he admitted to himself that he could not recall the features of a single, doomed person.

The onset of sleep, of course, never came. Emmett was aware of his frequent tossing and turning, and with each repositioning, he felt more awake than before. He stared at the ornate clock hanging on the opposite wall, its constant ticking with each swing of its long hand seemingly timed with the crackling of the logs slowly burning in the fireplace.

As the early morning hours before dawn began to draw close, he finally threw the thick down comforter back and stretched. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ambling across the room. When all else failed, walking could offer the kind of distraction that would lead to a quiet mind. Or the sun would rise and a new day could begin.

Slipping a pair of house slippers over his feet, he opened his door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. He turned right for the stairs, a window at the opposite end behind him flashing with an arc of brilliant white as lightning lit the pounding rain.

Ambling quietly down the hallway, he passed many closed doors before reaching a stairwell. Gripping the banister, he padded down the carpeted steps and emerged on a lower landing that opened out into a larger foyer where divans surrounded a small piano.

The Steinway grand piano was polished perfectly along its maple and spruce lines, the rosy sheen almost glowing along its smooth surfaces. The piano lid was propped open, and as Emmett allowed himself to sit on the bench in front of it, he looked in and saw that the strings had all been dusted recently, the tightly wound copper dully reflective.

Emmett was startled by the shadow of someone standing across from him in the corner of the foyer.

“What can you play?” an aged voice asked. Emmett had not seen the figure before and did not recognize the face as a man stepped into a path of light.

It was an older gentleman in his seventies, thin and medium height with white hair combed directly back over his scalp. The gentleman’s focused green eyes betrayed the appearance of his age and stooping posture with an alertness that was clear even in the darkness.

He straightened himself with an air of dignity as he walked around the piano to join Emmett on the bench. He wore a pressed black suit and simple black tie, and he walked with the support of a long cane atop which he held a silver knob.

“Please do not stop on my account,” he said, Emmett noting his German accent. “I’m afraid I don’t get to hear much in the way of performance with this as often as I would like.”

“I don’t really play.”

The man rested his cane against the Steinway and stretched his hands across the keys, his mottled skin juxtaposed by finely manicured nails that hinted at wealth.

He launched into a sweeping arc across the piano. The rich notes imbued the foyer with a haunting elegance that was magnified by the dapple of moonlight filtering through the inky darkness of the stormy night outside. The Steinway was obviously positioned at a perfect angle within the foyer, for the sounds echoed so perfectly that each note played at precisely the right moment along the edges of Emmett’s ears just as another note replaced it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is Chopin’s Nocturne, ninth opus, number two. I have spent several years attempting to master its intonation.” Emmett could not tell if he had, indeed, mastered it, but he found himself overwhelmed by the mastery with which the man performed the piece.

“We have not met. It is my custom to greet new students upon arrival. You, however, did not travel by plane with the other girls.”

“By train,” he said, and in Emmett’s mind the images of Ellie walking the lone car in his vision aboard the train with Keiran and Sebastian appeared. “It was my first time.”

“My name is Charles Kellner,” the gentleman said, the music coming to an abrupt halt as he extended his hand.

Emmett’s mind reeled, and it was all he could to not jump back from the piano. Then he felt the exertion of another consciousness again, the sense that two minds shared the same private space, as that second mind came forward to speak.

“Ellie,” she said, taking the gentleman’s hand lightly in her own.

“How do you like the school?”

“I never thought I could afford it. Thank you for your scholarship.”

Oh my God, how could I have forgotten?

“I have had my eye on you for some time. I am glad you were able to attend.”

“There are hundreds of other girls who would have paid for my place,” Ellie said.

“Vast financial success is one of only many methods for attaining power, and it is of no use if it is not wielded. Power, you see, is something that everyone seeks. What kind of power do you want?”

Emmett felt the unsettling disconnect as emotions he did not recognize as his own flooded through him. Anger. Bitterness. Pain that Ellie had tried to quell with all manner of encounters. A wash of images flooded through his mind: drugs, anonymous sexual encounters, and increasingly dangerous adventures delving deeper into more sinister realms of physical experience. All to deaden the pain.

Yet the hunger was never sated. The pain was never healed.

“Raw power,” she answered.

“Power requires a focal point. Absent, it burns through you and leaves you an empty husk. What is it that you want to wield this power for?”

A pair of red eyes and a preternatural grinning mouth wreathed in shadow hovering over a pair of unmoving limbs appeared in Emmett’s mind.

“Revenge,” she breathed deeply, and Kellner only nodded.

“Your rage can be poured into a deserving vessel if you commit yourself.”

“How?”

“Come to a dinner I am hosting tomorrow night, and I will show you,” he answered. Reaching for his cane, he slowly stood from the bench. “I have an apprenticeship open in my private group.”

“What would I need to do?”

“Come with an open mind,” Kellner said. “I have another young man attending for his first time. Troy. A nice gentleman.”

The thrill of success surged through Ellie, mixed with a lustful desire at the mention of Troy’s name.

“I will see you at ten o’clock.”

Before Ellie could respond through Emmett, he felt a sudden jerk along his shoulder, a forceful tug that nearly toppled him backward over the bench. The foyer dissolved in a haze of darkness.

Emmett felt himself flailing. A hand held his wrist down as he opened his eyes against the assault of sunlight. Through spots in his own vision, he saw Keiran standing over him with a worried look on his face.

“Emmett? Emmett! Wake up!”

After several disorienting moments, Emmett realized that he had awakened on the ground. He pulled himself upright and propped his back against one of the bed’s legs while Keiran went to get a glass of water from the bathroom.

His eyes were open fully now with the bright flood of daylight. He drew in a long breath as if he had been underwater for several minutes, and his throat was filled with the dry, cold air of the suite, the fire in the fireplace having burnt out hours before. Where moments before the classical piano feathered his ears, now there was only the hollow sound of the distant ocean waves crashing against the cliffs below.

He tried to catch his breath. He paused and willed his pace to slow. The Rot demanded his attention, shooting pain slicing across his chest. He hissed, clenching down with his jaw as he looked down. The decaying patch of dead flesh had already snaked down past his stomach and was winding toward his navel.