The King and the Exile

Part 1: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/living-the-dream
Part 2: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/of-diners-and-dives
Part 3: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/seeing-through-the-dream

Part 4:

Sara left the world dock, and immediately knew something was wrong. The line of people was there. But-the people were not moving or shifting. They were not even breathing. She looked up. The smog stood still. There was a bit of paper in the air. The world that never changed was frozen in time.

“Sara.”

The voice sent a chill down her spine.

“It is time. You have seen enough.”

There was a tall man, bald, bearded, shirtless, but with a tall-collared long coat. His body was tattooed. His eyes glowed yellow.

“I am Creed.”

The echo of that name was the only thing that moved. It hit Sara like a punch to the gut.

“This is my world. My vision. My dream.”

Dream. Again, dream. Why weren’t the people moving?

“I have labored greatly to bring it to life. And it is perfect.”

Sara tried to speak and found she could not. Why wasn’t she moving?

“I am king here.” Creed moved forward. His feet did not touch the ground. “By now you know, you are alone. The confederation of worlds I have placated. The red revolutionary is under my watch’s eye. My friend your father is old and broken.”

As Creed stood before Sara, the smog yielded rain. The frozen crowd around them were soaked but still did not move. The gray ceiling of the world arced with lightning and rocked with thunder. Sara thought there might just be something to this dream thing after all. Her mind raced in spite of the miracles. Why was the dictator here? If he was here, then he must know. She wanted him gone. She meant to see his kingship done. Why was he here.

“I have come to make you an offer.”

An offer? Why not kill her and be done? What bargain could the returned political exile and the last dictator in human history broker?

“You want me to leave so that this world may breathe. I have built too much to see it undone. And if I were to die,” he waved a hand without shifting his gaze “these my people would fade away. However, if I took an heir the dream could continue. And it is time for me to take an heir. Not a lieutenant to take orders, but an equal to take on my mantle when I pass away.”

What? Why? Why her? How? How could she wield this influence-the power to make rain and lightning from the smoke of factories for effect.

“You are your father’s daughter. He could have shared in my dream but could not stand what needed to be done to provide a world for our children. I sense you are of stronger will than he.”

Sara realized that she had not breathed since Creed had appeared. She was still conscious: her heartbeat was steady; she had no reason to think she could not live indefinitely without breathing. That realization, that comfort with the hold Creed had placed on her, that reminded her. There was only one word on her mind. No.

And Creed heard it. He was close now. He reached out and touched her forehead. They flew straight up, or else the ground fell down away from them. The whole of the gray city was visible beneath them. They hung just below the smog. “Sara, this city will either be your monument, or your tombstone.”

---

Daniel found himself in a different room. It was clean. It was spartan. There was a cot, a desk, a bookshelf. A lamp. The old man was seated on the edge of his bed reading a book. Daniel knew that book. It was the same book.

Old Lee looked up. “I wondered when you would come for me, Creed.” Lee looked at the tall man, bald, bearded, shirtless, but with a tall-collared long coat. His body was tattooed. His eyes glowed yellow. “Now that my last hope for my daughter is dead, no reason to entertain my existence, eh?”

Daniel was very confused. “Hey gramps, I just wanna borrow that book.”

“That is not Creed’s voice.”

“No, because I’m not-wait, how are you dream walking?”

“How are you dream walking?”

“Why does everyone think I know how it works! Look all I do is-hey don’t change the subject.”

“Daniel?”

That was of course his name. “Who are you?”

“I am your father’s old, old friend.”

Daniel bristled slightly. “My father lived and died in the outlands.”

“You and I know better.”

“You know what?” Daniel turned away. “Keep the book. I don’t even-I don’t even want it!”

“You are Creed’s son.”

“I am not the son of Creed!” Daniel turned back sharply.

“Of course you are, and aren’t.” Lee held out the book. “How else could you not only read this, but also know how to use it? But also desire the good for more than just yourself.”

“I know.” Daniel struggled with the words. “I know who my father is. But the man who raised me was someone else.

“He was a good man. An outlander, one of the last to live in what was left of nature on this world. That’s why I gave you to him. Yes, you remember me? Old ‘uncle’ Lee. Do you remember my Sara?”

“Y-yes, I do. I looked for her when I came back to the city.”

“I sent her away. But she is here, and she needs your help to do what she is here to do.” Lee again lifted his book up for Daniel to take. “I think my search for answers is over, but you have a chance to understand the dream if you have both mine and Creed’s books.”

Daniel hesitated. For the last time in his life he hesitated. He doubted the dream. And then the thought passed that thought and he took the book. As he touched it, there was a flash. He took it in both hand as the real pages pulled themselves out. Both books merged, and old Lee faded away. “I-I have some answers.” Daniel Dreamwalker spoke out loud to nothing.

words mine, words from pixabay. Thank you for reading. Criticism welcome.

Part 5 will be the final part of this short story.

-Matthew