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Chapter 33

They all followed Kenner inland again, down crumbling back streets. The ground heaved mightily, splitting buildings asunder and throwing vehicles around like a cat playing with a mouse. They ran along cracked, trembling pavement, keeping an eye out for Morit and his followers.

The city looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Smoke poured out of the burning buildings, blinding them. Chuck dashed tears from his eyes, blinking to see ahead. He heard a roaring sound almost underneath his feet. Roan came running and threw himself at Chuck's shoulders. Fire spurted up from the ground in fountains from almost right underneath his feet. They crashed into the wall. Bricks and stones toppled down on them. The King's Investigator threw up an arm. The rocks bounced away without hitting either man.

"I thought you were immune to influence!" Chuck yelled.

"Influence, yes," Roan shouted back. "Rocks, no! Stick to the middle of the street!"

Chuck nodded, making his skull into rubber with a thought. The two of them hurried after Kenner, who was rounding the corner to the right.

The roads near the railway station looked positively new compared with the street down which they were now running. Only by using influence did Chuck and his companions avoid being crushed by the flying debris or burned alive. Kenner seemed to fly as he leaped from high point to high point of the shattered pavement, heaved up in great wedges like broken glass. Unwilling to trust his footing, Chuck clambered over the hunks of concrete, tearing his clothes on the raw edges of broken girders. Persemid scrambled after him. Dust and ashes stung their eyes.

What few people they saw were deformed and mutated: men with the heads of beetles, children who were half human/half crab, androids bleeding oil from every joint.

"They ran into bursts of chaos," Bergold warned them. "Look out for tears in reality!"

"Is that what that is?" Chuck shouted, pointing down the street. They all turned to look. The wobbling edges of the hole in the sky seemed burned by acid. Inside it, a sickening whirl of colors drew the eye. It was disgusting, dangerous, and definitely coming towards them.

"Hurry!" Kenner said, pulling them along the street.

The warehouse suddenly reared up out of the gloom, a melancholy block of red-brown brick. Chuck could hear cries of anguish coming from inside. He was furious that Morit would sacrifice innocent people for his own purposes. Steel doors that stood thirty feet high were chained and bolted shut, sealed with a lock the size of a man's head. Kenner strode up to the lock and, clasping his fists together, struck it one mighty blow. The lock shattered into pieces. Together, the Visitors and their allies lent influence to their hands as they ripped the barred metal doors like tissue paper. Chuck kept looking back over his shoulder at the obscene tear in the sky, moving rapidly towards them.

The doors fell away. Hundreds of men, women and children poured out of the building, nearly trampling their rescuers to death in their haste to escape. They were dirty and thin, and their clothes were in rags, but their eyes shone with gratitude.

"Thank you!" they said over and over, as they fled in the direction Keir and Bergold pointed. "Thank you!"

"We've done what we can," Roan said, as the last man fled into the roiling dust, joining the crowds of others heading for the border. "Now we must get ourselves to safety. The full brunt of Changeover is yet to come."

"You will never leave," Morit said, grimly. The whirlwind cleared, leaving the Elysian and his army facing the Visitors. He threw an arm over his head, beckoning. Morit's supporters charged in.

Morit's reappearance threw Chuck off guard. He represented the nightmare Chuck had been trying to shed. He no longer felt powerful or godlike.

Chuck braced himself as a dozen men and women came at him, screaming war cries. The Dreamlanders might not have had a lot of influence to use, but they fought dirty. Not only was Chuck assailed with fists and feet, he was attacked by hornet stingers and flaming brands. Morit was right. It was difficult to defend against numbers. Using influence, Chuck flung off the attackers one by one, but there were always more behind those. The hole in reality was only blocks away.

Ropes whipped around his wrists, and he found himself being borne to the ground by two men as large as grizzly bears. He tugged vainly at the ropes. Without all his chest muscles to support his arms, his physical strength was reduced, but he could still wield influence. Using whipcracks of power, Chuck wrenched his arms free. Dust clouds whirled around him. He turned the force of the winds against his attackers, pushing them away while he untied his legs. He ran straight up the wall of the warehouse, hoping to escape his pursuers there. A dozen followed right after him, yelling and shaking their fists.

"No," Morit shouted. "Stop him! Stop all of them!" The conspirators, howling like wolves, charged Chuck, knocking him off the roof. He fell, practically underneath Morit's nose. The Elysian reached into the air and pulled down thunderbolts to throw at him. Chuck dodged and rolled as lightning exploded around him. How could he ever have believed the guy was harmless? He was a maniac. He looked around for Blanda. He spotted her standing not far from the melee, silhouetted against the widening band of chaos, looking at them with a puzzled frown. She couldn't be in on this insanity. Surely she could talk some sense into her husband.

* * *

Persemid Smith was in the fight of her life with a hundred of Morit's supporters. They threw bolts of lightning at her. She warded them off with a shield as she threw bolts of her own back at them, but she seemed to be flagging. Morit watched with glee from atop the ridge of earth as his men surrounded her, getting in underneath her shield. This would be a more satisfying defeat than he had ever dreamed. Killing the one who dreamed him was the ultimate revenge. He intended to wait until she had been weakened and brought to her knees before him. The final stroke that destroyed her would be his.

It was growing harder to see what was happening. The dreamstuff that made up the province was beginning to break down. Soot from the countless fires raging around him made his eyes burn. As the Visitors struggled with his conspirators, they threw up whirlwinds of dirt. Through the blinding grit Morit thought he saw Persemid Smith raise a free arm. She must not escape! He jumped into the midst of the battle, determined to take her down himself. Unable to see, he clutched a meaty arm, tying ropes made of his own resentment around its wrist. Voices yelled war cries in his ear. Strong arms grabbed him from behind. He threw them off and continued fighting with the unseen Visitor. Rumbling underneath his feet told him it couldn't be long now. Changeover was beginning. All of them would die!

Suddenly, a strong wind gusted down the street, sweeping all the dust away. Morit looked around. He had been fighting with his own men. They had tied one another up, and were kicking and punching their own comrades. The Visitors were nowhere in sight! The rope he had woven tied all of them together in a tangle, its end wound around his own waist. The other end was in Blanda's hand. He stared at her in disbelief, realizing without a doubt in his mind that Blanda had been the one to manipulate the dust storm, allowing their opponents to escape. Morit struggled, yanking at the cord, trying to tear it loose, but she held on firmly.

"Why?" Morit demanded. "Why are you doing this?" Her gentle, sad eyes looked into his.

"Because it's wrong, my love, and you know it's wrong. I felt so sorry for that poor girl. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

"Won't? You can't stop me."

"Yes, I can, dear," Blanda said, calmly. "And I am."

He dropped the rope, not trying again to free himself. The land was destroying itself all around them. The warehouse had shook itself into individual blocks, but nothing could shake her resolve. Though his plot had been foiled, Morit experienced an odd kind of satisfaction. He was pleased. Throughout their entire life together, this was the first time Blanda had ever become upset about something someone else did. He had been waiting all this time for her to react to him. For the first time in his life, and the last, he felt contentment. As destruction overtook them, she gave him one last, bright smile. They were both at peace.

* * *

Changeover was every bit as bad as Chuck had been warned. Terror dogged him as he ran toward the tracks that would lead to safety. He didn't know how he got away, but he was glad to be going. Geysers of lava and blood shot up out of the ground, splattering him. His clothes were burned and torn, and he was covered with bruises, but he kept running.

The ground trembled underneath his feet. Following Keir, he leaped for a tree and held on, arms trembling, as a shock wave of influence wiped out a whole section of the landscape almost underneath his feet. The spirit guide kept pointing the way, changing shape as often as his clients needed him. The flying dolphin guided Roan over an obstacle field made entirely of broken glass. The wolf led Persemid through forests of high-tension poles all shooting sparks from their torn cables.

Chuck hopped from tie to tie between the railroad tracks. The bridgehead was in sight, now. Bergold, in the form of a swift, flitted back and forth from the point to make certain the others could see where they were going. The calm landscape on the other side looked like heaven. Only a few hundred yards separated them from safety.

Behind them, hundreds of thousands of people were running toward the bridge, too. Chuck glanced back over his shoulder. In the distance, a fireball as large as a skyscraper was racing towards them, threatening to engulf the whole crowd. Chuck knew he ought to run to safety, but he couldn't let all those people die, if there was any hope of saving them. He grabbed up the nearest person, a small boy running all alone.

"Kenner!" he shouted to the young man, a dozen yards ahead of him. "Catch!" Concentrating, Chuck mustered a burst of influence, and pitched the child through the air. Kenner backed up a few paces, caught the boy, and neatly passed him on another dozen yards to Roan, who stood waiting, and tossed him onward. Bergold came to rest at the end of the bridge, neatly hooked the child out of midair, and set him on his feet. The boy hurried across, not stopping to look behind him.

Chuck grabbed the next person who passed him, and threw him onward. All the lessons in using influence that Keir had given him came to mind. There wasn't time for fancy touches. Chuck went for what worked, fastest and best, letting form follow function. He sealed families together into protective bubbles that were passed from hand to hand until they landed on the bridge. Chuck was alarmed when the first one popped, but the people who were in it kept running. It worked! A whole crowd of schoolchildren came next. Chuck wasn't sure if his influence would hold them all, but he felt a surge coming from his left, like a gust of air from an unseen fan, propelling the bubble all the way to safety. It was Persemid.

"I'm just putting an extra burst next to yours," she said.

"Thanks," Chuck said, with a grin, grasping her hand warmly. They were true allies, now, but he had no time to give the fact any more thought.

The waves of people seemed endless, but the land itself seemed to be going insane around them, turning from earth into mud, beef stew or sauerkraut. The Elysians slogged toward him, throwing up waves of cabbage, pleading for the Visitors to help them. Chuck did his best, at the same time feeling his own shape start to lose stability.

The giant fireball grew wider as it rolled toward them, covering the world from horizon to horizon. It was still miles away, but Chuck could feel the heat radiating from it. It wouldn't even have to get close to burn them to death. At its feet he still saw thousands running desperately towards them. They would never make it alive.

"Oh, I wish we could buy some more time," Persemid almost screamed with frustration, tossing people over her head toward Kenner.

Chuck was struck by an inspiration. He still had the money Keir had given him. It was worth a try! He reached into his pocket, and started flinging the coins in it toward the oncoming holocaust. The little coins slowed it down a little bit, the big ones a little more, so that more people reached him. He grabbed them and threw them overhand at the bridgehead. They became paper airplanes. Some fell short, but others whisked onto the span, became human again and fled across to safety.

The coins were all gone. "We'd better run for it," Persemid advised him, pulling at his arm.

"You go," Chuck said. "Hurry!"

"No way," Persemid said. "If you stay, I'm staying!"

Chuck felt in his pockets for anything else that would help people to reach them. Wait, he did have some more time! He remembered the present Keir had given him. He found the little bottle in his hip pocket. It took the shape of a life preserver that grew to full size as he pulled it out of his pocket and threw it. Suddenly, the growing disaster halted. It wouldn't last long. How could he bring all those thousands of people to safety? His brain whirled, and he prayed for inspiration. They all looked so tiny and helpless.

That was it! They were all tiny, smaller than his fingernails! He had seen those landscape artists working in forced perspective. If they could do it, he, a Visitor, certainly could! He reached out and gathered up all the people he could, sweeping the landscape clear of humanity. He stuffed the tiny figures into his pockets, the dozens and dozens of pockets that had been a nuisance to him all the time he had been in the Dreamland. Persemid copied him, stuffing hundreds of people into her bags. When his pockets were full Chuck stuffed hundreds more people into the hole in his chest that reached down to his belly button and almost all the way to his shoulders. Then they started running toward the bridge. Persemid stumbled. When she regained her footing, she turned into a wolf, and galloped across faster than any human could.

Chuck was within feet of the span when the lifesaver popped like an exploding balloon. All the pent-up energy of the conflagration burst out behind him. People around him pouring out of the damaged province in hopes of beating the Changeover were either disappearing or becoming horribly mutated. Some of them hardly looked like people any longer. One man fell at Chuck's feet, vanishing just before he staggered onto the bridge. He didn't have enough referential reality to maintain his existence.

Chuck, too, was struck by the force of change. He felt the essence of himself ebbing away as the identity of the province was swept away. His body seemed to melt down, becoming less and less human, until he was no more than a plastic blob.

I'm me! he thought desperately, trying to maintain his identity against an overwhelming force of nature. I am! I'm Chuck Meadows. Chuck Meadows! At bottom, he knew that was all that mattered. It didn't matter if he was reduced to primordial ooze. He knew who he was. If he didn't make it to safety that meant Morit won, and Chuck refused to be ruled by dreams, especially someone else's. Dreams were there to serve him. That burst of knowledge was the last bit of strength he needed, helping him to crawl out onto the bridge.

Once he was free of the land, he felt other bonds of influence pulling at him, his friends sending their strength to help him, and employed his own mental force to pull him over the bridge. He had just gotten away in time. Behind him, the banshee wail of the failing earth was louder than a thunderstorm. He could smell burning and decay so hideous it made him gag.

Chuck had arms and legs again. He crawled doggedly over the chasm toward his waiting friends. As he reached the other side he felt movement in his pockets. Could it be those chickens? No, those were spent. It was the people. He started scooping them all out of his pockets and his heart. They grew almost instantly to full size. He dropped them and was nearly trampled by the stampede as they ran further into Somnus and safety. Emptied of extraneous humanity, Chuck helped himself up, and limped to the place on the headland where he could see Bergold and the others gathered to watch as Elysia, in the absence of a Sleeper, blew itself to pieces.

* * *

Leaning on the side of the bridge, Chuck watched Elysia's ruin, glad to have escaped with his life. His body hadn't fared so well. When the last wave of influence had washed over him, he had ended up a skinny, albeit reasonably fit, man. He knew, with regret, that this form was closer to his true self than any he had yet worn in the Dreamland. Gone was the handsome teenager, gone the muscular twenty-something who had flung human beings like so many tennis balls, farewell even the thirtyish man in the mirror. But he was back in one piece. The hole in his chest had closed up completely. The funny thing was that he felt younger than ever. He had managed to gain something he had lost a long time ago: joy. His inner demons were gone or under control. He wasn't a failure at all. He had just stopped appreciating the successes he had accomplished. Now he was alive and happy to be that way.

He remembered everything about his daily life. His grandfather had always told him to hurry only on purpose, not to run to or from something. He'd never really understood the old man before. He'd come on a long and dangerous trip to learn something he'd known since he was a child.

Many of the people whose lives they had saved came by afterwards to thank Chuck and the others in person. This time he was prepared to accept the thanks, and did so with grace.

"I owe every one of them an apology," Persemid said, glumly. "Who knows how many people were trapped in there because Morit wanted to get some of us? I feel responsible."

"Come on, you didn't dream him on purpose," Chuck said, putting a friendly hand on her arm. "I saw Blanda in there, just before we got away from his army. She could have escaped, too. I wonder why she didn't?"

"Love," Sean said, shortly. He sat on the ground nearby with his long arms wrapped around his knees. "In spite of the fact it meant death to stay, she stayed. Most people wouldn't, but he was her man."

"If they survived the change, I hope they are happier people now," Bergold said, ensconced on a rock beside Mrs. Flannel and Mr. Bolster. The old woman alternated between fussing with her pet or looking up adoringly at the Visitor who had saved their lives. The salesman was discussing the benefits of a regular sleep program with a potential client. Kenner and his dream girl were a hundred feet and a world away, kissing madly and talking in lovers' whispers. "But if they have vanished, then it is for the best."

"I don't understand a fatalistic attitude like that," Chuck said, "but then, I don't live in the Dreamland. To me, death is death."

Persemid frowned. "I should have known he was evil the moment he made us sit down and watch a slide show of his vacation pictures," she said.

"Well, it's over," Keir said. "You must simply learn to forgive yourself. And me, for not paying adequate attention to the signs. I will always blame myself for that." He glanced across the chasm at the land. "We should have been able to go onward into Elysia by now."

"I don't want to go in there," Chuck said. "It looks as though Changeover is still going on."

"That's not possible," Roan said. "When it stops, it is over."

"But it looks like it hasn't stopped."

The sky, filled with roiling, bruised colors, looked like a couple of concerned human faces peering downward. Chuck could feel from where he stood that the whole land was unhappy, in pain, and confused. It never completely settled down. Earthquakes continued restlessly heaving earth as if it couldn't get comfortable. The aftershocks seemed to go on forever. The Elysia side of the bridge quivered, thinned almost to the breaking point. Chuck felt sorry for anyone still trapped in there. He could see nothing alive. It looked like a vortex, a whirlwind. It felt all wrong.

"This is a very troubled Sleeper," Bergold said, highly agitated. People were starting to head back over the bridge. He jumped up on the span and held out a hand to stop them. "Don't go! It's starting again! Something terrible must be wrong in the life of this Sleeper. He is departing already!"

His warning was unnecessary. Once the ground began to fold in on itself, anyone who had mounted the bridge ran back to cower on the Somnus side. Stitched by lightning and seared by firestorms, the province of Elysia underwent its second Changeover in a matter of hours.

"I cannot believe it," Bergold said, writing furiously in his little book. "Two Changeovers, and we didn't even suspect the onset of one. This is a most rare occurrence. It's a privilege to be able to witness one from start to finish."

"I'm just glad I'm out here," Chuck said, watching in horror. Wisps of fire licked out over the chasm with a roar like tortured lions. Half of the bridge swayed violently.

"It can't get us over here, can it?" Sean asked, scrambling to his feet and recoiling in alarm.

"You're in no danger," Roan said. "The chaos is contained. The realm of one Sleeper is absolute. The gorges and the river separate the provinces, and there is never any carryover. You might say that the Dreamland is a confederation of states of mind, not a single entity. Therein lies its variety, and its survival."

Reassured, Chuck was able to watch the whole event with a critical eye. There was no doubt about it. Changeover was a horrifying catastrophe. He couldn't believe he had come through that unharmed. He was grateful to be alive.

The new Sleeper couldn't have been more unlike its immediate predecessor. When the land stopped heaving at last, the blue sky was sparklingly clean. Small villages had reasserted themselves upon the headlands. They had an Alpine look to them, half-timbered houses with tidy gardens and colorful quilts spread upon the balcony rails to air. He or she had a serene and ordered mind.

"I am glad to have been able to witness such an event," Bergold said, closing his diary with satisfaction. "I know there will be an investigation into why the rest of the Historians could not be here to observe, but since the perpetrators have discontinued—indeed, wiped twice over from the face of the Dreamland, there's nothing to be done about it. I assure you," he told Keir, "future incidents will be prevented. You must not let this incident keep you from bringing others from your world to visit us."

"I won't," Keir said. "I promise you I will look forward to returning. A little older, a little wiser, and a little sadder, perhaps, but I'll be here, with anyone who will trust me to lead them again."

"Me, for one," Chuck said, and was rewarded with a grateful look from Keir.

"And me, for another," Persemid said. "What are the chances of running into another one of my creations?"

"As small as the possibility of two Changeovers occurring in a row," Roan said gravely, but his eyes twinkled.

"Oh, thanks!"

"And I," Sean said. "I can tell I've got a lot more to learn about myself."

"Good!" said Bergold. "The next time, you must come to Mnemosyne. There are a lot of little places that Roan and I can show you . . ."

Together, they walked over the railway bridge. Below their feet, the restored railroad tracks gleamed like polished silver.

The new province felt positively healthy. The air was soft, fragrant and moist with the gentle rain that ended as they reached the other side. A faint rainbow hung in the sky that was growing rich with twilight. For a short time, both the moon and the sun were in the western sky, casting gold and silver light over the clean lines of the land. Chuck looked around in disbelief.

"All that happened, and this place is the same shape as before?"

"See for yourself," Keir said, drawing his map from his ragged back pocket. Even Keir's homely garments looked lovely in the new light. Chuck unfolded the map. Although Elysia was now divided by a vast range of mountains that ran through it from north to south as opposed to the flat, river-riddled lowlands it had featured before, the outline was precisely the same. "Look," the guide said, pointing to a town just beyond Frustrata, "there's Enlightenment. It's not far now. You'll reach it this time."

"That's good," Chuck said easily, watching the sun slip down below the horizon. He stood bathed in the rays of color, drinking them in until they were gone. "We'll get there when we get there. There's no hurry. I don't mind being able to save something for next time. Right now, I want to take things slowly and enjoy myself. And, you know, I think I will."

"Well, come along, then," Keir said, his black eyes merry. "It'll be a welcome journey."

"Wait," Persemid said, hurrying to catch up. Sean was right behind her. "We're coming with you."

"And I," said Roan, with a smile. "I shall need to report to the king about the alterations in Elysia. It will be a pleasure to gather my information in the company of friends."

"I, too," Bergold said. "I have many, many more questions about the Waking World. For example . . ."

Together they started walking toward the full moon.

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Framed

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Contents

Chapter 33

They all followed Kenner inland again, down crumbling back streets. The ground heaved mightily, splitting buildings asunder and throwing vehicles around like a cat playing with a mouse. They ran along cracked, trembling pavement, keeping an eye out for Morit and his followers.

The city looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Smoke poured out of the burning buildings, blinding them. Chuck dashed tears from his eyes, blinking to see ahead. He heard a roaring sound almost underneath his feet. Roan came running and threw himself at Chuck's shoulders. Fire spurted up from the ground in fountains from almost right underneath his feet. They crashed into the wall. Bricks and stones toppled down on them. The King's Investigator threw up an arm. The rocks bounced away without hitting either man.

"I thought you were immune to influence!" Chuck yelled.

"Influence, yes," Roan shouted back. "Rocks, no! Stick to the middle of the street!"

Chuck nodded, making his skull into rubber with a thought. The two of them hurried after Kenner, who was rounding the corner to the right.

The roads near the railway station looked positively new compared with the street down which they were now running. Only by using influence did Chuck and his companions avoid being crushed by the flying debris or burned alive. Kenner seemed to fly as he leaped from high point to high point of the shattered pavement, heaved up in great wedges like broken glass. Unwilling to trust his footing, Chuck clambered over the hunks of concrete, tearing his clothes on the raw edges of broken girders. Persemid scrambled after him. Dust and ashes stung their eyes.

What few people they saw were deformed and mutated: men with the heads of beetles, children who were half human/half crab, androids bleeding oil from every joint.

"They ran into bursts of chaos," Bergold warned them. "Look out for tears in reality!"

"Is that what that is?" Chuck shouted, pointing down the street. They all turned to look. The wobbling edges of the hole in the sky seemed burned by acid. Inside it, a sickening whirl of colors drew the eye. It was disgusting, dangerous, and definitely coming towards them.

"Hurry!" Kenner said, pulling them along the street.

The warehouse suddenly reared up out of the gloom, a melancholy block of red-brown brick. Chuck could hear cries of anguish coming from inside. He was furious that Morit would sacrifice innocent people for his own purposes. Steel doors that stood thirty feet high were chained and bolted shut, sealed with a lock the size of a man's head. Kenner strode up to the lock and, clasping his fists together, struck it one mighty blow. The lock shattered into pieces. Together, the Visitors and their allies lent influence to their hands as they ripped the barred metal doors like tissue paper. Chuck kept looking back over his shoulder at the obscene tear in the sky, moving rapidly towards them.

The doors fell away. Hundreds of men, women and children poured out of the building, nearly trampling their rescuers to death in their haste to escape. They were dirty and thin, and their clothes were in rags, but their eyes shone with gratitude.

"Thank you!" they said over and over, as they fled in the direction Keir and Bergold pointed. "Thank you!"

"We've done what we can," Roan said, as the last man fled into the roiling dust, joining the crowds of others heading for the border. "Now we must get ourselves to safety. The full brunt of Changeover is yet to come."

"You will never leave," Morit said, grimly. The whirlwind cleared, leaving the Elysian and his army facing the Visitors. He threw an arm over his head, beckoning. Morit's supporters charged in.

Morit's reappearance threw Chuck off guard. He represented the nightmare Chuck had been trying to shed. He no longer felt powerful or godlike.

Chuck braced himself as a dozen men and women came at him, screaming war cries. The Dreamlanders might not have had a lot of influence to use, but they fought dirty. Not only was Chuck assailed with fists and feet, he was attacked by hornet stingers and flaming brands. Morit was right. It was difficult to defend against numbers. Using influence, Chuck flung off the attackers one by one, but there were always more behind those. The hole in reality was only blocks away.

Ropes whipped around his wrists, and he found himself being borne to the ground by two men as large as grizzly bears. He tugged vainly at the ropes. Without all his chest muscles to support his arms, his physical strength was reduced, but he could still wield influence. Using whipcracks of power, Chuck wrenched his arms free. Dust clouds whirled around him. He turned the force of the winds against his attackers, pushing them away while he untied his legs. He ran straight up the wall of the warehouse, hoping to escape his pursuers there. A dozen followed right after him, yelling and shaking their fists.

"No," Morit shouted. "Stop him! Stop all of them!" The conspirators, howling like wolves, charged Chuck, knocking him off the roof. He fell, practically underneath Morit's nose. The Elysian reached into the air and pulled down thunderbolts to throw at him. Chuck dodged and rolled as lightning exploded around him. How could he ever have believed the guy was harmless? He was a maniac. He looked around for Blanda. He spotted her standing not far from the melee, silhouetted against the widening band of chaos, looking at them with a puzzled frown. She couldn't be in on this insanity. Surely she could talk some sense into her husband.

* * *

Persemid Smith was in the fight of her life with a hundred of Morit's supporters. They threw bolts of lightning at her. She warded them off with a shield as she threw bolts of her own back at them, but she seemed to be flagging. Morit watched with glee from atop the ridge of earth as his men surrounded her, getting in underneath her shield. This would be a more satisfying defeat than he had ever dreamed. Killing the one who dreamed him was the ultimate revenge. He intended to wait until she had been weakened and brought to her knees before him. The final stroke that destroyed her would be his.

It was growing harder to see what was happening. The dreamstuff that made up the province was beginning to break down. Soot from the countless fires raging around him made his eyes burn. As the Visitors struggled with his conspirators, they threw up whirlwinds of dirt. Through the blinding grit Morit thought he saw Persemid Smith raise a free arm. She must not escape! He jumped into the midst of the battle, determined to take her down himself. Unable to see, he clutched a meaty arm, tying ropes made of his own resentment around its wrist. Voices yelled war cries in his ear. Strong arms grabbed him from behind. He threw them off and continued fighting with the unseen Visitor. Rumbling underneath his feet told him it couldn't be long now. Changeover was beginning. All of them would die!

Suddenly, a strong wind gusted down the street, sweeping all the dust away. Morit looked around. He had been fighting with his own men. They had tied one another up, and were kicking and punching their own comrades. The Visitors were nowhere in sight! The rope he had woven tied all of them together in a tangle, its end wound around his own waist. The other end was in Blanda's hand. He stared at her in disbelief, realizing without a doubt in his mind that Blanda had been the one to manipulate the dust storm, allowing their opponents to escape. Morit struggled, yanking at the cord, trying to tear it loose, but she held on firmly.

"Why?" Morit demanded. "Why are you doing this?" Her gentle, sad eyes looked into his.

"Because it's wrong, my love, and you know it's wrong. I felt so sorry for that poor girl. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

"Won't? You can't stop me."

"Yes, I can, dear," Blanda said, calmly. "And I am."

He dropped the rope, not trying again to free himself. The land was destroying itself all around them. The warehouse had shook itself into individual blocks, but nothing could shake her resolve. Though his plot had been foiled, Morit experienced an odd kind of satisfaction. He was pleased. Throughout their entire life together, this was the first time Blanda had ever become upset about something someone else did. He had been waiting all this time for her to react to him. For the first time in his life, and the last, he felt contentment. As destruction overtook them, she gave him one last, bright smile. They were both at peace.

* * *

Changeover was every bit as bad as Chuck had been warned. Terror dogged him as he ran toward the tracks that would lead to safety. He didn't know how he got away, but he was glad to be going. Geysers of lava and blood shot up out of the ground, splattering him. His clothes were burned and torn, and he was covered with bruises, but he kept running.

The ground trembled underneath his feet. Following Keir, he leaped for a tree and held on, arms trembling, as a shock wave of influence wiped out a whole section of the landscape almost underneath his feet. The spirit guide kept pointing the way, changing shape as often as his clients needed him. The flying dolphin guided Roan over an obstacle field made entirely of broken glass. The wolf led Persemid through forests of high-tension poles all shooting sparks from their torn cables.

Chuck hopped from tie to tie between the railroad tracks. The bridgehead was in sight, now. Bergold, in the form of a swift, flitted back and forth from the point to make certain the others could see where they were going. The calm landscape on the other side looked like heaven. Only a few hundred yards separated them from safety.

Behind them, hundreds of thousands of people were running toward the bridge, too. Chuck glanced back over his shoulder. In the distance, a fireball as large as a skyscraper was racing towards them, threatening to engulf the whole crowd. Chuck knew he ought to run to safety, but he couldn't let all those people die, if there was any hope of saving them. He grabbed up the nearest person, a small boy running all alone.

"Kenner!" he shouted to the young man, a dozen yards ahead of him. "Catch!" Concentrating, Chuck mustered a burst of influence, and pitched the child through the air. Kenner backed up a few paces, caught the boy, and neatly passed him on another dozen yards to Roan, who stood waiting, and tossed him onward. Bergold came to rest at the end of the bridge, neatly hooked the child out of midair, and set him on his feet. The boy hurried across, not stopping to look behind him.

Chuck grabbed the next person who passed him, and threw him onward. All the lessons in using influence that Keir had given him came to mind. There wasn't time for fancy touches. Chuck went for what worked, fastest and best, letting form follow function. He sealed families together into protective bubbles that were passed from hand to hand until they landed on the bridge. Chuck was alarmed when the first one popped, but the people who were in it kept running. It worked! A whole crowd of schoolchildren came next. Chuck wasn't sure if his influence would hold them all, but he felt a surge coming from his left, like a gust of air from an unseen fan, propelling the bubble all the way to safety. It was Persemid.

"I'm just putting an extra burst next to yours," she said.

"Thanks," Chuck said, with a grin, grasping her hand warmly. They were true allies, now, but he had no time to give the fact any more thought.

The waves of people seemed endless, but the land itself seemed to be going insane around them, turning from earth into mud, beef stew or sauerkraut. The Elysians slogged toward him, throwing up waves of cabbage, pleading for the Visitors to help them. Chuck did his best, at the same time feeling his own shape start to lose stability.

The giant fireball grew wider as it rolled toward them, covering the world from horizon to horizon. It was still miles away, but Chuck could feel the heat radiating from it. It wouldn't even have to get close to burn them to death. At its feet he still saw thousands running desperately towards them. They would never make it alive.

"Oh, I wish we could buy some more time," Persemid almost screamed with frustration, tossing people over her head toward Kenner.

Chuck was struck by an inspiration. He still had the money Keir had given him. It was worth a try! He reached into his pocket, and started flinging the coins in it toward the oncoming holocaust. The little coins slowed it down a little bit, the big ones a little more, so that more people reached him. He grabbed them and threw them overhand at the bridgehead. They became paper airplanes. Some fell short, but others whisked onto the span, became human again and fled across to safety.

The coins were all gone. "We'd better run for it," Persemid advised him, pulling at his arm.

"You go," Chuck said. "Hurry!"

"No way," Persemid said. "If you stay, I'm staying!"

Chuck felt in his pockets for anything else that would help people to reach them. Wait, he did have some more time! He remembered the present Keir had given him. He found the little bottle in his hip pocket. It took the shape of a life preserver that grew to full size as he pulled it out of his pocket and threw it. Suddenly, the growing disaster halted. It wouldn't last long. How could he bring all those thousands of people to safety? His brain whirled, and he prayed for inspiration. They all looked so tiny and helpless.

That was it! They were all tiny, smaller than his fingernails! He had seen those landscape artists working in forced perspective. If they could do it, he, a Visitor, certainly could! He reached out and gathered up all the people he could, sweeping the landscape clear of humanity. He stuffed the tiny figures into his pockets, the dozens and dozens of pockets that had been a nuisance to him all the time he had been in the Dreamland. Persemid copied him, stuffing hundreds of people into her bags. When his pockets were full Chuck stuffed hundreds more people into the hole in his chest that reached down to his belly button and almost all the way to his shoulders. Then they started running toward the bridge. Persemid stumbled. When she regained her footing, she turned into a wolf, and galloped across faster than any human could.

Chuck was within feet of the span when the lifesaver popped like an exploding balloon. All the pent-up energy of the conflagration burst out behind him. People around him pouring out of the damaged province in hopes of beating the Changeover were either disappearing or becoming horribly mutated. Some of them hardly looked like people any longer. One man fell at Chuck's feet, vanishing just before he staggered onto the bridge. He didn't have enough referential reality to maintain his existence.

Chuck, too, was struck by the force of change. He felt the essence of himself ebbing away as the identity of the province was swept away. His body seemed to melt down, becoming less and less human, until he was no more than a plastic blob.

I'm me! he thought desperately, trying to maintain his identity against an overwhelming force of nature. I am! I'm Chuck Meadows. Chuck Meadows! At bottom, he knew that was all that mattered. It didn't matter if he was reduced to primordial ooze. He knew who he was. If he didn't make it to safety that meant Morit won, and Chuck refused to be ruled by dreams, especially someone else's. Dreams were there to serve him. That burst of knowledge was the last bit of strength he needed, helping him to crawl out onto the bridge.

Once he was free of the land, he felt other bonds of influence pulling at him, his friends sending their strength to help him, and employed his own mental force to pull him over the bridge. He had just gotten away in time. Behind him, the banshee wail of the failing earth was louder than a thunderstorm. He could smell burning and decay so hideous it made him gag.

Chuck had arms and legs again. He crawled doggedly over the chasm toward his waiting friends. As he reached the other side he felt movement in his pockets. Could it be those chickens? No, those were spent. It was the people. He started scooping them all out of his pockets and his heart. They grew almost instantly to full size. He dropped them and was nearly trampled by the stampede as they ran further into Somnus and safety. Emptied of extraneous humanity, Chuck helped himself up, and limped to the place on the headland where he could see Bergold and the others gathered to watch as Elysia, in the absence of a Sleeper, blew itself to pieces.

* * *

Leaning on the side of the bridge, Chuck watched Elysia's ruin, glad to have escaped with his life. His body hadn't fared so well. When the last wave of influence had washed over him, he had ended up a skinny, albeit reasonably fit, man. He knew, with regret, that this form was closer to his true self than any he had yet worn in the Dreamland. Gone was the handsome teenager, gone the muscular twenty-something who had flung human beings like so many tennis balls, farewell even the thirtyish man in the mirror. But he was back in one piece. The hole in his chest had closed up completely. The funny thing was that he felt younger than ever. He had managed to gain something he had lost a long time ago: joy. His inner demons were gone or under control. He wasn't a failure at all. He had just stopped appreciating the successes he had accomplished. Now he was alive and happy to be that way.

He remembered everything about his daily life. His grandfather had always told him to hurry only on purpose, not to run to or from something. He'd never really understood the old man before. He'd come on a long and dangerous trip to learn something he'd known since he was a child.

Many of the people whose lives they had saved came by afterwards to thank Chuck and the others in person. This time he was prepared to accept the thanks, and did so with grace.

"I owe every one of them an apology," Persemid said, glumly. "Who knows how many people were trapped in there because Morit wanted to get some of us? I feel responsible."

"Come on, you didn't dream him on purpose," Chuck said, putting a friendly hand on her arm. "I saw Blanda in there, just before we got away from his army. She could have escaped, too. I wonder why she didn't?"

"Love," Sean said, shortly. He sat on the ground nearby with his long arms wrapped around his knees. "In spite of the fact it meant death to stay, she stayed. Most people wouldn't, but he was her man."

"If they survived the change, I hope they are happier people now," Bergold said, ensconced on a rock beside Mrs. Flannel and Mr. Bolster. The old woman alternated between fussing with her pet or looking up adoringly at the Visitor who had saved their lives. The salesman was discussing the benefits of a regular sleep program with a potential client. Kenner and his dream girl were a hundred feet and a world away, kissing madly and talking in lovers' whispers. "But if they have vanished, then it is for the best."

"I don't understand a fatalistic attitude like that," Chuck said, "but then, I don't live in the Dreamland. To me, death is death."

Persemid frowned. "I should have known he was evil the moment he made us sit down and watch a slide show of his vacation pictures," she said.

"Well, it's over," Keir said. "You must simply learn to forgive yourself. And me, for not paying adequate attention to the signs. I will always blame myself for that." He glanced across the chasm at the land. "We should have been able to go onward into Elysia by now."

"I don't want to go in there," Chuck said. "It looks as though Changeover is still going on."

"That's not possible," Roan said. "When it stops, it is over."

"But it looks like it hasn't stopped."

The sky, filled with roiling, bruised colors, looked like a couple of concerned human faces peering downward. Chuck could feel from where he stood that the whole land was unhappy, in pain, and confused. It never completely settled down. Earthquakes continued restlessly heaving earth as if it couldn't get comfortable. The aftershocks seemed to go on forever. The Elysia side of the bridge quivered, thinned almost to the breaking point. Chuck felt sorry for anyone still trapped in there. He could see nothing alive. It looked like a vortex, a whirlwind. It felt all wrong.

"This is a very troubled Sleeper," Bergold said, highly agitated. People were starting to head back over the bridge. He jumped up on the span and held out a hand to stop them. "Don't go! It's starting again! Something terrible must be wrong in the life of this Sleeper. He is departing already!"

His warning was unnecessary. Once the ground began to fold in on itself, anyone who had mounted the bridge ran back to cower on the Somnus side. Stitched by lightning and seared by firestorms, the province of Elysia underwent its second Changeover in a matter of hours.

"I cannot believe it," Bergold said, writing furiously in his little book. "Two Changeovers, and we didn't even suspect the onset of one. This is a most rare occurrence. It's a privilege to be able to witness one from start to finish."

"I'm just glad I'm out here," Chuck said, watching in horror. Wisps of fire licked out over the chasm with a roar like tortured lions. Half of the bridge swayed violently.

"It can't get us over here, can it?" Sean asked, scrambling to his feet and recoiling in alarm.

"You're in no danger," Roan said. "The chaos is contained. The realm of one Sleeper is absolute. The gorges and the river separate the provinces, and there is never any carryover. You might say that the Dreamland is a confederation of states of mind, not a single entity. Therein lies its variety, and its survival."

Reassured, Chuck was able to watch the whole event with a critical eye. There was no doubt about it. Changeover was a horrifying catastrophe. He couldn't believe he had come through that unharmed. He was grateful to be alive.

The new Sleeper couldn't have been more unlike its immediate predecessor. When the land stopped heaving at last, the blue sky was sparklingly clean. Small villages had reasserted themselves upon the headlands. They had an Alpine look to them, half-timbered houses with tidy gardens and colorful quilts spread upon the balcony rails to air. He or she had a serene and ordered mind.

"I am glad to have been able to witness such an event," Bergold said, closing his diary with satisfaction. "I know there will be an investigation into why the rest of the Historians could not be here to observe, but since the perpetrators have discontinued—indeed, wiped twice over from the face of the Dreamland, there's nothing to be done about it. I assure you," he told Keir, "future incidents will be prevented. You must not let this incident keep you from bringing others from your world to visit us."

"I won't," Keir said. "I promise you I will look forward to returning. A little older, a little wiser, and a little sadder, perhaps, but I'll be here, with anyone who will trust me to lead them again."

"Me, for one," Chuck said, and was rewarded with a grateful look from Keir.

"And me, for another," Persemid said. "What are the chances of running into another one of my creations?"

"As small as the possibility of two Changeovers occurring in a row," Roan said gravely, but his eyes twinkled.

"Oh, thanks!"

"And I," Sean said. "I can tell I've got a lot more to learn about myself."

"Good!" said Bergold. "The next time, you must come to Mnemosyne. There are a lot of little places that Roan and I can show you . . ."

Together, they walked over the railway bridge. Below their feet, the restored railroad tracks gleamed like polished silver.

The new province felt positively healthy. The air was soft, fragrant and moist with the gentle rain that ended as they reached the other side. A faint rainbow hung in the sky that was growing rich with twilight. For a short time, both the moon and the sun were in the western sky, casting gold and silver light over the clean lines of the land. Chuck looked around in disbelief.

"All that happened, and this place is the same shape as before?"

"See for yourself," Keir said, drawing his map from his ragged back pocket. Even Keir's homely garments looked lovely in the new light. Chuck unfolded the map. Although Elysia was now divided by a vast range of mountains that ran through it from north to south as opposed to the flat, river-riddled lowlands it had featured before, the outline was precisely the same. "Look," the guide said, pointing to a town just beyond Frustrata, "there's Enlightenment. It's not far now. You'll reach it this time."

"That's good," Chuck said easily, watching the sun slip down below the horizon. He stood bathed in the rays of color, drinking them in until they were gone. "We'll get there when we get there. There's no hurry. I don't mind being able to save something for next time. Right now, I want to take things slowly and enjoy myself. And, you know, I think I will."

"Well, come along, then," Keir said, his black eyes merry. "It'll be a welcome journey."

"Wait," Persemid said, hurrying to catch up. Sean was right behind her. "We're coming with you."

"And I," said Roan, with a smile. "I shall need to report to the king about the alterations in Elysia. It will be a pleasure to gather my information in the company of friends."

"I, too," Bergold said. "I have many, many more questions about the Waking World. For example . . ."

Together they started walking toward the full moon.

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