Mists of Everness (The War of the Dreaming) by John C. Wright Page A

restless, as a lion in a cage paces. “Come! Will weak and whining words win your freedom from your foes? I will grant you this, that with my own hand I will slay the first man you engage in battle. And then …”
    “Then?”
    “I will wed you to one of my daughters. Hear me tell of them.
    “One dresses in rags and is beaten and scarred, for her house has been burnt, and she has been raped by soldiers, and she saw the brains of her lovely babies dashed out against the breached walls of her city, while she wept for her lost husband, who lies in an unmarked grave in an unknown spot in foreign lands.
    “The other daughter is dressed in gold, a crown of oak upon her head, and all the world waits upon her nod. Children of slain enemies are her slaves and pull her chariot. She holds an olive branch in one hand and a scepter of iron in the other, and none dare speak against her or disturb her peace.
    “But these daughters are twins, and you will be wed to one of them if you unleash me, they are twins, and all kings fondly conceive they will wed the second when they open the gates to the temple of Janus, but most must wed the first.”
    Now Meadow Mouse ran out toward the Beast, scampering quickly, his thin, high voice an angry squeak. “You were banished from our lands! Banished!”
    The gigantic Beast snarled and rose up on its hind-paws as the mouse leapt at it, and the eyes of the Beast were like two balls of yellow fire, and its great claw shimmered like lightning; but even though this great Beast faced nothing but a small mouse, for some reason, there was fear in those terrible eyes and hesitation as the paw rose up …
    Then the dream ended, and Peter was awake.
    II
    Peter lay in the bed, and his hands tingled. Slowly, he began to flex his fingers.
    For a long time he lay there, breathing through his open mouth, eyes closed, letting the feelings of victory and relief wash through his body. His hands. He had his hands again.
    Suddenly he realized he could scratch. With a great effort, Peter forced his arms to stay immobile at his side. How best to use this advantage? He might not have much time …
    He looked around the room. Nothing had changed. Security camera overhead; small, barred window; wheeled cart of medical instruments, some on a top shelf, some on the bottom. And outside the door, the dull-eyed guard.
    Call the hammer? Not likely. Not if he could do something else instead.
    Peter crossed his middle and ring finger. Slowly he inched his wrist to the left so that it was pointed at the guard. “Apollo, Hyperion, Helion, Day!” Peter whispered, without moving his lips.
    Immediately the glassy stare left the man’s face. He looked alive again, as if there were a soul behind those eyes.
    But, aside from that, there was no other reaction.
    “Hey, soldier, come here!” Peter called.
    The guard turned his head, looked his way, looked away again. That was all.
    Peter muttered, “Morpheus! Somnus! Hypnos! Take him out!”
    But nothing happened.
    Peter said, “Soldier, did I ever tell you I was in the Tet offensive? We had been in the field over a year, and it was all mud, blood, and dirty water. Hadn’t seen a warm meal or a cigarette in months. Orders came down we were suppose to cross twenty-five miles of bad terrain in two days to meet up with units from Khesanh. So there it was, four in the morning, and four hundred degrees at least, and the only thing you could hear was the water dripping off the leaves. Drip, drip, drip, sounding like footsteps …”
    It took less than half an hour to get the guard down the corridor and at the door.
    “ … our own fucking artillery shells. ‘Friendly fire,’ they call it. So Jefferson stands up with that idiotic flag he’s been carrying all this time and starts waving it over his head. Shouting. ‘Hey, we’re Americans.’ That sort of thing. As if anyone could hear him. Bang. Piece of shrapnel catches him in the head, and we drag him back down into the muddy