Ruthless: Path of Conquest

James bolted upright in bed.

The sound of screaming echoed in his ears, and he knew in an instant that this wasn’t something he had simply dreamed up. He half-turned from lying on his stomach to lie on his side. He was in that half-wakeful state when one wonders if it might be possible to go back to sleep instead of continuing along the path toward full consciousness.

Then he heard a fresh noise of renewed cries in the night. There was no going back. James rose from the bed where Mina and Junior still lay sleeping. He moved slowly and silently so as not to wake her or the baby.

He walked to the door, opened it quickly and delicately—almost soundlessly—and passed into the less private parts of the apartment. And he moved just in time.

No sooner did he have the bedroom door closed behind him than he heard a pounding from downstairs. An urgent fist beating against the front door.

James leaped down to the ground floor and opened the front door in a couple of smooth, brisk motions.

Damien Rousseau and Jeremiah Rotter stood at the doorway. Damien had a hand raised for another knock. Behind them, James noticed a dozen people standing in various states of dress. They looked disheveled, tired, and anxious.

“Good evening,” James said. “What’s up?”

“We had a bad dream,” Damien said.

“We?” James asked. He looked past Damien and Rotter to the gathered individuals.

People nodded in response.

James sighed, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

“One of you who feels clear headed, explain what happened,” he said.

There was some hesitation. The gathered men and women looked at each other. No one seemed interested in volunteering. Finally, Rotter let out a long breath and began to explain.

“I assume you know that some of those who have strayed too near the hostile neighboring territory—” he gestured at the wall James had erected—“have experienced unpleasant visions.”

James nodded.

“Well, some of us, whether we had actually looked in that direction or not, have had visitations in our sleep tonight,” Rotter said. “Not just tonight. The last several nights, but it’s been escalating every night. Tonight was the worst. None of us could sleep. The dreams were just too terrible. Some of them are the same dream. Most of them are not exactly identical. I—honestly, I would rather not describe my dreams if it’s all the same to you.”

James shrugged. “I don’t need to know the details,” he said.

If I do, I’ll just enter your dreams.

“Well, it’s clear that whatever lives in that forest is reaching out beyond its borders. Showing us things we would rather not see. Our deceased loved ones, suffering or crying out for us. Visions of dark futures. Or the creature in there tells us horrible lies. Whispers in our ears. Slanders about the people we see every day.” Rotter seemed very reluctant to elaborate any further, and James was surprised Rotter had managed to go into the degree of detail that he had. “Frankly, I hate to ask this of you, but I don’t think people are going to be able to sleep unless you do something about this.”

Well, of course I’m going to do something about this, James thought irritably. But he didn’t let the emotion show through on his face. He assumed Rotter was trying to present it in this way, because he was accentuating James’s potential heroism in saving them from the threat.

“I’ll try what I can,” James said, speaking loudly enough for all the gathered people to hear. “And if what I try doesn’t work, we might have to invade that fucking forest tonight. Is there anything else I should know before I go and confront the threat?”

“Just one thing,” Damien said, speaking in a low voice. “She was asking for you. The thing in our dreams. At least that was what she said in my dream. ‘Bring me the Fisher King.’” He shuddered.

“All right,” James said quietly. “All right.” He was trying to reassure himself almost as much as Damien. There was a little sliver of fear working its way through his brain and into the rest of his body. The beginnings of the notion that perhaps he could not handle this creature. The dark night played into this. The unknown nature of the entity. The fact that she was targeting him specifically.

He banished the fear as best he could. I am the strongest. It was foolish of this thing to challenge me on my turf. She’s invading the Fisher Kingdom, and she’s moving in Dreamspace. Perhaps this would mean he could even destroy her without entering her forest.

He gestured brusquely for the gathered individuals to give him a little space; he was acting a little more impatiently than normal. And then he sat cross legged, back against the exterior wall of the building.

Dreamwalk.

Instantly, he found himself in the dark void he knew as Dreamspace. He felt the dreams of everyone in the Fisher Kingdom in an instant. He could identify their locations and even a vague idea of what they were dreaming about more easily than he had ever experienced before, without trying to touch their dreams individually.

The combination of his Fisher King powers with his Dreamweaver powers seemed to be exceptionally potent. He didn’t even need to reach out to recognize that he could alter the contents of his citizens’ dreams with hardly a thought.

The ultimate brainwashing tool if I wanted to go that route. A dark thought. One he would hopefully never act on.

More to the point, he also immediately sensed another entity dwelling in the same space with him. Self-aware and in control of itself. Malevolent.

James visualized the borders of the Fisher Kingdom, and he recognized where the entity was and the shape it had taken. The thing wasn’t near his location within Dreamspace, but its glowing, ethereal tendrils were all around him.

It seemed the form of the enemy was squid-like. Long tentacles reached out to scores of dreams, and James sensed the visceral discomfort of the dreamers. Men, women, and children, scores of his citizens were in a state of fear or discomfort. The thing in the forest was sending them disturbing nightmares.

He could not sense the forest thing’s mental state, exactly, but he imagined that it must be enjoying this. There was no reason to pick a fight right now, as far as he could see. This would weaken the Fisher Kingdom somewhat by undermining the well being of some of its residents. But James felt almost certain that the reason was sadism.

If it wanted to just weaken the Fisher Kingdom for an attack, it would go after me or Mina. Maybe someone else critical to our defense like Damien, but not Rotter or the other random grab bag of people who showed up at my door. It wouldn’t attack so many people at once. Instead, the approach was so scattershot that some managed to wake themselves up and escape.

James was glad that none of the tendrils went into his own home. The thing had chosen not to attack any member of his household—though, considering the number of people who now lived with him, that was rather peculiar.

Were you trying to stay under the radar? Hide from me? That might imply that this thing knew what James’s abilities were. At least knew about his Dreamwalking.

Stop psyching yourself out, he chided himself.

He deactivated Dreamwalk and opened his eyes.

Then he rose to address the crowd. Even more people had gathered to watch him in silence while he was sitting on the ground. At least twenty. No, twenty five. But he didn’t waste much time counting.

“I found the root of the problem,” James said. “I’m going to attack it within the world of dreams. Everyone here, please return to your homes, wait a few minutes, and then go back to sleep. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed again. You’ll need your rest. Tomorrow, we might need to start planning an invasion of that forest!”

A low cheer went up, but the space quickly turned silent again. Part of the reason for the sudden quiet was undoubtedly the night. People didn’t want to wake their neighbors. But James worried that part of it was the subdued mood.

A few words weren’t enough to restore their morale. These people had just experienced being attacked in their sleep when they assumed they were safe. For some of them, it was probably the first time they had felt safe in weeks or months.

I’m responsible for them, he thought. I’m the only one who can restore the sense of normalcy for everyone. Let them experience the benefits of me being in charge.

James sat back down. No further words would help the situation. No matter how skillful and charismatic he might think he was, at a certain point, you just had to deliver.

Dreamwalk.

James found himself in the same place again.

This time, rather than simply observing, he leaped into action.

He envisioned a sword in his hand, and the weapon materialized. A black blade. Featureless in the darkness, but, he knew, immeasurably sharp.

Then he set about dealing with the invasion. Hacking and slashing at the ethereal tentacles that had wormed their way into people’s dreams.

Fortunately, his conjured sword had real physical presence and power in Dreamspace. It actually cut through the long, supple limbs of the invader, and they recoiled at the touch of the blade.

He was glad he could do the work from the outside. If he had to enter each person’s dream and fight the evil there, he wasn’t sure if he would be done before morning. And he had reassured everyone that he was taking care of the threat.

As he slashed through the fifth tentacle in his territory, James saw the rest of the tendrils beginning to pull away, retreating from the dreamers’ bodies.

Giving up, he thought. Good. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this all night.

Then he saw where the tentacles were retreating to. Somehow, without James noticing it, a dark figure had crept up almost to where he had positioned himself in the void. The ethereal tentacles were all pulling back into that body.

James took a good look and tried to understand the nature of his enemy.

It was a towering, feminine figure with no legs. The lower body ended in a sort of haze, like the body of a genie or ghost from a cartoon. He finally made out the face through the veil of shadow that concealed most of the figure’s features.

From the forehead to the chin, it was pale and white as bleached bone.

An old woman’s face twisted in an expression of sadistic glee.

He tried to use Identify, but it yielded no result.

Of course. We’re not really here, either of us. I’m still in my body, leaning up against the building. And she’s still in the heart of that forest somewhere.

“You must be the Fisher King,” the figure said in a voice that pierced right through him. A mirthless voice that had the rhythm and feel of a cackle.

“Where did you hear that name?” James asked evenly.

“Oh, the birds and the rodents speak it. Also the wind and the trees. Do you deny that you are the Fisher King?”

“No,” he replied. He resisted his ethereal body’s desire to shudder. There should be no physical sensations here, no reflexes like that—even if her piercing, half-laughing voice did send cold shooting through his whole body. “Why would I deny who I am in my own kingdom? I’m not the trespasser.”

“Oh, how charming.” The figure covered her mouth. “I am not truly in your kingdom, though I understand the sense in which you mean that. I have reached out to touch some of your subjects.”

“Who are you?” James asked, his voice tense. “What do you want?”

“I am a Ruler as well, Your Majesty.” She gave a mocking bow. “Before I attained my throne, I was called Sister Strange. Since you and I are of equal stature, feel free to call me by that name.”

“And you wanted…?”

“I want nothing more than human suffering.” She let loose a horrible laugh along with her words. “Your suffering will be especially exquisite.”

Suddenly, the tentacles that she had withdrawn from all the dreamers around James reemerged from her body and sprang upon James. He had a fraction of a second in which to react, and he chose to pull his arms in closer to his sides and keep the best hold that he could on his sword.

The tentacles wrapped him tightly from all sides. They did not feel as he would have expected. Rather than sliming their way up and down his body or clinging to him with suckers, they almost caressed his skin—like thousands of feathers. It was uncomfortable but far from unendurable.

“You can’t possibly think these can hold me, Sister Strange,” he said mockingly. “Sadly, your power is inadequate for that.” He flexed the muscles of his ethereal body and pushed the binding limbs away.

Curiously, the monster did not try to bind him again.

“I did not think you would resist,” she said thoughtfully, “understanding as you must that it is a choice between your suffering and that of your people.”

“Or I could destroy you,” James replied. He lashed out with the black sword and sliced through the figure’s neck, severing the head from the body.

“You have not faced someone else in this place before, have you?” asked the severed head, almost laughing again as it phrased the question.