Akela exhaled in wonder, taking in the large expanse of the attic, just an attic and it was large enough to have been a grand ballroom. Dozens of faceless mannequins stared out at her with something close to weariness, ceasing their endless waltz, undisturbed through time, to assess the newcomers.

She walked deeper into the crowd of lifeless dancers, reaching out as she approached a female mannequin clothed in an ethereal dress that seemed a slight ghost of fairy silk. It felt like magical air, she thought, running her fingers across it and rubbing the fabric together. Each time she touched the dress a puff of dust rose, tickling her nostrils and making her eyes water. She pulled back, frowning, and turned to discover herself quite alone. Noel and Jon had apparently tip-toed away, abandoning her in the middle of a circle of positively plastic strangers.

"Bunch of wandering livestock," she said under her breath, somewhat embarrassed by all the mannequins, as if they had nothing better to do than stretch their ears to hear her. "Positively devilish that would be," she whispered to herself, eyeing the blank faces.

One of her odd habits was, and always had been, conversing with herself. She'd invented people, voices in her head constantly ready to chat because she encouraged them so. Akela went as far as to name them: the reticent Walt, humorous Diane, caustic Jet, and numerous others she only spoke with when, at random, but completely pleasant moments, she'd remember them. It was like strolling through the neighborhood and passing a familiar house then stopping just as you reached the corner because you'd recalled the friend, one not seen for what seemed ages, that lived there. It was like that when the voice popped into her head, faint though obviously delighted at her memory.

"The last time I spoke with you feels like a forever ago," the words sang through her mind.

"Could have been, one never knows, Lerca," Akela said, silently.

"You should find the boys," Lerca said, "They might have found something."

"But then again," came a distinctly different voice, speaking with a terrible, slippery speech,

"Maybe what is wanted is found."

"What?" she said, glancing back at the demure mannequin.

Something crashed in the back of the cluttered space. She jumped, hurried in the direction of the sound, and cursed. Jon lay crumpled on the cold floor; thick pieces of shattered glass surrounded him. Noel stood staring down at him then he glanced up at Akela and quickly knelt next to him. He pulled Jon's head up onto his lap. A small grimace isolated to his mouth formed as he looked back at Akela.

"He just collapsed," Noel said.

"Now is an odd time to faint," she mumbled, trying to clear the haze of that slimy presence from her thoughts, "What should we do?"

"I dunno, I think he should be waking up soon. He isn't narcoleptic. It might have been anything."

"I'm calling my mom, she's a doctor after all," Akela said, already jumping down the stairs two at a time.

- - -

The wind picked up a flurry of grit, buffeting Jon with a sand devil, temporarily obscuring his vision. Jon clenched his teeth, growling as he frantically rubbed at his eyes. He looked up., blinking away the last of the dirt. He dusted his bottom, mostly to give his hands something to do as he pondered his surroundings. It was familiar. He exhaled, his breath a whispering ephemeral gust, leaving him feeling emptier and too frail.

This was the same road he had dreamed of just a couple nights ago while on vacation where he had met that strange boy. But he couldn't be asleep. Last he could remember he had been standing his attic with Noel, and--it struck him as odd--then the window had at once changed to be full of hairline cracks, as if a baseball had hit it. Then it blew inward and he had felt a sharp prick, brief pain in his eye, and then it went black. He put his hand to his cheek, unable to process the information. He started and thrust his hands before himself, held in a pose as of supplication. They were red, deep crimson like wine but thick like paint. He quickly wiped his hand on his shirt and brushed his fingertips across his cheek again.

"Don't be so scared"

It was said playfully, but with a sense of command. Forgetting the blood, Jon turned around right into the arms of that boy. Autumn, he thought, caught in the embrace. He hadn't heard anything, hadn't felt a presence. But yet this boy had been so close, almost right on his heels.

"I mean it," Autumn said, tightening his arms, "If you fear too much then you'll be like me."

Jon became suddenly aware of the situation and pulled himself away from Autumn with minimal effort. He looked into his face. It was as beautiful, as otherworldly as he remembered. It matched the boy's pose. He was statuesque. His pearly skin glowed in the sunlight so as to make the air around him dimmer. Jon found himself caught up in the alluring, definitely mesmerizing appearance of this dream creature.

He mentally shook himself out of the daze and peered into Autumn's eyes, awkwardly aware of the moment though the other seemed not to notice. He thought to speak, prodded himself with a mental push, but let the silence pervade the air nonetheless. He held out his hand. The blood shone garishly bright; he felt like a child holding his hand out to this stranger.

"Before you go I want to show you something," Autumn said, "It's just down the road."

He let his hand fall, nodded, and followed Autumn. They walked in silence for several minutes before Jon spoke.

"Are you going to explain what's going on?"

"Yes, I will," Autumn said, "But not now."

"Is this a dream?"

"No."

"I'm awake then? How? And why would-"

"Here," Autumn said, cutting off his question.

They stood before a towering wall that stretched dup into the sky blocking out their view of the sun. It was a cool marbled green, slightly pearly. Looking from side to side, one could observe that it continued on indefinitely in either direction. The monolith barrier radiated apprehensiveness out of character for such an impenetrable structure.

A small squeak escaped Jon's mouth and he shook himself, feeling as if drawn away from the moment, as if caught as a spectator when he was really a participant. "This is so impossible."

"This," the boy with moonstone skin said, "Is the source of all your trouble. This is the wall that separates the realm of dreams from the city of Goromai."

"Wait. Who's Goromai?

"The lady of the city. "

"Lady? Queen? This obviously isn't America, but," he paused, "Explain it to me in more detail."

"All I can tell you now is to keep Akela's trinket safe, and to watch your other friend closely."

Jon shook his head.

"Why? What does that thing have to do with this?"

"So inquisitive, but you must go," Autumn said placing his hand on Jon's shoulder, "Take care."

The hand grew lighter as if it weren't there. But they stood still staring into each other's eyes. Jon felt as if he was frozen stone. He felt heavy and cold and bright. A light filled his eyes, and his mind. For a brief moment he felt the hand again, warm, reassuring, strangely familiar, and then he slipped away.

- - -

Jon opened his eyes. He squinted in the artificial light. He was in a hospital bed. A really white one. As a matter of fact, everything was white. The walls, the curtains, the lights, of course, were perfectly plain. His body ached and he was exhausted. He glanced at the clock. Just hours ago he had been at home before the window had knocked him down and…he must hit his head because it was all a little fuzzy. Everything except the dream, that is.

"Mom?" Jon said.

Mrs. Darlington spun around, crossed the room in three strides, and dropped a small letter onto his lap. He could see Akela and Noel creeping in after her. They kept a few feet back, easily understandable. His mother was not a pleasant person to be near if she didn't like you.

She was easily six feet and dressed in an impeccable black business suit. She was the model heartless lawyer. Always composed, always dominating. She looked at her son with no trace of concern, glanced at her watch, and flipped open her phone.

"Lyle, he's awake," she said into the phone, "I'll sign him out and be right down."

Jon looked at his mother and then at the letter. He pulled a single sheet of paper from the unsealed envelope. It was school stationery but not from his high school.

"Pearson Academy?" he asked.

"You start tomorrow. As for tonight, the doctors said it was dehydration. We will be having a talk about this later. I'll be at the front desk."

With those choice words she left the room, cutting between Akela and Noel without the slightest acknowledgement of them. Jon slid from the bed and unsteadily walked to his friends.

"You wont believe what happened," he said.

- - -

“The dreams are happening every night now?” Noel, asked.

Jon, Akela, and Noel sat in a circle on the red shag rug in the center of Noel's room. The lights were dimmed, making it an effort for them to see each other's faces. The quiet whir of her computer and their breathing were the only sounds in the empty house. Every so often a car would drive by, and crickets chirped as they had since night had fallen, but those noises seemed remote from the warm, sleepy atmosphere of anticipation.

“Yeah, it's tragic. I've missed so much sleep I nearly failed McIntyre's breezy easy quiz,” Akela said, “And we all know the only new variable is that damn thing.”

Noel held the translucent object she was referring to, staring at it intently. He nibbled on his bottom lip, and then tore his gaze from the disk with wide-eyed realization.

“Look at this,” he said, showing them a small slit on the side of the circular trinket, “I'm going to blow it.”

“You think it's a whistle?” Jon said.

“Yes,” Noel said, smiling, “Totally.”

“Maybe you shouldn't try it out,” Jon said, obviously nervous.

“And just leave Akela in suspense? Not going to happen.”

“Right,” she said, “So blow away.”

He lifted the hole to his mouth, looking over at the two of them who, despite their doubt, were waiting anxiously—for what none of them knew. A simple trill maybe then they could blush at their silliness, but they waited still. They were quiet, eyes glittering, and he paused with it to his lips. Their breath synchronized naturally. He closed his eyes, took a deep one, and blew gently.

A low, jangling warbling filled the air and, instead of stopping in surprise, he blew harder. The music had a strange, unusual quality that felt addicting almost. He did not want to stop. It was so beautiful and enchanting. Noel continued blowing, out of breath and wheezing now. The same mesmerizing affect held Akela who was rocking back and forth with a silly grin on her face. Jon, on the other hand, was simply frowning.

“You're going to black out if you don't breath,” Jon said.

Neither of his friend took notice of his concerns so he reached out and snatched the whistle from Noel's hands. At first he just sat stunned then gave Jon a blank stare.

“Why did you snatch it?”

Before he could respond, the music returned louder and more intense. He looked down at the whistle in his hand, thoroughly confused. Surely it was getting loud enough for the neighbors to hear, he thought as he considered covering his ears.

“What in the world is going on?” Akela shouted over the din, “Did you record that stupid sound to annoy us?”

Noel just rolled his eyes and headed for the door, gesturing for them to follow. They were more than willing to get out of there, rushing after him. As Noel stepped into the hall a look of puzzlement, he put a hand out to stop them from going out and stepped back in.

“It's quiet,” he said, barely heard over the clanging, “Right outside the room there's not a noise.”

Having to experience this phenomenon for herself, Akela grabbed him and hopped out of the room. Jon went for the door as well, but froze suddenly. Something was telling him not to go, he glanced back at the whistle lying on the floor. They could examine it some more downstairs. Pivoting at the last minute, he marched over to the it, picked it up, and pivoted again. Apparently, the guys had wondered off leaving the doorway empty and him alone. With a shrug, he headed downstairs, making sure to close the bedroom door behind himself.

He collapsed onto the den couch, having exhausted every room where they could be hiding. A little groan escaped his mouth as he leaned back on the cushions. He listened to the buzzing silence, then jumped up.

“Duh, they're probably back in the room now,” he said, comforted to hear his own voice.

He leaped up the stairs two at a time. At the door he leaned in to listen for them, and sure enough he heard something rustle and what could have been a giggle. Jon opened the door and slid into the darkened room, letting the door close softly.

“So not scary,” he said, annoyed at the silly trick they were playing.

As he reached over to flick the switch the lights flashed on, bright and glaring. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he immediately knew that where ever he was it wasn't Kalamata. He took in his surroundings so calmly, he assumed he was in shock.

Tapestries stretched wall to wall, depicting embroidered scenes of dragons, trees, flames, and stars. The grand decor was accentuated by obsidian columns that would take five men hand in hand to circle it. Carved up and down each brobdingnagian pillar were registers of letters, pictographs, and hieroglyphs.

Jon almost thought that he could see the line moving, writhing as if they were alive. He touched the incised surface of the first onyx column, tracing the curving and slanted characters. He was apprehensive of these strange figures, but nonetheless intrigued. He looked down the hall, stepping between the monolith architecture, feeling infinitely small.

“Beautiful, no?”

He spun around, bewildered at the voice. In front of the door stood that boy from his dream, Autumn, leaning against the alabaster doors with a warm smile. In his right hand he held a cobalt rod, with that same indecipherable script covering it, except along the jagged blade protruding from the bottom of the two foot long cylindrical base and on the multi-faceted crystal globe that topped it. At the center of that sphere emanated a dim blue light that gave the boy's face a frosted appearance.

“Huh?”

“The writing, the art, the craftsmanship. You know, this place took over five hundred years to build?” Autumn said, “On each pillar there are approximately three thousand trillion words and, would you believe, there are--”

“Am I awake?” Jon said, “Or did Akela drug me?”

Autumn chuckled and, in a swift motion, jabbed Jon in the gut, sending him to his knees. The pain was real and, more surprisingly, quite minor. At first it felt that way at least, until he realized that the pain was more of an electric shock that a localized gut punch.

“Dreams can never hurt you,” he said apologetically, extending his hand to help, “And that hurt, therefore I am not a dream. I am Autumn, as you know.”

Jon stood up, mostly recovered from the blow, and took a step back. This was serious, dangerous, just impossible. He kept his eyes on the boys gold flecked orbs, his mind clouded with voices and reasoning and too many different possible explanations for all this. His heart was thumping; he felt as if he was in an action movie and any minute now someone would hurl a fireball at him or pull out a .42 caliber.

“I will not hurt you again,” he said to Jon, “Rule two: Only dreams lie. You can trust me.”

“About as far as I can throw you?”

“Maybe a little farther than that,” he grinned, then switching tone, “You must be famished, food?”

With that he pushed the door open and stepped out. Was he supposed to follow? Jon shrugged. Why not? He stepped through the doorway into a passage lit by the grayish glow of walls sconces draped in spider webs. It smelled of earth, wet and musky. Looking up, he could make out large roots dangling in the shadows. Up ahead his apparent guide was just turning a corner, barely visible in the dim light.

“Wait up,” Jon yelled, jogging to catch up.

They walked in silence, the sound of their breathing their only exchange. Jon stole glances at Autumn who seemed to be content with not speaking. He was intrigued by this boy and a little frightened. For some reason, he had trusted Autumn when he said that he would do him no harm.

“Where are we going?” he asked, suddenly wanting to break the silence.

“Oh, up,” he said, “But we still have a few minutes before we reach the surface so tell me, who blew the Aoki.”

“Aoki?” Jon said.

“The crystal is called an Aoki. It was Noel, right?”

“Yeah, so you know what it is?”

“Of course,” he said, as they turned another corner and came upon a small set of stone stairs, “It is a key, nothing more and nothing less.”

Jon followed him up the stairs, thinking on that tidbit of information. It was not a watch or a whistle, but a key instead. None of them had thought of that, but it certainly was not an obvious fact. He wondered, surprised that he hadn't thought of it before, where Akela and Noel were and what they must be experiencing.