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Author's Note: I thought the world might enjoy a short break from Cold Blood - I know I needed one.

Nightmares

Chapter One

What Dreams May Come

by

Onyx Tao

[This story is licensed under the Creative Commons Noncommercial Sharealike 3.0 License](%5C)

The nightmares started a few months after I turned thirteen. I hid them from my parents, of course, because being scared by nightmares was something that would only happen to a kit, and I wasn't a cub - I was thirteen. Nearly fourteen. My tail was growing out, and I was growing, and I was becoming a young wolf. I managed to keep my parents from knowing for almost three months; I would just change the sweat-soaked sheets very quietly, and I started helping Mom with the laundry, so it was fine.

Until I started waking up screaming, that is. My parents den in the master suite, of course, and I have my own room, but a wolf screaming is pretty loud it woke them up. I know I woke our neighbors up - they're a nice old couple of elk, he's a business consultant and she's a retired nurse, and that's why she was banging on the door a few minutes after my parents rushed into the room, with her first-aid kit. I just realized something. She was an elk. And she nearly pounded down the door to get to a howling wolf. Wow. I mean, most persons can keep their instincts at bay, it's not like wolves prey on anything other than farm-raised rabbits these days, but even so ... most of the herbivore-derived persons are just always a little uneasy around preds. (It's offensive to call them 'prey', if you're a pred). But there she was, Mrs. Moess, banging on the door, and Dad let her in, and they talked - I was just getting over it, and she left without seeing me, which was OK. I never thanked her for coming over that night, and it's probably too late now.

White says our deepest regrets are the ones we don't know about. Maybe this is what he means.

I managed to talk my way out of that night, but not the next night. Mom took me to a doctor, who referred me to a wolven psychiatrist, and then to a sleep specialist in Mountainsford (a very nice ewe). They gave me potions, but it didn't help. In fact, it made it worse - much worse. I'd wake up with my heart pounding and convinced that something horrible had or was happening - and then the drugs would put me back to sleep, and it would start all over again. One night of that convinced me - and Dr. Utrial (the ewe) - that sleeping potions weren't a good idea. We tried other things - muscle relaxants, exhausting exercise, diet changes - all sorts of things, and after a month Dr. Utrial sent me to a spooky fox psychologist - Dr. Vimes and a neurologist - Dr. Bellenforae.

Dr. Bellenforae was another wolf, and she put me through an MRI and did all sorts of tests, but I didn't mind, except when she had to shave my pelt to put an electrode on for her readings. She didn't find anything, though, and sent me back to Dr. Utrial.

Dr. Vimes was different. I mentioned before that herbivore-derived persons are usually just a little uncomfortable around preds? Well, that was being nice. Two out of five herbs can't stand us - they just run. Or back away. I mean, it's not their fault, it's the makers, and it's considered rude - worse than rude, it's considered feral - to take advantage of it, or to force your presence on an spooked herb. I don't think any pred would admit this to a herb, but ... it happens to us, too. Foxes get spooked by wolves, and wolves get spooked by lions and tigers. And it's feral to press another pred that way, too, just like a pred spooking a herb.

Dr. Vimes was a fox - and a small one. And he spooked me. It didn't happen all at once, but we talked - about my dreams, and my parents, and my home life, and my friends, and ... and after the third session or so, I was spooked. I answered his questions - without even thinking, really, just started talking, trying to put words between me and him and knowing even as I did it it wouldn't help, it would just tell him more and more about me but I couldn't stop.

Totally spooked.

Of course, I still wasn't sleeping. I was tired, and sometimes I'd just fall asleep during the day. It was Dr. Utrial who noticed, but she just sent me back to Dr. Vimes, and we had some more talks (or rather, he just sat and stared at me, and occasionally asked something, and I talked). He asked my parents in on the eighth session, and we met not in his workroom (just a nice room with some cushions and chairs where we talked) but the office adjacent, with a desk and workstation and a leather couch. The meeting was early - I think we were his first appointment that day, and he looked moderately uncomfortable (and less spooky than usual).

"Mr. Bon Urlo, Mrs. Bon Urlo, thank you for coming," he started. "I know this has been very hard for you - and your son, of course, most of all."

"Yes," my Dad agreed. "I'm guessing you have something you want to suggest or tell us that you think we won't like." My Dad's like that - right to the point. After spending this much time with pyschologists and pyschiatrists and counselors and doctors - I could tell when someone's pressing, and my Dad was pressing. He wasn't being feral about it, but ... he was pressing. Maybe Dr. Vimes spooked him too?

"I know Dr. Utrial told you I only take serious cases," he went on. I listened intently; I hadn't known that. "I told you when we first met that I probably wouldn't see your son for more than five or six sessions, because I deliberately spook my clients to get them to talk to me."

Dad nodded, and Mom looked away, and then Dr. Vimes looked at me. "I know I spook you, Brad. It was on purpose. Dr. Utrial thought there might be some abuse buried somewhere - there isn't, I should add, as far as I can tell - but that if there were, I could get it out where some other therapist could then deal with it. I'm a specialist in breaking through to clients who resist conventional therapies, usually intentionally, but ... I've had success with repressed trauma as well."

"But not here, apparently," Mom.

"No," Dr. Vimes agreed pleasantly, "and I don't think there is any."

"I hope you called us here for something more than another negative diagnosis," Dad said.

"Yes and no," said Dr. Vimes. "I've worked very closely with Brad, and he's worked with me - even though I spooked him - and I'm confident that if there were some deep-rooted psychological reason for these recurring nightmares, we would have found some hint. We didn't, not a clue. I think further analysis is useless here."

"Odd. Dr. Bellenforae said the same thing about a physical cause," Dad said.

"I know," Dr. Vimes said. "I read the reports - I read everything. I have spent three days transcribing my case notes and all the other reports into longhand, and if I have your permission, I'll send them on to another specialist. Someone I knew at University, a current pen-pal of mine, who has a totally different way of looking at things. I'm afraid it's the only suggestion I have."

"Longhand?" I asked, and my parents looked irritated, but Dr. Vimes just smiled.

"He doesn't have electronic mail, and in fact he considers type to be uncivilized. So I can't just send him a printout, either. He'd say that handwriting forces one to think about what one is writing, and that in turn makes the letter more worth the reading."

"That sounds ... odd," Mom said.

"Very. He copied out, into his notebooks, all the textbooks for his classes. By hand. With his own commentary on the opposite page."

"He's not from Morden," Dad said after a moment. "Is he?"

"No."

"Where?"

"Minos," Dr. Vimes said. "He's a minotaur shaman."

"A shaman," Dad repeated. "Do you ..."

"It's your decision." Dr. Vimes said. "But please consider this. I can't help Brad, and when I say 'I', I pretty much mean the entire profession of pyschology and pyschiatry. Whatever is wrong, it's not in our purview. And Dr. Bellenforae has said the same thing for physical medicine. That means the only thing Morden can offer you and Brad is Dr. Utrial, who has a holistic approach to sleep disorders. And Dr. Utrial would not have sent Brad to me, or Vincine, if she thought she could help him. I don't know that Rocking Hammer can help Brad - but I know I can't."

And that's when he turned to me. "Brad, I'm sorry. The only reason I accepted your case - and why I was so hard on you - was that I thought I could help. I apologize for intimidating you, and if it's any reassurance, you're one of the most resistant young men I've ever worked with. The reason I limit my sessions to a couple of months is that after that, most of my clients are too spooked to talk, and that's when I know I have to move them to someone else. I don't think you would ever have reached that point, Brad. You are a very courageous young man. That's one of the reasons I think you should see a shaman. I know something's wrong - very wrong. You don't scare easily, and even when you are scared, you still function."

"Oh," I said. I wasn't sure what to say.

"The idea is ridiculous," Dad snarled.

"Yes," said Mom, to Dr. Vimes.

"Then we're agreed ..."

"No," Mom said, just as clearly. "Dr. Vimes, you have our permission to ask ... Shaman Rocking Hammer?"

Dr. Vimes nodded.

"Please ask him if he would consider helping us," she said.

"No!" Dad said.

Mom just turned to stare at him, and after a minute, he sighed. "It's incredibly stupid, but ... so be it."

"We'll talk about this later, dear," Mom said. "How soon might we hear from Shaman Rocking Hammer?"

Dr. Vimes shrugged. "I can't tell you. It will take a day to get the package to Minos, but then it has to be hand-carried to wherever the Warhammer clan is. And Minos is no-tech; they don't even use draft animals. And then he has to write a response - which won't take less than a day, and it gets hand-carried back out ... could be a month or more. The only thing I can say is that he will write back as soon as he get it."

"Primitives," snapped Dad.

"Low-tech," said Dr. Vimes. "They're not primitive, they understand tech, it just gets in the way of how they want to live."

"I understand," Mom said. "Really. And ..." she paused, and then she said, "Thank you, Dr. Vimes. I know you feel as if you haven't done anything, but I know you've done your best, and for that I thank you."

"You're welcome," the fox said gravely. "I'm only sorry that it wasn't more helpful."

It didn't take long for my parents to check me out of Dr. Utrial's sleep clinic - apparently she'd reached the same conclusions as Dr. Vimes and Dr. Bellenforae, and so we went back to Elevator to wait to hear from Dr. Vimes.

It only took a week. Apparently Shaman Rocking Hammer had been waiting for a letter from Vimes, and he was coming, with another shaman, to Elevator in two days, and we were to meet them there on Friday. They would be staying at the Limning Hotel in downtown Elevator (in fact, Hotel Limning was inside the Elevator complex itself).

"Friday?" my Dad had asked Vimes.

"Yes. I'll be there early, that should give me time to talk to him. Why not come by after lunch?"

Dad shook his head, and Dr. Vimes chuckled. "That's time, Minos-style. They think clocks and chopping up days into hours and minutes is unhealthy, just like too much saturated fat."

Dad just shook his head again, and cut off the connection. "Dr. Vimes says we should be there about one."

Which wasn't at all what he'd said, but Mom made sandwiches before we left, so it didn't really matter. We had to take a tube, because of the Elevator safe-zone (all traffic into and out of Elevator is via maglev train, no exceptions. Anything flying within a hundred miles of the Elevator gets a warn-off, and anything coming with seventy-five miles will be shot down. We don't take any chances with the Elevator!) Security was really tight today; we got to the traffic garage and got frisked coming out by the Mordenguard (which was a little strange, as usually it's the Elevator Police), and both Mordenguard and Elevator Police were standing in all the corridor intersections. Elevator City, and especially the part right by the Elevator itself, is all underground. Upground is all restricted, mostly maglev tracks for taking cargo to and from the Elevator. There's a huge transient population, of course, persons going up to Central Station, or coming back down after a tour in space.

Elevator Depot (which is where the Limning Hotel is) was built with security in mind when they built the Elevator itself, just like Elevator City. Reinforced blast doors, security stations, usually unmanned.

Not today. Mordenguard and Elevator Police staffed everything. We were frisked twice more, and a security check was run on all three of us when we entered the Transient Quarter. Dad asked what all the security was about, and a Mordenguard Lieutenant said that someone important was going Up. Since the Elevator Compact said very clearly that nobody except Elevator Police could be armed on the Elevator itself, and only the Mordenguard could be armed in Elevator City, that meant security for anybody important had to be handled by them. It happened every month or so, just our bad luck that someone important was going to Central Station today, and someone had decided that a full security cordon was needed.

Dad had to call Dr. Vimes on the cell once we reached Limning - they were admitting registered guests at the hotel, and only registered guests. They weren't even accepting new guests - if you weren't already registered, the Mordenguard were sending you next door to the Hote de Argylle. Vimes sent down a minotaur, escorted by no less than three Mordenguard, and they convinced the Mordenguard to let us in, after frisking us all_again._

I'd never been in the Hotel Limning before, and it was very fancy, looking like an elaborately planted garden (although it was entirely underground, of course) with stonework paths over a huge koi pond. Waterfalls trickled into the pond at various points. The Mordenguard with assault rifles and fullout assult-tac gear looked out of place. We were escorted to an elevator by five decked-out commandos - not security, commandos, and taken down to the fiftieth floor, where we were met by more commandos, and finally taken into a suite.

No commandos inside, I thought with relief, (although there were two at the door to the suite). Dr. Vimes was there, talking to minotaurs. I'd never seen minotaurs before, although I'd seen pictures, of course, in school, and learned about Morden's relationship with Minos, and how no-tech Minos provided an additional buffer zone to our east for the Elevator, but ... I'd never actually seen one.

Or smelled one. In Morden we use odor neutralizers, just because the smell of preds or herbs can set someone off if he's sensitive, so keeping ourselves clean and groomed with something neutralizing is considered good manners. These minotaur were clean - I could still smell mild soap - but apparently they weren't interested in using a neutralizer. Not quite feral, but ... not civil, not for Morden. I braced myself - along with my parents, I saw, and we all went towards Dr. Vimes and his towering companions. A fox is maybe four feet tall, and Dr. Vimes, being on the short side for a fox, is about three. A wolf is usually around five feet - both of my parents are five feet, and I'm actually a little taller. The shortest of the minotaurs had to be six feet tall, and the tallest - which I was guessing was Shaman Rocking Hammer, was seven and a half, at least. Another minotaur, white-furred and wearing a tan leather harness, was sitting in front of a go board and looked up as the tallest one and Dr. Vimes came over to meet us.

Minotaurs are big. They're not just tall - although they're certainly as tall as any tiger I've ever seen, but they're broad - broader even than a lion. Powerful, really, you can see the muscles in their arms and chests, even through the pelt, almost like a horse, only more, symmetrical, balanced. It makes them look handsome, where horses are, all the ones I've met, anyway, sort of dumb. Good workers, just not very bright. Strong, very strong, and sort of muscled like a minotaur, but not even close to looking like an intelligent or dangerous creature. I don't think anybody could be intimidated by a horse; and I don't think anyone could _not_be intimidated by a minotaur.

They have shorter muzzles, for one thing, and dark skin under their pelt that slid smoothly over their muscled frames. No horse would carry the vicious looking weapons they did, either, not modern assault weapons such as the wolven outside did; but older steel-and-leather weapons. The lighter-colored one had sword that looked large even on him while the other had a two-headed axe that looked sharp enough to shave with. But they were the only two who were armed; the tallest one and the white one bore no weapons - or at least none that I could see. I was relieved to realize their musk wasn't going to set me off - and it looks like it wasn't disturbing my parents, either (not that either of them is generally sensitive that way).

Dr. Vimes looked even tinier as he and the tallest minotaur, a mottled brown with deep blotches of glossy black walked over to us. He had a low and confident voice with none of the slurring a horse would have. "Mr. and Mrs. Bon Urlo, and Master Brad Bon Urlo," he said. "I am Rocking Hammer" - confirming my guess - "and you'll know Dr. Vimes, of course. Thank you for coming to meet us."

"I think we should be thanking you," my Dad said, shaking hands with the minotaur. "I appreciate your coming out all this way."

"It's a pleasure to have a reason to see Reinhold - Dr. Vimes - again," said Rocking Hammer quietly. "Fortunately, I was close to the Morden border , so his letter reached me very quickly. It was interesting, and I owe Reinhold any number of favors. Brad, I hope you won't think I'm ignoring you."

"No, Sir" I said.

"Sir," he said softly, tasting the word. "You needn't call me that, Rock will do. Reinhold had good things to say about you, Brad. We will have a long talk, you and I, but first ... first, I need to speak with your parents," Rocking Hammer said with a slight smile. "I need to know things, and I need to know what they think, and they need to know what I think, and they need to know what I know, and once we all know what we all know and we all know what we all think, then you and I can think about what we don't know."

That made me smile. "Yes, I mean, OK, Rock."

He nodded approvingly, and then gestured at the two stationary minotaurs standing by the white one. "These are cousins of mine - both Hammer Clan, Trask and Sledge. Sledge is the one with the axe. They're an honor guard, so they're technically on-duty, although with all the security at the moment, it seems a little redundant. But they can't talk with you at the moment - please don't take it poorly if they don't seem friendly. They are.

"OK." I said.

"That's White Bull, he wanted to come along when I told him I was going. He'd never been to Morden, or been up on the Elevator."

The white minotaur looked up from his gameboard at that, and over at us. He swung his head slightly from my parents and then to me. His gaze was curious, and intent and focused clearly on me for a moment - as if he looking right into me. It wasn't hostile, it wasn't spooky, but it was ... concentrated somehow, as if the only thing he was looking at was me, and that ... he was_seeing_ me. It was a strange feeling.

"So I'll be with you in a bit," Rocking Hammer continued, and he smiled at me - and he winked.

"OK," I said again, and watched as he led my parents off into an adjoining room of the suite. He was asking if they wanted something to drink as the door closed, and White Bull sighed.

"Come on over here, Brad. Rock will keep your parents occupied."

"What?" The white minotaur just looked at me, as if I were being slow, and said nothing more. "Oh. You're a shaman, too." He nodded, and I walked over to him. "Do you play_go_?"

"No," he said. "It seems like an interesting game ... Rock was explaining it to me, the board was here in the suite. Do you play?"

"A little," I said. "I haven't had much time ..."

"So Rock tells me," he said thoughtfully.

"So you've read all that stuff," I said, almost depressed.

"No. Rock did, enough to get interested, but ... I'm here because Rock asked me for my advice."

"He did?"

"Yes."

"And?"

He smiled. "What do you think?"

That caught me off guard. "What ... what does it matter what I think?"

He looked back down at the board, snapped a white chit down onto the board, and flipped over some black ones. "What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know."

He nodded. "That's actually a very good answer," he said. "Unless you're a shaman. Shamans are supposed to know everything."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you know everything?"

"What do you think?"

I paused. "I think you're pretty good at not answering questions."

"Thank you," he said, after a moment. "A shaman is not a reference librarian. I'm not here to answer questions."

"So then why are you here?" I said.

"I am here because Rock asked me for my advice," he repeated, and looked back down on the board. "Would you play black?"

"Sure. But ..."

"Oh, they'll be in there for quite some time," he said with a chuckle. "Rock knows what he's doing, he's a good student. Good enough to know when he's out of his depths, too."

"So he was out of his depths when Dr. Vimes asked him about me?"

"It's black's move," White Bull said after a moment, gesturing at the board.

"So he was out of his depths when Dr. Vimes asked him about me?"

White Bull shook his head slowly from side to side. "I'm not here to talk about Shaman Rocking Hammer, Brad."

"Then why ..." and I stopped. "Asking you questions isn't very helpful."

"No," White Bull agreed placidly. "It's not. And it's your move."

I shut up, and turned my attention back to the board, and finally slipped a black stone down. "You're here because of me."

"Oh yes," White Bull agreed, studying the patterns on the board, and then dropping a white stone right where I had wanted to move next, but that was OK. I dropped another stone down, and waited while he considered.

"Can I ask you for advice?" I finally said, and then I thought better of it. "I would like advice."

A lip twitched in an abortive smile. "Advice about what?"

"My ... problem."

"And that would be?" he said, dropping a stone down, and flipping two black ones over. It wasn't a good move, and I dropped another stone down, and was busy for a moment flipping stones.

"I have nightmares," I said.

"Really? How do you know?" he asked, for all the world as if this was the first he'd heard of it.

"I wake up screaming from them," I said, trying - and failing, I think, not to be sarcastic.

"So what are these nightmares about?"

"I don't ... I don't remember them."

"So what you're saying is you wake up screaming, so you think you're having nightmares, but you don't remember."

"Yes," I said cautiously.

"So you don't know you're waking up from nightmares. You know you're waking up."

"I guess so," I said. "But ... I don't understand what you're suggesting."

"No, probably not," the minotaur said, thoughtfully. "Or rather, you don't think of it in quite the same way. Do you know much about demons?"

"What? That's ... I don't ..."

"Your worldview doesn't include demons, yes, I know," the minotaur said calmly. "Which I've always thought an impervious defense against the worst sorts. If you don't believe in them, they generally have no way to reach you."

"So it's not demons," I said, relieved.

"Oh, it's a demon all right," White Bull said confidently. "I can ... smell it. I smelled demon_when Rocking Hammer came over to ask me for my thoughts on his friend's letter. And now that I'm here, I can say confidently that a demon is trying to break into your mind, consume your soul, and take over your body. It's not having an easy time of it, probably because you don't believe in demons. It's probably showing itself to you, and _that, I think, is what wakes you up, rather than seeing it. The demon is probably just as frustrated as you are, I shouldn't wonder."

"I don't believe that," I said. "That's ... that's crazy."

"Good," the minotaur said. "That disbelief is as good as a shield. But ... at some point, it will crack, Brad. If nothing else, lack of sleep will undermine your mind. And I've weakened your disbelief just by bringing up the notion. The thing is, the current situation isn't stable. I don't know how a demon got a grip on you in the first place, but it's evident one did. Absent something changing, it will eventually eat you."

"You really believe that, don't you."

White Bull nodded.

"So ... what happens then?"

The minotaur shrugged. "From your perspective? I'm not really sure. From mine - or your parents - your behavior will change as the demon takes over. Exactly what it will do depends on the demon. Simple ones would probably go on a rampage, and more complex ones would evolve more ... sophisticated plans. Not good, regardless."

I swallowed. I still didn't believe it, but I was starting to think he did.

"You just answered a question," I pointed out.

White Bull's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Yes." He seemed to think for a moment, and then sighed. "I answered it because I wasn't sure it was something you could work out for yourself."

"Oh." I considered that for a moment. Don't ask questions. "I don't think I want to be eaten or killed or anything by a demon," I offered.

The minotaur nodded sagely. "Good decision."

Now what? I looked at him, and then he nodded. "I have it!" he said, and dropped a white stone on the board, and flipped over another three. And there wasn't much chance I could stop him from constructing an 'eye', an unflippable area on the board. He nodded with a certain satisfaction down at the board. But that didn't really help me at all.

He just let me stare at the board - and him - for a minute. Another minute. Another.

I dropped a black stone down, and he dropped a white one down into the eye he was forming.

"I don't know what to do," I said, after a moment.

"Well, I'm new at this game," he said thoughtfully, "but I think I'd play there. If I were you, that is."

I got sidetracked for a moment explaining why that wasn't really the best move, and what my strategy was, and ...

Oh.

I shut up, and looked back down at the board. "When I said I didn't know what to do, I wasn't talking about the go board. Sir." I'm not sure why I said _Sir,_right at the end, but ... it felt like the right thing to do.

White Bull nodded. "No, you're quite right. You're fourteen, and I'm eighty-seven, and you're from the clinically scientific Morden, which does not teach its children about demons, and I, on the other hand, am one of the world's experts on dreamtime phenomena. And if I don't know what to do, well, how should you?"

My heart dropped. "You don't know what to do?"

White Bull nodded. "The demon will take a certain amount of work, of course, but you can learn how to defeat it. That's not in question." The minotaur fixed me with a cold gaze. "You must defeat it, Brad."

"Then ..."

White Bull sat back, almost six feet of minotaur relaxed against the blue-toile sofa. "How did you attract a demon in the first place?" he asked, almost plaintively. "You don't believe in demons. Your soul does not have the taint that might attract one."

"My soul?" I interrupted.

He looked over my head. "If you had done ... monstrous things, things that a demon might do, then you can make yourself visible to it. But those things are ... rank." He thought for a moment.

"You're deciding how graphic to be," I asked.

"No. I can't be graphic at all. Given that a demon is hunting you, I see no reason to give it additional paths into your soul. To a demon, filling your mind with those images would be like stuffing a deer with bread and onions and ringing a dinner bell. The demon is hunting you, forcing itself and its evil upon you - and you are rejecting that evil." A huge hand closed over mine. "That is why you are waking screaming - not from nightmares of your own mind, but the black images that this demon is showing you, trying to remake you into a suitable husk for it."

I shuddered.

The huge white head nodded. "A demon is a terrible, evil thing. All shamans watch for them ... but Morden has very few shamans. Demons are simply not a Morden problem. The scientific mindset of Morden blocks them." His voice changed, becoming lower, and more concerned. "But you share that mindset. Your parents share that mindset. Even that so-terribly-serious fox has that mindset. So then, little wolf, how did you attract a demon?"

It was my turn to lean back in my chair. "I ... I don't know Sir. I swear I don't." Did he think I had ...

He was leaning forward, staring at me. Minotaurs have huge eyes; and I could see my reflection in both of them when he started talking. "I don't think you do, Brad. So then, how did a demon get a foothold in a dreamblind culture?"

"Dreamblind," I echoed. Somehow it had never occurred to me that minotaurs might think of us as the deprived culture.

The minotaur settled back down in his chair. "Certainly."

"You use our technology!"

Apparently this was not something White Bull had expected; he looked, for the first time since I had met him, surprised. His face crinkled somewhat for a moment, and then smoothed out as he looked back at me. He didn't say anything, though.

That was fine with me. I just leaned back in the chair, and waited. It worked for him, didn't it?

So we sat in silence for a while, and White Bull finally gestured at the board, and said, "It's your move. I don't imagine you want to concede, do you?"

"No," I admitted, and looked back at the board. We played out the next few moves in silence, and I realized that I wasn't hearing anything from the next room. My parents?Silent? Or was it just a really heavy door? I got up, and walked over to it - and White Bull watched me very closely, but he didn't say anything.

"It's quiet in there," I finally said.

"Oh," White Bull said. "That. Yes. Your parents and Reinhold Vimes are sleeping."

I turned to him. "What? Did you drug them or something?"

White Bull shrugged. "I did not drug them, and Rocking Hammer did not drug them, but yes, Rocking Hammer is responsible for putting them to sleep, and keeping them asleep until I've dealt with you."

"What does that mean?"

White Bull shrugged again. "I don't know yet. You're not being very forthcoming." His mouth smiled briefly, and a hint of humor even reached his eyes. "Shamans are trained to be patient."

"I thought you'd decided I was being attacked by a demon," I said.

"Yes," White Bull replied readily. "Although I don't think I decided that, so much as confirmed_it. It's not as if your being attacked was my decision. Perhaps, in hope of averting an argument over wording that would be a waste of our time, we could agree to use the word _diagnose, in that I_diagnosed_ your being attacked by a demon. And so we can move on to more important matters, as soon you're ready."

"As soon as I'm ready?"

"Certainly," said White Bull, with another look of surprise. "What possible point could there be to discussing this with you before you're ready?"

"And how will you know when I'm ready?"

The minotaur smiled, as if that were an excellent question. "I expect you'll tell me," he said placidly.

"OK, I'm ready."

White Bull nodded. "Good. Come over here and sit in my lap."

"What?"

White Bull sighed, and repeated himself, very slowly. "Come over here and ..."

"I heard you, I don't understand it."

The minotaur closed his eyes. "Come over here. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah .. I get it, I understand what you're asking me to do, I don't understand _why_I should do that."

"You said you were ready," said White Bull, still with his eyes shut.

"I didn't know ..." I said, and then I just shut up. He was right. He was probably going to lead up to it, explain what it would do, and then ask. But I'd said I was ready.

"Yeah. Yes. I did. I guess this sort of thing takes trust."

White Bull's eyes snapped open at that. It was kind of unnerving. Not spooky , just ... uncanny. I'd been watching him closely, and his eyes were focused on me. I didn't see them move - it was like he'd been staring at me even when his eyes were closed. I guessed he was, somehow.

I got up, walked around the coffee table with the go board. He leaned back, looking almost surprised, but I just smiled, and sat down in his lap. He wrapped an arm around me, and shifted my weight slightly, and then he sighed silently. I could feel the air rush out of him.

"You trust me," he said, very softly. "Thank you, Brad. I am honored." He wrapped his other arm around me, holding me, not tightly, but firmly. He was warm, and I was tired - I mentioned I'd been having this trouble sleeping lately? I could smell the pleasantly masculine scent of minotaur, and I realized he was talking, but I wasn't hearing what he was saying. I yawned, and then I yawned again, and I closed my eyes, unable to keep them open any longer.

I was in a room, floored with neatly mowed grass. Eight walls of frosted glass tilted in to a point; I couldn't see out through them, but light - a soft, gray-yellow illumination - poured in anyway. Flowers were planted around the edges of the room, big multicolored blooms on thin green stalks with green-blue leaves.

White Bull was sitting, leaning against one of the walls. He had a longsword in one hand, and a black wand in the other. He wasn't wearing any clothes, but that seemed fine, since I wasn't either. I turned around three times - don't ask me why - and then looked over at him. "Am I dreaming?"

The minotaur got up, held out his hand, and waggled it back and forth. "No and yes," he said. "We're in a dreamtime, which is somewhat like dreaming, but ... there are differences." He looked around. "Could you make the walls go away, please? I'd like to see what's out there."

That was a bad idea, I knew. The walls were there for a good reason. Anyway, I couldn't make them go away.

Could I?

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said. "This isn't a safe place. There's something bad out there." As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. This was a forbidden place, an evil place, and only these walls kept it safe. Outside was something hungry; I could feel its footsteps as it paced around the walls.

White Bull nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "There is something out there waiting. But it will get in, you know, eventually. The walls can't keep it out forever, and the walls tell it where we are. I'd like to see it." He held up his sword. "We need to know what it is, and where we are."

"But ..."

"We need to know what it is," the minotaur repeated.

Oh.

"I'm not sure I know how," I said.

"Use the wand," he said. "The one you're holding."

I was holding a wand, sort of like the one White Bull had, only instead of being black, it was light-colored wood with spiral carvings on it. I pointed the wand at one of the walls, but nothing happened.

"It doesn't work," I said.

White Bull shook his head. "Use it some other way, Brad. We need to see what's out there. You need to see what's out there. You're the only one who can open the walls."

But wasn't he a shaman?

"I thought ..."

"They are your walls, Brad, so you have to bring them down. I can help you. I will_protect you. Whatever is out there, believe me, will not get either of us. We'll be safe if we go to it before it is ready to come to us."_

That sounded reasonable, so I walked over to the wall, and tapped it with the wand. The glazing began to melt, and it opened up a tiny area of -

A loud crash, and the sound of glass shattering sent me jumping into the air. The entire room was shaking, and even the grass was trembling. White Bull caught me midair - holding me in his left arm, the wand pressed against my chest. The walls were still holding, though.

"It's found us," I said.

"It always knew where we were," White Bull said calmly, holding his sword out. How could he be calm? "But it still can't break the walls, not yet. It's just trying to scare you."

"It's working."

"No," the shaman disagreed. "If it was working, you'd have been chased out of this dreamtime. The ..."

Whatever White Bull was about to say didn't get said as another blow hit the wall, and this time, cracks were showing.

"It's strong," he said grudgingly. "Let the walls down, Brad."

"No!" I said. I mean, I wanted to, but ... I couldn't!

"You want to let the walls down, Brad, I know," White Bull said quietly, facing the shattering wall. "I don't know why_, not yet, but I need to. And to know that, I need you to let the walls down."_

Another wall cracked and splintered, and the minotaur shifted slowly to face both of them.

"Brad. These walls aren't protecting us, they're keeping us trapped," White Bull said carefully. "They have to come down, before they break."

"Don't let me go," I whispered.

"I won't. Bring the walls down, Brad."

I did.

We were standing in a patch of grass, in a field of ... statues? No, not statues. I only had a moment to look at them and understand what they were before a giant wolven sprang down in front of us. Drying blood and semen matted its fur, and its legs and tail were spattered with mud. It had an embarrassingly bright-red erection, and other than the red glow where it should have had eyes, it looked horribly like me_, only larger. White Bull was barely half its size, but his sword pointed steadily at it while it howled. It circled us, as if it hoped somehow to get behind us._

"It can't touch us, Brad," the minotaur said. "All it can do is scare us into doing something foolish."

I was busy looking around at the landscape. The grass here and there had been torn up, and the statues ... I was dully aware of my embarrassment. Every sexual fantasy I'd ever had seemed to be represented. I remembered each one with humiliating clarity, and what the demon-me had done to them was unspeakable. It had bent and broken and cracked the images, dragging them down into new and revolting combinations. My gym instructor mounting my father. My best friend Gerald sucking off a horse and a wolven I barely remembered. Dr. Vimes on his back with Rocking Hammer.

I hoped White Bull hadn't seen that one.

"Brad?" I nearly jumped out of White Bull's grip at his voice. "Do you understand what you're seeing here?"

Did I ... "Yes," I said, curtly. "Can we ..."

I awoke with a start, still cradled in White Bull's arms.

I leaped up, and back over to my chair, and ... I wanted to cry. I couldn't look White Hammer in the face. I just wanted to die. He knew.

"Brad," the minotaur said, in that same knowing calm voice. Damn him!

"That's it, isn't it. I'm gay, and that's why the demon is coming for me," I said.

"No," said White Bull. "That's not why the demon is coming for you."

"But I saw ..."

"That's _how_it's coming for you, yes," White Bull said quietly. "But if you weren't gay, you would have seen breeder sex scenes in the dreamscape."

That surprised a laugh out of me.

"Or something else," the minotaur said. "It doesn't matter. Although ..." he paused. "Morden has a low opinion of same-sex activity, don't they."

"You could say that, yes," I said. "My ..." but I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Your parents?" asked White Bull, almost sad.

I just nodded.

White Bull just sat motionless for a moment. "Difficult, difficult," he said. "What do you think you should do?"

"I don't know," I said. "This ... nightmare stuff came up, and I haven't really had a lot of time."

"No," White Bull agreed. "I suppose not." He looked over at the wall. "Your parents have certainly spent a lot of time and trouble on your nightmares, though."

"Yeah," I said, not really sure where he was going with that comment.

"I wonder," he said. "If you're not sure of the answers, that's fine, you may just not remember well enough to say yea or nay. Did the nightmares either start or get worse after you started daydreaming about males?"

He said that so calmly.

I almost said, I don't daydream about males. I almost screamed it at him. I wanted to. "I'm not sure," is what I said instead.

The minotaur just tilted his head a little, as if he'd heard what I hadn't said anyway. "Really?"

"No," I said, my thoughts finally catching up with me. It had gotten worse after I ... "It got worse, yes."

White Bull just leaned back on the sofa. "Difficult, difficult," he said again. He looked at me speculatively. "I much prefer to deal with one_problem. _One problem is rarely impossible. It's when it tangles with another that they turn into a Gordian knot. Are you in love?"

That caught me by surprise. "Uh - no. No."

"No boyfriends, no crushes, no secret adoration for a friend?"

"No," I said. "I've got friends, but ... none like that."

White Bull exhaled softly. "Very well." He turned. "Rocking Hammer!" he called. "Could you come back in here, please?"

The door opened, and Rocking Hammer slipped back into the room. "Master?"

"We're finished here."

The tall minotaur gazed at me speculatively, and then nodded. "It may take a few minutes."

"Yes," White Bull said.

"We wait."

"I don't understand why they just don't come out."

White Bull gave a brief smile. "They're sleeping, dreaming of a conversation with Rocking Hammer and each other, twined round in pleasantries to keep them occupied. I think it would be more convenient if they never know they've been out. Imagine how upset they'd be if they thought otherwise."

"Oh," I said.

"Not that it would help to tell them," White Bull said, almost warningly. "They won't remember it that way, and it would ... hurt their worldview to experience such a thing in way they could remember it, or to take such information seriously."

"I won't say anything."

White Bull lifted a hand, and waved it horizontally, back and forth, as if to say it made very little difference, ultimately. Whether that was in general, or just to him, I wasn't certain.

My parents and Dr. Vimes came back into the room in a couple of minutes, followed by Rocking Hammer. My dad looked a little dazed, but other than that they looked fine.

"Did you cover everything important?"

"More or less," Rocking Hammer replied.

"Good," said White Bull. He looked at the three adults. "Brad needs some very intensive help." He paused for a moment. "I could say that he has a brain dysfunction akin to a second personality intruding on his pyche, but it's simpler to say that he's under attack by a demon."

"A what?"

"The situation, although critical, is not yet acute, and we have an excellent record of treating this sort of disturbance - 100% success when the issue is caught in time, as it has been here," White Bull continued. "So the prognosis is excellent."

"Did you say a_demon_?" my father asked, refusing to be diverted.

White Bull stared at him for a moment. "Please don't interrupt me with rhetorical questions. Thank you.

"Now, prognosis and treatment. Curable, as I said. It's imperative, however, that we begin treatment immediately. Brad will accompany Rocking Hammer and myself back to Minos to Labyrinth, and he'll begin immediately."

"I thought Labyrinth was off-limits to non-minotaurs," my mother said. Where did _she_learn about Minos, I wondered.

"A misconception," White Bull said. "It is somewhat restricted, but Brad's presence will not be a problem."

"And ... it takes time to get a visa to Minos," she said.

Rocking Hammer stepped forward. "As a shaman, I have the authority to extend a full visa to your son, Mrs. Bon Urlo."

"This seems sudden," she faltered.

"Yes," Rocking Hammer agreed. "Quite sudden. But either he comes back with us, or he dies. That, too, will be quite sudden."

"He's not ... not prepared for Minos," my father said. I got the strange feeling he had been about to say something else.

White Bull sighed. "No. But it doesn't matter. We ask those entering Minos of their own desire to know how to survive. Brad is invited. I - or Rocking Hammer, Rocking Hammer would be the better choice, I think - will be his guardian while he is in Minos. We - Rocking Hammer and I - both pledge to see to his safety, education, and well-being. What he lacks, we will see he gains."

"How much is this going to cost," my father asked, after a moment.

White Bull looked at Rocking Hammer, who shrugged. "We do not do what we do for money, although monies help us deal with Morden and other lands. Ten thousand Morden dollars, but if that is too much, then we will take less."

"You can help him," Mother said, overriding something my father had been about to say.

"Yes," answered White Bull.

"Brad, do you ... do you want to go?"

White Bull smiled. "That is without a doubt the best question I've heard in weeks. Thank you, Mrs. Bon Urlo."

They were all looking at me. My father started to say something, but stopped, again, and just waited.

"Yes. I've talked to Shaman White Bull, and ... and I think I need to go. I want to go," I said.

My father just looked at me. "You know, Brad, I don't want to impugn your courage or strength, but ... Minos is a hard place to live. The Mordenguard and army send their commando units to train in Minos. I mean, I know you're not going to be doing commando training, but it's a hard life."

I looked at White Bull.

"Training commandos is supposed to be hard," he said. "Life in Minos is not all 40-mile hikes in blizzard conditions with some sort of thousand-foot ice climb at the end."

"Yeah. We do some hard stuff, too." Rocking Hammer said, with a great deadpan look. My father just sighed, and smiled.

"OK," said. "Go."

"We'll go home and pack ..."

The old white minotaur shook his head. "Better not. His clothes won't be appropriate for Minos. We have everything he needs." He smiled into my mother's face. "Really. You want what's best for him, yes?"

"Of course," she faltered.

"That would be putting him in my care. Rocking Hammer?"

"Sign here, please," he said, presenting papers to my parents.

Now, this was _weird._They didn't read them, they just signed them, four copies, with Dr. Vimes acting as a witness. "Uh ... White Bull?"

"Yes?"

"What ... what did my parents just sign so blithely?"

"You noticed that, did you," White Bull observed. "Rocking Hammer?"

I'm not sure that what I really did next was wake up. I mean, I remembered_everything that had happened. My parents and I had said goodbye, I'd promised to write and they promised to write me, and they and Dr. Vimes had left, and ... then things had gotten strange. We were surrounded by a Mordenguard assault team, and led to a private tubecar station. I didn't even know the Limning Hotel _had a tubecar station. There was a plain-looking government-issue cargo tubecar - or at least it had looked like one from the outside - under guard by Mordenguard and Elevator Police.

I suppose I would have wondered what was in it, but I wasn't wondering much at that point, I was just walking along between White Bull and Rocking Hammer. The cargo door opened - and it was a passenger car.

A first-class passenger car, down to the leather seats and equipped with a bartender and bar. The four minotaurs walked in, and I went with them, and nobody said anything, at least until the doors closed, and a slight hum announced that the car was in motion. Six fully-armed Mordenguard commandos stationed themselves around the car.

That's when I came out of - whatever it was I was in. Rocking Hammer smiled briefly at me, and then turned to White Bull. "They're taken care of," he said.

"Thank you," White Bull said, after a moment, and then turned to me. "I'm sorry about that, but we thought it would go faster if we encouraged it."

"What did you do?"

Rocking Hammer looked pensive. "It's a little hard to describe."

White Bull laughed. "It's very hard to describe, but I'll try. We jumped your parents and Dr. Vimes to the end of the argument. Does that make sense?"

"How?"

Rocking Hammer shook his head. "Ask me again in six months, and maybe I'll be able to explain it. Do you want to try?"

"No," said White Bull shortly. "It's tiring, and doing it to your mother was exhausting. She has a very strong will. Rocking Hammer put you into a ... waking sleep. Very shallow, so that you remembered it as sleep when you came out of it. He's put these good soldiers to sleep, similarly, but when they wake up, they'll just remember an uneventful trip." He paused. "Rocking Hammer is extremely good at putting people to sleep like that."

"Thank you," the other minotaur said.

"So ... you can just magically put people to sleep and shortcut arguments?"

The minotaur just looked at him. "Pretty much, yes. Sort of like you can magically send words hundreds of thousands of miles in a second, and -" White Bull waved his arms to encompass the tubecar - "summon magic carriages to whisk you a thousand miles in a few hours. Or create a magic column that lifts things into the very heavens."

"What I like are the magic lights," Rocking Hammer said helpfully. "Magic lights at all times of night, perfect for reading or writing. Candles just aren't bright enough, and wood fires are too red."

"But those aren't magic," I said. "I could show you how to do them."

"He catches on quickly," Rocking Hammer said.

"He does," White Bull said approvingly. "So, Brad, turn that around."

_Turn that around?_Oh. "You could show me how to ... put people to sleep, or shortcut arguments, or do other stuff."

White Bull nodded. "Yes. You're going to be learning how to be shaman, Brad, because that's pretty much the only way to chase off a demon. Right now, untrained, you're prey. Get a little training, learn about the dreaming, and ... well, within a year it will be your prey."

"I like the sound of that."

"We thought you would," White Bull said, and yawned.

"Master?" asked Rocking Hammer.

"I think Brad and I need to get some sleep," White Bull said after a moment. He got up, walked over to me, and picked me up. I struggled for a moment, until he said, "Stop that. Don't be silly. I can't keep the demon away unless I'm touching you. I can promise you a decent sleep, no nightmares."

"Oh," I said, tempted. I hadn't gotten a good sleep in ... in a long time.

"I can look after everything on this side," Rocking Hammer said.

_This side?_But I yawned, and relaxed into the minotaur's grip. It was comfortable.

"Do you need help falling asleep?" White Bull asked me.

"No," I said. "Thank you," and they both fell quiet. I listened to the hum of the tubecar for a few minutes before I did fall asleep, and I can report that I slept very well cradled in White Bull's arms. I didn't wake up until just before we reached Minos Station ... that was quite a shock for a Morden-bred wolf, I can tell you.