The Dream Keeper

Chapter 9: The Vaults

He was up again in a flash, charging after the stihl. The beast climbed over the tops of the shelves, trying to expand its massive wings. Gladamyr was just about to tackle the thing once more when something grabbed hold of the side of his neck and a stabbing pain pounded from his ear to his elbow. He pulled the thing off his neck. It was an evil black chicken with bloody teeth, like a piranha’s, snapping at his hands. With one twist of his wrist he broke the little monster’s neck and threw it down. A hysterical, yet sad laugh snickered behind him, and a feeling of dread came over Gladamyr.

He turned around, trying to keep his balance atop the teetering shelf, to see a hoard of Fyren’s Mares entering the vaults. Minyon, Slither, and the crazed clown Mentia led the party. Several others followed behind, growling and shouting as they ran into the maze of keys. Gladamyr forgot about the stinking stihl and leaped from shelf to shelf, trying to get back to the children. This mission was over. They had to get to safety now. This wasn’t the place to fight. There just wasn’t room.

More chickens followed Gladamyr’s trail, and the stihl was making a turnaround, blowing jets of fire that didn’t seem to catch on the shelves but caught on a chicken. The fiery thing fell off the wall and ran madly through the maze. Under better circumstances, Gladamyr would have found the sight funny. He spotted Parker and Kaelyn running along with Felix and Cerulean. They were making good headway; if everything timed right, they just might get the keys and be able to doorway out of this place.

“Gladamyr, look out!” Parker cried.

The stihl torpedoed into Gladamyr. The Dream Keeper sailed through the air and crashed down onto the hard, glassy floor. The beast’s tail wrapped around his neck and squeezed so tight, Gladamyr thought his head was about to pop off. He saw flashes of red as evil began to overtake the Dream Keeper. The monster within was breaking free once more. Gladamyr tried to fight it. He pushed all hateful emotions down deep inside, but it was too much while trying to fight off the stihl.

Once more, wicked, black spikes shot out from his body, and the stihl roared in pain. Its tail loosened from around his neck, and Gladamyr took hold of his emotions. He thought of Cerulean having to see him kill another dreamling. He thought of Kaelyn and how she saw him as good. He thought of the first mortal he’d ever met, and her pink nightgown. The evil was suppressed, but the fight wasn’t over.

With Gladamyr’s spikes gone, the stihl made a comeback. It knocked him back against a wall of keys. Its talons tore at his flesh and silvery blood soon covered his purple skin. There was horrible pain. He shifted again, his arms doubling their length, his hands growing to the size of large chairs. He slammed his hands down tight on the stihl. It writhed back and Gladamyr shifted again. He flipped the thing over and brought its head down to the ground with a loud smack. Using all the strength he could find, Gladamyr hoisted the thing over his head. He threw the creature over the shelf, and the stihl’s body slapped the floor.

“Well done, Gladamyr,” a cruel voice said from behind him. “But it takes more than that to kill a stihl. I know you have it in you, so why not try?”

Gladamyr turned to see the shining white skull face of Fyren. He stood in his long black robes, holding a deep black blade across his arms. Gladamyr had a flash of what the mortals visualized as Death, or what some called the Grim Reaper—Fyren seemed to have taken the form as his permanent shift.

Gladamyr spat in disgust. “I’m not a killer!”.

“Oh, no?” Fyren laughed. “What of Dorjan? Cato told me what you did to him, Gladamyr. I couldn’t be more proud of you for that. Dorjan was a disappointment.”

“Like I was a disappointment?”

Fyren’s bone jaw tightened. “You could’ve been better than I, Gladamyr, more powerful than any Mare that lived—yet you can’t see things the way they really are, the way they should be. You’re evil, Gladamyr, evil! Why not accept it? I saw your birth in Dorchadas—the heart of Mares. I alone saw you tear your mortal back to Awake so she could die from the wounds you inflicted. I was there Gladamyr . . . I know you better than you know yourself . . . I know—”