Page 49 of A Theory of Dreaming
His mind was overloaded as he stepped out of the phone booth. A numbness had spread through his body, making his skin prick with pins and needles. It was all too much.
Effy was waiting on the sidewalk, hands tucked into herpockets and her unruly hair blowing about in the freezing wind. When she saw him, her face instantly turned white. “What’s wrong?”
Preston opened his mouth to reply. But before he could speak, there was a deafening noise overhead. He and Effy both lifted their gazes to the sky.
Two fighter planes shot through the air like loosed arrows, propellers whirring. They flew low and close, their sleek metal bodies glinting in the harsh sunlight. They passed over the city of Caer-Isel, over the domed roof of the Sleeper Museum and the clustered stone buildings of the university, racing toward the black mountains of Argant in the distance.
Seventeen
The man who I thought had saved me was in truth the one who had caged me. With that epiphany, I drifted and was lost. There is no bleaker darkness than that found when the light of love is snuffed out.
—from the diaries of Angharad Myrddin, 201 AD
AS WAR WITH ARGANT INTENSIFIES, LLYRIAN GOVERNMENT ORDERS RESTRICTIONS ON CULTURAL ACTIVITIES
Last week, as the Llyrian army launched a new offensive that aims to breach the border with Argant, the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Culture released a joint statement announcing a nationwide restriction on all activities that could be seen as dissident. This includes a curtailment of certain publications, including this newspaper’s planned exposé on Emrys Myrddin.
At the beginning of winter, two students from theuniversity of Caer-Isel contacted the paper with documents that, they claim, prove that Emrys Myrddin is not the author of the seminal novelAngharadand possibly other work attributed to him. Our editorial board has vetted these materials carefully and initially planned to publish the findings by the end of the year; however, this new measure by the government has delayed our article indefinitely.
Emrys Myrddin is the seventh Sleeper of Llyr, interred at the museum only this past year following his death. His consecration was widely viewed as a boon to Llyr’s war effort, providing the army with a much-needed boost in morale, and—if the government and the more superstitious among us are to be believed—bestowing Llyr with a boon of magic.
But the recent controversy has cast a pall over the nation, allegedly weakening this enchantment and enervating morale at a time when, according to the missive from the Ministries of Culture and Defense, “it can hardly be afforded.” The newspaper reached out to the office of the culture minister, Stuart Skirclaw, for further comment.
“This is the moment for the nation of Llyr to unite in common cause,” Minister Skirclaw said. “It is of grave importance to conclude this war as quickly as possible, with as few casualties on either side, and this temporary ban on seditious activities is intended to minimize the cost of this prolonged conflict. Indeed, the sooner Argant surrenders, the sooner full civil liberties will be restored.”
When asked whether the missive was specifically targeting the press, Minister Skirclaw replied, “Naturally, some cultural institutions will be more affected by these restrictions than others. Our ministry understands and acknowledges that newspapers will bear the brunt. However, we ask that you hold tight for the sake of your fellow countrymen, and pray for an expeditious end to this war.”
TheTimesand other newspapers are not the only institutions that have been forced to make swift adjustments. At the University of Caer-Isel, a number of classes have been canceled for being “detrimental to the spirit of national unity,” and others have had their coursework modified to ensure “conformity with the new restrictions and unflagging loyalty to the government and the war effort.” TheTimesreached out to the university’s dean, Quincy Fogg, but his office did not respond to our request for comment.
Other measures that have been implemented at the university include a ban on correspondence; the porters’ lodges have reportedly been told to stop accepting post marked for Argant, and to turn away any mail coming from the enemy nation. TheTimesspoke to one university student, Domenic Byron Southey II, son of the 8th Baron Margetson, who said that these measures are “long past due.”
“The university has fostered an overly permissive environment where sedition has festered among its student body,” Southey said. “Hopefully with these restrictions we will see these traitorous elements silenced.”
Two weeks had passed since those first planes flew overhead. Since then, the sky had rumbled almost incessantly with the sound of jet engines, like encroaching thunder. Yet, on the ground, the entire city of Caer-Isel seemed to be blanketed in a fearful silence.
It was the small things that preyed on Effy. The way the corner store had stopped selling flowers, its winter camellias wrapped up and put away, as if it was seditious to even appreciate beauty. The way the menu at the Drowsy Poet had shortened to include nothing more than black tea, black coffee, and plain scones. The way the smoking spots on campus all seemed to be abandoned; where crowds of students had once gathered to enjoy their cigarettes between classes, the pavement was now gray and empty.
Nearly a third of the university’s classes had been shuttered, including the one Preston had been helping Gosse to teach. “Probably for the best,” Preston had said, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. “Southey and his little cabal can’t get at me now.” But Effy didn’t miss the faint tremor in his voice.
Effy’s class hadn’t been canceled, but she didn’t know if the curriculum had been adjusted. She hadn’t shown up to Professor Tinmew’s lecture in almost three weeks.
She hadn’t meant to stop attending entirely. But the more days that passed, the more frightened she became.Everythingfelt terrifying, even the brief walk from the door to her seat. Her mind generated a thousand catastrophes: that she would be tripped, that she would be laughed at, that she would be mocked or prodded with pencils, summoning up memories of primary school bullies. Some of these worries were more rational than others; Effy justcouldn’t distinguish them. Again—again—the line between fear and reality was blurring.
Preston didn’t know that she was skipping class. Every morning, they would see each other off, and Effy would walk vaguely toward the literature college building until she was out of Preston’s sight. Then she would creep surreptitiously back toward her dorm and crawl into bed, pulling the covers over her head and opening up Antonia Ardor’s book beneath the sheets.
It had become the only thing that held her attention in the waking world. In truth, she had become rather obsessed with Antonia’s writings, the way she once had with Myrddin’s.
The 1st day of Spring, 81 AD
Dearest Clementina,
I know it has been some time since I last wrote, but it was not for lack of news, nor for lack of love for you, my oldest and most cherished friend. It is only my own defects that have stopped me from lifting my pen. Yet now I feel as though I am at last emerging from a dense and debilitating fog, the mists of my misery cleared.
I grieve my mother still, of course. There is no grief which mere time itself can erase; my soul has only strengthened with the passing months, growing hearty enough to bear it. As the first flowers of spring bloom, those purple hyacinths we once picked and put in our baskets, I feel I have almost become a new creature entirely.
I am writing to you today, on the first day of spring, for Iknow that the courting season has now commenced. I remember how we schemed and planned for this moment, how we awaited it so eagerly, imagining what color dresses we would wear and how we would weave ribbons in our hair! We practiced the steps of our dance together and envisioned our future mates, these dream-conjured men we hoped would ask for our hands.
And yet now I find myself in the regrettable position of having to renounce these dreams.
