The morning brought rain with faint thunder, making the Professor even more anxious than usual. In the lab, Cassiopia and Rogers arrived determined and optimistic. Rogers’ flight departed at 10:15 P.M., leaving time enough to visit the unexplained world where time was no longer a constant.
Rogers zipped the front of her blue coveralls higher as Cassiopia tucked her controller in the front pocket of her jeans, and adjusted the collar of her tan, short-sleeved shirt. With the mirror glistening, and the ominous drone from the computer stacks and door emitters filling the room, they climbed the ramp and stood beside the liquid surface, conscious of the strained stare from the Professor.
Without speaking, they held hands, braced, and once more stepped through the silver membrane and into the dynamic world of Dreamland.
A strong ocean breeze greeted them, pushing at their hair and clothes. The crashing sounds of waves striking the beach and receding for another try filled the air. On the right, a line of tall palms and beach grass stood guard at the boundary of a tropical forest. Ahead the apron of white sand seemed to go on forever, bending around a turn far in the distance. The blue sky held low clouds, shading the rising sun. To their delight, only a few feet away, two horses, saddled and ready stood waiting, picking at what grass there was near the edge of the clearing. Their saddles were lightweight western, brown leather, heavily engraved, and their bridles bore no bit, only a heavy cotton band around the nose. The nearest was snow white, with a long mane, and a tail that touched the sand. The other had a sleek, jet-black coat with a black mane that hung below the neck, a tail that dragged, and feathered hooves.
Both women took too long to turn and look for the mirror. It had faded away in midair, leaving more pristine beach in the other direction.
“This is more like it,” remarked Cassiopia, as she turned to admire the horses.
“Everyone remember where we parked,” joked Rogers. She searched the ocean for signs of watercraft but saw none.
“Have you ever ridden, Ann?”
“Oh yeah. My uncle’s ranch. I even went in horse shows, mostly equitation classes. How about you?”
“Yes. I took riding lessons starting when I was twelve. My father thought I wasn’t getting out enough.”
“Imagine that,” joked Rogers, and she pushed Cassiopia on the shoulder.
“Well, I guess that explains why there are horses in this Dreamland. I wonder how close we can get before the chase begins.”
“Only one way to find out.” Rogers began a slow walk toward the black, stopping at points along the way to talk to him, backing away when he raised his head too quickly.
Both women cautiously approached a horse and slowly managed to hold one rein, Cassiopia with the white, Rogers beside the black. There seemed to be an instant amity. Cassiopia bent over and then stood back up. “Uh-oh. Stallions. I hope there are no mares nearby.”
Rogers stroked her black stallion on the neck, cooing to it in a little voice. Without warning, she positioned herself facing sideway and slipping one foot in the stirrup, pulled herself into the saddle and collected her horse. The animal responded by flaring his head and sidestepping but stopped at the first gentle tug.
Cassiopia laughed. “You are a brave woman, Ann.”
“What, are you chicken?”
“Who’s chicken?” Cassiopia moved into position and swung herself up and on. The animal backed around to face its companion, then stood waiting for commands.
“Which way?” said Rogers.
“You know, I really just don’t care at the moment,” replied Cassiopia. “This is just too good.”
“They are long-legged. I bet they have nice smooth trots.” Roger made a “chic,” sound and her horse broke directly into a slow trot, raising its front feet high. Cassiopia neck-reined in their direction and caught up along side.
The two women trotted along the most beautiful beach they had ever seen, looking for any signs of life, finding none.
“I don’t get it, Cass. You said this was supposed to be our best chance at finding him, but I don’t see anyone anywhere, not that I’m complaining.”
“There’s a lot more beach to cover,” countered Cassiopia.
Rogers laughed. “Yeah, maybe we should go faster,” and with that she gave the “chic” sound again and leaned forward. Her horse needed no further coaxing. It shook its head from side to side, lowered it, and bolted out like a charging bull, tail straight up, head extended into the wind. Cassiopia shrieked with delight, gave a short tap with her heels and took off in pursuit. To her surprise, she caught up quickly, and in a flat-out gallop, they raced along the sand, splashing through the tips of the waves, jumping-stepping along when it became too deep. At one point Cassiopia’s center of balance shifted to the left so much so that she nearly fell off. She hung on and began to laugh hysterically trying to pull herself back to center. Her right leg was hooked over the saddle well enough, but every time she tried to pull back up, the bounce set her back down, causing even more hysterics. Rogers glanced over long enough to see the dilemma and joined in; laughing so hard she nearly lost her own balance. Cassiopia’s struggle to regain her seat seemed to go on forever, and the longer it lasted the harder they laughed. Her horse did not seem to mind in the least and never broke gate. With her face buried in the horse’s mane, Cassiopia finally managed to wiggle back onto the padded seat. Ahead, a barrier of black rocks blocked the way so that they had to pull up and let their panting horses dance around to shake off the adrenaline. They laughed and laughed, and pointed at each other until their faces were red, and they could barely breathe. Rogers bent over the horn of her saddle, trying to catch hers. Cassiopia wiped tears from her eyes and struggled to stop. Each time they paused, a single look from one to the other and it would start all over again until exhaustion finally overcame hysteria.
“Oh jeez, my stomach hurts,” declared Rogers. “You looked like an out of control trick rider.”
“Oh please. Don’t start. I can hardly breathe,” begged Cassiopia.
“You should have just gone ahead and fallen off. It would have been much more graceful,” suggested Rogers, and with whining and wheezing they again lost control in uproarious laughter.
“Boy, it’s awful when you’re crying from laughing so bad you can’t see where you’re going at a gallop!” said Cassiopia, and again they started up.
“Oh, no more, please. I can’t take it.”
As their rides calmed, both women dropped their reins and continued to wipe their wet faces with both hands, slowly regaining a little sobriety. Cassiopia looked around as she collected her hair.
“Cassiopia, let’s stay here forever.”
“Ask me again if we find Scott.”
The rock wall blocking the way descended from the forest edge and out into the ocean. Black rock, constructed of large and small boulders, formed a natural seawall. A wide tropical trail opened in the forest alongside it, wide enough to canter. With a nod from Cassiopia, they turned their mounts toward it and urged them into a gentle lope, following the twists, turns, and upward slopes that led to deeper, more tangled jungle.
As the trail progressed, it became steep. In several stretches, they had to lean forward to help the horses climb, a task that both seemed to enjoy, despite the grunting and deep breathing it brought.
When the trail finally opened to a wide, dirt-stone plateau, a flowing stream crossed in front of them, and without being asked, the horses accelerated and easily jumped it. Not far from the stream, a new clearing decorated by a large Tibetan altar came into view. Three cloaked figures, their faces hidden by hoods sat in a circle around it. Cassiopia and Rogers brought their horses to a halt and sat wondering if it was appropriate to continue.
The monks did not pay them any attention. They sat facing each other in silent meditation. Cassiopia dismounted and wondered if she should approach. She took a few steps toward them and spoke hesitantly. “May I intrude?”
“Too late,” was the reply, and on
e of the three looked up at her.
“I’m looking for someone. It’s very important. Perhaps you might know where I could look.”
The monk who had spoken slowly rose and gathered his wrap. He waved Cassiopia to follow. She looped the reins over her horse’s head and led him alongside the man, as he slowly made his way up the path.
“What has brought you to this place, my young seeker friend?”
“Oh, a special doorway my father invented.”
“And does everyone own such a thing as this where you come from?”
“No, it’s the only one, actually.”
“And who is this you seek that you would come so far?”
“His name is Scott Markman. But I don’t suppose the name would mean anything to you.”
“He is here, but he is not.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Complete your journey on this path, and on your way back I will have something for you.” The monk pointed further ahead.
Cassiopia did not understand, but she did not hesitate. She pushed the reins back onto her horse, mounted up, and cantered along the narrowing trail. Around two turns and up a steep incline, the path ended on a cliff overhang. She twisted in her saddle to look out over the wondrous landscape of Dreamland. A man sat in the lotus position at the edge of the cliff. Cassiopia pulled her horse up and stared from behind. He looked very familiar. He turned and looked up at her.
It was Scott Markman.
“Wow! An angel with white hair on a snow-white horse! What a site,” he said, as he stood and turned to face her. She immediately climbed down and went to him.
“How did you get here?” he asked, and he hugged her and then held her away to look. “You are a site for sore eyes.”
“We have to talk. There’s problem.”
“Something’s bothering you? What is it?”
Cassiopia checked her horse. It would be a very long walk back without him. He seemed to be napping after the long run. “Let’s sit.”
They sat down on the ledge overlooking the Dreamland forest and distant ocean. Cassiopia studied him, wondering exactly who she had found.
“You are ill. You are in the hospital unconscious. We need to find a way to wake you.”
“News to me. I feel just fine.”
“What’s the last thing you remember before being here?”
Markman thought. “I was investigating your father’s disappearance for the university.”
“No. That’s from way back. What else do you remember?”
“Oh, I know. I was diving for an old friend named Dan Parrish.”
“No. That’s mixed up. You weren’t”
“What else?”
“Okay, we went through a mirror or something, and ended up in a Federal agent’s apartment in New York.”
Realization and disappointment came to Cassiopia. It was not Markman. It was a distorted recreation of him, a composite personality based on her knowledge and experiences with him, combined with Rogers. She had felt that right away. She climbed to her feet, and he stood with her. She hugged him.
“Go back to your meditation. I’ll see you again.”
“Okay,” he replied, and he sat back down as though things were as they should be.
Cassiopia led her horse back down the trail. Fear began to seep in. She was not sure if there was a real way to reach Markman’s subconscious. Seeing him made her realize how all-important it was. This should have been her best chance. What was left? The only thing certain was that she would never give up. A tear escaped one eye. She wiped it away and cursed at herself. She looked up and found the monk standing in front of her.
“He was there, but not there,” she said.
The monk bowed and smiled. He held out a closed hand to offer her something. Cassiopia reached out. The monk opened his hand and dropped it in hers. She looked down to find a silver, heavily engraved ring, one that she knew well. It was a ring that had once helped catch her in a lie, and she was grateful for that.
The monk spoke. “Keep it close to you. You will need it.”
Cassiopia tried to appear grateful in her sadness. She knew that thought-matter never left Dreamland. The ring would be gone the moment she stepped back through the mirror. The real ring was in the box of Scott’s valuables she had brought home from the hospital. But the monk represented kindness, and kindness deserved to be treated with love. She forced a smile, thanked him, and tucked the ring in her jean pocket. She climbed onto her horse, wished him a heartfelt farewell, and turned to head back. The monk waved as she rode away.
Back at the altar, Rogers was still mounted and waiting. “Luck?” she asked.
Cassiopia shook her head and tried not to appear disappointed.
They worked their way down the trail and reached the shore. With the beautiful waves crashing alongside, they sat a slow canter and made their way back to the spot where it had all begun. Dismounted, they took time to stroke their trusty steeds and thank them, regretting that it was time to leave.
Cassiopia dug in her pocket and found the door control. Rogers looked on.
“Here’s hoping,” she said.
Cassiopia lifted the switch guard and hit the button. To their surprise, the SCIP mirror beamed suddenly into view. They went to it, and with a last loving look at their horses, stepped back through the mirror.
Chapter 21