THE DRAGONS DOOR
The giant planetoid
convulsed. A gigantic fart tore through Eric the ore-miner’s old cave where he
had taken refuge after his crash. An eruption of sulphurous wind blasted away any
signs of his recent sojourn there, hurling all his paraphernalia out of the
cave and into outer space: his empty oxygen cylinders and Mech-suit, his
personal knickknacks and his old army blanket, all floated off towards the
stars, tumbling over each other in slow motion like laundry in some vast
washing machine. The wreck of his old abandoned spaceship rattled as some inner
convulsions heaved up the surface of the green planet and then settled down
again.
***************
They never knew quite
when they had entered the spaceship, or Cantave as Garm had called it, if
indeed they had done so; they just knew that they had walked for a long time in
absolute whiteness. Every time they took a step they felt like they were going
to fall right through the cloud of white.
“This is as far as I
go,” said the Rider. “I hope you have enjoyed the tour so far, but this is
where the fun actually starts. Untie them,”
he said, and the guards shuffled to obey.
Then he said, looking at
Dutch but indicating to Sweet Mary. “It looked a lot worse than it actually
was.”
Dutch looked back at him
with a cold, blank expression that would have sent shivers down any mortal
spine.
The Rider shrugged and
smiled a strange little smile. “I have to go now. Perhaps we’ll meet again,” he
said looking at Dutch. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get your chance for revenge.”
Dutch didn’t say a word.
“If you would care to
wait here,” he said. “The Seesh will be out shortly to entertain you,” he
laughed and then turned and glided off into the white. The guards quickly cut
the prisoners loose and marched off, leaving the little group to grope around
on their own.
“What are we supposed to
do now?” asked Angelo just for something to say.
Dutch found herself
being more than a little aggravated that she hadn’t been able to rip the Rider
limb from limb.
“Hello?” she called out belligerently,
quite surprised that there was an echo. That meant they were in a big hall of
sorts, not in an actual cloud. When she looked at the white, she couldn’t tell whether
there was a wall five inches from her nose or five miles away. Even when she
turned to look at the others, the white seemed to engulf them and the further
away they were, the less clearly she could see them.
As she stared, several female
Ahram appeared out of the whiteness bearing trays of food and seat-cushions
which they placed seemingly in mid-air in front of the humans. The tables were
invisible to the humans; similarly the doors through which the women had
entered, and through which they now exited. Dutch walked over to a food tray
and explored underneath it. Sure enough, there was a boxlike shape holding up
the tray, but these objects had absolutely no delineation. Without any shadows
they were impossible to see.
So there they stood,
looking in stupid amazement at the cushion seats and trays of food hovering in the
air. Dutch was the first to snap out of the trance.
“Where is the Counsellor?”
she asked, noticing that he too was missing. Everyone looked round but could
offer no explanation.
“He is being taken care
of elsewhere,” said an old Ahram man who appeared out of nowhere too.
“Please come and sit
down. You must be weary,” he spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. “Come, eat and
rest,” he indicated the couches and the trays laden with fruit and food with
his walking stick. Rose went forward without hesitation and sat down close to
him. She sat quite happily with her hands folded in her lap and a smile on her
face. Her eyes never left the Ahram.
“Who are you?” asked
Dutch in her own inimitable style.
“I am the Seesh, and I
am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
They all were mystified.
Everyone believed the legendary Seesh to be an all-powerful and terrifying
figure who struck fear into all his people. But there in front of them stood an
ordinary old Ahram man.
‘So much for rumours’ thought
Dutch. When someone hides themselves away for long enough their reputation can
grow to gigantic proportions. It made sense.
The old Ahram tapped his
way over to a couch next to Rose and sat down heavily, as if he suffered from arthritis
or something. He twirled his walking stick in his hands as he spoke.
“The joys of getting
old,” he said. “And I am old. Several hundred years I should think. I have lost
count. What you’d call a biblical age.” He turned to Rose and stroked her hair.
Rose beamed back at him.
“Don’t do that,” said
Angelo, not liking all this one little bit, but the Seesh just ignored him.
“It has its advantages.
With age comes wisdom…mainly from making many mistakes I grant you, but I never
make the same one twice.
Dutch listened to him with
one ear, her eyes scanning the place for clues and information.
“And how do you manage
to live so long?” she asked, just to keep him talking.
“One ages very slowly in
here.”
“And where exactly is
‘here’?” Dutch seemed to be the only one not mesmerized into strangeness by the
situation. “An Ahram told us this is a warship and that you plan to invade Earth?”
she said coming straight to the point.
“Ahram say the most
amazing things. This…er…construction is far too big to be a spaceship. No. This
is a home I am preparing for my people – for when the power of the bones
finally fail and the valley dies. Soon the bones will not have enough power to
warm such a big place as the valley and keep the ice at bay. In here we can
live happily for many hundreds, if not thousands of years.
“What about food and
water?
“There are gardens
within,” he waved a delicate hand in a sweeping sideways gesture, “many, many
gardens. Perhaps once you have rested I could give you a guided tour.”
“How come we can understand
you?
“For much the same
reason you can understand the Rider,” he shrugged as if that wasn’t important.
“You have women here,” said
Dutch, indicating the trays of food. “What about the breeding dens; why do you
keep the women separate from the men?”
“Ah, a philosophical
question that bodes a long answer, so please bear with me,” he said, glancing
patronizingly at Rose who once more beamed back at him as if he was the all-beneficent
life-giver.
“Since the beginning of
time it has been known that if you want to motivate men to do something: work
together on a big project like building a civilization or a city like this -
the best way to do it is to tap into their sexual energy. We curb their sexual
appetites by withholding women from them: either physically by separating them,
or through a taboo; and so cause an unnatural desire with plenty of suppressed
energy which needs to be channelled into things like sport or exercise. Here in
the valley it is simply a case of getting the men to let off steam by making
them build the city as fast as possible. If they had a woman to dally with,
they wouldn’t be so dedicated and hard working. Men tend to get very lazy if
you give them a woman. Women also make men unhappy and anxious, and therefore unreliable
and unproductive.”
This sounded all very
plausible to Dutch. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it like hell. But there
didn’t seem to be anything sinister about it, only brutal pragmatism.
“But what about the
rumours of sacrificing virgins to the Worm?”
“That’s all they are,
rumours. It’s actually a throwback from the old days when the sun was young and
we were spread out all across the planet. We were trying to build and maintain
a stable civilization so we used the taboo method, much like you do on Earth.
We taught the children from a very young age that sex was, to use your own
words, a sin, and only to be used for procreation purposes. To make this work
we had to invent an invisible deity, a giant worm that would punish them for their
transgressions, and to whom they had to pray for the strength to resist their
natural urges; which were then redirected into Work and War – the two pillars that
every civilization rests on.
“So you’re saying that
the worm and the sacrifices are just a myth that you invented to keep the
people in line?”
“Not me personally, I am
not that old, but yes. Once the city
is built we can go back to normal…where male and female can live together in
disharmony where they seem to be happiest.”
But Dutch wasn’t falling
for any of his disarming jokes and smiles.
“What about the women in
the caves?”
“Of course,” said the
Seesh, “with incarceration and captivity there is bound to be a rebellious
faction. For these women we provide an escape route, care of your friend Garm,
and a nice safe place for them to live. That way we keep everyone happy.
“You mean Garm is
working for you? But he’s the one who told us about the warship and your
invasion plans.”
“No, he doesn’t work for
me. He doesn’t know any more than the others. Only the Rider and I know the
true state of affairs, and the nature of this building. We actually encourage
the others to believe in that rumour.”
“Why?” went on the
relentless Dutch
“You’re not going to
like the answer. Are you sure you want to know?” asked the Seesh.
“Yes,” said Dutch,
without hesitation.
The Seesh shrugged his
shoulders and continued. “Well, the bare truth is that this city is not big
enough for everyone. It will only sustain so many people – about a tenth of the
current population. Most of the Ahram are too stupid to work that out, but Garm
is a scholar and a scribe and he would soon notice the accounting error, and
then more than likely he will cause trouble and spread dissention. So it is
vitally important that Garm, above all others, believes it is a warship. It
also helps to motivate the workers.”
The thought did cross
Dutch’s mind that if the Seesh was telling them this, then he knew they would
never be leaving this place alive. Dutch ploughed on, lining up her questions
before he’d finished answering the last. She needed as much information as she
could get about this place if they were ever going to survive.
“Garm also mentioned the
Song of the Sleepers. What’s that?”
“Also all made up.” The
Seesh shrugged as if it wasn’t anything important. “Just part of the myth. But
that’s enough for now,” he said. “Your Rose needs attention and rest – as do
the rest of you. So eat and take your ease. Tomorrow I will meet with you again
and answer all your questions. For now you will be taken to your rooms which I
hope you find to be in the height of comfort.”
“But how do we find our
way around. I can’t see any doors…or any furniture for that matter,” complained
Dutch.
“It is the whiteness to
which your eyes will soon attune. We see perfectly clearly. It won’t take long,
don’t worry. For now, just rest.” And with that he was gone. Almost immediately
five women appeared and took each human by the arm, leading them off into the
whiteness. It all happened so quickly that Dutch didn’t have time to protest their
separation until it was too late.
“I want to go with my
friends,” she said to the Ahram guiding her who just looked at her without
comprehension. Fuming with impatience, Dutch followed the woman down invisible
corridors and through invisible doors until they came to her room, or she
presumed it was a room, for all she saw was whiteness.
Anyway, in her room
there was a tray of food, a plant pot with a shrub, and a mossy kind of
mattress, all hovering at knee height. There was also a little stream of water
that came from nowhere and disappeared back into nowhere after pooling itself
in mid-air. ‘This kinda thing can drive you crazy’ she thought.
With nothing else to do,
Dutch rinsed herself off as best she could and lay down on the bed, wondering
what was going to happen to them. That was the last thought she had before she
fell asleep.
She woke up feeling
groggy and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. That was as far as she got.
Nothing would induce her to move any further. It was as if the whiteness had
sucked all volition out of her. Her mind could follow no particular vein of
thought either, just random words or images popping in and out, as if the
whiteness allowed no hook for her thoughts. Everything slid away. She had no
compulsion to do anything either, or go anywhere.
There was a fresh basket
of food hovering near her bed but she wasn’t interested. She seemed to have no
emotions at all except that she was tired of being told what to do, tired of telling
herself what to do. She wanted to lie down again and go to sleep, but something
nagged at the back of her brain. What about the others? Well, what about them? Go
away. She was also tired of worrying about other people. Why should she? Nobody
ever worried about her. ‘Good ole Dutch, she can take it. Tough ole Dutch,
tough as old boots, and pretty much looking like one…she’ll kick-ass; she’ll
look after us’.
“Well, fuck you. I’m
tired of being the responsible one,” she said, vaguely aware that she was
talking to herself and wondering whether that was a good thing. “Fuck it! I
don’t fucking care. You can all go to hell.” The last words echoed hollowly in
her brain and she lapsed into silent thoughtlessness again.
One breath…two
breaths…Dutch sighed and shifted her weight on the bed. Inadvertently her eyes
flickered towards the mattress and a voice came screaming back at her, “MAKE
YOUR FUCKING BED YOU LAZY WHORE – I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING SLAVE,” and her brain
vomited up a black river of spiteful mocking faces tumbling over one another in
their haste to have their say and release their bile into her bloodstream. She
slapped her hands over her ears to shut out the rising tide of clamouring
voices but to no avail. Her eyes darted about the room desperately. There was
nowhere to hide. She looked around and found herself in the middle of a
playground full of boys and girls standing around her in a circle. They were
pointing at her and sniggering.
“She’s pooped in her
pants,” said a mean little voice and the whole world erupted in laughter.
“Dirty Dulcinea. Stinky
Dulcinea,” said the leering voices pressing in on her. “Dutchy made a doo-doo.
Dutchy made a doo-doo. Dutchy made a doo-doo.”
Dutch squeezed her eyes
tight shut, ground her fingers into her ears and sang as loudly as she could to
drown them out.
And then it was quiet again.
That’s the trouble with
these white rooms. They sure showed up the dirt.
She took in a shuddering
breath.
Alone again.
A thought about her
husband drifted by like a little black cloud but she didn’t try and touch it. ‘Been
there before’ she thought. Just let it go – bye, bye baby – bye, bye murder.
Silence.
Whiteness again.
Then another little
thought scurried across the floor like a mouse but still she didn’t fall for
the bait. Just let it go.
She looked down at her
crossed legs and smoothed down her stockings. She kicked her foot out and
admired her new hi-heel shoes. Red. Like her fingernails. Like the lipstick on
her cigarette filter. She looked up into the old dressing table mirror and saw
her mother smile at her victoriously.
“You have finally become
a woman Dulcinea. You have finally become like me – Ha, ha, ha, ha.”
Dutch stabbed at the
image and the whiteness returned. But she knew her mother was still there. She
could feel her – very close. She was going to have to keep a sharp lookout from
now on.
“After all these years
the bitch is still following me,” she murmured to herself
Silence.
Dullness.
She looked at her muscled
hands. ‘I am past all hope’ she thought as she watched them twisting together,
trying to strangle each other.
Then she stopped and
breathed out a sigh of relaxation.
“I will kill them,” she
said matter-of-factly. “I will kill all the beautiful ones. I will kill them
all and then I will be the beautiful one. With this rocket I will blow them all
to bits. With this spaceship I will…….”
Dutch’s eyes snapped
open. She got up and walked around the room, hands outstretched in front of
her, feeling for the walls. She had to get some sort of perspective.
The room was bigger than
she thought, for no matter how far she walked in any direction she could find
no end to it. She came back to the bed and sat down quietly and let the
whiteness leach all her desires away again. She sat like one of her dolls,
propped up on the edge of the bed, her chin resting upon her chest, her arms
hanging limply by her side…….dumb sawdust brain nodding in the nowhere.
Hours went by.
Days.
The food on the tray
disappeared. Some unseen force laid this human dummy doll down to sleep.
Another night.
Another day.
Dutch swung her legs
over the edge of the bed and looked at her naked knees.
After a while there came
the need to wee, and she didn’t bother to resist. She just let go. Oh how she had
missed that lovely warm feeling. The mossy mattress soaked it all up so what
did she care. She sighed a Sarah Bernhard sigh and slumped wistfully over
forward, her elbows on her naked knees, her big banana-bunch hands under her
chin in a cutie pie pose.
Seemingly years later a
female Ahram came in and laid a cloak upon the bed, but Dutch hardly noticed
her. The Ahram stood by and waited patiently for Dutch to put the robe on. Dutch
didn’t move. The Ahram then rearranged the robe and laid it out closer to Dutch
in the hopes of enticing her into it. The two women waited.
Still.
Nothing.
The Ahram woman came
forward and laid her tiny prehensile hand ever so gently on Dutch’s knee. So
unexpected was this touch that Dutch felt it like a kick in the solar plexus. She
felt open and vulnerable – as if that touch had drawn all her hidden pain to
the surface. She looked up into the woman’s kindly eyes. What beautiful eyes. The
woman indicated to the robe with a genteel wave of her hand.
‘And such tiny hands’
thought Dutch and a flood of emotion for the woman poured over her. She wasn’t
used to someone being nice to her; and the tears burned hotly behind her
eyelids. In a sudden and uncharacteristic gesture, Dutch reached out and took
the woman’s hand in hers, being careful not to hurt her with her big hams. The woman
waited patiently. Dutch didn’t even know she was crying. She could just feel
all this hurt, all this loneliness; that the only bit of affection she ever managed
to elicit was from an Alien reptile on a dying planet in some unknown galaxy.
Well, fate makes for strange bedfellows.
The woman gestured once
more at the robe with her free hand, then at an unseen door behind her. Dutch
nodded. The woman obviously had orders to fetch her and she didn’t want to get
her into trouble. She let go of her hand, dried her eyes and put on the robe.
The harsh feel of the
cloth on her skin was at once sensual and comforting, bringing her mind back
into her body. She turned around and admired herself. This way, that way, a
little step…and sway…the rhythm of the dress pulling her on, swishing against
her legs as she swayed lightly on her toes….and dance Dulcinea, with your
pretty frock and bare feet twirling and twinkling across the floor. Isn’t she
beautiful? Doesn’t she look lovely? Play you pipes. Play a tune for Dulcinea.
Does she not deserve a pretty tune? Does she, damn. Does she not?
Nay, a dark discord for
Dulcinea, with her black hands and her black heart. Wasn’t it from the very
beginning that there was something wrong with her? Didn’t her mother say? Dirty
Dulcinea. Didn’t we all know? Didn’t
we all tell you?
‘Dance for us Dulcinea. Dance for all the ones who
passed you by. Dance because it is over; a dance of death; a dance of the end.’
Dutch came to a giddy
stop in the middle of the room and drew a deep breath.
“Time to go to the ball
Cinderella,” she said. “Time to kill Prince Charming.”
