Free Dreamseeker by C.S. Friedman Page A

frustration, because I can’t seem to do anything useful. This unstable world shows amazing tenacity when I’m the one who wants to change it.
    I focus all my attention back on running, not wanting to lose her. But by the time I reach the base of the hill she’s already at the top. The slope turns out to be much steeper than I expected, and covered with loose rocks that shift underfoot, forcing me to concentrate on each step. Progress is agonizingly slow. By the time I reach the top she’s long out of sight, and I just pray that from that vantage point I can spot her again.
    I pause for a moment at the top to catch my breath and take stock of the situation.
    The view on the other side of the hill looks like it’s from a completely different dream. There’s a vast lake stretching out to the horizon in all directions, its water so still that the surface is like a mirror. The sun (still yellow) reflects from it with such painful intensity that I’m forced to squint to see things clearly. I can make out a narrow tongue of land extending intothe lake, from the base of the hill, but it’s not made of regular earth, rather some kind of black sand. I can see the girl’s footprints in it, though not as clearly as in the forest soil. Her trail leads down the hillside, along the length of the peninsula, then out into the lake itself.
    Or rather, onto the lake.
    She’s running on top of it.
    At first I figure maybe there are stepping stones right under the surface—the mirrored water could hide anything—but her feet aren’t splashing when they hit the lake, as they would if that were the case. Anyway, there’s no reason dream-water can’t support a human being, if the dreamer wants it to.
    In the distance an island of black rock juts up from the lake; stark and jagged, it’s her obvious destination. There’s a tall building perched on its peak, and at first glance it looks like a castle of some kind. But then I blink and it looks more like a cathedral. Another blink turns it into a ziggurat, only with lines of windows instead of ledges running around the outside in a spiral. It’s like the building itself can’t decide what it wants to be. The only thing that remains constant through all the transformations is the shape of the windows: narrow and peaked, just like the new arches that appeared in my black plain. Through them I can see flickering movement, but though I’m too far away to make out details, I get the sense that no two windows look in on the same interior.
    The avatar girl is halfway to the island.
    With renewed energy I start down the hill after her, half running, half stumbling. The sight of the strange island has energized me, and even if she manages to lose me now, I might be able to find some answers there. Soon I’m racing down the length of the narrow peninsula, bracing myself to step out onto the lake’s surface, just like she did. Because the same rules should hold for both of us, yes?
    No such luck.
    My first step splashes down into ice-cold water and I land on something loose and slippery. I lose my balance and go flying forward, landing face first in the frigid stuff with a force that sends up gouts of white spray in all directions. Ripples spread out from me like the concentric circles of a great target. When I surface, coughing, it takes me a few seconds to find a section of the lake bed stable enough to stand on. The stones underwater are slick, and like glass marbles they shift beneath my feet with every movement.
    Jesus. How am I supposed to follow the girl now? This water is too cold for me to even contemplate swimming, and there’s no way I can walk any distance on such unstable ground. I look up, and the sight of her walking so easily across the surface of the lake fills me with frustration and anger. Why can she control this dreamscape so easily, while I have to strain to dislodge a single clump of earth? It