Read Online The Dream Master by Roger Zelazny - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roger Zelazny
Tags: Science-Fiction
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crystal. The roads were clean. The snow had stopped.
Jill’s breathing was the breathing of a sleeper. The S-7 arced across the bridges of the city. If Render sat very still he could convince himself that only his body was drunk; but whenever he moved his head the universe began to dance about him. As it did so, he imagined himself within a dream, and Shaper of it all.
For one instant this was true. He turned the big clock in the sky backward, smiling as he dozed. Another instant and he was awake again, and unsmiling.
The universe had taken revenge for his presumption. For one renown moment with the helplessness which he had loved beyond helping, it had charged him the price of the lake-bottom vision once again; and as he had moved once more toward the wreck at the bottom of the world—like a swimmer, as unable to speak—he heard, from somewhere high over the Earth, and filtered down to him through the waters above the Earth, the howl of the Fenris Wolf as it prepared to devour the moon; and as this occurred, he knew that the sound was as like to the trump of a judgment as the lady by his side was unlike the moon. Every bit. In all ways. And he was afraid.
III
He was a dog.
But he was no ordinary dog.
He was driving out into the country, by himself.
Big, a German Shepherd in appearance—except for his head—he sat on his haunches in the front seat, staring out the window at the other cars and at what he could see of the countryside. He passed other cars because he was moving in the high-acceleration lane.
It was a cold afternoon and snow lay upon the fields; the trees wore jackets of ice, and all the birds in the sky and on the ground seemed exceptionally dark.
The dog opened his mouth and his long tongue touched the windowpane and his breath steamed it. His head was larger than any dog’s head, excepting perhaps an Irish Wolfhound’s. His eyes were deep-set and dark, and his mouth was opened because he was laughing.
He raced on.
The car finally moved across the highway, slowing, entered the extreme righthand lane, and after a time turned into a cutoff. It moved up a country road for several miles, then it turned into a narrow lane and parked itself beneath a tree.
After a moment, the engine stopped and the door opened.
The dog left the car and pushed the door most of the way shut with his shoulder. When he saw the dome-light go out he turned and walked away into the field, heading toward the woods.
He raised his paws carefully. He examined his footprints.
When he entered the woods he took several deep breaths.
Then he shook himself all over.
He barked a strange, un-doglike bark and began to run.
He ran among the trees and the rocks, jumped over frozen puddles, small gullies, raced up hills and down slopes, dashed past glassy, rainbow-dotted bushes, moved beside an icy creekbed.
He stopped and panted. He sniffed the air.
He opened his mouth and laughed, a thing he had learned from men.
Then, taking a very deep breath, he threw his head back and howled—a thing he had not learned from men.
In fact, he was not certain where he had learned it.
His howl rolled across the hills and echoed among them like a great horn-note.
His ears pricked upright as he listened to the echoes.
Then he heard an answering howl, which was like, yet not like, his own.
There could be no howl quite like his own, because his voice was not wholly the voice of dogs.
He listened, he sniffed, he howled again.
Again, there came an answer. Nearer, this time…
He waited, tasting the breezes for the messages they bore.
It was a dog that came toward him up the hill, rapidly at first, then slowing its pace to a walk. It stopped forty feet away and stared at him. Then it lowered its head.
It was some kind of floppy-eared hound—big, mongrel…
He sniffed once more, made a small noise in his throat.
The dog bared its teeth.
He moved toward it, and it did not move until he was about ten feet away. Then it turned again and
Jill’s breathing was the breathing of a sleeper. The S-7 arced across the bridges of the city. If Render sat very still he could convince himself that only his body was drunk; but whenever he moved his head the universe began to dance about him. As it did so, he imagined himself within a dream, and Shaper of it all.
For one instant this was true. He turned the big clock in the sky backward, smiling as he dozed. Another instant and he was awake again, and unsmiling.
The universe had taken revenge for his presumption. For one renown moment with the helplessness which he had loved beyond helping, it had charged him the price of the lake-bottom vision once again; and as he had moved once more toward the wreck at the bottom of the world—like a swimmer, as unable to speak—he heard, from somewhere high over the Earth, and filtered down to him through the waters above the Earth, the howl of the Fenris Wolf as it prepared to devour the moon; and as this occurred, he knew that the sound was as like to the trump of a judgment as the lady by his side was unlike the moon. Every bit. In all ways. And he was afraid.
III
He was a dog.
But he was no ordinary dog.
He was driving out into the country, by himself.
Big, a German Shepherd in appearance—except for his head—he sat on his haunches in the front seat, staring out the window at the other cars and at what he could see of the countryside. He passed other cars because he was moving in the high-acceleration lane.
It was a cold afternoon and snow lay upon the fields; the trees wore jackets of ice, and all the birds in the sky and on the ground seemed exceptionally dark.
The dog opened his mouth and his long tongue touched the windowpane and his breath steamed it. His head was larger than any dog’s head, excepting perhaps an Irish Wolfhound’s. His eyes were deep-set and dark, and his mouth was opened because he was laughing.
He raced on.
The car finally moved across the highway, slowing, entered the extreme righthand lane, and after a time turned into a cutoff. It moved up a country road for several miles, then it turned into a narrow lane and parked itself beneath a tree.
After a moment, the engine stopped and the door opened.
The dog left the car and pushed the door most of the way shut with his shoulder. When he saw the dome-light go out he turned and walked away into the field, heading toward the woods.
He raised his paws carefully. He examined his footprints.
When he entered the woods he took several deep breaths.
Then he shook himself all over.
He barked a strange, un-doglike bark and began to run.
He ran among the trees and the rocks, jumped over frozen puddles, small gullies, raced up hills and down slopes, dashed past glassy, rainbow-dotted bushes, moved beside an icy creekbed.
He stopped and panted. He sniffed the air.
He opened his mouth and laughed, a thing he had learned from men.
Then, taking a very deep breath, he threw his head back and howled—a thing he had not learned from men.
In fact, he was not certain where he had learned it.
His howl rolled across the hills and echoed among them like a great horn-note.
His ears pricked upright as he listened to the echoes.
Then he heard an answering howl, which was like, yet not like, his own.
There could be no howl quite like his own, because his voice was not wholly the voice of dogs.
He listened, he sniffed, he howled again.
Again, there came an answer. Nearer, this time…
He waited, tasting the breezes for the messages they bore.
It was a dog that came toward him up the hill, rapidly at first, then slowing its pace to a walk. It stopped forty feet away and stared at him. Then it lowered its head.
It was some kind of floppy-eared hound—big, mongrel…
He sniffed once more, made a small noise in his throat.
The dog bared its teeth.
He moved toward it, and it did not move until he was about ten feet away. Then it turned again and
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