Dreamscape: Saving Alex by Kirstin Pulioff Page B

to truly decide?
    “Thank you,” I said
as I pulled myself up to the next plank. “I’ll see you again.”
    “I hope so my lady.
I truly hope so.” He gave me a quick salute and cartwheeled down the street
towards Deakon.
    I looked up the wavering
length of boards and crossed my fingers, hoping the scaffolding would hold.

Chapter Eight
     
    With each plank I
climbed, my heart screamed in fear. I wasn’t afraid of climbing; I did that
weekly at the gym at home. But the possibility of falling almost paralyzed me.
On the rock walls at home, the handholds and footholds were secure. The only
times I fell were from miscalculations, and that was rare. And my harness
always held me secure.
    Here though, I had
already seen the deliberate destruction of the stage, and the haphazard way the
boards had been re-secured. Falling didn’t seem that farfetched a possibility.
I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I died. Even if it transported
me home, it would hurt, and my pain tolerance wasn’t that good. And besides,
what if it didn’t? Getting home by winning the game still seemed the easiest
and least painful option.
    My palms slipped on
the metal beams, but I didn’t stop. I paced my climb to the rhythm of the theme
song, audible through Deakon and Pipes’ impromptu show and the muffled outcries
of the crowd. My fear subsided until I reached the top of the scaffolding and
balanced against the worn bricks of the outer wall. I squinted towards the sky.
Still another fifteen feet to go to reach the top of the wall. The first bit of
the climb was partially hidden by the stage, but this last part was exposed. I
had to climb quickly or risk giving my friends away.
    Deakon and Pipes
held back the restless crowd. Their juggling knives and axes flashed in the
air. As hypnotic as their routine was, I didn’t know how long it would hold off
the mob.
    Now was the moment
of truth. A layer of dust flaked off the wall as I ran my hands over the rough
stones. Using the dust as chalk, I covered my palms and tightened my grip within
the worn edges. The holes were not as big as I would’ve liked or as stable as I
was used to, but I scampered up the side of the wall.
    It took the last of
my strength to pull myself over the top edge, and when I did, I melted onto the
cold bricks on the other side. A wide hallway of sorts opened up, which I
imagined the guards paced regularly.
    The commotion of
the crowd escalated below me, and I was certain they had broken through Deakon
and Pipes’ performance. I wanted to peek over the edge, but I didn’t dare.
Their malicious obscenities frightened me. How could they think I was the bad
guy?
    I sat up and
propped my back against the bricks, remaining low enough to stay out of sight.
The rise and fall of my chest mirrored the erratic beat of my heart. This place
was driving me crazy. Red blood stained the sleeve of my new shirt. I no longer
doubted the reality of this world. I could only be beaten, cut, and attacked so
many times before I had to believe. I was stubborn, not stupid, and I needed to
start playing smart. I had come too close to game over too many times
    I plucked the
remaining shards of glass out of my arm and opened the leather bag to see if I
had any sort of bandage. Waves of disappointment rocked me. For one moment I
had been rich and could have bought anything I wanted. But when I tipped over
my leather bag, all I had to show for it was a dark green cloak, a leather
belt, a jewel-encrusted dagger, and a few other limited supplies. So much for a
shopping spree. My wounded pride spent everything in a flash.
    I pulled out the
dagger and thrust through the air. The hilt cooled my hands, the sun flashing
off the blade. It wasn’t the beautiful jewelry from the gown table, but it would serve me better. Maybe it wasn’t all a loss. At least I’d gotten the basics I
needed to start. I had the costume and a weapon, and I had to believe that I
would run into another market soon. They