*                *                *

    Author's notes -

        Yep, this is me again, trying to make the fanfic world at least a
*little* larger than the X-verse. Another Sandman story here for your
enjoyment. Hopefully it will make sense even if you don't know anything
about Neil Gaiman's masterpiece, but if not feel free to mail me with any
questions or queries you have. Who knows? I might even be able to answer
them =)
    Of course if you want to mail me with anything else - comments,
criticisms, random ramblings of any sort - I'm always eager to read it. And
as usual, while I'm extremely flattered if anyone wants to archive this,
just drop me a note and let me know, thanks.

    Disclaimer -

        The Endless belong to Neil Gaiman, the Dreaming belongs to Vertigo
comics and Cain and Abel belong to the collective unconcious. In fact
everyone in this story apart from Chris Gables, Bernie the Waitress and
Perfection - who belong to me - belong to one of the above, and while I wish
I was making money from this I'm sticking to my day job to provide that
particular function.

    Cheers,

    Phil

                *                *                *

                Seven Magpies

        By Phil Foster
(ianf@cogs.susx.ac.uk)


One for sorrow, Two for joy
Three for a girl, Four for a boy
Five for silver, Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

    - old magpie rhyme of folklore -



    5:37 in the morning, and the snow gleamed the brilliant orange of
reflected street lights outside the cafe. It was falling thickly, and leaving
a crystalline layer of ice to cover the road outside - a silent blanket of
cold freezing out the murky-grey muck of reality from the street. He watched
it fall from his seat at the window, little specks of orange light outlining
the reflection of his face in the glass.

    Turning away from the window he swallowed the last of his coffee, rank
and cold sludge at the bottom of the cup, and with shaking hands reached for
the pack of Marlboro lying half-empty on the plastic table-top. He stared
vacantly at the lighter for a moment before flicking it open and burning the
end of the cigarette held in his mouth, and with a deep breath he sucked the
thick smoke into his lungs. The nicotine rush no longer affected him - he was
too empty inside to feel anything any more. Too worn out from lack of sleep
to even notice his trembling hands putting the lighter back on the table.

    He breathed out, and was vaguely surprised to find his eyes watering
when the smoke hit them. He'd thought he'd run out of tears hours ago,
thought there was no way he could have cried any longer. He turned to stare
out of the window again. A small crowd of birds flocked absently in the
chill air outside. Magpies, maybe, attracted by the glinting of silver from
the cafe.

    "Hey, mister? You want a refill?" The waitress's voice sounded sharp and
harsh to his ears.

    He turned to her. "Yeah...uh sure. Why not." He looked at her. Small
face plastered in thick make-up, she could have been pretty if she'd made
the effort. She looked at him staring at her.

    "Hey, you okay? You look kind-a rough."

    "Fine." His gaze slipped back down to the cup of coffee, watching the
steam curl up like the smoke from his cigarette.

    "You sure?" He ignored her. "Okay, look. My name's Bernie. You want
anything more, you just give me a yell, okay?" She watched him for a moment.
"Okay." And went back to the counter to serve up more bacon, sausages and
grease.

    Looking at his coffee he could hear the noises around him - quietly
muttered conversations and rustlings of paper mixed with the tinny noise of
a radio out the back somewhere. The hum of the neon lights above him and
occasional roar as a car or truck went by outside. The smoke drifted in front
of him from his forgotten cigarette, forming endlessly changing shapes and
patterns. He didn't notice. All he could see was her face, hear her voice
whispering in his ear late at night, feel the soft touch of her skin against
his.

    Bronwyn. At the thought of her name the tears began to burn the backs of
his eyes again. He could feel the texture of her black hair, falling in
waves over her shoulders. He could hear her voice, softly speaking in that
thick Welsh accent she had, whispering to him as they lay together in the
dark. It could have been a lifetime ago that they met, that Sunday morning
in the park when she'd jogged into him and they'd both fallen over, and got
up and laughed at the accident. And he'd looked into her eyes and just
*known*...

    Bronwyn. She'd made love like no-one else he'd ever known, taking them
both to dizzying heights of pleasure he'd never dreamed existed. His world
became her, nothing else mattered except for the look in her eyes when she
saw him, the smile on her face, the whispered intimacies they'd shared deep
in the dark of night when they had loved so deeply he no longer knew where
he ended and she began.

    How long had it been? Only three weeks since he'd met her. It could have
been three years, his life had changed so much. He'd quit his job, unwilling
to spend that much time away from her; hadn't seen his friends in over a
fortnight; hadn't needed anything when he was with her. Their love was so
deep they even dreamed together, sharing their lives during the night as
they did during the day.

    And then she had died.

    That strange night, that dream that he'd known was more real than
anything he had dreamt before, that dream that had changed his understanding
of himself and everything around him. That dream that had taken Bronwyn away
from him, when the pale man with eyes like stars had spoken those words that
were forever burned into his brain.

    "It is not good for a man to find perfection, little dream. As I made
you long ago, so now do I unmake you."

    And she was gone. Gone from his dreams and gone from his life. As if she
had never existed. As if all they had shared was just a dream.

    He screwed his eyes up to drive back the tears and stabbed his cigarette
into the back of his hand, using the sharp and violent pain to block out the
memories of her, inhaling at the burning sting. Feeling the numbness
flood through his body again he turned back to the window, leaning his head
down on his arm. Outside the light of dawn was breaking, changing the
orange light of the snow into a murky-grey light of waking. He watched
absently as birds fluttered around the window, curious about the light but
unable to understand the glass that was in the way.

    He'd been moving ever since. Unable to face the grief he'd walked and
travelled, taking train and bus to nowhere, just keeping on moving to stop
himself facing the pain. He hadn't slept in two days, his mind retreating
from the world into a state of automatic motion, habitual behaviour, like a
dead man. Another magpie flapped outside the window and landed on the ledge
in front of him. It cocked its head, its eye staring straight into his as if
asking a question.

    His eyes began to close and his vision blurred. More magpies had joined
the one on the window, all of them staring at him in curiosity. Images
darted across his vision as he drifted towards the sleep he'd denied himself
these past two days. His vision blurred as his mind drifted into the black.
'Seven magpies,' he realised, somewhere in the black. 'There's seven of
them...'

                *                *                *

    The mists shrouded around him as he walked up the hill, parting
occasionally to reveal the harsh light of the moon above. A cool wind blew,
shifting around in different directions, rustling through the branches of
the trees, whispering to him. He saw the magpies, cawing to each other
occasionally. They were talking. He knew that, in the way knowledge comes in
dreams.

    He stopped walking without knowing why and the fog parted in front of him
to reveal two houses standing stark against the sky. Like mirror images of
each other they stood side by side, two tall buildings with windows like
eyes above the mouths of the doorways. As he watched the doorway to the left
split open into a huge grin, and one window shut in a conspirital wink.

    "Huh-hello. You're um Christopher GuhGables, aren't hm you? I've um
been eh-expecting you." He turned towards the voice. Its owner was walking
towards him down the hill, a large fat man dressed in an old frilled shirt
and a jacket of blue velvet. Pudgy fingers adjusted the monocle in his left
eye and then went to nervously stroke the black goatee beard sprouting off
his face.

    "Who are you?" Chris asked.

    "Oh, um muhmy name's um Abel." The man's hands started to smooth down
the velvet of his jacket. "Um, and thuh-this is um my house." Abel gestured
towards the left house on the hill and his face split into a nervous smile.
"I huh-hope you like it. It looks buh-better, um, when there isn't um any
fuh-fog, only mm the muhMagpies. They suh-sort of like it, you know?"

    "Magpies?"

    "Yes. Um, you know. Bu-big black birds. Um, there." Abel pointed up
towards where the magpies were circling around in the sky. "Duh-do you want
tuh-to come in? I've buh-buh-been expecting you, um. We can suh-sit and I
could tuh-tell you a secret. It's a nice huh-house, um, only there's um the
SuhSomething nasty in the basement, uh but huh-he doesn't cuhcome up very
often. You could uh meet guhGoldie. Huh he's my gargoyle, and huh-he's
vuhvery nice. You'd like him."

    "You haven't *asked* him, you idiot!" Another voice came sneering out of
the mist, followed by a tall, thin man dressed similarly, only with a thick
red beard and matching hair. 

    "CuhcuhcuhCain!" Abel stuttered. "Um, huhhuhhuh he's got tuhto
cuhcuhcome to my puh-place! Thuh-the..."

    "Of course he hasn't, you stuttering pile of putrescence!" Cain rounded
on Abel and shouted into his ear. "You haven't asked him! He hasn't made the
*choice*!"

    "Uhm, buhbuhbuhbut...uh...buhbuh..."

    "Oh forget it, you simpleton. *I'll* ask him!" Cain turned away and
looked towards Chris. He leaned in close, his eyes locked in a permanent
sneer and his hands rubbing slowly together. "Look, it's quite simple.
I am Cain, and behind me is my house. The house of Mysteries. That pathetic
excuse for a dream over there is my brother, Abel, who lives in the house of
Secrets. By choosing one house or the other you decide what you'll get in
this dream, a mystery or a secret."

    "Buhbuhbuhbut Cuh-Cain! He duhduh-doesn't get..."

    "Shut UP!" Cain turned in fury and swung his hand towards Abel, who
cowered away from Cain's raised fist. "Of COURSE he gets the choice! It's
HIS dream, after all! So," he turned back to Chris. "What will it be? A
Mystery from me or a Secret from my brother there?"

    "Buhbuhbuhbuh..."

    Up above the magpies started cawing loudly, circling and screeching as
if in protest.

    "You suh-see? Suhsuh-seven magpies. They bruh-bruh-brought him here,
suh-so I get to tuhtell this story. Suh-seven for a um suh-secret um never
to be tuh-told." Cain looked at the magpies for a moment. "Yuh-you can
cuh-come too, um, if you want."

    Cain glared at Abel for a moment, a murderous look in his eyes. But a
sudden loud cawing from the magpies seemed to change his mind, and he turned
away muttering to himself while Abel moved over to Chris.

    "Duh-don't mind him. Huh-he just, um, gets a bit uh-upset, um, when
puh-people wuh-want a secret, um uh, and nuh-not a mystery. Huh-he really,
um, luh-loves me, though. Huh-he's my buhbuhbrother."

    Chris looked up towards the house, where the doorway was still grinning
at him. "Look, what is this? Where am I?"

    "Oh, yuh-yuh-you're dreaming, uh, that's all."

    "You mean this isn't real?"

    "Uh-uhm well, in a muh-muh-metaphorical sense, um, as uh JuhJungian
archetypes..."

    "Of course it's real!" Cain interrupted, following them as they made 
their way into the house. "Just because you're dreaming doesn't mean it's
not real!"

    The house was lighter inside, lit with hundreds of candles spilling
their light against the dark. Half opened boxes filled the hallway, spilling
books and ornaments across the floor, some having been left there so long
that even the cobwebs had cobwebs on them. Abel shoved a pile of junk out
the way and opened an ornately carved wooden door, revealing what could have
been a living room inside. 

    The centre of the room was an old couch with green lining, well worn but
still strong and sturdy looking. More junk was piled on the wooded floor,
some of it looking precariously balanced in piles reaching up to the
ceiling, some of it half-heartedly stuffed away in cupboards and
glass-fronted display cabinets littered around the walls.

    "Meep?" A small voice squeaked from high up somewhere.

    "Oh, huh-hello Goldie." Abel reached up to a high up shelf and brought
something down in his hand. He showed it to Chris. "Thuh-this is Guh-goldie.
Um, he's my pet guh-gargoyle." The thing in Abel's hand looked like a small
dragon - golden yellow in colour and with two small wings only the size of
its oversized head. It looked up at him and waved a tiny hand. 

    "Urkle." 

    "I, uh, I thuh-think he luh-likes you."

    "Of course he does, you idiot! Goldie likes *everyone*." Cain stomped
into the room and began to study one of the walls. "He's just *soooo*
sickeningly cute and sweet, isn't he?" He turned towards Abel. "Now are you
going to tell the secret or are we going to sit here exchanging
pleasantries?"

    "Uh, um...uh"

    "We haven't got all night, you know! Well," Cain looked towards Chris.
"*He* hasn't anyway." Cain's head tilted. "You know, you don't *have* to put
up with this stuttering fool. You could still have a mystery if you want."

    "Um, I think I'd rather hear what your brother has to say," Chris
responded. "At least he's being polite."

    Cain looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowing. Then he turned on Abel.
"WELL GET ON WITH IT THEN!"

    Abel turned and almost ran from his brother, sweat dripping off his
face. "Yuh-yuh-yuh yes...um..uh...um..." He scrambled around in one of the
piles of junk for a while, stuttering to himself. "Ah, uh I've guh-got one
for you." He held up a small statue of a raven, carved from pure ivory.
"It's a guh-good one. I um thuh-think you'll luhluhlike it." Abel moved over
to the couch and gestured for Chris to sit down, then went to sit on an
easy-chair to the right, fiddling with the statue in his hands.

                *                *                *

    "Once upon a time, a long long time ago, Desire met the Lord of Dreams
with a request. It was a simple request, although it was one that was to
have many repercussions among the mortals of this world."

    "The Dream Lord was in his palace, at the heart of the dreaming when his
sibling called upon him."

    "'My brother?' Desire said. 'I stand in my gallery and I hold my sigil.
Will you talk to me?' And Dream replied."

    "'My sibling, I am here. What have you to say?'"

    "'This is family business, my brother. At least...of a sort. May I come
through?' And so Desire stepped from its realm into the realm of the Lord of
Dreams and they talked."

    "Do you know what Desire is like? It is the only one of the Endless to
have no gender - or rather, Desire is of both genders. Desire is rarely
satisfied with one of anything, so they say. They also say that Desire is
the most beautiful man or woman who ever existed, and to look upon Desire is
to love it to the exclusion of all else. But then they say many things..."

    "Desire sat in the banquet hall of the Dreaming, and after they shared a
meal mortals could only dream of, Desire spoke to its brother. 'Dream? I
have been wondering.'"

    "'About what, sibling?'"

    "'What is the satisfaction of Desire?'"

    "'Desire is your realm, sibling. Why do you ask me?'"

    "'I am Desire, older brother. I am the wish for things that are not
possessed. I am unrequited love, I am want and need and desperation. I am
not the satisfaction of that need.'"

    "Dream looked at his sibling and was silent."

    "'For...reasons I shall keep to myself...I wish to know what the
satisfaction of desire is. I wish to know what lies at the fulfillment of
all I am. Will you help me?'"

    "'And how would I do that, sibling?'"

    "'I want you to create a dream. The dream of Satisfaction of all Desire.
That is within your power, is it not? You are the Lord of Dreams?'"

    "'Is this some game, little sibling? Some further challenge you wish to
involve me in? You know that I, like our elder brother and sister, do not
take part in your games.'"

    "'This is no game, Dream. I am asking you as a favour to one of your
family. Create me this dream so that I may see what will happen.'"

    "Who knew what thoughts went through the Dream Lord's mind as he sat and
watched Desire? Who knew what reasons he had for his eventual decision? But
at length he replied."

    "'I will do this.'"

    "And so together Dream and Desire created a new dream - for a dream such
as this required both of them for its fulfillment. And once the dream was
created they stood back and observed their work."

    "'It is female,' said Desire, with some trace of dissapointment."

    "'Yes.'"

    "'Why?'"

    "'That you will learn, my sibling.'"

    "'I think I shall name her...Perfection,' Desire pronounced. Dream
looked over at his sister/brother."

    "'Perfection? Do you think, then, that the satisfaction of all desire is
perfection?'"

    "'Why of course, brother. Is she not perfect? Is she not beautiful? I
think Perfection is a good name.'"

    "'Very well, sibling.'"

    "And so from that day on the dream Perfection became part of the
dreaming, to live in the minds of mortals from the hours between dusk and
dawn. And she taught many things to many men, and all the time Desire
observed, and learned what it would."

                *                *                *

    "Wuh-well, uhm, th-th-that's it," Abel said, stuttering again now that
the story was told. "Duh-did you, uhm, l-like it?"

    "I don't know," Chris responded. "I don't think I understood it."

    "Wuh-well, that's b-because I uhm, huh-haven't tuh-tuh-told you the
suh-secret yet...uhm..."

    "Thank you, Abel. I will speak with him now." A new voice rang out
across the room, deep and hollow like the blackness between dreaming and
waking.

    Chris looked up and saw a tall man standing in the room, pale as
moonlight and wearing a cloak made out of pure night-time. His eyes were
black with stars ringing somewhere in their depths and his gaze was somehow
both cold and warm as he looked down upon Abel.

    "Muh-muh-my Lord," Abel said, standing up immediately in front of the
man.

    "You told the story well, Abel. It was...most satisfying...to hear."

    "Thu-thu-thank you, Lord," Abel stuttered.

    "Now we will take out leave of you. Fare well, my servant." At this the
tall man looked over at Chris, and the house was no longer there. Without
transition they were standing in a magnificent room, larger than anything
Chris could have imagined. Great stained-glass windows hung from nothing,
poking holes in walls that were not there while simultaneously forming a
ceiling that seemed to go on for never.

    "You have been done a great wrong, Christopher Gables. I am here to right
it."

    Chris looked at the man. "I...I know you, don't I?"

    "All men know me, though they forget upon waking. You have met me many
times, most recently when I removed a dream from your life."

    "Bronwyn...?" he whispered, the knowledge coming to his mind as if it
had been there always.

    The man had turned and was walking away. "Come, Christopher Gables. We
have much to discuss."

    He followed the stranger across the floor of polished marble,
reflections of things not there staring up through the black-and-white
floor. "Who are you?" He asked.

    "I have had many names, and am many things to many people. For now I am
Morpheus." They walked through a large archway that wasn't there before into
a smaller room, decorated with elaborate gold-gilding, and antique wooden
furniture of a beauty carpenters could only dream of. On the wall, 
highlighted by delicately patterned curtains were seven picture frames,
each one containing a different picture with no discernible theme. A book,
an Ankh, a mirror, an empty space, a ruby heart, a barbed ring and an
abstract swirl of formless colour.

    Morpheus turned to face him. "It is true, what you have learned. Many
years ago I created a dream of perfection, for reasons perhaps not fully
known even to me. She lived in men's dreams at night and taught them much
about desire and the satisfaction of desire. She was one of my greatest
successes." Without changing Morpheus' expression seemed to grow darker, and
the stars of his eyes flashed briefly.

    "Then there was a time when I was...away...from my realm, and many
dreams walked the waking world, for reasons of their own. Perfection was
one of them." His eyes dropped briefly, in a sort of visual sigh. "Perhaps I
should have known. Nothing good comes of the satisfaction of desire." He
looked over to Chris. "In dreams she could cause no real harm, but in the
waking world she can be more dangerous than almost anything. The
satisfaction of all desire is death. Therefore I unmade her."

    "You killed her." Chris was vaguely aware that he should be feeling
something; fear, maybe, or awe. But it was as if he had lost the ability to
feel, having exhausted his capacity for emotion over the last few days.

    "I unmade her. It was not fit for such a dream to walk the waking world;
indeed it is not fit for such a dream to exist at all. And as lord of this
realm the responsibility for the damage she has caused is partly mine."

    "You killed her," Chris repeated, the grief once again rising within
him. "She was everything to me, all I ever wanted or needed, and you killed
her."

    "Yes."

    "And that's it?" His voice rose, as emotions began once again to take
hold of him, drown him in grief that was unbearable. "That's all you've got
to say? I don't care if she was a dream or not! I loved her and you killed
her! You bastard..." The loss hit him again, washing out any anger, flooding
everything with a deep pit of the despair that had become so much a part of
his life.

    Morpheus looked down and reached out a hand towards him. "Sleep," the
dream lord said, and a light trickle of sand flowed across his body. He fell
back lightly onto the floor, asleep. "Sleep, and for now do not dream.
Desire will always lead to Despair, and sometimes not even dreams are
enough."

    He turned to the pictures hanging on the wall, and moved over to the
crimson heart. Reaching up he picked the heart out of the picture, the ruby
shape becoming real as soon as he touched it. "My sibling, I stand in my
gallery and hold your sigil. Will you talk to me?"

    "Why Dream! What a pleasant surprise." Desire looked up at him from where
it was lying back on a luxuriant couch, a cigarette in its hand.

    "My sibling," Morpheus said. "I have matters to discuss with you. Will
you come through?"

    "Of course, sweet brother. Anything for you." And in an instant Desire 
was there, a knowing smile on its face as it regarded the still form of
Christopher on the floor. Leaning casually against a nearby post it put the
cigarette in its mouth and flicked open a heart-shaped lighter to light it
with.

    "Desire, I have ended this matter. Perfection is no more."

    "Yes, I know. You let the dream escape when you were trapped." Desire's
eyes grew darker. "That was not part of the rules."

    "The choice was not mine to make, little sister/brother. That is why I
have ended this."

    "Yes," Desire sighed. "It did rather go wrong, didn't it?"

    "And it is because of that damage that I have called you here, sibling."
Morpheus indicated Chris, lying on the floor. "This man met with Perfection
in the waking world, and as a result his life has been destroyed. My dreams
cannot help him now, only you can, sibling."

    "Why Morpheus, I *am* surprised. Are you asking me for help?" Desire lit
up another cigarette, watching its brother from underneath its impossibly
perfect eyelashes. "And why *should* I help this mortal? What is he worth,
after all?"

    "We have talked on the value of mortals before, sister/brother. I will
not repeat that discussion. However, I will remind you that in meeting
Perfection this man has met the satisfaction of all his desires. He will no
longer come to your realm." Desire's eyes grew dark, and its face frowned.
"Have you learned what you needed to know, sibling? You named this dream
Perfection, but the satisfaction of all desire is not perfection. It is
Death. Unless you do something to repair what has happened to him he is lost
to you, little sibling. He belongs utterly to your twin now, and eventually
only to our older sister."

    Desire breathed in deeply, and exhaled thick smoke from its nose. "Very
well, big brother. I will help this mortal."

    With that Desire knelt down towards the still form of Christopher, and
whispered into his ear.

                *                *                *
    "Sir?" 

    "Hmn?" He began to wake, the clouds of black lifting from his mind.

    "Sir, I'm afraid you're going to have to wake up, now. I can't let you
sleep here." Her voice dragged him further towards waking, and briefly he
fought to stay asleep, tried to fight the surge of reason that filtered
through his mind.

    He opened his eyes, and was almost blinded by the fresh flood of
daylight that burnt into his retina, shocking his mind into wakefulness.
"Okay, I'm awake..."

    "That's good. I'm sorry to wake you, but you really can't sleep here."
He recognized the voice of Bernie the waitress, and felt her lift her hand
from his shoulder where she'd been shaking him. A flash of memory from his
dream hit him - something about Bernie...

    "Shall I get you a coffee?" 

    "Uh, yeah thanks." He shook his head, clearing the pink cotton wool from
behind his eyes. Scrubbing his face over with his hands he tried to remember
fragments of the dream before they escaped his consciousness altogether.
There was something important, something someone had told him...

    "Here's your coffee, sir." No. Too late. Gone, and consigned like most
dreams to the empty pit of forgetfulness. Bernie stood and watched him for
a moment as he leaned back and stretched. "Feeling better, sir?"

    He looked up at her. "Actually, yeah. Yeah I am, thanks."

    "That's good, sir. You looked like you could do with a good sleep."

    He kept looking at her, and cocked his head. "Were you watching out for
me?" he asked, with something like a grin on his face.

    She smiled in response. "Well, I like to make sure the customers have a
good time here."

    "Thanks. I appreciate that." His half-grin split into a full smile. "How
about I take you out to dinner to say thank-you? What time do you finish
your shift...?"

    Outside on the window ledge two magpies sat cawing at each other
occasionally as if they were talking, watching through the window for a
while before turning around and flying away.

                *                *                *


            ******************************************
             Ian Philip Foster | ianf@cogs.susx.ac.uk
                   'Moines a point 'o scrumpy!'
             Change is inevitable, except from a
             vending machine.
            ******************************************