Cynthia waited patiently in the lab’s sitting area. She had taken a sick day and hoped that it wasn’t in vain. She had spent most of the morning rummaging through the waiting area’s magazines as she kept a sharp eye out for the mysterious Mr. Bishop. She had tried to hide her presence from the receptionist and, finally, decided that truth was better than mystery. She had told the curious receptionist that she was waiting for someone. With that explanation in hand, the receptionist had ignored her the rest of the morning. Just as she was beginning to think she would not get a chance to meet up with Ed, he bounced in jovially and began to flirt outrageously with the receptionist.

"Gloria! Oh, Gloria," Mr. Bishop chuckled, "you make this heart pump like a teenager’s just by seeing your bright countenance!"

"Oh....Mr. Bishop," Gloria said, abashed at his attention, "you’re always sooo charming."

Cynthia, watching his performance from behind her magazine, almost felt like bursting out in laughter. This senior man making such an obvious pass at a girl who could have well been his daughter! Boy--some men really thought a lot of themselves! However, Cynthia noticed that Gloria (the receptionist) didn’t seem to find his behavior the least bit ridiculous or objectionable. Cynthia watched Ed sign himself in; then, once done, he quickly turned around and spotted her. She lifted the magazine back up to her face, frozen for a moment in fear. She had wanted to meet him, that was true; but now that he was there, she didn’t know what to say.

"Oh, excuse me sir," Cynthia practiced in her mind, "can you please tell me if you’ve been in my dreams lately?" The thought of such a stupid question flying out of her lips made her rethink the whole escapade. Before she could decide on whether to leave or not, Ed sat down next to her and quietly leaned over towards her.

"Well, I’m here now. What is it that you want?" Ed’s eyes glittered in amusement at the look of shock that registered on Cynthia’s face.

"I don’t know what you mean," Cynthia’s polished and professional front immediately slapped into place.

"You don’t? Hmmmm..." Ed doubted his guides for a moment as he took the time to re-question them. "You did say I should approach her now?" He asked Mishra mentally.

"Yes, yes." Mishra replied.

"Oh, excuse me," Ed said politely to Cynthia, "I was told by a mutual friend that you were looking for me."

"Really? Well...I’m not sure who that could be, but maybe we do know each other."

"You get that feeling too, huh?" Ed grinned his winsome smile and flushed her full of happy emotions.

Unaware of what Ed was doing, Cynthia felt a tingling sensation wave over her as she looked into Ed’s stable green eyes. "Well, for some reason I can’t seem to place you. It’s like a dream, you know what I mean?"

"Yes, dreams can be very real sometimes," Ed paused. "What is your name?"

"Cynthia, " Cynthia said as she put out her hand to shake Ed’s hand, "Cynthia Rupert."

"Ed Bishop. "

"Oh! So you’re Ed Bishop!" Cynthia tried to sound surprised. "My sister has told me a lot about you," she lied. "That must be why I feel I know you!"

"Who’s your sister? "

"Sr. Mary Louise--she works here in the hospital."

"Sr. Mary is your sister?" His guides had set him up, Ed thought, it was obvious now. He would never have agreed to test two sisters at the same time. There were too many pitfalls to be overcome in the Tower of Dreams, and linked souls in the physical--like sisters--would make it even more difficult.

"Yes," Cynthia confirmed Ed’s worst fears.

"I can’t believe this!" Ed couldn’t keep the agitation from his voice. His guides had never misled him, but here was proof that something else was going on. "Ara, Mishra you can’t tell me you didn’t know about this!" He hissed mentally, annoyed that he had been kept in the dark.

"Don’t worry," Ara’s voice came back soothingly, "what is part of your karma can not be explained. It must be worked out by you alone. Don’t loose faith!"

"Part of my karma..." Ed didn’t realize he had voiced the thought clearly enough for Cynthia to overhear it.

"What’s this about karma?" Cynthia asked.

"Oh! Nothing, really," Ed said, turning his full attention back to Cynthia. So be it, he thought, if Cynthia was part of his karma he would enjoy it as best as he could. Besides, maybe it was his good karma coming back to him; not his bad karma, as he suspected. "Karma, in very simple language, is Jesus’ saying: 'What you reap that you sow.'"

"Mr. Bishop, I hope you know you’re not making any sense," Cynthia said. "Are you always this mystical?"

"Always been mystical? You tell me, Cynthia," Ed smiled at her appreciatively," from what I understand I’ve met you in a past life."

Cynthia’s heart jumped slightly at his comment. The man was a madman and she was as equally insane. Here she was wanting to ask about a dream; instead, he told her quite matter-of-factly that they had shared a past life. "Past life? I don’t remember," Cynthia said slowly, seeing that her question now didn’t seem as farfetched as this man’s odd beliefs, "but I think I’ve seen you in a dream."

"Right you are!" Ed said, startled she actually remembered.

"How is that possible?" Cynthia said, troubled that the conversation had gone much further than she had intended. She felt her world sliding, veering off course, all belief systems visibly challenged; yet, she insisted on taking this ride for all it was worth.

"If you want some answers, Cynthia," Ed continued getting up to go into the lab, "just be here when I come out. We can go out for lunch and talk, if you like. If not, just leave and I’ll take it to mean you were just humoring an old man like myself."

As Ed walked into the lab room rolling up his sleeve, Cynthia immediately picked up her purse as if she would flee from the room as fast as she possibly could. Then, having thought about the questions that still haunted her, she put her purse down and waited patiently for Ed to return.

"I have the answer!" Cynthia exclaimed excitedly as she appeared before Sr. Mary and Yassov. "We must begin to raise our vibrations to a level beyond that of level one."

"What on earth are you talking about Cindy?" Sr. Mary turned swiftly in Cynthia’s direction, having just become lucid the moment before. They had settled in a brick house with a huge English garden and a large country kitchen. It had seemed like years had gone by as they had worked the soil and made use of their time by tending the garden and house, living the life of genteel landowners. The present village they had come upon had been quite friendly, and they had been welcomed as the owners of the fine mansion in which they now resided. Occasionally, they had visitors who would come for tea, and also to discuss spiritual topics like the nature of God, or the latest news in the dream world for (mostly for Yassov’s entertainment). "We are stuck here. It has been more than seven days. You must consign yourself to our new home. Stop talking about the Tower of Dreams! Haven’t you come to terms with our situation after all these years?"

"Sr. Mary!" Cynthia found herself shaking Sr. Mary’s dream body back and forth, trying to get her to realize it was really only the second day. "It’s only Tuesday! Exactly two days have passed since we entered the dream tower, and the third day since Ed talked to us about the tests. Don’t you see? Time has no meaning in dreams! You only think we’ve been here for years!"

"But, it’s all been so real!" Yassov protested, "I know I’ve enjoyed countless goodies and pleasures since I’ve been here. So much so, that, I’ve lost my taste for them. There is no pleasure in something so easily attainable. I don’t even bother to fly anymore! Everyone here can do it, so what’s the point?"

"Oh!! You two!!" Cynthia threw her hands up in despair. "Have you escaped into your dreams so much that you’ve forgotten there is a reality out there?" Cynthia pointed out the window and an image of St. Patrick’s hospital appeared. "This is another test of level one! You have been persuaded to believe that you are already beyond the seven days; yet, you are merely on the second day!"

"Hmmm...." Sr. Mary sat down. She had her hair done in one long braid. She had given up the habit after years of boredom with it. It had lost its meaning here, in the dream world, where the Roman Catholic Church had failed to make an appearance. "The hospital--I do remember my work. There are many people depending on me."

"Could it be true?" Yassov’s earlier boisterous personality began to spark. "Could I have been duped all this time? How wonderful to know there is more out there than just the same stale cookies and puddings! I say we try to go as Cynthia suggests."

"Yes, I agree," Sr. Mary said, "but I don’t understand. From where do you get this answer, Cindy, and what does it mean? Could’nt it be another trap?"

"No. I went to the source." Cynthia said proudly at her daring. "I talked to Ed Bishop when I woke up this morning. Through the questions I asked, I was able to verify this is the way to go."

"You talked to him?" Sr. Mary began feeling envious. "How did you remember when you woke up to seek him out?"

"It wasn’t easy," Cynthia admitted, "but remembering wasn’t the problem. I don’t have the same mental blocks you do, Sr. Mary. The problem was believing what he told me."

"Why should we believe anything he says? He trapped us here. I can't get over it. Why us?" Sr. Mary asked.

"He didn't trap anyone," Cynthia came to his defense awkwardly, "you chose to be here. Everyone who dreams has the right, at any time, to take the challenge, if they so choose. I asked Ed the same question. Subconsciously, we all felt it was time. We each called him into our dreams before we even knew that's what we were doing."

"Subconsciously? How can we verify that? I don't remember any dream like that. He says so but I don't think I would have agreed to this if I had been awake." Yassov whined.

"I know what you mean, it does seem strange," Cynthia admitted. "I always get the feeling he's not tellling me everything. But do you have a better idea for getting out of here?"

There was a lull in the conversation as they thought it through.

"So how do we raise our vibrations?" Yassov asked, finally understanding their predicament.

"I don’t know," Cynthia conceded. "It’s an individual matter, he said. There are an infinite number of ways to do it and we must each find our own way."

"I know how!" Sr. Mary said suddenly struck by how she had first done it. "I’ll fly to the edge of my dream again!" Without a further thought for anyone else, she got up, walked out of their home and flew into the morning sky.

Yassov looked at Cynthia. "I need something more," He sighed. "I’ve flown many times and have never reached the edge of my dreams."

"I wish I could help, Yassov," Cynthia patted him on the back, "but I’m not even sure I can raise my ‘vibrations.’ All I know is, when I think of Ed, I get a warm tingly feeling and I think those are his vibrations. If I could concentrate on this feeling maybe I can raise mine to his level."

Having said this, she started to concentrate and noticed her body vanishing. She turned into a pinpoint of light and propelled herself into the second level.

"Great!" Yassov motioned wildly with his hands in exasperation. "Now, I’m alone." He stamped his feet on the floor, in exasperation, before better judgment entered his head. He stopped in the middle of the room, thinking deeply. "Get yourself together man! Vibrations.. Vibrations..."

He thought about it and then came upon an idea. All those years he had spent creating delicacies out of thin air hadn’t gone to waste. He would image himself exactly as he had seen Cynthia’s image, before she had vanished. He was sure he could escape without even understanding this "feeling" she had been talking about. Within seconds, he found himself linked to Jasmine Song with a cord of light around their wrists on the second level.

"Well, where do you suppose they’re selling them?" Jasmine said as she surveyed the images that assaulted her senses. They were in a Hindu marketplace where the smell of spices for sale overwhelmed their dream noses.

"Er...selling what?" Yassov looked at the cord in bemusement, "Why are we ‘handcuffed’ like this?"

"Really! Yassov, are we going to have to go through this whole thing AGAIN?" Jasmine pushed her sturdy hands into her hefty hips as she veered demandingly to face Yassov. She wore a sari like most of the other Indian women in the marketplace, except hers contained lines of gold threaded through the Persian blue coloring.

"What do you mean?!"

Jasmine’s foot began to tap the dirt street impatiently as merchants and passerbyers walked by them. "You really don’t know? I’d swear the heat has gotten to you. You keep flashing in and out of lucidity. And every time you do, you ask me the same question! ‘Why are we hand-cuffed like this?’" Her voice switched into a whining voice in imitation of Yassov’s earlier question.

"What? I’ve been here? For how long?" Yassov’s mind tried desperately to remember what had happened before he had left his mansion at the outskirts of the village. "But, I only just left!"

"No. NO. NO!" Jasmine threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, the bright cord flinging wildly through the air. "I don’t know whose idea this was, but I don’t see any humor in being linked up to an ‘amnesiac’ like you. For the last time--I don’t know! What I do know is that I’ve been forced to drag you around for the last two days while you’ve talked about cakes and puddings the whole time. I only came to the marketplace to shut you up about the smell of honey baked cardamom sweets."

Shrugging at Jasmine’s exasperation, Yassov realized she was probably right. That did sound like him. The fact that he didn’t remember it didn’t mean it couldn’t have happened. Why he hadn’t just imaged the sweets was another question he didn’t dare ask at this point.

"Where’s Cynthia," Yassov asked cautiously. "And Sr. Mary? Are we on the second level?"

Jasmine’s eyes remained fixed on his face awaiting the next stupid question to usher from his lips. "How would I know? I’ve been here since I left level one. Whether this is two or not? Who knows? Can you please try to stay lucid for the rest of the dream? How am I going to get around to freeing us if you can’t see past your stomach when you’re not lucid?"

Yassov looked at the myriad of spice vendors in wooden crate stalls scattered around the marketplace. A variety of fruits where piled, row after row, next to and on top of each other in the stalls. Steam rose from other stalls where white-turbaned, lithe, copper males were frantically stirring something that vaguely resembled food. He really wasn’t all that hungry, Yassov decided he’d had enough sweets to last him centuries, back when he had been in his mansion with Cynthia and Sr. Mary.

"Jasmine?" Yassov said, finally, as they walked aimlessly down the street.

"Yes?" She replied.

"I think we’d just better concentrate on the light bond between us while I’m still lucid. I can’t guarantee you I won’t phase out any longer," Yassov said, slowly wincing at the upcoming tirade from Jasmine.

The expected outburst never came. "At last! You’ve said something highly sensible! Hooray for you! I thought we’d never find the bottom to that endless appetite of yours," Jasmine said, commending him for the first bit of common sense she had seen him display since they had ended up linked. "But, I’ve tried all the tricks I know! I’ve tried vibrating it to nothingness, flushing it full of light, heating to the point of melting, even trying to unlink myself via removing myself. None of this has worked. The only answer I can come up with is that the link is a part of us. We are linked and there is no unlinking--only transformation."

"What do you mean: ‘We are linked’?" Yassov said not understanding any of the "tricks" she had mentioned.

"We are linked souls, fused together through many, many past experiences together. We have karma to repay before we can progress. Our task is to balance the past, the present, and the future in terms of our relationship towards one another."

"Huh? We don’t have any 'past' experiences! I just met you two nights ago in our dreams."

"Maybe so. Maybe not. There are, no doubt, a number of past lives we have both lived in. Now is the opportunity to set the central theme of those lives to rest."

"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Yassov asked.

She shrugged, seeing it was pointless to continue. Just as Yassov began to argue his point again, a noise like thunder rolled through the clouds in the sky. The merchants looked up with only a faint pause of anxiety; it wasn’t the season for monsoons so they really didn’t think they had to worry.

Then a flash of lightening came from the clouds, straight into the ground in front of Jasmine and Yassov, and before them appeared Ed. He was neatly linked with a dense metal cord of silver tied to the wrist of Cynthia Rupert. He stumbled slightly as he landed in image form and stood, taking account of his situation.

Jasmine’s laughter broke the silence that had ensued with their appearance. She cackled mirthfully at the sight of the two. "Oh! This is fine! This is wonderful!" She puffed trying to catch her breath as more peals of laughter escaped her. "There really is some humor in all of this! Thank God, at least mine is white!"

Chagrined at Jasmine’s observation, Ed lifted up the cord between Cynthia and himself and stared at it with a frown of deep consternation on his face. "How about that?" Ed said to no one in particular, "The teacher has become the student again."

Cynthia stared equally uncomprehendingly first to Ed and then to Jasmine. "Where’s Sr. Mary?" She finally asked.

Sr. Mary watched as the prisoners were led to the guillotine. Around her the crowd jaunted and jeered at the merchant being led to his death. She had heard the story of Monsieur Justin by word of mouth from various ‘Citizens’ (as they had termed themselves). Sr. Mary had appeared in their midst as they had awaited the proceedings to take place, but none had noticed that she not been there an instant before. They conversed with her in Parisian French of the 1700’s, as if they had been aware of her presence for quite a while. Sr. Mary realized she was speaking another language, but she did not understand how her mind was interpreting it. The group was near the front of the assemblage, having arrived early for the a close-up view of the public stand. In the hours prior to their ‘death walk,’ she had pieced together the story of Monsieur Justin.

There were many explanations as to why the man deserved this fate. It seemed to Monsieur Justin was one of the wealthiest merchants of the city and, despite this, his greed could not keep him from gouging the Citizens with unfair prices in a time of great need. It was also possible that he had come under political disfavor from Robespierre. There were also rumors that his wife Madame Justin, a most beautiful woman of peasant birth, had something to do with his betrayal and subsequent arrest, but that hadn’t been confirmed. It was also rumored she had taken Monsieur Justin’s business partner as her lover. Everyone knew it was by the business partner’s testimony that the tribunal had found Monsieur Justin guilty. At any rate, such bourgeois disregard for the rights of Citizens had to be dealt with official acts of terror, as every revolutionary knew, and the crowd was only to willing to watch the spectacle of a man’s last moment on earth.

Sr. Mary had wondered about the appropriateness of the tight clothing she found herself in: a 1790’s bustle and corset that constricted her every movement. It was made up of a beautiful brocade material; but, even so, she preferred the gray habit of the Maryknoll order. She had thought of changing this part of her dream but had found herself unable to do it. Finally, she had given up when she heard about the sixteen nuns who were scheduled to be executed the following week. Instead, she removed the hat and veil that were suffocating her in the heat of the crowd.

As the man was led to the steps that would put him in full public view, Sr. Mary’s eyes met with the man named Monsieur Justin. As a shock of recognition flashed between them, his head jerked up hastily as he tried to portray a moment of pride despite his wife’s presence at his death.

"Whore! Your deeds will come back to you!" Monsieur Justin’s eyes fixed heavily on Sr. Mary’s image. "The God of Heaven knows what you did!"

The crowd began to comment at what he might mean until they all turned to Sr. Mary in comprehension. "Madame Justin," the man who had testified at Monsieur Justin’s trial appeared next to her, and said brusquely, "you should not be here."

Sr. Mary looked at him as he offered her his hand in an attempt to lead her away. "Oh my God!" Sr. Mary said, her hand going up to her mouth in horror. "I am not responsible for this man’s death!" As she looked back at Monsieur Justin’s face it slowly melted and reformed to Sr. Mary’s perception as Prof. Taslim. Then, she remembered it was all just a dream. "Oh! Professor! Let us leave this dream! It is full of vicious lies!" Sr. Mary yelled at Monsieur Justin’s image.

As Prof. Taslim heard his name spoken from another dream character, he awoke into full lucidity. It took him only a moment to realize his "astronomical odds" had somehow happened; he was back in the body of Monsieur Justin, with his hands bound behind him, as the executioner locked his head in place.

"God have mercy on my soul!" Prof. Taslim’s fear echoed through Monsieur Justin’s lips in a whisper as the blade came swiftly down the guides. As the blade sliced through the bowed neck of Monsieur Justin’s body, Prof. Taslim’s consciousness remembered his last words. He did have a soul after all, Prof. Taslim mused as he realized he hadn’t felt a thing. That was the lesson that he needed to learn. With this remembrance, his soul’s consciousness slipped through the barriers of time as a twinkle of light and landed on the second level linked to Sr. Mary. She imagined she still saw the blood dripping from his neck, accusing her, and fainted, letting the black cord between them slide to the floor.

Cynthia rushed to her side trying to awaken her, distressed that the normally rock solid Sr. Mary had taken a fainting spell. She looked at Prof. Taslim who was kneeling next to them muttering about a "close call", as he put it.

"What happened?" Cynthia demanded of the professor whose gold-rimmed spectacles were now in place.

"She fainted." Prof. Taslim said matter-of-factedly, unwilling to divulge the facts of the life he had just lived. If it had any grain of truth in it (as he was beginning to suspect) he had every reason to hate the woman who was now lying on the floor unconscious.

Slowly Sr. Mary came to and winced as she looked at Prof. Taslim’s image, clothed smartly in a suit with a white-starched shirt. No trace of blood was on him. It had all been her imagination, she told herself as she got up refusing Cynthia’s help.

Sr. Mary turned to see them all, her eyes growing wide as she traced Cynthia’s link back to Ed Bishop’s wrists and, finally, up to his face. "Ed! What on earth are you doing?" Sr. Mary demanded. "Leave my sister alone!"

Ed Bishop smiled apologetically as he tried to emanate confidence at the awkward position he found himself in, aware that the test was always harder for the one taking it. "Sorry, but I can’t. It looks like I’ve got some karma to repay!"

"Karma?" Sr. Mary was very familiar with other beliefs, besides Catholicism. "Karma is a Hindu belief, Ed. It deals with reincarnation and the balance of positive and good experiences. The bad in a past life must be repaid in future ones. This is a dream!" She punctuated her statement. "What good are religious beliefs in a dream?"

"You’re hardly one to question another’s beliefs!" Prof. Taslim sneered hostility at Sr. Mary. "Here you are making us call you ‘Sr. Mary’ like you’re some kind of saint!"

"Oh, that," Sr. Mary’s hand fell to the habit that had magically appeared on her, in denial of the earlier accusation of evil she had felt befalling her. "Well, I suppose you’re right, Professor, I have been very stubborn about this. I suppose the Maryknoll sisters wouldn’t approve but..." she shrugged with that her habit disappeared and a tight fitting one-piece pink dress appeared on her. Her hair was cut fashionably short and her nails were painted a matching shade of fuschia. Her white high heels seemed out of place with the dirt road of the Indian marketplace she found herself in.

Prof. Taslim’s evil glare turn to surprise as he noticed how lovely she looked in the modern attire. Then a more wicked thought entered his mind: This linkage would force her to eat with him, walk with him, and sleep with him. A smile slowly twisted it’s way onto his face as he thought about the way he would repay Sr. Mary.

Sr. Mary’s eyes dropped away from his look as she felt the discomfort of his evil intentions. It was her turn to be controlled and she knew it. All she could hope for was that she didn’t end up on the guillotine like she had chosen for him. At that thought she realized--Ed was right--she had her karma to repay and it was probably the worst one could imagine. She shuddered at the thought while Prof. Taslim felt a leap of pure joy at the turn-around in their saga.

She turned her attention back to Ed Bishop to avoid the truth of the black link. "You won’t hurt her, will you Ed?" Sr. Mary begged him realizing Cynthia might be in a similar situation.

Ed looked embarrassed at the question. "I’m afraid it’s my debt that must be repaid, if Cynthia insists. However, she does not remember and I am having trouble recalling myself. She must choose on her own. If she chooses badly we will be tied together in a cycle of karmic violence that could last for eons, certainly more than the seven days you all have allotted."

"What! Are you to be running through the Tower of Dreams with the rest of us now?" Jasmine voiced in surprise. "You’re the teacher! Who will guide us and aid us, if not you?"

"You are your own teacher," Ed emphasized, "and no, I will not be traveling further. My guides have placed me on the second level of my own free choice. I have already mastered the Tower of Dreams, as all dreamers have the opportunity to do so. I am merely here to repay a debt." Ed’s eyes traced the link between Cynthia and himself.

"Wait a minute!" Yassov woke up to the conversation, "Why are Jasmine and I linked?"

"Look at the color," Ed instructed. "Yours is a bond of light, indicating you have positive karma between the two of you. This is good because the experience for you could be pleasurable. Just don’t get lost in the pleasures lest you forget to move on!" Ed’s green eye’s twinkled in merriment as Jasmine blushed at the truth she heard in his words.

"Humph!" Jasmine snorted as she turned her back to Yassov who had eagerly tried to study her reaction. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she decided to change the subject, "Has anyone wondered what happened to the gardener?"

"Cameron?" Ed named him for Jasmine. " He advanced all the way to the third level in one night! What a feat!"

Hearing the third level mentioned, Prof. Taslim winced and rubbed his neck as Sr. Mary pretended not to notice. Any hopes she had been entertaining that Prof. Taslim hadn’t remembered what had happened on the third level, dwindled as she saw his neatly manicured hands rubbing the nape of his neck. Even if he didn’t remember it consciously, she decided he obviously felt it subconsciously.

"Hey!" Cynthia interrupted Ed’s monologue, "what about the second level? Don’t we all pass through each level? How come he gets to get by without being linked?"

Ed’s attention riveted back to Cynthia with obvious delight. "He tested out," Ed said matter-of-factly. "The sirens of desire deemed him worthy to move on. I, for one, refused that test as it is swift and severe. I took my time on the second level before. It took me many tries to get it right. You know what they say: 'Practice makes perfect.' Did I ever practice! I think, if I had tested with you before Cynthia, I might never have made it out. I would have found you irresistible."

Rage began to well up in Cynthia’s mind, an emotion she was not accustomed to. "You think!" She spat the words out of her mouth before she had a chance to think better. "I’m sick of these dreams. I want out. Go find yourself another sucker to twist into these bizarre stories. So, now that I’ve decided, you just tell me how to go and I’ll be on my way."

Ed took a step back as he allowed her to vent her anger on him. "I don’t think that’s possible at this time," Bishop picked his words out carefully after he saw her standing, white with rage and fists clenched as if she would hit him at any moment. "You can’t go unless I want to go, and I won’t leave. We’re linked and until we’re unlinked all choices have to be made together and for the benefit of both us."

"You bastard!" The words came from Sr. Mary’s mouth as she realized her sister’s predicament. "You should have warned us before we started the Tower of Dreams!"

Ed looked at Sr. Mary in her tight-fitting pink dress and decided to ignore the accusation. "What a fine Irish lass you make when you’re mad!" He joked knowing the depth of embarrassment it would cause Sr. Mary. "Can we all call you Bridget, now?"

They had been so engrossed in their conversation, they hadn’t noticed the fat, mustached Indian who had waddled close to Prof. Taslim. He tugged on Prof. Taslim’s jacket sleeve trying to get his attention. Pointing his stubby finger in Sr. Mary’s direction, he asked very politely if she was for sale. A look of shock crossed Prof. Taslim’s face as he realized what the man was asking. Looking at Sr. Mary who had heard the discrete inquiry and was now glowering in both their directions, Prof. Taslim laughed at the notion. "God willing I could sell her and be rid of her," He said defiantly for all to hear, "but, she’s tied to me, it seems. Once I’ve figured out how to loose her, come by again and we can make a deal, I’m sure."

The man bowed in deep respect, hands clasped to his forehead as if in prayer. He pointed to the brothel that was down the dirt street, telling Prof. Taslim to seek him there, and he promised to give him a very generous price.

"Go away you disgusting little man!" Sr. Mary said, revolted at the idea that she could be sold for no other reason than it suited some man to take her for his pleasure. "I own myself, no one owns me!"

Jiggling his finger in chastisement the fat Indian smiled with his teeth showing a bright gold inlay in one tooth. "She has good spirit, that one," he said to Prof. Taslim, as he laughed and walked away.

"You’re equally as disgusting!" Sr. Mary’s wrath descended on Prof. Taslim. "How could you even hint at the fact that you might consider his offer? I’m not your slave!"

Prof. Taslim had been enjoying Sr. Mary’s distress greatly. "Bridget," Prof. Taslim took on an intense tone of intimacy with her, "of course, I don’t own you. I was just trying to avoid a scene. He must have found that pretty pink dress as enticing as I do." His lips parted in ill-concealed lust as he looked her up and down without apology.

Sr. Mary’s arms quickly folded themselves across her breast but she stubbornly refused to change her attire. "I can wear anything I want!" She told herself, well aware that Prof. Taslim’s comments were meant to discomfort her. "I’ll show him he can’t push me around," she promised herself weakly. Unable to fight him in speech or demeanor, Sr. Mary remained stuck in silence as she burned with indignity.

"This is all a dream!" Cynthia broke the silence in exasperation. "Who cares what these dream people want? I want to get out of here! You’re so all-knowing," Cynthia’s finger pointed accusingly at Ed, "you tell me how to break the link so I can get out of here."

Ed shrugged, unable to offer anything in his defense.

The group stood in the market place staring at each other and then at the scenes around them. Water carriers dressed in saris were winding their way from the river at the end of the village back to their homes, their jugs carefully balanced on their shoulders. Beggar children were roaming the dirt roadway begging for alms. Merchants selling spices, food, and flowers were arrayed wildly in wooden stalls. As their assembly watched the mayhem of dream characters working their way through the day, Yassov finally spoke up.

"I don’t know how this could be a dream," Yassov said sincerely puzzled, "my stomach is actually rumbling. But I don’t know how I could be physically hungry if I’m only dreaming."

"Shish!" Jasmine’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she heard the same old whining starting. "Do we have to go through this again? Let’s go find some..." food."

"No wait!" Yassov brightened, remembering the lessons of the first level. "I’ll just conjure up some food for us." His brow wrinkled in concentration but nothing happened.

"You can’t," Ed said acknowledging Yassov’s failure, "the second level is more physical than the first level. Your every physical want and desire needs to be met here on their level. Hunger, thirst, maybe even sex - all bodily desires must be met the old-fashioned way--no magic. Sorry folks!"

"What? How will we live?" Cynthia cried seeing their predicament at once. "We need to eat! And what about the clothes? They’ve materialized easily enough!"

"Yah, I noticed," Ed said pensively, "that does seem rather odd. All I can say is, it must be part of the dream theme and has less to do with our own desires than the guides helping us out a wee bit. Or maybe it’s just logistics!" Ed chuckled at the thought.

The group descended into a cacophony of arguments as the thought of being trapped in a dream similar to earth, but in a foreign country, and also being linked to someone else struck home.

"Stop!" Ed commanded. "This isn’t earth. It’s still a dream. There is a test involved and we must wait to see how events unfold. Have patience...my guess is we’ve all arrived at this destination for a reason. Let’s wait to see what unfolds."

Just as the words had echoed from his lips a messenger in white pajama-like clothing and matching turban walked up to them. "I am Abuk, the prince’s messenger. The prince has been waiting many seasons for you already! Word came from the market place that you had arrived. Let us not make him wait any longer. Follow me!"

They all looked at each other and then back to Ed, their unofficial leader. Ed Bishop smiled confidently again as he took Cynthia’s hand and followed Abuk to the prince’s palace. The rest followed suit.