The Door of Dreams

by Greg James

  She didn’t wait. She couldn’t; not after everything that’d happened. This was what it’d all been for – this mad, surreal journey. There was no time to think twice, just do it. Cut and run. How could she leave her Dad behind in their world? He’d never know what happened to her and be all alone. She couldn’t live with that.

  Willow hurled herself through the gate.

  White light erupted around her.

  Blackness followed.

  *

  Willow awoke slowly and painfully, “Ow, my head. Dad ... is that you?”

  It wasn’t. After a few moments of blurriness, she could see that it was Henu.

  “You tried to go home, friend Willow.” He said.

  “Why didn’t it work? Why am I still here? It should’ve worked.”

  “It should have, friend Willow, but it did not. It was as I feared.”

  “As you feared? What does that mean?”

  “The spell Scaethe worked to rid you of the sickness. It means you can no longer return to your own world.”

  It is a false gate, that’s what the Lamia had said.

  “No, that can’t be true,” Willow said, shaking her head.

  She didn’t want to believe the horror from her dream. This had to be a lie.

  “It is true. I am sorry,” Henu replied, “in this world, there is magic and it has changed you. It has changed you so much that you cannot return to your world. There is no magic there so what has happened to you is impossible by its laws. You cannot go back.”

  “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you. This can’t be true.”

  “I do not lie to you, friend Willow. I never would,” he rested a hand on her arm.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Henu?”

  “Because I couldn’t be sure. I hoped the gate would work for you.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have hoped. That’s one thing I learned while I was sick. You can hope all you want but it doesn’t change a damn thing in the end.” She looked at the gate which now only showed Tirlane on the other side. It was a natural formation of stone. She could feel the magic once there was gone.

  “What if I change back? Can you do that?”

  “No,” he said, “there is no changing back. Your bones have grown. Your body has aged. To change back would be to shrink and crush you. You would die if I, or anyone else, tried.”

  “I said yes. Why did I say yes?”

  “You were under his spell. Scaethe has power when it comes to the minds of others.”

  And so does the Lamia but she couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t need to know.

  “He did not tell you there would be a price. He should have done.”

  “I should’ve guessed. I should’ve known. You don’t get a magic cure for cancer and walk away for free.”

  “There’s no way you could have known. Tirlane is not like your world. The rules here are very different. It is not your fault.”

  “Henu, I came here to escape. I think that’s why I found the door, and why it opened for me. I was running away from my world, from my reality, and now I’m paying for it,” she said. Her voice started to break. Tears were seeping out through the cracks in her composure.

  “Please do not cry.” Henu said.

  “Why not? I’ve been holding it in for ages. All the pain. All the hurt. All the nights where I was terrified that I wasn’t going to wake up because my brains had exploded in my sleep. God, and now I want to go back to all that. How stupid am I?”

  “You are not stupid.”

  “Maybe not, but I miss my Dad and now you’re saying I’m never going to see him again.”

  Willow closed her eyes and wept, feeling Henu’s warm hand on her shoulder. She could feel his kind eyes on her. He said nothing. He let her go on until the worst of it was past and then he gave her a handkerchief so she could dry her eyes.

  Afterwards she walked away, “I want to be alone for a while.”

  *

  Willow stood at the edge of the mesa’s plateau, looking out over Tirlane. She didn’t hear Nualan’s approach, “This country was the firstborn of the world, Greychild. What do you think of it?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “But?”

  “But it’s not home.”

  “Ah, I am sorry for your loss, Greychild.”

  “Please call me Willow. The whole Greychild thing ... I don’t like it.”

  “Willow, I wish I could undo the Holtsman’s spell but it is not within my power. I am but a soldier, not a Jenn. The ways of fate are hard and I fear they become no easier to tread with time.”

  “Yeah,” she said, looking down at fingers which were longer than they had been yesterday, and a body which had lost the last of its puppy-fat, “and it’s no easier knowing that either.”

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to distress you.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Willow said.

  “I came here only because you are legend. I meant what I said. You are wondrous and you should know, by being here, you give us hope. I have received word that the eight droves of our kin will soon join us here at Harrowclave. There is much reason to rejoice.”

  Willow sighed and tried to blink back the tears in her eyes, “Nualan, it’s just that I’m never going to see my Dad again. I’m never going to be home. I’m here and it’s beautiful and it’s like a dream come true. Tirlane the unspoiled land; the perfect place to escape to, and all my heart wants now is to be as far away from it as possible. So much for escaping.”

  “Truly, you wish to leave us?”

  “I don’t know what I want, or how to go about doing it right now. I mean, once something’s spoiled then it’s ruined for good, right?”

  “Sometimes,” Nualan said, “but not always.”

  “You think so?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I do too.”

  “I will leave you. I think you need more time alone.”

  Nualan left and she didn’t try to stop him. He was right. She needed time to think about what had happened and what was happening to her. The black and white world of childhood had died on the day she was diagnosed with cancer. It had left her adrift in a world of greyness and shadows. There was no going back to the innocence and simplicity she’d known before – was there?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willow returned to Harrowclave and found it in uproar. She recognised a dark shape making its way through the centaurs; moving with a serpent’s surety.

  Scaethe – what on earth was he doing here?

  Nualan stood in the Holtsman’s way with his two-handed sword drawn. Willow could see his hackles were up and the muscle cords in his arms were tense. He was ready to strike down the interloper. Not quite knowing why, Willow put herself between Nualan and Scaethe. The hostile cries of the centaurs died down to mutters and whispers.

  Scaethe was robed in a black habit which seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. His long white hair was tied back into a greasy braid. His eyes shone like midnight stones in the pale landscape of his face. His thin lips curled into a smile, “My nymphet, I have missed you.”

  Willow narrowed her eyes, “As I remember, I didn’t miss you.”

  Scaethe’s composure faltered for a second. She could see the memory of her knee slamming hard into his privates was still fresh – and raw. “I bear you no grudge, Greychild. The fault was mine for being so ... forward.”

  “Why are you here?” Willow asked, trying to sound more sure of herself than she was.

  “My mistress, the great Lamia, demands audience with you.”

  “Mistress!” Henu shouted, “You betray the roots of your trees to the Spider under Mount Norn!”

  “Peace, Henu,” said Nualan though his sword remained drawn and ready. Willow was sure Nualan could have struck him down where he stood if he wanted to.

  “You said the Lamia demands an audience with me?”

  “Yes, demands. The hour of decision approaches. These were her words as spoken
to me. The great Lamia said you would comprehend their meaning.”

  “There is nothing great in your mistress, traitor. She is as low and base as a worm.” Henu cried out.

  Scaethe looked at the furious Wealdsman evenly, “If you wish to best me Henu then do so. You will not find me unwilling. Let us see how mighty you are without your stardraught, eh?”

  Willow could tell from his voice that was what Scaethe wanted – and he would win. If this Lamia was as bad as everyone made out, she must’ve taught Scaethe a few tricks, and from what she knew about Scaethe they would be very nasty tricks. Henu was pushing his way through the centaurs. She could see determination and anger setting his face into a mask. He would fight Scaethe and he would die.

  He’d die for me.

  No, she couldn’t let that happen.

  “Where would she meet with me?” Willow asked.

  “At Morrow’s Watch tomorrow,” Scaethe said, “At the hour when the new dawn touches the fallen tower’s peak.”

  “Tell her I will come, and you are to spare Henu.”

  Henu had stopped in his tracks at her words.

  Willow didn’t look as his face fell and Scaethe turned to his rival with a triumphant leer, “See, even the Greychild knows who is the strongest. She just saved your life. I would be grateful to her if I were you, Wealdsman.”

  Henu’s eyes were averted and his shoulders trembled.

  Nualan’s second-in-command, Rathane, shook out his scarlet mane and notched the ground with a hoof before approaching and lowering his head to speak to Scaethe, “Would you feel so confident in taunting me, Holtsman?”

  Scaethe blanched as the tall centaur raised his spear and swept it down. The point of the spear halted an inch from the Holtsman’s face, and then descended silently without harming him to point the way from Harrowclave. “Be swift, Holtsman,” Rathane said, “or my spear will help you to fly more swiftly than your feet may carry you from this place.”

  Scaethe whimpered his understanding and ran for his life. It was not until the Lamia’s messenger had left the plateau that the air seemed to clear. Willow placed a hand on Henu’s shoulder. He shrugged it off. “I’m sorry, Henu. He would have killed you.”

  The Wealdsman raised his face to hers and she saw tears in his eyes, “I am ashamed, friend Willow. I have been shown as weak. You think I am old and useless. I am sorry. I know I should have told you that you might not be able to return home. I should have told you of the prophecy also but I did not.”

  “Henu, it wasn’t because of that.”

  The Wealdsman moved away from her so she couldn’t touch him again. He turned his back on her and said, “I will leave you now and return to my Weald. I think the trees and animals there need me more than I am needed here.”

  Willow went after him. The Wealdsman looked over his shoulder at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen, “Please do not follow me. Let me go and find what peace I can among my trees.”

  Willow took another step forward but was halted by Nualan’s heavy hand falling on her shoulder. “Let him go,” the centaur whispered gently, “I will come with you to Morrow’s Watch in his stead.”

  Tears ran down her face as she watched the small, hunched figure of Henu disappear down the pathway from Harrowclave.

  She had never felt so alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Willow did not sleep. She stayed awake; waiting, watching, and listening for Nualan’s approach. She wished that she’d brought a watch with her, but then realised how useless it would be anyway. If magic didn’t work in her world then she doubted technology could work here.

  Her world.

  Home.

  She missed Dad and wished she was back there where none of this was happening. Nothing more adventurous than dinner, a Disney movie, being tucked in, and having Dad read to her as she went to sleep. Yeah, she was too big for that kind of stuff really but, when you’re dying, it’s surprising how much you treasure the simple, sentimental things.

  “Greychild, it is time.”

  Nualan’s voice made her jump.

  It was time – for the hour of decision?

  The thought of the Lamia’s words made her blood slow and feel like ice in her veins. The memory of Henu walking away from her was also in her mind. It hurt like a fresh wound and felt like a bad omen of what was to come.

  “I apologise. I did not mean to frighten you.” Nualan said.

  “It’s okay.” Willow got to her feet and left the tent. The camp was a cluster of low, dark shapes as the others slept on. A few fires flickered by the head of the pathway where two centaurs stood on watch. They bowed to Nualan and Willow as they passed.

  “It is not far to Morrow’s Watch,” Nualan said.

  “Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want to keep the Lamia waiting.”

  “Truly?”

  “A joke, Nualan. Sorry. Bad taste.”

  “Bad taste?”

  “Never mind.”

  Nualan descended along the pathway with Willow riding on his back. She noticed he’d not brought his two-handed sword with him, which she thought was strange. She could feel tension tightening his muscles, making the pace of the journey become solemn.

  “Why did you decide to come with, Nualan? You could have let me go alone, or sent one of your drove with me like Rathane or Nithoe.”

  “You are under my protection, Greychild, and it is my duty to see you do not die.”

  “Aren’t you afraid though, Nualan? We’re going to meet the Lamia, after all.”

  “I do not fear the Lamia, Willow. I fear the same as you; that which is unknown.”

  “You mean death?”

  “Among other things. All things true must come to an end. That is the way of things. Life and death in eternal cycle, even the greatest and most noble come to dust in time.”

  Nualan began to sing in a low whisper.

  Time is our death and our healing,

  What seems your last breath,

  May be deceiving.

  Time is our past and our tomorrow,

  Naught seems to last,

  For Time brings us such sorrow.

  “It is from an old song of the Jenn. Very old.”

  “It’s sad.”

  “True, but in melancholy there can still be joy, just as there can be light found at the darkest times in our lives. Remember that, Willow. It may give you hope when all else seems lost.”

  “I hope that day never comes.”

  “Life is a constant struggle between hope and despair, and even the wisest Jenn cannot know how it will all end for us.”

  “Nualan, why are you going with me to meet the Lamia? You could have sent one of your drove instead.”

  “I am coming because it is a trap, and I do not mean to let you die at her hands.”

  “Why would you die for me then?”

  “Because I love you.”

  “You ... what?”

  “I have loved you since before you came into our world. As a youngling, I was told your story and, as a foal, I taught myself every word and line of the prophecy. I have known you all my life, Willow Grey. I have waited long and I have loved no other.”

  “Nualan, I don’t know what to say.”

  He turned his head to look at her.

  Were those tears in his eyes? Was he weeping over his love for her?

  “Then say nothing. It is enough for my heart that you know. I ask no more of you. Truly.”

  They passed the rest of the journey in contemplative silence.

  As the sky lightened with the dawn, Morrow’s Watch came into view. The hills which had been rising before them fell away into a narrow valley which cut through the range. The stump of a tower stood tall, despite having fallen, in the valley. The broken stones made Willow think of jagged, gnawing teeth. A stair wound around the outside the tower and tapered off like a snake’s tail, jutting defiant above the ruin. Nualan stopped walking before the shadow of the tower. Willow dismounted and looked arou
nd. She couldn’t see anyone.

  “Gloomy place,” she said, kicking at a loose stone on the ground.

  “We are here at this place and at the hour as foretold. My part is almost over.” Nualan said, and Willow wondered why.

  Her gaze wandered to the valley beyond Morrow’s Watch. The far end of it appeared to be deeply shrouded in a murky reek of mist. “What’s through there?”

  “Cheren Mokur,” Nualan said, “it was once the garden of Silfrenheart until the castle was abandoned by the Wardens. Some say the Lamia poisoned the land out of spite so nothing fair could ever grow there again. Since that time, it has become a foul stretch of marshes and swamp where dead things dwell and the Voice sleeps beneath the festering waters.”

  “What’s the Voice?”

  “No-one knows. A creation of the Lamia, perhaps, but I do not think so. Whatever it may be, it is the soul of Cheren Mokur and it consumes those unwary enough to cross into its domain.”

  “Indeed, and it is particularly hungry these days, said a voice from behind them.

  A figure was standing, illuminated by the dawn’s light, at the foot of the tower.

  “Scaethe!” Willow called out, “What’re you doing here?”

  The Holtsman bowed low and mockingly before righting himself, “Dear Greychild, I am here on behalf of my mistress.”

  “Look, if the Lamia’s not going to show herself then the deal’s off. I want to talk to her, not you.” Willow couldn’t believe what she was saying, but the words were out now and she’d just have to deal with the consequences.

  “Oh, but she is here,” Scaethe said, “You see I’m not just her vassal. I’m her vessel as well.”

  “Her what? Oh my god!” Willow cried as the flesh of Scaethe’s face writhed, the bone cracked and his eyes became orbs of utter blackness. His colourless lips moved and the voice which came out was like the chattering of a thousand insects. “Come forward, Greychild. You have nothing to fear.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You have my word,” the Lamia said, “come forward.”

  Willow approached the possessed Scaethe.

  “Have you thought upon your decision? This is the hour as we agreed.”