The Lord of Dreams

by C. J. Brightley

  There was an instant of silence, in which she remembered the disquieting stains on the boy’s shirt. Why had she thought they were blood? They were a deep navy, not the rusty red-black of dried blood. Her eyes seemed to be playing tricks on her. She shivered.

  A spitting, squawling, howling cacophony roared over her, the sound beating against her in waves of terror. The tone was wrong, the sounds too sharp, too sudden, too vicious for any natural animal.

  How many creatures were there?

  And what had happened to the boy?

  Claire crouched, shaking, in the corner of her hiding place with her hands covering her ears. Her thoughts seemed to fugue from terror to terror, until her exhaustion made time stretch out into meaninglessness.

  Claire woke, shivering, light streaming through a tiny crack in the door to light a stripe across her arm, catching the fine hairs and turning them to gold. She blinked, dazed, and felt her eyes crusty with dried tears.

  The silence was absolute, the air heavy with an odd, musky scent. Claire was still thirsty, and finally forced herself to rise. The crack was too small to afford her a view, but she remembered that the boy had said not to come out until the sun rose. She studied the light on her arm, listening to the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Then she swallowed her fear and cautiously pushed up the latch.

  Peering out, she saw the dark shapes indistinctly at first, the brilliant light temporarily blinding her. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, carrying a metallic scent.

  Blood.

  She saw it first on the teeth of the charcoal-drawn cat nearest her shoulder. Then on its paws. A larger smear around the mouth of the yawning cat figure on the opposite wall, triangle teeth bared.

  Strewn around the ruins were the torn, bloodied corpses of giant rats. The largest was the size of a small pony, the smallest the size of a labrador retriever. Sharp, curved teeth gleamed bright white in the sun. Blood puddles soaked into the dirt, and splashes of gore dried unevenly across the white marble floors and walls.

  Claire vomited bile, her empty stomach rebelling against the horror.

  The silence brought her back to herself. Neither birdsong nor breeze nor distant insect chatter reached within the tumbled marble walls. Claire coughed, her throat raw, and gagged again at the taste, her mouth dry and sour.

  She sighed and stood, then staggered, barely catching herself against a wall. The stone was cool against her forehead, and she waited for the dizziness to recede. Too long with little water and no food. How long has it been? Only a day, I think, but it feels like forever.

  Eyes closed, she breathed in the coppery scent of blood and the musk of rat fur, and she imagined, for a moment, she heard a rustle behind her. She whirled to see the boy leaning wearily against a tumbled pillar, one elbow resting on the worn edge. His white-blond hair stood up like dandelion fuzz around his narrow face. “Don’t lie to the chimeras,” he said.

  “What?”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Pay attention! This isn’t a game. Don’t lie to the chimeras.”

  She turned the words around in her mind looking for some way in which they made sense. She didn’t even know what a chimera was. “Why would I lie to the chimeras?”

  “You’re human. It’s what you… well, it’s one of the things humans do. Lies just spring out, even unbidden and unintended.”

  “We don’t! Not all of us, anyway.”

  He seemed taken aback, and glanced at her. Then his lips lifted in a slight smile, and he gave a knowing nod. “Really? Can you name a human who hasn’t lied?”

  “Well…”

  “That’s precisely what I mean. You lie like you believe it, and make us believe you. We can’t do that. But do it with the chimeras and … well, just don’t. Watch your words. It isn’t in your nature, but you can do it. For long enough, anyway. “

  They stood in silence for a moment. The boy seemed older than his years, a dry humor glinting in his eyes as he watched her.

  “You knew the rats were coming,” Claire said at last.

  “Yes.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the pendant on the chain around her neck. She had nearly forgotten about it, but now she studied it. The pendant was round with a raised design on it of three lines that almost converged at the top, spreading apart towards the bottom. The metal glinted in the sunlight. It was gold, or perhaps polished brass; she wasn’t a good enough judge of metals to be sure.

  “Why did…?” Her mind felt bleary and unfocused, and she stopped to frown at the boy. “Those monsters would have killed me.”

  “Yes. But they didn’t.”

  “Was I brought there on purpose, or was it just chance?”

  “Very few things are ‘just chance’ in Faerie. And when you say ‘on purpose,’ you must consider whose purpose. You wished. I also wished. The Awen might have a purpose of its own. Or perhaps not. You might be serving some purpose we know nothing about. Whose purpose—or purposes—are you serving, and whose are you thwarting?” He gave her a narrow smile. “The rats are Unseelie, part of what you might call the vanguard of the opposing forces. You have a unique ability to use a specific type of magic. You have no knowledge of it, of course, so I gave you a token that would activate the magic on your behalf.”

  Claire stared at him, growing more confused. “But how?” Then her confusion turned into anger. “You almost got me killed!”

  The boy’s brows drew together in innocent confusion. “This is your right and just service. I entrusted you with more responsibility and authority than you had reason to expect or deserve.” His eyes flashed blue-gold-silver in the harsh sunlight. “Moreover, I risked much to ensure your safety and did not depart until I knew my trust had not been in vain.”

  Claire gaped at him. Right and just service?

  His flashing gaze softened. “Besides, you have grown a little through the ordeal, have you not? Aren’t you braver than you were before?”

  “I just feel tired.” Claire felt tears pricking at her eyes.

  He smiled a little as he turned away. “Heroes rarely get to rest when they desire to.”

  Then he was gone, and Claire was gazing at empty rolling hills.

  She closed her eyes and slid down to sit, her head resting against the cold marble behind her.

  Perhaps she dozed off. Perhaps she merely wished to and let herself retreat into a dreamy haze.

  When she came to herself again, the charcoal cat drawings were gone. The rat corpses were gone. The puddles of blood and gore were gone. The ruins were as clean and barren and desolate as she had found them the previous day.

  Did I dream the entire thing?

  Claire fled, her heart thudding unevenly as she flew down the hill, bare feet pounding on the grass.

  Chapter 4

  Claire ran without thinking.

  The slope of the hill lent wings to her feet, and she followed the slope as long as she could, zigzagging through shallow troughs between hills until her legs burned and the protest from her feet was too insistent to ignore. She slowed to a gasping walk, tears sliding down her cheeks unnoticed, until finally she stumbled to her knees.

  She sat back and let her tears fall, staring at her bare feet. The nails were crusted with dust and sweat, and there was a bit of blood under one toenail. The soles were red and pricked with blood spots from the grass. Claire brushed at her tears, examining the tiny wounds.

  This was, in point of fact, a fantastic time to feel sorry for herself, and she almost reveled in the feeling for several minutes. But even justified self-pity couldn’t comfort her for long. Feeling sorry for herself did absolutely no good at all.

  This all started when I wished I could be the hero. The villain, whoever he is, even said it had to do with my wish. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t really heroic. Maybe I need to do better, if I’m going to get out of this.

  Maybe I won’t be heroic enough, but if I don’t even try, I bet things will be even worse.

  She pushed herself to her feet, th
en sank back to one knee, spots wavering before her eyes.

  “I’m dehydrated,” she muttered in irritation. “You’d think that a dream land or fairy land or whatever this place is would have some water somewhere.” She glared through the spots until they faded, and then pushed herself upright again.

  She trudged forward, not sure of any direction but determined to keep moving.

  Time passed.

  It was probably less than a day, because she didn’t remember darkness or sleeping again. But it was definitely more than a few hours. Claire based this assumption on the fact that her mind wandered so far during this time; despite the dubiousness of this logic, she told herself it made sense.

  Between one step and the next, the world changed.

  She was held as if frozen, one foot suspended in the air.

  Something was studying her.

  Claire blinked and the image sparkled in her eyes, both too brilliant and too immaterial for her eyes to focus on. It was the afterimage of heat lightning, white hot, the memory of something she had not quite seen and could not quite recollect.

  It shook its massive head, the mane of a lion sparkling like light on a bubble in the sun, simultaneously transparent and iridescent. To Claire’s dazzled eyes, the creature appeared to be the size of a train car. The creature had a beak as long as she was tall, and its eyes glittered with sharp, terrifying intelligence. The lustrous fur of its mane cascaded over golden scales; the rear half of the creature seemed to be dragon, with a long tail and razor claws. Golden wings folded over a delicate crest of spines that started somewhere in its mane and ran down its backbone all the way to the end of its tail.

  “What are you?” it purred into Claire’s ear.

  “I…” Claire licked her lips. “I’m a human.”

  A brush of air across the back of her neck made her stiffen. “I see that.” A second voice chuckled softly from behind her ear. “A human child. But what are you?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” Claire breathed.

  “She speaks truth,” hissed one of them, the sibilant sound raising the hairs on Claire’s neck. “Why are you here?” The two terrifying faces were so close she could feel the faint heat radiating off their beaks. The second creature appeared to be the same species as the first.

  Claire swallowed a lump in her throat, throwing each possible answer away until she came upon something that seemed safely true, but still uninformative. “I walked.”

  One of the creatures opened its beak and emitted a long, almost silent hiss. “Interesting,” it murmured. “Has she been instructed, do you think?”

  The other chimera stared at Claire with narrowed eyes. “What would you do if we let you continue?”

  “I would continue.”

  A rush of air beat against her face, and she blinked against an iridescent thunder of wings and silky fur.

  “She speaks truth.” Claire couldn’t tell which one had spoken. “We shall allow her to pass.”

  “Shall we?” The one on the left cocked its head sideways, edging its beak forward until it was nearly eye to eye with Claire. It clicked its beak suddenly, the sound nearly deafening so close to her ear. “I was of a mind to taste her heart. I’ve never eaten a human before.”

  The chimera on the Claire’s right shook its mane in irritation. “Like dust with a hint of starlight and too much salt in her iron blood. But she spoke truth, Sister.”

  Another hiss that sent terror curling through Claire’s veins like ice. “As you say. Truth.” It opened its mouth in a horrifying grin, the sunlight glinting on a row of needle-like teeth nestled inside the knife-sharp rim of its beak. “Pass, human.”

  The two chimeras withdrew a hairsbreadth. Claire found her feet on the ground again and stumbled forward, wincing at each step.

  When she looked back a few seconds later, the hillside was empty.

  Chapter 5

  Claire walked, and she walked, and she walked.

  Time drew out.

  The sun shone down from the beaten bronze sky, the heat sucking the sweat from her skin until her thirst nearly drove her mad.

  Claire stumbled into a street without realizing she had reached the edge of the city. She turned, momentarily disoriented, looking for the grassy hills and baked ground that she had crossed. Instead of what she remembered, she saw a dark forest looming high behind her, as if reluctantly ceasing its pursuit of her. She blinked and stared at it before shaking her head and trudging down the street.

  Was I ever in the hills?

  Was I in the desert?

  “Why doesn’t anything make sense?” she muttered.

  A tiny voice beside her hissed, “Why should anything make sense?”

  Claire flailed, startled, and the creature evaded her, laughing nastily.

  “What are you doing here?” It grinned at her, tiny sharp teeth in a tiny human face. Humanoid, Claire corrected herself; the creature looked a bit like one of her fairy figurines, a bit larger and definitely not pink. Skin the color of new leaves glistened in the harsh sun, and its eyes gleamed like tiny emeralds. The wings behind its shoulders moved too fast for her eyes to see, but the vague shape of their movement gave Claire the impression that it had two sets of wings, like a dragonfly. The creature was about as tall as her hand, and disconcertingly androgynous. It wore a tunic belted around its waist that appeared to made of spiderweb.

  “Ya!” It shouted at her. “Never seen a fairy before? Staring is rude!”

  Claire swallowed, her throat raspy with thirst. “Sorry,” she croaked.

  “Of course you are.” The fairy sneered. “Words don’t mean much to your kind, though, do they?” It buzzed into her face to glare at her, nearly nose to nose. “Your kind lie and cheat. Can’t be trusted, you humans.”

  “Can you be trusted?” Claire breathed.

  The fairy bared tiny teeth at her in a smile that wasn’t very nice at all. “Depends on how good you are at reading between the lines.”

  Claire felt dizzy with thirst, and she closed her eyes for a moment against the encroaching darkness at the edges of her vision.

  A stinging pain on her lip made her cry out, and the fairy flittered back, laughing.

  “Wake up, human child! It’s not sleep time yet.”

  “What do you want?” Claire’s voice cracked, and she swallowed a sob. She rubbed her lip, then stared at the minuscule smear of blood across her finger. “Did you bite me?”

  “Ha!” The fairy waved a two inch long sword at her face, then darted forward to jab her cheek. “Sword’s more fun.” He laughed again as Claire flailed, then zipped forward to stab her earlobe.

  Claire growled, then focused on the fairy hovering a few feet away. The laughter gave her the impression the fairy was male, a ha-ha-ha sound that tinkled like a silver bell.

  She’d always had good reflexes. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her anger pushed back the dizziness. Her cheeks flushed, and her hand trembled, but she smiled for a moment. “Oh, so you enjoy harassing innocent travelers, do you do?” She edged forward.

  The fairy smiled, tiny white teeth glittering, eyes bright and hard. “Enjoyment has nothing to do with it.”

  Quick as a cat, Claire swatted him out of the air.

  The fairy’s tiny body crashed to the ground, tumbling end over end. He came to rest some feet away, sprawled facedown on a cobblestone.

  Claire knelt to study him.

  He was male, though his beauty was androgynous and strange to her eyes. As she had thought, his wings were as fine and iridescent as a dragonfly’s wings. Now they were crumpled and broken. A tiny bit of blue fluid seeped from a crack in the leading edge of one of his upper wings. His body was thin and lithe, and, if fairies showed their ages as humans do, he was even younger than she was. His hair was the same spring green as his skin, and filled with dust from the cobblestones beneath him.

  A blue stain spread beneath his head.

  Claire’s stomach twisted, and she swallowed guilt a
nd horror.

  Did I kill him? I didn’t mean to kill him.

  He didn’t move.

  Adrenalin made Claire’s heart race, but there was no threat here. Just a tiny body broken on the ground, motionless and helpless.

  She extended one finger and poked him gently in the side, suddenly conscious of her terrible strength in comparison to his fragility.

  He didn’t move.

  Dizziness rose, and she pushed it back.

  Please wake up.

  She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Straining her eyes, she tried to see whether his back moved, whether the dust stirred in front of his tiny mouth.

  I will never strike in anger again.

  The fairy let out a soft groan and shifted a little, then fell silent.

  Claire chewed her lip, feeling the tears well up and slide down her cheeks.

  I don’t want to be cruel. I’m sorry.

  She couldn’t tell how long she sat beside his limp body.

  He groaned, coughed, groaned more loudly, and cried out as he tried to move.

  “I’m sorry,” Claire breathed. “I’m sorry. I was angry, and I shouldn’t have done that.”

  The fairy made a desperate whimpering noise as he curled into himself. He lay on his side and wrapped his arms around his middle, gasping far too fast.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Claire whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  The fairy closed his eyes and coughed, then moaned as if the coughing had caused unbearable agony. Perhaps it had.

  “Why don’t you step on me while you’re at it? Put me out of my misery.” The words were a bitter whisper, a tiny thread of sound that scarcely reached her ears.

  “I’m sorry!” Claire cried. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?” She moved so that she could see his face as clearly as possible, and he could see her without moving his head.

  His cold emerald eyes glittered at her. “Help? You wish to help now? A bit late for that, don’t you think?” He coughed again, one small hand clenched into the spider silk tunic as if to keep himself from crying out.