Bloodstone d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  If I had to cross the collective unconscious, the forms would be the real danger.

  Mab must have seen the change in my expression. “Listen to me, Victory. It’s good that you understand the danger. But you must set aside fear. In the collective unconscious, fear will rip you apart.” She gentled her voice. “Don’t think about it now. You don’t have to cross that territory yet. First, we must test whether I can pass the bloodstone to you. So take a moment to relax. Use the meditation technique I taught you.”

  Relaxation isn’t easy when you’re trying to decide which would be the worst fate: having your life force transferred to your enemy, being ripped to shreds by the worst nightmares humanity has ever imagined, or being sucked into a gross blob of nothingness. But even if the collective unconscious killed me, I’d die knowing Myrddin had failed. That alone was worth the risk.

  I focused on the center of my being, going inward, counting my breaths. Slowly, my mind relaxed. My breaths became longer and deeper. When the last dollop of fear melted away, I nodded to Mab.

  “Good,” she said. “Now, look at the lake. Watch the water.”

  I did. All was still, except for the sparkles of sunlight playing across the surface. Then, several yards from the shore, ripples stirred the water. A hand emerged, curled into a fist. Its arm wore a tight-fitting sleeve of a white, silky material. I realized I no longer sat on the shore, but in a small boat. The arm glided toward me, and I marveled at its beauty and grace. The white fabric, shot through with gold and silver threads, caught the sunlight and made the arm glow.

  The arm stopped beside my boat. I tried to peer into the water to see the rest of the person, but all I could make out was a hazy white shape. The fist shook itself—once, twice, three times—as though impatient. I held out my open palm. A stone dropped into my hand. Immediately, the arm disappeared beneath the water.

  The boat rocked gently under me as I examined the stone. It was gray with green and red spots, set in silver. Mab’s pendant. I curled my fingers around it.

  “Now, child, I need you to do something that’s a bit difficult, so you must do it very carefully.” Mab’s voice blew across the lake like a summer breeze. I couldn’t see her anymore, but I knew she was close by. “Stay in the boat—that will keep you in the dream. You must stay in the dream, but I need you to check your physical body. I’ll hold you here, but take a moment to peek back into your waking world. See whether you have the stone there. Do it now.” Her soft voice went on, murmuring a word-painting of my dreamscape, describing the lake, the sky, the woods on the shore.

  Holding on to Mab’s words like Ariadne’s thread, I let a corner of my consciousness travel back to that dark, silent room. I still lay on my back on a hard table, unable to move. My right fingers were curled into a fist. I squeezed them gently. Yes. I could feel the pendant in my hand.

  I shut my mind to grim reality and let Mab’s voice reel me back into my dreamscape. I lay in the bottom of the boat, my heart hammering. My body felt rubbery, like I’d run hard for miles. But my journey hadn’t begun yet.

  “I’ve got it,” I panted. “Out there, I mean. It’s in my hand.”

  “Good.” Mab’s face hovered over me, huge, like a painting on the sky. Her lips curved as though she were trying to smile encouragement—an odd expression I’d never seen on my aunt’s face—but worry lines creased her forehead and the corners of her eyes. “I’m going to steer this boat toward the far shore, out of your personal dreamscape. Relax as best you can.”

  Mab’s face faded, and I felt the boat move. I lay back and watched the sky. It was blue and dotted with clouds—white, puffy, picturesque clouds, not the heavy kind that threaten rain or snow. The boat glided through the water with a gentle rocking motion. I smelled pine woods, and the scent reminded me of Kane.

  A small bump, and the boat stopped. I sat up. Mab stood in water up to her ankles, holding a rope tied to the bow. The shore behind her looked nothing like the woods I’d conjured around my lake. Billows of dark smoke churned, lit by flashes of lightning. The smoke roiled, thick and opaque; my vision couldn’t penetrate it at all.

  I looked over my shoulder. Behind me, the placid lake reflected the blue sky. Tree branches swayed in the breeze. I wanted to stay there, but I couldn’t. My dreamscape was an illusion, one from which I’d awaken into the reality of pain and death.

  I had to go forward.

  I stepped out of the boat into the water, warm around my calves. The boat disappeared. Right. No going back. I waded to the water’s edge and stepped onto the shore. Mere yards away, the smoke obscured whatever was beyond.

  “Okay, Mab, I’m ready. Lead the way.”

  Mab didn’t budge. “I can’t, child. You must go alone.” Water rippled around her ankles. “This isn’t me; it’s a dream avatar.”

  A dream avatar is an image that can be projected into a person’s dreamscape. But the avatar is part of the dream. And that meant Mab couldn’t leave my dreamscape.

  “Hold tight to the stone, child. It’s our connection. It will lead you through the wilderness to my dreamscape. When you arrive there, you’ll be safe.” She reached for me, but her hand passed through mine like a ghost’s.

  Grasping the bloodstone, I plunged into the dense, swirling smoke.

  BLIND AND COUGHING, I GROPED MY WAY FORWARD. SOMETHING brushed my right cheek. I jerked to the left. Footsteps pounded close by. Deep, evil-sounding laughter echoed. I spun around so much, trying to locate strange sounds, I had no clue which direction I was facing. Not that it mattered. Once I’d stepped outside my own dreamscape, I couldn’t return. It was gone.

  The bloodstone was my only chance for finding my way through this morass. I held it near my face and squinted at it through the dark, hoping it would glow to light my way to Mab. No such luck. The bloodstone, though polished, was dark, its colors dull. Mab had said it would guide me to her dreamscape, and I believed her. I just wished it had come with an instruction manual.

  Out of the dark, something slimy wrapped around my ankle. I kicked it off and ran forward. Immediately, the stone began to vibrate. Galloping hooves pounded straight for me, and I swerved to the right. The stone’s vibration ceased.

  Something huge galloped past. Although the smoke didn’t part, air rushed past my cheek. When the echo of hooves faded, I stepped forward. The stone vibrated. I turned ninety degrees to the left and took another step. The vibration stopped. When I turned back the way I’d been facing, the vibration began again.

  I let the bloodstone lead me. At first, I proceeded with my left arm stretched out ahead, feeling for boulders or trees—or other, more sinister obstacles—that loomed suddenly from the darkness. But the stone guided me around those. I wished for a weapon, and a sword materialized in my left hand. It was a comfort to curl my fingers around its grip; the next time something tried to grab me, I’d slice the attacker in two.

  There was no way to gauge my progress. I kept moving forward, following the vibrations of the bloodstone. The ground felt soft and springy under my feet, like a stretched-out trampoline. Each step sunk and rose, and I had to concentrate to keep my balance. Through the darkness came every sound and scent that feed people’s imaginations: Howls of rage or pain. Deepthroated cacklings. A distant siren song. A baby wailing. A woman sobbing. One moment the smoke blowing across my face smelled of rotting flesh; the next it smelled of roses or camphor. I kept going.

  I took a step, and the bloodstone’s vibration changed to an electric pulse. The shock nearly made me drop the pendant, but I clenched it tighter. Pulse, pulse, PULSE. It felt like a warning. I turned my head wildly, my sword ready, but I couldn’t see anything through the smoke.

  Until what I did see made me wish the smoke would close back in.

  A black blob emerged. A form, sucking up everything in its path, even the dense smoke. The form was right in front of me. I stabbed it with my sword, and the blade disintegrated. The form simply absorbed it and kept coming. I turned to run, but the form wa
s there, too. And there. And there, wherever I turned. I felt like I was at the bottom of a deep well, and the walls were closing in on me. The bloodstone’s frantic pulses cut through my hand.

  The form touched my left arm. A sickening, liquid sensation shot through me, like I was melting, as my flesh began to merge with the form. The bloodstone flashed, delivering a teeth-clenching shock.

  And I woke up.

  13

  USUALLY IT’S A RELIEF TO WAKE UP FROM A BAD DREAM. Your racing heartbeat gradually slows to normal as the familiar surroundings of your warm, safe bedroom come into focus. But for me, waking up meant returning to a reality worse than any nightmare.

  I shivered; the room where I lay a prisoner had grown icy cold. My left arm felt bruised where the form had touched it. I wished I could move to rub some life back into the spot. I clenched my fingers and felt something. In my right hand, I still held Mab’s bloodstone.

  Maybe I could try again.

  And I did try, but I couldn’t settle back into sleep. As soon as my mind started to descend into my dreamscape, the form was back, surrounding me, cutting off air and light, pulling me in. Again and again, I jolted awake.

  It was useless. I gave up and lay shivering in the darkness.

  The door opened. Two Old Ones came in, their icy auras chilling the room even more. One of them bent over me, eyeballs rolling in the lidless sockets, fangs stopping just short of my face. His mouth stretched in a ghastly smile. Then they positioned themselves at the head and the foot of the table that held me and silently wheeled me out into a hallway. Harsh fluorescent lights blinded me; I closed my eyes against them, then blinked to get my vision back.

  They steered me into a large room. As far as I could tell, there were no windows. What I could see of the walls were white-painted concrete blocks. Above me hung stained, cheaplooking ceiling panels. Then I could see myself, as the Old Ones wheeled me beneath a flat mirror that took up the space of two ceiling tiles.

  I wore a hospital gown, its ties loosely closed in the front. Thick leather straps, fastened with buckles, held my ankles and legs, my wrists and arms, my waist and chest—even my forehead—tying me down more thoroughly than Gulliver among the Lilliputians. The table stopped. The mirror showed me another table right beside me. On that table, under a white sheet, lay Pryce.

  This time, I had no doubt it was him. I recognized his pale skin and black hair, but in the month since we’d done battle, he’d gotten thin. His eyes were closed, the skin under them sunken. His tongue protruded slightly. Although the room was freezing and he was covered by a thin cotton sheet, he didn’t shiver. His only movement was the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. If not for that, I would’ve thought I lay next to a corpse.

  “Hello.” Myrddin’s voice was cheerful as his face appeared above me. His foul breath washed over me, and I could see the back of his head in the mirror. “And soon, good-bye. The sedative should be working its way out of your system now. Don’t try shifting your shape; I can prevent it. Power over animals is one of my skills.”

  I double-checked in the mirror; the IV was gone. “Then why did you drug me?”

  “Convenience. I had preparations to make. You don’t think I’d trust these backstabbing Old Ones or their vampire puppets to make them for me.”

  He turned to Pryce, put a hand on his shoulder. “My only son. Do you know how difficult it is for my kind to reproduce? This boy is my most prized possession. I’ve followed him with interest over the years, of course, to the extent I could. But I was . . . away. And scrying is so passive. I couldn’t help him, guide him, mold him as I wanted to.”

  Myrddin ran the back of his hand along Pryce’s cheek. “Now that I’m back, we’ll be gods together, my boy and I,” he murmured. Then he raised his voice. “You hear that, Colwyn? Gods! True gods, not skulking shadow-dwellers like you desiccated fossils.”

  I guessed that Colwyn was one of the Old Ones who’d rolled me in here. He didn’t reply to Myrddin’s taunt.

  Myrddin returned his attention to me. “And how is your . . . aunt, I believe she calls herself?”

  His question took me by surprise. “Are you talking about Mab?”

  “Mab. Yes, of course. So many names, one loses track over the years. At any rate, how is she?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You think not? But your present predicament is my business, seeing as it’s my doing, and Mab has everything to do with that. You see, I don’t need your life force in particular to revive my son, although as I said, I’m interested to see whether the shapeshifting ability transfers. But a human would do just as well. Further, the process I’m going to subject you to is excruciatingly painful.” He smiled, like this was good news. “It doesn’t have to be. Your death could be quick and clean like the others’. Yet I’m putting in the effort to make it slow and agonizing because of your aunt.”

  He leaned over me, his stinking breath hot on my face. His eyes searched mine, looking for a reaction. I wouldn’t give him one; I closed my eyes.

  “Years ago, she did me an evil,” he said, close to my ear. “And evil must be repaid with evil, don’t you agree? Your ‘Mab’ deprived me of my family and made me suffer. So I must do the same to her. Nothing personal, my girl. Simply redressing the balance—or making a start, at least.”

  He must have straightened, because when he spoke again his voice was more distant. “It’s a pity the Old Ones are so camera-shy. Won’t allow them in the place.” I opened my eyes to see what he was doing. He held a tangle of narrow plastic tubing. He pulled a tube from the mass and coiled it as he spoke. “Colwyn—he fancies himself chieftain of the Old Ones, you know—Colwyn is so unreasonable. I’d love to record this procedure. For science, of course, but also as a gift to your aunt. The Old Ones think they’re eternal, but really they’re quite backwards.” He looked to his right. “Yes, you. I’m talking about you.” He went back to coiling. “Colwyn and I have never trusted each other, so it’s rather awkward to find ourselves in a position where each requires the other’s assistance. I said I’d been away. Colwyn brought me back. He reunited me with my son and is providing support—locations, equipment, minions—so I can revive Pryce. In return, I’ll give him what he wants.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What else? The secret to eternal life. I have it; he doesn’t. Hah!” He spat that last word off to the side, toward Colwyn. “But the bastard has tried to tilt the scales in his own favor. You see, he released me from . . .” Myrddin’s eye twitched. “From where I was. But only for a limited time. I have ten days of freedom before his spell wears off and I’m returned to that horrible place—unless I share my secret with him. But I won’t share the secret until Pryce is restored, and Colwyn won’t remove the time limit until I give him what he wants. And so we find ourselves at a stalemate.” He giggled. “At least until one of us can figure out how to betray the other. Eh, Colwyn?”

  Myrddin dropped the last coil on Pryce’s table. He reached toward me and held open my right eyelid, shining a light into my eye. Then he repeated the process with my left eye. He leaned forward and whispered, “Colwyn thinks he’s in charge, but he doesn’t command me. There’s recording equipment hidden in the mirror above you. You will scream nicely for it, won’t you? Your aunt will want to know exactly what happened to her favorite niece, after all.”

  No screaming, I promised myself. No matter how bad things got. If Myrddin sent Mab a video of my last moments, she’d see that I died bravely.

  He straightened and spoke in a slightly-too-loud voice. “I do believe you’re ready. Well, you may not be, I’ll grant you that, my girl.” Giggle, giggle. “But the sedative has worn off enough to proceed.”

  I didn’t believe Myrddin could stop me from shifting without the drug. If its effects had diminished, it was time to call the wizard’s bluff and change into something powerful, angry, and deadly. I closed my eyes. The image of a grizzly formed in my mind—reared up, roaring, claws raised—
and I poured all of myself into it. The image held. Energy buzzed through me. My limbs burned and twitched as the change began. I pushed more energy into it.

  A hand settled on my forehead. It soaked up the energy like a sponge. I still held the grizzly’s image in my mind, as vivid as if it stood before me, but my body remained unchanged.

  “No,” said Myrddin simply. He held his hand in place as the energy fizzled. I struggled, tugging on the energy, trying to pull it back from him, but I couldn’t do it. He absorbed it all.

  When there wasn’t a spark left, the pressure of Myrddin’s hand left my forehead. “It’s time,” he said. “Bring in the Reaper.”

  I DON’T KNOW WHETHER I BLACKED OUT OR GOT SWALLOWED up by panic, but I don’t remember the Reaper entering the room. The next thing I knew, a figure stood beside me, holding an evil-looking sickle. The figure was robed, like the Old Ones, but the hand that held the weapon was human. A man’s hand.

  I’ll have to tell Daniel he was right, I thought, then laughed hysterically because I’d never get a chance to tell Daniel—or anyone—anything ever again.

  Stay calm, Vicky. And don’t scream.

  The Reaper’s face was too deep inside the robe’s hood for me to make out his features. A distant cawing sounded. I opened my senses to the demon plane and was nearly deafened by the raucous sound of hundreds of crows. In the demon plane, a huge beak protruded from the Reaper’s hood and ghostly black wings sprouted from his back. He was thoroughly possessed by the Morfran.

  Sharp pain yanked me back into the human world. The Reaper had unfastened the ties at the front of my gown and was dragging the point of his sickle along my breastbone, tearing my flesh with the blade.