The Book of Dreams

by O. R. Melling

  For a moment, Dana blinked. Was that the faint outline of a hawk on her teacher’s wrist?

  Finvarra took up position on Dana’s left, again just ahead of her. Once High King in Faerie, he was a master of the art of Bruíon Amhra, the Wonderful Strife, the game of war that the fairies liked to play. Now he would use his skill in a war that was no game.

  In the middle ranks, on either side of Dana, were Yvonne and Deirdre. Breathing deeply to swallow their terror, they exchanged looks with each other. I’m dying here. Me too. Can we do this? We’re about to find out. Like the others, they wore chain mail and were armed with shields and weapons. Both still sported their fairy wings, now stiff and rigid, as if standing to attention.

  The rear guard was composed of Findabhair and Laurel, who would defend Dana’s back. “Death is not the enemy,” Laurel whispered to herself, remembering the great battle she had fought on the island of Hy Brasil. Across from her stood Findabhair, who gripped two swords, one in each hand. She thought of the battle against Crom Cruac in which she had almost died. If she had to face that again, so be it, she was ready.

  In a voice that rang with spirit, Gwen called out the Company’s blessing once more.

  “Seven were the days of Genesis. Seven are the pillars of life. Seven will be the fires of the Apocalypse. No better number can ride the storm. As a Company of Seven we will forge our destiny.”

  At the center of the Seven, at the eye of the storm, Dana grew calm. Rising within her was the strength she had gained in her travels and the courage she had garnered from her quest. She felt the power swell. As the light surged from her hands, she cast it over her guard like a golden cloak.

  They moved out as a unit toward the battle; but before they could go far, Trew came running. His face showed his panic.

  “Something’s not right at Ground Zero. I’ve lost half my gang. Whenever we get near the portal, it’s always the same. Screams of pain, bad burns. We can’t see who or what’s doing it, but something’s there!”

  “An invisible enemy!” Gwen said with dismay.

  “Crowley!” said Dana. “It must be.”

  Before they could act on the news, a cry went up at the edge of the forest behind them. It came from the ford where the Mad River flowed, wider and deeper on Magh Croí Mor.

  “Now what?” said Laurel, impatient to join the battle.

  White sails shone in the dimness as a leather boat glided up the river. Lanterns hung from the masts, illuminating the great emblem of the Celtic Cross.

  “It’s Brendan!” cried Dana.

  Breaking out of formation, she ran to the riverbank.

  A plank was lowered from the boat to allow the abbot ashore. His smile was quick as he greeted Dana. He rested his hand gently on her head.

  “We have been at sea for many months since I last saw you,” he told her. “We sailed down a river as wide as an ocean, then a number of freshwater seas. For the past seven days we have been lost in a fog. Only now as we made our way up this passage did the mist begin to clear.”

  Brendan gazed upon the Plain of the Great Heart. His features darkened as he took in the apocalyptic scene. The silver rim of the Second Sight seeped into his eyes.

  “This is the end of my pilgrimage,” he declared solemnly to Dana. “Even as it is the end of yours. Tír Tairngire is near. I see what was written in The Book of Wonders. The Land of Promise is behind a rampart of fire; an eldritch fire that cannot be quenched.”

  Inspired by the saint’s words, Dana lifted her hands to the night sky and sent her light forward, like a shooting star. It swept in a great arc across the plain, shedding golden rays onto the battlefield. A howl of anguish rose up from the ranks of the dark creatures, even as Dana’s forces were heartened. And as the shafts of light rained down, it exposed the invisible wall that surrounded the portal.

  An inferno of hellfire.

  “My brother monks and I shall join the battle,” Brendan declared. “The dream I seek is on the other side of that fire.”

  “But … you’re clergy!” Dana said, surprised.

  The saint’s smile was rueful. “Do you not know of the warrior-monks of Ireland? Often we have to defend our monasteries. We can acquit ourselves in battle. If there are fiends to be fought, then we shall fight them.”

  Leaving Brendan to assemble his crew, Dana rejoined her guard.

  Just as the battle took a turn for the worst.

  Swarms of Bag o’Bones flew from the treetops to descend on the plain. Screeching and chattering, they dived like hawks. As they snatched up their victims in bony claws, they carried them to the fire and flung them in. The stench of burnt flesh choked the air. The cries of torment were wrenching. Against the malevolent magic of the flames, the children of Faerie had no defense. It murdered them slowly without pity or remorse.

  The fairy response was swift. All over the plain, brightwinged creatures took to the air to fight off the skeletons. Now the battle raged on high as well as below. The fairy defense was brave and furious, but the Bag o’ Bones were not beaten back. Their initial success had made them daring and, despite their losses, they continued to prey. Many had already gone into the fire. Many more would be added.

  Sick with horror, Dana looked around wildly. Trew was missing, so too were many of the Clan Creemore. And where were the Sasquatch? Not a single member of that nation could be seen on the field.

  “We’ve got to do something!” she cried. “We’ve got to rescue them!”

  Bloated with triumph, the enemy forces surged forward.

  The forces of light were facing defeat.

  “We must move now,” Gwen said quietly to Finvarra, “before the battle is lost.”

  “Heads up!” Fingal shouted.

  A ragged cheer followed the cry.

  There in the sky, passing the moon like winged shadows, flew a vast squadron of dragons.

  Beneficent beings, life-giving and valiant, chief of the three hundred and sixty scaled reptiles, fathers of the emperors of ancient times, their numbers were astounding. Every dragon clan had sent a troop. There were Tien-Lung, celestial dragons who protected the heavens and the mansions of the gods; Shen-Lung, spiritual dragons who caused the wind to blow and the rain to fall; Ti-Lung, earth dragons who directed the course of rivers and streams; and Fut’s-Lung, underworld dragons who guarded the hidden treasures of precious metals and gems. They came in every shape and size, from hundreds of feet long to as small as a silkworm. Their sinuous bodies had the head of a horse, the tail of a snake, and the claws of an eagle. Some had horns and antlers, others long whiskers trailing from their snouts. Many flew by the grace of great wings. Many more were airborne by their own power. Their glittering skin was scaled in all colors, golden, purple, aquamarine, ruby red, and emerald green. Their eyes shone with wisdom and humor.

  As they swooped to attack the Bag o’ Bones, the fairy hosts cheered.

  “Thank you, Georgia,” Dana whispered. “Thank you, Georgia’s great-granny.”

  The rout was swift and sharp. Dragon talons ripped the skeletons apart, scattering their bones on the wind. In a matter of minutes, the skies were won.

  Now the Dragon Commander hovered over the firewall to assess the situation. Chien-Tang, from the city of Winnipeg, had blood-red scales and a fiery mane. With sorrowful eyes, he regarded the suffering of those trapped in the flames. Then he made his decision.

  Dropping out of the sky, he flew into the fire.

  A gasp rose up from the fairy army, though his own troops did not react. Their Commander’s bravery was famed and unsurpassed.

  A cloud of steam burst around Chien-Tang, obscuring him from sight. It seemed an eternity before he appeared again. But though his flanks were scorched as he flew from the flames, he held his head high. And in his claws he clasped a small bundle: the unconscious body of Trew.

  “Go!” he commanded his troops. “Free the prisoners!”

  Following their chief’s orders and his lead, the other dragons went willing
ly into the fire. Many were badly burned and injured, but their watery natures protected them from death.

  Before long, all in the hellfire were carried to safety.

  Now Chien-Tang ordered his squadrons to surround the firewall. In a spectacular display of elemental power, they unleashed torrents of rain, black clouds of storm, and thunder and lightning.

  To no avail. There was nothing they could do to quench the flames.

  Acknowledging that the firewall was impervious to their magics, the dragons returned to the field, attacking from the air.

  Back and forth, the battle seethed, with each side winning and losing by turns. There was no break or lull or cease-fire in this war. The enemy forces were unrelenting; their onslaught merciless. They didn’t stop to tend their wounded or their dead, but left them on the battlefield, if they didn’t devour them.

  The Company of Seven held a hasty council.

  “We need another plan,” Laurel pointed out. “There’s no use getting to the wall and being trapped there.”

  “It would be suicide,” Findabhair agreed. “There’s no hope of success as long as the fire burns.”

  Dana’s guards were wavering. Gwen looked distraught and Finvarra uncertain. The aunts were biting their lips, not knowing what to say. Dana left them once more. She had to know if Trew survived.

  When she found him in one of the healing tents, she almost cried out. He was so badly burned, she hardly recognized him. His small body was livid with blisters that bubbled on his skin. Despite fairy ministrations, he was delirious with pain. The malignant magic that had caused his wounds was not easily dispelled.

  “Oh, Trew, mo chara, mo stór,” wept Dana, lapsing into Irish in her grief.

  He was too raw to touch, so she held her hands above him. Gently she showered him with light. Though the burns seemed unchanged, he brightened visibly and was able to speak.

  “Was that the Old Tongue?” he whispered. “Can’t say I know it. I’m a new kid on the block. Born in Trawna.”

  Dana smiled through her tears. “I called you ‘my dear one’ and ‘my treasure.’”

  “You goin’ sweet on me?” He tried to smile back. “I must be bad, eh? No more riding the Rocket?”

  Their eyes met. Each acknowledged he was dying.

  Dazed with sorrow, Dana looked around at the slain and injured. She knew there were countless tents like this.

  “Too many,” she said, soul-sickened.

  Daisy Greenleaf entered along with Alf Branch. They had obviously come looking for her. Both bore severe wounds that had been tended. But it was their faces that told her the truth.

  The battle was lost.

  “What should we do?” Dana demanded.

  Before Daisy or Alf could answer, Trew signaled to her.

  Dana bent over as he struggled to say the words.

  “You gotta call them in. The Old Ones.”

  “I agree,” Daisy said, behind her. “Only the Firstborn can fight that fire.”

  Dana frowned. “I thought we agreed. This is not their battle. We are not their people. We don’t have the right to ask them. We can’t expect—”

  “They will come,” Alf said.

  Daisy took Dana’s hand. “We are their people. Everyone and everything that lives in this land belongs to them. It’s up to us to acknowledge that. To open our hearts to the truth.”

  Her words echoed in Dana’s mind, reminding her of what others had said.

  Your gods are all around you, child of Faerie, you need but open your heart to them.

  The land, the plants, the animals, and the people all have spirit. It is important to encounter and acknowledge the life of the land. From such encounters come power. The power of the spirits rises up from the land.

  If people stay somewhere long enough—even white people—the spirits will speak to them.

  “They’ll come for you,” Alf Branch said quietly. “You have their blessing.”

  And Dana suddenly knew. It was like a sunburst in her head. You are the gift. You are the ransom. Again and again she had heard the others say that they were willing to offer their lives for the cause. She had never really thought about dying. She was too young to dwell on such things. But now she understood. A ransom had to be paid for Faerie. A gift had to be offered to keep the dream alive.

  The other members of the Company arrived.

  “We must do what we set out to do,” Dana told them. “We must reach the portal. A gift will be offered. A sacrifice will be made. Once the hellfire is destroyed, I can open the door.”

  There were several in the Company who knew immediately what she meant. Findabhair had once offered herself as the sacrifice, though her cousin Gwen fought against that decision. Finvarra was the one who finally paid the ransom with his immortality and the High Kingship of Faerie. Though these three looked stricken, they didn’t argue the point. They knew all too well the universal law. For every dream to exist, there must be a sacrifice. And no matter how much they wanted to, they couldn’t take Dana’s place. She was the key. The only one who could open the door.

  Along with Laurel, the aunts weren’t certain what Dana meant, but they were already suspecting the worst.

  “Wait a minute,” Yvonne began.

  “What’s going on?” Dee demanded.

  “Don’t,” said Dana.

  There was no time for explanations or disagreements. Too many were dying. She had to go.

  “You should have told me sooner,” was all she said to Alf and Daisy.

  They shook their heads, eyes wet with tears.

  “We couldn’t, dear heart,” Daisy said. “We were all agreed on that. We have lived long upon the earth. We would rather have sacrificed ourselves instead.”

  Gently Dana said her farewell to Trew and kissed the others good-bye. Then she turned to hug her aunts. They were both in shock, hoping against hope that what was happening in front of them was not actually happening.

  “No,” said Dee, in a whisper.

  “Yes,” said Dana firmly.

  As she left the tent, the others followed.

  For the third and last time, the Company of Seven fell into formation. Dana was about to cast her shield of light when Gwen raised her hand.

  “Wait! Can you feel it?”

  Images flickered across their minds.

  A high green hill in the north of Ireland. A gray stone wall rims the peak like a crown. The Grianan of Ailech. The ancient fort overlooks the Donegal mountains and the wide bay of Lough Swiligh that empties into the sea. Four figures stand upon the ramparts. Matt, the businessman, has parked his Mercedes at the base of the hill. Katie, the farmer, rode her motorbike all the way from County Clare. Dara, the young King of Inch, supports Granny Harte, the fairy doctress who will lead the ritual. Stooped with age and weariness, she is still recovering from the Enemy’s attack. But where the gray hair sweeps over her face in the wind, her eyes are keen with an indomitable will.

  “Four is the sacred number of Turtle Island,” she says. “We will forge a chain of power to cross the ocean.”

  Each takes up a position in one of the four sacred directions, north, south, east, and west. They raise their arms to the midday sun, knowing it is evening on the other side of the Atlantic.

  As Granny begins the incantations, power rises from the earth and swirls around them.

  Even as the circle was formed in Ireland, another four met in northern Canada.

  A full moon shines on a forest of tall spruce and pine. A newly built Medicine Lodge stands in a clearing. Inside the tent, tobacco smoke curls with sweetgrass and sage. Roy beats the drum as the Old Man rattles to the four directions. Two great wolves complete the circle, the silver-gray and the black.

  As Grandfather begins to sing and chant, power rises from the earth and swirls around them.

  “They’re sending us power!” Gwen cried. “Stand ready to receive it!”

  Like a blast of wind, the power surged through the Company of Seven, clearing aw
ay all doubts and fears. They were buoyant with a sense of strength and purpose, with the confirmation of their role in life, the knowledge of their place in the cosmos. Suddenly they were taller, stronger, and shining with light.

  Imbued with new courage and battle skills, Yvonne and Deirdre felt like Amazons. They threw each other a look of triumph. We can do this.

  At the center of the phalanx, Dana felt the surge of power that bolstered her guard. She was pleased for their sake. It would help them bear what lay ahead. No more power had come to her, for she had enough. She was ready to do what she had come to do. She was ready to forge her destiny.

  A cheer rose up from the fairy hosts as the Company of Seven moved onto the field.

  The last battle for the Plain of the Great Heart had begun.

  Like a great golden scarab, the Company of Seven inched across the plain, shielded by the carapace of Dana’s light. But though they were protected from black magic and spells, they still came under attack. The fairy forces thronged to their side to increase the guard, but the outer circle was soon overwhelmed by a ferocious onslaught. The news had spread through enemy lines. The key has entered the field. As a groundswell of animosity seethed against the phalanx, the Company was pressed on all sides.

  Dana’s guard fought tooth and nail to hold their places around her. There was no time to think or feel. All acted on instinct; the will to survive. The din of battle was deafening. The fog of war was red. Their swords and spears flashed in the dimness.

  With all her strength, Dana upheld the shield of light. She could feel the other force that strove to break it: a relentless malice that emanated from the firewall.

  Slowly but steadily, the shining Company cut a swath across the plain. Grim-faced and silent, they beat back the waves of murder and mayhem that broke against them. After what seemed an interminable span of time, they reached the rampart.