Dreams Both Real and Strange I and II

by K.W. McCabe

Lena felt it: Anne was fading. Time was running out. Lena broke into a run. Clutching her pack against her chest, she leapt, clearing tree roots and dodging brambles in her path.

  The wavering feel of her tainted magic pointed a straight trail now. She ran, sure, down its path. She would do anything to save her daughter. If she could take back the years, roll back the hands of time, she would do it. Her daughter’s life was not worth the revenge she had taken.

  If her daughter’s life was the price for his punishment, she would not pay.

  She had already paid enough.

  Prayers fell from her lips. Prayers she had not dared to speak since the day she’d eschewed the Light in favor of dark hatred.

  Show me, Light of Creation,

  How to make what’s wrong into right.

  Help me, in magic, in nature,

  Bring health, beauty, magic, and Light.

  There was no answer. She had not expected there would be. She ran as the light began to wane, the sun splashing its oranges and pinks across a bloody sky. The faint shadow of the crescent moon was beginning to war with the last sliver of the sinking sun. Despair ran through her, sharp and bitter. Anne would not survive another night.

  She ran on, her chest aching as she pulled in air. Her legs went numb and she stumbled, the pack falling from her arms as she fell. She laid there, tears running down her face. After a moment, she looked up and sucked in a breath. Before her, the trees thinned into a walled clearing in which a monastery sat. The wavering taint of her magic led straight to it. She let out a sob of breath. Anne. Grabbing her pack, Lena pushed herself up, ignoring the twinge of pain from her scraped knees. She stumbled towards the monastery, barely feeling the scratches and aches throughout her body.

  She was almost there.

  The last sliver of sun slid below the horizon. Anne drifted in and out of consciousness. From far off she could hear the noise of a cell door opening. A waft of cold air blew through the room. Something pulled her, lifting her and setting her chest afire. The pain cleared the stupor a little; she opened her eyes to meet the glazed red gaze above her own. “Wraith,” she whispered.

  She felt his terror, it stabbed like ice. She sucked in a painful breath as his grip tightened around her and he loosened immediately. There was a noise; she winced as he turned to face it, holding her in his arms.

  “No!” Her mother stood at the door, holding it open with one out-flung arm. The pale light of the moon shone down from the barred window above, illuminating the terror in her face. “Put her down.” Her tone was menacing. Anne had never heard her speak so before.

  “Mama,” Anne whispered.

  “Anne,” Lena said, nearly sobbing.

  “Mama, you must not kill him,” she whispered. She felt Wraith stiffen in surprise as she continued, “He’s suffered enough for what he did. None of us are innocent—we have all done something to come to this place…

  “The girls, mama.”

  Her mother stiffened. “Girls?”

  “Yes,” Anne sighed, closing her eyes. Breathing was getting harder. “The girls who died these past years…you cannot deny some of the blame.” There was such silence that Anne struggled to open her eyes again, they were feeling heavy. When she opened them a little, she saw her mother, standing, frozen and white with shock. Wraith was frozen as well, whether in hope or something else, she could not tell.

  “I told myself it was not my fault all those years. With each death, one of his died—”

  “No, mama, there is no justification.” Anne sucked in air; her chest felt like an ever tightening vice. “Their blood covers your hands too.”

  Lena bowed her head. “Anne, what would you have me do? I cannot bring back those girls.”

  She shook her head, wincing at the pain which lanced through her chest. “None of us are here without cause, Mama: my selfishness, Wraith’s cruelty…and your desire for revenge.”

  Her mother laughed, despairing and bitter. “Yes, child, once again—what would you have me do?”

  “Heal him like you promised, mama,” Anne whispered. She felt Wraith give a breath of surprise at the same moment her mother hissed in shock.

  “Heal him?” Her mother’s voice held a humor and despair she could not understand.

  The ceiling started to blur. Anne pushed the words past thick lips. “There were two parts to the curse...he has learned to control his hunger.”

  “The second part has not been fulfilled,” her mother answered, her voice harsh.

  “Mama, didn’t you realize? The second part, only you could ever have fulfilled…” she sighed, struggling to stay conscious as black dots appeared in her vision.

  “Me?” Her mother’s voice was thick with surprise. Anne barely heard it.

  “You told him the curse would be broken when a female showed to him what he had not shown your sister: Mercy…wasn’t it, mama?” she whispered. “That was the riddle.”

  Her mother sucked in air, seeming shocked.

  Anne continued, fighting to get the words past the black expanse which would carry her away. “Only you could ever have shown Wraith mercy, mama. Only you could break the spell.”

  “But, Anne, I have no magic!” Her mother’s voice cracked on a desolate sob and Wraith inhaled a despairing breath.

  “You do, mama, you only turned away from it…” She felt herself sliding away. A black wave was lifting, carrying her towards eternity. She heard, distantly, a voice filled with pain, regret…and joy.

  Show me, Light of Creation,

  How to make what’s wrong into right.

  Help me, in magic, in nature,

  Bring health, beauty, magic, and Light.

  Light bathed the room in an intense shining heat, and obliterated the black expanse, rushing, singing, carrying her into its brightness.

  Heal what’s broken and make it whole

  Heal all darkness and restore the soul

  Light was lifting her, cradling her. She opened her eyes and was blinded by it. Radiance shone all around and through her.

  Give life, give health, give living breath

  Transform all who are touched by death

  Make everyone whole, full well, and free

  Let all who are here be touched by beauty

  A joy she never knew existed welled up in her. This was Light. She wished it could last forever. It could not. After awhile, the Light faded from the room. When it cleared, she was standing, fully healed, wrapped in her mother’s arms. “Thank you, mama,” she whispered, tears falling down her face.

  “You were right, Anne.” Her mother’s eyes were full of tears, but there was peace there.

  It gladdened Anne—she had not seen her mother at peace since she was a child. She turned in her mother’s arms. Wraith was staring in wonder at his hands, he looked up and her heart sped up. His eyes were blue.

  “Anne…” he said.

  She glanced at her mother and then walked towards him and stopped, looking up into his face.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” he said finally; his eyes were bright, a lock of dark hair fell in them.

  She lifted a hand, pushing it away from his face. “There is nothing to thank me for, Wraith,” she smiled.

  He laughed. “Perhaps…now…you could call me by my real name.”

  “Oh? What is it?” she asked.

  “Tristen.”

  13

  Extra Short story: Fairy Foibles

  “Really, you would think royals would have more sense!” Flyrta huffed and smoothed down her skirts. They weren’t wrinkled. She did it because she thought it made her seem more human.

  “Well, Flyrta, what do you expect? Especially after the whole lineage fiasco.” Myrta shook her head. “You would think they would keep a better eye on the priests who kept straight the royal lineage. The last time Father Pieter got drunk, he almost married Prince Albert to his half-sister Roberta!”

  Flyrta fluttered around, agitated, as Dyna trailed after her, patting her i
neffectually. “Yes, yes, I know! But really, Myrta, who would have thought they would let Father Pieter insult Gryndela?” Flyrta dipped in the air, her wings buzzing like a drunken bee. “And only the day before Rosalee’s christening!”

  “It’s not a day anymore. She’ll be here today I bet you,” muttered Dyna. Myrta glared at Dyna as Flyrta dropped to the ground with a plop, overcome with nerves. Trumpets sounded, blaring the beginning of the christening. Myrta zipped to Flyrta, fanning and begging her to get up. Dyna flew to the peep-hole in the wall. The room was full. That idiot Priest who had insulted Gryndela was about to start the christening.

  “You guys! We must go now if we’re to help those nitwits against that damn witch!” Dyna hissed. Myrta glanced up, then tugged Flyrta hard. Flyrta bumbled into the air, moaning about the horrors of royal idiots and their inbreeding.

  The three fairies left the room, flying down the hall towards the chapel. They entered just in time. Dyna watched the crowds and spotted Gryndela in the darkest corner. Instead of following the other two she hid behind a pillar. She watched as Flyrta and Myrta flew ahead, positioning themselves by the King and Queen who held the Princess.

  “Will all who would give gifts to the Princess come forward?” The Priest’s biretta wobbled on his head, nearly toppling. Dyna held her breath. Would Gryndela act now? Myrta pushed Flyrta forward and she wobbled in the air above the Princess in the Queen’s arms. “I give thee the gift of unfading beauty! You’ll be blonde, blue-eyed, and skinny! That is the gift I give thee, Princess Rosalee!”

  Dyna clapped her hand to her forehead. She couldn’t believe the uselessness of it! And Flyrta was always complaining about royal idiots…

  Myrta flew forward next, looking much more composed. Dyna began to have hope a decent gift would be given.

  “I give thee the gift of song, Princess Rosalee. Your voice will entrance all.”

  Dyna was going to kill them both if the child made it out of the ceremony alive. Gryndela slid out of the shadows, moving towards the Princess at the front.

  “You’re not supposed to be here!” The priest’s adam’s apple bobbed in indignation.

  Gryndela ignored him, bending over the babe in the Queen’s arms. “The gift I give to this child is sweetness. She will live an utterly, sweetly, saccharine existence.” The King and Queen had gone pale at her appearance, but relaxed at her words too soon. Gryndela was not done. “She will be nauseatingly sweet until the age of fifteen. Then she will prick her finger on a spindle and die.” And with that dire announcement, she disappeared. The entire room fell silent in horror.

  Dyna took a breath and flew forward. “She will not die. She will sleep until a prince wakes her with a kiss. And she’ll live a normal life before then—goodness knows that utter sweetness is a curse in itself.”

  “Why didn’t you fix the curse completely, Dyna? What are we going to do with a baby?” Flyrta fluttered around in distress. Just the thought of raising a human child sent her into the vapors.

  “It was the best I could do on short notice! And how the hell was I supposed to know they were going to give us the child?” Dyna crossed her arms and glared. “And don’t talk to me about my gift! Blonde hair and blue eyes—really? Was that the best you could do?”

  Flyrta bobbed in the air, trembling with anger.

  Myrta stepped in before it could get serious. “Now, now, you two—we have more important things to think of. Like where we’re going to hide this child from Gryndela.”

  They all looked down at the baby below them in the cradle. Little Princess Rosalee was gurgling and laughing at them. Her gurgles were almost musical.

  Dyna snorted. “Good luck hiding that extremely beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, miraculously melodious child. I mean, really. Couldn’t you have given her useful gifts?!”

  Myrta bristled. “I’ll have you know—”

  Flyrta interrupted. “I know the perfect place to hide her!” They both looked at her, doubtful. She crossed her arms, offended by their attitude. “I do! And don’t give me those looks. All you two have done since they gave us the babe is grumble!” She hovered in the air, shoulders stiff, nose turned away in her version of temper.

  Myrta and Dyna looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “Fine, Flyrta, tell us your idea.” Myrta flew to her and patted her shoulder. Dyna wouldn’t do it—she was too irritated. Really, who gave their child to fairies?

  Mollified, Flyrta bobbed excitedly. “We’ll pretend to be serfs!”

  “Serfs?!” Myrta and Dyna echoed, horrified.

  “Yes! Think about it—what royal would ever hide their child among peasants?”

  Myrta and Dyna looked at each other, non-plussed.

  “You know,” Dyna said reluctantly, “I think she might be right.”

  Myrta looked at Dyna in dismay. “But…we’ll have to be…poor.”

  “It will be so exciting!” Flyrta clapped and wobbled in the air. “We’ve never tried being poor before! It will be an adventure!”

  Dyna looked at Myrta and shrugged. “All right, grab the babe and let’s go.”

  “I can’t believe we listened to you!” Dyna huffed as she hacked at a potato that wouldn’t come out of the dirt.

  Flyrta was holding the baby as she bounced on her toes. Sometimes she forgot she’d given up her wings. “Well, how was I supposed to know it was this hard?” Flyrta’s chin wobbled and Myrta grabbed the baby from her arms. “All the songs and tales make it seem so romantic…”

  Dyna snorted and rubbed an arm across her nose, smudging dirt on her face. “Ha! I should have known you’d come up with an idiot idea based on romance. Really! Who listens to those damn tales anyway?”

  Myrta bounced the baby who, for a mercy, was sleeping. When she was awake she drew attention from every peasant in the vicinity. Sometimes Myrta wondered if Dyna had altered the sweetness curse at all.

  “You guys, can you keep it down?” Myrta swept a peering looked around the fields. Luckily, none of the peasants were near enough to hear them. “You know she has been looking for the babe. The last thing we want is for her to hear something on the wind!”

  Flyrta clapped a smudged hand over her mouth. Dyna went back to hoeing potatoes, grumbling and cussing under her breath.

  “We’ve got to do something! She can’t just run amok!” Flyrta wrung her hands as she paced through the tiny hut.

  “Well, thanks to your ‘unfading beauty’ spell, Rosalee is the hottest thing since spiced bread.” Myrta crossed her arms and glared at Flyrta.

  Dyna snorted. How easy it was for Myrta to forget her own useless spell. But Dyna had to agree. Rosalee was hot. “Hotter than a bitch in heat,” she muttered.

  Flyrta and Myrta glared at her.

  “And just what idea do you have that is actually helpful?” Myrta asked icily.

  Dyna crossed her arms. “She’s almost fifteen. And with the way she’s been rolling in the hay—it might almost be a mercy for her to prick her finger.”

  Flyrta and Myrta gaped at her in dismay.

  “You can’t possibly be suggesting that we…help her go to sleep?” Myrta asked and Flyrta moaned, wringing her hands harder.

  Dyna shrugged. “Do you want to tell the King and Queen the reason why their sweet, innocent little Princess isn’t so sweet and innocent anymore?”

  Flyrta glared at her. “That was your fault! You got rid of Gryndela’s sweetness spell in the first place!” Dyna glared back, opening her mouth to retort, but Myrta interrupted.

  “I think Dyna’s right,” Myrta announced. “We can’t allow her to run amok like this—and we can’t reveal ourselves by using our power. She should be safe enough sleeping until the Prince comes.”

  “And after that the Prince can have our little nymphomaniac—and good riddance,” Dyna said, satisfied.

  The three fairies looked at each other.

  “Well, as long as she’s okay,” Flyrta said slowly. She had stopped wrin
ging her hands.

  Dyna and Myrta gave each other a long look.

  “She’ll be fine, Flyrta. And to think—wouldn’t you love planning her wedding?” Dyna asked slyly.

  That did it.

  “Alright. Let’s do this quick—weddings are so much fun!”

  “Oh, why did we listen to you?” Flyrta wobbled in the air above Princess Rosalee’s bed. The Princess had returned to her royal family right before her fifteenth birthday. She’d fallen asleep after a spindle had “mysteriously” appeared in her bed chamber.

  “Oh, don’t you dare put it all on me!” Dyna bristled. “You wanted to plan her wedding!”

  “But she’s been asleep for one hundred years!” Flyrta wailed.

  “Now, now, you two—I think I see someone coming!” Myrta waved them over to the window.

  There, on the road towards the castle, was a lone rider.

  “He’ll never make it past Gryndela’s traps,” Dyna snorted. “Look at him!” They looked. The rider was obviously a prince—no other person would have ridden such a ridiculously white horse. He was knobbed-kneed and thin, holding his sword awkwardly, and his shield was crooked.

  “Well, he’ll have to do,” Myrta sighed. “I refuse to wait another second for a prince to wake the Princess. We’ll just have to make him beat Gryndela’s traps.”

  Dyna groaned and Flyrta clapped her hands in excitement. “Won’t this be fun? And the Princess will finally get to fall in love with her Prince!”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have listened to you!” Dyna looked in disgust at the wedding proceedings in disarray below.

  “Well, how was I supposed to know the Princess would take an instant dislike to her Prince?” Myrta protested, fanning Flyrta. Flyrta had burst into tears at the ruination of her precious wedding.

  “You should have known, nympho that she is, she wouldn’t have been satisfied with that skinny little knob of a Prince!” Dyna flared.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have thought she’d boink the priest in the rectory before the ceremony!” Myrta exclaimed.

  “That damn Father Pieter and his drink!” wailed Flyrta.

  “Gryndela must be laughing right now,” Dyna muttered.

  “Well, we’ve done our job, at least. She’s alive and well, if not chaste, and pretty and musical to boot!” Myrta tried to sound enthusiastic. Flyrta and Dyna glared at her. Her shoulders slumped. “How about we go now? I think I want to retire from the helping humans business…”

  “Now, that is the best suggestion I’ve ever heard,” Dyna declared. “And if I hear another so-called great idea out of anyone, so help me—I’ll turn them human!”

  Flyrta burst into tears again as they left. “Not that! That’s almost as bad as being a peasant!”

  14

  the Dragon’s call