Dream Magic

by B. V. Larson

  That wasn’t the only reason he’d slipped away rudely without saying goodbye. He’d left because he’d gotten what he’d wanted from Brand: information. Brand had known nothing of importance about the missing Jewels, but he’d told him where to go next. Trev’s mind was gripped with the quest. He would go to talk to Gudrin, as she was the easier of the two wise beings to locate. Then he would find Myrrdin if he had to, even if the other had vanished from the Haven a decade ago.

  He was curious about Myrrdin and how he was getting on in the world in any case. As far as Trev knew, the old wizard was one of the few living members of the rare breed to which Trev himself belonged—half-elves. The old buzzard was, in fact, Trev’s uncle.

  There were others he could speak with such as Oberon and the White Lady—or maybe even the dragons that slumbered in the Everdark. But these individuals were all unfriendly and probably dangerous. He decided to concentrate on the two wise folk Brand had suggested first.

  He ran all night and all the next day without stopping until sundown the day after he’d left Castle Rabing. He was still in the swamps, but the Black Mountains loomed near to the south. He would reach them the following morning if he kept up this pace. After climbing to the foothills into the lands of the Kindred, he’d find Snowdon there, the greatest mountain in the range. Buried beneath Snowdon was the famed home of the Kindred known as the Earthlight. His eyes gleamed with anticipation at the idea of seeing it for the first time.

  When darkness fell deep and somber, he finally stopped to rest. He wasn’t exactly tired, but he was winded. Even Trev had his limits—he couldn’t run forever. Only a pure elf could do that, but Puck had told him they never did it because they always become distracted at some point and want to do something else.

  In a relatively dry spot, at the edge of the marshes and with the Black Mountains blotting out the sunset, Trev made camp. He built a tiny fire of twigs and grass. He fed the fire chunks of peat moss when it became big enough. The flames were reddish and smelled slightly, but they provided him warmth and comfort. He dug out the rations his Aunt Kaavi had given him and chewed.

  His mind whirled with thoughts. He realized now why he’d agreed to follow the Sorceress’ whims and seek these Jewels. It was because he was bored. He was bored with the Haven, with its safety and dull, happy inhabitants. He’d always been full of wanderlust, but traveling about pointlessly was no longer enough for him. Taking short trips to see sights only motivated a person who was easily amused. He longed for a real adventure of the sort he’d heard about all his life. Puck his father and Oberon his grandfather had both enjoyed countless adventures in the wilds. Although he was young, Trev figured it was about time for him to gain a few tales to tell of his own.

  He was busy romanticizing his upcoming visit to Gudrin—she would be shocked to see he’d already grown into a man—when he thought he heard an odd sound.

  His eyes flicked this way and that, but his head stayed still. Often, when one is being stalked, it was best to pretend not to be aware of the threat. Predators often charged when they knew they’d been detected. If he was going to have to run like a rabbit, he at least wanted to know which way to flee.

  So his eyes traveled the scene while his body tensed, but did not otherwise move. It might be nothing. There were countless creatures that might be moving near his camp tonight, most of them harmless. But being wary tended to extend an adventurer’s lifespan, so he was very alert.

  “You don’t see me, do you?” asked a voice.

  Trev stopped breathing. His head came up a fraction and his legs tensed.

  “Oh now, please don’t run off. I do so hate a long chase. I think you might be able to give me trouble before I caught you, and neither one of us wants any unpleasantness.”

  Trev put his hand on his dagger hilt. It was his father’s weapon, and it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The fine steel blade had a triangular shape that came to a perfect point. He drew it and put it in his lap while he gazed across his smoky fire to the spot where the voice seemed to be coming from.

  “I see you now,” Trev lied. In truth, there did seem to be a waver in the smoke that obscured the spot on the opposite side of his fire. But he could not see a figure of any kind. “Stay where you are, and identify yourself.”

  There was a sudden, booming laugh that ended with a slobbering sound.

  “So brave! So commanding! I must change my pants for I’ve soiled myself. Ha!”

  “What do you want, phantom?”

  “Just to talk to you, son of Puck. Oh yes, I know who you are. What’s more I know of your quest. I just want to talk, that’s all.”

  Trev’s hand stayed on the hilt of his dagger, but he didn’t lift it. The short length of steel reflected the firelight, casting orange gleams and flashes.

  “All right, talk,” Trev said. “Start with telling me who you are. It’s only polite since you seem to know who I am.”

  “I’m disappointed. Apparently, the apple has fallen far from the tree in your case. You are no son of Puck if you can’t figure out who you’re talking to. How can you expect to find Jewels if you don’t even realize you’re facing one?”

  This statement alarmed Trev, but it also enlightened him.

  “Ah,” he said after a moment. “You’re Old Hob. Brand said something about you coming to see him yesterday. What do you want?”

  “I wish to help, that’s all. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  It was Trev’s turn to laugh. “What a great skulking liar you are! You want to help, all right. To help yourself.”

  “I can see that your mind’s been poisoned by the ill words of your relations. I would urge you to judge a newly-met person upon their deeds, not past associations and mean-spirited rumors.”

  This sounded fair enough to Trev, as he was quite young.

  “All right,” he said. “Do something to help me, then. Tell me about the Jewels and where I might find them.”

  Old Hob snorted. “You’re staring at one of the powers you seek even now.”

  “I know that. And I faced the Amber just the day before. But what do you know of the Dark Jewels? Those that are lost?”

  “Hmm,” said Hob. Suddenly, nonchalantly, he revealed himself. An icicle-nose of green protruded grotesquely from beneath his cowl. He lifted a bony, misshapen limb that seemed impossibly long and reached halfway across the fire with it. The limb terminated in a finger that was the length of a man’s foot. “I’ll tell you the truth, boy. I don’t know where the lost Jewels lie. But wherever they are, I want them to stay exactly there. Hidden and out of the equation.”

  “The equation?”

  “We’ve had peace for years now—have you not noticed? What happened the last few times a Jewel appeared or went missing? Do you know?”

  Trev frowned, thinking about his knowledge of historical events, which was sketchy. He’d had trouble focusing on such things in school, and he’d given up on attending over a year ago. But in this case, he had been very directly and personally involved in the events Hob spoke of, making it easier for him to answer intelligently.

  “I suppose the Black was the last to appear,” he said. “It caused a Storm of the Dead to rise. Is that what you’re talking about?”

  “Precisely. And before that, the Red was found by that vicious little monster Piskin. He caused a war even greater than the Dead did when they walked. And do you know about the time before that? The story of Pyros the Orange? A dragon was awakened, and slew the Kindred by the hundreds. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Not really.”

  Hob made a sound of exasperation. It was a snort, and a wet one at that. The tiny red fire sputtered as discharge dribbled into it. Trev winced in disgust.

  “Unbelievable!” Hob complained. “You are an elf, boy—or at least half of one. You should be able to deduce the meanings of others in such matters. You’ve not been properly raised, it’s just as Oberon said.”

  “You’ve talked to my gra
ndfather?”

  “Of course. Many times. He has troubles of his own these days in his lands, but he’s still keeping an eye on you and all your ilk. All the half-breeds he laid down like jars of fruit in a Haven mum’s cellar.”

  This last statement seemed to greatly amuse Hob, who rumbled with laughter until he had a coughing fit.

  Trev frowned at the goblin, only half understanding what he was hinting at and not at all liking the hints he was getting.

  Old Hob went on as if oblivious. “So now we come to the crux of it. I want you to give up your folly. Swear off the words of the witch in the wood and forget her charms. She twisted your mind, she did. And I’ve no doubt you’re under a geas to find what she wants and to bring the items back to her—or to die trying.

  “No, that’s not it at all,” Trev said. “I’m not enchanted. She did try that, mind you, but she failed. I think that truly surprised her.”

  One huge yellow eye regarded Trev seriously from under his cowl. “And would you care to swear to that?”

  “Certainly—but I will require a boon to do so, for it gains me nothing to ease your mind on the point.”

  Hob grumbled. “What would be the nature of this boon? And let me warn you not to get too greedy, half-breed!”

  “I won’t,” Trev said. “All I wish is something you can easily provide me.”

  “Speak!”

  “A flight to anywhere that takes my imagination,” Trev said. “Up into the air for an hour’s time, a safe, fanciful journey in the night sky like a bird on the wing. I’ve never flown higher than I can jump, and I want to feel the cold wind as a falcon does.”

  Hob laughed until he coughed and choked again. “Ah, it is this swamp. I miss it, but it always made me hack and spit. I believe it no longer agrees with me at all.”

  “What is your answer?” Trev asked.

  Hob stared at him for a time. “All right,” he said at last. “Swear to me that you will no longer pursue the lost Jewels and I’ll give you your little taste of the sky.”

  Trev shook his head. “An amateurish attempt. I said no such thing. I will swear that I’m under no geas, no compulsion at all other than my own desire to find these things. That is the bargain.”

  “Hmm,” said Hob thoughtfully. “I think I will agree. Why, you might well ask? Why would I give you even a small jaunt into the stars for nothing more than a reassurance? Because you will fail if your words are true. If the witch isn’t behind you, you’re on a fool’s errand, boy. It doesn’t matter if you refuse to give it up—you’re doomed to failure in any case.”

  “Why is that?”

  Hob’s yellow teeth reflected wetly as he smiled. “Are you asking me a question now? Something you wish to know? Something that will comfort and aid you in the future? If so, let’s discuss the nature of the boon you will provide me for my troubles in answering.”

  “Not necessary,” Trev said quickly. “Forget I asked.”

  “Done and done. Now, swear to me so I can give you your circle in the air and be done with these boring lands. My wives await me back in Eire, and I can still make it home by sun up if I get started soon.”

  “So fast as that?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  And so Trev did swear. He gave his word as the son of Puck, the grandson of Oberon, that he was telling the truth. The witch he’d met and lain with in the woods had no magical hold over him.

  When he was finished, Hob snorted and stood up. “Well done, then. I’ll be on my way, and I thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Just a moment. There is the small matter of my payment.”

  “What? You can’t be serious, boy! I have better things to do than to give lost young pups joyrides at midnight. You’d best forget about it. People often get sick on their first flight anyway.”

  “You promised.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Let’s call it a favor. A small thing, to be sure, but something that can be pulled back in later when you need it.”

  “No,” Trev said. “I want my ride, and I want it now, as agreed.”

  Old Hob looked startled. He had good reason to be. An offer from an individual of power to a young person was rare, and a favor could be very valuable indeed.

  “You refuse my favor? I’m shocked at your lack of wisdom.”

  “Nevertheless, I demand my payment. Either that, or it will be said that you did break your word this eve.”

  Old Hob’s eye was baleful. “You discomfit me, but it will be as we agreed. Here, climb onto my hump and ride. Hold tight, for I wouldn’t want you to drop off into the muck when we are a thousand feet up.”

  “Try to recall the wording at the start of this conversation, Hob. I said a ‘safe’ journey.”

  Grumbling, Hob bent on one knee and Trev climbed from a rock onto the goblin’s ridged back. It seemed then to him as if Old Hob stood up—but the standing up took far longer than it should have.

  Looking down, Trev saw that his campfire was already a tiny red gleam of light in the blackness below. He whooped with pleasure and hung onto the rags that covered Hob’s uneven spine.

  “Shall we fly up to visit the moon?” asked Hob in irritation.

  “Can we?”

  “No, it is far too high to visit in a single eve, much less an hour.”

  “Very well, just glide westward, if you would.”

  Old Hob turned and soared out toward the distant sea. Clouds that felt like stinging mists rolled over them and Trev reveled in the darkness, overjoyed. This, finally, was a real adventure!

  “Time’s up,” Hob said a few minutes later.

  As he spoke, a sickening lurch touched Trev’s belly. They were coming down again with amazing speed.

  “That wasn’t anywhere near long enough,” Trev said. “A full hour was stipulated.”

  “I could drop you. You know that don’t you boy? No smashed wad of broken bones and pulped flesh has ever told a tale of interest to anyone.”

  “I’m not so sure of that,” Trev said, hanging on. “But I’m sure I still have my blade and I’m sitting upon your warted back.”

  The feeling of rapid descent ceased. Now, they soared over a copse of trees. They were pines and they gave off a fresh scent. Trev realized they’d left the swamp behind in a few minutes. He was impressed. He’d thought of himself as fast, but in comparison, Hob was like a stroke of lightning.

  He decided he should cut the journey short. The truth was that he found Old Hob painful to his hands and his nose this close-up.

  “Okay,” Trev said into the goblin’s bat-like ear. “We’re close to my destination. Just fly north a few miles and you can set me down there, and our deal will be done.”

  Hob’s head rotated in the direction indicated. “There’s a cliff to the north of us.”

  “So fly over it.”

  Grumbling, Hob did as he was bid. Trev laughed aloud and felt like the king of both the heavens and the earth below him.

  When they reached the edge of the cliff, Old Hob wasted no time in setting down on solid land. He looked around and then turned to glare at Trev, who had jumped down and now stood on his own two feet.

  “This is Snowdon!” Hob said. “Why did you have me fly you here, boy?”

  Trev smiled. “Are we bargaining again?”

  “Most definitely not.”

  The goblin launched into the sky and vanished. He didn’t even say “farewell”. Trev wasted no time himself. He ran lightly into the trees. He should be able to reach the Earthlight hours before the gates opened to admit visitors.

  He was proud of himself, as he felt he’d gotten the better of Old Hob. Far from distracting him from his quest, Hob had actually sped him on his way—and even better, there was no chance of any other pursuers catching up with him now.

  Chapter Four

  The Words of the Wise

  Brand rode hard through the night. He rode toward Snowdon with a grimly determined expression on his face.

  He’d chose
n Snowdon as it was the obvious Trev was going to talk to Gudrin first. She knew the boy, and the Kindred would doubtlessly have sympathy for him. The Storm of the Dead had tragically taken Trev’s father along with a thousand other undeserving souls years ago. The Kindred had retreated during that struggle into their mountain fortress, and Brand believed they still felt a twinge of remorse about not helping their allies.

  Gudrin would greet Trev and tell him whatever he wished, Brand was certain of this. The idea made his teeth grind. Not so much because he thought Gudrin should know better, nor because the boy had slipped away while he was distracted—but because Brand himself had suggested this wise course of action. For that reason alone he wanted to see Trev’s adventure come to an abrupt end. He hated playing the fool who witlessly helped others…

  Surprised at his mood, which had become full of growling and muttered curses, Brand took a deep breath of fetid, cold air. The swamps weren’t getting any fresher, despite the fact he had to be two-thirds of the way across by now.

  Brand gave his head a shake. Where had this anger come from? He wasn’t even certain the boy was up to any real mischief. Perhaps Trev’s actions would come to a beneficial end, or at least would somehow discomfit Hob, explaining why the old devil had worked so hard to poison Brand’s mind.

  But no, it wasn’t Hob’s words that bothered him now—it had to be the Axe. Ambros, combined with worry over his own indiscretions the night before, had put him in the worst of moods.

  He’d never lain with another woman since he’d taken Telyn for a wife. He took his vows very seriously. Certainly, his eyes had wandered from time to time, as all men might confess. But he’d never acted upon the urge. This time, he feared, things had gone differently.

  Who was to blame? Was it the Axe, or Kaavi, or Trev? Or just Brand himself? He wasn’t entirely sure. He suspected it was a mix of all these things spiced up by Kaavi’s intoxicating brew and unwavering youthfulness.

  And worse than any infidelity on his part—a thousand times worse—was the possibility that there would be issue from last night’s chance meeting. That he feared more than anything else about the situation. It was one thing to have a dark secret, it was quite another to have a monster in your closet. An offspring so terrible it could not be witnessed by any normal man without causing him a chill of fear.