The Call 4: Dreams and Shadows

The Call 4: Dreams and Shadows

Tristen lay in unrestful sleep, dreaming. He dreamed of a cave and weird, mournful singing, of a throne and of a path through the stars. He dreamed of an old woman with a face seamed by great age and wispy white hair. As he saw her face, the dream twisted, the mists pulling back. “Am I awake?” he wondered. Everything was, if anything, hyper-real. He shook his head and had to brush a loose strand of hair out of his face. He tucked it behind his ear, wondering why they itched and burned so. The old woman laughed harshly at him, but he knew it was not meant unkindly. He remembered her voice, whispering to him in the dark of his bedroom when he was a child.

She always came when he was afraid of the things in the dark and she always said the same thing to calm him. She said it now. “Tristen, child, why do you fear the dark?”

Then, as now, he replied, “I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of what’s in it. There are monsters.” He felt the utter certainty of it as he had not in two decades.

“Why do you fear the monsters? You, Tristen, are what they fear. You are almost the only thing they fear. No, Tristen, you must watch for the monsters that hide behind Human eyes; they are surely the most dangerous. Never fear creatures that show you their weapons, child. The monsters and the animals do it to warn you; they do not want to fight. But Humans, you never know what they have up their sleeves.”

He had scoffed as a child. A lion could eat any number of people. Then he had asked his father about it during the light of day and his father had shown him a single picture. “What are all those skulls, Da?”

“They are lion skulls. One set of poachers killed all of those, I think.” He had looked long and hard and never again doubted what the most dangerous thing on earth was.

The old woman spoke, but not the ritualistic words of the past. “Why do you fear the dark Tristen? You don’t believe in my kind of monster anymore. You don’t even believe in the Sidhe.” She snorted in amusement and he wondered why a simple dream could shame him so much. “Why have you closed yourself off? You haven’t prayed for me to come to you since…”

“Why should I pray after they died? What could you do?” He shook his head. He was not bitter, though the words might have sounded such. He shrugged, not knowing what to say. She gestured and he was beside her, looking up at her from the same angle he remembered. Yet he had not shrunk. “Dream logic,” he thought. She wrapped her arms around him and his eyes tried to water. She felt like his grandmother. He had always wondered if she was born of the hazy, confused memories of his grams.

Dryly, “Partially, yes. She has ever been a part of me.” She paused a moment. “Remember what you saw as a child, Tristen. Remember the monsters that peered in your windows and rustled under your bed. Remember the night you saw the fae lights and the morning you saw Pixies dancing on mushroom caps. Remember them all, Tristen. Never forget me again or all will be lost. Great times are coming. Heroes are needed; you’ll do. Now wake.”

He did, sitting straight up in his bed with his ears itching like fire while he recalled things both great and terrible that he had thought he had seen as a child. Finally, though, he shook off the cobwebs of sleep and made himself a cup of coffee. “Gotta quit reading fantasy right before bed.” He put it out of his mind and as he did, his ears ceased to burn. He was not the only one to have such dreams, but he was the only one who purposefully forgot them. After all, Tristen prided himself on his cynicism.

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Brian knew his dream was not like any other he had ever had from the moment it began. It was, if anything, more real than his waking life, so he told himself to remember every single detail. It was known that sometimes truth was revealed in dreams.

He stood on a high place, looking down upon a place that he knew would soon be a battlefield. Without looking, he knew that the most beautiful woman in Arcadia stood beside him. They were both looking at the curve of a hill behind which waited the army of the dread UnSeelie, and the Seelie army marched right at them. Brian was sure the Seelie General had guessed that the other army was behind it, but knew it would not matter.

Of a sudden, he realized that he was on the wrong side, that he had helped the UnSeelie! The woman patted his hand. “I know it seems strange, but the reasons are many and good.” For an instant, he knew what they all were and agreed, but no matter how hard he might try upon waking, he knew he would not remember. A deep, throbbing beat began to boom out over the hills, a prelude to, of all things, heavy metal. The woman chuckled, “Psychological warfare. Humans have always been better at war than the Elves.” He knew that he had taught the UnSeelie how Humans made war and that the woman was right, though not even Oisin had wanted to admit it.

Below, horses shied and some bucked. The Seelie army seemed to shudder at the unfamiliar noise. The UnSeelie burst over the top of the hill as bright lights shot into the air. This did not bother the Seelie as making sky-fires had always been one of the very few acceptable magics. But then the fires descended and were proven to be physical. Bottle rockets… he thought. The cavalry could not charge; it was all the riders could do to stay on their mounts. The troops were further demoralized when the shrieking UnSeelie came closer and they saw that they were blue painted, with hair spiked like weapons. And there were Humans among them… The armies met with a clash like the Gates of Heaven slamming shut. Though the UnSeelie were a much smaller force, it was a slaughter. Brian woke and darted to the bathroom, sickened by the stench of death still burning in his nose.

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Oisin’s dreams began as usual, with grand adventures and great danger. As he had dreamed many times, this one had to do with a great plot against the King of Arcadia, which he alone had the power to prevent. But this time he was not going to because this time he had instigated it. Part of his mind screamed treason and he almost cried out. A dark army followed at his heels and he lifted a burning sword into the air and let loose with the Airgead war cry. He heard it echoed by a thousand voices and inside he wept. The battle began and he cut through the ranks of his own people, leading a thrust for the heart of his kingdom.

I am living a nightmare, he thought. He watched as his sword slid neatly into the Grand Duke Cormand, a man who had held him on his knees as a child. He almost cheered as the other army began to rally. He didn’t want this. He had never wanted this. “God, give me sign!” And He did. Lightning arched from the overcast sky and another Grand Duke fell. “No!” he cried, but his only answer was the falling snow. Winter had come at last. His hand tingled.

Oisin sat straight up and retched. The mouse that had skittered over his hand watched him with its whiskers twitching. He swayed, feeling very strange and lightheaded. He pulled the saddle blanket closer, shivering. He remembered Ana and stumbled for the house. He had to pause twice to rest.

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Ana dreams began with a honeysuckle scented mist, a garden, and Oisin. It would have been right at home as a chapter in a bodice-ripper romance, but that was quite all right with her. She was deeply unhappy when the scene changed and the mists pulled back.

“Am I still dreaming?” she wondered. She looked around and saw her pasture, correct in almost every detail. She glanced behind her and saw her house, noted that it had a newly built addition one the back. She heard a small sound and looked down. She was holding an infant. It was then that she remembered. This was her son. Today was a year and one day since his father had left for Arcadia; she was waiting for him so he could see his son for the first time. Her daughter was inside being watched by Bethany and her boyfriend.

She wondered a moment why she did not have her daughter here too, knowing there was a reason, but not able to remember it. She saw movement in the tree, distracting her. Slowly, a man stepped through. He looked like Oisin, but older. He had deep worry lines etched into his face and a deep scar on his forehead. He wore a circlet on his brow, as did the woman who came out next. Was this his cousin?

He stood back as the woman came forward to look at the child. She was very beautiful, if a tad too thin. She had eyes like the evening sky and hair as black and glossy as a raven’s wing. She was very tall, almost six feet. Ana felt like an overweight dwarf for an instant. “May I?” she asked softly, her words heavily accented. Ana let her take the baby after a brief hesitation. “I am Morgan, Oisin’s wife.” She felt a stab of jealousy, and then the dream-haze returned as quickly as it had left. The woman’s expression suddenly became haughty and cruel.

“It’s true,” he said, sounding very tired. The circlet was gone, she noticed. “My mother had it all arranged when I returned.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

“Oh, you poor dear! You thought he’d come for you, didn’t you,” she laughed. Ana tried to take Oisin’s son back, but her arms were leaden. “He could never love a Human! Only another Sidhe can give him what he needs.” She turned and ran, going back into the tree. Ana cried out and tried to follow, but Oisin stopped her.

“I’m sorry, Ana. I hope that someday you will forgive me.” She tried to hit him. She was screaming at him. “I apologize from the depths of my soul for last night.” Huh?

Her eyes popped open and she nearly leapt out of her skin. Oisin, face smooth and unmarred, was only six inches from her face. His voice was strangely thick, his skin flushed, and his eyes were glassy. Her hand darted to his forehead. She had enough time to feel the heat before he fell backwards onto his butt, startled. She cursed and he blinked up at her stupidly. Glad that she had worn pajamas to bed, she flew out into the hallway. “Brian! Brian, get in here!” She helped him up, wishing he were only as heavy as he looked. She got him into her bed and began getting his boots off him. Brain came to the doorway and stopped.

“Come on, help me! We’ve gotta get him cooled down.” Realizing what was happening, he hurried to help. While she rubbed him with cold washcloths, Brian ran for the herb garden. He soon had a tea to pour down Oisin’s throat. Ana lifted a brow, but said nothing. She went to the store for cold medicine while Brian looked after him.

“I really hope we don’t have to take him to the doctor. I have a hunch that she’d know right off that he’s not human,” she thought. Later that day, Brian began to run a slight fever. She wondered if she would come down with it next, but felt fine.

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The bird landed on her shoulder, ignoring her glare. Someday… “Well, at least the Marhanen isn’t forgetting,” he offered as soothingly as he could. She snorted. “And they’ve got the plague, so can you really expect the Airgead to be thinking of his Dream? Besides, the woman is too busy fetching soup to mention strange dreams. It might come up later.” Her lips narrowed and he wisely fell silent for a time. “They might die. Lots of the others as has got it did.”

She shook her head, finally answering it. “No. They’re here. In Arcadia, maybe, but not here. Just so long as she doesn’t feed them any more pills, anyway. I wonder that it’s taking her so long to realize they aren’t good for them.” His beak gaped to say something and she shot him a glance. “That was different.” He cocked his head and she sighed. “How was I supposed to know that Sidhe are allergic to willow bark? I’d been taught my whole life… Oh, shut up.” The bird snickered. It was time to pay another visit to the others she had to gather together. She was not looking forward to it, and she was falling behind schedule. “Get ready. We must go next to the wolves and I wouldn’t want you to end up as an afternoon snack. Not yet anyway.” The bird only snickered at her. She shook her head again and cast her spell.

“Hey! Look! I think the woman heard it.” She looked, hoping, and smiled. It was a beginning.

[end transmission]