Night Veil

Page 10

Chapter 6
The minute I passed through the opening, I was pleasantly surprised. Though the entry was low, the inside of the cavern was not. Chatter had lit the flame in his hand again, and now he blew on it and it flew off, a globe of light, to spread through the air and illuminate the chamber.
The cavern was a good twenty feet high by thirty feet long. Dry and snug against the elements, it was still cold, all right, but the snow did not enter here, and I had my doubts whether rain made it through.
Chatter glanced around.
Peyton tapped him on the shoulder. “What are you looking for?”
He let out a long breath. “The portal. It’s hidden to keep yummanii who might be in the area from stumbling into it. I think a few of their shamans know about it, but the Court of Dreams is no place for the unprepared, regardless of background.”
After a moment, he stood back and closed his eyes, his hands outstretched in front of him. Taking a hesitant step forward, he faced to the left, then opened his eyes.
“There you are!” With a wave of his hand and a whispered chant that I couldn’t quite pick up, an archway appeared against the solid rock. He turned back to us. “There’s the portal. Once we cross through, be cautious not to stray out of my sight. It’s easy to get lost in the Court of Dreams. There are nightmares there, as well as your heart’s desires. And sometimes, they overlap. I know the path to the King of Dreams, so follow my lead. It’s not far from the entrance.”
We fell in line behind him, with me second and Peyton bringing up the rear. And then, without another word, he stepped through, and we followed.
At first, the transition was black, and everything around me felt like it was swirling in a vortex of endless night. But then I gradually began to make out colors in the wash, sparkling lights that twinkled in and out faster than I could pinpoint them. My stomach rolled with the feeling of being on water, in a big boat surging over the cresting waves. My feet met no solid floor, no sense of resistance, and then it felt like we were traveling a hundred miles an hour, the sparkles turning into tracers.
I could barely see Chatter’s back in front of me, and when I tried to ask Peyton if she was still with us, my mouth moved but no sound emerged.
After a time, the kaleidoscope of lights began to subside and then, within a single blink of an eye, my feet hit solid ground and I tripped against Chatter’s back. We were standing in a misty valley, with a rolling fog wafting hip-deep.
I quickly turned, relieved to see Peyton standing behind me.
“Are the both of you okay?” Chatter asked.
We nodded. I glanced overhead. The sky was hazy, and no sun shone. I didn’t even know if they had a sun here, but the land was bathed in a mix of shadows and the colors of sunset. Trees, straggly and barren, dotted the landscape, and boulders jutted out from the fog that swept across the ground as far as I could see.
“Follow me, and do not speak to any who pass you unless I give the go-ahead. There are dangers here I cannot even begin to describe.” He looked around, gauging our whereabouts, then motioned for us to follow him to the right.
We moved through the mist, cautiously, unable to see the ground. I was afraid of tripping over a root or a rock, but for the most part, the lay of the land was even and level and Chatter seemed to instinctively skirt obstacles in the path. I followed his lead carefully, and Peyton followed mine.
As we came to a fork in the road, Chatter turned to the left, but something to the right caught my eye. I turned to look and gasped.
Krystal, my mother, was standing there, holding out her arms.
“How . . . what . . .” I stared at her, wanting to believe, wanting so badly to think it was her, and yet I knew she was dead. How could this be? Was she a spirit? Was I hallucinating?
I found myself walking off the path, mesmerized by her sudden appearance. Krystal, my mother. Krystal, the woman who was never a mother to me. But now she was wearing a loose-fitting dress that seemed as ethereal as the fog. Her hair hung loose, but no longer stringy. She laughed when she saw me and her eyes were welcoming, no longer jaded with crack and horse.
“Honey, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry I had to leave you; please forgive me. Please, give me a chance to make all those unhappy years up to you.”
I gazed at her face and thought, My mother is beautiful, but then I stopped. Something was off.
Cicely! Cicely—can you hear me? Cicely!
Far in the distance, someone was calling me. But my mother’s face filled my vision and I moved toward her, wanting to run into her arms. I was five again, and she was smiling and I felt for the first time in my life that I lit up her world, and I ran into her embrace. She wrapped her arms around me, so strong and caring, and I melted into the love she had never, ever shown me and burst into tears.
Blink. Wait . . . no, I’m twenty-six, not five . . .
Blink. Stay with me forever; you are my little girl. You just dreamed a long, strange dream that you’re all grown up. But you don’t have to be a grown-up, Cicely. You’re my little girl and you can stay with me.
Thank you, Mama . . . I wanted to love you so much, I wanted to be your little girl but you never would let me. Am I your little girl? Mama?
You’re forever and always my baby.
A faint sound in the distance . . .
Cicely! Cicely! A different voice, calling to me, but there was nothing in my field of vision save for Krystal.
Krystal let out a long, happy sigh, and I wondered what she’d say next—all those things I’d waited all those years to hear. But then she smiled, and her teeth were needle sharp, and her eyes burned crimson—the crimson of blood.
The spell began to break, slowly, dreams crashing to the ground.
“Krystal, no—Mother! Mother!” I began to struggle, trying to free myself, but Krystal was strong—a lot stronger than I remembered. And then I realized that Krystal’s arms were long and sinuous and she wasn’t really my mother.
Cicely! Break free, child. Break free of the illusion! A sudden gust of wind blew away the fog in the area in which we were standing and I gasped, for it blew away illusion, too. Instead of my mother, I was in the clutches of a short, squat, reptilian creature with tentacles waving. I screamed, shattering the last shards of the spell.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t happy, and the grip around my arms and waist grew tighter as I pushed away from it. I could no longer understand what it was saying, and I struggled, trying to pry my way free from its grasp.
I felt something jar against my back and glanced over my shoulder. Peyton was stabbing one of the tentacles with a butcher knife. And Chatter was holding his hands out and—Whoosh!—a white-hot flame shot out to envelop the creature. The thing made a noise sounding like a scream and let go of me. Peyton grabbed hold of my arm and ran, dragging me along behind her. There was another shriek from behind, and something grabbed my ankle.
I tripped, falling forward, and looked back to see one of the scaly arms wrapping itself around my foot, and I twisted around, lunging forward as I whipped out my switchblade and drove it into the creature’s flesh. It uncurled from my ankle and then, with a final thrashing slap, it slammed against me, knocking me down, then retreated.
I lay in the gathering fog, gasping for breath. Peyton and Chatter knelt beside me and helped me stand. Thoroughly confused, I glanced around. We seemed to be right back where we were when I’d seen . . . Krystal? Everything came flooding back.
“Krystal? I know she’s dead—what the hell possessed me to go over to that thing? What the fuck was that? What happened?” Furious at myself, and bewildered, I looked from Chatter to Peyton, then back to Chatter again.
He rubbed my shoulder gently. “Don’t blame yourself—you stumbled over a dreamweaver. They feed on the dreams and secret wishes of others and can look into your mind. The demons live primarily in the Court of Dreams, but now and then you might find one slipping over into our world as well. They tend to haunt the wild places. We don’t know what they are, only that they aren’t Fae.”
Nerve-racked, I cleared my throat. “What would it have done to me?”
“Sucked your mind clean. Left you a vegetable.” The offhand way he said it chilled me to the bone.
“Let’s move on. Maybe you need to tether us together so we don’t wander off like I did.” I didn’t want to meander off the road again. In fact, I wanted to turn around and go home, but the monsters waiting for us there were just as frightening. And Kaylin needed us.
Chatter cocked his head, looking curious. “Cicely, you didn’t wander off the path. The creature hid in the fog beside you and caught you in its trap before we could stop it. You stayed on the path the entire time.”
I’d stayed on the path, hadn’t strayed, and still they came out of the mist and fog to hunt. Shuddering, I nodded, saying nothing.
Are you all right, child? I tried to reach you.
Ulean . . . You tried to lead me back to myself. But nothing seemed to penetrate that fog, my friend. Thank you for trying.
There are so many dangers here. I am glad I came with you. But be wary—creatures like the dreamweaver are hard to fight and they use sweet honey as a lure.
I thought about Krystal, and how I’d always wanted her to be a normal, loving mother. If my thoughts were that easy to read—if my secret hopes about my mother were that clear—then it was a good thing we hadn’t brought Rhiannon with us. Steeling myself, I nodded for Chatter to move on.
We headed farther into the shadowy land. I sensed beings going by, catching whispers of sounds on the slipstream, but I couldn’t understand the languages, only the emotions . . .
. . . a great sadness, loss . . . melancholy . . .
. . . hunger, seething, angry hunger . . .
. . . fear, constant wariness . . .
. . . so tired . . . so very tired but no place to rest . . .
“This place isn’t a happy one,” I said after a while, disengaging from the slipstream. It was too depressing.
Chatter glanced back. “No, the Court of Dreams is not a happy place, although some people—like the Bat People—have their own measure of joy. This is the place where old dreams come to die, where jealousy and envy feed, where people lose their way and creatures can take advantage of sadness, insecurity, and hunger.”
I had no clue as to how long we’d been walking—though I noticed that I wasn’t nearly as tired here as I had been wandering through the snow—when Chatter stopped and pointed. A tall mountain jutted out of the fog, stark against the twilight sky. A large cavern was visible against the side of the granite.
“The home of the Bat People. That’s where we’re going.”
As I stared at the inky opening, a sudden flip in my stomach told me that we had barely scratched the surface of the Court of Dreams.
There were shadows entering and exiting the cave: tall, thin, bipedal, with wings folded back as they walked. They moved deliberately, as if they were in a procession, knees bent, their movements jerky and strong. I glanced at their hands; long talons shimmered like silver spikes. Whispers raced through the air . . . clicks—hundreds of clicks—echoing on the slipstream to the point where I could barely stand to listen.
Ulean howled around me. So much energy flowing through the slipstream. Cicely, this is a dangerous place. Watch your step—these beings are not dreamweavers, but they are the eaters of hope and of love and of dreams. They can be wild and wicked.
One particular shade turned toward us and, in a blur, moved to block our path.
Chatter shivered, but he held up one hand and opened his mouth. He darted his head this way and that to match the bobbing head of our roadblock, and a series of clicks issued forth.
So this is why Lainule bade me bring him along. There was far more to the Fae than being Grieve’s sidekick, and I was only now beginning to recognize how talented he was.
After a moment, the blurred figure motioned to us and turned. Chatter moved ahead, gesturing for us to be quiet but stay close. Peyton and I fell in behind him again, and we entered the cave.
I wasn’t sure if I was expecting total darkness or what, but the cave was an explosion of light. Globes of light dotted the ceiling, easily a thousand brilliant suns, creating so much light that I instantly developed a headache. The intensity was close to blinding, and I held up my hand to shade my eyes in the white-hot chamber. I could barely see anything, but a strange sensation filtered through my body—that of being analyzed, screened, and cleansed. I glanced down at my skin and saw a fine ash covering my arms. As I shook it off, my arms glowed, and I realized that the light had burned off the layer of dead skin on the surface.
I glanced at the floor. We were walking on a thin mesh—as sturdy as stone, but essentially we were on a sieve that allowed the skin to drop through and far, far below, a flame burned.
More terrified than curious, I moved closer to Chatter and touched his arm. He glanced back and I pointed toward the floor. He just nodded, a cautionary look in his eye. I kept my mouth shut, but moved back to Peyton’s side and took her hand. She looked as nervous as I was.
We passed over the mesh and then into a second chamber, as dark as the other had been bright. Plunged into the blackness, I stopped short, unable to see, but then hands—from someone terribly tall and strong—gently rested on my shoulders. Sharpened nails curved around, lightly piercing my Windbreaker, and whoever it was gave me a shove forward.
Too frightened to turn around, I moved as directed. A thick fog began to fill the chamber, and as I inhaled, it felt like I was breathing water. The fog poured into my body like syrup over pancakes, and I started to melt, the same way I had when Kaylin had taken me dreamwalking.
I closed my eyes as the lyrics to Gary Numan’s song “Remember I Was Vapour” began to run through my head. I mouthed them as we moved along, gliding, flowing, shifting. I wasn’t even sure we were still in body, but it was so incredibly relaxing that I ceased to care, just pouring along the floor.