So, you can understand how drifting into my Land of Dreams would be something that I would look forward to after several days of stress and a change of worlds. Curled up on my side, breathing deeply, I fell willingly into a deep sleep, happily anticipating the newest dream in my fantasy land.
Which is also why you can understand I wouldn’t be alarmed at first when I began to experience a floating sensation and I opened my eyes to see my soul detaching from my sleeping body as I drifted up and through the roof of my room.
And, yes, I did have a big bed—even from an overhead view.
Flying or floating is a cool side effect of visiting my DreamLand. Granted, in my dreams I usually have to take a running start and hold my arms in front of me before I can leap off the ground and become airborne, but what the heck, it’s DreamLand, and not exactly steeped in reality—so just about anything goes…
…Back to floating through my ceiling. As I drifted up and out of the confines of Epona’s temple I had an unusual moment of vertigo. Flying is always a pleasant dream experience, consequently the dizzy, gut-clenching feeling surprised me, but the vertigo was fleeting and I soon forgot the momentary oddity. Floating in the night air I was relaxed, breathing deeply and enjoying the beauty of the high, puffy clouds passing in front of an almost full moon. I noticed that they weren’t the usual golden cotton-candy clouds of my dreams, which also was a little odd. And, yes, I realized that in tonight’s dream I did seem to be able to actually smell the night air, but my dreams are normally very graphic and realistic, so I was curious, but not overly concerned with the vague fluctuations from the norm. After all, I was in another world. Maybe my DreamLand had been affected, too.
Looking below me, I was interested to see that my dream had totally made up a whole set of lovely buildings that pinwheeled around the stately temple. Movement in a corral just outside of a rich-looking building which must be a stable piqued my interest. The stable was actually attached to the side of the temple, but that figured because it was the temple of a horse goddess and, of course, my dream layout would give horses extra privileges. Besides, I really do like horses—I’ve dreamed about riding/flying Pegasus several times. The movement caught my eye again, and my dream body floated down toward the corral until I was hovering just above the stone fence. A soft gust of wind pushed the puffy clouds away from the moon, and the sudden brightness illuminated the interior of the corral. I smiled and cooed in awe at the perfection of a silver-white mare. At the sound, the mare stopped grazing and lifted her dainty head in my direction, blowing softly at the surrounding air.
“Hi there, you gorgeous girl.” The mare’s neck arched at the sound of my voice. I was delighted that instead of being afraid of my floating body, she seemed to recognize me (well, it was my dream) and pranced toward me. I held out my hands to her and she stretched her muzzle in my direction.
She was an amazing-looking animal. She reminded me of one of the Royal Lipizzaner stallions I had seen several years ago when their tour stopped in Tulsa. She was a nice-size mare, probably almost fifteen hands high. From a distance her coat appeared to be all one glistening silver color, but as she got closer to me I could see that her muzzle was dark, like black velvet, and her silver coat faded to darkness around her expressive eyes and her well-shaped hocks. I had never seen a horse like her before, and I smiled at my dream imagination. She continued her contented grazing and I gave her a last look as I floated back up into the night. Maybe I would return before my dream was over and we could go for a lovely ride in the sky.
The puffy clouds seemed to have cleared for good, and from my aerial view I could turn my floating body slowly in a circle and see for miles in all directions. The elaborate temple buildings were surrounded by a huge marble wall. The land outside the temple proper was sweet and rolling, reminding me of the Umbria region of Italy. (I took ten high-school kids on an “educational” trip to Italy a couple of years ago. They did just fine chaperoning me.) The gentle hills looked to be covered with grapevines. Which figures because, of course, my dream would have to touch on wine somehow. Hopefully, a floating waiter who looked like Pierce Brosnan would soon appear to serve me my favorite Merlot.
But I guess I’d had enough wine for one night, because Pierce didn’t show. Yet.
Exploring my newest DreamLand seemed like a fun idea, so I kept floating and gawking. In the distance, probably to the north of the temple (don’t quote me on that, though; I am directionally impaired) I could make out what appeared to be a large mountain range. While I was beginning to float toward the mountains, I noticed, again, the breeze which, again, struck me as an odd addition to my DreamLand because it had a scent. The breeze was coming from the west and I turned my head into its softness. I took a deep breath and recognized the smell of…hmm…I think salt in the air. An ocean? My shifting of attention also changed the direction of my airborne body, and I felt myself float into the wind. By squinting my eyes I could barely make out some flickering lights and, maybe, the reflection of the moon on water. Smiling in anticipation of the dream possibilities, I decided to head in that direction—and was shocked by how quickly my dream self responded.
The land passing quickly beneath me was populated with sleepy little villages that were scattered between vineyard-covered rolling hills. A shimmering river connected them and I noticed several small, flat boats moored at each village site. The scent of salt was stronger, and I could make out a large body of water in the quickly decreasing distance directly in my flight path. Its shoreline looked imposing—rugged and green, which suddenly reminded me of Ireland’s Cliffs of Moher. (I took students to Ireland one summer. We called it the Educational Pub Tour.) The shoreline stretched on in the distance as far as I could see in the moonlit night, and as the dark liquid horizon met the night sky, I could see silhouetted the western edge of the mountain range I’d noticed earlier.
My body was still racing forward and I could see that I was headed toward some type of large structure situated solidly near the edge of one of the most dramatic-looking cliffs. (Kind of like Edinburgh Castle—yes, I took a group of high-school students to Scotland, too. I didn’t cause them too much trouble…no matter what they say.) Drifting closer, I felt myself slowing down and I took a good look at what I could now see much more clearly.
It was a wonderful, enormous old castle, and I was floating directly above the entrance that faced away from the sea. Unlike most of the castles I’ve toured in Europe, this one looked like it was in perfect condition, complete with four massive towers over which flew flags decorated with a rearing silver mare. Huh. Looked just like the cool horse back at the temple.
The rear side of the castle was situated near the edge of the nasty-looking cliff; the inhabitants must love the amazing view. The front of the castle, above which I was floating, looked out on a tree-covered plateau, which gradually dipped down to a valley where a neat-looking village nestled. A well-worn road ran from the village through the forested plateau up to the castle, giving evidence of a congenial relationship between castle and town. The typical walled ramparts surrounded the castle itself and were joined at an enormous gated entrance, but rather than looking menacing and cold, the castle was well lighted and its entrance was open and welcoming. A castle used as a military fortress would be closed and guarded. The lovely forest of old trees would be shorn so that an advancing enemy couldn’t sneak up. My dream castle obviously wasn’t war friendly, and it was probably “guarded” by (who else?) Pierce Brosnan! It was more than likely that he was waiting inside for me to quit my floating tour so that he could rub edible pink coconut oil all over my body. Then lick it slowly off. Yummy…Which is why it was odd that my body was still floating over the castle. Okay, I was definitely ready to stop flying now and get to the more “personal” part of my dream.
Anticipatory smile.
Nothing.
Still floating.
Okay, I was ready to stop flying now!
Nothing. What in the hell was up with this?
DreamLand was my fabrication. It obeyed me. I remember when I first realized not everyone had the ability to control their dreams. I was in third grade and a friend of mine was looking pale and upset one Monday morning. At recess I asked her what was wrong and she said an amazing thing—she said she’d had a horrible nightmare the night before. I told her she should have just told the dream to change, and she looked at me as if I was crazy (or scary), and told me that that was impossible. Dreams did what they wanted to do. Until then it hadn’t occurred to me that everyone couldn’t control his or her dreams. If my dreams ever began to get uncomfortable or frightening, I just told them to change. And they accommodated my request. In thirty-five years I have never had a dream that wouldn’t obey me. My girlfriends think it’s way cool, my boyfriends think I’m making it up. So my dreams have always been mine to control.
Until tonight.
Hovering over the castle, my feeling of confusion was compounded by my rising frustration level. I wouldn’t really classify this as a “bad” dream; it was more like an annoying dream. And I really wanted it to stop—
Then everything changed. Fear enveloped me. It was like nothing I had ever known. More terrifying to me than my car wreck. More horrible than my snake phobia. It was the raw fear that comes with the certainty of being in the presence of evil. Living evil, like the kind that inspires pedophiles or rapists or terrorists.
Trying not to panic, I took deep breaths and reminded myself that this was only a dream…only a dream…only a dream. But the feeling persisted. Gazing beneath me, I studied the castle for some hint that could explain my terror. The castle looked sleepy and innocent. In a room built on the wall near the open front gates, I could see two men dressed in uniforms who might be guards or night watchmen. They were sitting at a wooden table playing what appeared to be some kind of dice game. No evil there; slacking employees, perhaps, but nothing overtly villainous. Various other rooms in the castle were still lighted, and once in a while I could glimpse figures moving in front of windows. No one seemed to be committing any murders, no raping or pillaging was going on. At the side of the castle that overlooked the ocean I could see a man standing on an observation ledge, but he wasn’t cutting up any babies or raping any grandmas; he was just looking. No evil there, either.
But it was here. I could feel it. I could almost touch and smell it. It was like after you drive your car over an animal that has been lying dead in the road for a very long time. The stench seems to cling to your car’s wheels and to your throat even after you’ve left it miles behind.
My body turned gently as I continued my search, and I found myself looking out over the forest—
That was it. No question about it, the evil was there, coming from the forest. It emanated from the northern edge, the part that eventually met the distant mountains. It was so strong that I found it difficult to keep my eyes focused on that area; my vision kept shifting, like I was trying to concentrate on one of those 3-D pictures but couldn’t quite get the hidden image right.
It was as my gaze slid over the trees, not quite focused, that I saw it. A ripple in the darkness of the night-shadowed trees. Blinking, I focused above the tree line and, again, the forest rippled. It was like ink seeping down a naked page—crawling shadows, oily and thick. A mass of something was moving through the trees, singular in intention and demeanor. The forward line of it was swift and silent.
I gasped in realization. Its destination was obvious—it was converging on the sleeping castle.
CHAPTER 5
There was nothing I could do to help. I tried to scream at the dice-playing guards, and my ghostly voice was carried away by the wind. My body still wouldn’t descend, and, for a moment, I felt shamefully thankful as I realized that the thought of being in the castle as the darkness drew closer and closer terrified me. And I couldn’t wake up. Glancing back to the edge of the northern tree line, I was horrified by how quickly the darkness had advanced. And as they got closer, the evil radiating from them felt thicker. How could anyone in the castle sleep or play cards or hang out? How could they not feel it, too?
And suddenly it wasn’t a dream to me anymore. Here and now the unfolding horror had become my reality.
As if responding to my thoughts, my floating body moved closer to the dark line. I was afraid, but curious and committed to understanding what was happening. I watched the front of the line break out of the trees. I drifted closer.
At first I thought they were tall men wearing dark, flapping cloaks. They appeared to be running with amazingly long strides, and then leaping, like a long jumper at a track meet, only not landing on two feet and falling, but landing on still-running legs. This odd manner of movement ate up the land beneath them and gave them the appearance of gliding more than of running.
Like instead of being living beings they were really specters or shades of the dead.
As they got closer, my attention was riveted on their long, loose cloaks. I watched them move against the wind currents caused by the gliding run, until in horror I realized that the movement was voluntary. More and more of them poured out of the forest, and I understood what the cloaks really were—wings, enormous dark wings that spread and trapped the wind, aiding the leaping run and enabling the glide.
A shiver of revulsion shuddered through my floating body. There must have been hundreds of them. They were like huge predatory humanoid bats, or gigantic humanoid roaches. I began to be able to make out individuals and their features. It was only their wings that were dark, and because they were so large and outstretched, they lent the line the appearance of being dark. In truth, under the wings, their bodies were so white they almost seemed translucent. They were naked except for loincloths, and their thin torsos looked skeletal. Their hair was light colored, ranging from blond to silver and white. Their arms and legs were abnormally long, like what would result if a human was mated with a spider. But they were most definitely humanoid. They had the faces of men—cruel, determined men.
And a short Bobby Burns poem flashed through my mind:
Many and sharp the numerous ills
Inwoven with our frame;
More pointed still, we make ourselves
Regret, remorse and shame;
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man’s inhumanity to man,
Makes countless thousands mourn.
I was unable to look away from them as they spread to the unguarded castle doors beneath me like a virulent strain of a terrorist’s plague, and then they were there. They poured into the castle, silent and deadly. The dice players didn’t notice. No new doors closed or windows opened. Silence. Silence. Silence.
But I could feel them. Somehow, I could feel what they were bringing. I couldn’t see what was happening inside the many rooms below me, but I could sense the terror and pain rustling through the castle like a silent cancer spreading throughout a diseased body.
Frantically, I searched for some way to warn them. Some way I could help them. And my errant body began floating in a different direction. This time it was taking me toward the solitary man still standing on the observatory ledge. Getting closer, his shadowed shape took on familiar lines.
Oh, my God. My breath rushed out of me in one word.
“Dad!”
He turned at the sound of my voice, and as he glanced around, presumably looking for me, I saw him clearly in the moonlight. It was my father. Damn the mirror-image crap; damn the alternative-world garbage. This man was my dad.
In his mid-fifties his football player’s body was still powerful. One of my cousins once told me that as a child he thought my father was the strongest man he had ever known—and now that he’s an adult he’s sure of it. And he’s probably right. Not that Dad’s a huge guy, he’s not. Probably only five foot ten, graduating from a small country high school he was told he wasn’t big enough to play football at a major university like the University of Illinois. But they didn’t figure on his tenacity.
Like a mean little bulldog, he was just too damn tough to be benched. After a successful college-football career, he passed his strengths on to the players he coached, was recruited by the biggest high school in Oklahoma and become the coach who took his team to the state championship seven years in a row. And won all seven times.
I have always been a Daddy’s Girl. I grew up trusting in his strength. As a child I knew that there was no dragon he wouldn’t slay for me, no demon he couldn’t banish.
I saw all of this reflected in the man below me.
“Dad!”
His head shot up at the sound of my disembodied voice, but his brow was wrinkled with confusion. How well could he really hear me?
“Rhiannon? Are you here, daughter?”
Perhaps he could only hear the echo of my soul. Summoning all of my concentration into one word like a prayer, I cried.
“Danger!” The word ended on my sob.
“Yes, lass, I sensed danger in the night!”
His brow suddenly cleared and he began striding purposefully off the ledge. Leaping to the wooden catwalk that ran the length of the inside wall of the castle, he broke into a run. My hovering body was right behind him as he rushed toward the watchtower, booming in a voice very like Dad’s except it was thick with an almost Scottish-sounding brogue.
“Get yerselves armed and awake the castle! Epona has warned me of danger! Hurry, lads, I feel a crawling in me skin that says we donna have much time.” Through the window I observed the shock on the faces of the guards as they followed the man who looked so much like my dad into action. Arming themselves, they rushed down into the bowels of the tower, and I could hear them waking other men. The night was now filled with the sounds of shouting men and clanging weapons.