The Lord of Dreams

by C. J. Brightley

  “What is the problem?” He glared at her. “Why are you so slow? Do you want to be caught?”

  “No! I just can't keep up.” She gasped for air, panting, unable to catch her breath. The mask seemed to suffocate her, and she tore at it.

  “That’s no use,” the fairy muttered. “It was a rather stupid thing to do, wasn't it? Helped get the chains off, though, and might come in handy again… if you can keep your mind your own a bit longer. How are you doing that, anyway?”

  “I can't get it off!” Claire wept. Tears dampened her eyes, and she pulled at the edges of the mask frantically. A fingernail tore, and she cried out in anger and frustration.

  The fairy caught her wrists in his too-strong hands and hissed, “Silence!You won't get it off that way. It’s going to require the one who owns the mask to release you, or someone with a lot of power to take off a mask that you put on voluntarily. Better to run and hope we make it out before he catches us… or until you give in to the mask and betray us both.”

  “What would he do?” Claire sniffled. Her chest felt constricted, her breath uneven as panic clawed at her.

  “You really don't want to know.” The fairy pulled her on through the maze of hallways.

  The fairy kept a vise-like grip on her wrist and led her on without stopping for rest, but he did slow his pace to something she could manage without too much strain. Her breathing slowed, and the tension in her shoulders began to fade.

  She let the fairy lead her, knowing there was nothing she could do.

  Why worry? We’ll get caught or not, but either way, I’m sure everything will be fine.

  No, that wasn’t true!

  Terror and defiance burst through her apathy. This calmness was not natural. It must be the mask, or the magic behind the mask, trying to make her a mindless slave. She should be feeling terror!

  She would fight this. She had to, if she wanted to survive as herself.

  But how?

  Panic would be counterproductive, and she wasn’t sure she could muster strong emotion anyway. The terror and anger at the mask were already slipping away.

  After facing the chimeras, she had decided that the way to be brave was to behave as if she were not afraid, even though she was. So her plan was simple: keep her goal in mind, and work towards that goal regardless of her feelings or lack thereof. Perhaps this might be easier. She felt no panic, so all she had to do was stay on task, despite apathy or distraction. Her conscious will had to master her wandering or lethargic thoughts.

  She took a deep breath. It’s no different than writing a term paper while internet videos beckon. Just like studying, Claire. Focus.

  The fairy started around a corner but abruptly reversed course, crashing into Claire and forcing her backward before she got more than a glimpse of massive wooden door and a formation of—well, not men-at-arms, exactly, since they were clearly not men. But they gave that impression, being dressed in uniforms and brightly polished bronze armor and carrying bronze-tipped spears and swords. Their hooves and hairy legs implied they were something like minotaurs. She stared for a moment, coming to the conclusion that the horns were not part of the helmets but rather part of the heads under the helms.

  The fairy turned to her and whispered, “They had to hear something. They will send someone to investigate. And anyway, we have to get through that door.” He looked doubtful. “Are you still with me? Can you think for yourself?”

  Claire nodded. She was actually heartened to feel a thrill of fear flow through her; perhaps she was a little better than before. Maybe she was figuring out how to fight the mask. Maybe her plan was working, and she was rejecting the mask’s magic. Or maybe she would ordinarily have been incoherent in terror and was now only slightly unnerved. Whatever, I’ll take it. Pay attention, she told herself.

  “Very well, we have no choice anyway. Normally if a servant wearing a mask is leading a prisoner, the prisoner is under the same spell as the one wearing the mask and simply obeys. You will have to lead me, as if I am under that compulsion and you have charge of me. We need to go through the door. Anyone with a mask is presumed to be unquestionably loyal, so they will believe you, but they won’t expect me to be able to speak. Can you speak?”

  “Of course I can speak. You’ve heard me.” Claire frowned at him, feeling the mask moving as she spoke.

  The fairy raised his eyebrows. “You’re holding up well.”

  Approaching footsteps sounded something like a horse walking on cobblestones, except the gait wasn’t quite right. Perhaps it was because the guard had two legs instead of four.

  The fairly quickly placed her hand on his wrist. He wiped all expression from his face, looking almost as blank as if he were wearing a mask himself.

  The guard stepped around the corner.

  Claire barely stifled a cry of alarm at the portions of the creature’s face she should see through the gaps in the helmet, which seemed to be designed to be put on from the front rather than from the top. Perhaps that was required because of the horns. Or perhaps the helmet was a sort of mask, like the one she wore, but for a different purpose?

  Claire managed to stand quietly for a moment, then walked calmly (at least she hoped it looked calmly) directly toward the guard. He stepped aside to let her pass and fell in behind her as she walked toward the door.

  The fairy allowed himself to be led by the wrist as if he were sleepwalking. Claire wondered how much he could observe without glancing around and if he was strong enough to fight the guards if necessary. He was strong and fast, but she had no idea how strong and fast the guards were, not to mention that the guards had weapons and armor and outnumbered them six—no, eight—to two. Eight to one, if she were honest, since she didn’t imagine she would be much help in a fight.

  As she approached the door, one of the guards said, “This passage leads Outside. It is to be opened only to one with authority to leave the palace. You may not pass.”

  Claire said, “I have such authority. Open the door.” Her voice didn’t shake at all, and she felt a tiny shred of confidence, of defiance, threading through her veins.

  She had the impression that the guards were confused, though she could not have said how or why she got that impression through the masks and alien body language.

  “But… the door is to Outside?” The guard’s voice carried a questioning note.

  “I have my instructions,” Claire said firmly. “Open the door. I must take my prisoner to where he should go.”

  The guards looked at each other.

  One pulled at the door handle, and there was an audible clunk as whatever mechanism or magic that had sealed the door yielded to the guard’s authority. The door opened smoothly. The guards stepped aside as Claire led the impassive fairy through their midst, and then the guards closed ranks again.

  As they stepped through the door, the guard closed it behind them, and there was the same clunk as it sealed again.

  Claire paused and looked around. A path led straight from the door and directly away until it passed over a hill and out of sight. To the left—actually, that would be north, and the road ran to the east, as she could tell by the shadow of the castle cast by the setting sun—were carefully tended fields and pastures. To the right, south, was a broad lawn bordered by a dense forest. She whispered to the fairy “Which way should I lead?”

  No response.

  She looked at him; his face was still blank. She shook his wrist and whispered, “Give me a hint, here!”

  He did not react.

  She released his wrist and watched his face carefully. He seemed to slowly wake, as from a deep sleep. When he was aware enough to realize where they were, he snatched her up, tossed her over one shoulder, and ran like a deer for the woods.

  Though he ran smoothly with little jouncing, his shoulder was like a bony knife blade and far from comfortable. But she had to admit that even being dragged by his powerful grip she could not have managed such speed, and she did not complain.


  A few yards into the forest, the fairy abruptly changed direction. He did so again some distance later. After what had to be a mile or two, and several more changes of direction that left Claire completely disoriented, he paused and put her down. The mask was less strongly influencing her than before. Maybe its power depended on her being in the castle. She didn’t understand, but nonetheless she could feel panic rising, just below the surface.

  He looked carefully at her and asked “Are you all right? Do you understand me?”

  “Of course I do!” she snapped.

  “What happened? How did you deal with the guards and get us outside?”

  “You were there. You probably understand what happened better than I do.”

  “I saw nothing after you took hold of my wrist. It was as if… wait. I did see a little. I had… forgotten?” He frowned thoughtfully. “I remember you walked to the door and told them to open it. They did.” He looked at her sharply “How did you do that? Tell me! It may be important.”

  “You said they would assume I was loyal. I acted as if I were doing what I was supposed to, and told them I needed to go through the door. They believed me and opened it. That’s it.”

  “But… The mask is working! That’s proved by what I felt while you held my wrist! I cared for nothing and had no thought of anything! So how did you continue? Does it not work on you?”

  “I knew what I was feeling was not what I wanted to feel, and so I did what I thought I should. And, either it’s getting weaker as we get farther from the castle, or it’s working less and less well as I try to ignore it. Either way, I’m scared half to death right now, and I don’t know what to tell you. Do you know the way back? Can we make it from here without being seen?”

  “Yes. To both, I think, though I can’t promise we won’t be seen. It depends on when they discover I am missing, and whether—or rather, how long it takes before they think to look outside the castle. But, I think nothing more is required of you other than you keep your composure until we reach our side.” He took a deep breath and pressed his lips together, bright, hard eyes searching her face. “I think my king will do what he can for you, and he should be able to remove the mask if you can hold out until then.”

  The rest of the ordeal was a blur. She followed the fairy through what seemed to be several more miles of forest, though the sun didn’t set. She couldn’t tell whether the day was eternally long, or whether her sense of time passing was entirely confused.

  Her mind was occupied with fighting the effects of the mask. For a while, she felt that she was succeeding; her fear seemed to flutter at the back of her mind, distant but still present. But at some point, the mask seemed to change its attack, letting go of her mind and trying to stifle her breathing. It pressed against her nose, closing her nostrils, and the hole through which she breathed and spoke began to shrink.

  She pulled at it as she walked, her fingers unable to get a grip on the smooth edges of the mask.

  “It’s trying to kill me,” she gasped.

  “Hurry, then!” The fairy pulled her forward, and she stumbled over something and pressed on.

  Someone must have found the servant she had left in the hallway. Or perhaps someone had noticed that the fairy had escaped, maybe even received a report from the guards they had passed. In any case, someone must have realized that someone wearing a mask had managed to ignore or defy its compulsion. Now the mask was simply trying to kill her.

  Her attempts to get her fingers under the edge of the mask never seemed to work, but she kept trying.

  She sucked in great gulps of air through the tiny hole in the mask.

  I’m not going to die, you stupid mask! I won’t. I’m not giving up, no matter how much you want me to.

  Whoever controlled the mask must have been concentrating directly on her rather than relying on a general spell, as they had before.

  I’m not giving up.

  Claire stumbled to her knees, blindly reaching for the edges of the mask again. “Have to get it off,” she gasped.

  Warm hands pushed her fingers out of the way and removed the mask without effort.

  She sobbed on her knees, her hands over her face, feeling desperately for her own familiar skin, the feel of her nose, the edge of her jaw. Then she saw his boots, and she looked up.

  He towered over her, cloaked in shadow and terror, the wind caressing his cloud of white-blond hair.

  “You succeeded.” His voice was coldly neutral.

  She swallowed fear and forced herself to stand up. Her worn pajamas made her feel exposed and helpless, entirely unprepared to face this nightmare villain. “I did.” She raised her chin. “So I’m a hero, now, is that it?”

  “Evidently.” Tightly held anger flickered in his eyes, but his voice remained even.

  He glanced at the mask in his hand and back to her, and pressed his lips together.

  He gestured to the fairy. “Rise, Fintan.”

  Claire glanced over to realize that the fairy had been kneeling, silent and still. Now he straightened and bowed toward the dark king with obvious respect. “Your Majesty, your generosity has been proven yet again. I thank you for my life and my freedom,” he said in a low voice.

  “It was not without cost,” murmured the king. He held out a hand, palm upward, and a tiny scene appeared appeared on his palm.

  Claire watched in horror as the miniature image of Feighlí was nearly crushed by the rock thrower, and her figure fled, leaving Feighlí to his fate.

  The king gestured and the scene shifted, this time showing her confrontation with the tiny flying fairy.

  Fintan gasped. “Your Majesty, I request…”

  “It has already been done,” the king said, his voice hard. The scene shifted yet again, showing the confrontation in the darkened hallway. Claire watched herself puzzle briefly over the duplicate masks, then put the second mask on her own face.

  Why was I so stupid?

  The king abruptly clenched his fist, making the magical scene vanish. He stared at her for a long, tense moment, his eyes bright and hard and cold. Then he said, in a voice like shattered glass, “Your wish has been granted. You have been the hero.”

  “I’m an awful hero,” she whispered.

  The king closed his eyes and turned his face away.

  The world shattered.

  Chapter 9

  Claire woke in her bed. The clock on the nightstand said it was midnight, meaning she’d slept for only an hour.

  The strange dream was entirely too vivid and unsettling. She went to the bathroom and guzzled water, feeling it soothe her parched throat. She sat on the toilet and inspected the bottoms of her feet for cuts and thorns, but found nothing.

  She lay in bed for hours, replaying the most awful moments in her mind.

  When she went to sleep again, she imagined that she’d seen silver tears glinting on the king’s cheeks as he turned away.

  Part II

  Interlude

  Chapter 10

  Three Years Later

  A distant rumble caught her ear. Her heart stuttered, knowing, with a prey animal’s instinct, that danger was coming. Hooves thundered, and above them she heard deep-voiced cries of animals she could not identify. Words, though not in any language she could understand, sang out from inhuman throats.

  She turned and ran.

  Lungs burning, she crested the hill and started down the other side just as they cleared the forest. She heard a tiny, whimpering sound as she ran, and realized that she herself made the noise. Stark terror flooded her veins, and she flew down the hill.

  She wasn’t nearly fast enough.

  The first centaur passed her with barely a glance, fully occupied by shooting arrows over his shoulder at impossible speed.

  She gaped at him, taking her eyes from the rocky ground in front of her for a split second. She tripped, flailing through the air before skidding to a stop, hands outstretched and bleeding. Another centaur and a creature she could not identify leapt over he
r, focused on their opponents.

  Claire gasped, trying to catch her breath. Should she run? Stay still and hope she wasn’t stepped on? The noise was deafening.

  She couldn’t think! It was so loud, so fast. Panic scraped at her throat, trying to break free in a scream.

  She had an instant’s impression of the nightmare king’s face, pale and shocked, looking directly at her from a great distance. He was at the very back of the company, running as fast as the centaurs in leaps and bounds no human could match. He glanced over his shoulder and made a motion with one hand; a cry of agony from some unseen enemy went keening into the sky, all smoke and fury and despair.

  Then he was before her, hands on her upper arms. “Get out,” he growled.

  Claire groaned, stretching luxuriously, the soft cotton sheets caressing her bare arms. She blinked at the ceiling, then frowned. She’d been dreaming.

  About what?

  She closed her eyes. Smoke, though very faint. Terror; she remembered the feeling, but not what caused it. Nor did the terror seem to affect her now. Normally, the emotion of a nightmare would bleed into her waking moments, dissipating slowly in the familiar comfort of her room. This dream’s terror had remained inside the dream, leaving her only curious and confused. Centaurs? Her mind found a glimpse, just a split-second image of a body flying over her, as if she were lying on the ground looking upward.

  How strange.

  If she thought very hard, she could almost remember a face, but the more she tried to remember the features, the more the dream dissolved into mist.

  Part III

  Chapter 11

  Six Years Later

  “Claire?” Her mother's voice floated up the stairs. “Could you get Ethan from soccer practice? I'm about to start painting.”