Dreamwander

by Kildare

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “After Cillian—or someone pretending to be Cillian—defeated the Austri, he led me down into ancient passages running beneath the city. A small section of wall had collapsed, revealing structures far older than the rest of the city. The Imperial Hill in Siderea lies atop an immense pyramid and within lies a bronze-like cube.”

  Niamh paused, confusion wrinkling her face again. She didn’t seem to buy Cillian’s theory that he had an imposter. “You—or your imitator—took me to the rock and told me that the key must be located in order to operate the device, which is a portal to other worlds. Without the key, the portal is inoperable, but if they key could be found, it’d be a powerful device.”

  “Did my imposter tell you where the key could be found?”

  “No.”

  Cillian held back from swearing. Every time he thought he might finally be making progress, it turned into another question without an answer. “Who would know?” he asked at last.

  “The Tuath Dé,” Moriath said. “If they built the machine, they must know where the key is. It’d be too valuable to lose. Perhaps it was stolen.”

  “But if they don’t possess it, who would?” Rebel Sly asked. “The Dread Queen?”

  “Let’s hope our situation isn’t that dire,” Kjartan said. “We’ll never get it back from her.”

  “Does your world have such a portal?” Fintan asked.

  “No. At least, not that I know of. It’d have to be hidden or buried somewhere.”

  “Perhaps that’s why you’ve been brought here,” Moriath said. “The portal might be your means of capturing Loki.”

  “Then I must speak with the Tuath Dé.”

  “They kill any mortals who dare enter their realm.”

  “Except for Cillian and his companions, it would seem,” Fintan reminded her. “They consider him special. Perhaps they know he isn’t from our world.”

  “I agree,” Cillian said. “They already had the opportunity to kill me and declined. If Niamh is right, they know who I am and may be able to help. Otherwise, what is my course of action? Wait for Loki to come to me?”

  “It’ll take us three weeks to ride to the boundary of the Iridescent Realm,” Rebel Sly said.

  Cillian shook his head. “No. I’m going to Ildathach alone.”

  “You don’t even know the way.”

  “You’ll need assistance,” Niamh agreed.

  “It’s far too dangerous,” Cillian said. “You’ve all said the Tuath Dé don’t permit mortals into their lands. I may be the exception. I won’t risk bringing any of you for my sake.”

  “We must at least accompany you as far as their borders,” Niamh said. “Rebel Sly is right. You don’t even know the way.”

  “I don’t need to know the way. I suspect now that we’ve made a decision, my time among you is running out. I could vanish at any moment. If I’m correct, when I come back to this world, I’ll already be in Ildathach. That’s why none of you can go with me.”

  Moriath grasped Cillian’s hands. “Then may God guide your journey. You will need it.”

  IX

  -------

  25

  Beams of slanted sunlight cast patchy halos on the thick accumulation of red-and-yellow pine needles carpeting the ground. Unusual, brightly colored birds fluttered about in the Ponderosa pines above, warbling a multitude of competing melodies. Their singing was contagious. Cillian felt a swell of euphoria as he walked through the forest. He didn’t know his location nor the destination of his heading, and he didn’t care.

  The pines opened onto a meadow sprinkled with blue-and-purple flowers. Here he could see the lay of the land for a great distance. He was encircled all around by jagged peaks heavy with shimmering snow—one side close, the other distant and barely peaking over the horizon. Ahead, the pine-covered slopes slumped down to a broad, grassy plain. From the wild look of the land, he could walk for days and never spot a sign of civilization. What should have been a sobering realization bothered him not at all.

  How could he be troubled on such a day, surrounded by breathtakingly beautiful scenery, the sun warm in a cloudless sky, birds singing merrily in the trees, and the clean, pure scent of pine in the air? He stopped and circled slow loops several times. When he had taken his fill of sight, sound, and smell, he continued on down the hillside, attended by the bubbly tune of a small brook. The pines soon swallowed him back up and the sight of everything but dark bark and green needles vanished.

  The pines thinned on the lower slopes. Land as flat as a table spread to the horizon, the farthest mountains no longer visible, several days of hiking away. Such a prospect rattled no concern. He felt so cheerful he was almost giddy. What a strange mood that had overtaken him. The scenery alone couldn’t account for it. Something else? Something about this place?

  As he watched an eagle swing gyres in the blue, memories of his purpose trickled back, slowly filling in the gaps until he remembered he’d spoken with the druids and now he needed to find the Tuath Dé. He wondered if he was close. Could this mountain valley be their home? Or had he been sent somewhere else?

  The sun had risen from out of the east and was sliding into the west when he came upon a young man with golden hair lying upon a large dolmen. He wore a green tunic and breaches. Whether he was sleeping, or staring into the blue, Cillian couldn’t tell.

  “Hello, young man,” Cillian called out in Irish, unsure of which language to use.

  The man sat up. “Young man?” he responded in Irish with a laugh. “Listen to the nut call the tree old.”

  Cillian thought this response quite odd. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty, and maybe younger. Quite a bit shorter than Cillian, too. He definitely wasn’t one of the Tuath Dé. They were much taller.

  “Could you tell me where I am?” Cillian asked.

  “You’re in the Land of the Ancients.”

  Cillian looked around. He didn’t know what the man meant by ancient. A smirk begged Cillian to ask for an explanation, but he declined to indulge the strange man. He didn’t feel like playing games.

  “What is it you seek?” the young man asked.

  “I’m looking for the land of the Tuath Dé.”

  “You are close, yet very far.”

  Close but very far? Cillian wondered. What kind of answer was that? “I don’t understand.”

  The man shrugged and said no more, his eyes regarding Cillian with rapt attention that made him a little uncomfortable.

  “Thank you,” Cillian said, though he felt confident that man hadn’t provided him with anything useful. “Have a good day.”

  The young man lay back down. “Until we meet again.”

  Cillian saw no other people for an hour. Only birds, rabbits, and deer. He came at last to a giant oak, its sprawling canopy casting a huge tract of ground in shadow. Five men could link hands and not be able to form an unbroken chain around the tree’s base.

  Sitting on the lowest limb was a young man similar in features to the first and wearing the same clothing.

  “Hello, young man,” Cillian said as he approached.

  “Young man? Is it in jest that the river calls the ocean young?”

  Cillian stopped near the base of the tree. At this distance he could see no difference between the first and second man. Could they be twins? Or had the first man run ahead of him and climbed into this tree?

  “What is the name of this land?”

  “This is the Land of the First People.”

  “Do you live near here?”

  “I live wherever I wish.”

  Cillian squinted up at the man and frowned. These cryptic answers were the reason he had given up asking the first man more questions, and yet he needed answers. “Do others live near here?”

  “There are many who live near here, though you aren’t likely to see them.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They don’t wish to be seen.”

  “Do you know where to fi
nd the Tuath Dé?”

  “You don’t find the Tuath Dé,” the man replied. “They find you.”

  Cillian was getting tired of this man’s riddles, too. He wasn’t learning anything, so he thanked him for his help and continued on his way. What a strange people who lived in these parts. He hoped if he saw any other people they wouldn’t be as odd as the first two.

  Despite the assertion of the second man, he saw no sign anywhere that people actually lived in the area; it looked more like it had been uninhabited for ages. Of course, that didn’t explain the two men. Something about this place wasn’t quite right, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to understand what.

  Ever since he’d descended onto the plain, he had eyed a lone hill far out in the flat plain. As he neared, he saw that raised stones crowned the summit, similar in look to Stonehenge. Curious, he climbed the hill for a better look. He rested at the top, winded by the ascent, his lungs not acclimated to the thin mountain air. A small cottontail, red with white ears, chewed on a blade of grass beside the nearest gray-blue stone. It noticed Cillian, too, ceased chewing, wrinkled its nose, and bounded off into the ring.

  His stamina having returned, he followed after. The cottontail had seemingly vanished, so he turned his attention to the ring of rocks and was surprised to discover they appeared to be an exact replica of Stonehenge, as far as he could remember, with two exceptions—the rocks were two or three times larger and still stood as intended. None leaned or had fallen down.

  He walked around the site for some time before he realized he was being watched. A young man peered down at him from atop one of the slabs forming the top of the outer ring. He was high enough that Cillian couldn’t clearly see the features of his face, but he, too, wore the same clothes and had the same blond hair as the first two. Did everyone in this vale look and dress alike? What kind of weirdoes were these people? Had he wandered into the commune of some cult?

  “How did you get up there, young man?”

  “Young asks the caterpillar of the butterfly. I came up the back way, Outlander.”

  Cillian walked around to the other side of the ring, expecting to find a ladder or some other means of ascent but saw nothing to explain how the man had climbed up. The rocks were too smooth to gain any hold by hand or foot. He walked back inside the ring to inquire further, but the man had disappeared.

  “What are you looking for?” cried out a voice behind. “Or perhaps it’s a ‘who’ you seek?”

  Cillian spun around. A man leaned against one of the stones on the far side of the henge. He appeared to be the same man who had just been above, and from the two sightings earlier. Could all four in fact be the same person, or was he being toyed with by twins? And how had he gotten down and crossed to the other side of the ring so quickly? Something strange was going on.

  “What land is this?”

  “It’s the Land of the Wise. Now, is asking me the same question three times sufficient, or do you need a better answer?”

  “How do you keep getting in front of me?”

  “In the usual way—one step in front of the other.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you got in front of me. I walked, yet you beat me here. How is that possible?”

  “You do trudge along like a sloth.”

  “No need to be rude.”

  “Me, rude?” The man bust into laugher. “I’m not the one who invited himself into a land where he isn’t welcome.”

  “I don’t even know what land this is.”

  “Well, then, let me show you.” He strode across the gap between them, growing as he neared until he stood a foot taller than Cillian. He no longer looked so young, either, though he retained an ageless look.

  Cillian had never seen such dazzling blue eyes. They reminded him of a Siberian Husky. “You’re one of the Tuath Dé.”

  “Ah, so you recognize me now. Well, then, perhaps you can tell me why you’ve entered our lands in defiance of our laws. We have a simple punishment for such intruders—death.”

  “I came to speak to your leaders. Or any who will listen.”

  “What makes you think we have any interest in what you have to say, Cillian Rysgaard?”

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “We know many things about you.”

  If the Tuath Dé were once angels, did they still retain the same powers. “Can you read my mind?”

  “No, but I can sense much that you think is hidden. I know you bear an old spirit in a young body, that you are not from this world, and that you carry one of the portal keys. I’d like to know how you came to possess that key.”

  “What key is that?”

  “The one that hangs around your neck.”

  Cillian hooked his thumb under the chain and pulled out the black Celtic cross pendant. The light didn’t glint upon the black metal, almost as if it absorbed all light. He had never noticed that before. Did the strange light of this world affect the pendant, too?

  “Who gave you that pendant?”

  “A Frenchman gave it to me long ago. He said it would bring me good luck. ”

  “And where did he get it?”

  “He said it was given to him by my uncle. Where he would’ve gotten it, I don’t know. He died before I was born.”

  The Tuath Dé man eyed Cillian suspiciously. For the first time, Cillian felt a presence of menace in the man’s look and demeanor. “Do you think you’re in a dream right now?”

  “I think that I am, but I was told that I’m not. I don’t feel like I am. That is to say, this feels real enough. So, I guess I’m trying to say this all feels real, but it seems like it should be a dream.”

  The Tuath Dé circled Cillian, studying him from head to toe. Cillian followed his movements with his eyes, but otherwise stood still.

  “This is not the first time you’ve been to this world, is it?”

  “No. How did you know that?”

  “Do you think we don’t know what occurs in our own world?” He stopped in front of Cillian, who could read nothing in his expression. “You present me with a dilemma. You shouldn’t be in this world, yet here you are in our lands, in defiance of our laws. For this, death should be your punishment. Yet, more is going on here than even I understand. For that reason I think the others should see you so we might try to understand what your presence in our world means. Will you follow me?”

  “Follow you where?”

  “To Ildathach—the realm of the Tuath Dé.”

  “Isn’t this your realm?”

  He chuckled, seemingly amused with Cillian’s question. “This is only the entryway to our kingdom.”

  Cillian considered his options. He detected hostility in the man’s words and actions, yet what other choice did he have? He had come here to seek answers, after all.

  “I’ll go with you if you’ll tell me your name.”

  “My name is Aodhreal. Now you must give me your sword. I can’t allow you to bear Anbhás into our realm.”

  Cillian placed his hand on the pommel of the sword and considered this demand. Did he want to enter unarmed a realm where he had been repeatedly warned he might be killed? But again, what choice did he have?

  “If we wanted you dead, nothing is stopping us,” Aodhreal said. “Powerful as your sword is, you aren’t quick enough to get within striking distance of me. And I could have a hundred warriors at my side in a minute. Our eyes are all around. You didn’t really think you stumbled upon me while I slept, did you? I was sent to bring you in. The manner by which you’re brought in is up to you.”

  The last statement wasn’t even a thinly veiled threat. Cillian was going to be brought into their land with or without his consent. Seeing no other options, he unhooked the scabbard’s belt and offered it to Aodhreal. He took the scabbard, slung it over his shoulder, spun around, and without another word, walked briskly away.

  The outer ring of stones surrounded the horseshoe-shaped inner ring. Aodhreal walked through the open gap in the U. Cillian followed behi
nd. Halfway through the inner ring, the stones ahead suddenly disappeared, and the shape of the horseshoe flipped to point the other direction. The bend was now the opening, and the opening now the bend.

  Aodhreal smirked at Cillian’s confusion. “Welcome to An Domhan Ceilte.”

  The Hidden Realm.

  IX

  -------

  26

  Cillian noticed first that the colors had changed, every shade more vibrant than any he had ever seen before. If the colors on the other side of this world had seemed strange to his Earth eyes, the colors he was seeing on this side were almost hallucinogenic. As if he had never truly seen colors before at all, and only now was seeing light as it actually should be seen. More than just the stunning intensity of the hues, was that the color of everything had changed—the grass, the stones, the sky, his skin, and clothes.

  Cillian turned to Aodhreal, who laughed at his reaction.

  Cillian couldn’t think of anything to say in defense of his shock, his mind too busy struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing. Until this moment, his mind had accepted the reality of this world without question. Now he questioned everything. Once again he was blindsided. The reality that he had assumed to be concrete had only been an illusion—all smoke and mirrors.

  He glanced at his hands. Studied the strong, youthful form. A stranger’s hands. The sight reminded him that this current avatar was also an illusion. If he couldn’t trust the reality of his own body, how could he trust the reality of anything around him?

  “Come,” Aodhreal said. “You will see much here that you don’t understand.”

  The Tuath Dé turned and walked through the outer ring of stones toward the edge of the hilltop. Spread out in all directions lay an entire city that only moments before hadn’t existed. The buildings radiated vivid colors, as if they were constructed of pure light. A tower soared rom the city’s midst, rivaling the surrounding mountains in height. Its base shone blue as glacial ice, shifting to a brilliant white at the tapered pinnacle. Where the sun glinted upon its upper reaches, light dazzled bright as the sun. The whole structure appeared to have been carved from a single block of ice—if ice could radiate its own light.