by Lincoln Law
“I should be able to organise something. I’ll speak with the Oen’Aerei tonight when I inform them of your visit, see if there’s any way to repress the desire to dream. Failing that, the Guild of Dreamless might have something.”
Again, Adabelle thanked Mrs. Abeth, quietly humbled by this woman’s grace.
“Until then, though, I suggest you try and avoid Dreaming, in either capacity. Now is not the time for you to get caught up in anything. You know the signs, you know how to recognise them. In fact, as an idea, maybe go and see Professor Oakley about it. He might be able to help.”
Adabelle nodded, glancing at the time. “Well in that case, I might head there now and catch him before he leaves his office.”
“Good afternoon, Adabelle,” Mrs. Abeth said. “Stay safe.”
“I will,” she replied, and left.
She walked brusquely down the halls of the University, towards the courtyard where Berne Oakley’s office sat. She caught him just before he left for the day—to which she inwardly let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry, professor, I know you’re just about to leave for the day, but Mrs. Abeth sent me down with a special request.”
“What power does the caretaker have over this place?” replied the professor. He was known for staying for his allotted time, but no further.
Not very much, really, she thought, realising now how silly the statement was. “I know, but I have to ask if you have anything that will repress Dreaming?”
“I do have some Slugleaf tea somewhere in there,” the professor replied, indicating over his shoulder with a careless thumb, “but not enough for you.”
“What?” asked Adabelle.
“Well the tea works entirely on the idea that the more potent it’s brewed, the more you’ll find dreaming difficult. And you, miss, are a very powerful Dreamer indeed. I’m really quite surprised you’re not a Sturding. But that aside, it’s far too expensive for me to just give out, and you’d use most of what’s left in one night. If you go to the Chemist on Vanves Avenue you can get some for yourself, but it’s past five o’clock, so good luck getting it now.” He smiled rudely, and pushed past her
Adabelle had any number of curses run through her head, directed at the rude professor, but she kept them all to herself. Barely.
“You know my cousin died because of a dream,” Adabelle called out to the professor, as he walked swiftly away. He stopped, not turning around, books gripped tightly to his chest. “She was killed by a Dream.” She almost hated the callousness with which she spoke. “If I die tonight, all because you wanted to leave at five o’clock, do you really think you’d want to live with the guilt you felt at that?”
He glanced to the courtyard, where students were now staring. Some were studying, others just socialising, but all of them stared.
“Could you live knowing you were the reason behind something so horrible? Knowing you saw me the day before, and refused me the one thing that could have saved me? You can feel it, can’t you? The guilt pressing down on you, the weight pushing upon your soul…suffocating you. Could you live with yourself after that?”
The professor turned around fully, expression partly angry, partly guilty. Good. She’d gotten to him.
“Fine,” he spat, marching back to his door.
“Thank you,” Adabelle said sweetly.
He dropped his books at the door to unlock his office. He grumbled the whole time while he searched, eventually emerging with a small tub of tealeaves.
“It’s not that expensive, but it will take a lot to affect you. Three spoons with hot water an hour before bed, and that should be enough. There’s probably enough there for two days so you will have to get some from the chemist on Vanves Avenue, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Now,” he finished, slamming his door shut, “I must be off. Good evening.”
He trudged away, leaving Adabelle with the tub.
That night, the entire dormitory was alive with whispers of what had happened earlier that day, and Adabelle was quick to escape it. She went straight to her bedroom after dinner, having already had a cup of Slugleaf tea.
Charlotte wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She wasn’t at dinner and she wasn’t in the room, leaving Adabelle to believe Mrs. Abeth was probably talking to her, or that she was with some of her own friends.
An apparent side-effect of the tea was to make one drowsy, so it wasn’t long before Adabelle curled up in bed, warm from the tea, and fell to sleep.
She stirred only once when she heard Charlotte arrive for the night, but by morning she would forget it. As surely as Professor Oakley had said, the tea seemed to bring nothing with it but darkness. No dreams, no stirring; just blissful, safe silence.
When she woke, she found that Charlotte had already left for the day. She didn’t know whether the girl had any classes, but she was gone. Adabelle skipped breakfast, already feeling sick about having to visit the Oen’Aerei that day, and chose instead to practice violin. The Dreamer’s Lullaby, when she finally came around to play it, carried a dark gravity about it, like its importance went beyond the song. It was so much a part of her life now, and she needed to know it. She needed to hear every note of it, and know it perfectly, so if she ever faced it, she could meet it with lucidity.
Yet with the stresses of the day before her, she found herself frustrated. She neglected notes, screeched with the bow, missed putting her fingers in the correct patterns. She read the music as she normally would, but she couldn’t focus enough to produce a coherent song. It all went wrong. Angry with herself over it, she put the violin away under her bed in its case, and left it there till she could concentrate enough to play anything aside from squealing ditties.
A letter slipped under her door drew her attention. She picked it up. It was from Mrs. Abeth.
Adabelle,
You can visit the Oen’Aerei any time after you receive this letter. They’re expecting you so all you have to do is ring at the gate and they’ll let you in. Good luck, and I hope you find the answers you need.
Best wishes,
Mrs. Abeth.
It was good to see someone looking out for her. She crumpled the letter up in her fist, throwing it to the waste paper basket. She then washed, dressed, and left for the Halls of the Oen’Aerei.
The tram ride there was not a particularly easy. Her own mind kept attempting to betray her to turning back, to leaping off the tram at the next stop. But none of those thoughts, playing with her fear of the Dreamers, influenced her choice. She eventually found a seat once some other passengers had gotten off, which helped with her jitters. Once settled down, she was able to focus more on the matters at hand, and think of Larraine, and whom she was doing this for. She had already decided to visit Aunt Marie after the visit to the halls. She was sure someone had already informed her Aunt of her daughter’s death, but she needed to talk, herself, for her conscience’s sake, and to ease her troubled mind.
The tram arrived at the bridge that spanned the channel to the House of the Oen’Aerei, its bell ringing once to alert passengers of the stop. That single chime echoed for an eternity. Adabelle rose, somewhat hesitantly, and stepped off the tram with shaking legs and sweaty palms.
What are you doing, Adabelle? she thought to herself. She took a deep breath in, settling herself down, before taking her first, difficult step towards the Hall.
Behind the high sandstone walls, and the iron-spiked gate that marked the entry lay the Halls of the Oen’Aerei. All spires and domes, the building itself was relatively squat for something so grand. Only two floors high, with an occasional spire, the walls were made of travertine stone and glistened a cold white in the morning sun. Surrounded by arches and pillars, the façade of the building itself was a grand architectural masterwork, alcoves covering the walls, gargoyles on the corners of the building, and the Patron of Dreams, Melréar, in the central alcove, a statue of stone. As she was always depicted, the patron rode a haloed stag, with seven tines on one antler,
and nine on the other; a symbol for the imbalance in dreams. The stag was traditionally nameless, though some argued that his name was Ellomìn. The patron stared with an omniscient gaze over the Dreamer’s gardens.
Adabelle arrived at the gates, noting a call box in the wall. She pressed the button, which buzzed loudly, and waited.
“Yes’m?” a voice crackled.
“My name is Adabelle Blaise,” she said into the speaker, which was shaped like the opening of a trumpet. “I’m here for an appointment.”
There was a pause. “Indeed you are. We will send someone out momentarily. Please wait there.”
She waited as requested, expecting the huge, heavy-looking front doors to swing slowly open. But they didn’t. Instead, a small side door opened and a tall, thin gentleman emerged. As he neared, more and more of his features came into focus. He wasn’t particularly old—probably somewhere in his forties—but his scalp was balding and what little hair he had was flecked with grey. He wore a strange-looking robe, deep maroon in colour and billowing out behind him as he walked. He wore it over a set of regular looking clothes, but even then, the robe looked slightly odd. He was also bearded, his face framed with dark hair that he’d apparently opted not to trim.
“Miss Blaise?” asked the gentleman, the gates swinging open before him.
“Yes?”
“Follow me.”
She did so, taking her first steps onto the path towards the Halls. As the gates closed behind her, locking into place once more, she felt a sudden sense of being trapped. There was no turning back now; she could only move on forward.
They emerged from a small foyer into a huge atrium, which opened out like a mansion, rather than a school of sorts. The walls were painted in rich reds, the floors tiled and carpeted in places, the entire place festooned with portraits. And at the very back of the room, on the wall that overlooked the entire atrium, sat one of the largest murals Adabelle had ever seen. It was Melréar again, painted in all her dark-haired beauty, standing beside the ivory stag, a hand resting gently on its back, the uneven number of tines back-lit by the halo of gold and green light.
“Our Lady Morphier awaits you at the staircase. Please go up to meet her.”
Adabelle, so distracted by the portrait, had not noticed the lady standing at the very top of the stairs. Surrounded by an air of beauty and propriety, Lady Morphier was a tall woman, with a thin, sleek frame. Wrapped in a brilliant dress of crimson red, her skin was pale, almost to a blinding white, while her lips were rich and pink in colour. Despite her youthful appearance, her hair was silver. Not grey with age, but silver with life, seeming to glow with in an inward, almost violet light. Held up in a beehive, it came out at the sides in puffs of masterfully styled hair. And yet there seemed an edge of danger about the woman. Around her neck lay the skin of a fawn, its taxidermy head resting on her chest, its sightless, glass marble eyes seeming to stare on for an eternity.
“Lady Morphier,” Adabelle said, curtseying as required.
“Miss Blaise,” the lady replied, her voice clipped and well-enunciated. “It is wonderful to have you in our Halls. I do hope the journey over was nothing arduous.”
“Not at all,” Adabelle said.
“Now, do come up the stairs and follow me to somewhere much more suitable for conversation. We have much to discuss.” She turned away and began her way up the adjoining hall. Adabelle sprung into action, hurrying up the stairs. She found the woman some way down the hall, floating apparently given the silence of her steps.
“Come quickly now,” she said, turning for only a moment before she continued down the hallway.
Adabelle soon caught up with the woman. As she followed, she noticed a scent in her wake. It was a heavenly, floral kind of scent. She walked with an angelic gait, lighter than air, her steps unheard even in the silence of this place. She was in awe of this great woman, despite the fact that she terrified her almost as much.
As they walked, Adabelle noticed on the movement fringes of her mind. Movement within the Frequencies; hundreds of minds layered one atop the other, exploring each other’s thoughts and dreams. The Oen’Aerei at training.
The pair eventually arrived at a doorway, which Lady Morphier was quick to unlock and invite Adabelle into.
“Please make yourself comfortable in here,” she said, indicating to two chairs in the centre of the room.
The room appeared to be a library of sorts, with chairs laying all about the place. Some of them were quite straight-backed, and tucked under round wooden tables, probably for games, while others were like lounge chairs, cushy and comfy and soft.
“Just over in the corner there, if you please,” Lady Morphier said, pointing to a pair of seats by the window. “I will be back in one moment. I just have to inform the maid so she may get us some tea. One moment.”
Adabelle was alone now. She did as requested and made herself comfortable in one of the seats on the far side of the room, and stared out the window, at the gardens that surrounded the halls.
There was so much history to this place. So much personal history, especially. Her mother had come here, her father had trained here, her father had been the chancellor at one point. Here, her parents had met and married and had her. Here, everything fell apart. In these halls, Aunt Marie lost her mind. Here had once been a haven for those with the ability to Dream, but now Adabelle felt nothing but fear. Lady Morphier being so kind seemed to help, even just a little.
Lady Morphier returned with empty hands, though a maid followed her with a tray, a teapot and some cups.
“Thank you, that will be all,” Lady Morphier said, dismissing the maid. “Tea?” she offered.
“Yes please,” Adabelle replied, taking up the cup and welcoming the apparently already steeped brew. “Thank you.”
She stirred in some sugar to sweeten, and then set it aside to cool.
“Miss Adabelle Nynette Blaise,” Lady Morphier said, with only the slightest hint of excitement in her voice. “I never thought I’d see the daughter of Count Therron himself in my presence.”
“I did not expect it myself,” Adabelle replied, deciding to dismiss that previous comment. “In all honesty, I’d sworn off this place.”
“Yes, well, I suppose we can never really be certain of our paths until we walk them.” She smiled, and chuckled quietly. There was a sickly turn, all of a sudden, to her sweet nature. Something wasn’t right about the woman. As Adabelle sat before her, she stared at the woman’s youthful face, at her silvery hair, at the way here eyes—dark as they were—seemed to swirl with the mists of time. This woman held up a façade, of that she was sure.
“I have to ask,” Adabelle said, “did you ever meet my father?”
“Why yes I did,” she replied. “Very proud man; a strong man. Honest, too, very honest. All things considered, I was really surprised when I heard your reasons for coming here. I always held him in the highest esteem.”
“He’s a killer,” Adabelle retorted. “He’s the reason my mother’s dead. My cousin, too. He’s the cause behind it all. How can you hold anyone like that in high esteem?”
Lady Morphier’s smile faltered, for only a moment. “Adabelle, you have to understand things from my perspective. Yes, Count Therron was, in all manners of the word, a criminal. He was a murderer, an arsonist. God knows he’s half the reason the Dreamless exist! But he’s never hurt me personally, and he did put much into this place. He’s the reason this academy can run so smoothly. He changed so much while he was here, protected those that needed protection. When you weigh up those great deeds, they really do begin to outweigh the bad, don’t you think?”
“No,” Adabelle replied. She managed—she did not know how—to maintain calm and politeness. “He killed my mother, he almost made it that my sister wasn’t born. I do not think for a second that he’s a great man, at all. Not ever. Not once.” She took a deep breath in, holding in tears of passion.
“Well I do apologise, and I will pull away from that
topic if it troubles you so.” She laughed quietly. “My lord this conversation did heat up awfully quickly.”
Adabelle nodded in a silent attempt of apology, before pulling up her teacup and sipping. She paused as the tea touched her lips, recognising the scent.
“Is this Slugleaf tea?” she asked.
“Oh that? Only a little bit, mixed in with some other leaves. All of our tea has just enough in it to repress any chance of exploration out of tutoring hours. We do not like the students running about in each other’s heads, of course. We have a few Sturdings here and there, and who knows what sort of damage they could cause if left to run free.” She laughed again. This woman seemed awfully jovial, like a person who’d had too much wine.
Adabelle shrugged, deciding she was safer to drink the tea than to not. As she sipped it, she noticed that it was indeed a mix of tealeaves.
“Now with that unpleasantness out of the way,” Lady Morphier went on, “I was wondering if I could talk to you about your Dreaming.”
“What would you like to know?” she asked.
“Are they strong?” Morphier asked. “When you’re in the dream, are you incredibly lucid and aware.”
“Usually,” she replied. “I tend to find I have more control over the dreams, even when others are there.” Her mind flashed back to her nightmare, and the scent of her father, and the music box. It made her shiver. “But if I want to, I can usually move about them pretty easily. The Dream Frequencies are like second nature to me now.”
She turned back from the window to Lady Morphier, who’s smile frightened her. The fawn around her neck’s sightless eyes seemed to look directly at her now. Adabelle put that up to her own fear. As it lay there, though, Adabelle couldn’t help but marvel at how real it looked, as though it would eventually rise to life upon her shoulders, as though its eyes were more than marbles.
“The Dream Frequencies are an odd place indeed, with the way they work,” Lady Morphier said, after a long pause. “They’re odd in the way they accept some people’s minds and not others, how they can draw in blood and flesh for some, yet reject so many. And the ability seems so very hereditary indeed. I’m assuming you know what a Nhyx is, after what happened with your cousin.”