The Book of Dreams

by O. R. Melling

  Dana smiled back shyly. “Thanks for everything. I’m really glad we met.”

  “Moi aussi. We’ll meet again, eh?”

  After the jeep roared off with Roy beeping his last good-byes, Jean pulled the spirit boat out of the bushes.

  “I’m knackered,” Dana said, sighing with exhaustion.

  The last thing she felt like doing was paddling home.

  Jean clearly felt the same way, but he shrugged it off.

  “We have no choice, n’est-ce pas? We rest here, we are late at home. I think nos parents can’t take this?”

  “Oh, God, no,” Dana agreed.

  “Don’t say this word in the canot,” he reminded her.

  She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Should I gag myself?”

  Dana stifled a giggle. She was giddy with fatigue and overexcitement, but at the same time she felt ready for anything. The high adventure she had had was singing in her blood.

  Jean looked concerned for a minute. His intense gaze studied her face. A grin slowly formed on his lips. He seemed to make up his mind about something.

  “We need some fire to fly this boat,” he told her.

  Before she could ask what he meant, he had pulled her against him and was giving her a long kiss.

  There was a second when Dana struggled; but only because he had caught her by surprise. The moment quickly passed and she understood what he meant about the fire. The heat of his mouth and the joy of the kiss burned through her veins. And he kept the kiss going longer than she thought possible without taking a breath. When he let her go, she saw the same fire in his eyes that had scorched her heart.

  They clambered into the canoe and grabbed the oars. The energy between them crackled in the air like sparks of electricity.

  “Allons! Allez!” Jean cried.

  Dana let out an echoing yell.

  “Coureurs de bois abú!”

  Soon they were airborne and flying.

  • • •

  Far above the clouds, the sky blazed with the red-gold splendor of dawn. As Dana felt the bite of the upper atmosphere, she turned her face to the sun.

  Jean began to sing as he paddled, and she joined in. She would never forget the songs of the voyageurs.

  A screech was carried on the wind toward them. The twisted visage of Crowley appeared briefly in the clouds. But he hadn’t a chance, no luck at all. The canoe shone like burnt gold as it sailed through the morning, a flaming arrow. And the two singers in the boat sang with the unquenchable fire of new love.

  Vive la Canadienne!

  Vole, mon coeur, vole!

  Vive la Canadienne!

  Flying faster than they had imagined possible, Jean and Dana reached Toronto by mid-morning. They landed in a secluded spot in the Humber Marshes. Though they had flown over many towns, no one had looked up or taken any notice of them.

  “Is the canoe invisible?” Dana wondered.

  “Je n’sais pas.” Jean shrugged. “I think they don’t believe, they don’t see, eh?”

  Pale and tired, the two dragged the boat into the bushes and made their way to the nearest subway.

  Both were too exhausted to talk as the train rumbled eastbound. Dana got off first, barely managing a goodbye. Jean had farther to travel and was already nodding back asleep. His head bumped against the window as the train pulled away.

  Dana dreaded going home. She was certain that the changeling couldn’t have lasted. How would she explain another disappearance?

  On reaching the house and sneaking in the back door, she discovered there was no need to worry. Gabe and Radhi were apparently enjoying a lazy Sunday morning. Dana’s room had been undisturbed. The bed was still made up as she had left it. Under the duvet, the changeling was a mess of dirt and wet leaves. Dana removed the soiled linen and stuffed it into her closet. She would clean up later. Crawling onto her mattress, she collapsed into sleep.

  • • •

  Several hours later Dana woke with a start, overwhelmed by the sense that she had forgotten something. Memories of her adventure flooded into her mind: the spirit boat, Jean and his friends, the journey with Grandfather, the vision quest that awaited her and … the kiss, oh the kiss! She jumped out of bed. How wonderful life was!

  Washed and dressed, she reached the kitchen door in time to overhear yet another argument about her.

  “She is a teenager,” Aradhana was saying. “They sleep late because of their hormones and the upset of their body clock. It is not laziness.”

  “You always take her side!” Gabriel complained. “Are you going to be like this with our children too?”

  “All children in this family will be treated the same.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

  Gabriel’s exasperation ended in a fit of spluttering punctuated by a hiccup. That made the two of them burst out laughing. Smooching noises followed, which Dana chose to ignore, but still she was pleased. Apparently her absence hadn’t been detected since no one had tried to wake her, thanks to Radhi. Once again Dana acknowledged how lucky she was that her father had married this wonderful woman.

  A pang of guilt struck her. Gabriel and Radhi were only newlyweds. Had she helped them settle into their life together? She knew the answer to that. The past year hadn’t been easy for any of them. For the first time since she got there, Dana reflected that the move to Canada might have been hard for the others as well. For Radhi, it had meant leaving her beloved brother behind and the restaurant they had run together. For Gabe, the changes had been equally drastic. After ten years out of the country, he was back in the vicinity of his strong-willed mother. As well as that, there was the full-time job, so different from his work in Ireland where he had been a gig musician, part-time teacher, and even occasional busker on the streets. There had been less money back then, but also less responsibility and far less pressure. Being newly married was, in fact, a bonus for Gabe, as his wife made life easier for him.

  I sure don’t, Dana reflected.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she and her dad had had fun together. Once upon a time, they were so close they could read each other’s mind, finish each other’s sentences. Truth is, she had blamed him for the fact that she didn’t like Canada the way he and Radhi did.

  Well, things could change.

  Dana burst into the kitchen and gave her father a quick hug.

  “Morning, Da. I’m making pancakes. Would you like some?”

  “Good afternoon,” he responded, though there was no force to the reprimand. He was too surprised by the greeting, as well as the offer. “Hmm, yes, pancakes would be nice … for lunch.”

  “I’ll make them Canadian-style, with bananas and maple syrup.”

  Now he looked worried. She always insisted on “Irish” pancakes, cooked thin and rolled up like crepes with lemon and sugar.

  Aradhana smiled and poured herself some tea.

  “So, how’s work these days, Gabe?” Dana asked brightly.

  “Well it’s … There’s … I mean …”

  It took a few more questions, but she eventually got him talking about his students and the usual power politics in the department. Even as he talked she saw his features relax, saw how pleased he was that she was interested, that she cared. It was like the old days when he told her about his gigs. He even mimicked the voices of some of his colleagues till the three of them were laughing hysterically.

  It was after lunch that Aradhana remembered to tell Dana about the phone call.

  “A boy called Jean rang for you earlier. He asked that you call him when you are awake. His number is by the telephone.”

  “A boy?” Gabriel’s good humor disappeared in an instant. “Who? How? When? Where?”

  The look they both gave him formed a united front, a wall. He threw up his hands, knowing he had lost before he even began.

  And they all laughed again.

  • • •

  When Dana rang Jean, the kiss they had shared hung in the air bet
ween them. After the initial hellos, an awkward silence fell over the line.

  “You are fine today?” Jean managed at last.

  “Yes,” Dana replied.

  Long pause.

  “You?”

  “Oui. Bien. Très bien. I sleep a long time.”

  “Me too.”

  “Pas de problème at home?”

  “No. You?”

  “Non.”

  Another long pause.

  Dana was racking her brain to think of something to say. They had just shared the most amazing adventure together, why couldn’t she talk to him?!

  Jean cleared his throat.

  “So … I see you tomorrow at school?”

  “Yes. Yes. See you then.”

  She was both relieved and disappointed to end the call. As soon as she hung up, she screeched for her stepmother.

  “Radhi! How do you talk to boys?”

  • • •

  The next day at school, it was easier. Face-to-face, Dana felt more comfortable with him. He was so at ease with himself, it helped her to talk and to act naturally as well. Besides his open, friendly manner, Dana liked the way he looked. Now she understood why he dressed as he did. His clothes suited the North—the leather boots and tight jeans, the woolen shirts, the beaded armband. Her own appearance had become more dramatic, with bright tops to liven up her jeans and Indian jewelry Radhi had given her. She had started to wear her hair in different styles, sometimes loose on her shoulders, sometimes braided or piled on her head. But it wasn’t only her new appearance that made her attractive. Having emerged from her cocoon, she was bursting with life. Her happiness brimmed over in smiles and laughter.

  Apparently, Jean wasn’t the only boy who noticed the difference. When the others started looking her way, Jean moved his desk next to hers.

  Dana was delighted with the move, but it took all her willpower not to blush whenever he leaned too close. She kept thinking about the kiss they had shared. To distract herself, she would concentrate on what they needed to talk about: the task at hand, the next step in the quest.

  “I’ve been thinking about what Grandfather said. Where we start doesn’t seem to be so important, as long as we do the four directions. Maybe we should just pick one and go?”

  “D’accord. But if we go far we need time,” he pointed out. “La chasse-galerie is fast, but not like a rocket.”

  “This weekend would be perfect to start. With the Thanksgiving holiday we’d have an extra day. But how will we do it? I can’t just take off. My dad would have a fit. And where will we go?”

  Their heads were close together as they talked in low voices. The first class of the morning had yet to begin. They were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t hear the sniggers. One of the boys put his hand over his heart and was making exaggerated grimaces of true love. And neither noticed their teacher enter the room and walk casually in their direction. She hovered nearby, taking her time to open a window.

  As soon as Dana grew aware of Ms. Woods, she signaled to Jean. They both stopped talking and opened their books. Dana was certain the teacher had been eavesdropping, but how much had she heard?

  • • •

  At the end of the day, Dana returned to her homeroom to pack up her books. That was when she found the note tucked discreetly in the corner of her desk. Handwritten on cream-colored paper with a border of gold spirals, it contained an urgent message.

  Time is running out. The worlds are drifting apart. You must restore the gateways on Halloween or they will be closed forever. You are not alone. The Companions of Faerie are with you. Please let us help you!

  The letter wasn’t signed, but Dana was sure of its author. She sniffed at the paper. There was a faint smell of apples. She wished she could show it to Jean, but he had left for hockey practice. He was already being hailed the best on the team. Dana looked around. A few students lingered in the classroom, preparing to leave. Ms. Woods sat at her desk, her blond head bent over test papers, seemingly busy; but the suspense in her posture was obvious.

  Dana read the note again. Could she believe it? She vaguely remembered hearing about friends of Faerie in North America, including the High Queen’s twin sister. Ms. Woods didn’t look anything like Honor. Could it be a trick? Another attempt by her enemy to get her alone? The mention of a deadline was disturbing. Halloween was only four weeks away. Edane hadn’t said anything about it; but then, Dana realized with a wince, her mother wasn’t the most reliable source.

  Torn with doubt, Dana glanced again at Ms. Woods. If her teacher had knowledge of the mission, wouldn’t it be best to find out? But what if this was a trap? And anyway, did Dana really want her help? The thought of someone else involved didn’t appeal to her. She liked that it was just her and Jean.

  As Dana approached her teacher’s desk, Ms. Woods looked up hopefully; but the smile died as Dana hurried past. First she would talk to Jean. Together they would decide what to do about the note.

  • • •

  Going home on the subway, Dana kept a lookout, as always, for the little man. Would he show up again? Had she imagined he was special? Now that she had met Jean and his friends, now that she was deep in a Canadian fairy tale, she viewed the world around her with different eyes. There was magic here. Knowing that, she looked for it everywhere, in the tunnels of the subway, on the crowded city streets, in the green patches of park. As usual it played hide-and-seek, a veiled presence lingering at the edges of reality.

  She left the subway at Spadina station. From there it was only a short walk home to Brunswick Avenue. The moment Dana stepped outside the station doors, she was struck by a blast of wind and music. She stood stock-still, a wolf catching the scent. Silvery notes winged through the air. It was an Irish tune. No, not quite. There was something different about it. She hurried toward the sound.

  At the major intersection of Bloor and Spadina, the early rush-hour traffic had begun. Cars jammed the road. People crowded the sidewalks. On the other side of the street was a small square. White flagstones were laid around a grassy knoll planted with young trees. Scattered over the flagstones was a sculpture of huge black dominoes. The tiles were laid out as if for giants to play. Wooden benches bordered the square, and there was a space marked out for street performers.

  The musicians were out of sight, behind the wall of people who had gathered to listen. Across the road, Dana strained to see as she waited impatiently for the lights to change. The music echoed over the noise of the traffic, teasing and taunting her: a tumult of merry reels and jigs. With a mild shock, she spotted a familiar figure in the crowd. Despite the blue jeans and leather jacket, she would have recognized her anywhere: Honor, the High Queen of Faerie! How did she get here?

  Dana waved wildly to catch her attention. Would the lights never change?

  She was certain Honor had seen her, but when at last the light turned green and Dana raced across the road, there was no sign of the High Queen. Was she imagining things? Dana’s disappointment was soon forgotten as she caught sight of the musicians.

  Shabbily dressed in torn jeans and old sweaters, the three men were remarkably ugly in a humorous way. All were of stocky build and very short, no more than five feet, with bulbous noses and bulging eyes. The fiddler had a mane of hair like a nest of red curls, with a bushy beard to match. The tin whistler’s ponytail was a piebald black-and-gray. The drummer, who played a handheld bodhran, was as bald as an egg. All of them had tufts of hair growing from their ears and nostrils.

  The music was fast and frenetic. They played as if their lives depended upon it. In a dazzling display of virtuosity, tune chased after tune without stopping for breath. The tin whistle trilled like birds at dawn. The drum rumbled like thunder. The fiddler’s bow skipped over taut strings, a dancer leaping.

  Standing in a half-moon around the musicians, the audience jiggled and jittered like puppets on a string.

  “Ize the bye!” someone shouted, and everyone cheered at the Newfoundland e
xpression.

  “Newfies go home!” cried a lout from an apartment balcony up the street.

  When some of the crowd shook their fists at him, he quickly retreated.

  Oblivious to all, the red-haired fiddler was bent almost double as he strained and sweated over his instrument. He finished the medley of airs with a frenzied flourish. There was an uproar of applause. Coins cascaded into his open case.

  Dana edged to the front of the crowd. The men were less comical close up. There was a wild and disreputable air about them. She could smell the alcohol wafting from their direction. Then the fiddler caught her eye. The look he gave her drew her up short. As if he knew her somehow. And there was something sly about the wink that made her uncomfortable.

  He suddenly broke off what he was playing and began a new tune. First came a shivery quiver across the fiddle strings. Then all three of them let out a high-pitched whoop. Now they burst into song together. Their voices were raucous. The words and the music rushed toward her in a wave.

  Cold wind on the harbor

  And rain on the road

  Wet promise of winter

  Brings recourse to coal

  There’s fire in the blood

  And a fog on Bras d’Or.

  THE GIANT WILL RISE WITH THE MOON.

  With a breath-stopping pull, Dana no longer stood on the street in Toronto.

  She was somewhere else. A damp, green place cupped by a range of hills. Behind her, a wintry sea crashed onto the shore. She could smell seaweed. The taste of salt was on her lips. With a surge of joy, she thought she had been transported back home to Ireland. Then she caught the sharp scent of pine in the air. The hills were sparsely dotted with fir. The landscape was more bleak and rugged than any she knew.

  The wind’s in the North

  There’ll be new moon tonight

  And we have no circle to dance in her sight

  So light a torch, bring the bottle

  And build the fire bright.

  THE GIANT WILL RISE WITH THE MOON.

  It was evening time. The light was dusky, but no stars were out. On her right, in the distance, was a scatter of houses. To her left, a rough road meandered into the hills. Her eyes followed the worn path that wove from the road to the highest peak in the hills. Her heart beat quickly. On top of the hill was an ancient stone circle. Jagged rocks stood out against the sky like a great crown. At their heart burned a bonfire. The stones flickered fitfully, illumined by the flames. Dana blinked. The stones became men; short, stocky men like the street musicians! They were singing and shouting and waving bottles in the air.