She wore full trousers of flowing grey silk. Her shirt, roomy, full-sleeved, and gathered at the neckline by a drawstring, was a flattering cranberry color. This was loosely tucked into her trousers, beneath a wide brown sash circling her waist and knotted at her hip. By far, the most eye-catching piece of her ensemble was what rested against her skin above the scooped neckline of her shirt. How it’d escaped my attention until that moment I’ll never know, but before I could open my mouth to ask about it, she was speaking.
“The Vale of the Dreamers… yes, I shall take you there. I can lead you, no? It is important you go if Braisley has sent you.”
The offer was a welcome one. “Oh, thank you so much. I’ve found my way alright so far, but the Underworld is definitely a confusing place, and I could use—”
“Enough.” She cut me off with an upraised hand. “I have said I will lead you there, no? But do not mistake me. I know you for who you are. Your eyes, they betray you. One eye of Earth, one of Aerisia. You are she who was to come. She who we have looked for in the Underworld as well as the Upper.”
Knowledge and Secrets
She knows. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach. She knows everything. What if she tells someone she shouldn’t?
“Your name I will not speak,” Heldwyn continued on, putting my fears to rest. “No, nor the name of she who came before you. Here in the Underworld, you shall remain nameless.”
I gulped, breathing a low “Thank you.”
“No need for gratitude,” she remarked briskly. “What I do, I do for myself as well as those like me. To defeat you, to destroy you, would mean the same for us—destruction.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, even though a million questions were swirling inside my brain.
Sensing my vacillation, giving the impression she’d read my mind, Heldwyn observed, “You have formerly inquired of me concerning myself and my fellows: who we are and how we came to inhabit the Underworld, yes? You would like me to answer these things?”
I nodded, giving mute assent.
“Very well. I shall try to impart some of the information Braisley lacked.”
Once more she folded her hands neatly in her lap, fixing her stare on a point somewhere above my head as she started to speak.
“The Underworld,” she began in the tone of a tenured professor lecturing her students, “is a place of both good and evil. Of life and of death. Few from above may enter and return. Few would try. Few have need to do so. Do you ken what I say?”
Again, I nodded in silent agreement.
“In the Underworld,” she went on, “there are those who are spirit, not matter. There are also spiritual forces in this place both for good and for evil but mostly evil, I think. Few indeed are those who remain in the Underworld uncorrupted. To live bereft of sunlight creates darkness in body and soul, giving the Dark Powers much greater sway. I speak of those like the Dreamers, neither spirit nor flesh, neither good nor evil, but probably greatly disposed to the latter. You do well to be wary of them. They had as soon harm you as help you.
“Then, child, there are those such as myself. Once we dwelt as humans upon the face of the Upperworld, living to please ourselves but doing no great harm to those around us. We did not live for Light or for Shadow. Perhaps we did not believe in them. Perhaps we did not care. Upon death, we passed into the Underworld.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning forward intently. “Why the Underworld?”
“In this place, young one, we are consigned to spend the remainder of the ages, being finally forced to choose whether we will serve the powers of Good or of Darkness. No longer may we be neutral, but our path must be selected. Sadly, few choose the light as did I. Even when they do, it is an ongoing battle to remain steadfast.”
I heard the sorrow and loneliness in her voice and wanted to offer her comfort. However, the square set of her shoulders forbid pity, so I sat immobile and listened quietly to the completion of her narrative.
“We are assigned various tasks in this place, keeps where we may reside and which we must defend. If we are fortunate, we prosper here.”
“This is your keep then,” I put in. “This grotto. And the Gatekeeper, that must be his appointed job—to guard the Gate of Despair.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You are quite right, my child. You’ve a lively wit. I see a great deal of her in you.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Her? Her who? Who do you see a lot of in me?”
A guarded look seeped across Heldwyn’s grandmotherly features, sealing off any willingness to answer further questions along this line. I wasn’t about to let it drop, though. Shifting closer, I searched her face.
“Who, Heldwyn? Who are you talking about?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “I have said too much already.”
“No, you haven’t. You’ve got to tell me—who could you see in me, when I’ve never been here before? Who did you know that you could compare me to? Obviously this is really important, or you wouldn’t be so reluctant to tell me. What is it?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes lifted to meet mine. I was shocked to see them filled with tears.
“You must know? You think you must? Very well then: it is her, no? She who came before you, she for whom you are called. She who defeated darkness for a time, onl—only in the end to—to…”
Burying her face in her hands, she started to cry. I watched in dismay as her shoulders heaved in silent sobs, feeling helpless in the face of so much pain abruptly unleashed. Unsure what to do, I reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. At that, her head snapped up, a new fire burning in her eyes even though the tears remained. Pain and anger, neither of which had I an explanation for, ravaged her face. I withdrew my hand hastily as she spoke, her speech clipped and her words coming hard and fast.
“Yes, you are like her. You come to this unspeakable place just as she did so long ago: innocent, naive, full of the desire to do good and seek wisdom. The urgency to conquer the Dark Powers and free your land burns as hotly in you as it did her, no? So pure, so unaware of your fate if you stray from the path.”
“Yes, she came to the Underworld,” Heldwyn admitted bitterly. “She had magic as well and with it found the entrance from above. Her only thought was to ameliorate, to free those such as myself who wait and forever must wait. To liberate us, as she had freed her own folk above.”
“What happened?” I prompted when she hesitated.
Stormy blue eyes clashed with mine. “She fled to me for help, with her enemies in savage pursuit. She was strong, yes, but not strong enough to defeat the things in this
place—the forces of the Dark Powers collected here.”
“Listen to me, young one.” She placed her hands on either side of my face, pulling it close to hers in a show of unexpected strength. “Listen and listen well, child. You think yourself strong, no? You think yourself mighty. You think yourself able to combat anything in this place. But it is not so. There are forces in the Underworld with the strength to rend your pretty body to shreds. To take you, your innocent self, and twist it into something as bent and depraved as themselves.
“Should it happen, I could not save you. I could not truly save her. There are none here who could. In the Underworld, you walk in peril at every step. You have taken your life into your hands simply by coming here. Heed my words, little one. Be vigilant. Watch, be ever on your guard until you have left this place. Every second until you see the sun, you must take the greatest of care. Do you hear my words?”
“I hear them.”
She held me a moment longer, her blue eyes probing, making certain I’d understood her warnings. At last, with a heavy sigh, she released me, pushing herself wearily to her feet.
“Come,” she said. “Time passes and danger thickens. Beware sleep, yes? You will feel the need of it strongly as you approach the Vale of the Dreamers.”
“I’ve already felt it,” I commented, rising myself.
“That you have, yes? Beware it. T
o sleep here, to cease your guard, is dangerous—dangerous as well as foolish. Be cautious.”
“I will.”
I fell into step beside her, and we stepped onto a rocky ledge that led us behind the crashing waterfall. Below the walkway I’d already traveled lay the entrance to a warm, wet tunnel of stone, which we entered.
“Heldwyn?”
“Hmmm?”
She strode along purposefully, not breaking stride at my question, keeping her gaze fixed ahead.
“What happened to her? You said she came to you.”
At this she missed a step, stumbled. Regaining her balance, she turned on me. “That is not for me to say, young one. In the end, you will know.” Reaching out, she wistfully touched first my necklace then her own. Her own… a necklace matching mine in every respect. “You will know,” she repeated.
Whirling, she pressed on down the tunnel in that same determined stride. I hurried to catch up, to regain my place beside her.
“No more questions,” she said at length, “for I will answer no more. Yes, I will take you to the Vale of the Dreamers. Find there the answers you seek. But forget not what I have told you.”
And she said nothing else.
Iilane
The Vale of the Dreamers was not a peaceful little valley. It wasn’t a flowery, emerald field with a sapphire lake beneath elegant weeping willows. It was nothing like either its name or the practically lifelike carvings on the walls of the green tunnel had implied. Heldwyn left me at its entrance without a word, and I stepped alone into the Vale of the Dreamers.
Dewy grass wetted my bare feet, and thick swirls of mist drifted by my face. Looking up, I couldn’t discern the sky or any sort of roof. Nothing could be seen except endless grey, above and around, overlaid with mist and fog. The air was sluggish, moist, and warm. Water dripped from trees whose sad, wilted leaves drooped toward the ground. Vines sprawled over the ruins of a nearby stone wall, the broken pieces of which lay scattered haphazardly in the tall, wet grass. Like a dingy veil, mist overshadowed everything… mist and fog. I began to wonder if the name of this place shouldn’t be the “Veil” of the Dreamers, rather than the “Vale.”
An aura of trapped time and extended sleep scented the air. The whole atmosphere was seductive, promising that eternal peace waited if I would only surrender to rest. Nevertheless, remembering Heldwyn’s warnings about that very thing, I fought off a jaw-popping yawn and the heavy, stupid feeling filling my head. Drowsy, I went to take a seat on one of the broken wall’s stones, and there settled in to wait… and wait and wait and wait.
Hoping to stave off sleep, I played in the cold, damp grass with my bare toes, forcing myself to notice their discomfort. However, it didn’t take long before I was beginning to get creeped out as I sat there in the shifting fog, waiting for someone—anyone—to show up. Thanks to Braisley, though, I knew enough to know that waiting was all I could do at this point.
Dreams, she’d said, come to you, not you to them: likewise, the Dreamers will come to you on their terms in their Vale.
So I waited.
When someone finally appeared there was no noise, no breath of wind, no bang, no puff of smoke to herald her arrival. As it had a dozen times already, the mist parted and there she stood. I rose to my feet. For several long seconds we eyed each other in tight silence, measuring each other up. In the end, it was the Dreamer who spoke first. I was surprised by her strange, outdated speech—outdated even in Aerisia, where my modern dialect was far from the norm.
“Boondy’ asei lictuse,” she began solemnly. “Welcome, Seeker. Thou hast journeyed far to reach the Vale of the Dreamers. Such diligence in pursuing a goal is praiseworthy indeed. Therefore I ask thee, what wish hast thou? What request wouldst thou make of us, the Dreamers?”
Her voice was smooth and dulcet. In it, I sensed a lulling power, capable of putting her listener to sleep by the mere power of her voice. Inwardly, I braced myself in case she decided to try out this power on me, even as I thanked her for her gracious welcome. She merely inclined her head, motioning for me to proceed and answer her question.
“I’ve dreamed something that I know is important to me,” I explained, “but its meaning has been hidden from me.”
“There are those in thy world skilled in the art of interpreting dreams,” she interrupted. Her smoky eyes, grey as the environment around us, raked me coolly up and down. “Why seekest thou here?”
“The meaning was hidden from them, as well.”
Silent, she made no reply, and I offered no further details. My request was there. It was up to her what she did with it.
As she hesitated—making up her mind, I supposed, I took the opportunity to study the beautiful Dreamer. Thick, curved lashes, darkened by kohl, set off her smoky grey eyes, while wisps of auburn hair, unlike any color in Aerisia above, escaped from beneath her shimmering white veil. Also escaping from beneath her veil, a blood-red ruby dangled from a silver chain against her brow, its color shocking against her nearly translucent skin. She wore full, dark palazzo-type pants and a short, midriff-revealing bodice. Over this was a soft, white overdress matching her veil. The overdress, while giving the illusion of greater modesty, also softened the dark grey pants and top beneath so that the colors seemed to blend and almost perfectly match the Vale’s swirling fog and mist.
After studying me for a while from beneath those kohl-darkened lashes, the Dreamer finally raised her chin and spoke.
“I am Iilane, daughter of the Mists of Sleep which you see around you, a Catcher of Dreams, and wife to C’alj, who is head of that order. Follow me, and I shall escort thee to a place where answers to thy inquiries may be revealed.” A cat’s smile curved the corners of her scarlet lips. “Or may not,” she amended slyly. “Come.”
She pivoted on her heel, swinging about to start off in an easterly direction. I hurried to catch up but didn’t bother falling into step beside her. Her manner didn’t invite it. She wanted me to follow, not accompany, her. Clearly, she was an indomitable sort of woman, used to authority and having her own way. Not exactly the warm, friendly sort, but at least she’d offered to help.
I soon discovered that watching her walk ahead of me was more than a little disconcerting. Her veil and overdress blended so well with the Mists of Sleep that trying to distinguish them was making me dizzy. I looked away, but the scenery wasn’t much of an improvement. The farther we went, the thicker the mist and fog grew. Nervous, I moved closer to Iilane, dogging her heels for fear of that silvery grey curtain sidling between us and separating me from my guide.
By this point, I couldn’t see anything except her, and even her shape was barely perceptible. Despite my sticking so close, she blended so well with the fluid greys all around that more than once she completely disappeared. At least twice I thought I’d lost her. Unconcerned by my panic, Iilane strode on, utterly complacent in this discombobulating world and apparently ignorant of the fact that I was having a hard time following her.
We were steadily descending a steep hill. The dirt path beneath our feet was eroded and slick from the mist. Its drop-offs were deep, and I was definitely having to think about each step in order to maintain my balance and avoid a fall. At last, when standing once more on level ground, I breathed a sigh of relief as the fog surrounding us started to thin. The sky above lowered ominously, the clouds fat, swollen, and mean looking. A few sprinkles of rain whisked against my cheek sending shivers down my spine.
Iilane led me on into the valley sprawling before us (it was actually a valley now—a real vale), past cold, burbling streams overhung with gloomy weeping willows and knee-high grasses polka-dotted with sad, droopy flowers. This was a bit closer to how I’d assumed the Vale of the Dreamers would look, except I’d pictured more sunshine and less grey. A symmetrically curved stone arch, rising between two rows of wilting hedges, loomed before us. My guide stopped in front of it, turning to face me.
“Few,” she began, “have passed this place, for ‘tis gateway
to the ancient world of the Dreamers—those who have dealings with dreams, those who interpret dreams, those who dreamwalk, and those who dream. Though thou art permitted entrance, it is my duty to warn thee that what is herein revealed may not be to thy liking. The answers to many questions often inspires only the desire they had never been asked.
“Thus forewarned, I would have thy word, Seeker, that all seen and heard by thee in this place will be shared with no one. Not one word of it shall be allowed to pass thy lips. Are we agreed?”
I hesitated, trying to think of a way to hedge this request. Wasn’t it slightly unfair? I was the one who’d done everything to get here; the least they could do was simply answer my questions without all this rigmarole. Besides, I knew Braisley would interrogate me thoroughly once I got back, wanting to know everything about everything. Especially since she’d sent me here in the first place.
“Is there another way?” I finally asked. “The person who sent me here needs to know what’s revealed to me.”
Iilane’s grey eyes narrowed; I surmised nobody had ever requested another way.
“The vow of silence is, Seeker, for thine own protection,” she stated firmly. “Many dislike what their dreams tell them and so turn against us, the Dreamers. To rail against us is forbidden. If the vow of silence—to speak to no one—is taken, it includes us, as well.”
“Because those who can’t speak of it can’t rail either,” I summarized.
“Precisely.”
“I won’t rail at you,” I promised solemnly, looking her in the eye. “I won’t be angry at the Dreamers. But I can’t take the vow of silence, either. I can’t give my word not to speak of what I see once I leave the Underworld.”
She regarded me thoughtfully—weighing, I assumed, both myself and my trustworthiness.
“Very well,” she relented with a sigh. “Render me thy vow that thou wilt refrain from speaking of what passes to thee while thou art in the Underworld, and I shall not enforce the previous vow.”
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