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. . . so tired . . . so very tired but no place to rest . . .
“This place isn’t a happy one,” I said after a while, disengaging from the slipstream. It was too depressing.
Chatter glanced back. “No, the Court of Dreams is not a happy place, although some people—like the Bat People—have their own measure of joy. This is the place where old dreams come to die, where jealousy and envy feed, where people lose their way and creatures can take advantage of sadness, insecurity, and hunger.”
I had no clue as to how long we’d been walking—though I noticed that I wasn’t nearly as tired here as I had been wandering through the snow—when Chatter stopped and pointed. A tall mountain jutted out of the fog, stark against the twilight sky. A large cavern was visible against the side of the granite.
“The home of the Bat People. That’s where we’re going.”
As I stared at the inky opening, a sudden flip in my stomach told me that we had barely scratched the surface of the Court of Dreams.
There were shadows entering and exiting the cave: tall, thin, bipedal, with wings folded back as they walked. They moved deliberately, as if they were in a procession, knees bent, their movements jerky and strong. I glanced at their hands; long talons shimmered like silver spikes. Whispers raced through the air . . . clicks—hundreds of clicks—echoing on the slipstream to the point where I could barely stand to listen.
Ulean howled around me. So much energy flowing through the slipstream. Cicely, this is a dangerous place. Watch your step—these beings are not dreamweavers, but they are the eaters of hope and of love and of dreams. They can be wild and wicked.
One particular shade turned toward us and, in a blur, moved to block our path.
Chatter shivered, but he held up one hand and opened his mouth. He darted his head this way and that to match the bobbing head of our roadblock, and a series of clicks issued forth.
So this is why Lainule bade me bring him along. There was far more to the Fae than being Grieve’s sidekick, and I was only now beginning to recognize how talented he was.
After a moment, the blurred figure motioned to us and turned. Chatter moved ahead, gesturing for us to be quiet but stay close. Peyton and I fell in behind him again, and we entered the cave.
I wasn’t sure if I was expecting total darkness or what, but the cave was an explosion of light. Globes of light dotted the ceiling, easily a thousand brilliant suns, creating so much light that I instantly developed a headache. The intensity was close to blinding, and I held up my hand to shade my eyes in the white-hot chamber. I could barely see anything, but a strange sensation filtered through my body—that of being analyzed, screened, and cleansed. I glanced down at my skin and saw a fine ash covering my arms. As I shook it off, my arms glowed, and I realized that the light had burned off the layer of dead skin on the surface.
I glanced at the floor. We were walking on a thin mesh—as sturdy as stone, but essentially we were on a sieve that allowed the skin to drop through and far, far below, a flame burned.
More terrified than curious, I moved closer to Chatter and touched his arm. He glanced back and I pointed toward the floor. He just nodded, a cautionary look in his eye. I kept my mouth shut, but moved back to Peyton’s side and took her hand. She looked as nervous as I was.
We passed over the mesh and then into a second chamber, as dark as the other had been bright. Plunged into the blackness, I stopped short, unable to see, but then hands—from someone terribly tall and strong—gently rested on my shoulders. Sharpened nails curved around, lightly piercing my Windbreaker, and whoever it was gave me a shove forward.
Too frightened to turn around, I moved as directed. A thick fog began to fill the chamber, and as I inhaled, it felt like I was breathing water. The fog poured into my body like syrup over pancakes, and I started to melt, the same way I had when Kaylin had taken me dreamwalking.
I closed my eyes as the lyrics to Gary Numan’s song “Remember I Was Vapour” began to run through my head. I mouthed them as we moved along, gliding, flowing, shifting. I wasn’t even sure we were still in body, but it was so incredibly relaxing that I ceased to care, just pouring along the floor.er 6
The minute I passed through the opening, I was pleasantly surprised. Though the entry was low, the inside of the cavern was not. Chatter had lit the flame in his hand again, and now he blew on it and it flew off, a globe of light, to spread through the air and illuminate the chamber.
The cavern was a good twenty feet high by thirty feet long. Dry and snug against the elements, it was still cold, all right, but the snow did not enter here, and I had my doubts whether rain made it through.
Chatter glanced around.
Peyton tapped him on the shoulder. “What are you looking for?”
He let out a long breath. “The portal. It’s hidden to keep yummanii who might be in the area from stumbling into it. I think a few of their shamans know about it, but the Court of Dreams is no place for the unprepared, regardless of background.”
After a moment, he stood back and closed his eyes, his hands outstretched in front of him. Taking a hesitant step forward, he faced to the left, then opened his eyes.
“There you are!” With a wave of his hand and a whispered chant that I couldn’t quite pick up, an archway appeared against the solid rock. He turned back to us. “There’s the portal. Once we cross through, be cautious not to stray out of my sight. It’s easy to get lost in the Court of Dreams. There are nightmares there, as well as your heart’s desires. And sometimes, they overlap. I know the path to the King of Dreams, so follow my lead. It’s not far from the entrance.”
We fell in line behind him, with me second and Peyton bringing up the rear. And then, without another word, he stepped through, and we followed.
At first, the transition was black, and everything around me felt like it was swirling in a vortex of endless night. But then I gradually began to make out colors in the wash, sparkling lights that twinkled in and out faster than I could pinpoint them. My stomach rolled with the feeling of being on water, in a big boat surging over the cresting waves. My feet met no solid floor, no sense of resistance, and then it felt like we were traveling a hundred miles an hour, the sparkles turning into tracers.
I could barely see Chatter’s back in front of me, and when I tried to ask Peyton if she was still with us, my mouth moved but no sound emerged.
After a time, the kaleidoscope of lights began to subside and then, within a single blink of an eye, my feet hit solid ground and I tripped against Chatter’s back. We were standing in a misty valley, with a rolling fog wafting hip-deep.
I quickly turned, relieved to see Peyton standing behind me.
