Chapter 17 #2
“No.” Bresag barely shook her head. “The Dreaming is a constantly fluid and ever-changing plane of existence. All beings from every reality separated by the Highland Veil may travel there because nothing is permanent. It is a place of constant chaos, because it is the place controlled by the soul’s mind. ”
“And I’d be strong there? Able to fight her?”
“Ye would be as strong as yer mind allows ye to be,” Noirgarth said. “The Dreaming can be a treacherous place. Whatever ye believe…it becomes so. If ye dinna believe in something…it ceases to exist.”
“Only on that plane or everywhere?”
“It depends on the strength of yer magic—and yer mind.”
Calia rolled back over into the nest and dragged herself to a more comfortable position. “How do I get her to meet me there? She’s going to know what I want to do.”
“Aye, she’ll know yer wishes. Just as ye know hers.” Bresag refilled the water cup and held it out. “But ye have no hopes of besting her on this plane of existence. Not with the poison still draining ye of yer strength.”
“Can Litress fight with me in the Dreaming? Can the two of us get Mathison and Dubh back?”
“The Dreaming and I know each other very well,” Litress said before Bresag could answer. “It is a good plan. Trust Bresag. We must rescue our mates.”
With a fevered breath that burned whenever she exhaled, Calia drank as much of the water as she could. “Again, how do I get Carman to show up there?”
“Summon her and believe she will appear there to meet ye,” Noirgarth said.
“Such is the way of the Dreaming. It obeys whatever thought is strongest within it—but be aware, ye will not be the only soul issuing commands to that plane. To survive, ye must control yer thoughts and beliefs better than any of the others, or their plans could verra well overtake ye.”
“So, how do I get to this Dreaming place?” She knew it couldn’t be as simple as just going to sleep.
If that were the case, everyone would wander through that plane of existence whether they wished to or not.
She tried to sip a bit more water, nearly gagged, and came close to losing everything she’d drunk so far.
“I need to set that aside for now. But keep the water coming.” When neither Noirgarth nor Bresag answered, she mustered enough strength to keep herself in a sitting position. “Well? How do I get there?”
Noirgarth frowned, making the small rows of horns above each of his eyes ripple closer together over the broad bridge of his snout. “Ye must speak the words and make it so.”
“And offer blood called forth by the athame,” Bresag added. “The Dreaming chant is a blood spell. It requires significant energies.”
Calia allowed herself a sigh of insecurity and swallowed hard. By significant energies, Bresag meant the spell required control of magical powers that Calia had never really believed in and only recently dabbled with. “Can the two of you help me with the rite?”
Both dragons stood taller, their scaly chests swelling as they resettled their leathery wings and squared their shoulders. “I shall fetch the athame,” Bresag said.
“I shall help with the chant,” Noirgarth added, “and we shall both watch over yer body while ye are there.”
“So only my mind goes there?” Calia pondered that possibility. If the Dreaming was thoughts only, she should be invincible—right?
Noirgarth’s scowl tightened. “Yer spirit goes there. Yer mind and yer soul—a wound to yer soul in the Dreaming can be just as fatal as a physical blow here.”
Even though that wasn’t what she wished to hear, there was no backing out. She had to get Mathison, and since she was the only one everyone believed could best Carman, this was her responsibility. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
In a room set off a safe distance from the nursery, Calia lay on a hard, stone table covered with a vibrant crimson satin.
She’d be more comfortable back in the nest, but none of them wished to risk the safety of the eggs in case her working with the energies backfired and turned into a chaotic explosion like someone dropping a lit match in a box of fireworks.
“How do I return once I’m done?” she asked Noirgarth as both dragons entered the room and closed the door behind them.
“Ye must decide to return and make it so.”
“You say that as if it’s so simple.”
With a heavy sigh, he avoided looking her in the eye. “To those properly trained in the auld ways, it is.”
“I can do this,” she told him while wishing she believed it herself. “I have to do this. Mathison needs me.”
Bresag nodded as she helped Calia sit up for another sip of water. “Ye’re as fiery hot as a new hatchling. Will ye be able to think clearly? Humans canna tolerate such heat.”
Running a hand across her searing yet dry forehead, Calia lay back down on the table. “I will think clearly. I have no choice.” Eyes on the prize, she chanted to herself, keeping Mathison firmly fixed in her mind.
Bresag held out a foreclaw while lifting the blade of the gleaming white athame higher. “Yer right hand, mistress.”
Calia braced herself, knowing what was coming. After a swift, merciful slash across her palm, blood filled her hand, then slowly dripped down the sides.
“Close yer eyes, concentrate, and speak the words I taught ye,” Noirgarth said.
I am going to do this and do it right. Calia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then spoke the spell, concentrating on feeling each and every word.
“By blood and breath, by moonlit seam,
I cut the veil and claim the dream.
Where good takes form and evil bleeds,
I stand as will, I strike as deed.
Grant me passage, swift and true,
By fire of hope and iron soul.
Where thought is blade and will breaks through,
Let the Dreaming open. I claim my role.”
A darkness as complete and suffocating as she’d experienced in the Pit of Pinnacles swallowed her. Refusing to panic, she rose to her feet, pleased to discover she had no issues with stamina or balance. She was as strong and stable as she had ever been. “Let’s do this.”
Her voice echoed for what seemed like forever, then gradually faded in the distance. Slowly turning in a circle, she reached out into the darkness as if searching for a light switch. “Litress? Is this the Dreaming?”
“Not quite. This is the Dreaming’s borderlands.”
Something solid pressed against Calia’s leg the same way Otto always did whenever he leaned against her for attention.
She reached down and discovered fur. At first, she thought she’d conjured Otto to join her, but this fur was entirely too shaggy and silkier than her pup’s coarse hair.
“Litress? Are you able to walk beside me here?”
“Yes. In the Dreaming, we can coexist, side by side—but we must remain close to one another. Always bear that in mind.”
“If you know that, then Carman will know that and try to separate us. Should we be like we usually are? I don’t want to give her any advantages.”
“This is better. I promise.” Litress rumbled with a low growl. “Mathison’s dragon kin destroyed Bansys before I could seek my revenge. Therefore, I shall visit it upon Carman.”
“Okay. So, how do I get the rest of the way into the Dreaming? Directionally, I’m at a disadvantage since I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.”
“Your mind controls everything. You must remember that. Think it and make it so.”
“But I don’t know what it looks like to think us there.”
“It looks, however you envision it. It is your mind, Calia. You must suspend what you know of the physical and rely on what you know in your thoughts.”
The wolfstone burned at the base of her throat, making her shift and roll her shoulders to relieve the insistent sting.
Her fever must be heating the thing up. She closed her fingers around it and started walking as though she owned the place—because she did.
Nothing was going to keep her from Mathison.
The longer she walked, the lighter the darkness became until a foggy gray mist swirled around her knees.
It was as if she were walking through a storm cloud.
As she moved, she envisioned her favorite handgun strapped across her chest and holstered under her arm. Its bullets were silver. Magical bullets that killed witches. If she believed it, it was so—and by damned; she believed it.
“The wolfstone is all you need.” Litress, strong and regal, with her coat of silvery white and her icy blue eyes, stood beside her, poised to attack. “It is time. Summon the hag.”
“Come to me, Carman, and bring my husband with you. I command it.” Calia poured every ounce of rage and sense of injustice into the words while seeing her beloved Mathison freed and walking toward her.
A low, chilling laugh echoed across the misty gray void. “Ye command it? Ha! ’Tis like a wee kitten challenging a lioness over a joint of meat.”
“Then what are you so afraid of?” Calia smiled. She could smell it—the witch’s fear. For the first time, she understood what Mathison had meant about actually smelling the enemy’s emotions.
Then Mathison appeared. On his knees, beaten and worn, leaning forward and staring at the ground with his outspread arms lashed to the thick wooden beam across his back. Then Calia realized they weren’t just lashed. Blood streamed from his wrists. The witch had driven spikes through his arms.
Forcing herself to reject that possibility, Calia jutted her chin higher. “Mathison is strong and whole and mine. Return him to me. Now.” She envisioned him as healthy and powerful.
In a crouch and prepared to spring, Litress gave another low, clicking growl of barely restrained outrage. “That is not your Mathison. That is not my Dubh. It’s merely an illusion to unnerve us.”