Chapter 11 #2
In a sudden panic that she wouldn’t be able to force herself to go if she lingered even another moment, she spun around, finding the rectangle of the portal behind her, its very perfection a clear sign that it wasn’t part of the Dream.
She didn’t want to go back through, though.
The portal resisted, as if filled with glue or molasses.
Her body felt as if it might come apart, the spaces between her cells expanding and wanting to explode.
It was as difficult to go back through as it had been easy to step in.
She felt as if she would dissolve entirely if she stepped through.
That knowledge came to her with bone-deep intuition.
The Dream seemed to agree, warning her of extreme danger.
But that couldn’t be real. She belonged in the waking world, not the Dream.
Didn’t she?
Yes. She did not belong in the Dream. She was a human being, not a dream creature.
This strange experience came simply from this being her first physical excursion into the Dream.
Perhaps another of those lessons she needed to learn for herself.
She mustered all the sorcery within her to push through the portal, feeling as if she reached for the same skills she used to stabilize any living creature that came out of the Dream.
She popped back through, finishing the stabilizing of her physical form, and becoming aware as she did of the tears of heartbreak streaming down her face.
Master Zoltan stood in the same place, hands still folded neatly behind his back, spectacles winking with afternoon light.
He frowned at her fiercely and she quailed.
She’d expected castigation for having lingered so long in the Dream.
She wondered—was tempted to ask—how much time had passed in the waking world.
But she didn’t want to betray how she’d waffled, nearly failed to return.
The texts had all said going into the Dream was the hard part, not returning.
She didn’t understand how she’d so very nearly failed. She opened her mouth to apologize …
But in that moment, something shot out of the still-open portal to the Dream, causing Zoltan to exclaim in alarm, his sorcery bristling in the air to contain whatever nightmare his student had carelessly admitted into the waking world. “I told you to ward the portal,” he shouted at her.
“I thought I did,” she yelled back. She knew she had.
It wasn’t like her to be so sloppy. She spun also, trying to get a good look at the colorful blur flying in a whirlwind about the small studio.
It arrowed straight for her and—though she knew she should have her sorcery ready—to her chagrin she ducked.
It shot past her head and wheeled on wingtip.
A searing burst of oneiromancy blazed past her on the same path, catching the flying creature even as Rose cried out in alarm. She didn’t want it hurt. She didn’t know why.
Zoltan cursed, his sorcery ineffective. “It’s your evocation,” he snarled. “You must send it back.”
Rose still hadn’t gotten a good look at whatever it was, this time making herself stand still as it hurtled toward her.
She held up an arm, elbow bent, and it landed there with a whoosh of feathers, trailing the dust of the Dream, and painfully drawing blood from the bare skin of her forearm with its tiny talons.
She stared at it, bemused, not having expected to see a more or less normal-looking kestrel.
It could have come from the mews at Northbrooke, any of several of the petite kestrels kept there for hawking and other falconry parties.
Except that it was the most beautiful bird she’d ever seen.
The russet of its feathers showed vivid rust in contrast with the blue breast, the exact smoky violet-blue of a winter sunset.
Its eyes were ringed with a glittering gold almost metallic in sheen.
This was no ordinary kestrel, nor was it a creature generated by dreams. It was far too luminous for the former and too real for the latter.
Even the most skilled oneiromancer couldn’t smooth a living being to this extent and, even then, the creatures rarely survived for long.
It would be such a shame if this bird didn’t live.
Though it looked as if it could. It looked to be perfect.
Zoltan had drawn close, also apparently fascinated, no longer urging her to send the creature back. “Adsila,” he breathed. “It cannot be.”
“Who?” she asked, vaguely, still entranced by the gorgeous, magical bird. “I didn’t mean to let it through,” she added. What a huge blunder on her part. She couldn’t quite understand how she’d slipped up. “But I didn’t shape it.”
He tore his gaze from the tiny raptor, shaking his head.
“I know you didn’t, on either count. Adsila is the avatar of She Who Eats Bears, a particularly vengeful goddess.
As a numinous being herself, Adsila is able to travel the Dream of her own will and cannot be restrained by any ward created by anything less than another deity. ”
Stunned, Rose regarded the radiantly colorful kestrel, who watched her in return, gaze sharp and all-seeing. A goddess’s avatar … Well, that explained a great deal, and also generated a thousand more questions. “What is she doing here?” Rose breathed in wonder.
“Whatever she likes,” Zoltan answered drily. “One does not interfere with the will of a deity.”
“No, I didn’t imagine I would. It’s just that, I don’t … I wonder what I…” Rose was both babbling and unable to put a coherent thought together.
“I suggest you close your portal, as Adsila apparently has no interest in going back into the Dream.”
Hastily, Rose did as he asked, diverting her attention to methodically close the portal, the withdrawing of her sorcery a marked relief.
“At least we know you built the portal well and with reliable stability,” Zoltan remarked, his frown returning. “But something very odd happened. I will think on it. You are dismissed. We shall discuss exactly what you did—and did not do—tomorrow.”
“And I can try again tomorrow?” she asked, feeling tentative.
He looked from Adsila to her. “I haven’t decided. I need time to think.”
“But, Master Zoltan, I—”
“You have a new companion to care for. Go do it.”
“But … what should I do with her?”
“She came to you, so I imagine she will decide what she does.” Indeed, with that saliently unhelpful remark, he departed.
Leaving Rose alone with a bleeding arm, the avatar of a vengeful deity, and the deeply troubling sensation that she’d done something terribly wrong.