Haunted by Dreams

The oversized trees making up the city of Grovehaven were beginning to shine as its citizens lit their sunstones for the evening.  The windows shown out like jewels embedded within the trunks of each mammoth tree.  Just below the fairy-inhabited city, the fairgrounds were packed for the autumn festival.

The west side of the grounds was occupied by Gypsies singing merrily as they prepared for and gathered their audiences.  At sunset, grand productions would be given: plays, songs, acrobatics, dances, and other such gaudy performances.  In contrast, the other side of the fairgrounds was busy with merchants who were closing up shop.  Many had already lowered the awnings of their tents and sullenly ate dinner around shared campfires.  Some even had tied their beasts of burden nearby: rats, squirrels, and other small, trainable animals.  Each creature was as somber and drab as its owner.

Among this cheerless throng sat a lonely Gypsy caravan.  It was unusual to see the vardo so far from its sisters.  Her sun-faded hues, which claimed to have once been brilliant, seemed to dance joyfully over the surface in time with her neighbor the campfire.  Even the pine cone scaled roof was colorfully painted in alternating shades.  The interior was illuminated by a typical, fairy lantern made up of a filigree, wrought iron sphere, encasing an enchanted sunstone.  The small space was lined with cupboards as intricately painted as the exterior.  However, the shades were as brilliant as the day they had been applied.  The areas that were void of cupboards served a utilitarian purpose.  At the far end, a Gypsy fairy named Aislin busily rearranged some fragile items within the bench that also served as a trunk and a bed.  The last thing she wanted was to have anything break as she traveled.  Her full skirt quietly swept the floor as she moved.  In contrast to her brightly colored clothes, her mottled brown moth wings lay against her back like a cape. 

She was anxious as a result of the close proximity to her people.  Recognition had long been her enemy and she wanted to leave as soon as the festivities were in full swing.  Hopefully, they would not notice her exit the fairgrounds.  A swift rapping at her door startled her.  She stiffened and glanced at the door. 

Who would be knocking at this hour? she wondered. Then she barked, "Hang on!"

With annoyance, she strode to the far end of the wagon and thrust open the top half of the door.  What a strange introduction it was, too.  If her customer hadn't been paying attention, he would have been knocked unconscious.  He bent backwards to avoid the unintentional weapon and winced as the corner of the door caught his arm.  In spite of the discomfort, he put a smile on his face as speedily as a politician.  As he righted himself to greet her, his smile was traded by the slack jawed visage of amazement.  Aislin was used to this reaction from men.  Her unruly waves of ebon hair, olive skin, and large, striking eyes seemed to stun men when they first met her.  He stared dumbfounded as she cocked her head to one side and raised her eyebrows expectantly. 

He closed his eyes as if it would help him to think straight and blurted, "My fortune?"

One side of her full lips tugged up with an irony that did not reach her eyes.  "Money or Love?"  She looked him up and down and quickly ascertained that he was used to having money in his pockets and girls swooning under his gaze.  She would not be so easily swayed.  She merely found amusement that this dandy wore so much of the brilliant blue that peacocks flaunted.  He wore silk and velvet augmented by heavy brocade and an ornate medallion.  His sun-bleached, wavy locks appeared styled so flawlessly that neither painter nor magician could have improved upon them. The same could be said of his majestic facial structure.  Her eye was particularly drawn to the intricately crafted pendant hanging from his neck.

The customer continued to stare, so she asked, "What do you want?"  Meanwhile, she thought, I don't have time for this, but perhaps I can get a few coins before I leave. 

His gaze shifted to look past her, and suddenly, his voice seemed to function again.  "Peace.  Understanding.  I have a dream which haunts me!"

"I cannot offer either unless the gods will it.  For the best interpretation, I require twenty gold rose coins."  Aislin hated how rehearsed she sounded, but the ingredients required were costly.

He reached down, yanked his coin purse from his belt and handed it over.  She weighed it in the palm of her hand and felt the shape of the coins through the leather.  It was too light.  She gracefully tossed the pouch back, and he snatched it from the air instinctively.

"You are short two roses."

"What," he asked with disbelief.  He began to count them then stopped.  With a look of sudden understanding and a sigh of frustration, he dropped the coins back in the bag.  The clinking was barely audible.  "Oh, yeah..."

"I could give you a lesser service, but the dry interpretation won't guide you to a very accurate understanding of your dream."

"I can get you the money."

"I don't give loans.  Either you give me all the money now, or you are out of luck."

"What about tomorrow?"

"I will be gone by then."

"Give me half an hour," he pleaded.

"Now or never."  She hoped this wasn’t just a waste of time.

"I have powerful friends.  I'll owe you a favor."

His overconfidence made her laugh.  She huffed, "Favors can easily remain unpaid.  How about you give me fifteen coins along with that medallion?"  Her eyes flicked to the center of his chest in a manner that turned it into a gesture.

"It isn't for sale."

"Then neither are my services," she stated with dismissal. "Be gone." 

He began to turn and leave but had an idea that stopped him.  "How about, I give you all eighteen coins and the medallion as collateral.  Mind you.  I'll return quickly with ten more gold pieces."

Her face and mood lightened with the prospect of the additional cash.  A small delay for that much money would be worth it.  Nodding her assent, she held her hand out palm down and flicked her fingers in a manner that told him to move back.  With a grimace, he moved back long enough for the lower half of the door to permit his entrance.  He had to duck due to his greater-than-average height. 

Aislin had turned her back to him and began collecting the items she needed for his request.  Once she finished, she noticed the young man had already settled himself on the floor in cross-legged fashion.  Between them, she set her polished silver scrying plate and matching pitcher.  She had also brought a small wooden box whose contents clinked as it moved.  All these items were placed in a semi-circle around her, within arm’s reach of the place where she intended to sit. She tucked her legs beneath her, arranged her skirt, and began her work.

"Tell me of this dream, every detail."  She anticipated that she’d have to pry the details from him in spite of her instruction.

"There was one grown woman with long, blonde hair.  She wore a simple, white dress.  The remaining characters were children, including me.  Each child was unique.  Most played independently and stayed near the cottage in the scene.  One---a girl with fire-colored hair---stood on a bridge that spanned a nearby stream.  She just stared at us."

As he spoke, the Gypsy carefully chose different oils and herbs from phials in her box.  Each ingredient was carefully measured and added to the center of the plate.  Next, she poured water from the pitcher onto the ingredients.  The stream faltered when it struck her that she already knew this dream.  She realized it as soon as he mentioned the girl on the bridge with fire for hair.  The young man opposite her was having the same dream that had frequently awakened her.  There was only one boy in the dream with his coloring.  She should have realized who he was when she saw his sapphire blue eyes staring at her. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could feel her pulse in the hand which now gripped the handle of the pitcher far too tightly.  With great effort, she carefully loosened her grip and then, unconsciously, put the pitcher down with a little too much force.  Some of its contents splashed angrily onto the floor.

Not again!  I don't have time for this, she thought.  The less I have to deal with anyone who shares this dream, the better.  I want no more of Fate's cruel hand in my life! She abruptly stood, pointed at the door, and ordered, "Out!" 

His head jerked back a margin, as if she had thrust her pointing finger into his face.  "What?  You didn’t even try to..."

"Out, I said!  The gods will not let me interpret this dream,” she insisted. I could not, even if I wished it. 

Interpretation of one's own fate is impossible.  She did not want to admit this to him or he would insist upon staying an hour longer.  The Gypsy would regret the wasted ingredients and the loss of twenty-eight gold roses, but she would not let herself regret the loss of the amulet.

He remained there, stunned.

With forceful tones, she began to threaten him, "Be out with you, or I will cur..."

He jolted into a standing position.  Swinging around, he fumbled with the door latches as he attempted to exit. 

Aislin’s urge to leave this town had become overwhelming.  Once she noticed that the doors were open, she shoved him out the door, causing him to stumble down the stairs.  His cobalt, butterfly wings flared open and out of his cloak in order to keep his feet beneath him.  He surely would have ended up in a prone position without their aid. 

On any other day, she would have laughed heartily at this sight, but she was too focused on the task at hand.  Shutting the door with excessive force, she turned and looked in her hand.  The medallion that had just been hanging from his neck now lay cradled in her palm.  She pivoted her hand so the light would play on its contours.  The item was a masterfully fashioned piece of virtu and was expensively adorned.  Perhaps she would keep it for a while.  Aislin smiled at the thought as she placed the item in a cleverly concealed pocket in her skirt.

When she was finished, she began to clean up and silently prayed that it would be morning before the arrogant fop realized that his trinket was missing.  Although she tried to let the acquisition improve her mood, her rebellious thoughts continued to veer toward the sources of her apprehension and annoyance. 

The cause of her frustration lay at the feet of the gods.  To begin with, her very existence and her mother’s mortality were each the result of a wager between the gods.  In fact, one of these gods turned out to be the man she had always called Uncle Chance.  He remained the only “person” consistently a part of her life, but he only made an appearance when he was least wanted or when she had given up hope altogether.  About a year ago, his so-called assistance resulted in her being violently disowned by her own people, based on false accusations; she was lucky to have survived the event.  On top of all this, her reoccurring dream alluded to the fact that her life had been planned by the Fates.  The first person she met who shared her dream had zealously tried to persuade her to join forces in looking for the red-head.  The zealot had also shown her a prophecy that the woman believed to be related to the vision.  The second dreamer was the pompous aristocrat who had just stumbled from her vardo.  The more she brooded on this, the more aggravated she became. 

Aislin threw up her hands in frustration and began mumbling her chagrin aloud, “Can’t the gods just leave me be?” 

She thrust the box of phials into a cupboard with so much force it sounded like a wind chime had been struck and suddenly silenced. 

With hands on her hips, she looked skyward and exclaimed, “Why me?  Haven’t I been through enough?” 

She had expected only silence in reply and was surprised by a fist suddenly hammering upon her door.  She let her arms fall limp, closed her eyes, and sighed with exasperation. 

Please don’t let it be him, she begged silently. 

She took a moment to regret never having installed a secret exit in her caravan as she reluctantly went toward her door.

“Give it back!”  The voice was muffled by the door, but it was definitely him.

Of course!  My rotten luck, she exclaimed inwardly.

She consciously dropped emotion from her face as she slowly opened the top of the Dutch door.  He easily avoided the door this time.  His face was no longer the work of masters: hair disheveled, blood pressure reddened his cheeks, and anger twisted his features.  The storminess of his eyes nearly disarmed her.

“Give it back!” he demanded again.

“Give what back?” she asked innocently.

“My pendant, the one you stole!” Contempt colored his voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“I told you that I could not help you.  Nothing has changed.  Leave now, or---“

“Or you will what?  You will curse me,” he inquired accusingly.  “You can’t even give me a simple dream reading!”

She winced.  The smell of ale was on his breath, and he was too close to her face for comfort.  He hadn’t been gone long, but he’d obviously found time to grab a drink. 

Simplicity is needed for the simple minded, she decided privately.  “Leave!”

“I’ll get the constable.  I bet he’ll find loads of stolen goods in here.”  The last sentence was said with such attitude his head moved in a small, sideways jerk for emphasis.

It took all her will not to roll her eyes in response.  All the same, she didn’t want to have her place searched.  Law enforcement had never been very kind to Gypsies.  It wouldn’t make a difference to the constable whether she had been disowned by her people or not.

“I tell you I have no necklace,” she stated with finality.

At that moment, they both noticed a commotion approaching.  Each of them moved into a more advantageous position to investigate its source.  It appeared that an angry group of fae were marching toward their location.  Aislin was unsure of the exact cause, but she was sure they were coming for her.  Perhaps the men she played cards with last night realized that she had cheated them.  Or maybe someone’s wife had decided Aislin was the mistress that her husband had slept with; based on husbands’ stares alone, she’d been accused of this a number of times. 

Just then, she noticed the golden glitter of scales in the firelight.  A saddled faedrake stood next to her caravan.  It wasn’t there an hour ago.

It must be his.  Only rich folk can afford them.  She gestured toward the steed and queried, “Is that yours?”

“Yes.”  He looked perplexed.

Out of desperation, she demanded, “Get me out of here, fast.”

“Why should I?”

She hesitated.  “I’ll give you back the medallion.”

He grinned at himself proudly.  With contempt, Aislin retrieved the necklace from her pocket, and thrust it into his expectant hand.  She exited as quickly as he would allow then took a moment to quickly chant a spell that would send her home to a safe location.  Unfortunately, the incantation would not work with her inside of it or else she would have been able to avoid begging all together.  By the time she was finished, she noticed that he had mounted his steed and was headed toward the oncoming mob.  He was leaving without her!

“I’ll tell you what I know about the dream!” she yelled.  She didn’t know what else she could offer him. 

He wheeled the diminutive, two-legged dragon in a tight turn and offered her his arm.  She grabbed his forearm and mounted.  The faedrake’s stubby, vestigial wings rubbed against her legs, but she couldn’t begrudge the rescue over minor discomfort. 

Aislin looked back and was grateful to see the caravan had successfully transported to safety.  She was also glad to see none within the approaching mob were mounted.  Flying with her own wings was fast, but faedrakes were much faster, providing the ground was firm.

At first, it was a rough ride.  The faedrake rarely went in a straight line.  The forest provided a gauntlet of puddles, roots, twigs, and holes for them to traverse.  At one point, they had disturbed the den of an angry badger, resulting in a jostling phase of the journey.  Eventually, Aislin slipped into a shallow sleep.  She hadn’t realized how much time had passed until dawn made its appearance.  When the Gypsy realized that she was draped over the back of her rescuer, she jolted into full consciousness. 

“My name is Moontide,” he said without elicitation.

“Aislin.”

Moontide turned and gave her a cocky smile.

“Are they still following us,” she questioned.

“I doubt it.”

Her stomach loudly announced its need for breakfast.  His smile deepened and he turned forward again.

He congenially announced, “I hear a stream up ahead.  We’ll get something to drink and look for some food while we’re at it.”

She nodded even though he could not see her response. 

Thankfully, they arrived at a slow moving part of the stream.  They dismounted and each went to the water’s edge.  The water was clear enough to see insect larvae swimming from pebble to pebble.  It wasn’t long before the faedrake began feasting on the larvae with gusto.  He almost seemed to be dancing about as he upturned pebbles and chased them.  The water began to darken as he stirred up the sediment. 

The Gypsy moved upstream to avoid the splash and the gritty water.  Using cupped hands, she took several draughts.  Then Aislin wet her hands a few more times to smooth her hair and rinse her face.  Her fingers felt like icicles so she chafed them for warmth.  With a deep intake of breath, she enjoyed the scent of pine.

So how do I get out of this? she wondered.

After a few minutes of internal debate, she came up with a plan.  She might as well give him what he wanted and take what she wanted in the process.  By the time her decision was made, Moontide had gathered a few berries and nuts for them to share.  He had used a red oak leaf for a community platter.  It looked almost festive with its edges curling up.  Moontide noticed her inspecting the display, smiled, and graciously motioned for her to sit nearby. 

Aislin was puzzled by his kindness, considering that she had stolen his amulet and may have gotten him in trouble with the law enforcement of his city.  She didn’t allow herself to think too long on it and she would use his good mood to her advantage while it lasted.  They both sat down and began to eat.  His eyes kept straying to her as if he were trying to determine the right moment to ask for the knowledge she had promised.  He finally spoke up.

“Tell me what my dream means,” he persuaded in silky tones.

She took time to swallow and then noticed her fingers had been stained by the berries.  She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and removed what color she was able.  His inability to sit still revealed his impatience.

“Each character is someone that you are going to meet.  You may find it difficult to identify them because they do not age in the dream world.”  She paused for a moment to let this sink in.  “The key individual to remember is the red-headed girl.  She stands on a bridge because she is of both this world and the world of the mundane.”

“If that is so and I know that I’m a fairy, then why don’t any of these people have wings?”

“Haven’t you noticed the trees and plants are smaller,” she asked testily as she gestured to the flora around them.  “They must be either human or fairy in large form.”  Aislin cringed as she realized that she may have just revealed her participation in the vision.  She wondered, Is he a complete dunce?  How could he not know that fairies have no wings when they are in their larger form?

“Humans are fiction!” he exclaimed with vehemence.

“It depends on who you ask.”

They sat for a few minutes while he digested the new information.  She took the opportunity to eat one of the nuts.

Finally he queried, “Why is she the key character?”

“There is a prophecy, which most people consider a children’s story.  It tells of a child born of both physical worlds with hair the color of fire; some say the child is born of the ethereal world as well.  With the help of some other powerful magic users, this child will help to resurrect the Mother Creator.  The girl cannot accomplish this task without great help from each of the other children.”

Saying it all out loud made it seem real.  The words seemed to solidify as she spoke them, piling up on the ground beside her.  Each one made a loud noise as it clattered against the words previously produced.  Even though she was the only one who could hear the virtual ruckus, it was painful to her ears. 

His pride swelled as he realized he was going to be a powerful mage. 

While he was thus absorbed, she swallowed her discomfort and stood up.  Aislin began walking toward the faedrake, hoping he wasn’t skittish.  The distance between Moontide and herself helped to calm her emotions.  Thankfully, the steed was still saddled.  She tried to pet him, but the faedrake decided the berry juice on her hands was more interesting.  He began licking clean the hand she proffered.  The next thing she knew, the young fae was beside her.

He asked, “Where do you need me to drop you off?”

If he’s going to make this difficult, I might as well get more out of the bargain, she thought. 

Aislin turned on her “come hither” look.  It worked.  He began moving in for a kiss.  She almost changed her mind about letting him kiss her but kept to her original plan.  With a swift kick to the groin, she snatched the necklace, put it back in her pocket, and mounted the faedrake.  From her perch, she was content to see he would be little trouble, doubled over in pain as he was. 

“You aren’t taking me anywhere,” she smiled.  “I hope it is a very long time before we meet again.” 

With that, she spurred her mount and sped out of Moontide’s sight.  If she had stayed a moment longer, she would have seen understanding bloom when he realized he had met this Gypsy many years ago in his reoccurring dream.



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