The Book of Dreams (60 page)

“We were being selfish,” Dee agreed. “Chasing the fun as usual and hang the consequences.”

“You couldn’t’ve stopped me, even if you tried,” Dana said quietly. “This is my destiny. But you shouldn’t be here. You’ve got to leave now. Both of you. Before the battle starts.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

Yvonne reacted first, speaking directly to her niece. “You think we’re going to desert you like two big cowards? Not a chance.”

“We’re the fairy’s godmothers,” Dee declared to the assembly. “We stick by her. And don’t try whisking us away. We’ve got wings till midnight. We’ll come back.” She surveyed her silken body suit with a grimace. “I just wish I had my boots.”

In the blink of an eye they were there on her feet: her heavy black boots with the steel plates on the toes. The ones that made her feel safe when she walked home late at night, and had done her proud against Crowley in Vancouver. Scuffed and battered, they were an interesting contrast to the shimmering fabric of her fairy clothes.

“I like it,” she said, turning her heels to admire the look.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Gwen said quickly. “Everything is awry around the fairies. Reality is fluid. Anything can happen.”

The aunts stiffened as they clamped down on all the wishes that suddenly clamored into their heads.

“Johnny Depp begone,” Yvonne muttered.

“You are not warriors,” Alf Branch spoke up. “Nor have you any powers or abilities.”

“Hey, we fought the Headless Horseman,” Dee argued.

“And Crowley before that,” Yvonne pointed out. Then she added in a firm tone, “Look, we don’t have powers or abilities, but we’ve got courage. Not the fearless kind—we’re both afraid, very afraid—but the kind that feels the fear and does it anyway. No matter what you say, we won’t abandon our niece.”

Findabhair smiled with approval at the two aunts. So too did Gwen and Laurel.

“The Companions of Faerie are mortal,” Laurel spoke up suddenly. “And we have no special abilities. If they choose to stay, I say let them.”

“I’d be proud to fight by their side,” Gwen agreed. She turned to the fairy leaders. “Humans have always rescued Fairyland. It’s our mission. Our duty. And it’s our battle too. All our hopes and dreams are linked to Faerie. This very day, across the ocean, four Companions will add their strength to ours. I only wish that they were here. Together, a Company of Seven can wield great power. Still, if we—”

“Excuse me,” Yvonne interrupted, putting up her hand. “Sorry to butt in but, while I realize we don’t know a lot about this stuff, I can sure count. It seems to me there are seven of us already. Seven mortals, I mean. Am I right or am I right?”

A shiver ran through the company as the head count was made.

Dana. Gwen. Laurel. Findabhair. Finvarra. Yvonne. Deirdre.

Seven.

Finvarra’s voice rose with excitement. “She will not cross the plain alone. Six of us will make a queen’s guard and the seventh herself to march at the center: the Light who is the key to the portal.”

Gwen’s voice rang out with new authority. The leader of the first Company of Seven, she spoke the words to bless their fellowship.

“Seven were the days of Genesis. Seven are the pillars of life. Seven will be the fires of the Apocalypse. No better
number can ride the storm. As a Company of Seven we will forge our destiny.”

It was at that moment that Gaelyn Tree-Top entered the tent with a face like thunder.

“It has begun.”

“
B
ehold a tempest raged upon the earth and throughout the heavens. All elements, visible and invisible, and every creature seen and unseen, were provoked into a murderous frenzy. Earth, air, fire, and water clashed together, broke open, erupted. Lightning flashed across the sky. Thunderous explosions wreaked death and destruction. Mountains collapsed, forests burned, seas boiled. The air was choked with noisome gases
.

• • •

In the murk of twilight, the Battle for Magh Croí Mor unfolded. Grotesque hordes, monstrous and terrifying, poured from the dark forest and onto the plain. They carried flaming torches or spat fire themselves. Some moved with slow and mindless purpose. Others darted here and there with swift malevolence. There were many Dana recognized, denizens from the dark side of Faerie, known to the Scottish, Welsh, and Irish. These creatures, too, had migrated across the sea to infest the New World. The Redcaps were a cruel clan of brutal goblins who normally lived in the ruins of old castles. Their name referred to the habit of bathing their caps in the blood of their victims. Small and swarthy, they came with all their kith and kin: Redcombs, Bloody Caps, Dunters, and Powries. Above them flew the wraiths of the Unseelie Court, night shades of evil that inhabited the air. A pestilence, an ill wind that blew no good, they added their screeches to those of the green ghastly Banshees. Shoulder to shoulder by a fangtoothed Black Annis tramped the West Coast behemoth called D’Sonoqua. Both cannibal, both ravenous, they had come to feed on the living and the dead. Swarms of hags and specters, gargoyles and demons marched alongside them. And there were even more nightmarish beings whom Dana had never seen nor heard of. With a sinking heart, she realized what they were.
Les esprits du mal
of whom Grandfather spoke: the dark spirits that plagued the First Peoples of the land. Her enemy had allies in every part of the world.

There were voices and thunderings and lightnings and an earthquake. There followed hail and fire mingled with blood. The third part of the trees was burnt up and the green grass was ashen. A great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea and the third part of the sea turned to vapor. An angel flying across the firmament cried out with terrible voice—Woe! Woe! Woe to all!

Now the dark ones were met on the battlefield by an army of light; all those who had come to fight the cause of hopes and dreams. In the first onslaught of the conflict, in the first charge and engagement, it seemed the two sides were evenly matched. Neither side made headway either forward or back. The initial clash was a draw.

The battle raged on.

Dana surveyed the scene with quiet dread. Where was Crowley? The leader of the enemy was strangely absent from the field. What deception was this? What terrible weapon or secret would be revealed?

The Company of Seven gathered together. Dana stood in the center of the phalanx of her guard. On her right and slightly ahead of her stood Gwen. No longer the plump and pleasant Ms. Woods, she was armed and armored like a warrior-queen. Years had passed since she fought the Great Worm as Captain of the first Company of Seven, but the old courage shone in her face. As it was then, so was it now, she was ready to fight for the Land of Dreams.

For a moment, Dana blinked. Was that the faint outline of a hawk on her teacher’s wrist?

Finvarra took up position on Dana’s left, again just ahead of her. Once High King in Faerie, he was a master of the art of
Bruíon Amhra
, the Wonderful Strife, the game of war that the fairies liked to play. Now he would use his skill in a war that was no game.

In the middle ranks, on either side of Dana, were Yvonne and Deirdre. Breathing deeply to swallow their terror, they exchanged looks with each other.
I’m dying here. Me too. Can we do this? We’re about to find out.
Like the others, they wore chain mail and were armed with shields and weapons. Both still sported their fairy wings, now stiff and rigid, as if standing to attention.

The rear guard was composed of Findabhair and Laurel, who would defend Dana’s back. “
Death is not the enemy,”
Laurel whispered to herself, remembering the great battle she had fought on the island of Hy Brasil. Across from her stood Findabhair, who gripped two swords, one in each hand. She thought of the battle against Crom Cruac in which she had almost died. If she had to face that again, so be it, she was ready.

In a voice that rang with spirit, Gwen called out the Company’s blessing once more.

“Seven were the days of Genesis. Seven are the pillars of life. Seven will be the fires of the Apocalypse. No better number can ride the storm. As a Company of Seven we will forge our destiny.”

At the center of the Seven, at the eye of the storm, Dana grew calm. Rising within her was the strength she had gained in her travels and the courage she had garnered from her quest. She felt the power swell. As the light surged from her hands, she cast it over her guard like a golden cloak.

They moved out as a unit toward the battle; but before they could go far, Trew came running. His face showed his panic.

“Something’s not right at Ground Zero. I’ve lost half my gang. Whenever we get near the portal, it’s always the same. Screams of pain, bad burns. We can’t see who or what’s doing it, but something’s there!”

“An invisible enemy!” Gwen said with dismay.

“Crowley!” said Dana. “It must be.”

Before they could act on the news, a cry went up at the edge of the forest behind them. It came from the ford where the Mad River flowed, wider and deeper on Magh Croí Mor.

“Now what?” said Laurel, impatient to join the battle.

White sails shone in the dimness as a leather boat glided up the river. Lanterns hung from the masts, illuminating the great emblem of the Celtic Cross.

“It’s Brendan!” cried Dana.

Breaking out of formation, she ran to the riverbank.

A plank was lowered from the boat to allow the abbot ashore. His smile was quick as he greeted Dana. He rested his hand gently on her head.

“We have been at sea for many months since I last saw you,” he told her. “We sailed down a river as wide as an ocean, then a number of freshwater seas. For the past seven days we have been lost in a fog. Only now as we made our way up this passage did the mist begin to clear.”

Brendan gazed upon the Plain of the Great Heart. His features darkened as he took in the apocalyptic scene. The silver rim of the Second Sight seeped into his eyes.

“This is the end of my pilgrimage,” he declared solemnly to Dana. “Even as it is the end of yours. Tír Tairngire is near. I see what was written in
The Book of Wonders
. The Land of Promise is behind a rampart of fire; an eldritch fire that cannot be quenched.”

Inspired by the saint’s words, Dana lifted her hands to the night sky and sent her light forward, like a shooting star. It swept in a great arc across the plain, shedding golden rays onto the battlefield. A howl of anguish rose up from the ranks of the dark creatures, even as Dana’s forces were heartened. And as the shafts of light rained down, it exposed the invisible wall that surrounded the portal.

An inferno of hellfire.

“My brother monks and I shall join the battle,” Brendan declared. “The dream I seek is on the other side of that fire.”

“But … you’re clergy!” Dana said, surprised.

The saint’s smile was rueful. “Do you not know of the warrior-monks of Ireland? Often we have to defend our monasteries. We can acquit ourselves in battle. If there are fiends to be fought, then we shall fight them.”

Leaving Brendan to assemble his crew, Dana rejoined her guard.

Just as the battle took a turn for the worst.

Swarms of Bag o’Bones flew from the treetops to descend on the plain. Screeching and chattering, they dived like hawks. As they snatched up their victims in bony claws, they carried them to the fire and flung them in. The stench of burnt flesh choked the air. The cries of torment were wrenching. Against the malevolent magic of the flames, the children of Faerie had no defense. It murdered them slowly without pity or remorse.

The fairy response was swift. All over the plain, brightwinged creatures took to the air to fight off the skeletons. Now the battle raged on high as well as below. The fairy defense was brave and furious, but the Bag o’ Bones were not beaten back. Their initial success had made them daring and, despite their losses, they continued to prey. Many had already gone into the fire. Many more would be added.

Sick with horror, Dana looked around wildly. Trew was missing, so too were many of the Clan Creemore. And where were the Sasquatch? Not a single member of that nation could be seen on the field.

“We’ve got to do something!” she cried. “We’ve got to rescue them!”

Bloated with triumph, the enemy forces surged forward.

The forces of light were facing defeat.

“We must move now,” Gwen said quietly to Finvarra, “before the battle is lost.”

“Heads up!” Fingal shouted.

A ragged cheer followed the cry.

There in the sky, passing the moon like winged shadows, flew a vast squadron of dragons.

Beneficent beings, life-giving and valiant, chief of the three hundred and sixty scaled reptiles, fathers of the emperors of ancient times, their numbers were astounding. Every dragon clan had sent a troop. There were
Tien-Lung
, celestial dragons who protected the heavens and the mansions of the gods;
Shen-Lung
, spiritual dragons who caused the wind to blow and the rain to fall;
Ti-Lung
, earth dragons who directed the course of rivers and streams; and
Fut’s-Lung
, underworld dragons who guarded the hidden treasures of precious metals and gems. They came in every shape and size, from hundreds of feet long to as small as a silkworm. Their sinuous bodies had the head of a horse, the tail of a snake, and the claws of an eagle. Some had horns and antlers, others long whiskers trailing from their snouts. Many flew by the grace of great wings. Many more were airborne by their own power. Their glittering skin was scaled in all colors, golden, purple, aquamarine, ruby red, and emerald green. Their eyes shone with wisdom and humor.