The Book of Dreams (61 page)

As they swooped to attack the Bag o’ Bones, the fairy hosts cheered.

“Thank you, Georgia,” Dana whispered. “Thank you, Georgia’s great-granny.”

The rout was swift and sharp. Dragon talons ripped the skeletons apart, scattering their bones on the wind. In a matter of minutes, the skies were won.

Now the Dragon Commander hovered over the firewall to assess the situation. Chien-Tang, from the city of Winnipeg, had blood-red scales and a fiery mane. With sorrowful eyes, he regarded the suffering of those trapped in the flames. Then he made his decision.

Dropping out of the sky, he flew into the fire.

A gasp rose up from the fairy army, though his own troops did not react. Their Commander’s bravery was famed and unsurpassed.

A cloud of steam burst around Chien-Tang, obscuring him from sight. It seemed an eternity before he appeared again. But though his flanks were scorched as he flew from the flames, he held his head high. And in his claws he clasped a small bundle: the unconscious body of Trew.

“Go!” he commanded his troops. “Free the prisoners!”

Following their chief’s orders and his lead, the other dragons went willingly into the fire. Many were badly burned and injured, but their watery natures protected them from death.

Before long, all in the hellfire were carried to safety.

Now Chien-Tang ordered his squadrons to surround the firewall. In a spectacular display of elemental power, they unleashed torrents of rain, black clouds of storm, and thunder and lightning.

To no avail. There was nothing they could do to quench the flames.

Acknowledging that the firewall was impervious to their magics, the dragons returned to the field, attacking from the air.

Back and forth, the battle seethed, with each side winning and losing by turns. There was no break or lull or cease-fire in this war. The enemy forces were unrelenting; their onslaught merciless. They didn’t stop to tend their wounded or their dead, but left them on the battlefield, if they didn’t devour them.

The Company of Seven held a hasty council.

“We need another plan,” Laurel pointed out. “There’s no use getting to the wall and being trapped there.”

“It would be suicide,” Findabhair agreed. “There’s no hope of success as long as the fire burns.”

Dana’s guards were wavering. Gwen looked distraught and Finvarra uncertain. The aunts were biting their lips, not knowing what to say. Dana left them once more. She had to know if Trew survived.

When she found him in one of the healing tents, she almost cried out. He was so badly burned, she hardly recognized him. His small body was livid with blisters that bubbled on his skin. Despite fairy ministrations, he was delirious with pain. The malignant magic that had caused his wounds was not easily dispelled.

“Oh, Trew,
mo chara, mo stór,
” wept Dana, lapsing into Irish in her grief.

He was too raw to touch, so she held her hands above him. Gently she showered him with light. Though the burns seemed unchanged, he brightened visibly and was able to speak.

“Was that the Old Tongue?” he whispered. “Can’t say I know it. I’m a new kid on the block. Born in Trawna.”

Dana smiled through her tears. “I called you ‘my dear one’ and ‘my treasure.’”

“You goin’ sweet on me?” He tried to smile back. “I must be bad, eh? No more riding the Rocket?”

Their eyes met. Each acknowledged he was dying.

Dazed with sorrow, Dana looked around at the slain and injured. She knew there were countless tents like this.

“Too many,” she said, soul-sickened.

Daisy Greenleaf entered along with Alf Branch. They had obviously come looking for her. Both bore severe wounds that had been tended. But it was their faces that told her the truth.

The battle was lost.

“What should we do?” Dana demanded.

Before Daisy or Alf could answer, Trew signaled to her.

Dana bent over as he struggled to say the words.

“You gotta call them in. The Old Ones.”

“I agree,” Daisy said, behind her. “Only the Firstborn can fight that fire.”

Dana frowned. “I thought we agreed. This is not their battle. We are not their people. We don’t have the right to ask them. We can’t expect—”

“They will come,” Alf said.

Daisy took Dana’s hand. “We
are
their people. Everyone and everything that lives in this land belongs to them. It’s up to us to acknowledge that. To open our hearts to the truth.”

Her words echoed in Dana’s mind, reminding her of what others had said.

Your gods are all around you, child of Faerie, you need but open your heart to them.

The land, the plants, the animals, and the people all have spirit. It is important to encounter and acknowledge the life of the land. From such encounters come power. The power of the spirits rises up from the land.

If people stay somewhere long enough—even white people—the spirits will speak to them.

“They’ll come for you,” Alf Branch said quietly. “You have their blessing.”

And Dana suddenly knew. It was like a sunburst in her head.
You are the gift. You are the ransom.
Again and again she had heard the others say that they were willing to offer their lives for the cause. She had never really thought about dying. She was too young to dwell on such things. But now she understood. A ransom had to be paid for Faerie. A gift had to be offered to keep the dream alive.

The other members of the Company arrived.

“We must do what we set out to do,” Dana told them. “We must reach the portal. A gift will be offered. A sacrifice will be made. Once the hellfire is destroyed, I can open the door.”

There were several in the Company who knew immediately what she meant. Findabhair had once offered herself as the sacrifice, though her cousin Gwen fought against that decision. Finvarra was the one who finally paid the ransom with his immortality and the High Kingship of Faerie. Though these three looked stricken, they didn’t argue the point. They knew all too well the universal law.
For every dream to exist, there must be a sacrifice.
And no matter how much they wanted to, they couldn’t take Dana’s place. She was the key. The only one who could open the door.

Along with Laurel, the aunts weren’t certain what Dana meant, but they were already suspecting the worst.

“Wait a minute,” Yvonne began.

“What’s going on?” Dee demanded.

“Don’t,” said Dana.

There was no time for explanations or disagreements. Too many were dying. She had to go.

“You should have told me sooner,” was all she said to Alf and Daisy.

They shook their heads, eyes wet with tears.

“We couldn’t, dear heart,” Daisy said. “We were all agreed on that. We have lived long upon the earth. We would rather have sacrificed ourselves instead.”

Gently Dana said her farewell to Trew and kissed the others good-bye. Then she turned to hug her aunts. They were both in shock, hoping against hope that what was happening in front of them was not actually happening.

“No,” said Dee, in a whisper.

“Yes,” said Dana firmly.

As she left the tent, the others followed.

For the third and last time, the Company of Seven fell into formation. Dana was about to cast her shield of light when Gwen raised her hand.

“Wait! Can you feel it?”

Images flickered across their minds.

A high green hill in the north of Ireland. A gray stone wall rims the peak like a crown. The Grianan of Ailech. The ancient fort overlooks the Donegal mountains and the wide bay of Lough Swiligh that empties into the sea. Four figures stand upon the ramparts. Matt, the businessman, has parked his Mercedes at the base of the hill. Katie, the farmer, rode her motorbike all the way from County Clare. Dara, the young King of Inch, supports Granny Harte, the fairy doctress who will lead the ritual. Stooped with age and weariness, she is still recovering from the Enemy’s attack. But where the gray hair sweeps over her face in the wind, her eyes are keen with an indomitable will.

“Four is the sacred number of Turtle Island,” she says. “We will forge a chain of power to cross the ocean.”

Each takes up a position in one of the four sacred directions, north, south, east, and west. They raise their arms to the midday sun, knowing it is evening on the other side of the Atlantic.

As Granny begins the incantations, power rises from the earth and swirls around them.

Even as the circle was formed in Ireland, another four met in northern Canada.

A full moon shines on a forest of tall spruce and pine. A newly built Medicine Lodge stands in a clearing. Inside the tent, tobacco smoke curls with sweetgrass and sage. Roy beats the drum as the Old Man rattles to the four directions. Two great wolves complete the circle, the silver-gray and the black.

As Grandfather begins to sing and chant, power rises from the earth and swirls around them.

“They’re sending us power!” Gwen cried. “Stand ready to receive it!”

Like a blast of wind, the power surged through the Company of Seven, clearing away all doubts and fears. They were buoyant with a sense of strength and purpose, with the confirmation of their role in life, the knowledge of their place in the cosmos. Suddenly they were taller, stronger, and shining with light.

Imbued with new courage and battle skills, Yvonne and Deirdre felt like Amazons. They threw each other a look of triumph.
We can do this.

At the center of the phalanx, Dana felt the surge of power that bolstered her guard. She was pleased for their sake. It would help them bear what lay ahead. No more power had come to her, for she had enough. She was ready to do what she had come to do. She was ready to forge her destiny.

A cheer rose up from the fairy hosts as the Company of Seven moved onto the field.

The last battle for the Plain of the Great Heart had begun.

L
ike a great golden scarab, the Company of Seven inched across the plain, shielded by the carapace of Dana’s light. But though they were protected from black magic and spells, they still came under attack. The fairy forces thronged to their side to increase the guard, but the outer circle was soon overwhelmed by a ferocious onslaught. The news had spread through enemy lines.
The key has entered the field.
As a groundswell of animosity seethed against the phalanx, the Company was pressed on all sides.

Dana’s guard fought tooth and nail to hold their places around her. There was no time to think or feel. All acted on instinct; the will to survive. The din of battle was deafening. The fog of war was red. Their swords and spears flashed in the dimness.

With all her strength, Dana upheld the shield of light. She could feel the other force that strove to break it: a relentless malice that emanated from the firewall.

Slowly but steadily, the shining Company cut a swath across the plain. Grim-faced and silent, they beat back the waves of murder and mayhem that broke against them. After what seemed an interminable span of time, they reached the rampart.

Immediately their spirits flagged. The flames gave off a deadly cold as well as intense heat. The cruel extremes worked to disturb and disarm. The golden shield wavered.

And then collapsed.

The moment their defenses fell, the guard were struck full force by an overpowering enmity. They couldn’t hold ranks. Falling apart, they staggered under the weight. Every effort was spent just keeping on their feet.

“Go!” Dana ordered them. “We’ll meet again when the Kingdom is restored.”

Her hands were shaking, but she made enough light to surround herself.

The others backed away from the wall. It was impossible to stay close. Neither dark nor light forces could bear to be near it.

“The light will keep you safe, right?” her aunt Yvonne cried.

Dana didn’t answer.

Gwen and Findabhair were crying openly. Laurel and Finvarra looked ashen.

“Isn’t she safe?” demanded Dee.

There was no point in lying when one battled for the truth.

“The light may protect her,” Laurel said. “That’s our hope. But we can’t know for sure.”

“We should go with her!” cried Yvonne. “We’re her guard!”

Finvarra moved quickly to block her path, even as the others stopped Dee.

“She’s only a kid!” screamed Deirdre, struggling against them. “She can’t go alone!”

“We can’t help her! We don’t have the power!” Gwen shouted. Her voice rang hollow with despair.

“Don’t you think we would if we could?” Laurel said in the same tone.

The aunts had no choice but to accept what was happening. The die had been cast, the decision made. Only one could go into the fire. There was no time to protest. No time to grieve. Weeping out loud, they were in the thick of battle, fighting for their lives.

• • •

There was a brief moment when Dana glanced back at her guards. And wished she hadn’t. A series of terrible sights assailed her. Her aunts, standing back to back, were surrounded on all sides by hideous creatures. Laurel, seized by the Black Annis, was being dragged deep into enemy lines. Gwen raced after her, sword slashing and hewing. Finvarra fell to the ground as an arrow pierced his chest. Findabhair cried out his name as she ran to defend him.