I was in Valerie's bed, dreaming. I again saw Arthur in the bower of the Faery Queen. Dawn spread amber and rose feathered wings across the sky. Waking, Arthur sighed luxuriously, gazing at the beauty around him. He smiled at the morning music of birdsong and woodland. It had always been the glory of nature that made farming a joy. He’d never expected to top that modest way of being part of Nature’s wonder.
He turned to the side now left empty of the companion who had held him, body and soul, through the day and night. She had slipped away softly while he slept. She had made him party to something of even greater magnitude than the cycles of nature he loved. It had been an initiation. Whether he would be ready for what followed, he did not know. But he pushed aside doubt and worry, granting them no place in the glow of the moment.
Thoughts about the future did not stay away, though, as he watched the day walk toward him across the sky. When he rose, he had decided a few things. This was a change his family would not understand. In this period when he was still trying to understand it himself, he didn't want to be dealing with their denial, too. He wished to sort out his future course before he returned home. His younger brother would take care of the animals in his absence. The Sovereign's suggestion that he stay at Ezmereld seemed to offer a solution, but he was unsure what his reception would be there. He had never truly become a part of that arcane world, and could only speculate on its workings. If the Ezmereldi were people who devoted themselves to working out lofty destinies, and pursued ritual with great seriousness, would they resent an uncommitted outsider usurping an accolade that should have been bestowed on one of their own?
Waking beside a still-sleeping Valerie, I wondered if Kefer-Ptah could tell me if this were a true dream or a product of my own psychological conflicts. A true dream was a shared interaction with others, not just the metaphorical or symbolic offerings of my mind alone. Those who mastered dreamwork learned to distinguish the difference. But the only way that I knew how to identify a true dream was to get confirmation of the events from other people in the dream. In this case, I did not feel that I should go speak with Arthur for confirmation.
So, instead I sifted the dream for my projections. Did I fear that I had usurped a place at Ezmereld that I didn’t deserve? Truthfully, I had to say yes. And had I also been initiated into something larger than I knew by sexual union at Beltane? Or was that only true for partnering with the Faery Queen? Or had the initiation for me been in following a road made by the False Knight?
Valerie woke and smiled at me, but her smile faded. “You look so serious. What's wrong?”
"Oh, nothing serious," I hastily assured her. “I was just wondering if I really belong here, I mean, at Ezmereld."
"Lots of people have trouble adjusting," she told me. "Ezmereld does work pretty differently from the mainstream world. If you didn't notice the difference, then I'd worry that you didn't belong. Belonging isn't measured here by familiarity, or comfort, or ease. Sometimes I think the profs go out of their way to make students give up those feelings. Your belonging will be measured by what you do with the potential offered here and the potential within yourself. Since it depends on what you do, you have total control. So don't worry." And she kissed me, and we went down to breakfast.
I wanted to talk to Kefer-Ptah about learning advanced dreamwork. I had gleaned the few facts I knew from our conversations, but he was not actually training me in the mastery of dreams. That was deemed a more advanced priestly curriculum than was suitable for me yet. But this morning, Kefer-Ptah was detained with another student, and my morning class with him was delayed. So I decided to spend the unexpected free time browsing though books about dreams in the AzureGreen store. As I did, I happened to look up through the store windows facing out on the entry hall, and saw Arthur come to the outer door.
When he stepped deferentially through Ezmereld's oversized front door, the environs of dining hall and hallways were empty. He looked at the small sign that pointed toward the Registrar's office. But before heading that way, Arthur looked across the circular entry hall to the open door of the store, and hesitated. The store seemed to be a tempting thought, as it was more accessible to the general public. But I watched him make up his mind to visit the Registrar. It looked like he steeled himself for an interview about which he was beginning to have misgivings.
As Arthur walked out of sight down the hall, I excitedly wondered if this confirmed my dream that he was planning to come live at Ezmereld. I stayed at the window, hoping to see what would happen next. I was wracking my brains for a better vantage point when I was surprised to see Arthur already returning down the hall. The offices must be empty. They often were; everyone at Ezmereld seemed to have other tasks besides the standard office functions.
Arthur came into the store and walked past me to speak with the young store clerk, a skinny man in a black 'Skinny Puppy' T-shirt. With quiet dignity Arthur asked, "Where might I find someone in charge?"
The clerk--Steve, according to his name badge-- seemed confused by the question. He twirled the long hair left between the shaved sides of his head while he thought about it. “The owner of the store isn't here; if you want Adair, you could try calling him at the mail-order warehouse."
"No," said Arthur, "I was trying to find the Registrar of the school, or his secretary, perhaps. No one was in the office."
"Oh, well, I think almost everyone has classes in the morning. I don’t know exactly --the store is really separate from the school. You could leave a message for them through the message web outside. Or if you need someone right away, did you try ringing the bell? Someone is always on call to answer that."
"Thank you, I'll try the bell."
It took Arthur a little while to find the plain doorbell button buried in the heavy carvings that framed the doorway. The denizens of Ezmereld did not promote their accessibility to drop-in visitors. A soft chime sounded in the doorway, and a deeper gong sounded from deep in the interior of the building. He waited for someone to respond.
It was the diminutive powerhouse of Seti who appeared and crossed the entry hall.
Seeing Seti approach, Arthur rubbed at sweat on his palms and shifted his feet. That reminded me that Valerie had told me of Seti's reputation. Contrary to the welcome-wagon reception he had shown to me, Seti was secretly called "The Dragon" among the young, off-campus crowd that audited sporadic classes here. If Arthur had only taken a few classes here in his younger years, then this reputation would be all he knew of Seti. I'd been surprised to learn that Seti's name was used as a synonym for the bogeyman, and that he was reputed to be a fearsome adversary and mischievous prankster, generally kept away from actual contact with the students. That was why he was nominally a professor, but rarely taught classes, and certainly never taught auditing students.
"Arthur," Seti greeted him, with a warm smile that faded into a mischievous twinkle as he went on.” I remember you from your younger days here. What might I do for you?"
The dignified speech Arthur had used with Steve disintegrated.” I do not wish to impose any inconvenience” I wished, perhaps, to speak with the Registrar about staying” The Sovereign suggested that I might?"
"Might grace us with your presence” Indeed, that would be a grand thing. And most welcome.” Leaning forward conspiratorially, Seti confided, "More welcome than you may wish it to be. But never mind that," he laughed, patting Arthur’s arm. Arthur shuddered.” I’m sure we will find a protected place for you."
"Protected from what?"
"Why, your fans, my dear boy, your fans of course. "Seti chuckled merrily.” Just above us, these stairs lead to the few sleeping rooms used for temporary guests, such as parents. But," said Seti, "before you decide where you would like to park yourself, you ought to look at the third floor.” A very serious, appraising gaze accompanied this seemingly simple offer. Arthur was unsure what test was posed by the choice of floors. Seti had already headed for one of the strange, magical elevators. Arthur followed.
I crept down the hall after them. Seti plucked a loop of cord and pendant from its place in a mixed media sculpture adorning the wall beside the elevator. The sculpture was composed of dangling shapes and symbols; almost all were more ornate than the simple stone cylinder Seti offered to Arthur.
“Put this on. Then quiet your mind, and let your awareness enter the pendant. When you feel ready, put your hand on this lever and ask the door to open.”
Arthur looked as though he deemed this a strange ritual of entry, but, determined to be a polite guest, he did as instructed. He concentrated on the cylinder, then touched the lever, which, after a few seconds, opened the door.
“Please open the door,” he said tardily, to complete the ritual. This sent Seti into spasms of suppressed laughter, doubling him over as they both stepped into the elevator. Arthur watched him distrustfully while Seti wiped tears from his eyes. “Pay no attention to me,” he said between little gasps of mirth.” You did very well. But there’s no need to speak to the door literally. Now, hold this knob, and repeat the same technique, but with the intention of going up two floors.”
It took a little while for Arthur to regain the technique, but when he had it, the elevator closed and rose up smoothly to head to the third floor. Meanwhile, I decided I would have to ask Seti about the technique that ran this elevator. I also made it my business to confirm that Arthur had moved to Ezmereld, but I was hardly the only one. By afternoon, rumors of his arrival had spread through the school like wildfire.
The night of Arthur’s arrival, a midnight screech echoed upon the night air. The howl reverberated through the courtyard. It was hard to say whether it had come from inside or out. Doors banged open as sleepy occupants emerged to see what the trouble was. Valerie and I joined the milling crowds. A group of us converged on the outside door to the Wort Garden , spilling out onto its steps and bumping into the one person already standing there.” Did it come from out here?” someone asked this boy. But he only stiffened and held up his hand for silence, while he continued to scan the dark garden, all senses straining. We all started to do the same. More people arrived behind us, and were shushed in turn.
The outdoors was eerily quiet. There were no whispers of wind, no night birds, no stirring leaves. It seemed unnaturally still. Despite the warm night, I saw the boy was shivering. While others continued to scan the plants and paths and air, I turned my attention to the boy. My suspicion: here was the throat that had made the cry. The only mystery now was what had he encountered that had brought forth those screams.
Minutes passed, and the boy’s shoulders slumped as fear of attack and hope of confirmation faded. “What happened?” I asked him softly. He was still shaking.
“I felt it,” he stammered. “Something went through me. It was very cold.”
“What was it?” “Did you see anything?” asked others. “Where’d it go?” “What screamed?”
He shook his head. It might be to deny having answers, or to shake off belief or disbelief that this had been real.
I put my hand on his shoulder and asked, “You were the one that screamed “when it went through you?”
He turned to look at me, and nodded, chagrined. Now I recognized it was Heithen. Someone piped up from the back to ask, “You weren’t trying to conjure daemons again, were you?” Heithen managed to look even more chagrined, and nodded again, mumbling, “Yes. But I wasn’t doing it here.”
“It doesn’t matter where you did it,” retorted his interrogator, Xiank, pushing forward through the crowd. “If you don’t take the proper precautions, they’ll follow you.” And Xiank chuckled wickedly, as though such an outcome would amuse him.
Jamarian overrode his chuckling to take over the direction of the conversation. She said, “Thinking carefully, Heithen, tell us everything you can remember about what happened here. There may be a creature loose. When you say it went through you, do you mean it traveled in a linear way, from one direction, and off toward another?”
“I think it came from the direction of the fountain. I was walking across the Wort Garden to come inside by this door when I got the feeling someone was walking behind me “probably twenty or thirty paces back. But when I looked over my shoulder I didn’t see anyone. I expected someone human, another student or something, so I didn’t look for anything less substantial. When I got up on these steps, I stopped and looked harder, because the feeling hadn’t gone away. I still didn’t see anything, not even the bushes moving. But that’s when it went through me, as if I wasn’t even there. And I “yelped, I guess, because of the oddness of the feeling. And then I had the same thought about improperly banished Daemons, and yelled to banish it from my body. But it was already gone when I started the yell “I’m pretty sure.”
“Gone where?”
“Into the building. After that, I’m not sure. I was checking to see if there were any more of them. “But there weren’t.”
“Do you think you could track it now?” asked Jamarian very intently. Heithen only shrugged. We all turned to face the door. Its quiet façade told us nothing. Dubiously, Heithen went to the front of our pack, paused briefly on the threshold, and then went inside. We followed like hunting dogs, hopeful that the lead dog had the scent.
Heithen only walked forward for a few paces before he stopped, looking uncertain. He pointed to the possible turnings we had just passed, as he explained. “I’m thinking it went ahead, not off toward the kitchens, or up the stairway” Or down the stairs either, I guess. But I’m not sure what makes me think that. I really don’t have a trail to follow.”
“That doesn’t matter,” countered Jamarian. "It was only a figure of speech. Don’t worry about why you think what you do, or how you would know. Just act on the impression you guess is right and don’t let doubts or self arguments muddy your initial impressions.” Heithen shrugged his slim shoulders again, unconvinced. But he continued down the main hall toward the central part of the building. He paused again when he got to the round entry hall. He turned around slowly, then went to the wall the central stairway climbed. With what looked like forced surety of movement, he opened the door beneath the stairs and started down into the cellar.
Even with the lights on, the pillared room under the entry hall was shadowy, with dark corners among the piles of collected stuff stored here. Heithen paused again, looking around this space. Each time he paused, he seemed less sure of his next move. Now he looked to be out of inspiration. He spread his hands hopelessly, when he looked at Jamarian. ”I don’t know if this is a dead end, or really where he came to.”
“He?” asked Jamarian, with that eagle-keen look her eyes sometimes had.
“Whoever the ghost is,” answered Heithen with his usual shrug.
“So your impression is that the whatever-it-was was a ghost, and a he “What other bits of impression can you tell us” Don’t hedge; just theorize aloud about any of your thoughts. We can sort out the probable worth of them later.”
Since Heithen seemed at a loss to identify his impressions, Jamarian prodded with questions. At the end of this game of twenty questions we had a general description. We were tracking the ghost, or fetch, of a human man with connections to Ezmereld. A ghost is an apparition of someone dead, but a fetch is an apparition of a living person. Whichever it was, Heithen thought his intentions were benign or helpful. It seemed driven by a sense of urgency to find something lost or forgotten; or to meet with someone; or to do some piece of unfinished business. It was unclear whether Heithen had truly followed the apparition’s path to this spot, or whether this place was only metaphorically correct, in the sense of being set among the underpinnings of Ezmereld.
Jamarian explained that this room was not used for random storage, but was used as a repository of items that the faculty wished to keep in close proximity to the room above. Influence from these items flavored the experience of anyone walking into the school through the main entry, and affected rituals performed in the circular entry hall. She speculated that the Night Walker might be trying to move one of the pieces down here to shift an influence, as if we were standing on a giant chess board that carried its implications over onto other astral planes. But though we all wandered among the piles and pieces, no one felt sure which object needed to be moved or retrieved. Gradually, people dispersed back to their rooms, and left the mystery unsolved.
The morning dining hall was abuzz with conversation about last night’s fetch or ghost. It seemed Heithen wasn’t the only one to see or dream something. One of the professors had clearly seen an image of the ghost holding something in his hand, holding it outward to be received by someone else. Everyone expected that the “someone else” in question would be Arthur, since this appearance coincided with his arrival. There were already plans to have Arthur wait for the ghost tonight. The only question was where.
The growing consensus was that Arthur should be persuaded to wait by the fountain. The fountain was the first station in an Ezmereldi tradition of greeting the key places of Ezmereld upon returning to it after an absence. The debate still raged as people dispersed to their morning classes.
At mealtimes, I caught up on the gossip about ghosts. Arthur had stayed out of sight at the school for several weeks. But the ghost had continued to visit, and to prompt new rounds of speculation. The most recent plan was to have Arthur wait for the ghostly Ezmer the Elder at the cave opening near the river. On an earlier night, Arthur had been persuaded to wait by the fountain at midnight , but the ghost had only been sighted briefly, disappearing down one of the basement corridors that connected to the caves.
Now we learned that Arthur had waited at the cave and that something important had happened. In the afternoon, I got together with two other chroniclers of Arthur for a special project lab session to examine what exactly had occurred. We were all writers. I copied their lead, got into a meditative state of mind, and then sought my muse. Then we wrote separately, in silence, before sharing what we had written. Though we hadn’t spoken, we still seemed to have worked together somehow, because when we read the three scenes we had written they fit together into a continuous narrative.
Naturally, I had been drawn to a scene of darkness and caves. Somewhat embarrassed to see my chthonic nature coloring what I had to offer the others, I read to them what I had written from my meditation.
Arthur waited in the darkness. He could hear the falls upriver, behind him to his left. He adjusted his back against the rock face where he sat, looking in the direction of the small cave opening to his right. It wasn’t big enough for a grown person to climb through, but this wasn’t expected to be any impediment to a ghost.
The reason why the Founder’s ghost was supposed to appear in this remote spot was still somewhat hazy to him. The reason for waiting at the fountain was because it was the school’s founding location. Besides, the ghost had been seen traveling across the fountain garden several times. But tonight’s location “what was the logic here”
Arthur sighed. Everyone had been so interested in suggesting what he do next. And in truth, he had no clue of his own, so he wasn’t unhappy about the help. He was glad that he had moved to Ezmereld, and so spared himself having to explain at breakfasts with perplexed parents why he had been sitting out in the dewy night waiting for a ghost. Secretly, he hoped that the ghost’s visit was for someone other than himself.
One of the things that had been explained to him was the association between hollow lands and Faerie. Just as a hollow hill, or faery mound, might be sought out for inspiration from that other realm, so too might caves be used. Since the myth of Arthur was a faery creation, the cave had come to mind as a place for him to work from his strength. And since the cave also connected with the underground portion of the school, it also suggested a possible link to a founder (or foundation) of the school. Thus, it was reasoned to be a good shared meeting place. This, at least, was the human logic.
Below the place where the New Hero sat, small beings of the Fey congregated. These were the sprites and spirits not closest to the Queen or the rest of the ruling Sidhe. There were many levels to the hierarchy of Faerie, and these small beings were not counted high among them. Consequently, they had learned the news of One Chosen, but they had not been introduced to him. Now they gathered like moths to a flame.
After his parting from the Faery Queen, Arthur had been hedged in by the input, concerns, and thoughtforms of numerous mortals. Even when tending his fields and animals, he had remained more closed off than he had been in the past. He had stayed engrossed in his own thoughts. The fey folk had been waiting for an opening. Now he was here, in this place remote from the trampling of humans and their thoughtforms. And as he anticipated another night of fruitless waiting, and grew sleepier, his own thoughts grew quiet and unguarded.
He sat between the elemental powers of water upon one side and deep earth upon the other in the open cradle of night. Silvery moonlight shimmered down through the leaves. Fey beings took bodily shape from the mists forming over the river and drifted up the slope toward the place Arthur slept. From below the soil, small tendrils of introduction infiltrated, tasting his body, his soul, his spirit. As Arthur had done when his mind would flow into the soil he worked, so they flowed into him “to know him, and to become part of the life force that was him.
Cara’s piece seemed to pick up where mine left off. She read next.
Strange dreams came to Arthur “strange, but not unpleasant. And he slept on, “till the night was fading into the earliest gray of dawn. As the birds of the wood began to waken, so did he. Stiffly, he sat up in the misty dell, with an odd sense of displacement. With a second’s thought, he remembered why he awoke here in this place “a place that part of him knew to be an unlikely place for him to sleep, but another part of him recognized, as though it had been his only home. Since he could not explain the latter feeling, he turned his thoughts back to the familiar concerns of starting a new day. Something ineffable ebbed out of him, leaving traces unnoticed beneath the internal dialog of his day’s waking thoughts.
As he walked home to his fields, Arthur reasoned that either no ghost had come, or he had missed it while sleeping. Either way, he felt that this only added credence to his argument that the ghost was not meant to visit him. He intended to put off telling the various Ezmereldi advisors about this failure; he would put in a lot of work on the farm instead. He felt quite strong and energized despite his brief sleep. He whistled merrily as he walked the last stretch of road and turned off into his own pastures. In the East, over his family’s lands, the sky was lightening, and when he looked West, over fields belonging to Ezmereld, a few stars were still dimly visible.
In those western fields, he was surprised to see a man approaching the road. It was a youngish man “not a neighbor, or any man he recognized. When Arthur came up even with the stranger’s course, he stopped, and asked, “Are you lost” Can I help you?”
The stranger stopped just short of the roadway, and answered across the few feet remaining between them.” I believe this is yours,” he said, holding out some cloth.
“Mine? What is it?” Arthur walked over to see it better in the dim light. When he lifted it, the cloth unfolded into a full-length, hooded cloak of dark green, with a misty green or silvery lining. “It’s not mine,’ he shook his head, looking at it. “How did you come by it” Was it left near here?” Other than Ezmereldi, Arthur couldn’t think of anyone in his neighborhood who would wear such a cloak.
“No,” said the man. “The place I took it from is quite removed from here --though space can be as relative a concept as time. But that’s a conversation for another time. When I heard of this cloak, I was curious about its unusual properties. I am always interested in things that operate in accordance with laws other than the ones my scientific colleagues find fit to recognize.” He chuckled. “They always considered that a failing in my work. And I guess it is still getting me in trouble, for now I have poked my nose in where it wasn’t supposed to be. I believe you were supposed to have to make a journey to find this, but since I had moved it” well, you wouldn’t have found it there anyway. It was on a spinning island, by the way. I found the island quite fascinating as well. You may still wish to go, and see the place for yourself.
“The unusual property of the cloak is that it can shift the wearer in relation to observers.” At least, that is the way I would describe the phenomenon. Speaking from the point of view of quantum physics, it is well known that the observer impacts upon what is observed, and cannot be counted as entirely uninvolved in any experiment. I don’t want to bore you with the formula for its expression, but suffice it to say that the observed also has impact on the observer. So naturally, I was curious to see how this garment operated, when I heard that worn with the dark green side outermost, your observers will be human. But turn the inside to the outside, and only otherworldly beings will be able to observe you then. The cloak appears to select which observers you will have interaction with, based upon the side you have facing toward them.”
“But what makes you say it is my cloak” What am I supposed to do with it?”
“I heard that it was yours. But if you don’t want it, I don’t mind keeping it?”
“Um, well, no? If it is supposed to be for me, then I had better keep it, I guess.”
“Yes, that’s as I thought.” And with a suddenness that made Arthur jump involuntarily, the man disappeared into thin air. Arthur tried rearranging the cloak the other side out where it rested over his arm, thinking that maybe he had moved it into a position that had cut off his view of the man. But no amount of altering the lay of the cloak brought the man back into sight.
So, Arthur stood at the boundary of the roadway, the fields of his home ranked behind him, peering into the misty landscape of Ezmereld. There was not even a path of bent grasses, or a trail marked in the jeweled dew, left behind by the man he had seen walk across this land. He looked down at the cloak over his arm, almost expecting it to disappear too. It didn’t. After a time, there seemed no point to standing here in the road, so he went home.
Andy “who surprised me by explaining he’d grown up on a farm” took up the story next.
Arthur entered the barn, and its familiar scents of cows and hay. He was about to hang the cloak on a nail by the door, but changed his mind to try an experiment with it. He thought he’d test the supposed properties of the cloak, and would rather indulge in this foolishness with only the cows as witnesses. They always turned toward him expectantly when he walked to their end of the barn. He would see if wearing the cloak made any noticeable difference to their reception of him this time.
He put the cloak on, dark side out. It felt like a normal cloak, somewhat disappointing him. He eased down the length of the barn, so that his normal tread would not give him away. When he stealthily rounded the corner to the section housing the cows, they all turned to look at him as usual.” So much for that experiment”, he thought, feeling foolish for his clandestine skulking around cows.
He turned, to set the cloak aside, but again stopped. Before quitting, he wanted to try the other side. He told himself it was silly, but there was also some tantalizing mystery about the cloak that made it hard to put down. He stepped back into the other room, unclasped the cloak, and spun it inside out.
Putting it on this time felt different. It reminded him of the feeling he had awoken with this morning. It felt like he had shifted that which normally hid inside him into prominent display on his surface. Instead of projecting the normal outer persona of a practical, hardworking son of Harry and Lydia Fields, he felt his hidden nature seeping outward. He was woven of the life-knowledge of small growing things; nurtured on distant and misty dells whispering with water and wildlife; and kin to moon-spun dreams in the boundary lands beyond human habitation.
He tip-toed in on the cows again. They all turned toward him again, increasing their lowing complaints at his delay. Maybe the cloak changed him in a way the man hadn’t supposed. Arthur was pondering the change he had indeed felt when his younger brother Travis came into the barn and walked down to the cows. Travis walked right past Arthur without a word.
“Are you snubbing me for leaving the milking to you again?” Arthur asked his brother, but still got no response. Sighing, he took off the cloak to go help with the chores. Travis dropped the milk pails with a startling clang, and stared at Arthur’s sudden appearance with round eyes.
“Where did you come from?”
“I was right here all along,” said Arthur.
“No, I... Where!?”
Arthur thought about lying, and saying that he had been hiding, in order to downplay the incident. But he couldn’t do that.” It’s something I got from the Ezmereldi,” he said, putting the cloak on and off again several times in quick succession.? It’s supposed to change how I’m visible.”
“Wow, cool,” said Travis, with an expression of blank astonishment.
“It works then?”
“Yeah, you just flicker out of sight as if I’d only imagined you were standing there. You don’t really go somewhere else, do you?”
“No” Well, maybe I do. I still see things as though I’m standing here, and the cows still see me. But on the other hand, I don’t feel like I’m standing in the same world “only looking at a picture of it from someplace very different. Speaking of the cows, we’d better get to work.” He’d hoped to forestall Travis’s inevitable request to try it on, but since the chores didn’t preclude talking, Arthur eventually had to just say that he didn’t want his brother to try the cloak until he’d had more time to understand what it did to the wearer.
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