The wolves tested the river’s shallows as if they had decided they were indeed hungry enough to try to reach us.
Bee turned as she slung her bundled gear over her back. “Did you say something, Cat? Oh! Incredible! Your sword washed up!” She raised a hand to shade her eyes. “Is the sun rising?”
A line of fire limned the sky. A blast of wind shook the trees like an unseen hand wiping clean the slate on which all is written. What came behind it was sharp and painful and obliterating.
“It’s the tide of a dragon’s dream,” I cried. “Grab hold of me and don’t let go! If we’re swept away, we’ll go together.”
I threw my arms around her in an embrace so tight she grunted in protest. Across the river, the wolves plunged into the current and began swimming across.
A low bell tone shivered through the world. Its sonorous vibration splintered air from water, stone from fire, flesh from soul, here from there, now from now. The tone like a taut string passed through us as a knife slices parsnips, as a kiss unexpectedly filters through your entire being, as cold magic flows down a sword’s blade, as a choice propels you down a new path whose track you can never retrace once you have set your feet on it.
My heart, my flesh, my bones, my spirit; all thrummed as if caught within the enveloping thunder of a drumbeat that boomed on and on. Within the hollow rolling sound, the space between the beats, there unfolded a long white shore of glittering sand washed by lapis-blue waters and trimmed by thick vegetation with fanned, fringed leaves and flowers so vivid in their reds and oranges and whites they were almost molten. I felt I was looking through a window onto another shore. Then, like a vase shattering into pieces, the world tipped and parted beneath me. An abyss loomed.
I did not fall because Bee did not fall. Bee was an immoveable pillar of stone.
With a howl of rage, a shape writhed out of the channel where the water had run so green. It was far larger than could possibly rest under the surface unless the channel’s depths reached all the way to Cathay. It seemed not so much to unfold as to expand as a balloon expands when air is heated inside it. It spread a net of tentacles. Its maw was rimmed with razor teeth so white they hurt my eyes. This was the creature that had meant to eat me in the river. One huge appendage lashed overhead and snapped down to crush us.
“Hold on to me!” I shouted as I slashed at it with my sword.
My blade severed the limb. The tentacle fell writhing on the stones, spraying a stinging black ichor that hissed and bubbled across the earth. More appendages lashed over us. The tide of the dream cut through the creature. Its moist hide parted like peeled fruit. Light mottled the body, slithering in and twisting out until my stomach clenched. I shut my eyes, waiting to be smashed.
The air quieted, and the world grew still. The river flowed deep and dark and wide. The trees stood green and lovely. Bee still held me. We hadn’t moved. Nothing had changed around us.
Of the monstrous creature, there was no sign. The surface of the back channel was a sheet of glassy calm. Only a single patch of green remained, riming the steep bank, and as I watched, it scuttled along the shore like a little green crab trailing a black spume behind it and missing one claw.
“The cursed wolves!” I released Bee and spun.
The current streamed undisturbed except for a large leafless branch floating past. Four white birds perched with the most amazing insouciant balance on the uppermost swaying spur of wood. One dove into the water and came up with a gleaming fish in its cruelly hooked beak. The wolves had vanished.
Bee grabbed my arm. “What happened? What was that?”
I lowered my sword. “That was the tide of a dragon’s dream. That’s what Andevai told me. Any creature caught outside a warded place is washed away and never comes back. But that didn’t happen, did it? I guess he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does!”
“Do dreams have tides?”
“Dreams can change course suddenly. Once you’re dreaming, you are pulled along without knowing how far into the ocean of dreams you’ll go. That might be like being caught in a tide.”
“I thought walking the dreams of dragons meant sleeping, and waking up to sketch my dreams. I was thinking of it in a…metaphorical way, not an actual one. I don’t like it here. And I was never bleeding, so how can I have crossed?”
“Let’s get off this island. Then we can talk.”
We splashed across the muddy flats and climbed up a sleepy bank carpeted with a bank of intensely gold flowers like chiming bells. No, the flowers were actually chiming as the wind’s caress made them bob and tinkle.
“Those flowers are making noise,” Bee said in a small voice.
She struggled up to a patch of ordinary grass and sank down. I sat beside her. It was a beautiful day. The landscape with its splendid trees and golden bank of flowers looked perfect enough to be painted. A searingly blue butterfly fluttered past. My whole body felt as heavy as a sack of sand. I could not have moved if the great general Hanniba’al and a thundering herd of elephants had borne down on us at that moment, although even had they done, I fully expected some horror would materialize out of the soil to flay them to ribbons, crack their bones to pieces, and suck out their marrow.
“Blessed Tanit,” I said in a voice that did not sound like my own, “the spirit world was nothing like this the first time I walked here.” I thought of the wolves who had pursued me and the coach as I fled Four Moons House. “Well, I guess it was. We should have listened to Rory. This is not a safe place. Merciful Ba’al. Now he’ll wait at the Buffalo and Lion wondering what became of us! Do you know what he told me after you went off with the headmaster? He said that the headmaster is a serpent. A dragon. That illusion we saw looked exactly the way I imagine a dragon would look. But the headmaster is a man.”
“Cat,” whispered Bee.
“Did you hear the headmaster say those two strange things right before the militia arrived? He said, ‘That explains her.’ He meant me, like he was watching me all those years in the mirrors trying to figure out what I was. Then he said by all means to take you with me, but that was after I said I was going to the labyrinth. If he knew the labyrinth would lead me to the well, and the well was a crossing into the spirit world, that would mean he wanted you to cross into the spirit world. That he knew you could cross. But your blood didn’t open the Fiddler’s Stone, so how could-”
“Cat.” Bee’s fingers clamped so hard on mine they cut off my words. Her voice was a murmur. “Don’t move except to turn your head to your right.”
A thousand pins would not have made the skin along my neck and back prickle more violently. I slowly turned my head.
A woman sat cross-legged on the bank under the canopy of a massive yew tree whose wide crown and split trunk I had, strangely, not noticed until just now. She simply sat, saying nothing, looking over the river, her hands folded peacefully in her lap. She had the look of the locals who lived in the countryside northeast of Adurnam: tightly curled black hair with a reddish cast, dark brown skin, and brown eyes, features that spoke of Celtic forebears as well as West African ones. It was her ordinariness that made me uneasy. She was dressed in the commonplace, practical summer clothing of the villages: a skirt sewn from bright cloth printed with red and orange paisleys on a butter-yellow fabric and bulky from petticoats beneath, and a high-necked blouse with a kerchief tucked around the collar. The apron she wore over all looked recently laundered, not a stain or a crease. She held a strip of fabric of the same pattern as the skirt. Folding it, she deftly bound it over her hair to create three decorative peaks in the fabric.
Perhaps I sucked in air too hard.
She turned. Her eyes widened with the same surprise I had felt a moment before.
Hers was a face that arrested the gaze. It had a familiar look to it, especially about the eyes, which were deeply lashed and finely formed. I trusted that face at once, although I knew I ought to trust nothing here.
“Greetings and peace to you, Aunt,” I said, for there is never any harm in being polite. “Is all well with you?”
Bee’s hand tightened on mine.
The woman spoke in a voice I had heard before. “No trouble, through my power as a woman. And you, bride of my grandson? I did not expect to find you so quickly.”
Bee tugged on my hand. “Run.”
“Do I know you?” I asked, for I was dumbfounded, although not struck dumb.
