Rituals (Cainsville 5)

Gabriel's expression closed. "I don't."

"I'm not asking for specifics. In general, when you dream--"

"I know what a dream is; I do not have them. I experience replays of memories, not unlike what I see with Gwynn. It's all factual, though. I do not imagine things that haven't happened to me." He snuck a look my way, his eyes wary. "I do not and have never dreamed."

"Is that his fae blood?" I asked.

Patrick didn't seem to hear me. He was frowning at Gabriel.

"Would his fae blood repress dreaming?" I prodded. "You called them human dreams."

Patrick tore his gaze from Gabriel. "Yes. Fae don't dream. Some of us have visions, like yours, but our 'dreams' are the replay of memories. I've never heard of it extending to our offspring, though." He looked at Gabriel. "I'm sorry."

"I can't miss something I've never had," Gabriel said. "Do you regret the lack of them?"

"I'm not sure I'd say regret. I envy the ability. That sense of the fanciful. I've often wondered if it's why I write. I'm creating my own dreams."

"Then that is a gene I did not inherit. I prefer to apply my imagination to the waking world, where I can use it to solve problems. It seems wasted in sleep."

Patrick smiled. "All right, then. I regret that you missed out on that, but I'll accept that any regret is mine alone. Back to the point. I'm sure you dream, Liv. If they aren't replays of memory, what are they?"

"Sometimes fantasy, like my brain amusing itself by telling stories. Sometimes working through problems. Sometimes dealing with anxiety." I looked at Gabriel. "Believe me, you aren't missing anything with those."

"That is where the sluagh come in," Patrick said. "Their world is that of nightmare and anxiety and fear and all those things you repress in the daytime. When we say sluagh can hurt you in visions, we mean visions that are like dreams, the sort you had earlier today. The reenactments you get from my lore books are a whole different thing. Those are dead memories, with no way for the sluagh to get in."

"Can I accompany her?" Gabriel asked.

Patrick looked over in surprise.

"Yes, I've refused before," Gabriel said. "But this time..." He paused, and then pushed on. "I would feel better going with her."

"I won't guarantee it will work, but you can certainly try."

I opened the book. Gabriel moved closer, and I took his hand. Patrick flipped to the right page, and I began to translate aloud for Gabriel's sake.

"Meditations on the nature of the sidhe known as the sluagh. The sluagh--also called the darkness or the unforgiven--should not even be termed fae, but rather spirits. Dark and twisted spirits. It is said that they share a mission with the Cwn Annwn, that the Huntsmen are tasked with claiming the souls of those who've wronged the fae, while the sluagh do the same for those who've wronged humans. That is an egregious misunderstanding, and any fae who indulges in it ought to be corrected before further spreading false information. The Cwn Annwn send souls to the Otherworld. The punishment, then, is not one of eternal damnation--as the Christians have willfully misinterpreted--but the premature end of mortal life. On rare occasions, the Cwn Annwn will allow the sluagh to take a soul instead, but only if the crime is so great that it warrants extreme punishment, because the sluagh devour both body and soul. Any remaining consciousness is trapped in the melltithiwyd, doomed to serve the sluagh. In some cases, as when the Cwn Annwn allow the sluagh to take their prey, it is a fitting and just punishment for a terrible crime..."

The words began to swim, and I clutched Gabriel's hand tighter. The ink parted, words falling through, me falling with them, tumbling through space until I landed in the forest.

I looked around for Gabriel. There was no sign of him.

"Damn it," I muttered.

I rose and peered around the night-dark forest. Beyond the trees, a bonfire burned. I climbed a small rise for a better view. Below lay a temporary settlement, with tents and a single bonfire guarded by a man in rough clothing.

"The Dark Ages?" murmured a voice beside me, and I turned to see Gabriel, squinting at the camp. "I landed over there." He pointed. "Holding hands, it seems, doesn't help with the drop. Would this be the Dark Ages?"

"Mmm, before that. I'm guessing pre-Roman."

"--know where to find their water source?" asked a man.

We both turned. Behind us stood a small group of men carrying swords and cudgels. While I knew they weren't speaking modern English, that's what I heard.

"Can they see us?" Gabriel asked.

I shook my head. "As Patrick said, it's a dead memory. Like a virtual reality replay."

I walked toward the men, and Gabriel followed.