Rich Shapero (16 page)

"Fristeen," he whispered.

"Yes?"

He tucked his chin and turned his head. He
could see her out of the corner of his eye. "Here." He pointed at his
bicep, showing where a needle had scratched.

She put her finger to her lips and touched
his arm.

"Did you get one?" he asked.

"On my neck," she whispered.

"I had a dream last night, too,"
Robbie said.

"Tell me."

"I know what happened at the
Cabin."

"Really?" Fristeen scooted
closer.

"She burnt up," Robbie said.

"Burnt up?"

"Yep. That's what you do. If you want
to be with him."

"What do you mean?"

"He turned her into smoke. That's what
Dawn is now."

"Smoke?" She was trying to understand.

"Remember what you said? The Dream Man
hurt her, but she liked it?"

"Yes, I remember."

"It's okay if your body goes
away," Robbie said. "Bodies don't matter."

A wand with long prickers elbowed into the
tunnel just ahead. Robbie sucked in his breath and drove his leg toward it,
scourging his knee.

Fristeen cried out, unable to move or do
anything to help. "Does it hurt?"

"Yep," Robbie laughed.

They scrambled out of the hole. As he rose,
she lingered on her haunches, inspecting the wound. "It's a bird's
foot." She put her finger in the blood and painted the figure on the back
of her hand, smiling as only Fristeen could.

Robbie took her hand. Where should they go?
Neither was really sure. Maybe a walk in the Great grove. Had Used-to-Be raised
any fresh blooms? Before they knew it, they were beneath the Two-Tree.

"Want to?" Robbie said.

"Okay," Fristeen nodded.
"But not to the Cabin."

And they started down. There was mystery
and magic in the black trees.

They shed their clothes at the border,
reached the Pool and mounted a hill to the left, striking a fresh path. The sun
was hot, and the thrill of naked freedom spurred their abandon. They ran
themselves breathless, shrieking and whirling through swales of feather moss,
shaking their brains and their bones loose. Then, from a great distance, Dawn's
song reached them, and that turned their joy crazy. Their faces twitched, their
eyes rolled round, their limbs flexed and jerked like demonic puppets. And what
came from their mouths was all gibberish and nonsense and irrepressible
delight.

Fristeen collapsed, and Robbie beside her,
and she called to Dawn in a jabbering swoon. Robbie felt feverish, his vision
blurred, and the mound of cauliflower lichen beneath them started breathing,
buoying them up. Fristeen sang with all her heart, the heat blazed fiercely,
and the mound lost its mooring and began to turn.

Was it too much to hope for? Not at all— In
a corner of the sky, the clouds curled to either side, and as Robbie added his
pleas to Fristeen's, Dawn plunged through! She was rosy and golden, a million
bright jewels set loose as she passed, a million bright voices singing
together, an ocean of joy, welcoming as a warm bath.

Fristeen whimpered. Was she sad? No, her
heart was welling at Dawn's arrival. She sang of gratitude and confidence, not
just for herself, but for Robbie too. Thank you, Dawn, thank you. Oh thank you,
thank you!

Dawn's wings pulsed loudly through the
gasping wind. Between Robbie's quivering lids, through dazzled tears, he saw
the blurred beats—splashes of peach, creamy scallops, streaks of red fox,
rippling and soft. Her face resolved, white as a cloud, hair swept back, voice
bursting over him, filling his ears. Love, boundless cheer, solace in sorrow.
Dawn heard Fristeen's longing. She knew Robbie's heart without saying a word.

A swoop of wind caressed his cheek—the soft
fingers of her wing. With Dawn, no one ever feels forgotten. No wonder the
Dream Man loved her—

Beyond the bright song, Robbie heard a dark
rushing. And the more intently he listened, the closer it came.

"The Dream Man," he shouted.

Of course. Dawn was his wife.

The rushing grew louder. The air trembled,
and then the earth. The edge of a gray blanket drew into sight. And as Robbie
watched, it advanced till it darkened half of the sky. On one side, Dawn
hovering in the blue, blazing and singing. And on the other, leaden clouds
surrounding the great whirling eye.

"Hear him?" Robbie asked.

The rushing crested, and then the Dream Man
spoke.

"Fristeen? Glad to meet you." In one
ear, the Dream Man had the voice of a young boy. But in the other, his voice
was booming, deep and wise. "You know my bride. I dreamt of her endlessly.
And now I've taken her. Exactly, my children, as I will take you."

The last he said gravely, and their hearts
leaped in their chests. The eye drew nearer, the whir of dragonflies filling
the Dream Man's side of the sky.

"Love," said the Dream Man,
"is nourished by danger. Dawn knows."

On Dawn's side, agreeing voices sprinkled
joyfully down.

"Is it true?" Fristeen wondered.
"That you turned into smoke?"

Dawn's pale face drew closer, smiling.
"Yes," she whispered. "Nothing but smoke."

As her wings stroked the air, sun flashed
through her feathers.

"I gave up my body," Dawn said.
"I took to the skies to find my dream. And when I found him, the smoke
became light and song."

"She is your comfort," the Dream
Man told Fristeen. "I am everything," his voice grew softer,
"you don't know."

"Don't worry," Dawn assured her.
"You're going to be okay."

"Can I see your face?" Robbie
asked the Dream Man. "Your whole head?"

"You're looking down into it,"
the Dream Man said.

Robbie was stunned. He watched the
hurricane iris giantly for his benefit. The dragonflies were moving too fast to
see, the great eddy a vapor of whirring wings. The lip of the cauldron was the
top of the Dream Man's head.

"If you reach out," the Dream Man
whispered, "you can put your hands on the rim."

The lip glowed as the churning thoughts
spilled over it. Robbie didn't dare.

"I brought our friend," the Dream
Man said.

Something shifted in a cluster of spruce.
As they watched, blackened antlers rose up. It was Hands, just as they'd seen
him—his long head, his bony basket, a singed neck, and nothing more—rocking in
the breeze, then tipping forward and floating toward them.

"Why is he here?" Fristeen
objected.

The Dream Man laughed. "Watch
this."

Hands settled beside Robbie, bowing, the
front edge of his basket grazing the ground. The charred tines slipped beneath
him. Their palms were warm, as if fresh from the fire, and they cradled him
gently. Hands lifted him up. Robbie hung his feet over the front edge and held
on tight, but there was nothing to fear. Hands moved with great care. Suddenly
Robbie realized: it was Hands who had carried him in his dreams. He just hadn't
seen him. He looked down, and there were Hands' kindly eyes, gazing up.

"He's right," Robbie smiled at
Fristeen. "Hands is great."

Fristeen pouted, but then Dawn chimed in.

"He's my pet," she said fondly.

And that did the trick. "Well,
okay," Fristeen said.

Robbie scooted onto Hands' right palm.

Then Hands dipped and scooped Fristeen up
with his left.

"Look at this—" Robbie reached
down and felt Hands' nose. "He doesn't mind." The breath from Hands'
nostrils was thick and warm.

Fristeen giggled. "His fur smells like
chocolate."

"Want to see more of Too Far?"
the Dream Man asked.

Robbie looked at Fristeen, and they nodded
as one. So the Dream Man showed them around. Hands carried them, and Dawn
hovered above.

First, the Dream Man took them to the Slope
of Webs. The black spindles were so close that there were webs between each.
Hands set them both down and started them twirling, and they went through the
webs like spinning tops, wrapping themselves in tingling silk. You'd giggle at
first, and then you'd shriek, because you'd feel something creeping in your
hair, or down your neck or on your knee. When they reached the Slope's bottom,
the webs were ladders, and bridges you could walk across. The Dream Man showed them
how, while Dawn and Hands kept watch.

Then they crossed a valley of lettuce
lichen, and reached the Be Green Streams. Busy rivulets netted a hillock of
feather moss, and they hissed and gushed to invite you in. You couldn't stand
up—you rolled and wriggled in the cool flow. The water was clear, but the
channels were lined with black gooey stuff, and you came out covered with it.
That was the idea—you used it like glue. You plucked feathers from the hillock,
and covered every inch of yourself. Too Far monsters, born from a dream—burly
and growly, and completely green!

Then the day grew hotter, and the Dream Man
led them still deeper into the Too Far maze. They chased some ducks and
followed a porcupine, and he showed them the first berries at Cloudberry Glen.

"I don't have any markers,"
Robbie said.

The Dream Man laughed. "We won't get
lost."

Then he took them to the Cook Some Fish
place. It was on a hillock covered with straw-colored rods flattened in the
grass. The Dream Man brought his cauldron close, and spilled some dragonflies
over the lip. Flames rose where they landed, and Dawn beat some breeze on them
and made them dance. "No," Fristeen shrieked, and they both clung to
Hands' tines. But he shook them loose, rolling them onto the glowing rods, and they
writhed there together, sweating and curling like fish on a grill.

Then Hands lifted them up, and they were
airborne again. It was a wonderful ride. You could face forward and see where
you were going, or turn and look down at Hands' furry head. His blunt nose
quivered as it tasted the wind. He gazed across the hills as they drifted, and
now and then he would glance up and you could see into his eyes. Fristeen spoke
his name softly and stroked his ear. Hands made exploring even more of a
thrill, and he did exactly what the Dream Man said.

The deep voice was always with them. When
he was guiding, it was with confidence and command. When he meant to teach you,
he knew a path through your thoughts, and found his way with ease. If you had a
question, the Dream Man listened. He didn't coddle you, but he was patient. He
gave you the answer slowly, making sure you understood.

And, of course, Dawn was there.

The last thing they did was the most
exciting.

When they floated over it and looked down,
neither Robbie nor Fristeen could tell what it was. It was roundish and the
wind ruffled its top, and it was big—big as a car. Black trees with turrets
surrounded it, and from the turrets gray jays made a terrible racket. It wasn't
till Hands let them down, that they realized they were on the back of a giant
bear. His fur was shaggy, and when he started lumbering you had to hold on
tight. It was like being in the water, riding a large swell, or laying facedown
on a dune of shifting sand. Dawn hovered close, fanning her wings—their naked
bodies glowed as they slewed back and forth, and the oily skim from the Be
Green Streams mixed with their sweat and made rainbows on their skin.

How long did they ride on the shaggy beast?
Only Dawn and the Dream Man could say, because it was right there on his back
that Robbie and Fristeen fell asleep. Their idols remained for a time, Dawn on
one side of the sky, and the Dream Man on the other. Whispers crossed the
heavens, things the godly couple meant no one else to hear.

After they departed, Hands watched over the
children with pensive eyes.

***

As daylight waned, they woke. Hands was in
the distance, but he remained in sight till they found their way back. The
sun's oblique rays lit his fingertips, ringing his head with golden flames. Then
the bony candelabra turned and was lost in the spruce.

At the border of Too Far, they noticed some
berries on the viburnum. They went looking for more, and came upon a wet meadow
they had never seen before. It was fun to slosh through it. You could splash
each other, and hide and chase, and that's how they stumbled on the special
place. It was a bed of moss about the size of your room, but it wasn't solid—it
was springy—and when you jumped on it, it was like a trampoline. There was
water beneath. They jumped and jumped till their legs gave out, and then they
lay on their backs and made it bob with their rears. Fristeen named it Big
Sponge, because that's what it was.

They were stepping back onto firm ground
when Robbie saw the bird. It was lying motionless at the base of a broken
willow. He picked it up, turned it over and showed Fristeen. Blood was crusted
on its front, and its body was stiff.

"It's dead," Fristeen said. She
stroked its wing.