按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
Too soon； I thought。 It's too soon。
But I knew it wasn't。 The very thing I'd sought to prevent seemed to be happening。 That is； if dreams could be trusted。
I dumped the tea into the sink and went and pulled a bottle of scotch from the pantry and splashed a hefty portion into a tumbler。 It burned going down and brought tears to my eyes。 I suppose the elves in Tir na n6g would be offended at my traitorous choice of beverage； but fray them。 I hadn't been on speaking terms with either Tir for quite some time。
But what to do about the dreams？
Perhaps the shamans in NAN would be willing to listen。 But then I remembered the dustup we'd had before the Great Ghost Dance。 They hadn't been too happy to hear my predictions about the magical fallout from all the blood they'd planned to spill。
Idiots。 If only they'd listened。 I suspected then that this would be the result。 Like bees to honey； it would draw the creatures again。 And we'd had no time to plan。 To prepare。 This time the monsters from the past would lay waste to the whole world。
Are you waiting/or me？ Have you been waiting for me？ Does your flesh crave my caress？ Do you remember？ Remember the centuries of pain and humiliation？
Do you know how I have missed you？
The sound of his voice echoed inside me。
I went to the thermostat and pushed it up。 To hell with the regs about fuel waste； I thought。 A century ago； Caimbeui had given me a Renoir。 I liked to look at it when I felt like this。 Afraid and lonely in the dark hours before dawn when the past spreads before me like a black spill of ink。
I flicked my hand and the illusionary wall I'd created long ago vanished。 It was a simple enough spell； though in the past few centuries there'd been little enough magic to go around。
That was changing。
The last few years…a human life span…just a drop to me…had seen such a burst of magical en…orgy and growth。 The Awakening； they called it on their ugly little trids。 Oh； I know Dunkelzahn found this brave new world far too fascinating； but he'd been dreaming for more than five thousand years。 What would he know of it？ He hadn't seen what the world had bee。
I stepped into my room。 The walls were windowless and covered in heavy oak paneling。 Artwork and bookcases covered every available space； crammed full of everything I found precious。 Centored on the north wall was the Renoir。
It was of a young woman and a little girl sitting on a balcony。 The woman was wearing a brilliant red hat and she had a face of such sweetness that just looking at her almost hurt。 I remembered when he'd painted it。 A beautiful copy used to hang in the Chicago Art Institute； but I think it might have been destroyed during the riots in 2011。
So much beauty was lost then。
Here in my secret room I kept the relics of so many dead worlds。 Of course dead worlds are all around us。 They're just so much a part of our lives that we stop thinking about it。 In London； five…hundred…year…old buildings snuggle next to glass columns built yesterday。 Asphalt poured in nineteen…fifty is worn down by the wheels of a thousand rigs never dreamed of until five years ago。 And the sweetmeats dance in nightclubs with rags on their backs sewn in sweatshops during the eighties。 But that was just a momentary madness。 A fad。 A passing whimsy of fashion。
The things I'd distract myself with at times like that。
And here too were memories from a place and time out of mind。 A place as unreal to this world as any trideo fantasy。 What possessed me to recreate what I could remember？ That time was done。 Over。 Dust。 Right。
Then why were there pictures painted by artists far greater than I； depicting places described by me？ Why had I done it？ Why had I asked Francisco Lucientes to recreate those nightmare visions？ What madness had I unlocked from his mind？ For surely he saw them…saw the demons。
His painting leaned against the wall； face down。 I reached out and turned it around。 Curators from every museum of the world would kill to have this lost treasure。 Could they have understood it came not from Goya's demented vision； but from mine？
It showed a forest of such expanse that it fled from the viewer's sight back into a ghostly oblivion。 Standing in the foreground were two people： a male and a female。 She was human； slight of build with a curious face。 He was an elf； tall and lithe with dark hair and a small goatee。 Growing from his body were thorns。
The skin was puckered where the thorns protruded from his flesh。 They ran across his face and showed as stark points across the back of his hands。 A thousand slashes rent his tunic； letting the thorns escape。
I reached out and almost touched their faces with my fingertips。
Tears were streaming down my cheeks as hot and warm on my face as the blood that once fed that great forest。 Blood poured from the wounds of my people。
But that wasn't the worst of what had been in that time。
My own plicity。 Could such acts of evil ever be forgiven？ Or forgotten？
I tried to push these dark thoughts away。 But the dream wouldn't let me go。 Wouldn't let me forget。 I'd let myself bee distracted by worldly matters。 I'd forgotten why I was here。
I swallowed the last of the scotch。 A pleasant heat had settled into my limbs。 Perhaps now I would be able to sleep。 With a simple gesture the illusionary wall was once more in place。 I went upstairs。 After closing the drapes； I settled under the quilts and forters。 But I couldn't bring myself to turn off the light。 A childish notion； but it gave me some fort。
And small fort was all I would have for a long time to e。
A vast forest stretches out before her。 Green and lush。 Beautiful and deadly。 And there are secrets。 Terrible secrets。 She steps forward and feels that she is sinking into something。 Looking down； she sees her foot being swallowed by a pool of blood。
Dreams； I thought； can't hurt you。
The day was dreary and overcast。 They usually were here。 It was well past noon before I managed to pull myself from bed。 Despite the scotch and leaving the light on； I didn't manage to sleep until after the sun rose。
Normally； I would have downloaded the morning Times and printed it out while I made tea。 But I felt restless and penned…in by the house。 I threw on jeans； boots； and heavy sweater； then grabbed my leather jacket as I went outside。 It was late October and already the wind was blowing colder from the north。
It took me a few minutes to climb down to the beach。 During the night it had rained and the path was muddy。 I slipped a little as I ran down it。 The sharp tang of the air cleared my mind。
Dreams； only dreams。
But I suspected they weren't。 I'd had premoni…trons like this before。 Before the Great Ghost Dance in 1888。 And again before the one in 2014。 Before the first VITAS plague。 Before the start of goblinization in 2021。 Each time I'd seen what was to e and I couldn't stop it。
Oh I'd tried； but the others weren't willing to listen。 But they rarely thought about the consequences of anything that was happening。 It has been that way for far too long。 They've forgotten。 Or didn't believe the danger was so close at hand。
I was so engrossed with my morbid thoughts that by the