Dreamt
Mary Bernadette Pfeifer
A pale ghostly figure gazed into the sinking sun. His eyes, scared blue ice rimed in midnight. His lips purple. His blood frozen. White icy skin covered his skeletal body. He searched the dome above him, waiting for an answer. His heart burned. His heart rhythm, the only thing which gave him life, longed to be pulled away with the sun. He closed his eyes, and temporarily disappeared from his surroundings. Was he finally let free? Such thoughts to himself filled him partially with a false sense of recovery. He felt lifted as the wind wound up his long tangled black hair and let it fall around his white, sin shadowed face. His wanton and careless life had left him forsaken and unwanted, even by himself. As he looked up to the dome, the sky watched him also, knowing the importance of who it watched. For it knew this to be Romeo, The Wanderer’s son.
This ghost-man fell to the ground, taking in his breath. His breath was shallow and pounding. Exhausted by his long journey, he fell into a disillusioned state of mind. His thoughts tripped over themselves. He was no more than a shadow. He had scattered himself into too many places, and these pieces were kept well by no one who held them. There were consequences. It was fate by his own hands. There he laid in a disrupted rest on the grass until nightfall, staring out into what only he could see. He then at last fell into slumber. When he awoke to the suns calling, the dreaded beams seeping in under his then half closed eyes, he feigned that he could hear the most beautiful voice of a maiden or wood nymph. This brought he to his feet, but soon he concluded that it must have been brought within a dream. After completely regaining his consciousness he became quite aware that there was no one else around for many miles in any direction. His stance then straight. His tall slender body cast a long shadow towards the west. Still half unaware, he glanced about to recover where he’d placed the black leather pouch which contained his few kept belongings. Taking it up from beside a moss infested rock, he stepped on towards the dense collection of trees a few miles off from him towards the north. His mind held a map to this whole country, and he knew this place to be the forest of Lacrian.
He, after a while’s walk, sat at a creak which he came upon. Looking down into the water, he washed his face. His dark hair fell over his features. It was raven in color, and reaching on past his shoulders. From his families, it was like his mothers. Tired, ringed eyes starred back at him. He began to wonder on where she might be. Whether she were alive or gone. Her parents passing had come above her while she herself was still a young child, and so she had turned to magic as her refuge. She grew into a majestic dark enchantress. Romeo was born with magic in his blood, and now he still harvests it in his veins. The pale hue of it infests his skin and darkens the depth of his eyes. He paused. His thoughts began to drift back to the melody he’d heard before. It went on and on in his mind as if known always by his heart. He began to voice it, at first very quietly, and then gradually he worked his way up to a full voice. His tone was dark and deep, touched with a sonorous echo of sorrow. Another voice joined his. It was the enchanting, melodic utterance thought up before. He ran to where he felt it came from, but as he did this, it ones again vanished, and he felt more alone then ever he had before that point. While the voice was merged with his, he had felt as if their souls had combined to one. As she left him, he felt that she had taken a piece of himself with her. Desperately he tried to recall the song once more, hoping that the dream would return. But, try as he may, he could not remember one word, nor one note of the melody. He fell to the ground in grief wishing that he had no heart. He felt he could not handle the torment it caused him. He felt that his love belonged to something which did not exists, and that now no solace could be brought to him. Some time passed, and up he was walking again, hopeless and confused. After a while’s distance he came upon a girl weeping, seated on a rock before him. The skin of her small, fair body was smooth and ivory. Her hair was sun’s fire and her eyes a dark opal. To Romeo she looked like a spirit. “Why here, a dropped angel finds reason to cry?” He asked. His deep voice and unexpected appearance had frightened her. She looked up to him. The sun was behind his person, and his shadow was cast over her face. “I am alone, and the one left to my family. Neither was I meant to have survived this lone way. The flames spread, planted for us all in consumption abroad.” She answered incoherently by sorrow. “So you are not quite spirit then?” he thought out loud, “You are not who I seek -but still- what is your name?” “Aerial” She answered obediently. “To what age do your years number?” “Eighteen.” An age close by months to the same as he, yet starvation had stunted her small Celtic size making her much younger in appearance. She shyly looked up to him with her dark, translucent eyes searching his face. She then collapsed worn and exhausted. For all that he could tell, she had not eaten in many days. He lifted her up, carrying her in his arms. It was best that she be taken to the town he was destined for also. Her small size made her light and easy to carry. Her smooth fingers clung to his shoulders, and her long sunlit auburn hair fell down over his, creating a contrast between the dark and light. As night became nearer, he laid her down to rest on a grass patch, covering her with his own blanket. He found no sleep for himself that night.
Aerial awoke to the sound of a crackling camp fire. There sat Romeo, staring with a searching into the flames, fascinated by what he knew to contain danger. The blue/black star infested sky was a fitting background. He seemed to not exists in this part of the world, he seemed to feel above and beyond it. She heard beasts of the night howling and scratching in the background. The smoke of the fire seemed to turn into spirits which drifted up and around into the night. Romeo stood in the mince of all of this as if he were removed from himself. He began to sway his body from side to side. He was singing something in a whisper. From what she could hear of it, it made no sense to a logical mind, and yet it was calming and pleasant to hear. She was at first instinctively frighted by all of this, but soon she drifted back to dreams, too distant herself to reflect on him. When she woke in the morning, Romeo gave her some little food to eat, without words. She wondered at him. He then sat, resting his back against a tree and counting the leaves that had fallen from above. He watched her. At last looking down, he spoke “Now tell me, where have you come out from?” She started blank at him for a moment, perhaps because of his odd manner for her, or possibly it had been out of a wonder that this shadowed man had taken such an interest in things which should mean nothing to him. “Loreal. Within a cottage staked to a farm there are times were once pleased. Myself and my mother had still retained a property after my father’s passing had occured, until a fire had insinuated it’s grounds. This case had come through no accidental cause. The towns people wished for us death. They were afraid lest my mother’s poison would pass on to me. Ever since my father’s dimiseal, she would stalk the grave yard and call for him. She turned ghostly and pale. Her veins were chilled and her blood was frozen. They warned each other that she had become possessed by the dead grave dwellers. Every night she would leave to sneak away to her husbands grave and press her head into the ground where his heart lie. On one such a night, she was late coming back, and so I left to find her. Not recovering her in her common place, I returned to our dwelling only to find it infested with flames. She was dead with it. I, knowing it meant to be for me also, fled to Lacrian and left them to assume that I had perished.” All this she spoke with no inflection of emotion within. She was drained of all. He watched her, and she turned away. They walked on a while more that day, silently. As night fell, Romeo once again left her to her sleep. He watched her for a while, and then stepped to the edge of a ridge where he himself fell into a prism of dreams as the last fading colors of sun stretched across his mind. As his conciseness began to fade, he heard the melodic voice once more. He soon, however, became too drowsy to contemplate it further, and gave up his thoughts to rest. As he slept he had this dream...
He saw himself, his body, motionless and pale. His face showed no emotion. His eyes showed no light. And yet, he felt separate from himself, looking on. His body staid in its place. It gave no breath. It showed no movement. It was like a dead and lifeless corps standing upright in front of him. Suddenly, his lifeless spirit came out from him, a ghastly thing. It came out of his corps and moved to where the on looking him was standing. It frightened him, because in it he knew that he could see his own features showing through the twisted and misshapen form made grotesque by his sins. This horrible creature, worthy of hell, he knew only too well to be his soul. On it floated, very rapidly, and then passing through him, sounded a most unearthly cry that shuddered through his every vein and bone. He felt a cold and haunted feeling as if he’d been taken away with it, as it wandered on past him. In to the depths of the abyss.
His second dream was of this.....
He saw a beautiful and fair woman. Her face held a stern and grave expression. One brought on by only age and abundant wisdom. Her hair was a rich flame. Her eyes, black and deep. She spoke to him in a smooth, low, harmonic voice, “You were conceived by magic, and by this magic many have past away. You were born of an enchantress named Vanora, and your father was created from the shadow of the one she loved. This shadow has swept over many hearts, and destroyed much love. But, in your veins you carry the blood of two fathers, that of the shadow which has created a body around it, and that of the person who’s shadow was stolen. In all of your life this far, you have chosen only the darker’s path. You must step away before you become entangeled in his trance. The person who is the shadow body is the dark warrior, Donavanjal. And, he who he was taken from is my son the lonely wanderer, and former royal prince, Dorian. Through your shadow father many have died, and through their deaths many have become shadows in their hearts. You have followed in many of his ways, even if through only carelessness. For this reason, you will be haunted until expiation is designed.
Here he awoke, much shaken by his dreams. His heartbeat was rapid, and his body, damp with sweat. It was dark, close to midnight. The moon, a disk of silver, shown brightly high in the sky. The wind was cold, but still his blood boiled within. He looked around himself frightened by his own presence. He breathed in deeply and fell to the ground in prayer. Lower he sunk until he was level with the weeds and grass, his face moist with tears mingled in sweat. There he lied in contemplation of himself until the sun began to rise in the sky. Never before had he had such a longing for what he never knew. Never before did he fully realize himself. All his life he’d awaited death not fully realizing the depth of his grave. His, he felt, was a far worse demise then any he knew before. Much time passed as he wept, and as it went on, sun rays began seeping in under his half shaded eyes. He looked up. The sun was just beginning to stretch its beams across its awakening world, just as he felt now that he must grope throughout his darkness depths, and grasp for the awakening of his stride. With a since of forged heroism, he promised to repair his decline. He rose, towards the sun, back towards were Aerial was lying. She was asleep. He knelt on the grass near to her, leaning over to wake her. He paused for a moment, reaching out to pull back her long sun fire hair which veiled the features of her child like, heart formed face. At this she awoke, apparently frightened by his being so close. She backed away. Romeo’s heart stung, and reminded him of his self created aversion. He paused. “Come up, if we start now we can reach Dregh before another fortnight passes.” She rose at his words. Later within the same day this began to happen in turns. “You have not told me who you are.” “I am called Romeo, the wanderer’s son.” “Where are you from?” “Nowhere that is one place.” “Where are you headed for?” “Nowhere that is of one place” “Have you no home?” “No.” “Nor any wishes for one?.” He temporarily stopped in his walk and turned to her. “You’ve questioned much.” She walked on, pretending not to notice that he’d stopped. He ran up to follow. “Where do you plan to go after we reach Dregh?” It was his turn to pry into her. “Nowhere that I am positioned for.” “So we are both certain of nothing. That one thing we’ll have in common.” “That little.” He watched her trying to think of an opening for conversation. She searched her mind for things to say, and only brought up blanks. He looked down to her with his eyes glistened, and she turned away not understanding his glance, but wishing to still reflect on it in her mind for a while. “Look, to the setting sun?” He looked down to her as she said this. The combination of color and shadows washed across her face. He smiled. She was ecstatic to see him looking down to her. Too happy, she felt, she cared too much. That night when they set up camp, she had trouble finding rest. There was a twinge in her heart that she’d never known before. Aching that she feared would never cease. He walked over to her. Her pain longed for him. “So you have found no sleep either?” He said. “My mind is too busy with thought.” “Mine also. I hope that your rest turns well.” She looked down, afraid lest she show too much of her heart. He looked to her ones more, searching her face for some sort of response to his longing’s question, but she was facing away. Was this his unspoken answer? He rose, and took rest away off. Far enough away to escape the draw of her presence. Two more days were spent in such ways as these, and as promised, Romeo’s nights were haunted by the visions of the woman dreamt up before. On the third day they reached sight of their longed for station in the distance. Romeo’s hope sank a bit at the thought that this now may be the parting of himself and his heart. It would still be another day’s journey before they reached there destined place. He hoped for the strength to overcome his fears and voice himself before it came time for them to separate. There she walked on, not two steps from him, unaware of what he felt. Her small feet floated across the ground as if she were a spirit. Her clothes were worn and torn, her hair was unbraided and unruled. It fell all about her, the ends of it kissing at her knees. But still, to him, she was more than any princess or queen. Radiantly she shone, though unkept and set apart from her proper place. His thoughts drifted within. She looked to him when she felt he could not see. The closer he stood, the more elated her pain. The farther he stepped away, the stronger her wish to follow. There was no solace for him now. All felt lost. Her affliction granted her no peace.
They traveled much that day. At a break for food, Romeo stepped off to contemplate. His mind was released into an apparition. There, in front of him, she appeared once more. “Why do you chase me Morrigan?” he spoke, “Why do you follow at my heels, awaken my dreams with dreams, and surmount my fate with your choices. Are there not others like me?” “No, not of your father’s blood.” “And is there none other still?” “Still none other.” “What is your desire than?” “My wish is your good will. Which, as of yet, has not been obtained.” “What do you want of me, directly?” “Your father, Dorian, is my son. I have clothed myself in his fathers wife. I have carried him, as her. His father, the great (over many times) grandson of Cuchuliann, distantly. Cuchuliann, who is the son of Sualtan, the spiritual son of Lugh. His blood ran in the veins of your grandfather, who much resembled him. The blood in your veins which is my concern.” “But he is only half my father, I was born of the shadow.” “And the shadow was born of him.” Her speech snapped like lightning voicing itself, than she fell to rain. “She is not real.” “Who do you speak of?” “Aerial.” “She is alive.” “No, no longer does she live. What you fervor is a dream. Her expiration was before she had come to your side. It is a ghost that has touched near you.” “No!” “It is your lonely heart which creates her rhythm. It is your own breath which you hear as hers. “ “No!” He sank. “She has opened herself, and let her spirit fly. As it came to be, she had loved you still. Her song she leaves in you. She would wish to steal away to follow, though I have taken her from you. Her place is not to be with you.” “Why do you leave me left alone, Morrigan. Why do you steal all that I have? I am not well left on my own. With her you have taken my heart. This thing... hers to have.” “Silence. It is only I who pull her away.” Romeo wept, sighing “Will she visit me? May she conquer my dreams.” “Also know this, I have taken her to a place of light. A place where no shadow may enter. Be it made sure that no shadow remains in you at death if you wish to see her again.” At these words he was once again left alone. When he rose, he walked back to no one.
