Chapter Ten

 

The Nightmare

 

Annaleah found herself in a familiar, terrifying place. Her bare feet were coated in layers of red Georgia clay. Her white night gown, damp with perspiration, clung to her, also soiled with the thick red mud. The night's air was alive and electric, carrying in it the fear, anguish and pain of the events unfolding around her. Screams punctuated the energies around her, war cries and weeping intermingling with the loud screaming. Tears came to her eyes, welling up as the battle raged around her and she smelled the coppery scent of spilled blood.

All around Annaleah a battle that had occurred eons ago unfolded. Tall beings fell from the sky, feathers scorched, scarring the land on which they fell. Here, before her, brother fought brother, some with swords and other weaponry, some with bare hands, teeth and claws. These winged men towered over her, and she watched, unseen, as the fangs of one creature tore into the flesh of another, crushing bones and severing limbs. She didn’t want to see, and yet she couldn’t look away, forced for reasons unknown to witness the savagery. Shrill cries shook the trees and vibrated the earth, making her cover her ears for fear that they would bleed. The smell of burned flesh and feathers mingled with the blood and stung her eyes, bringing more tears to blur the horrific vision around her.

There were thousands upon thousands of these beings. Some were scattered in dead or dying heaps upon the ground, while others who still fought were so engaged in battle that they either did not see or did not care that they stepped on the dying ones, that they smashed with their large feet the remains of the dead as they waged more savagery.

Annaleah was splashed with blood as she walked on, not knowing where she meant to go. She never knew where to go when she found herself here. The blood staining her nightgown had a terrible, sickly feel to it, dirty with sin, guilt and all manner of contagion. Wiping at the blood in a state of near panic, she felt it sting her skin as if it were poison.

She wanted to run, but didn’t know where to flee. The winged men and women were everywhere, some with deep indigo blue eyes, others with silver. Some wore armor that glistened and seemed to protect them from the worst blows, while others were naked or nearly so. Sounds of metal piercing flesh, bones being crushed, the screams of the dying and battle cries of victory all assaulted her, overloading her senses as much as the sights which were bizarre and inconceivable. She watched as a tall, muscular being bathed in a golden glow grabbed one of his brethren, and with his bare hands, began to tear the wings off of the struggling creature. The golden light of the attacker seemed to grow as he strained to break the bones and sever flesh from flesh. Already weak, the darker, dirtier creature struggled with as much might as he could, his silver eyes contorted into a mask of perfect misery and excruciating pain. Blood flowed freely from his shoulders, and his cry tore at her heart. It was not the cry of savagery, nor was it the cry of death upon his blood stained lips, rather, it was the cry of utter dejection, pain and suffering. More than that, it was the cry of something that not only had lost, but was lost, utterly, hopelessly and irrevocably. Once the wings had been completely severed, the towering creature above him shouted something in a language both beautiful and terrifying before flinging each wing away in random directions. The wounded creature convulsed, blood and spittle foaming in his mouth, before bursting into flames, screaming his song of pain and dejection.

Annaleah sank to her knees, covering her eyes and weeping. "No more!" she screamed, not knowing what else to do. Suddenly, the creatures fighting nearest to her paused, and seemed to notice her for the first time. For a moment, all fighting stopped while they looked intensely at her, as if to pierce her soul with their gaze. The ones with the golden glow stood their ground, while those with the silvery eyes seemed to gain new strength. Instead of fighting each other as they had before, those with silver eyes joined as one to advance upon her, eyes and teeth flashing, sinew and muscles flexing in preparation for the wrath they would to inflict upon her.

In her desperation to escape, Annaleah fell, twisting her ankle and falling into a muddy puddle of wet clay. As she fought for courage, adrenaline surged through her, and she barely felt the deep gash open in the flesh of her leg as she fell against a sharp rock within the mud. Her blood began to flow into the water, a striking, crimson contrast to the texture and color of the soaked earth.

Cowering and wounded, Annaleah prepared herself for the descent of teeth, claws and nails into her flesh. She screamed until her throat felt as if it were on fire. Instead of her skin being ravaged and torn from her however, she was being shaken. Hard. Her eyes snapped open, her arms and legs flailing in some meager attempt at self-defense. She was slightly shocked at what she saw, further adding to her confusion. Uncle John was holding her, trying the best he could to both shake her awake and bear the blows she was throwing. His glasses had been knocked off his face, and she saw that he was afraid, but not for himself.

"Annaleah, wake up! It’s just a dream, wake up! You’re safe!" Uncle John said over and over, until finally, she registered the truth of it. She stopped her frantic attempts at defense, and drew her hand to her mouth, horrified that she had been battering her beloved uncle.

“Oh, Uncle John,” she said, her voice quivering. She could no longer hold her tears back, and she began to sob. She bent her head and placed her face in her palms, trying not to show Uncle John just how upset she was. She didn’t want to upset him any further. It could hardly be helped though, as her chest heaved as the sobs overtook her. She wept for knowing she had lashed out against him, and for the horrors she had just undergone in her terrible dream.

Uncle John, seeing her return from her nightmare back to her waking self, released her and spoke soothingly. "Oh my sweet girl, don't you cry. You’ve done nothing wrong. If I could take these terrible dreams from you I would, it isn't fair that you suffer them."

Annaleah threw her arms around her uncle, and he held her, rocking her and smoothing her hair. After a short while, she looked up at him and said, "They saw me this time, Uncle John. They never heard my screams before, nor have they ever seemed to know I was there at all, but they knew I was there this time. The dirty, battle scarred ones with silver eyes all stopped fighting their enemies and converged together and came at me. I know it was just a dream, a horrible and terrifying dream, but after all these years it has never changed. Why now? Why did they see me now?"

Looking at his niece sympathetically, Uncle John said, "It's probably the stress you're under, Annaleah. You have a very important day tomorrow, and the stress of meeting the Professor and confronting him likely had something to do with it. Please, try not to worry. Let me get you some warm milk to calm your nerves; it always worked for you when you were a child." He held her face gently in his hands, and raised himself up ever so slightly to place a kiss on her forehead. "I will be right back, sweetheart. Just remember, you're okay."

"Thank you, Uncle John. The warm milk sounds wonderful." Annaleah wiped her tears from her face and smiled back at her uncle. He bent to the floor to retrieve his fallen glasses, then stood and walked towards the door. "I love you, Uncle John, thank you so much, for everything," she said, her heart brimming with gratitude for all he had done and all that continued to do for her. He turned in the doorway, the lines of worry in his face going soft as love flowed into his expression.

"Love you too, Annaleah. Be right back."

As he left, she threw the covers off, intending to get up and wash her face in the bathroom. Dark red Georgia clay caked her bare feet, and a foul crimson liquid splattered her legs. The sheets she had been lying in were also saturated with dirt and blood. Little bits of grass and sticks had dried in clumps within the red clay, sticking to her flesh as a macabre collage. Scratches, ranging from light marks to deep, bleeding gouges marked her flesh, mixing with the red dirt. Her ankles and feet were so thoroughly caked that she saw it had completely covered her toes to her calves, as if she had been bathed in clay and gore. Where she had fallen against the sharp stone in her dream, she bled freely, the blood washing some of the leaves of grass further down as it quickly made its way down her leg.

The pain hit her shortly after seeing the severity of her situation. She bit into her clenched fist, more tears squeezing from her closed eyes. It was raw and pure, the hot blood felt as if it were searing her as it continued to bleed out, the wound itself reminding her of a gaping maw created from hell itself.

This had never happened to her before. Her heart raced as she searched for an explanation, trying to block the pain from her mind. She knew in her heart what is must mean, and it terrified her. She had really, truly been somewhere terrible, she had somehow been transported to another reality, another dimension, and had returned with the proof of her travels smeared on her, bleeding from her, and radiating harrowing pain from her body. How could this be? It didn’t even seem like a possibility, but here she was, shaken to her core and staring at the evidence. If this had happened meant it could happen again. This realization pierced fresh fear into her heart. If she brought back sticks, clay and fresh wounds, could she bring back the beings from that world into this one? She trembled, terror permeating her ever breath, every heartbeat heavy with its essence. Would she bring danger to those she loved?

Annaleah had to calm down before Uncle John returned. Taking a deep breath, she ran her fingers through her hair and wiped the tears from her face, feeling utterly exhausted.

“Mother, Maiden and Crone, please help me to calm down,” she prayed silently, “I don’t want to scare Uncle John.”

Deep waves of calmness washed over her, the terror leaving slowly as she exhaled, a subtle peace flowing inwards to her soul as she breathed in. After several meditating breaths, her self-control slowly came back to her, and she relaxed.

As she continued to take deep, calming breaths, she took the sheets from her bed, wadded them up and threw them in the closet. She didn't want Uncle John to see this; he had enough to worry about. Padding lightly on dirty feet, she called down the stairs to her uncle. "Uncle John, I am going to take a shower, can you leave the milk on my night stand?"

She heard him rustling about downstairs, then his voice called up, "Sure thing sweetie." She got out a fresh set of sheets, a towel and a new nightgown and headed to the shower.

She had been dream walking again.