Dreams and Shadows Page 5

  “The kind not afraid to dream. The kind not in a hurry to grow up.”

  “Why would I want to grow up? Grown-ups are sad and have headaches and some of them smell funny.”

  Yashar smiled. “Would you like to play knights of the round table?”

  “How do you play that?”

  “Well, I give you a sword and then summon a mean and nasty dragon and you kill it for your king.”

  Colby brightened. “Would I get to save any pretty girls?”

  “Colby, you’re eight.”

  “Yeah, but girls are real cute.”

  “You woo women with that sort of talk?”

  “No. Usually I call them names and they let me chase them around.” Colby thought for a moment. “Yashar, what’s sex like?”

  Yashar smiled. “A lot like chasing girls around the schoolyard. Except you have to call them sweet names instead. You ready to do this or would you rather stand around gabbing all day?”

  “No, no, no. I wanna play knights.”

  “So let it be done.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  DJINN AROUND THE CORNER

  An excerpt by Dr. Thaddeus Ray, Ph.D., from his book A Chronicle of the Dreamfolk

  There are few supernatural creatures so misunderstood and underrepresented in modern myth as the djinn. Like many other popular supernatural creatures (namely angels, demons, and fairies) it is not so much a specific type of creature as it is a class of creatures. Not all djinn are the same. In fact, there seem to be as many different types and kinds of djinn in the world as there are types of fairies, but no one has ever taken the time or care to catalog them. Some have postulated that djinn are simply another type of fairy, while others still believe that they are angels cast out of Heaven, many of whom serve the evil Shaitan (pronounced Satan) who turned his back on God by refusing to serve man. What is known for sure is that each djinn varies wildly from the next, each possessing only a certain specific set of traits that they all share.

  Djinn (both the singular and the plural of the word, only rarely dialectally pluralized as jnoun) possess free will and are not, like other supernatural creatures, entirely bound by region, diet, or behavior. They are much like us in that respect. There is no single habitat in which you can expect to find them, or one thing you can expect to find them doing. Unburdened individuals, each one finds his own purpose, worship, or enjoyment on his own terms.

  However, there is one thing they cannot do: break an oath of any kind. Once a djinn promises, swears, or even infers that he is promising, he is compelled by every fiber of his being to uphold that promise, even at the expense of his own life. Of course, nothing prevents a crafty djinn from finding and exploiting any loopholes in said oath. Most stories involving djinn tend to focus upon this aspect of oath bending, but in practice it appears to be fairly uncommon.

  All djinn love the heat and they love to sleep. No one knows why and the djinn never speak of it, but they have been known to sleep in the desert for years on end if undisturbed. Djinn also love to eat, but suffer physical pain and illness at the slightest touch of salt, and serving one salty foods is a surefire way to earn his ire. Steel and iron similarly repulse djinn, but don’t seem to affect them like the fey. Despite these weaknesses, djinn are creatures of energy, bound by their own laws, and they cannot be killed in a conventional manner. The only known way for one to die is for them to fade away when completely forgotten.

  Djinn feed off memory—they are inexplicably bound to it. As long as someone remembers them specifically as an individual (and most important, as a djinn) they live. But if everyone who knows them dies, they begin to starve and will perish within a fortnight—their energy dissipates into the atmosphere, creating one of the most spectacular sunsets you will ever have the privilege to see. This means that as long as he keeps himself out of trouble, a djinn can theoretically live forever. But while they are impossible to kill outright, they may be imprisoned and are often bound by those who wish to possess their power for their own.

  At one time the djinn were quite numerous and scoured the earth in search of pleasure, adventure, or spiritual truth. It wasn’t uncommon for someone’s home to be “haunted” by a djinn, the basis of numerous superstitions. For example, not stepping on the threshold of a house originates from cases of people tripping over and awakening sleeping djinn that had passed out in their doorways.

  The word djinn evolved from the word janna, meaning “to conceal” or “to hide,” as every djinn can turn invisible at will. Each also has at his disposal a bevy of other abilities. Some can change shape, often taking animal form or a human appearance, though some appear with cloven hooves or the feet of a camel when doing so. Oddly, any attempt to transform into the shape of a beautiful woman will leave the djinn with sideways eyes that run from forehead to cheek. Other djinn can fly; pass through walls; or are possessed of great, inhuman strength. However, the most powerful djinn are those that master the ability to grant wishes.

  Wish-granting djinn are actually a very rare and truly powerful lot, able to completely alter the fortunes and fates of men. Even then, they cannot just alter reality of their own free will. A djinn may only summon a wish from the mind of someone else, usually a mortal, and only when certain conditions are met. First, a djinn must bind himself to that mortal, swearing to grant one or more wishes. Second, the mortal must speak that wish aloud. Finally, the djinn must consent and then grant the wish. However, at this point they can make any modifications they want, including tacking on any conditions (how, when, and where, etc.) that were not initially specified in the wish, within the confines of the original oath.

  The chief limiting factor of these wishes is that djinn cannot change the past, only the present. Even the future is truly out of their grasp, save for the passing on of blessings or the laying down of curses, both of which seem to obey rules of their own. Otherwise, these djinn can make changes as small as the ownership or manufacture of items to as large as convincing the world of a truth that never before existed—such as the identity of a nation’s ruler. Powerful (and power-hungry) men have long sought djinn for this reason, and many djinn have gone into hiding as a result.

  To find a djinn in this day and age is indeed a boon, though woe to the fellow a djinn finds first. One can never know what they truly intend.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE BOY COLBY MAKES HIS CHOICE

  Fairies are real?!” Colby shrieked at the top of his lungs. “Cool!” His face lit up at the mere thought. Despite meeting an actual djinn and getting offered the chance to make a wish, Colby hadn’t bothered to ask himself one very important question: If djinn were real, what else was out there? But now that very thought weighed heavily on his mind.

  “Real?” Yashar answered coyly. “Well, that depends entirely on how you look at it.”

  “What else is real?”

  “Many things are real. Trees are real, people are real . . .”

  “No, what other cool things are real?”

  “Cool is a relative term, Colby. But I assume you are asking about what you might call . . . supernatural?” Colby looked puzzled. He didn’t know that word. “Well, you know fairies are real and you know the djinn are real.”

  “Genies.”

  “Yes, genies. But angels are also real, wizards . . .”

  “Ghosts?”

  “That’s where things get a little murky. But yes. In a sense.”

  “Dragons?”

  “No.”

  “Monsters?”

  Yashar paused. He nodded slowly, lost in thought, as if remembering something terrible. His gaze was at once both fatherly and frightening. “Colby,” he said. “Monsters are real. Very real. But they’re not just creatures. Monsters are everywhere. They’re people, they’re nightmares. They’re jealous viziers. They are the things that we harbor within ourselves. If you remember one thing, even abov
e remembering me, remember that there is not a monster dreamt that hasn’t walked once within the soul of a man.”

  Yashar leaned in closer, poking a single stern finger into Colby’s chest. “One day there may be a monster here. One with the teeth of a shark, the strength of a lion, and the cruelty only a man can bring to bear.”

  Relaxing his gaze, he leaned back and smiled. “But do monsters of flesh and blood and bone exist? Monsters with wings and gaping jaws that can swallow children whole; that smell of rotting garbage and belch out sounds so foul they make your very knees shake? Do they exist?” He playfully poked Colby in the ribs, tickling him. “Oh yes, Colby. They exist. They very much exist.”

  “Cool! I wanna see ’em. Not just the monsters, but everything. Fairies, angels, wizards. I wanna see ’em all. That’s my wish.”

  Yashar laughed. “What?”

  “That’s my wish. I wish I could see everything suprana . . . tral . . .”

  Yashar became instantly serious. “Supernatural?”

  “Supernatural,” Colby proudly belted out. “I wish you would show me everything supernatural.”

  “No,” said Yashar. “That’s very dangerous. I forbid it.”

  “But that’s my wish. You’ll protect me, right? I wish you’d show me and protect me. That’s my wish.”

  “You don’t want anything else?” asked Yashar, pausing a moment so Colby could answer. “A utility belt?” He spoke with a hint of desperation. “A bicycle? A girlfriend?”

  “Nope. That’s my wish. And you promised anything I wanted. And genies always keep their promises, right?”

  Yashar’s heart broke: he had promised. No matter how badly he knew it would turn out for Colby, he had to see it through. He knew that this wasn’t the worst mistake he’d ever made, but he was beginning to worry that it might come close. Sighing deeply, he shook his head. Well, this is new.

  “So that’s it, then? Your wish? You’re sure you don’t want anything else? Anything else?”

  “Nope. I want to see everything.”

  “Then your wish is my command,” the djinn said sadly.

  Colby smiled. Yashar did not. Leaning in, Yashar placed a single hand on Colby’s forehead, pinning back the boy’s eyelids with his thumb and forefinger so he couldn’t blink. Then he spit lightly into each eye.

  Colby yelped. “Hey!” he protested, wriggling away.

  “Wipe your eyes and see the world anew,” said Yashar.

  Colby opened his eyes but saw nothing different. There were no fairies flitting about, no angels perched in the branches of trees, just Yashar looking down gravely upon him.

  “Enjoy it now, kid,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll be smiling in the morning. Come on, you’ve got some packing to do.”

  UPSTAIRS, IN COLBY’S bedroom, Yashar gazed at the various pennants and posters adorning the wall, clearly placed there by a father wishing his son would grow up liking the same things he did. Nothing on the walls spoke of Colby at all—excepting perhaps that his parents didn’t really know him that well. Colby tiptoed across the creaky wooden floor, trying not to disturb his mother, still asleep on the couch in the living room below. Yashar took a few steps, pacing toward the window. “Shhh,” Colby warned. “Mommy said not to be back until five, and if she wakes up there’s gonna be trouble.”

  Yashar looked back over his shoulder at Colby. “Half a bottle of Stoli in her stomach says she doesn’t wake up until seven thirty.”

  Colby nodded. “Okay, but if she wakes up, you do the talking.”

  Yashar secretly smiled. At least the kid had style. Sure, it probably came from too much television and an overactive imagination—but at least he was interesting. Colby sifted through his things, overstuffing a backpack with trinkets and toys. All manner of books, electronic games, and stuffed animals poked out of the sides in some peculiar form of non-Euclidian geometry, preventing the zipper from moving, let alone properly zipping up.

  Yashar shook his head and decided to bring a quick end to this madness. “Leave it.”

  “What?” asked Colby, terrified.

  “Leave it all.”

  Colby looked up at the djinn—his eyes as big as saucers—as if he’d just been commanded to kill a puppy with a blunt knife. “But . . . but these are my toys.”

  “You won’t need them. Not where we’re going.”

  “We won’t need toys?”

  Yashar shook his head. “Not on an adventure, no. And anything you do need, I’ll get you.”

  “So I can’t take anything?”

  “No,” Yashar said sternly. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath: He’s only eight. “One toy, only one. Which is your favorite?”

  “That’s easy,” said Colby. He walked over to his nightstand, taking from it a battered, worn, one-eyed mess of a teddy bear, its fur matted and dirty, but its sewn-on smile intact, peeking out like a ray of distilled childhood through the grime and sweat of eight years of abuse. “Mr. Bearston. He’s my favorite.”

  “Well, you can take Mr. Bearston with you. Put him in your backpack and let’s go.”

  “I think I’ll carry him for a while.” Colby set down Mr. Bearston, upturned the backpack, shaking it until every last bit of its contents spilled out onto his bed. Then he zipped up the pack, slung it over his shoulder, picked up Mr. Bearston by a single paw, and held out his other hand for Yashar to take. “Ready.”

  “Say good-bye to your home, Colby. Next time you see it, you will be a very different person.” Yashar meant that, but it wasn’t true. For he had no way of knowing that Colby would look around one last time, say good-bye to all his toys; take off his gaudy, colorful watch and leave it on the nightstand on the way out; walk quietly down the stairs, kiss his mother on the brow; and tiptoe out the door only to never, ever return. But that’s exactly what would happen. Colby, like Ewan before him, had no idea that this would be the last time he’d ever see home.

  And the two walked off into the evening—Colby holding Mr. Bearston in one hand and Yashar’s meaty palm in the other—toward adventure.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE VEIL BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

  An essay by Dr. Thaddeus Ray, Ph.D., from his book The Everything You Cannot See

  Between the realm of the natural world and that of the supernatural is a veil, a thin gossamer web that muddles the vision of mortal man and keeps him from seeing what is going on all around him. It is a sort of one-way mirror, an energy that allows the beings of the other side to peer in and prey upon the ever-replicating resource that is man while simultaneously preventing man from really knowing what stalks him from the other side. Not everything beyond this veil is harmful. Most creatures are indifferent and care no more about us than you care about the squirrels living in the tree across the street. Yet they remain sheltered, far from prying eyes despite often being steps, if not inches, away.

  Whether blessed with the ability to sense certain energies or touched by a madness that ignores the veil altogether, some people are immune to the ethereal strands that separate us from them. Those who can see are often diagnosed with schizophrenia or some form of psychosis, though it isn’t clear which comes first: the perception of the supernatural or a psychological break. Perhaps some people are just so far gone that they accept the existence of things everyone else subconsciously filters out. Maybe the sight of such things shatters the fragile human mind, for once you’ve accepted the existence of that which is clearly not there, nothing is impossible.

  Anyone with an open mind can peer beyond, if even only for a moment. When your guard is down and the energies on the other side are strong, it is possible to almost see the other side. Moreover, certain substances, such as plants, mushrooms, and synthetic hallucinogens, have been known to weaken the mind’s grip on reality and allow a greater chance of seeing something beyond. While not a sure thing, it has been known to help en
ough that certain beings from the other side enjoy taking advantage of those under the influence.

  Furthermore, it is possible for the beings of the other side to cross into our world, to appear in a manner that allows our minds to perceive them either as they are or as they wish us to believe them to be. Still others choose to enchant their victims with their own energy, like fairies and their glamour, to usher mortal men into their own nightmarish, quixotic realm. Fairies themselves have been known to steal away children in the night, bathe them in the glamour of a virginal spring-fed lake, and keep them living beyond the veil until they are old enough to know better.

  No one is quite sure why the veil exists, whether it is a byproduct of the energies that make up supernatural beings, or an actual barrier put in place that one day might be broken through and overcome. Perhaps it is for our own good. Man fears what he does not understand, and everything else he first subverts, then controls or, ultimately, destroys.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE BOY EWAN PREPARES THE HUNT

  The nearly seven years since Ewan Thatcher had been abducted were not particularly kind to him. The ward of Dithers the Bendith Y Mamau, he was not what anyone in their right mind would consider cared for. Thin, gaunt, and covered head to toe in boyish dirt, he was slightly malnourished, rarely cleaned, and relegated to a cot of hay on a cold, chalky stone floor at night.

  Despite this, Ewan—still as quiet and complaint free as ever—managed to find something worthwhile in everything about his life. Today, for example, was the day that Dithers was taking him along on a hunt. It would be a great day—Ewan knew it in his heart. There was no breeze to give away his scent and it was still early enough in the season that the Texas sun had yet to choke the air with hundred-degree heat. Ewan crouched silently in tall grass, crawling on all fours, so close to the ground that his deerskin tunic was the only thing separating flesh from soil.

  Dithers’s head poked through the grass behind him—the Bendith clearly much better at hiding than Ewan. He sniffed the air. Crawling up beside Ewan, he gestured deliberately. Two bunny-eared fingers atop his head. A hopping fist. A finger across the mouth. Two fingers to the eyes. A point to a nearby tree. Rabbit.