“But we’ll get it, right? As long we’re together, we can do anything?” Shew said, afraid Cerené would turn gloomy.
“Yes,” she said with starry eyes. “Friends!” she stared at Shew in such an appreciative way it made Shew feel guilty. If she managed to wake up from this dream, she would end up leaving Cerené all alone in the world, and she’d be alone again without a friend.
But there must be another incarnation of you living in the Dreamworld when you wake up, Shew. Remember this IS a memory, only your reactions are different because you’re the only one in this world who knows it’s a memory.
Shew shrugged. She knew she wasn’t the only one who knew this was a memory. Loki, dressed in the evil Huntsman’s soul, knew it too.
Shew washed the thought away immediately. At the moment, Cerené was much more interesting than Loki.
Life isn’t just about love; friends are just as important.
Shew didn’t have friends, neither in the Dreamworld nor the Waking World. She suddenly realized that she needed Cerené as much as Cerené needed her.
You don’t always need people to take care of you. Sometimes you need people so you can take care of them.
“So where do we need to go to get the third ingredient of your Art?” Shew asked, more interested than ever.
“The Field of Dreams,” Cerené said. “Myth has it that it’s owned by the Sandman.”
7
A Field of Dreams
“To get to the Sandman’s Field of Dreams, we have to cross the Juniper Trees and the Wall of Thorns first,” Cerené said after a long walk.
Shew knew about the Juniper Trees. Each tree had a single eye at the end of its branches and used it to spy on intruders in forbidden regions. It was rumored that each tree had a soul of a child trapped in it, children who’d been killed in ancient wars. In comparison to everything else in Sorrow, the Juniper Trees were not to be feared.
What worried Shew was the mention of the Wall of Thorns, which was one of the barriers Carmilla had created with witchcraft to protect them from Night Sorrow’s army—this part always confused Shew. Wasn’t Carmilla already on Night Sorrow’s side after turning into a vampire? She believed that time was going to reveal something about it.
As for the Wall of Thorns, it was a magical thorn bush that cut through the trespassers trying to leave or enter Sorrow. The thorn cut a person to taste their blood and determine whether they were Night Sorrow’s intruders or locals. The tree thought of them as enemies and friends. If friends, it let them pass, whether in or out of Sorrow. If enemies, it tortured them by playing an irresistible musical tune that made one dance uncontrollably and eventually dance themselves to death in the thorn bush.
No intruder had ever passed through the Wall of Thorns—at least, none heard of—and few locals dared their way out.
Cerené’s suggestion was madness itself.
“Wait,” Shew grabbed her hand. “We’re not going to pass through. We’ll die and you know that.”
“You have to trust me, Joy,” Cerené said, and kept walking.
“Stop calling me Joy,” Shew stopped walking.
“Why? I love the name. You are my Joy in this Kingdom of Sorrow.”
“Cerené,” Shew called out. “Please stop.”
“Alright, princess,” Cerené stomped her feet. She wanted to walk farther. She wanted to play, and Shew was spoiling the fun. “I am all ears.”
“You know we’ll die if we cross the Wall of Thorns, right?”
“No, we won’t,” Cerené set her urn on the ground and folded her arms. “One can die easier by living in the Kingdom of Sorrow.”
Shew said nothing. Cerené hit the jackpot with that last sentence, but there was a difference between dying and suicide.
“All you need is to trust me,” Cerené unfolded her hands and started pleading like a child. “I wouldn’t hurt you, ever. If you’re worried about Night Sorrow’s army, let me tell you that this spot in the Wall of Thorns doesn’t lead directly to the outside. It leads to the Field of Dream which also called the Field In Between. I don’t know much about it, but if you see it, you will love it.”
“The Field in Between what?”
“I wish I knew, but it’s a place that is neither inside of Sorrow nor outside. Like I said, I had nothing to do in my spare time without friends or caring people but read. I read all the books I found in the school’s library, dusty books, books with no cover, and vintage books that had been handwritten,” Cerené said. “Have I lied about anything I told you about before?”
“What about the thorn bush?” Shew said reluctantly.
“What about it? We’re locals, not intruders. It will see us as friends, not enemies. We’ll pass. It’s just a little scratch. You’ll bleed, but not too much. Look!” Cerené pulled up the bottom of her dress and showed multiple scratches on her thighs. There were a lot and Cerené had just realized just how many by showing them to Shew. Some wounds never show, not even in the mirror, until we see them in the expressions on the faces of people we love. “Wow, that’s a lot of wounds,” Cerené uttered and laughed out of discomfort.
Shew wondered if this was the right time to ask her about her wounds.
It wasn’t.
Cerené was too happy with her magical adventure, and Shew didn’t want to spoil it for her.
“All right,” Shew nodded hesitantly. “Let’s do it.”
A while later, Cerené walked through the Wall of Thorns like a ghost through a curtain. She was tiny and thin—Shew believed she’d become so used to pain that the thorns scratching her body didn’t mean anything to her. She watched trickles of blood dripping from under Cerené’s dress before she disappeared behind the bushes into the Field of Dreams.
“See? I am here already,” Cerené said from behind the bushes.
Shew couldn’t see her. She only saw a magnificent light peering through from behind the bushes. In her mind, the light had no certain color. It was like nothing she’d even seen before. It was just magnificent.
A first reluctant step drew Shew closer to the thorn bush. The first cut was the deepest. The thorns sliced through her white and expensive dress and stained it with blood immediately. It was as if her dress craved blood.
Why does it have to hurt so much like in the real world? This is a dream for God’s sake!
Shew’s second cut was alarming. The thorn bush went crazy and slashed at her face slightly.
Why did she provoke the thorns, and why was that eerie flute playing nearby?
“Shew!” Cerené yelled. “What happened? I can’t see you. Why is that Dark Tune playing? How is this possible?”
Shew was speechless. She could feel the melody possessing her soul. The stories she’d heard about the Wall of Thorns were true. The music from the flute was part of Mozart’s the Magic Flute, the piece Oddly Tune was teaching her right before he turned into a werewolf.
What does this mean? Shut up! There is no time to understand. You should focus on WHY the music is playing. The Wall of Thorns only detects intruders.
“What is going on, Shew?” Cerené cried out beyond the thorns. “I’m coming for you. Wait!”
“No!” Shew managed to say, resisting the urge in her feet to dance in the thorn bush. “Stay where you are, Cerené!”
Shew, in the middle of her panic, wondered if this was why Loki didn’t come to kill her. Maybe the Queen of Sorrow figured out a way for Snow White to kill herself. If so, that would have been some genius plan, to send her back to a memory in her childhood were she should have died naturally.