THE DREAM
Kim and his father helped him out of the hall. He was a little dizzy, but the farther he got from the sound of the music, the more stable he felt and the more he was sure he’d experienced some kind of hallucination. I mean, little creatures? Flying things? Give me a break, right?
The concert had continued despite his episode. Deirdre D’Anaan hadn’t missed a beat. To his relief, he wasn’t the only one to be transported by the music. Though some had taken to the aisles to dance spontaneously, none had been affected as deeply as Brendan had. Between Kim and his dad, they had managed to steer Brendan to the exit.
Standing out in the fresh, cool air, Brendan felt a little better. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t felt bad in the hall-quite the opposite. He had felt completely alive. That was amazing. I was totally going to make a fool of myself! I was going to go up on the stage and dance around like a lunatic but… I didn’t care! Part of him regretted that Kim and his father had pulled him away.
“Are you okay?” his father asked for the umpteenth 39 time.
“I’m fine,” Brendan assured him. “I just… needed some air.”
“You really gave me a scare there, bud.” His father was clearly trying to sound unconcerned but his laugh rang a bit false. “I thought you were gonna do some stage-diving.”
Kim stood back, arms crossed, and said not a word.
“What’s your problem?” Brendan asked.
“No problem,” she said evenly.
“You look pissed.”
“Well, I’m not. Not at you anyway.”
“Well, who are you pissed at, then?” Brendan was feeling belligerent and a little tired of her odd behaviour. “And what are you doing here anyway?”
“Hey, Brendan. Just hold on,” his father interjected. “Your friend Kim was a big help.”
“I’ll bet,” Brendan muttered.
“As I said,” his father repeated, “Kim was a big help. I don’t think you should be so disrespectful.”
Brendan wanted to say, Dad, butt out! She’s been sneaking around and talking about me behind my back. I’m sick of it. Instead he muttered, “I guess so”
“You’re welcome,” Kim snorted. “I’d better be going. See ya, Mr. Clair.” She plunked her helmet on her head and tightened the strap.
“Thanks, Kim,” his father said. “See you soon.”
Brendan watched her disappear around the side of the building and he heard her scooter cough to life and roar away.
“You’ve never mentioned her before,” his dad observed.
“She goes to my school.”
“Really?” His father arched an eyebrow. “Hmmm. Like I said: I’m surprised you’ve never mentioned her before. She’s cute.”
“Dad!”
“Come on! I’m just thinking she’s cute, is all.”
“She’s just a friend of mine, Dad.”
His dad winked knowingly. “I see. Say no more…”
“Dad,” Brendan groaned. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what? Who said anything about anything being like anything?”
“Well, it isn’t like that.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, brother.”
“You okay to walk?” His father’s face was suddenly full of concern. “We could take a cab…”
“Dad, relax.” Brendan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. We could go back in if you want. I promise, I’m okay.”
His father looked at him critically then said, “Naw. Let’s go home. I have an early day tomorrow anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I ruined your night out.”
“Not at all. I’m not really into that Celtic stuff, y’know. I like the rock and roll.” He punched Brendan in the arm. “I say we get some barbecue pork and head home, huh?”
“Okay.”
An hour later, after a delicious stop at the Golden Stone Barbecue Restaurant, Brendan climbed into his loft feeling totally exhausted. He was still reeling from the concert experience.
Leaving his father and mother talking in the kitchen, he went upstairs to his room. They’d both been looking at him a little too closely as he kissed them good night like they were expecting him to freak out or something. He knew his father would be telling his mum about his episode at the concert. He groaned at the prospect of their concern.
Picking the iPod up off the dock, he flung himself down on the bed. He didn’t feel in the mood for the Ramones. Too harsh. He clicked over to the RECENTLY ADDED playlist and scrolled down to find the new Wintersleep he’d downloaded before going to school. There it was, down at the bottom. He sat up suddenly, bumping his head again on the sloping roof.
“Ow.” He rubbed his scalp and peered at the screen of his music player. There was a new entry. He froze in mid-rub.
“What is this?” he asked the empty room. He read the name. “Deirdre D’Anaan?” He racked his brain. Had he downloaded this by accident? He couldn’t remember downloading any of her music. Maybe his father had done it. What was the alternative? Had someone stolen his iPod from his knapsack, put some new music on his deck, then put the iPod back?
“Just another weird thing on the weirdest day ever,” he mumbled.
He clicked on the entry and the album cover came up on the screen.
The picture arrested his attention. She was just as beautiful as he remembered from the hall that night. The picture was so vivid. She seemed to stare out at him from the tiny screen. The title of the CD was traced in the vines: THE FAERIE BANQUET.
Brendan frowned. You should just wipe it. Get rid of it. You know what the music did to you. Mum and Dad are downstairs right now discussing the possibility that you might need a lobotomy. Erase it, fool.
“Well, I might as well give it a listen.” He slotted the iPod into the dock and pushed play. He lay back on the bed and waited.
A harp rippled softly in the dark. The lilting harmonics of the strings were joined by Deirdre’s voice. Clear and strong but completely controlled, the notes soared, sending shivers across Brendan’s skin. He closed his eyes to let the sound wash over him.
Throbbing with emotion, the harp was lush and vibrant. And when Deirdre D’Anaan sang, her voice was so personal, as if she were singing for him alone. The woman’s face filled his mind’s eye. She looked so familiar.
Then it hit him. Those eyes. They were just like Greenleaf’s! The more he looked, the more he felt that this woman and Greenleaf could almost be related-cousins or even brother and sister.
The music was soothing. As he changed into his pyjamas, he looked over at the single gable window that filled the end of the room. Moonlight angled in low across the floor. Trees, their leaves backlit by the moon, swept like dark shadows back and forth with the wind. Their movement was restful, hypnotic. He was safe here in his little world. He could relax. So he did. In a few minutes, his breathing deepened and he fell asleep.
Something in the music tugged him out of his slumber. Brendan opened his eyes and saw that the ceiling above him was no longer made of plaster and wooden beams. The poster of a space marine firing a laser cannon at swarming aliens was obscured by a mass of dense vines. Brendan sat up, his head brushing the trailing leaves. The whole room had changed. The centre of the roof was gone. Overhead the stars shone down, cold and densely packed.
“Hello, this is weird,” Brendan said out loud. His breath came out in a frosty cloud. He realized he was cold. “Is this a dream?” He looked at his hands. They glowed softly white in the pale light of the moon. He looked down to see he was still wearing his pyjamas-a pair of flannel plaid trousers and a T-shirt.
He stood up and stepped to the centre of the room. He found himself on a stone parapet. The wooden floorboards were gone and in their place were heavy stones crusted with moss. A low wall surrounded him. The trapdoor remained in the same place, the top of the ladder poking up. The music seemed to be coming from below. Shivering, he descended the ladder.