Back in the asylum. Back on Earth.
I was not on Earth. I was in the Dreamlands. I was in another time and place. There was no denying it as blood leaked from my throbbing wounds, in time with my beating heart, to drip down my body and stain my clothes.
The more I accepted the fantastical idea that I was not on Earth, but in another time and space, the rest fell into place. I thought of the cats of Ulthar and of Foolishness. The orange cat had instructed us to return that way to leave. Thus, there was a way to go home. We were not stuck in the Dreamlands forever. Just long enough to do what needed to be done.
If I could be strong enough to accept what was happening.
I would.
I must.
I tried to straighten as the sound of Josephine returning obscured the birdsong. The pain was too great. This was a concrete problem I could deal with. I would have to have her bind my arm to my body. Looking up as my patient and the lamp returned, I was pleased to see she was again in her adventuring clothing. She, too, was fortifying her will once more.
Josephine knelt next to me and revealed a handful of small red feathers. “Feathers from the little red singing bird of Celephaïs. They heal wounds. As its song can heal the mind.”
This would be the final proof. As if I needed more proof. I did, though. My rational mind did not want to believe in the irrationality of my situation. If the feathers healed me, I’d have no choice and could admit aloud I was in a different world with different rules that could be bent by an act of will. “What do I need to do? Eat them?”
She shook her head with a smile. “No. They are to be used like a poultice, although they work more quickly.” Josephine eyed my torn shirt. “I am sorry. We will get you a new blouse from the trunk up ahead.” She pulled a knife from a sheath at her waist and began cutting the shirt off my shoulders, revealing the bloody wounds.
“Where did you get that?” I nodded to the knife in her hand.
“The trunk. I remember now that we keep trunks of useful things in places we travel for just this sort of emergency. This is something my family started long ago. It was part of our training. This is not the trunk I created. Though, I have added to it over the years.”
“I see.” It almost made sense. I put my hand on my thigh, looking for and not finding the sheath to my father’s pistol. The pang of its loss hit me again and I closed my eyes.
“This will hurt, but only briefly.”
I opened my eyes and watched Josephine lay the small red feathers against my body where the shantak’s talons pierced it. I gasped as the feathers stung like needles piercing my skin. Then, the pain disappeared as the feather melted into my flesh. Over and over, Josephine laid the small feathers against my wound to meld with my body. Each one took away more of the pain, closing the wound. As Josephine ran out of feathers, my wounds were fully healed. I noted that even the scratches on my right shoulder and collarbone had healed.
“Well then.” I took a breath, let my worldview tilt upon its axis, and accepted it all. “The Dreamlands has some amazing aspects to it. When we return to our world, I’ll have to write as much of it down as I can remember.” Josephine helped me up. “We will remember what happens here, won’t we?”
She looked at me, her dark eyes shining. “You understand. You believe. You finally believe.”
I nodded. “I do now.” I wondered if we were in two places at once or if, somehow, Josephine had brought our bodies through, too. I kept my questions to myself. One epiphany at a time.
She gave me a brief, fierce hug. “You were supposed to help me. To come with me. I knew it. You are my anchor.”
I returned the hug out of duty and took pleasure in it. Josephine had failed on the bridge, but succeeded when I faltered in body, then in mind. I had not suspected she could, or would, do either until she acted. She walked a strange balancing act of weakness and fear while standing upon a core of willful strength. She was a complex woman. I had more to learn.
As a point, Josephine did not answer my question. That, in and of itself, was an answer. We probably wouldn’t remember what happened here. Or, like a dream, would not remember for long. “Where is this trunk?”
“Of course. Of course. My doctor cannot traipse through the Dreamlands in a camisole and a torn blouse.”
There was an airy joy in her voice I had not heard before. I wanted to question it. I wanted a shirt more. Goosebumps covered my exposed flesh.
The trunk was there at the opening of a cave. It had all the things you might need for an adventure—rope, light, canteens, clothing—as well as some more esoteric things—a doll, chalk, a mirror, rubber balls, and a mask. There was no food. Then again, I still wasn’t hungry.
I chose a functional shirt that would keep me covered and somewhat protected. I was not surprised that it fit well; as if it were made for me. That was the way of things here. Things would work until they weren’t supposed to work anymore. There was freedom in the acceptance of my new understanding of the universe—it was so much larger than I had imagined. My point of view had shifted to save my sanity. Already, I worked to incorporate the new knowledge into my worldview and my psychological tool chest.
Josephine snuffed the lamp. I gave her a quizzical look.
“We won’t need it. I believe I know the way now. Someone else will need this in the future.” She put the lamp in the trunk and shut it. The trunk locked itself with a thunk, the leather belts affixing themselves on their own. Rather than be horrified at the living trunk’s action, I was charmed. It would protect its bounty from those who should not have access.
I turned my attention back to Josephine, replaying her words in my mind. I examined her face. Was that contraction from fear or a new level of comfort with me? Or, was it merely a contraction?
Josephine stood still with her hands clasped before her as she waited for my word to continue on. Her face held no answers. Not for the moment.
I gave her a professional smile tinted with concern. “Oh, it’s good to leave it then. While you lead the way, we will speak of this Black Wind and his minions.”
Her face fell. She cast her eyes to the ground.
I touched her shoulder to soften my words. “We’re still in session. I’m still your doctor. We have things we must examine.”
Josephine nodded, fear plain on her face. “If you wish.”
Chapter 9
I remember the way Josephine said “doctor” to me at times in our journey. It was akin to the word “savior.” I could not be that for her—as much as I wanted to be. I needed to be Josephine’s guide, not her hero. This is always a dangerous time in the relationship between a patient and a doctor. The patient gives up all sense of responsibility and hands it, and their life, to the doctor. The power is as intoxicating as it is toxic. Nothing good can come of accepting such a responsibility. It was hard, though. I had grown fond of Josephine. Thus, I needed to coax her into confronting her great fear.
The cave was about the size of an amphitheatre with light emanating from an unknown source. Faint colors of blue, purple, and green swirled about us in slow eddies on the cavern walls and floor, making it hard for me to get my bearings. I refused to search out the source of the light and dismissed the impossible. The words “impossible” and “unlikely” no longer had meaning in this place. The rules were different. Logic wasn’t king. Physics were an illusion. Dream monsters could hurt, even kill. I needed to be on guard for all of it.
Josephine led the way, picking her path across the cave floor, weaving her way through stalagmites adorned with jewels and half-covered by creeping moss. As I watched one stalagmite in particular, yellow-green moss surged over a garnet. A heartbeat later, the moss turned the deep red of the gemstone. A touch to one foot alerted me to a spot of creeping moss that had found me interesting. I pulled my foot away and hurried across the cavern to watch Josephine. Behind us, the room filled with the sound of creeping moss covering and consuming whatever it could.