The Night Curse (Book one)
Chapter 28 The Dreamwalker

The witch had turned Harlow into a human.

He was Dreamwalker born, and then he was cured. Reborn, from the watery depths of a cauldron, with the curse stripped from his eyes.

A miracle.

It had been a miracle.

I’d never heard of such work. Hyacinth at the very least had never written about such procedures. Had she known about such a ritual would she have taken part? Probably not. Hyacinth didn’t feel shame for what she was, and she’d died to level the playing field—aspiring for a fairer, kinder world. Yet she’d still hid. Taken refuge at Harling Manor, away from prying eyes and lashing tongues. She feared what the future had in store for people like her, people like me. And she was right to do so with Queen Roselin now reigning supreme.

Harlow is imprisoned because of her very rules.

Harlow.

Does he know what he once was? Surely, not. He’d never ally with an organisation that kills Dreamwalkers if he’d once bore the mark. He’d never have loathed or feared me if he had known that he’d been part of our kind. So it was his father who had lied then. Spun a tale of a Dreamwalker killing his wife. In a way, one did. But it wasn’t a woman hiding her child, seeking asylum. It was Evelyn’s own son. She’d birthed a Dreamwalker and died in the aftermath, never seeing the son she’d created. The eyes that shone with the majesty of night—of dreams.

Would she have loved him?

Did Frederick love him?

It’s hard to tell whether Frederick changed his son out of protection or fear. Whatever his reasons, they were strong enough to take his infant child to a witch and allow her to drown him. To suffocate the essence of his true nature and unveil a version cleansed of sin, like a baptism from hell.

Could it still work?

Could it work for me?

If I could shed myself of this curse, then I could walk the streets like an ordinary citizen. I could live with my family properly. See Clemmy whenever I choose. Attends balls without the need for masks. Join my mother and father for meals and greet the servants with a steady hand and unwavering stare. Greet the world, should I wish.

If I was normal, I could show the Queen that the Marquess is mistaken, that Harlow has not been protecting a Dreamwalker after all, and she might let him walk free.

With that thought, I delve further into Frederick’s mind and retrieve the witch’s location. Ebony Forest—head for the waterfall shaded by maple trees.

It’s an immense area, miles North of the manor, and would take an entire day of riding.

I wake with a smirk.

Better get going then, I tell myself and hurry out of the homestead.

I’d foreseen an ominous woodland with sinister fog and cobwebs, but the forest was the antithesis of such things.

Sun-dappled canopies ripple overhead in the fresh, aromatic air, drenching the maple trees in facets of copper and sand. Broad-leafed helleborine, bellflowers, and woodruffs carpet the forest floor, and as I trek nearer, I spy a blanket of bluebells growing like sapphires amongst the sage. I tear my gaze towards the sound of trickling water. After several metres, the waterfall emerges, glistening in the light as white and sparkling as freshly fallen snow.

I’d ridden through the night to get here, watching with awe at the changing landscape but nothing could quite prepare my senses for the loveliness of Ebony Forest in the wake of spring. Dusk is mere hours away now, and both my horse and my backside are desperate for rest.

Riding further into the thicket, the fall of water is overpowered by the sound of something far closer and high-pitched. A shrill clanking throbs in my ears, spinning my head towards the entrance of a cave covered with hanging curiosities.

Dismounting the horse, I gravitate towards them and peer keenly at their interesting designs. Ribbons, frayed by the weather, and handmade prayer beads sway with the near-silent wind that’s grown brisk without warning. Goosebumps explode on my skin, sensing the woman before my eyes bare witness.

The witch creeps out from the black as if she’s risen from the shadows themselves. A shawl cascades off her body like dripping onyx, and a woven necklace hangs from her craning neck. I remove my mask and meet her deadened stare.

Her bloodless lips part, and she extends a hand, bound in leathery skin. “Welcome, child,” she croaks, showing the yellow stubs of teeth along her gums.

I shake her hand. She gazes at me with such fierce conviction that I begin to blush. Her scaly hands plant on either side of my face, and her breath is so close that I detect the scent of raw meat on her tongue.

“Such beautiful eyes,” she remarks, encouraging me to lower my stare.

Gently, the witch slips her palms off my cheeks and leads me into the obsidian depths of her dwelling. Ribbons tickle the top of my head, snagging my hair, as we stride into the candlelit void.

“They are part of a healing ritual for good health,” she says, motioning to the decorations as if reading my mind. It is then that I wonder how old she is—how long the decorations have been hung.

We stop by a wooden table, crudely made from the bark of a cherry tree.

“Please, sit,” she beckons, and I obey, taking a seat opposite her.

“Do you live alone?” It’s a strange question to ask, and one that feels unnecessary, given the cramped space, but it escapes my mouth anyway.

“Yes, but you already know that.”

I scowl then, wondering exactly what she means, and my brows don’t smooth as I observe the pendant fastened to her necklace—a circle flanked by two crescent moons, facing in opposite directions. “What does it mean?” I ask, unable to stop the incessant questions.

“It is The Triple Moon.” She points to the lunar facing west as she speaks, “The waxing moon is referred to as The Maiden. She is just beginning, full of youth and ready for adventure.” Her spidery fingers grapple with the central and fullest moon at the centre of the pendant. “The Mother, a sign of fertility, stability, and fulfilment.” She strokes the last remaining curved moon that points east. “The Crone, the inevitable end, known for its wisdom, maturity, and death.”

I swallow loudly, visualising a noose laced around Harlow’s throat.

“But in death stems new beginnings, and the cycle of life continues.”

“Do all your symbols have hidden meanings?”

There are so many in the space, carved into wood and iron, braided with rope and fabric.

“You’re asking about the eye.”

A gasp heaves from my lungs. “How do you know about that,” I query.

“I know many things, that is why you have come, is it not?”

Extraordinary.

“The eye,” she begins, “comes in many forms. There are those that possess evil and can cause harm to others, knowingly or unknowingly. Some people are not aware that they have the ability to harm another with an envious glance. The Greek evil eye talisman specifically protects against such malevolent gazes. While the Egyptian Eye of Horus is a symbol of protection and luck. The all-seeing eye of God serves as a reminder that humanity’s thoughts and deeds are always observed by Him.”

“What do you believe?”

She sighs softly and then inhales a long and drawn-out breath. “I believe that the divine is here with us in the natural world, not some faraway place in the sky. All life is equal and reliant upon each other, there is no order, only balance. I am no greater than the pebbles you stepped on to get here, for they have travelled far further than I, and endured hardships beyond our comprehension. Our world is sacred, spiritual, and life-giving. All of it.”

It’s difficult not to feel moved by her perceptions, and her compassion. Then I remember Frederick’s dream and the deplorable drowning of a newborn—at her very hands.

“If we are all equal, all precious, then why did you transform a Dreamwalker baby into a human?”

Shakily, the witch stands from her chair and starts gazing into the flames of a candle. “I know of the babe that you speak.” She runs her fingers over the fire without any discomfort, as if the flames are as soothing as the running flows of the waterfall. “The father had brought him to me, many moons ago, begging for me to help him. He worried that his son would be outlawed for what he was, or at worse, killed. At first, I wouldn’t hear of it. Wouldn’t listen to such demands, despite how woeful his circumstance, but then…” She trails off, absent-minded and still. “Then I’d seen.”

“Seen what?”

“Have you ever wondered where dreams come from, Amelia?”

I don’t recall telling the witch my name, and the jarring question has my muscles tightening as taut as the spine in my back.

“Most Dreamwalkers, like yourself, are descendants of Nyx, the Goddess of Night or Hypnos, the Greek God of Sleep. Both worked for Zeus as Dream Messengers, and their role was to send political instructions to people in the form of dreams. But when rivals threatened Zeus, he needed a way of controlling the types of orders that were sent. Therefore, Nyx and Hypnos created two gates. Truthful dreams went through a gate made of horn, while deceitful dreams went through a gate made of ivory. For many years, Zeus used these gates to influence people in the waking world, without consequence or detection. But a war of a different kind was on the horizon. For Hypnos loved Nyx more than a sister, and when Nyx fell in love with Hades, and no longer wanted to serve Zeus, Hypnos grew jealous, and in his wrath, put a curse upon the world. Hypnos foretold a future where the son of Nyx and Hades would have to kill the one that he loved in order to save his own kind and in this wake, chaos and destruction would follow. Nyx and Hades did indeed give birth to a son, called Morpheus, but with Zeus’ help, managed to alter the curse.”

“Alter the curse?” I echo, confused. “How so?”

“The curse was destined instead to a future Morpheus, a distant relative. But of course, every cause has an effect. In order to come into the world, he’d need to take from it, too…and kill the very mother from which he’d been born.”

An uneasy feeling knots in the pit of my belly. “Who?” But I know before she even speaks.

“When I saw that babe in Frederick’s arms, and he told me of his mother dying in childbirth, I knew that I was meeting Morpheus’ descendant. The boy was sentenced to carry out Hypnos’ curse, so I had to disguise him. Shield him from himself.”

Disguise him. Those were not the words that I had expected. Change, yes, but disguise suggested that he was not altered but simply hiding in plain sight.

“What do you mean?”

“I glamoured him. His eyes are still that of a Dreamwalker, but to the world, they are as ordinary as the blue sky.”

“But Harlow has no powers.” He’d never infiltrated my dream, nor any of those at the Harling Manor.

“If one is told they are human, they will believe it so. Belief is a powerful thing. More powerful than any spell or potion.”

“So Harlow is still a Dreamwalker?”

The witch nods. “His powers are as intact as the skin around his bones, but they are as weak as a fledgling’s wingspan.”

Because they are unused, undiscovered.

“This glamour, could it work on me?”

“No,” she bellows forcefully. “It has to be done before the first year of life. Even then, it can fade. If the boy kills his own kind before his twenty-first birthday, the glamour will be permanent. He will appear human for all his days, but if he does not betray his kind, then the glamour will disperse, and he and the world will have to face what he is.”

I shake my head, considering how close Harlow came to that very reality.

“And the curse.”

“Still remains. I don’t have the type of powers capable of lifting it.”

I get up to leave, my mind whirling with emotion. The witch grips my wrist, halting my rise. “There’s more. If Harlow is who I think he is then he will have incredible and devastating powers, capable of feats unseen by any Dreamwalker that has come before.”

My voice trembles, “What powers?”

“The prophecy claims that he will be able to split the consciousness of one’s mind, allowing him to control a person’s waking life and their dreams, rendering them a mere vessel for his bidding. Such an ability would be lethal.”

Harlow could take down kingdoms, countries.

“Harlow is in prison, waiting to stand trial for treason.”

“Then you have a choice girl. Let Harlow die along with the curse, or tell him the truth so that he may stand a chance of survival.”

I didn’t need to think twice.

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