The Stone Cavern: Dreams and Nightmares

Dreams and Nightmares

I closed my eyes and tapped into the stone cavern. It was much as I remembered it: its obsidian walls smooth and glistening in the golden light of a banker’s lamp atop a large, mahogany desk. The waterfall that curtained the little studio from view cast shadows and flashes of sparkling light in waves on every surface as sunlight wove through the streams and rivulets cascading like thunder at the cave’s entrance. The overstuffed leather desk chair was a little softer from years of wear. I sat on it as if it were my own, and tucked a leg up under me. The huge globe still spun slowly in its hand-crafted, waxed, and polished stand, suspended in mid-air, as if by magic. If you peered closely, you could see movement – tiny dots darting across the textured surface like colorful veins. Deep fissures opened and closed constantly; tiny spots glowed red beneath a scorched and blackened crust. Curious, I reached out to touch the globe just as one of those spots became a flare, causing me to yelp in surprise and pull my burnt fingertip away. I rested it on a soothing polar ice cap, which was probably a grave mistake. Several small islands vanished under varnished blue waves.

Restless, I pushed myself away from the desk and wandered around the room. A fascinating array of tapestries hung from the back wall. I recognized some of them; others seemed familiar to me, though I could not say why. One depicted a waterfall atop a cliff, overlooking a narrow river that cut through the rainforest until it was swallowed from view by the dense, green canopy. Exotic birds rose like Icarus, testing their colorful plumage in the sun. Exquisite needlework, but I knew I had only to part the veil of water at the cave’s entrance to see it with my own two eyes.

Another depicted the sprawling city of Houston. I wondered when Kyliri had hung it there; I hadn’t seen the inside of this cave in years, not since long before I moved to Texas. Had our paths crossed without my knowing it? The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

One tapestry hung limp and faded, its threads decayed and brittle, likely to crumble under the lightest touch. It was further obscured by a light covering of dust motes – any attempts to “clean” it would surely destroy the last of it. It had not looked that bad last time I saw it, I was certain of that. A sob full of grief and emptiness caught in my chest. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, though they were bone dry. Even now, the great tree in the tapestry’s center stood tall and proud, crowned in foliage. All creatures, great and small, huddled in its shade, looking up to the tree expectantly. Abundant fruits of all kinds ripened overhead. Berries and herbs sprung up from between gnarled roots. Her branches bent to enfold them all, protectively. I held my breath so as not to disturb the threads with even the slightest movement of the air, and stepped closer. Locked within the weave were all manner of tiny insects. Closer, still, I could make out the single-celled organisms. It was a marvelous tapestry; it had been the first Kyliri had woven herself. 

“Nothing lasts forever.”

I jumped at the sound of her voice and nearly crashed into the fragile cloth. “Some things should,” I said. Or thought. Disorienting as it was, I never actually needed to speak out loud around Kyliri.

“You’re getting sentimental with age.”

“I’m getting old.” I was only forty-nine, but in that moment I felt older than Methuselah.

“There’s a difference?”

“Can’t you fix it?” In my own mind, I looked like a five-year-old asking about a favorite toy, her tear-streaked face upturned and full of hope and faith.

“No.”

The finality and firmness of Kyliri’s “no” brought out my inner, tantrum-tossing two-year-old. “But you have to!” I cried, panic rising. I couldn’t breathe. That tapestry suddenly meant everything to me, because it was everything I’d ever known. “You can’t just let it die!”

Kyliri studied me carefully. “Why not?”

A great sense of outrage and searing anger rose in me. My head began to spin like that infernal globe, and that’s the last thing I remember before the crack of my skull against the stone floor.

My cheeks were damp. I’d been crying in my sleep. My clothes were damp, too, though – with bits of dewy mist clinging to the fibers, as if I’d been lying near a sprinkler – or maybe a waterfall. Something heavy wrapped itself around my legs and arms, holding me down. As I came to, I fought and kicked at it, cursing – panic rising in my throat. I awoke beating at the air with my pillow, and tripped on the lifeless remains of my blanket as I leapt out of bed, breathless. I knew that I’d had the dream again, but I could never remember the details. I woke with only one thought in mind: “Kyliri must be stopped.”

The Stone Cavern: Dreams and Nightmares

The Stone Cavern: Fear and Longing

The Stone Cavern: The First Time

The Stone Cavern: Wings to See With

Tweet