Henry didn’t say it, but he was something of a recluse, and quickly exhausted his interesting memories of San Francisco. So one night, he offered to take Ayane to the Land of Nod instead. He worried she might find it too whimsical, but she loved it; the clear skies and fluffy clouds were much more pleasant than the grimy atmosphere of Desert Reign.

“But how do we get around?” she asked, head darting left and right, seeing nothing but clouds and dream marbles and the endless sky.

“You fly,” said Henry, limbering up. “You start by jumping and then—”

Her ajana flashed and a powerful gale caught their cloud, pushing it like a sailboat. Henry tied his scarf tighter so it wouldn’t blow away, even though he knew it was just an imaginary replica of his real scarf. “Or you could do that.”

Ayane turned and grinned at him. “Magic comes to me so easily here.”

“You’re air aligned,” said Henry. “And so is this world. You’re in your home element.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Clody says they’ve been learning the magic of your world. Using signs and symbols and such. Can you teach me as well?”

“I can show you a little,” said Henry. “But I mostly know earth spells.”

“And I’m air aligned,” she finished, sounding disappointed.

“But I can show you dream stuff,” Henry said quickly. “Like I was going to say, The Dreamlands in general should be easy for you to manipulate. You can fly here under your own power if you just will it.” He was still too metaphysically heavy to fly very well, but he’d done it before, and figured he could show her.

She nodded. “Right, like this?” She leapt off the cloud, and in seconds, a cloak of fluffy pink cloud formed around her, flapping a bit like the wings of a manta ray. She took off, laughing, buffeted by the winds.

Henry snorted. "That's cheating,” he muttered, then followed after her, much more clumsily.

While the nights were spent in whimsy and leisure, by day, Henry worked with Braehar, disguised as one of her assistants. He was expected to do some of the actual lab work, helping to crystalize akanite powder. But between batches, they worked on the components for his new arm. Braehar took the lead, with Henry and Clody following her every instruction.1

The first step of the process was to sort and store all of Henry’s bones and mark them up with a series of sigils. The spell was incomplete, as they needed to be reattached to each other and to his shoulder, and for that they would need to construct some wafer-thin gears to carry the rest of the spell.

To do that, they needed to make Corinthian bronze, a powerfully magical alloy used by dwarven magesmiths for all kinds of mechanics. Henry insisted on using the bronze from the disruptor’s receiver, which Braehar thought would be just enough material, once it was mixed with the other metals; the alloy required gold and silver. For the latter, the obvious solution was dreamsilver. But they needed gold of a similar magical potency, and there the work stalled for time.

Nod never fully lost its appeal for Ayane, but at this point she was eager to explore elsewhere. Henry knew some of the more complex and complete dream marbles from his studies, and took her to explore them. They went to Ulthar, the City of Cats, and Uruk, the First City, but she wasn’t as much of an urbanite as Henry, and grew bored of them quickly.

So then he took her to The Wald. It was a projection of the collective idea of western fairy tales, a world of castles and princesses, and twisty roads through an endless forest.

They stepped through the door onto one such path, instantly bathed in cool light and the scent of chlorophyll. “It’s so green here,” Ayane sighed in awe, spinning in a slow circle. “Even the light is green.”

“Not a lot of green back in Kar Zippar, huh?” Henry asked, watching her.

“Mostly just Ordog and Clody’s magicks,” she snorted, stepping off the path and onto the grass.

The trees started to creak and the air shimmered like a heat haze. She stepped back suddenly. “What was that?”

“You’re supposed to stay on the path,” said Henry. “This world is very safe as long as you do, or so I’ve heard.”

She frowned, staring at the trees. They had shifted, bending just slightly towards her. She thought saw crooked fingers in the twigs and branches, leering faces in the bark. “Were the woods going to eat me or something?”

“I think you would just get lost,” said Henry.

“That’s fine,” Ayane sniffed. “We don’t have a destination.”

Henry looked around and saw that the path stretched on into the woods in both directions, both bending out of sight after a short distance. He reached up and snapped a low hanging twig off a tree branch, then tossed it up in the air. When it landed, the narrow end of the stick pointed in a direction he arbitrarily decided was “up.” “Let’s go that way,” he said.

Ayane shrugged. “I suppose.” By now she was used to the flow of projections, and how simply moving would guarantee a discovery.

It took a little longer than they had grown accustomed to. The world was beautiful and it seemed to want them to know it. The air was fresh and cool, and multicolored butterflies shimmered in the shafts of light that fell from the boughs above. Songbirds sang, and once or twice a mighty stag leapt across the path in a picture-perfect moment. But eventually, they heard the sound of music, and the creaking of wheels.

They hurried along the path, eager to see what they would find. The path curved in front of them, and rounding the corner, they saw a colorfully painted wagon, a vardo, like a little house on wheels pulled by oxen. “How did we catch up to it?” asked Ayane. “No, don’t answer. Dream logic.”

Henry snorted. “Now you’re getting it.” They jogged around to the front of the wagon, where sat a couple dressed in something like 16th century doublets. The woman was a dark elf; she had long, leaf-like ears and purple-pink skin, and her short black hair was streaked with silver. She was dressed in metallic purple, with a peacock feather in her tall pointed hat, and played a vihuela, a sort of proto-guitar. The man was fat and bespectacled, dressed all in black and white so he looked something like a magpie. His skin was brown, though fairer than Henry. He held the reins while he sang The Gambler by Kenny Rogers, so Henry knew he was a dreamwalker.

The couple noticed the children at the same time. The woman startled and pulled her hat down over her face and the man sat up straighter. “Hail and well-met!” He cried. “We are but wandering entertainers and—oh, you’re definitely dreamwalkers aren’t you? Darling, it’s alright, they’re not local.”

Henry blinked. “Um, yeah. I’m Henry and this is Ayane.”

She waved awkwardly.

“I”m Gef,” said the fat man, relaxing again.

“And I’m Bulla,” said the woman, straightening up, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I take it you’ve found yourselves lost in these woods,” Gef began, then he got a closer look at Ayane. “Err…?”

She stepped back, fighting the urge to hide her hair and ears. The woman looked stranger than her, after all. “We’re very experienced travelers,” she said. “We just haven’t been here before.”

“Certainly,” Gef waved her off with a placid gesture.

“So, Jeff,” Henry began.

“Gef,” he corrected.

“With a hard G?”

“That’s right.”

Bulla cut in. “Children tend to find themselves in this country when they fall asleep, and we’ve had a lot of experience helping them out—”

“I’m an adult in my culture,” said Ayane.

“Young people,” Gef corrected. “Look, do you want to get in the wagon or not?” he asked.

Henry and Ayane looked at each other.

Shortly after they were sitting in the vardo with Bulla, who was making them tea. It was bigger than it looked, and even had a stove. There was a window built into the forward wall, through which they could see and talk to Gef.

“So what brings you to the Wald?” asked Gef.

“We’re just exploring,” said Ayane, fidgeting in her seat. She’d never been in a moving vehicle before and was having trouble balancing.

“Trying to unwind after hard work,” Henry clarified. He was doing a little better, but still bounced when the wagon hit a bump.

“Mmm,” Bulla nodded. “And your arm?”

Henry raised his misty hand. It was just a pale cloud, with three crooked fingers. “I’m cursed,” he said.

“Henry,” Ayane hissed.

“They’re helpful,” said Henry.

“Is it catching?” said Bulla.

“Of course a curse isn’t catching,” said Gef. “They’re targeted and personal.”

“Keep your eye on the road, love,” said Bulla. Turning back to Henry, she said, “people often come here when they have some impossible task or problem to solve. What are you looking for?”

Henry’s eyes flitted to Ayane. She rolled her eyes; he took it as a ‘do as you will.’ “Gold,” he said. “Real gold. Real, magical gold.”

“You’ll find it eventually,” Gef called. “This world is a bit more real than other projections. People come here and find gold all the time, and wake up to find it’s come home with them.”

Henry gave a half smile. “What do I have to do? Fight a dragon?”

Bulla let out a witchy cackle that rang in his ears. “Oh, there’s not really many dragons in the Wald. That’s a myth.”

“More and more people believe it, which makes it true,” said Gef.

Ayane raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean? Are there dragons here or not?”

“Are,” said Bulla.

“Aren’t,” said Gef.

Ayane groaned.

Gef peaked back through the window. “See, the Wald is the projection of folklore. The Brothers Grimm loom large here, and there weren’t all that many dragons in their tales. That’s more English stories, and they have their own projections.”

“But culture is changing,” said Bulla. “The lines are blurring. People don’t separate their fairytales by region as much anymore. They think of it as dragons and princesses so that’s what they see. The little einzellers are getting rare on the ground…” She clasped her hands and inclined her head in seeming prayer.

“They’re named Hans, einzeller is a slur,” said Gef.

“Keep your eyes on the road, love.”

Ayane looked at Henry, who just gave her an equally quizzical look.

Bulla giggled into her hand. “A German youngest sibling. Or is it a youngest German sibling?”

“In folklore, the youngest sibling often has special talents,” Gef went on, resting his elbow on the window. “Usually exceptional luck, or some blessing. In The Wald in particular, the youngest child is also the least intelligent. So you have these clueless little bundles of destiny running about changing the world every few weeks. And they’re almost always named Hans.”

The wagon shook hard as he hit a bump.

“I told you to watch the road!” Bulla shouted. “You’re like an einzeller yourself!”

“Sorry, darling!” he quickly turned back to his work.

“Is… is he an…einzeller?” asked Ayane, trying hard to process any of this.

Bulla giggled into her hand again. “No, he’s an only child. I should know, I dreamed him as one.”

Ayane’s eyebrows shot up. “You…dreamed him?”

“I did, I created him to be my ideal man,” she twisted a lock of curly hair around her finger. “I like dashing entertainer types, but they’re always playboys in real life, not family material. I needed him to have a more…human core.”

“He’s also human,” Henry noted.

She shrugged. “What can I say, I like how humans look. Elf men never get… meaty enough.”

“She’s lying,” said Gef, still staring intently down the road. “I dreamed her. A bit gauche to dream up an elf-wife, you might think, but I only envisioned her as a witch, and she became an elf on her own.”

Henry’s eyes darted round, trying to see if either of them were visibly pulling a trick.

Ayane didn’t want to think about it at all and said, “so, wait, are there dragons or not?”

Gef laughed, slapping the side of the wagon. “Well, now and then I do see a shadow of something big and winged pass in front of the sun, or hear rumors of a serpent belching smoke and flame in some far off cave or other…but the worst thing you’re liable to run into is a talking wolf, or a troll, or perhaps the Wild Hunt.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Ayane.

“It’ll be fine,” said Henry. “As long as we stay on the path.”

“Sure, just avoid the temptations off the path,” Bulla giggled once more.

“Almost there!” Gef called. Henry and Ayane poked their heads through the window. The path had widened into a road sloping down toward a river valley. A quaint village stood on either side of the river. The houses were big housebarns with broad, half-hipped thatched roofs that almost touched the ground on either side. “Welcome,” said Gef, “to Rottenburg. Save your snickering. Before we go in, would you two care to change clothes? I am sure you can dream up something more contemporary.”

Henry didn’t quite have a handle on the vaguely renaissance fashion, and Ayane had no idea, so Bulla dressed them instead, putting Henry in a shiny blue doublet and Ayane in a matching dirndl. “Do either of you play?” she asked, plopping a wide-brimmed black hat on Henry’s head.

“I sing,” he replied tentatively, adjusting his hat with one hand.

Bulla stuck a big white feather in the brim. “And what about you, dear?” she asked Ayane.

She crossed her arms.

“They’re not going to make you perform,” said Henry. “Well, I don’t think.”

“I won’t make you, but I’d like you to,” said Bulla. She draped a half-cape over Henry’s shoulder, covering his spectral arm. “Give this a try!” She offered her vihuela.

Ayane eyed it and then took it, cautiously, as if it might bite. After a moment’s hesitation, she started to pluck at the strings, tap on the body, feeling out the sounds and the balance of the instrument. Her skill with a harp wouldn’t translate, but Henry knew she could play other things; it was just the harp she was famous for, and the harp she resented.

Gef let out a polite applause. “Would you play for me when I take the stage later?”

Ayane furrowed her brow. “Doesn’t your wife play?”

“Oh, not in front of crowds,” Bulla laughed and waved her off. “They give me stage fight. I only play for my husband, and guests. No no, I handle the business side of this enterprise.”

“I’ll give you a fair cut,” said Gef. “One third.”

Ayane sighed. “Why only a third?”

“Because Henry will be singing accompaniment,” said Gef.

“And playing the pandeiro,” said Bulla, handing him something like a tambourine.

Henry jingled it nervously. “Uhh…” He trailed off, meeting Ayane’s gaze. She smirked back.

Moments later, the wagon pulled into Rottenburg’s square, and Gef leapt off his seat, a changed man; his back ramrod straight, a rakish smile on his face. He looked more muscular than fat now, and Henry wondered if he was casting illusions. “Come one, come all!” he cried in a deep voice. “Gef the Great has come to regale you with story and song!”

A crowd quickly formed, many puzzled, but others were excited; they’d seen him work before. A silence fell, and suddenly Gef belted out the first verse to “The Rocky Road to Dublin.” He snapped his fingers. Ayane and Henry hopped down off the wagon and started to play accompaniment. When the chorus came around again, Henry joined in the song. The crowd was stomping and clapping along to the beat, and Bulla made her appearance at last, disguised as a human woman now, dancing along the perimeter, offering her hat, and everytime she pulled it back it clinked with more coins.

They kept at it for a few more songs. Ayane had a repertoire of western songs from talking to Braehar, and Gef seemed to know them all, or else he would just make up new lyrics. The crowd didn’t care either way. After several more minutes, he switched into storytelling. He motioned for Henry to take a break, and Ayane played only quietly, a little background melody as Gef ran through Gabein, a play on Arthuriana that Henry had never heard before, with Gawain becoming, somehow, the emperor of China. It was ridiculous, but the crowd ate it up because Gef told it so seriously. Bulla had to empty her hat at least three times before night fell.

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The crowd parted and Gef drove the wagon around to an inn called The Eagle and Child. He tossed a coin to a stableboy to tend to the oxen.

“Will it be two rooms or three?” Bulla asked.

Ayane made a face.

“We won’t be staying,” said Henry.

“Why ever not?” Bulla put her hand on her chest, seeming offended.

“I’m actually asleep right now,” said Henry. “I have to wake up and get back to work. I’d like to come back and explore with you two again, but I’m not that experienced at choosing where I enter a dream marble.”

Bulla clicked her tongue. “I insist you stay for dinner. But as to the rest of that…” she moved her fingers together as if playing cat’s cradle with invisible strings, and suddenly strings did form, a technicolor rainbow of them, twisting and knotting together until she clapped her hands and pulled them apart, revealing a button. She pressed it to Henry’s coat, sewing it in place with a magical thread. “There you are, now you can find your way back to us, if you wish it.”

He fingered the button. “Thank you,” he said.

“Think nothing of it,” she spun on her heel, facing the inn. “Now, dinner!”

Some time later, Henry and Ayane woke up, arms linked, in his cot in the wine-butt. Ayane quickly pulled away to sit on the floor, and Henry sat up in the cot. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It was strange,” she said, hugging her knees. “But charming. I loved the air and the colors. And performing for money…I thought I would hate it, but it was nice. I feel like those people appreciated Gef much more than Ghun or Ordog ever appreciated me. It’s like they were under his spell, like he was commanding them.”

“Do you want to be like that?” asked Henry. “A…a star?”

Ayane cracked a half-smile. “Maybe. We can go back tonight, if you want.”

“I do,” said Henry. “Especially since we could find gold there.”

“Even if you have to fight a wolf?” Ayane teased. “Or a troll? Whatever that is.”

Henry chuckled. “Yeah, even then.”

Work on the arm was stalled, so that day in the lab was spent mostly refining akanite. Henry told Braehar about the night’s events.

“So I think I’ll be trying to get my gold there,” said Henry. He stood next to Braehar, watching violently pink fluid swirl in an alembic. She stirred the finished product in a flask with a long handled scalpel.

Braehar scoffed. “You didn’t question why gold won in The Wald might be real? It’s elf-gold from Fairyland,” she slashed her hand through the air, as if swatting the words away. “The archfey like to come and play in The Wald, and other folkloric woodlands. The figments in an old, mythic dream marble are far more solid you know, almost as solid as Ayane. They’re practically people, and that makes them more fun to torment.”

Henry had met plenty of fey back in San Francisco and felt the need to defend them. “They’re not that bad. I know dwarves and elves don’t get along, but—”

She jabbed her scalpel toward Henry; he flinched back. “You have no idea. They can’t do as they please back on Earth any longer, but the other planes are fair game. So the old old fey often choose to slum it in the Dreamlands, relive the glory days of screwing with mortals in Swabia and such.”

“Don’t you dare take Ayane back there again,” Clody grumbled.

“Have you been there sulking the entire time?” asked Henry.

“I’m serious,” said Clody. “This all sounds like bad news. She’s going to get kidnapped by an elf, whatever that is, and it’ll be all your fault. I just know it.”

Henry grimaced. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Braehar sighed. “Look for your gold, by all means, but beware the Wild Hunt. Don’t go out at night, but if you must, and you hear a distant horn, leap off the path.”

“But the wolves—”

“They’ll be hiding too.” She turned back to her work. Clody snickered.

Henry and Ayane did return to the Wald that night, and most nights thereafter.2 Gef and Bulla were good hosts and the life of a traveling performer was pleasant and fulfilling (at least, in a fairy tale world). Between towns Henry learned to play the flute one handed, Ayane practiced the vihuela, and they all worked on three and four part harmonies together (though those last were only for themselves to enjoy, as again, Bulla would not perform for a crowd).

The older couple also gave them a bit of tutelage on magic. Bulla was something of an all-purpose root-woman as well as an illusionist. “Do you use illusions in your shows, Gef?” Henry asked.

“Oh, I don’t, though Bulla makes special effects for me sometimes, when I need them,” said Gef. “I know a little magic myself, mainly for pathfinding. Mighty useful out here.”

“That’s it?” asked Henry.

Gef chuckled. “Most dreamwalkers aren’t magicians, at least to start with. It doesn’t take any magic to dream, after all. Once we’ve been here long enough, well, we pick things up to survive. But most of us are, well, not like you.”

Henry was chagrinned, but he understood.

They moved up the river, which was called the Nakker, never staying in one town for more than one or two days. They made a good bit of money, and Henry conjured up a chest in his dreamscape to hold it all. During the days he would show his winnings to Braehar and she confirmed it was all dream money so far, aside from a handful of mundane coins from various eras. Some of them might be worth a bit of real money on Earth, but none were suitable for the work on restoring his arm. Ayane kept her money in her sleeves and hid it in her room.

Aside from dream money, they heard rumors; it’s not as though bards were gossips by nature, but people liked to gossip to them. Much of it was local drama and therefore nonsense, though now and again they heard the beginnings of some fairy tale Plot. But one thing they kept hearing was that the Fairy Queen was stealing beautiful young people, always strangers, always people searching for adventure.

Eventually they came to a city called Rottweil, and Henry wondered about the etymology of this region. Was it based on something in real life? And if so, was it unusually smelly?

Rottweil had a cathedral and a castle, and it was a festival day. Mummers and revelers wandered about dressed in strange costumes and wooden masks, representing stock folklore characters that Henry had no idea the identity of. Minstrels and bards were set up at every corner, as were jugglers, acrobats, clowns and magicians. There were stalls selling all kinds of food, and an open air feast set out on long tables in the square, where the duke and his family served food to the poor, inverting their usual duties. Henry’s magical sight spotted fey-folk hidden among the human figments, playing tricks when they could.

After about an hour working with Gef, he let them go. “Head out and explore, I know you want to,” he said, giving them each a handful of coins. “There’s an advance on your take.”

Henry and Ayane looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, then stepped out into the crowd together. Neither had ever been to a festival unsupervised and had absolutely no idea what to do with themselves, but then Ayane’s stomach rumbled and they went on the hunt for food. They had a bit of everything; soft pretzels, toasted sausages, spice cookies, bits of roasted meat on a stick, all washed down with small beer that tasted mostly of malt.

They took in some shows, walking in on the back half of a commedia dell'arte, then wandered from minstrel to minstrel, judging them all against Gef and finding them wanting, except for one fellow who did a perfect moonwalk while singing “Greensleeves”.

“It’s very strange,” said Ayane.

“It is,” said Henry. The fellow went through a number of Michael Jackson’s moves while his accompaniment played their hearts out.

Ayane laughed. “No, I mean, looking in on a society like this, as an outsider.”

“Oh, I see,” said Henry. The song had seamlessly transitioned from “Greensleeves” to “Smooth Criminal.”

She shoved his arm. “You’re not listening!”

Henry apologized.

The sun was starting to set, and their wanderings had led them past the wall. Of course, the land outside a city wall was just as populated as that within, just more spread out; the festival was going just as strong here, with a dozen little mini-parties all melting into each other. Strings of colorful lanterns that looked more at home in China than a pastiche of middle age Germany were being lit and strung between houses. Ayane elbowed Henry. “It’s getting dark. We should head back. You don’t want to be kidnapped by the Fairy Queen, do you?”

Henry nudged her back. “What about you? Gef said ‘beautiful young people’ after all.”

She made a noise and elbowed him back, harder. “Shut up. Let’s dance if you’re not afraid.”

He scratched his neck. “Really?”

She took his hand and dragged him over to the nearest music source, a band of fiddlers ripping out a jig. Neither of them knew the dance and they were bad at figuring it out. Henry knew how to ballroom dance and Ayane had been trained in Kar Zippar’s equivalent of kathak, but a simple country square dance was beyond them. They bumped into other dancers and had trouble staying together. It was meant to be danced with both dancers’ hands clasped, and Henry had only one. Nonetheless, it was fun and they laughed together as they spun to the music and stepped on each other’s toes.

Then the dance shifted to more of a group affair. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing and they followed the crowd, albeit out of step. Two rings formed and suddenly shifted in opposite directions, and just like that they’d changed partners. Try as he might to get back to Ayane, Henry found himself swept away in the flow of the music, bouncing from girl to girl until he lost sight of her completely.

He found himself ejected, spinning out of the circle and tumbling onto the grass behind a house. He clutched his forehead and laughed, adjusted his glasses, and looked out into the dark wald.

A pair of yellow eyes stared back. He yelped and leapt to his feet. “Phobetor,” he muttered.

The creature stepped to the edge of the light, and he saw that it was just a wolf. “Looking for your friend?” it panted, in a high, wheedling voice. “ She came this way. Come.” It lifted a paw and curled its finger; Henry winced. It wasn’t a were-wolf; just a wolf with hands.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Henry crouched, touching the ground.

The wolf bared its teeth. “Don’t be silly. We wolves cannot hurt you on festival days. Ancient contract with the saints and such. Come, she is waiting for you. She wants to tell you her secret feelings and ply you with kisses.”

Henry blushed. Then he picked up a rock and hucked it at the wolf. It yelped and ran off into the woods.

“What was that?” Ayane’s voice sounded from behind and Henry startled again.

“Just a wolf,” he said, turning around, half expecting it to be another one mimicking her voice. But no, it was just her.

“Mmm. I found a fellow,” she said.

Henry coughed. “What? A fellow? For what. Purpose?”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Why did you say it like that? What I mean is I found an einthingy.”

“A what?”

She clenched her fists. “An einsmeller or whatever!”

“Oh! A German youngest sibling.”

“Yes,” she hissed. “He’s going to go find the disappeared youths. We should follow him.”

Henry scratched his neck. “How do you know he’s one of them?”

She offered her hand. “Come and see.”

Hans of Bremen was sitting at what Henry would have called a picnic table, except that the top wasn’t nailed onto the legs, which they could tell because Hans was leaning on it, making the tabletop slope toward him. He was a stocky young man in lederhosen with wheat-blonde hair and a round face, and he was staring stoically into space while a small crowd laughed at him.

Henry looked at him, then at Ayane. She pulled a pebble out of her sleeve and threw it at him. Hans suddenly leaned harder on the table, slapping the pebble out of the air. It smacked into another pebble that someone else had thrown at the same time. Hans hadn’t even looked.

“A neat trick,” said Henry.

“It’s all luck, he’s blessed by luck. Look.” She scooted onto the picnic table and pushed the tabletop back down. “Hans,” she said. “Do you want to play coinflip?”

“What are we playing for?” he asked.

“If you win the flip, you win the coin.” She produced a heller from her sleeve and showed him both sides.

“Okay,” he said. “Tails.”

She flipped the coin and it came up tails. “How about another?”

They did five more coin flips. Hans picked tails each time, and each time it came up tails. He stacked up his six coins on the table, knocking them over when he shifted his weight again.

Henry rubbed his chin. “Hans,” he said. “I'll give you five coins if you can flip a coin and make it land on its edge.”

“Done,” said Hans. He picked up a coin and flipped it onto the table. It landed perfectly between the slats. Polite applause sounded from the crowd.

“Uhh, hold on, I have to make sure that wasn’t a trick coin,” said Henry. He pulled out another coin and quietly inscribed it with a sigil to make it land on heads no matter what. “Flip this one.”

Hans grumbled. “You just don’t want to pay.” He snatched the coin from Henry’s hand, bit it once, then flipped it. It too landed between the table slats. Henry noticed that he’d bitten it so hard the imprint of his tooth had ruined the sigil. Well then.

Henry sat down next to Ayane. “So you want to go find the missing youths?”

“Yup,” said Hans. “Money please.”

Henry gave him five more coins. “Can we come with you?”

“Why?”

“We’re traveling bards,” said Ayane. “We want to record your story.”

Hans hemmed and hawed. “Alright.”

“We want a cut of the gold though,” said Henry.

Hans shrugged. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” Henry asked. “No negotiation?”

Hans shrugged. “Things tend to work out for me. If you mean me ill you’ll get what’s coming to you, and if you mean me well, you’ll reap the benefits. No reason to leave you out if you want to come.”

“Very reasonable,” Henry said, offering his hand to shake.

“Huh, a lefty,” said Hans, shaking it. “That’s unlucky.”

----------------------------------------

Hans intended to go out right that moment and Henry and Ayane had no choice but to comply. He jogged out of town and as soon as they were out of the city lights he hopped off the path. Hans was immediately set upon by the wolf, only to smack it hard in the snout. It yelped and scurried off, nose bloody. “Where’s my theme music? Come on!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Henry and Ayane looked at each other. Henry started whistling and Ayane vocalizing. It almost sounded good, and was quite good enough for Hans. They could almost see the underbrush rearranging itself into a proper path, straight on and ahead.

It was a moonlit night, with few clouds. A wind was stirring in the distance, rustling the leaves. After a while, Henry asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re looking for the Wild Hunt,” said Hans. “It’s about time for them to roll into town.”

Ayane choked. “Weren’t we warned against that?” she asked Henry.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you want to turn back?”

“Too late for that,” said Hans. “Look, they’re coming!”

He pointed over the treeline and just then, a trumpet blast sounded through the woods just as a wall of fog broke against the trees like an ocean wave against a rock. All the sleeping animals woke and fled, crying and baying in terror. The trees bent away, forming a path, while the path behind them closed. Two dozen or more fey-folk rode down the new path, straight toward them, astride white beasts; wolves and harts and other things. They came in all shapes and sizes, from fawns to trolls, but mostly they were elves, beautiful summer elves with skin gleaming red or gold. And their leader, riding on a white stag, was a woman clad in a golden robe, her blonde hair trailing impossibly long behind her, steaming through the air all the way past the final member of the procession. Her skin was gold, and her eyes sky-blue.

Henry knew instantly that she was a Dream Lord. He felt a chill in his stomach that spread through his veins as the Wild Hunt surrounded them. He looked over at Hans, who grinned an impish grin, and before their eyes he changed, becoming a rotund goblin with the face of a pumpkin. “I’ve brought you a new boy, my queen!” he shouted.

“Indeed, and what a fine boy it is,” the Dream Lord replied, riding up to Hans. He bounced towards her and clutched at her leg, and she patted his head like a faithful dog. She looked Henry up and down. “Come, I shall have thee.”

“Wait, no!” Henry found himself walking toward her, arms and legs jerking like a puppet.

“Don’t fret,” she clicked her tongue. “I am Titania of the Summerlands. I treat my mortal pages well, and thou shall be freed of all the pains that bind thee.” She giggled into her hand. “I see the mark of The Fiend upon thee. Consider it gone. And thy mirror-self? She will not find thee. Thy arm? Healed. Thou shalt be hale and whole again, forever young and beautiful in my kingdom—”

A lightning bolt split the sky overhead. Titania caught it in her hand, and it hung in the air, lighting the clearing.

“You won’t take him,” Ayane hissed, clutching at her ajana, blue light bleeding between her fingers. “I need him.”

“You dare try to strike the queen?” Hans puffed himself up, raising a fist that grew to three times its size.

But Titania laughed. “You need him. And for what?” She tilted her head and her eyes flashed as she read the truths imprinted on Ayane’s spirit. “Prove your ardor to me, and I shall let thee keep him.”

“I don’t want to go,” Henry spat at last. “Don’t I get a say?”

Titania snorted. “She has a claim. She needs thee.” She and her court all tittered.

“I need him,” Ayane repeated, ajana throbbing with light, “because he is going to help me destroy my enemy.”

“Ahhhh,” Titania steepled her fingers, sounding a touch disappointed. “So you need him as a weapon.”

Henry grimaced. Ayane grit her teeth and said nothing.

“If that’s what he is to you…then come and take him.” Titania gestured at Henry, and he floated an inch off the ground, turning to face her.

Ayane looked at her, expecting a trap. The fey-folk tittered. She strode forward and grabbed his hand.

A thousand glamour threads wrapped around him with an audible snap and he became a flaming sword in her hand, solid iron glowing cherry-red. Ayane hissed and dropped the blade.

Hans was there in an instant, reaching for the hilt, and Ayane knew they would take Henry away if they got ahold of it. She punched him in the eye and he fell onto his backside with a yowl. She picked up the blade by the hilt. It had stopped hurting as soon as she let go, so she knew the pain wasn’t real. No, nothing was real, they were in a dream world and the woman was casting dream magic at her and Henry. Ayane would let the pain roll over her and through her, and leave nothing behind but a memory.

“Well, you have him,” Titania covered her mouth, letting out an aristocratic giggle. “Go and kill thy enemy. A weapon forged by my hand would slay any mere djinn.”

Ayane entertained the thought for a moment, imagining herself driving this thing into Ghun’s heart, watching his stone flesh melt and split open from the heat, utterly destroyed. But no, it wouldn’t be worth it to destroy her friend, her only real friend aside from perhaps Braehar. “It wouldn’t work anyway,” she said. “And besides, he’s my way home.”

The gathered fey laughed. She didn’t move to walk away, and they didn’t move to let her pass. Instead, she sang. Simple vocalizations, weaving a melancholy tune. No words, just sound, conveying a distant pain. A winged shadow passed over the moon, and Hans hissed in fear. The mist cleared suddenly, and with a distant rumble, rain began to fall. The night turned grey as the moon shone through its new veil of clouds. The sword that was Henry steamed as the torrent washed over it. The flames seemed to fight back, growling against Ayane, reaching out to her face, but she kept singing, ignoring the pain of her hands cooking and falling apart, until, suddenly—

The sword shattered, and then—

It wasn’t a sword anymore, and never had been. She was holding Henry’s hand as he knelt on the ground.

Titania clicked her tongue. The rain stopped, drops frozen in midair. “I will admit, I haven’t seen that before.” She sighed dramatically, rubbing her temple with her palm. “Fare thee well, sweet Henry, twas not to be.” A dozen little fairies collected the strands of her hair, wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. “Had I but the wit yester’een that I have got today—but alas, I had not!”

Henry wiped at his face with his sleeve. “You aren’t taking this very seriously.”

“I’m not,” said Titania, peeking through her fingers. “But we must find our joys where we can. Come, my revelers!” The hunters began to form up behind her again. “I’m sure we’ll find some other young lads to torment. Hans, give them what they deserve.”

He unglamoured a sack and tossed it at Henry’s feet. “For your troubles, lad.” Then he mounted up on the back of a white dog. Titania’s trumpeter let out another blast, and they departed into the darkness.

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Finding the way back to town was easy. There was a straight road now, straight enough to be called a path and free of wolves. Henry carried the sack and Ayane lent him support.

The festival was still ongoing, though starting to wind down. Ayane’s rainstorm seems to have done very little to contribute to that, as many of the revelers were splashing in the puddles; a drunken pierrot was trying to swim in one of them.

They found Gef and Bulla cuddling in the doorway of the vardo, turned towards a burning bonfire that sputtered and spat in the wet but showed no signs of dying out yet. “Hello young’uns,” said Gef. “Did you get caught in the rain? Came on rather suddenly. And left just as quickly.”

“Yeah,” said Henry. “Hey, umm, we’re going to go.”

Bulla yawned, her eyes closed. “Already? But I suppose you’re oversleeping at this point.”

“I think so,” said Henry. “But we got what we were looking for, I think. All thanks to Ayane.” He showed Gef the contents of the sack.

Gef whistled. “Yes, that’s elf-gold alright. I suppose you won’t be coming back then.”

“We’ll be back,” Ayane said quickly. “To visit. We might just take awhile. I want to see the rest of the Dreamlands sometime.”

Gef smiled slightly. Bulla snored gently against his shoulder. “That’ll take quite some time. Enjoy yourselves though. And you’ll always have a spot in our troupe.”

Henry nodded. “Thank you. And, I have to ask…you dreamwalk in other places too, right?”

“Now and again, mostly in the mythic sphere,” he replied.

“Ahh, I’d been wondering if you could get a message out to someone…a woman named Girasol.”

“Where is she?”

“In a projection of a novel. Letters from the Republic of the Rhone.”

Gef shook his head. “Those noir types don’t really have a lot to do with us fantasists. But there’s a messenger service that might be able to get through. I’ll give it a shot.”

Henry nodded and asked to borrow a pen and paper. He wrote the note quickly, just a brief update of his progress and a second apology for leaving unexpectedly, then folded it and gave it to Gef.

He gave Henry and Ayane his blessing once again. And then they woke up.

Shortly after, Henry showed the gold to Braehar. “How much will we need?” he asked.

She bit her lip and dug her hand into the bag. She pulled out two small coins, about the size of American nickels. They had Titania’s face stamped on both sides. “This will do.”

Henry coughed. “That’s it?”

Braehar shrugged. “Corinthian bronze is less than eight percent gold by weight. We don’t need very much.” She raised an eyebrow. “You sound unhappy to have money leftover.”

“I just have no idea what to do with it! What should I do with it?!”

She clicked her tongue. “I am not your accountant. To work with you, schnell.” she snapped her fingers at him until he got back to his lab station.

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1. Yes, Clody was there. They grudged Henry for his sudden popularity with their favorite people, but they were loyal to Braehar and Ayane enough not to complain, though they shot furtive glares at him whenever they could.

2. “Night” of course is relative; they would spend their days in Desert Reign performing the drudgery of work, then go to the Wald, where it was also day, to do much funner work. Henry was at last starting to understand what Girasol had said to him.