The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 78:

The Dreaming Bogs

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I think I’m dead.

It was an eternal sheet of deep blue night, no stars or moon to light the place, no light at all – but below, there was water that had frozen over, yet wasn’t cold, and it emitted a pale dawn glow.

The place had no sensation, neither heat nor cold, but a perpetual crawling numbness that got into the head and froze it alongside the water.

Beneath that glass-like river, dimly, foggily, were the shadows of fish swimming – big as humans, they swam gracefully with the flow of the water by the dozens, all heading somewhere at an easy pace far away out of sight.

If I’m dead, I think I would be in the water.

Moth traced a finger along the glass-topped river, and a fish below looked up at her with the face of a human, before swimming heavily away.

Nothing felt urgent. Nothing felt like anything at all – Moth was as dull as if she were asleep, yet she looked around at the river and knew so many things were important – Hiren, her family, Picky Woods, the sunstones – yet couldn’t remember why it all mattered so much. They would all eventually end up here, sooner or later, so why hurry, why worry.

“Mere Korraban,” called a voice.

Barely able to recognize her name, Moth looked up. Far far away she saw a lantern on a sleigh. The sleigh came closer and closer, pulled by finely regaled reindeer, and an old woman got off the sleigh with her lantern and came to Moth.

She was old, and Moth couldn’t see the woman’s face because her whole head – apart from the gray braids on top – was covered entirely in eyes, each one a different color and shape, opening and closing and blinking and winking in different times.

Despite this, Moth knew it was Mrs. Halig.

Mrs. Halig – strong as an ox – pulled Moth to her feet and said, “Nalka cast you to this outer place, but fear not – you are not dead. I will guide you out.”

Moth didn’t understand, but she liked Mrs. Halig and found all her eyes so beautiful, so she followed her to the sleigh and sat under a blanket of bear fur, leaning close against Mrs. Halig.

The warmth from Mrs. Halig began to revive Moth – revive her dull mind – and she began to rub her eyes and think, the many swirling emotions that consumed her were loud and burning, yet, next to Mrs. Halig, Moth wasn’t lost under them – she felt strong.

She had a simple question for Mrs. Halig, as they rode over the vast unending river. “How can I protect myself? Quin can send me here again next time I dream.”

“Her true name was hidden away by her family – it’s Nalka. Now you know it, and it will protect you next you dream.”

This strengthened Moth. She was feeling more awake by the minute.

Mrs. Halig clucked at the reindeer, and they veered off the frozen river across the black fields. The place was like a bog, with pockets of water everywhere that the sleigh had to whip and weave through. The puddles of water were not frozen like the river. They rippled as if alive, emitting soft light.

Moth leaned over the sleigh, looking down into the pools. She saw people’s dreams – some frightening, some beautiful, some shapeless.

Anyone could jump in these, Moth thought, terrified, but as she looked over, she saw there were some pools that had structures built over them – some shoddy, with a few rocks piled over to make it difficult to enter without some work. As she continued to look out over the bog, she began to see something – far distant shapes, walking between the pools.

“Those whose craft is dreamwalking can enter exposed dreams,” said Mrs. Halig, and pointed to the soft moist ground. There were prints of two-toed shaman shoes.

“How can I…how can I protect my dreams then?” Moth asked urgently. “Any dreamwalking shaman could come in at any time.”

“My ferrymaid,” said Mrs. Halig, “Would Clement allow that?”

And they began to approach a springhouse erected over a pool. Cut from old clapper stones, and built jointly with no gaps, with a great door of oak set with iron bands. Sleeping at the door was a pair of blind guard dogs, who raised their heads and calmly wagged their tails as they approached.

“Clement knows how to dream,” said Mrs. Halig. With her many eyes, she looked along the springhouse, and found shoeprints from Quin wearing Moth’s boots. She spoke urgently to the dogs, who leaped up to sniff the shoeprints.

“Nalka has been able to enter with your shoes. I’ve warned the guards about it.”

Moth only stared at the mighty structure protecting her dreams.

Mrs. Halig opened the door of the springhouse and they entered. There was an ultramarine pool of water, and deep within Moth saw her decapitated body. Mrs. Halig dipped a finger in the water and the scene below changed – Moth’s body was brought together, and she was small and sitting on a porch eating apples, with Clement at her side.

Moth stared down into her dream, and as she did she began to feel some of the emotions, the memories and anxieties she would if she was awake. All at once she remembered something and spun around to grab Mrs. Halig’s hand, tears in her eyes, “Oh, Mrs. Halig – I’m so sorry – your children, their eyes. I…all because you offered me! You’re right – I didn’t consider at all what it would mean if I asked you to offer me.”

All the eyes on Mrs. Halig closed. She was quiet, even as Moth brought her hands to her mouth and kissed the old knuckles.

“Your voice reminds me of his,” said Mrs. Halig after a long few minutes of silence. “You and I both know what sacrifice for love is – you will learn much worse than me over time, if you continue to choose to be his wife, and do not relinquish the title. Be brave, ferrymaid – do not look back. Whatever happens, go out and face the farmers on Sunday.”

So saying, Mrs. Halig gently pushed Moth into the pool.