Avalon's Hope (Chapter 1) : The Fae Dream

(To be read after the prologue for Avalon's Hope)              CHAPTER 1 – The Fae Dream

                Oberon sits bolt upright and looks around realizing he must have fallen asleep again. He was lying against the rocks jutting out over the cliffs of the usually peaceful island of Avalon. It was a place that some called paradise, a land of beauty and secrets. For thousands of years it had taken on a life of its own, creating stories that entertained and tales that tantalized the imaginations of young and old. From the ancient gods to the beginnings of civilization, the island had been home to so many. She had welcomed all with open arms and pushed back the coils of the so called real world. The modern world had choked the life out of anything good, and slowly Avalon was losing its hold on what the world used to be. No longer did the world live in wide eyed wonder of what was around them; the wonders that were given to them. Now, they only cared about going faster, or making more, or building bigger. There was no regard for what their modern way of life was doing to the old ways. If they only stopped and looked around they would see a magical world surrounding them. It was a world to be in awe of, a world born from dreams and imaginations of those who believed in them.

                Oberon lifts his head; a single tear rolls down his cheek and falls onto the hard stone as he rises to his feet. Twice tonight, he had been plagued by the same dream and he knew deep down that this was no ordinary nightmare. This was something much more. It was a sign of things to come, and he knew deep down that eventually this day would arrive.

                Long shadows travel away from his large body as if startled by the sight of the enormous man, or perhaps it was just his presence. Oberon was at least eight feet tall and looked every bit of twice that to a child. He looked far more imposing than he let on, a giant of a man if that's what he really was. His shoulder length hair was uncombed and of a mind of its own. It twisted and slithered in the wind like dueling dragons. The strands of dark gold and brown play in the moon light and give them a life of their own. His large hiking boots creaked with each step, screaming as if ready to burst under the strain of his massive bulk. With long strides, he navigates his way down the steep cliffs. Gigantic hands grasp at the sharp rocks making them submit to the sheer strength in his arms. Surprisingly agile for his size, Oberon makes quick work of the steep path to the bottom and ventures towards the open marketplace of the city.

                It was an exceptionally dreary night that seemed to settle over the island. Even the gentle breeze washing in with the tide and the taste of salt in the air didn't seem to take the edge off. Something was troubling him tonight. Had it just been a dream? Deep down he held hope that it was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. He even tries to convince himself that the flurry of images that had haunted his dreams that evening were really the effects of the spicy dinner he bravely had that afternoon.

                Perhaps if it was just the one dream he wouldn't be so uneasy.  Tonight, was the second time he was assaulted by the same nightmare.

                Reaching the edge of the city, Oberon cuts through the large open marketplace. The old   wooden booths were covered over by colored tarps and made them seem like decrepit shelters.  Instead of bright colored fruits and their pots of blindingly rich flowers, the marketplace was as empty as a bone yard. Every morning when the first warm beams of light licked at its edges, the market came to life. Intoxicating aromas of the freshly baked breads and exotic foods filled the air. People moved about carrying fresh produce from all over the city. Handmade jewelry was lovingly stacked on tables in expectation of the coming day.

                It was here that Oberon escaped on occasion to become a muse for the willing.  To him there was nothing better than to mingle with the mixed crowds of Avalon.  He could spend hours there feeding from the imaginations and dreams of children, and young adults.  Their wide-eyed fascination with everything they saw opened their minds to impossibilities only dreamed about.

                Much like a vampire needs blood to survive, so was it for his kind.  The fae folk were the creatures of myths and legends. They were mystical beings that have existed for thousands of years, hidden in plain sight.  Over the centuries they have been called hundreds of names. From the magical faery folk, to the dangerous and loyal trolls, Redcaps that eat anything and anyone to the pleasure filled Satyrs of Greece. These creatures thrive on the dreams and sometimes nightmares of believers. The precious few who didn't let their imaginations die were really what kept these beings alive. As with many things time progressed, and science explained away the fantastical.  Fewer and fewer people believe in fae folk of any kind, and because of that they've been forced into hiding

                Powerful illusions covered their existence, and they have faded into their own realm away from the modern world.  Places like the Sanctuary only thrive because they are masked with fae illusions. The burned out building down the street, the glade in the middle of a forest, even the ancient cemetery overrun by vines of ivy could all be havens of the fae folk.

                Still stories of their kind litter books and paintings. The signs of their existence are all around for those few who just open their eyes.  It was no different on Avalon. In truth, Oberon knew it was easier for their kind in a city like this.  The ancient palaces and reminders of myths conjured up day dreams in the tourists every day. 

      A sudden crisp sound of footsteps behind him drags Oberon from his thoughts.  Quickly assessing the area, he catches sight of a silhouette standing nearby at the corner of a booth. He is barely able to make out the figures shape but notices the pair of familiar twinkling eyes looking back at him. Oberon stares at the figure and gives a wave or recognition that beckons him out. “How long have you been watching me, Puck?” He asks.

    Slowly the tall slender figure steps into sight. A large toothy grin creeps to the corner of his lips like spilled molasses. “How did you know it was me?”

                There was a strange confidence radiating from the young man. His hair was cut short and spiked back giving him the strange appearance of a hedgehog, if only it wasn't for the purple coloring in it. His hands folded together in front of him, long tapering fingers nervously caress the tanned flesh of his palms in the darkness. For a split second, he resembles a child caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

                “I wasn't watching you,” he admits truthfully. “I was following you.” With a chuckle, he walks towards Oberon. “In my defense, I was in the neighborhood.” He seems to notice the large man’s gaze on the ear piece hanging from his ear to the black phone on his leather belt. Puck abruptly brushes a set of fingers over the cord to pull it out to hide it. He was aware of the giant man’s opinion on modern technology and how it would eventually destroy them all.

    Oberon turns and begins walking back towards the East side of the city, towards their haven. His tone wasn't as disapproving as usual tonight. “So, was it Willow that sent you, or one of the others?”

                “Oh, it was Willow.” He adds quickly and falls into step with Oberon. “You know how she worries. It isn't safe for anyone out here lately, least of all us.”

Oberon glances up into the dark leaves of the trees overhanging the road, their limbs creaking in the breeze. He stays silent for several passing moments, as if listening to them talk. “We can't go through life fearing our own death Puck. Our time will come, but we have work to do still.” He noticed the odd sideways glance from Puck and lets out a breathy laugh. “Relax, I didn't mean to insinuate your time specifically.” He gives Puck’s shoulder a pat wondering if he should tell him about the dream but decides better of it. Instead, he asks as casually as possible. “Do you still go and watch the gypsies?”

                “As often as I can.” Puck answers quickly before he can even stop himself.

                “What is it that draws you there?”

                “They still believe,” He states simply. “It's a warm feeling, like crawling into a pile of clothes just out of the dryer.” The fae's hands mimic holding a hot shirt up to his face and his toothy grin makes another appearance. “Don't worry; they never know I'm there.”

                Oberon smiles fondly at Puck though he isn't so sure that he stays hidden from the eyes of the gypsy camp. “What are they like? Tell me more about them.”

                Puck is more than eager to talk about the gypsies. There is a new hop in his step while he begins to paint a picture for his friend. “They all seem so close to each other. Lianna, she's the elder's daughter. She's beautiful, long dark hair, and a smile that lights up their camp. She takes care of everyone like a mother, which is surprising because she is so young. The way they interact with each other and live, it's a lot like we do.” He sighs longingly at the thought of the young woman. Noticing the odd expression from Oberon the man stammers out an explanation. “Uhhhh, you know it's probably living the life they do in a camp.”

                Laughing deeply, Oberon nods to his friend. “You talk about her like you have feelings for her.”

                Puck holds his fingers apart a little bit. “Maybe some.” Puck chuckles gleefully as he thinks of the young gypsy girl, and gives another wistful sigh. He speedily continues, not wanting Oberon to get the wrong idea about him and an outsider. “There are others there too. Ursula, she's the camps oldest, wise too. They all seem to look up to her and listen to what she says. A few times I thought she might have seen me.  She kept looking out towards the woods where I was hiding. I was sure she was staring right at me, and she even smiled as if she knew I was there.”  Once again catching Oberon's look of disapproval, he abruptly adds, “but there was no way she could have.”

                “You know what happens if we are seen Puck. Don't take any chances with them.”

                “Oh, I'm careful.” Puck hesitates before telling him anymore about the camp. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, uncertain if he should continue.

                Oberon becomes aware of Puck’s silence but lets him take his time if he wishes to tell anymore. Soon they are walking down the cobblestone streets of the old city. Their uneven steps are drowned out by the busy sounds of motorists going about their nightly rituals. The windows of the scattered buildings shed a yellow glow of their light onto the sidewalks. There was a warm and inviting glow coming from the dens of the hypnotized people staring at their picture boxes. Yet, he still couldn't shake the feeling of dread clinging to him like some death bringer.

                Snapping out of his stupor, he realizes Puck is talking again about the gypsies.

                “...And then there is Sophia, she's one of the Harmon clan. She isn't really a gypsy, but her sister married the camp elder. That's rare for a Gaje you know.”

                “What's a Gaje?”

                Puck scratches his head as they leave the marketplace behind and walk towards their haven. A stray dog crosses their path with barely a glance their way. “Oh, that's what they call outsiders. You know, non-gypsy folk,” he replies. “I don't know how they met, but anyways, she's married to Osian and they had twins last year. There is something odd about Osian, but I can't put my finger on it yet. He seems different from the rest....” Puck jumps, startled as Oberon interrupts him.

                “Twins... Are you sure?” He doesn't seem to realize he's grabbed Puck’s arm and has turned to face him.

                Oberon ignores the deafening blare of a motorist’s horn. An old white Volkswagen barely misses the pair standing in the middle of the road. The loud curses leap from the open window and fade as it speeds off.

                 “Is it a boy and a girl?” The intense gaze burns right into Puck as Oberon waits for an answer.

                Puck looks shocked by Oberon's reaction to the news of twins. He stammers, frightened to say any more about them. The look in Oberon's sudden cold gaze seemed like ice, and his grip clamped on his arm even tighter.    

                “I... I uhhh, don't…don't know.” Wincing, Puck half expects to be hit, and cringes backwards.  The last thing he wants is to upset the large man any more than he already was.

                Seeming to realize he has a hold on Puck, he slowly lets go and takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry my friend.”

                “Sorry?” Puck asks with worry in his voice. “What was that all about?” He rubs his arm and takes a step back so he can't be grabbed again. “What has been bothering you Oberon, and don't tell me it's nothing. You have been up on those cliffs since you left the Sanctuary this morning.”

                Oberon hurries across the road before he slows down to wait for Puck to catch up again. Ahead of them an old cathedral rises from the ground and towers above their heads. Staggered stone spires reach for the sky, clawing at the night as if trying to escape the hold of the earth. The once strong structure barely stands on its own now; the towering skeletal memorial is only a husk of its former glory. The burned-out building stood there for years, threatening to crumble to the city streets.  It should have been condemned.

                Ask anyone and they probably couldn't tell you when it had happened, or why the structure still stood there, but it did. No one really knew when it had caught fire and burned, or maybe they didn't care. Of the dozens of people who walked past the structure daily, only a few bothered to even give it a passing glance.

     (to be cont)