“Dried out inside. Humans need a lot of water to keep all their parts working their best.” Calia massaged her temples and blinked hard, squinting her eyes repeatedly. They burned as if dried sand had been thrown into them. The fever was already coming back. “And explain to me why Mathison didn’t simply use his powers to call out to the Weavers. Seems like he mentioned they had promised to stay close in case he needed them.”
With a disgusted huff, Bresag poured a cup of water and handed it to her. “The Weavers failed to answer. Several times. Ye canna depend on the Weavers. The infernal creatures follow ridiculous paths that only benefit themselves, all in the name of protecting the blessed Highland Veil.”
Calia forced herself to drink the entire cup, then held it out. “More, please, and what do you mean they failed to answer?”
“He called to them. Repeatedly.”
“And then walked right into that witch’s trap.” The knot in the pit of Calia’s stomach tightened. She emptied the second cup of water and set it aside. If she drank any more right now, she’d puke. Time to let that first gallon sink into her cells and keep things watered down. “Could you send Giddrie or Kannis to find him?”
“We already have,” Bresag’s husband, Noirgarth, said from the doorway. “They have not found any sign of him or his wolf, even after speaking to the chieftain’s footman and following the path Shadowmist took after he shifted.”
“She has him, doesn’t she?” Calia clenched her fists, bracing herself for the answer she already saw in Noirgarth’s eyes.
“We fear that she does.”
Willing every last ounce of energy she possessed to obey her command, Calia attempted to hoist herself out of the nest. With a hard thump, she fell over the side and landed on the platform. Noirgarth caught her before she tumbled down the steps.
“Ye dinna have the strength yet. Ye must rest.” He placed her back in the nest.
“I will be damned straight to the fieriest pits of hell before I’ll lie here and do nothing while she tortures him.” Calia wobbled herself to all fours, swung a leg over the side of the nest, then had to rest there a minute to catch her breath.
“And what do ye possibly hope to do in this condition?” Bresag growled. “Dinna be a thoughtless fool. That is for the males to do. Not us.”
“I take umbrage with that,” Noirgarth said with a fiery snort.
Breathing as hard as if she’d just run a race, Calia jabbed the air, pointing a finger at Bresag. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t do the very same thing if that hag got hold of Noirgarth or one of your babies?”
The dragon backed up a step, snorting twin curlicues of smoke. Her golden eyes narrowed, and the leathery corners of her mouth pulled downward in a fierce frown. “I would challenge her in the Dreaming.”
“Do you mean the In-between?” Calia knew or somewhat understood what the In-between was, but Mathison had never mentioned a place called the Dreaming.
“No.” Bresag barely shook her head. “The Dreaming is a constantly fluid and ever-changing plane of existence. All beings from every reality separated by the Highland Veil may travel there because nothing is permanent. It is a place of constant chaos, because it is the place controlled by the soul’s mind.”
“And I’d be strong there? Able to fight her?”
“Ye would be as strong as yer mind allows ye to be,” Noirgarth said. “The Dreaming can be a treacherous place. Whatever ye believe…it becomes so. If ye dinna believe in something…it ceases to exist.”
“Only on that plane or everywhere?”
“It depends on the strength of yer magic—and yer mind.”
Calia rolled back over into the nest and dragged herself to a more comfortable position. “How do I get her to meet me there? She’s going to know what I want to do.”
“Aye, she’ll know yer wishes. Just as ye know hers.” Bresag refilled the water cup and held it out. “But ye have no hopes of besting her on this plane of existence. Not with the poison still draining ye of yer strength.”
“Can Litress fight with me in the Dreaming? Can the two of us get Mathison and Dubh back?”
“The Dreaming and I know each other very well,” Litress said before Bresag could answer. “It is a good plan. Trust Bresag. We must rescue our mates.”
With a fevered breath that burned whenever she exhaled, Calia drank as much of the water as she could. “Again, how do I get Carman to show up there?”
“Summon her and believe she will appear there to meet ye,” Noirgarth said. “Such is the way of the Dreaming. It obeys whatever thought is strongest within it—but be aware, ye will not be the only soul issuing commands to that plane. To survive, ye must control yer thoughts and beliefs better than any of the others, or their plans could verra well overtake ye.”
“So, how do I get to this Dreaming place?” She knew it couldn’t be as simple as just going to sleep. If that were the case, everyone would wander through that plane of existence whether they wished to or not. She tried to sip a bit more water, nearly gagged, and came close to losing everything she’d drunk so far. “I need to set that aside for now. But keep the water coming.” When neither Noirgarth nor Bresag answered, she mustered enough strength to keep herself in a sitting position. “Well? How do I get there?”
Noirgarth frowned, making the small rows of horns above each of his eyes ripple closer together over the broad bridge of his snout. “Ye must speak the words and make it so.”
“And offer blood called forth by the athame,” Bresag added. “The Dreaming chant is a blood spell. It requires significant energies.”
