Page 28 of Barbie: Dreamscape

The idea of a horse named Sandy hating sand…

Nope. Not questioning it.

We stay along the more compact ground until the field turns to butter-smooth beach, hugging the coast. Sandy starts lifting her head in defiance the moment she touches a hoof to the surface. In a low canter, we finally reach a house.

Made completely of sand.

“I wish I lived in a sandcastle,” Ken grumbles, helping me down from the horse. “The Archivist is so cool.”

I slip off Sandy’s side, lips parted in awe. There’s a life-size sandcastle in front of me, the same scale as a normal house. I didn’t even think that was possible. Wouldn’t the material crumble? Get knocked down by the first large wave?

A slice of water surrounds it—a miniature moat, just a few feet wide.

Ken leaves Sandy with an apple, which she huffs at, then takes.

At our approach, the entire golden structure starts to tremble. I stumble back. Sand sputters everywhere before the front door begins to lower, forming a drawbridge across the moat we literally could have stepped over ourselves.

When it’s fully lowered, out walks a woman wearing a perplexing number of shells. She’s older, with white hair tied up, held back with a conch. Her skin is tan. She wears bracelets made of sea glass.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. Her gaze shifts excitedly to Ken. “Did she fall from the sky?”

He nods vigorously.

The woman shakes her head in awe. “Sky-splatter happens all the time,” she explains, stepping around me, as if shocked that I am still whole. Apparently, I’m not the first to arrive from another land. “But you… you are in one piece!”

“Yay…” I say, offering a beatific smile, as though my landing without breaking my neck had anything to do with me at all.

The Archivist links her arm through mine like we’re old friends catching up and motions us forward. “Tell me everything.”

Minutes later, we’re inside the sandcastle—okay, really, it’s more of a sandcottage—the walls so low that Ken has to hunch over in his seat. We’re drinking tea from chipped cups, a mismatched collection that the Archivist explains has been gathered over several decades.

“Found this one in a tide pool,” she says, pointing to the cup halfway toward my lips.

That might explain why the tea is slightly salty, even with three sugar cubes inside it. The Archivist offers a variety of tiny sandwiches, on sand dollar plates. I take a bite of one.

Also salty.

One of the sandy walls is covered in shells. “My library,” she says proudly, and I just tilt my head, trying to work that out.

“Other pieces of different lands often wash ashore here,” she says, gesturing toward piles of objects in the corners of her castle. “Recognize anything?”

My eyes rove over the objects stacked almost to shoulder height, but nothing looks familiar. I shake my head and push the sand dollar plate to one side, determined to get down to business. “Archivist, have you ever been to the other lands?”

Her sunny disposition turns sad. “I wish. There was once a time when travel between lands was possible… but now, it isn’t so easy.”

Fantastic. A knot of worry forms in my chest, knowing that’s exactly what I intend to do.

No use in hiding my purpose. “I need to get to a place called Dreamland. Can you help me?”

The Archivist nods, humming, before sipping from her tea. “Dreamland, you say?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes. I know it.” She takes another sip of her tea. Squints, in deep contemplation. She sets her chipped teacup down and pronounces, “Impossible.”

I blink. “What do you mean, impossible?”

She shrugs, shells clanking together with the movement. “Exactly what I said. Impossible. Don’t you have that word in your land?”