Chapter 16: The World of Slumber

“See, this is why I revealed the mystery to you,” Enid said, pleased that Roland was so perceptive. “You sensed its presence on the very first try.”

“You are a born ritualist.”

The more Roland listened, the more uneasy he felt, as if a thin sheet of paper separated him from the truth.

Just the thickness of a single sheet.

“Sorry, madam, I don’t quite understand—where exactly are we now?”

“Exactly where you think we are.”

Enid set down her teacup and, as she stood, pulled Roland to his feet as well. She led him to the center, then, like a trickster, released him and vanished, leaving the blind boy without his cane, alone in the midst.

Suddenly, snow began to fall from the sky.

The fountain froze solid, and a gust of wind swept over him.

Above, the cry of an eagle pierced the air, soaring past the triangular, snow-dusted rooftops and blowing snowflakes onto Roland’s head; sturdy, antlered elk burst from every alley, circling him in a lively dance; a black cat dozed on a rooftop, lazily dragging a paw across the strings of a violin held in its grasp.

The sun bubbled and steamed, while a gray wolf, both agile and heavy-footed, drummed a steady beat on a snare drum.

Blue droplets floated suspended in the air, hand in hand with shards of jade and crystal, singing joyfully as they twirled in the melody, tapping their feet alongside the deer.

“This is a one-of-a-kind music!” they said.

“You cannot fully grasp its expression by ear alone!” they called.

“Roland!”

“Come quickly, Roland!” they sang.

“Astonishing!”

“Soul-stirring!”

They shouted.

“Heart-pounding!”

“That’s right!”

Roland stroked the antlers; the water and snow bounced lightly on his skin, chattering like mischievous sprites.

Some particularly cheeky tricksters even climbed onto his ears, shouting “Ah—!” mischievously right into his ear, then happily rolled off his shoulder, scampering far away.

His hand found the wings on the elk’s back.

Soft feathers.

This was another world…

Right before his eyes.

“Yes, Roland, we are exactly where you imagine,” Enid said. “In a dream.”

…

The wheels creaked and groaned.

Leaving town, the carriage grew rougher.

It was then that Roland was roused from his dream.

His temple struck the windowpane, but Enid had placed a square cushion in his arms and another behind his back.

He had slept well.

“This world has two faces. By day, the realm of human activity is called the waking world; by night, it is taken over by dreams.”

“Beneath the surface world lies a murky lake, weaving the dreams of all living beings.”

“To mortals, it is but a vivid cartoon forgotten upon waking; but to the extraordinary…”

“It allows us to draw near to certain powers, to grasp and alter them…”

“Dreams exist beneath the surface, where the underlying rules and all beings intertwine. Theoretically, it is infinite—anything can happen there. Every person enters the dream at least twice in life—”

“At birth, and…”

“The final dream before death.”

“‘My gaze pierces the surface world, seeing the truth beneath the skin.’”

“—from Volume One of The Rite’s Mastery.”

“Good afternoon, Roland Collins.”

The plate on the table vanished; beside the oil lamp lay a basket filled with small cakes topped with cream and crushed nuts.

The teapot had changed to cherry red, with a few trembling drops of grape juice hanging from its spout.

The carriage swayed again.

This gave Roland a sense of reality.

He touched his face, then hugged the pillow and stared blankly.

“According to those vultures, first-time dreamers almost always touch their face upon waking.”

Enid joked lightly, opening another window to reveal a dull, monotonous scene: trees growing in chaotic tangles, branches sprawling in every direction.

This was reality.

“We’re back, Roland,” she said.

“Just now…”

“That was something every ritualist can do with ease.”

Roland took a deep breath, searched about, and grasped the glass of grape juice. The cool liquid transmitted its chill through the glass into his palm, finally steadying his unsettled heart.

“Don’t worry. Have some cake—no one can harm you while I’m here.”

“Words are feeble before mystery. I think you should experience it firsthand: the power of a ritualist.”

“Roland, are you willing to devote yourself to the Father of All Things?”

Roland sensed this was no simple choice.

At least, the ‘devotion’ Enid spoke of…

“I have always been a believer, madam.”

As expected, Enid smiled and shook her head.

“When I say ‘devote,’ I mean choosing the ‘Great Path’ governed by the Father of All Things…”

“In simpler terms, Roland, your future could be like mine.”

“Perhaps even greater.”

Roland bit into the cake.

The soft base, topped with crispy pistachio bits and lightly sweetened cream, melted in his mouth.

“Delicious?”

She saw Roland puff his cheeks like a little hamster and felt a sudden urge to take one herself—but after pinching her arm, she held back.

“I had Fernandes prepare them specially.”

The mischievous bat of ill intent.

Roland blinked. “Yes, madam. Very delicious. Nothing better than waking from a journey to drink cool grape juice and eat soft, sweet cake.”

“If there is, it would be meeting a caring, kind, beautiful lady who places a pillow in my arms as I fall asleep.”

Because Enid saw Roland as blind…

She laughed openly and without restraint.

The bat of ill intent was pleased.

—I don’t want to give such a kind lady a nasty nickname, especially since I’ve seen her. She’s very young and quite beautiful.

Roland thought.

The words shifted with his thoughts.

“The bat of ill intent, very pleased, very young, very beautiful, and not badly nicknamed.”

—Change it back.

Words growing too long could easily obscure a face.

Roland picked up a napkin and wiped his fingers, his amber eyes staring blankly at the spoon, lost in thought.

He recalled the two choices Miss Nina had given him before her death.

A mortal life.

Or stepping into another world.

He did not resist fate, but he had not forgotten Miss Nina’s words.

The Father of All Things, Merciful Lord, the Gracious One, the First Ray of Light—these were the names worshipped by the Holy Cross Church.

Most of the time, he heard these titles from those around him, accompanied by all sorts of wishes:

To be wealthy, healthy, long-lived, wise, blessed with many children, eloquent, charming, or even curses for his wife’s cat to grow teeth sharp enough to sever the ‘staff’ of her unfaithful lover…

And the like.

Though it was improper to say, considering how much care he had received from others…

Roland trusted Nina more.

Her perspective on the world was unlike anyone else he had met.

As he lowered his gaze in thought, Enid seemed to understand his hesitation. She tapped the table, drawing the boy’s attention.

“I know your heart is full of doubt, the unease of an uncertain path, the anxiety over an unknown fate…”

“Don’t worry, I will not force you, Roland.”

“In the three domains He governs—Mercy, Judgment, and Wisdom—we are purer…”

“Only those with exceptional talent can walk with us.”

“You are a suitable candidate. I believe it is worth the wait.”

“Of course, even if you choose another path,” Enid winked slyly, “you will still work alongside us.”

Mercy, Judgment, Wisdom.

Roland moved his lips.

Enid likely knew what he wanted to ask. She shifted her seat, crossed her legs, and watched him leisurely.

A slender boot tip peeked from beneath the tablecloth.

Her tone turned playful: “You can guess.”