ALIX OF DREAMS - EPILOGUE

am Alix of Dreams, for Dream is my land more than any other. I exist in it freely, and I move here and there as I will. The land of dreams changes always. The buried ones sleep here in some form or another, and sometimes they awaken. Often, the living come here in their sleep, wandering aimlessly, only half-seeing; I turn them back gently, and tell them to forget. Occasionally, I do more, as Riothamus did for me.

I am not sure what happened to Riothamus, but I know that I have inherited his estate, Keeper of the Land of Dreams. Nor do I know what has happened to the Sortii, the creatures that once inhabited this place. Maybe they all have gone back to their home, where they belong. I like to think that is true. There are many stories happening simultaneously in the universe, and I only know some of them.

The sun never rises here, but I don't really mind. I was always enamoured of the night. Once I traveled very far, to the edge of the land, where huge mountains rise to touch the sky.

There I thought I saw dawn about to come, and I waited patiently for a very long time, but though the sky grew silver, nothing more happened. This is the land of dreams.

I have everything I need here. This is an old land, and what comes here never leaves. There are interesting buildings, great tall things, that appear here and there. I find things in them, some useful, some not.

The one grace of suffering is that it is a limited thing, and that it always ends. My time was one of suffering in many ways, but I have looked across all of time, and I see changes.There is a time coming that will come to be known as the First Renaissance: from the Latin, re (to do again) and the French nasci, (to be born). There will be others, too. Many, many others. I will be there, and so will you, in one way or another

For I am Alix, of the Land of Dreams, and this land is eternal.

* * *

The girl perched happily upon the mound of pillows and bedding she had dragged to the windowsill. She rested her elbows on the sill, head resting in her hands as she regarded the squirrel sleeping peacefully on the oak's broad branches. She relaxed and let her mind soften, pushing thoughts away, but never letting her eyes leave the little animal's face.

Soon the images came to her, the simple, easy little dreams of the creature before her, leaping from branch to branch, finding large, ripe acorns to feed upon, intertwining with the other squirrels...

She drifted, then, into dreams of her own, floating warmly on a cloud of disconnected images. Alone, in a dark place... this was odd to her, for she had never been far from the sisters, never alone in such a way as this. Her feet shuffled along even, time-worn cobbles, until a light appeared before her. She moved forward faster now, eager to meet whatever waited before her. A feeling of elation came over her.

She stopped short as the narrow passage opened out into a large room. Candles were everywhere, all lit, hurting her eyes at first but welcome in their warmth. A man sat at a large table to her right, surrounded by huge stacks of books on all sides. Many papers covered the table, spilling out over the sides. He was writing something, scratching busily with a white quill.

"What are you writing?" The question seemed perfectly natural. After all, she was dreaming. She knew dreams better than anyone she knew, and this definitely was one.

The man turned in surprise, stood abruptly and stared, mouth hanging open in obvious shock. She laughed. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew I was here. This is my dream, after all."

He moved his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He sat heavily on the little stool by the table, regarding her closely. He was not at all as old as she had first imagined. In fact, he was probably only a few years older than she herself. He, too, seemed to be only now seeing what she looked like, taking it all in with careful attention to detail. The girl bore this scrutiny for only a minute before she said, "This is not a good dream. It's boring. I'm going now."

She started to turn, but the man threw out his arms and cried, "Wait! Please, don't go... I am... your friend. What is your name?"

Mollified for the moment, the girl sat down on a heap of books. "I am Alicia. Who are you?"

The man smiled, then. Alicia decided she liked him, based on that smile, and found herself hoping she would dream about him again.

"I have been called many things. Sometimes I think I am Morpheus, but that would be presumptuous." He smiled again, apparently at some jest which she did not get. "You can call me..." He paused and looked at the ceiling. "You can call me Nicolas. That is a name I have always admired. I once had a teacher by that name. Speaking of names, you know, you look very much like a young lady I once knew. Her name was Isa." He stared at her searchingly as he asked, "Are you any relation?"

Her face grew suddenly solemn. "I don't know any of my relatives. I'm adopted. My mommy died, long time ago."

He sighed heavily. "The world is sometimes a sad place, isn't it? How old are you, Alicia?"

"Nine years, I think, this Spring."

"You wanted to know what I was writing. Do you want to read it?"

Alicia giggled. "No, silly, read it to me. I don't know how to read it myself."

Frowning, he said, "Hmmm... that will not do. Do you know your letters, at least? No? Well, we will change that. Come over here. Let us start with the first half of the alphabet. See this? This one is an 'a.' That is the first letter. And this one, with the tall chimney, this is a 'b...'".

THE END