But there must be another incarnation of you living in the Dreamworld when you wake up, Shew. Remember this IS a memory, only your reactions are different because you’re the only one in this world who knows it’s a memory.
Shew shrugged. She knew she wasn’t the only one who knew this was a memory. Loki, dressed in the evil Huntsman’s soul, knew it too.
Shew washed the thought away immediately. At the moment, Cerené was much more interesting than Loki.
Life isn’t just about love; friends are just as important.
Shew didn’t have friends, neither in the Dreamworld nor the Waking World. She suddenly realized that she needed Cerené as much as Cerené needed her.
You don’t always need people to take care of you. Sometimes you need people so you can take care of them.
“So where do we need to go to get the third ingredient of your Art?” Shew asked, more interested than ever.
“The Field of Dreams,” Cerené said. “Myth has it that it’s owned by the Sandman.”
7
A Field of Dreams
“To get to the Sandman’s Field of Dreams, we have to cross the Juniper Trees and the Wall of Thorns first,” Cerené said after a long walk.
Shew knew about the Juniper Trees. Each tree had a single eye at the end of its branches and used it to spy on intruders in forbidden regions. It was rumored that each tree had a soul of a child trapped in it, children who’d been killed in ancient wars. In comparison to everything else in Sorrow, the Juniper Trees were not to be feared.
What worried Shew was the mention of the Wall of Thorns, which was one of the barriers Carmilla had created with witchcraft to protect them from Night Sorrow’s army—this part always confused Shew. Wasn’t Carmilla already on Night Sorrow’s side after turning into a vampire? She believed that time was going to reveal something about it.
As for the Wall of Thorns, it was a magical thorn bush that cut through the trespassers trying to leave or enter Sorrow. The thorn cut a person to taste their blood and determine whether they were Night Sorrow’s intruders or locals. The tree thought of them as enemies and friends. If friends, it let them pass, whether in or out of Sorrow. If enemies, it tortured them by playing an irresistible musical tune that made one dance uncontrollably and eventually dance themselves to death in the thorn bush.
No intruder had ever passed through the Wall of Thorns—at least, none heard of—and few locals dared their way out.
Cerené’s suggestion was madness itself.
“Wait,” Shew grabbed her hand. “We’re not going to pass through. We’ll die and you know that.”
“You have to trust me, Joy,” Cerené said, and kept walking.
“Stop calling me Joy,” Shew stopped walking.
“Why? I love the name. You are my Joy in this Kingdom of Sorrow.”
“Cerené,” Shew called out. “Please stop.”
“Alright, princess,” Cerené stomped her feet. She wanted to walk farther. She wanted to play, and Shew was spoiling the fun. “I am all ears.”
“You know we’ll die if we cross the Wall of Thorns, right?”
“No, we won’t,” Cerené set her urn on the ground and folded her arms. “One can die easier by living in the Kingdom of Sorrow.”
Shew said nothing. Cerené hit the jackpot with that last sentence, but there was a difference between dying and suicide.
“All you need is to trust me,” Cerené unfolded her hands and started pleading like a child. “I wouldn’t hurt you, ever. If you’re worried about Night Sorrow’s army, let me tell you that this spot in the Wall of Thorns doesn’t lead directly to the outside. It leads to the Field of Dream which also called the Field In Between. I don’t know much about it, but if you see it, you will love it.”
“The Field in Between what?”
“I wish I knew, but it’s a place that is neither inside of Sorrow nor outside. Like I said, I had nothing to do in my spare time without friends or caring people but read. I read all the books I found in the school’s library, dusty books, books with no cover, and vintage books that had been handwritten,” Cerené said. “Have I lied about anything I told you about before?”
“What about the thorn bush?” Shew said reluctantly.
“What about it? We’re locals, not intruders. It will see us as friends, not enemies. We’ll pass. It’s just a little scratch. You’ll bleed, but not too much. Look!” Cerené pulled up the bottom of her dress and showed multiple scratches on her thighs. There were a lot and Cerené had just realized just how many by showing them to Shew. Some wounds never show, not even in the mirror, until we see them in the expressions on the faces of people we love. “Wow, that’s a lot of wounds,” Cerené uttered and laughed out of discomfort.
Shew wondered if this was the right time to ask her about her wounds.
It wasn’t.
Cerené was too happy with her magical adventure, and Shew didn’t want to spoil it for her.