Riding on the high of our success from last week, Poincaré and I dove into our field research with renewed vigor. The data that I'd collected at the Sin-Eater Haunt was invaluable and shed quite a bit of light on our subjects. Nevertheless, we were left with more questions than answers. We were uncertain how to interpret much of the information. Hours were spent painstakingly studying the pictures I'd taken, particularly the magic circle and the mysterious glyphs. As I had initially determined, the glyphs and circle seemed to have no legitimate occult power. I dedicated several days to translating some of the lines of the multi-lingual glyphs, only to find that they were utter nonsense. They didn't spell or convey anything intelligible; no apparent meaning whatsoever. Instead, it appeared as though the Sin-Eaters had taken various characters from different languages and mixed them together, at random.
Obviously, there had to be something I was missing. The Sin-Eaters wouldn't write useless script all over the walls and doors of their Haunt unless it served some sort of purpose... right? Likewise, the circle didn't correspond to any existing magic circle I could find, nor did it adhere to any principles of magic that I was aware of. In this regard, however, I was less certain, since I can't claim to be familiar with all the forms of magic in the world. To completely rule out the occult efficacy of the circle, I'd need access to an Autumn Court library, which wasn't currently an option. So it seemed that we'd hit a wall.
Frustrated at our inability to decipher the data before us, I decided that some more direct observational study was in order. More specifically, it was time to start gathering information oneiromantically. One can learn a tremendous amount by observing a person's dreams, and analyzing all of the symbols and metaphors contained therein. Dreams disclose a great deal about the dreamer: hopes and fears, motivations, general temperament, vices and virtues, and so much more. Perhaps the best application of Dream Riding is the ability to spy on another person's dreams. To do so, I needed only to perform a few Oneiroscopes and walk the Skein to the personal dreamscapes of the Sin-Eaters. Some changelings criticize the practice of Skein-walking, arguing that it's a violation of privacy to enter the dreams of those with which you don't have a dream-tasked pledge. While I don't exactly disagree, I try to meddle as little as possible in foreign dreams. I simply observe, and move on. Disrupting a foreign dream can cause nightmares for the dreamer, so I'm careful to reduce my "oneiromantic footprint."
By night, I studied the dreams of the Sin-Eaters. By day, I directly observed the Sin-Eaters in their day-to-day affairs. This two-fold approach to our research would prove to be very effective. The information we gathered about our subjects in their waking lives provided me a context with which I could more accurately analyze the symbol-laden imagery of their dreaming subconsciouses.
Aside from the standard dangers associated with Skeinwalking, I had little concern for my safety. It was extremely unlikely that the Sin-Eaters had any form of dream-related powers to guard their dreamscapes from intruders. Even if Oneiromachy somehow took place, I highly doubted that any of the subjects posed a true threat to a changeling trained in the arts of dream combat by Rowena herself, the Miami Freehold's former High Oneirologist.
Skeinwalking
Before I continue, allow me to provide some exposition on the topic of Oneiroscopy. The art of casting Oneiroscopes is little known among changelings; a secret that the Autumn Court is vigilant about keeping within its ranks. I suppose I can understand this, since having any random Oneiropomp walking the Skein is probably not a good thing for humanity. While Skeinwalking may be accomplished without an Oneiroscope, doing so is substantially more difficult and costly. Its best that convenient travel to foreign dreams be limited to a select few. Fortunately for the Lord Sages, the Hobo King happens to be one of those few.
Finding a path of dream-gates leading to each Sin-Eater's dreamscape is no simple task. Oneiroscopes are temperamental things; far from an exact science. Yet, they are a necessary tool without which successful Skeinwalking would be difficult to achieve. An Oneiroscope permits a changeling Oneiropomp to chart a course that gets him to the desired foreign dream. This is accomplished by following the dream-gates linking dreams of similar themes. On the giant web that is the Skein, thematically-aligned dreams have a way of temporarily connecting along a narrative thread, and this is when Skeinwalking is possible.
If one is willing to be patient, a path to almost any destination dream usually manifests within a few weeks or months; all dreams lead to each other on the Skein, at some point. However, the challenge of Oneiroscopy is finding a path that occurs in a timely manner, preferably within days of the Oneiroscope's casting. This was my intention, and furthermore, I was doing this for five separate individuals. I didn't want to wait months to visit each Sin-Eater's dreamscape. I wanted to visit the dreams of the entire krewe within a single week. Consequently, I had a lot of work to do.
Over the course of a couple of days, I employed several Oneiroscopes to plot out manifold paths through the Skein, using a deck of playing cards to represent Fate. I searched the cards to find the proper alignments of narrative threads that would allow me to traverse the Skein to my destinations. It takes skill, time, and a bit of help from the Wyrd to discern a useful path through the World of Dreams. Ultimately, however, I succeeded in my task. I deciphered the necessary alignments of dream-gates to take me to each Sin-Eater's dreamscape. One alignment was going to occur each night for the next five nights, starting the next evening.
Sin-Eater Dreams
From what I've been led to believe by the Lord Sages, Sin-Eaters are still, for the most part, human. What differentiates them from other humans is the death spirit bound within them - known more specifically as a "Geist." Apparently, this spirit changes each Sin-Eater just enough that he or she ends up qualifying as something slightly more (or less) than Homo Sapiens Sapiens. Nevertheless, they seem to be much closer to human, biologically and meta-physically, than changelings and other supernatural beings. Obviously, I'd need to conduct an in-depth medical and magical examination to determine this conclusively, but I think it's safe to categorize Sin-Eaters as human, or at least a sub-species of humanity (Homo Sapiens Spiritualis, if you will). In other words, they are the least "monstrous" of the supernatural factions in this big world of ours.
That said, the dreams of Sin-Eaters differ somewhat from those of other humans. And these differences seem to be common to all the Sin-Eater dreamscapes I visited. It appears that Sin-Eaters tend to have rather mono-thematic dreams. Their dreams all revolve around the same subject matter: Death.
Sin-Eater dreams are choked with death symbolism and imagery; what changeling Oneirologists would call "Pluto Dreams" according to the terminology of the Hynagogic Constellation. While its normal for people to dream about death, the Sin-Eaters take it to a whole new level. Everything in a Sin-Eater dream was a visual cliché related to death: skulls, grim reapers, graveyards, dead bodies, zombies, ghosts pleading for help, banshee-like wailing, funeral dirges, coffins, tolling church bells, creepy mist, etc. It felt like I'd been plopped directly into a B-grade horror movie. Even when the dream wasn't specifically about death, the touch of death was clearly everywhere. The typical mise-en-scène for a Sin-Eater dream was nighttime or a gray, overcast daytime, and everything - items, places, and characters - were afflicted with the look of decay, deterioration, and entropy. It's all about as subtle as a brick to the face.
My visits to the Sin-Eater dreamscapes consisted of me observing everything from an invisible, disembodied state. I refrained from inserting myself "physically" into their dreams so as not to inadvertently influence events. I noticed that each Sin-Eater dreamed about identical themes. The events of the dreams, themselves, were different, but the mood and imagery were consistently the same. Furthermore, I'm quite certain that these death dreams occur EVERY SINGLE NIGHT for a Sin-Eater. This goes far beyond what we changeling Oneiropomps understand as recurring dreams.
Recurring dreams are normal... up to a point. However for humans, an extended period of recurring dreams (months or years) is often indicative of some kind of psychological damage - obsession, post-traumatic stress, repressed memories, etc. Yet with Sin-Eaters, I got the impression that these recurring death dreams are a natural, intrinsic aspect of their existence, not due to mental illness. To be a Sin-Eater is to be forever connected to death. Their dreams appear to reflect this metaphysical truth. Still, it's gotta get old after a while...
Another oddity of visiting a Sin-Eater dreamscape is the inescapable sense that you are not alone. When I say this, I'm not referring to the presence of the dreamer himself, or the many supernumenaries(dream characters) that populate the dreamscape. No, I mean something else. As soon as I entered the first Sin-Eater dreamscape, I began getting the unmistakable impression that I was being watched. As I observed the Sin-Eater's dream, I felt as though I were being observed, in turn. It almost felt like another Oneiropomp was in the dream with me, but I know that this wasn't the case. The longer I remained in the Sin-Eater's dream, the stronger this feeling became, to the point where I started to get somewhat paranoid. Even in my disembodied form, I felt as though eyes were upon me. It was all I could do not to say "feck it" and abandon the dream.
I sensed a "presence" in the dreamscape of each Sin-Eater, and each time it felt a little different. These "presences" didn't feel hostile, per se, but they didn't feel welcoming, either. I think the best descriptor I could possibly use would be "dispassionate curiosity." I was being observed because I was there, and I could be. It's hard to say whether these presences could exert any control within the dreams, or if they were limited to passive observation. I never experienced any interference with my activities as an Oneiropomp. However, this might simply be because my visits were unobtrusive. Maybe I would have encountered resistance had I taken a more direct hand with my Oneiromancy.
My suspicion, as is likely yours, is that I was somehow detecting each Sin-Eater's Geist. This makes a certain amount of sense. Normally, spirits don't have dreamscapes; they don't dream and therefore, don't have a place in the Skein. However, Geists appear to be inextricably bound to their Sin-Eater hosts in a way that I've never seen before; a way that surpasses simple possession. Perhaps then, along with sharing the Sin-Eater's body, a Geist also shares the Sin-Eater's dreamscape. This theory goes a long way to explaining the taint of death that pervades a Sin-Eater's every dream. I was inside the dreams of, not just the Sin-Eaters, but their Geists, as well. Spooky...
Complications
My sojourns into the foreign dreams of the Sin-Eaters were largely uneventful... that is, until the final dreamscape I visited. This dreamscape belonged to the woman with the necklace of skulls. I must admit that I was eager to study this woman's subconscious, for she, by far, was the most enigmatic member of the krewe. From the very first time we observed her, it was clear that she held a special position in the group. It was clear that she was shown a certain degree of deference by the other Sin-Eaters, including the leather-clad biker whom Poincaré and I had established was the krewe's leader. As such, I was keen to get into her head and see what made her tick.
Like the other Sin-Eaters, the woman's dreamscape was congested with an obnoxious quantity of death-related imagery. I found myself spying a network of subterranean tunnels that seemed to extend on and on, ad infinitum. The surroundings were dark, humid, and sulfurous. Below me, milling about aimlessly, were the pale shades of the dead. The spirits hailed from every type of nationality and ethnicity, and some bore the grisly markings of their deaths. They were doing all the things that dead people do, I suppose: moaning, weeping, screaming, and sometimes even laughing, until it became a chorus of unintelligible noise.
Although I was initially put off by the dark and cramped chthonic setting of the dream, it didn't take long for me to start drawing parallels between this dream's imagery and the Underworld. I thought back to Wesleyan Cemetery, to that fateful moment when I witnessed the doorway to the Great Below. I recalled that the entrance to the Underworld appeared to be a rocky tunnel extending into the depths of the Earth. Not unlike my current surroundings. Considering how often the Sin-Eaters likely enter the Great Below, it's to be expected that they'd have dreams about the place. Therefore, it was entirely possible that I had stepped into a dream about the Underworld. Intriguing.
Had I entered a dream-recreation of the Great Below? If this was the case, then it was a golden opportunity to study up on my extra-dimensional destination. Though an Oneiropomp definitely shouldn't trust everything he sees in a dream, it is important to remember that dreams are often molded from the ephemera of memories and conscious knowledge. As such, even the most convoluted and bizarre dream may potentially have snippets of useful or truthful information. Being able to discern the good information from the "junk" of the dreamer's subconscious is one of the hallmarks of a skilled Oneiropomp.
Though I usually remained invisible and disembodied when studying a Sin-Eater dreamscape, it was necessary to place myself directly into the dream in order to perform a more thorough investigation. There's only so much information one can gather while floating around without form. Thus, I willed myself a "physical body" so I could to interact with the elements of the dream, making sure to take the appearance of a non-descript spirit of the dead. Once I'd blended in, I set out to uncover more about this place and, by extension, the real Underworld.
First, I tried to speak to the various ghosts around me, hoping that these dream characters would provide some critical intel. I spent a good fifteen minutes plying my social skills on the dream's inhabitants. Nothing came of it. The shades completely ignored my attempts at interaction. Even the Hobo King's legendary charm had no effect. They simply walked by me as though I weren't there. Nevertheless, I was undeterred and decided to wander the tunnels in order to locate the dream's owner. It didn't take long to find her.
I immediately recognized her necklace of little skulls. Unlike the surrounding spirits, who were drab and gray like the characters of a black-and-white TV program, the woman was rich in tone and hue. The navy-blue of her long gown, her olive complexion, and even the darkness of her hair and eyes - all of it was somehow livelier than everything else. Her movements were more fluid than the rigid ambulations of the nearby ghosts. Her chest heaved as she breathed and her eyes blinked; little signs of life that the spirits never displayed. In other words, she stood out.
She was carrying a notepad and quill (yes, a quill), and was sketching as she unhurriedly roamed the tunnels. It seemed like she was mapping the local section of the Underworld, her eyes glancing up from the notepad only long enough to look along passageways and into caverns. Though her eyes remained down most of the time, she had no trouble navigating the surroundings. Not once did I witness her accidentally bump into a wall or ghost. Rather, she deftly glided around all obstacles as though her body had already memorized where to go. I also noted that the quill never seemed to run out of ink.
I followed her as she moved through the tunnels, keeping a short distance behind her. The surrounding ghosts would sometimes attempt to harass her, to which she would shoo them away with a slightly irritated wave of her hand. She paid the ghosts no mind, whatsoever. I was impressed, and here's why. While dreaming, a person typically perceives the situations and characters within their dreams as real; there's no way for most dreamers to tell the difference. Consequently, the way a dreamer reacts to a certain situation or threat in his dreams is probably very faithful to the way he'd react to that same situation or threat in real life. This is why dreams are such a valuable source of information about a person; they present the Oneiropomp with an unalloyed look at someone's psyche. Thus, the woman's complete disregard for the surrounding spirits and other elements of her environment indicated a certain degree of fearlessness. Ghosts, death, and even the Underworld, didn't seem to scare her. I could only surmise that she was either very experienced or very tough. Perhaps both.
For nearly an hour, I continued to watch and trail the woman, content to drink in her memories of the Underworld. However, this is when things got hairy.
The woman came to a sudden halt. It was an abrupt stop in mid-stride, as though she'd unexpectedly remembered something very important... or noticed something important. She stood rigidly at the center of a tunnel, with spirits continuing to press by on either side. I stopped the moment she did, maintaining my distance whilst watching her. Slowly, her head rose from the notepad and turned to peer over her shoulder. With a sidelong glance, she looked back in my direction, and to my horror, I understood that she was glancing at me. A few seconds later, her whole body turned till she was facing me, and our eyes locked. Then she spoke. "You're not supposed to be here."
Her voice was soft, yet it carried over the clamor of the nearby spirits as clearly as if she'd whispered directly into my ear. I detected the faintest trace of an accent in the way she rolled her r's; Spanish, maybe?
I froze. This was unusual. Normally, a dreamer doesn't process a visiting Oneiropomp any differently than other dream characters. I should have been overlooked as part of the background, just like the ghosts. My surprise prevented me from making an intelligent rejoinder, so instead, I foolishly looked around to make certain that I was the one she was speaking to. She continued to stare at me with a visible leer of suspicion. I maintained my oneiromantic disguise, even though I knew the jig was up. She wasn't ready to behold the Hobo King in his full glory.
By now it was obvious to me what the woman was. She was a lucid dreamer. This could prove to be serious problem. Unlike the rest of sleeping humanity, lucid dreamers remain self-aware within their own dreams. They understand when they are in a dream, and furthermore, they can exert control over their own dreamscapes. Not to the degree of a trained Oneiropomp like myself, but enough to accomplish basic feats of Dream Riding. How could I'd been so careless?! I should have seen the signs. I'd exposed my existence to the Sin-Eaters, and much too soon. The entire expedition was at risk.
This was First Contact of a sort, and I needed to broach things diplomatically. The following is a transcription of our conversation, as best as I can remember it:
I employed the bellowing, stately voice that I used when addressing other world leaders on behalf of the former Hobo Nation. "There's no need to be alarmed. I don't want any trouble. Just visiting."
Her eyes narrowed even more than they already were. "You have no right to be here. You are an intruder in this House of Dreams."
I shrugged. "Uhh, yeah I guess you're right. Meant no harm. I just wanted to learn about you... so I decided to watch your dreams while you were sleeping..." I winced at that. "That sounded creepy. I'm not creepy, really! To be honest, you weren't supposed to know I was here."
The woman's expression was rather implacable; a mixture of distrust and quiet judgment. I couldn't say I blamed her for having negative sentiments. What was important now was to take things slowly; to put her at ease without revealing too much about myself. Unfortunately, I've never been very good at lying.
"The Red Bride told me you were here," said the woman in an ominous tone. There was a detached quality to her voice that was disconcerting. "Would you like to meet her?"
Oh boy... time to eject.
I chuckled, nervously. "Well, that sounds lovely, but you see, I have places to be. I'm a king and, well, kings have lots of responsibilities. My companion Poincaré is probably waiting for me to wake up, and I certainly don't want to worry him. So I should get going, I'm thinking."
At this point, I made a hasty attempt to will myself back into wakefulness. It's usually a very simple task for me. But to my shock, I discovered that I was unable to exit the dreamscape. I tried several times and could feel myself straining against the force of her will. The woman was hindering my ability to leave; a basic technique of Dream Riding. It was a nifty trick, but one that she couldn't maintain indefinitely.
I now became uncomfortably aware of the fact that all the surrounding spirits in the tunnel with us had gone eerily silent. They were motionless, and glaring intently at me. The tunnel itself had insidiously widened and seemed to be changing, the rock walls slowly dissolving away like celluloid film in an acid bath. I needed to leave this place before a fight broke out. I was more concerned for her than for myself. For anyone else but the True Fae, Oneiromachy against a changeling, especially this changeling, was a supremely bad idea. But she didn't know enough to realize that. To her, I was an invader to defend against. I needed to go before she got hurt, which would permanently ruin any future chance of a relationship with her krewe.
The woman's notepad and quill had vanished, and her hands, now free, were absently playing with the tiny off-white skulls strung across her collar. "Are you a creature of the Grave Dream?" she asked, watching me closely. I just stared at her, not sure what to say. I must have been conveying my confusion on my face, because she followed with a different question. "Are you a servant of the chthonians? A form of abmortal?" Again, I was bewildered, but also intrigued enough to make inquiries of my own.
"Are those like the Gentry. Is that code for 'evil faeries'?" As soon as I said it, I wanted to slap myself. When this expedition was over, I needed to find a Winter courtier to teach me a few things about lying and keeping secrets.
The woman furrowed her brows in response; I think she was trying to determine if I was truly as strange as I seemed, or if I was just messing with her. Then her face went slack, ever so subtly, as though something finally clicked in her head.
"You're the one who trespassed into our haunt... the raggedy man in the paper crown... the would-be king..."
I just about blew my top when she said that. Would-be king!!! That statement implied that I wasn't already a king! Who did this woman think she was?! I may be without a country at the moment, but even the greatest of leaders have their setbacks. Gandhi got his butt kicked a lot, Nelson Mandela was locked away for 27 years, Tom Hood of Miami was killed in the Summer Court's coup, etc. Yet did such incidents prevent these men from later persevering (okay well, maybe Tom Hood because of the whole, you know, dying thing). Obviously, this woman didn't know who she was speaking to.
With my ego bruised, I was on the verge of giving this Sin-Eater vixen a stern tongue-lashing until I realized that she'd stopped paying attention to me. Her eyes were now focused on something behind me, and that's when I heard it. It was a noise like the grinding of asphalt or concrete; the kind of ugly rumbling one hears when a city milling vehicle is stripping pavement off of the street. It reverberated from the depths of the tunnel behind me and grew steadily louder. Against my better judgment, I turned in the direction of the sound and saw a dark shape lumbering towards us. I only caught a glimpse, but that glimpse afforded me much more than I'd have ever wanted to see.
The advancing figure looked like a human woman, but only in the vaguest sense. Perhaps it was a human female once, but mere vestiges of that origin remained. Instead, it was a jigsaw of mangled body parts intermingled with protruding fragments of metal and glass. Some of the metallic debris perforating its form was faintly identifiable as bent or melted automobile components - pieces of tire rod, exhaust pipe, fender, grille, drive shaft, etc. - all cruelly mashed together. Most of the surface area of its body was skewered by one thing or another, including its face, which was little more than a misshapen mass of pulped flesh rivened by glass and plastic. Half of its hair seemed to have been burned away, and a viscous combination of blood and motor oil dripped from every point of impalement. The meager remainder of its organic body was twisted and broken, sporting sad scraps of blemished white lace from what had once been, presumably, a wedding dress.
A living creature would surely be dead from this degree of injury (including many a supernatural being), let alone incapable of walking. Yet that's exactly what the approaching figure was doing, laboriously trudging toward us, and that only added to its frightfulness. Words like "horrific" or "grotesque" did the sight no justice.
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