Occasionally, I hear noises that raise the hairs on the nape of my neck. Hissing from the shadows or screams in the distance—I really should make myself wake up, which I’m confident I have the power to do, but I think pushing forward is far more important.
I walk for what seems like forever, but after rounding a bend, I come out onto a ledge that looks down over a massive open cavern that has to be the size of a hundred football stadiums. The walls and ceiling are all rough-cut black stone that seems to glisten as if wet and extend hundreds of feet upward. To my amazement, down below me seems to be a city of some sort. On the other side of the city, way in the distance, is a hellish orange glow. It could be the horizon of this cavern, but my gut tells me that’s not a sunrise or sunset I’m looking at, but rather the fiery pits of hell. Regardless, the glow manages to light up the cavern very well.
Nothing modern… buildings made of mud and stone with thatched roofs, some singular standalones, and some that appear to be multi-level apartments. These buildings are all clustered in groups with streets that cut through them.
There are creatures—and by creatures, I mean Dark Fae since I’m confident I’m in the Underworld—walking the streets, stopping at vending stalls that sell stuff, but I’m too far away to see what.
However, I do know that I want to go down and walk amongst them, and I trust my instincts that this is what I’m supposed to do.
There’s a narrow path that leads from the edge of the caves I’d just come through that winds back and forth to the bottom of the cavern. Oddly, I have no concerns about being a human walking amongst the fae as I’m confident this is just a vivid dream and I am safely tucked into Carrick’s bed next to his warm body. If I need further evidence this is but a dream, that I’m not getting one single dark or ominous vibe from among the hundreds of creatures I walk among is enough to reassure me.
When I reach the bottom of the path, I move quickly along the streets, knowing exactly where I want to go. I look at the buildings, noting many are actual businesses. I recognize a butcher’s shop, but I don’t have to wonder what type of meat they cut up because next to the shop is a pen with weird-looking animals that slightly resemble cows and pigs, but with creepy differences like extra eyes or horns protruding from other parts of the body than normal. None have hair, but they have slimy skin, and I wrinkle my nose as I walk past.
I pass a mobile stall where a hunched-over female Dark Fae with a huge beaked nose, white hair as dry as straw, and a ragged gown with patches sewn over holes stands.
“Want a repellent charm, missy?” she cackles. I see what might be chicken’s feet hanging from the stall, but they have ten claws each, and something foul is bubbling in a pot beside her cart. “Guaranteed to keep the Fachan from sneaking into your hut and bashing your head in with his spiked club.”
I don’t bother responding because none of this is real, but I give her a quick shake of my head as I proceed down the street. However, this has taught me something very important.
I can be seen, and no one seems bothered to have a human in their midst.
With great interest, I take in all the different types of Dark Fae I encounter. There are so many species, some very hideous, others just ugly, and a few appealing ones. I don’t see any extraordinarily beautiful fae, so I assume I might be in some type of slum area and there must be the Underworld version of the suburbs somewhere else if they follow the same caste system as the Light Fae.
Up ahead, I see a stone building spackled with mud to fill holes. There’s a wooden sign hanging lopsided above the door with one word on it in a language I don’t know.
But I somehow know this is a pub, and I can get a good, stiff drink in there. Emboldened by the fact that no fae has attempted to murder me within my dream, I walk in the open doorway that has no closable door and glance around.
Yes, it’s a bar, and it’s everything I thought one would look like in the Underworld. Dirt floor so hard packed it feels like concrete. There’s a long bar made of wood poorly cobbled together with several crudely fashioned stools. A smattering of tables around, which are all mismatched and wobbly looking. Sconces burn on the walls, but it’s still incredibly dim.