DREAMS and SOULS

Sparrow’s eyes, wide and chocolate in colour, warily scanned his new surroundings. He managed to ease himself into a sitting position; every bone in his body ached. Quickly scanning the sky for familiar constellations, he was greeted only by the blank, unreadable black of the sky – it was darker than night, darker than the colour of water during an eclipse. The dampness of the stone tablet he sat upon was slowly beginning to seep through his trousers and a faint fragrance filled the air; this was unsurprising, as the entire little clearing he found himself in was laden with crimson red, thickly blooming cherry blossom trees. But something was astray: the trunks were thick and black and gnarled like arthritic hands, and they seemed to tremor with something akin to anger. Beyond the clearing was only darkness.

“H-Hello?” Sparrow’s thin and British voice wavered out and was immediately lost in the soft breezes that stirred in the air.

There was no answer, and so the young boy was considering calling out again when, presently, there came a voice.

“That’s a pretty head of hair.” The voice boasted a heavy Russian accent. The unsuited English words rolled and shuddered.

“Wh-What?” Sparrow stuttered, still half asleep and feeling slightly uncomfortable, more so by the unowned voice than by the dark cold of this novel place.

“Your hair, boy, your hair!” the voice sounded angry and impatient now, which did nothing for Sparrow’s steadily increasing paranoia.

“Oh.” Self consciously, the young boy lifted a hand to his head. Full of blonde locks, as it was. “Um, what’s wrong with it?”

“Well, nothing!” the voice exclaimed.

Annoyance and childish logic outweighed anxiety, and Sparrow couldn’t help but ask, irritably, “Then why did you point it out?”

There was a sullen silence, and then, “She won’t like it.”

“Like what?” Sparrow queried curiously.

“You hair!” the voice positively tremored with indignation, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, who’s she?”

“The Queen!” the voice cried, exasperated, “She’s like to have you hanged!”

“But… But she doesn’t even know me!” Sparrow exclaimed, shooting back into fear again. “What if I’m a quite nice person?” He inquired, more quietly now.

“Well are you?”

Silence.

“No.” Sparrow finally admitted, very quietly.

“There you are.”

It was the smug satisfaction in the voice what gave Sparrow half a mind to deliver a solid kick to this insulting visitor – as his arms were still quite thin and weak, he was small for his age, and a punch was out of the question- but he realized he had not yet encountered said visitor face to face.

“Who are you anyways?!” he demanded, “Show yourself!”

“I… Well, I can’t. Not without the Queen’s permission in any case.”

“I’m not sure I like this Queen.” Sparrow huffed childishly. “She seems quite the dictator.”

Then he had a thought. “What can you do?”

There was a contemplative pause before, “Well, we can sing.”

A childish laugh escaped from between Sparrow’s lips, “Why, that’s grand!”

“Except I’m a bit tone deaf.”

The smile slipped away as easily as it came. “Well that’s just silly. What use is only being able to sing when one can hardly sing at all?” He frowned. He was thoroughly chilled now, and was bordering on impatience. “Mightn’t I see the queen?” he asked.

Perhaps she wasn’t really mean at all. Maybe she had some warm clothing and porridge.

Sparrow had always imagined any lady with warm clothing and porridge couldn’t be all bad.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” There was a rustling in the bushes overhead, “Wait here!” the voice ordered quietly.

The inky silence filled the space again, and Sparrow felt colder than ever. He swung his thin legs over the edge of the granite bed, a dappled white and grey with blooming red-brown vines creeping over it’s rough exterior. There were etchings in the stone, but Sparrow didn’t note them. He stared out into the darkness where the movements of the owner of the Russian voice had faded. He was deep in the forest; surely the palace couldn’t be near. If he were to venture a little farther, surely he could return before they arrived at the clearing. The tablet was so high that Sparrow’s feet dangled over the edge. He had to jump two feet to reach the ground, thick with blood petals and black mulch. In fact, very little of the ground could truly be seen. The luminescent glow of the petals filled the clearing, and their pollen danced with the winds like tiny fireflies. He padded wetly across the space and slipped between the twisted trees.

Had Sparrow bothered to turn back, he might have noticed that the trees closed in behind him. They, apparently, were one of a kind, and the muted silver glowing of these stranger new trees provided the remainder of the light. These trees whose trunks were a creamy white, while the leaves were curls of lovely brilliant silver. They were heavy with round, plump white fruits on which droplets of water glittered like jewels on their rich skins.

I wish I might taste one, Sparrow thought wistfully, gazing up through the leaves to their tempting burdens.

As though reading his thoughts, there was a moaning creak and a groan, flowing enough to sound musical, and a branch dipped down before him. As he reached beneath the foliage to take the fruit, it seemed to drop into his hands.

Grasped between his fingers, it seemed more beautiful than ever.

His hands trembled as he lifted it to his lips.

“Are you certain you’re wanting to do that?” a voice purred.

Sparrow was not about to converse with a faceless noise again. He whirled, crying “Where are you?”

“Just here.”

He searched, eyeing the shadows wearily.

“Up here!” cried the voice, “No, right beneath your nose!”

“I can’t see beneath my nose.” Sparrow grumbled bad naturedly.

“Hmm, well, then what’s the point of having one?”

A man (or boy) – Sparrow couldn’t quite tell- sauntered quietly from the shadows. “Hallo.” He grinned widely and wickedly.

He could have been anywhere between 16 and thirty. Sparrow thought him sixteen due to the slightness of his body, and considered him thirty due to the canny wisdom in his long green eyes.

And green they were, brilliant, so they glittered like flaming emeralds, very much like the eyes of a cat.

“See, just as I said.” He murmured quietly. “Just here.”

“I don’t much like riddles.” Sparrow said.

“Why, neither do I!” cried the boy. His suit was livened by the pink and purple stripes that made it. A tail of the same pattern hung behind him.

Sparrow didn’t question it…. at first.

“Just who are you?” he asked, “You seem familiar….”

The blatant shock on the strange boy’s face gave Sparrow a sense of being humoured. “Truly? I do?”

“Yes…”
The play-acting disappeared, and was replaced promptly by harsh and derisive words, “Surely you aren’t that dense, boy.”

“You’re Cheshire.” Sparrow said.

The boy’s frown positively melted away and into the wide and famous grin that held his name. “I’m afraid so.” He poked himself in the belly, his hair – in purple in pink tufts upon his head – caught some light of the leaves and flashed strangely in the darkness. “I’m the Cheshire cat.”

“From Alice in Wonderland… Am I in Wonderland?”

“Well, this general area could be considered wonderland, yes. But the general idea is that you are on the isle of wonderland, in the dream quadrant.”

“The dream quadrant.” The young boy repeated solemnly, a frown creasing his features.

“Yes.”

“What is… a dream quadrant?” the idea the words incurred were foreign enough for Sparrow to murmur them as if they were in a different language.

“It’s where all the stories and ideas and fairy tale things go when you’re done reading and hearing of them.”

“Why am I here?” Sparrow asked him.

“Well, you must be dead.”

“What?”

“Dead. You know, finished. You don’t exist in your world any longer, and evidently you have some purpose in the dream quadrant, so you ended up here.”

“So, am I… just… my soul?” Sparrow asked, not quite understanding.

“Well, no. Your soul is back in your world as well. Human souls aren’t allowed in the dream quadrant.”

“Why not?”

“Well, human souls suck all the dreams up, like a sponge in water. Or a sort of black hole.”

That seemed a quite unhappy existence to Sparrow. “So I’m just a… nothing?”

“Evidently so.” The Cheshire cat cheerfully replied. “Of course, I imagine that if you were to take a bite of that fruit. You might become, you know, essential.”

“Essential?”

“Quite so.”

“What… What does essential mean?”

“Oh it’s a grand thing.”

“Does it mean I have soul?”

“Well, no. Only the SaruSashou can do that. And they belong to her.”

“The Queen?”

The grin faded, but only marginally. “The Queen? Is that what she calls herself now?”

“Well, isn’t she the queen?” Sparrow asked, curiously.

“No. She’s Alice.”

“Alice?”

“Yes.”

“As in Alice of Wonderland?”

The Cheshire Cat scoffed, “Hm. Not a little girl any more, is she? She’s a bitter old harpy, is what she is! She’s the reason I can’t leave the forest! She’s captured them all – the Mad Hatter and the March Hare, the little Dormouse.”

“What about the caterpillar?” Sparrow asked curiously, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Nobody quite knows.” Murmured the cat contemplatively, his eyes took on a dreamy cast, and he seemed not to be looking at Sparrow but into his own strange thoughts. “Do you remember anything before you got here?”

“No.”

“I see.” The cat nodded curtly, and began to pace back and forth, weaving through the trees as the dappled silver light wove over his stately silhouette. “I imagine it would be improper to remember much of anything.” He muttered to himself agitatedly, making grand gestures with his hands, “Yes, hmm. No wonder you’re so calm, you’ve probably the impression that this is naught but a dream.” He stopped. “Which, on general principle, it is.”

“So, what should I do?” Sparrow asked.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what you ought to do. You eat that thing you’ve got in your hands, swallow it whole, every bit of it, and you go and see that queen – don’t tell her you’ve eaten it, for christsakes! And don’t eat anything she offers you!” he was firm in his demands, but somehow lyric and whimsical as well.

“But what if she catches me too?” Sparrow asked.

The Cheshire cat gazed at him as if he were the most idiotic creature in wonderland – which, by all rights, was undoubtedly untrue – and said, “What good could you possibly be? You don’t even have a soul! Now, eat it! And don’t worry, you’ll be all right!” he grinned again, and suddenly his grin seemed to be the only part left of him.

“Wait! What do I do?” Sparrow cried, running towards him so as to catch what little of him there was left.

And the Cheshire cat’s voice, wobbling and teetering and precarious like his grin and the wind, whispered, from a place so close it might have been inside his head, “the doll.”

Sparrow’s gaze slowly dropped to the fruit in his hands. He was alone again. Shivering, he widened his trembling lips, unsure of how he might swallow the whole thing. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing youthful wishing to idealize the concept of it maybe fitting if he couldn’t see it. He felt it, filling his mouth, tasting of summer and hot rain, fragrant air and sweet heavy spices. It seemed impossible, as it continued to feel, but he realized, as his hands emptied, his mouth and throat filled, and slowly, he pierced the skin with his teeth. Instantly, his mouth was filled with something that may have been what beauty tasted like. It was light and airy and strange. Like Asian music or the opera., like a storm on a mountain. Or wind in long grass. It was like the world in the juices of a nameless fruit.

It trickled down his throat slowly and heavily, liquid incense, infusing all it touched with a different sense. It descended, and continued to descend, until he was filled with essence.

And then, very suddenly, the essence wrapped its tendrils around his unbeating heart. And, it gave a lively jump in his chest; the shock of it nearly caused Sparrow to lose what little essence he had left to swallow, and a single drop, a strange, pearly blue in colour, escaped from the corner of his lips. He did his best to lap at it with his tongue, but it ran down along his jaw, dripping from it and onto the ground. Gone before he could taste it.

He was still staring forlornly at the ground when he heard the noise.

It was the sound of much music, dancing and laughter, and gay joyous light was filtering through the trees ahead.

Forgetting the droplet, for the moment, he ran towards it, so desperate for a bit of brightness a he was; forlorn and lost in this big dark kingdom. What awaited him was a most entertaining sight.

It was a crowd of strange folk, all in black, with different coloured skins – all the colours of the rainbow, and the in-betweens, respectively-, different textured skins – from the smooth baby soft vulnerability of human flesh to gamely ridged carapace of a crocodile skin. Some had horns or animal ears. Some had hooves or bird’s feet. Strings of lanterns and wind chimes were drawn from tree to tree, trees that dispersed as the length of the prairie broadened, so that it gave way to cluster of merrily painted huts, some with lights in the tiny rounded windows and smoke curling from their round tops. And then, high upon a cliff beyond the village, the grandest thing of all.

A castle, unimaginably large, seemingly woven of gold and gems, rising and spiralling into the clouds, curling and twisting with strange, awkward passageways and bright loopy towers.

But it was on the prairie that the fun took place. Little carnival tents were pitched all over the place, the heavy yeasty scent of baked goods hung in the air, and the dances seemed nearly silent, as all a manner of feet padded into the soft moist grass.

Sparrow could scarcely tell one thing from another, as it was all a whirlwind of colour and scent.

Creeping along the hanging of chimes and light were the strangest creatures Sparrow had ever seen.

They couldn’t have been more than an inch or so larger than his hand, ure white and covered with downy fur. Their eyes, wide and unreadable in their strange little faces, were a colour that rivalled the hue of the cherry blossoms. Long tails swung beneath them, and a grand majority of them held unimaginably large platters of assorted hors d’oeuvres – unimaginably large, of course, due to the miniscule size of the monkey like creatures. One of them turned to him, and caught his gaze directly.

A little stunned, he stumbled further forward into the field, nearly blinded by the lightning flashes of colour and sound.

Just then, as he stood, with his scraped knees and a drop of silver by his lips, shoes caked with mud and blossoms, a sweet natured and honey smooth voice called, “Why, who’s this?”

The dancing slowed, the music ended, a tremoring silence filled the air. A string pulled taught, waiting to be snapped. It seemed as if the whole world had spiralled down to this moment, and had frozen just for the voice.

Sparrow looked around for it, and caught the gaze of the most beautiful lady he had ever seen in his very short life.

Her skin was pale and rosy. Her mouth plump and red like rosebuds, and her eyes unimaginably wide and blue and soft, like the eyes of a doe, with the sweep of black lashes framing them. Her hair was pile of night-coloured curls, blue black and flawless in shade and colour.

“I…” His voice filled the silence, small and anxious though it was. “I’m Sparrow.”

“Sparrow.” The voice was warm and welcoming. She extended a smooth white hand to him, and he was quick to run to her and take it. “How nice of you to join us. Dimitri” and here she indicated one of the white creatures, he who rested on her shoulders, “Dimitri has told me all about you. He met you in the Cherry blossom garden.” Sparrow started, realizing the creature must have been the Russian voice. She, undoubtedly the queen, turned to her many subjects, “Greet our new friend, darlings.” She called.

“Hallo Sparrow.” They said, robotically and in monotone.

“Hallo.” Sparrow said to them, but he had eyes only for the queen.

“What darling hair.” The queen murmured, running her cool fingers through it.

“Dimitri said you wouldn’t like it.” Sparrow accused.

The Queen’s eyes chilled, but only fractionally. “Dimitri knows nothing.” She simpered, her fingers tightening around his tale. “He’s nothing but a shoddy pig monkey who cannot sing.”

“Oh.” Was all Sparrow said, but on the inside, he was thinking how very unkind of the queen it was to say so.

“I do hope you’ll stay with us awhile, Sparrow.” The Queen said, brightening again very suddenly. “You could be my Jester!” she exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together.

“Oh, I’m not much fun. I’m very dour and unexciting!” He protested.

The queen laughed, the sound of chimes and water fluttering over the crowd. They laughed with her, more loudly and more gaily of course. “Nonsense! You’ve made us all laugh just now!”

“I’m not sure you’re laughing with me quite so much as at me.” Sparrow amended quietly.

But the Queen was too wrapped up in her own affairs to hear him, “And you’d have to guard my sceptre and entertain the SaruSashou, of course. But it’s all fun in games anyways!”

“All right.” Sparrow said very quietly. He didn’t much wanted to be laughed at, but he understood the value of gaining access to places he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.

“Dimitri!” the Queen cried! “Make Sparrow a jester’s costume! With lots of colours, and a little hat!”

“Yes, your majesty!”

“And a little kangaroo pocket!”

“All right.” He scurried off without bothering even to spare Sparrow a glance.

The Queen turned to her subjects, “Why what’s all this fuss? Where’s the dancing?”

And the celebrations resumed.

Although, just what they were celebrating was quite unknown to Sparrow.

What seemed to be only minutes later, but was in reality a couple hours or more, Sparrow stood in the Queen’s quarters, dressed up like a doll in a strange outfit of bells and jangles and patches of different colours, it had a hood with the traditional Jester hat shape of three cloths lengths from which bells were suspended.

Gazing at himself in the mirror, Sparrow hated it.

“Well,” Dimitri asked, perched atop the mirror and directly addressing him at last, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little big.”

“Everything needs to be big, how else are you to grow into it?” Dimitri reasoned. Sparrow didn’t much like the idea of ever having to grow into the suit. His nose, red and wet on his pale face, wrinkled in annoyance. Dimitri continued, “What about the cut? Te finish! The colour choice and the line?”

“I’m not sure I know much of anything about cut and finish.” Sparrow sulked, and then added, “Or colour or line.” Before Dimitri could ask.

Dimitri’s tail flicked rapidly in annoyance. “I don’t know why we waste our time with foolish ungrateful persons who know nothing of the art of weaving. The SaruSashou do not weave for just anyone, you know!”

“That’s what you’re called, the SaruSashou?”

“Quite so!” the monkey’s voice trembled with pride.

“And… you can weave or sew things?”

“We could weave or sew anything!” Dimitri replied, “ I could sew a heart, I could fashion little girl’s that weep and whine for spite! I could make a window with a scene so wide it blinds you and a darling little island in the heady Caribbean. I could- ”

“What about a soul?”

“A soul?”

“Yes.”

The white creature hesitated, not meeting Sparrows eyes and rubbing its hairy little hands together. “Well, yes. But the Queen would never allow it.”

“Oh.” And Sparrow’s hope was dashed.

“Why look at you!” and she buried her hands, soft and cool but with unusually long fingernails, into the locks of blonde hair on Sparrow’s head. “You look darling!”

A creeping chill prompted by revulsion that Sparrow didn’t know he had flashed up and down his back.

“Come, come and entertain my guests.” And she led him down the spiralling staircase and into the vivid kaleidoscopic circus of Queen’s Court.

They adored him.

They positively fawned over him, petting him and laughing at him – not with him. He was dour little boy in resplendent rococo dress. Like somebody was throwing up a rainbow and he got in the way.

And it was, perhaps, because of the gay, joyous, drunken demeanor of Alice’s guests that Sparrow appeared to them so much. His cold, monotonous comments and sad little pinched face were unimaginably comical to a crowd of clowns living in a world of clowns.

The party lasted a long time. There seemed no night and no day. It could have been anywhere between a month and three years, as it was an endless cycle, and after ten times one lost count of the number of times they’d been through it.

Sparrow had no true body to exhaust, but he felt dead on his feet, knowing that there was no end and this could go forever.

Feeling that somewhere along the way, he was bound to become apart of it and not separate, another clown in tawdry, avaricious circus. Otherwise known as the Queen’s Court.

But then, suddenly, it ended. The dancers grew weary, the colours faded, the music stopped.

And, all at once, there was nothing but Sparrow, still lavishly swathed in his patches and threads and colours, a trivial and gaudy figure in an room as big as the world and faded to gray. Empty.

A scuffling sounded, and, looking up, Sparrow caught sight of a paltry white creature with red eyes and a long tail.

“D… Dimitri?” he called out.

“No.” the voice was hollow, not Russian or British or Asian. Canadian, perhaps. And male.

“Oh.” Sparrow blinked up at the figure, squinting as though trying to see him better. “Well, then, who are you?”

“Niko.”

“Are you from Ca nada?”

“No.”

“America, then?”

“I’m from here.” The SaruSashou turned his head completely around gazing down at him with his wide, ruby eyes. “I was born here and I’ll die here, working for Queen Alice.”

“Don’t you like her?” Sparrow asked.

“Do you like her?”

Realizing that the creature had a valid point, all Sparrow could ask was, “Well, can’t you leave?”

“No. Not so long as she has Wonderland.”

“Well who’s to say she owns Wonderland? Can’t you take a vote, isn’t this a democracy?”

“What is… a democracy?”

And so Sparrow went on, in his tiny voice in the ballroom as large as the world, to explain to the white creature the concept of majority rules and elected officials and procedures of democratic vote.

His audience was very eager, nodding his little head and asking questions.

“…So, in conclusion, all you need is to grapple possession of wonderland from the Queen, and you’ll be in enough power to vote on your new monarch, or monarchs.” Sparrow concluded modestly. “How does she own wonderland?” he asked.

“She’s the one who’s taken all our souls. Without our souls, we can’t leave the island , because we are all one entity.”

“I see… So would you happen to know where she keeps your souls?”

“Well… no. And even if we did, it isn’t as though we could do anything about it. Everyone knows that it’s impossible to free one’s own soul.”

Sparrow didn’t know, but he didn’t think it would do to say so.

“Okay. I’ll go find them on my own. If you see the Queen, distract her.”

“Wait… How?!” Niko cried, but Sparrow was already running out of the grand place and up the stairs.

He wasn’t quite certain where to start; but he imagined that the Queen would keep the souls in a place only she would go.

There were very few of those… One was not allowed in the Queen’s most private chambers. These were beyond a gilded silver door at the end of the hall on the topmost floor. And one was not allowed in her gardens. But very few knew where exactly they were.

So, unsure of the Queen’s exact locations, Sparrow sought out Dimitri. He found him, or one that looked like him, quite by accident, off the third floor, in a little hall that went nowhere, curled up in a punch bowl, white fur tainted pink.

He leaned forward, whispering. “Dimitri.”

The head shook itself, and wide, sleepy pink eyes blinked up at Sparrow. “yes? What?”

“Are you alright?” Sparrow whispered.

“I’m fine.” Dimitri sniffed indignantly. Then his sleepy eyes opened a little more, and he curtly looked Sparrow up and down. “You don’t look all that grand yourself.”

“I’m going to free the souls.” Confided the little boy. But his voice was very quiet. It sounded a large and daunting task when it was spoken aloud.

“You’ll have to get by the Queen if you want to do that the manual way.” Dimitri said.

“I know.” Sparrow murmured. A heavy, anxious weight curled in his chest, and he felt very sick. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

“Bathing, I imagine.” His tiny lips curled in disgust. “Hot blood and goat’s milk. It keeps her fresh, she says.”

“That’s terrible.” The childish youth’s voice wavered out very quietly. He stared at his colourful feet sullenly, thick blonde bangs shadowing his eyes and effectively obscuring his emotions. “She’s a terrible lady isn’t she? She doesn’t care about anyone! Why, she’s not even a lady! Ladies are kind and sweet and gentle, they have warm clothes and porridge, and they don’t hurt people! She’s just a child is what she is! She’s more of a child than I am!”

“Well,” the creature drawled, his voice smooth and deep and calm. “It isn’t as if any children have been known to enslave entire countries and twist their morals and ambition into their ideals about what a society should be.” He leaned forward, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Like it or not, you are nothing but a child yourself. And nobody gives any damn if you know what a democracy is, you’re still going to be one.”

The little boy’s eyes widened gently, his lower lip trembled. “I don’t like Queen Alice.” He said. “I don’t like this castle. I don’t like Wonderland, and I don’t like being a Jester. I hate this costume and I hate you! I wish I were dead!”

“It’s a bit late for that.” Dimitri said.

But Sparrow didn’t listen. His hands clenched into tiny angry fists and his breath heaved out in sobs. Fat, salty tears rolled down his cheeks, gathering under his chin and dripping onto the floor.

“Hey, now. What are you doing?” suddenly alert, Dimitri stood in the punch bowl, gawking at Sparrow in horror. “Stop that! Stop it at once! Stop it I tell you!”

But Sparrow couldn’t stop. “I w-w-want to go home! I w-want to go home and forget a-b-b-bout this entire m-mess!”

“Hey! HEY! STOP THAT NOW! ENOUGH OF THAT! DO YOU HEAR!”

A great grand pool was gathering at Sparrow’s feet, and strangely, iridescent glowing shapes writhed and whirled inside it. A soft murmuring: the sound of layers of warm soft voices, rose from it.

“Gah!” Dimitri cried. He bolted, scampering up the wall, “Help! Help! Oh, Queen Alice! Help!”

At the sound of his cries, Sparrow became doubly agitated. “I h-hate Queen Alice! I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her!”

The ground was moving, surging and pulsing and waving in lumps. The room filled with the iridescent blue light, tinting everything in a calm tide of sadness. The waves and lumps rose gently, swirling around Sparrow, and the wind resulting caused everything to swirl about it too.

Sparrow’s sobs could hardly be heard because they had stopped abruptly. Frozen in shock, or fear, he stood, watching with wide hollow eyes as the strange living light heaved towards him. It gathered around him like dust and wind in a tornado, and swallowed him up very suddenly.

A strange choked and unechoing silence followed.

Quieted and still, Sparrow watched as air bubbles escaped from his lips. He could see nothing but the strange blue of the water-light. Well, it felt like water, and his clothes billowed and swirled with it, but he could breathe. Sort of. And he didn’t float.

A strange high pitched keening noise interrupted his thoughts, and a tiny purple light, sparking little bursts of pink darted into his line of vision, before darting out again.

Sparrow was surprised into silence before anxiousness overtook him, “Wait!” he cried, but the words were swallowed up like they would have been in water, and a flurry of bubbles escaped. Come back… he thought forlornly.

And then it came back, whirling around him, barely touching his form, just enough to tickle him a bit.

Sparrow giggled and more bubbles escaped. “Who are you?” Sparrow asked. Although his words distorted themselves, he had the strange feeling that this… thing understood just what he was saying.

It made its strange keening noise again, and this time it sounded just a bit like tinkling laughter. Sparrow didn’t say anything. It darted closer. Swirling and keening gently, until it paused, right before his nose; Sparrow could feel it’s fierce heat licking at his nose and cheeks Gazing into the vibrant, white-hot centre of the light, Sparrow caught sight of a grin and strange catty eyes.

And it hit him, very suddenly, as though the knowledge simply appeared in his head. “You’re the Cheshire cat’s soul!”

It shook itself up and down very strongly, answering in the affirmative.

A grin to rival the Cheshire cat’s broke out on Sparrow’s thin face. “I’ve found you! Where… Where are the rest?”

The light seemed to dim a bit. Then it brightened again and headed out and away, frowning slightly, Sparrow followed.

The water-light was difficult to move through. All of Sparrow’s motions seemed slowed down, and Cheshire’s soul had to keep stopping and coming back to cheer him on.

At one point, the soul zipped forward and past Sparrow, stopping a little ways away.

As Sparrow approached, he found a doorway. It stood there, in the middle of what seemed to be nowhere, and a continuous, white light gleamed from beyond it.

The little boy advanced, holding a hand to his eyes to shield himself from the blinding incandescence of the doorway, he leaned to the side, checking the space behind it. But, from behind it, there hardly seemed to be any door at all. It was all the same, empty blueness as before; there was nothing there.

“Are they in there?” Sparrow asked the soul.

It zipped up and down. Yes.

“Well, all right, here I go.” He made to step inside, but the soul darted in front of him, making high pitched agitated noises. “Oh, Sorry.” He paused, “Am I not allowed to go in?” he asked.

The soul swung from right to left like a pendulum. No.

“Well, then, how do I free them?” he asked, annoyed.

It jabbered at him disconsolately.

Sparrow considered his options. Evidently he could ask Cheshire’s soul nothing but yes or no questions. So he had to watch his words very carefully, lest he agitate it and it refuse flat-out to help him.

“Do I need to open it?” He asked. “There isn’t some sort of... spell?”

It shook violently from side to side. No.

“Is the trap inside?” then he had a thought, “Or is the trap perhaps the door itself?”

Wildly up and down. Yes.

“But…” and here Sparrow’s thoughtful frown intensified. “If I hurt the door, wouldn’t I hurt them?”

It shook from side to side. Which may have meant apparently not.

“Alright, here I go.” He muttered to himself.

Carefully, Sparrow curled his fingers around each of the side beams, he hadn’t much strength in his arms, as I said before, but, somehow or other, and strangely enough, the old wood yielded easily and gave way.

And the strange thing was this. As the wood creaked and cracked and bent, the light seemed to double in size. And the weaker the wood became, the stronger the light.

Unable to see, eyes squeezed shut against the burning emanation, Sparrow gave the wood one last little heave, and the light overtook him, Cheshire’s soul, and the water-light.

The last thing Sparrow remembered before the white swallowed him was a deep, thunderous sound, like an earthquake, and a rush of air and colour (or was it the flight of souls?) from which rose the murmur of many voices of thanks.

It was sunny. The sky was endless and blue, and little clusters of sky sheep murmured across it.

Sparrow stood by the clearing, addressing what looked to be an endless crowd of SaruSashou. They chattered excitedly, a flurry of accents, rolled r’s , drawls and all.

A stick of white musk incense was being burned to cleanse the forest of the scent of black magic, and also to ensure Sparrow a safe trip.

It’s heady scent made Sparrow sleepy.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, on a yawn.

Dimitri nodded, a strange little grin splitting his white face. “Although we don’t belong to ourselves, Lothario will ensure our safety and happiness. We’ll send you a hat when we’ve settled in.”

“All right…” Sparrow sighed. He looked in the direction of the clearing. It looked strange, illuminated by sunlight, the petals had faded from blood red to a cheerful pink, and the drunk were pale and smooth and upright. Sprawled onto the stone tablet was the body of Alice. No longer Queen… Just Alice.

The crowd of SaruSashou parted gracefully, and the Cheshire cat approached, grin in place, quiet as a cat. His hands were closed, in the way of a child who’d caught a ladybug.

“Here.” The Cat – or boy, Sparrow still wasn’t quite certain, said. “I think you ought to give this to her.”

He opened his hands, and a tiny light, inconspicuous and irreproachable, pale blue in colour, glimmered dimly on his palms.

“Is… is it…” Sparrow couldn’t finish the question, a heaviness in his chest disabled him.

“Yes. It is. Take it to her.”

Sparrow closed his palms around it, gently, and turned, running towards the figure, slipping on the grass, dirtying his trouser socks.

When he finally reached the tablet, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. She was pale as the dead, and, when touched, just as cold, too.

He stood on his tippy-toes, his nose barely clearing the height of the tablet, and gently let the light fall from his fingers in the place he though her heart must be.

It glittered a bit, like a tiny jewel, then faded gently, before disappearing completely.

Surprised and frightened, Sparrow cried out.

But then, without warning, a change took place. Alice seemed to curl in upon herself, and she made a noise, face buried in her knees a sort of muffled scream.

Shocked, the youth watched as her hair straightened and lightened into an unexpected gold blonde, shades darker and more golden than Sparrow’s own white-blonde hair.

She grew smaller, continued to make her strange noise until, abruptly, her head snapped up and she pierced him with heavy, doe-like blue eyes. Her skin was peach coloured, hardly as pale as it had been before, and couldn’t have been a day over thirteen.

“Wh-Where am I?” she asked. “What a strange place.”
Sparrow stared at her a moment. Then a grin broke out on his face, no longer pinched but full and lively, and he laughed, like the murmuring tinkle of a stream. “You’re in Wonderland.”

She looked at him in awe for a moment, then began to laugh too. “Oh. So I am.”

The shore fell behind him rapidly, and the waves heaved and surged up beneath the little boat.

Looking back on the shore, he could just make out the figures of the SaruSashou and the Cheshire cat, the Mad Hatter and March Hare, Alice and… Strangely, for a second, he’d though he’d seen a long green figure…

Blinking and shaking his head, he turned back to the ocean, fingering the colourful material of his Jester’s costume; he’d decided to keep it, as he rather liked the gay colours and mismatched patterns.

The horizon was long and blue, and he wasn’t sure where he was headed. But, wherever he went, he was certain to fall into yet another Dream.

EnD.

(SoRt Of)