The Autumn Castle Read Online Free PDF Page B

her. The cart rolled across a courtyard toward a dark front entrance, a heavy wooden door set back in a
     lichen-covered recess, and an inscription in the stone above them. She read it, and groaned.
    M A Y F R I D H
    So, first the crow, and now her childhood best friend, May Frith. Every recent obsession was making its way into this dream.
     She half-expected to find her headless mother waiting inside the castle. This wasn’t fun anymore; too fine a thread separated
     dreams from nightmares.
    More muffled voices. The cart stopped. Christine shrank back into the sack, bracing herself for what twisted scene her dreaming
     consciousness might conjure up next.
    Rough hands grabbed her legs and shoulders and she was lifted out of the cart and carried away. A few moments later, she was
     dumped on a hard floor. A woman’s voice barked orders, and the sack was opened. Christine was released and roughly pulled
     to her feet.
    She found herself in a dank stone room, with dark vaulted ceilings, woven bronze and amber tapestries, and high narrow windows.
     Tree branches obscured any light from outside. The air smelled damp and yeasty. Was this a movie set she had seen once? If
     so, why was she dreaming of it? A pity she’d had to leave her therapist back in New York—he would have reveled in all this
     cryptic symbolism.
    In front of her, a round dais rose from five stairs, and in the middle, sitting on an elaborate golden chair under a hanging
     wooden wheel of candles, was the most beautiful woman Christine had ever seen. The woman was addressing her in an angry voice.
    Christine still couldn’t make out the language, but some of it sounded German, so she said, “Ich verstehe nicht”—
I don’t understand
—all the time gazing at the woman. She wore a soft brown dress, gathered by tight ribbons crisscrossed around the waist, and
     long trailing sleeves embroidered in gold. A golden belt with seven keys on it hung low on her hips. Her hair was a rich coppery
     red, and hung in a thick, waist-length plait over her shoulder. Her face was as pale and soft as a small child’s, her mouth
     a plump rosebud, her cheeks flushed red, and her dark blue eyes fixed on Christine with an expression mixed of anger and curiosity.
     The wolf sat faithfully at the beautiful woman’s feet.
    Christine realized she was surrounded by the two men from the cart, three other men, and a woman, all of whom eyed her apprehensively.
    “Ich verstehe nicht,” Christine said again, slowly in case her pronunciation was bad.
    “Aha,” the woman said, nodding to indicate that Christine’s point was understood. Then the woman rose from her throne—a throne,
     that must make her the queen—barked orders at the assembly, and descended the stairs to take Christine’s hand.
    “Kom.”
It was close enough to “come” in any language she knew, so Christine allowed herself to be led, several people and the wolf
     following her, around the back of the dais to a wooden doorway. The queen stepped forward and threw the doors open, admitting
     a shaft of golden light into the cavernous room. She led them into an overgrown garden of trailing vines and wild hedges,
     all spattered with the first yellow streaks of autumn. Beyond the garden they reached a slope that led to a crumbling stone
     wall and an iron gate. The queen ushered Christine ahead of her into dense trees.
    Christine hesitated. Was she going to be taken back to the place where she had first arrived? Was she being sent back to her
     own world, where a week of painkiller-induced half-existence was waiting for her? For a moment she couldn’t decide which was
     worse—dreams or reality—but it appeared the choice was out of her hands anyway.
    “Kom,”
the queen said again, pulling Christine’s hand gently.
    “Okay, okay,” she muttered, and the queen looked at her sharply, but didn’t pause, leading her deeper into the forest. The
     sun had now almost disappeared over the horizon, but its