Dream time

She fell sleep in her tight little bedroom, to a long steady drumming rain. She woke slowly, drifting up from the depths of a dream. Her eyes opened and she saw the moonlit white wall for a long time before consciousness crept in and she remembered her room's walls were beige, not white. And her ceiling wasn't that high. And....there was a man sitting on the end of her bed, perched on the footboard, watching her, with only the faintest motion of his chest to show that he wasn't a statute carved. "Who are you? And where am I?"

"You know who I am," he said quietly. "You called me out of shadow. You are in the Tower of the Distant Lover, in the Dream Quarter of Umbalek, the city of a thousand spires." He smiled suddenly. "Eight hundred ninety-two spires, last time I counted." He rocked forward and backwards and was suddenly standing upright in the center of the room. "You have come to find my place. Come up with me."

He walked out of the room without looking back, and it was only as he passed through the arched doorway that he realized he wasn't wearing anything. She couldn't think of him as naked, or nude; he seemed to be wearing what he usually wore, which happened to be nothing. When she got out of bed, she realized she wasn't wearing much more. She'd gone to sleep in jeans and flannel shirt and wool socks. What she had now was a sideless tunic, or tabard, of thin natural linen, its border intricate with Celtic knotwork in burgundy thread, and a gold chain belt low on her hips. There was no other clothing in the room that she could see, no slippers or underwear or robe. She shrugged and followed the man.

Outside the room, stairs spiraled up the tower to a broad flat roof eighty feet in the sky, encircled by a parapet of quartz. The man dipped his fingers in cinnamon and pollen and painted symbols on her brow and eyelids, forearms and feet. He gave no explanation, working in silence. When he was done, he put a feather cloak on her shoulders, although the night was warm. The wind smelled of wood smoke and the sea. The horizon beyond the parapet showed towers, in all directions, stone spires white or grey or dark under the moon. He took two quick steps and dove over the edge of the parapet. An icy shock went through her, but before she had time to gasp, he spread his arms and his shape changed to a cloud-colored owl. He dipped and rose in the wind and circled to hover over her, wings tilting. He spoke, and his voice was still his own. "You are robed in swan's wings. Rise up, and come with me."