Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1)

by Sarah Noffke

  Two million granules of sand remain.

  I bite my lip trying to think. My mind races over everything I’ve seen in the room. I kick a piece of mirror out of my path and feel the pain of a shard enter my toe. Damn it, this isn’t the time to retrieve a broken piece of glass from my foot.

  A minute ago, I thought I was beginning to figure myself out. Now I’m swearing and cutting myself. More than anything I want to know who I am. That’s why I’m here. I know I’m a Dream Traveler. Trey said I belong with the Lucidites. Honestly I don’t know where I belong. I don’t want to go back and live with my disingenuous parents and emotionally abusive brother. I want something different. A life that fits me. I deserve that. When I saw my reflection in that mirror, I felt there was a life out there that belonged to me.

  The room spins in my mind 360 degrees. I have an idea. It feels right, like the way good poetry falls off my tongue. A wave of satisfaction sweeps over me. If I looked into the mirror right now, I’d see a smile.

  With a quick pivot, I swing around and address the camera directly. “I’m not playing your little game.” I wave my finger accusingly at the camera. “I’m not another piece in your stupid chess match. None of this crap matters. Not the competition, not the objects, not even the people. I don’t care if this means I forfeit. I can’t give you a legitimate reason that any of this is important. I don’t believe in anything, not objects, not technology, not even the Lucidites. I only believe in myself.”

  I pull the chain from the light for effect, close my eyes, and focus. I travel to the first place that comes to mind. Within seconds I stand on a deck, looking out at the darkness, the lake hardly visible through the waning moonlight. Taking a long breath I settle into the chair beside me. Bob and Steve will be off dream traveling.

  I pull my knees to my chest and listen to the gentle crashing of waves on the retaining wall. The sound of my childhood. It was always in the background while I played in the yard, read in the hammock, or watched television with the screen door open. The only time I don’t remember the sound of the lake was when I was in the woods, where Zhuang shut out everything. He had tried to keep me away from the Lucidites, away from discovering I was a Dream Traveler. The pride from earlier begins to swarm my chest like a brewing storm cloud. Nothing is going to stop me from discovering who I am and where I belong. This lake, my entry to another world, is a part of my entire life, in a way. It has always held a key. Now I’ll have to find others.

  A book sits on the chair next to me. One of them must have left it out. It’s called Awareness and was written by a man named Anthony De Mello. I scoop the book into my hands and randomly flip to the middle and begin reading it with a sense of quiet satisfaction. Everything I said and thought back in the fifth task is right. I eye the bracelet still on my wrist. I am truly proud of myself.

  Chapter Ten

  My body isn’t stiff or cold as I’d expect when sunlight kisses my closed lids a few hours later, much earlier than I anticipated. Still curled up in the chair, I recall there’s a time difference between the Institute and this place. Orange and pink colors intensify as the sun surges to the surface of the horizon. Each second the sky grows brighter my chest warms. From shoulder to shoulder the expansion of heat spreads, generating an energy that matches the sunrise. Slowly, the warm sun peeks out from its hiding place and then rapidly stretches into the pale blue sky. I’m smiling again. I know this emotion is fleeting. I don’t try to hold onto it. Instead I picture my happiness as an uncaged bird perched on my shoulder. Any moment it will take flight.

  Behind me a shuffling noise. The blinds slide open. Steve stands in his bathrobe and slippers looking puffy-eyed. Strangely this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him in such attire. It’s the same robe he wore the day he rescued me, calling it inopportune timing on my part. He’d discovered I was in trouble through the online newsfeed. Later I learned this is the way the Lucidites receive their news. A team with various psychic powers, news reporters, picks up on worthy events prior to their occurrence, and these are published on a website. The feed that day reported:

  A Middling, suffering hallucinations caused by Zhuang, is about to cause bodily harm to a notable Dream Traveler - a Ms. Roya Stark.

  I didn’t know about the news reporters at that time. I didn’t even know I was Dream Traveler. And I didn’t know I had “notable” status because I was on the list of potential challengers. All I knew was if I stayed in the car with Shiloh, my deranged brother, for one second longer he’d attack me again. What I didn’t realize was that outside the car I was an easy target. I guess it never occurred to me that my brother would run me over; that’s probably because it hadn’t occurred to me that my brother would have his mind hijacked by a madman. If it hadn’t been for Steve’s brilliant timing I would have been roadkill.

  I hop up from the patio chair and wave, excited to see Steve’s honest face and tell him about the last two days. He stares out to the lake and yawns. After a brief moment he turns, heading off to the kitchen. He can’t see me. I slump back in the seat, deflated.

  Does this mean only those dream traveling can see me? Like when I met Trey? Ren? Shuman? They had all been dream traveling too.

  Even if Steve can’t see me and I’m unable to tell him and Bob all about my current drama, I’m still glad to be here by the lake. This is my home, whether my family is lucid and wants me or not. I pick the book back up and resume, this time from the beginning. The first chapter in this book’s entitled “Wake Up.” The author, in a somewhat abrasive fashion, explains that most of us don’t want to wake up; we don’t want solutions to our problems. Most everyone on this earth is sleepwalking in their nightmares and they only want a bit of relief. We’re all conditioned into a brainwashing that tells us our happiness is dependent on certain people and ideas being in place. But the brainwashing has contradictory points and therefore we constantly live a life of struggle and sacrifice, with really no authentic happiness.

  A deep part in me begins to ache as I read page after page. The printed words taste bitter in my mouth, like burnt coffee. My rush of happiness—was it because I was starting to learn who I was? I was growing attached to the idea of being a Dream Traveler. A Lucidite. Now some stupid book states my happiness isn’t real because it’s based on an idea; one that could dissolve at any moment. My current happiness, grounded in my perception, is as fragile as a watercolor left out in the rain. What happens when I fail as a Dream Traveler? When the Lucidites reject me? Will I be back where I started, lost and unhappy? I close the book and throw it across the yard.

  My brain feels tight with confusion as I look out at the blue sky and lake. Fortunately, I don’t have much time to wallow in this newfound state. The sliding glass door opens and Steve steps out onto the porch. He holds a cup of coffee in one hand and wears a funny expression on his face.

  “You should know,” he says out loud, “that I’m aware you’re here, Roya.”

  I jump out of my chair and stand completely frozen in front of him. Baffled, I wave my hand in front of his face. His eyes don’t register that they’ve seen anything.

  “I can’t see or hear you,” Steve explains, “but I know you must be here.”

  Is he mad at me? I can’t tell from the tone of his voice. It makes me upset to think I’ve invaded his privacy, that I’ve trespassed.

  “We honestly don’t mind you coming here.” He smiles sincerely. “I’m honored, actually.”

  I relax a bit.

  “However,” Steve continues, “this gives us an important area to address.” He walks out to the yard and picks up the book. “When dream traveling, it’s best to summon an object to you, rather than take it and use it in its physical state. You see, we live in a multiverse.” Steve shrugs, like that explains anything. “When you dream travel you’re in a different dimension, but it’s still parallel to your waking reality. The two dimensions, your waking and dreaming, blend together while you’re traveling, allowing you to pull objects between t
he two.

  “As we discussed before, you can’t summon an object that doesn’t belong to you. For now that doesn’t give you much to work with, but in the future you’ll have possessions. I promise.”

  He lays the book on the table and takes a gulp of his coffee. “You see, this is a law among the Lucidites. It was established to protect us, as well as everyone else. Things would get out of hand quickly if people started witnessing objects levitating all over the place, don’t you think?” He laughs easily. “When you summon an object it’s on your dimension and therefore can’t be seen by Middlings.”

  He takes a long glance at the book before saying, “This is a good read. How about I buy you your own copy to read on another night?”

  Without a way to say “thank you” I’m helpless, but also touched. Steve merely smiles and then strides back into the house. I sit down in the chair, in no real hurry to go anywhere. This whole dream traveling thing is complicated. Inside the group of Dream Travelers is an individual society known as the Lucidites. They have their own laws. But what about other Dream Travelers who aren’t Lucidites? Do they follow these laws?

  With a few spare hours of idle time on my hands, what I really want to do is explore Bob and Steve’s library some more. My mind flashes back to the first time Bob gently slid back the thick oak door, revealing the incredible room and all its treasures. I remember nearly passing out. Later I found out that was probably more from the drugs than my elation. Bob and Steve had drugged the tea they’d given me in order to draw me into a lucid state of dreaming that night, ensuring that I’d dream travel once the seed had been planted.

  I remember their library smelled of leather and smoke, laced with strange herbs—which I later learned was mugwort, another herb used to lure me into a more conscious state of dreaming. Steve later explained that they knew they only had one opportunity to do what they needed and that everything was riding on that one night.

  I remember the fireplace in the corner was lit, which seemed bizarre since it was almost summer. From floor to ceiling, and all along the walls, books lined every square inch of the room. I was in my very own personal heaven. I remember smiling, the aroma of herbs wrapping around me. Suddenly I was so relaxed that I pictured my skin, blood, and body parts melting off my bones. Strangely, this didn’t bother me.

  That’s when something magnificent caught my eye. Perched beside a large, sleek leather couch was a Native American headdress on a stand. Its bright turquoise and white feathers pulled me in immediately.

  “Pretty neat, huh?” Bob asked, noticing my fascination. “We acquired this piece a few days ago. We’re currently trying to track down its provenance, or history if you will.”

  “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe someone would actually wear that though.”

  An intricate pattern of mostly red beads lined the front of the headdress. Attached to the band were dozens of long, silky feathers in an unnatural shade of turquoise. More large feathers and beads hung like tassels in the front. It was no doubt heavy.

  “Wear it and wear it proudly they did. These types of headdresses were a sign of bravery and those who wore them were highly respected by the tribe. However, you had to earn the right to wear something this incredible.”

  “Hmmm,” I mused without anything to add or ask.

  Bob continued, “Something else of interest. The Native Americans believed by carrying various items within the headdress, the wearer could gain the powers of the animal it belonged to.”

  “So could the guy who wore this fly?” I knew this question sounded dumb, but I asked it anyway.

  Bob’s kind eyes smiled before he said, “Maybe he couldn’t fly, but quite possibly he was gifted with a special wisdom or gift when in battle. These types of gifts tended to be of a personal nature, kept in secret between the animal and the warrior.”

  “Hmmm.” Speechless again.

  My eyes traveled over the various objects in the room, fascinated by each one’s uniqueness. Above the fireplace hung an old paddle from a large rowboat. In the center of the room, a gigantic globe stood in an ornate wooden base. And on the wall where we entered, a large tablet sat inside a glass case. It was made of stone, and carved into it was a short man with a flat nose, long curly black hair, and his tongue sticking out of his mouth. He was hardly dressed besides a small piece of cloth over his privates. I laughed.

  “That’s Bes,” Bob said, pointing at the tablet.

  I blushed. I thought I appeared as ignorant and uncultured as all the East Texas Bubbas who lived in this town, giggling at this ancient artifact.

  “That’s most people’s reaction,” Bob explained, putting my fears quickly to rest. “If you can believe it, he’s an Egyptian god.”

  I couldn’t. Most Egyptian gods I’d seen were tall and slender and, well, looked like gods. This guy resembled a troll.

  I’m unsure if it was from the herbs in the air or the heat rising from the fire, but I started to feel intoxicated. For a moment my head seemed to swim a few inches higher off my neck. I drew my hand up to touch my cheek just to check. My head sat in the same place I usually kept it, but my skin was hot.

  “Bob?” I asked, looking at my host’s round face.

  “Yes, Roya?”

  “Earlier when you were talking about dreams being real, that was just a joke, right?”

  Something danced across his eyes as he stared at a far-off wall. Then his attention focused on me. “Maybe it’s a joke.” Bob wasn’t done speaking. I could tell by the way he held his mouth, like he was processing a thought and about to churn it out. “But what if it isn’t? What if something in you just has to be unlocked for your dreams to be real?”

  He still wasn’t done speaking. This pause was for my benefit, so I could process. This was like a philosophical lecture, or how I dreamed they would be when I got to college.

  “Roya.” Bob woke me from the heat washing over my brain making everything foggy. “What if it has been unlocked in you? What if your dreams are real now…”

  I awake from this memory feeling bathed in a delicious warmth. I think about that conversation daily. It’s what changed everything. It’s what preceded my first dream travel experience.

  Instead of trespassing on Bob and Steve’s library, I spend the next few hours trolling the beach. Lucky for me and my fair skin, it appears I can’t get sunburned while dream traveling. Hunger is also nonexistent, which is good because I don’t own any food I can summon and I’m a lousy fisherman.

  At one point, as I sit in the sand enjoying its softness on my toes, a little cat settles down next to me. I swear he knows I’m here. His gray and white stripes contrast nicely against the blue of the lake behind him. I don’t dare reach out and scratch his head. I’ve learned my lesson. He’s in the physical realm. I’m not.

  Chapter Eleven

  I soar through the silver tunnels and take three consecutive turns. When I stop I see blackness. My eyes are open but everything’s dark. I close and open them repeatedly, wondering where I’ve landed. A minute later, light streams in from different places and I recognize the coils of the bed over my head. I’m in my bunk. The bracelet is gone.

  With a sigh I roll out of bed and stumble off to the bathrooms to shower and wash my clothes. I realize I could throw on the scrubs they issued me and be done with it. But I’ve made it this long and soon I’ll be headed home and I’ll want my clothes with me.

  Home? Where is that?

  By the time my jeans are dry, most of the other kids are rousing from their travels. I wonder what other people chose as their most important object. Something tells me that most people didn’t forfeit at the last moment.

  I’m combing my hair when the first set of girls comes into the bathroom jabbering about their night.

  “I ran out of time, and picked up the first thing I could find,” one girl says, embarrassed. “It was this really pretty violin.”

  “Oh, well, I know what you mean,” another girl chimes in. “I felt really
rushed too. I pointed to the painting in the corner.” She laughs nervously.

  “At least you two had time enough to do that,” one girl gripes, running a curling iron through her hair. “I had no time at all. By the time I got to my room the hourglass was empty. A bit unfair if you ask me.”

  The last girl slumps into a mound of desolation. Then she finally admits, “I traveled and traveled, but never found the room.”

  Everyone sighs with empathy, but their emotions are hollow.

  My room didn’t have a violin or a painting. What did that mean?

  I shrug this off and head down to the main hall. The buffet tables are piled high with an assortment of breakfast foods. I stop at the first table and load up on pineapple, oranges, berries, and melon. I then grab a couple pieces of toast from the next table and head to the back of the room. As I’m sipping a glass of orange juice, a girl from my group approaches my table eyeing the available seats.

  “Can I sit with you?” she says, brushing some hair out of her face.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her no. When I nod, she smiles and then waves to some of her buddies still up at the buffet. Before too long, every seat at my table is taken by someone from the third group. They exchange accounts from the various tasks the day before.

  “What message did you receive for the first task?” Trent asks the boy next to him.

  The boy shrugs. “I dunno. I made something up.”

  Trent laughs. “Well, what did you make up?”

  The boy turns red. “I said that I heard ‘Love thy neighbor.’”

  Everyone at the table burst out laughing.

  “That’s from the Bible,” Joseph says.

  “Yeah, I knew that,” the boy says with a scowl. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

  “Mine was awfully weird,” Joseph says in a consoling type way. “I’m sure I didn’t hear it right. It was something about ‘Things that build our dreams will in the end slip away.’”