Dreamworms Book 1: The Advent of Dreamtech

by Isaac Petrov

  Two? Ximena feels Edda’s flush of icy fear, as her hope wavers. Only two?! She exchanges a wide-eyed glance with Aline. Behind them, Pieter and others begin to complain. The mares watch in silence as the protests grow louder. Gotthard, at the edge of the group, is talking agitatedly to a pale Rutger. The clamor continues for a long while, as the mares look on, impervious to the human storm, until it finally calms to a fearful, expectant murmur.

  “Do look around you, humans, to your peers,” Yog continues. “Do observe them, and assess their motivation—and worth. Do ask to yourself, are they grander than yours?”

  Many do indeed turn their heads studiously. Not Edda. She just stares at Yog, hands closed in fists. She feels… betrayed. This is not what they promised! Power, they said. Power to fix your world. That’s what they said. They never spoke of—

  “There are forty-eight of you now. But not for long. Your determination shall be put to the test after every single step Walker Rew pushes you along the Path of Light. If you do lack talent to Walk, or talent to learn, or motivation, you shall be flushed out, back to your human life of despair, in full knowledge that you are not worthy of a last chance to make right whatever wrongs you. Do look around you again, and if your strength falters at the thought of proving yourself more worthy than your peers, do step forward, and accept your fate now.”

  Silence falls on the staging permascape as Edda and the rest exchange glances of curiosity, even suspicion—but no one moves.

  “What happens if we don’t pass your tests?” a tall man in his late teens asks, his voice more aggressive than curious. Edda doesn’t know the man, probably from one of the other Geldershire colonies. From Oosterbeek perhaps, judging by his arrogant stance.

  “Nothing shall happen,” Rew says, speaking for the first time since Yog stood beside her. “Which is punishment enough, Elder Kuipers. You are but barred from revealing our existence.”

  “But you are a very big deal! The world needs to know what you’re doing. I bet you can get more help if you collaborate openly with aws Head.”

  “You shall not reveal our existence,” Yog says.

  “Even if you would,” Rew says, “nobody would believe you, Elder Kuipers.”

  “I can be very persuasive. What if I try?”

  “Then you shall be terminated,” Yog says.

  Edda blinks in shock. Terminated?

  “Nobody shall believe you,” Rew repeats. “I do suggest not to make a fool of yourself in the attempt.”

  “What does, er, Overseer forgotername mean by terminated?”

  “Overseer Yog, human,” Yog says. “If you do attempt to reveal our existence, or the nature of this… collaboration, we shall terminate your life.”

  “Whoa! Oookay.” The man raises his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh huh,” the man folds his arms across his chest. “Why are you doing all this? What do you want from us humans?”

  “To help you flourish,” Rew says. “As we have for millennia.”

  “Nice work you’ve done. Where were you during the collapses?”

  Rew takes a few seconds to reply. If mares could breathe, Ximena thinks, Rew would probably be taking a deep breath. “Our power is limited, Elder Kuipers—that is why you are here. Human Walkers of the Mind shall remedy our handicap.”

  “But why are you helping us?” Elder Kuipers insists. “Why really? What’s in it for you if we humans flourish or die? Is it your religion? Do you even have a god? Are you angels of Goah? Why us? Why, Goah’s Mercy, are you here?”

  Yeah, Edda thinks. Ximena feels her curiosity overwhelming her apprehension. That’s a fucking good question.

  Yog replies immediately. “Your inquisitive mind disqualifies you from worth, human.”

  Before Elder Kuipers can reply, he disappears. Every one of the forty-seven remaining people stare at the empty spot in astonished silence.

  Rew turns her head towards the three Yog mares. “Elder Kuipers was a promising candidate.”

  “There is no promise in curiosity. Only danger.”

  “He had a strong traversing halo. Very rare. His selection was a substantial investment of my personal time.”

  “Alas, ultimately unworthy of it.” Yog’s three faces turn to the apprehensive audience. “Humans, your way into the Path in the Shadow is now a spot closer. Only forty-five opponents remain between you and the power of the Mind Walker. Do look at them now, and ask yourself if you possess the inner strength to take the prize for yourself, or whether you would rather unburden your fate now, and join Elder Kuipers in going back to your miserable human existence.”

  Nobody speaks. They just stare at each other in silence, like they are holding their breaths. Edda glances first at the people she knows: Aline, next to her, and Pieter right behind them, with his brother Janson. Edda’s dowry brother, Gotthard, is to her side, next to that rich friend of his, Rutger. Edda recognizes some other Lunteren faces: Man Rijnder, at eleven probably the youngest present, stands timidly behind the Van Kley siblings. She can beat them all, she thinks. Probably. But the others—the majority—are an unknown. There is no apprehension in anybody’s eyes as they measure each other. Only determination. And defiance. Nobody speaks up.

  Ximena draws a deep breath, as if that could shake the electrical anticipation she is feeling. Oh, she is so happy she made it to the Global Program. Professor Miyagi’s seminar is turning out to be more engaging than she could have ever… dreamed. Ha, bad joke. Oh, she is so ready to immerse herself into the nitty-gritty historical details of the Three Trials of Worth and Soul, as history comes to know them.

  “I am pleased,” Yog finally says. “Now, do return to your individual dreams to await your first assessment. We shall recall each of you, one by one, to appraise your motivation. Do prepare, for I shall not be lenient in extracting your truth. By the morrow you shall know if you are deemed worthy to even begin Walker Rew’s instruction in the Path of Light.”

  Before anybody can react, all humans disappear.

  Only twelve mares remain in the empty vastness of the staging permascape.

  “I do not approve of your methods, Overseer Yog.”

  “You are not required to approve, Walker Rew. Just to acknowledge.”

  “I do fear you are not sufficiently acquainted with the art of teaching. An adequate instruction is never a competition. Direct peer confrontation stirs the mind of the apprentice towards aggression and detaches it from self-focus. Many shall fail that would otherwise succeed.”

  “Indeed, which guarantees us the two worthiest and most malleable humans among all your candidates.”

  “I carefully chose each human for its talent and motivation—most would perform adequately as human Walkers. This selection process of yours—this cull—amounts to an unforgivable waste of resources. We are in no position to delay our goals. Master Gorrobor shall be informed.”

  “Master Gorrobor made me Overseer for a reason, Walker Rew. You are too… attached to assess the risks in their entirety. I do fear you lost your sense of context along the way while whispering to all your humans. Now, do call your threaders and bring the first candidate. A long session awaits, and I do expect to get to know each of your humans intimately.”

  Eleven

  The Deepest Door

  Edda opens the door, and her smile widens. “Please, come in,” she speaks like she is greeting an old friend she hasn’t seen for ages. “Welcome to my home.”

  The four mares—Rew and Yog—walk into a spacious colonial living room: three sofas around a large, wooden radio receiver, fire in the hearth, heavy carpet, and wide windows.

  A solid dream, very realistic, Ximena thinks, as her eyes wander over the classic paintings on the walls—mostly romantic landscapes of the golden age. One depicts an enormous city, its crystal towers extending as far as the eye can see. Another one that catches Ximena’s eyes depicts a harbor, a labyrinth of cranes and piles of containers,
dwarfed by the largest vessels the world has ever seen.

  “You did expect us, Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew says, as the mares walk in. “Very good.”

  “The human is aware?” The three bodies of Yog ask with a single voice.

  “No,” Rew says, “albeit her subconscious bubbles right under the surface of awareness. This individual’s halo shines with talent, but with no training, talent is just potential.”

  “And yet, the human knows who we are and why we are here.”

  “She is indeed subconsciously prepared for our arrival. She does perceive us as… a visit—a social bonding practice among humans.”

  “Meet my family,” Edda says, waving a hand at the sofas from where three adults and a toddler watch them in attentive silence. Ximena blinks in surprise. The living room was empty just a moment ago. “That’s my father and family Elder, Willem, with my son Hans.”

  Willem, sitting with the toddler on his knees, nods politely, but says nothing.

  “And that’s my brother, Bram.”

  Ximena looks at the young boy with curiosity. About thirteen, white, broad-faced. Willem’s biological son, obviously—both stare with the same sad brown eyes.

  “Would you like to see the house?” Edda asks. “I can do the tour for you.”

  “And who is this woman, Redeemed van Dolah?” Rew extends an arm at the black woman sitting on the side sofa: tall, hair falling over her shoulders in airy curls, grave expression, and eyes that pierce the visitors with the intensity of ice shards. Ximena recognizes her instantly; she has seen her before in Edda’s dreams. That is Anika, her biological mother.

  “Who?” Edda asks.

  “The woman.” Rew points again with the arm, and even wiggles the three appendages at the sofa.

  “Oh,” Edda’s eyes flinch over at her mother with a momentary frown of confusion, but immediately turns her attention back to the visitors, smiles brightly, and says, “Great. Then, let’s go, yeah? This way.”

  She walks towards a dark hallway which Ximena finds bizarrely out of place. The mares follow.

  “How would you like to proceed, Overseer Yog?” Rew asks. “This is, after all, your assessment.”

  “You are the human whisperer, Walker Rew. Do your art to expose the human’s motivating force.”

  “Very well.” She turns to Edda, who is waiting patiently in the hallway’s doorway. “Redeemed van Dolah, do kindly show us a recent memory.”

  “Sure thing! Anything particular?”

  “A core memory. Something that did touch you.”

  “Core… That touched me… Hmm.” She taps her cheek, in thought.

  “Something that pushed through your inner self. With violence.”

  “I know!” she says cheerfully, like she just thought of what to wear for a party. “This way.”

  As Edda enters the dark hallway, she flicks a switch on the wall, but nothing happens.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Lights aren’t working today. Happens now and then, hope you don’t mind.”

  “Do proceed, Redeemed van Dolah.”

  They walk into the hallway. It is long, its end lost in the deepest darkness. The walls are packed with identical-looking doors on both sides, no space separating each from the next. Edda stops in front of one of them. “I think you’ll like this one,” she says, opens the door and walks through to a field flooded by daylight.

  As the mares cross the threshold, Ximena immediately recognizes the setting: it was a few days back, when Edda and Willem were walking back from Aline’s mom’s Joyousday celebration. They are arguing.

  “Goah’s Mercy, Dad. I don’t want you to die in two months! Remember when on Mom’s Joyousday—?”

  “Edda, that’s enough!” Willem shouts at her, red-faced. Ximena feels Edda freeze in shock at her father’s unusual fury. “I will not hear any more of this. You will respect my decision. I expect to have some peace in my last weeks of life.”

  How dare he? How dare he?! Edda just wants him to see that there are more important things than reputation. Life, for once, Goah’s Mercy! Rage bubbles up inside her. He’s so unfair, so short-sighted, so…

  “I hate you!” she shouts. “You don’t have the right to leave us!”

  Uncontrolled tears well up in her eyes. Goahdamnit, this is not helpful, she thinks as she runs away, fueled by pain and dread of the future.

  “I do fail to understand,” Yog says. “This human dislikes her parent. And yet she wants him to stay alive.”

  “Do not let the words fool you, Overseer Yog. Human speech is as unstable as the surface of the ocean during a storm. After centuries of study, I have learned to find the truth beneath the waves. This human loves her parent with unusual intensity, even for a young female.”

  Edda, the one that entered with the mares, observes their exchange with the distant patience of an attentive hostess, yet Ximena feels the pain of the fleeing Edda echoing inside her, leaving behind a dreadful sensation.

  “And yet,” Yog says, “I do fail to see how something as insignificant as the affections of a cub for her parent qualifies this human as a candidate to tread the Paths.”

  “It is hard to fathom, Overseer Yog. But love is a stronger emotion than self-preservation among humans. I can assure you that this candidate shall yield adequately to the imperatives of the Reseeding effort, as long as we assist in her keeping her father alive.”

  Yog’s three bodies regard the sad eyes behind Willem’s glasses as they follow her daughter running down the street. “Intriguing, but unconvincing, Walker Rew. That the human’s inner drive is but a single bond to a single individual is… frail. I do require more self-focus on our human Walkers. Unless there is more to this subject, we shall hasten to the next candidate.”

  “There is more to this human, Overseer Yog. She is a complex individual. It shall take more of our time, but she is worth the inspection. She brims with raw talent.” Rew turns to the Edda standing by the doorway to the dark hallway. “We do wish to see more, Redeemed van Dolah. Do lead us deeper.”

  “Deeper,” she says, and the blunted pain inside her grows in intensity.

  Is it anxiety? Ximena doesn’t know, but she can feel Edda wetting her dry lips as she slowly leads the mares back into the hallway.

  She paces along the row of anonymous doors, towards the deeper darkness. Is it getting hotter in here? Ximena’s glimpse at Mark reveals his intense attention on the scene, and the perspiration on his temples. It’s funny how realistically their dream bodies react to the permascape.

  “Anything particular?” Edda stops and turns to her guests. “I don’t think there is much more to see. Should we return to the living room and get us all some tea with pastries?”

  “Take us deeper into yourself, Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew commands.

  “My dad just got this box of soft fluffy cookies from one of his students that just made the Rhine-Baltic circuit. They are delicious. They’ve got this amaaazing—”

  “You shall show us now,” Yog says. “Yield or be disqualified from treading the Paths.”

  Edda blinks in confusion. Something inside her understands the implications—the compulsion—of the mares’ words. She turns towards the darkness, and paces on, step after step, each one further tensing her pain, like someone is trying to pull her soul out of her skin. A grimace on Mark’s face reminds Ximena that she is not the only one psyched-link to Edda.

  It is so, so dark now—no light at all reaches this far inside Edda’s hallway, but Ximena can still see in that weird way dreams allow you to perceive beyond the limits of your wake senses.

  Edda stops, throws a glimpse at one of the doors, and presses her lips together.

  Rew reaches out, opens the door, and—followed by Yog—enters the same living room they just left behind at the beginning of the hallway. It is early in the morning, bright daylight streaming through the windows. A much younger Willem is sitting on one sofa, reading a book. Anika is lying on the other sofa, hands behind her head, an op
en book on her belly, eyes lost in thought. A soft fire glows timidly in the hearth. It is warm and cozy. Safe. The feeling streams through Ximena as an eight-year-old Edda runs down the stairs and throws herself on to Willem’s lap.

  “Ouch!” He laughs and embraces her. “Watch out, girl. I’m softer than you think. You done with your homework yet?”

  “Uh, almost, Dad. I have a question on Civics.”

  “Another one, huh? Shoot.”

  “When Mom and you meet aws Embrace,” Anika turns her head towards her, “how are you going to tell me and Bram what to do?”

  “Bram and me. Me always comes last. And don’t worry about those things—they’re complicated.”

  Anika sits up and puts the book to her side. “They’re not complicated, Will. Don’t be lazy.”

  “Uh, well, when your mom and I, uh, meet aws Embrace—”

  “Die,” Anika says, a notch louder. “When we die.”

  “Come on, Ani. Not now.”

  “So you die when you meet Goah?” Edda asks, large eyes swinging between Willem and Anika. “Like… a dog?”

  “We are animals, girl,” Anika says, her voice softening. “All animals must pass away at some point.”

  “We still have pleeenty of time,” Willem says soothingly, forcing a smile. “Don’t you worry.”

  “B- But if you are dead, how are you going to…?” Edda’s voice breaks, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “We will always be watching over you, girl,” Willem says, his voice soothing, his smile comforting. “No matter what.”

  “Don’t tell her that!” Anika’s voice is dead serious now. “Who’s watching for us, huh?”