The Dream Sifter (The Depths of Memory Book 1)

by Bundy, Candice

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  The Dream Sifter

  ~ Book One of the Depths of Memory Series ~

  by

  Candice Bundy

  The Dream Sifter

  Copyright © 2013

  by Candice Bundy

  Cover illustration by Christopher Stewart of Red Aces Media © 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Editor: Zippy Wizard Redaction

  ISBN: 978-0-9854185-1-9

  Published by Lusios Publishing, LLC, Centennial, CO. First Edition, 2013.

  PROLOGUE

  Guardian Graeber stood cloaked in the shadows of fading dusk outside the walls of the Zebio Sept's three-story masonry home. The scanner in his hand indicated the source of his focus resided under this roof. Although the Sept had locked things down like a fortress for their post-dinner meditation, as was proper and correct, the one hazard they could never protect themselves from stood on their doorstep.

  Some thanked him. More had cursed him. The hunt used to drive him...yet he cared less and less every day.

  Graeber slid the scanner back into place on his belt and pulled a lever next to the door. Chimes echoed within the halls of the Zebio Sept, alerting them to a late caller. The approach of light footfalls echoed from within, and then the harsh slam of the door bolt thrown open no doubt indicated the mood of the person on the other side. The thick, wooden door with its steel reinforced frame swung open.

  "I hope your purpose will make up for the timing of this..." the butler's brusque words fell short. No doubt as he came face to face with a Guardian, the servant's thoughts drained from his minuscule brain. All Guardians wore distinctive variegated clothing made of perfect tones for blending into the native environment. The overlapping dark blue, green, gray, and brown colors shifted with just the slightest movement of the material. No one would have mistaken him for anything but what he was: an enforcer.

  The matching cloak and raised hood obscured Graeber's face, but there could be no doubt as to his purpose.

  "I doubt altering my timing would offer the Sept any degree of solace." The butler's face drained of color in reaction to the hard, dispassionate edge in the Guardian's voice.

  "My pardon, Guardian. It's not my place to interfere." The butler stepped aside and bowed low, no doubt desperate for the protector's focus to pass over him. He never asked what this concerned; it could be only one thing. Graeber glided into the house and headed straight for the main hall, knowing the entire Sept assembled there at this hour. The butler closed and bolted the front door before trailing a short distance behind him.

  At the end of the corridor Graeber reached an ornate double archway beyond which lay the main hall where the entire extended family consisting of the Sept proper had gathered for their post-dinner meditation.

  He knew from his research that Zebio was a mid-sized Sept, consisting of a handful of first-degree children to the Chieftess, her sisters and brothers and their children, and various extended aunts and uncles related by blood or marriage. All of them skilled artisans in the family trade--earthenware, ceramic, and pottery creations.

  He cared nothing for their craft, but it helped to study the trade of a given target as it indicated their aptitudes. For instance, potters would be good with their hands and have excellent attention to detail, and could be brawny through the upper body if they worked at the wheel. Therefore today's target would be a simplistic capture, no strain upon his skills.

  A pity, that.

  Most of the adults within the room sat in chairs, either around tables or in clusters, while others gathered on the floor with children on their laps or leaned up against them. Most of the small ones tried to make an effort at the meditation, but the practice was a learned one, and they were as yet unskilled.

  The Az'Un had grown to learn the importance of daily calming exercises for maintaining optimal health, and the members of Zebio Sept appeared to be ardent practitioners.

  The butler rubbed his hands together next to him, eyeing the assembled thirty-odd members of the Sept. Then he gulped and took a step back, away from the watchful scrutiny of the Guardian.

  Graeber threw back his hood and surveyed the room, testing the undercurrent, prepared in case his prey might attempt to flee.

  A collective gasp rippled through the space as the Sept members took in the newcomer--and processed what his arrival--heralded. A few members trembled, some paled, while others slunk down in their seats, as if hiding was even a possibility.

  "Who's that man?" little Solla asked. It took a child's innocent inquiry to stir a verbal response from the stunned gathering. She didn't know the impropriety of disturbing the meditation or staring at a Guardian.

  "Hush, child," Chieftess Taura replied, her surprise over the newcomer obvious in the strained lines etched on her face and the sudden taut muscles of her body. She straightened her back in her plush chair and flattened out her skirt before folding her hands in her lap. All of the faces in Zebio Sept turned toward the Guardian. Wide eyes and whispered words bared the naked anxiety of the crowd. Murmurs rose in volume, and mothers cradled their small children to their breasts.

  "Silence," said Chieftess Taura. "Remain still." She shot a chastising look at the butler, who then took a seat near the hallway.

  Even with her shock at this turn of events, Taura wasn't about to question Graeber or protocol. Her sharp gaze schooled all present, and those who'd moved quickly retreated back to their seats. No one in the Sept would go against his or their Chieftess' will. "Zebio Sept welcomes your protection, Guardian. Please do what must be done."

  Her tone belied the spoken welcome, but it didn't concern him. Graeber had a job to do--as long as no one interfered, everything would go smoothly.

  Graeber pulled the scanner from his belt again and moved around the room. He touched every person one by one, each flinching at the brief contact. Some burst into quiet sobs at the contact, unable to contain their terror. He paid them no heed, intent only on his quarry.

  In this case, the scanner onl
y served to confirm what his honed senses detected in subtle amounts--an off stench he'd come to associate with the plague. After a lifetime scouring the planet for any living thing infested with the abomination, Graeber had to force himself to continue through the entire Sept to make sure he missed nothing.

  He finished his circuit of the room and approached Taura, showing her the display on the scanner.

  "This one has an active infection." His deep and steady voice unaffected by the consequences this revelation implied and the emotional havoc it would wreak upon the entire Sept.

  Taura's eyes widened, followed by silent tears as she struggled to keep her composure. "Zebio asks for your help in this matter, Guardian. Please bring cleansing to our family so we may sleep in peace again."

  Taura rose and walked toward one of the windows in the corner and appeared to gaze out upon the street. Facing away from the group Taura's shoulders shook in silent sobs as her fingers gripped her arms.

  "I'm happy to oblige, Chieftess Zebio." Graeber slid the scanner back into his belt.

  As he pulled his hand out of his vest, Graeber grabbed an object from a satchel hanging on his belt. Moving faster than most would be able to track, he spun, flicked his wrist, and let fly a small metal dart at Terem, Taura's youngest son. The willowy sixteen-year-old cried out as it hit him in the side of the neck with an audible thunk. Terem's eyes met the Guardians with a shock that morphed into a murderous rage. He tried to stand, to back away, but the tranquilizer's immediate potency prevented even these simple tasks.

  With the Guardian's target now singled out, everyone shied away from the boy, huddling along the walls and crying even harder. Danger and death marked Terem.

  Graeber walked up to the teen with the grace of a predator, not a trace of fear evident in his posture.

  "How dare you? I've done nothing wrong!" Terem slurred, his words forced out through now uncontrolled lips. He slid flat onto the ground, unable to hold himself upright.

  Graeber squatted next to him, contemplating the boy. "Did you think no one would notice? Did you think that you were somehow immune and thus didn't need the drugs?" he snarled. He plucked the dart from Terem's neck and slid it into a vest pocket.

  Shocked gasps replaced the earlier screams as the Guardian's admonishment rippled over the assembled family. Terem's illness wasn't due to the plague medicinals failing. No--for whatever reason he'd chosen to cease taking them, signing his own death warrant, and placing his entire Sept at risk.

  Terem tried to defend himself. He grunted, whined, and shook his head, pleading his case. He looked around the room but the answering gazes from his Sept held no compassion, no sympathy. His betrayal had endangered them all. Guardians didn't make mistakes, and no one would start questioning them now.

  Graeber took out a large black fabric bag and pulled it down over Terem's head past his midsection. He raised the boy over his shoulder. The body was now simply a limp, anonymous form.

  "Your Sept may rest easy now, for no others among you are ill. Dwell in peace."

  He walked from the room and down the hall, not waiting for a response from the shocked family. It took the butler a moment to catch up and he followed along at a respectful distance. Graeber turned as he opened the front door, inclined his head, and then disappeared off into the shadows of night.

  Echoing through the streets, he heard the far-off sounds of Taura Zebio mourning her youngest son.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Voices murmured through a soft fuzzy sea of near consciousness. Sensations washed through and around, leaving nauseating waves rocking through her gut. She needed the world to stop spinning--if only for a moment--and right now she'd be willing to barter almost anything to make it happen. Intense voices marked a critical event unfolding just beyond reach. Slowly draft and dampness eased their way in, calming the endless vertigo. This gave way to a single conscious action: breathing.

  "That's it. Deep, slow breaths ... You're doing fine." Someone held her hand and stroked her face, and she was grateful for the contact. "I'm Apprentice Mala, Temple Healer, and your nurse. You're emerging from deep-sleep. Can you nod your head, Rai?"

  Rai? The name didn't fit quite right.

  Rai nodded her head. She sensed calm and reassurance from Mala, and this in turn allowed her a small amount of comfort. She wasn't sure why she'd awoken so anxious, but it gnawed at the pit of her belly, so she focused inward on the thought. The smell of sweetwood hung in the air, an obvious attempt to mask the antiseptic smells of medicinals. Among these odors, something felt out of place, a discordant harmony, but Rai was unable to pinpoint the source.

  "Can you open your eyes for me?" Mala asked, interrupting her focus.

  Rai opened her eyes and blinked, despite the dim light in the room. She surveyed the expansive space, her eyes refusing to focus with any significant clarity. Her sleek, black, egg-like deep-sleep crèche was one of many, but only the immediate area was illuminated. Regularly spaced units stretched out into the surrounding darkness of the womblike cave. The other crèches status lights blinked, their greens and blues pulsing in the darkness, indicating everyone else rested soundly.

  Her crèche's lid stood open to the side and the comfortable underlayment cradled her body with the ease borne of off-world Juggernaut engineering. The sidewalls were high, wide, and long--constructed with much larger creatures in mind. Mala placed fluid lines, cables, and other equipment from Rai's birthing crèche onto a small table next to them. Her tanned face held chestnut-brown eyes framed with matching dark-brown hair, which flowed down her back in a single braid. Mala's calm demeanor as she worked radiated confidence.

  "Your vital functions are regulating on their own again, so I'm going to finish disconnecting your lines. Let me know if the nausea or dizziness gets worse."

  Rai wondered how Mala knew she'd been feeling ill, but realized this must be a common reaction to the crèches. She couldn't help but smile up at the Apprentice, grateful for her care.

  Despite her still blurry vision she caught sight of a robed figure at the back of the room. The face of this Priestess, along with the rest of her, remained obscured behind floor-length, dark-brown robes--the station of an Elder Priestess.

  Mala wore the blue, sleeveless, floor-length Apprentice-level robes of her station. Why would an Elder be troubled with such basic administrative duties as overseeing an Apprentice?

  Mala removed the last line from Rai's left forearm and a brief but intense moment of painful pressure brought her focus back to her body. At the insertion site a small wound remained--large enough that it would take the next few days to heal. More troubling was the bright cerulean-blue triple-moon tattoo on the back of her left hand--devoid of any accompanying stars.

  The triple moons marked her fulfillment of her Temple duties and subsequent discharge thereafter, according to Az'Un law. To wear the mark indicated your status as a citizen in good standing with the Temples. All women above childbearing age displayed the colors in some form--even if death in childbirth meant the ink saturated cold, stiff skin destined for a funerary pyre.

  A twinge of sadness overcame her as Rai surveyed Mala's tattooed left hand. The expected blue triple moons indicating temple service gleamed in the dim light, but in addition seven stars surrounded them--five red for boys and two green for girls.

  Rai knew she should be disappointed or upset by her own lack of stars, but instead an enveloping emptiness threatened as she recognized her tattoo, minus the stars, as a symbol of her failure to her people, especially her Sept.

  "The Temple must be proud of you. Few women are so lucky."

  Mala ignored her compliment, perhaps focusing on the hollow sentiment underneath. "Now, don't dwell on that which can't be changed. You should thank the Divine Spirit you're here at all. You suffered a bad miscarriage and almost bled to death. We felt future pregnancy attempts posed too great a risk. Thus, the Temple declared you barren. You've spent the last few weeks in recovery.

  "Be reassured, the
re are many ways you can continue to serve our people, and others will expand our colony, this plague be damned."

  Rai nodded, upset she hadn't contributed to the colony, and that she could have died, yet relieved over not being a mother. How odd. "Thank you for helping keep me alive."

  "You're welcome. Rai, can you tell me what you remember before today while you sit up for me?" Mala asked. She triggered an opening in the front middle of the crèche, which lowered the sidewall, allowing an easier exit.

  Rai sat up, taking her time, holding the nausea and dizziness at bay for the time being. She turned and placed her legs down the proffered exit step while she considered the Apprentice's words. Mala's question evoked fear and panic where memories and recollections should lie.

  "I know my name, and the names of everything here, but I don't remember my time before I woke up, Apprentice Mala," Rai replied. "I assume what I should remember. Memories of my stay here at the Temple, my past with my Sept, my friends, you know. I'm afraid nothing's there."

  Mala glanced toward the Elder in the shadows, and then looked back to Rai. "The increased medicinal dosage used during your crisis has been known to cause temporary memory impairments. Usually this lasts for a few days or weeks, but sometimes it takes longer to resolve."

  Mala's happy demeanor vanished, replaced with a placid, emotionless expression, which conveyed little. Her movements as she cleaned the fluid lines turned abrupt and jerky. Even without her full faculties, Rai suspected Mala of not being honest.

  Rai raised a brow. "I'm sure all things will become clear in time, Apprentice Mala?"

  "Let's focus on your present needs," Mala replied. "Let me help you to your room. With some warm food and a proper rest, you'll be back to yourself in no time at all. Oh, and please just call me Mala."