Willow Bloom and the Dream Keepers

by E. V. Farrell

  “When Willow Bloom’s latent talents are stirred by adolescence, she is drawn into a life-or-death conflict in the hidden world of the Dream Keepers who guard humanity against the dark forces of doubt and despair. Her story unfolds into a vibrant message of empowerment, hope and inspiration for young women everywhere. This is an intriguing fantasy that leaves us wanting more.”

  Janeen Webb, author of The Dragon’s Child

  For Aaron, Ethan and Tim

  Prologue

  Something ominous approached the planet Arn. A dark, ethereal presence spread across the cosmic sky.

  As twelve golden rings appeared around the planet, each one bigger than the last, an Ancient, draped in white and gold, emerged from the outer ring. She hovered before the darkness and raised her Sceptre.

  “UnderLord Maliceius, abandon this attempt to spread your vile shadow. I command it on behalf of the Ancient Realms.”

  The dark ether surged forward, pulling its mass inwards to double its height. “The Ancient Realms will not stop me this time,” the UnderLord hissed.

  The Ancient raised her head. “You do not frighten me, UnderLord. The Light will always prevail. You cannot succeed.” She brought her Sceptre in close and whispered “Alodin Zoinda,” and her Sceptre responded with a piercing light that radiated towards the darkness. “Retreat now or embrace the Light,” she declared.

  The UnderLord Maliceius recoiled from the opposing rays. “Your efforts to stop my expansion across the universe will be futile. I will blacken the precious dreams you so faithfully protect. And I will become the Master.”

  His dark mass billowed and swelled backwards as he slowly retreated from the planet Arn. An evil drone sounded from the darkness before he instantly disappeared.

  As each golden ring receded, a colossal Ancient appeared and slowly they gathered themselves in a circle.

  Satisfied that the UnderLord was gone, the Ancient, Varta, turned to each of them. “It has begun. We must institute the Protocol at once.”

  “We must retain the integrity of dreams,” Soto declared.

  “Agreed,” said Varta. “The dreams are paramount. It was only a matter of time before he returned … His nature does not allow otherwise.”

  A deep sigh reverberated out into the Universe, the first in aeons.

  Varta raised her Sceptre up high, initiating a discharge of violet light out into the cosmos. “It is done,” she said.

  The Secret in the Woods

  From the moment she had woken, Willow had felt odd. Not the general kind of odd, or the odd she felt when she knew things without ever being told about them, but a really strange kind of odd. It was as if her body moved ever so slightly out of time and rhythm and no longer fit properly. She sat in her room studying herself in the mirror, chocolate-coloured eyes staring back at her. She looked normal, and yet her head felt fuzzy – not a headache, just – fuzzy. Her body hung with heaviness, as if she was really tired, but she wasn’t. And every time she moved, she tingled all over. It was really weird.

  She felt a walk in the woods would help clear her head. Unlike her school friends, who lived in the surrounding villages, Willow’s home was an old Cottage at the edge of an ancient forest, and Foxbury Wood was her favourite place in the whole world.

  She stood up, feeling a little light-headed with the sudden movement, and slowly made her way downstairs to the laundry room, where she sat on the floor and pushed her feet into her hiking boots. It would be cold outside. She took her coat and cap from a hook and opened the back door, calling out to her parents. “Just in the woods for a bit – back soon!”

  Outside, the cold air felt good. Willow wriggled her arms into her coat sleeves and pulled her woolly cap down firmly on her head. Everyone said she was the spitting image of her father, tall and sporty – but prettier, of course. Although he didn’t have long dark hair that rippled loosely around his face.

  The tingling continued down her arms and legs as she set off, and her body dragged with every step, as if she was walking through thick syrup. Willow began to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Should she be worried? Was she sick?

  She opened the garden gate at the back of the Cottage and stepped through, into the woods. Brown and yellow leaves lay sodden on the ground. She looked around, immediately sensing something different here too. Everything appeared to be the same, but something had changed. Willow couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was her teenage hormones that explained the odd feelings. She did occasionally hear adults talk about teenagers as if they’d been possessed by some kind of alien species – maybe that strange transformation was happening to her as well.

  She made her way towards a narrow track covered in a thick carpet of decaying leaves. Damp and earthy smells filled the air. Raising her face to the sun, she walked quietly, concentrating on the sounds around her. That tapping sound was a woodpecker … And the rustling sound to the left was possibly a squirrel – or maybe a badger. All around her tiny droplets of water were sliding off the amber-coloured leaves high above, and hitting the forest floor in a steady rhythm. Ever since she was little she and her father had played at guessing what the sounds were and where they were coming from. For the first time since she had woken up that morning, Willow felt soothed. And then a voice sounded in her head – or just outside of it, she wasn’t sure.

  Wake up, Willow … Wake Up.

  She spun around, her eyes darting about the trees, her voice a little quivery. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

  A quiet fell upon the woods; not even the birds were twittering. Willow stood motionless. The voice had sounded like it was coming from inside her head. But that was impossible! Why would she tell herself to wake up? She wasn’t asleep! Willow let out a heavy sigh and shook herself vigorously, hoping once and for all to rid herself of the strangeness enveloping her.

  The woodland noises started up again. Willow relaxed back into herself and continued further along the path, every now and then kicking up a big clump of leaves with the tip of her boot. As she walked, she let her mind wander. For weeks now she’d been struggling to come up with an idea for her birthday. Her friends Harriett and Claire were already planning their own thirteenth birthdays, but theirs would be months after her own. Willow didn’t want an ordinary party; her celebration would have to be something a little different – like hot air ballooning or a trip to France for the day through the Channel Tunnel. She couldn’t help but feel the expectation, even if her parents didn’t say it aloud, that she, Willow Bloom, would be great at whatever she did – and this would include organising her own birthday from start to finish. Last year they gave her the responsibility of planning their entire holiday itinerary to Cyprus.

  “Be clear with your focus, Willow, and you can make things happen,” they would often say.

  Aagh! It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them, but sometimes she wished they were more like other parents and organised those things for her. And sometimes, she wished she were more like everyone else too.

  Willow was three the first time her curious talent revealed itself. Her father, Thomas Bloom, was a highly respected mathematician and professor who spent many of his days in complex calculations, trying to find answers to mysterious questions about the nature of the universe. “Crunching numbers in search of God!” he would often joke. One afternoon Willow had begun pulling books off the shelves in his home office, laying them on the floor and opening them at random – or so her father thought. When he went to put them away he noticed that several books were open at pages that related to his current research. Pausing to read, he was astonished to find that these pages actually helped to solve his current mathematical conundrum. Ever since then,
whenever his daughter started pulling books off the shelves, he stopped what he was doing and watched her curiously. Too often to be a coincidence, the books she left lying on the floor were just what he needed to read at that point in his research.

  A similar pattern had occurred with her mother. Audrey Bloom was an archaeologist with several published books under her belt. Willow had a growing fascination with archaeology, probably from watching her mother’s excited face when discovering artefacts that were hundreds and sometimes thousands of years old. Once, when she was ten, Willow was accompanying her mother on a dig when the surveying equipment used to map the earth beneath them had begun to malfunction. Work ground to a halt and everyone stood around frowning and muttering about budgets, time and weather and watching the technicians tinkering with the equipment when Willow, who had wandered away on her own, suddenly returned and seized her mother’s arm, pulling her insistently towards a particular area on the boundary of the official dig site. “Dig here!” she told her. Remembering how Willow had helped her husband find the exact references he needed for his research, Audrey had listened and persuaded her team to change the dig location. Incredibly, they’d hit the bullseye. They may never have found the old Roman structure without Willow’s intervention. From then on, if she sensed something on a site, she always told her mother, and her mother always acted. So far she had a pretty good track record, earning herself the name “Wonder Willow” within her mother’s working teams. Audrey had even dedicated a couple of her books to Willow, which her daughter thought was pretty cool.

  Willow. Wake. Up.

  She stopped, turning instinctively. Who was that? There was no-one about, yet she was sure someone had just spoken. Up in the trees a pair of squirrels began leaping about, the younger branches bending under their weight like catapults ready to launch them into the distant woods. The tingly sensations in Willow’s body suddenly became prickly and uncomfortable. She briskly rubbed her arms and legs and waited for the feeling to go away. But if anything, the sensations grew stronger.

  The sound of bird calls made her look up. A large number of birds were gathering in the branches above her head. Their voices harmonised and echoed all around her. It was a lot of activity for this time of year, she mused. A movement further up the path, just beyond a raised bank, caught her eye. She narrowed her gaze, but all she could see were the trees. Had something moved? Or were these the early signs of going crazy? Maybe something freakish had happened to her brain while she slept last night. Or maybe her teenage hormones really were responsible. She walked on distractedly, every now and then looking over to the raised bank to see if there really was something there.

  A low thumping started in her ears, like a distant drum playing a purposeful beat, growing louder and louder. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked herself, shaking her head, trying to dispel the sound.

  And then she saw it.

  Just above the top of the bank, a green, smoky shadow floated amongst some trees. Willow stared intently, trying to make out what it was. Could it be mist? But why was it green? Stepping away from the path she walked cautiously towards the bank, keeping her gaze fixed on the swirling shadow above. The bank was steeper than she’d expected. She hesitated, but there was nothing for it, she had to investigate.

  She seized an exposed tree root that was poking out of the slope at chest height, dug the toe of her boot into the slippery earth and heaved herself upward. Soon she was climbing on all fours, her jeans soaked at the knees. Reaching the crest of the bank she saw that the green shadow was no longer there. Disappointed, but not entirely surprised, Willow brushed the mud from her hands and shook clods of sticky mud from her clothes, scanning the area at the same time. Everything was as it should be. No green swirling mist to be seen. Whatever it had been, it fell into the “weird” category, though right now she really wasn’t sure of anything.

  Willow sat down heavily on an old sawn-off tree stump. She wiped her hands on a dry bit of her muddy coat then rubbed them together to warm up.

  “Wake up, Willow,” a soft voice said, and it was absolutely not coming from inside her mind.

  The thumping in her ears intensified and the tingly sensations in her body grew so strong it was as if she was being pin-pricked all over. A wave of something passed through her, from head to toe – and then, there it was …

  A large green, oval-shaped mist floated about a metre from the ground. Willow froze, her breath caught, eyes fixed on the cloud-like thing that was twisting gently. For some strange reason, she didn’t feel the urge to run. Her chest softened as she slowly released the air she was holding and took in a new breath.

  The green mist began to morph into what looked like a human, though not like any human she had ever seen before. From the elegant silhouette it was clearly a woman, but this woman was tall, taller than Willow’s father. Long white and golden hair appeared, and then the most luminous green eyes were gazing at her. The ghost-woman’s skin glowed in a pale, golden shimmer, gradually becoming clearer and clearer. Her flowing gown, a soft green, fluttered just above the forest floor, making her seem taller than she was.

  The prickly sensations, along with the thumping in Willow’s ears, had subsided, and she now felt calm, almost relaxed. She stood up slowly. “Hello …” she breathed. “Who are you?”

  “Goodwill to you, Willow. It is not my intention to frighten you,” the gracious lady said. “My name is Peonie. I am here to acquaint you with the world of the Dream Keepers.”

  Her ghost-like form had now become as solid as the trees around her. Willow stared at the large purple and white crystal sitting in the middle of Peonie’s delicate crown, its colour changing from dark purple to light purple, to white and then back again. She dragged her focus back to the lady’s green eyes.

  “What do you mean – you’re here to acquaint me with the Dream Keepers?” she asked. “Who are they? And how did you know my name? Who are you?”

  “I am the Guardian of the Doorway to the Dream Keepers,” Peonie said. “I am not a human, not an angel, not a ghost. I am an Ancient Being. I hold Doorways open to other worlds. None of this will make much sense to you right now, but it will soon.”

  Other worlds! No way, Willow thought. How was that possible? Then again, how was this being, Peonie, even possible?

  “You are confused,” Peonie said in her soothing voice. “But I assure you that all will become clear in time. I have been waiting one hundred and seventeen years for this day. That is how long it has been since anyone in your woods has been able to communicate with me.” Peonie’s emerald eyes glistened as she spoke. “You are the first one in all that time.”

  “One hundred and seventeen years! Are you serious? You don’t look that old,” Willow said. “And why can I see you? What … Dream Keepers?” Was she going mad somehow? Had she bumped her head somewhere and not remembered? Or was she imagining all this? In which case she was definitely going mad. She blinked furiously but Peonie was still there. Yep, she must be clinically mad. Willow’s eyes lingered on the glowing symbols wrapped around the Guardian’s gold and silver armbands. Oddly, some of them looked familiar, but she had no idea why.

  “Allow me to explain,” Peonie said. “Come sit with me.” She glided gracefully to a long, mossy tree trunk, sat down, and looked at Willow expectantly.

  It struck Willow that Peonie’s feet didn’t quite touch the ground as she walked, and when she sat she seemed to hover just above the trunk. Willow hesitated, then sat cautiously on the trunk, an arm’s length away.

  “Willow, how do you feel when you come to these woods?”

  “I – I love them. I’ve always loved coming here … ever since I can remember. I felt drawn to come,” she said. “Sometimes I feel like the woods are watching over me. I know it sounds crazy, but …” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Peonie’s face softened. “These woods are very special, Willow. Everything within them has a unique relationship with you and your family. And now, more specifically
, with you.”

  “I don’t understand … Are you saying these are some kind of …” She couldn’t believe she was going to say it: “magic woods?”

  “Yes,” Peonie said.

  “Seriously?” Willow asked. How could her family be part of any of this? Magic woods … really? She glanced at the trees around them, then turned back to see Peonie smiling. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No,” Peonie said. “I am not.”

  Willow thought about the countless times she had come to the woods and how she had always sensed a deep connection with them. It was something her friends didn’t seem to have or even understand. Well, they enjoyed nature like most people but they weren’t connected to it the way she was. Willow breathed out. It was as if a piece of a puzzle had just been placed in its correct position, revealing a clearer picture. And with that clarity, another odd sense of familiarity bubbled up to the surface. It hit her all at once.

  “I remember! When I was maybe six or seven, I saw this … this green floaty thing in amongst some trees. At the time, I thought I was imagining it. I told my parents and I remember them smiling at each other and then telling me that it was special to be able to see it. Anyway, I forgot all about it – until just now. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Peonie nodded. “I was watching over a small girl wandering in the woods on her own. And now you have been chosen to continue a very important tradition.”

  “You’ve been watching over me? But why? And what do you mean, I’ve been chosen? Chosen by who? For what?”

  “Chosen by the Ancients,” Peonie said. “Willow, this may sound unbelievable but your family, along with others from all over the world, have for many generations been Keepers of the Light that flows between your world and that of the Dream Keepers.”

  “Ancients?” she said, brows raised. “My family – ‘Keepers of the Light’! Are you sure you have the right family? And what kind of light exactly? Why haven’t my parents ever mentioned any of this?”