In the Wake of a Dream: Book One of the Newcomer Trilogy

by Shayn Bloom

his,” she said, winking. “While you can still consciously appreciate them.”

  “Huggles doesn’t trust me with cookies anymore,” Wayfara explained. “It’s a shame, really.”

  “Enough with the Huggles!” Cassie yelled, but her smile was barely restrained. I giggled involuntarily. Cassie rounded on me. “Think it’s funny? Perhaps I should force feed you Wayfara’s cookies! That’d teach you a lesson!”

  “Hey!” Wayfara said indignantly. “Don’t knock the cookies.” He beckoned me over. “Check these out, Annie.”

  Upon seeing the cookies, I grinned appreciatively. Each was in the shape of a tiny dreamcatcher. “Wayfara,” I breathed. “This must have taken –”

  “Forever,” he finished. “The aluminum kept breaking when I was making the cutter. It took even longer to make than your dreamcatcher, Annie,” he added, smiling. “But hey, now we have dream cookies!”

  I smiled helplessly. “No more nightmares after a dream cookie, right?”

  Cassie checked the oven before turning to Wayfara. “The Holan wouldn’t want you making dream cookies.”

  “Where is Coraline, anyway?” Ash asked.

  “Went abroad this morning,” Cassie replied. “To a Holurn in Stockholm. She’s going to request some additional Utopians.”

  “What for?” Wayfara asked. “We can manage with five or six.”

  “Five,” Cassie corrected. “And if having foreign Utopians around here means fewer suicides in Baltimore then I’m onboard. Five is pitiful.”

  Wayfara fiddled with his ninja tail. His words were hinting. “Soon there might be a sixth Utopian.”

  “He never gives you a break, does he?” I asked, turning to Ash.

  “Never,” Ash replied.

  I sampled a dream cookie. The deliciousness of it threatened to turn my mouth into a waterfall of saliva. It was the perfect texture, the perfect temperature, the perfect taste. “Mmmh,” I moaned through a mouthful. “So good!”

  Wayfara looked pleased. “Really, you like it?” I gave him a double thumbs up, my mouth still full.

  “Time to be heading upstairs,” said Ash, squeezing my shoulder.

  “Whatcha up to?” Wayfara asked.

  I swallowed the rest of my cookie. “Dreamdrifting!”

  “Dream cookies,” Ash said, shaking his head as we climbed the winding staircase. “What will he think of next?” Outside of his room, Ash gestured me inside politely. “After you.”

  Sporting a large bed and many shelves, Ash’s room was both smaller than Coraline’s and cleaner than Wayfara’s. A Victor Talking Machine sat on a table beside an old fashioned sofa. Shutting the door behind us, Ash turned to face me. I watched as his stubble tweaked, the culprit a smile belonging to closed eyes. “Are you ready for this?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  Going to the Victor Talking Machine, Ash cranked the handle before lifting the needle and placing it on the groove. A scooting bounce of an instrumental number filled the room. “Do you like Jazz?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied. “Who’s this?”

  “Sydney Bechet,” he replied. “Doing Wild Cat Blues.” Following his lead, I sat down on the couch. “Your training begins!” Ash announced. “Your first lesson, once we’re in the subconscious, will be on The Four Plains of Awareness. Regardless, most of our sessions will carry on as follows: I will take you there and the rest is you. You have to figure it out.”

  Taking Ash’s honeyed hand in mine, I smiled at him mischievously. “You’re already a better teacher than Adia,” I commented. “And you’ve only been teaching me for one minute.”

  “You’re biased,” he accused.

  “Very.”

  Ash retrieved the wooden chest that I had first seen in the Holan’s tower room. Opening its carved, dreamcatcher lid, he scanned the vials. Frowning against the small type, he selected one and handed it over. I read the tiny name running vertically down the vial: Eli.

  “As your instructor,” Ash began, smiling hugely. “I have an instruct: drink.”

  Skipping hesitation, I downed the vial in one go. Ash’s room turned over before my eyes. All was blackness, all was a swirling journey. And then, quite suddenly, we arrived.

  My hand squeezed his tightly. I was checking to make sure he was still there. He was still there. I could feel him breathing through our touching shoulders, could feel the roaring strength of his heart. I opened my eyes. My brain fumbled.

  “Ash?”

  “Yup?”

  “We’re back,” I whispered. “Back in Josephine’s subconscious.”

  For upon opening my eyes, I was greeted by a world of trees and shrubs, their movements yielding to a sudden wind. Ash and I were centered on a dusty path, its curving lane traveling around a copse of trees and out of sight.

  Turning to Ash, I was taken aback again by his dreamcatcher. The thing was going crackers, whirling through hoops of its own making and splattering ink across his chest before retrieving it. I stared in appreciative wonder.

  “My face is up here,” Ash said, smiling. “And don’t worry. We’re not in Josephine’s subconscious. It looks similar, though, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded. “It’s pretty, at least.”

  “Let’s follow this path,” Ash figured. “And see where it takes us.”

  “Okay.” I followed in his wake.

  “The Four Plains of Awareness,” Ash began slowly. “You need to be aware of them. I bet you can guess two of the plains.”

  I considered him. “Conscious and subconscious?”

  “There you go,” he said appreciatively. “Consciousness and Subconsciousness are two of the plains. Creation and Heaven are the other two. They –”

  “Hold on,” I interrupted, shocked. “Heaven? Really? Heaven?”

  “Of course,” Ash replied. “Heaven is a plain just like earth, but earth isn’t called earth here. It’s called Consciousness. Each plain has a unique native, a natural inhabitant,” Ash explained. “Humans are the natives of Consciousness. Drifters are the natives of Subconsciousness. Can you guess who the natives of Creation are?”

  I thought for a second. “Utopians?”

  “Very good,” he said. “While we Drifters and very few humans can only throw pebbles in the pond of Creation, Utopians can jump in and splash the water around, making waves. Creation is the most energetic plain, the plain of manifestation. That is partially what makes Utopians so powerful in the Subconscious. They’re manifesting geniuses. Though talented in the Subconscious, Creation is where Utopians perform their best and most difficult work.”

  “The Second Great Manifestation,” I began. “Did the Utopians journey to Creation to perform it?”

  Ash’s expression was shared equally by admiration and surprise. “Yes,” he answered. “Twelve Utopians traveled to Creation but only four returned. I’m surprised you know about that.”

  “I heard about it somewhere,” I added vaguely. “What happened exactly?”

  “Nobody really knows,” Ash said. “In my opinion, the manifestation they were attempting was too much for too few. The manifestation was granted, but in exchange for lives. Anyway,” he continued, reverting back. “Do you understand The Four Plains of Awareness now?”

  “Almost,” I said. “But who are the natives of Heaven?”

  “Ah,” Ash said. “I nearly forgot! The natives of Heaven are alone more powerful than the Utopians.”

  “Who are they?” I asked excitedly. “What are they?”

  “Paradesians.”

  “What?” I said.

  Ash smiled. “Angels.”

  “Whoa,” I breathed. “No way.”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “They’re real. Only a few have visited during my years at Everest, but when they do you never forget. They are incredible. Imagine a super Utopian.”

  “That’s hard to do,” I admitted.

  His eyes twinkled like hazel lighthouses. “It won’t be, not if you meet one,” he hinted. “They are undeniably the natives
of Heaven.”

  “How do you become one?” I asked. “A Paradesian?”

  “You don’t,” Ash said. “The transformation isn’t like the others. For a human to become a Drifter she must have an inborn ability. For a Drifter to become Utopian he must realize his own or someone else’s subconscious mind. But there are no instructions for Utopians who wish to become Paradesian.”

  I frowned. “Then how do they exist?”

  “You don’t decide to become Paradesian,” Ash continued. “Rather, your presence is requested within their ranks. And before I forget,” he added. “You should know that the natives of each plain can access the lower plain. So Paradesians can access Heaven, Creation, Subconsciousness, and Consciousness, Utopians can access Creation, Subconsciousness, and Consciousness, we Drifters can access Subconsciousness and Consciousness, and you humans can access only?”

  “Consciousness,” I answered. “Shucks!”

  “Correct,” Ash said. “So those are The Four Plains of Awareness. Now I need to tell you about your patient today. His name is Eli. He’s a hemophiliac and an alcoholic. Remember the details, Annie,” he said. “They help.”

  “I have another question,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m surprised?”

  “What would happen,” I began. “If a subconscious persona was harmed?”

  “That’s a serious question,” Ash said. “And a good one. Insanity, that’s what would happen. You can’t have a subconscious mind without a subconscious persona and you can’t have sanity without a subconscious mind. The subconscious is like a personal insanity locker where everything your consciousness can’t cope with gets stored away. When the subconscious is destroyed,