Iris blinked rapidly. “You’re not here for a Weaving assignment?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh, so you’re still in training?" Iris pressed her thumb against her lips and surveyed me thoughtfully. “You seem much older than a magic student; I thought you were at least one hundred.”
One hundred?
Her hands fluttered to her mouth at my obvious alarm. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. What a terribly rude thing for me to say. I meant it as the most sincere of compliments, really. Please forgive me.”
“Don’t worry, she’s not offended.” A light-green cloud adorned in a twisting vine of honeysuckle peeked shyly from behind Iris. “She’s only radiating surprise; everything is new for her.”
“That’s a relief.” Iris leaned against the cloud and began stroking her. “Petals can sense the emotions of others,” she said in answer to my unspoken question. “She’s very sweet and sensitive.”
Stardust snorted and opened her mouth with a roll of her eyes, no doubt to brag about her own talent. “Are you a Cultivator?” I asked hastily, eying Stardust warily as she snapped her mouth shut with a defeated air.
“This is my first year; I only finished my training last summer, so I still have much to learn.”
Iris lightly caressed a nearby flower not yet bloomed, and at her touch, it blossomed into an azalea with the aura of dew blanketing early morning grass, her natural touch so similar to Mother’s whenever she worked in our garden that the reminder pierced my heart.
“I’ve always had a connection to plants. I’d much rather cultivate flowers than weave them together, but…” Iris shrugged. “I suppose there’s beauty in the art of weaving, and I do so enjoy watching my Mortal experience pleasant dreams. Still, I love nothing more than spending every possible moment here. It’s such an important responsibility, for without solid cultivating, the flowers can’t create effective dreams. Would you like to see?”
At my nod, she motioned for me to follow before she pattered off the path into the field. Stardust trailed after her, but I hesitated before following; certainly one step onto the transparent soil would cause me to sink through and tumble into the night sky below.
Iris glanced over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
Stardust smirked. “You won’t fall,” she said, reading my hesitation perfectly. Easy for her to say; clouds always floated. I tested my weight on the ground. It seemed solid. Hesitantly, I entered the field and followed Iris, moving carefully so as not to squash the budding seedlings polka-dotting the garden.
Iris knelt beside a bed of unplanted soil, picked up a handful of glittery dirt, and massaged it with her thumb as it rained through her fingers. I watched in awed silence.
“Every spot of soil has its own magic, and when properly matched to a seed, it creates a connection that allows the dream flower’s detail to grow more vividly, which is essential for its use in a future Weaving.”
She opened the bag slung over her shoulder, which was bursting with seeds of all colors and shapes. She sorted through them until she found a diamond-shaped blue seed. She carefully dug a tiny bed in the soil, tucked the seed in, and showered it with sparkling golden water from a nearby watering can before patting the tiny bulge. There her hand lingered, her ear cocked towards it, as if she were listening to something.
“Each seed grows into one of the five senses. If I listen carefully, I can catch a glimpse of the detail this flower will become.”
“May I listen, too?” I asked in a reverent whisper.
A sliver of doubt filled her soft eyes, although her expression remained friendly. “If you’d like.”
I copied her, lightly cupping my hand over the buried seedling, and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to accomplish—surely I wouldn’t hear anything like Iris, a trained Cultivator, could—but I still couldn’t help wondering…if Mother was a Cultivator like Stardust believed, could some of her skill have passed to me through our many years of gardening together?
I cleared my mind and stilled my breathing, the same way I did before summoning my magic. At first there was nothing but silence, but after several moments I felt a subtle stirring of faint vibrations pulsing gently within my chest, as if the soil was whispering in a foreign, unspoken language. Midst the quiet rhythm that caressed my soul with feelings and sensations rather than words, I faintly heard it—a single glimpse of the detail that briefly flashed across my senses before slowly fading away.
“A kitten’s purr,” I murmured, opening my eyes. Iris, who’d been watching me somewhat doubtfully, gasped.
“How did you—”
“Iris?”
Another Dreamer had arrived, a bouquet of plucked dream flowers in her arms. She was trailed by a fat strawberry-pink cloud slurping a lollipop. The Dreamer’s eyes were bright magenta, the exact shade as her hair, which she’d arranged in a messy bun tied with a string of licorice. High cheekbones and angled pink eyebrows gave her a rebellious sort of look, contrasting with her dress, which was designed to resemble a frosted pink cupcake. Despite having called Iris’s name, she wasn’t looking at her…but at me.
Her arched brows knit together as she scrutinized me, all while slowly and deliberately unwrapping her own lollipop, a defiance in her eyes that dared me to ask her to share. “Who’s this?”
“This is Eden, a Weaver-in-training,” Iris said. “Eden, this is Angel. She’s a Nature Artist.”
My brow puckered. “A Nature Artist.”
“One of the Dreamers responsible for all of nature’s art on Earth,” Stardust whispered in explanation. “They create the shapes Mortals find in the clouds when they watch the sky, each unique snowflake, every sunrise and sunset, among other things.”
Angel shoved the lollipop in her mouth, her suspicious gaze continuing to study me intently. “Hmm, you seem a little old to still be in training,” she said. “How old are you?”
Iris gasped. “Angel, that’s a terribly rude thing to ask.”
Angel didn’t seem bothered that her inquiry might have come across as rude, and she didn’t retract her question. Instead she merely prodded me with her gaze for an answer.
“Seventeen?” I said hesitantly. Angel’s and Iris’s eyes widened.
“Eden, are you stupid?” Stardust hissed in my ear. “If you’ve been mistaken to be at least one hundred, didn’t you deduce you needed to give an age higher than that, not drastically lower?”
Oh great, I was already failing miserably at blending in.
Angel pointed her lollipop at me, wielding it like a sword ready to poke me with if she deemed me too untrustworthy, and I leaned away. “That’s impossible; seventeen-year-olds are toddlers.”
“She’s not lying,” Petals said. “I can feel her honesty.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed. “Then she’s delusional.”
Iris laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t be so harsh with her; she simply misspoke.” She turned to me. “Did you perhaps mean you’re one hundred seventeen?”
“Yes,” I said hastily.
Iris beamed. “How perfect, that’s about how old I am. I’m a hundred and twenty-four, whereas Angel is a bit older, a hundred and thirty. We’re sisters, you see.”
They looked as unrelated as sisters could possibly be, especially with Angel’s suspicious expression, a huge contrast to the trust lining Iris’s heart-shaped face. But although Angel still seemed dubious, she made no further inquiries. Instead she stuck her sucker in her bun to save for later and turned her attention to sorting through the bouquet in her arms.
“Are those for tonight’s Weaving?” I asked, trying to sound more confident about the way this strange world worked than I felt.
“Yes,” she said, her tone kinder. “I’m determined to win tonight; Blaze has somehow finagled his way to winning two in a row.”
Iris frowned. “But he rarely beats you.”
“Except when he’s cheating, obviously,” she snapped. “You’d think
he’d be a better Weaver, considering he’s on his fifth Mortal and currently weaves for two at once. I’m convinced he’s responsible for my dream dust that went missing the other day. Thieving slime.”
Stardust—who’d buried herself in her coloring book—looked up eagerly. “Ooh, are you one of the victims of the recent dream dust thefts? I’m investigating that case. Would you be willing to sit for an interview?”
Angel dismissed Stardust with a wave of her hand. “I’ve already given my statement to the Investigations Team. They haven’t been able to deduce how it happened, except for concluding it was undoubtedly the doings of dark magic. Hence Blaze must have something to do with it.”
“Of course,” Stardust said, already taking notes. “A Weaving would give your Nightmare partner the perfect chance to commit such a crime. Did you notice your dust missing before or after the Weaving?”
“Almost immediately after I won, which proves it was definitely him.”
Iris fiddled with her bag strap. “We don’t know that, Angel. There’s no proof he—”
“There’s no proof he didn’t either,” Angel snapped. “Who else could it have been? I don’t make it my habit to interact with Nightmares on a consistent basis. I’m sure it’s all bitter revenge for my frequently creaming him.”
“Ample opportunity, a solid motive…he’s the perfect suspect.” An eager glint filled Stardust’s eyes as she flipped to a fresh page and continued scribbling. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d be trapped in her investigations all night, and I’d never learn more about how dreams were constructed.
“What sort of dream are you creating?” I asked Angel, ignoring Stardust’s death glare.
“A love dream.” She showed me her flowers, and midst some of the swirling auras were pattering rain, clear hearts, and the vibrant color of pink. “I ran out of time tonight to do something original, so I’m recreating a dream I gave my Mortal the other night that yielded me a lot of dust. I’ll weave all of these details together to create the sensation it’s raining hearts.”
Iris clasped her hands together. “Delightful. You’re such a talented Weaver.”
Angel studied her flowers. “I don’t know…it needs something more, a detail that will really create the romantic ambiance I’m going for. Perhaps I’ll combine it with the scent of roses to add an extra romantic layer.”
“Why not use a love emotion flower?” I suggested.
Angel rolled her eyes. “Did you daydream through Dream Weaving 101? Emotions aren’t grown; they can only be created by Mortals themselves.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” Iris scolded. “Remember, she’s still in training.” She turned to me, her ever-present smile caressing her face. “Emotions are what give dreams their power, and that determines which dream a Mortal views. It’s a Weaver’s job to create a dream that evokes strong emotions in the Mortal viewing it, because the more powerful a Mortal’s emotion, the more dream dust the dream yields.”
Angel nodded. “Exactly. Without creating a dream that causes my Mortal to think of her strong feelings for her crush, my dream will be nothing but a bunch of heart-shaped rain. Boring. Alice deserves only the best dreams, so if I could just find a flower that would—”
“Wait, did you say Alice?” I interrupted, the name and the familiarity of the dream she was recreating connecting in my mind. “Alice the baker’s daughter, from the village of Oak Creek?”
Angel raised her eyebrows. “You know her?”
“She has the most remarkable dreams,” I said. “Just the other night she dreamed she was sailing on a tree ship, and each branch led to something wondrous to explore.”
Stardust tore herself from her coloring and gave me a warning nudge; too late I realized my mistake—a normal Dreamer wouldn’t be privy to details about Mortals’ dreams.
“We talk about our dreams together all the time,” I added in an attempt to redeem myself.
Stardust groaned. “You’re only making it worse.”
“What do you mean she talks with you?” Angel demanded. “Mortals can’t see Dreamers.”
Oops, I’d forgotten that little detail. I hastily tried to come up with a way to escape the hole I’d dug myself into. At this point, admitting I was from Earth seemed the best option; any further lies might cause me to be mistaken for someone who possessed dark magic.
“I’m…actually from Earth. So I know her.”
Angel and Iris gaped at me. “No wonder I’ve never seen you around here before.” Iris pressed her thumb against her lips again. “But I don’t understand: if you’re from Earth, how did you come here, and how is it you can see us?”
“It’s impossible,” Angel interrupted. “Non-magical beings are unable to enter the Dream World, and Mortals with magic don’t exist. Anyone with magic is either a Dreamer or Nightmare; there is no other category.”
“I never claimed I’m a Mortal; I’m a Dreamer.” I tugged my dream locket from beneath my collar and held it up. The dream dust it harbored glistened in the light as it swung in the air like a pendulum. Iris and Angel followed the movement with wide eyes, lost for words. Angel was the first to recover.
“It’s unheard of for Dreamers to live on Earth, unless…” She leaned closer to Iris, her beady gaze remaining focused on me. “You know, she could be—” she whispered, not quietly.
Iris gasped. “Oh dear, are you…that Weaver?” she asked from behind her hands. “The one who disappeared after her banishment, the one they’re still looking for?”
“Of course not,” I said.
“You don’t expect her to admit it, do you?” Angel asked. Gnawing her lip, Iris glanced at Petals for confirmation I was telling the truth and visibly relaxed when Petals nodded.
“Well, that settles it. Wow, a Dreamer from Earth. Does the Dream Council know about your presence?”
“You’re not going to tell them, are you?” I asked.
Angel shrugged and Iris fiddled with her daffodil earrings. “Well, I want you to stay, but the Council should be made aware…”
“Don’t be a spoil sport; the fact she may be illegal makes her more interesting. A Dreamer is a Dreamer, regardless of where they come from.” Angel surveyed me with increased enthusiasm. “You said you’ve grown up hearing Alice talk about her dreams? What does she say?”
“She always gushes about how enchanting and creative they are,” I lied, but my fib was worth it by the way Angel’s entire expression lit up. Petals gave me a quizzical look—obviously having detected my lie—but thankfully she didn’t say anything.
“I’m glad. Alice is my first Mortal and I'm still learning the trade. It’s difficult coming up with something new and exciting every night, especially when I’m behind on one of my Nature Artist projects or Blaze is breathing down my neck.” Her eyes narrowed at something behind me. “What’s that?”
We all turned. A glistening golden bubble about the size of my hand had appeared at the edge of the field. It floated over, pausing to bob directly in front of me.
Iris gasped. “A summons.”
The word itself made my stomach feel as if it was dissolving in a black hole. “What’s a summons?”
“A message from the Dream Council,” Angel said. “I knew they’d send for you; they were bound to detect the presence of a stranger sooner or later.”
The summons bounced against my hand impatiently, tickling me like the pulse of hummingbird wings. I weighed it, as if my upcoming doom could be measured. For a bubble it was surprisingly solid.
Stardust wiggled impatiently beside me. “Open it already, or I’ll do it myself.”
“There’s no opening.” I searched every part of its smooth surface, but there was nowhere to pry it open. Perhaps I would have to pop it.
“Stroke your fingers around the outside,” Angel instructed.
I ran my fingertips along the outside and the bubble melted into long ribbons, which rose out and twisted into cursive scrawl:
The Council is waiting.
Come to the Council Chamber at the conclusion of the hour when sunset fades into night.
The message hovered for a few moments before popping, leaving my insides churning in a meteor shower of nerves. The Council reigning over this fantastic world wanted to see me, and certainly it wasn’t for tea and crumpets. Would they punish me for coming uninvited to their magical land?
“Will they kick me out?” I tried unsuccessfully to suppress the quiver in my voice.
Iris laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Surely not. The Council is very just, and the Dream World is home to all magical beings; certainly your place of birth won’t change that.” She frowned up at the sky. The moon had risen, and carved on its surface was an intricate dial, much like a sundial. “The end of night’s first hour is only a few minutes away. You’d better go; the Council doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Stardust nudged me and I shakily slid onto her. “It’ll be alright,” she assured me. “I didn’t drag you here just for a few hours of sightseeing.” And we took off into the star-shrouded sky to greet the Council.
Chapter 10
“Remember, Eden: don’t tell them anything about your ability to see dreams,” Stardust hissed for the umpteenth time as we neared the looming tower where the Council awaited me. “With your background on Earth, we’re already going to have a difficult enough time convincing them to let you stay; if they learn about your unique magic, they may connect you to the suspicious magical bursts that have been occurring.”
My heart pounded in an unrelenting tempo, and with the tightening knots in my stomach I truly thought I’d be ill. I had only just gotten to the Dream World; I certainly wasn’t ready to leave.
“If you don’t arouse their suspicions, there’s a chance they’ll let you remain.” But Stardust’s voice wavered, revealing her own doubts, which only escalated my own worry.
“Perhaps I should confess my abilities so that they can help me understand myself. Surely I’m not the only magical being who can see others’ dreams…”
“As far as I know, you are,” Stardust said. “If you really want to stay, you can’t tell them.”
Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1) Page 11
