Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1)

by Camille Peters

  I didn’t argue, for she was right. And it wasn’t just Weaving I wanted to study—Darius’s investigations had invited on onslaught of questions about myself, ones I was determined to find answers to.

  The vast Dream Library was comprised of rows upon rows of floating, woven moonbeam shelves, laden with shimmery books made from silk, satin, or leather and etched in silver or gold. Older volumes waited patiently on their shelves for someone to peruse them, whereas the newer books floated restlessly around the library, often taking up residence in the wrong section.

  Stardust flew past books on history, magic technique, Weather Shaping, and Nature Artistry. She paused in the Cultivating section, her gaze flickering across the books planted in the shelves like a miniature garden. What kind of mystery would require her to research Cultivating? It must have something to do with Mother. I was torn between wanting to learn more about her and needing to spend the time learning more about weaving.

  “Before you begin investigating, can you help me find books to improve my skills?” I tugged her frothy body upward, where the shelves of weaving books resided.

  Stardust obediently flew to the weaving section. I hopped onto the floating cobblestone path that twisted through the shelves. Stardust trailed several yards behind as I browsed, her nose buried in her notes. Whenever I tried stealing a glimpse of them, she tipped her notebook away with a dark look.

  “I have multiple mysteries I’m investigating, all top-secret; the ones that don’t have anything to do with you are none of your business.”

  “Do any of your investigations have to do with where my mother might be?”

  Stardust softened. “I’ve spent hours searching, but so far I haven’t found anything. I’m sorry, Eden.”

  I sighed and turned away to scan the shelves, a difficult task when the books kept wandering. As much as I needed to study weaving, I found my gaze skipping over those books in search of books specifically about dreams. Darius’s findings had only escalated my curiosity about my own powers…as well as my origins. If I was truly Half-Mortal, could that part of myself be the reason I could see others’ dreams? Or did my abilities originate from somewhere else?

  I couldn’t find anything useful in this section, which was unsurprising since it was highly unlikely I’d find anything more than Darius had been able to with his experience and efforts, so I reluctantly returned my attention to searching for books on technique.

  “How to Juggle Multiple Mortals; Recycling your Weaving Images; Eleven Easy Steps to Improved Stitchery…aha! Weaving Unbeatable Dreams.” I tugged the thick volume out, which was an inviting sunny yellow.

  Stardust looked up from her notes and frowned at the title. “Isn’t that too advanced for you?”

  I hesitated. “Do you really think so?” But even after her nod I didn’t return the book, for although she was undoubtedly correct about the level of my abilities, I was interested in more than improving my technique.

  The scent of daisies wafted from the pages as I lightly stroked the book’s spine and it quivered open. After a quick scan of the index, I turned the shimmery pages to a section on a Mortal’s connections to their dreams. Perhaps if I could better understand why Mortals could see the dreams we created for them, I’d learn more about not only my own powers, but the reason Darius had defied the impossible and successfully woven a dream for me. But the information was rudimentary at best, yielding me no information.

  I sighed and flipped to another chapter, “Taking Your Weaving to the Next Level,” where I was bombarded with complex moving diagrams highlighting stitchery beyond anything I’d ever attempted. My heart sank. “Wow, this looks hard.”

  “I told you this is beyond your current level. You shouldn’t go near books this advanced for several years, especially considering you haven’t won a single Weaving.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” I snapped Weaving Unbeatable Dreams shut and yanked Eliminating Holes in Your Weaving from the shelf, hoping this book would prove more helpful, but it too presented techniques far beyond my current skill level.

  Stardust shoved a moonbit in her mouth; the treat caused her face to shine silvery gold, which cast a shimmer across the pages as she peered over my shoulder. “You’re going to need a lot more practice.”

  “There must be more to Weaving than just stitch work.”

  I flipped through the pages, pausing occasionally to skim, while Stardust, morphed back in her notebook, munched on moonbits and blabbed about the mysteries she was currently investigating. I tuned her out until she began speaking of my own. I paused in perusing Painting with a Palette of Details to listen.

  “I didn’t even know Half-Dreamers existed. The research I’ve already conducted shows it’s never occurred before. It certainly is perplexing…”

  She paused to flip through her case notes, muttering to herself, already moving on to another investigation before I could glean any useful information. Her eyes narrowed at a particular page in her notebook.

  “Hmm, that’s quite the puzzle. I’m not sure whether the Dream Council is aware of this unusual occurrence yet—they would be if I were the first cloud on the Investigations Team, but they haven’t allowed that yet.” She fell silent.

  I tried to return to my own search before curiosity compelled me to lower my book. “Which unusual occurrence are you referring to?” Had she perhaps discovered more about my powers than she’d previously revealed?

  “I noticed something as I took a shortcut through the Cultivating Fields on my way to borrow your weaving file. Only those with impeccable observational skills such as myself would have noticed the single lone nightmare flower growing midst the dream blossoms—”

  My stomach jolted and I nearly dropped the second book I’d just pulled from the shelves. “You saw a nightmare flower in the Cultivating Fields?”

  “Weren’t you listening?” she snapped. “Of course I noticed something so unusual; I’m a trained detective. With the dream dust thefts and the other recent evidence of the balance potentially tipping, I’ve heard the Council is starting to worry.”

  My mind spun. “But how is that possible? Iris says only dream flowers can grow in Dream Realm soil. Are you sure it was a nightmare flower?”

  But Stardust had stopped talking and was now frowning at Seamless Weaving Details opened in my lap. “Another book beyond your current skill level. Since you obviously don’t need my help, I’m not going to waste any more time; I have cases to investigate.”

  It was probably for the best. With her gone, I could avoid her running commentary and read in peace. “If you have time, could you look into something for me?”

  She paused, her eyes alight with curiosity. For a moment I hesitated. While it was unlikely I could find information about my mysterious father…

  I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “I’ve been thinking about how it could be possible for me to be Half-Mortal when Mortals can’t see Dreamers. I wondered if learning more about Mother’s powers could offer a possible explanation, both in where I came from…and my own powers. Can you find any information about the Weaver who disappeared?”

  She frowned. “I’ve admittedly not found much during my previous investigations, but I’ll look again; there’s a section in the library on past cases I haven’t spent much time in that I can search.” She flew away, leaving me to study in silence.

  I spent the next several minutes gathering a stack of books. Though I was reluctant to admit it, it was probably good I’d finally visited the library considering I’d lost every Weaving. If I didn’t do something soon, my powers would weaken so much I’d be forced to weave lower quality dreams, making it impossible to prove I was a capable Dreamer who deserved residence in this world.

  A familiar prickling sensation poked the back of my neck; someone was watching me. I paused in pulling out Never Lose Another Weaving and looked around, almost expecting Darius, but he and his spider were nowhere to be seen.

  I tentatively peered through the s
helves, only to find two pairs of bright amber eyes staring back at me. I gasped and stumbled backwards into one of the stacks, causing my books to tumble to the ground. The eyes flashed and disappeared, and a moment later two figures emerged. My heart jolted. Nightmares.

  The Nightmare man was tall and muscular, clad in an ebony outfit embedded with golden lightning, with bolts painted around his hard eyes and his black hair streaked with orange. There was something familiar about his eyes and the line of his jaw, but I couldn’t pinpoint what. The Nightmare woman wore a tight black dress that glistened with a fire motif, with additional flames painted across her face and streaked through her shoulder-length hair. Though both looked eternally young like all the Weavers I’d encountered, there was an air about them that made them seem much older than me and my friends.

  Both stared at me, their unblinking eyes narrowed in the thinnest of slits. The woman’s look was especially concentrated and piercing, as if her gaze was slithering through my soul in search of clues to an unspoken mystery. A dark, unsettling feeling trickled over me, similar to the icy fear that I’d received during Darius’s nightmare. Surely it was dangerous to be alone with Nightmares other than one’s weaving partner. I looked around desperately for anyone. Usually several Dreamers wandered the rows or planned weavings curled up on cushy crescent-moon-shaped chairs, but the rows were abandoned, leaving no witnesses should these Nightmares do anything sinister.

  “Who are you?” the man demanded. I recoiled at his menacing tone.

  “I should be asking you that,” I stuttered. “After all, this is the Dream Realm.”

  The man scowled, but before he could say anything more, the woman laid her hand on his arm. “Let’s not be rude, Blaze. After all, we’re guests in this realm.” She smiled at me, almost pleasantly. “Please forgive us for startling you. We’re here on a professional visit.”

  Something about her melodious voice seemed familiar. “A professional visit?”

  “We’re studying for our next Weaving,” Blaze said.

  I gaped at the book he held up: Basic Sensory Details for Vivid Dreams. “But that’s a dream weaving guide. Aren’t you Nightmares?”

  “We’re experimenting with a new technique,” the woman said. “The closer a nightmare is to a dream, the more frightening it becomes. Nothing disturbs a Mortal more than creating something that almost feels like a dream, and then twisting it into a nightmare. The Mortal’s shock yields a deliciously large quantity of dream dust.”

  I shivered, but I couldn’t deny the idea was mildly appealing; I almost wanted to view one of those dreams, just to experience it. “What a unique approach.” Considering Blaze was Angel’s weaving partner, it was a technique I’d have to be sure to warn Angel about so she’d be prepared to counter it.

  The woman flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Naturally. Weaving is our passion. We’d do anything for a victory.” She extended her hand. “My name’s Trinity.”

  I hesitated before taking it. It was surprisingly soft and almost gentle. “I’m Eden.”

  Trinity raised a single eyebrow, and Blaze, who’d slumped against a bookcase with his arms crossed, straightened. “Did you say Eden?”

  Trinity again laid her hand on his arm with a brief, urgent look, like a warning. “You’re being rude again, Blaze.” Her expression became more open and almost friendly. “Your name is really pretty, Eden. It sounds like a Cultivator’s name. Were either of your parents Cultivators?”

  “My Mother was.”

  “How delightful,” Trinity said. “I’m a Cultivator, too. Perhaps I know her?”

  I doubted Nightmare and Dreamer Cultivators were acquainted with one another. “Her name’s Ebony.”

  I regretted the admission almost immediately, still wary of speaking about her when I still didn’t know the entire story of her banishment. A lump formed in my throat, while simultaneously a burning anger trickled over me over her disappearance, two such conflicting emotions vying for my attention.

  “Yes, I knew Ebony. I met her while we studied Cultivating at the Academy together.”

  My stomach jolted in shock. “You knew my mother?”

  Trinity merely smirked as she watched me with a strangely knowing expression. “It was cruel how she hid so many secrets from you, and then disappeared when you needed her most.”

  My breath hooked. “How did you—”

  “I can feel both the anger and the worry filling your heart,” she said. “With these feelings, I sense that you want to find her, although not quite as much as you desire to belong to the Dream World. You seem to be having a difficult time with both.”

  Was she a mind reader? Blaze surveyed my perplexed expression. “Trinity searches hearts,” he explained. “Not thoughts or memories, but feelings.”

  Trinity’s smile widened. “Not to worry, it’s completely harmless.” To demonstrate, she concentrated on me once again. The same searching feeling rippled over me, as if all my secrets and innermost feelings were being extracted to be prodded and snooped.

  She slowly smiled again, this one sly and conniving, full of whatever secret knowledge she’d gathered. “Are you sure you’re a Dreamer?”

  I flinched. “Of course I am.”

  Trinity tilted her head. “But are you sure?” Her penetrating look was back, peeling away the layers hiding my secrets one by one. Foreboding knotted my stomach before I forced it away.

  I lifted my chin. “Definitely.”

  A knowing look glistened in her eyes, like the flames lining her outfit. “As long as you think so, you must be right.”

  Goosebumps prickled my arms. What was that supposed to mean? What exactly had she seen inside my heart?

  I didn’t want to linger here a moment longer. I knelt down and hastily gathered my books strewn all over the cloud floor. Blaze bent down and picked up Never Lose Another Weaving, toppled upside down closest to him, and held it out to me.

  “Yours?”

  My face burned. I snatched it away and hastily tucked it under my arm.

  Trinity eyed my stack of books. “You appear to be having a difficult time weaving. Have you won any? All of these books are all so advanced. You need someone with more experience to help you decipher these.”

  My nerves prickled. Surely she didn’t mean her, did she?

  A book floated by. Blaze plucked it from the air, frowned at the title as if checking whether or not it would help me, and released it before he offered a cold, lopsided grin. “It couldn’t hurt since you’re already losing; you can’t get any worse.”

  I frowned at his sinister smile and Trinity’s eager expression. These two were definitely up to something. “Why would you help a Dreamer beat one of your own kind?”

  Trinity laughed airily. “Oh Eden, just because we’re Nightmares doesn’t mean we don’t care about Dreamers. In fact, we’d be doing your partner a favor. Most Nightmares want to win on merit, not because the competition is skewed in their favor.” She lightly touched my arm, her look sympathetic. “We heard your partner requested to switch from his Mortal in order to crush you. Egotistical snob.”

  Apprehension prickled my skin. “You’re acquainted with Darius?”

  “Everyone knows of the Head Nightmare’s son who runs around doing her dirty work,” Trinity said. “He could use some humbling.”

  My heart thumped wildly. This was wrong. I stepped away, severing our contact. “I appreciate the gesture, but I have to decline.”

  For a brief moment Trinity’s eyes flashed and Blaze’s jaw tightened, but both looks cleared in an instant, so quickly I wasn’t sure they’d been there at all.

  Trinity shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you ever change your mind and realize how much you need our help, the offer still stands.”

  The Nightmares walked away, Blaze slipping his hand into Trinity’s before they disappeared around the corner.

  Chapter 18

  “You met who?”

  We sat crammed in Angel’s corner of the Nature Arti
st studio, which was in a swirl of preparation for the approaching spring. In one corner, Nature Artists prepared tunes for the birds to sing, while in another they bustled about gathering swaths of additional daylight.

  In Angel’s section she’d propped a canvas splashed with various sunset designs against her teetering easel, while nearby she worked on a half-finished cloud sculpture she was carving for the Mortals, which at the moment failed to resemble a shape any normal Mortal would be able to decipher in a sky full of cumulus clouds. Angel chipped away at it with a strange aggression, which only increased as she listened to my account of my encounter with Blaze and Trinity, as if each bit of cloud she chiseled away was an attack on her weaving partner.

  I sat cross-legged on a box stuffed to the brim with sketches of cloud sculpture designs and carving tools, surrounded by weaving books stacked in miniature leaning towers and shrouds of messily tailored cloth, my failed attempts to duplicate the stitches the books tried in vain to teach.

  “Two Nightmares were in the Dream Library,” I explained for the second time. “They claimed they were there for a book to aid their nightmares.”

  Iris shook her head from where she sat squished between jars of gold and ruby paint. “But Nightmares rarely come into our realm, and we don’t go into theirs.”

  “Is it forbidden?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “Other than in and around the Academy, there’s just no reason for it.”

  Angel gnawed her lip. “Are you certain one of them was Blaze?” Her hands tightened over her tools as I nodded. “That nightmare. Creating a dream-like nightmare to beat my masterpieces. I’ll show him. I’ll plan a dream so intense that even if he used all the nightmare flowers in the Universe…”

  She pounded her chisel so furiously she knocked away a huge chunk of cloud, but she didn’t seem to notice or care as she whacked her statue with a string of steady curses under her breath.

  Before today I'd always considered Angel a bit overdramatic whenever she griped about her weaving partner, but now it was different. Darius had never made me feel quite like Blaze had—as if he himself was a walking bad dream.