Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1)

by Camille Peters

  Iris frowned. “I’m surprised he was in the Dream Realm to study. I thought you won most of your Weavings because Blaze spent more time with his Pair than he did preparing.”

  Angel finally abandoned her cloud statue—which now sadly resembled nothing more than a lumpy, indiscernible shape—and turned to scowl at the sunset she was painting on her easel. She tugged out the paintbrush stored in her magenta bun.

  “I used to always win, but lately Blaze seems to be winning an uncanny amount. He must be cheating, and your finding him in the Dream Library proves it.”

  I immediately thought of Darius’s undefeated streak. Perhaps my constant losing hadn’t been entirely my fault. “How could Weavers cheat?” Guilt seeped over me the moment I asked. There was still much about Darius I didn’t know, but one thing was certain: he was no cheater.

  Angel glanced around to be sure no one was listening before leaning forward. “There are certain rumors going around about an illegal market,” she said in a hushed whisper. “It’s a place where forbidden plants not cultivated in the fields are exchanged for dream dust.”

  “That’s merely gossip,” Iris said. “Growing a flower that forces a win is impossible. What sensory detail could possibly be that strong?”

  “There are rumors that it’s not a sensory detail at all but an emotion, which is why such a flower would be forbidden, and Blaze is sinister enough to find a way to get hold of it.”

  Iris raised a skeptical brow. “Then wouldn’t he have used it to win Weavings before now?”

  “Who’s to say he hasn’t?” Angel demanded. “The Investigations Team’s latest theory on how the mysterious thefts are occurring is that certain plants from the illegal market could be stealing the magic from the Weaver’s partner. If Blaze has such a powerful plant at his disposal, it wouldn’t matter whether or not he won the Weaving, so long as he receives the dream’s magic in the end.”

  Chills prickled my skin at the mention of the dream dust thefts. “Has more of your dream dust been stolen?”

  Angel splattered her paint as she spun on me. “Yes. This is the third time this week, always shortly after my Weaving, and yet the Council still won’t suspend Blaze.”

  “But Angel,” Iris began gently. “We don’t know Blaze is the one who’s been stealing your—”

  “Some Nightmare did,” Angel said. “Dream lockets are enchanted to protect our magic; only dark magic can steal dust from them, and he’s the only Nightmare I have the misfortune to interact with. Who else could it possibly be? Yet you’re still determined to think the best of him, even though he doesn’t deserve it.”

  The two sisters began bickering, but it was lost to my swirling thoughts as my apprehension over the increased dream dust thefts lingered. The thefts had been increasing with each passing week; my indignation that someone would steal from Dreamers grew with every mention, especially as I saw the heartache they brought Angel in particular.

  Surely there had to be something that could be done…but what?

  I tried to consider the puzzle as I picked up the needle and cloth I’d been using to practice the star stitch and glowered at Weaving Unbeatable Dreams, but my swirling thoughts made it impossible to concentrate, even though I desperately needed to. I’d run out of time for the practice I’d intended to get in before my next Weaving; I’d spent far too many more hours in the library searching for information not only about my powers but about my elusive mother.

  But no matter how much I searched, the information I discovered was too vague to even form potential theories; it was as if the information had disappeared along with Mother. How was I ever to learn more about what really happened and potentially clear her name if there wasn’t any information to be found?

  I’d spent too much time not only searching, but in studying the dreams I’d captured in hopes they’d be the key to better understanding myself, and as a result I’d neglected my studies to improve my Weavings. Now I was left with only an hour to cram.

  I again tried duplicating the stitches outlined in the diagram, but the steps were difficult to follow and my threads quickly became tangled. A bubble of blood stained my fingertip as I pricked my finger.

  “Ow!” My cry interrupted Angel and Iris’s argument and they glanced over. I used some of my precious dream dust reserve to roughly heal my cut and jammed my needle into my bag.

  “I’m a terrible Weaver. I thought these new books would help, but I can’t even follow them. Just look at this mess.”

  Stardust—who’d been slinking around the studio slipping crayons away from distracted Nature Artists—eagerly zipped over to seize the opportunity to lecture. “As if a handful of hours cramming could teach you a craft that takes years to master.”

  I shifted guiltily, knowing my time spent in the library had forced me to cut corners. Iris laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Maybe you should practice from a different book.”

  But studying from another book would only put me further behind. “The stitch can’t be too difficult; I’ve seen Darius use it dozens of times.”

  “But he attended the Academy.” Stardust flipped open her coloring book and began coloring an owl with one of her newly-acquired crayons. “Maybe the problem isn’t your stitchery. Have you even tried creating your own dreams rather than copy another’s?”

  Iris gasped while Angel stared open-mouthed, her half-raised paint brush dripping crimson paint in polka-dot splotches onto her cupcake dress. She and Iris exchanged wary glances. “You’re copying others’ dreams? Where are you finding them?”

  “From her journal.” Stardust ignored my warning glare, and before I could stop her, she snatched my weaving bag, rummaged through it, and dropped one of my dream journals into Angel’s lap. Angel wasted no time in flipping it open and beginning to read. After a moment of polite hesitation, Iris stole a peek over her shoulder.

  “These are dreams,” Iris said faintly.

  “Not just any dreams.” Angel turned back a few pages and jabbed at one entry. “This is a dream I gave Alice a year ago. Why is it written down?”

  My pulse pounded in panic as I scrambled for any possible explanation. “I’ve always been fascinated with dreams, so while living on Earth I asked my friends to share theirs with me.”

  Angel frowned at the bookmarks tucked between the pages. “Have you been copying others' dreams this entire time? No wonder you're always losing. A dream is more than just details sewn together. Although the stitches and techniques are important, they alone don’t give a dream its power. Even if you managed to recreate these dreams with your current abilities, they weren’t originally created by you for your specific Mortal. Magic chose you to be Maci’s Weaver; merely copying another’s dream eliminates the touch that only comes from your unique connection to your Mortal. You must be willing to put in the extra effort.”

  I was trying to, but it was difficult when there were so many other things vying for my attention—the mystery of my origins and powers, the tipping balance, and now the increased dream dust thefts. As much as I loved constructing dreams for my Mortal, they seemed almost inconsequential compared to everything else. Surely there was something that could be done about the darkness slowly seeping into the Dream Realm…

  An idea suddenly lit my mind.

  I shoved my butchered attempts to recreate the star stitch into my bag, ignoring Angel’s offended expression. There were a few hours remaining until the Weaving, just enough time to put my hypothesis into action.

  I stood in front of the shelves laden with all the dreams I’d captured, a wall of glistening lights, for I’d gone dream viewing nearly every morning since my arrival in the Dream World, going to different villages each time and being careful to leave as soon as I captured one, knowing the burst of magic might be detected. Though I knew it was likely unwise to use my limited magic on such a hobby, I felt the investment worthwhile; studying an actual dream, even one incomplete—for I’d yet been unable to capture a full one—was far more valuable tha
n reading about dreams in a dusty volume. The sooner I increased my skills, the sooner Maci would be able to see a dream of her own.

  I caressed each jar, as if by touching them I could discover how to use them. An idea tantalized my thoughts, but despite the urgency coursing through me, compelling me to act, it remained unformed.

  During my hours of perusal in the library, I’d discovered no information about my powers. My research had confirmed what I’d always suspected: my ability to see and capture dreams must be unique to me. While I’d previously only used my powers to satisfy my curiosity and unquenchable fascination with the dreams I’d never been able to experience on my own, could I possibly use them for more?

  My trailing fingers paused on a jar containing an aqua dream. I plucked it from the shelf to study it more closely. The dream swirled within its glassed prison like a bubble of colored fog, while speckles of dream dust coated the bottom, glistening in the dream’s light.

  I blinked in surprise. “Look, Stardust.” I turned the jar towards her. Although she couldn’t see the dream, her eyes widened at the magic it’d left behind. “Dream dust.”

  My brow furrowed as I continued to examine it. No, it wasn’t quite like dream dust, but instead some sort of substance that almost felt like it. Stardust’s blank stare confirmed I was the only one who could see it. Though I was unsure what this lingering dream residue was, its presence helped my vague idea form more clearly.

  “Dreams are the source of all magic, but what if dreams contain more than what a Weaver earns? Surely the magical power that created them can’t just fade. What if there was a way to access it?”

  Stardust’s frown was thoughtful. “You’re suggesting dreams are like a raw material before it’s been processed? I suppose it’s possible.”

  My eagerness grew. “If we could find a way to preserve the magic still remaining within these dreams, perhaps we could give it to the Dreamers who’ve been stolen from.” Gathering dreams could not only help restore the stolen dream dust, but could possibly be a way to stockpile magic for a future crisis.

  The more I considered the idea, the more certain I felt about it. There had to be a reason I was so drawn to watching and collecting dreams, and I was beginning to wonder if my unique abilities were for a higher purpose, like it was my destiny to do something momentous with dreams. My connection to both Earth and the Dream World put me in the perfect position to help maintain the balance…if only I could figure out how.

  I returned to carefully examining the jar. From the glimpses I could see, this dream had been woven for an elderly fisherman. I’d captured a portion of a relaxing afternoon on the lake, whose soothing movements and gentle ripples had undoubtedly provided him a very peaceful sleep.

  I searched the air around the dream for any signs of magic, but other than the sediment lingering on the bottom of the jar, the rest of the dream’s magic seemed to still be contained within the dream itself.

  I nibbled my lip. Perhaps I could experiment with the dream and see what I could discover. If I opened the jar and only allowed a portion of it to slip out, I could try using my own magic to excavate the magic within the dream; now that I had more power, I was more confident that I could control it. Hopefully conducting my experiments here would be safe; anywhere else might attract unwanted attention from the Council.

  I cautiously lifted the lid of the jar and the dream immediately burst through, as if it’d been waiting expectantly for a chance to escape. For a moment it hovered as a blue glow of light, but before I could even summon my magic to harness the dream, it burst to life, causing a swell of water and a few lily pads from the lake to escape the dream, soaking my skirts and most of the floor. I groaned.

  “That went well,” Stardust said wryly as she morphed into a towel and began soaking up the excess water. “After the fiasco the other escaped dream caused on Earth, I’m surprised you were foolish enough to release one again when you already know that doesn’t work.”

  “I thought dreams would have a different reaction in the Dream World than they have on Earth.”

  I frowned at the jar, now empty of one of my prizes, the dream having vanished after bursting to life outside its prison. I sighed and picked up another, this one containing a fern-colored, triangle-shaped dream of a picnic in a meadow, which would be a less disastrous one to come to life should something go wrong again.

  Rather than opening the jar, this time I summoned my magic to see whether I could penetrate the sealed jar and capture a portion of the dream’s magic that way, but the glass acted as a barrier impossible to cross. My frustration deepened. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t access the dream dust when the jar containing it didn’t have any special enchantments to keep it locked away like dream lockets did.

  Stardust paused in wringing out her wet-towel form over one of the potted ferns decorating the room. “What are you trying now?”

  I sighed and pulled my magic back. “Obviously something that isn’t working.” I studied the dream again, as if its secrets could be as easily revealed as the story it contained. “I wonder if the dreams can be recreated somehow…or even reused.” If I opened the jar again, could I try and control the dream long enough for me to extract its magic?

  I opened the lid only a sliver, just enough for my glittery lilac magic to swirl through the crack before the dream could escape. I poked and prodded the dream experimentally. Nothing happened. I pulled my powers back with a frown.

  Stardust morphed back into her fluffy cumulus shape with a pop and nestled against my side. “Maybe there’s nothing more that can be done with dreams.”

  Discouragement dampened my previous elation. Was she right? My doubts lingered until determination pushed them away. It was too early to give up. “I’m the only one with this ability, and thus it’s my duty to use it responsibly. I will use these dreams to help the Dream Realm.”

  If only I could figure out how to do so.

  Chapter 19

  My disappointment over my inability to use my powers to help the Dream Realm extended into the night, for as usual the Weaving wasn’t going well. The time I’d dedicated to exploring my dream abilities had once again caused me to neglect my weaving studies, leaving me ill prepared. Now I felt as if I were scrambling to come up with something more elaborate and complicated to make up for it.

  I frowned as I studied my dream plan, which I’d created around the star stitch I’d studied earlier today…a stitch I hadn’t had time to perfect. Could I risk using it anyway? I nibbled my lip, deliberating, before deciding I’d probably practiced it enough to use in a real dream. Considering I hadn’t thought to create a backup plan, I was left with little choice.

  I created each stitch slowly and carefully, pausing every so often to consult the diagram in the book. Stitch by stitch, I created a dream about dancing trees, one I’d copied from a toddler in my most recent dream-watching session. To my surprise, the flowers held together much more tightly with the star stitch than they’d done with the basic stitch I’d been using up to this point, eliminating the holes which had previously riddled my dreams.

  I relaxed my tense posture as I trimmed my last thread and held my completed dream up. Darius looked up from the book he’d been reading while he’d been waiting and frowned. “The stitches look unnaturally tight, almost as if they’re about to break. Are you sure you did them right?”

  A heat of defensiveness swelled in my chest. “Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have used a stitch I didn’t know.” Guilt immediately followed the words, especially when Darius rose a single eyebrow, as usual seeming to see right through me.

  But rather than retort, he simply said, “I suppose we’ll see how your stitch holds up.” Without another word we tucked our dreams around Maci. I rummaged through my bag for my weaving mirror, but before I could use it, Darius brushed his hand on my arm, causing me to jolt as his warm, tingly touch.

  “Look, Eden.”

  Darius’s nightmare had already seeped into Maci
, but before mine could follow, the threads started splitting, causing the already rambunctious flowers to tear apart. Loose strands of torn thread hung limply from their wilted petals and the details in their auras faded like washed-out colors in a watercolor, too frail to ever be reused. Just like that, the dream was ruined. It was yet another failure, one of many that could cause me to lose not only the only place I called home, but the first real friends I’d found.

  I hastily tried to blink back the tears already stinging my eyes. Maci whimpered from her cradle as a cloud of dream dust swirled into Darius’s locket, but tonight he didn’t gloat. Instead he turned to me, his expression grave.

  “This has gone on long enough. Something needs to be done.”

  I couldn’t hear another post-victory speech, not with the sting of my broken dream still fresh. “I’m trying.”

  But in my heart I knew I hadn’t been trying hard enough. Instead I was allowing myself to become distracted. But it was difficult not to when I felt as if I was being pulled between two parts of my heart—my desire to protect the world where I wanted nothing more than to remain, and my desire to create pleasant dreams for Maci.

  Darius stepped forward to touch me again, this time to carefully wipe the tears that had escaped to trickle down my cheeks; thank goodness Stardust wasn’t here to see me crying in front of Darius. But for some reason I wasn’t embarrassed, trusting him enough to cry in front of him. “I know you are, but it’s not enough. If things don’t improve soon, the Council will terminate you as Maci’s Dream Weaver. Without a weaving assignment you’ll be forced to return to Earth.”

  No. I needed to stay, and not just to prove to everyone I was a Dreamer. My love for Maci had only grown with each passing weaving, a warmth that blossomed like a carefully tended fire. I couldn’t be taken from her now.

  “Please don’t tell the Council how badly I’m doing. I need to stay.” Surely their powers allowed them to check on my progress at any time, but perhaps if Darius refrained from informing them of my repeated failures, I’d have more time to improve.