Dreamweavers: Awakening

by P J G Robbins

disgust.

  ‘It’s impossible,’ he declared as the rest of the group shared amused glances.

  ‘Having trouble?’ came Tristram’s voice from behind them.

  Unbeknown to the group he had reappeared and taken up his previous position on the fallen tree. Now he was watching them all with keen interest.

  ‘Don’t be disheartened Billy. Few people, if any, are able to consciously Dreamweave at the first attempt. You see, Dreamweaving is something that is linked closely to your emotions and mental state. You can’t just morph something because you feel like it. You’ve got to have a real need, or at least persuade your mind that there is a real need by channelling some of your emotions into it.

  ‘Looking into that hole was not a life or death situation for me so I had to find something else to fuel the change. This being quite a simple morph, I tapped into the happiness I got from seeing my mum re-marry. She spent most of my early life in a state of selfless misery, so I was overjoyed when she could finally do something that was wholly for herself. That’s the sort of thing you need to be doing in order to make this work. Think of the outcome you desire then think of an emotion to fuel it. Try not to get distracted and just focus on what you are trying to achieve.

  ‘Now, I want you all to find a stick and give it a go. Spread out and find yourself something to work with. I’ll be round shortly to see how you are getting on. If you find it comes to you quickly and you get ejected back to the Spire feel free to jump back in for another go.’

  The ten members of the class looked uncertainly at one another, then Ryan stooped down and picked up the stick Billy had discarded.

  ‘I bet I can make this work,’ he said, waving the stick in front of his face.

  ‘I bet you can’t,’ said Billy snootily, turning on his heel and walking away from the group.

  ‘I think we’d best leave that poor bird alone,’ called out Tristram as Ryan held the stick up to the hole in the tree. ‘I think she’s had enough.’

  Disappointed, Ryan watched the rest of the class slowly drift off to various parts of the hill-top. He was at a loss as to what to do with his stick. He needed a need. Tristram hopped off the log and came over to him.

  ‘You okay buddy?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t think of anything to do with it,’ said Ryan, staring forlornly at the stick.

  ‘Well, you’ve done it before so I have every confidence in you,’ replied Tristram.

  Ryan thought for a moment.

  ‘The grappling hook?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That didn’t work out too well for me, did it?’

  ‘True, but it was an extremely tricky situation. It would have required some Physical Evolution as well to get you out of that one. Under the circumstances you did extremely well.’

  Ryan gave a small smile.

  ‘Have more of a think and I’ll come back to you in a bit,’ added Tristram, and he headed over in the direction of Frédéric, who looked like he was trying to saw a tree in half with a twig of his own.

  Ryan wandered out into the open and gazed once more out over the lands surrounding the hill. He needed to think of something. His eyes wandered across the fields and hedgerows and eventually worked their way to a wooden gate at the foot of the hill. Next to it there was a stile.

  Dad could have cleared that in a single throw, he thought.

  His father had been the county champion at the javelin and had been on course to throw for his country when a shoulder injury had ruled him out of the nationals. To equal him would be a feat indeed. He looked at the stick in his hand with a critical eye. Its aerodynamics were poor, but surely it was worth a try.

  Ryan reached back and then threw it with all his might. The stick spun end over end in an arc, before landing with barely a sound in the grass a short way down the hill. It was a long way from reaching its target.

  ‘Bugger,’ said Ryan under his breath.

  Slowly he walked down the slope to where his stick had landed. The gate at the bottom hardly looked any nearer. He picked it up and headed back feeling heavy-hearted. He had almost got there when he heard a cry from over to his left and saw a number of the other students rushing towards one of the trees atop the hill, which had burst into flame. He dropped his stick and ran to join them.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked Isabella, who was the first person he came across.

  ‘Teemu; he did it!’ she exclaimed, although Ryan couldn’t quite tell whether she was excited or upset about it.

  ‘Blimey, someone gave it a good go,’ said Tristram, arriving with a large branch dragging behind him, which he swiftly morphed into a fire hose and used to douse the blaze.

  ‘I’ll just go and check on him,’ he added, and disappeared.

  ‘Beginners’ luck?’ suggested Moira, looking at the others. They were all holding sticks that were still looking remarkably stick-like.

  ‘Probably,’ said Ryan. ‘I can’t get mine to do anything.’

  ‘Ryan! Ryan!’

  Daisy’s voice behind him made him jump.

  ‘Ryan look! I did it!’

  Ryan turned round and saw her running over carrying a sapling.

  ‘Dizz, you need to change the stick into something,’ said Ryan, throwing a bemused glance at the others.

  ‘I did,’ said Daisy, arriving triumphantly with a beaming smile on her face. ‘I turned a dead tree into a living one.’

  Ryan scratched his head.

  ‘Yeah, nice one. You can’t fool me that easily. Anyone could have pulled up a baby tree and brought it over.’

  Daisy’s smile flickered ever so slightly.

  ‘Well, I’m going to plant this one here,’ she said resolutely, heading over to the smouldering remains of the other tree and digging a small hole next to it. She placed the sapling inside and covered its roots with earth. A moment later she disappeared.

  ‘I guess she was telling the truth,’ drawled Earl, picking his nose with the end of his stick and examining the contents.

  ‘I guess so,’ said Ryan, now feeling even more disheartened.

  He left the group and headed back to the spot where he had been practising.

  ‘Right,’ he said, picking up the stick again and trying to psyche himself up for his next effort. ‘Emotions, emotions. What can I use to make this work?’

  He searched back through his recent memories for something that he could use – some sadness or anger that was pent up inside him – but he came up blank.

  ‘Come on!’ he cried out in frustration, hurling the stick down the hill. It went a short distance further than before but was still nowhere near reaching the gate.

  He swore out loud and slumped to the ground, arms crossed.

  ‘I’m never going to get this,’ he said glumly.

  ‘Sure you are,’ said Tristram, who had been watching him from a short distance away. He came over and sat down beside him.

  ‘How’s Daisy?’ asked Ryan, not really wanting to know the answer.

  ‘Oh she’s fine,’ smiled Tristram. ‘Teemu was a little shaken though, so she’s stayed behind in the training room to keep him company.’

  ‘Good for them,’ said Ryan, not meaning a word of it.

  ‘Listen Ryan, it’ll come. Just give it a few more goes and see how you get on. What are you trying to do anyway? I saw you chuck your stick away.’

  ‘My dad was really good at throwing the javelin so I was hoping I could do the same.’

  ‘Oh right. Good choice. I guess your dad would be proud of you if you could be as good as him?’

  ‘I’ll never be as good as him,’ said Ryan sulkily.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Oh he’s just Mr Perfect. Nothing I do is ever good enough.’

  Tristram thought for a moment. Then he got to his feet and headed down the hill to where Ryan’s stick had landed.

  ‘Hold that thought,’ he called out over his shoulder.

  Ryan watched him as he picked up the stick and began making
his way back up towards him. There was something about Tristram; he was the sort of person Ryan would usually have had no problem loathing. He was good looking and talented, which reminded him a lot of his dad, but his positive attitude and endless encouragement made him almost impossible not to like. Ryan got to his feet as he approached.

  ‘Okay try again, but this time try to picture your dad and what he would think if you fail to make the throw.’

  Tristram went to hand him the stick, but as Ryan reached out his hand he dropped it on the floor.

  ‘You’ll never make it,’ he sneered, turning away.

  Something clicked inside Ryan. It was the exact same tone his dad would have used. With a rising fury he picked the stick up and, with one loathsome look at Tristram, hurled it from the hilltop. Suddenly it wasn’t a stick at all, but a long spear; sleek, smooth and straight as a ruler. It sailed through the air with glorious precision and buried itself in the field some distance beyond the gate.

  Ryan stared at it open-mouthed.

  ‘Nice shot,’ said Tristram, turning to face him with a broad smile.

  ‘I… I did it,’ stammered Ryan.

  ‘Well done. By the way, have a safe landing.’

  Ryan just had time to give him a confused look before the land around him disappeared as if the grass had been pulled from under his feet.

  10

  Ryan flew out of the water and into the training room at quite a pace. He tumbled through the air and landed flat on his back, well over two metres from the pool edge. Such was the force of his return that he nearly cleared the mats they had laid out for protection. Disorientated, he lay on his back for a few moments staring up at the high, tapering ceiling.

  ‘Ryan!’ came Daisy’s familiar voice from a