Dreamworms Book 1: The Advent of Dreamtech

by Isaac Petrov

Truth. Discipline. Edda gasps as a thought strikes her mind with clarifying brutality. What is the true purpose of fear in the dreamscape where nothing can truly hurt you? Edda chuckles at the sudden realization. It is not only pain that is a mirage, is it? Fear is as well! Ximena feels Edda’s mind centering on that thought. A fucking mirage. Yes. A relic of her lizard mind.

  And it can be squashed like a spider.

  Edda’s discipline kicks in with unconscious ferocity. Her training snaps back in place, in the high layers of her mind, draining all lower emotions away in an instant flush of lucidity. Well, not all lower emotions. She keeps her anger, burning thickly under her skin, as she moves her eyes away from Yog’s suffocating proximity and scans the surrounding forest with all her senses: the great oak next to her, rising solid and tall; beyond its thick roots, the fallen pike, and a thick carpet of ferns and grasses spreading uphill to a line of birches; spotless blue skies shine over the naked canopy of the winter forest.

  “You have vanquished your fear, human servant,” Yog’s voice reverberates so close to her it threatens to drown her thoughts. “Remarkable. I can see Walker Rew’s imprint in your instruction. But how long can a human resist pain? Even dream pain?”

  Yog opens her mouth further. Ximena, and not few of her fellow students across the amphitheater, gasp at the sight of Yog’s black, wet jaws, where rows of razor-sharp teeth shake in spasms of raw desire. Edda seems to ignore the horrid vision, Ximena observes with admiration, even though a mere inch separates her tender brown flesh from that horror.

  But Edda is elsewhere now, Ximena realizes. Her thoughts have changed. They are clear now, almost as sharp as those black teeth. Fear is thankfully vanished. Now she is planning, like this were yet another wargame where she needs to muster her pieces before throwing them into battle.

  Yog buries her jaws in Edda’s throat, and rips a piece of flesh off with such savage violence that were this the wake, she would have been instantly killed.

  Edda utters a cry of piercing agony. But she skillfully hammers it away with the heavy blow of trained discipline, transforming it into naked rage before it even has a chance to fog her thoughts.

  Muster her pieces.

  Edda eyes the blue sky, shuts her eyes, and when she reopens them an instant later, a heavy overcast of dark clouds hang menacingly over the naked winter branches. They cast a dark, oppressive shadow over the forest, and gusts of stormy wind shake the foliage with brutal fury.

  Yog, still chewing Edda’s meat, raises her head at the sudden change, but keeps munching the bloody meat in slow, focused delight. Oh, how Edda hates the arrogant bitch! Ximena feels her own blood boiling.

  Edda eyes the pike lying harmlessly nearby, and her will raises it over the ground, where it floats hesitantly as it begins to rotate, and to aim. Then, Edda’s will unleashes it forward like a whip, driving its iron tip deep into the oak’s bark.

  “You did miss, human,” Yog says. She is not so distracted as it seems, Ximena thinks. “And had you not, the canceling of wills should have—”

  It happens so fast—just two glances—that Yog doesn’t have time to react. Edda’s first look goes towards the pike that sticks out of the damaged oak next to her. The pike’s wood turns into solid iron.

  Throw them into battle.

  Edda directs her second look at the sky, which shatters into a sudden spark of lightning that hits the iron pike in an instant, cracking the oak open in a deafening explosion.

  The wind does the rest, blowing the enormous trunk forward, tipping it towards Edda and Yog, casting a growing shadow over them. Until it falls hard over their legs, trapping them both with agonizing certitude.

  Yog seems shocked by the sudden turn of events, as she initially doesn’t react.

  Edda scans the fallen trunk and grabs a long, thin branch sticking out at the end of her reach. She tears it out, splits it in two, and keeps the half with the sharpest end.

  As Edda removes the last rests of foliage from the stick with her bare hands, the heavy trunk lifts off the ground, and accelerates upwards.

  It’s Yog! Ximena realizes. She’s using her will to escape!

  But Edda reacts almost instantly, applying her own will across the trunk like a balm on a wound. The canceling of wills destroys Yog’s hold on the trunk, which falls down precipitously for the second time.

  Both Yog and Edda remain next to each other, firmly trapped under the insufferable weight. Edda is gaping in silence and sheer agony, trying to gather the last threads of discipline. Ximena wonders what is passing through Yog’s mind as the alien turns her white eyes towards Edda. It must be as painful to Yog as it is to Edda, Ximena thinks, and the hatred that they share against the arrogant mare is so intense that Ximena finds the thought disturbingly sweet.

  “You act like a fucking vampire,” Edda says between heavy breaths, as she leans over the alien with her upper body, “you end like a fucking vampire.” She drives the stick—or stake, for that is what it is now—deep into Yog’s chest, and stares wide-eyed at the wound, panting, as transparent fluids begin to spurt out.

  “Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew says, “this exercise has concluded. Do stand down and drop your will.”

  Edda cannot hear her—does not want to. Hatred pumps in her ears like it has a voice of its own. She takes the stake out and readies herself to stab anew.

  “Redeemed van Dolah!” Rew’s voice sounds demanding, filled with abnormal intensity. Even emotion. Ximena has never heard that before, not from Rew, not from any other mare. “Stand down this instant!”

  A memory of the fight as it began flashes through Edda’s mind. Goah’s Mercy, it feels like it happened hours ago. Yog was standing far afield, and Edda was shooting arrows at her. The memory sharpens around Yog’s arms. They moved then—didn’t they?—covering her abdomen in an instinctive rush. It was just a reflex, yes, but reflexes carry the logic of physiology.

  “Taste wood, bitch!” She puts her weight on the stake and thrusts it rabidly into Yog’s abdomen.

  “Redeemed—!” Before Rew can complete the call, Yog disappears, leaving behind nothing but the wooden stake laying in a puddle of transparent gore on the grass.

  Edda laughs loudly, almost maniacally. She jumps to her feet, sending the enormous trunk tumbling in the air. The pain in her legs disappears. Oh, the relief! Even fury flees her now.

  She turns to Rew, eyes beaming. “Can you believe it, Elder Rew? I won!”

  “I do fear that your win over Overseer Yog shall be detrimental to your chances of reaching the Path in the Shadow, Redeemed van Dolah.”

  “What?” Edda frowns. “Why?!”

  “I do fear that Overseer Yog might not take kindly to what you have done to her.”

  “What I did to her? I just did what you asked me to do! I fought the bitch—and won, Goah’s Mercy! Fair and square. I sent her whining back to the wake, yeah?”

  “I do fear you have done much more than that.”

  “What? Oh, did I hurt her pride?” Edda snorts and spreads her arms wide. “Aren’t you mensas looking for the leanest and meanest humans to Walk the Paths?” She places her left hand on her hip and waves her right hand theatrically at herself. “This is it.”

  “You do fail to understand, Redeemed van Dolah. It is not Overseer Yog’s pride that you have hurt.”

  “Yeah, no. Don’t get it,” she says, frowning and shaking her head. “What have I hurt?”

  Rew doesn’t reply immediately. And when she does, her voice reverberates slower, carefully modulated, giving Ximena the distinct impression that she is measuring every word. “We marai are not only creatures of the wake, like you humans are. We are also creatures of the mind—of the psyche. On one hand, we do live in the wake, and can die in the wake, just like you and the rest of your fellow Earth creatures do. But on the other hand, Redeemed van Dolah, we also do live in the dreamscape.”

  “What are you saying?” Edda asks. Then she gasps as it sinks in. “Did I kill her? I mean, for g
ood?!”

  “Overseer Yog still does possess two remaining limbs. It was very fortunate indeed that she is not single-limbed like I myself am. I shall try to repair the damage that you have inflicted on your prospects. But losing a limb is traumatic to an extreme a human cannot comprehend. I know from experience as once, I was two.”

  “Goah’s fucking Mercy,” Edda mutters slowly, her thoughts still lost in the unnerving implications of what Rew is saying. Oh, Goah has Mercy, it was… an accident! I never intended to kill the gatekeeper that can grant or deny me the power to stop Dad’s Joyousday! The best chance I had, and I just… She draws a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. In vain. “But… Why in Goah’s Name did she insist on fighting with me, if she could be killed all along? That makes no sense!”

  “It does not indeed, Redeemed van Dolah. Alas, not all marai are as wise as they ought to be.”

  Twenty-Two

  Elders

  “Okay, people,” Professor Miyagi says. “Moving now to the 21st of December 2399. We are about to see firsthand the happy family life of Willem van Dolah. Yes, his daughter Edda included.” He snorts, stretches a hand theatrically to the distance and speaks with mock intensity, “Oh, how blessed he surely felt, engulfed in the delights of home and family on those his last weeks on Earth.”

  Ximena and her peers raise their curious heads at the scene materializing across the amphitheater: a spacious kitchen, colonial style, merging in cozy harmony with the dining area in a space meant to be lived in by the entire family.

  “I am sorry to interrupt, my dear professor.” Censor Smith stands with a polite smile and raises a finger at the floating scene. Ank freezes it in place by throwing a casual gesture at Bob. “Did I hear you say, this is the 21st of December?”

  “Yes.” Professor Miyagi’s smile is equally polite.

  “The evening, I suppose?”

  Miyagi nods. “Right after dinner. The Eleven Days of Light begin today. Yes, I know, most people now prefer to begin the Light festivities right away in big, public parties, but back then every good, pious Goahn family would spend aws Gift Eve in close quarters, reviewing the family affairs of the closing year and planning for the next.”

  “A heartwarming tradition that many still observe,” Censor Smith says, “at least in the Goah’s Imperia of the Americas. But,” he clears his throat, “if I may be so blunt, this is the same night where the last Trial of Worth and Soul begins, is it not? That surely is more interesting for our dear students than, excuse me, Professor, a boring family meeting. Would it be too much to ask to skip a few scenes of your wonderful dreamsenso?”

  Miyagi purses his lips and regards Censor Smith in silence for a brief moment. “I see where you are coming from. But this is a history seminar, and history is all about context.” He points a finger at the scene floating over his head. “What we’re going to watch now is context at its best.”

  “Context,” Censor Smith repeats with a polite nod. “I appreciate historical context, my dear professor. Of course I do, but there is not really much to learn in this specific case, is there?”

  “Well, you surely agree that Edda van Dolah’s role is central to the events that culminate in the Leap-Day Reformation. Understanding her inner drive, especially on these last days, right before the Century Festival, is,” he shrugs, hands spread, “crucial historical context.”

  “Indeed, it is, Professor, but our students already know all the context that there is to know about Edda van Dolah’s divine drive.”

  Censor Smith has a point, Ximena thinks, half nodding. Everything they have seen so far about Edda has been, yes, fascinating. And the psych-link has made it so… intimate. But at this point, Ximena feels like she already knows her as well as a sister. And she also knows—who doesn’t?—what she’s about to do on the world stage.

  “Right,” Miyagi says, sweeping a glance across the GIA benches, where many students nod and exchange murmurs of approval. “Can I nevertheless ask for your indulgence in this one instance, Censor Smith?” He turns to gesture at the silent, colorful display of Lundev students covering the other, larger, part of the amphitheater. “You see, our Lundev students are unfortunately not as… acquainted with Edda van Dolah’s legacy as they ought to be.”

  Mark shifts his weight next to Ximena, mumbling something. Ximena tries not to laugh.

  Miyagi’s smile widens. “They would for sure profit from the extra context. It won’t take long, I promise.”

  Censor Smith nods slowly, puts his hands together and says, “Of course, my dear professor. Of course. Goah forbid our dear fellow Lundev colleagues remain behind.” He sits and makes a gracious wave with his right hand. “Please proceed.”

  Miyagi winks at Ank, and the floating kitchen comes to life through all Ximena’s senses. The lingering scents of roasted fish and vegetables strike her first, followed by the warmth of the open fire in the corner. Ximena feels almost at home; it is not quite unlike her own kitchen during the Eleven Days. It is already dark outside the window, but not inside as the Light Days’ decorations already glow and twinkle with electric predictability in multicolor display across walls and ceiling.

  But the undisputed centerpiece of the room is of course the massive wooden table where the family gathers and dines together. After-dinner tea is already on the table, in delicate porcelain cups—mint, Ximena gathers from a whiff. Four candles, neatly set in a line in the center of the table, illuminate the faces of three people with soothing radiance: a man, a boy and a toddler.

  “Goah’s Mercy, what’s taking her so long?” Bram asks, rocking the baby chair with a gentle touch, Hans placidly sleeping through his second ever aws Gift Eve.

  Willem takes a sip of tea, and then, as he places the cup back on the table, he throws a patient look at the wooden door that leads to the main hall.

  As if on cue, Edda pushes the door open with her elbow. She enters with a plant pot in her hands on which she keeps her eyes reverentially locked as she approaches table. It is a cactus plant. Willem stands and shuts the door while Edda slowly puts the pot down—like it were made of glass—on the unoccupied chair at the head of the table. A steaming cup of tea awaits, untouched, in front of that chair.

  Willem and Edda take their usual places without a word. Bram’s expression seems heavier now.

  They eye each other with pursed lips, stretching the silence, until Willem finally breaks it with a deep sigh. “Let’s begin.”

  The three sink their heads and shut their eyes.

  “Bless the taker of this humble Gift,” Willem says.

  “Goah’s Word,” Edda and Bram reply with formulaic intonation.

  “Bless the giver,” Willem says.

  “Fahey’s Word,” Edda and Bram say together.

  They raise their heads slowly. Edda and Bram regard their father in silence, while Willem takes another calm sip from his cup.

  “The year 2399 comes to an end,” he says. “I think all in all it was a good year, wouldn’t you agree? We successfully closed Bram’s dowry bond with Isabella Zegers, the fertilization was a success and we might soon pick up a Van Dolah baby girl from aws Womb.” His voice has softened, his eyes smiling with hope.

  “The baby can still be a boy,” Bram says. Ximena leans forward to take a closer look at him. I bet Willem looked just like him when he was thirteen, Ximena thinks, except Bram’s face is broader, and his eyes have a lighter tone of brown. He’s got more of the gentle intellectual look than even Willem with his round glasses.

  “If the baby goes to the Zegers,” Willem says, “you both keep looking for good dowry bonds with other families until we get our girl. It is imperative,” he points a finger at both of them, “that you get Hans a sister. As soon as possible. I suggest you approach the Speeses,” Willem and Bram turn their eyes to Edda. “It’s a good family, we already have close personal ties, and Aline is still unredeemed.”

  Willem appears to wait for a reply from Edda, but she returns his gaze in sullen silen
ce.

  “Fine, Dad,” Bram finally says. “Problem is we also have a sudden shortage of,” he clears his throat, “karma.”

  “Yes,” Willem sighs, and turns his stern eyes at Edda. “That incident on the Joyousday House was… unfortunate. But it is what it is. There’s nothing we can do about it anymore. You will just have to make do with less. Good news is, you won’t be needing as much once I…” His voice wanes, and an uncomfortable silence spreads.

  Bram clears his throat. “Shouldn’t we then try to dowry-bind a more, hmm, wealthy family?”

  “Aline not good enough for you?” Edda says, her icy voice almost a whisper.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Bram says. “It’s just that—”

  “At this point,” Edda says, “it’s not even likely the Speese Elders would consider dowry-bonding with us, and you are thinking of, what, the Haacks? The Sievers?” She snorts dryly. “We are stained right now. We have to wait it out.”

  “And who do we thank for that?” Bram says, a notch louder, eyes drilling Edda’s.

  “Hush!” Willem says, and gestures with his head at the sleeping Hans. “This is aws Gift’s Eve. Tonight, we show respect and civility to the family.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Bram mutters, still glaring at Edda. “Let’s just hope the baby is a girl.”

  “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Both of you keep your eyes open to how our reputation develops throughout the year. You need to be smart, yeah? Smarter than ever. Can you do that?” He looks alternatively at his kids, but his eyes linger longer on Edda’s.

  “I can’t stand it, Dad,” she says with a shrill voice. “Stop talking like you are not here anymore.”

  Willem and Bram exchange a long look. Then Willem sighs and Bram sinks his head.

  “I will not be, girl,” Willem says, his tone soft and measured.

  “Coward,” she says, venom in her voice.

  The word hangs heavy in the kitchen, spreading slowly in the minted air.

  “In the next weeks,” Willem finally speaks, his voice as slow and patient as ever, “I’ll be going often to the colonist’s office at aws Eye. There’s a lot of paperwork to complete and it would be good if one of you comes with me.”