by James Erith
‘We’ll do our best,’ Daisy said enthusiastically.
Isabella felt an opportunity. ‘But what about the storm, sir,’ she cut in. ‘If it breaks there’s going to be a disaster. I just know it.’
Solomon’s friendly manner evaporated. ‘Isabella, we have already discussed this matter. There is no way I will let a little bit of rain ruin the chances of glory for the team and the school. Do you understand?’
‘But—’
‘No buts. After so many years of service, I cannot possibly see how a small, localised storm will make the slightest difference. The river has flooded once in the twenty-five years I have been with the school. They may just have to play in the rain and get a little wet. It’s as simple as that.’ He smiled at them and headed out of the oak door.
Isabella wasn’t finished. ‘But, sir,’ she exclaimed, ‘I’ve looked at pressure charts and ...’
The door closed in her face and Mr Solomon’s footsteps could be heard tapping over the big stone flags outside.
Old Man Wood drew the bolt across the door. ‘What a nice man,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about what he said. You’re doing well at school and you’re fit and healthy and you’re polite and you’ve got friends – what more could you want, eh? Talented littleuns, aren’t you. Now, off to bed, the lot of you.’
A rumble of thunder boomed high up in the night sky. Old Man Wood sniffed the air. ‘Something tells me tomorrow is going to be a big, big day.’
12
The Dreamspinners
If the three children had awoken and brushed the sleep out of their eyes and read the clock on the wall it would have told them that it was shortly after two in the morning. But they wouldn’t wake, not now, for their sleep was long and deep. It was the night-hour of dreaming.
Four dreamspinners, like the one Archie had seen over Daisy, arrived in a pinprick of a flash. The flash they made wasn’t a flash any human could see, but to the dreamspinners it was a tiny, intense, burst of energy. They had come to see Genesis, the eldest dreamspinner, give the last part of the Prophecy of Eden – the Tripodean Dream – the final part of the most important dream ever created.
Using their eight delicate legs banded with grey, each dreamspinner picked its way over an invisible grid on the air until they were suspended above the children. At a glance, dreamspinners are nothing more than huge spiders with four slender legs on each side and bulbous bodies. Look a moment longer and they are curiously like angels fashioned out of mist.
But if you ever found yourself in the unlikely position of staring for longer, you’d find the body texture was clear – like a jellyfish – and from their middle, or maghole, tiny streaks of lightning radiated in wave after wave of blue and white forks. This maghole could expand and contract, making the dreamspinner larger or smaller as it wished. And it was through this that a dreamspinner could invert to any place it wished, almost instantly.
Above the maghole, a wiry tubular neck connected the body to a small head the size of a clear, white orange. On each face were three jet black eyes the size of quails eggs and in the recess beneath the middle eye – in place of a nose – was a dent, as if a tiny scoop of ice cream had been cut out. There was no mouth, well certainly nothing the children or anyone else would call a mouth, just a tiny slit the size of the edge of a penny coin.
If the children had woken, opened their eyes and looked up, they would have seen the old oak beams holding up the roof above and the dangling lamp with its musty-coloured lampshade and the curtains and drapes that hung across their sections: the dreamspinners would not exist. To human eyes – they are completely invisible.
And neither can they be heard. The children would have caught only the gentle noises of the night outside; the rustle of leaves, or the scurrying of a mouse but never, ever, a dreamspinner.
Genesis was the largest and oldest dreamspinner. She had spun more dreams than she could remember, right back to the beginnings of modern humans, but she knew her time was up – death creeps up on a dreamspinner just as it does on every organism. When the moment arrived, it had taken her by surprise; she had flashed into human view in the midst of offering a dream. It was unthinkable. Her end was close at hand.
How could this have happened? And why when she was delivering the most crucial dream in memory? Genesis could hardly bear to think about it. How had she grown so old and not noticed? Where had the time gone? Was this the cruel way in which old age announced itself; by failures in routines, failures of body parts – failures that could ruin everything?
Genesis counted her blessings that it hadn’t happened a moment earlier, for she was the only one who knew how to spin the Tripodean Dream – the dream that showed the Prophecy of Eden. She touched the burn marks where the boy’s eyes had looked upon her. The pain was bearable. Now all that remained was the final part of the Tripodean Dream and then the Prophecy would be told. It was the last dream she would ever give.
Genesis studied each of her eight delicate claws one by one, as if paying homage to them for their service. For the first time she noted the wear; the way so many had turned grey where once they were bright white, how her slender knuckles and joints were worn down to delicate slivers of hardened bone.
As she seamlessly morphed each claw from needle to duster to holder and back to a claw, she was filled with a deep sense of foreboding. What if the Heirs don’t understand the dreams of the Prophecy, then what? She shivered at the thought. Nature would never allow them to survive, she knew that much. And what if Cain reappeared?
Putting her thoughts aside, she sent out vibrations to the waiting dreamspinners, Gaia, Janana and Asgard. She felt them approach. ‘You are here to witness the last part of the Tripodean Dream, for there must be no doubting it. Their sleep pattern is deep and flowing. I am ready.’ Her communication was done through the tiny vibrations of her legs, as if she were signing like a deaf person: each movement having a meaning.
Genesis moved her spidery frame deftly through the air as though walking on top of invisible threads. Dropping her head and two slender legs into her electrical middle – her maghole – she pulled out microscopic-sized granules of powder. Momentarily, she was mesmerised by them. Fragments that hold so much power, she thought, realising that power was the wrong word. They were far more than that; they were the opportunity of life itself.
Taking one last deep breath, Genesis positioned herself so that four of her long opaque legs dangled down either side of Isabella’s sleeping head like anchors, holding her steady for the dream she was about to deliver. Her other four legs moved freely by Isabella’s lips, ready in anticipation.
With her ovate jet-black eyes, Genesis stared at the girl. Instinctively she began to feel the rhythm of her breathing.
‘Child,’ she thought, ‘interpret this dream as best you can for all our sakes. Try to understand. Try to make the right choices.’
Then, just as Isabella inhaled, two claws spun at amazing speeds, releasing a fine powder directly into her mouth, the dust being drawn deep into her lungs.
Genesis plucked more blue, red and yellow powders from within her maghole and then, at exactly the right moment and in precisely the correct amounts, the dreamspinner lowered her silky legs towards the child’s mouth and once again filtered the dream powders to the sleeping girl.
Years of experience had taught her to understand every slight frown and flicker, every twitch and groan. After every breath, Genesis stopped and gauged her reaction, making tiny adjustments to the rate of powder in proportion to the volume of air drawn in.
So far, so good, thought Genesis. Already she tosses and turns; the dream powders must have entered her mind and now she begins her lucid and vivid journey. Nothing will wake her.
With the dream complete, Genesis walked through the air across the dark room and settled above Daisy, where she repeated the procedure, scrutinising every movement, looking for signals, making sure that everything was perfect.
Finally, it was Archi
e’s turn. Genesis had noted the strong, intense reactions of the boy, similar perhaps to those of the Ancient Woman. But his haunting, wailing cries were like those of someone else. Someone she’d hardly dared make the comparison with. Was it really so like Cain?
Genesis studied the reaction of the children, noticing that the noises they made were not just the anguished, crazed cries of their previous dreams, although these might come later. These were sounds that exuded certainty and confidence; Daisy laughing, Archie smiling, Isabella’s face beaming with happiness.
Maybe the final part of the Tripodean Dream was a reassurance that it would be worth the trouble ahead. She dipped a slender leg into her maghole. After all, she thought, there must be hope as well as fear.
Genesis, tired and aching, climbed into the middle of the room and addressed the dreamspinners, her legs flicking with subtle, silent vibrations.
‘As you also know,’ she said as she picked her way towards Isabella, ‘the Tripodean Dream comes with a gift – a special gift – for each Heir of Eden.’ She dipped two sylph-like legs into her maghole and withdrew them, studying the ends. ‘These crystals were passed to me before my mother died, as once they were handed to her. Their purpose? To help those who seek the rebirth of the Garden of Eden.’
She noted a strong vibration from Asgard but ignored him. ‘If the Heirs of Eden succeed in the tasks set before them and open the Garden of Eden,’ she said, ‘the stock of spider web dream powders will be replenished and wondrous dreams may begin afresh for all life on Earth. However, if Eden is not reborn, the dreams of hope, wonder and creativity, the dreams that offer a spark of life, will vanish. Everything in the living worlds will alter—’
‘Why do we meddle?’ Asgard snapped, his legs moving quickly, the vibrations aggressive and powerful. ‘If the Tripodean Dream had not been spun, who is to say that life would not continue – and besides, your Tripodean Dream has been given to mere children of man. These riddles were made by Adam when he was strong and powerful, a wizard at the height of his powers. Children are not equipped to tackle what lies ahead; the storm will tear them to pieces, they will not survive. Furthermore I am sure they do not seek, or even know of, the Garden of Eden—’
‘This is not the time to argue the rights or wrongs of it,’ Genesis interrupted, her vibrations overriding his. ‘The time has come for change. These children are the Heirs of Eden whether they like it or not, marked by their blood and their birth.’ She stretched out two legs and slowly drew them in. ‘It is up to the Heirs of Eden alone to interpret the dreams that I have given them.
‘And when the sky bursts and the thunderbolts rain down upon them, our lives and the lives of every living thing are in their hands, whether they like it or not.’
Genesis let her words sink in. ‘The Prophecy tells that if they fail, rain will fall for forty of their days and forty of their nights. It will rain with such purpose that few on the planet will survive. The fabric of the planet will change.’
Genesis shifted uneasily. ‘To succeed, the Heirs of Eden must outwit the storm and seek out the tablets of Eden. Using their minds, their strength and their skills they will prove that mankind is ready for a new time. It is our role to herald in this new cycle of life, whichever way it falls. It begins now with these gifts.’
Genesis’ silvery-grey, ghost-like body now sat directly above Isabella’s sleeping face, her maghole emitting blue shards of light over Isabella’s pale face.
There was a deep silence, broken only by the child’s gentle breathing.
Quietly, Genesis began:
‘For the eldest, yellow spider web powder – for hands and feet. Hands that guide, heal and lead. With swift feet for running.’
She transformed the claw-end of one of her legs into a needle so long it was like a slither of pure ice melting into nothing. With it she injected a tiny yellow speck into the soft flesh between thumb and finger on each of Isabella’s hands. Moving down Isabella’s body, she repeated the action on her ankles, the needle entering the tender skin by her Achilles’ heels.
As she withdrew the needle, Genesis noted a buzz of electric-blue energy that flowed through and over the girl’s sleeping body. The gifts are undamaged by time, she thought.
Without hesitating, Genesis walked across the night air and was above Daisy, moving directly over her face. As she extended her legs she signed again, the vibrations clear to the onlookers:
‘Blue spider web powder, for eyes to see when blackness falls and ears to hear the smallest of sounds. With eyes so sharp and ears so keen, she will understand what others do not hear or see.’
A minuscule blue crystal fragment sat at the very tip of the needle. With astonishing precision she injected the tiny fragments through the delicate tissues of Daisy’s closed eyelids into the retinas of her eyeballs. Then, with two of her other legs anchoring her abdomen, she carefully slid two needles down Daisy’s ear canals and injected the crystals directly into her eardrums. On the withdrawal of the needle, Genesis noted again that Daisy fizzed momentarily with the strange electrical current.
So skilful was her technique that other than the gentle rise and fall of their chests, Isabella and Daisy did not flicker a muscle.
Now it was the boy’s turn; the one she dreaded most. She sensed other spider legs vibrating nervously nearby. She stretched out a limb and drew it slowly back in.
‘Dreamspinners,’ she announced. ‘The first of his gifts is to his heart. When the needle leaves it will trigger a reaction that will herald the start of the quest to open the Garden of Eden. From this moment forth, the clouds will deepen and build with rain. We do not know what will happen.’
Her vibrations were like a whisper. ‘There must be absolute quiet.’
Genesis stood above Archie’s chest, which heaved in front of her with his every deep breath. A roll of thunder drummed high above them as she steadied herself and recalled the previous gifts.
‘Yellow for hands and feet,’ she said. ‘Blue to hear and see, but red is the one – for heart and mind – for strength – and understanding what may be.’
With her limbs aching, Genesis galvanised herself for one final effort.
‘Red spider web powder, a gift of power, when strength is needed.’
And, on the word “strength”, Genesis thrust her claw with the needle high into the air.
She paused and steadied herself, marking the exact spot on his chest where she would thrust it in.
She shut her eyes.
The needle swept down and pierced the boy’s heart. His body fizzed with blue energy. Genesis held it as long as she dared, making sure every last little speck of spider web powder was injected. As she withdrew the needle, a terrific thunderbolt rattled the cottage.
Genesis trembled. Nature had awoken.
A sign from one of the other dreamspinners confirmed her suspicions that his sleep waves were changing. But a strange feeling filled her. A feeling of exposure, a feeling she had felt only once before. ‘No!’ she cried out, ‘not my invisibility!’
She concentrated hard on the boy. I must finish this, she thought. She dipped her leg into her maghole and withdrew her final gift. ‘Red spider web powder,’ she vibrated quickly. ‘The first for strength – another for courage.’
A minuscule red fragment flashed into the tender flesh beneath Archie’s chin. But before she could complete the task, she heard a gasp and felt a movement.
A burning pain seared into her.
Instantly her legs retracted as she looked up. In front of her, on a face contorted by fear, were Archie’s large brown eyes – staring directly back at her.
A short while after this, candlelight filtered in to the corridor and a soft light spread through the door into the attic room. In rushed Mrs Pye, out of breath, her flame-red hair hanging down to her waist, her small sharp eyes accentuated by the glow of the candle.
‘Goodness me! Oh my little Arch,’ she said rushing over to him, ‘I never heard such a terrible scream in
all my life. I thought you might have died.’ She looked over him lovingly, wiping away the sweat on his brow.
‘I ... I had the strangest dream, Mrs P. I swear, I was about to be stabbed by ... by a terrible eyeless ghost—’
‘Is that right?’ Mrs Pye said softly, ‘and eyeless as well?’
‘It had a hole in its middle—’
‘Well, well, I never. Now, I think you’re old enough to know better than to be troubling yourself with all that bunkum,’ she continued as she helped him back to bed. ‘Come now. Time to get yourself back to sleep.’
Mrs Pye sat on the edge of his bed and cradled him. She stroked his cheek tenderly as Archie closed his eyes. Then she lowered his head onto his pillow.
A gentle, faraway tune that blended with the rhythmical sounds of sleep came to her – the song that had once been sung to her by Old Man Wood – and she hummed it quietly, the music soft and soothing.
Before long, Archie’s breathing slowed and he returned to a deep slumber.
Mrs Pye kissed the young boy on the forehead. What was it, she thought, about this funny young boy; so scruffy, so underrated, so sensitive.
So utterly adorable.
Watching from the ceiling, her invisible status functioning once more, Genesis the dreamspinner was relieved that the final dream had run smoothly, even if Archie might have missed out on the final part of his Gift of Eden. If the children failed, would the blame be levelled at her?
Only time would tell.
Genesis drew her legs together and took comfort in the warm glow of electrical current that sprayed over her abdomen and nursed her burns where the boy’s eyes had seared into her.
She wondered about the Tripodean Dream. Maybe Asgard was right; maybe the whole thing was foolish. And although she dared not admit it openly, she knew perfectly well this undertaking had never been designed for the children of man.