That’s when I heard it. Someone was singing.
It was the voice I had noticed in the dreamscape before. This time, though, it wasn’t off in the distance. It was close by, just over the dreamer’s shoulder. She turned and moved toward it. Her heart leaped, and I knew this was what she had been searching for.
She hurried past the doors and down the mountain. The path was familiar, worn smooth by footsteps from a hundred dreams. She walked more quickly, then began to run. Something was up ahead, and it filled her with joy. She rounded a turn and came to a lake. Beside it sat the dreamer.
Her features glowed as if she were golden, as if she came from the sun. It hurt to gaze at her, but I couldn’t look away. Her head was thrown back, and she was singing. Her voice throbbed and pulsed like a living thing. It jumped. It danced. It filled the sky. It was terrifying, and it was beautiful.
With a feeling of absolute rightness, the dreamer approached the singer and stepped inside. Two became one—dreamer and dream, singer and song.
There was a job to do. I had to stop her from singing and eliminate the music. For the good of the Plan. For the good of the group.
I couldn’t do it.
9
Callie
I woke up singing.
It was the oddest feeling—new but old, familiar yet utterly strange. I didn’t know I was a singer, but I was singing.
My voice was strong. It was beautiful. Where had it been all these years? How could I have held it inside? It was gushing out like water over a dam, and there was no way to stop it. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
I pulled back the covers and sprang out of bed, singing as I went. My room seemed bigger. The details were more vivid. I went to the window and looked out. The City was bustling as usual, but today it made sense, as if there might be a reason for it all.
Someone knocked on the door. “Is that you?” called my father.
I threw it open and gave him a hug. “It’s me. It’s really me.”
He pulled back and stared at me. There was fear in his eyes. “Why were you singing?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I like it.”
I took a deep breath and began to sing again. I didn’t know what the song was. Maybe it didn’t matter.
When I stopped, my father shifted uncomfortably. “Callie, we can’t have music. You know that.”
“Why not? It makes me feel good.”
When he turned away, I went to my closet to get dressed. It contained a few clothes we had bought from the weavers—simple, dark clothes made to work in, not to distract. Reaching to the back of the closet, I pulled out a shirt that was bright yellow, the color of daffodils. My mother had bought it for me one year on my birthday. Almost embarrassed to look at it, she had told me it was for special occasions.
I got dressed and went out to the kitchen, where my mother was putting breakfast on the table. When she saw me, she dropped a plate. It crashed to the floor, scattering eggs and bread.
“That shirt,” she said.
I grinned. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
I knelt and cleaned up the spill, singing all the while. I sang for the joy of food and the kindness of my mother and the pleasure of being alive. When I finished, I saw my parents huddled together, listening.
“Stop,” said my mother. “Please.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I don’t want to.”
After breakfast, my father walked me to work, and I sang. People crossed the street to avoid me, but I didn’t care. My father cringed, and I laughed.
“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s great.”
“It’s dangerous,” he said.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, and I realized it was because he couldn’t. He’d been told music was dangerous—all of us had—but no one had said why. The danger was more a feeling than a thought, and I wondered where it came from.
“Just be careful,” he told me finally. He kissed me good-bye, and we headed off to our jobs.
Inside the computing center, I sang as I worked. A little while later, the manager came to see me.
“Would you like to talk?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
She didn’t understand. Who could blame her? After all, she was a computer. And suddenly, in a flash, I knew that I wasn’t.
At the break, I went outside and sang. People stared and edged away from me, but I barely noticed. A moment later, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a familiar voice.
“Callie?”
It was Eleesha. Behind her were Juanita and Pam.
“I didn’t know you were a singer,” said Eleesha.
“I didn’t either,” I said.
Pam gazed at me. “I like your shirt.”
Juanita elbowed her.
“Well, I do,” said Pam.
Eleesha was watching me. “You seem happy.”
“Like we are when we paint,” said Pam.
“I am,” I said. “Today I’m happy.”
Juanita said, “We haven’t seen you since that night. Where have you been?”
It was true. I’d been avoiding them, afraid that the catcher would see us again and tell my father. But how could I explain that to Juanita without giving away Eleesha’s secret? I saw Eleesha watching me, shifting nervously.
Finally I shrugged. “I get scared when it’s dark.”
“The darkness is exciting,” said Pam. “It’s lovely.”
Eleesha brightened. “We’ll be back at the Midway tonight. Would you like to come? You can sing while we paint.”
It sounded wonderful. Suddenly, imagining an evening of color and music, all my worries seemed foolish.
“I’d like that,” I told her.
I made dinner that night, the way I always did, except this time I sang. My mother came into the kitchen, concerned.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Why do people keep asking me that?”
She slid over to the counter where I was cutting up the ingredients for a salad. Putting her arm around me, she rested her head on my shoulder.
“Callie, we love you. We want the best for you.”
“The singing is fine, Mom. I know it. I can feel it.”
After dinner, my father and I washed the dishes. I decided not to sing, because I could see that it was upsetting him. Besides, there would be plenty of time for music later at the Midway.
When the sun set, I kissed my parents good night and headed for my room. I was planning to be up late, so I stretched out on my bed to take a nap before leaving.
I woke up an hour later. The house was dark and silent. I knew my parents were asleep.
I rose and sat on the edge of the bed. I noticed the sleeve of my yellow shirt. The color seemed garish.
I thought of Eleesha and remembered her invitation. I pictured the three girls painting by the light of a lantern and tried to imagine myself sitting beside them, singing. Just a few hours before, it had seemed mysterious and exciting. Now it was null, blank, void—zero, as we say in the computing center.
Singing? Sneaking away? Leaving my warm, cozy bed?
What could I have been thinking?
10
Jeremy
“You did what?”
Arthur’s eyes blazed. He gripped my arm. I wouldn’t have guessed he was so strong.
“I decided not to bend her dream,” I said. “It was so beautiful.”
It was the following night, and Arthur had come back to check on me.
“Beautiful?” he said. “Of course it was beautiful. What’s that got to do with it?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to change it. I thought maybe…I don’t know. Maybe the Plan was wrong.”
He let go of my arm. “This is my fault. I
wasn’t strict enough. You were so gifted. I thought you’d understand.”
“Understand what?” I asked.
“We don’t question the Plan. We do it. That’s all.”
“It’s created by people,” I said. “People make mistakes.”
Arthur sighed. “It’s not a question of mistakes. It’s about patterns. The watchers don’t just make them up or decide on a whim. We don’t flip a coin. The patterns are woven over months and years. Each decision is based on the ones before it, and the next decision on that one.”
“But you have a choice, don’t you? You could change things.”
“Within limits. But not outside the Plan.”
“If we never change the pattern, life keeps going straight down the path. Tomorrow is like today. Today is like yesterday. What kind of world is that?”
“A solid one,” said Arthur. “A safe one.”
“A dull one,” I said.
Arthur grunted. “You would have liked the Warming. There was plenty of excitement then.”
“Look, Arthur, I let her sing. Is that really so bad?”
“It was music!”
The look in his eyes was the same one I’d seen in Dorothy’s. To me, music was beautiful. To them, it was frightening.
Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “We’re about to find out how bad it is. You have to appear before the Council.”
If you didn’t look closely, it would seem like an ordinary sort of place. It was a little cottage on the island, with green shutters and stone walls. Who would have guessed that, night after night, it was where the watchers decided the fate of the world?
Arthur took me there in one of the boats. It was a trip I had always wanted to make, but not under these circumstances.
“Just tell them the truth,” Arthur said as we rowed. “It’s all you can do.”
We pulled the boat up onto the island and made the short walk to the cottage, where Arthur opened the door and motioned me inside. The place seemed bigger than it did from the outside. We were in a room with windows along two sides. The walls were dotted with lamps, and at one end of the room was a fireplace with flames that fluttered up the chimney but didn’t seem to heat the room. In the center was a large, flat table with a few chairs. A big sheet of paper had been spread across the table, and pencils were scattered nearby.
I whispered to Arthur, “Is that—”
He nodded. “The Plan. The one for tonight.”
Two watchers, a man and woman, leaned over the table and spoke in low voices. Others circled around, talking among themselves, taking notes on clipboards, occasionally checking with the man and woman. The watchers would nod and write something on their clipboards, then move off past a neatly printed sign on the wall.
Never meet the dreamer.
Never harm the dreamer.
Always follow the Plan.
At the end of the table was another sheet of paper that had been rolled up and tied with string. As we watched, a man came by and picked it up. Carrying it to the fireplace, he opened the screen and set the paper inside, where it smoked, then burst into flame. The other watchers stopped what they were doing and gazed into the fire until the paper had disappeared up the chimney.
“That was last night’s Plan,” Arthur explained.
“Why did he burn it?” I asked.
“Today is paper. Tomorrow is fire. Yesterday is smoke.”
I had heard the expression since I was little. Now I knew where it came from.
“It’s a tradition,” said Arthur. “It reminds us that we shouldn’t dwell on the past.”
I had another thought but didn’t say it. Burning the Plan kept the work secret. If no one saw it, they couldn’t ask questions about it.
After a few minutes, the woman at the table looked up and smiled. “Hello, Arthur.” Turning to me, she said, “You must be Jeremy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Arthur had told me to be polite. Dreambenders always were, he said, out of respect for one another and for the job.
“Follow me, please,” said the woman.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To the Council chamber.”
Growing up, my friends and I had learned about the Council. We knew there were three Council members, and they ruled on big issues and problems, one of which apparently was me. The Council met on the island in a special chamber in the cottage.
The woman led us through a door into a smaller room. The walls were paneled in wood. In the middle of the room was a long desk with three chairs behind it and a gavel resting on top. A fourth chair was on the near side, facing the desk. A man and woman sat behind the desk in two of the chairs. Like the watchers, they wore robes, but these were a deep maroon. The third chair was empty, as was the fourth. The woman who had brought us into the room led me to the fourth chair, and I sat down. Arthur stood behind me.
“This is Jeremy Finn,” the woman told the others. She bowed slightly, then left.
I waited. Arthur had told me that besides being polite, I had to be patient. It wasn’t my best quality.
I leaned over to him. “Is this the Council? How come there are just two of them? Who sits in the third chair?”
He shot me a look. I knew that look: shut up.
A moment later, another door opened and a woman entered wearing a hooded robe. She settled into the empty chair and pushed back the hood to reveal a face I knew well.
“Dorothy!” I said. Covering my mouth, I mumbled, “Oops. Sorry.”
“Hello, Jeremy,” she said. “I see you’re as eager as ever. And you still haven’t learned to follow the rules.”
“Are you on the Council?”
“She’s the chairman,” said the man to her left, whose name I learned was Ching-Li. “Some people say she is the Council.”
Dorothy waved off the remark. “We’re all the Council.”
“I thought you were just a trainer,” I said.
She stared at me. “Jeremy, training is our most important job.”
I thought of Leif and the way he liked to quote Carlton Raines. Shape a dream, shape a life, shape a world. Apparently they really believed it.
The woman next to Dorothy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Can we get started?”
Dorothy straightened up and nodded. “You’re right, Louisa. This is a hearing, not a school lesson. Arthur, tell us about the case.”
Arthur stepped up beside my chair and described our work together, mentioning the big dreams I had worked on and the stubborn dream he had brought me.
“There was music,” Arthur explained. “I thought he could bend it. He has unusual powers.”
At the mention of music, I could see the three of them tense up. Something frightening had entered the room.
“Go on,” said Dorothy.
When Arthur told them about the singer’s dream, Ching-Li gaped at me.
“You didn’t bend it? You let her sing?”
“It was beautiful!” I said.
I stopped, remembering what Arthur had told me. If I argued, the punishment might be worse. And no matter who was in charge or how well I thought I knew her, punishment was what the hearing was about.
“Jeremy was on his own,” said Arthur. “As he should have been. As we all are. He made a mistake.”
Louisa shook her head. “He ignored the Plan! He defied it.”
“He’s young,” said Arthur. “He shows great potential.”
“He always has,” said Dorothy, studying me. I wondered what she saw.
Ching-Li said, “Potential is a sword. It cuts two ways. In the wrong hands it can kill.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” I said. I knew I should have kept quiet, but I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I certainly wasn’t a killer. “I helped her. In the dream, she was happy. You sho
uld have seen her.”
Dorothy looked up at Arthur. “And how did you respond?” she asked him.
“This evening I discovered what Jeremy had done. When she dreamed again, I made a repair. She’ll be fine.”
“A repair?” I said. “You bent her dream?”
“Silence!”
It was a voice I had never heard Dorothy use—cold like steel. She spoke as a stranger. “Be grateful, young man. You may not know it, but Arthur saved you. Punishment is based on damage. Arthur repaired yours, so you won’t get the ultimate penalty—at least, not this time.”
“The ultimate penalty?”
“Banishment from the dreamscape forever.”
I tried to imagine it—a life without dreams, except my own. For someone who roamed the dreamscape the way children play in the grass, it was impossible to imagine.
Dorothy said, “We’ll be easy on you this time, thanks to Arthur.”
“You mean, I can still bend dreams?”
She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Bend dreams? You can’t even look at dreams.”
Lifting the gavel, she pounded the desk. It sounded like a rifle shot. “You’re banned from the dreamscape for one year.”
Afterward, coming back in the boat with Arthur, I gazed at the nighttime sky. Usually I saw dreams there. There were pictures, sounds, feelings—another world. Now that world was closed to me.
“Can I at least visit the dreamscape?” I asked Arthur. “You know, as a guest? I won’t change anything.”
He stared at me. “Don’t you understand? You’re banned. If anyone sees you in the dreamscape, the ban won’t be for just a year. It’ll be for life.”
A breeze blew over the water. It was warm, but I shivered.
Arthur dropped me at the dreaming field and moved off toward the other watchers. He spoke with them, and they glanced in my direction. I wondered what they were thinking. Jeremy Finn, screwup. Jeremy Finn, outlaw. Jeremy Finn, criminal.
I looked across the field. Dreambenders were moving about in this world but living in another one. It would be a long time before I could join them.
Until then, what would I do? What could I do? Sit on the grass? Stare into space? When I stared, what would I see?
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