Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1)

by Camille Peters

  My excitement swelled. Already my head brimmed with ideas as I recalled every dream I’d ever stumbled into. I couldn’t wait to begin.

  With three clicks of his gold staff, two members of the Council entered, carrying what looked like the top of a bird bath, which they set before me. Galaxy waved his staff and a swirl of his silver dream dust encircled the floating basin, causing the crystal-clear water to glow.

  “Touch the Weaving Pool with your magic, and it will reveal your assignment.”

  Warmth emanated from the water and caressed my cheeks as I leaned forward. I summoned my powers, pushed them to my fingertip, and shakily touched the water. Violet ripples extended from my touch, causing the water to glow lilac as the ripples formed the image of a rosy-cheeked, newborn baby girl.

  “Your Mortal, for whom you’ll be responsible for weaving dreams throughout her entire life,” Galaxy said. “Your assignment begins tonight. I advise having an experienced Dream Weaver help you your first week, after which you may weave on your own.”

  I stared at the picture in awe until it faded from the pool. “May I ask who my weaving partner is?”

  “That will be determined by the Nightmare Council,” he said. “Whichever Nightmare is assigned will not weave tonight, as a Mortal always experiences a dream their first day on Earth. But beginning tomorrow you’ll weave with your new partner, and only one dream will win. I wish you the best of luck.”

  With those words, I was dismissed to begin my new life as a Dream Weaver.

  Chapter 13

  The tiny newborn slept peacefully in her cradle, nestled in layers of blankets, a protective cocoon to the frosty cold, for during my brief sojourn in the Dream World, winter had fully settled on Earth. A crackling fire popped in the hearth and bathed the baby in amber light, while outside the icicle-shrouded cottage the wind howled and beat against the shutters.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Angel whispered reverently beside me. “Her name is Maci.”

  “Maci.” The name effortlessly rolled off my tongue. I’d seen babies in the village back home, but almost never up close; the villagers hadn’t allowed me near their children for fear I’d put a curse on them. I leaned as close to her as I dared while trying to maintain my precarious balance in the air. She was as dainty as a porcelain doll, her eyelashes nearly see-through against her skin, with a single dainty golden curl dangling across her forehead.

  “Mortals are my favorite when they’re young. Not only are they absolutely adorable; they’re also the most fun to weave for.” Angel’s cotton-candy-pink nails flashed in the glowing firelight as she pulled out a spool of glittery thread and a needle, which she held out to me.

  My stomach knotted as I hesitantly took them. “Should I really be allowed to weave for someone so young when I’m so inexperienced?”

  Angel patted my arm reassuringly. “Every Weaver has a first Mortal. Considering you used to live amongst them, you should have plenty of ideas. It’ll come to you faster than I can eat a jar of jelly stars.”

  True, I’d seen hundreds of dreams created by other Weavers, although it would have been better if I’d experienced my own. I stroked the cover of my dream notebook hidden inside my bag, filled to the brim with plagiarized ideas.

  My weaving needle was long and cool, about half the size of a knitting needle, and far more daunting than the practice needles I’d been using. Pearl blossoms patterned its sparkle-coated length, which smelled of freesias. I managed a nervous smile. “It’s scented.”

  “I knew you’d like that,” Angel said. “Now let’s refresh: what type of thread are we using?”

  All the information I’d crammed haphazardly in my brain over the past several weeks evaporated in an instant. I bit my lip. “Weaving thread?”

  She rolled her magenta eyes. “Brilliant deduction. What type of weaving thread?”

  I shrugged; my focus on the creative aspect of dream construction had caused me to forget many of the technical details…which explained why I hadn’t done as well on that portion of the exam as I’d hoped.

  Angel pressed her nails against her hips. “Weren’t you paying attention when we went over this? It’s essential you understand your thread, as stitches are the foundation of weaving. There are several different types of threads you can use to improve the quality of your dreams, each of which serves a unique purpose.” She ticked them off her fingers. “Some emphasize various senses, others help bring out a Mortal’s emotions; some are more durable and create a realistic quality in dreams, others are dainty and more dreamlike. Experienced Weavers often use several at once to create an intricate dream tapestry. The one we’ll be using tonight is a basic thread used by beginners for simple stitchery that’s firm enough to hold even the most stubborn dream flowers together.”

  She opened her jiggling weaving bag and dozens of flowers rose into the air, all various colors, shapes, and sizes. Three quickly engaged in a game of jump rope, while the others waltzed in twirls around me.

  “What dream did you plan for Maci?”

  I eagerly pulled out the blueprint I’d copied from my notebook. “I decided to create a flying dream, where each constellation Maci soars past comes to life and—”

  Angel snatched my blueprint, crumpled it in a ball, and shoved it into her bag. “Too complex for a newborn.”

  Heat flashed through me. “Why does it matter? Babies can’t possibly remember their early dreams.”

  When I’d first found out my Mortal would be a newborn, I’d immediately gone to Earth to spy on baby dreams, something I’d neglected to do before. I soon discovered this to be impossible, for babies seemed to forget their dreams almost immediately upon waking. I’d never seen anything more than a wisp of color following a baby, nothing substantial enough to actually view.

  So I’d settled on viewing the dreams created for toddlers instead; they couldn’t be too different from babies’ dreams. Those had often been creative, wondrous stories, making me certain Maci would love my idea.

  “It does matter,” Angel said. “A baby’s dreams shape their development. It’s best to create simple dreams for them; just pick two or three details.”

  The flowers kept wiggling, making it difficult to see the sensory detail they harbored, but from the glimpses I managed, each was incredibly lovely. How could I possibly choose between them? I hadn’t the faintest idea what a newborn would enjoy.

  “Try a lullaby.” Angel pointed to the flower playing a game of hopscotch with itself. Musical notes skimmed its aura; the melody trilled through my mind when I focused on it, a rendition of “Rock-a-Bye Baby.”

  Sparkles of dream dust skipped from my hourglass locket as I performed the summoning spell. The magic curled around the flower and brought it into my waiting hand. After much agonizing deliberation and Angel’s suggestions, I selected the gentle rocking motion of wind and a soft cloud of feathers.

  Angel hovered over my shoulder as I struggled to connect all the details together. Weaving real flowers was far more difficult than the cloth I’d practiced with during my training, especially as the flowers didn’t seem to want to keep still. The lullaby flower curled up and snored quietly, but the wind one zoomed around like a tornado, while the feather flower kept lazily drifting away, requiring me to summon it back multiple times.

  “Your stitches are too careless,” Angel said. “You really need more practice. No, those are too big; there mustn’t be any space between them. Make them tiny and delicate, a finely tailored quilt.”

  I pricked my finger for the second time. “Ow! Why do I have to stitch them together now? Can’t I weave the dream as Maci views it?” That’s what Nightmare Darius had done when he’d given me his creepy nightmare, a technique that seemed much faster, and I was eager to begin my first weaving.

  “Only advanced Weavers do that so they can respond to the Mortal’s actions and emotions while the Mortal dreams,” Angel said. “It requires polished technique and rapid stitchery, and as a beginner you’re still too sl
ow…and sloppy.”

  I had to unpick four times before my stitches were to Angel’s finicky satisfaction. I held up my completed dream, a rough patchwork comprised of jagged stitches.

  Angel frowned at it. “See? Nothing to it.”

  She had to be joking. I silently cursed that my hours of needlework practice had been nearly useless when applied to flowers that wouldn’t stop wriggling. “It’s so rough.”

  “Nonsense,” Angel said half-heartedly. “A few more years and your skills will be up to par. Now, this is my favorite part: place it on top of Maci for her to view it.”

  I gently tucked the dream around Maci. It immediately seeped into her and vanished. Angel pulled a mirror from her bag and handed it to me. “This is a weaving mirror. It acts as a window to a Mortal’s mind and allows you to watch the dream unfold. It’s the closest we can ever come to having dreams of our own, but it only works on the dream you created, not your partner’s.”

  I watched as blurred images appeared in the mirror like a washed-out watercolor, but paused when the dream I’d created appeared above Maci as a swirly aqua orb, just like the ones I’d seen floating around the village. Because it was being viewed at the moment, if I entered the dream now I’d be able to watch the entire thing in all its vivid detail. I glanced sideways at Angel, now preoccupied with polishing her fingernails, before I focused on the dream and tumbled inside.

  I found myself nestled within a bed of feathered clouds, which swayed back and forth in a gentle breeze as “Rock-a-Bye Baby” trilled in a soft, melodious hum. The dream wasn’t long, but it was simple and elegant, perfect for a newborn. Despite my poor stitches—evident by the occasional gaps in my details, as if the dream was already a few hours old—it was still quite good. It ended as gently as it’d begun.

  My surroundings faded until I once more floated in Maci’s bedroom. A twirl of dream dust flew through the air and seeped into my locket, my payment for the dream.

  Angel bounced on her heels. “See, that wasn’t too hard. You’ll have weaving down in no time, and soon you’ll be skilled enough to give Maci multiple dreams a night as she grows older.”

  Warm satisfaction blossomed in my chest. The dream I’d just watch unfold hadn’t been another Weaver’s, it’d been mine.

  Angel helped me gather the flowers we hadn’t used, which were entertaining themselves with a game of leap frog and seemed quite reluctant to return to my bag.

  “You’ll be fine on your own tomorrow,” Angel said. “But I’ll stay with you the rest of the week anyway, just like the Council suggested—”

  “They only required you to assist me the first day.” With the confidence of my first successful Weaving still fresh, the lie came easily. Tomorrow I’d be weaving with my Nightmare partner, and the last thing I wanted was to have Angel hovering over me like a babysitter. Not only would it make me seem weak, but I was certain that after a bit more practice I’d be more than capable of going solo.

  “Alright,” Angel said slowly. “If you’re sure…”

  “Positive.” If every Weaving was like tonight, I’d be an expert in no time.

  I startled as lightning cracked and another Weaver sizzled onto the scene and emerged from the shadows. My stomach sank as I caught sight of the intruder’s spiderweb tattoos. Not him—anyone but him.

  I hadn’t seen Nightmare Darius since our encounter near the burnt remains of my house, but I’d been hoping never to encounter him or his accusations ever again, especially when I was still uncertain about how much I could trust him. And yet my heart still gave a strange leap when our gazes met.

  “What are you doing here?” Angel stole the words from the protests ravaging my mind. “You know Nightmares are forbidden to weave on a Mortal’s first night.”

  He didn’t even glance at her, his narrowed gaze on me, no trace of the friendliness that had occasionally filled our previous interactions. “Good evening, Nemesis.” His voice was hard but collected, oozing with forced politeness.

  Nemesis? Confusion prickled my heart at his sudden hostility. “I have a name.”

  “I know, but Nemesis suits you better.”

  Angel glanced back and forth between us. “Do you two know each other?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He looked me up and down. “You’re more glittery than the last time I saw you. Did you fall into an entire batch?”

  Heat tickled my cheeks. “It’s my new style.”

  “I see.” He didn’t say this rudely, but the look in his eyes made me feel he was making fun of me. I self-consciously tried to rub some of the glitter off my arms, but I only managed to spread it around more.

  “At least I don’t have spiderwebs crawling all over me or hair that looks like flames.”

  His upright olive-green hair fizzled. “Only a few minutes into our partnership and we’re already quarreling. It’s going to be torture interacting with you every night of our Mortal’s life.”

  His meaning hit me. “You’re Maci’s Nightmare Weaver?”

  “I am.” He bowed. “Not only was I the top student in all my classes, but weaving happens to be my forte. You haven’t even set foot in the Academy, let alone had much time to practice. The competition between us will be non-existent. The Council was foolish to give you this chance.”

  “Leave her alone,” Angel said. “The Council measured her abilities and deemed her suitable to the task.”

  He shrugged. “We shall see, won’t we?”

  I didn’t like the wicked glint in his eyes. “Of all the Nightmares in the Universe, why did you have to be chosen as my partner?”

  He smirked. “It would be a delightful twist of fate if that were the case, but it so happens I requested you.”

  “You requested me?” This just kept getting worse and worse.

  Angel gaped at him. “Can you do that?”

  “Of course. After all, my Mother is the Head Nightmare. I even gave up my current Mortal—who was just becoming old enough to weave delightfully scary nightmares for—to do so.”

  I didn’t care how he’d managed it; I only had one question: “Why?”

  “Because you and I have unfinished business, Nemesis,” he said. “Did you honestly believe I’d walk away from all the suspicious things I’ve discovered about you just because the Council told me to? Please. You don’t belong in our world, and I’m determined to prove it.”

  I stared at him, my heart wrenching with a feeling that felt very much like betrayal. “Yes I do. I’m a Dreamer whose magical ability has earned my place here.” But my voice wavered, and my earlier fears which had been slumbering in the back of my mind resurfaced: perhaps I didn’t belong after all.

  A look almost like regret filled Darius’s expression. His gaze darted towards Angel watching our exchange and the emotion vanished, hardening back to his previous hostility. “The Dream Council are fools. I was smart enough to back down at the meeting, but I know you were lying to them; you may not have seen Head Dreamer Galaxy’s dream, but I know you saw the nightmare I gave you on Earth.”

  “Dreamers can’t see dreams.”

  “Normal Dreamers can’t, but there’s something different about you, and I’m going to find out what.”

  I fidgeted beneath his glower. He was right: I was unusual, and he’d already discovered three reasons why: the nightmare he’d given me, the suspicious magical activity he’d caught me performing, and the bottled dream he’d stolen. If he could manage to prove any of his suspicions to the Council, I’d be banished for sure.

  “I’m the same as every other Dreamer.” At least…I wanted to be.

  “Oh, but you aren’t.” Darius’s leer broadened, and from the triumph in his eyes, I knew I’d have to be on my constant guard to keep him from discovering any more of my secrets. “I still can’t believe the Dream Council assigned you a Mortal, but no matter: your pathetic weaving attempts will be no match for my incredible talent. I will conquer all our Weavings, Maci will never see a dream, and the Council will
have no choice but to suspend you.”

  I clenched my fists and Angel tugged my elbow. “Don’t humor him with a response. Let’s just leave.”

  Darius waved. “See you tomorrow, Nemesis, when our battle—and my domination—will begin.” He disappeared with a sizzling crack. I gulped.

  “I can’t believe he’s your partner,” Angel said. “Of all the Nightmares to be partnered with…and to think he requested you. I had a class with him at the Academy. He’s extremely full of himself, and it’s irritating how often he reminds you.”

  “Is he as talented as he claims?”

  Angel grew quiet. That was a definite yes. “Don’t worry,” she said hastily. “I’m sure you’ll beat him after a bit of practice, and then you can rub his conceit right back in his face. Don’t let him intimidate you.”

  She was right, I couldn’t let him get to me. No more sloppy dreams. I’d show I was a capable Weaver, and by so doing, prove I truly belonged here.

  Chapter 14

  I lay on my stomach to watch the scenery below as Stardust flew me back to the Dream World, trailing behind Angel and her pink cloud, Sprinkles. Because I’d taken so long at my Weaving, night was already melting away as dawn settled over Earth, glistening off the frozen rivers and treetops covered in a thin layer of snow.

  But the beauty of a new day was lost on me as I continuously revisited my latest encounter with Darius. I tried to fit all the pieces of our interactions together, but with his contradictory behavior, it was impossible to assemble; regardless of how I tried to arrange them, I always came to the same conclusion: no matter how much he insisted or how much I secretly wanted to, I couldn’t trust him, not until he’d earned it. For some reason the thought made me achingly sad.