Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1)

by Camille Peters

  Darius glanced up, brows furrowed. “Aren’t you going to watch your dream?”

  As I hastily searched my bag for my weaving mirror, the dream tauntingly floated closer, beckoning me to sneak a peek. This one was the first dream I’d created on my own. It wouldn’t hurt to sneak just a quick glimpse…

  Sensing my intention, Stardust’s frothy body tickled my ear. “Don’t you dare, not with the Nightmare watching.”

  She was right, but I didn’t care. Before my sense could convince me otherwise, I tumbled into the dream.

  I lay in a meadow scattered with a few faded wildflowers, whose shapes were so indiscernible they were mere swirls of blotched-out color. The sunless, washed-out sky was broken up by tiny pockets of nothing, made by holes I’d failed to notice in my dream quilt. Several details weren’t properly attached to their object; one of the flowers, which was supposed to be magenta, was colorless, leaving a random splotch of pink splashed in the air beside it.

  For a moment nothing happened, then suddenly butterflies appeared where the flowers had been, the transformation so jagged even I, the creator, was caught off guard. They stood completely still in the air, their wings unbeating, and it took a moment before embarrassed realization pierced my confusion—I’d forgotten to weave movement into them.

  Of all the stupid mistakes…this dream was so unlike the one I’d copied it from that it was a borderline nightmare. Thank heavens no one could see this disaster except for me…and Maci, of course.

  After a moment of dull stagnancy, the dream subtly changed. First the colors faded, then the shapes of the butterflies and surrounding meadow faded, leaving nothing but murky grey sky. Even that melted away until nothing but blackness surrounded me. What was happening?

  Then I felt it: an unsettling coldness curled around me, beginning in my toes and sliding up my body like I was being immersed in ice. I tried to rub warmth into my arms but I couldn’t move. The cold seeped deeper until it smothered every other thought. Warmth, I needed warmth. I yearned for arms to enfold me, for a warm body to cradle against, but it remained unquenched. The dark coldness extended on and on, and just when it became so unbearable I was certain I would drown in it, I jolted from the dream.

  I blinked, nearly blinded by the moonlight filling Maci’s room; the warmth from the dying fire was staggering after such horrible coldness.

  Maci whimpered awake. Her whines turned into cries, which summoned her mother. I retreated into the ceiling’s shadows so her mother wouldn’t notice me as she cooed soothingly, picked Maci up, and carried her from the room.

  Dream dust swirled and gathered in Darius’s locket, where it transformed from clear to olive green, marking his ownership. I braced myself for a celebration, but instead he glanced sideways with an unreadable expression. “You went into a trance, similar to what I witnessed you doing on Earth.”

  What was he talking about? Then it hit me—my own dream disappearing into that dark coldness, Darius winning the dream dust…I’d just witnessed Darius’s nightmare.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” Darius asked. “And don’t bother lying and saying nothing happened.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to shake off the frigid traces still cloaking me from Darius’s nightmare. How could something so simple be so haunting?

  Darius frowned before his accusatory expression slowly left, replaced with eyes filled with surprising concern. “Are you alright?”

  I shivered. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” A smirk toyed with his mouth as he took a hesitant step towards me. “Is it because you lost? I did try to warn you.”

  “Apparently you’re not surprised.”

  Darius’s smirk softened. “You’re wrong. It took nearly a full minute before my nightmare eclipsed your dream and appeared in my mirror. Your dream was stronger than I anticipated.”

  Surely he was lying, but my cheeks warmed from his praise anyway. “I’m still mediocre, especially compared to you.”

  “That’s definitely true, but you aren’t a complete disaster either. I wish I could have seen your dream. I’m so curious…” He tilted his head and grinned in such an endearing, inviting way that I was caught off guard.

  “Why would I share it with you?”

  “Please?” His green eyes glistened pleadingly. Heat crawled up my neck as those eyes melted me. There was no harm in telling him about my dream, especially since the Weaving was over. So, despite Stardust’s frantic morphing motions to the contrary, I did, omitting all the rough patches that had riddled it. He listened intently until I’d finished.

  “The main problem is your dream wasn’t age appropriate,” he said. “Even though the story was nice, it didn’t touch on Maci’s limited experiences, so she was unable to generate strong emotions towards it, which is why it lost. For your next dream you should create something simpler and more suitable for a newborn, especially dreams involving touch—the warmth of arms cradling her body, kisses trailed on her cheeks, that sort of thing.”

  I gaped at him. Was Darius actually giving me advice? Surely as my competitor, any advice he gave me couldn’t be trusted.

  “Thanks,” I muttered reluctantly.

  His cheeks darkened as he looked away. “I’m not being nice,” he said hastily. “Weaving is more fun when it’s a competition. This isn’t some Mortal sewing circle; it’s a magic of the highest order, a responsibility more powerful than anything else magical beings do. You need to take it seriously.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to take advantage of his sharing mood. “Which flowers did you use for your nightmare? You said there were only two?”

  “Coldness and pressure, plus some impressive stitchery, of course. Nightmares about discomfort are best for a newborn.”

  How could something so simple have beaten my detailed dream? “I just thought it would be…more elaborate.” Like the nightmare he’d given me had been. The memory of hundreds of spiders exploring my body scurried into my mind. I shivered.

  “Elaborate dreams are fun to weave, but they’re not necessary to win,” he said. “Not to mention a Nightmare Weaver’s flowers are limited until a Mortal is older, so I do what I can with what I have to work with.”

  And he’d succeeded. Even now, several minutes later, the coldness from his nightmare still seeped over me.

  Darius bid me farewell until tomorrow before disappearing with a loud crack! As soon as he was gone, Stardust launched into her tirade.

  “How humiliating. He was actually condescending enough to give you advice. That’s beyond cocky; he acts as if he’d still beat you, even if you were the greatest Weaver. And I told you your dream was too complicated, but did you listen to me? No, and that’s why we got lectured by that egotistical spiderweb creep.”

  “I didn’t lose because my dream was too complicated; I just need to better understand newborns.” I kept silent about the fact that I also needed more practice in constructing them.

  Stardust gawked at me in disbelief. “So it means nothing to you that Spiderweb beat your mammoth dream with only two flowers?”

  “I’m not changing my strategy,” I said firmly. “Especially considering Darius is the one who suggested it.” It was undoubtedly a trap. With the animosity between our two worlds, what motive could he possibly have to help me?

  Stardust sighed. “You’re making a huge mistake. I’m ready to say ‘I told you so’ the moment you realize I’m right.”

  Then I would do all in my power to ensure that moment never came.

  Chapter 15

  Unfortunately, my determination proved futile. The next few months were torturous, as if I’d stumbled into a never-ending nightmare I couldn’t escape. When I’d yearned to be a Weaver, I hadn’t anticipated the drought of ideas, hours of planning and scouring the Cultivating Fields for difficult-to-find details, constant sore fingers from creating hundreds of complicated stitches, and night after night losing to my weaving partner.

  Darius himself was qui
te the paradox. Whenever Stardust was around he seemed to take great delight in teasing me, smirking at my every mistake, and taking every opportunity to gloat. I struggled to ignore him, and he wasn’t the only thing—each night our woven dreams appeared above Maci. Sometimes I couldn’t resist the temptation to peek inside, but that was risky because each time I did so made Darius increasingly suspicious.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” he repeatedly demanded. “I’ve studied Mortals enough to know your behavior is abnormal even for them.”

  I evaded his questions as best I could and did my best to focus on my weaving, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the painful fact that I always lost, and lost bitterly. My only refuge after each painful failure was dream watching, which I did almost daily, especially on the nights after I accidentally stumbled into one of Darius’s creepy nightmares.

  However, whenever Stardust wasn’t around, things were different—not only was Darius kinder, but there were many times when I’d glance over to find him watching me not with his usual glower, but with a softened look. It was during these moments that he seemed so sincere. But I couldn’t ignore the hard look that filled his eyes whenever he mocked me and called me Nemesis, nor the moments when our gazes met and he’d hastily look away with another comment about how long I was taking and how he didn’t have to wait for me, although he always did. Darius’s one redeeming quality was that he always gave me a fighting chance.

  “That’s rather unusual for a Nightmare,” Angel said when I told her and Iris about Darius’s strange behavior during a picnic in the park. “A Mortal’s initial dream is harder to displace, so being the first to finish gives a Weaver a slight advantage. Every Weaving between me and Blaze is a race to see who completes their dream first.”

  “Sometimes Darius doesn’t even start weaving until I’ve finished.” Thank heavens, or I’d have zero chance of winning. I silently cursed the fact that dreams were only effective if they were created on Earth; if I could create them before the Weaving, I could take more time with them, giving me a more fighting chance of winning.

  Angel stared, thunderstruck. “I suppose he’s not completely unfeeling,” she offered reluctantly, though with unmistakable doubt.

  Iris looked up from the crown of flowers she was weaving together in her lap. “Of course not. From what I’ve heard about the Head Nightmare’s son, he’s always very fair. He clearly understands the importance of the balance between dreams and nightmares and is allowing Maci the chance to see a dream while also providing Eden the opportunity to increase her skills.”

  I didn’t like the idea of my weaving partner going easy on me; it only meant that even when Darius wasn’t performing his best, I still constantly lost. I’d even spent several weavings heeding the advice of my friends, but it never made a difference, which made it all too easy to revert back to my original strategy.

  Iris thoughtfully twirled a vibrant green flower by its stem. “Perhaps you should ask him for help.”

  Angel rolled her eyes. “Why would he give it? He’s a Nightmare, not to mention they’re competitors.”

  Iris shrugged and tucked the flower into her floral crown. “He seems to possess an unusual amount of confidence. I’m sure he’d be so flattered you asked—and perhaps a bit willing to show off—that he’d assist you.”

  It was true that Darius never wasted an opportunity to gloat, though surprisingly it never seemed to affect his willingness to give me advice—advice I always ignored. But I didn’t want his assistance; as Angel had mentioned, we were competitors, and any suggestions from him would surely be a ploy to help himself. It was the main reason I’d been determinedly disregarding his advice ever since our competition had begun…that and because of the information I’d discovered in my own studies.

  I propped the book I’d brought to the park up on my knees, one of many I’d been faithfully studying the past several weeks in an attempt to improve my craft. I flipped to one of my bookmarked passages. Even though I’d read it often enough to have it memorized, I scanned it again:

  The more detailed a dream, the more immersive the experience for the Mortal, which increases both its strength against its competition and the amount of dream dust it yields.

  That statement alone proved that Darius’s advice to weave less complicated dreams was nothing more than a ploy to see me fail. My lack of education and experience was already a difficult enough hurdle; simpler dreams would make it nigh impossible to win. With my background of dream viewing, more detailed dreams seemed within reach, the only advantage I had due to my deficit in other areas of dream construction.

  But I’d continue to practice. I not only had to earn my place in the Dream World, but newborn Maci deserved a night filled with pleasant dreams. The fact I’d failed her every night of her short life thus far caused a swell of anxiety to squeeze my heart.

  I had to be better, I would be.

  I immersed myself in my studies of dream construction, only to be tugged away by Iris’s sharp gasp. “You’ve been stolen from again?”

  My gaze jerked up to meet Angel’s, my book entirely forgotten. “You’re missing more dream dust?”

  Angel gritted her teeth and nodded. “I am. I’m starting to get dangerously low. If I don’t do something soon, I’m worried it’ll negatively impact my livelihood.”

  I hadn’t considered that consequence of the dream dust thefts. How many other Dreamers’ livelihoods had been affected because they’d lost so much of their weaving earnings?

  “It always happens on the nights I win my weavings,” Angel continued. “Giving me more reason to suspect it’s my weaving partner. It’s his revenge for losing.”

  “Angel, we don’t know—” Iris began, but Angel cut her off.

  “Stop defending him. Blaze is the dream dust thief, I’m certain of it.”

  Her outburst had drawn the attention of some other Dreamers sitting nearby—a paired union picnicking with their two young children. They glanced over, their expressions wary. “You’ve been stolen from, too?”

  “At least once a week,” Angel said.

  “We’ve both lost our weaving earnings twice now,” the female Dreamer said. “And that’s not the only thing we’ve noticed.” She nervously fiddled with the feather clip in her hair that matched her bluebird style. “I’m a Birdsong Composer in my side profession, and lately my music has become corrupted with wrong notes, making my songs almost…eerie. It’s as if dark magic has tainted it. Do you think…the balance could be tipping?”

  A sense of foreboding trickled up my spine. “What balance?”

  “The Universe remains balanced when magical power is evenly distributed between the two worlds,” Iris explained quietly. “Each world is responsible for different aspects of magic on Earth, but if one becomes more powerful than the other—in this case, the Nightmares—then all that they’re responsible for—such as storms, diseases, darkness—increases. It would not only wreak havoc on Earth, but eventually the Nightmare Realm could eclipse the Dream Realm, and it—in addition to everything the Dreamers create—would cease to exist.”

  My trepidation increased. “What could cause such a thing?”

  This time it was the bluebird Dreamer’s Pair who answered. “My brother is on the Investigations Team and is in charge of looking into these strange incidents. The thefts and the corruption tainting Dreamers’ creations aren’t the only occurrences, though he’s kept silent about the others. All he would tell me is they’re beginning to suspect a connection between the tipping balance and the Weaver who disappeared.”

  I stiffened, just as I did whenever that infamous Weaver was mentioned. Even though Stardust’s own investigations into the matter had so far yielded very little information, I still had an uneasy feeling that the Weaver in question was Mother.

  “I’ve heard many whispers about that Weaver,” I began shakily. “Why was she suspended?”

  “No one knows,” Angel said. “The Council has kept the entire
affair quiet, never even speaking her name; no one even knows whether she was a Dreamer or Nightmare.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I—” My mouth had gone dry. How could I answer without drawing suspicion to myself? If Mother truly was the Weaver everyone talked about in fearful whispers, and they learned of my connection to her…that would prove disastrous; my position in the Dream World was precarious enough as it was.

  Thankfully I was spared from answering by a timely arrival. A Dreamer with wavy blue hair, coral designs painted on his face, and an outfit resembling frothy ocean waves approached on a foamy blue cloud. It was Caspian, Angel’s Pair, a Dreamer I’d begun to know quite well considering he and Angel were preparing for their official Pair Ceremony, which I’d confirmed acted as a sort of magical marriage. Not only was he a cheerful Dreamer with a contagious smile, but I enjoyed hearing his stories about his side profession as a Seed Harvester—those who scoured the Earth for the details needed to create the seeds grown in the Cultivating Fields.

  Angel lit up and rushed over to embrace him. His arms looped around her waist. “Good morning, Sugarplum.” They shared a kiss before he pulled away, keeping one arm securely wound around Angel, and handed Iris a bag of colorful seeds. “Freshly harvested seeds for my favorite sister-in-law.”

  Iris immediately began examining them, cradling each seed in her palm like it was a precious gem. “These details are wonderful. Thank you.”

  “I scoured Earth for the highest quality details for you to grow. Only the best from me.”