Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1)

by Camille Peters

  Then, just as suddenly as he’d started his strange interrogation, it ended. “But none of this matters. What’s important is we’ll now have a more balanced competition due to your finally achieving a victory, thanks to my invaluable help. I expect great dreams from you after all my work getting you up to par.”

  He grinned good-naturally, a complete transformation from his earlier suspicion. Did that mean he believed me? He’d have no reason to suspect the ability to see dreams existed, so perhaps for now my secret was still safe. But I’d have to be more on my guard. No more dream watching during Weavings. Ever.

  Through the slit in Maci’s curtains I caught a glimpse of Stardust, approaching with lightning speed. Darius glanced out the window. “I better leave before Glitter Ball morphs into a lethal weapon and attacks me.”

  With an unusually friendly wave, he disappeared with his usual crack.

  Chapter 22

  “Don’t take that one, you already have too many.”

  I scarcely heard Stardust as I absently plucked the aster, whose aura emanated the steamy aroma of chamomile tea—the perfect detail for tonight’s fairy tea party dream—and added it to my lavish bouquet.

  Stardust groaned. “It’s going to take you all night to weave those together. Will you ever learn the principle of quality over quantity?”

  “As long as I use the more advanced stitches Darius taught me, my bigger dreams won’t be a problem. You must admit I use far fewer details than before.”

  “It hasn’t made you a faster Weaver.”

  Guilt prickled my heart that I was reverting to my previous habits, but with my current unease I’d been unable to resist the temptation of taking the easier path of copying a dream rather than creating my own. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Darius had known I’d seen his nightmare during our last Weaving. The worry about what he’d do with that information had kept me up all day, leaving me exhausted.

  He knows.

  I shook away the anxiety-inducing thought. “Stop complaining and tell me what else is on my list.”

  Stardust muttered to herself as she consulted the list I’d copied from my dream journal. She wrinkled her nose. “A music box melody? Where in the Universe are you going to use a detail like that in a tea party dream?”

  I frowned. I’d likely added such a random detail midst my distraction, but I was too stubborn to admit such a thing, especially with my cloud already frowning in disapproval. “I thought it would add a nice touch to create a dream about an enchanted tea party, where music plays with each sip. The best dreams are layered, so there’s always something for the Mortal to discover.”

  Stardust rolled her eyes. “As usual, that sounds beyond your current skill level. It doesn’t matter how many layers a dream has if it fails to interest your Mortal. Did it ever occur to you that Maci is too young for tea parties in real life, let alone in a dream? Maybe you should create dreams based off your own ideas rather than continuing to plagiarize others’.”

  My guilt at using my exhaustion as an excuse for taking the easy way out deepened, as did my foreboding. If I resorted to such tactics after all the help Darius had expended to assist me…I couldn’t afford to do anything more to draw his suspicion, not when I had plenty of that already.

  Surely he knows I can see dreams. My anxiety pressed against my chest so heavily I could scarcely breathe.

  “I don’t plagiarize anymore,” I managed shakily. “Not entirely; I use others’ dreams as a foundation for my own ideas. Now help me find my flowers.” As wary as I was about the current dream I was constructing, it was too close to the Weaving to create another plan now. I’d make a greater effort for tomorrow’s Weaving.

  Despite her murmuring, Stardust still moodily followed me towards the auditory plot of the garden. The bright patchworks of flowers caressed our legs, vying for our attention as we strolled along the curving paths. We passed sections of scents, tastes, and tactile senses until we reached the one containing an array of sounds, where each blossom sang a snippet of the auditory detail it harbored. Although there was a large variety to choose from, I couldn’t find a music box melody.

  I frowned. “They had some last night. Are they out?”

  “No idea.” Stardust plopped on the moonlit path. “This is taking too long.”

  I carefully parted a row of flowers so I could search the blossoms growing in the back and spotted several Cultivators standing several yards away. Iris worked amongst them, a basket of seeds beside her.

  “I’m sure Iris will know where to find it.”

  She looked up as we approached, and although she greeted us with her usual smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good evening. Isn’t it a beautiful night?”

  “No,” Stardust said.

  I sensed an upcoming revolt if I didn’t tend to my weary cloud soon. I took the list from her. “Go amuse yourself. Iris can help me find what I need.”

  Stardust morphed from the tombstone shape she’d shifted into with her usual dramatic flare with a relieved pop. “Thank goodness, I was about to evaporate from boredom. Now I can search for clues for my latest investigation.”

  “Don’t go too far; my Weaving is soon.” I called after her as she floated away.

  “I won’t. After all, the Cultivating Fields are the scene of the crime.” She disappeared in the distance. Iris stared after her, gnawing her lip.

  “Is something the matter?”

  She jolted from her trance. “It’s nothing. What can I help you find?”

  “I’m looking for a music box melody.”

  “There’s a freshly grown batch just over there.” She gathered her cultivating supplies and led me through the field. Normally she was quite cheerful, but she seemed strangely somber as she cast frequent glances in the direction Stardust had flown.

  “Do you know what Stardust is investigating?” I hoped it wasn’t what I suspected it was.

  She stiffened. “What? Oh, I know a little bit. It’s most unusual…but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about…ah, here we are, music box flowers. Take your pick.”

  She gestured towards a small clump of flowers harboring different melodies, all contending for my attention like an ill-rehearsed symphony. I listened to each before selecting a twirling waltz. I plucked the crimson tulip and scribbled it off the list.

  “That was the last detail I needed. Thank you, Iris…Iris?”

  She’d returned to Cultivating. The concentration lining her brow as she burrowed her hands in the transparent soil and the way the plants blossomed at her touch was so similar to Mother’s fluid movements that for a moment my heart ached, especially since Stardust’s continued investigations still hadn’t yielded any results.

  Iris blinked absently as she glanced up. “Did you need any more help?”

  I knelt beside her, still fixated on her gentle movements. “It’s amazing how a single touch causes such fantastic details to grow so effortlessly.”

  Iris brightened. “Anything is possible with a bit of magic.”

  “Gardening on Earth takes a lot of time and patience.”

  “There’s no time for that here; there are simply too many Dreamers in need of details for the millions of dreams woven every night.” With another touch of magic and a light caress, the flower she tended grew upward, following the movement as she lifted her arm. With a twirl of her wrist, the bud appeared, crowning the freshly grown orchid. “Nothing to it.”

  “I wish I could do that.”

  She tilted her head. “Perhaps you can. After all, you accurately identified a seedling’s detail the day we met. Maybe you could become a Cultivator.”

  Excitement rippled over me at the thought. Angel and Iris occasionally brought up the idea of my taking a side profession. Angel kept pestering me to try my hand at Nature Artistry, but if it required the same amount of artistic skill I possessed on Earth, I’d undoubtedly be terrible at it…unless Mortals enjoyed looking at two-dimensional, stick-figure clouds. No, when I took up
a side profession—if I ever got a handle on Weaving—it’d be Cultivating. After all, Mother had been a Cultivator.

  I eagerly leaned closer. “May I try?”

  All traces of Iris’s previous somber mood vanished as she smiled and scooted over so I could come closer. “These flowers are just beginning to sprout, which is the perfect moment to sprinkle a bit of magic to aid their growth. First, we need to figure out which detail this seed contains. It’s like building a relationship; the stronger your connection, the more effective your magic will be, similar to a Weaver’s connection with their Mortal.”

  She cupped her hand over the nearest plant and cocked her ear. Although I couldn’t hear anything, I knew waves of communication passed between her and the dream flower.

  “Such a lovely detail. Listen.”

  I copied her. At first there was only silence as I searched for the seed’s thread of magic, but then I felt a faint stirring, whispers in a language without words. The feeling grew gradually until it blossomed in my understanding with perfect clarity—a thunderstorm of pounding rain and a harsh wind. I yanked my hand away.

  “What’s wrong?” Iris asked. “Don’t you like the sound of gentle rain?”

  “Gentle?” Thunderstorms were anything but gentle—they were nothing but darkness and fright, and definitely had no place in dreams. Why was such a seed growing in the Cultivating Fields? “Isn’t rain a little Nightmarish?”

  “Certainly not. A light spring storm cleanses the Earth and helps flowers grow. Such a detail could be used in dreams in all sorts of ways—the smell of rain drifting through an open window, listening to the rhythmic pattering on the roof, discovering patterns made by raindrops on a windowpane. There’s nothing Nightmarish about it.”

  That description was the opposite of what I’d just felt. My heart thudded wildly, as if the unexpected detail I’d felt from the flower had itself been a nightmare I’d stumbled upon while dream watching.

  “Do seeds ever contain more than one detail?” I asked hesitantly.

  Iris shook her head. “Each contains only a single detail gathered by the Seed Harvesters. Why, isn’t a gentle rainfall what you felt?”

  I wanted to confess that it hadn’t been, just so I could receive some sort of explanation for it, but my ever-present need not to fit in compelled me to hastily nod.

  Oblivious to my confusion, Iris returned to her tutoring. “To help the flower grow, you focus on the seed’s detail and connect your magic with the flower’s so you can lift it, like so…”

  She reached out to demonstrate when the moon dial above us chimed, signaling the start of our Weaving. She looked up at the clock with a gasp.

  “Oh no, when did it get to be so late? I still have to gather a few more flowers for tonight’s dream. I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to continue this later.” She threw her cultivating supplies into her bag and scampered off, leaving me alone.

  Disappointment washed over me at her sudden departure. I glanced at the unassuming sprout that was the root of my confusion and cupped my hand over it again to listen more intently.

  The storm swirled, more pronounced and fierce than before. There was no mistaking it, this was no gentle rain. I sat back on my heels. If each seed only contained one sensory detail, why did Iris and I feel contradicting things? How could we both be right?

  There was one way to find out.

  I glanced around. The fields were empty, everyone having gone to their Weaving. Now was my chance.

  I recalled Iris’s instructions: Focus on the seed’s detail. I tried to visualize soft patters of rain, but no matter how much I attempted to, the only image that filled my mind was a billowing storm. Connect to the flower’s magic. I searched through the seedling’s magic, and after several minutes of mentally pulling back invisible layers I felt it: an unmistakable “hook” I could connect my powers to.

  I tugged gently and raised my arm towards the starry sky. The flower grew a foot and sprouted three diamond-shaped leaves before its bud emerged. I’d done it! But my elation at my success was short-lived, for floating amidst its aura was the unmistakable sound of pattering raindrops. My shoulders sagged. I’d been wrong after all.

  But then the morning glory began to change. Starting from the base of its blue-grey stem, dark ebony rose up, staining away its original color, as if it was being dipped in ink. Blackness swallowed the dainty leaves, transforming them into jagged teeth, and when it reached the bud, the previously cyan aura twisted into a cloudy grey.

  Shaking, I cocked my ear and listened. The previous soft rain had transmuted into a raging storm. The hinted whispers I’d felt earlier had merely been a shadow of the slapping rain and booming thunder now echoing within the flower’s aura.

  I stared, horrified, at what I’d unintentionally created. What was it? But I didn’t have to think very hard as memories of the flowers Darius used each Weaving bombarded my mind.

  This was a nightmare flower.

  At first I was transfixed before the wonder slowly faded, replaced by sickening dread that twisted my stomach. I stared at the nightmarish weed, its dark color and harsh aura a jagged contrast to the surrounding vibrant blossoms with their pleasant tinkling melodies, but I barely had a chance to process its presence before my name drifted across the fields. I shielded my eyes against the bright moonlight to see a cloud darting towards me. Stardust.

  “Eden!”

  She was getting closer. In a moment, she would notice the nightmare flower, her observation skills too rehearsed to overlook something so suspicious. My heart leapt to my throat, and in a swift move I yanked the nightmare flower from the soil and hastily shoved it into my bag, just as Stardust arrived.

  “Don’t be angry at me for being late,” she panted. “I came as quickly as I could.” She scooped me up and zipped through the fields. “What a horrible night to lose track of time. You need to win tonight’s Weaving. You’ve only managed to scrape a single win, and it’s essential you solidify your skills before Spiderweb ceases going easy on—”

  She skidded to a stop and I tumbled headfirst into a clump of daffodils. I hastily scrambled off the flattened blossoms, which shakily rose up, as if waking from a deep sleep. I breathed a sigh of relief—it was bad enough having a nightmare flower in my bag, but to also be found destroying dream flowers would be too much for one night—and glared at Stardust.

  “Why did you—” My words were swallowed as I gaped at what she was staring at.

  Three unmistakable nightmare flowers grew midst the dream blossoms I’d nearly squashed—a black rose with petals gnarled into fangs, a dark daisy crowned with a head of thorns, and a wilted lily that oozed slime, all of which I’d seen at one time or another in Darius’s pile of details during Weavings. Their morbid details swirled lazily in their shadowy auras—the gnawing sensation of hunger, the feeling of falling, and a paralyzing flower that made a Mortal incapable of moving.

  Nightmare flowers.

  Stardust was all business, already writing frantically in her notebook self. “More,” she muttered. “Where are they all coming from?”

  My stomach lurched. I’d hoped that the first nightmare flowers that had appeared several weeks ago had been a single event. The fact that it hadn’t been…

  “This is what I was investigating while you were with Iris,” she said. “At first there were only one or two nightmare flowers appearing in the Cultivating Fields, but lately they’re popping up all over the place. The Cultivators are at a loss, as nightmare flowers can only be grown by Nightmare Cultivators in Nightmare soil. The Council is in an uproar.”

  My heart pounded frantically as my fingers curled around the prickly stem of the nightmare flower I’d created, burning guiltily in my bag despite my knowing the others couldn’t possibly have been my fault.

  Stardust turned to a fresh page in her notebook and kept scribbling. “For three nightmare flowers to appear in the same place…whatever is happening, it’s getting bigger. No wonder the Cultivators are
frightened.”

  I remembered Iris’s palpable nervousness when Stardust had left to investigate. “But Iris hasn’t said—”

  “All Cultivators are keeping quiet under the Council’s orders. They don’t want to start a panic about what this could potentially mean.”

  A shiver curled up my spine as icy fear filled my throat. “We need to leave.”

  “But I haven’t finished—” She snapped her mouth shut at my pointed glare and obediently scooped me up to take me to the Weaving.

  Stardust rambled off every possible far-fetched theory about the nightmare flower investigation during our flight, but I didn’t hear a word of it. I clenched my bag strap so tightly I was certain my knuckles would break as I recalled a single phrase Stardust had said earlier: Only Nightmare Cultivators are able to create nightmare flowers.

  The nightmare flower’s presence sizzled within my bag.

  Chapter 23

  My hands shook as I examined the nightmare flower from every angle. Goosebumps prickled my skin just from touching it, but I couldn’t pull away, as if despite my repulsion a part of me was drawn to it. I traced its inky black stem with my fingertip, along its dark petals, and around every jagged leaf, all while my heart continued to pound wildly in my chest.

  The longer I examined it, the more the flower’s essence seemed to burrow within me, as if trying to excavate something buried deep, a foreign yet familiar part of me I didn’t want to find. I ached to share this burden with someone, but it was impossible. If this hidden part of myself was what I feared…I’d lose all the friendships I’d formed.

  You’re a Dreamer, I reminded myself over and over against the darkness my fear caused to overshadow me. You’re not a Nightmare.

  But if I was a Dreamer, how had I created a nightmare flower?