WtDSG D2: Chapter 1

Notes: Whenever I try to launch Dreamland, I’m informed that it’s “too unique” and readers struggle to connect with it. So, I’m trying something new. Let me know how it feels.

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I would later realize that Eric would be the last peaceful dreamer I would awaken.

At the time, though, I only pulled on the memory of my mother’s face.

     Round and happy.

         Filled with contentment each time she saw me.

            The feel of her hand on mine as she showed me how to make bread.

                The warmth of her arms as she held me.

                   The sound of her voice as she sang to me.

I reached, latching onto that feeling and was surrounded by warmth and joy as I was tugged from the dreamer’s apple orchard of his youth. Excitement radiated through me as Mother’s Who called to me, beckoning me through time and space to her kitchen.

Which attacked me with laughter and light as soon as my feet touched her yellow tiled floor.

“Lixiss,” Mother cried, her hands open and as wide as the smile on her face. “I felt you call.” Her thick arms wrapped around me, squishing the dream dust back into my being. “The dreamer is good, then?” Mother asked over the noise of the very loud rough-housing of some of my siblings.

I pulled away and pecked a kiss on her cheek, excited to join the fray. “All re-lit and on his way to a better life.”

A wild screech blocked whatever Mother said.

Unable to resist any longer, I launched myself with happiness flaring inside me at Tolith, one of my many brothers, and clung to his back as he swatted at Olyric.

Zevan was never one to be left out of a fight, and with a wild grin, he launched himself in as well.

I had no idea what we were doing or what had set this off, and I didn’t care. I loved my brothers and they enjoyed this. So, I did too.

“Stop with this nonsense this instant,” Mother cried. “If you’re going to break my house, do so outside.”

We never went outside, but we did move from the wide yet cramped kitchen, through the large and very long dining room with the massive table that dominated the room, and into the comfortable room. It had gone through many iterations, but now it was mostly bare, with thin red and blue rugs on the paneled floor and several comfy chairs scattered around the edges.

Reryn let out a startled screech where she sat in the green chair by the large window that looked out across the glowing burb of Luxwood, the darkness that enveloped all of Dreamland showcasing the brilliance of the lights of the Lumineers. My sister scrambled, tucking her small feet into the chair, protecting her long, darkly clad legs. “Why?” she cried. “Mother, make them stop!”

“I’ve already tried,” Mother called from the kitchen.

“This,” my sister said, rising to step from one chair to the next, her knee-length dark skirts iridescent in the overhead lights, “is the enjoyment room.”

“And we,” I said as I searched for my opening, “are enjoying ourselves.”

Reryn let out another screech as she jumped from the last chair closest to the stairs and stomped up three of them. “This is too loud.”

“And we always will be.” I laughed and leapt back into the fray.

Reryn yelled again, but I couldn’t understand what she said as Tolith howled in my ear.

“And it will die down now,” Mother called. “Dinner!”

Zevan growled and then straightened. “Do I smell pink?”

I didn’t smell anything, which meant that dinner wasn’t meant to right whatever might be ailing me. But if Zevan smelled it, it was meant for him. Mother had a gift. She might not be out there lighting dreamplanes like her children were, but she kept us healthy and able.

Tolith joined me in the kitchen as we pulled out the plates. “Tell me about your daring rescue.”

Zevan’s glowing plate was closest to mine and gave of a slightly weaker light than everyone else’s. Worry nibbled at me as I brought my half of the stacked plates to the table. “It wasn’t much.”

“Enough already,” Tolith said, bumping his shoulder to mine gently. “You always say it’s boring.”

“Because it is.”

“You’ll still be explaining dreamers to us when the stars go out. What was your dreamer running from this time?”

The same thing all the dreamers lately had been running from. “Himself,” I said, setting the glowing plates down on the side table and distributing them. Mother arranged the plates carefully. Those who needed the most help or whose lights were dimming sat closer to me and my bright beacon of a plate. “There was a darkness growing inside of him.”

“There seems to be a lot of that right now,” Falyra said quietly as she stepped into the room, taking a seat on the other side of the table, her long dark hair pulled back in a single braid. “Which world is this one from?”

“Earth?” I shook my head. “He’s the third one from there this passing.”

“I don’t remember Earth,” Tolith said with an upturn of his nose. “Which one is that?”

“It’s one of the last three,” Reryn said as she took her and Uvara’s plates from me and sat down on the other side of Zevan. “It’s one of the small worlds, but it has a lot of land. The human society is just starting its technological era.”

“Ooof,” Tolith said low enough for me to hear, “that’s why.”

I grunted and sat down, reaching for a bowl of pink noodles to set on my brightly glowing plate. I appreciated pink noodle days. I might not need the nutrients pink offered, but it always made me feel smarter, more connected, and Eric’s dream had left me feeling… well, less by a slight degree. If Earth was moving into its technological era, it meant we were all going to be very busy. Technological eras were hard on human kind. I had thought the dark ages were the worst, but at least those lives were short. That wasn’t the case in this era.

“But your dreamer,” Tolith said, and then shoved too many noodles in his mouth. “Whaf ‘id e’ o?”

I had no idea what my brother had actually asked, but it was probably some version of the same question he asked every time. “He’s an artist and he’s upset that his art is being stolen from an artificial intelligence. I don’t understand what that means. How can intelligence be artificial? It’s either there or it isn’t. But there are a lot of dreamer things I don’t comprehend. He is having a hard time ‘making rent.’”

“What is that?” Zevan asked with a thick frown between his dark brows.

I learned a lot about dreamers’ worlds from what they shared with me, but not all of it made sense. “It’s something you have to pay to live in a house.”

“You have to pay to live in a house?” Tolith asked. “What does that even mean?”

“Uh.” How to explain. “All right. You want to live in this house.”

“I do live in this house.”

I grunted. “You’re not helping. What do you have on you right now?”

He frowned and set down his chopsticks. “I have… this rock?” He pulled a white rock out of the brown pouch that hung from his belt.”

“Okay. Well, what else?” Because with the weight of darkness my dreamer, Eric, felt over being unable to ‘make rent,’ the rock was too small.

Tolith pulled out a few more things, all small bits—a silver leaf, a blue rock, and a red rock.

“What is with all the rocks?” Reryn asked.

“I think they’re pretty.” He looked up at me. “This is all I have.”

That still felt really light. “It’s not, though. What about your pouch?”

“I couldn’t collect rocks without it.”

Exactly. “And your belt.”

“Then I can’t carry my pouch.”

“And your tunic.”

“Then I won’t have clothes to wear.”

“Well,” I said, feeling like I’d finally made my point, “when you pay all of that, you can live in this this house. But you can keep your rocks.”

“But I can’t hold them anymore.”

“But you can live in this house.”

That wasn’t logical at all, though.

“Actually,” I said, thoroughly confused, “maybe I don’t understand this very well. That doesn’t make much sense when I say it out loud. But the emotion it brings is very heavy.”

“Well, if I’m naked and can’t carry my rocks with me, I guess, my shadows would be stronger than my light.”

“I guess?” It still didn’t make a lot of sense. Why would anyone agree to that?

He narrowed his eyes, putting his rocks back. “I don’t think I would like living on this Earth.”

“That is why we live here,” Mother said, patting Tolith’s hand and gesturing for him to eat. “And why,” she said, shooting me a daggered look with her dark eyes, “we should leave the shadows of dreamers away from this table. We bring the light.”

“That is better seen in darkness,” I reminded her. “Or else, we’d have a bright sky over Luxwood.”

A whistle sounded in three short bursts and a long one.

Tolith shoved another massive bit of noodles into his mouth as he stood, mumbling something to Mother.

She waved him off.

The rest of us got up to follow him, obeying the summons.

Mother latched onto my hand as I moved to leave, my noodles half-finished on my glowing plate. “Keep the light alive in your brother.”

I kept lights alive in dreamers, not Dreamlanders, but I didn’t challenge her. I just nodded. “Of course.”

Zevan grabbed my hand, taking me through Place, following the call only he and my siblings could hear. Place felt different with him than it did when I followed Mother’s Who. It was bright and hopeful, with many different colors streaming by me in a wild tunnel. And when my feet touched the rocky terrain, wide sky greeted me as did the jagged cliff I stood on.

I took a step back, letting go of my already glowing brother. His dark hair, clothes, and eyes disappeared as the soft apricot light of his being overtook his outer darkness, lines streaking out from his center and infiltrating the dreamplane.

This one was a wide ravine with dozens and dozens of different bridges crossing the chasm from varying levels. Some were sturdy. Some were flexible. Some were massive.

Rope bridges. Stone bridges. Glass bridges. Living root bridges.

There was even a bridge made of books.

All of my siblings glowed, floating away from me and re-energizing the plane where they were needed most. That’s what Lumineers did. They relit dreamplanes.

But I was different. This plane didn’t talk to me. It gave me nothing. I couldn’t feel its pulse, it’s light, it’s hope, it’s intent.

I mean, bridges. What did that even mean? Why would there be a bunch of dreamers drawn to a dreamplane with bridges? Dreamers built the strangest symbols.

No. I sought out the soul of the dustman this dreamplane was built on.

His light sagged, the pulse of hope beating slower. He stood on a tall glass bridge that spanned the widest section of the ravine. The darkness in his soul, the desperation and loneliness gave me the line of connection I needed. Pulling myself along his weariness, I flew from the rocky edge of the deep chasm, over the hundreds of bridges I could now see far below me, and settled on the glass bridge beside him.

He glanced at me and then looked away. “Is it time, then?”

To quit? “No.”

His shoulders drooped slightly as he tipped his head.

“What do I call you?”

“Walter,” he said in a low, soft voice.

“Dustman Walter,” I said, setting my hand on his arm and reaching through his… loneliness. “Why do you feel alone?” This surprised me because Dreamland was so filled with people.

“Because I am.” He turned to look down at me, his dark hair hanging in his dark blue eyes. “I have been here for over three hundred years. I have watched as Earth changed. At first, I was excited to see how it developed. But…” He licked his lips and looked out across the ravine again. “How much longer do I have to stay?”

“Have to stay?” I didn’t understand. “Why would you want to leave?”

His mouth opened and then closed again.

I gave him space and simply watched the world—his world—operate around us.

This was a space for bridge builders, I realized, watching as a woman with bright purple hair in a short cut worked to bridge the chasm, her lips moving as if she was having a conversation with someone. She used sticks and rope and moved forward with single-minded intent.

A man came toward her from the opposite ravine edge, but he used dark metal which glowed orange and hot in his gloved hands before he laid down another plank, carefully bolting it into place. His lips also moved as if he was having a conversation with someone.

“I want to connect with people,” Dustman Walter said finally. “I feel isolated.”

“You could speak with your dreamers,” I offered. After all, he was a dustman. He, and all the other dustmen like him, were responsible for bringing dreamers from all the worlds to Dreamland.

He released a breath of a chuckle. “No. That is forbidden and for many reasons.”

That seemed silly. “What about another dustman?”

“Another dustman?” He looked at me, his eyes tired, before looking away again.

The dreamer building the metal bridge slipped, a metal plank falling from his hands.

Dustman Walter reached out a hand and the metal turned to dust before it reached the bridge directly beneath it. “Other dustmen are busy with their own dreamplanes and their own dreamers.”

“Then…” Part of re-lighting dreamers was meeting their darkness and helping them find solutions. Dustmen had once been dreamers who had been brought to Dreamland because of their overflowing hope. “Then, what about making connections with the Dreamlanders?”

“What?” Dustman Walter asked. “Who?”

I chuckled and gestured around. “Everyone who helps you keep your dreamplane maintained. Look around. Do you see everyone?”

“I see my dreamers.”

“You don’t see him?” I asked, pointing to Zevan’s apricot glow as he flowed slowly across the chasm, adding light to the materials the dreamers were using to form their bridges.

“Him?” the dustman asked with confusion.

“That’s my brother.”

“He’s a ball of light.”

“He’s also a man,” I said simply. “His job is to keep the light flowing in your dreamplane. Or what about—” I turned. There had to be something broken—oh. Of course, the one dreamer who had fumbled. I leaned over the glass rail to get a better view and spotted the short, burly man with the wild mass of red hair on his head and face. “What about him?”

“The dwarf?”

“Yes. The dwarf. He’s a mechanic. It’s his job to keep your dreamplane working. Anything that breaks, he fixes.”

“And do they have long lives?”

I chuckled. “We have very long lives.”

“And what about you? What do you do?”

I shook my head and shrugged. “I’m only called when the light fades in the heart of a dreamer.”

“I am not a dreamer.”

“You were once, though.”

He bowed his head. “I miss living.”

“Define living.”

He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “Connecting. Making friends. Having family.”

“Make a family,” I told him as his solution connected with my light, my hand glowing softly as I reached out to touch him. “Make friends. We’re all around you. Get to know us. Collect us to you, and in return, we will collect you to us.”

His breath fanned out across my forehead as he sighed.

“Your dreamers need you, Walter,” I said, dropping his title because dustmen didn’t always like to be called by it, even though it was the greatest sign of respect, and if Mother heard me, she’d be deeply upset. “You call to bridge builders.” Though, even as I said that, I had no real idea why that mattered. Was there a shortage of bridges on his world? Was there a lot of chasms?

He nodded. “With all the political divides ripping them apart, they are needed right now.”

I let my light feed him quietly. “You can’t help them if you quit.”

“No,” he said, the blue in his eyes slowly lighting up to a dull glow. “I can’t. And with their help, maybe they can find solutions to problems ripping their society apart right now.”

So, the bridges weren’t real but were symbolic. That made a lot more sense.

The thing I loved the most when helping dustmen was that once I re-sparked their light, they took care of the rest. Sometimes, with dreamers, I had to sit there and feed more of myself into them than what they had. But dustmen were recruited because they were dreamer-born light generators.

Taking my hand away, I smiled at him. “You are needed, Dustman Walter. Do what you need to make yourself healthy so you can help others. And start by”—I pointed to the mechanic on the bridge beneath us.—“talking with that man right there. He’s yours, so he would be a good person to collect into your family.”

Dustman Walter looked at me, the swirl of light in his blue eyes pausing for a blink. “Thank you.”

I smiled, contentment washing over me and filling my light source. “You’re welcome.” My job was done here. This was the best feeling ever, helping others relocate their hope.

As I turned to leave, reaching for the exciting Who of my best friend, the rope and stick bridge the woman had been building flickered out of existence.

I turned to look at Dustman Walter, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

So, maybe that was normal? Maybe his dreamer had simply woke up?

The light inside me said it was something darker.

A thin trail of shadow issued from the rocky cliff face where the rope bridge once stood.

I would never fully understand how dreamer’s minds worked, but at least Dustman Walter was back with us again. And that was enough.