Dreamworms Book 1: The Advent of Dreamtech by Isaac Petrov (drm ebook reader TXT) 📕

breathing is slow and regular. To the untrained eye, she appears sleeping. But she is not, Ximena feels. She is only trying. Trying desperately. And failing. The inner anxiety is still there, clinging to her guts, unable to let her pierce the wake, even this permascape-simulated version of it.

“That is regrettable,” Rew says after a few moments. “Even disappointing. Is this your failing as an instructor, or hers as an apprentice?”

“My instruction has sufficed the other humans, master.”

“Indeed. And yet she holds such promise, considering she does possess the second most potent halo among all human candidates.”

Rew remains silent for a few moments, staring at Edda with her eerie white eyes.

“Walker Qoh,” she finally says. “As of now, I do retake ownership over Redeemed van Dolah’s instruction.”

Qoh’s head wobbles almost imperceptibly before she replies, “I acknowledge, master.”

Rew approaches Edda’s bed and inspects her carefully.

Edda opens an eye. “Oh, Elder Rew,” she says. Her eyes look pained. She is pained, Ximena can feel it. Edda is fully aware of her failure, as her comrades have all been able to sleep themselves into dreams. “Hi.”

“You did feel my presence. Impressive.”

“Uh, what?” She sits up, blinking, trying to get a grip on her emotions. And failing.

Rew flicks one of her appendages, and—whoa!—the beds are gone. And Qoh. Even the flat nothingness of the staging permascape is gone.

Rew and Edda are alone inside a spacious bedroom that has appeared from nowhere and closed around them in an instant. The room is covered in the heavy shadows of night, light from the street’s electric lamps barely sneaking through the curtains.

Edda looks down at the bed she is sitting on, and touches it. It has changed. It feels more… real. Her eyes shine with wonder as they scan the room in the timid light. She smiles at the sight of a plant pot with a cactus on the desk by the window, next to a few books—one of them open in the middle—and a typewriter with a half-typed page still in the cylinder.

“My room!” she says, as her eyes wander over to the chaotic pile of under-shirts and colorful tunics scattered next to the half-open closet. “It’s… Wow! Exactly like when I went to bed!”

“Your memory is indeed not the problem,” Rew says. Her head almost touches the ceiling, and her white skin and whiter eyes fluoresce strangely in the darkness. “You can indeed pierce the wake barrier without difficulty.”

“Argh,” Edda raises her eyes at the ceiling. Ximena feels her exasperation, her rage at her own incapacity. “My problem is the fucking diving thing.” She sinks her head and sighs. “I can’t fall asleep! And I tried, Elder Rew. I tried everything that Elder Qoh threw at us. And more. I’ve been at it for… How long have we been training already? It feels like weeks, Goah’s Mercy!”

“Sixteen dream days to be exact.”

“That,” she waves her hand at Rew, “time stretching thing, whoa!” Her eyes shine for an instant. “That’s the best! And I don’t even feel bored. Nor tired. Are you going to teach us how to do it?”

“You are not capable of treading a single step in the Path of Light, Redeemed van Dolah, and yet dare to crave the Path in the Shadow. That urge you feel—that impatience—might very well be the cause of your failure.”

Edda turns her head away. She is sad, and mad, and frustrated. “I’ve always been good at focusing on things, you know?” She looks up at Rew’s impassive blank stare, and sighs. “My dad had to shake me out of every book that landed on my lap. I would just,” she shrugs and sinks her head anew, “lose myself in the pages; especially with stories. I would live them as if I had been teleported to a parallel universe. I don’t get it, Elder Rew. I should be able to do this, yeah?”

“Indeed, you should. But you won’t.”

“I know that,” she says, her voice breaking as tears begin to well in her eyes. “And my dad will pay for it.”

“Indeed, he will.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “You are my teacher, Elder Rew. Goah’s Mercy, why don’t you start doing your goahdamn job? Tell me what I’m doing wrong, yeah?”

“You are doing nothing wrong, Redeemed van Dolah. But something is doing wrong to you.”

“Can’t you speak more clearly, Goah’s Mercy? When I teach my students, I must speak like them!”

“It is your fear, Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew extends one of her appendages and points at Edda’s head. “You do fear, and thus you fail.”

“I’m not afraid!”

“You do fear failure,” Rew says, and walks slowly towards the desk by the window, “and you do fear failure’s consequences even more.”

Before Edda can reply, Rew pushes the plant pot off the edge. Edda gasps as it crashes noisily on the floor, sending pieces of broken cactus across the room.

“No!” Edda shouts. She jumps out of bed and kneels next to the broken pot, eyes wide with dismay. She grabs soil with her hands and inspects the damage.

Ximena watches her reaction with a mix of pity and surprise at the intensity of Edda’s feelings. There is nothing she can do to save the plant.

Edda turns her glare at Rew as she stands while rubbing the earth off her hands. Ximena feels her anger. No, it’s more than that. She feels like it was her own heart that was planted in the pot. Broken—and furious. “Why?!”

“You do feel anger,” Rew says. “Even… hatred?”

That’s pretty accurate, Ximena thinks. Edda stays put by the window and simply glowers at Rew.

“Place that hate in the center of yourself,” Rew stretches an appendage at Edda’s belly, “and let it bloom.”

Edda’s eyes widen as she realizes that this is a lesson. Ximena feels the anger wane, as hope rises from its ashes.

“No, Redeemed van Dolah. Do not let go of your hate.” Rew waves an arm at her and, whoa! Ximena gasps at the sudden surge of rage. “Do feel it burning inside you.