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

can break free from emotions. You shall first cleanse your mind of all emotion. Do rid yourself of love.”

Right, Edda draws a deep breath and focuses her attention into herself. She focuses her own mind into her own body, still overflowing with love. With another breath, she puts her mind at work. First on her chest, cooling it, absorbing all warmth like the vacuum of space absorbs light. Then along her limbs, up her head, down her trunk, systematically, until she feels empty. Not sad, nor happy. Just empty.

Like a vacuum.

The square is pure white, resplendently so, hanging in perfect stillness in the undiluted blackness that is Edda’s mind, edges sharp and straight like they have been engineered by Goah awsself. Ximena is in awe at Edda’s capacity to focus her attention on something, and then subjugate it so completely. Such purpose. Such power.

“A sharp will, indeed,” Rew’s calm, female voice resonates like an impurity as it intrudes in the mathematical perfection of the scene: a perfect white square in a perfect black background. “Were this not a simulated permascape, that square would be your gate to the dreamscape. Now, do open your eyes.”

Ximena feels almost pain, as the godly white and black created by Edda’s concentration is violently substituted by Edda’s dark bedroom, like returning from Goah’s Embrace to the dirt ball that is her Earth.

Edda sits on her bed and smiles radiantly at Rew. “Not bad, huh?”

“Indeed not. And to prove your worth, you shall now wake up in your real world, refocus, and dive back to this same dream.”

“What if I fall asleep, but can’t join this dream?”

“Then you shall have failed, and must return to your life of powerless frustrations.”

“But that’s not fair!” That anxiety again. Ximena feels it creeping up Edda’s spine. “The others still have plenty of time to train with Elder Qoh, yeah?”

“Shall you fail now, then you shall irremediably fail later.” Rew gestures awkwardly around with her arms. “Do embrace this dream, Redeemed van Dolah. Dig into it. Look and feel around you. Know deeply where you are, and what this dream represents. Digest its essence and push it into your memory, ready to be pierced by the will of your wake mind.”

Edda takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes in concentration. Deep concentration, Ximena feels. Then she extends her hands and opens her eyes, sharp, focused.

Absorbing.

This place—this dream—is now an extension of her consciousness.

“You are indeed ready now, Redeemed van Dolah. I do hope to see you again. Do wake, and dive back. Now.”

The scene changes visibly, although Ximena still sees Edda’s room from the same angle. But it feels more natural, somehow more real. The dreamy quality—so nicely crafted by Miyagi’s production team into the dreamsenso—is now gone.

Edda, a moment ago sitting on her bed, is now waking up from under the sheets. She sits, breathing slowly. Then stands up and walks to the window, opening the curtains. The night is still long ahead, the street silent. Edda caresses with a timid finger the intact cactus plant on the table.

She draws a deep breath, closes the curtains tightly and returns to bed. Facing the ceiling, blankets up to her chin, she closes her eyes. “Let’s fuckin’ dive,” she mutters, as her breathing slows.

The scene seems to vibrate ever so slightly with every further breath she takes, back and forth, like a slow-beating heart.

Its dreaming texture gently returning.

And then, Rew is there in the room, back turned to her, looking at the empty bed.

“Boo!” Edda says, waving her hands.

Rew turns to face her, calm and smooth. “You did scare me.”

Edda waves a fist in the air. “I made it! First try, baby!”

Rew studies the room, as if trying to find something out of place.

“And?” Edda asks, smiling with expectation.

“I am a most talented instructor,” she finally says.

“Now you shall go back to your world’s Wake,” the three Yog bodies say with a single voice, “and return to this permascape with utmost haste.”

The almost four dozen humans standing in grouplets on the infinite emptiness of the staging permascape exchange nervous glances.

“The earliest twenty-four piercers among you shall be allowed access to the second step in the Path of Light. The rest shall be discarded.”

Ximena feels how Edda is already trying to gather her emotions. Trying to calm down. Whoa, it’s hard, even after what feels like an eternity of mind-focus training. A dream month at least of continuous practice and concentration, without sleep, without food, without even rest. Permascape’s time dilation doing its magic. And Edda’s ironclad motivation, of course.

“The first trial begins,” the three Yog bodies say. Rew and her eight mare Walkers wave a hand and all the humans vanish. Only the flat dark stone remains, empty, stretching forever towards the horizon, where it meets the black sky.

Good luck, Edda, Ximena thinks, and turns to look at the twelve mares, which without a hint of movement seem to be waiting patiently. As if they could wait impatiently. Ximena chuckles at the thought.

“What’s up?” Mark asks, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

“Huh?” She blinks at him. His gaze makes her uncomfortable—in a strangely pleasant way.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing. Uh, how long until they return?” Ximena points at the place where the humans last disappeared.

Mark turns his head back at the floating scene. “Good question. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

“But you’re a Walker. How long takes you to… uh…?”

“To dive back into a dream? Pfff, not my forte, I can tell you that. Requires so much mental discipline… Gets easier with age, they say.”

“So? How long?”

He sighs, thoughtful. “About five minutes on a good day, I would say. Ten max.”

“So I guess we’re going to be here for—”

A human reappears. A teenage woman.

Ximena feels her mind through the psych-link as soon as she begins scanning her surroundings with expectation. And then with sheer delight.

Edda.

Rew waves an arm, and a numeric symbol is bestowed upon her.

The number one.

The symbol shines inside her, like a telepathic lighthouse—the equivalent of