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

“I can’t believe it! Who?”

“I can’t tell you, Will, sorry. Confidential. Again, the nature of my office.”

“What are they saying?”

“Edda is apparently spreading heresies and conspiracy theories, Will. And after what happened with the Meermans, we cannot have any more of that. Apparently, she has trouble accepting Goah’s Call for the Joyousday.” Marjolein gives him a pointed look.

Willem sighs. “She’s having a hard time accepting my Joyousday.”

She snorts. “That’s quite the understatement. But it is Goah’s Call, and she must accept it.”

“And she will!” Willem turns to Marjolein. “When I’m gone, she will.” His voice drops to a whisper.

“Listen, Will.” She casually raises a hand to greet a finely dressed passing cyclist. “In my heart, I understand Edda’s feelings all too well. What I would not give for more time together with you, like we used to…” She takes his arm again in an intimate gesture. “And I must ask myself, why not?” She stares at him with a tantalizing smile.

“Why not, what?”

“There is some leeway,” she whispers, “some tolerance in aws Head’s attributions. How can I say this? Hmm, that the Joyousday is celebrated on the twenty-seventh birthday is more tradition than dictate. Certain circumstances may allow for official postponement. And as you said yourself, my voice will carry considerably more weight in a few days.”

“Postponement? How long?”

“As long as you don’t turn twenty-eight, you ought to remain safe from Dem,” she says, and her smile widens. “An extra year of happiness!” She grabs his arm again. “Oh, I miss you, Will! And Edda will be so happy. She quits that heretic nonsense, and everybody wins.”

“No, Marjolein. I am sorry, but that’s not a solution. I know Edda. She won’t roll over just because I delay my Joyousday, even if for an entire year.”

“All right. Forget about Edda. What about what you want? Don’t you want to live longer? I promise I will make your life very pleasant.”

He gently takes her hands off his arm, shaking his head slowly. “At the end of my life, what I want is not important. Perhaps you would understand if you had a family.”

Marjolein’s lips tighten, her expression turns strict, professional. All business.

“I- I’m sorry, Marjo. I didn’t mean to—”

“I have been officially requested by some concerned colonists to report Edda’s activities to the office of the inquisition as suspect of heresy. Dangerous ideas are not to be tolerated, especially not from a teacher who can use her public pulpit to spread lies among the young.”

“You wouldn’t!” His glare makes Marjolein take a step backward.

“Will,” her voice softens a notch, “there have been no heresies in Lunteren for fifty years, Goah be praised, so maybe you aren’t aware of the inquisition’s rituals; and how they cleanse the demon-ridden before their release into aws Embrace.”

Willem’s eyes widen in horrific understanding. He keeps walking in frigid silence.

“Is this how you protect your family?” Marjolein says, keeping his pace. “In two months, the Van Dolah’s will lose you, and then the senior elder might be declared heretic in Goah’s Eyes. Can you imagine how hard that would be for Bram? Alone, responsible for a baby, and with the stigma of heresy hanging over his family? Who could then blame Isabella if she orders aws Womb to abort the dowry bond?”

Willem keeps his eyes locked forward and says nothing, his face an expression of outrage and fear.

They walk side by side in frigid silence for an entire block. The core of the colony is already behind them; houses are wider and front yards larger, most with sizable vegetable gardens covered in plastic. There are fewer people now, most returning home for a late lunch.

As they are about to cross the street, Ximena catches a bulky movement out of the corner of her eye. Marjolein has seen it as well and shouts a curt warning as she holds Willem back with both hands. An old bicycle—one of those heavy ones with a wooden front loader—rushes by, tilts violently as the rider tries to avoid the baffled Willem, and falls on its side in the middle of the street. The rider screams with pain as his body bounces off the surface.

Ximena squints at the fallen rider, a teen in plain work pants and stained winter tunic, and her eyes widen in recognition: Janson Ledeboer, the image of him diving headfirst through the arena hole still vividly fresh in her memory.

“Oh, Elder Ledeboer.” Marjolein runs to the street and helps him to his feet. “Did you break something?”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes confused. There is pain in them too, but not pain of the physical type. Janson is a large, muscular, fourteen-year-old man, for whom a bike fall is a shock to the ego, not to the hips. But his green eyes are reddened, and his brown hair falls flat and out of place—out of care—half covering his broad face, half his right ear.

“I’m out, I’m out, I’m out,” he mutters, and looks at nobody in particular. “Lost. Gone. Forever.”

“Your soul aches, Elder Ledeboer,” Marjolein pulls him gently over to the sidewalk and wipes dirt off his tunic, “and Goah has sent you straight into my path. You are coming with me to aws Eye, and you will speak your afflictions to your Quaestor.”

Willem raises the bulky bicycle straight in the meantime and tries to put it into Janson’s trembling hands, but he doesn’t react.

“Will, please secure Elder Ledeboer’s loader.” Marjolein speaks with a different tone. She is not the lover now. She is the Quaestor of Lunteren, and her word is to be heeded. “I will send for it.”

“Uh, of course.” He stands still, hands on the bicycle, and looks sheepishly at Marjolein as she puts a hand on Janson’s shoulder and begins to lead him away.

She turns her face while walking. “Will, please talk to Edda. Convince her to be more discreet, and mature. Consider this a friendly last warning.”

“Yes,” he mutters. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and about extending your stay on