Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 70

Dream hunting
Trace opened his eyes with a sigh. The familiar sky above him calmed him, but he couldn’t stay here.

There was far too much to do tonight.

Sanders had said to come see him after finishing his ‘assignment’, but Trace intended to reverse the order. He wasn’t going to obey the blackmail letter without more information.

With a few loping steps that covered hundreds of miles each, He stood at the edge of his world, looking out at new constellations of softly glowing orbs.

It was a different view from high in the Princess’s tower. Most of the orbs were below, instead of simply outward. He slept in the sitting room, his body against the doorway out to the hallway so that no one could get in or out without disturbing him.

Not the most comfortable place he’d ever slept, but not the least, either.

Pursing his lips, he scanned the area and took off in roughly the direction he would need. Racing along the orbs, he stopped next to each one, examining it for a moment before moving onto the next. And the next.

He strongly suspected what he was looking for, but couldn’t be sure. One after another, he squinted at each globe until he came to one with a faint shimmer.

With a halfhearted smile, he stepped through into the new world.

A blinding one. He blinked rapidly, until everything came into perspective. A world of white, unlike any dream he’d seen before, and a man sitting at a table, hunched over a piece of paper as he wrote.

“Welcome,” Sanders said, lifting his head and standing. “You’re earlier than I expected, but I suppose I should have known you would be anxious to meet.”

“Who are you?” Trace demanded.

“Sanders,” The man answered easily. “You learned that this afternoon.”

“Yes, but you must work for–”

“The king. Of course,” Sanders took a few steps across the plain white space. “But that’s not what you’re here about.”

“No.” Trace glared. “You know about me. How?”

Sanders offered him a sad smile.

“Your desire for anonymity is a rather unique one among our kind, did you know?” He asked gently.

“Our kind.” Trace repeated. “Magic users?”

“Yes, you understand.” Sanders nodded. “Most parents happily and proudly proclaim their child’s talents from birth, hoping for status and prestige. Mine made that mistake.”

“Stop speaking in riddles and tell me plainly what I want to know.” Trace glared.

“There is time.” Sanders shook his head. “Dreams, as you well know, can last for minutes or years compared to the real world.”

The farmer was quickly becoming frustrated. Summoning a chair into the dream, he sank down into it and gestured for Sanders to continue. The man smiled.

“Please, make yourself at home here. I’ve not met a Dreamwalker before. It is as interesting as I had hoped it would be.”

“Is that what you are? A Dreamwalker?” Trace looked around. He’d never been in a mind like this. It was clear, controlled, and conscious, much like his own world. Not fuzzy and indistinct like other dreams.

“Oh, no. No, not at all. I am confined here, to my dream, and yet, it gives me visions.” Sanders explained, throwing one hand up.

Into the air all around them, round windows appeared. Each showed a different person. Trace stood and approached one, watching as a man procured a flame and played with it across his fingers. In another, a woman’s skin rippled and changed to the face of a much younger person. In a third, Yemi sat in a jail cell, holding a single strand of hair and methodically changing its color.

“Magic users. You can see all of us?” Trace frowned.

“Only when they use their powers.” Sanders stepped up beside him. “Look closely.”

Trace leaned forward. At the bottom of each window, descriptions of each power were recorded, along with strength, range, and other important details of each. His eyes widened.

“That’s how you knew where I needed to sleep.” He whispered. “That’s how you found me, knew what I could do…”

Sanders took a deep breath. “I must say, to let someone else see this is something I never hoped for. It’s pleasant to have company.”

“Pleasant to have the company of a man you’re blackmailing.” Trace’s tone darkened.

“Not me, no. Never me. I would never be a willing perpetrator or accomplice to such a scheme.” He admitted.

“You claim to be unwilling, and yet…” Trace raised his eyebrows. “Here I am.”

“I have few choices, you see. I am an observer only. I have no control over what I see, no power to affect change. But information, in a sense, is powerful. I can offer some to you, but not for no reason.” Sanders turned to look Trace in the eyes.

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning.” Trace was wary of this stranger, perplexed by his roundabout way of revealing information. He wished the man would be more straightforward.

“You know why I show you all this?” Sanders walked around, looking at each window in turn. There were hundreds, or more, all around.

“As a matter of fact, no. Why show me?” Trace pursed his lips.

“Look here.” Sanders came to a stop and lifted his hand toward the image of a young woman. She sat on a natural stone floor, knees curled up to her chest. Her lips moved, but no sound issued from them.

“Who is this?” Trace frowned at the image.

“My sister. Emily.” Sanders’ voice held a new emotion as he gave the first straightforward answer since Trace’s arrival.

“She’s a prisoner?” The farmer guessed. She looked scared, yet resigned. Lonely. It reminded him of Anaisa in her nightmares, and his heart was moved for the girl.

“For two years now. I cannot reach her.” Sanders swallowed and turned away.

“You said you can only see people when they use their powers,” Trace looked closer. “What’s she doing? What is her power?”

“Speaking to me,” Sanders’ voice was full of pain. “She whispers. She can speak to anyone she’s ever met, with a whisper. And she spends her time begging me to save her.”