The Dream Seer Chronicles

By Sara Steege

First Dream

The final days were upon the people of Kalandrin, as the crystal glare of its white sun was swallowed by billows of angry swirling clouds the color of blood, and the oceans whirled in ferocious torment. At the coastal town of Door, where huddles of human-folk carried out their daily toils, unaware of the plight creeping across the skies and boiling in oceans, it was six weeks till the first signs of the storms came to be. Murky shadows veiled the town for twelve days, as if laying siege to the humble town that inadvertently lay in its path. This was the first indication and it went unheeded, as most of nature’s activities do, as a casual occurrence of coastal weather. More seriously was the increase of gale force winds, which exploded from a mere sneeze of air to a violent blast overnight.

But here we are getting ahead of ourselves, for it was within the midday gray and harnessing winds that our Scape-Dreamer came upon the coastal town of Door. And it is then that our story truly begins.

Soryn De’gaard sat silently in the backseat of the cargo truck, surveying the shifting scenery with moderately cool attention. On the edge of the road earthy shadows of skeletal trees danced in the swirling chaos of drifting leaves. Beyond them lay the sea, flowing on in gray motion. For the time, Soryn thought it looked quite calm, but that could have been due to the distance, as he sensed other troubles brewing in the air like smoke from a distant fire. Though he knew not the cause of the growing calamity, he knew one of the focal points of its turmoil lay in Door, the ever-approaching destination of their truck of three.

Indeed, Soryn was not alone in the spacious vehicle, as there were two others he had aligned himself with. They were brothers, Daerick and Kaylen from the Earthen Lands up north. Daerick, who was also silently perusing the landscape, was a fit black man with a penetrating gaze. He moved with a grace that seemed to speak of things gone unsaid, with a wise and wistful way of navigating through life that indicated to Soryn an inherent and long-standing wisdom. The other brother, Kaylen, was more straightforward and energetic; social about the Cause of which both brothers took with an immense sincerity.

It has long been known that the States of Western Kalandrin were in strife. The ruling state, the Hallow Empire predominated over them all with regimented authority – the kind of which disallowed for the autonomy of certain privileged actions you and I take for granted. The upper echelons of the Empire ruled selfishly and wantonly, without regard for human right or virtue. The Earthen Lands and many other sectors of the country were slave camps of a mechanized bruteness, executed by the Lord-Emperor Keshin during his rule. Thanks to resistance groups, the like of which Soryn and the brothers now served, the Empire’s hold over such places was crumbling.

Yet to what end? he now wondered, recalling the pillars of crimson smoke rising from the dark stain of labor facilities. They had achieved liberty, but now they had to contend with the responsibilities of their freedom. Would they abuse it as power mongers like Keshin had and formulate a new kind of prison, one in which humanity’s incarceration was not so apparent, or would they forge from their struggles a new dream?

The jerking halt of the cargo truck awoke Soryn from his scene-gazing reverie.

"What’s the matter? Why are we stopped?" Daerick asked, turning and leaning calmly to his brother in the front seat ahead of him.

"Come see for yourself, bro."

Glancing back at Soryn, the man unfastened himself from his seat and glided from the spacious posterior of the vehicle to the front. Soryn followed suit, half-ducking as he advanced forward. Coming close to one of the windowpanes on the flank of the truck, he grew aware of the roaring current of the wind rocking the stilled vehicle.

"What is it?" he asked, crouching behind Daerick’s on-looking figure.

"It would appear we have another situation to attend to," he responded, returning to the cache of equipment stored in one of the rear compartments.

Kaylen was more succinct: "The road is blocked by some felled trees." Kindly turning in his seat to meet Soryn’s eye, he added, "If we’re going to get to Door before the day’s out we won’t be able to do it in this thing. Looks like we’re walking, chief."

Soryn leaned forward, gazing through the curved windshield. "How many trees?" he asked as he saw.

It was apparent that it was not one mere log that was strewn across their path but several, as if a giant hand had come down from the heavens and swatted the score of shaken-wood down to the road. Nor could they navigate around on the left or right, for on the right lay a narrow expanse of cliff, buttressed by red-blossomed bramble on the further side, and lower courts of terra. The left was no better for it was barricaded by a rocky incline with entrenched roots of more shuffling trees. Directing the clunky power of the cargo truck along either side would likely cause a massive landslide and incur more damage to the scene and to them than was well worth it.

But Soryn’s mind was focused more on the barricade than what lay to either side. He moved to the side door and laid his hand on the handle.

"We may not need to abandon our transport just yet," he said, wrenching the door open and jumping out. The wind moaned in great gasps of air outside the truck, tussling his long gray coat in chaotic movements. Despite the violence of it, however, he found it strangely endearing, yet overtly troubling at the same time.

Daerick looked at him, standing dynamically in the doorway. "What are you going to do?"

"I’m going to try something," he returned, raising his voice over that of the wind. "Tell Kaylen to back off a ways. I am going to need some maneuvering room."

With that, he jerked the door shut and stepped back, turning toward the pile of wood. Advancing in a whirl of clothing and leaves, he felt an inner lift. Behind him, the truck rolled back, Kaylen carrying out his instructions. Now was the time to begin the Scape-Dreaming.

Unlike Daerick and Kaylen, Soryn was not a native of Kalandrin. He was a world wanderer, endowed with the ability to shift between worlds as easily as you or I would step through a doorway. But that was not the sole extent of his power, for he had other gifts as well.

One of these was a more familiar (though no less bizarre) phenomenon known as telekinesis – the ability to move things with one’s mind. For those of Soryn’s race, it was a kind of imagining of present objects in another state. But to achieve this imagining required an immense amount of concentration, and also the suspension of belief in things as real. Hence, it was dreaming, of the sort you and I know when we sleep and create from our unconsciousness wild works of things not known in the real world. In some sense, we retreat from that which is known so well when we sleep, in much the same way that Soryn, as he stood in that turbulent air focusing upon fallen wood, sought passage within and without in order to escape the physicality of things before him. And it is in this process that the Scape-Dreaming happens.

Soryn did not see the same thing that Daerick and Kaylen saw, or that you or I would have seen had we been in their place. For him, the replacement of the felled trees to their place among the red-blossomed bramble was casual, like the turning over of a hand, or the normalcy of people speaking nonsense in dreams. For the rest of us, it is something to behold indeed, as it is not every day whole bunches of trees are lifted seemingly by the air itself and guided haphazardly to rest in patches of stirring bracken.

With the last log so placed, Soryn felt the inner lift fade, replaced by a shallow vacuum. He collapsed, exhausted as if he had lifted those trees himself but with a deeper, more profound weariness that came along with the Scape-Dreaming. Reality faded into blackness, and he slept a dreamless sleep.

"What the fummox? How the hell is he doing that?!"

The bewildered words of Kaylen were met with an awed silence.

"Daerick!" he shouted, turning to regard his brother. Whatever questioning remark he had on the tip of his tongue faltered somewhere and disintegrated upon seeing the expression of unadulterated wonderment on Daerick’s normally stony face. The young brother could not recollect another occasion where he saw his sibling wear such an expression.

"Daerick…?" he ventured in a much smaller voice.

The other shook his head slowly and solemnly, his words a scarcely audible mutter above the blast and bluster from outside: "I knew he was not like the rest of us…but I had no idea…"

Confusion crumpled Kaylen’s face, turning up his brows and twisting his mouth. "What the hell are you going on about? You knew he could do stuff like this? Move a fragging fallen forest with – with – whatever he’s doing out there?!"

Daerick’s dark eyes darted to regard the other. His lips tightened into a straight line. Again he shook his head. "From the way he fought and the manner with which he carries himself…no it was his eyes." His gaze fell. "Yes it was his eyes that first made me suspect. Like silver mists."

Growing impatient at Daerick’s all-too-familiar and none too clear self conversing, Kaylen threw up his hands. "Daer – now isn’t the time for getting all wise-ass cryptic on me…"

"Kay…Soryn is a Guardian."

"Yeahhhhh – I knew that already –"

"No, not just a guard of the Resistance. He has magic. He is not from Kalandrin."

Purposeful meaning laden with but the oldest of Kalandrin myth came and settled itself on Kaylen. Sorcerers and magicians were legends and fables from ancient times. Not as knowledgeable as his scholarly sibling, Kaylen only knew these things from children’s stories. Always the magician was divinely influenced – empowered by ancient deities. Less often the wizard was a stranger from another world altogether. A messenger from the stars.

The afternoon sun was shielded behind a bank of dusty thickening clouds, as the three set on again in their appropriated vehicle, and the sun was just as absent when they finally reached their destination, the town of Door.

Feeling forlorn from their long journey and appropriate disillusionment at the status of the weather, they parked the cargo truck a short distance from the town where the road deteriorated off into wilderness and hiding it was a simple matter of bushes and shadows. Not a word had been exchanged between the brothers and Soryn since the brief layover earlier that day.

As much as Soryn regretted alienating his friends (or perhaps just himself) for the trouble at the road, he still felt he did what was necessary and there was little choice. They were called for, and could not afford the loss of time that walking would have consumed. Furthermore, the weather troubled him, and the less time they spent out in it the better. Behind the bastion of the conscious mind, in that place where the Scape-Dreaming happens, he knew one thing for certain: that it would only get worse.

Presently, the three moved on into the humble coastal town under a dreary rain-burdened sky. Indeed the scene below seemed to mirror the grayness, as many of the battle-worn coastal abodes were drab ashen shades of green, blue, and brown. As for the structure of the buildings themselves, I do not want to give you a false impression. Door was a humble coastal town, not too big and not too small. Nor was it in any well-kept shape, as the disputes mentioned before were not excluded to the northern territories, but were also quite prolific, like wildfire, along the southern shores. At least, that was so during Keshin’s reign.

Now Door and other towns, and villages like it were in a period of wound-mending. The Empire left it alone to do what it pleased, which mostly consisted of just getting by. You see, when Keshin’s forces occupied this area, the sky was blacker than it was when Soryn and the brothers set eyes upon it, as the skies were sooty with the smoke of razed buildings and smoldering valuables. Door was no stranger to suffering, and in so doing learned to relent to the crushing will of the Empire.

Or at least, such was the image they projected.

For Soryn and the others, they knew that within these drab lackluster structures was a spark of life that would not yet die out in the cold and hollow blackness. For in this humble coastal town called Door, a portal to other places and other hopes and dreams, was the will to fight – the heart of the resistance.

And it was here, among the whorls of enchanted leaves, and bowing cinder-black trees, that Soryn had been called for.

The hotel lay practically on the beach, only a short dash up a hill from the sandy shore. It was a tall narrow structure, nervously vertical and purple.

"Damn, that’s the only thing I’ve seen that isn’t moving in this town," Kaylen said, regarding the height of the building with a raised hand.

Soryn strode up the three steps leading to the entrance, and, laying a hand on the door, turned with silently patient eyes. Daerick and Kaylen stood, the younger gawking and the elder regarding their companion with crisp seriousness.

"We’ve come with you this far," Daerick said, "Now you must walk alone."

Soryn straightened and looked to Kaylen, as the younger brother sobered at Daerick’s tone. Then he returned his gaze to Daerick. "What do you mean?"

Daerick took a breath and folded his hands on the pommel of his walking stick. "Soryn, for one who speaks so simply, you surely understand more than you let on. You were expected, not us."

"But surely you both would like to know who it is you work for?"

"Granted, but it is not our charge."

"I don’t understand."

"I think you do. But even if you don’t, you will."

With that, Soryn turned away and entered the hotel, pondering his place.

She had many names, but to those that knew her best she was Kristin. She was a black-haired beauty with eyes the color of spring leaves and a hearty love for life. Some said she was a mystic, whose dreams sang songs of the fortuitous actions guiding her evermore along to her destiny. She was the leader of the resistance movement that consecrated its powers in the town of Door, and for many she was a symbol of hope for what could come from the present to the ever-retreating and always uncertain future.

She stood in a small room, which was more of a parlor than an actual hotel room, watching the gray violence of the ocean and clouds outside her window. There was a knock at the door.

"Enter."

The door swung open with a gentle drift, stirring some of the still air with its passing. Pausing in the open portal Soryn glanced about the petite parlor, his hand resting on the knob. Kristin’s slim figure, dressed in rich chestnut-brown slacks and a jacket, stood fixedly in front of a luminescent window, looking out on a gray and dying world. Her arms were crossed, folded as if hugging herself in her reverie. He approached, the door closing behind him with a click.

"I received your message," he said, stepping down a step dividing the room.

Kristin’s black-haired head raised at the sound of his voice. When he reached her side she turned her face towards him, regarding him with gentle eyes. "Then you know how things are going here."

"Yes," he said, turning his gaze to the scene beyond the window. "The weather is troubling indeed."

She turned to the window as well, and after a moment’s consideration said, "I’m certain it will only get worse as time goes on." She bowed her head, one of her black braids dangling beside her angelic visage. "But Soryn, there is something else…" she turned away walking a scant few strides from the window.

Turning, he said, "What is it?" Her back was to him.

She paused, closing her eyes in remembrance or meditation. When she next spoke it was with a cool voice, flowing over and evenly through the words. "These are the first comings of the Maelstroms, the forebears of the disharmony within Kalandrin. They will ravage the coasts until no living being may dare inhabit them." She raised her head, opening her eyes.

"What cause is this?" Soryn said after a moment of sudden silence.

Kristin breathed deeply, releasing a soothing sigh before continuing with eyes turned toward the ceiling as if an inscription were scrawled there. "In the time before the Hallow Empire came to power there was a previous period of dissonance between the States. The storms had come then, too, echoing the disorder in Man’s heart.

"But before the devastation could reach global levels, a party of six ventured into the Eastern Reaches, seeking shelter from the coarse ravages of nature." She paused a moment, bowing her head before continuing. "It is said that the leader of that expedition had a vision to go there and seek out the Four-Fingered God."

In a sudden dawning of the kind that bristles the invisible hairs on your flesh, Soryn recalled the words of her letter…

…and realized the portent of Kristin’s history lesson.

"You are going to venture into the Eastern Reaches?" he said, stepping towards her.

Kristin nodded, her head bowed once more with a dangling black braid. "I dreamt of the sanded lands and pepper pine trees of the Reaches six nights ago. It was unlike the other dreams I’ve had, dressed in blue mist like an underwater vision. It was almost as if…someone had called out to me in my sleep, and I could hear their message in its utter completeness, like a familiar song. But it was more than that too, for I sensed this place in a reality much different from our own."

At this Soryn snapped to attention, as if awakening. "‘In a reality much different from our own’!" he thought. "Does she know of the Scape-Dreaming? Could she know?"

Kristin must have sensed some of his anxiety, for she shook her head and pursued a different rhythm. "But that is beside the point now. We must prepare for our journey." Her eyes looked deeply into his own. "Can I count on your company?"

Soryn’s lips closed as he found his inner composure returning. He smiled gently.

"As always, Kristin."

Descending the purple-walled staircase in all of its narrow abstraction, Soryn and Kristin found their talk turning to lighter matters. They exchanged words as friends would, for friends they were even if professional matters took the stage from time to time. I shall not tell you of what they spoke, for that is an insignificant detail compared to the immensity of our tale, and our time together grows thin.

It was on the third floor, when their conversation was interrupted by a growing roar, creeping closer and ever-louder. Both were puzzled at first, unsure of the sound’s origin. Then Kristin looked outside one of the windows of the stairwell and saw the monstrosity of a sea enraged.

Not far beyond the dreary shoreline below the hotel were amassing tsunamis, welling up in waves, several leagues in height. Above them were swirling clouds, blood-black and flashing with anger. The Maelstroms had come.

"Soryn, there are people on that beach!"

Hurrying to the window, Soryn looked and confirmed Kristin’s worry. Several beach walkers stood as if enchanted by their oncoming doom as it swelled still miles out, some distance from the hotel but approaching no less, like death’s carriage.

Without further discussion on the matter, Soryn threw open the window, blasting both him and Kristin with the savage gusts of the outer ether, and leapt out.

I spoke before that Soryn had other gifts besides shifting between worlds and the Scape-Dreaming. Now as you shall see he has another gift – the gift of flight. For as he instinctively dashed through the window, without thinking of the consequences of the fall, Soryn summoned his hidden heritage from within his back. Tumbling through the fierce zephyr, a stiff clench of tensed wings found itself ripping through his coat. With a harrowing cry and the wings broke free and he surged up with a great flap, showering feathers into the chaotic air. He was no longer falling.

But even as Soryn flew, gliding and pitching along the surging drafts toward the stunned people below, his attention was also diverted to the approaching waves, like walls of water growing in height as they approached. The intensity of the situation faded, flowing seamlessly into a dreamlike enchantment for Soryn. Reality seemed to wind down and slide, as if time itself were moving through water.

As he alighted untroubled on the moist dark sand amidst yelling frightened forms, Soryn advanced toward the sea, wings extended still. The wind no longer seemed to touch him, to bully him another way. Rather, it seemed to align with him, directing towards the approaching assault a harnessed strength.

Soon the waves were on top of him. They looked smaller than they had from the window, but perhaps he had taken off again and saw them from higher up. Nonetheless, they met him in short distance, and he with his right hand extended as if reaching out to touch the water, found the frozen space that made the world tilt and the dream complete. The tsunami’s halted, a mere half-mile from the hotel shore.

From this the Scape-Dreaming ended, and Soryn fell back, drifting in black sleep to the ground of uncertain solidity. The still purple hotel was safe, Kristin was safe, and so were the people of Door. The only thing left was to let sleep over-take him, and the cycle would be complete.

We are now coming close upon the end of our time together, and there remains much to tell. After the momentary victory at Door, Kristin’s expedition left in urgency, headed to the East where prophecies came true. I can tell you that they encountered no shortage of troubles, but as they emerged from one wet jungle, sliding among dark green mud and vegetation, to the drier clearer airs of the Eastern Reaches, where the sand was the color of corn, and the trees dotted the mountainsides like tall dark reeds, their support of each other and steadfastness for their cause remained strong and undeterred. In this they were well-tested, of course, as is a necessary part of walking the path to the realization of one’s destiny. Still and all, the countenance they discovered in their flight across the Eastern Reaches, remains to be told for another telling, which we shall leave for another time, another dream.

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