The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

Old Shalon's Dream - PART 1

         

At some point, late in the night I had the following dream:

* * *

I am walking with Blue Jay in some fields—there are buffalo in the distance, watching us silently, in that creepy way that cows stare. Everything feels peaceful, but kind of strange.

Blue Jay is holding my hand. I look down at our hands clasped together, and feel my stomach knot. My hand is attached to my arm, and my arm is attached to my body, which is not 'my' body, if you know what I mean. It's not my earthly body, anyway. It's my dream body. Literally.

I feel a blush creeping up my face as I become conscious in the dream. I drop Blue Jay's hand. It's all a charade—why do we do this? Pretend like this?

He turns and stares at me. "Are you okay?"

"Um...I stammer."

"Oh," he says, as if he understands.

"Oh?" I ask, and then it hits me. His awareness mingles with mine. I gulp. "I'm sorry," I say. "This is just...."

That's okay, he says, telepathically.

My eyes go wide. I'm in some awful space between curious and terrified. I want to run away. He can read my thoughts.

Just then, I hear someone call my name. I turn and look around. "Did you hear that?"

Blue Jay looks around. "No, what did you hear?"

I hear it again, someone screaming, 'Shalon! Help me!' I turn and look around again. "I just heard someone scream my name." And as I say it, I hear it again, the exact same scream.

"Go!" Blue Jay urges. "Just go—it could be Imorah, or anyone. They need your help."

"But.. how?" I ask him, confused.

"Close your eyes and follow it. You'll find it."

I turn and look at him. Why is he so perfect?

"Go," he urges me with a smile.

I close my eyes and listen to the scream, and will myself to go where it originates. I don't know how I know how to do this, but I do. I feel my body falling through layers and layers of cloth, gently fluttering against me like the wings of a million butterflies.

When I open my eyes, I've arrived. All of me has arrived. I feel different. I feel confident and strong.

It's Imorah. She's standing in a field, her eyes wide, staring at a boy—he's frozen in the dream sequence. Something is wrong.

"What's going on?" I ask. "Who is he?" I look at her, dressed in fur, with a fur hat. "And why are you dressed like that?" She's wearing a very unflattering viking outfit—furry and lumpy. The only thing that sparkles are her eyes. Her eyes, normally brown, are now a deep and icy blue, and her curly, long black hair is a messy, greasy blonde stuffed under an enormous fur hat. "I mean—aren't you hot in that?"

She peels her eyes off the boy long enough to hiss at me—"It's a dream, Shalon! Anyway, you wouldn't understand. And I don't have time to explain it. This is really serious. I need your help!"

Just looking at her makes my skin prickle with discomfort. I sigh and rub my cool, tan dream arms, and pat down my purple silk dress, feeling the soft curve of my hips. Oh how nice it is to have a beautiful body, I think, closing my eyes and feeling the perfection.

"Ahem," Imorah coughs, grabbing my hand and giving it a shake.

I open my eyes to see she's staring at me—her face crinkled in a look of disgust.