The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

Old Shalon's Dream - PART 2

This is Liran. He's at least ten years older than the boy we're watching. This Liran is a man, a strong, serious man with friendly eyes and a warm smile. He is, by all accounts, very handsome, with reddish brown hair, and a red stubbled beard.

"Hello, Liran," I say coyly. This is the Liran I know, a frequent flyer in the dream-realm.

"Hello, Shalon," he smiles, a dazzling, confident thing. Then he looks at the scene we'd been watching.

Young-Liran is now making a fire and about to cook some very unappetizing food, it seems.

Poor kid, I think, and visualise my favourite food. Suddenly I have a piece of black forest cake in my hands. I close my eyes and take a whiff. The whipping cream smells like roses, and the red velvet chocolate is calling my name, so I indulge in a very large bite. The flavours explode in my mouth—sour cherry with thick fudgey chocolate, all lubricated with a generous amount of whipping cream. I'm in heaven.

"Ahem," Imorah coughs.

I open my eyes and the two of them are staring at me—Liran is grinning, but Imorah looks as if I'd gone completely mad. "You have to try this!" I say, after swallowing the bite.

"Um... maybe not right now..." Imorah urges through clenched teeth, pointing her head very slightly at old-Liran, her lover-boy.

"Oh, right, yes! Sorry, pardon me, I'm still getting used to this dream thing." I wipe my face and the cake is gone and we're back to watching young-Liran grate some desert potato. The results look like glue. "He isn't actually going to eat that, is he?"

Imorah puts her hand on her hip. "Shalon—come on. This was your idea, so let's begin. What should we do?"

"Well, don't look at me! Just because I had the idea, doesn't mean I have any clue what I'm doing."

Old-Liran watches us bicker politely. He stares at Imorah with the kind of pride that a father would feel for his daughter. It's clear he loves her, although Imorah is completely oblivious.

"Well, do you think we should just enter the scene?" she asks.

Old-Liran speaks up, finally. "So, you're trying to wake him up?" He nods, rubbing his jaw. "This could be difficult."

"Yes, exactly...." I stumble, "Wait, don't you already know this?" I'm confused about the timeline—if this is his future self, then doesn't he know what happened to his past self?

"No," Liran responds to my thoughts. "Time isn't linear like that. It's more like a big, fuzzy blob."

"Huh?" Imorah and I respond in unison.

"I know, it sounds weird. But from my perspective and experience with time-travelling, time is not a line that goes back to the past and forward to the future—it's more like an undulating field." Suddenly old-Liran is even more attractive. I want him to repeat the words 'undulating field' a second time. I smile at him.

"Shalon!" Imorah whispers fiercely.

"Oh?!" I say, realising that my thoughts have been transmitted to them both telepathically.

Old-Liran is looking at the ground, embarrassed.

"You are so annoying!" Imorah repeats.

I turn and give her a dirty look. "Watch out, missy!" I warn her. "Okay," I say, changing the subject decisively. "Let's do this." I walk up to young-Liran who is kneeling at the fire, cooking his little gluey pancakes. I study him. Hannah is sitting at the fire watching him, avid. I have an idea. "Okay, Imorah, change places with Hannah."