Soulwalker

Chapter 6: The Dream Weaver

At first, nobody noticed the young man as he strode through the small village market, but only because he was one of the very many strange beings in the Otherworld. If you saw him walking down the street, you would certainly have noticed him. He had long, curly auburn hair that sometimes seemed golden in the light. His eyes were gleaming blue. He was so unbelievably, breathtakingly handsome, you might take him to be a faery. Angus was all but oblivious to this; he took no notice of the girls that giggled and pointed at him, or stopped dead in their tracks as he passed, their mouths gaping. Several of them sighed after him. Angus was only about eighteen years old (he was not quite sure of his birth date, or even if he had been born within Time at all), but already he had had many lovers. He lost count at seven.

Still, the men took absolutely no notice of his presence as he wandered through the market, wishing he were not traveling on foot. He tensely gripped the handle of his sword, Fury, to reassure himself that he was protected. On his other hip a leather pack and small black velvet bag hung from his belt. Like Aisling, Angus had an Extendable object. His hip pouch contained a myriad of strange objects. Stones, crystals, feathers, small flasks, herbs, amulets, rune stones, several other small pouches, a chalice (it was always best to drink only out of your own chalice in the Otherworld), a pendulum (pendulums were not always reliable for dowsing, but it was good to have one), several books, his wand, a harp, practical necessities, and little treasures that he had collected from Otherworld marketplaces such as this one. But the most curious thing he carried was in the black velvet pouch. You might think it was a money purse, but it was not (he kept his purse in his hip pack, too). It was a bag of dreams.

Angus was not only a shaman but also a Dream Weaver. He had been taught the art of creating and containing dreams by Caer Ibormaith, who appeared to him in one of his own dreams. He collected dreams as he traveled through the Otherworld, experiencing strange, wonderful, and terrifying things. The dreams looked like little orbs that appeared to be made of glass. He had twelve of them, and he hoped to sell them all at this marketplace. Maybe he would earn enough money to buy something from the market for himself.

Otherworld marketplaces were fascinating. Even as a shaman, Angus didn't think he would ever get used to them. There were boxes that seemed to decide what was in them, pitchers that decided what liquid was in them, dancing pens, black doves and white crows, singing crystals, jeweled tree bark, and a matter of other strange things. "You see this?" said one vendor. "You've heard of Invisibility Cloaks? This is a Noticeable Robe. Walk down the street wearing this, and everyone will notice you, guaranteed."

"This is a bottle of storm. You have to use it very carefully."

"Blank? The book's not blank, it just doesn't want to share its secrets."

"Yes, it is blue honey. Would you like a sample?"

The vendors themselves were strange, too. Some were hags or goblins or trolls, others were merrows or pookas or pixies. Some were a variety of unusual humanlike creatures and animal-like humanoids that Angus simply couldn't name. For some reason, there were not many shamans.

Angus laid out a blanket and displayed his dreams in front of him. He admired his beautiful dreams and began to cry his wares. "Dreams to sell! Fine dreams to sell! Free of anxiety and fear! The beautiful, the strange, and the marvellous! Dreams, sweet dreams!"

Most of Angus' customers were the young women who had noticed him in the street. They came to him eagerly, asking if they would dream about their future husbands. It is all young women ever want to know, he thought with a sigh. One girl impulsively bought one of his more chaotic dreams and blew him a kiss, saying, "You're dreamy yourself, pretty boy!"

Angus sighed, reached into his pack, and pulled out the one dream he would never sell. It was a beautiful orb, larger than the others, and crystal rather than glass. Unlike all the other dreams, this one would not dissolve during his sleep. This was not a dream that he had made. This dream was his own. He had quickly spun as much of it as he could remember into the crystal orb, so he could remember it forever. It was a dream of a girl.

The girl was beautiful, with long black hair and silvery blue eyes. She sat beside a clear lake, wearing a pale blue gown, with a black cat sitting next to her. Angus took her in his arms and kissed her before waking up. Although he had many pleasant infatuations over the course of his life so far, he had never had one like this. He was absolutely obsessed with this girl that he had only seen in his dreams. He dreamt of her many times. He knew it was unhealthy to waste away lingering on her, but he also knew that she must exist somewhere in the Otherworld. He desperately hoped that he would one day find her. Somehow he knew she was his true love.

"The— Wanderer? There are many vagabonds here."

"He's called the Wanderer," said the boy. "I dunno his name. I think he's some kind of sorcerer."

"I do not know of him," said Angus. "Do you know of a girl with long black hair and pale blue eyes?"

"None come to mind. What's that you're selling?"

"Dreams. This one isn't for sale," said Angus, slipping the dream back into his pouch. "but I have one more left to sell." He held up the little glassy orb for the boy to look at.

"Pretty ball," said the boy. "I heard of crystal balls, but that one looks a little small to tell fortunes with."

"I said, it's a dream."

"A dream? How do you sell a dream?"

"I'm a Dream Weaver," said Angus. "I pull together things I've seen and fragments of memory. I spin them into a little collection of images and ideas, a mass of thoughtforms. They dissolve in a person's sleep and fill their minds with these things, personalized by the person's own mind."

"Sounds cool," said the boy, though Angus could tell he didn't understand how they worked. "So, uh... I is looking for the Wanderer, as I said..."

"You mean 'I am looking for the—"

"Whatever. What are you looking for?"

"More experiences for my dreams, and..."

"What?"

"A girl."

"A girl? Your sweetheart?"

"I believe so."

"Is she your sweetheart, or not?"

"Maybe she will be." Angus sighed. "So why are you looking for this Wanderer?"

"Well, first I'm going to the alchemist in the West Wood. She is gonna give me an Identity Potion. I is gonna give it to the Wanderer."

What a dangerous thing to have! Angus thought. Identity Elixirs forced the drinker to reveal his or her true name. If a person knew your true name, they would have power over you. Angus got very suspicious. "Do you want to hurt or control this Wanderer?"

"No, I'm going to help him! I want to work for him!"

"Why?"

"None of your business!"

Angus was even more suspicious. He figured he needed to figure out who this Wanderer person was. "Well, I hope you will," said Angus kindly. "The market is closing. I'd like to look around before it does." He packed up his dreams and walked off, wondering.