For the second time in thirty years, the entire world has fallen asleep...
Thirty years after the Greymen caused the decimation of her people, high school drop out Rain Collins spends her days learning to pickpocket and hold her booze. Yet she long...
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The other students and I filed out of the stadium's gaping front entrance. They all waved goodbye to one another as they wandered off into various sections of the apartment district. But I stayed behind, waiting for my father. We had work to do. Beth needed us.
"Dad," I called as he came around the corner.
"Not tonight, Rain," he said, walking past me and toward the apartments.
"But Beth—"
"Listen." He stopped and faced me. "I will look for her tonight. Billy and Kayle can come with me. But you, Rain, you're too volatile right now. Your power is immense and you're not mature enough for it. Just go to bed."
He left me in the middle of the street, standing in shock. I was one of the strongest warriors that we had—not a Dreamcaller, but still—stronger than Kayle and Billy combined. Yet here I was, alone in the City of Safe Dreaming.
I made to start walking to the apartment district to find my new apartment—the apartments acted as a temporary place to get away from the dream world or to spend your time when there was nothing to do but wait—but something stopped me. A pair of beady, grey, bespectacled eyes stared out at at me from a small nook in the stadium wall.
"Hello," said the Speaker as I approached. "It is time for our private lesson."
He pushed open a door that blended in with the green brick of the side of the stadium where he had been leaning a moment before. The smell of incense and wood smoke and hot tea bubbled out from inside, mingling with the Christmas smell of the city. I gave him a skeptical look before following him into the stuffy, small room. He closed the door behind us.
"Welcome to my home," he said, gesturing at the tiny room. It may have had all of the amenities of home, but the miniscule space and heady smell were less than inviting.
"Thank you. It's very cozy," I said, taking a seat on the dilapidated sofa pushed up against the foot of a twin bed.
He sat down beside me and smiled like he had in the stadium. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and picked up a patterned teapot from a nearby table and poured us each a cup. He pushed one into my hands, still staring into my eyes.
"Thank you," I said again. I took a sip of the tea. Bitter.
The Speaker continued to stare at me, wordlessly.
"So," I said, looking around the room, desperately trying to avoid his probing eyes. "Why do they call you the Speaker?"
"They call me the Speaker of Dreams," he corrected me, "because I speak the dreams."
I nodded as if that made sense. "And what does that mean, exactly?"
He took a sip of his tea, then winced. "This is awful," he said, taking my cup from my hands. "Why didn't you say anything?"
