The Dream Walker

Chapter 1: Mama and Misery

Mama said shoes were only for two occasions: visitors and visits. They were expensive and difficult to come by, after all. Thus, as we ascended our hill, the morning dew coated my feet. I slipped with nearly every step, and I could only hope that, by the time we finished, the hill would have dried from a beating sun.

The shade of our grove was always welcomed after the climb. While I collected myself, panting like a dog, mama went straight to work. She shuffled around the countless greenberry bushes until she found one untouched. One by one, she plucked the small spheres from their branches and dropped them in her basket. When the heat had lost its tyranny over me, I began as well.

Hunting for greenberries had trained my eyes well over the years. Because their color is an exact replica of the leafy green that surrounded it, even those that wish to punish themselves with a trek up the hill would have difficulty spotting the devilishly sweet fruit. Mama taught me the trick, though: don't search for the berries directly, but peer beyond the green into the shadows of every bush. Search in the black for a circular outline, refocus your eyes, and a patch of greenberries will await you.

Greenberries were highly sought-after, no matter how much money you had or how little money you had. And because mama hit the jackpot with our bushes, half of the little wealth we had came from selling them at Misery's marketplace. Despite what I said about them being highly sought-after, though, Misery was filled with the poorest of the poor. And, of course, they could seldom spare enough to purchase from us.

I took a moment to pause my plucking, staring down on our pathetic village. So pathetic it was that the past kings and queens of Elmsend never bothered to name it. The name 'Misery' was granted to it by none other than its own citizens. Who could blame us, though: aside from a tavern and the marketplace, Misery was nothing more than roughly three dozen sad little huts filled with sad little people.

"Nadayah, come on," mama's soft voice cooed, reeling me back to reality. When I stared down on Misery all the way up there I felt like a god. For a moment, if only that, I had escaped; I had become something more than a poor girl.

"Mama?" I said, searching for my next patch. My basket only had a few dozen berries, where mama had already collected an uncountable amount. "I heard someone at the tavern yesterday saying the royals don't worship the Dream Walker."

"Really?" This was often the point during which small talk began between us: once I was scolded for not foraging enough, I'd speak (often also leading me to not forage enough as I engrossed myself with whatever stupid topic I chose). A few hours always passed in silence, and I always found it unbearable.

"Yeah. Apparently the Dream Walker is just a bedtime story for them."

"Well, they have money," mama said, as diligent as ever in the hunt for greenberries. She rarely even glanced my way during our morning searches. "People with money don't need anything, so what would they pray for?"

While neither of us were particularly religious, often opting out of the services held each day to worship the Dream Walker, she had a point. However, "but they do have gods. The man in the tavern said they have eight!"

"Well, that's stupid," she said. "Eight? What are they praying for? And who was saying these things, anyway?"

"Josa."

"Josa," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You'd do well to tune Josa out from now on."

"Fair," I said. The sun was nearly to the center of the sky, now, meaning the time to return home was fast approaching. I decided I shouldn't bother searching for another patch. "Still, why do we worship the Dream Walker? It makes more sense for him to be a story."