Through the window of the inn, Catague watched the clouds crashing together.  Tendrils of lightening flashed across the heavens as torrents of rain fell from the sky.  Rivulets ran through the mud trails of the town, and more than one wagon was left stranded, buried up to its wheels in the quagmire.

 

Catague shook his head, imagining the losses this would bring to him.  None had forewarning of the storm.  It came from beyond the mists to the North, giving the town little warning.  The farmers had scurried out to their fields to gather what they could of the crops, but with barely a day to work before the rains came, not much was gathered.

 

Even now, this year’s crop of Beakswheat and Shamscray were out rotting in the fields; their stalks blown over, leaves torn by the biting winds.  Catague had managed to get enough stored up to pull his family through the winter, but many families would be hard pressed. 

 

Catague idly wondered if some lesson might be learnt in this somewhere.  Just this very month, a great war had broken out in the City of Dreams.  He’d spent so much of his time embroiled in the city beyond, that he’d neglected a great many of his duties on his shard.  Indeed, he’d been one of the last to hear of the coming storm, and had barely managed to get enough harvested for his family.

 

His thoughts drifted to his dear wife Riva, who had been deeply concerned at how much he had  been sleeping lately.  The ancient stories told of dreamers being vile, despicable beings, and he’d never managed to bring himself to tell her, though he’d yearned to since he first set foot on those pearled stone steps leading to the gates of the city.  He could not bear the thought of seeing the hurt and disgusted look on her face should he ever let his secret slip.  And, of course, there were other concerns.

 

As if on cue to Catague’s thoughts, the chair next to him was pulled back and a plump, portly fellow sat down heavily, making the seat squeal and strain under the pressure.

 

“Ahh, bad turn of luck we’ve all had this season, ‘eh Catague?” the large man said, folding his arms and resting them on the table.

 

“Indeed, Bartold.” Catague said, shaking his head sadly.  “I fear for some of the families of the town.  Halcomb Miller was ill the day the storm approached, and wasn’t able to get afield.  Luckily, his sons were able to get some stored away, but I doubt it’s scarce enough to tide them through.  Worse off would be Widow Dunbraey.  Her son Sanctul was off in Charceyville when the storm blew in, and their entire fields are left to rot.”

 

“Ah, yes.” Bartold replied, shaking his head.  His weighty jowls rolled beneath his frown.  “Sad how some people are unable to plan well for the future.  One never knows when the unexpected might happen, or past debts come due.”

 

Catague started, and looked at Bartold in shock.

 

Bartold merely smiled darkly.

 

“Yes, I’m afraid you’ve guessed correctly, Catague.  I’ve come to speak with you on repayment of the loan I supplied you with to purchase seeds this fall.  As I know you are not in possession of the eighty-nine Dracnas required to pay it in full, I’ll be willing to take, in lieu of your payment, 30 bushels of Beakswheat.”

 

“But Bartold!” Catague gasped, “I only managed to harvest 40 bushels of Beakswheat from my fields!  If I give you 30 bushels of that, my family will starve!”

 

Bartold steepled his fingers, and looked menacingly at Catague.

 

“Yes.  And if I had not supplied you with the Dracnas required to purchase those seeds, your family would surely have starved anyway.”

 

“Bartold, I can not do as you ask me.” Catague stated simply, but firmly.  He wasn’t a violent man by any means, but he would not allow this blustering bully to sentence his family to starvation and death over the coming winter.  “I will, however, assist you in hunting, trapping, and foraging.  I feel that all of us in the town will have to work together as a strong community if we are to survive this season.  This ill fate has afflicted us all.”

 

“No!” Bartold blustered. “I demand payment of your debt in full, by tonight!”

 

“I refuse.” Catague said simply.  “I will help you through this season, Bartold, but I will not throw away my family’s lives simply for your comfort.”

 

Bartold glared at Catague for a moment, jowls quiverring, then his demeanor abruptly changed.  His face relaxed, and a smile crossed his face.

 

“Perhaps there is something I should tell you, Catague.” Bartold said quietly, leaning forward.  “I am a dreamer.”

 

Catague blinked, and his heart leapt uncontrollably.  Was this someone that he could share his experiences with?  Was this finally someone who he could tell of his experiences in the wonderful city beyond?

 

“Yes, I am a dreamer.” Bartold continued quietly.  “And as a dreamer, I insist that you pay my debt to me.  Immediately.”

 

“But Bartold, I just said…” Catague began, but Bartold interrupted him by slamming a meaty fist down on the table.

 

“Did you not hear me, mortal?” Bartold hissed, glaring at Catague.  “I am a dreamer, I say!”

 

Catague’s joy at the prospect of talking to another of his kind began to fade into bewilderment.

 

Bartold leaned across the table, narrowed his eyes and snarled, “Do not cross me, or I will release horrible nightmares upon you and your family.  Death will be NOTHING compared to what I will do to you.”

 

Catague’s jaw dropped at this preposterous threat, but before he could say anything, Bartold continued.

 

“I’ll force your daughter to dream as my slave.  The nightmares can have the rest of your family, but your daughter will serve me in my palace in the Dream!”

 

Catague’s heart, which had risen to such heights, fell as a stone.  This man before him was no dreamer.  This man was simply seeking to profit from the lies and misconceptions about dreamers.  He was just a bully, trying to use the myths to threaten others.

 

Catague pushed his chair back, ignoring the shocked look on Bartold’s face.  He pushed his way past Bartold, leaving him sputtering in shock and outrage, and walked outside.  As he made his way through the rain, the words kept ringing through his head.

 

“I am a dreamer.”

 

Catague was grateful for the rain at that point, for no one could see the streaks of tears falling down his face.