“And stay away from Alis! If I ever catch you sniffing around my woman again, I’ll crush you like the worm you are!” the big man took a step closer and raised a threatening fist.
“I didn’t know she was your woman, Lem, honest! I’d never try to take your woman,” protested Ket, backing hastily away.
Lem roared with laughter, “Like you could! Think any woman would want you, scrawny little nothing like you?”
Clenching his hands to hold back a mixture of tears and fury, Ket turned and fled. He ran back to his family’s small steading where one of his brothers cuffed him for sneaking off from his chores.
As the sun set on another day of labor on the farm, the family clustered around the cookpot and Ket’s mother and sisters doled out the weak gruel that passed for stew at this time of the year. It was early spring, most of the provisions put by last fall were gone and very little new growth was available yet. The women had been out most of the day gathering what green shoots they could find to add to the pot, but the result was still thin and unappetizing. His bigger, stronger brothers elbowed Ket aside, so that by the time he was able to hold out his wooden bowl, there was little left but liquid and some bits of sodden leaf.
Ket gulped it hastily, well aware that it could still be snatched from him. It did little to blunt the gnawing hunger in his middle and he looked hopefully at the big kettle, but a brother was there before him, tipping the last dribbles into his own bowl.
With a small sigh, Ket dipped up a bowl of water from the bucket near the hearth and drank that down too, pretending that the dregs in his bowl had given the water some flavor at least.
“Here you, if you’re going to drink all the water, you can go fetch some more,” his mother ordered.
Knowing better than to protest, Ket scrambled to his feet and grabbed the bucket. He skipped quickly out the door, knowing that if he failed to move fast enough to please her, his mother would cuff him as hard as the brothers did.
It was dark in the farmyard, but Ket knew the area intimately and made his way to the well easily enough. He filled the bucket and turned back to the house, visible because of the firelight leaking out around the chinking stuffed between the raw logs.
Ket sighed again. Although he knew it would probably earn him a blow, he paused in the quiet darkness, “Is this it?” he asked himself, “Is this what my whole life is going to be like? The smallest and weakest in the village. No chance of a place of my own. Just work for Da till one of the brothers takes over, then work for him the rest of my life. Damn, damn, damn! There’s got to be more than this, there’s just got to be!” Ket looked up at the uncaring stars for a moment more, then turned and trudged back to the house.
There being little the family could do in the barely lit confines of their cottage, they settled down to sleep soon after supper. They all slept in the loft, built under the rafters and next to the stone chimney. With the fire below banked for the night, the big chimney would radiate heat for hours. The parents took the best spot nearest the chimney, the brothers crowding as close as they dared and the sisters huddling together as close as they could manage. As usual, Ket was pushed to the far edge, well away from the heat of the chimney, and not really close enough to any of the others to share their warmth.
He huddled under the tattered blanket he’d been able to pull over himself and tried to sleep. Despite bone-deep weariness, his empty stomach and the turmoil in his mind kept him awake. Generally, he tried not to think too much, tried not to think about the future. Tonight, that seemed to be impossible.
“You could go somewhere else,” suggested a voice in his mind.
“There is nowhere else,” he told himself bitterly, “Just more filthy villages like this one where the big ones take everything.”
“There is another place,” the voice insisted, “a better place than this. Where you could be somebody. Where it wouldn’t matter that you aren’t as big and strong as everyone else.”
“Stop dreaming,” he scoffed at himself.
“No,” the voice, which he suddenly realized was speaking aloud, said, “Start Dreaming.”
Ket slowly opened his eyes and sat up. It was very dark, but there was a small fire burning that threw leaping shadows around what seemed to be a clearing in a forest. Across the fire from him was a shadowy, cloaked form. The firelight did little to illuminate the shape within the cloak, but Ket thought he could see the gleam of eyes watching him.
“What? Where is this place? Who are you?”
The cloaked figure laughed, a deep growling sound, “Nowhere, not yet. My dream, not yours. But if you do as I tell you, you could have your own Dream.”
“What do you mean? What use are dreams?”
“Not just dreams, fool. Dreams. Don’t your people even remember the Dream?”
Ket shook his head, remembering snatches of old stories, “Dreaming is evil. Dreamers are monsters to be killed.”
The cloaked figure snorted, “Some of them were, not all. Some of them built a bright, shining City. They went there in their sleep and Dreamed what they wanted to be. In the City, you could be a hero, a teacher, even a ruler. You could be anything you had the will and imagination to make yourself.”
“But that was years and years ago,” Ket protested, “They’re all dead and gone now.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” the other replied, “But the City still stands, and dreamers are returning to her. This is a good time to awaken, lots of new dreamers around. A smart, ambitious man could make a place for himself easily now.”
“Me?” Ket asked, scarcely daring to identify himself as smart and ambitious.
“Why not?” the figure asked, “Don’t you want something more to your life than you have?”
“Of course! But I don’t know how to Dream. No one remembers how to find the City.”
“I know,” under the hood, eyes flashed, “I know, and I can teach you if you promise to be guided by me. I know the ways of the City and I can help you.”
“I’ll promise anything if it’ll give me something better than this!” Ket declared.
The other laughed his low, growling laugh again and said, “Very good! Oh yes, we’ll do well together.
“Now, look into the heart of the fire. Picture a large room. Pale stone. You’re standing in the middle of the room. There are doorways all around. At the far end is a pale, glowing figure, a beacon. Look into the light of the beacon and let it draw you in….”
Ket stared into the fire until his eyes began to water, and he began to see, faintly and blurred, the scene the voice painted for him.
“Step forward. Move toward the beacon.”
Ket blinked and hesitantly tried to move forward. After a moment, he found himself looking up at the glowing ghostly figure of a woman. He gasped slightly and looked around.
He was indeed standing in a circular room made of pale stone. Everything was finer and cleaner than he had imagined a building could be. The stonework gleamed and the doors around the room beckoned to him. Each one had a device set into a window over its archway, and he glanced from one to another, trying to determine which to enter.
A voice in his head whispered, “That one.” Ket found himself turning toward a symbol that looked rather like three axe heads joined together. Lacking any other direction, he walked up the stairs and to the archway under the tripart symbol. There was a swirling blue mist filling the doorway and Ket hesitated at the sight of it.
“Just will yourself through it,” the voice in his head said, “But first, look at yourself.”
An image appeared before his eyes. It was like looking into a reflection in still water, but much clearer. Ket saw a scrawny, starved-looking young man wearing grubby and ragged clothing. He recognized the undistinguished face and colorless hair as his own and cringed away from the unappealing image.
“What would you like to see?” the voice whispered, “Here in the Dream, you can be anything you can imagine.”
For a moment, his mind was a blank, then he recalled the size and shape of Lem and watched the image swell up and bulge with muscles. Better clothes, he thought to himself and his rags turned into neat brown homespun trousers and shirt. Getting into the spirit of things, he decided that his hair should be black. More of a chin, he thought. Bigger eyes, and maybe a different color. He tried several colors and decided that a bright green looked pretty good. He paused to look at the image and decided he quite liked it.
He looked toward the doorway, set his new, firmer chin and marched through the swirling mist.
“Hello, are you new to the dream?” said a sweet voice.
He turned to see a very pretty young woman in a blue gown smiling warmly up at him.
He blinked. Pretty young women did not generally look up at Ket and smile, but this one was looking at him with warmth and something he thought might even be admiration in her soft blue eyes.
“My name is Allina, what’s yours?” she asked.
“Yes, I am new,” he admitted, “My name’s Ket…mmm, Ketzan,” he added a syllable to his name to make it sound more like that of a person of importance.
“Welcome to the Dream, Ketzan,” Allina replied, “Can I help you with anything?”
“What do I do?” Ket asked, glancing around at another clean, beautiful room.
Allina smiled, “What do you want to do? You can hunt, or talk to people. Learn about the Houses and the beliefs of the Dream, or go exploring.”
“Houses?” Ket asked.
“There are eight Great Houses. Great fortresses that sit at the end of the planes,” Allina told him, “In the ancient days, they dominated the Dream. When most of the dreamers died or left, the Houses closed and stayed empty and silent for generations. Now they’re opening again and gathering power and dreamers into themselves.”
Ket smiled at her and said, “You sure know a lot about this place.”
“I’m a Chronicler,” she said, proudly, “There’s a guild of us who follow the path of Master Bentis. He was a great dreamer and teacher in the Dark Ages who preserved most of the history we have now. We try to find more histories and to keep a record of the history of this new Age of the Dream.”
“Where I come from, no one remembers much about the Dream at all,” Ket admitted, “Most people think it’s just an old tale to frighten children.”
Allina smiled up at him and said, “Would you like to go for a walk and see the House I’d like to join?”
Ket nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that. You can tell me more about it on the way.”
As they walked, Allina explained about the beliefs of the house they were going to visit. The Guild of Illuminate Druids who owned the house believed in studying the arcane sciences of the Dream and Ket pretended to be interested in this too. Allina told him about her shardic life as the daughter of a schoolmaster, and he made up a tale about being the only son of a wealthy farmer.
By the time they arrived at the gates of the house, they were walking quite closely together, and he was wondering what came next. Courting in his village was a pretty rough and ready affair, but he had a suspicion that a girl like Allina might expect a bit more than an invitation to go off into the bushes.
They went through the portal into the Entrance and Ket stared around at the wonder of the House. It was far grander and more imposing than anything he could have imagined and he gladly agreed to a tour. The Guardian who took them on the tour spoke eloquently about his Guild and their beliefs and finally asked Ket and Allina if they were interested in joining.
Allina nodded enthusiastically and Ket said he thought he might be as well. He added, “I’ve just started dreaming, so I want to look around a bit, but your house certainly sounds interesting.”
The Guardian beamed at both of them and said, “That’s very wise of you Ketzan. Joining a Guild is an important step; you want to be sure it’s the right one for you. We’re still relatively new and building, so it’s an exciting time to be here.”
Remembering what his shadowy mentor had said, Ket nodded sagely.
Suddenly, something struck him a sharp blow in the ribs and a shrill voice cried, “Get up you lazy lump! Get downstairs and tend that fire.”
Jerked abruptly from his Dream, Ket took a minute to register that his oldest sister had just used her favourite method of waking him – a kick in the ribs.
