“WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T GET OLD.
In fiery young Deirdre Callaghan’s home of Skellig City, no one has dreamt their own dream in over a thousand years. Dreams are produced by the Dream Makers and sold by the Ministry, the tyrannical rulers of the city. In Skellig City, years of life are awarded equally and the ruined are cast away beneath the city on their 35th birthday.
Unbeknownst to the Ministry, Deirdre’s handsome friend Flynn Brennan is afflicted with a terrible disease – a disease that accelerates the aging process. Knowing his fate if the Ministry should ever discover his illness, Flynn has lived his whole life hiding from their watchful eyes. When Flynn’s secret is finally discovered, Deirdre is determined to free him from the Ministry’s grasp. But to save him, she will have to reveal herself to a shadowy enemy…one that none of them even knew existed.”
Roenin said, “A power inside every living thing sleeps and waits for anyone who will call to it. That power may have diminished, but here in the dream world, it can be felt again and used for good. This is the only power that may shine light through the darkness of the Ministry.”
I ask, “When will this light come?”
He sighs and looks again toward the trees. “That, I do not know. But this room of sacred trees is a promise that it will be soon.” He reaches forward and shows me the fresh green shoots on the branches. “I have waited long for the trees to stir. And now it has begun. But speak none of this outside of here; it is yet too dangerous. When the sanctuary trees are in bloom, then it will be time.”
I study the lime-green shoots and feel suddenly joyful, like something inside me is beginning to grow as well. I step back to take in more of their beauty. Beneath the branches is an altar of sorts, the roots of the trees growing up to hold an object. I notice they form the five interlocking circles of the Dream Makers, and then I look closer at what the altar is holding. It looks like the teak box from our living unit, just missing our Callaghan family pattern on the top. What is that doing in this dream? I wonder why mother has placed our box here in the middle of the sanctuary.
I walked forward, reaching out to touch it like I have done a thousand times before at home. But Roenin’s hand shoots out, stopping me from touching the wood. “No, lady. To touch it is death. You must promise me to never touch it, in here or out there.”
I feel shock. “Wait. How do you know that this is the box in my home? Or about the Ministry’s Dream Protocol?”
He is silent, and the dark pools of his eyes swallow me whole. Then he gathers up the cloth of his robe and in a twisting motion, swings it over my head. Everything goes dark and I feel myself falling backward into the trees. The fresh green shoots on the branches wrap around me and I remember nothing more.
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About the Author:
Driven to distraction by her computer, Adara writes all of her stories longhand. Pen and paper are two of her favorite things. The author tortures her husband with a passion for downtempo electronica and too many pillows. She is a firm believer that there are never enough pillows.