The Dreamweaver Read online

  “Anna, are you coming home this weekend? Andy is bringing his new girlfriend and I need help with it all.” Their family home was huge; both the house, and the beautiful gardens were Anna’s mothers pride and joy, as was her proficiency at dinner parties.

  “What happened to Marnie, Andy’s last girlfriend, and since when do you ever need help with entertaining, Mom.” Anna replied as she popped the cork on her wine and filled a glass to the top.

  “Is that a cork I just heard, Anna? You shouldn’t be drinking alone, next thing you’ll start getting cats and be like that crazy cat lady on Albany Parkway.”

  Anna pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it, “Seriously, Mom, you heard that? What do you have super-ears or something?” Anna nudged Py away from her feet as he meowed loudly for more tuna, Anna covered the receiver and whispered, “Quiet, Py!” Secretly vowing to only own one cat at a time.

  “No, Anna I have mother-ears and we hear everything.” Anna’s mother laughed in that way that made Anna miss her. Anna’s mother’s soft laughter was so sweet and one of her nicest features. “Anna, I worry about you in the city. Are you using the locks Alex installed? You can’t be too careful you know. I don’t like that neighbourhood and you’re so pretty…”

  “Mom, seriously? Are we going to have this conversation again? I am safe here and yes, all FIVE locks are engaged…” Anna scurried across the room and tried to turn the other four locks without her mother hearing, 'And yes, the pepper spray is in my purse, and no, I have to work this weekend so I can’t come home.” Home was about an hours train ride from the City and northwest of Albany, NY.

  “Oh, I am so sorry…” Anna could hear her mother’s lips pursing in that way she did when she was disappointed, “I just wish you were here, and I don’t know why Marnie and Andy broke up, he didn’t say, none of you kids tell me much these days.” There was a little catch in her voice that Anna knew well. With her kids grown-up and her divorce a few years ago, Anna’s mother was having a hard time adjusting to her new life.

  “Mom, I love you and I tell you everything, its just that nothing is really happening right now. Certainly not anything with my love life to report.” Anna rolled her eyes, “I really don’t have time for anything but work right now.” Anna eyed the waiting files with fresh annoyance.

  “Okay, honey. Will you try to come home soon? I’d like you to help decorate the tree and write a few Christmas cards.” With Thanksgiving just past, the ever looming Christmas pressure was on, at least for Anna’s mother and her generation. She had always worked hard to make Christmas special and even though her children were grown, she still persisted in the traditions she’d started.

  “I will, Mom. You know you’re probably the only one in New York who still sends snail mail cards. Why don’t you use the computer Andy gave you? You could send some cute e-cards with falling snow or something.” Anna’s brother Andrew was a sort of computer genius and had all the latest tech gadgets. He was always telling her about the next big thing coming, and kept her up to date with new phones, tablets and laptops.

  “I just can’t bring myself to be so impersonal at Christmas. I’ve been writing my own Christmas cards for … it must be at least forty years! Your Dad used to give me a list of his clients and then both our families, neighbours, friends, and now even their children… the list is about a mile long this year. I like doing it, but it would be more fun if you were with me.” She paused, “I’ll make your favourite pesto pasta with fresh parmesan…” She added as an enticement.

  Anna smiled into the receiver and gave in, “Okay, Mom, next weekend, first weekend in December.” Anna scribbled a note on the calendar taped to her fridge; MOM, XMAS CARDS on the December 2nd square.

  “Good. I’ll make your favourite dinner and maybe you can stay over — you know your room is always ready for you.”

  It was sweet that their mother had kept all her grown children’s rooms intact. It was a little like a time-machine into their childhood, and was more comforting than Anna would ever let on; a sort of insurance policy in the event of failure as a grown-up.

  Anna smiled, “I know, Mom, I love you. I’ll call you Sunday, gotta go now, my wine is getting warm!” She added mischievously.

  “Oh, Anna! You be good! Talk to you later then. Kiss, Kiss!” Her Mom blew kisses into the phone and was gone.

  Anna dumped a can of soup into a ceramic cup and stuck it in the microwave. Once it was sort of warm, she carried it, her bulging files, laptop and the glass of wine into her bedroom, followed closely by Py, who’d given up on more tuna and was now content to curl at the warmth of her hip as she spread her work out on the bed. It would be a long night and a longer weekend.

  Anna opened her eyes and was greeted by two amber ones gazing intently back at her, “Good morning, Py.” She stretched and reached to scratch him under the chin that he’d extended for her,“You ready for your breakfast?” Py meowed and jumped off her bed in response.

  Yawning, Anna swung her legs over the side of her soft bed, her feet warmed by a thick wooly rug, she stood stretching her arms and wriggling her toes into her comfy slippers.

  Anna shuffled down the hall and onto the white tiles of the spacious bathroom. Drawing a nice bath with a generous amount of her favourite bubble bath, she gathered her long blond hair into a messy bun and settled into the warmth of the large claw footed bathtub.

  Py nudged the door open regarding her cooly.

  “Okay, Py, give me a few minutes and you’ll get your breakfast.” Anna murmured as she closed her and wriggled her toes in the warm water contentedly.

  Py didn’t seem to mind too much, curling up on the thick bath rug nearest the warmth of the iron radiator. The frosty window cast shards of golden light throughout the room, changing the bubbles into iridescence globes as Anna settled deeper into the warm bath with a contented sigh.

  After more than a few minutes, Anna pulled the drain and rising from the warm water, reached for her fluffy white robe.

  Remembering something she’d meant to do, Anna reached into her pocket, “Here, Py, I have something for you.” Anna brought out a little silver bell on a black velvet ribbon, “It’s so the birds can hear you coming.” Anna teased as she tied the bell on Py’s neck, promptly nicking her finger on a sharp edge of the bell, “Ouch!” She muttered, sticking her finger and the tiny drop of blood into her mouth, “Oh well, Py I suffered a little so the birds and bunnies won’t have to.” She laughed stoking his outstretched neck for a moment as he purred contentedly, not realising his stalking days had just been summarily ended.

  The oak stairway wound its way downward in a graceful arch past oak panelled walls that were cheerfully lighted by a large stained glass window. The treads squeaked comfortingly at certain known points as Anna made her way down the stairs, and into the warm country kitchen. Py kept pace with her, his new bell tinkling as he meowed his approval at the direction she was taking.

  “Right, Py, now for your cream.” Anna pulled an eggshell blue bowl from the draining rack by the sink and filled it half full with rich, sweet cream. Py didn’t wait for a further invitation and began lapping at it as soon as the bowl was placed on the floor.

  Anna filled her kettle with the spring water that came cool and clean from the tap and set it on the always hot hob of her Aga cooker.

  Gazing out the floor to ceiling window that looked onto the winter scene that was her back garden, Anna snuggled into her favourite chair and waited for the kettle to boil. She closed her eyes after only a moment but was soon awakened by Py jumping onto her chest.

  Awake, Anna struggled to orient to her surroundings for a moment, like before the dream had been incredible, so real. She groaned, wishing the snug cabin was really her’s as she looked around her cramped, dingy bedroom.

  Idly she wondered at the clarity of her dreams; weren’t dreams supposed to be forgotten kind of soon after waking? Her’s certainly were not, but since they were so nice and featured, quite literally, t
he cabin of her dreams, she was glad to keep the memories if nothing else.

  Her reoccurring dream was quite a contrast to where she actually lived, as she gazed around her modest bedroom with it’s fading colours, marred plaster walls, and drafty windows.

  Maybe she could get one of her brothers to help her caulk the windows, she mused, the landlord certainly wasn't going to do it.

  Right! Enough feeling sorry for herself; the bed was strewn with papers and open files and the room was cold from the typically poor performance of the one radiator that was meant to warm the entire apartment. She shook her head to clear her mind and focus on the half finished work that surrounded her.

  Slipping on a thick sweater, Anna stuck a mug of water into the microwave. After the ‘Ding’ she added a double dose of instant coffee to the steaming mug, gave Py a bowl of kibbles, and got back to work.

  Making a mental note of things to do today, which included finding a place to board Py for the few days she’d be away in San Francisco.

  The day ahead would be all work and no play. With another sigh, Anna got busy as Py jumped off the bed heading to the kitchenette for his breakfast, his bell jingling merrily.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Myrddin

  At some point, or at some time (which was difficult to track in the weavers room) Myrddin’s cat had vanished for a while. Not that he really missed the arrogant creature, but it was an interesting puzzle as nothing that was flesh and bone was allowed to leave the place. The only things that passed the stoney walls were the insubstantial stuff of the dreams he wove, and the few books he’d managed to borrow from his favourite dreamer’s collection. Romance mostly, a few of the para-normal genre, and all pretty steamy; it turned out his golden-haired dreamer had a rather passionate spirit.

  Myrddin’s mind returned to the puzzle of his missing cat and the additional, and even more bewildering fact, that when the cat had returned, he was wearing a silver bell tied around his neck with a ribbon of dark velvet.

  “Where have you been?” Myrddin queried as he poured ambrosia into both his cup and into Cat’s bowl. He gathered the black cat into his arms and noted with some surprise that not only was he wearing the odd little bell, but he was decidedly fatter.

  “Strange happenings, my little friend.” Myrddin scratched the cat under his chin as he examined the small bell, “Where have I seen this before?” He wondered settling back onto his chair and contemplating the puzzle as he rubbed the bell between his fingers absentmindedly.

  His eyes widened in sudden realisation, flashing with excitement as he twisted his head around to stare at the loom he’d placed in the far corner to prevent it from leaving, as the dreamweaver’s looms normally did, in a rotation of thousands every few hours.

  “Ah Ha!” Myrddin exclaimed as he dropped the cat without a thought, dashing to the loom. From a pocket in his robe he pulled out an eyeglass that magnified the threads on the tapestry a hundredfold and beheld the impossible; a single thread, with a delicate strand of black cat hair wrapped around it, was woven securely into a slowly moving scene that showed Cat being stroked lovingly by Anna in her dreamscape.

  Myrddin gasped, “This cannot be! Cat - you’ve unbalanced the inter-dimensional dreamscape and opened a portal to Anna; you are now a part of her dream!”

  Realisation dawned, “You have found a way out! How is it you figured this out before me?” He exclaimed in wonderment, giving the cat a hasty stroke. Cat purred, looking innocent and regarding Myrddin with his dispassionate cat’s gaze.

  Myrddin ran a hand through his hair and paced the floor tapping his fingers on his chin.

  “What to do, what to do...” As he thought, he realised with a start, that if what he suspected was true, the beautiful, golden-haired girl in the dreamscape tapestry was in danger. This new realisation overriding his earlier joy at having potentially discovered an escape from his confinement, Myrddin was filled with concern for the safety of Anna L.Stewart.

  He turned towards the urn of viscous liquid in the centre of the room, although he couldn’t use it to escape, he could summon the sorcerous-witch who’d trapped him in the weavers workroom and, with a little luck, get her to agree to allow him to ‘correct’ the rift between the dreamweaver dimension and Anna’s.

  Without a further thought, Myrddin strode purposefully to the urn, pushing the long sleeves of his robe back, he skimmed his palms over the surface of the inky, thick liquid. As he did, small rivulets of light began to appear, and within them, colours emerged that twisted and turned like quick silver until an ancient, and a very angry face began to take shape.

  As the image became clearer, Myrddin stopped moving his palms across the surface, and instead raised them to call the emerging face upwards and into a 3D image, which was now twisted with hatred.

  “How dare you!” The voice hissed through insubstantial lips that smoked with fury, “Myrddin your time there is not even a quarter completed! You have no right to summon me early!”

  Myrddin flinched in response, “Niviane, forgive the intrusion. I know well the length of the confinement your spell dealt me. There is a problem with one of the tapestries that I need to... remedy and I seek your permission to proceed.” Myrddin bowed his head in an attempt to appear contrite, but to also to hide the smirk that would’ve angered the once beautiful woman that appeared before him to even greater rage.

  The face twisted and distorted into less humanlike features as it said, “Permission? Fool! I don’t care a whit about whatever nonsense or bother you’ve invoked in your confinement! YES! Is that all you want? You know the task of a dreamweaver! Do not bother me with silly questions again or I’ll extend your service a thousandfold!” Niviane spat as she spent one last moment glaring at Myrddin with fury before her image dissipated with a wet splash back into the murky vat.

  Even as her threat echoed in the cavernous room, she knew, (as did Myrddin) her spell was weakening with every bead that dropped; Myrddin’s service could not be extended as Niviane’s power as a druid witch, was as spent as was her youth and beauty.

  Myrddin sighed and wondered how he'd once thought he loved her. It wasn’t until decades later, during his confinement as a Dreamweaver, that he’d pieced together the puzzle of Nivane, her many disguises and of her true form as a Naiad.

  How was it he’d not known, he now wondered?

  He gazed into the now still vat, remembering it had been the ego-driven pride of youth that had brought him to his sorry fate as a dreamweaver. Had he really been that young?

  Many years earlier he'd pursued Niviane ardently. She’d appeared guileless and beautiful — a lithe dancer that had mesmerised him completely.

  Although Myrddin was considered a man at eighteen, he’d been young in experience, having spent all his formative years in more academic pursuits than other young men his age. Thus it was his limited knowledge of the wiles of the fairer sex that caused him to be blind to the true Niviane; she’d been his first (and only) attempt at love.

  Myrddin shook his head sadly, he had been completely mesmerised by her artifice and carefully staged innocence.

  Niviane’s worth would’ve been better judged by her vanity, or the cruel nature she showed by mercilessly beating her servants, or in her greed and lust for power. But Myrddin’s love blinded him to naught but the deception of her carefully applied makeup, coiffed hair and the colourful silks that enhanced the perfection of her dancer’s body.

  He’d courted her with the same determination as he did everything else he set his mind to; he’d brought her flowers and expensive gifts and had forgiven her haughty and public dismissal of his artless attempts at wooing her. Myrddin had been so certain she’d eventually fall in love with him as hopelessly as he’d believed he had for her.

  Myrddin's desire finally seemed destined to be returned when Nivane had coerced him into showing her an ancient charm. His youthful arrogance had believed Nivane’s flattery of him, he’d thought her interest was true when she had fawned ov
er him, shamelessly flirting until he relented and taught her the powerful Charm of Making, even against his better judgement.

  She'd been a quick study; reciting and memorising the charm and learning the ancient magick quickly. Afterwards they'd celebrated with a long night of dancing and ambrosia laced mead.

  Myrddin had finally lain with Nivane, but his joy had been short lived, she’d awakened the next morning with more than mere lovers remorse — she’d run away, mindless with fury towards him and fear that what had been done could not be undone.

  Myrddin had been horrified when he’d discovered that Niviane’s maidenhead had not been her’s to give; she’d been a vestal virgin to the Temple of Vesta and an understudy to no less than Hestia herself.

  To avoid the wrath of Hestia and preserve the life of her human form, she’d sought the only protection she’d believed could save her from death by burial alive, as was the custom for ridding Hestia’s temple of fallen virgins. Niviane had turned to the dark magic of a small sect of evil druids, who for the small price of her already tainted soul, would grant her both protection from the Goddess, as well as immortality (but not, as Myrddin had smugly noticed, preservation of her human beauty).