Dreaming Powers Chapter One

A Story by FeisWinner

Chapter One –

˜ The Riot

A bird flies overhead. My eyes follow it, and suddenly I feel myself being drawn in to the feathers that are so black they are almost blue. I feel the tiny bird’s brain draw me in, and then I am soaring through the sky with it. In fact, I am it. It flies down and lands upon a fragile tree branch, cracked with age, and I long to be back in the sky. Coming back to myself, I realize that I am suddenly tiny and covered with feathers; my feathers. Not only that, but I have wings and no arms, and three-pronged feet. Glorying with freedom, I swoop into the air and make a loop. I fly for hours, or so I think, but it really is minutes. Looking down, I see oddly shaped leaves floating on the water below me. I fly closer, and see that they are feathers, not leaves, and that I seem to be molting… I brace myself for icy water, but I do not fall. I am human shaped again, in a grey-green robe. I fly on.

Quinna Montevery sat up in bed, shivering. The dream had been another odd one, a different one, almost odder than other weird dreams that she normally had. It seemed to happen every night now. She pushed her golden-brown hair out of her face with both hands, trying to remember every bit of the dream possible. She had turned into a bird, but then she had gone back to human form again. But she hadn’t fallen. She’d just kept flying on the wind, wingless.

She pushed back the covers on her bed, no longer tired, though it was three in the morning. Sitting down at her desk, she pulled a faded, brown leather diary toward her and opened it to the place she had marked with a feather pen three nights before. This was her dream-book, in which she had recorded her dreams since she was four years old and had asked her mother to write them for her. The book was getting short on pages, so these days she saved it for only unusual dreams, which barely made a difference now. She had unusual dreams almost three times a week, sometimes four. The three nights in between the last odd dream and this one was the longest break she’d had in weeks, even months.

Quinna frowned. What did all these dreams mean? Were they simply dreams, or did they have a hidden meaning, as so many dreams did at that time? As a great believer in Dreamstudy, Quinna hardly thought that she would have been sent the dreams if not for a strange reason. Mulling this thought over, she climbed back into her bed and blew out her lamp.

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The next day, despite her restless night, Quinna woke with the rising sun. It had become a habit when she was at school, when she had to get up for early classes. That season her early class, Substancery, had been at dawn, and next season it would be Archlend History at six-thirty.

Outside her bedroom window a blue cockle cried. She strode over to it and opened the blinds to see it. It was a very small bird, only a palm long and a thumb tall. She unlatched and slid open the window, holding out a finger to the little bird. It hopped willingly on, and she carried it carefully out of her room and down the wooden spiral stairs which led down to the kitchen of the family’s house. Here she set the cockle on the table and proceeded to prepare a bird-sized portion of hot breakfast mush for him. This process was part of Quinna’s routine in the mornings, and it was one that she enjoyed. She hummed as she gave the cockle his breakfast and waited for him to finish and fly off.

Once done with the bird’s dishes, she donned a thick gray sweater which accentuated the color of her eyes and went outside to meet the early postman as he came around the block. Remembering too late and shrugging off the fact that her mother had forbidden her to step out of the house in the mornings wearing her night clothes, she hurried down the walk and met the postman by her family’s postbox.

“Well, good day, Quinna,” the postman greeted her amiably. He was a friendly-looking man with a plump middle, a circle of fuzzy hair on his head, a broad face and a gray mustache.

“Good day, Mr. Partove,” Quinna replied cheerfully. “Anything for my family today?”

“Well, now, let me look.” Mr. Partove pulled a worn scroll from his letterbag and consulted it. “Yes, you have a card, a paper and two scrolls. Would you like them now?”

“Yeah, I can take them.” Quinna said, checking the postbox for evening mail, which had not been collected.

Mr. Partove rummaged around in his letterbag and pulled out a rolled up newspaper, two tightly furled scrolls and a postcard. He offered Quinna the mail, and she placed it on top of a large, flat package which had come in the evening mail for her older brother, Centinus. All this balanced precariously upon her left hand, she signed the mailcard clumsily (being left handed) with her right hand. She handed Mr. Partove four copper coins, one for each delivery, and a tip of another copper coin.

“Thank you very much, Quinna,” Mr. Partove said, and continued on to the next house.

Quinna walked carefully up the walk to her front door, determined not to allow any of the rolled-up mail pieces to roll off of her stack. A voice calling her name caused her to look around, trip on a brick protruding slightly from the walk, and fall, dropping all of the mail except for the package. Seeing who had called her name, she blushed bright scarlet.

Peering down at her from a wide branch extending from the tree in front of the house next door was Jesse Hale, a boy around Quinna’s age who lived next door.

“Oh, hi… Jesse,” Quinna greeted shyly. Jesse swung over the branch and landed next to her, holding out his hand. Quinna took it and pulled herself up.

“Sorry about that, Quinna,” Jesse said with a small smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” he brushed his long, midnight-colored hair out of his face, then began to gather Quinna’s mail for her. He handed her her things, pulled himself onto the branch, and jumped back into his own yard. Quinna walked dreamily through the door and into the still deserted kitchen, set the post on the table, and hurried up to her room. She pulled off her nightclothes and began to dress quickly, pulling on and buttoning a knee-length, tight-waisted, gray denim skirt with many tiny buttons down the side, putting on a blue blouse, and pushing her feet and calves roughly into knee-high brown leather boots, which, like the skirt, had tiny buttons all the way up. She brushed her curly hair, washed her face, and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen.

Breakfast turned out to be French Toast, lemonade and raspberries. Quinna loaded up her plate and sat at the table between her two sisters, Azalea and Miri, and across from her two brothers, Centinus and Azerius. Azalea, the oldest girl, was seventeen. She reminded Quinna of a very proud peacock, strolling through the house and around the town as though she thought herself the prettiest, smartest girl under twenty years old (which, Quinna thought frequently, she probably did). She had long, flowing, dark red hair, the only one of the Montevery kids (other than her twin, Azerius) who had not inherited her mother’s golden brown hair. Azerius was seven minutes older than her, and the oldest of all of them. He looked almost exactly like Azalea, only male, with indigo eyes and dark red hair.

Miri was eleven, the youngest. Her hair hadn’t been cut since she was six, making it reach her waist. It was very straight, curling only a little at the ends. Her eyes were hazel with small flecks of gold, and her perfect, straight, white teeth were almost unnatural.

Centinus was only a year older than Quinna, at fifteen. He was only a couple inches taller than her, she being five feet, four and three quarter inches. He had curly hair, of the same gold-brown as hers, and she considered him the closest to her of her siblings, and her only confidant among them. Centinus had returned from a quest to the realm of Therendoor, a kingdom which lay many miles from Silrea, the kingdom where the Montevery family lived. He had returned not a month after, having been all through the land of Alladeria, searching for a pendant of enormous power. He had come home wearing the pendant, for it had chosen him. It gave him three powers- Shortflight (the ability to fly around eight feet in the air), Invisibility, and the skill of hearing animals speak and speaking to them. Being only nine at the time, Miri had tried to steal the pendant for herself, but she found that the clasp of the chain around Centinus’ neck had melted together.

At the time, Quinna, too, had been jealous of Centinus. She had always wanted to have special powers. But now, two years later, she had become used to Centinus speaking nonsensical- sounding words to birds, used to him sneaking up on her, invisible. In fact, were she ever to be assigned a quest, she would probably pick Centinus to go with her, not only because she wasn’t nearly as close to the twins, or because Miri was too young, but because it would be a novelty to know when something dangerous was approaching or when an animal could be trusted.

The breakfast had been silent, all sounds other than scraping forks and knives absent. Miri was staring unhappily into the lake of maple syrup on her plate, having rushed through her toast, and Quinna thought she knew what was happening in her head. Despite her young age, Miri had been asked to dinner by a twelve year old boy down the street, and she had said yes quickly, without considering. It wasn’t that Miri regretted it- she had been daydreaming about the said boy for months- but she was most likely unsure of how to act during such an encounter. Quinna imagined being asked to dinner by Jesse, and quickly forced the idea from her head. She reached out and squeezed Miri’s small hand.

Then, out of the blue, there was a loud crash from outside. Miri shrieked and stood up, knocking her plate to the floor, where it smashed into millions of porcelain slivers. Azalea stood up too, and then Azerius, and soon everyone was standing. Quinna shook her foot to get the porcelain splinters out of her sock. Centinus was the first out of the house, followed closely by Azerius, Mr. Montevery, Mrs. Montevery, Azalea, Miri, and finally Quinna, whose socks were ceramic-free. What met their eyes was chaos.

Across the Elverian Ocean and to the north was a country called Hulendore. Hulendore was not populated by humans, but by creatures called Gorelans. They had been so named by humans for their uncanny lust for gore and violence, a lust which made them dangerously cruel. The humans of Alladeria had been at war with these creatures for centuries, but in the last decade the skirmishes had grown to be both more frequent and more fatally perilous.

Now, in Quinna’s own town, the Gorelans were invading and attacking. Everywhere Quinna looked, her neighbors and friends were in close combat with ugly, dirty creatures. And to think that only a moment before, she had been peacefully eating breakfast. Her brothers and father threw themselves into the fray, helping to push the Gorelans away from the town.

There was a burst of orange light. One of the Gorelans had lit a house on fire. The flames began to lick their way up the smooth, white sides of Jesse’s home. Some of the men of the village began to douse the fire with water from a neighbor’s garden hose, but the Gorelans shunted them back into the battle. Quinna broke her gaze from the terrible sight and ran full out down the road, heading for the house of a man who could help.

The leader of the Gorelans gave an order, and a troop of four Gorelans began to run after her. She ran faster, flying down the street, and tripped. She landed flat on her chest, hitting her chin hard and knocking the breath out of her lungs. Her chin seemed to be on fire, and Quinna almost gave up from the agony, but she made herself rise, remembering the Gorelans on her trail, and not wanting to think what would happen if they caught up to her.

She ran on, a little slower than before, breathing heavily, blood from her chin dripping down her collar, until she reached the house of a mage who had been born of a healing witch and a powerful, famous warlock. She slammed her fists against the door, aware of the Gorelans approaching, and, miraculously, it opened to reveal an old but strong man. There was a scream from the battle, and recognizing it to be Azalea, Quinna whipped around. Something had happened. She looked back at the mage, terrified, and saw with relief that he had strode from the door and up the street, firing a bolt of gold light at the Gorelans who had followed. She ran after him, and caught up only when he had reached the battle. Wordlessly, he raised a finger and extinguished the burning house thoroughly with a powerful wave of water, then joined the skirmish.

Quinna ran over to her house and saw Miri crouching beneath the front steps, tears streaming down her face, looking petrified. She dashed over to her.

“Miri!” She panted, “What happened to Azalea? I heard her scream!”

“She got hit by one of the Gorelans! He hit her really hard, on the head, Quinna!” Miri said, miserably, through her tears.

“I tried to hit him back, but he pushed me over and I hit my arm funny and all I could do was pull her out of the street.” Quinna looked at Miri’s arm, and her stomach flip-flopped. The arm was bent at an odd angle, and Quinna could tell it was badly broken.

Suddenly, the pain of her chin caught up to her, and her chin seemed to explode in pain. Tears flowed freely down her face, and she leaned back against the house and cried.

“Quinna, are you okay?” Miri asked worriedly. “What happened to your chin? It looks really painful. Where did you go? I tried to follow, but you run so fast!”

“I got the mage. I don’t know his name. The Gorelans followed, and I fell…” Quinna trailed off, in too much pain to talk. Miri leaned against her, and she fainted.

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When she awoke, the air was heavy with smoke, but the battle was over. Miri was not there. Quinna assumed that she was wherever the rest of the family was, and returned to the house to find them. She located them in Azalea’s room, where they had clustered around her bed. Quinna’s mother saw her and hastened over to her, holding out her arms.

“Oh, Quinna, I’m so glad you haven’t hurt yourself anywhere else!” she exclaimed, referring to Quinna’s chin. Her hand smoothed Quinna’s mussed hair. “We were afraid to move you, in case you were hurt elsewhere and we hurt you more.”

“I’m fine, Mama.” Quinna said quickly. “How’s Azalea?”

“She’ll be alright.” Mrs. Montevery led Quinna to the bed. “She got a pretty bad hit, and a concussion, but nothing was greatly damaged.” Her lip trembled. “She was trying to help.”

The shock of seeing her sister, who was ordinarily painstakingly neat, sprawled on the bed, unconscious, was terrible. Azerius was sitting on the bed, holding Azalea’s hand, and Quinna knew that if she saw his face, there would be tears. Miri was no longer crying, but standing wide-eyed, leaning on her father. Her arm was bound up in a very thick white bandage.

“Azalea,” Azerius murmured.

Azalea’s eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes opened slowly. Wordlessly, Azerius leaned down and hugged her. She hugged him back.

“The skirmish is over.” Azerius told her. “The mage arrived just in time to save the Hales’ house and to drive the Gorelans away. He saved us. The question is who told him? He’s in the other half of the town- he couldn’t

possibly have heard the Gorelans come.”

“It was Quinna. She ran really fast,” Miri told the family. “Some Gorelans followed, and she fell, but she just kept going.” Quinna heard blatant awe in Miri’s voice, and a wave of affection for her sister swept over her.

“No kidding,” Centinus concurred. “Quinna was like a charged missile, she just kept going. I saw, too, but I was busy fighting the lead Gorelan to follow.”

“My little heroine,” Mrs. Montevery whispered. “What a brave thing to do.”

Quinna looked away pointedly.

“So did the mage put out the fire soon enough? Is Jesse’s house okay?” She asked quickly.

“Well,” her father began, “The wood of the first story is permanently damaged, but they can replace it, and the rest of the house merely got most of the paint scorched off. It is all fixable. I don’t believe that the Gorelans did any permanent damage this time.”

The family sat quietly for a while, digesting all that had happened that chaotic morning. Finally, Miri broke the silence.

“Daddy,” she said quietly, “I don’t agree. I think the lasting damage this time was to all of our minds. I don’t think anyone will forget for a long time.”

Mr. Montevery sat down, and said nothing for a few minutes.

“I think you’re perfectly right, Miri. That’s a very profound point.”

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