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“Gardening on Earth takes a lot of time and patience.”
“There’s no time for that here; there are simply too many Dreamers in need of details for the millions of dreams woven every night.” With another touch of magic and a light caress, the flower she tended grew upward, following the movement as she lifted her arm. With a twirl of her wrist, the bud appeared, crowning the freshly grown orchid. “Nothing to it.”
“I wish I could do that.”
She tilted her head. “Perhaps you can. After all, you accurately identified a seedling’s detail the day we met. Maybe you could become a Cultivator.”
Excitement rippled over me at the thought. Angel and Iris occasionally brought up the idea of my taking a side profession. Angel kept pestering me to try my hand at Nature Artistry, but if it required the same amount of artistic skill I possessed on Earth, I’d undoubtedly be terrible at it…unless Mortals enjoyed looking at two-dimensional, stick-figure clouds. No, when I took up a side profession—if I ever got a handle on Weaving—it’d be Cultivating. After all, Mother had been a Cultivator.
I eagerly leaned closer. “May I try?”
All traces of Iris’s previous somber mood vanished as she smiled and scooted over so I could come closer. “These flowers are just beginning to sprout, which is the perfect moment to sprinkle a bit of magic to aid their growth. First, we need to figure out which detail this seed contains. It’s like building a relationship; the stronger your connection, the more effective your magic will be, similar to a Weaver’s connection with their Mortal.”
She cupped her hand over the nearest plant and cocked her ear. Although I couldn’t hear anything, I knew waves of communication passed between her and the dream flower.
“Such a lovely detail. Listen.”
I copied her. At first there was only silence as I searched for the seed’s thread of magic, but then I felt a faint stirring, whispers in a language without words. The feeling grew gradually until it blossomed in my understanding with perfect clarity—a thunderstorm of pounding rain and a harsh wind. I yanked my hand away.
“What’s wrong?” Iris asked. “Don’t you like the sound of gentle rain?”
“Gentle?” Thunderstorms were anything but gentle—they were nothing but darkness and fright, and definitely had no place in dreams. Why was such a seed growing in the Cultivating Fields? “Isn’t rain a little Nightmarish?”
“Certainly not. A light spring storm cleanses the Earth and helps flowers grow. Such a detail could be used in dreams in all sorts of ways—the smell of rain drifting through an open window, listening to the rhythmic pattering on the roof, discovering patterns made by raindrops on a windowpane. There’s nothing Nightmarish about it.”
That description was the opposite of what I’d just felt. My heart thudded wildly, as if the unexpected detail I’d felt from the flower had itself been a nightmare I’d stumbled upon while dream watching.
“Do seeds ever contain more than one detail?” I asked hesitantly.
Iris shook her head. “Each contains only a single detail gathered by the Seed Harvesters. Why, isn’t a gentle rainfall what you felt?”
I wanted to confess that it hadn’t been, just so I could receive some sort of explanation for it, but my ever-present need not to fit in compelled me to hastily nod.
Oblivious to my confusion, Iris returned to her tutoring. “To help the flower grow, you focus on the seed’s detail and connect your magic with the flower’s so you can lift it, like so…”
She reached out to demonstrate when the moon dial above us chimed, signaling the start of our Weaving. She looked up at the clock with a gasp.
“Oh no, when did it get to be so late? I still have to gather a few more flowers for tonight’s dream. I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to continue this later.” She threw her cultivating supplies into her bag and scampered off, leaving me alone.
Disappointment washed over me at her sudden departure. I glanced at the unassuming sprout that was the root of my confusion and cupped my hand over it again to listen more intently.
The storm swirled, more pronounced and fierce than before. There was no mistaking it, this was no gentle rain. I sat back on my heels. If each seed only contained one sensory detail, why did Iris and I feel contradicting things? How could we both be right?
There was one way to find out.
I glanced around. The fields were empty, everyone having gone to their Weaving. Now was my chance.
I recalled Iris’s instructions:Focus on the seed’s detail. I tried to visualize soft patters of rain, but no matter how much I attempted to, the only image that filled my mind was a billowing storm.Connect to the flower’s magic. I searched through the seedling’s magic, and after several minutes of mentally pulling back invisible layers I felt it: an unmistakable “hook” I could connect my powers to.
I tugged gently and raised my arm towards the starry sky. The flower grew a foot and sprouted three diamond-shaped leaves before its bud emerged. I’d done it! But my elation at my success was short-lived, for floating amidst its aura was the unmistakable sound of pattering raindrops. My shoulders sagged. I’d been wrong after all.
But then the morning glory began to change. Starting from the base of its blue-grey stem, dark ebony rose up, staining away its original color, as if it was being dipped in ink. Blackness swallowed the dainty leaves, transforming them into jagged teeth, and when it reached the bud, the previously cyan aura twisted into a cloudy grey.
Shaking, I cocked my ear and listened. The previous soft rain had transmuted into a raging storm. The hinted whispers I’d felt earlier had merely been a shadow of the slapping rain and booming thunder now echoing within the flower’s aura.
I stared, horrified, at what I’d unintentionally created. Whatwasit? But I didn’t have to think very hard as memories of the flowers Darius used each Weaving bombarded my mind.
This was a nightmare flower.
