DREAMWIELDER Book 1 of The Dreamwielder Chronicles

Chapter 8: A STORM ON THE HORIZON

Makarria stared into the distance from the bow of the skiff. The view had been the same for five straight days—endless ocean as far as the eye could see and an occasional puffy cloud in the sky—but now dark clouds loomed on the horizon. She'd pointed them out to her grandfather when she first noticed them several hours before, but he'd merely told her not to worry about it. He'd been saying that a lot since they set voyage, but Makarria couldn't help but worry. Parmo had told her what she was when the sun had risen on that first day: a dreamwielder. He hadn't meant to tell her much, but she was relentless with her questions.

In the days before Emperor Guderian, dreamwielders were the most revered and powerful of all sorcerers, Parmo had told her, but she didn't entirely believe him. She'd heard him mention the Dreamwielder War often enough in the stories he used to tell her. She knew how the dreamwielders had created horrible monsters by melding humans and beasts together. Parmo assured Makarria that she wasn't capable of doing anything of the sort, that what she'd done to save him was entirely noble, but still, here they were running away. People would be scared of her if they knew what she was. Particularly the Emperor. No wonder her mother had continually told her to not have any dreams. A pang of guilt shot through her at the thought of her mother. I didn't even say goodbye to her or Father.

"Grampy," Makarria started to ask, but her grandfather interrupted and corrected her. "Parmo," he said. "You need to call me Parmo from now on."

"Right," she complied, sitting up and turning to face him where he sat manning the rudder at the stern. "Parmo, won't people in the East Islands be scared of me too when they find out what I can do?"

"Perhaps scared, yes, but they won't try to harm you like back home. Besides, we're going to work on learning to control your dreams, right?"

Makarria nodded. She didn't have the foggiest notion how, nor did Parmo for that matter, but it seemed a reasonable notion. When Parmo had told her about her ability, she was not surprised. It was as if she'd somehow known all along she was a dreamwielder and that her grandfather had just put into words something she never knew how to say before. She could think of a half-dozen times when her dreams had seemed so real that she had awoken and thought them to be true, and in a way she had made them true because she really wanted them to be that way. The castle, the dresses, the ponies, the flowers. But what about the dreams she didn't want to be true? What about nightmares? Did she have the ability to make them come to life?

"Makarria!"

"What?" Makarria asked, realizing Parmo had called out her name several times.

"You best secure the yard arm to the bow and tie yourself in," he said, and she could see he had a look of concern on his face.

The wind was whipping her hair about, and she turned toward the bow to see that the storm was rapidly approaching. The sky was nearly black before them, and the first of the huge ocean swells swept the skiff up onto its crest, then back down into a trough so deep the clouds were blocked from sight for several seconds. Parmo lowered the sail, and as he furled it away, Makarria lashed the diagonally-angled yard arm to the bow of the skiff, so it wouldn't swing about wildly on the mast and knock one of them overboard. Once Makarria had the yard arm secured, she turned her attention to the rope belt she wore and tied the loose ends at either hip to the extra oarlocks at the front of the skiff so that she was securely tied-down in her seat, facing her grandfather at the stern of the skiff. Parmo had made herself tie-in every night while sleeping, but this was the first time she had to tie-in on account of bad weather.

"Alright," Parmo said, grabbing up the oars, "You're tied in now and you have the bucket. When water starts coming over the sides, you bail out water. If it gets really bad, you'll have to wait until we're in the troughs between waves. Don't look behind you. I'll steer us with the oars and make sure we crest the waves safely. You just bail water and keep your eyes on my back. Understood?"