The Spring of Souls: The Dream Defenders, #3

By Neal DenHartog

When a vengeful dreamer threatens the soul of every dreamer on the planet, can the Dream Defenders locate an ancient dreamscape in time to foil her plan?

 

Nolan's first few months at the DREAM Institute have been anything but normal, and that trend continues when an annual contest takes center stage. The Hero's Hunt, a fierce competition designed to test the skills of their most talented dreamers, offers up prestige and prize money to the winner, but when outside forces interfere in the competition, the entire organization is left reeling.

 

A rogue dreamer—a woman familiar to Nolan—has come seeking revenge for past wrongs. Fueled by vengeance, this dreamer will stop at nothing to bring the Institute to its knees. Her threats lead them on a chase through the dream world, pointing them toward an ancient dreamscape responsible for ensuring the safety of every dreamer on the planet. The only problem: this dreamscape has been lost for centuries.

 

Finding what is lost is never easy, especially when it is something never intended to be found. To do so, Nolan faces impossible choices, and he must decide how much he is willing to sacrifice to protect the slumbering souls of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: August Inkling Press
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781733839655

Book preview

Dedication:

To my father, for always supporting every dream I pursue

Chapter One: Waking Up

Deep within the darkened confines of a long-forgotten Peruvian temple, a woman awoke, her eyes snapping open for the first time in nearly four hundred years. Her lids fluttered as she tried to remember the physical sensation of simply seeing. She expected light to blind her after so long, but only darkness greeted her newly opened eyes, so much so she could not be certain whether or not she was truly awake. Soon, her other senses began to return, casting away that doubt. Faint drips of water punctuated the silence, and the air smelled of dampness. The weight of thick vines pressed against her body, belonging to a rare species of plant unique to this small section of jungle, known as Sonorum. Deceptively strong strands pinned her down, curling around her entire body from her feet to her head. The flowering spores along the vines had been responsible for keeping her in a constant state of slumber, but her current state of wakefulness suggested that effect had recently worn off.

She was free. In a sense.

The vines did not loosen upon her waking, holding her firmly in place as she attempted to move her arms and legs within the weave of the Sonorum. Every inch she moved was a struggle. As the memories of where she was began to return, she wiggled and made an effort to bring a name to her lips.

Her vocal cords hardly functioned after years of disuse, and the name came out as more of a croak. Ehhhhh…

She wiggled some more, hoping the motion and sounds of her strife might alert her companion. That is, if her companion was still in the chamber with her.

Ehhhhh!

She paused, listening. Moments later she heard a response. The fluttering of wings.

A small weight settled on her chest. Her companion, Echo. Selina? Are you awake?

Echo was a Wispe, a former denizen of the dream world, giving her an unnaturally long life and the ability to teleport. She’d taken the form of a small falcon, which meant her senses would surely be working far better than Selina’s own. Selina nodded in the darkness, trusting the Wispe to pick up the movement, and she tried to add the word, yes, to her reply, but the hoarse grunt that left her throat sounded nothing like any word.

The small, strangled sound was enough to excite the bird. Selina heard wings flap again as the Wispe said, Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you to wake up?

Selina only had a vague sense of how much time had passed while stuck in the Dreamstream. She’d become trapped in a deadly dreamscape, one containing a place called the Maze of Mizaria. The maze was full of puzzles and booby traps and red switch points known as Deathgates. Finding her way out of there had seemingly taken years. Part of her held out hope only a few days had actually transpired in the real world, but that extreme sort of time distortion was unusual. She had no way of knowing how long it had truly been. At least, not yet.

I…I… Her tongue struggled to craft a reply. I don’t… Finally, a coherent word. She paused again, summoning the strength to continue.

Echo replied first. I don’t know either, but if I had to guess, it’s been decades. Something prevented me from jumping out of this chamber. Probably the spores from the Sonorum. I’ve been just as stuck as you.

The news brought a sinking feeling to Selina’s gut. It was one thing for her to be trapped within a dreamscape where the experience still felt real and she could occupy her time with the goal of escape. It was an entirely different thing for Echo to be confined in a lightless room and unable to leave. Decades, Echo had said. What a maddening way for the Wispe to pass the time while Selina and her companions were stuck inside the Dreamstream.

Her companions!

Echo! The urgency of the thought brought the word to her lips easily. Gibbs. Fairfax. Are they…?

A small croon escaped the bird, the sadness evident. While Selina had witnessed the men dreaming with her become victims of the red-streaked Deathgates, she still held out a slim hope they may have somehow evaded their fate. Echo’s sad squawk told her otherwise. The kestrel bounded over to her chin and nudged it softly with the tip of her head. Unbidden, Selina felt a tear roll down her cheek. While she’d prepared herself for the worst, the confirmation from the Wispe did little to make her feel better. Gibbs and Fairfax had volunteered to help her, knowing full well the dangers of their journey. That didn’t make their sacrifice any less heartbreaking.

Echo spoke again after a time. Gideon. Did you find him?

For all the time she’d spent inside the Dreamstream, Selina had not forgotten his name.

I didn’t, she admitted, her voice a faint whisper. But I will.

He was the reason she’d entered in the first place, the reason she and her companions had risked their own lives crossing those dangerous dreamscapes. They’d been searching for him, hoping to restore his soul to the land of the living. Even now, after this major setback, she vowed to not give up on that goal.

What happened on the inside? How did a single dream come to last so long?

The events may have occurred years ago, but the memory remained fresh. I suspect the Sonorum played a role with that. We used the plant to keep us under for longer periods of time, long enough to cross the hazards, but we never suspected our exits would be taken from us. Nathaniel’s group, they caught wind of our attempt and cut us off. I’d…I’d never seen anything like it. All the major exits. All the gates. Just…just gone.

Gone? He isolated the dreamscape?

Selina took a moment to think about that. Not just a single dreamscape. He severed an entire section of the Stream from the greater whole. Only, he wasn’t as successful as I originally believed. Others found their way in. Found me. Were it not for them, I might still be stuck inside.

The Wispe scratched her head with the tip of a wing. Does the way remain open? Can we still find Gideon?

I believe we can, but we must tread lightly. There are other forces at play. The others I spoke of claimed to work for a protective group, and we need to know exactly who they are before we proceed.

So what’s the next step? Echo asked of her.

We regroup with the Collective.

The bird’s head tilted. "If there’s anyone to regroup with. A blatant attack from Nathaniel is a bold move. It could be he intended to start the war we always feared. If he did—and we lost—there may not be a Collective to return to."

Selina stared at her Wispe through the gloom, realizing the gravity of her point. Things could be much different now, in whatever year she’d managed to wake up in. Let’s hope things didn’t escalate that far. Are you sure you don’t know how long I’ve been out?

The kestrel let out a screech and circled around the chamber. There’s no way of knowing for sure, but if I were a real bird, I suspect I’d be dead at least thirty times over.

The math didn’t bode well. If Echo’s estimate was anywhere near accurate, Selina had been asleep far longer than she ever thought possible. Her body should have given out long ago. That she was even alive was a miracle, perhaps another effect of the Sonorum.

Her miraculous survival acted as a double-edged sword, though. She might be breathing in the real world, but everyone from her old life had likely passed on. The time would have claimed her friends and colleagues as her prolonged slumber stretched on, but with some luck, their organization might still exist. She and Echo might yet find some allies. Locating them—if they existed—would be the difficult part.

Can you get me out of this stuff? As much as Selina continued to wiggle back and forth, the plant would not budge.

Echo’s talons sank into the Sonorum, carefully slicing around her companion. Hmm. The vines bound you like steel before.

Selina tugged an arm free, clutching at the vines and tossing them aside. Well, I’m awake now, so I’m guessing that has something to do with how tightly the plant is holding on. Thank you for your help, Echo. And your patience while I slept. I’m sorry you became confined in this room for so long.

The kestrel continued to slice at plant matter binding her ankles. No apologies needed. We all assumed my abilities would prevent me from becoming trapped. I was supposed to be your backup, sending for help at the first sign of trouble.

Selina remembered, wondering if Gibbs and Fairfax might still be alive had their plan gone off without a hitch. She tried not to dwell on it too much. This was her reality now. She had to face it.

With the vines finally loosened, Selina sat up for the first time in years. She kicked the remaining foliage from her legs, marveling at the ease with which her limbs moved. Given the length of her slumber, she had expected atrophy and stiff joints. The Sonorum was proving more and more miraculous by the minute. Echo took up a familiar position on her shoulder as she lowered herself from her resting place. The gloom inside the chamber still made it difficult to see, but the pair ventured in the direction of the exit.

A round stone blocked their path, barely visible behind more of the Sonorum interlaced around it. This mesh lattice came free just as easily now that she was awake. Selina and Echo peeled away the vines, revealing a crumbling wooden lever receded into the wall near the door. A quick pull activated an ancient mechanism, and the stone rolled away, the motion sending vibrations though the room. Dirt and rock trickled from the ceiling as light began to flood the chamber. Selina shielded her eyes as Echo squawked angrily at the encroaching brightness.

Once her eyes became accustomed to the light, Selina glanced back at her prison and noticed the other raised beds in the room, the ones holding her companions. As much as she didn’t want to see what was left of them, she felt compelled to pay her respects. They had paid the ultimate price to help her find Gideon, sacrificing themselves to the Deathgates in an attempt to find a way out of the maze. She would be forever in their debt. The restorative properties of the Sonorum clearly did not extend to the dead, the vines weaving around the skeleton of Gibbs. Selina knelt by the stone slab and said a quick prayer, thanking him for his grand sacrifice. She did the same for Fairfax.

Although she’d mourned their deaths long ago, the goodbyes still seemed far too rushed. Once finished, she turned back to her companion perched above the opening. Are you ready?

Echo’s head bobbed. What’s the next move? Where do we go?

Many viable options presented themselves.

First, we find civilization, Selina said. We need to figure out what year it is.

Then?

Then they would determine the state of the Collective. Did they still exist? Or had the years been unkind to her group of allies? To answer those questions, Selina needed to find someone familiar with those who held influence over the dream world now.

I encountered dreamers with ties to a place they called the Institute. This may be the governing body Nathaniel was trying to establish to oversee the Dreamstream. I say we reconnect with one of them to discover what he knows of the current state of our respective groups. Let us seek out Nolan Erling and see what the young man can tell us.

Echo let out a shrill cry and took up residence on Selina’s shoulder one more time as they exited the Dream Temple and rejoined the waking world.

Chapter Two: Special Treatment

L et’s try this ring here, first. Mr. Morillo backed away from a golden circlet roughly the diameter of a hula hoop. He wiggled his fingers, and the hovering object shrank to the size of a piece of jewelry that would easily fit around someone’s wrist.

Nolan tensed nearby, wiggling his own fingers as he focused on the target and mentally prepared. Then he took off at a run at the ring. He closed the gap quickly, leaping as he drew focus to his dream avatar. Through sheer will alone, he shrank himself down and sailed through it, returning to normal size as he struck the ground on the other side.

Mr. Morillo clapped his hands as Nolan rolled to a stop. Very nice, Mr. Erling.

Piece of cake, Nolan said, not bothering to hide his wide grin.

He was in the middle an Advanced Avatar Manipulation lesson, a special one-on-one assignment he’d earned after discovering his affinity for the skill. If someone had told him a month ago that one of his classes at the DREAM Institute would ever include the word, advanced, Nolan would have laughed in their face. Now these lessons were the one bright spot on his schedule after his favorite class, oneironavigation, had been put on hold due to a particular disastrous lesson the previous week.

Any time you’re ready to challenge me, let me know, Nolan added.

Mr. Morillo ran a hand through his thick beard. Careful what you wish for. We’re only three lessons in, and we’ve barely scratched the surface.

Part of Nolan knew he shouldn’t be pressing his luck. He should simply be letting himself learn. Not all students qualified for specialty training as he had, and even fewer at the young age of fourteen. This opportunity was a huge honor. Still, he had already gone a perfect four for four completing Mr. Morillo’s tasks today. He felt more than ready to up the difficulty. Or at least, he thought he did.

His teacher reached into a pocket and withdrew a handful of rings this time. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed them across the dreamscape, causing them to grow and shrink to a variety of sizes as they scattered. Some of them stuck high in the air, while others rolled along the ground. A few spun continuously, adding another layer of complexity.

Mr. Morillo glanced back at him, dusting his hands off. Now, what were you saying about a challenge?

A particularly devious smile lined his teacher’s face, giving Nolan a little pause. This new ring course would require him to shrink and expand multiple times, something he had not practiced yet. The lessons so far had been simple, allowing him to get a handle on the manipulation and learn to deal with the associated vertigo. In theory, this shouldn’t be much different. Time to make this a perfect five for five.

Nolan launched himself at the nearest ring, shrinking just enough to land on the rounded surface. Almost straight up, the next one awaited, and he allowed himself to grow slightly to generate the required propulsion to make the leap. He shrank again, looping through the target, and aimed for another lying parallel to the ground. He dropped through, hitting the grass below and rolling to his feet. The next one lay straight ahead, but as he leapt for it, Mr. Morillo swung the object to the side, giving it a spin with his fingers. The rotating ring knocked Nolan aside, and he felt his avatar return to normal as he rolled to a stop.

Not a bad run, Mr. Morillo told him.

But Nolan only glared at the half dozen or so rings peppering the dreamscape that he’d failed to reach.

No need to worry. Fine-tuning skills like this takes time, his teacher continued. Your progress these first few lessons is on par with other students I’ve taught.

Nolan didn’t want to be on par. He wanted to be better. Let me go again. I can get through them all next time.

I’m sure you can, just not today. Mr. Morillo shook his head. Lesson’s over, I’m afraid. I have some business to attend to, and you’ve got your meeting with Geoffrey, remember?

Nolan frowned, a little perturbed. It seemed unfair his boring Stream History lesson went twenty minutes long earlier today, yet Mr. Morillo could not extend this one by a measly five minutes. When are we meeting next?

His teacher sighed. I’m unsure. I’ve been asked to help out with an Institute project that will eat up quite a bit of my time. We’ll have to play it by ear.

So far their lessons hadn’t occurred on a regular schedule, but they’d always managed to schedule the next one as each came to a close. What project? You’re a teacher. Shouldn’t teaching be your highest priority?

A laugh escaped Mr. Morillo’s lips. It is, but we are employees too, and sometimes we are called upon to use our unique skills outside of the classroom. Don’t worry, though, you’ll hear about this project soon enough. I suspect there will be an official announcement in a day or two.

Now Nolan was intrigued. Secret project, huh? Any chance you might give me a sneak peek, you know, since you’re bailing on my lessons? He didn’t think a guilt trip would work on his teacher, but he held out hope at least one adult at the Institute would talk to him.

Mr. Morillo scratched his beard again. All I can say is it might be related to the strange dreamscape you visited last week.

Nolan blinked four times. What? In his oneironavigation lesson gone wrong, he and fellow classmate, Parker Bogman, had discovered a long-lost and decidedly deadly dreamscape containing a dangerous maze. No one ever satisfactorily explained to him what that place was, or how they’d stumbled upon it. Officially, the incident remained under investigation, a term Nolan believed was actually Institute-speak for, we don’t understand what’s going on, but we feel compelled to say something to you to make it seem like we’re trying to help. The Institute had been investigating many strange anomalies surrounding Nolan’s excursions into the dream world for months now.

After waking, Nolan began the long trek to Geoffrey’s office, thinking all about the Maze of Mizaria and the Death Spheres found within, and wondering if this secret project meant Geoffrey would have more information for him. The dreamscape had been run by a crazy woman—a dreamer stuck there for an impossibly long time—and she’d forced them to solve a series of puzzles inside what amounted to a giant Death Sphere factory. They eventually escaped, but Nolan was still processing everything that had gone down.

Four turns later, he finally found himself in front of Geoffrey’s door. He raised his hand to knock, but a buzz from his pocket froze his knuckles in place. He pulled his phone out and saw the message:

Mr. Sandman: Stuck in meetings. Nothing new. Sorry.

Nolan stared at it for several seconds, feeling his irritation grow. So much for weekly meetings. And open communication. And progress. This was the third week in a row the director had canceled on him. His irrational side thought Geoffrey might be avoiding him on purpose, but he knew how swamped with work the Institute really was. First Crispin and the Deathmares. Then Drexler’s attempt to bring nightmares into the real world. Now this odd dreamscape that potentially held clues to the whereabouts of Penchant’s long-lost mother. No wonder no one had time to figure out the identity of his parents or search for Frostee’s missing Death Sphere. The lost orb led to a Deathmare-guarded prisonscape, where Nolan’s best friend continued to be unfairly held. No one had seen the Death Sphere since it fell into an open switch point during the battle with Drexler’s army last month, and the Institute had officially labeled it as lost, whatever that meant. Nolan spent a good chunk of his nights in the Dreamstream looking for it, but so far his search hadn’t turned up anything.

Frustrated, he blew out a long breath and turned from the office door. Another message lit up his phone.

Mom: Are you running late? You didn’t get detention again, did you?

The now-ingrained habit of lying took over, and Nolan composed a reply using his typical out-of-town AP class cover story before he stopped and backed it out. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so this time. Maybe the growing anger and annoyance.

He wrote: Yup. Running late. I’ll explain.

Then he typed out another quick message to one of his classmates: Library at five. Bring it.

With his meeting canceled, Nolan ended up waiting far too long for Marty Luna to show up. He passed the time by researching lost dreamscapes, but he didn’t learn a whole lot. Marty eventually found him and slid into the seat across from him.

Hey, Nolan, he said. The boy was only fifteen years old, but his chin held a dark patch of stubble. Intelligent eyes hid behind a set of thin frames, and a loose mop of black hair settled over his forehead.

Good to see you, Nolan said. It’s been a while.

A whole week now.

The only class they shared was oneironavigation, where they learned how to find their way through the dream world.

I still can’t believe they suspended the class. It’s like someone knew it was the only subject I’m good at.

Who can blame them? What happened to you isn’t supposed to happen. No one has ever seen a rebounder go on the fritz like that.

Their faulty rebounders—a piece of technology the Institute uses to safely return dreamers to a designated dreamscape—never activated, leaving Nolan and Parker to fend for themselves inside the maze and find their own way out.

Rumor is, we may have ventured to an isolated section of the Stream, and the rebounders could not reconnect to the Dreamstream from there.

Not a bad guess. Marty leaned forward in his seat. "But something tells me you didn’t want to meet to discuss that piece of technology."

Now Nolan leaned forward. Does that mean you brought it?

The boy sighed and pulled a small, black disk from his shirt pocket. He slid it across the table to Nolan. You don’t know where you got this, okay? For the record, I think this is a bad idea, but I can see where you’re coming from. I understand why we insist on secrecy, but there has to be some leeway on that policy, especially after what happened to you and your brother. They deserve the right to know.

Nolan pocketed the device. Thanks, Marty. Things have been nuts lately, and all I want is to control at least one tiny part of my life. I should be able to do that, right?

Marty’s lips pursed as he nodded. Yeah. You should. Just remember, I need that back in the morning. I don’t think anyone will notice it’s gone, especially with the big announcement tomorrow, but we shouldn’t take unnecessary risks.

Big announcement? Nolan assumed it was related to Mr. Morillo’s secret project.

Yeah, my father is addressing the entire Institute. Marty’s father, Manuel, worked in the Creation Department.

Do you know what it’s about? Mr. Morillo suggested it might have something to do with the maze.

I’m not so sure about that. There’s a lot of crazy rumors flying around.

What rumors?

Marty smiled and pressed his glasses up his nose a bit. I forget how new you are around here. I thought maybe with all the recent craziness surrounding the Deathmares and Drexler’s near escape they might cancel it this year.

Cancel what?

Our annual contest. This will be a special one. We’re gearing up for the thirtieth edition of the Hero’s Hunt.

Chapter Three: The Truth

The concept of an Institute-wide contest was more appealing than Nolan thought it should be. As an organization, their directive of keeping the dreaming population safe took priority, and this could potentially be a major distraction from that. Yet, after Marty explained the competition to him, he couldn’t help but wonder about the upcoming series of trials inside the Dreamstream, especially after learning they allowed Junior Agents to participate.

Upon arrival at home, it took some effort to tear his thoughts from the Hero’s Hunt and focus on the task at hand. Nolan planned on cluing his family in to his secret life, and the small disk Marty had given him would help him do just that. The device was known as a Dream Funnel, and it allowed dreamers in close proximity to each other in the real world to dream incubate to the same dreamscape. The gadget was a more advanced and far more precise version of some of the other tools the Institute employed, like Dream Pillows and the business cards Aeryn handed out to her new recruits. It was also meant to only be used by experienced field agents, which was why Marty had to smuggle one out for him.

Revealing the truth to outsiders was highly frowned upon, but keeping up with the lies only piled on the guilt a little deeper with each passing day. He didn’t trust himself not to accidentally let something slip eventually, and besides, they deserved to know what was really going on in his life, no matter what the Institute said. Nolan’s Wispe did not agree.

I don’t think this is a good idea, Scranton told him as he crawled into bed that night. The pug lay curled up on the floor, lazily licking a paw.

I’m doing this, like it or not.

You need a better plan.

I already told you, you’re the plan.

The Wispe would be dream sharing with him and acting as a bridge between the two worlds. Nolan reasoned if Scranton helped him show his parents the ins and outs of the dream world and then proceeded to talk and teleport in the real one, they’d be more inclined to believe everything revealed to them in the shared dream.

He and Scranton argued until Nolan drifted off. He gained consciousness relatively quickly in the dream world, arriving on a small island roughly the size of a city block. The funnel directed him to a simple dreamscape, one the Institute had developed to keep distractions to a minimum.

His mother’s voice carried across the sandy dunes, and she apparently was not pleased with his father. I told you, Peter. You never should have taken up sailing. You’ve been landlocked your entire life. What makes you think you can suddenly learn to sail a yacht?

Nolan trotted toward the sound of the argument. His eyes found the wreckage first, and he wondered if it was a designed piece of the dreamscape or a detail his parents had added subconsciously themselves.

I’m sorry, his father replied. I thought the online course would be sufficient. Who knew piloting a yacht would be so hard?

The hull of the yacht had cracked open on a rock, and Nolan’s father sat forlornly across from it while his mother addressed him with a stern look. Farther down the beach, his baby brother, Max, was crawling after a hermit crab scuttling across the sand.

Who knew piloting a yacht would be so hard? Jen repeated, incredulous. Probably every sailor who has ever sailed a day in their life.

Nolan put an arm around her. Cut him a little slack, okay? At least we all survived the crash.

She blew out a long breath. You’re right, Nolan. I guess we are all safe. That’s a good thing. Her eyes searched the surrounding area and grew a shade darker. I only wish we’d run aground somewhere else. Maybe an island with a little more civilization.

Especially since I dropped the satellite phone in the ocean, Peter said.

The admission brought a chuckle to Nolan’s lips as he shook his head. Somehow, experiencing the silliness of this dream helped to ease the nerves. Hopefully, it would make his forthcoming explanation a bit easier.

Don’t worry about that, Dad, he said as he scooped his brother up from the receding surf. The little boat incident is the least of your worries.

It won’t be if he can’t find us a way off this island, Jen muttered.

Nolan walked back over to them with Max in hand. Trust me. Being stuck here will be a little less daunting if you give me a second to tell you guys something.

His mother smiled pleasantly enough. By all means, Nolan, tell me why I shouldn’t let your father have it right now.

Because none of this really matters. You’re dreaming. Both of you. This island. That yacht. None of this is real.

Both his mom and dad blinked at him for a few seconds.

Seriously, Mom. Do you think Dad would buy a yacht on a whim? It took him six months to research the last car purchase he made.

And I got us a great deal, his father said.

So we’re dreaming? The two of us?

All four of us, actually. Well, five if you count Scranton. Speaking of which… Nolan’s eyes scanned the small island again. The pug was running along the beach on the other side of the shipwreck, chasing after a low-flying gull. Nolan sighed. So much for being that bridge.

Here. Take Max, Nolan said. He passed his brother off to his mother. Then he rose into the air, taking advantage of the dreamscape’s lack of gravity regulation. See? Pretty sure I couldn’t do this in the real world.

His parents watched him circle in the air several times before he landed at their feet. His father laid a hand on his shoulder. "You need to teach me