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They were standing in a large room, dimly lit by an ivory orb that floated just below the ceiling. But this room held no comfortable chairs, no oak cabinets, no fascinating collections. All Jori could see were rough wood floors and blank plaster walls. And a thick, carpet-like hanging that covered one wall entirely.
“This sucks,” muttered Derek. “I blow off Marisa to come stare at a rug.”
Newt looked at him in disgust, though his own disappointment was obvious. “Shut up, Derek. Some rugs are really valuable, like—”
“Rug.” The old man’s voice sounded flat, icy, and Jori turned to see dark shadows chasing across his face. “Is that all you see?“
She felt a stab of fear. Stupid, stupid—she should have known better than to come back here. Half the psychos in the world probably seemed harmless until you pushed the wrong button.
Rushing toward the wall, she scrambled for something positive to say, some way to calm him before he became violent. “They’re morons, Professor. Just ignore them. It’s beautiful, really! It’s—”
She stopped, staring. And then forgot to breathe.
What hung before her on the wall—a tapestry, she suddenly remembered these things were called—was something very different than what she had expected. Its threads glimmered as though spun from jewels, and woven into its design were a hundred exquisitely detailed scenes. But it was more than artistry or craftsmanship that set this tapestry apart.
The pictures were alive.
Where Jori’s eyes were riveted, trees actually swayed in an unseen breeze, and tiny winged lizards hopped along their branches. High above the forest canopy, dragons with human riders twisted through a tumble of clouds, ruby flames blazing from their mouths.
She felt Newt and Derek draw next to her, but by now she was too lost in the images to speak to them. In one scene, ships sailed across frenzied seas, their captains searching for the drowned city of Atlantis that gleamed in the dark waters beneath. In another, a band of determined warriors wandered through a deadly maze of tunnels, an image that reminded Jori of a video game she once played. And higher on the fabric, on a purple and green landscape, spotted creatures with three horns galloped under the light of twin moons.
“It’s…unbelievable,” Jori murmured.
“Yes. It is.” Mr. DePris stood just a few steps away, his voice gentle once again. “Please accept my apologies for my reaction just now. I suppose I’m far too sensitive when it comes to this particular piece.” His eyes wandered to the tapestry. “It is magnificent, though, isn’t it? And as changeable as the dreamers who dream it.”
The odd phrase bothered Jori. “What do you mean, ‘the dreamers who dream it’?”
“I’m surprised, my dear. I thought that you, at least, would have guessed.”
She shook her head, her eyes still holding the question.
“My tapestry is not like any other. Those are poor creations of thread and silk, now moldering in trunks or gathering dust in museums. But this one is woven from much more precious materials.”
“What?” Jori whispered.
“From dreams.”
She started, then looked toward the two boys. Newt seemed almost hypnotized by what he was hearing. But Derek’s face was dark with frustration.
“Tell you what,” he said. “If I decide to look at hallucinations, I’ll buy some mind candy and see my own.”
Mr. DePris clicked his tongue. “And put yourself at risk? Besides, why would you be satisfied with just watching your dreams?”
Derek looked as though his head were going to explode. But Newt’s face took on an almost desperate expression. “Tell me what you mean.”
“Didn’t you notice?” The old man gestured toward a faded section of the cloth from which all of the colors seemed to have drained. “The tapestry is not quite complete. It never is.”
“Okay. So?”
“So. It is there that we will weave your dreams. And then you will go in and live them.”
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