"Andrew!" She called walking impatiently to the bottom of the stairs.
"Yes mother?" Came the reply, voice thick with boredom.
"Come down here!"
"Right."
Marisa Varn walked into the sitting room. The fire had died, and Simon was not here to rekindle it. She switched on the lamp and fell heavily into the nearest chair, waiting for her son. He suddenly there in the doorway, and she jumped a little, startled by his sudden appearance. He didn't say anything, but smirked at little at her reaction. It is true to say that Andrew Varn did not care for his mother, or his father for that matter. They were both intolerable people, who had nothing better to do than stop him going to the Ruins. But he sat down nevertheless, a scowl on his face.
"What then? Come on, you wanted something?" he said raising his eyebrows at the person who had born and raised him.
"Ok Andrew," Marisa replied, turning to look at her only child, his face seemed so old for such a young boy. Marisa could see it now - the information she was about to tell him could give him such power. She was scared. But he would find out anyway, somehow, either from his classmates at school or from his grandmother.
She took another deep breath, opened her mouth, closed it. Paused. Then began:
"Do you ever wake from slumber and never remember what you have dreamt? Yes? There is a reason for this.
A few miles off the coast of England lies the small seaside town of Narcisse. This is where we live Andrew. The town is picturesque, with many hills and it never seems to rain – despite the fact it is England. Among the hills lining this beautiful town are the Rasui Ruins, which themselves hold history." She stopped and looked at Andrew. His eyes had lost their boredom and instead were alive with curiosity. That, and accomplishment. Andrew Varn had pleaded and pleaded with his mother to tell him the Stories. She had point blank refused "Not until you are older." She always said. But now Andrew was sixteen, he was beyond old enough.
Marisa took the boy's silence as a signal to carry on, so once again she sighed, hesitated and continued:
"There is a belief, a rumour you could call it, that these ruins hold a certain magic. The belief is that it is this magic that stops the rain from falling, but it is also the belief that within these ruins there are dreams. Yes, Andrew, dreams. The Eelders told the story of the magic within these ruins stealing away dreams as people sleep. Then when the population of Narcisse awoke the next morning – they could not remember what they dreamed that night. Then the population grew, expanded, moved out of town. And that is why some people – all over the world cannot remember dreaming. And that is also why myself, your grandmother and yourself cannot remember. The gene for forgetting is passed down throughout generations. The story of the Rasui Ruins has been told for centuries. My grandmother told it me when I was a little older than you, then my mother told me - not knowing Nana had already told me. And now I am telling you."
She turned once again to her son. His eyes had changed again, and instead of curiosity, there was now... hesitation. He glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye, then fixed his glare back at the carpet.
Marisa waited patiently. She knew that look. He wanted to know something else.
Finally he spoke "Ok, but lets say, if there is a genetic disorder in the family, and someone can remember their dreams... What then?"
Marisa laughed, a rare sound, but a pretty one. "Don't be absurd child, that is near impossible."
Andrew shot up out of his seat and glared at his mother, his fists balled up at his side. "I'm being serious mother"
Marisa's laugh cut short and an uneasy look fell across her once pretty features. "If that ever happened, which is incredibly rare, there has only ever been one case of it. But it has happened. There is only one account ever written in The Eelders manuscripts. But, it will mean this person... They could... They could bring the world to its knees. Their dreams alone - after generations of forgetting - could destroy worlds."
**********
For as long as he can remember, Andrew Varn has been told the story of the Rasui Ruins. The story was passed from his great grandmother to his grandmother, then to his mother and finally to him. He is now twenty-five, and the rumours of the Ruins still intrigue him.
He lied.
Every morning he wakes up. And remembers.
He remembers every last detail in perfect clarity. Andrew Varn comes from a line of Forgeters. Yet he can remember his dreams. All his dreams. Every dream he has ever had.
And he will use these dreams.
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