Episode One: The Dreamtender
We all carry within us a story, a testament to a life lived, a tale of a journey trekked, choices made, paths taken. Some stories end in triumph, others in defeat, others still somewhere in between. Some stories entertain, some inspire, others issue caution and warning, and some, some stories can indeed change the world. I hold now in my hands a book containing one such story, a story that I very much wish for you to hear, my friend. For this story has been many years in the making, and at last, it is complete and ready for the hearing.
Speaker 1:It is the tale of four young children, four children who dared to dream. Our story begins as many stories do, a long time ago, in the place that I call home, the Dreamtender's Grove. The children from our story are only babies in their cribs, unaware of the fact that twelve years from now, they will be called upon to save the world. Episode One: The Dreamtender. The mind of a child is a sacred, precious thing.
Speaker 1:It must be nurtured, its essence cultivated. As though by a master craftsman on a potter's wheel, it must be lovingly molded and sculpted, tended to and cared for with utmost love and delicate grace. For a child of today shall become the adult of tomorrow, and the cycle begins anew, always moving forward, ever renewing and expanding, steadfastly carrying humanity from one day to the next, one generation to its successor. The modern era runs its course and is relegated to the histories. A new era supplants it to carry the banner forth only to find that it too must at last come to a close.
Speaker 1:But throughout all these fleeting generations, within the fabric of each and every era to place its mark upon the world, they all have one unmistakable thread, one shining beacon beaming brightly into the stars, those sacred precious minds, the simple, beautiful, awe inspiring minds of children. I tend to in my own fashion these minds. I am called a great many things by a great many peoples, but you may call me Percival. I've always quite enjoyed that particular moniker. And for the purposes of our story, you may refer to me as the shepherd of slumber.
Speaker 1:While awake, a child looks to their parents, their siblings, their elders for guidance. Those who teach them, we sincerely hope, right from wrong, good from bad, how to aim down a path of truth and not a maze of falsehoods. This is the right and natural way of things. Since time immemorial, our young have looked to those who came before as they navigate their way into their own maturity. But what of the time they spend in slumber?
Speaker 1:Certainly, we cannot abandon their fledgling imaginations to the whims of pure chance and chaos. A child spends a great deal of their development asleep. It would be a grave disservice if they were to spend that time alone, isolated, and without guidance, don't you think? Well, worry not, for I am responsible for ensuring that these minds are safeguarded at slumber. While their bodies rest and grow, I see to it that their minds are also engaged, growing, expanding into the person they are meant to become, the person they need to become.
Speaker 1:Everyone has someone that they look to in some fashion to guide them through waking life. You may be unaware, although I suspect you once were, but everyone also has a guide in their dreams. They too have a great many names, but I refer to them as Dreamtender, and they are, in every way that matters, my children. Today, I wish to tell you about the birth of one particular Dreamtender, one that is unlike any other that has come before or after it, a Dreamtender that was created for a very special child whose mind works in wondrously beautiful ways. After all, the mind of a child is a sacred precious thing.
Speaker 1:It always begins with a spark, some brighter than others, some more chaotic, some tamer and more reserved, but they are all still pric eless sparks nonetheless. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day do I sit and form these sparks into the Dreamtender that children rely upon. I have done so for, well, a very long time. A spark will arrive before me, its potential limitless, its possibilities endless. As I grasp the spark, a name emblazoned itself across my mind, the name of the child that this Dreamtender will accompany.
Speaker 1:It rests now, asleep in its mother's womb, waiting for the moment it starts to truly dream. When that moment comes and that child's mind is ready, the Dreamtender will be waiting. A flood of sight and sound engulfs me, a vision of what can be, the sound of what may come. I perceive in that moment all of the paths that this child may take in life. I feel their joys as well as their pains.
Speaker 1:I can see their victories and their defeats. A glimpse into their inner lives shows me their potential greatness and their theoretical pitfalls. But most importantly, I am able to ascertain their greatest wants, their most dire needs, and what they must have if they are to succeed. For it is my greatest desire that every child be given the tools they need to achieve success. But all too well, we know that success is often elusive.
Speaker 1:Failure, pain, and heartache find us as often as victory, pleasure, and joy, perhaps even more often, sadly. My greatest pain is that I cannot do more, that I cannot guarantee peace, that I cannot assure happiness, that at times, no matter how hard a Dreamtender may try, a child may lose their way. That, my friend, is my burden to bear. The power to influence, but not to determine. I suppose that is, after all, the burden of every parent.
Speaker 1:In this way, I am no different than you. As I wield the tools of my trade, the spark molds and takes shape. Its simple form of luminescence takes on hues and curves, and what was once a mere flicker becomes a brand new being, a being specially suited for the name that sits in my mind, patiently awaiting its companion. The Dreamtender transforms, coalesces, becomes the guide that the name requires. In my realm, time is a variable construct.
Speaker 1:It behaves not as you perceive it, rather it ebbs and flows, allowing me to craft each Dreamtender with the necessary attention and care. Many tens of thousands of children are born on your world every single day, and each of those children deserves a Dreamtender that has been lovingly and painstakingly crafted for their own unique needs. For every new spark that appears before me, I am granted the time required to ensure that it becomes exactly what it needs to become before moving on to the next. Hours, days, weeks transpire in less than the blink of an eye. You may find yourself thinking, does Percival not tire?
Speaker 1:Does he not bore of doing the same task again and again for millennia? Certainly, he must view this work as a burden. Is he cursed? Is this job perhaps punishment for a transgression committed long, long ago? You are, of course, justified in asking these questions, and you are also entitled to hear my response.
Speaker 1:Do you tire of the laughter of a newborn babe? Do you bore of the cries of joy a toddler makes as you play the same game with them over and over again? Do you find it a burden to be charged with the safekeeping of one you love with your whole heart? Is that a curse? Are you being punished?
Speaker 1:Of course not. And in this fashion, neither am I. For just as it is the sacred task of every parent to love and shepherd their children, it is my sacred task to shepherd their dreams. I take great joy in my task just as you take great joy in yours, but that does not mean there are not moments of frustration and doubt, which I am sure you fully understand. You see, every now and again, there comes a spark that does not immediately make me aware of what it needs to become.
Speaker 1:A spark that is different, unique in more ways than one. Of course, all sparks are indeed unique in their own fashion. But when you have encountered as many as I have, you are at times confronted by one that truly catches you off guard. This is the tale of one such spark. On your world, it is customary for parents to bestow a name upon a child, a name that child will carry with them throughout the seasons of life, a name that will define and identify them, a name that says, here I am.
Speaker 1:A Dreamtender is not given a name. It is not a part of my sacred task to name my creations as they are sent forth to their charges. No, a Dreamtender chooses their name before embarking on their sacred task. Indeed, it is the first thing they do upon sparking into existence. They are molded and shaped.
Speaker 1:They are imbued with knowledge of the child that they are meant to tend, and then they choose. It is the way of things. The birth of a Dreamtender, like the birth of their charge, is a beautiful thing. Allow me to demonstrate for you as a new spark has just arrived here before me. As I place my hands upon the radiant spark full of potential, full of hope, I see a name blaze across my mind.
Speaker 1:Tumaini, the son of Wekesa and Nafula. He will be born in the same place as his parents and his grandparents before them, Emabongo Village in Vihiga County, Kenya. A beautiful and vibrant place full of farmland. His name, appropriately, means hope. I close my eyes as I see the paths that lay before Thumaini, the trials he will face, the obstacles he will need to overcome.
Speaker 1:I look into his heart of hearts. He wishes to follow in his father's footsteps and take over the family plot. His desire is to bring food to the hungry, to bring joy to his community. He is, in every way, the pure embodiment of the potential for hope indeed. I smile.
Speaker 1:Thumainy deserves a Dreamtender who will shepherd him through the trials of his youth. Wakessa and Nathula are not wealthy. There will be times of great difficulty, even hunger, but there is also love. For you must remember, I was there when Nakessa and Nephula were born. I remember their sparks.
Speaker 1:I know the contents of their hearts and their character, and I assure you, they are bountiful and good. To miney will be love. In the times when physical harvest may be scarce, a bounty of love, compassion, and determination will carry him through. My hands shape and form the spark as a potter shapes clay. Gently, it begins to stretch and grow.
Speaker 1:Its mass builds as it takes the shape of a young ox calf. The calf does not look like an ordinary calf, however. Instead of ox hide, its form is covered by what looks like a fertile field. Slowly, maize stalks grow out of the back of the ox while bountiful kale weeds sprout around its belly and legs. The hope of a plentiful harvest sings true as the ox stands for the first time looking in the eye.
Speaker 1:As I place my hand gently upon the head of the ox, my knowledge of Ptumminy flows into the Dreamtender. Its eyes open wide with wonder. It stands taller, prouder. I give the ox a moment to absorb the weight of the task that has been laid upon it. Then I look it in the eye and ask a simple question.
Speaker 1:What is your name? The ox tilts its head and looks toward the ground deep in thought. I give it the time it needs. Then it raises its head proudly and meets my gaze. Wingi.
Speaker 1:My name is Wingi. I smile. Wingi, abundance. I look at Wingi and consider for a moment. Yes.
Speaker 1:Yes, indeed. This is the perfect Dreamtender with the perfect name for Toumaini. He will tend him well. I stroke behind his ears. Go now, Wingi.
Speaker 1:Ptumminy awaits you. Go now and guide him to abundance. Wingi nods as his form fades away. My time with him has reached its end. His journey, along with Tumeni's, are now out of my hands.
Speaker 1:I place my hand over my heart as I close my eyes and lower my head. I think of Wengi and of Tumeni. I think of Wekesa and Nafula. I think of the many generations of farmers that have lived on their plot of land before them. Their stories, their sparks, my heart holds a special place for each and every one of them.
Speaker 1:I smile one last time. Then I open my eyes and raise my head for there is much work to be done. You have seen now how a Dreamtender comes to be. But what happens when a Dreamtender cannot speak their name? I knew that the particular spark of this story was unique the moment I laid eyes on it.
Speaker 1:For you see, it did not much resemble a spark at all. It was so curious that I wondered if something had gone amiss. For this spark was not luminescent at all. It shone not brightly nor dimly. Instead, it emanated a kaleidoscope of color and hue so diverse and spectacular, it took my breath away.
Speaker 1:This was not a spark. This was a how else should I say it? A bioluminescent aura of chromatic radiance. I pondered a moment how best to proceed. Never before had such a spark appeared before me.
Speaker 1:I knew not what it meant nor what awaited me when I attempted to mold it. I was not even certain if the methods of my craft would work on this spark at all. An unwelcome thought crossed my mind abruptly. This spark is dangerous. This spark must be discarded.
Speaker 1:The very notion that these thoughts entered my mind caused me to recoil. I had never, in all the millennia of my time as the shepherd of slumber, discarded a spark. The idea repulsed me. I shivered as a cold sensation snaked its way up my back and into my neck. No.
Speaker 1:No. A spark is a precious thing to cultivate and nurture, not to abandon, not to discard. I steeled myself and resolved to not allow these intrusive thoughts to further poison my mind. This spark was here, and that must mean that someone out there needed it. I would not entertain any other alternative.
Speaker 1:I reached forward to grasp the spark with an unusual unusual sensation permeating throughout me, uncertainty. I could not recall the last time I'd felt anything quite like it. It both frightened and fascinated me. As my fingers wrapped around the spark, I was unsure of what to expect to come flashing across my mind. I most certainly was not expecting what came next.
Speaker 1:My vision filled with a deep golden amber color. It expanded to every edge of my periphery. I heard no name, no words, only the fullness of that color. And then slowly and softly, a beautiful melodic voice, not speaking, not singing, but humming. I held the spark as it gently hummed a simple soothing tune.
Speaker 1:My sight returned to me, and I noticed that the spark had now taken on the golden color itself. Tiny tendrils now emerged from the core of the spark. They wrapped themselves around my fingers delicately, as warm and comforting as a sunbeam. I had not yet instructed the spark what shape to take. I had not begun to work my craft upon it in any way, and yet the tendrils began to elongate.
Speaker 1:As they grew outward, colors of all shade and hue pulsed through them like a heartbeat. Soon they curled and swayed in the air, floating as they continued to reach and prod outward. The core of the spark then lifted from my hands and hovered in front of me. I adjusted my hands in an effort to aid it, but realized that it needed no such assistance. I dropped my hands slowly to my sides, mouth gaked in wonder as I watched the creature continue to take shape.
Speaker 1:The core of the spark morphed into a body of contours and curves. It took on an appearance that I had never before crafted or observed. Ridged lines ran across its sides, connecting a tipped front to a pointed tail like back. Along the top of the creature were several humped mounds that pulsed different colors than the rest of its body. To my amazement, the spark stopped its metamorphosis and came to rest.
Speaker 1:It had seemingly reached its final form, now floating gently in front of me, radiating color, humming softly. I asked the only question that I could ask. Who are you, my friend? I awaited a response. A Dreamtender choosing its name is a sacred moment.
Speaker 1:It is not to be rushed. The creature hung in the air before me, gently pulsing and swaying. It did not move. I awaited its voice declaring its name. It never came.
Speaker 1:The only sound was a faint melancholic humming. Never before had a Dreamtender spark behaved in such a way. My focus transfixed on the being before me as I pondered its unusual composition. Was this being even a Dreamtender at all? It had to be considered, I suppose, that it was something else entirely.
Speaker 1:Although it had no discernible eyes to speak of, I could feel the creature peering into my soul, much like an astronomer charting the heavens. It was sentient and intelligent. That much was evident. But what was it? From when said it come?
Speaker 1:And perhaps most importantly, who was it here for? My mind longed to reach out to it, to connect with it. But before my hand could move, the creature had already begun to slowly raise and extend one of its limbs toward me. The tentacle pulsed with vibrant color as it approached, but it stopped then midair as if waiting for me to complete the connection. I extended my arm with my palm facing upward, inviting the creature to interlock its limb with mine.
Speaker 1:As its tentacle lay itself upon my palm and softly wrap itself loosely around my wrist and forearm, a warmth coursed through my body. No, no, that is not quite right. The warmth coursed through my essence. It filled my every cell and the entirety of my consciousness as though every thought that passed through my mind was wrapped in a soothing, warm embrace. Was this how the creature communicated?
Speaker 1:Through sensation? Through feeling? As the hypothesis worked its way through my thought, a powerful pulse emanated through me, originating from the creature's arm. Had it known what I was thinking? Was it trying to give reply?
Speaker 1:Yes. Does that mean yes, my child? Another pulse flowed through me. And if I were to say no, two quick pulses. I smiled at the creature.
Speaker 1:I understand. Thank you for instructing me. Another slightly longer pulse came forth. I could not explain it, but it felt slightly less warm. Instead, it almost felt grateful, as though the creature was saying, you're welcome.
Speaker 1:Pray forgive me, my friend, but you are not like all the other sparks I have encountered, and their numbers are countless. Are you a Dreamtender? In all my time as the shepherd of slumber, I have never touched a spark and not been given a name. If you are to tend a child, I do not know whom you are supposed to go to. The creature shimmered in new hues and shades as it lifted a second arm toward me.
Speaker 1:I raised my other hand and invited the creature to join with me once more. This time, as our limbs melded together, my vision went black. My body no longer felt, well, anything. My mind was suddenly transported away from the Dreamtender's Grove, a place I had not left in countless ages. I soared through space and time.
Speaker 1:The boundaries of the heavens and earth blurred as my very essence left the here and was transported to the there. All around me, the very threads that weaved the tapestry of reality bent and shifted. And just as it all began to feel as though the very core of my person was unraveling and fraying into the vast unknown, I came to a stop. As my sight returned, I found myself looking down at a newborn baby boy, sleeping quietly in his crib. The nameless Dreamtender hovered gently beside the crib as I gazed upon the slumbering child.
Speaker 1:I turned to take in my surroundings. It was a small, warmly lit nursery. Images of cartoon elephants, giraffes, and lions decorated the pale blue walls. On the small end table next to a rocking chair, a knitting needle laid next to a spool of golden yarn. A half completed crochet object lay there awaiting its final form.
Speaker 1:Nestled in the corner of the baby's crib was a small duck made of yellow woven yarn. It appeared that the incomplete object would eventually become its duck companion. A soft melodic lullaby played through a device sitting atop a changing table. As the tomb gently unfolded, the Dreamtender's tentacles pulsed and radiated a gradient of brilliant color rising and falling with the beat of the music. A hint of a smile came upon the lips of the child as the radiant color softly shone upon his face.
Speaker 1:This child, he was not known to me. Over all my many long years of service, never have I forgotten the face or the name of a child that comes into this world. And yet this boy was wholly new and mysterious to me. I gazed upon him with curious wonder. How had his arrival escaped my notice?
Speaker 1:And what did he have to do with the coming of the nameless bioluminescent spark that transported me to him? I had so many questions and was woefully wanting of answers. I turned as I heard soft footfalls in the hallway outside of the door. Slowly and deliberately, the doorknob turned and the door silently opened inward. It was then that I saw a face that I had not seen since she was herself a babe, a face that I would never, could never forget.
Speaker 1:The twinkle in her eye shone as brightly now as it did all those many years ago. Ethel, daughter of Ada and Fred, mother of Andrea and James. I remembered her spark as though it lay in front of me. Of course, it made such perfect sense now. For you see, Ethel's Dreamtender was a yarn and thread duck named Princess Persephone.
Speaker 1:I smiled broadly, knowing that she had tended to Ethel with such love and care that even now her presence was felt. Ethel stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind her. It appeared she could not perceive the Dreamtender and I. My suspicions were quickly confirmed when she stepped forward through me to come by the side of the crib.
Speaker 2:Hello, Timothy,
Speaker 1:my sweet little dreamer. The baby smiled as it brought its thumb up to its mouth and began to suckle it. I looked over to the Dreamtender. It had not moved, but it now radiated in a stunning golden hue that bathed the room in a warm glow. Ethel took a seat in the walking chair and picked up her knitting needle and yarn.
Speaker 1:She gently laid the items on her lap as she looked up toward the far end of the crib where the Dreamtender floated silently.
Speaker 2:Have you come to tend to Timothy?
Speaker 1:The Dreamtender pulsed once in response. Ethel smiled as she turned back to her knitting tools. How was this possible? The Dreamtender was visible to Ethel, but I was not? We were in the waking world, weren't we?
Speaker 1:How was Ethel able to interact with the Dreamtender at all? I feared that my words would fail me, so I remained silent, content to stand watch as this curious scene unfolded in front of me.
Speaker 2:What is your name?
Speaker 1:The Dreamtender exploded into a kaleidoscope of color. It radiated every hue and shade that you could ever imagine. The room lit up like the finale of a firework display. And just as soon as it had begun, the display faded, and the Dreamtender returned to its golden glow.
Speaker 2:Do you speak? You needn't be shy. I am Timothy's grandmother. My name is Ethel.
Speaker 1:Ethel nodded thoughtfully. I see. She fixed her gaze on the Dreamtender.
Speaker 2:Tell me, will Timothy be mute? Is that why you do not speak? Because he cannot either?
Speaker 1:Ethel raised her hand to a chin and appeared to be deep in thought.
Speaker 2:Then perhaps it is because of something else about Timothy. Yes? Something about the way he perceives the world around him? I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that boy was truly special. So what shall we call you, my friend?
Speaker 2:I am afraid neither Timothy nor I can glow like you do,
Speaker 1:Ethel said with a smile. The Dreamtender slowly faded into a deep purple hue that felt mournful.
Speaker 2:Would you like it if I were to give you a name?
Speaker 1:The purple hue morphed back to as the Dreamtender pulsed brightly once more. It hummed excitedly as its tentacles curled and hovered in the air. Ethel set down her knitting tools back on the end table and stood up, walking to the floating creature. She reached up with one hand and stroked the Dreamtender along the ridge of its head.
Speaker 2:Hush now, friend. We do not wish to wake Timothy.
Speaker 1:The Dreamtender's humming faded, its color briefly shifting to a deep blue.
Speaker 2:No. No. You need not apologize. Do you not realize the great gift you have been given? Oh, my friend.
Speaker 2:How I envy you. Words are often so insufficient. They are clumsy and get us into more trouble than they are worth. But song, color, those are the true gateways into the soul.
Speaker 1:The Dreamtender hummed again, barely audibly this time, as it took on a pulsing light green color. Ethel's smile beamed as she ran her hand along the ridges of its head.
Speaker 2:There will be times that this world will be cruel to Timothy. You know that, don't you? There will be times when he does not know what to say or how to say it, times when he feels things that he doesn't quite know how to explain in words. And those are the times, my friend, when he will need you. Those times when the world is too loud and everything just feels as though it is too much to bear.
Speaker 2:Do you know what it is we must do then?
Speaker 1:It hummed louder, unsure of itself. Ethel raised both of her hands to the creature's face and cupped it carefully by the sides. She leaned forward as if she were trying to whisper a secret. She raised one forefinger to her lips. The room fell silent.
Speaker 2:Hush. The
Speaker 1:only sound was that of little Timothy suckling his thumb. Ethel nodded at the Dreamtender.
Speaker 2:Blow.
Speaker 1:Then, just as fast as I was transported to the nursery, I was whisked away. I found myself once again in the Dreamtender's Grove. I was astonished at what had just occurred. Little did I know that twelve years later, little Timothy and his Dreamtender Hushglow would become central characters in one of the grandest tales of our age. I stood there alone in the solitude of the grove, pondering the curious events that had just transpired.
Speaker 1:Who was Timothy? How had he been born underneath my notice? How did Ethel factor into all of this? And who, what was Hushglow? The Dreamtender who did not speak, but sang and glowed with all the radiance of a rainbow.
Speaker 1:I was, for the first time that I could remember, truly lost for words. I spent several moments deep in thought, trying to determine what, if anything, I should do next with the information I had gained from this extraordinary experience. Ah, but uncovering the next chapter of this tale will have to wait. For you see, a new spark has just arrived before me, ready, waiting to tell me its name. I return to my sacred task.
Speaker 1:For you see, the shepherd of slumber neither needs nor takes of rest. I grab the spark, full of life, full of possibilities. I smile as I begin to shape and mold it. Down on earth, four children sleep quietly in their cribs.
Speaker 3:Thank you for listening. If you'd like to support the show and help bring the story to life, please consider joining us on Patreon at patreon.com/epicbedheadsaga. Patrons receive episodes one week early and exclusive behind the scenes content. You can also find us at epicbedheadsaga.com and on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook. The Epic Bedhead Saga is written, produced, and directed by Tyler Michael Jonsson.
Speaker 3:Episode One features Tyler Michael Jonsson as Percival and Hushglow and Amber McCulloch as Grandma Ethel. This episode was made possible with the support of our Dreamtender tier patrons, Nancy and Grant Jonsson. Thanks, mom. Thanks, dad.
