Chapter 66

A Beer of Dreambons?

Brewer’s Reputation: 99,432

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 1/15,000 shards.

Abigail and I peeled oranges as we strolled through the walkways. Orange spritz perfumed the air as our fingernails pried into the fruit. Our elbows knocked into wet cosmos and black cohosh flowers. We seemed to also knock the honey-esque and orchid-esque aromas from each flower. Fragrances flew around us like invisible kites.

The blue jays flew too, until they alighted on the roof of my cabin and socialized. Their aggressive caws brought comfort to my heart. I knew what they wanted. The plate of nuts I had always left for them in the past.

I would give them some later. All I had at the moment were a few potatoes roasting in the coals of a fire I’d made before we went on our stroll. My mind was more occupied with what Abigail had to say than tending to the waiting birds.

She revealed more about the Mist Hidden wall. Birds could easily fly over it. Anything could go over it. Since it was tall, any land dwelling creature would have to launch from a catapult to get over. I didn’t like keeping animals out, but in the meantime, having birds return was a fair compromise until I ranked up and improved the Mist Hidden wall.

As we passed the clematis and jasmine clad brewery, I pondered its future. I told Abigail that it was Barnacle-eyes who manned the tuns within. I hardly ever brewed with equipment anymore. And it wasn’t large enough for storage. Since Barnacle-eyes would be absent for some time, I mulled over the idea of storing split logs in the brewery for winter fires. It would be the perfect size for something like that—and I would still have room for the coolship.

The brewery wasn’t that far from the fire pit. When we arrived at the fire, we sat together on one of the large logs. I pulled the roasted potatoes out from the coals, and collected them in a bowl for us to share. We ate in companionable silence, sometimes watching the fire, sometimes watching the snow, sometimes watching the birds, and sometimes staring off at the gentle sway of flowers in a breeze.

When we’d taken our fill of potatoes, I offered Abigail a dreambon. She rolled it in her hands.

“Thrush is a nightream,” she said.

“I never doubted it,” I said.

“Do you know what a nightream is?”

“I don’t.”

“A nightream is a… was a mythological monster. There’s a lot of opposing myths surrounding nightreams. Some myths, I’ve lately come to find out, are false. But it is written that a nightream cannot die because it has not been born. It simply is. It always has been and always will be.”

“How can it be alive if it hasn't been born?”

“Texts tell us this: The nightream is darkness within darkness. Darkness was never born, and when all is gone, darkness will be.”

“Thrush is darkness?” I said.

“According to myth, he is equal to darkness,” she said. “Equal to the world before life, and equal to the world after life.”

“I don’t know about all that. He’s just Thrush to me. Myth is just myth, right? There are more horrible monsters out there than Thrush. Speaking of monsters. I’ll have to deal with the orcs and goblins now that Thrush and Barnacle-eyes aren’t here.”

“I’ve never met an orc. I’ve seen them in Lavenfauvish; just never met one.”

“Are you saying you want to?”

“That sounds like an adventure I’d like to have,” she said. “When is the next delivery?”

“End of the week.”

“Should we get started on brewing more goblin spit beer?”

“I’d like to brew a collaboration beer with you, first. I’d love to learn from you.”

“Since you just mentioned the coolship…”

We ambled back over to the brewery that blended with the flowers. Fading smells of mashed grains and hop fumes haunted the space. Barnacle-eyes’ mash paddle leaned against the tun. The handle had bite marks on it.

After some discussion, Abigail and I decided to brew a spontaneity beer. We both used Brewer’s Harvest on Cragajack barley. Its kernels were almond shaped and three times the size of a grain of rice.

We then deliberated on a blend of two hops: The woody and bitter orange peel flavors of the Smurgard hop, and the simple floral fragrance of the Keese hop.

We brewed a light amber wort, boiled the hops in, strained every particle from Brewer’s Bubble, and dumped it all in the coolship, exposed to the elements of our wildflower haven.

“Now we wait,” Abigail said.

Abigail discussed some of the techniques I’d abused in roasting the grains as we left the brewery. She made the point that I should evenly spread out the barley in mid air so that the heat can be evenly distributed. For that attention to detail, I would most likely achieve an even coloring and an even roast, something that would earn me a few more points up the quality ladder.

To celebrate the fermenting of our second collaboration beer, Abigail and I shared one of her chocolate stouts in simple pints. We drank as we walked the perimeter of the Sheltering Bubble. The beer tasted of raw slate and cave-aged cocoa. The foam tasted like candied buttercream. I juggled a dreambon in one hand as we walked. Abigail’s eyes followed the fruit.

“Thrush shared his dreambons with me, did I tell you?” Abigail said.

“Mhm,” I said, sipping my stout.

“Have you ever brewed a beer with a dreambon?”

“I haven’t.”

“I'm curious about it,” she said.

“It would probably be-”

“-the most delicious thing in the world.”

I cracked the dreambon in half on my knee and let Abigail pull one half away. We clinked dreambon halves and each took a bite.

That particular dreambon had wild flavors of butterscotch and cream. The shell was a crisp mix of chocolate and cheesecake. The flowing honey tasted like vanilla mousse with shaved dark chocolate sprinkled throughout.

Both of us had to stop and enjoy the bite. I would have bet my life that she had her eyes closed, just as mine were. I found myself nodding at the taste as though that particular dreambon was the height of pleasures.