{"product_id":"the-dream-gatherer-isbn-9780756416058","title":"The Dream Gatherer","description":"\u003cb\u003eCelebrating the 20th anniversary of the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Green Rider series, this short volume introduces readers to new sides of Sacoridia in two new short stories and a novella.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe book includes illustrations and backstory on the creation of \u003ci\u003eGreen Rider\u003c\/i\u003e by the author, and a special introduction by award-winning science fiction and fantasy author, Julie E. Czerneda.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn \u003ci\u003eThe Dream Gatherer\u003c\/i\u003e, Kristen Britain presents a novella and two short stories set in the universe of her best selling Green Rider series in celebration of the twentieth anniversary of the publication of her first novel, \u003ci\u003eGreen Rider\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Dream Gatherer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDreams can be dangerous. A visit with the eccentric Berry sisters turns dangerous when an arcane device is discovered in their house that can summon dreamers through their dreams, and one of them is a nightmare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWishwind\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFinding peace during the Long War. Raised in an orphan camp, Green Rider Danalong has known only war and strife, until a shipwreck leaves him stranded on a mysterious island.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLinked, on the Lake of Souls\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA story of friendship within a story of friendship. In the sixth volume of the Green Rider series, \u003ci\u003eFirebrand\u003c\/i\u003e, a wounded Karigan G'ladheon asks her friend Estral to tell her a story to take her mind off her pain. This is that story.\u003cb\u003ePraise for the Green Rider series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eGreen Rider\u003c\/i\u003e is \u003cb\u003ea wonderfully captivating heroic fantasy adventure\u003c\/b\u003e.... Kristen Britain’s likable heroine and fast-paced plot kept me eagerly turning pages. This is the rarest of finds: a truly enjoyable read.” —Terry Goodkind, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e-bestselling author of The Sword of Truth series\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Kristen Britain is \u003cb\u003eone of the most astonishing fantasy writers working today\u003c\/b\u003e. She has created a richly imagined world where magic is as real as courage, and where a young woman's heroism can change the course of history.” ―Tess Gerritsen, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Apprentice\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Britain packs her exciting sixth Green Rider epic fantasy with new perils for her heroine, Karigan G’ladheon.... \u003cb\u003eThe pages fly by in this dramatic tale\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Britain’s latest combines familiar characters with new allies and enemies as it builds to a crucial point in the history of the land. Readers of epic fantasy and series followers will want this \u003cb\u003efinely honed, skillfully crafted tale\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Britain provides \u003cb\u003eplenty of action\u003c\/b\u003e…and a good command of character.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“In masterly fashion, Britain ultimately manages to bring the major plotlines together in a big battle.... \u003cb\u003eA rousing, satisfying adventure\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eLocus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“There is something about returning to read a new book the Green Rider series that just makes me happy.... \u003cb\u003eAddictive comfort reads\u003c\/b\u003e that make me want to curl up with it until I finish.” —Speculative Herald\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“The gifted Ms. Britain writes with ease and grace as she creates \u003cb\u003ea mesmerizing fantasy ambiance\u003c\/b\u003e and an appealing heroine quite free of normal clichés.” —\u003ci\u003eRT Book Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“This captivating fantasy is filled with adventure, action, and heroes. Karigan grows tremendously as a person and in the end finds her own place in this world. The characters, including minor ones, are well-developed and the plot is complex enough to get the reader thinking. This is \u003cb\u003ea real page-turner\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eVOYA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Kristen Britain writes so beautifully that \u003cb\u003eI never want to have to put her books down\u003c\/b\u003e.” ―Fantasy Book Review\u003cb\u003eKristen Britain\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Green Rider series. Deep within the spruce-fir forest of coastal Maine, down a rambling mossy vale, and far beneath the inkwell of the sky, you will find her woodland home, where she crafts her tales and consorts with a pair of furry, tuft-eared sprites.\u003cp\u003eWishwind\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Danalong’s nostrils flared with the scents of the ocean and his own blood. He staggered inland shedding droplets of seawater on the forest floor. Step by painful step, he was guided only by the pale gleam of moonlight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWet and racked by chills, he gasped for breath as if drowning, but he was on dry land. It was his comrades, his people, who had drowned. The sea had lashed out and the wind had twisted around, thrusting \u003ci\u003eWindswift \u003c\/i\u003eonto a hidden shelf, gutting it of cargo, crew, and soldiers. The cries and shouts, horses screaming as they spilled into the waves, the crack of masts as they splintered and toppled. The roar of ocean filling Danalong’s ears. Swallowing great gulps of water, swirling in the waves, drowning, drowning . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen his flailing hands had fallen upon a plank of wreckage that appeared out of the darkness like a gift bestowed upon him by the gods, and on this he floated to the shore of an unknown island. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe surging ocean had slammed him into barnacle- clad rocks that shredded hands, elbows, and knees. Now the cool night air stung the raw wounds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe shoved aside tree limbs and crashed through underbrush with drunken momentum, driven inland by instinct, or some force he could not name. Abruptly the thick forest gave way and he stumbled into a moonlit clearing. A vision appeared before him of an ivory-haired woman singing of autumn apples to a fawn as its mother and a bobcat watched on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eImpossible! \u003c\/i\u003ehe thought, and the world darkened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanalong thrashed in the water, waves crashing over his head. The current tried to pull him back under and fill his nose and mouth. The sea took young Jaren and Avery, and Drake and the others.\u003cbr\u003eDrawn under one by one, their pale faces and limbs faded beneath the water’s dark surface.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No!” he cried and realized he wrestled with blankets and not the ocean. Sunshine and the scent of evergreens flowed through a window above where he lay on a coarse mattress and eased his panic. He was in a one-room croft of stone and the hearth crackled with a day fire. Dried herbs hung from the rafters above. A table laden with bread, honey, and berries occupied the center of the room. All else was obscured in contrasts of sunlight and shadow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMight this be Coutre Harbor, he wondered, and the wreck no more than a nightmare? He listened for a time to the piping song of a thrush outside and the rustling of leaves in a breeze. No, not Coutre Harbor, he decided, which would be rank and noisy as a busy seaport always was. The wreck had been no nightmare. The \u003ci\u003eWindswift \u003c\/i\u003ewas truly gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No,” he whispered. He’d been on a vital mission for King Jonaeus to gather Lord Arey’s troops and lead them to the coast of Coutre, where intelligence said Mornhavon’s forces planned an assault. If Mornhavon took the eastern provinces, it would cost the Sacor Clans the war, and all the years of suffering and slaughter would be for naught. Now with the ship’s loss, the king would receive no reinforcements at all, for \u003ci\u003eWindswift’s \u003c\/i\u003esister ship, \u003ci\u003eWishwind, \u003c\/i\u003ecarrying additional troops and supplies, had vanished in a gale days ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe recalled strong currents and high waves as they approached the Northern Sea Archipelago. It had been the shipmaster’s plan to use the islands to conceal their approach from Mornhavon’s spies despite the archipelago’s dangerous tides and currents. Even more perilous in the minds of some sailors was the archipelago’s reputation for the uncanny. Rife in the dark berths of ships and the taverns of every port town were tales of witches casting spells over unwary mariners and sinking ships, and of the ancient sea kings who were said to slumber in island caves until they awoke once more to dominate the lands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe shipmaster of \u003ci\u003eWindswift \u003c\/i\u003escoffed at superstition and was confident in his ability to navigate the archipelago’s hazards and the night’s fickle winds. His miscalculation, however, not only cost countless lives aboard ship, but possibly the war itself.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBoth ships lost. No hope.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe croft’s door opened, and the willowy, ivory-haired woman of Danalong’s previous vision stepped inside and appraised him with granite- gray eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You should eat, child,” the woman said, and she gestured at the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Who are you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I am Marin. Eat. It is late noon and your stomach is empty.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I must go to the shore,” he said. “We were wrecked— my ship. I must help my people.” Then he added more quietly, “If any survive.” He held little hope that any others had survived the violence of the sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Eat,” Marin told him. “If there are survivors, you are in no condition to aid them at the moment.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanalong wrapped the blanket around himself for underneath he wore only his own skin. His clothes dried before the fire. When he sat at the table he just stared at the food unable to actually eat. Marin broke off a piece of bread and spread it with honey and placed it in his hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You must find your strength again. You are no good to anyone right now, Green Rider, least of all yourself.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe obeyed but did not taste the food. His mind was too full of the previous night’s disaster and wondering about this Marin woman who seemed to know who, or at least what, he was, though his green cloak and winged horse brooch would’ve given that away. Still, her manner was \u003ci\u003eknowing. \u003c\/i\u003eHe felt no threat from her, but found her penetrating gaze and silence uncomfortable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFinally, when he finished, Marin spoke. “Your clothes are dry if you choose to wear them.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe hadn’t much hope for his uniform to be in any condition to wear, but discovered the tunic and trousers had been stitched and patched, and the cloak was in fine shape. Once dressed, he exhaled in relief, feeling more himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarin led him outside for fresh air. The croft, cloaked by flower-specked vines, sat by a lake. It was as placid as the sea had been furious.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarin scurried to and fro inspecting flowers and trees, chattering to them like old friends. Danalong followed slowly and stiffly, shoulders erect and hands clasped behind his back. He wondered how this Marin woman had come to live on this island the charts indicated was uninhabited, and found her obvious joy in the surrounding nature eccentric.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanalong had been born into war, had grown up in an orphan camp, his own face mirrored in those of the other children—pinched with starvation as they were forced to fletch arrows, or labor in forges and tanneries in service to the war effort. When they grew strong enough to wield the weapons they made, they were sent off to fight. Child warriors returned as grim veterans missing limbs and eyes, haunted by all they had witnessed. If they returned at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo Danalong, nature was important only in how it affected troop movements and strategy, how it could prove an advantage or disadvantage in a given battle. How it could sustain armies. In and of itself, he had given it little consideration, and the only flowers he ever noticed were those placed on graves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I heard how the ocean carried you ashore.” Marin could have been speaking to the trillium blossom she cupped in her hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“My people . . . ” Their screams echoed like a fresh wound in Danalong’s mind. All he could see were bodies with familiar faces floating among the wreckage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It happens.” Marin sighed. “Your shipmaster misjudged the wind.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanalong clawed back a wisp of hair. “The wind turned on us.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Don’t blame the wind, child,” was the gentle reply. “It is not the first time nor the last. I know that you’re worried about the war now that those on the battlefront will be denied aid against the invaders. You are angry because among their leader’s atrocities against your people, he burned the woodlands of your coastal home. A pity, for those were ancient and goodly trees.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey had been Danalong’s only refuge as a child. “How do you know so much?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I hear and see things.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSea witch, \u003c\/i\u003eDanalong thought. She had to be. Why else would she be living on this island? She must scry for her knowledge with magic. He had felt no threat from her, but now he gazed after her in suspicion as she continued along the path. Maybe she was even one of Mornhavon’s sorcerers and she had actually caused the demise of both ships. He knew magic only as a weapon, and, among the Green Riders, his was the deadliest of all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sudden unearthly cry stopped him in his tracks. He reached in reflex for a sword that was not there, a sword he’d thrown into the ocean along with his armor so they would not drag him down into the depths.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The loon is back!” Marin pointed to the near shore of the lake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA loon. Of course. Danalong relaxed. Loons were rare on the mainland for war had ravaged much that had been beautiful, including the lakes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe loon floated low in the water among reeds, then dove without so much as a splash.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He has just returned from winter on the ocean.” Marin gazed long at the lake, her eyes distant. \u003cbr\u003e“Ancient is the loon’s kind. They knew this land long before humankind ever stepped foot upon it. Before even the Eletians. And while other creatures may pass from existence and memory, the loons remain, surviving many millennia, no matter the travails of the lands.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe loon reappeared farther down the lake and called out again, a haunting sound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“And sometimes I think,” Marin continued, “they were gifted with the voice to express the loneliness of the ages in a way we cannot.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey lingered by the lake with its plash of waves and the fresh scent of spring growth. Serenity enveloped Danalong, but then he frowned and shook himself as if from a spell. The lulling quality of the lake had distracted him from the tragedy of the \u003ci\u003eWindswift. \u003c\/i\u003eHow could he stand here in this beautiful place when his companions had perished? And yet, he could not express his sorrow. He learned as a child that tears would never bring back his family or friends, and had since hardened himself against weeping.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI can only honor the lost and redeem myself in battle, \u003c\/i\u003ehe thought. His way was to seek vengeance, but it brought only bitter solace. And one question recurred after every battle, and now after the shipwreck: \u003ci\u003eCouldn’t I have saved some of them? \u003c\/i\u003eHis special magical ability was of no help when it came to \u003ci\u003esaving \u003c\/i\u003elives.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It may seem harsh,” Marin said as if reading Danalong’s thoughts, “but life is for survivors.”\u003cbr\u003e Danalong turned on Marin. “You would say that after all I’ve lost? The wreck, friends killed in the fighting? Lives lost because the invaders want our land and resources? Mornhavon tortures and enslaves the innocent.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarin sighed heavily. A breeze rippled across the lake. Cattails tossed in its wake and poplar leaves quaked. The air cooled as dusk gathered, and a full moon rose milky white to bob above the treetops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanalong still faced Marin, awaiting a response, his body rigid. The wisp of hair now clung damply to his forehead. Shadows grew long before Marin answered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I do not lean toward the ways of those like Mornhavon. There have been many such as he through the ages of this world, but like all else, they’ve crumbled to dust with time. They fight for dominance as eaglets in the nest, the strongest killing its sibling. Survival.” Marin clasped Danalong’s hand. “Child, you are a survivor. You survived a shipwreck and the violence of the sea. Tomorrow we shall garden, and then maybe you will understand.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGardening? When he had survivors to look for? He also needed to reach the king to warn him no aid would be arriving from Arey.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I appreciate your help,” he told Marin. “You’ve been very kind. But, as much as I’d like to. . . garden, I’ve survivors to search for. And might you have a boat? I must reach King Jonaeus. It is quite urgent.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The young ones are always in such haste.” She clucked her tongue. “Child, the healing of wounds takes time, and there is no better salve than gardening.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As for a boat?” She chuckled. “Now what would \u003ci\u003eI \u003c\/i\u003edo with a boat?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But I need to—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hush, child. Tomorrow we garden.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA warmth seemed to radiate from Marin that soothed Danalong’s fury. Yes, wounds needed healing. He exhaled a deep breath, and watched in fascination as she turned her palm upward and a star seemed to settle on it to light the way.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"DAW","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304519946469,"sku":"NP9780756416058","price":13.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780756416058.jpg?v=1767739080","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-dream-gatherer-isbn-9780756416058","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}