THE SECRET OF DREAMSTONE
The old man and Phoebe crawled downhill through the tunnel. A breeze smelling of water wafted by. The rocks in the wall were large and glistening, with silver streaks glowing in the darkness. The tunnel grew wider and higher, and the old man rose and walked normally. Phoebe stood up and loped ahead to catch up. Soon she realized they had entered a vast cavern. The light of the old man’s candle found hundreds of tiny mirrors in the crystals in the far off walls and ceiling, and created a moving and changing light of many colors, as if the night sky and the magic of the stars were also here, deep inside the earth.
“Come over here,” said the old man, as he pointed to a couple of old wooden crates. “Take a seat and compose yourself.”
Phoebe had never been so tired, but her mind was on fire.
“You wear a piece of dreamstone,” he said, “your own charm made here in this room. Would you like to look into a large piece? There is some risk. Not everyone is ready for the challenge or the burden that may come of it . . . Would you like to look?”
“Yes,” answered Phoebe. Her thoughts were racing. “Dreamstone!” she said to herself. “It comes from here! This is what people are hunting for! This is the secret my family is hiding from me!”
“Are you ready?” asked the old man.
“I hope so.”
He took the curtain off the wall. The candlelight gleamed on a colossal jewel of dreamstone as large as a church door. One smooth blue surface occupied the central area. It trembled and moved like a living thing, and opened into a measureless depth.