The Sandman and the War of Dreams (2 page)

C
HAPTER
O
ne

The Dreams That Stuff Is Made Of

T
IME PASSES STRANGELY WHEN
you are sleeping. You can close your eyes when it is night, then open them again and see morning. Yet the hours that went by seemed no longer than the drifting journey of a leaf in a soft breeze.

Strange, wondrous, and terrible adventures are the norm in dreams. Uncharted lands come and go. Dream epics play out. Wars are fought and won. Loved ones are lost or found. Entirely different lives are lived as we sleep. And then we awake, with disappointment or relief, as if nothing at all had happened.

But sometimes things do happen.

In the waking world, the Guardians had lost one of their own to a powerful entity known as Mother Nature.

But an odd little man had been sleeping for more days and nights than any calendar could count. The snoozing fellow was the color of golden sand—indeed, he seemed to be made of the stuff. And his unruly hair twirled and twisted as he slept. He rested in the dune-covered center of a tiny star-shaped island that was nearly impossible for humans to find, for it was not originally from the Earth. The island was not
connected to anything; no landmass beneath the ocean anchored it in place. As such, it was the only island on our planet that truly floated atop the water. Because of this, it drifted. In June it might be in the Pacific Ocean, and by July it might be off the coast of Madagascar, its whereabouts known only to the Moon and the stars.

Which was fitting, for this island had once
been
a star. It had been saved by the leader of the Guardians, Tsar Lunar, or as we call him, the “Man in the Moon.” But that was ages ago.

The island, from above

On
this
most auspicious night, Tsar Lunar called upon the small and harmless-looking fellow who softly snored among the island’s magic sands.

But how should one awaken a man from the past? A man who had traveled oceans of time and space. A steadfast fellow who had piloted the fastest shooting star in the heavens. A hero of ten thousand battles against Pitch, the Nightmare King. This smallish warrior had once been the most valiant granter of wishes the cosmos had ever known. How does one wake a man who has not opened his eyes since the great ancient days of the Golden Age?

As with most things, the answer was simple.

The Man in the Moon sent a moonbeam messenger with a single whispered request: “I wish that you would help. Your powers are needed.”

In an instant the little man’s eyes opened. The
centuries of sleep fell away. There he stood, tall as he could: Sanderson Mansnoozie. The Man in the Moon then proceeded to relay his full message. Sanderson Mansnoozie listened intently.

So very much had happened while he had slept.

Pitch had returned and was threatening the galaxies again. But Sanderson Mansnoozie’s long sleep had been most productive. He was now more powerful than he had ever been: He had power over the world of dreams. In fact, every grain of sand on his island now contained a dream—one dream from each night of his nearly endless sleep, and all of them good dreams, strong enough to fight any nightmare.

When the Man in the Moon finished, Sanderson Mansnoozie, with a wave of his hands, brought his island to life. Its sands swirled around him, and the island transformed into a cloud that swept him up from the sea and into the sky.

With moonbeams to guide him, he sailed the golden cloud toward his mission: to aide the Guardians. To save and rescue a girl named Katherine. And to stop Pitch forever.

This “Sandman” was ready to seek out his ancient enemy and oldest friends. He was ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead.

And there were many.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

A Return to Where Things Started

F
OR THE
GUARDIANS AND
their allies, it had been a hectic and miserable trip from Queen Toothiana’s mountain palace in Punjam Hy Loo. After the horror of seeing their Katherine, and Pitch, abducted by Mother Nature’s cyclone, the Guardians had decided they should return to the village of Santoff Claussen. Santoff Claussen was the place where magic, goodness, and bravery were tended and protected. It was where they had been linked and where their new lives as Guardians had been born. It was a place that felt like home.

But the Guardians felt lost and broken. They could not sense Katherine. Where she might be. If she was in peril or safe.

Home. They needed that feeling of “home”; the safety and warmth, the dreamlike comforts that are “home.”

E. Aster Bunnymund was the last of the giant rabbits of the Pookan Brotherhood, and while he had been to Santoff Claussen only a few times, he had found his first friends in the enchanted village.

Nicholas St. North had been the greatest thief in all of Russia and had once tried to rob Santoff Claussen of its treasures. But the kindness he had found there had changed his brigand’s heart, and now he was a hero of unparalleled skill and valor.

For Toothiana, Queen of the Tooth Fairy Armies, this would be her first real visit. She had heard from
her many animal friends that the village was a haven of kindness and respect for all living creatures. She already felt a great kinship with any who came from Santoff Claussen.

Ombric Shalazar ached to return to the village he had founded. This most ancient and wise of wizards hoped that by going back to Santoff Claussen, the Guardians would heal from their battles with Pitch. Such a cunning and relentless villain was this Nightmare King! Three times now the Guardians had defeated him. And three times he had returned, with deeply devious plans that had tested them beyond what they thought they could ever do. They were weary and heartsick. But Ombric . . . Ombric was close to collapse. His weariness was now equal to his wisdom, and he feared that perhaps he was losing the delicate balance that kept him ready for any fight.
Going home must mend me,
he thought. He hoped it would steady them all, give them a chance to regroup, gather their strength, and re-sharpen their wits. They would need to if they stood any chance of finding Katherine.

This lost girl may have been the youngest of their troop, but in many ways she was its oldest soul. She was orphaned, as all the Guardians had been, and like them, she had found a path out of that sorrow. Unlike them, however, her path was not through daring deeds or the study of magic or the use of miraculous powers. She had been gifted with something almost as rare: an open and eager mind. She had the gift of watching and listening, the gift of taking all the hurts and happenings of others’ lives and understanding their purpose.

Katherine’s heart and mind would take their
adventures and reimagine them, sometimes exactly as they had occurred or—most miraculously of all—as new stories. She had become the historian of what had happened and what should have happened. No one could tell a story better than Katherine. No one understood what needed to be as well as she. This was a singular and important power in the ranks of the Guardians.

But Nightlight was the most eager of them to be back in Santoff Claussen. He was well named, this quicksilver boy of brightness and unending youth. His pureness of heart could cast away the darkest shadows. Katherine was his best, closest, dearest friend. He had first met her in the village, and their friendship had changed him, made him more of what was best inside his joyful, restless soul. With Katherine at his side, he felt he could light up the
world. And he quite likely could. But now she was gone.