Dreams

by James Erich

  “It’s all the fault of that accursed daughter of mine,” the old woman grumbled. “Had to fall in love with a man from Mat’zovya and get herself with child. So the next thing I know, she’s moving out here and begging me to come along to be near my grandson.”

  “Your loyalty to your family is admirable,” Geilin commented. He finished stirring sugar into his tea and placed the tarnished silver spoon on his saucer.

  Nedegh snorted. “Two months after we arrived, the lout ran off with a local tavern dancer. Well, I thought, good riddance! Now we can return to civilization.”

  Geilin picked up his tea and took a sip. “But I take it that didn’t happen.”

  “Winter was setting in. No one was willing to escort us until the spring, and we certainly weren’t going to risk the journey on our own. Then when spring came, the baby was ill and couldn’t travel. And that’s how things kept going, on and on.”

  The old ömem gestured dramatically at the dingy shop around her, decorated with gaudy pseudo-mystical trappings and magical baubles. “And so here I am. Three years later, and still barely scraping by in this… luxurious abode.”

  “And your daughter and grandson?”

  “Oh, they’re fine,” she replied, not seeming terribly happy about it.

  Geilin set his cup down and smoothed the folds of his robe across his lap. “I’m very glad to hear it. But, as you quite theatrically pointed out when we arrived, Sael and I—and Koreh, as long as he remains with us—are in grave danger.”

  “And now you’ve dragged me into it,” Nedegh snapped petulantly. “I just hope I fare better than poor Thuna. May she be honored in the Great Hall.”

  Koreh could tell that Geilin was losing his patience with the old hag, but the wizard remained calm. He picked up his tea again and repeated the benediction. “I sincerely regret any danger we may have placed you in, old friend. But we need your aid, if we’re to survive this journey.”

  Nedegh sniffed and made a show of going to the front door to peer out once more before she spoke.

  “I’ll tell what I can,” she said at last.

  Koreh knew little of the ways of vönan and ömem. But some things were common knowledge. It was a complicated system, divided along strict gender roles. Men could cast a number of different kinds of spells—particularly spells using fire, the primary weapon of the Stronni—but they could not heal, and they couldn’t far-see or communicate over distances. This was the women’s domain, the province of the ömem.

  Koreh had heard the legend as a child—how, early in the Great War, the queen of the Stronni had plucked out the eye of the king’s most trusted manservant, Atnu, and thrown it up into the sky. There it watched over all the earth during the day. Similarly, she’d thrown the eye of her handmaid, Druma, into the night sky. But Druma was elderly and could not keep her weary eye open all the time. So the Eye of Druma was fully open only one night a month, and one night a month it was completely shut and sightless. These great magical eyes watched over everything on earth, by day and by night, and the goddess used them to seek out the enemies of the Stronni.

  Women who dedicated themselves to the service of the goddess were also granted the ability to see through the Eyes. That was how Marik had found them. And it was why the stranger who’d visited Koreh at the inn hadn’t been able to step into the light.

  More, all women with the gift of sight were somehow linked together. They couldn’t precisely read each other’s thoughts, but they could sense each other at all times. Even Marik, though she was outlawed by the emperor, was still an ömem, and she still retained her connection to the others.

  When Thuna was killed, it sent a shockwave throughout the community of ömem, which they called The Sisterhood. From that point onward, they had been watching, searching for Geilin and Sael. The master and his apprentice had eluded the women—for a time. But they had at last been recognized, crossing the chasm near the ruined bridge. Everything Geilin, Sael, and Koreh had done for the past two days had been watched closely.

  “Marik was, at first, content to ransom you,” Nedegh said, pouring a fresh cup of tea for herself. “In this, her hatred of the emperor served you. But now that you’ve killed some of her men, she’ll not rest until you’re dead.”

  Geilin looked grim. “Has she sent the samöt after us?”

  The mention of the name sent a chill down Koreh’s spine. The samöt were something else he knew little of. Nobody knew much about them, as far as he was aware. But he knew enough to fear them.

  They had come into existence six hundred years ago, when Emperor Agrehn attempted to imprison the ömem so that only he could make use of their Sight. But the ömem made allies among the palace guards, promising to aid them with the Sight in return for the death of the emperor. In one infamous night, Agrehn and all his most avid supporters were struck down. Thus the samöt were born—a band of elite assassins under the command of the ömem. They were so feared that people rarely spoke of them.

  “Perhaps,” Nedegh replied evasively. “Though I shouldn’t tell you this, be aware that the emperor has requested the services of the samöt.”

  “The emperor!” Sael’s eyes went wide.

  Nedegh scoffed at him. “Of course. He’s no fool. He’s been watching the vek for a very long time, waiting for your father to make a move. Not that the vek is a fool either. He knew the emperor was suspicious and watching. That is why you were recalled to Harleh. Unfortunately he was betrayed by one of his own men, which was nearly your undoing. But this isn’t just about you, boy. You and your doddering old fool of a master aren’t the only ones in danger. An attempt will be made on the vek very soon.”

  “How soon?” Geilin asked, unperturbed by the old woman’s jab.

  Nedegh looked away and busied herself adding more sugar to her tea. “I’ve told you more than I should.”

  “Has the vek been warned?”

  “The vek knows what we wish him to know.”

  The wizard was clearly frustrated by this answer, but to Koreh’s surprise, he didn’t press her further on the subject. Instead he said, “How is it that Thuna didn’t know of the assassins who struck at us, just as we were leaving the city?”

  “What ‘assassins’?” Nedegh’s voice was contemptuous. “Those clods? Thuna didn’t know of them because they weren’t samöt.”

  “I thought as much,” Geilin replied, taking a sip of his tea. “The emperor must have hired mercenaries.”

  “I assume it will also come as little surprise to you to learn that you have quite a large bounty on your head. And an even larger one on the boy.”

  Geilin merely nodded calmly.

  Koreh looked at Sael sitting across the table from him. He had put his tea down, too nervous to drink any more. Sael noticed Koreh looking at him and tried to mask his anxiety, but was only moderately successful. Koreh smirked at him, and the fear was immediately replaced by a look of haughty defiance.

  That’s better. Get angry. And stay that way, little lord.

  Beautiful little lord.

  Geilin had told Koreh he could leave them once they reached Mat’zovya. Part of him was tempted. Away from Sael, Koreh could disappear into the forest and no assassins would be likely to find him, if they even bothered to try. But Koreh knew he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t. Not as long as Sael was in danger.

  Then there was the small matter of wanting Sael. So much that it was starting to hurt.

  Gods, why did I have to pick him?

  “Will the fog hide us?” Geilin was asking.

  “From us, yes,” Nedegh replied, referring to the Sisterhood. “Otherwise, I would never have allowed you into my house. And you will be somewhat hidden from the samöt. But you won’t be hidden from the emperor’s spies in town.”

  “We aren’t staying long. But we need to get money and buy supplies before we can continue.”

  The old woman eyed him suspiciously. “Get money from whom?”

  “Perhaps Seirit.”

  �
�He’s moved to Worlen.”

  “Vikat, then.”

  “Living in Rügind.”

  “Nimik?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh dear.” Geilin took another sip of his tea, pondering this new development. “I had also been hoping to find some mercenaries we could trust.”

  Nedegh laughed sharply. “Do you have more money to pay them than the emperor has? Don’t be a fool, Geilin. Any men you hire will slit your throats for the bounty the moment you step foot outside the city.”

  Geilin stood, his patience apparently at an end. “Well, then, we won’t take up any more of your time. Or risk endangering you further.”

  Nedegh sighed and heaved her round form up out of her chair.

  “Oh, hold on, you pompous old fart,” she grumbled.

  She walked over to a tattered wall hanging, crudely embroidered with magical symbols—or at least that’s what Koreh assumed they were. Nedegh tossed them all a suspicious glance before pushing the hanging aside and then disappearing through a dark doorway on the other side of it.

  “Master Geilin,” Sael started to say in a hushed tone, but Geilin raised a hand to silence him. From the smug look on Geilin’s face, Koreh guessed the old wizard had just bluffed and won.

  After a moment, Nedegh returned clutching a small bag. She thrust it at Geilin none too gently. “That’s all I can spare, friend or no friend.”

  “You’re very generous.”

  The woman snorted. “No. I’m not. But you should at least be able to get him,” she gestured at Koreh, “out of those filthy rags. And maybe get yourselves some food for the journey.

  “Make sure to save a couple coins for the boatman,” she added, “unless you want to swim across the lake.”

  “OLD hag,” Koreh muttered when they were safely away from the shop.

  Sael would never have insulted one of Geilin’s acquaintances in front of his master, but he had to admit he felt the same way. Still, the old woman had, in addition to the money, given them several phials of strong healing potion for their journey.

  Geilin chuckled and said, “She’s always been difficult. But she has been a dependable friend for longer than I can remember.”

  “I’ve always heard that the ömem are not to be trusted.”

  “They are a power unto themselves. They serve no one but the Sisterhood, and only a fool would knowingly incur their wrath.”

  As we’ve just done, Sael thought, remembering Nedegh’s warning about Marik. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “But they are still human,” Geilin continued, “and still capable of forming friendships. I trust Nedegh as much as it is possible to trust any ömem.”

  Koreh rolled his eyes, and Sael had to restrain himself from smiling.

  At the first tailor’s shop they came across, Geilin said, “This looks as good as any other. We can’t afford to wander the streets any more than we have to.”

  That was an understatement, Sael thought, if there really were assassins and bounty hunters after them. He wished he could take it as casually as Geilin seemed to be.

  What about Father? Does he know? He might be aware of the betrayal, since Geilin and Sael hadn’t made the connection at Denök. His ömem, too, would be aware of the assassins, as Nedegh was. But that didn’t mean they would inform the vek.

  But nothing could be done about any of that at the moment. Sael would simply have to focus on the tasks at hand, as Geilin often told him, and not worry about what was beyond his control.

  The tailor’s shop was small and cluttered, with bolts of cloth and a long wooden workbench taking up the edges of the room. A wooden dress form draped in a half-finished peasant dress occupied the center. The dress was nondescript and mostly off-white with some brown trimmings. In fact, most of the cloth in Sael’s sight was in shades of off-white or brown. There was one bolt that had been bleached a pure white and another in an expensive shade of blue, but clearly no highborn woman would buy her dresses here. The shop served the poor neighborhoods along the waterfront.

  The proprietor was a tall, wiry man with an obsequious manner. He had a number of basic tunics, breeches, and cloaks already sewn together, folded on shelves. But they required alteration if they were to fit well.

  There was a partition in the corner behind which one could change. To Sael’s chagrin, Koreh simply stripped naked in the middle of the shop when the man handed him a pair of breeches to try on.

  Truthfully, that didn’t come as much of a surprise. What did come as a surprise was the way the tailor’s eyes slid over Koreh’s muscular, naked body. Not blatantly—but Sael noticed it, nonetheless. The brief flare-up of jealousy he felt startled him.

  With the money Nedegh had given them, Geilin was able to purchase a tunic and breeches for Koreh, along with a gray woolen cloak. For a new set of boots, the tailor directed them to a shop down the road. Sael would have liked to replace the set of clothes that had been ruined so he could have a spare again, but there wasn’t enough money for it. Food supplies and cooking utensils were purchased in shops along the waterfront.

  By midday, they had what they needed. Geilin was anxious that they leave Mat’zovya, as every moment they remained increased the chances of being recognized by one of the emperor’s agents, if they hadn’t been already.

  There were several boats at anchor that offered transport across the lake. Koreh had suggested it might be safer to try walking around the lake, to the south or the north. Considering Nedegh’s warnings about assassins and spies, Sael was inclined to agree.

  But Geilin overrode the idea.

  “The lake extends for several leagues in both directions,” he told them. “We might be able to journey around it, but not without adding several days to our travels. And we don’t have that luxury.”

  So they found a captain who wasn’t charging a ridiculously high rate—a surly old man with a disgusting habit of spitting to punctuate his sentences—and booked passage. The single-masted cutter, named the Nagaing, set sail shortly after midday.

  Chapter 16

  KOREH had never been on the water. True, he’d lived in a harbor city for his entire life, but he’d never had reason to go out on the ocean. He felt a little nauseous.

  The lake was so enormous that it felt like being on the ocean, especially with the fog preventing him from seeing the opposite shore. Waves lapped against the sides of the small fishing vessel, rocking it, and larger swells caused the boat to rise and fall as if it were traversing wide hills and valleys.

  But he’d be damned if he’d act sick in front of Sael. Or throw up! Sael seemed not to mind being on the water. Perhaps he’d had some experience with it, back in the city. Koreh didn’t ask. He just clutched the wooden rail and tried to act as if he were enjoying the view.

  Hopefully it would be over soon.

  While Geilin was standing aft, chatting amiably with the captain, Sael came over to stand beside Koreh. He seemed exhilarated, looking out over the waves with an expression of excitement lighting up his delicate features. His fair curls fluttered in the wind and spray.

  “It smells so different from the ocean,” he commented.

  Koreh was reluctant to speak in case the contents of his stomach decided to come up the moment he opened his mouth, but he managed to choke out, “Fresh water.”

  Sael nodded. “I wonder if the fish taste different.”

  Food was the last thing Koreh wanted to think about at the moment.

  “You look a little pale,” Sael observed, giving him a mischievous smile.

  “I’m fine, little lord.”

  This seemed to dampen the boy’s mood. “Why do you keep calling me that? I thought… well, last night it seemed like you liked me. A little, at least.”

  Oh gods.

  Koreh sighed and, after a slight hesitation, moved his hand down the railing to cover Sael’s. Sael looked at it uncertainly but made no effort to pull away.

  “Sael, I….” Koreh wasn’t sure how to voice what
he was feeling. He’d never felt affection for anyone before. Well, apart from his family. “I like you.”

  It sounded lame. And completely inadequate for describing how he felt. But it made Sael smile at him, and that made it good.

  “I like you too.”

  They stood together for a long time, Koreh wishing he could say more and wanting to touch Sael more intimately, but not knowing if Sael would permit it.

  Then he looked up, distracted by something in the water. A long gray-green shape, longer than the length of the ship, broke through the surface of the lake, arcing upward, and then slid back down into the depths. Of its own volition, Koreh’s hand clamped tightly over Sael’s.

  “Was that a ghusat?”

  Sael laughed. “No. It was a fish. They’re called kim.”

  “A fish? It was bigger than the boat!”

  “I’ve seen them that size in the ocean,” Sael replied matter-of-factly. “Even bigger.”

  “Look!” he added, pointing with his free hand. Several more of the greenish shapes appeared and disappeared, difficult to distinguish from the waves but definitely there, moving alongside the ship. “They travel together like this in the ocean too. Some people think they group around boats because they think the boats are other kim.”

  Koreh forced himself to relax, noticing that he’d been digging his fingers into Sael’s palm. But apparently Sael was willing to endure that to continue holding hands.

  What am I getting myself into?

  Five years ago, everyone Koreh loved had died—horribly. Watching his parents and younger siblings consumed by agonizing, disfiguring sores and blisters had been a nightmare beyond description. When he got sick himself, it was almost a relief. The sores were less agonizing than the grief that overwhelmed him in every waking moment, and they promised an end to his sorrow.

  Somehow he’d survived, but the pain still lived within him.