Dreamweaver

by C. S. Friedman

  On Terra Prime, however, that same effort had failed. Mere guns and human courage could not prevail against an Empire whose Gifted generals commanded the very elements. When Elementals could split the ground open beneath the colonists’ feet and Stormbringers could summon fist-sized hailstones to rain down upon them, guns were almost superfluous. Wars on Terra Prime were won by whoever had the most powerful Gifts at their disposal, and the British Empire had devoted centuries to making sure that it did . . . even if that meant kidnapping infants from neighboring worlds.

  Sometimes, when Sebastian gave himself over to the past, he suffered visions so painful that the horrors of war paled by comparison. He would relive that terrible day when he returned home to find his wife and his daughter dead, murdered in his absence. If he’d been home he could have protected them, but instead he’d been trapped on Terra Prime, fighting a pointless war with the Shadows while the people he loved most in the universe were dying. God’s blood, how he hated this wretched world! How he hated the Shadows! If there was a way to destroy them all in one blow he would do it without hesitation, even if that meant being lost in the darkness between the worlds for eternity. Not just to avenge his family, but to redeem himself for having failed them.

  Suddenly a low buzzing from across the cave drew him back to the present moment. It took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his coat, currently slung over a chair near the entrance. Putting his musket carefully aside, he went to investigate. None of the protective fetters pinned to the coat’s lapel would make a noise like that, but there was one in the pocket that he was betting was responsible. Indeed, as he found it and drew it out he could feel it vibrating rhythmically against his palm. A thin slab of quartz crystal in a silver frame: it was unmarked, but there was little doubt about what its purpose was. Farspeakers used such crystals for their fetters because the unique pattern of flaws shared by adjacent slices helped them resonate in unison across great distances. Or so the Farspeakers claimed.

  Morgana had given him this fetter, dropping it into his hand when she returned all his other ones after their last meeting. He hadn’t even realized he had it until much later, while he was pinning his other fetters back onto his coat. He had almost thrown it over the edge of a cliff. He didn’t want anything of Morgana’s on his person, least of all a fetter that would connect the two of them. Merely having the thing in his pocket made him shudder.

  But he had agreed to serve her, and that was a contract he dared not breach. She was the only thing standing between him and the Shadows right now, and unless she demanded something so abhorrent that he would rather face death than obey her, this was the game he was stuck playing.

  The fetter buzzed softly in his palm. He hesitated, then closed his fingers over it, willing it to activate. The crystal warmed as Morgana’s image took shape before him, translucent and ghostly.

  “Your Grace.” He bowed his head respectfully. The image was of minimal quality, he noted. That was good. If she couldn’t see him clearly she wouldn’t be able to read him as easily.

  “Private Hayes. You are well?”

  He shrugged. “I’m alive, and no man’s prisoner. Given what else I might be, I suppose that qualifies as well.”

  A faint smile twitched her lips. “Good enough, then. As time is short, I will be direct. I have a task I wish you to perform.”

  His stomach clenched. Of course you do. “I am your Ladyship’s servant.”

  She dismissed the thought with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Please. Not a servant, Private Hayes. More like . . . an ally.”

  He was glad that she couldn’t see his expression clearly. “What is it you wish of me?”

  “What you do best, of course. Information collecting. There’s someone who will be returning to Terra Prime soon, who I believe will seek you out. I wish to know her business. That’s all.”

  “Who is this person?”

  “She currently travels under the name Jennifer Dolan. I believe you know her as Jessica Drake.”

  He tried to keep his expression blank, so that she wouldn’t guess at the knot of dread suddenly forming in his gut. Thank God he wasn’t in her physical presence; a Master Seer like Morgana could read a man’s emotions like a book. “I remember the name.”

  “You travelled together for a while, yes?”

  He shrugged. “For a while. We parted company after a few days.” Beneath the looming tower of Shadowcrest. “Am I to gather from your words she made it home safely?”

  “Her welfare is of interest to you?”

  Choose your words carefully, Sebastian. “She’s from my home world. All things of Terra Colonna are of interest to me.” He paused. “I’m surprised she would come back here.”

  “Indeed. I think she was surprised as well. Sometimes fate directs us along a path we would not have chosen on our own. Don’t you think so, Private Hayes?”

  Beneath the fetter’s visual field, where she could not see, his hand tightened around the fetter. “We are judged by how we travel that road, your Grace. Wherever it may take us.”

  “Indeed.” The image of Morgana nodded sagely. “I do think we understand each other.”

  “What is it you want, exactly?”

  “To know where she goes. Whom she travels with. What she seeks. She trusts you as she trusts few other people in this world and will come to you for counsel. I suspect it will take very little urging on your part to get her to share her current business.”

  His mouth tightened. “And you wish to know all of it.”

  The Guildmistress smiled coldly. “I’m sure you will be able to pick out the parts that interest me.”

  He hesitated. Be smart, Sebastian. End the conversation now. The more she tells you, the more you will owe her. But he had to ask one more thing. Even if the odds of her answering him honestly were close to zero, he had to try. “What is it you want with her?”

  A corner of her mouth twitched. “This, from the man who sells Guild secrets to the highest bidder?”

  “If you know my reputation as well as you claim, you know that isn’t how I operate. Others have entrusted me with their secrets, and I’ve guarded those with my life.”

  “Yes,” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I do know that.”

  “I can serve you better if I know what you’re looking for. Doesn’t that make sense? Help me to understand why you have such interest in her, and I’ll get you all the information you need.”

  There was a moment of silence. Sebastian held his breath.

  “You don’t want to know my business,” she said at last. “For your own safety. Trust me in this.”

  Her image vanished.

  Slowly Sebastian opened his hand; his fingernails had left sharp dents in his palm, but he didn’t feel them. His flesh was numb. His soul was numb. In his mind’s eye he could see the grave of the last young girl he had failed to protect—his daughter.

  Don’t come here Jessica. Don’t offer me your secrets. If Morgana ever asks about you while I’m in her presence she’ll know how much I’m hiding from her, and she has ways to get it from me. I know too much about you already for either of us to survive the consequences of that.

  8

  THE WARRENS

  VIRGINIA PRIME

  JESSE

  IN SCHOOL WE WERE TAUGHT the story of Theseus, who descended into the Labyrinth to battle the Minotaur. He brought along a spool of string that he unwound as he went, leaving behind a trail he could follow later to escape that dismal place.

  It sounded good in theory, but as with so many things we were taught in school, it was not quite as easy as it seemed.

  Getting to the entrance of the Warrens was harder than I’d expected. Oh, I remembered where to find the storm cellar entrance that Isaac had showed us, and just beyond that lay the hidden door that would give me access to the network of utility tunnels, storm drains, an
d sewers that extended under most of Luray. But the storm doors were securely locked, and I had no clue how to open them from the outside. For a brief moment I wished Rita was with me; she could have picked the rusted lock with ease. But I was on my own now, and since I couldn’t force the doors open without making enough noise to alert the entire neighborhood, I walked around the property searching for another entrance. Finally I found a small basement window that I was able to pry open, giving me access to the musty, debris-filled cellar I remembered. Working by the light of a single thin beam trickling in through the filthy glass, I shoved trash out of the way to reveal the hidden trap door that would give me access to the Warrens proper.

  I had brought along chalk to mark my way, and even a reel of string, just case I wanted to do the Greek mythical thing. So in theory my descent should have been safe enough. But I was acutely aware of the fact that I’d only come this way once before, and then it had been with a guide. The thought of being alone in that filthy darkness scared me more than I wanted to admit. But Isaac was down there. I knew it in my bones. And if he was avoiding the aboveground world because of the mark on his forehead, as I suspected, then my waiting for him to emerge on his own would be a waste of time. This was the haven he was familiar with, the one safe shelter where no one from home could find him, and if he wanted to escape from everyone and everything that had caused him pain, this was where he would go.

  With a sigh I eased through the narrow door, bracing myself on the rusty steel ladder just inside it. I took out my flashlight and a thick piece of chalk, drew in a deep breath, and shut the door behind me, committing myself to Theseus’s nightmare. The ladder was less stable than I remembered, and the air seemed ten times more humid; the sweat of my palms slicked the metal rungs, making descent difficult. But I managed to reach the floor of the first utility tunnel without losing my grip, and after a moment’s consideration, I set off in the direction that looked most familiar. It wasn’t long before the stale smell of the Warrens came wafting up to me, and the further I went, the worse it got. By the time I reached the storm drain system, my stomach was lurching and my nostrils were stinging. But the last time I was here I’d had to wade through a river of putrid filth, so today was a veritable health spa compared to that.

  I marked my way as I went. Oh, how thoroughly I marked my way! Future visitors might wonder what madwoman had scored the walls with so many stripes and arrows of neon-colored chalk, but I was damned if I was going to take the smallest chance of being trapped down there. I even tucked some small marbles into the muck of the floor at key intersections, my personal version of bread crumbs. So if some malevolent being should come along and erase all my chalk lines, I would still be able to find my way out.

  Soon I was feeling my way through the narrow tunnels that a tribe of abandoned children had once called home. A few weeks ago there would have been residents watching me from every shadow, but now all those shadows were empty. The Lord Governor’s men had raided the place thoroughly, capturing or killing all those children, and, apparently, they had destroyed many things along the way. When I came to where lamps had once been hung, I found only shattered glass and pools of glistening oil. When I came to where supplies had once been stored, I found only smashed cans, broken jars, and trails of rat droppings. As I picked my way past all those messes I couldn’t help but think of Moth, the brave little girl I’d rescued from the Weavers’ experimental lab. She’d told me about other refugees who’d been sold to brothels, or maybe worse. Their ghosts seemed to surround me as I travelled, and I let the memory of their voices guide me, choosing at every intersection the direction which echoed most loudly with the shouts and laughter of those poor doomed children.

  But finally I had gone as far as memory could take me. I was standing at the juncture of four narrow tunnels, and I had no idea which one to follow next. Finally, with a sigh of frustration, I marked my entrance point with chalk, used the tip of my shoe to push a marble into the muck, and stood there for a moment considering my options. Theseus hadn’t known where he was going either, I reminded myself, and eventually he found what he was looking for. Then again, he’d invaded the Minotaur’s turf; probably the monster came to him.

  Good enough.

  Raising up my head, I yelled out, “Isaac!” My voice echoed through the tunnels with startling volume. “It’s me, Jesse!” I couldn’t have followed such echoes to their source, but Isaac was a creature of the Warrens, and knew how to navigate in the darkness better than I did. I held my breath as the echoes faded, each one weaker than the last, until the tunnels were silent once more, with only the distant sound of dripping water to compromise their terrible emptiness.

  What if he wasn’t here after all, I wondered suddenly. What would I do then? The only other way I had to find him was dreamwalking, and that would be ten times more dangerous on Terra Prime than it was back home. This was the home world of the reapers, the domain of the Shadowlord whose dream I’d invaded. Not a good place for me to be drawing attention to myself, in the dream world or out of it.

  “Isaac!” I yelled again. Maybe there was a bit more desperation in my voice this time. Come on, Isaac, I know you can hear me. Come out from the shadows so I can talk to you.

  Suddenly a voice from behind me said, “You’ll wake the dead yelling like that.”

  Whipping around, I found Isaac standing behind me, framed by the mouth of a tunnel I had just passed. His face was even paler than I remembered, his cheeks were hollow, and just before he raised up a hand to shield his eyes from my flashlight’s beam I saw they were underscored by deep shadows of exhaustion. He’d lost weight since last I saw him, and his clothing hung loosely about his frame. On his forehead was the same mark I’d noticed in our dream, but now, in the thin beam from my flashlight, it glistened unnaturally, as if a slug had left a blood-colored slime trail running down his face. It was hard not to stare.

  “Is this a dream?” he asked hoarsely. “Or are you really here?”

  “Really here,” I assured him. Suddenly all the things I had intended to say to him were gone from my brain, and the best I could manage was, “Are you okay?”

  A corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “My standards for ‘okay’ are a bit lower than they used to be. But I’m surviving. That’s something, I guess.”

  He walked slowly toward me, his pale, strained face like that of a ghost. When he got within arm’s length he hesitated, and I thought that maybe he wanted to reach out and touch me, to reassure himself that I was real flesh and blood, not just another dream. But though his hand twitched slightly, he just stood there, staring at me. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said at last.

  “Probably not,” I agreed.

  “The risk for you—”

  “Is pretty serious. Let’s not talk about that, okay?”

  What hunger there was, in his eyes! What loneliness! Every fiber in my soul urged me to step forward and hug him, to offer him the comfort of a physical connection. But there was a defensiveness about him like Tommy once had, and I thought that he might not be able to handle it. So I kept my distance.

  “Why are you here?” He nodded toward the tunnels surrounding us. “I’m guessing not for the five-star accommodations.”

  Despite the mood of the place, I smiled slightly. “I’m looking for information about the reapers. It turns out that it may be here, on Terra Prime. You said you would help me if you could, and since this is your home world, I figured I’d ask if you want to come along.”

  He sighed. “Jesse, you know what the problem is—”

  “Let’s say that I could make that problem go away.” I raised up a hand to cut short his objection. “Just hypothetically, okay? Would you come with me then? Help me navigate my way across your world, maybe scare off a few ghosts along the way? I’m going to ask Sebastian also, but honestly, I think the chances of him leaving this region are pretty slim. There are people here who owe
him favors, local information he’s collected, a network of political influence that he’s spent years cultivating . . . he’ll lose all that if he travels too far. So it may just be you and me.”

  “Where you want to go . . . it’s far from here?”

  I nodded.

  “How far?”

  I drew in a deep breath. “The Badlands.”

  He stared at me like I’d gone mad. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “People die there, Jesse. Everyone dies there.”

  “Or goes insane,” I corrected him. “And as a Dreamwalker I’m supposed to do that anyway, so I figure I’ve got nothing to lose. As for you,” I looked around, “well, you’d have to leave this cheery place.”

  “Jesus.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not sure if you’re brave, or just plain crazy.”

  “Both brave and crazy. I’m also desperate. A reaper attacked my mother a few nights ago, and she barely woke up in time to save herself. Last night one went after my brother. I can’t just wait around until it gets them.”