“Kill them,” Virilian commands, and he points to the Dreamwalkers.
A red-skinned abbie conjures a wall of flame to block their path, but Virilian banishes the fire with a gesture so casual it is insulting. Then the army of wraiths is rushing toward us and we’re all scrambling to create weapons and armor in time, but what do you use to attack a ghost? They reach the front lines and I see one of them assault a fake Dreamwalker, which causes the construct to dissolve like mist. Virilian starts laughing, because now he knows that not all the Dreamwalkers on the field of battle are real. He barks out another command and his ghosts begin striking out wildly, not worrying about doing any real damage, just trying to hit as many of us as they can in order to banish the fakes. Each moment our ranks are revealed to be smaller and smaller, while our best efforts to strike down the ghosts or take control of them all are proven futile. Soon there will be only real Dreamwalkers left to target.
A black shadow suddenly appears overhead. I look up and see that the clouds are beginning to move in an all-too-familiar pattern. No, I think desperately. No. It can’t be. We dealt with the reapers! They can’t show up now. Several of the Dreamwalkers disappear from the ridge, retreating to their own worlds just in time, but once the first reaper manifests overhead it is too late for the rest of us. With a loud cracking sound the lake freezes over, fingers of ice exploding across its surface. Even the ghosts seem stunned by what is going on, and for a moment there is no fighting, only fear.
I create a long spear like the ones we were given for Isaac’s ritual, and I brace myself for what may well be my final battle. If I’m going to die, I’m damn well going to go down fighting.
But though all seven reapers manifest, they don’t attack us. They don’t do anything. I have the impression they are taking stock of the situation, much as they did with Isaac’s ritual.
“Do what you were meant to do!” Virilian commands them. There is triumph in his voice; his servants have returned to him, and surely this piddling force of Dreamwalkers cannot hope to stand against them! But I can sense hate in those servants, and a terrible, all-consuming anger, and maybe I’m wrong, but it doesn’t seem like those emotions are directed at us.
They dive down from the sky to attack. But we are not their targets. I see the look on Virilian’s face as he realizes what is happening. Then he is surrounded by reapers, engulfed in their unearthly darkness. I hear a human scream and then a howling sound that is anything but human, a cry filled with agony and hatred and loneliness—terrible loneliness—but there is triumph in it, too, and when it finally fades the reapers withdraw just far enough for us to see the mound of broken bones and shredded flesh that Virilian has become.
For a moment the entire world seems frozen, and my heart pounds wildly as I wait to see what the reapers will do next. I get the sense that they, too, are considering that question. Are they going to go after the other Shadowlords, to wreak vengeance upon the entire Guild that enslaved them? If all the Shadowlords here are killed, there will be no witnesses left to tell the others what happened. That would defeat our purpose.
Suddenly one of the Shadowlords steps forward. The others have all retreated in fear, but he walks right up to where the reapers are hovering, holds up a hand, and cries out, “Enough!”
The reapers seem agitated, and for a moment it looks like they’re going to attack him, but they don’t. “Enough!” He repeats. The force of his presence is a palpable thing, and for the moment it seems to be holding them back. “I, Leonid Antonin, elder and Secundus, acting Guildmaster of the Shadows, give you my word that none will attempt to bind you again. If you go in peace now, you will have peace from us in return.”
It’s Isaac’s father, I think. The reapers seem to shudder as he speaks, and I remember back to Isaac’s ritual, how he gave his own family name to the reapers, adopting them into his line. Is that affecting how they view this man now? On some level of consciousness, do they recognize him as family? Or are they actually bound by Isaac’s ritual not to harm him? Whatever the cause, the reapers slowly begin to move away, withdrawing into the sky. A moment later they are gone. The army of wraiths, meanwhile, seems frozen, as if in the absence of Virilian they don’t know what they are supposed to do.
Antonin looks at the assembled Dreamwalkers. “I imagine you have done what you came here for.” He nods toward what is left of Virilian, then looks at the transformed Shadowlord who is moaning on the ground. “And you have proven what you came here to prove. Enough blood. Enough dying. It is over.”
“There are terms that need to be discussed,” I tell him.
He gestures toward the field of battle; Virilian’s ghosts vanish from sight. “Gather your wounded and your dead, and return to the world of the living. Then send word to Shadowcrest, and we will arrange for a proper meeting. This is not a suitable place for such a discussion.”
“What about the people hunting me?”
“By evening all will know that you are granted safe passage to speak to me. That order will be honored by the Shadows, and by all who answer to us.” He pauses. “If you’ve made enemies outside our ranks, I can’t help you with that.”
“I want safe passage for those who travel with me.”
He nods. “Agreed. Now . . .” He glances back at the other Shadowlords. “Release us from this place.”
There’s nothing I want less right than to use my Gift again, but it has to be done. Wincing from exhaustion, I shut my eyes, envision my web, and mentally sever the strands that I used to bind Virilian to the tower. By the time I open my eyes, the Shadowlords are gone.
I look at the Dreamwalkers. Most of the ones who fell in battle are moving or moaning, so they’re still alive. Thank God.
“We did it,” I say hoarsely. The reality of it is just starting to sink in. “They know we can screw up their Gift. We won.”
The guardian spirit looks at me. Though she doesn’t speak aloud, I can hear her words clearly in my mind. It is not over yet.
“I know. I know. I’ll send word back to you when I know what the resolution is.” I draw in a deep breath. “Thank you. Thank you all.”
Thank you, the voice in my head responds. Sister.
The exhaustion of battle takes over then, and I have no reserves left to deal with it. Sinking to my knees, I let the dream world fade from my mind, focusing on the sounds and scents that will guide me home. It’s easy this time. My body wants me back.
“Did it work?” Isaac asked as soon as my eyes opened.
“Yes,” I murmured weakly. “And by the way, your father is Guildmaster.”
The rest of the story had to wait until I was finished vomiting.
31
LURAY
VIRGINIA PRIME
GUILD COUNCIL
Contamination Assessment for the Cleansing of Terra Colonna:
Summary of Findings
Our preliminary assessment of the feasibility of Cleansing Terra Colonna (hereafter TC) has determined that it is within acceptable risk parameters for the Terran Cluster, provided the social model is followed.
Implementation:
The effort required to initiate a fully self-destructive pattern through manipulation of key leadership figures, with the ultimate goal of creating a state of global chaos, is within reasonable practical and budgetary constraints, and could be launched within the year.
Effectiveness:
While complete societal collapse would take 5-10 years to manifest, we believe there would be sufficient disruption in the early stages to safeguard the interests of Terra Prime, as resources and personnel currently dedicated to investigating the Gates would be assigned elsewhere.
Effect:
While some contamination is unavoidable in any Cleansing, we believe that the Terran Cluster as a whole is well positioned to maintain its integrity, and to resist the pressure toward chaos that will result from TC’s
breakdown.
Alternative models:
The negative effect of biological and/or technological Cleansing on the Terran Cluster would exceed acceptable parameters for contamination, hence those methods are not recommended.
For further details, see attached report.
32
BADLANDS
TERRA PRIME
JESSE
LEAVING THE BADLANDS felt strangely like leaving home. Not because I had developed such great affection for the place, but when you’ve survived a life-and-death trial and been transformed by it, you feel a natural connection to the place where it occurred. Also, I was leaving behind someone I loved, which was hard for me to accept. I kept turning around, expecting to see Sebastian coming up behind me, his white hair blowing in the desert wind, fetters glittering in the sun.
Our farewells were moving but minimal. Ahota returned Mom’s rings to me, then hugged me briefly in a formal, ritualized sort of way, which left the smell of sage and tobacco clinging to my clothes. She told Isaac that he would always be welcome to return, which, in a roundabout way, communicated that he had earned the right to leave. I think if his brand of necromancy had been at all compatible with local practices he might have asked if he could stay, but it clearly wasn’t, so the subject never came up.
It was painful having to making a new latex patch for his forehead. He handled it bravely, but I could see in his eyes that he dreaded returning to a world where his Guild stigma would define his existence.
Charisa led us to a tunnel a few miles north of Ahota’s camp. It allowed us to pass safely under the sands of El Malo, but not beyond its psychic influence. We passed by several skeletons, probably the remains of explorers who had entered the tunnel only to drown in El Malo’s nightmares. Whereas we had already been tested and approved during our first passage, so outside of a vague sense of foreboding, we suffered no ill effects this time.
I half expected the Soulriders to be waiting for us when we got back to Rouelle, but apparently Antonin had made good on his word, and no one bothered us. We bought tickets for the next train heading east, then collapsed onto one of the benches in the station, too tired to find a hotel. I was numb by that point, my mind dazed by sorrow and exhaustion, and when it was finally time to board the train, Isaac had to help me up the stairs.
By the time we transferred to a train on the main eastbound line, and were able to secure a private cabin, I felt a little better. I took out the com fetter that Sebastian had given me, ran a finger over its crystal surface, then closed my palm over it and willed it to activate. Though it warmed immediately in my hand, a few minutes passed before the image of Morgana appeared. Evidently she was busy.
“It’s over,” I said.
“May I ask the outcome?”
“We won. Thanks to the information you gave us. The Shadows saw that we could hurt them and called for a truce. We still have to work out terms.” As an afterthought I added, “Virilian’s dead. Killed by his own creations.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who’s taking his place?”
“Leonid Antonin.” I glanced at Isaac, who was out of range of the fetter’s field of vision. “I’m told he’s one of their elders.”
“I know the man. Fiercely prideful. As I recall, his fears were pride-related.”
I nodded. “I’ll be meeting with him in Luray to discuss . . . well, I guess you’d call them terms of surrender.”
She chuckled. “I doubt he’ll agree to call them that.”
“I also have some information that might get the ban on Dreamwalkers lifted. I hope. We’ll see how it goes.”
There was silence for a moment. “If the ban was lifted, you could stay here.”
“You mean, for good? Not go back to Terra Colonna?” I laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
She said it quietly: “It might be safer here, Jessica.”
“What do you mean?” Now I was getting anxious. “What’s happening?”
She sighed. “There’s been a contamination assessment for Terra Colonna. It just came back positive.”
“Which means . . . what? That they want to Cleanse my home world?”
“It’s been proposed. Authorities on Terra Colonna are close to discovering our Gates, and the threat is too widespread to deal with on a local basis. We’ll be voting on a global strategy later this week. I’m honestly not sure how that will go.”
“Shit.” I fell back in my seat. “Seriously?”
“I know how much your family means to you. If we can get the ban lifted, so you can stay here, I’ll see they’re brought across.”
“To Terra Prime? To live on Terra Prime?” I shook my head. “No. That’s not a solution.”
“Unless you have another way to neutralize the threat your world now poses to us, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”
“Threat?” Now I was pissed. “What kind of threat? That someone on my world will find a Gate and try to go through it? The way your people do every day of the week?” I forced myself to take a few deep breaths before demanding. “What gives you the right to make that kind of decision for us?”
“I’m sorry, Jesse.” The sympathy in her voice was maddening. So sorry that I’m planning to destroy your home world. Please bring your family for a visit, so they miss the holocaust. “There are numerous agencies on your world that are close to learning the truth. Unless another solution is found . . .” She spreads her hands. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“There’s got to be a better way. Damn it, it’s my world. I know how it works better than your people do. I’ll come up with something.”
She said nothing.
“When is this vote taking place?”
“Soon. But that’ll just be for Luray’s stand on the matter. Condemning a world is a long process. This is just the first step.”
“If I do come up with another option, will anyone listen?”
She hesitated. “The Shadows know what you are now. If the ban on Dreamwalkers is still in place—”
“Assume it won’t be.”
She hesitated. “Then, yes. It’s a bit unorthodox, but I don’t see why you could not present your ideas.”
Yeah, you usually don’t give condemned worlds a chance to defend themselves. “I’ll get in touch with you after I settle things with Antonin. A lot will be dictated by how that goes.”
“I look forward to us talking again. In person, perhaps.” She sighed. “Though I do wish the circumstances could be better.”
“Yeah. You and me both.”
I opened my hand. The image faded.
“Crap,” I muttered.
“You have an idea?” Isaac asked.
“Not a clue,” I muttered. “Not a friggin’ clue.”
33
GRAND GUILDHALL IN LURAY
VIRGINIA PRIME
LEONID ANTONIN
ANTONIN COULDN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT Shadowlord Hawkins.
He sat at the end of a conference table in one of the guildhall’s meeting rooms, trying to banish the image of the fallen Shadow from his brain. Why was Hawkins’ collapse after his concrete prison was banished so much more disturbing to him than Virilian’s demise at the hands of the reapers? When the Shadowlords had awakened after their Dreamwalker confrontation to find nothing but a mass of mangled flesh in Virilian’s bed, that should have outweighed all else in his mind. Yet it was Hawkins’ last moments as umbra maja that he kept seeing: the concrete cocoon shrinking—Virilian banishing it—the man inside collapsing to the ground, not a Shadowlord any longer. So what was Hawkins now? Truly alive, or something else?
All Shadows were taught that the umbrae majae must rein in their living emotions. That was included in their elementary education, a fact as basic as learning the times tables or studying the history of the British Empire. If one of the undead surrendered to l
iving emotion, they were taught, he might lose the balance of spirit which enabled him to remain undead. Yet as far as Antonin knew, that had never actually happened. The warning alone had been enough to keep the umbrae majae from straying too far.
Until now.
The Dreamwalkers had turned Hawkins’ own mind against him, using his emotions to force him back into a living state. Whether he would survive the transformation was still up in the air. Oh, his flesh would recover—the doctors said no permanent damage had been done—but his mind? The journey back to life had thoroughly unhinged him, and since the Guild of Shadows had no experience dealing with this kind of trauma, it was ill-equipped to help.
Antonin had suffered his own nightmare during that battle. Suddenly he’d found himself surrounded by dead Shadowlords, and he was filled with the knowledge that all of them had died because of him. The illusion that he had failed his Guild and sullied his family’s honor was a more subtle torment than being trapped in a concrete tomb, perhaps, but for him it was no less unnerving. If Virilian’s dramatic demise hadn’t distracted him right when the nightmare started, causing the illusion to shatter, Antonin might have wound up in the same state of mind Hawkins was in now.
They all could wind up that way, if this conflict went on.
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