Dream Finder cohs-1

by Roger Taylor

  'Then walking mile after weary mile through the rain and the cold greyness, something changed,’ Antyr went on. ‘Something in me is different. A part of me is crying out to run away, to run while I can. Run anywhere, into a bottle, down to Farlan and on to some foreign boat, anywhere, just get away. But it's a distant wailing infant. I can't pay it any real heed. The rest of me is saying, remember your drills, keep your pike held firm, hold your ground for everyone's sake. Ever seen a horse run on to a pike? Ever seen what cavalry does to fleeing infantry?’ He fell silent.

  'Fleeing infantry,’ he muttered softly after a long silence. ‘Easier than a rabbit to a wolf. And they keep on coming … no matter how fast you run … hacking people down … spear and sword. Don't break whatever you do.'

  'Do you want to go out for a drink?’ Tarrian repeated his question softly, penetratingly, as a lull came into this almost whispered catalogue of memories.

  Antyr's eyes widened and he shook his head slowly. ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘I'm frightened. I don't know what I want. Except for the fear to go away.'

  He looked at Tarrian. The wolf was lying very low on the floor, his ears flattened back along his head. ‘You too?’ he asked.

  'Me too,’ Tarrian admitted. ‘But by your battle memories not by what's happened today. At least that might be understandable if we think about it. Humans never will be.'

  'I'm sorry,’ Antyr said.

  'Don't be, it's my fault,’ Tarrian replied, his manner easing. ‘I should be used to people by now.'

  There was a brief silence and Antyr felt Tarrian trying to clear his mind of the alien horror of the battlefield in order to return to the fears of the moment.

  'Come away, Tarrian,’ Antyr said, offering his Companion the words like a small signpost to a sanity. ‘It's not your world. And in answer to your question, no, I don't want a drink, I think. And anyway I'm too weary to go to the inn.'

  Antyr made the remark as if it were an intellectual decision, but to his surprise, he felt a wave of disgust pass through him as the memory of the sounds and smells of the inn came to him. Yet even as he noted this unexpected response, the urge to be away … anywhere … returned to him. He frowned uneasily, then somehow turned and faced the darkness.

  'What's happening, Tarrian?’ he said. ‘Is it me? Has my neglect of my craft, myself, unleashed something?'

  'No,’ Tarrian replied simply. ‘That I'm sure of now. Neglect makes it harder to reach the nexus and dims the perception of the dream being searched. It just makes you less of a Dream Finder. You certainly deserve to be totally incompetent by now, but your natural ability has protected you from your best efforts.'

  There was a familiar element of reproach in Tarrian's voice, but he himself set it aside quickly and apologetically before the two of them locked into the futility of one of their old quarrels.

  Antyr noted the gesture with thanks, but he frowned. ‘I don't understand,’ he said. ‘What's all this about my natural ability you're suddenly talking about. My father used to say I'd be far better than he was if I worked, but … I thought that was just father's talk … something to encourage me. Then he died … and my training ended…'

  His voice tailed off as the emptiness that his father's death had left came back to him.

  Tarrian's voice intruded gently. ‘Antyr, in so far as it ever really began, your training was ended before your father died.'

  Antyr looked at him, his frown becoming pained.

  'You had skills from the outset that your father didn't understand,’ Tarrian went on. ‘That I didn't understand-still don't. He couldn't teach you, Antyr. He could only learn from you. And his pain, like mine for a long time, was that he didn't truly see that. He felt constantly that he was failing you.’ The eerie certainty that Tarrian had shown as they stood at the edge of the Aphron Dennai returned. ‘You're no ordinary Dream Finder, Antyr. You move to the nexus as if you were walking from one room to another and you release me utterly. I've known none who moved with such ease, nor gave me such freedom. You let me soar through all places as though I were some great bird. And yet you're flawed.’ He paused. ‘I don't know what you are, Antyr, but you're different. And whatever, whoever, we felt in the Duke's dream, knew … or sensed … it too. That's why it came looking for you afterwards.'

  Antyr's eyes widened in horror at the implications that reverberated in Tarrian's word. He glimpsed again the image of the hapless, fleeing rabbit.

  'This is nonsense,’ he protested, but hearing the futility in his own voice. ‘How can anyone from the outside enter a dream?'

  'We do.'

  Tarrian's simple statement of the obvious struck Antyr like a hammer blow and he fell silent. The reply formed in his mind, ‘That's different, we're there with the dreamer, we have the contact, we have the consent, the trust.’ But it had a hollow ring and he could not speak it.

  'Even the Duke sensed the presence of another will in his dream, that's why he opposed it,’ Tarrian said. ‘Then we felt it with him. And it felt us.'

  Antyr sought solace in an irrelevance. ‘He must be a sensitive, then,’ he said.

  'Dream Finding's an ancient skill,’ Tarrian said brusquely. ‘And its practitioners hardly constitute a celibate order, do they? He's probably got a damn sight more than one Dream Finder back in his ancestry somewhere.'

  Tarrian's curt dismissal of this diversion left Antyr nowhere to go but forward again.

  'What shall we do then?’ he said reluctantly and with a feeling of unreality. ‘If someone can invade the Duke's dream, then find me when I'm asleep, for whatever purpose…’ The memory of the shadow's parting hiss of hatred passed over him and he shivered. ‘What can I do? Am I to stay awake forever? And if they can reach out and snatch me from your protection in some way, what can you do?'

  Tarrian was silent. Both stared into the black pit of ignorance, helpless.

  'What about the Guild?’ Antyr offered, after a moment. ‘There must be someone there who can help us.'

  'Name one,’ Tarrian said tersely.

  Antyr looked at him pleadingly. ‘Come on, think, Tarrian. You pay more heed to Guild affairs than I do. They're not all concerned with wringing tax concessions from the Exactors and arguing about fees, surely. There's got to be someone left who's still interested in the craft.'

  Antyr sensed Tarrian about to make the same reply and he held up a warning finger. Even when Petran had been alive, Tarrian had been ill-disposed towards what he called the futility of this particular manifestation of the human pack instinct. Since his death, however, the wolf's feelings had grown to cynical and growling disdain.

  Tarrian made the effort. ‘I can't think of anyone at the moment,’ he said apologetically. ‘I'm out of touch myself.'

  Antyr put his head in his hands. ‘We should go to the Guild House, all the same,’ he said. ‘We could inquire. Someone else might have run into this problem. We might be fretting about something that's already well known.'

  Tarrian stood up. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, suddenly enthusiastic. ‘You're right. I'd forgotten about that.'

  'Forgotten about what?’ Antyr asked

  'The Guild House,’ Tarrian replied. ‘The library. There could well be something there. Come on, stir yourself.'

  Like some predatory but short-sighted bird, the old porter looked narrowly over his eye glasses as Antyr pushed open the stately door of the Guild House. It was covered with elaborate carvings and richly tinted glass panels showing past dignitaries posing solemnly in their formal robes of office.

  Tarrian padded in behind him and, as Antyr closed the door, the grey winter light passed through the glass panels to throw a brief kingfisher flash of summer colour across the patterned floor.

  The porter adjusted his tunic with a hint of annoyance at this interruption to his meditations. ‘Yes, sir?’ he inquired authoritatively of this potential trespasser. ‘What can I do for you?'

  'Nothing, thank you,’ Antyr replied. ‘We've just come to use the libr
ary.'

  'I'm sorry. The library's for Guild members only,’ the porter said in an injured tone, hobbling out from behind his counter and placing his ancient frame unflinchingly between Antyr and further intrusion into the building. ‘And we don't allow dogs, sir,’ he added, eyeing Tarrian.

  'Tell him,’ Tarrian said menacingly. ‘Quickly.'

  'I am a member,’ Antyr replied politely, pointing to his black-irised eyes and producing a battered card after a brief struggle with his cloak. ‘I don't come here very often.'

  The porter scrutinized the soiled card with some distaste, and then hobbled back behind his counter with a, ‘Just a moment, sir,’ which obviously meant, ‘We'll seeabout that, sir.'

  With an audible effort he unearthed a large book from a shelf somewhere underneath the counter. ‘Now sir,’ he said, opening the book with great dignity, but quite at random.

  'Brilliant,’ Tarrian said acidly. ‘Opened it right at M for Antyr.'

  Antyr shushed him discreetly. ‘He might be able to hear you,’ he said.

  Tarrian snorted. ‘So might that door,’ he said. Then, in a thunderous bellow, ‘Hurry up, you dozy old sod!'

  Antyr cringed as the shout echoed around his head, but, gritting his teeth, he managed to maintain an uneasy smile.

  The porter, however, showed no sign of responding as he continued painstakingly turning the pages of the book.

  Eventually he reached a page where, after much glancing from margin to margin, he decided that his search could be continued by means of a solitary forefinger.

  'Ah,’ he said finally after a further long study of Antyr's card. ‘Here we are, sir. Antyr, Andor Endryth.’ His tone reluctantly mellowed. ‘And this will be your Companion, I presume. Tarrian, is it?’ He closed the book and peered beadily down at Tarrian. ‘Not common, wolves, not common it all,’ he said absently, then turning back to Antyr, ‘I'm sorry I didn't recognize you, sir, but one has to be so careful these days, there are so many ruffians about and your robe…’ He cleared his throat and changed direction quickly. ‘I presume you don't come to many of the meetings, sir. Otherwise I'm sure I'd have known you straight away. I know most of the regulars and…'

  'Yes, thank you.’ Antyr interrupted the lecture and, taking his card back, set off after Tarrian who was already walking across the wide, circular entrance hall towards the staircase that led down to the library.

  It occurred to Antyr as he strode after him that he had not been in the Guild House almost since his father died, and, despite the contempt which he shared with Tarrian for much of the Guild's work these days, he felt an unexpected twinge of nostalgia as he looked up at the splendidly decorated entrance hall with its high-domed ceiling and stone-balustraded balconies.

  The place, indeed the Guild, had meant a great deal to his father and he had always played an active part in its affairs, fighting diligently to maintain the integrity of the craft against an increasing tide of commercialism and downright quackery that was even then beginning to overwhelm it.

  A pack thing, I suppose, he thought ironically as the memories fluttered in the pit of his stomach.

  'Come on.’ Tarrian's voice interrupted his reverie. The wolf had reached the central well and was clattering busily down the wide stairway somewhat to the consternation of two dignified souls in formal regalia who were coming up it. Both were carrying large cats which they embraced protectively as Tarrian passed.

  Antyr uttered a brief prayer of thanks that Tarrian had not given the two men the benefit of his normal opinion of such ‘flatulent peacocks’ as he passed by them, and a much longer prayer that he had not started on their Companions. It was merely a postponement however.

  'Those two must have been lost,’ Tarrian said sarcastically as he reached the library door and stood waiting for Antyr to open it. ‘I doubt either of them could read anything except their fee notes. And did you see those disgusting moggies? Imagine having one of those crawling about your dreams. Peeing everywhere and coughing up fur balls.’ He concluded with a retching sound.

  Antyr glanced round quickly, mortified by this unwarranted onslaught yet trying not to laugh. ‘Just remember where you are and keep your thoughts to yourself, dog, or one of the … moggies … will be calling you before the Council for unbecoming conduct.’ He managed some sternness, with an effort, but Tarrian just chuckled malevolently to himself.

  'Get in,’ Antyr said fiercely, pushing open the door to the library.

  As if in confirmation of Tarrian's brutal comments, however, the library was silent and deserted and it had a stale, neglected air about it. Faint haloes wavered about the few lamps that were lit as if the previous night's fog had returned here to recover itself.

  Both Antyr and Tarrian wrinkled their noses in dismay. ‘Your father used to spend hours here,’ Tarrian said, sober now. ‘Looking for things that might help his clients. Looking for things that might help him understand you. Looking for anything that would make him a better Dream Finder. And there was always someone else here as well. And it was bright. Not like this. It's…'

  'Like a catacomb.’ Antyr finished Tarrian's eulogy.

  They stared round in silence.

  The library was a large, annular room, radiating out from the central stairwell and occupying much of the basement of the Guild House. Circular rows of shelves stood tall, silent and burdened in the gloaming, marking out shadowy circular pathways which were cut at intervals by equally shadowy radial paths to form a rudimentary maze of dark high-walled alleyways. Here and there, small clusters of tables and chairs stood huddled together under solitary lamps as if gathered there for protection against the weight of darkness that surrounded them.

  Antyr chewed his lip uncertainly, feeling suddenly helpless as he stared at the rows of books and scrolls vanishing into the gloomy distance. It was said that the library contained every known written work on the art and craft of Dream Finding and certainly it needed no keen perception to realize that a lifetime could be spent in study in such a place.

  Yet would there be an answer here anyway? Despite Tarrian's positive denial, Antyr could not yet be certain that what had happened was not in some way his own doing.

  He pulled a wry face. ‘I don't know that this is going to help,’ he said, his anxiety surfacing again. ‘We don't even know what we're looking for. Or, for that matter, why.’ He waved his arms around the waiting ranks of shelves. ‘And as for where we start…’ He shrugged in some despair.

  Tarrian's tone was unexpectedly sympathetic. ‘Your father used to say, “If you don't know where to start. Start!” It's a very sound principle. Come on! Don't let this place intimidate you. Myths and Legends are over there if my memory serves me correctly.'

  'Myths and Legends?’ Antyr queried in some surprise.

  'Myths and Legends,’ Tarrian confirmed confidently. ‘Where else would we look? There's precious little in the standard texts that we don't already know and we'll get less than nothing from some of these modern learned papers.’ He placed a withering emphasis on the word ‘learned'. ‘What's happening has got to be something that's either never happened before or happened so long ago that everyone's forgotten about it, and my instincts are for the latter. Come on. Into the past.'

  Antyr picked up a nearby lamp and struck it into life, then dutifully followed his Companion down the gloomy canyons formed by the lower shelves.

  Tarrian's memory did serve him correctly and soon he was running along the aisles, enthusiastically dragging books from the shelves and issuing instructions to Antyr to collect those that he could not reach.

  'That's enough, that's enough,’ Antyr cried, as he struggled with the lamp and the ninth volume that Tarrian had just pulled to the floor. ‘It'll take us a week just to read through these.'

  'Have you never heard of skimming, for pity's sake?’ Tarrian replied heatedly. ‘Come on, don't…’ Further comment, however, was forestalled by an uncontrollable spasm that seized his snout and, after two of three tentative and grima
cing starts, he let out a ferocious sneeze that sent a vibration running from his head to the very tip of his tail. Then another, and another. Then came a stream of abuse.

  'It shouldn't be beyond the bounds of even this Guild to employ someone to dust this place occasionally.’ He blasted out another sneeze. ‘I've been in barns that were less dusty.'

  'If you weren't so impatient, you wouldn't stir it up so much,’ Antyr offered unsympathetically.

  'That's hardly the point, is it?’ Tarrian retorted crossly. ‘They should never have let this place get into such a mess. This isn't what we pay our Guild fees for…'

  'Yes, yes,’ Antyr said indifferently, turning away and heading towards the nearest table with his burden.

  Still muttering and emitting the occasional small but explosive splutter, Tarrian followed him. ‘There's a lot more, you know,’ he said.

  Antyr dropped the books on to the table, and picked up the largest. ‘I'm well aware of that,’ he said. ‘But what are we doing with these, Tarrian? Just look at this.’ He brought the book close to the lamp and peered at the title intently.

  'The Saga of MaraVestriss, Weaver of the Great Dream.’ He thrust the book at Tarrian, thumbing through it quickly to reveal pages black with densely packed print. ‘Or these.’ He waved at the others. ‘The Lore of the White Guardians. An Anthology of the Tales of the Knights of the Light-Defenders of the Golden Nexus. The History of Andrasdaran, the Fortress of the Gateway. What on earth can we find in these? We need logic and reason not superstition or the ramblings of ancient storytellers.'

  He picked up another and read the title. ‘Marastrumel, the Evil Weaver and the Making of the Dark Mynedarion.’ But even as he read out the name, his voice faltered and he cast a hasty glance into the shadows beyond the lamplight, muttering, ‘May the Blessed protect us.'

  No sooner had he uttered the words, than his hand started towards his mouth and his face began to redden. He prepared himself for a mocking onslaught from Tarrian.

  There was a long silence, then Tarrian said, ‘Well, well,’ very softly, as if he had just seen something profoundly surprising.