The Black Dream

by Col Buchanan

  What has he done? she instantly thought, knowing it was the work of her companion.

  And then Seech himself was pounding over the sand towards the hut, and suddenly he was there before her with his panting face leering through the darkness, painted in someone else’s blood; clearly high on something, telling her that they had to go, his claws yanking Shard after him towards the zels. Under one arm he clutched a heavy box, and when she asked him what it was, he told her it was some sandworms, of course, what else would it be? And Seech grinned as though it was a good thing he had done here, a victory of some kind, a way out of their predicament; and she saw then that the old shaman had been right after all, that the two of them had been playing with madness all along.

  ‘You set them on fire?’ Shard had screamed at him in dismay.

  His smile had faltered, and he looked to the gathering inferno and then to the people of the oasis flocking to the dreadful scene with pails of water, and he flexed his neck and said, ‘No choice in the matter, they found me out. I – I only started a small fire in there to make my escape. Come. We have to go!’

  A silent fury possessed her right then. She grabbed Seech as he tried to climb into his saddle and flung him with all the caged hatred she had been fostering for the man, so that his body went spinning before it landed in the sand and rolled through a stand of grasses. She was stepping towards him with her hands held out in claws as he rose unsteadily and turned to face her. Hatred twisted his features too; as though his face was turned inside out with it, displaying his true inner self at last.

  Seech glared with intent and roared the air from his lungs, and suddenly flames were searing through her mind and toppling her over with agony and panic; real flames, burning and searing her skin, some kind of Dreaming power he had discovered for himself. Shard clutched at the side of her face as the glimmersuit and her own skin both hissed and smoked where they had fused together, knowing now how he had started such a blaze within the tower.

  He came to her and shook her prone body for a while, shouting incoherently, and when he ran out of breath he held her in his arms, sobbing, saying he was sorry, that he didn’t know what he had done. The smell of burnt meat filled her nostrils. Suddenly a blade of pain stabbed through her abdomen, then another. Shard cried out from it, knowing that something was terribly wrong with her unborn child. She reached down and felt hotness between her legs, wetness. Blood smeared the palm of her hand when she raised it to her eyes.

  Shard shrieked aloud at the night sky filled with flames and tumbling smoke. From where she lay she saw Seech rising with tears in his eyes to cast one final glance down at her. She bit down on another scream as she heard him mount his zel and lead the string of animals out onto the open dunes, leaving her there to pay the consequences of it all, to suffer through the worst night of her life.

  Too much to live through again, the pain of those emotions.

  Utter blackness.

  *

  ‘Walks With Herself,’ soothed a woman’s voice in her ear.

  It was Elios, Mother of the Forest, or whoever she was meant to be, figment of her mind or spirit guide she did not know. Regardless, the woman’s arms held her in their embrace while Shard wept with all the loss and anger remaining since that awful night.

  ‘You left a part of yourself behind in the desert,’ said the woman softly. ‘But your child is one again with the Great Dream, where it will know no suffering, only bliss.’

  ‘It hurts,’ she cried aloud.

  ‘I know, I know. You must learn to embrace your heart in the Contrarè way, Shard. You have been fleeing these emotions, hiding in your work for all of this time. Let them out of you, my child. Give them voice.’

  ‘He left me alone out there. He left me alone to deal with it all.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He will pay for this. For all of it!’

  ‘Then first you must master the sandworm, as you say.’

  ‘But I don’t know how. I fear it’s too much for me.’

  ‘Fear not, child of the Dream. It will come to you. It may be on its way even now.’

  Shard glimpsed the stars smearing slowly around them, far suns in the black eternity of the cosmos. So much like the Black Dream itself, though here she could not hide from herself or her past, for here was the place where all meaning flowed.

  ‘The child, did you give him a name?’

  ‘A name? No. He was miscarried.’

  ‘Still, he deserves one, don’t you think?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it.’

  ‘You did not wish to think of it. How does Tippetay sound?’

  Shard drew back from the woman in surprise, blinking through tears at her shining face.

  ‘The Longalla here use the word for certain moments . . . When they see a brief eddy in the river before it folds back into itself . . . a lone cloud forming in the thermals . . . the flowers of the moon orchid. Something precious that does not last for long.’

  It was the kind of name her father would have suggested, Shard realized. ‘Tippetay,’ she repeated, sampling the sound of its syllables on her tongue.

  The woman smiled.

  *

  ‘Here, take some of this.’

  Shard blinked up at a pair of striking blue eyes, two moons shining in an oval of Contrarè face paint, much like the Sisters of Loss and Longing in the night sky overhead.

  Cramps were splitting her stomach in two, just like the night in the deep desert. But she was returned to the Windrush now, slouched against a tree just beyond the main circle of the council gathering, clutching her abdomen while her breath hissed through clenched teeth. The pains shot through her as though the worm was chewing its way through her inner flesh, and she started to panic, seized by the belief that it really was eating her from the inside out, the whole world flying through her with the spinning horror of it. She rode on waves of nausea.

  A cool breeze fluttered Shard’s lashes and soothed her skin. It was the handsome Contrarè man blowing lightly across her face, the one who had helped her up from the ravine. She inhaled the coolness of his breath, seeing that he was crouched over her with the back of his hand held towards her face. A small pile of snuff sat perched on his skin.

  ‘Sensee bark,’ he reassured her in smooth Trade, and nodded, urging her to try some. ‘It will help you come down from these heights of yours.’

  How beguiling, that smooth voice of his. Shard took a quick snort with a finger over one nostril, instantly feeling the rough sting of it in the back of her throat.

  Almost at once her skin began to grow numb. The spasms of pain subsided within her. The ground no longer lurched when she looked at it.

  In a flash the vision returned of Elios, Mother of the Forest, more real than any dream. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck.

  ‘More,’ she gasped, and he produced another pinch of the snuff for her to snort.

  Shard sniffed then leaned her head back with a thunk. The roar in her ears settled down into a gabble of voices, the Contrarè around the coals still divided and talking it through. Coya stood as a bent silhouette against the red glow of the bonfire. Alarum too, larger and straighter, gesturing at them all.

  ‘Good,’ said the Contrarè man quietly. ‘I can see some colour returning to your face.’ He lifted one of her eyelids to better study her pupil. Grunted. ‘You were lost in flight for a while. I was beginning to think I would have to lead you back myself.’

  So he was a seer of some kind, this handsome Contrarè dressed and painted as a Red Path warrior. He could see beyond the veil of waking. Shard looked at his skinny dreadlocks tied back with a band of cloth, a sign of power amongst the sky hermits of the Contrarè, though she had never known of one who was a warrior too.

  Coughs racked her chest when she tried to sit up straighter. Cool skin pressed lightly against the clammy heat of her forehead. ‘Easy. You have a slight fever.’

  He threw a blanket of wool across her lap and fussed with it for a f
ew moments, tucking it in around her. ‘You must rest,’ he said with a tap of her knee. ‘Hozakay.’ Take it easy.

  The quivering firelight washed across the side of his painted face, so that his gaze speared her with its intensity every time he turned his head from the shadows. It was true what they said about glimpsing a person’s soul through their eyes – those most exposed and naked parts of a shining mind.

  A mind without bounds, she saw now as she held his gaze; a mind that was loose in the sky like her own.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked with sudden curiosity.

  ‘What? I am Sky In His Eyes,’ he declared as though she should know him, as though the whole world should know.

  ‘Of course. We spoke at the council.’

  Her voice caused him to straighten and to consider her with wry interest. He had seemed familiar to Shard when she’d first seen him around the fire, and now even more so.

  Where have I seen you before, my handsome man?

  ‘Well I have heard of you, Walks With Herself,’ he declared with some amusement. ‘The sky hermits speak highly of the Dreamer who comes from our cousins the Black Hands. They say you are a true daughter of the Contrarè.’

  ‘Wishful thinking, I imagine,’ she muttered back at him, making another effort to sit up.

  Oh my . . . What a luxury it was to move without the cramps doubling her over in pain. Even more so to see straight again, and not fly off the instant she closed her eyes.

  She breathed deeply, the tips of her fingers tingling. Felt energy pulsing up from the earth through her spine, blowing the fog from her mind.

  It was the first time she had felt centred since taking the worm.

  ‘That sensee bark. Have you more of it?’

  As though by magic he flicked his hand and held a bulging pouch before her, a priceless bounty. ‘Thought you might want more of it. It works fast, heh?’

  Gingerly she accepted the gift. Cradled the pouch in her hands as though it held the most precious thing of all.

  Elios had spoken of this. Had said something about help being on its way.

  ‘I’m afraid I have nothing to give you in return.’

  But he waved that away like the annoyance it was.

  ‘Thank you then. I’m in your debt.’

  For a long moment he studied her features and the metal sheen of her mask.

  Around the fire the Contrarè were still huddled in their blankets, talking and shifting from one position to another, the massive leaves of the chimino trees forming a natural roof above their heads. Some of the warriors were dancing now behind the circle of elders, the drums beating faster than before.

  They were a close-knit people these Longalla, as all Contrarè were, everyone in the tribe treated as a member of their extended family. She watched them gathered in their circle passing drinks and pipes with their immediate neighbours. Laughter rang out even as other voices argued hotly, the singing of the dancing warriors pulsing through it all in shouts and howls that stirred her blood, made her want to get up and join them in their wildness.

  Sky In His Eyes read her desires and spoke to them. ‘Feeling up to it?’

  But there were more pressing matters on her mind to be dealing with just then.

  Footsteps came towards them through the trampled snow. She saw Coya’s bent figure hobbling towards her with Marsh by his side.

  ‘Can she talk?’ Coya demanded to know.

  Shard had never seen the man in such a temper before, not over all the years she had known him. She glanced to Marsh but he only shrugged, not wanting to get involved.

  ‘You’re sore at me. I can tell.’

  ‘What do you expect?’ exclaimed Coya. ‘You told them the Empire is a stronger bet right now than the democras.’

  ‘I only spoke the truth.’

  ‘Well they took to your words, truth or not. Now they say they need to call a Grand Assembly. And consult with their sky hermits. Stalling for time in other words. Seeing which way the wind blows first.’

  ‘You can hardly blame us,’ Sky In His Eyes offered. ‘The Mannian made a compelling case too. We only ask for more time to consider.’

  ‘That bastard spypriest,’ Coya growled and threw his glare at the distant figure of Alarum, now talking amongst his small group of companions. ‘We can’t afford this delay. We need the help of the Longalla now!’

  Fiercely, Shard gripped his wrist as memories came back to her.

  ‘Juno’s Ferry,’ she gasped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to leave now before we’re cut off from the city.’ Shard struggled to her feet, using the tree to hold her upright. ‘Juno’s Ferry is under assault. It looked like a big attack. I think the Expeditionary Force is on the move again.’

  Coya hissed through his teeth and scowled at the night around him as though it couldn’t get much worse for them. On her feet now, energy flowed across her glimmersuit in ripples of heat and bright colours. She felt strong and alive and ready to take on their cause again – ready even to face Tabor Seech.

  ‘We’ll need fresh zels,’ Marsh prompted.

  ‘You will have them,’ answered Sky In His Eyes, though before he could wheel away Shard reached out a hand to stop him.

  ‘Thank you. For your gift I mean,’ she told him breathlessly, and kept her hand pressed against his own. ‘I hope I have a chance to repay you some day.’

  Marsh rolled his eyes and turned away.

  ‘Ho-ya!’ Sky In His Eyes exclaimed, smiling as though they were old friends, old lovers even. ‘We will meet again, you and I. Can’t you feel it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she told him with a smile.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  High And Dry

  The young Anwi man who called himself Juke leaned back against the door and exhaled a lungful of smoke as though it was a release of all the tensions inside of him.

  ‘Shit,’ said the man, staring down at the thick hazii stick dangling from his lips. ‘I’ve been needing to cook this one all day.’

  With relaxed slowness he tossed the manacles that he’d freed from Ash’s wrists onto one of the chairs, then rubbed at the thick black thatch of hair on his head. In a cloud of blue smoke he turned to check through a spyglass in the door.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ offered his blunted voice, and Ash didn’t need to be asked twice, for exhaustion was bearing down hard now, the sleep of champions awaiting him. Ash lay down his sword then dropped into a deeply padded armchair near the sole window of the room, embraced by the touch of its warm fleece covering. Here would do just fine.

  ‘Chee?’

  The old farlander could only nod. Through the curtained window of the small apartment he could still hear sirens prowling the city streets below. A light swept through the curtains and then was gone. Ash rested his head back and sighed with the last of the strength remaining to him. Squinted up at the white ceiling where a symbol had been painted in sweeps of black; a large circle orbited by two smaller circles, slashes arching between them.

  No way was he going to move from this chair. His eyelids were drooping with their own weight, and images flashed behind them, stark scenes playing out from the riot in the streets: people folding under the strikes of batons; pools of blood on the streets crisscrossed with footprints; faces grim with everything on the line.

  Noise from the small kitchen caused his eyes to open a fraction. Juke was filling a shining kettle from a faucet above a sink. With the hazii stick hanging from the corner of his mouth he set the kettle down on a counter and turned a knob on the surface, then leaned back with his arms folded and stared down at the floor in smoky silence, thinking to himself.

  Shaded lamps dotted the apartment, waxing and waning erratically. Sky-blue paint covered the walls. An oval rug covered much of the floor, woven in geometric designs that were typically Alhazii. Ash observed a bookshelf beside him brimming with books and assorted miscellanea: a woowoo board from the High Pash, a small jade statue of the Great Fool, a collec
tion of miracle sticks from the Green Isles, a tiq incense burner in a style common in the Free Ports.

  As for the many books on display, most seemed to have titles written in Trade, and Ash studied them as he always studied books in a room. He spotted scriptures and travel journals from across the known world, including a battered copy of the Book of Lies written by Nihilis, first Patriarch of Mann, perched somewhat incongruously next to the writings of the Great Fool.

  No poetry to be seen anywhere, though, the farlander noticed with disappointment.

  From the kitchen the kettle was whistling steam already, and without a naked flame in sight. Juke whistled too while he poured the boiled water into a pair of white mugs. He came back into the room and sloppily offered one to Ash.

  The chee was hot but not so good. Poorly cured or poorly blended, or maybe it was just old. Still, it felt wonderful to drink it down and fill his empty stomach with something hot before it started to eat itself from hunger.

  ‘Food,’ tried Ash. ‘Have you something to eat?’

  A stick of white bread landed in his lap. Ash bit off a chunk without ceremony.

  Still whistling, the young Anwi man crossed the rug and fiddled with a flat box on a side table until it started to squawk with noises; some kind of music, Ash realized with a start. The room’s lights flickered then dimmed a little further.

  ‘All right,’ said Juke with his head nodding to the rhythms.

  Drumbeats pounded off the walls as though they were sitting around a gathering of musicians. A woman’s voice sang out in a desperate rhythm that wove itself through the beats, beautiful and haunting. Ash liked it, found the toe of his boot tapping against the floor.

  ‘All right!’ said Juke with an exhalation of smoke, seeing the old farlander tapping along to the music. Juke turned a dial on the box and the music climbed even higher, pulsing through Ash’s head. The Anwi man turned and opened a door to a darkened bedroom, kicked a bundle of clothes away from his feet. With a few popping words he spoke loudly, then slapped the backside of someone lying on the bed. ‘Op-guani!’