A Warrior of Dreams

by Richard Parks

  "I remember this place," she said aloud.

  Tagramon nodded, looking pleased. "It's called the nightstage. This is where dreams happen, Joslyn. Like the one you just left."

  Joslyn frowned, remembering. "What happened?"

  The Dream Master sighed. "My fault, I'm afraid—you almost woke. Dreams demand absolute devotion, Joslyn. They're jealous things. I made you aware of yourself, when all you should have been aware of was the dream. It's possible to do both, but it's not easy." He shrugged. "You might learn how. Others have."

  "Can't you teach me?"

  He shook his head, smiling. "That's something you either learn or you don't. Now let's concentrate on a thing that can be taught."

  Tagramon let got of her arm. For a moment Joslyn felt like a fledgling swimmer, suddenly released in open water. She had a brief sensation of sinking and instinctively closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was back in the crystal forest, with no knowledge of how long she'd been there, or even aware that she'd been gone.

  "Lovely."

  IT IS. BUT I KNOW A BETTER PLACE.

  Joslyn recognized the Dream Master's voice, and didn't really think it strange that he should be there. But she couldn't see him. "Where are you?"

  HIDE AND SEEK, JOSLYN. FIND ME.

  Joslyn laughed and immediately got into the game. She peered behind glass trees, looked up into crystal branches. Nothing.

  IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?

  Joslyn was getting annoyed, now. "Come on out. I give up."

  YOU CAN'T GIVE UP UNTIL THE GAME IS OVER.

  Joslyn tried to judge where the voice was coming from. She wasn't hearing it, exactly; it was more like the words were just appearing in her mind, but she could still sense direction. She started after her best guess, no longer quite so aware of the crystal forest as she concentrated on her goal.

  "Then I'm going to find you."

  Joslyn knew that Tagramon was not in the crystal forest, and with that thought she came to the end of the wood, where no end had been in sight before. Joslyn kept walking.

  WHERE AM I, JOSLYN?

  "I... I don't know."

  WHERE?

  “I don’t know!”

  WHERE?

  Joslyn could sense his laughter, though she never heard it. "I do know, Dream Master." And she did, but didn't dare say the word.

  The Dream Master repeated, demanding. WHERE?

  "Outside!"

  This time the dream didn't leave Joslyn; she left it. She stepped through what looked like a curtain of gauze, and, as before in the dream of the thieves' room, the place behind her vanished, as if she alone could reveal what was there, a light in a dark room that returned to invisible darkness when the candle was taken away. Joslyn stood before Tagramon on the nightstage. She felt a little unsteady yet, but she took a hint from what the Dream Master had said, and didn't lose her awareness of self. It was a little like a swimmer remembering to paddle now and again to stay afloat.

  The Dream Master was smiling. "We weren't wrong in you, Joslyn. You're a Dreamer. With talent, possibly, to be among the best."

  Joslyn was nearly flushed with triumph, but even then she couldn't help but dwell on the irony of the word.

  I'm a Dreamer. Because I know how not to dream.

  She smiled then, too, and Tagramon never knew the real cause of it.

  *

  "Is this the end of the adventure?"

  Feran stood with his old master on the shores of the Dark Sea. Aesyd shrugged. "Is it?"

  Feran didn't answer. He looked at the inky waters reaching up onto the sand. "I know this place."

  "Every apprentice knows this place," Aesyd said. "In theory. Not many ever see it, which is just as well."

  “Is it? I think they should all see it. Here we are, at the deepest place known to a dreamer. What do we find?"

  Aesyd shrugged. "At the core of everyone—a deep, dark sea waiting. Madness."

  "And that's all there is?"

  "Haven't we seen enough sign of it? Everyone, every little player on Somna's stage at heart a lunatic." Aesyd smiled. "Doesn't it explain a great deal?"

  Feran smiled, too. "Yes. But not everything." Feran sensed danger, but did not try to smother the thought. After a moment the dream strengthened again.

  "That felt like a warning," said Aesyd.

  Feran smiled. "Which means I'm getting close."

  Aesyd dismissed that. "It means some dreams are more pleasing to Somna than others."

  "And her own dream, filled with players filled with madness, that pleases her enough to maintain it for all these ages?"

  "Who are you to question Somna's will, Lad?"

  Feran didn't answer just then. He turned away from the Dark Sea and moved further up the beach, past the high tide marks in the sand. "Do you think Somna never questions herself?"

  "You're close to blasphemy." Aesyd followed close on his heels.

  Feran smiled. "I'll be a lot closer before we're done, I'll wager. I've been thinking..."

  "Somna preserve us."

  Feran ignored that. "I'm serious, Master. Have you ever had a dream, even once, that you understood perfectly? That you knew exactly what it meant, the rationale and genesis of each and every thing that happened?"

  The memory of Aesyd hesitated, then answered in one word. "No."

  "Neither have I. And if Somna's dreaming us now even as we dream, then we are a part of her. Things of her imagining as we in turn imagine. Vast as she is, and wise, and brilliant, I don't think she understands everything about her dream any more than we do."

  "Congratulations—you just crossed the border." Aesyd looked disgusted.

  Feran shrugged. "Maybe. But what happens when a dream becomes old, and tired? When it's gone on too long? It ends, Master. Something's held Somna's interest all this time. Perhaps there are things she still wants to know. Perhaps I'm her tool for finding out."

  "Perhaps you're a fool. Or do you really think you're the first Dreamer in the world to have these thoughts? You're not that clever."

  Feran stood at the end of the beach, looking up at the wall of stone. And, strain his eyes though he did, he could not see the top of it. "No," he said, grinning. "But I might be the first to act on them. And I am that foolish... Didn't we come down this way?"

  "We arrived. 'Down' is meaningless. 'Way' is meaningless. What is it you're looking for?"

  "A door."

  "It's a wall of stone. Why should there be a door?"

  "Why should there be a wall?" Feran returned, mildly.

  "To protect you from what's behind it."

  "Which means there is something behind it," said Feran. "Something more than madness. I'd like to think Somna's been kinder to us than that."

  "Feran, don't... I'm afraid."

  Feran put his fingers against the stone, felt its cool, rough surface. "I know. Your memory, but my fear. But I do want to know..." He stopped.

  "What is it?"

  Feran drew back. "I don't know."

  For a moment the surface of the stone had... changed. It was the only word he could think of that described what happened. It hadn't cracked, or shook as if in an earthquake, or broken as if worn too long by wind and water, or anything else that stone could reasonably be expected to do. It just went misty for an instant, not solid, not stone at all. Feran shook his head. It shouldn't have surprised him so much.

  Isn't this a dream? Isn't it all just illusion?

  He knew the answer, and it wasn't comforting. Not always. Sometimes it's a way to see something that is real but unseeable. We give it a shape, sometimes even a name—like the Dark Sea. But its reality is its own.

  "Feran, I'm going."

  Feran nodded, not looking back to see the memory of Aesyd fading, doing in symbol what Feran wanted to do himself. The memory of his old master had serves its purprose. He felt an odd sense of excitement as he put his hand back on the stone. What had the goddess hidden here?

  The stone remained stone
, cold and unyielding. Feran forced himself to remember what had happened in that instant when the stone changed before, renewed the sensation of fluidity under his fingertips. After a moment the memory became real. Feran shuddered, but this time he didn't draw away and the section of the cliff wall in front of him began to dissolve, turning to mist like the nightstage far above.

  Something moved.

  Feran tried to see, couldn't, took a half step forward into the mist. There's something here, something besides the Dark Sea. I have to know...

  He took a full step, and was enveloped in grayness. Another step and the fog began to clear. Sweet Somna...

  Feran had only that one instant to consider the revelation before several dark, shadowy hands reached out from the mist and took hold of him. He struggled, the hands wavered like shadows in torchlight, but the grips did not waver. He turned, tried to see who had grabbed him. He could make out nothing but the dark shapes, human-like, but not human. There were more of them than were holding him now, and he realized through a haze of shock and fear what they were doing.

  The shadow-fingers holding him were like ice, and he felt as if seeds of that iciness had been planted in his own skin, and were growing slowly to cover his entire body. His teeth chattered for a moment, then mercifully he began to go numb, and the entire world faded to shadow. As the darkness rose he had one last memory of Aesyd, walking away from him. He turned once and looked over he shoulder at Feran with great sadness.

  "I told you this wasn't such a good idea."

  Feran tried to laugh, couldn't. And in another moment the darkness was complete. When Feran came out of the darkness he was in the company of shadows. Man-form shadows, as if cast by unseen bodies. They wavered and danced into the erratic light around him, but the shadows were real enough; their grip on his arms were unbreakable. Feran had already given up any physical struggle as useless at best and painful and exhausting at worst. Once, and once only, he tried to imagine himself back in his own dream on the other side of the wall, but nothing happened. The nightsoul that was Feran was held like a dog in collar.

  Can this be?

  It could. It was. Feran blinked as his eyes readjusted to the light.

  The moved through a mist field like the nightstage, only the were-lights of human dreams were missing. Instead they moved through a valley flanked by mountains of flickering light, as if all the dreams of the world had grown to incredible heights of power and scope. Or he personally had dwindled to something not quite the size of an ant.

  DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE?

  Feran tried to identify who was speaking, but there was no change in the shadows that held him.

  "Show yourself!"

  IF YOU INSIST.

  There was something beside him. A shadow, but not like the others. This shadow did not waver or stretch or flicker in the uncertain light. This shadow was deep and dark and effortlessly kept pace with them stride for stride.

  ANSWER ME.

  "You first: Who are you?"

  Feran did not see the thing smile, but he sensed it. It set his teeth on edge. MY QUESTION WAS FOR YOUR BENEFIT, NOT MINE. CHOOSE VERY CAREFULLY WHAT WOULD BE ANSWERED.

  Feran looked around. "I'm beyond the nightstage, at a place of Greater Dreaming. I-I do not know who dreams here."

  YOU DO. RATHER, YOU WILL.

  Feran looked at the mountain-scaled dreams about them. "I cannot dream such as this."

  NOT ALONE, NO. BUT YOU WILL HAVE HELP. WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU... OR RATHER, ONE LIKE YOU. WE THOUGHT WE MUST SEARCH, AND YET YOU HAVE COME TO US. IT WAS A SIGN. YOU ARE THE ONE.

  "The one what?"

  THE ONE WHO WILL BE A GOD.

  Feran laughed. "Are you mad?"

  AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE. NOT AT THE MOMENT. PITY...

  "I am a man. That is all I am."

  NO, YOU ARE NOT A MAN. YOU ARE HALF OF A MAN, A NIGHTSOUL, AS I AM. SPECIFICALLY, YOU ARE THE NIGHTSOUL OF AN ADEPT. AND FOR OUR PURPOSES THAT IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.

  "Whose purposes?"

  THAT OF MALITUS, DREAMER. THE GOD OF ENDINGS. HE HAS NEED FOR SUCH AS YOU.

  An Ender... Somna help me.

  UNLIKELY, replied the shadow, then smiled again. MERE MORTALS HAVE NO SECRETS HERE.

  "Suppose I don't wish to be a god?"

  WHY DO YOU SUPPOSE YOU HAVE A CHOICE? DO YOU NOT YET REALIZE WHERE YOU ARE?

  Feran did not. But when the left the valley they traveled and reached another, broader, plain, he began to. He thought of the daysoul, slumbering in the cave back in what passed for the real, everyday portion of Somna's dream.

  Poor half-man, half-nothing creature,,, what will you do without me?

  PERHAPS DIE, IN TIME, answered the shadow, unasked. WHEN IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE. THAT PART OF YOU IS NO LONGER YOUR CONCERN.

  *

  The sun through a crack in the stone finally woke him.

  Gone.

  It was his first thought. He looked around at the stone room, trying to put his finger on what was missing. His pack was still there, and his staff; he was sleeping on his robe. And still he knew something was missing.

  I think it's me.

  He wasn't even sure who that was. He knew yesterday; he remembered coming to the safe haven to... what? There was a reason; he was sure of that. It was the only thing he was sure of.

  No. I'm here. I'm me. I'm Farerrrr... The sound of his name garbled and turned to nonsense in his mind. Meaningless. He knew that, even if the name came to him in some trick of memory, it would mean nothing.

  Gone.

  He came out of the stone room, went to the basin and splashed cold water on his face. It didn't help. He walked naked into the water. Goose pimples rose over his entire body from the chill, but for some reason he couldn't fathom he was more frightened than cold. But he forced himself to continue, immersing himself completely. He arose, shivering, and managed a question.

  "Who am I and why can't I wake up?"

  He thought about it for a moment. For some reason concentration seemed painful, but at last he brought a certainty to the surface, fighting him every inch like a hooked perch.

  I didn't come home last night.

  He looked at himself, using the rippled basin for a mirror. He watched himself take breath from the air, watched him see himself in the water with no recognition at all. An apparition…no, not an apparition, not an illusion, not a trick of the light. The thing, rather, that was left when the thing that had been alive, left. And he was the pitiful remnant of something that had been.

  A Ghost.

  He giggled.

  Chapter 3—Joslyn Traps a Moth

  The Chamber of True Dreaming in the new Temple was a theatrical marvel. Thick pillars of black-veined marble supported its vast dome, and all across the dome tiny windows of thick frosted glass were set in carefully ordered patterns. In the daytime the chamber was kept dark by thick velvet tapestries, and the sunlight scattering through the glass was transformed to starlight in a clear night sky. In true night or on bleak days acolytes lit specially designed reflective beacons on the roof. Rain was more difficult to deal with, but since the priests termed rain 'the Tears of the Dreamer' it was held to be an unlucky time for augury in any case.

  The priests of Somna were a thorough lot.

  In the very center of the chamber there were two gilded couches, both marked with the sigil of the Closed Eye. Joslyn stood alone by one of them, waiting. She was too tired now to be nervous; she'd forced herself to rise very early that morning in preparation for the evening ceremony—an augury.

  Master says I'm ready.

  Joslyn wasn't so certain; she was scheduled to give her first dream augury to a very troubled young man, nephew to the city Governor himself. She was proud and afraid at the same time, but mostly wishing they would arrive so that she could get it over with and get on with her own dreaming.

  An unseen acolyte finally struck the gong, and the doors to the chamber opened. Tagramon entered, flanked by two White R
obes with a dark-haired, pale young man in tow.

  He's more worried than I am.

  Joslyn took a little comfort from that thought, drew herself up straighter. The White Robes halted at a respectful distance and the Supplicant was led up to the augury couch by the Dream Master himself.

  "This is Joslyn. Will you meet her tonight in the Domain of Somna?"

  "As the Dreamer wills."

  The question and reply were both fixed in the ritual but the young man was never introduced. He was the Supplicant, in another of his thousand guises. But all the Temple Dreamers would be known; Joslyn imagined an ancient set of instructions rolled and kept in some dusty archive, with a blank space for the Temple Dreamer's name. She couldn't totally suppress a smile, but it turned out to be the right thing to do. The young man thought she was smiling at him and he smiled, too, relaxing just the slightest bit. Joslyn finally looked at him, seeing him, as, preoccupied with her own concerns, she had not done before.

  You look terrible.

  He did. She hadn't thought much of his paleness—as a scion of the governing class it was natural that he'd spend most of his time indoors, learning the administrative skills necessary to one of his station. But he was pale to the point of sickliness, and there were dark rings under his eyes, and a sense of such great fear and weariness there that Joslyn couldn't help feeling sorry for him. She saw his pain, and for the first time began to understand what Tagramon meant about casting out nightmares, and healing Somna's Dream. It wasn't just the ritual, or a test of her skill now. She wanted to help him.

  Tagramon led him to the couch on the left, Joslyn lay down on the other. At a signal from Tagramon all the tapers surrounding the couches were snuffed at one, and Joslyn, looking up, was suddenly confronted with a vision of a night sky, conjured by tiny windows of glass. She knew how the effect was achieved, but that didn't lessen its impact. Joslyn couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the true sky, but she found it hard to believe that the reality could stand up to the illusion.

  One of these days, she thought, I'll have to compare them...

  There wasn't time just then. Joslyn was too busy falling asleep.

  *

  Stars.

  Joslyn awoke with an image of the night sky in her head, and she wasn't sure why. The glow of a dream started to form and rise around her immediately. A dream of her own, and impatient to be born; she dismissed it easily, almost impatiently. For some reason the idea of stars annoyed her, and she held onto the image until she'd throttled the meaning out of it.