A Warrior of Dreams

by Richard Parks

  Tagramon rose and began to pace about the chamber. A statue of the Dreamer gazed down on him through gilded eyelids tightly closed, one exquisite arm raised in blessing. Agmen stopped pacing and contemplated the image for a moment. "You play your part well, Belor, but I think I can make the rest of the journey myself: He's one of the Chosen Ones."

  "I believe so, Master. And he knows what has happened to him. More, he's held enough will together to try to do something about it. That makes him a danger to everything we've worked for, but there's much we don't know. The best way to deal with him, for instance. And we have to know, Master."

  "Then how may we learn?"

  "I have given that some thought, and believe I have a solution. But it will take time to prepare."

  "We have time. The man has requested another augury. I'm sure he'll remain till he hears it."

  "Another? Doesn't he know the first two failed?"

  Tagramon poured wine from a crystal bottle. "He does. But he listened serenely while Alyssa and Ter in turn spouted their nonsense, and each time requested another augury. Not a repeat, mind you—another. With a new Temple Dreamer. No indignation, no protests. He knows what he's after, and he knows he hasn't gotten it, yet."

  Belor bowed low. "Your command, Master?"

  Tagramon took a long lingering sip. "A Supplicant has petitioned the Temple for augury. He shall have it."

  *

  Joslyn moved with cautious speed along the corridor near the dreamers' quarters. It had taken far longer to sneak back into the Temple that she expected, and now acolytes were lighting the evening lamps and Joslyn had no intention of being seen so far from her rooms alone. It wasn't forbidden, exactly, but it would raise questions she didn't trust herself to answer with the calm of innocence.

  She passed a statue of the Reclining Dreamer and curtsied, absently.

  She stopped.

  The statue was set in a niche between two narrow doors with tiny barred windows. A yellow light shone through the bars of the leftmost door. Joslyn crept to the window and peered through.

  A girl about Joslyn's age and a younger boy sat at a game of chess in a room with no beds. there was a pitcher of water, and bread and cheese on a small table by the near wall, and a curtained garderobe in back.

  "Alyssa!"

  The girl turned toward the door. Her blue eyes were reddened and dull. "You shouldn't be here," she said.

  "Why not? What is this place?"

  "Where the Dreamer is not," sighed Alyssa, "We have offended her."

  "There is no such place," Joslyn said, "and if you've offended anyone I'll wager it's the Master. What have—"

  Ter rushed up and pressed his face against the bars. "Be careful what you say! Be careful..." His voice was slurred like a drunkard's, and there was an odd light in his eyes. Alyssa joined him at the door.

  "What's wrong with you?" Joslyn asked.

  Alyssa blinked several times, and her eyes seemed to focus a little better. "We failed an augury. There was a man... at least, it looked like a man. It walked like a man, talked and slept like one. It slept, I slept. I came to the Nightstage. He did not."

  "If he was asleep then he came to the Nightstage," Joslyn said. "Perhaps... perhaps he doesn't dream."

  "Everyone dreams," said Alyssa.

  Joslyn said nothing, waiting.

  "Perhaps we dreamed he wasn't there," Ter said at last. "It's possible. I like to dream..." He sounded like an even younger boy talking about a sweet.

  Alyssa put an arm around him. "I don't know what happened. All I know is that we failed, and the Dream Master has decreed a week of rest. Do you know what that means?"

  Joslyn nodded, unhappy. "No dreams," she said.

  "No dreams," confirmed Alyssa. "We've been given a drug; we will not sleep... yet I don't think we're truly awake. I don't know if I'm making sense. You mustn't let anyone see you here, Joslyn. We'll be all right; I'll talk to you when this is over, but for now please go!"

  Reluctantly, Joslyn turned away from the door and her friend and there was the Dreamer in marble, smiling as she dreamed the dream that was the world.

  Omen of Fair Dreams. Joslyn knew the inscription; she didn't have to look. Her smile was a rueful parody of Somna's own.

  Liar.

  *

  In the center of the Chamber of True Dreaming sat two ornate gilded couches marked with the sigil of the Closed Eye, and there stood Joslyn, yawning, two White Robes flanking her like bookends bracing a sagging parchment.

  The acolytes had come for her in her rooms, and Joslyn knew that, with the excitement of the day, there was no chance that even Temple training would get her to sleep on demand. She pleaded a moment of privacy to get into her blue ceremonial robe and used most of the time to mix Musa's herb potion. Now the robe hung on her slim frame like a cloth thrown over a chair, and the drug was slow fire spreading through her veins. She kept her eyes open by will alone.

  Someone struck a gong, but it didn't help much.

  The White Robes bowed low, and Joslyn didn't so much copy the reverence as follow them down. the Dream Master entered, closely followed by the High Priest. They stopped in front of Joslyn and her escort.

  "You may go, My Sons," Belor said. The two acolytes bowed even lower and hurried away. Joslyn's rise was slow and sluggish. Tagramon and Belor regarded her with twin expressions more than a little disturbing. The Dream Master was saying something and she tried to listen.

  "... unusually difficult. I'm afraid this supplicant may sorely test your skill."

  Joslyn bowed low again to cover a yawn. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

  "Still, there's the possibility you might," said Belor. "And if that happens under no circumstances are you to let the client know. Do you understand?"

  "What... what shall I tell him?"

  Tagramon smiled. It wasn't reassuring. "Whatever you like, Joslyn. We just can't have it getting about that the Dreamer of All has forsaken us. Unless she has in truth, but it's far too early to chisel that into the mountain. I've trained you well, and I trust your tact and discretion."

  As you trusted Alyssa and Ter. Joslyn wanted to be angry, but lacked the concentration. The gong sounded again.

  "He's here."

  Joslyn watched another pair of acolytes escort the client into the chamber. He wore a simple brown robe, but he paid no attention at all to the marvelous chamber. Perhaps it was because he had already made the trip twice before. Or perhaps he was more familiar with such sights than his clothing implied.

  Joslyn frowned. What made her think that? But the thought held on, making itself known through the haze settling on her brain. It was true, the thing Tagramon said about the man without actually forming the words—there was something strange about him. He stopped by the Dream Master and bowed. It was little more than a nod. Tagramon waved Joslyn forward.

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

  The man's bland expression didn't change by so much as a flicker. "Perhaps."

  It wasn't the correct response. Tagramon's face clouded but he said nothing. Joslyn shrugged, stumbled through a curtsy, and took her place on the rightmost couch as the petitioner stretched out on the other. Joslyn's eyelids seemed to carry the weight of the world, but there was a moment in the ritual that she refused to miss. The Dream Master gave the signal and all the tapers in the chamber were snuffed at once. Darkness flooded everything, and in that instant the dome above came alive with a twinkling starscape that banished all walls and ceilings and opened up the universe to her. It was an illusion, but she loved it no less for that.

  Joslyn closed her eyes and was instantly asleep.

  *

  In another instant someone awoke. It was Joslyn, and yet it wasn't. The same name bound them, but this Joslyn did not always think or feel or want the same things as the Joslyn asleep in the Chamber of True Dreaming. Of all the knowledge in Joslyn's dreamer training, that particular bit of awareness had been one of the last thin
gs to come.

  Joslyn looked around and found her world covered with a fine gray mist, like a curtain waiting to rise.

  Nightstage, Joslyn thought, Where's the lead actor?

  Joslyn saw the glow of dreams in all directions, but none close by, and the man in the brown robe was nowhere in sight. That made no sense; even if the man was not dreaming—and only a trained dreamer knew how not to dream—his Nightsoul had to be nearby. The dreams were distant; Joslyn didn't even have their light to work by, but she made a very thorough search of the area that corresponded to the chamber in the waking world. Nothing. The stage was truly bare.

  I have to find him.

  The whys and wherefores of that certainty were a little vague to Joslyn now, and the memories of that other Joslyn so much less her own. But the certainty remained, and the purpose was too strong to fight. Reluctantly. Joslyn started to search.

  *

  In the Chamber of True Dreaming the shadows spoke in whispers. A hooded lantern threw its faint glow on the oracular couches.

  "Is he asleep?" the Dream Master asked.

  "Without question. He should be taking his place on the Nightstage even now."

  Tagramon's frown was invisible in the darkness. "I'll wager a gold Imperial that the stage is empty."

  Belor chuckled softly. "I will not take that wager. I wonder what the girl will say?"

  "What Ter and Alyssa said, if she's wise. It'll mean a week of rest, too. Unfair as that is."

  "It's a question of necessity," Belor said, "not fairness."

  The High Priest of Somna closed the lamp shield and once more the chamber was covered with starry night.

  *

  A curtain of mist parted and Joslyn found another Play. The stage was one vast bed, and on that bed a handsome, powerfully-built man made love to a monster. It had the body of a supple young woman and the head of a red viper. The lovers moved together and the snake-head hissed with delight. Joslyn remained at the edge of the mist and studied the dreamer.

  That isn't him

  Joslyn was almost gone before she realized that it wasn't anyone else, either. The man's features were too perfect, his body too well formed, as if molded from clay by a master sculptor. When Joslyn looked into his eyes she understood. There was no affection there, or even pleasure. Merely a fierce pride in his mastery over the monster. The lovely, deadly, not-quite-human woman. Every caress an attack, every sigh a victory.

  Is that how he sees us? Joslyn thought. I wonder if he sees himself any clearer.

  Joslyn knew her own frustration at the search was causing her anger, but there it was. Temple-trained will lashed out, and the play changed. The monster's glittering eyes suddenly mirrored, catching the man's delusion and throwing it back in his face. The contrast was too much; Joslyn could almost hear the dreamer groan in his sleep as the truth emerged—a balding, paunchy, middle-aged man with weak blue eyes. He seemed confused until he looked down; then he understood exactly what was happening. He screamed.

  Joslyn hugged herself to keep from laughing as the dreamer's cool mastery wilted, along with everything else. Venom oozed from the snake-woman's fangs as she hissed with frustration. The Nightsoul scrambled off the bed and fled shrieking into the mist as the light of the dream went out.

  It will be a long time before that one dares Flowering Succubus again. Poor Musa has lost a customer.

  THAT WASN'T VERY KIND, CHILD.

  Joslyn turned, sending her thought out into the mist. Musa?

  There was only the grayness of the curtain, marked with the light of dreams in the distance. They looked a little like fireflies on a nighted meadow. Moth-like, Joslyn flitted toward the nearest and the light grew...

  And she was on stage. The scene pulled her in before she could resist and she stood on the beach of a dark sea. The sand was stark white and pierced by black granite spires taller than trees.

  Whose dream is this?

  "Yours, for now. Welcome."

  "Musa? Where are you?"

  Harsh laughter, more cackle than humor. "A trained dreamer, mistress of illusion and the Nightstage, and you have to ask? Small wonder you can't find your client."

  That stung. Joslyn followed the voice around a jagged mass of stone. One the other side was an open stretch of beach where the spires grew thin. Waves roared and hissed against the sand, and farther in the sand turned to rock again as high cliffs stopped sand and sea like a wall. One bleached skeleton of a tree clung to the stone with dry, withered roots.

  Perched on the tree was a black harpy. It stretched dark wings impossibly wide and winked at her. It had Musa's face as before. "About time you joined us."

  Joslyn finally noticed the other girl sitting on the sand, facing the harpy. She was familiar, but Joslyn couldn't see her face, and wasn't in a mood to puzzle it out. "It's odd I've never found one of your dreams before, Musa. Is this how you see yourself?"

  The harpy grinned. Its teeth were many and pointed. "I'm not seeing me, Child. You are. How can I know what you see?"

  "You knew about the Supplicant," Joslyn pointed out.

  "It's your dream," the monster replied, unruffled, "How could you not know? Honestly... You should listen to yourself now and again."

  "This isn't my dream!" Joslyn snapped, "I don't—" She stopped, reddening.

  "You don't... what?" the harpy grinned even wider. "What were you about to say, Dear?"

  Joslyn willed herself away. The dream didn't budge, and neither did she. "What are you doing to me?"

  "What are you doing to yourself?" mimicked the harpy, "charging about the Nightstage after any dream but your own. Well, tonight there is no other dream to hide in, Joslyn. The Supplicant isn't here."

  "He's a living man," Joslyn said. "He spoke, he walked, he drew breath. He's here."

  "Then why haven't you found him?"

  Joslyn trembled, her fists clenched. "I don't know!"

  The harpy shifted on its perch. "I think you do. Isn't that right, Child?"

  The monster wasn't talking to Joslyn—it spoke to the girl on the sand. The girl looked back over her shoulder and Joslyn felt a cold finger on her spine.

  Night-twin.

  It was foolish, she knew. A night-twin was no more than a phantom spawned of fear and shadows, but seeing her own face without a mirror was unsettling.

  Joslyn shook her head, slowly, "The Nightstage is all there is."

  "Fool! Did you really think you were the only one who knew? The Nightstage is where we play at being gods, but where do the gods play? And where do we draw those beautiful horrors that grace the stage? You've seen beyond the play; perhaps only once but you have seen. Deny it again and maybe it'll be your twin who takes the scent away from you. Maybe she'll be the one to rejoin the Daysoul and give the precious augury while you wail in the shadows."

  "No," Joslyn said. Her voice had echoes of a blade's edge.

  The night-twin rose and smiled at her. "We'll see." In an instant she was away, running headlong down to the dark sea. Joslyn watched her go.

  The harpy tightened its grip on the branch until the wood groaned. "My dear one seems to have the lead."

  It was Joslyn's turn to smile. "He may not be on the Nightstage," she said, "but he isn't down there."

  "The Dark Waters flow through us all," the harpy said, "and if it's the home of monsters we made it so. Why wouldn't your client lose himself there? Better men have."

  All that was true enough, but Joslyn had seen the client's face and she knew that if, as a man, he knew the Dark Waters he did not drown in them. "Not this one," she said.

  "What does that leave?"

  The harpy vanished, not waiting for answer. Joslyn stood facing the cliff, its dull grey stones looming over her. Joslyn smiled, ruefully.

  You know what's left, Musa. The wall. The Supplicant must be beyond it... Whatever 'it' is.

  Joslyn started walking, her back to the sea. The wall was no closer. She willed herself there and the sea was gone, the beach was go
ne, and the wall was still in the distance. She ran, and the vastness of the cliff paced her, now closer, now farther, but always out of reach.

  What have I forgotten?

  There had been too many auguries, too much time filled with other people's dreams since the time she first found out what lay beyond the mist. It was hard to remember, but harder still to want to remember.

  And no time to try. There was a light dawning behind Joslyn's eyes, growing brighter by the moment. From overhead came the crack of powerful wings against the wind. Joslyn ran faster and as she did her memories jumbled together as she searched back frantically to the time when she first lay siege to the Wall. In another moment she knew part of the answer—the why. There was a reason she didn't want to remember, and it stopped her with a jolt as the Wall disappeared in unreachable distance.

  No...

  "Time's up, Joslyn."

  She looked up to see the harpy fold its wings and dive. Joslyn dodged. Too late. A scaly foot struck her shoulder and bore her down. The harpy perched on her like the demon Gahon on the Dreamer, and the Musa-face smiled as blood gathered bright red on its talons.

  "Wake up."

  *

  "Wake up."

  Joslyn slapped at the claws on her shoulder, but they weren't claws—merely the High Priest's bony fingers. In that instant the dream turned hazy and unreal, something that happened to someone else. Joslyn rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on the three shapes standing by her couch. Why was it so hard to see?

  "We were beginning to think you weren't coming back," said the Dream Master, "The Supplicant has been awake several minutes."

  The Nightsoul was returned, but Joslyn wasn't really awake. She yawned, trying to make sense of it. Supplicant..? Oh, yes. The augury. She had to tell him something... or was it something she wasn't supposed to tell him? It was all fuzzy.

  "We're waiting, Dreamer Joslyn."

  Joslyn looked at the client, and he returned her gaze with eyes like stone. No other word seemed to fit; he looked as if he didn't care, and in the same way and to the same degree that a stone does not care. It annoyed her.

  Let's see how hard you are. Joslyn stifled another yawn. "I searched the Nightstage, the sacred Domain of Somna. You weren't there."