A Warrior of Dreams

by Richard Parks

  Tagramon gasped. Belor put his hand on her shoulder again. "Joslyn, that was a poor jest—"

  "Let her speak!"

  They all stared at the Supplicant in amazement. The stone was gone from his face, replaced by something very close to excitement. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to grab Joslyn and shake the words out of her. More composed, he repeated, "Let her speak."

  Belor let go of her shoulder and stepped back. The stranger looked into her eyes, bade her go on.

  "I couldn't find your dreams," she said, "I tried. As if... as if they weren't there. But that's impossible, isn't it?"

  The man stepped forward and took her hand. "Do you know where they might be?"

  Joslyn glanced at the Dream Master's face and saw the warning there, but it was too late for that. The Supplicant would spot a lie; she was certain of it. And she could not bring herself to betray the hope in his eyes. But there would be consequences. She looked away.

  "The Nightstage is where mortal dreams happen," she said, and immediately wondered why she'd said it. He knew that; it was in his eyes where the stone used to be. That and other things. Damn it all, who is he? She went on with barely a pause. "From the Nightstage there is a place beyond and a place below. I... I think you're in the place beyond."

  Belor said nothing. Tagramon was in a rage. "Blasphemy! There is nothing beyond the Nightstage that is the province of mortals. Dreamer Joslyn, you have sinned terribly!"

  Dreamer Joslyn wasn't listening. The Supplicant was smiling at her, something she had been totally unable to imagine scant moments before. Now it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  "I cannot apologize enough for Joslyn's nonsense," the Dream Master said, "Rest assured that she'll be punished for it."

  "I'll rest better if she isn't," Ghost said, softly. He placed a gold coin in her palm and released her hand. "Thank you for the dream."

  Joslyn fell into the ritual by long habit. "Is it all that you wished?"

  He nodded. "I am satisfied."

  The stranger turned and left without another word. Joslyn watched him go while Tagramon glared at her.

  "Girl," he said, "you have much to answer for."

  The effects of the drug were finally wearing off; Joslyn was just conscious enough to realize how true that was. Just then a week without sleep didn't seem so terrible, but of course it was beyond that now. How far beyond she didn't want to guess.

  Belor snapped out an order, and two White Robes appeared. "Escort Dreamer Joslyn to her rooms," he said.

  Now there were two harpy-grips on her shoulders, and Joslyn smiled ruefully.

  Too far.

  Chapter 5—Ghost

  True night had fallen on Ly Ossia. At the Temple of the Dreamer the beacons were lit and the mirrors in place. They cast a yellow glow on the bellies of low, scudding clouds. Most of the city was settled in and covered for the night, but one street in an older section of the city was only now beginning to stir. Hooded lanterns glowed softly along its entire length, and business there was brisk though discreet. It was called the Street of Sighs, among other things.

  For the flickering life of him, Ghost couldn't remember why he was there. He walked slowly, hood up and face hidden in the poor light. His ascetic's robes raised few eyebrows, and no one questioned him. The Street of Sighs was one place where folk understood the necessity of minding their own business.

  Ghost was grateful for that, but as for why he was there in the first place... it had something to do with the girl named Joslyn. A feeling came to him—for awhile—after her augury. Hope? Possible, but it had been a long time; he couldn't be sure. But he was sure of what the experience was like.

  It was like being alive.

  And he remembered what that feeling had made him try to do. The woman he found was beautiful and kind, but it just didn't work. He had paid her anyway and retreated back into the night. The memory still smarted, but it wasn't the embarrassment; Ghost was past that. It was the proof that he couldn't tell delusion from truth. How would he know the difference when the time came? If the time came...

  Ghost put that aside and tried to concentrate on his next step. Speak to that dreamer... Joslyn? in private? Yes, of course he must. But it wouldn't be easy. The status of Temple Dreamers under Tagramon's stewardship was rather like that of the Imperial Governor's concubines—part pampered darlings, part closely-watched slaves. They were Blessed of Somna, comforters of the faithful and terrifiers of the guilty. They also brought far more gold into the Temple than simple piety would ever manage. While technically free and revered Citizens of the Empire, in practice the Dreamers were circumscribed and 'protected' like the valuable property they were. Ghost seemed to remember a time when it had all been different, but he wasn't certain if the memory was true. He shrugged; true or no it made no difference now. And the problem remained.

  Not easy at all.

  Absorbed in thought, Ghost nearly collided with the two large young men who blocked his path.

  "Come with us, Sir."

  Rather polite, as thieves go. Ghost didn't respond, and the two exchanged glances. One drew back the sleeve of his robe to show a glint of steel. "I said—"

  "And I heard you," Ghost sighed. "Where is it you want me to go?"

  "With us," repeated the larger of the two. He wasn't quite so polite this time.

  Ghost considered. He had some mild curiosity about their intentions, but satisfying it would prove risky. And there was the loss of time to consider, time that was growing more precious every day. All in all, it just didn't seem like a good idea. "No thank you," Ghost said, "Perhaps another day?"

  As one they stepped forward, daggers out and ready. In that instant the world quivered just the tiniest bit, but that little spasm went unnoticed in the wake of the next instant, and what happened then was at once too fast and too slow: too fast for comprehension, too slow and clear for the would-be kidnappers' sanity.

  It wasn't much of a change; most of the world went on pretty much as before—on the Grass Sea a group of brigands rode one way and not another, in Darsa a young prostitute gave birth to a human child and not a monster, and on the merchant's street in Ly Ossia a nervous man slipped into Musa's shop for his monthly treat of Flowering Succubus still convinced that his wife knew nothing about it. But on the Street of Sighs reality was just a bit altered—instead of daggers two dazed young men held red roses in their hands, and Ghost was gone as if he'd never been there in the first place.

  The two looked at each other with the same expression at the same time—the wild stare of drowning men ready to grab onto anything at all.

  "What... what do we tell the Master?"

  The other didn't answer right away. He turned the rose this way and that in his hand, feeling for an invisible edge. He found a thorn instead and sucked his thumb, looking thoughtful. A woman appeared in the window above them. She was young like them, with long fair hair. The second acolyte smiled an odd smile and tossed her his rose. She caught it deftly and held it to her nose, then smiled and waved at him. He waved back and started into the open doorway, pausing for just a moment on the threshold. "We tell him the man got away. Isn't that what happened?" he asked over his shoulder, "More or less?"

  He left the other standing miserable in the street.

  *

  The Night and Day souls that together were Joslyn both slept. A small copper brazier fumed near her rough straw pallet, and the smoke hovered over her still form like a specter. In time the charcoal fell to ash, the brazier cooled, the smoke dispersed. When it was completely gone Joslyn opened her eyes. She sat up feeling stiff, sore, and confused. This wasn't her room. It was bare and damp, with a narrow oak door and no windows except a tiny barred one in the door. She looked around the cell and got up, slowly.

  Definitely too far.

  She made one complete circle of the room, her fingers trailing against the cool stone. She tried the door to be certain it was locked. It was. She looked both ways out the litt
le window but could see nothing but a fragment of corridor either way. She shrugged and sat down on her prickly bed.

  The time since the augury wasn't clear in her mind. She remembered being taken back to her quarters, and later Belor storming in with a gang of acolytes, and then... a goblet. Belor made her drink something.

  And now here she was. Wherever 'here' was. But why couldn't she remember being on the nightstage? Joslyn knew why she didn't remember her dreams; you must have a dream in order to remember it. But she should have remembered moving about the nightstage; she'd been asleep hours, by the feel of it. And all she could remember was an odor like the smoke from burnt feathers that filled her sleep and left room for nothing else.

  She smelled it still.

  Joslyn leaned over and cautiously sniffed the brazier. The same. She sat back, letting out her breath in one gust.

  Sweet Oblivion.

  Joslyn had almost forgotten about that one, though she'd heard Musa tell of it. But why use it on her?

  Joslyn shuddered and tried not to think about it any more. The Dream Master would no doubt reveal her punishment when he was ready, and until then there was no point imagining better --

  "You're awake. Excellent."

  Tagramon's face was framed by the bars on the window, and illuminated by a single torch. A lot of questions went through Joslyn's mind just then: why hadn't she heard him approach, and what he would do, but most of all she wondered why he looked so terribly sad.

  "At your service, Master."

  He shook his head slowly. Joslyn thought for a moment that he was going to weep.

  "No longer. That pains me more than words have strength to bear, Joslyn. I never told you, of course, but, of all the dreamers I've trained, you were the best. I want you to know that."

  Joslyn still didn't know that, because a word he used snagged at her mind like a bare root and sent it sprawling.

  Were?

  "I failed one augury," she said, "as did others. Surely you won't turn me out for that?"

  "You didn't fail. That's the problem."

  Joslyn frowned. "I couldn't find him."

  "But you know he could be found. That's something really astounding, Joslyn. But don't worry; you won't be leaving the Temple."

  It sank in. Despite all the pits and walls of reason she tried to set in its path. Tagramon nodded. "You understand now."

  "But why?" Joslyn demanded, "why is he so important?"

  "I can't tell you that. I'm truly sorry."

  He sounded like a merchant fresh out of lentils. Sorry, so sorry. No reasons for dying today. Joslyn's shock passed through astonishment and into anger with giant strides. "Damn you, I have a right to know!"

  He shrugged. "Surely. But if I tell you'll call me insane, and I don't think I could bear that. You may call me cruel and selfish if that helps any."

  It did not. "I think you are insane!"

  Tagramon wasn't the least bit ruffled. "You may think whatever you wish. But as long as the reason isn't dancing merrily before your limited mind you can't be certain. It's a fine distinction, but to my mind a valid one." He yawned. "When you sleep again it'll be done. There'll be no pain. Stay awake as long as you wish—or can—but I'd advise not to prolong the inevitable. That helps no one."

  He left, carrying the torch with him. Joslyn slumped against a wall and tried to think. Tagramon was clearly tired; he hadn't slept since the augury by the look of him. He would retire soon... he must! Joslyn reached under her robe very carefully, praying that what she had hidden there was undisturbed. Her fingers closed on the paper bundle and she stopped holding her breath. She unwrapped the paper until the sleeping crystals showed as a faint patch of white in the gloom.

  What if they're watching me already?

  Possible, but Joslyn didn't think so. If the Dream Master meant to sleep now—and she was only hopeful about that—then there was no hurry. Despite his melancholia Joslyn was certain he'd be present when they killed her. And even a Temple Dreamer wouldn't be expected to sleep again so soon, so there would be no smothering drug to keep her nightsoul penned.

  Joslyn shrugged; there was no point worrying. If she was wrong, she lost nothing not already forfeit. But if she was right, then there would be a small chance to salvage something.

  Revenge.

  She waited as long as she dared, then creased the paper and poured the drug into her mouth. She had no water; the crystals felt like sand in her throat and the bitterness brought tears to her eyes. She almost gagged, and grimly worked her tongue until a trickle of spit gathered, then swallowed. She did it again and the effort nearly made her sick, but the drug went down. The taste never did.

  Awful.

  Joslyn lay back on the straw, closed her eyes, and started a silent prayer to Somna the Dreamer. She almost finished it.

  *

  Ghost watched the entrance to the Temple. Two acolytes in plain white robes flanked the door, their hands hidden under long sleeves.

  Carrying steel, no doubt.

  It puzzled him—why would the Temple of Somna need armed guards? Granted, thieves sometimes tried their luck against the Temple. There was certainly gold about for those clever or bold enough to take it, and it was certainly a fine thing to be rich.

  Provided you never went to sleep again.

  The lucky ones returned their spoils, begging forgiveness and the honor of paying a very stiff penance. Those more stubborn or greedy held out longer than their sanity. Guards there were, but nothing so crude as this.

  What to do?

  The only thing he could do, for now. Ghost watched, and waited.

  *

  Tagramon's nightsoul wasn't hard to find. It was vibrant and glowing; it strutted the stage with the attention-grabbing presence of a veteran actor. Joslyn hid herself in the misty curtains, watching. And waiting. But a new emotion had been added to fear and anger—fascination.

  What's he doing?

  Agmen a wore a robe of pure light. It bathed his body and limbs like an endless flash of lightning. His hands weaved the pattern of an ancient blessing, and as he moved bits of his robe—no, his body—tore away like wisps of smoke in a high wind, only to settle and reform, glowing, on the stage as tiny men and women. They took on a life of their own, fighting, loving, living under the stern but benevolent gaze of the Dream Master. With a wave of his little finger he gave life, and took it back again. Joslyn understood, and her smile was white and cold.

  The bastard thinks he's a god!

  She shrugged. Why not? It wasn't so very different from what he had in mind for her. With a wave of his hand he would take her life, too, only he wouldn't be able to give it back. Joslyn felt her anger rising, and she made no effort to hold it in check. With hope gone, hate was the only weapon she had. She honed it to a fine edge and awaited her chance.

  Tagramon pointed at a young girl, little more than a candle-flicker in the grand design. "Die," he said.

  "No," she said.

  The Dream Master's jaw dropped in astonishment and his raiment of light dimmed a bit. With a shaft of pure loathing Joslyn snuffed it out completely, leaving nothing but ashes. A look of bewilderment came to Tagramon's face, and Joslyn laughed. The Dream Master turned at the sound and squinted into the grayness, but Joslyn had already retreated into the mist. He looked back at the defiant little spark before him. "You are mine," he said, "This dream is mine."

  "You are mine," she answered in her tiny voice, "and the dream be damned."

  The Dream Master cursed and his robe blazed anew. Spires of light surrounded his face like a halo around the sun. The candle-girl laughed at him. "Where there are gods there must be devils..."

  She began to grow. And change. And change. She was a goddess. She was a beast. She was Gahon the Destroyer incarnate, a red horned thing with teeth and talons flashing white. She was his very own Death, personal and immediate.

  Tagramon screamed and the flame went out for good. The play changed. There is a nether-world spoken of by th
e Priests of Malitus, a place of eternal torment for those who do not work hard enough to end the world. Tagramon stood in the lowest pit of Damnation. The demon flicked out a scaly paw and batted the Dream Master face down on the cracked, stinking earth.

  The One Nearest Somna was a pathetic sight. His body was covered with charred scraps of cloth, his hair and beard with steaks of dirt and filth. He covered his face. "Mercy, Great One!"

  The demon grinned, its teeth now row on row of rusty iron spikes. "As much as you've shown, most certainly. The Dreamer does love balance."

  Tagramon suddenly looked up and Joslyn, startled, took one step backward. The demon mirrored her movement.

  "If Somna loves balance the Spawn of Gahon do not," he said. His voice was like cracking ice. In another moment he was on his feet. He looked the demon-image up and down with a critical eye. "You fooled me for a while—I give you that. Who are you?"

  Joslyn didn't waste time trying to regain control; it was lost. The demon sprang on the Dream Master who staggered back despite himself. He waved his hands frantically and the image disappeared, but in that instant Joslyn withdrew still farther. Tagramon looked about, furious. "It's Joslyn, isn't it?" he asked, "I don't know how you managed, but it has to be you. No one else could have penetrated my dream."

  She couldn't resist. You flatter me.

  Tagramon smiled, and kept scanning the mist with quick bright eyes. "Not at all. Alyssa, young Ter, even Pari... they're babes next to you. They can't affect a dream, did you know that? They can barely observe one that isn't their own."

  Joslyn was surprised, and wondered if he was lying. It seemed such a natural thing to do --

  The fireballs appeared out of nothing, blossoming at the edge of the dream and fanning outward. The mist retreated from them.

  Careless...

  Joslyn smothered the curses; there was no time. She crouched low, selected a fireball on the far side of the circle, and snuffed it out with a blast of pure, desperate will. Tagramon expanded his dream to cover that area, bring it to light. Joslyn wasn't there. Joslyn put out another fireball, and again the Dream Master pulled the area into his dream. Nothing.