"And a good thing, too. But I see the Nightsoul doesn't own everything—there's a little vanity left."
Ghost frowned for a moment, but, when he finally understood, he smiled. And then he laughed. It was little more than a chuckle and died quickly, but for that moment Ghost looked like a man reborn. "Joslyn, you keep me alive."
"I suppose so," she said. "I just wish I could be sure that's a good idea."
*
By late afternoon Ghost and Joslyn were within sight of Darsa. It seemed to rise from the ocean itself, like the large spikes of granite that thrust up from the sand, looking like ruins. Darsa looked a little like ruins too, but Joslyn wasn't paying the city much attention. Her eyes were on the Southern Sea.
It's like in the dream...
Almost. In the dream the Dark Sea overwhelmed with its sense of depth and distance. The Southern Sea spoke of little but distance. It spread out before her like the Grass Sea but wider, almost impossibly vast. And the white sand beach was bright to the dream's grayness, but still Joslyn felt the sense of place very strongly. Whoever controlled that dream—and Joslyn knew she didn't—this was where the imagery was drawn, not the mountains of Ly Ossia.
Joslyn still wasn't sure what it all meant, but she did know that she was going to find out. She glanced at Ghost. He showed no sign of slowing. "Shouldn't we be looking for a place to hide till dark?"
"Why should we do that?"
"You don't mean to go through the gate in open daylight? Ly Ossia will send word to the city Watchers, I'm sure. They might remember seeing us."
Ghost finally understood. "Oh... I see. There is no wall, Joslyn. Two travelers can enter Darsa at any one of a hundred points without being noticed."
Joslyn had trouble picturing a city without a wall, even one as decrepit as the one surrounding Ly Ossia, but as they got closer, she saw that was indeed the case. Or rather, there had been a wall—pieces of it lay tumbled near the edge of the city. Many stones had been cannibalized for building ramshackle cottages, but most lay in disordered rows, pulled down and left to the vines and birds. "What happened?"
"Tagramon. You're too young to remember, but surely you know the Temple was once in Darsa?"
"It seems there is a great deal I don't know."
"There's a profound insight for one so young... No, Joslyn, I'm not trying to start a fight; I'm serious. To most people 'ancient history' is anything that happened before they were born. Nothing to do with them. But this has much to do with you, for obvious reasons."
"Tagramon attacked Darsa?"
"The Emperor attacked Darsa, and at about the time Ly Ossia was brought into the Empire. The original Temple was destroyed when the city fell, no one is certain why. Tagramon is one of the few who survived... you already knew about Musa."
"Since yesterday," commented Joslyn dryly.
Ghost just shrugged. "Almost overnight Tagramon went from Temple Dreamer to Dream Master of the new Temple the Emperor ordered built at Ly Ossia. No one quite knows the 'whys' of that, either, but when the Darsans learned the Temple would not be rebuilt at Darsa and its wealth and prestige taken from them, they revolted. The uprising was crushed, of course, a tenth of the population killed as a warning, and the newly repaired walls pulled down. The Emperor has forbidden them to rebuild."
Joslyn frowned. "I'll bet Tagramon affected the Emperor's dreams, planted the seed—"
Ghost was shaking his head. "You forget, Joslyn—not all dreamcraft is of the Temple. The Emperor's dreams were well guarded."
"How do you know that?"
Ghost stopped. Joslyn stopped, too, and waited. Ghost finally shrugged. "I have no idea."
"Never mind. I'll bet he found a way. He dreams with the strength of an Aversa."
Ghost looked thoughtful, or perhaps the expression was only his perpetual frown, worn as the most natural of the expressions he tried to recreate. "You've met an Aversa? They're quite rare."
Joslyn sighed. "No, I've just heard the stories, like so many others."
Ghost nodded and lapsed into silence, and Joslyn was content to leave him there. They soon came to the perimeter of what had been the city wall, then stepped past Darsa's phantom defense and into the city.
"What in the name of the Dreamer is that?!"
Joslyn's first sight within the city nearly made her ill. It wasn't the ruined buildings that at first made her think of the blighted sections of Ly Ossia or even the refuse in the narrow, crumbling streets. What got Joslyn's attention was a crude shrine of stones and the rough-carved wooden idol inside. The figure was cloaked and cowled in black, its face a wooden blank. In its right hand it held a skull; the left hand was empty. And resting before the shrine in the dust was a severed head. It wasn't of wood. The blood was long dried to black, the features eaten away by rats and the remainder left to the flies. Joslyn's nostrils wrinkled at the stench.
Ghost studied the tableau with cold detachment. "It's a shrine," he said.
"Bless you for that insight," Joslyn snapped, "And I suppose next you'll tell me that poor beggar was a sacrifice?"
"That's exactly what he was."
Joslyn stared but she knew that Ghost wasn't joking. That was a talent beyond his present state. She wondered—not for the first time—what he might be like in his other. The grisly shrine drew her back. "What god takes sacrifices like that?"
"There have been many. Most of them are dead."
They stepped past the shrine and into the city. Remnants of lost wealth and influence were everywhere: dust-caked fountains, empty buildings, broken statues. It was as if the Darsans lost more than the temple, more than its butchered citizens, even more than the wall that was the symbol of place and pride of every city. What had been destroyed in the uprising remained destroyed, and the ruins were unhealed wounds.
Something had been nagging at Joslyn's mind. She put it into words. "Ghost, how can a god die?"
"How can a god live? Everything in the dream dies."
"Somna will not die!"
Ghost almost laughed again. "Somna is not a god. Or goddess either, for that matter."
Joslyn was annoyed, but mostly at herself for forcing Ghost to state the obvious. Of course Somna was not a god—Somna was the Creator, the One Outside the Dream. Most gods were petty things by comparison, spoiled children demanding what they didn't need for one more proof they were really loved. Like the faceless god of the shrine. Joslyn wondered what Deverea's Ajel Kar demanded in exchange for her divine lightning. She shook her head in disgust. "I wonder why Somna bothered to create the gods. They distract attention from Somna—where it rightly belongs—and are no end of trouble. It's a mystery..."
She stopped, surprised to see Ghost smiling again.
"Not a mystery, Joslyn. A riddle. The Riddle of the Gods. You don't know of it?"
"No. Is it a game?"
"Like any other... meaning scholars play it for fun or blood, but they do play."
He wasn't making sense. Joslyn told him so.
"Perhaps it'll make more sense when you hear it. '...on the second night of Eternity Somna dreamed the Aversa, then Man, then the Riddle. Man toys with the Riddle while the gods toy with man...'"
"Every child knows that myth," Joslyn sighed, "It mentions a 'Riddle' but doesn't say what it is."
"That's where you're wrong," Ghost said. He seemed to be enjoying himself, as much as he ever seemed to enjoy anything. "The Riddle of the Gods is complete in those two lines, but don't feel bad about missing it. Meldon of the Caves was the first to discern it and that a mere hundred years ago. It seems so simple, now—"
"Ghost!"
"Sorry. The story mentions the Aversa and Man as Somna's creation; nowhere does it say when or if she created the gods. And even Deverea mentioned that the origin of the gods was uncertain; I'll wager she knows of the Riddle."
"Of course Somna created the gods! Who else?"
Ghost looked thoughtful. "Who indeed?"
*
Tagramon loved maps. Th
ere was magic in learning to read them, more so in their mastery. With a pointed finger, he could brush distances away and put kingdoms and cities under his thumb. With time and patience, nothing could remain hidden for long.
Belor appeared at the door to the study, more rolls cradled in his bony arms. "This is the last of them, Master."
Tagramon paused to consider. "We've covered Telyn and all the southeast. That leaves the coast and the western forests."
"Would they hide there?"
The Dream Master shrugged slightly. "Ghost? I doubt if any place would draw him in or drive him away. Joslyn is another matter. The city is all she knows—I'll wager she'll find another to crawl into."
"That would be fortunate. We've not so many dreamers that we can cover the entire world stage."
"So we'll focus on the cities." Tagramon took the map of the coast, followed the twisting line of the Southern Sea. "Tephis... little more than a fishing village. The like for Ly Manes, these days. It's half-taken by the sea. That leaves..." He stopped.
Belor noted where his finger rested. "Darsa? Why would she go there? Even the Watchers see it as punishment."
The Dream Master smiled. "Not a plum assignment, true. Still, we can't afford to ignore it."
Belor nodded. "Have you charged the dreamers with their holy duty yet?"
There was something in Belor's tone that Tagramon didn't like. Perhaps there was an odd inflection about 'holy duty.' Perhaps he was just tired. "No," he said, "That can't be hurried. Most of the journeys will strain them; the searching more so. The motivation will have to be great."
Belor turned at a sudden flare of yellow through the high window. "The evening beacon."
Tagramon leaned back in his chair. "Bring them in one at a time. We'll start with Alyssa."
*
Long shadows crept into the streets before Ghost and Joslyn got much closer to the place they were seeking. Musa's directions were practically useless, and the people they asked weren't much better. Some answered hardly at all; others took pleasure in leading them astray. The first time it happened Joslyn was furious. By the third time anger gave way to bewildered fascination. "What's wrong with these people?!"
Ghost shrugged, said nothing. They finally found an old woman at one of Darsa's few street markets just as she was packing her bundles for the day.
"I'll talk to her," Ghost said.
Joslyn was grateful. She had a deep sense of futility hanging over her that made civil conversation chancy.
Ghost stopped at a respectful distance from the woman. She was about Deverea's age but didn't shoulder it so well. Her back was stooped; she moved as if one of her legs no longer carried its fair share of weight. She wore a plain blouse and skirt of blue linen, old but well-kept. Her hair was covered.
"Good evening..." Ghost began.
"Closed," the woman said, moving a large roll of yellow cloth onto her cart. "Come back tomorrow."
"I'm sure your cloth is the best," Ghost said, "but all we really need are directions."
"People here know where things are, for all the profit in it," she said without looking at him. "If you're strangers, you'd best ask directions to some place else."
Joslyn lost patience. "I'd like nothing better, but the person we seek is here in Darsa. If you're not going to help us, say so and we'll find someone else."
"Who would no doubt oblige," the cloth-lady sighed, "A Darsan is nothing if not generous."
"Then a Darsan is nothing!" Joslyn regretted it, but only a little. The odd city was working on her nerves.
The woman brushed the insult aside like a fallen eyelash. "Girl, to help you might be to harm someone else. Does this person wish to be found?"
"We're friends," Ghost said, "or at least sent by a friend. We're trying to find a woman named Daycia."
The woman did look at them then—slowly, methodically. Joslyn didn't like the scrutiny at all.
"Who sent you?"
"Musa of Ly Ossia. We have a letter..."
The woman raised a finger to her lips in warning. "I advise you not to name that cursed place here... Musa, you say? The seller of nightmares and sweaty delusions?"
Joslyn couldn't stop a smile. "The same."
The woman put her last bundle in its place and jerked the supports from beneath the awning. It settled over the cart with a whisper of escaping air, and she tucked it over her wares. "I'll take you to Daycia," she said.
Joslyn frowned. "Why? Assuming you really know where she is."
"Because I choose to. But I tell you here and now you'd best be telling the truth about that letter."
"We mean her no harm, I assure you," Ghost said.
The woman laughed. "If you're not who you say you are it won't make any difference."
*
To Joslyn, whose legs were already sore, it seemed as if they'd followed the old woman for hours. The streets had turned narrow as they walked, and most were half-choked with debris from crumbling buildings. The look of the city was becoming more and more unfriendly, if that was possible. Joslyn found her fingers inching toward the etched dagger Deverea had given her when they parted—"Two things worthy of trust, city girl: Yourself and a good knife." Joslyn was grateful now. This part of Darsa was in total ruin, and the shadows were gathering in all the deep places.
One of them moved.
Joslyn tugged at Ghost's sleeve. "We're being followed."
Ghost looked where she pointed. "I don't see anything."
"Because Kessa doesn't wish to be seen," the woman sighed, "though I must compliment you, girl—I can't see her myself most of the time."
"A friend of yours?" Joslyn asked.
"Sort of... and keep your hands were she can see them. The dear is very protective of me and might misunderstand."
Joslyn took her hand away from the knife, where it had strayed again. The figure held something in raised hands, and Joslyn had a pretty good suspicion that it was a small crossbow.
They took an abrupt turn at what had once been a magnificent structure. It was broken and covered with vines now; birds nested in the branches of young trees that thrust up through gaps in the dome. Their guide pushed her cart through a gap in the courtyard wall, then down a ramp that led to a fissure in the massive foundations. "Follow me, please."
Joslyn was guided more by touch than sight in her first few steps into the darkness. They passed under what must have been the roof; light from the setting sun filtered down into the passageway in narrow, dusty beams. The woman never broke stride; she pushed the cart briskly down the corridor until sunlight was lost again, and Joslyn felt the floor sloping under her feet. They passed empty doorways cut into stone on either side—some showed bare rooms; others were clogged with trash and stone debris. Their guide finally reached an intact door. She opened it with an iron key hanging from her belt, shoved the cart inside, and locked it again. Now free of her burden, she picked up the pace. Ghost and Joslyn almost had to trot to keep up.
For a limping old woman she moves well enough, Joslyn thought.
Joslyn looked behind her from time to time but saw nothing. It didn't matter; she knew they were still being followed.
They passed through a patch of greater darkness under a massive lintel, and in a moment emerged again into weak light, but in that moment Joslyn felt a furtive touch. She recoiled and reached for her knife. It wasn't there. She leaned close to Ghost. "My knife is gone!" she hissed.
"Perhaps you dropped it."
"And perhaps it fell on a silk pillow so I wouldn't hear the clatter. I don't think so."
The old woman's hearing wasn't bad either. "Don't worry. You won't need your weapon here."
Joslyn remembered the shadow behind them and kept quiet. The corridor finally dead-ended at a massive door bound with iron. The woman didn't produce a key for this one. She rapped sharply and the door swung outward just a crack, just enough to let them in. She waved her hand. "After you."
"Wouldn't hear of it," Joslyn replied. Ghost g
ave her a sharp glance but she held her ground. They were taking enough of a risk; no sense walking in blind. The woman smiled and stepped through the opening. Joslyn followed close.
"Here we are."
The chamber was about seventy feet across, shaped like the inside of a jug. Joslyn guessed that it was once used for storage, but now patches of black high in the walls were linked to a narrow spiral stairway that wrapped three times around the inside of the room, and a crack in the domed roof let smoke from the central hearth escape.
Three people were gathered around the hearth: a young man, a woman, and a child. The man's neatly trimmed hair and beard were red, his face lean and angular. He wore a loose fitting tunic and breeks of black leather. The woman was a few years older than Joslyn, handsome except for a scar that began under her hairline, crossed her right eye and ended on her cheek. The eye was a milky blank. The child was little more than a toddler, and the woman kept her good eye on him as he played near the fire.
Joslyn stepped forward. "Daycia?"
The woman glanced at their guide.
Of course. How stupid of me.
But the surprises weren't quite over. First the cloth-seller straightened, and the aged stoop was gone. She stepped briskly into the room, and the limp was gone. She pulled off her kerchief, and her hair fell in shining yellow waves to her shoulders. There was the barest hint of gray.
I thought it was all gray...
Just so. She had assumed. The disguise was half real, half imagined, and all the more effective. Ghost gave a little bow. "You are Daycia, I gather?"
She nodded. "Now we'll see who you are. Tolas?"
The young man smiled, reached into his tunic, and pulled out a small role of parchment sealed with blue wax. Joslyn needed barely a glance to recognize Musa's letter. "I suppose you have my knife, too?"
He produced it with a flick of his wrist. Another and it was gone again. Joslyn was impressed despite herself. In her time on the street she had seen many pickpockets and cutpurses at work, but none with the skill and finesse of a conjurer.
Daycia took the letter, broke the seal, and unrolled the parchment. She read slowly, and Joslyn saw her eyes drift back to the beginning of the note more than once. When she finished Daycia dropped the letter into the fire. It flared and then fell to glowing ashes, done before Joslyn could react.
A Warrior of Dreams Page 13