City of nightmares.
*
Kessa's dream was easy to find; it stood to the other dreams in Darsa as a bonfire to a tallow candle. Joslyn wondered for a moment what gave her the strength to hold off the despair that was the Darsan Nightstage. She was young, but so were others, and Darsa broke young and old alike on the same dark wheel. Whatever it was, Joslyn hoped it stood by her tonight.
I pray Kessa doesn't think this will be easy.
Joslyn willed herself into the dream and immediately felt a strong sense of relief. Kessa was deep within a play, her untrained Nightsoul unable to maintain the awareness that enabled it to move apart from the phantoms of a sleeping mind.
This might make things simpler.
Joslyn waited, unable to resist watching the play before ending it. Kessa was back in the pillar in the marketplace, only now she had her arbalest out and aimed. Joslyn understood Kessa's intent in the split second left before she carried it out. Kessa's bolt sang through the air and ended the sacrifice's righteous pain forever.
The Enders were not grateful.
In a moment the pillar was surrounded by a howling mob of them, swarming over the base of the pedestal like black ants. Kessa reloaded and fired again, and the acolyte highest on the vines screamed and fell. She killed another as easily, and this one in his fall carried two others with him. The rest of the mob scrambled over their broken bodies without a pause, intent on climbing the pillar and rending Kessa to bloody pieces.
Joslyn almost moved to take Kessa out of the nightmare before she realized it wasn't a nightmare. There was no fear, no choking weight, no sense of suffocation and dread. Kessa smiled as she worked the arbalest; her arms were tireless, her quiver always full, and no matter how quickly the Enders climbed, how fiercely they strained, they were always caught short of their goal when one of Kessa's bolts nailed them to eternity. Kessa killed them with effortless efficiency, and took great delight in the killing.
Joslyn knew then that Kessa had not escaped Darsa; it was a part of her in a way that the others in their tight, hard little dreams could scarcely imagine.
She's touched the Dark Sea.
It's echo was in Kessa's eyes as she killed the snarling targets in her dream, and the anger and hate in her attackers was born within her and merely given form in the Enders. With each shot she whittled away at her hate, fought it by surrendering just enough of herself to draw it out. The light of battle in Kessa's eyes filled her dream, and if it was a battle she could never really win, it was also a battle she could never really lose so long as she kept fighting.
So far gone in her own struggle, and still she thinks of helping Tolas.
Joslyn finally entered the action of Kessa's play with a deep sense of respect. She appeared on the pedestal next to Kessa, the other arbalest in her hand. Kessa was startled, but only for a moment. Perhaps the memory of Joslyn beside her earlier in the day made it easier, but Kessa quickly expanded her perception of the dream to include Joslyn.
Kessa pointed at Joslyn's weapon. "You don't know how to use that."
"I've been watching you." Joslyn quickly fit action to words, loading and firing her weapon, skewering the hand of a priest so impudent as to try to pull himself on top of the pillar. Kessa killed the one next to him cleanly, and for awhile she and Joslyn fought side by side. Joslyn couldn't resist one small change—she gave one priest the smug face of Tagramon and then erased it messily with one well-placed shot.
The Dreamer forgive me, but that felt good!
It was a little distraction, little more than a flicker of a candle in the magic lantern, but it was enough. For that instant Kessa was forced to recognize the dream as something apart from herself. That brought awareness, and awareness ended the dream. The play ended broke with an audible pop! that landed Joslyn and Kessa weaponless and Enderless on an empty stage. Only Joslyn's mental anchor kept the shell of the dream intact, and prevented Kessa from leaving the Nightstage entirely. Kessa sat down slowly, stricken.
Joslyn put her hand on Kessa's shoulder. I didn't mean...
Kessa shook her head. "Yes you did. Even now you speak inside my head, and I can't shut you out..."
Joslyn wanted to grab Kessa and make her understand why she had stolen part of the dream, and how good it felt to strike an enemy that could be reached. And how Joslyn envied Kessa her simple dream, but Joslyn kept her thoughts reined close. She wouldn't understand.
It sounded like an excuse, even to Joslyn. She took Kessa's hand and pulled her upright, and she confined her voice to spoken words. "Come on."
The anger was gone from Kessa's face; fear took its place. "Where?"
"You know where. You either come with me or I enter Tolas's dream without you. Is that what you want?"
Kessa's mouth set in a hard line. "Show me how."
Joslyn took her to the edge, and then she stole part of Kessa's remaining dream and wrapped it around Kessa like a blanket. They stepped clear of the empty stage and it faded away, but the part surrounding Kessa remained, and Joslyn guided that dream through the mists. They traveled until they came to another dream that looked no different from all the others of Darsa, but Kessa knew it at once.
"Here."
Joslyn didn't bother to question her. "Wait for me." Joslyn was away before Kessa could protest, because she had decided to go in alone the first time despite Kessa's wishes. Joslyn had seen enough of Tolas's disposition to know that Kessa might do something that wouldn't do either of them any good. Joslyn was willing to risk that—later. For now, she sized up the scope and intensity of the dream like a scout studying an enemy camp.
So like the others.
That worried Joslyn more than anything—how similar Tolas's dream was to the sort Joslyn had come to expect in Darsa. It was a small one, pulled in tight upon itself, and here and there Joslyn saw dark flashes, hinting of nightmare. Whatever was going on in there, Tolas did not have control of it. That made it dangerous.
I can't stand here all night.
Joslyn entered the dream.
*
Before Jerdan retired, he first lit the incense and made the customary prayer to Malitus, but his mind was on other things. A Storm had been created within the Temple without warning, and an acolyte killed. The death didn't concern him overmuch; acolytes died all the time, and as long as those deaths aided the Great Struggle, who was he to question?
But the Master Echo didn't tell me!
That rankled. That made Brother Jerdan think impious thoughts that interfered with his concentration on the great work. In the marketplace that day, he had passed a small girl, a lovely child with large dark eyes and a beautiful, happy smile, and he hadn't so much as struck her. Oh no! His mind was on the great lapse of Protocol, the insult to his authority! Brother Jerdan was thoroughly disgusted with himself, and for he glory of Malitus, his questions had to be resolved.
I will seek audience tonight.
With a thought it was done. No chance to let his fear grow, watered by time and his presumption. He would speak to the Master Echo and ask, nay demand, an explanation.
Jerdan inhaled the incense, and though it stung his nose and made his eyes tear, he inhaled again, more deeply this time, and he began to feel the effect. His vision did not clear; it remained blurry and hazy, unfocused. He burned himself putting out the candle but was aware of the pain only as from a distance. He staggered the few steps to his rough cot, more fell than lay down on it, and he was asleep so quickly it was like being struck dead.
*
Joslyn returned to find Kessa in dream again, but she did not tread lightly this time. She took Kessa in her fantasy of Tolas and ended it like a door slammed shut. Kessa blinked in confusion as Joslyn held her at arm's length in another empty shell.
"What... what did you say?"
Joslyn repeated it. Very slowly, very distinctly. "You can't help Tolas here," she said, "and neither can I." The disbelief and anger in Kessa's eyes were hard to take, but changed nothing. Kess
a pulled away and Joslyn let her go. "I'm sorry, Kessa, but it's true."
It was also true that Kessa was no trained dreamer, but there was nothing wrong with her will, and right then all her will was intent on hurting someone named Joslyn. "I ought to kill you," she said, and since it was still her dream, she moved easily into the stream of the play. An arbalest appeared in her hands, set and ready.
"Kessa—" Joslyn didn't finish it, because Kessa shot her. The bolt tore through her left breast and exited messily out her back, and for an instant, Kessa's vision held and made the pain very real. Joslyn straightened slowly, her body unmarked, the memory of her agony fading. "I hope you enjoyed that."
Kessa shook her head. "I was a fool to think I could hurt you here, where you're like a damn goddess. However..."
Joslyn read her meaning and closed the gap between them in something less than an instant.
"Let me go! Damn you, let me go..."
Joslyn did no such thing. She held Kessa's struggling Nightsoul with more than her hands—she turned her will on trapping Kessa within the play and, despite Kessa's almost hysterical struggles, kept her there.
"You can't hold me forever!"
Joslyn needed something a little beyond her just then, and she thought back to the one time, long ago, when she tried to sample one of Musa's rarer herbs without asking her. Joslyn remembered Musa's voice when she caught her, and when Joslyn spoke to Kessa, her voice had the same gleaming edge. "Girl, you have no idea of what I can or can't do."
Some of that steel pierced Kessa's anger and she stopped fighting. Joslyn let her go, warily, but Kessa didn't try to escape again. For once, Kessa's hard years carried no extra weight; she was a girl barely sixteen, and there was as much frustration as anger in her voice. "You promised..."
Where have I heard that before? Joslyn almost smiled. "To help. To try. To see what might be done." Joslyn felt more than a little uncomfortable trying to throw down wisdom from the height of her eighteen years, and the hurt and betrayal in Kessa's eyes didn't help much. "Kessa, I tell you..." Joslyn stopped, and after a moment she smiled grimly. "No, I'll show you." Without giving Kessa time to hesitate or resist, Joslyn wrapped her in the tatters of the dream and led her through the mist.
*
Jerdan awoke in a place he did not know. It was not the Hall of Audience, an echo of the real one in the Temple. But it was a temple of some kind. There was a massive ebony altar beside him, and beyond that, vague outlines of what must have been pillars, but if so, they were as wide and thick as granaries. Beyond that he could see nothing at all.
"Master?"
It wasn't so an increase of light as a lessening of the darkness. The chair appeared on the far side of the altar, and there sat the Echo of Malitus. He wore the dark robes of an Ender, but his face was hidden in the depths of his hood, and his hands were covered with black leather gloves. "Shall I bark for you, Brother?"
Jerdan licked his lips. "Master, I don't understand."
"Then it's well you serve Malitus with the force of your conviction, since your intellect serves no one. You summoned me as you would a faithful hound. I thought I should act the part."
The Master Echo's face remained hidden as always, but Jerdan could feel his eyes on him like two arrows set to the nock and awaiting only a word. Jerdan fell to his knees. "F-forgive me, Master Echo. I know it was presumptuous, but I thought—"
The Master laughed. "No, Jerdan. If you had thought, even for a moment, you wouldn't have done it. Do you know where you are, Jerdan?"
"No, Master."
"This is the Temple of Malitus."
Jerdan looked around him, confused. "But there's no room like this in the Temple."
"You mean that lop-sided barracks you so lovingly designed? No, Jerdan. Look beyond the altar again. What do you see?"
"I don't see anything."
Jerdan sensed, but did not see, the smile. "Yes, Jerdan—nothing. Beyond where we stand—nothing. Beyond the presence of Malitus—nothing. This is our Temple, Brother. Our most sacred shrine. And you are the first Brother of the Order to see it."
Jerdan tried to fight back his growing fear. "I am honored."
"I am tired, Jerdan. At my age, travel on the dream plane is not as easy as it once was. So when you summoned me, I summoned you. As I do so often when I choose an acolyte for our special work. Here they are purified of all impediments to that work. Their reason, for a start."
Jerdan finally understood. "You mean the Storms."
"Yes, Brother. Mindless forces of nature, striking at random without rhyme, reason, mercy or understanding. The name suits them."
Jerda seized the opening. "But that's why I risked your anger, Master—the Storms! I must speak with you."
"And so you shall."
It happened in an instant. Suddenly Jerdan was looking up into blackness, his arms and legs tightly bound by fetters he couldn't see. He strained to turn his had and realized, his horror growing, just where he was.
The Master Echo strolled casually around the altar, his gloved hands caressing the cool stone. "Consider the advantages," he said softly. "No more doubts, no more worries... no more fear. You'll move through the city like your name, striking without warning, destroying contentment, the illusion of security, all the things that are anathema to Malitus. Until the day the Watchers track you down and slice you to martyrdom... Consider it, Jerdan."
"Master, If I've offended you—"
"Why should you think such a thing?" purred the Faceless One. "Don't you realize the honor I'm paying you?"
"Of—of course, Master. But surely I'm more valuable as Brother of the Order?" He didn't sound very hopeful.
The Master Echo paused, the blackness underneath his hood turned directly on Jerdan. "Surely? No. But perhaps..."
As quickly as the scene had changed, it changed again. Jerdan kneeled before the chair where the Master Echo was once more seated. Jerdan no longer felt the invisible manacles and breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Malitus.
The Master leaned back on his dark throne. "As I said, Jerdan—perhaps. Until your passion for our cause, your devotion is again brought to my attention by such an action as summoning the Great One's humble Echo. Then I don't think I could restrain myself from honoring you suitably. Am I making myself clear, Brother?"
Jerdan put his forehead to the floor. "As the righteousness of our cause, Master."
"Then we won't dwell on it. Now, Brother, tell me what couldn't wait until the appointed time."
Jerdan hesitated. "Compared with the... honor, you sought to bestow, it seems so trivial," he said, "but without warning we weren't able to prepare. I'm not questioning your action, understand, but it cost us a valuable convert."
The Master idly drummed the arm of his chair with his fingers during most of Jerdan's speech. "Did it really?" he finally asked, his voice neutral.
"Yes, one of the Sulidun converts, and we get so few of them. They're far too content with their lives, damn them."
The gloved hand never paused. Jerdan felt each tap like a blow, and the faint sound of them rushed out into the silence like pebbles trying to fill a well. After awhile the thrumming stopped, and the silence was loud indeed.
"Brother Jerdan, what are you talking about?"
"Why... the new Storm! He strangled an acolyte before we could restrain him. Usually we lock them away for 'vigil', but when you created this one without giving us word..." Jerdan was suddenly aware of his own voice. How silly and whining it sounded. Perhaps this awareness was because it seemed to be bouncing off the Master like a stone cliff. "You really don't know, do you?" Jerdan asked.
It was a mistake. A bad one. Jerdan knew it, and his fear gave way to a strange calm. Maybe there was only so much terror in him, and the Master Echo had used it all. Or maybe the reminder of things beyond the Master, beyond his knowledge and power, gave him courage. He didn't know about that, but he was pretty certain of just how much difference his new-found serenity was going to m
ake.
The Master stood. "I do believe," he said, "that you'll be honored after all."
Jerdan was back on the altar, but this time the stone didn't seem so substantial. He felt suspended by his fetters over a void, he felt the strain at his wrists and ankles. When he looked down he saw the swirl of dark waters.
*
The long step into Tolas's dream was a step back in time. Tolas was there: a little younger, a little softer around the eyes and mouth. The scars within that made his gaze hard and his eyes grim were not there. He stood at the corner of two worn streets at the marketplace; Joslyn recognized the tall pillar where she and Kessa had watched the Enders send pain into the world. Only now there were no Enders—a small crowd gathered around Tolas, but it was clear he was in no danger. A cracked leather pack stood beside him on the cobbles, the crowd was friendly and smiling, and Tolas stood tapping one foot, his finger set thoughtfully to his lips as if he had all the time in eternity.
"Ess, what should I do next?"
The pack seemed to squirm; the flap lifted just enough to show the long nose and small, bright eyes of a brown rat. "You might try slicing one of these lovely ladies in two," it said in a squeaky voice. "You might even get it right this time."
There were several gasps from the crowd, though whether triggered by sight of the rat or the sound of it's voice, Joslyn couldn't say. At first she thought the rat was an illusion of the dream, but there were no illusions of that sort here. And she remembered others in Ly Ossia who had the talent of speaking without moving their lips, but of all she had seen, Tolas was the best.
He moved quickly to maintain control of the crowd. "It's all right, good people—Ess may complain, but he usually does as he's told. Would that the rest of his kin in this fair city did the same."
A Warrior of Dreams Page 18