A Warrior of Dreams

by Richard Parks

  Hello...?

  HELLO.

  I'm in no mood to play, Musa. Go away.

  SOON. SOON I WILL GO AWAY. I'M NOT... MUSA? NO. I AM MYSELF.

  Joslyn sat up. Either Musa—or the one she thought of as Musa—was disguising how she sounded in the aether of dream, or...

  Who are you?

  MYSELF. A hint of annoyance there. TOLD YOU.

  Joslyn was a little annoyed too, but somehow she didn't think 'Myself was being difficult by choice. She—that was the one thing Joslyn was sure about—seemed to have trouble grasping the sense of words easily. Joslyn tried again. Do you have a name?

  A long silence. THINK SO... SOMEWHERE. IS IT IMPORTANT?

  Joslyn turned her head slowly. The voice was inside her head, but that didn't mean it had no direction. She heard it like a voice calling from a distance, and by 'listening' carefully, she was able to tell that direction. By now all the warnings had flashed into her mind, just as they were supposed to. She was an Ender adept. She was a servant of Tagramon. She was mad. All there in place, row on shining row. Joslyn ignored them. She did sense danger underneath the stranger's words, but it wasn't aimed at her. Are you in trouble?

  YES...

  The voice was fainter now. Joslyn made her best guess and set off. She didn't know where she was going, so there was no way to make speed except by running, and Joslyn ran. She felt a vast sense of urgency, that delay might bring disaster. Where are you?

  FAR.

  Wait then. I'm coming.

  Fainter still. CANNOT.

  I'm losing her...

  The voice again, stronger but not much, as if the stranger were gathering all her fading strength for one last shout.

  STOP.

  Joslyn stopped. There was a faint glow up ahead, but it wasn't a dream in any sense she understood. It quickly resolved itself into the shape of a woman about Joslyn's height, with long red hair that covered her shoulders and back. She wore a shapeless dress, almost like a robe, with spiral patterns stitched into the cloth in blue thread. All this Joslyn took in with one glance, after that all her attention was on the woman's eyes. Set in a thin, pointed face, her eyes were golden with no whites or pupils, like two polished discs of amber.

  Joslyn had a new question now. What are you?

  FIRSTBORN, GIRL.

  She faded even as she spoke. Joslyn knew she had never been there at all—it was a projected image, a dream casting. Not an illusion, Joslyn was certain. She had seen the woman as she was—somewhere.

  Firstborn?

  Joslyn didn't understand what had happened but at the moment that didn't matter. It was time to leave. Joslyn turned and saw the other dreamer. She had been standing in the mists behind Joslyn, watching. Joslyn broke into a smile of relief. "Alyssa!"

  Alyssa didn't smile, and when Joslyn took a step toward her, Alyssa took a step back. The few moments that followed were long and cold, because Joslyn understood. "Not you, Alyssa. Not for Tagramon."

  Alyssa fled. Joslyn forgot her weariness, ignored the pull that came stronger and stronger, the feel of the daysoul trying to waken. You can't outrun me!

  I can try.

  It was like two marsh-lights playing tag—Alyssa trying to escape the circle of the Darsan Nightstage, Joslyn moving to block her, hem her in. For long moments this went on; Joslyn felt her time growing shorter and shorter. Finally, Alyssa tried a different tack, and cut back into the heart of the Darsan night.

  If I lose her now...

  Joslyn knew that it didn't matter if Alyssa escaped or not; nothing could prevent her betraying Joslyn to the Dream Master, if that was her intention. But there was something still unresolved.

  Joslyn caught Alyssa by the glow of a ragged dream that flickered and writhed, glowed and darkened like a failing campfire.

  Alyssa struggled. "Let me go!"

  Joslyn shook her head. "Not before you tell me why. And don't say 'Dream Master's command.' This is me, Alyssa."

  Alyssa stopped fighting, but she wouldn't meet Joslyn's eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

  Despite Joslyn's best efforts, all the menace and posturing fell away from her like rotted cloth. "Alyssa, you were my friend. You owe me that much."

  Alyssa said nothing and did nothing for many long moments. She finally nodded, beaten. "All right, Joslyn. I had to search for you... because of Ter. Since we were forced to "rest," he's been retreating into his own dreams every night, unable to perform an augury. The Dream Master was going to release him from his oath—let him go. But if I agreed to help find you..."

  "He'd release you, too?"

  Alyssa shook her head, and she looked like she was fighting a smile. "I said you wouldn't understand. Joslyn, he said he'd let Ter stay." Joslyn's shock must have shown on her face; anger crept into Alyssa's voice. "Joslyn, we have nowhere else to go!"

  "Nowhere?! With the whole of the world to choose from?"

  Alyssa laughed. "You sang the tune differently back in the Temple, for all that you loathed making oracles. Do you know where I was when Tagramon found me?"

  Joslyn dismissed that. "On the street, Alyssa. As I was."

  "Yes, friend. But which one?"

  Joslyn caught her meaning. "I didn't know."

  Alyssa shrugged. "Ter has always been such a child; it was up to me to take care of us. Maybe the Temple isn't honest, but it's a better trade than I had. I—I won't go back there, Joslyn. Not for you, not for anyone."

  Joslyn's arms fell to her sides and she stepped back. "All right, Alyssa. You'd better hurry home."

  Alyssa frowned. "Just like that? You're letting me go?"

  Joslyn laughed a bitter laugh. "There was never any question of that. Morning calls me no less strongly than it calls you. But a friend betrayed me and I had to know why. Now I do. It's all right, Alyssa. In your place I might have done the same."

  Much later, when hindsight crystallized the moment for her, Joslyn realized her forgiveness was the worst blow she could have dealt Alyssa. Cursing, attacking, either would have been better than Joslyn's calm acceptance. Anything else would have given her the anger she so desperately needed. As it was, Alyssa was left with nothing at all.

  "Somna damn you..."

  Alyssa turned blindly and stepped right into the shadowed glow, just as Joslyn finally understood what the chaos of that particular dream meant.

  The boy on the beach!

  The moment was frozen in place, it seemed. There was time to realize what Alyssa had stepped into. There was time for fear to strike hard and cold inside Joslyn's body and mind.

  But time to warn Alyssa, none at all.

  Joslyn did it before she thought—she plunged into the dream like a swimmer into the ocean after a drowning friend.

  And the Dark Sea was waiting.

  Chapter 12—Joyous

  Inlos lived in an isolated wing of the Temple of Somna. Those who saw to his needs asked no questions and tried not to think about what they saw in his eyes. Only two people in the Temple knew his name. Neither of them was among his keepers.

  Belor knew. He walked down the corridor, his slow, arthritic gait echoing its rhythm against the narrow walls. He met one of the attendants just as the man was exiting Inlos's rooms. He carried a tray covered with stained white cloth. With practiced unconcern, he acknowledged Belor with a little bow. "Holiness."

  Belor nodded absently. "Is he sane today?"

  The question seemed to give the attendant priest a little trouble. "Holiness, I'm not sure. He's said nothing all day; mostly he lies in his bed and sobs as if his heart would break."

  A smile touched the corner of Belor's mouth. "Then he's sane." He dismissed the priest and the man scuttled away, looking grateful. Belor rapped once on the door, got no answer, and went in.

  The priest had the gist of it: a lean young man with unkempt dark hair lay diagonally across a comfortable-looking bed. His brown eyes were rimmed with tears and swollen. The rest of the room was in better order than Inlos just then: paintings o
f mystical themes hung straight on the walls; a tall bookshelf nestled securely against the near wall, the scrolls stacked neatly, the few leather-bound books in place. Sometimes the situation was quite the reverse—Inlos in smiling serenity in his bed, the room total chaos. But then the keeper priests would scurry into the room like the hearth-sprites of legend and put all to rights again.

  Except, of course, for Inlos. He fixed the High Priest with one bleary eye. "Today," he announced, "is tragedy."

  Belor sat in the cushioned chair. "The day itself or your attitude toward it?"

  Inlos looked petulant. He sounded that way, too. "Since my perception is the only one that matters, I fail to see the difference."

  "Quite right," soothed Belor, "but I have some news that may cheer you."

  "I doubt it," Inlos said, "but you have my permission to try."

  "Thank you," Belor said. There was no mockery in his voice, but it rang loud and clear in his mind. His ability to keep those particular echoes silent was the main reason Tagramon sent him to speak with Inlos—the Dream Master had never really mastered the art of dealing with this particular dream talent. Belor began to pluck the strings that would produce the melody he wanted. "We found Joslyn."

  Tears still glistened in the young man's eyes, but the sobbing stopped. There might even have been a flicker of interest, but his darkened lids closed and he yawned. "Certainly took you long enough. Where was the dear girl hiding?"

  "Darsa, apparently," Belor said, letting just the right hint of half-truth and things hidden to creep into his tone.

  An obedient fish, Inlos rose to the bait. "Apparently? I thought you were sure."

  Belor spread his hands. "As certain as one can be in these matters. When Alyssa returned as she did, well..."

  Inlos sat up by the massive headboard, drew his feet under him, and sat cross-legged like a Sulidun chieftain. He wagged a finger in Belor's direction. "Tell me all there is, Belor, and be quick because I am not a patient man."

  Another way of saying you have the attention span of a child. That's all right, lad—I can be patient for both of us.

  Belor went on to describe Alyssa's awakening. How many White Robes it had taken to prevent her from tearing the flesh of her face away. How she fared now, bound and locked away with the shards of her mind.

  Inlos listened until the end, and by then his eyes were dry and thoughtful looking. "Joslyn...?"

  Belor shrugged. "Alyssa was too cautious to get involved in anything she couldn't handle. Unless, of course, she was pushed. And Joslyn is a powerful dreamer."

  "Darsa, you said?"

  "Yes. She and that man must be there. We hate to ask this, you know that, but..."

  Inlos smiled in satisfaction. "But you need my help. Because I'm the only one who can help."

  Belor put his hands together and then opened them, palm up, in a gesture of surrender. "Just so."

  Inlos stopped smiling. "Wouldn't it be easier to just kill them both?"

  "Simpler," Belor conceded, "assuming we could find them. But it's no secret that the Temple functions, shall we say, less efficiently in Darsa. And Joslyn is the renegade, not the poor fool she seduced into helping her. Your way would make a better example."

  Inlos grinned. "You said it. You actually said the words. My way! Yes, of course it would." Inlos turned sullen. "But I didn't think you'd admit it."

  Belor shrugged. "I'm a practical man. Superior ability makes for superior results. I merely state the facts."

  Inlos brightened again, but only for a moment. "If it was Joslyn who scrambled that silly girl's head for her, then Joslyn knows she's been found. She'll be moving."

  "They won't have time to go far. And since you know where to start looking, I doubt she'll escape you."

  Inlos wasn't really listening. He stared at the velvet coverlet of his bed, fascinated. He reached out and touched it, gingerly, as if it would shrink away from him. "It's soft. Would Joslyn's skin feel anything like it, I wonder? Will madness bring out her inner beauty? So many questions, Belor. Pain strips the masks away. Pain is the greatest god."

  The High Priest said nothing, his certainty fading a little. Inlos was dancing on the edge as always, but sometimes it was hard to tell which side of the knife he would fall. "Then the Temple can count on your help?"

  Inlos was drifting into a Change; Belor saw it in his eyes. "The Temple can count on me to do whatever amuses me at the moment."

  Inlos suddenly grinned, bounced off the bed like an excited child, and began to pull the paintings off the wall, one after the other. Belor bowed slightly and took his leave, but as he walked down the hall, his hands were involved in a little pantomime: that of a man rolling up and tucking away an empty leash.

  *

  In the short time since her waking, Joslyn's room had transformed into a council room. Ghost and Daycia were there, and Kessa. Meleay, her child riding in a sling on her side, brought Joslyn a cup of tea heavily laced with something strong and soothing. Joslyn needed it; she could barely hold the cup for trembling.

  Predictably, it was Daycia who cut to the heart of the matter. "I think we can assume you've been found."

  Joslyn nodded, holding the cup with both hands. "I think we can."

  Ghost wasn't convinced. "But Joslyn, you told us what happened to poor Alyssa. It isn't likely she'll tell Tagramon of your meeting."

  Daycia didn't say anything to that. Joslyn didn't give her a chance. "Ghost, don't be stupid!" she snapped. "Tagramon at the very least will wonder how Alyssa came to grief, and that means they'll concentrate on Darsa, and that means we have to leave. Immediately." It seemed to Joslyn that, even in her rattled condition, she was thinking clearer than Ghost. That worried her.

  Daycia backed her up. "I'm afraid you're right. I should question why the Dream Master suspects you're capable of such a thing, but I won't. Your abilities must be great, for him to fear you as he obviously does."

  Ghost subsided, though he still looked thoughtful. Daycia seemed to think the time for consideration was past. "Kessa, find Tolas and make certain there's no unusual activity around this place. I doubt the Temple has very many agents here, but we'd best make sure. Hurry."

  Kessa left, Meleay close behind. Daycia hesitated at the door. "I'm sorry, but it's become too dangerous for you to remain. I'll see what I can do about getting you both safely away."

  Joslyn kept silent until she was gone. "I'll be surprised if she doesn't hand us over to the Watchers herself."

  "She won't do that," Ghost said.

  Joslyn put her head in her hands. "Don't be so trusting."

  Ghost frowned. "Trust has nothing to do with it. It'd be difficult to surrender us without implicating herself. Much easier just to kill us and hide the bodies. Neater, too."

  Now who's thinking clearly? The way Ghost's mind worked was startling at times, but polite disinterest in his own survival made it possible to consider all sides of a situation with annoying clarity. Joslyn tried to match it. "Then we'd better be as little trouble as possible... oh, damn."

  "What is it?"

  "I just remembered the woman I met on the nightstage. I think she was in trouble."

  "From what you tell me of the Darsan nightstage I'm not surprised. What sort of trouble?"

  Joslyn shook her head. "I didn't get a chance to find out. She wasn't really there—it was a projection of some kind... from the south, I think."

  "A sending is a high order of dream skill, Joslyn. Didn't she say anything?"

  "Yes, but it didn't make a lot of sense." Joslyn related the meeting as best she remembered and was a little uneasy to see that Ghost's reaction bordered on excitement.

  "She said 'Firstborn'? You're sure?"

  "Yes, Ghost." Joslyn felt the beginnings of a bad headache.

  "Did you see her eyes?"

  Joslyn had almost forgotten that most distinct feature and was a little annoyed with herself. "No whites," she muttered. "Golden, like unfaceted amber. Does that help? And if your n
ext question is 'Did I dream her'; the answer is no."

  Ghost shrugged. "It's possible you did, whether you know it or not. But I hope..." He hesitated, looking confused.

  "Hope what?"

  He shook his head in wonder. "Hope at all. But I do, I actually do. Marvelous!"

  "Ghost, what are you talking about?"

  "Hope, Joslyn. There's a trace of it still swimming around in these dead waters of mine. I wasn't sure of that till now. Didn't even suspect, really..." Ghost finally noticed the growing pain in Joslyn's eyes. He finished the thought quickly. "I meant to say that I hope you didn't dream her, because if not, you've met an Aversa."

  "There are no more Aversa, if they ever existed," Joslyn said. "I've studied dreamcraft under adepts for two years now, and I've yet to meet anyone who even claimed to have seen one."

  "You just did," Ghost pointed out. "That means there's at least one. South, you said?"

  "South," Joslyn repeated, not really interested. Her headache was assuming the proportions of a full-scale assault, complete with blaring trumpets and thundering horses.

  "Then that's where we go." Ghost's voice had the distinct tone of a discussion ended.

  Joslyn was suddenly interested again. "Ghost, there's nothing south of here but ocean. It's very deep, it's very wet, and nothing in legend implied that the Aversa had gills. I know I don't."

  A little emotion seemed to go a long way in Ghost. He put his little thread of hope back on the loom, and when it came off it was something like annoyance. "One: we're not going to walk. Two: you know nothing about the Southern Ocean. Three: if there is a Firstborn still in this world, she might be the only one left in this world who can help us. And we need help, Joslyn. Or do you think we can hide from the Dream Master forever?"

  Joslyn shook her head and regretted the act immediately. She put one hand on either side of her head but just couldn't stop it from spinning. Ghost sat down on the bed and began massaging her neck up to the base of her skull. It was as if someone had opened a window and let in a blast of cool, fresh air. The throbbing eased; the room stopped its maddening pirouette. Without the haze of pain, her thoughts became coherent again. "Ghost, there's no guarantee that finding out either what happened to your soul or why the Dream Master wants me dead will make the slightest difference."