A Warrior of Dreams

by Richard Parks

  Ghost smiled. "You've not eaten wild goat, have you?"

  "No."

  "Well, you shoot it and I'll cook it. Whether we eat it is anybody's guess."

  *

  The nightstage was only the surface, a ripple on the face of the Dark Sea. Inlos paid no attention to the dreams blossoming there. They were all the same at heart—fear and contentment dancing together, an illusion of balance. But there was no balance. The waters moved under everything, waiting.

  That was why Joslyn could not win; everything that had teeth was his domain, and nothing that could hurt him belonged to hers. Let her catch him by surprise, escape him for a while. It didn't matter; there was time.

  Inlos left the dreams behind, moved farther out into darkness. Islands appeared, dim shapes rippling like water around a stone. Inlos soon found what he was looking for.

  A scent of fear.

  It lingered still at the site of the broken dream. He kneeled where the scent was strongest, fingers spread wide as he caressed the boundary. It's here. Something she made of the cloth I wove for her. It remembers.

  Inlos found the place where the fear was strongest, and there he left the nightstage behind, slipping across the boundary like a diver breaking the surface of the ocean. He went mad again. What else was there to do? He swam in nightmares, bathed in the screams of a world. They were all there: fears of dying gave themselves substance in millions of little deaths, every one that was waiting for a dreamer above. Sometimes Inlos could hear the groans of sleepers buried alive in their dreams, but not this night. He was far away from the cities; here there were more formless terrors, voices that were only echoes. Inlos picked out one echo among all the others, a voice he knew by the name it carried.

  JOSLYN.

  A little lost one. How sad. Inlos played the hound, and the Dark Sea wrapped that form around him. He went on all fours, testing the wind. The smell of fear was a delicious tickle in his nose, guiding him to the echo.

  Its outline was not so very clear. It was a man—boy, really—whose features seemed hazy, as if viewed through a fog, and no matter how close Inlos came the haze did not go away. He could see wounds, blood, but little else. The first time he'd worked from an imperfect idea of Joslyn's fear; this time he would have it all.

  She fought the image, he mused. She almost won. Inlos wondered for a moment what there was about this boy's memory that frightened Joslyn so much. He shrugged. Not important. What mattered was that there was enough left of the image to work with, a place to start building the weapon that would revenge himself on Joslyn. It took a conscious effort to shape-shift from the image the Dark Waters had forced on him, but when it was done, he stood on human legs again and smiled his friendliest smile at the wretched phantom.

  "What is your name?"

  "Dyaros."

  *

  Joslyn was stubborn; she chased the goats and the sun into darkness before she finally gave up.

  They seemed so carefree and trusting, today. But when Joslyn went back with the arbalest, they were no longer so carefree or trusting. They were, however, very nimble. Joslyn waited till the moon was clear of the horizon and used the bright night sky to guide her back to the camp. She found Ghost there and wasn't greatly surprised to see that he'd been to the boat. A small pot simmered low over the fire.

  "Daycia packed some dried herbs and lentils with the rest," he said. "I think it'll make a passable soup."

  Joslyn put her weapon down and sat on a fallen pillar. "You haven't asked about the goats."

  The camp lantern cast half of Ghost's face into shadow as he stirred the lentils. "Was something sarcastic called for?"

  "Yes."

  "Pity... I used to be good at spotting those chances—"

  Ghost stopped in mid-sentence as if he'd forgotten how to speak. He stared past Joslyn's shoulder, and she turned to look. They'd camped in a small valley between two of the largest hills, and near the west where the land started to rise again there was a small wood. There was a blue light among the trees.

  "Come on," said Ghost. He picked up the lantern and started toward the glow without another word.

  Joslyn followed, but only after she'd moved the pot off the fire and retrieved her crossbow. She almost had to run to catch him, and when she did, she grabbed his arm. "Will you be a little more cautious?" Joslyn whispered, "We could be walking into an Ender camp!"

  "I've never seen a blue campfire in my life, and if you have I'd love to know how the trick was done."

  Ghost was right, but that didn't stop Joslyn from loading the crossbow as she walked. She had to stop to cock the trigger, and when she did Ghost gained several steps on her. She caught him again just past the first line of trees, but only because he stopped.

  "I'm not a real ghost," he said, "I may not be a real anything. But I did wonder what the true thing looked like."

  Ghost was looking at the woman made of blue light. She stood among the trees at the foot of the farthest hill, and, though her image wavered and rippled like a reflection on water, the shadows around her were motionless. While they watched her light began to fade.

  ... LITTLE TIME, DREAMWATCHER.

  The voice in her head was fainter than a whisper, and for a moment Joslyn wasn't sure it was real. But she had heard it before when it was stronger, and there was no mistaking.

  "Ghost, did you hear that?"

  He shook his head, looking at her curiously. The voice answered her next question before she had entirely formed it.

  NO ONE TO SPEAK TO, THERE. NO ONE INSIDE TO LISTEN. The voice gathered strength, but there was a price. The Blue Lady's outline became indistinct for a moment, then returned.

  WHAT... WITH ME?

  Joslyn understood, and didn't waste time dissembling. To help you if we could. For you to help us if you could. But you defeated the Ender alone and so we have nothing to bargain with.

  HE DEFEATED HIMSELF AND WAS GLAD OF IT IN THE END, I BELIEVE. NO MATTER. I WILL SPEAK WITH YOU.

  Joslyn's breath escaped in a little gasp; only then did she realize she'd been holding it. She understood, for a moment, what hope must feel like to Ghost. Where are you?

  There was no answer, but the apparition sank in on itself until there was nothing left but a little were-light floating among the trees. It began to recede, and Joslyn grabbed Ghost's arm. "Come on!"

  Ghost followed, passive. "I watched your face, girl. She spoke to you, didn't she?"

  Joslyn dodged the subject like a poorly-thrown stone. "She'll speak to both of us," she said, "if we stop wasting time we don't have."

  The nimbus vanished, but Joslyn had marked its path very clearly in her mind, and they found the source. Ghost traced the outline of a door cut into the hill. The posts were two columns of white marble carved into spiraling vines, supporting a lintel very plain by contrast. It had one decoration only: in the very center a bas-relief of a flowering rose.

  "A temple?" asked Joslyn.

  Ghost nodded. "Or a tomb. And for a Firstborn in this age, I'm not sure which is more appropriate." He turned the lantern's weak glow into the darkness beyond, but it did not reach very far. "Come on, then."

  The passage sloped downward and was very narrow. Several times along the way, the lantern flickered, and Joslyn felt a breath of cool air on her skin.

  "Ventilation shafts," said Ghost. "That might rule out 'tomb.'"

  "Or not," Joslyn said. She was feeling the darkness close around her and began to keep mental tabs on the oil supply in the lantern. The slope finally ended; the last several feet of it dropped so sharply that they were cut into steps that led down to a polished stone floor. They descended, cautiously, and stood together for a while, their breaths mingling in pale white clouds. Joslyn shivered. "What now?"

  Ghost adjusted the wick until the flame grew a bit and then raised the lantern high. "Now we find out."

  They were in a very large room. Even with the greater light they could not see all of it, but they did see the wall opposite th
e steps and the great throne-like stone flanked by twin shadows. When Joslyn's eyes adjusted to the stronger light, she could even see the pale figure seated there.

  WELCOME.

  Joslyn led the way, Ghost close behind her. The flanking shadows were two large openings cut into the wall of the cavern; the throne was the same as it looked at a distance, though now they could see how the stone had been carved, its curves and depressions exactly fitted to the one who sat there. The Aversa's hair flowed over her shoulders; thick, fur-lined robes draped her slight frame. Her eyes were closed, but when Ghost looked past her at the open passages, Joslyn heard her again.

  NO FARTHER. It was a plea, not a command.

  Joslyn put a hand on Ghost's shoulder. We will not. Can—can you speak aloud? My friend cannot hear you.

  DO YOU WISH HIM TO HEAR?

  Joslyn did not really understand what the Aversa meant, but her fear was that, if she tried, she just might. She took a breath. Yes.

  The Aversa's eyes slowly opened. Joslyn looked into the large amber depths she'd first seen on the Darsan nightstage. There was recognition in the Aversa's eyes, and more beside. Joslyn's head felt light, and the effort of keeping her hope in check threatened to burst her.

  "We've come—"

  "Full of questions." The Aversa nodded. "I know... and my time is short."

  "Are you ill?" Ghost asked.

  She shook her head. "Not as you understand it. I'm entering athyran, the sleep without dreams. I would have done so already if the Ender had not interrupted me. The others have gone before me, and my work is done now. I will join them."

  "Why? It is peaceful enough here. And the Ender doesn't threaten you now."

  "I made my choice long before the Ender came. You saw what was left of our city above; there is no place for us in this age. We will wait, and perhaps there will be another time... No matter. Did you see the altar?"

  Ghost nodded. "We tore down most of it and added a few stones to the grave of the follower of Malitus."

  The Firstborn smiled. "His Master's name was Gahon, though poor Crucian did not know... I am sad for him."

  "Was his altar no danger to you, then?" Joslyn asked.

  She shook her head. "Not the altar... itself. Nothing but stone and dirt and all his prayers would not have changed that. But Crucian thought his pain was that of the world, of the sick dream trying to die, and every stone he placed carried the weight of it. It would have crushed me, and Crucian bore it alone for years—for that he deserved a place to rest, and the small kindness you did him."

  Joslyn fell silent, and the Aversa turned her attention on Ghost. He returned her gaze, and Joslyn thought she saw a flicker of... something, in his eyes. A spark she had not often seen.

  Ghost spoke first. "You knew we were coming." The Aversa nodded, and he went on, "Do you know why?"

  "The Dreamwatcher said you wanted my help."

  Joslyn bit her lip. Pray he doesn't --

  Ghost blinked. "Dreamwatcher? Why do you call her that?"

  Too late. Even if all the gods who ever meddled were listening to her prayer. Joslyn still didn't know why the Aversa offered her secret speech, but she cursed herself for not accepting.

  "Because that is what she does. I think it is all she does, now. She is scarred, like Crucian, and merely chooses a different sort of stone for her altar..."

  Joslyn wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go except darkness. "Damn..."

  Ghost looked at her. "I don't understand—"

  "Understand this," snapped Joslyn. "There is very little time, and you're wasting it!" She turned to the Aversa. "You said earlier that there was no one inside him to hear you. Do you know why?"

  The Aversa yawned. "He has no tekre... what you call Nightsoul. Is that what you've come to ask me about?"

  Ghost leaned forward. "You know, then? You know where it is?"

  "Yes," said the Aversa, and pointed at Joslyn, "and so does she."

  The chill crept past Joslyn's skin and into her bones. She shook her head. "I know it lies beyond the Nightstage, beyond the wall. I don't know how to reach it, how to search—"

  The Aversa shook her head, slowly. "You could not know that there is a wall, without knowing the way to find it. Don't be foolish, girl. Your bemused friend here could end the world while you dally."

  Joslyn knew Ghost was looking at her and pretended not to notice. He turned back to the Firstborn. "Joslyn has had fear of me, too. Why? What is there about me that is such a peril?"

  The Aversa yawned again, and Joslyn could almost feel the weariness in the woman's eyes. "I don't know. There are others like you, but not like you. Somna's dream shudders now, and as long as you are what you are, the world is safe for no one. I will sleep, but I fear there may be no awakening."

  "If it's true that I'm a threat—and Joslyn has sensed it too, I think—What if I don't continue?" Ghost asked. "This is a pleasant enough spot—I could die here."

  The Aversa turned away from him. "It is hard enough for you to live as it is. Death might be a kindness for you—or it might end the dream itself. So much uncertainty... I do know Gahon has played the game well this time. It might be over."

  For a while Joslyn felt her part in the play was done, that all remaining belonged to Ghost and the Aversa woman. But the Firstborn's serenity was more than Joslyn could handle. She felt as if the air was full of delicate things that an ill-chosen word could shatter, but she could not keep silent any longer. "You take the triumph of evil very calmly, Firstborn."

  The Aversa yawned again, but Joslyn saw something besides weariness on her face—amusement. "I take the triumph of Gahon calmly," she said, "since there's nothing else I can do. As for evil..." she shrugged, slightly, "Gahon has been called by many names over the years: Demon, Destroyer, Prince of Nightmares... But there is a name forgotten these days, the name he bore before all those—Gahon the Lover."

  Joslyn frowned and looked at Ghost, but he was no help. He stood without expression, arms folded, totally motionless. Joslyn shook her head. "You make it sound like a courtship."

  "Do I? But Gahon is of the same race as Somna, a Lifedreamer. One who can weave creation to suit himself. Yet all our legends, all our fears speak of nothing but his hunger to destroy Somna's world. Why? Why no greater purpose, he who could as easily create his own worlds? Why deny himself that marvel for petty spite?"

  Despite herself, the Aversa's words made Joslyn pause. "I never thought of that."

  "Then think further: all that we are is an echo of Somna, and that includes our emotions—all of them. Even love. Now consider how long the dream that is us has lasted, how long Somna has been alone with the children of her own imagination. Consider one who loves our Dreamer watching her odd—one might even say unhealthy—interest in this one dream. Unable to interfere directly without risking her love. Working through others. Waiting. Gahon does not want what we want and that makes him our enemy, but don't presume a righteousness no one can claim—don't call him evil."

  The Aversa's tone reminded Joslyn so much of Musa, and how she always made Joslyn feel as if she'd just done something wrong. Not done deliberately, of course, not a conscious choice of right or wrong. More like a child who knows no better. Joslyn desperately wanted to say something, anything, but she had no answer the Aversa would understand. She had no answer at all.

  And there was no time.

  The Aversa's breathing was very slow and measured, her eyes half-closed. "You must leave me now," she said.

  "Please..." Joslyn said, forgetting her anger, and trying to forget her guilt. "At least tell me how to begin the search for Ghost's soul!"

  The Aversa shook her head. "What you want is for me to tell you another way, and there is no other way. There is only the way you know."

  Joslyn took a breath. "I—I don't remember."

  The Aversa's eyelids flickered open for a moment; Joslyn again felt the weight of time and distance measuring her. Then the feeling was gone. "I hope you do re
member," The Aversa said, "for I swear you will never reach that place again except through the same door..."

  Eyes closed, movements slow but graceful, the Aversa rose. She stepped down from her seat and past Joslyn, past Ghost, and walked toward one of the passageways behind the stone chair.

  Joslyn took a step forward. "Please --"

  Now Ghost put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her back. "Come."

  Ghost half led, half dragged Joslyn back up the steps and into the narrow stone corridor. She kept looking back, even after the blackness had closed around their puny lantern and there was nothing at all to be seen. The entrance finally appeared as a ghostly patch of lesser darkness. When they emerged into the true night the air was suddenly very warm and heavy after their time in the cave. Joslyn's breathing seemed wrong to her, gasping and short. It took her a while to realize she was crying.

  Ghost leaned against the hill, his arms outstretched to each corner of the lintel. "Self-pity," he said. "One emotion I know well enough. It's not so honest as anger, not so painful and sweet as love. But it's always so easy. Stop it, girl. Or cry for her—" he nodded into the cave, "or for me. We have more need."

  Joslyn's honest anger won just for a moment. She looked at him through the mist in her eyes. "H-how would you know? You know nothing --"

  "And what do you know, Joslyn?" Silence. "Weep for me, indeed. I have been trouble for you from the beginning, but your final 'nothing,' this thing you've hidden so long has done for me. At least my grave may be tight against prying eyes, but this..." Ghost stared at the opening as if it was a poisoned wound, offensive to sight and smell. "They're defenseless, now. It's not right..."

  Later Joslyn blamed her anger and fear for making her so thick, for not letting her see what was happening. And then it was done. When Ghost stepped away there was no door at all. The hill's side was an unbroken grassy slope to the forest floor. Ghost had changed the dream again.