Joslyn created what she needed out of the dream and Kessa's image stood beside her in the eye of the storm.
"Take me to the Temple."
The phantom took Joslyn's hand and led her into the maelstrom. Order followed them as Joslyn retraced every step of the way to the ruined temple: along dismal streets, through the gap in the courtyard wall, down the ramp and into the shattered foundations. She followed the memory into the heart of the broken temple and stopped there. Its task complete, Kessa's image began to waver.
"Thank you," Joslyn said. Dismissed, Kessa and the dream faded together. Joslyn stood in a place emptier than most, even in Darsa. She saw few dreams, only one whose size and intensity looked familiar. Joslyn glanced inside.
Tolas.
Joslyn was at the old temple's Nightstage, but she didn't waste time searching any of the other dreams; she created another one of her own, one that grew and strengthened until it covered the temple and swallowed everything there. Joslyn held all the other dreams nestled within her own and settled down to wait.
Joslyn's dream would not remain idle; images formed, moved, faded only to reform again. Scenes played themselves out in fragments, the players like clock-work figures running down. Joslyn tried to keep her mind tightly focused. She couldn't do it. Her freedom was rain on fertile ground; something would grow there.
Too important to be left to chance.
Joslyn summoned the players herself: first Tolas, his cynical smile shining in the muted light. Next Kessa, armed with every weapon except the one that could help. Meleay and her messy child nestled in a cocoon of feigned madness.
And that left Daycia. Joslyn beckoned her shadow out of the mists on the edge of her dream, cloaked her in form and feature. Welcome. And now... Joslyn put the characters in their places. All except Daycia. Daycia hesitated in that instant when Joslyn imposed her own order on the dream. It was enough. Joslyn removed the rest of the mannikin players and stripped Daycia's cloak away, leaving --
"Daycia. Welcome."
Daycia stood, caught in the glare of the dream. Joslyn saw the urge to flee strong in the woman's face. She also saw it defeated. Daycia slowly relaxed. "Damn you," she said.
"The player always knows her part," Joslyn said, "but I was careless. You nearly made it past me."
"I nearly killed you, too," Daycia said, "when I had the power. One does regret lost chances."
Joslyn watched Daycia's hands open and close slowly. She chose her words with care. "You've kept a group of Dreamers hidden here for better than fifteen years... no, don't bother denying it. All I want to know is this: why?"
Daycia's expression was pure amazement. "Why? To survive, girl! Meleay was barely in her Initiate's's robes; Musa and I were the only two from the higher circle to escape. How long do you think Tagramon would let us live if he knew? Musa chose her hiding place and I chose mine. We've done what training we could to keep the spark alive and that's the beginning and end of it."
"Really? Ghost and I were a danger to you from the first. Why honor Musa's letter at all?"
Daycia shrugged. "For friendship, for what had been... for being a fool. And we've paid, Joslyn. Dearly. When you were baiting your little trap, did you happen to see Kessa?"
Joslyn let the dream end; Daycia stood with her on the Nightstage. Joslyn found Tolas's dream again, and one or two others. No Kessa. Joslyn kept a rein on her fear. "What happened?"
"A stranger woke in her bed. One that looks like her and speaks with her voice and is nothing that Kessa was. She's like Ghost now—your legacy, Joslyn. Our reward."
Joslyn shook her head. "Tagramon," she said. "Finishing his harvest."
Now Daycia looked uncertain. "What are you talking about?" Joslyn told Daycia of her quest into deeper dream, what she found there and what she thought it meant. What she wanted from Daycia. Daycia listened, and when the story was done, she said. "Assuming I believe any of this, you're asking us to destroy ourselves."
Joslyn shook her head. "To take a chance that could restore the Temple." When Daycia's expression didn't change, Joslyn added, "And Kessa." It wasn't much—a flicker of pain quickly gone. She does care about something... as do I. Forgive me, Kessa, but I'll have to use that.
"We can't fight a god!"
"Did I ask you to? Just clear the way," Joslyn said, "If you can keep Tagramon's Dreamers from interfering I'll do the rest. Otherwise Kessa has no hope and neither does the rest of the world."
Daycia sat down in the mist; Joslyn watched her weigh the matter; she could almost hear the scales turn in her head. "And if we fail, Kessa is lost anyway and our enclave revealed."
Joslyn sat down beside her. "If we fail the world ends."
"You believe that, don't you? What if you're wrong?"
"Then Tagramon keeps a pet god on a leash and how long do you think you could hide then?"
Daycia looked at her. "Either way I may see you humbled."
Joslyn nodded to herself. There's Daycia's price met—an excuse to do something foolish. I pray the next recruit comes to terms as easily.
*
The speeches were finally done; Wessys had stopped listening when the message began to repeat, each priest taking the bare bones of Master Ligen's visionary dream and fleshing it with his own ponderous eloquence. Master Ligen moved through the Ender camp, and Wessys could not remember when he had seen the Brother of the Order so happy.
Their camp was within sight of the walls of Ly Ossia. Wessys was still weak with fatigue from the forced march, his belly empty. Supplies had been gathered hastily before their march from Darsa, and now food was scarce and water rationed. None of that mattered according to Master Ligen. Malitus had decreed that the City of the Temple of Somna would fall, and fall it would. In the morning their struggle would be over. Within the Ender camp eager acolytes sharpened their knives one last time; some still sang the hymns of the march. Wessys looked across the plain to a wall where the setting sun gleamed on helms and the points of long spears. The Dream will defend itself tomorrow. Has that occurred to anyone yet?
Wessys shook his head and looked to his own knife, and when the songs finally grew large enough to surround him, he joined them. His doubts he pushed aside, for when he looked around the perimeter at the narrowly spaced sentinels, he had at least one certainty to hold against it:
No way out.
*
It wasn't the first time Ghost had smiled at his own stupidity; he knew it might be the last.
The wall had been repaired.
Ghost touched the warm stone, still giving off warmth borrowed from the day. The crack had been filled with a mixture of mortar and rubble, the outer layer sealed with cut and fit stones. It was a good, craftsman-like job, and Ghost appreciated that. If something meant his death, then that something could at least manage a little elegance. It didn't seem so much to ask.
I do wish I'd considered this.
He kept close to the wall, out of sight. That had been easy enough so far, with the Watchers' attention on the Ender army. The only question now was whether the Watchers or the Enders would have the pleasure of killing him in the morning. He didn't consider slipping away; there was nowhere he could go where the Nothingness would not find him.
Joslyn kept it away, for a while. She even found my soul for me. I had no right to ask for more than that.
So he hadn't, and, what's more, he had left her in a safe haven—if there was such a place in all the Dream now. And he had no doubt that Joslyn was furious with him all the same. He didn't know why she should be; he did know that he liked the feeling. Still...
What to do?
He looked out over the plain; the sky still glowed where the Enders had torched some of the outlying farmnsteads. Other than opening the gates to the refugees, the Watchers had made no move to prevent the destruction. That didn't surprise Ghost. They were well-trained; they would keep back, judge the strengths of the attackers, and wait. Ghost had no illusions of slipping into the city in the confusio
n of battle; when the time came there wouldn't be any confusion.
The south gate was closest to the besiegers, more heavily guarded. Ghost moved as quickly as he dared eastward, the wall close to his left shoulder. The next gate—more like a heavy door—was away from the main routes, little more than an afterthought set beneath a dark watchtower. It was hard to see here; no light came from the tower, none reached there from the burning houses. Ghost closed his eyes for a moment and then looked again, but saw the same impossible thing.
The door was open.
It was just a crack; a hooded lantern behind the door made a small beacon. Ghost put his back to the wall and edged closer. The light rocked back and forth on the grass as if whoever held the lantern could not keep still. Ghost considered a use of Power—only for a moment—then he sighed and pulled the long knife Caelo had given to him. I just hope there aren't many of them, whoever they are.
Ghost hit the door in a near run, but the expected resistance wasn't there. He crashed inside and sprawled before a pair of thick, pale ankles.
"It's about time. I'd started to doubt you'd find this door before the Enders did."
The voice was heavy with sleep and fatigue, but there was no mistaking it.
"Musa!"
"Will you please shush? I bribed the guard to be blind only—deafness is extra." She shut the heavy door and bolted it. "Follow me."
Ghost picked himself up slowly, trying to regain his balance in all the areas he'd lost it. The fall was the least of them. "Where... where are we going?"
Musa didn't even look at him. She set off down a deserted alley with the wallowing gait of a freighter under full sail. "To the place you're destroying yourself and everyone else to reach, though Somna alone knows what you'll do when you get there. Joslyn was a little vague on that point."
Joslyn... Ghost felt he was losing ground. "She came to you?"
"Who else? But I've no one but myself to blame; I did goad the child. She needed it. Still, I do think her appearing as a harpy in the middle of my peaceful dream was rubbing in a bit of the salt, don't you?"
I think I'm definitely losing ground. Ghost took two long strides forward and grabbed Musa's arm. They both came to a jarring halt. "Musa, you can play the addled shopkeeper if you wish, but there are things I want to know; you're going to tell me."
Musa let out a long, gusting breath. "Very well. Joslyn told me you were coming, and then tossed me out of my own dream to greet you. I'll take credit for helping the child rediscover her power; her wisdom is as skewed as ever."
"She told you about Tagramon?"
"She did. Now answer me a question: do you know what it means?"
Ghost sighed. "I don't think as clearly as when I was a whole man, but yes, I believe so."
"I'm listening."
Ghost shook his head and started walking again, and now Musa puffed along in his wake. She couldn't quite reach him. "Damn it, Man! If I'm to be laid bare to the Dream Master with the rest, I want to know why!"
Ghost looked at her. "Do you really want to hear about the end of the world?"
Chapter 18—The Echo of Malitus
Tagramon was in the catacombs. He knew there was a reason; he just didn't know what it was. He stopped to light a pine torch with his hands; he cupped his palms around the blob of rosin at the tip and thought of heat. The torch sizzled and wisps of smoke rose into the chill damp air. He imagined fire and the torch ignited, pushing back the shadows.
This is power.
It was unforeseen.
There was much he still didn't understand—after solving the Riddle of the Gods the next step was logical, almost inevitable, but after that the consequences, the once-clear path became shadowed. I wanted to control a god, use its power for the good of the Dream. I never wanted to be one...
Belor said the link to the created god made the manifestation inevitable, but the idea still frightened him, but in the catacombs no one would see his fear. He hoped that wasn't why he was there.
So much better to wait on the battlements for the god to awaken within him; so much better to call lightning, fire—one or the other, he hadn't decided just yet—from the high places of the Temple to destroy the enemies of Somna and begin the great cleansing. Yes, that is what he would do. Soon. Very soon.
The Dream Master found a niche in one of the vaults, a place where the bones had shifted and left room for him. He sat down among the blessed dead and let his torch go out. In the complete darkness that came to him there he smiled.
Soon.
*
Another army advanced on Ly Ossia; an army of dreamers. Daycia's Dreamers. They were not many; Daycia's efforts in Darsa were mainly to keep the fire of the Old Temple smoldering, not start a flame that would be quickly spotted and doused. They were not many, but Daycia was their teacher. They kept to the mists, the unformed potential of the Nightstage. They hovered for a moment over the hard little visions of the Ender army, then flowed past and over them to the clustered dreams that marked the city. One by one they took shape within a hidden place where there were no dreams, and no one to dream them. They were joined there by a few, a very few, others. Musa's followers. Again, not many, but perhaps enough. Joslyn looked out into the lights that marked the Temple.
Daycia put her hands on her hips. "Now what?"
Before Joslyn could answer, another dreamer appeared. "I wonder about that myself," said the newcomer.
Joslyn didn't look at either of them. "I thought you had all the answers, Musa."
Musa shook her head. "Just the questions that you were too stubborn to ask. The possibilities. You were strong; you knew about the wall. And a barrier always suggests something beyond. But you were crippled. Not anymore. You've asked the questions and gathered what answers there are. So. Now what?"
"Did you do as I asked?"
"Ghost is in a good place to hide in wait. I'm in a good place to get my throat cut, since there wasn't time to get back to my own bed."
There aren't that many hours in the night. She turned to Daycia. "Whom did you send?"
"Meleay. She's my best."
"All right. Now we wait for her."
They didn't wait long. Meleay soon reappeared out of the mist. Her face was different. Joslyn saw none of the remembered madness; the young woman's good eye was clear, her expression that of focused purpose. "I counted thirty acolytes in dream. Three Temple Dreamer Nightsouls roaming free."
Joslyn considered. The acolytes would be difficult enough, but three free-roaming Nightsouls would require a special effort. She looked at her scout. "Meleay, out of all the sweet madness you made Ghost and me believe, how much was real?" Meleay understood instantly; Joslyn watched the slow change come to her face. "Lovely. Meleay, I'm going to show you another way to use that."
It wasn't much later that a new dream appeared on the Temple nightstage. It was big and bright and it drew the sentinel Nightsouls like a beacon. One by one they slipped inside. One by one they did not come out. Later, when Daycia's followers swarmed into the acolytes' dreams bringing with them the seeds of nightmare, there was no one to stop them.
*
Daycia paced like a caged cat. Joslyn sat cross-legged, half hidden in the mist. Musa dreamed herself a stool, but kept the dream tight and confined so as not to lose contact with the others. They all waited for the return of Daycia's small band. Musa spoke first.
"So much to do, Child. Where shall we begin?"
The old woman seemed almost eager. Joslyn's smile was partially for the idea of Musa as giddy as a new Initiate. Partially for Musa herself. Musa seemed to think that particular mask would hold up, and Joslyn thought that was a capital joke. "We have some time, Musa. I'm ready for your side of the story now."
Musa blinked. "I don't understand."
"Oh, yes you do." That was Daycia, who stopped pacing long enough to glare at them both. "I should have known you, Joslyn. There was something familiar about you but after so long I couldn't place it."
"
And if you had you'd slit her throat for want of a better plan," Musa returned. "You were always the impulsive sort."
"And you move like a glacier, Somnal Dera. If we'd moved quicker when we had the chance—"
"—We'd have saved more lives early and lost them all late, Priestess. The only reason we weren't hunted with more enthusiasm is that so few escaped the razing of the Temple. No one considered us a threat!"
"And were we?" Daycia asked acidly.
Musa sighed. "No. At least, not just then."
Joslyn knew she was hearing the frayed thread of a very old debate. She also didn't care. Her mind was still playing with something Daycia said.
"Why should you know me, Daycia? We never met before Ghost and I came to Darsa."
"You were in Darsa a long time before that, Joslyn. I was there when you were born; I held your mother's hand near the end of her labor. On cold days my fingers still ache."
"And were you there, too, Musa?"
"Oh, yes. Did you think I'd miss the birth of my only grand-daughter?"
*
The horizon was masked by towered walls, but Ghost could still see the first tracings of orange in the eastern sky. The guard at the Temple's southern gate was still in place, and minute by minute the sky grew lighter.
Whatever Joslyn means to do, she'd better do it soon. That White Robe hasn't moved in hours—Too many hours. Ghost finally understood. He hasn't been relieved!
Ghost stepped out of concealment and strolled up to the guard. There was no challenge. Up close, Ghost could see the gentle rise and fall of the young man's chest, his slumped posture against the wall.
I'm a fool.
Ghost smiled to himself and stepped into the Temple. Inside, the evening tapers were still lit but burning low. He walked for some time before seeing anyone, then he rounded a corner and came face to face with an acolyte. Ghost took a fighter's grip on his small knife, but the youth merely gave him a vague look and stepped past. Ghost watched him shuffle down the hall to disappear in darkness when the farthest torch guttered out. Ghost recognized what was missing in the acolyte's blue eyes—the same thing gone from his own mirror. As he walked down the hall, Ghost met others with the same emptiness. He was in the novices' barracks now; Ghost saw doors left open, bedding strewn about. In one cell the acolyte still lay where he had been dumped, blinking at the ceiling. Farther ahead, in the priests' quarters, the story was the same. Ghost read the meaning of it, and he shook his head in amazement. You're more than you were, Joslyn. Somna help you.
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