The hall ended at a doorway; beyond it he could see steps leading down.
The way to the catacombs. I remember that--.
"The acolytes weren't attacked for a lark. I thought someone would be along."
Belor stood in the shadow behind the door. Ghost didn't see him till he spoke, but Ghost knew the voice. He also recognized the thing in his hands. It was smaller than the one Joslyn had lost on the ship, and the wood was stained dark to blend with darkness. The bolt was a barbed spike, like the one Ghost had seen before. Ghost felt the delicious excitement flowing through his veins. "One more riddle neatly disposed of—you killed the Watcher that night we escaped Ly Ossia. You, the right hand of the Dream Master. Why?"
The High Priest raised the arbalest till the bolt was on a line with Ghost's heart. "If I told you that in... say, five seconds I was going to pull this trigger, what would you do? Before you answer, consider this: the light is dim and I'm old and slow. I might miss; the bolt might be deflected. You might just make it to cover. Now I repeat the question: what would you do?"
Ghost returned Belor's questing gaze without blinking. "Nothing," he said. "I don't think you'll kill me—yet."
"If you know that, you know why I helped you," he said, disgusted. "Don't be stupid."
Ghost nodded, slowly. "You know what a threat I am to the Dream, simply by existing, and you revel in it. You know what will happen when Tagramon finishes the slotstick god and you revel in that, too. Killing me was possible but risky. With me free there were two chances to destroy the Dream bought with the same coin. You're a follower of Malitus."
Belor shook his head. "You understand less than Tagramon. Fool, I am Malitus, at least where it counts. Not like Tagramon's crude work, mind. Merely a matter of finding the angry misfit souls willing to listen to 'The Echo of Malitus,' and dream a new god. Simple, really."
Ghost looked at him. "You sent the Enders after us on the Southern Sea to force a response from me that might have ended the Dream then and there. You caused the Enders to besiege the city."
The old man seemed pleased. "Of course. I've guided them from the beginning. Their attack tomorrow will provoke a response, and the fool Tagramon's ready to try out his new god in just such a demonstration of power. His debut, and the Dream's finale. I'm looking forward to it."
"Tagramon is the Dream Master. How can he not know what effect his creation will have?"
Belor chuckled. "'Dream Master?' He was a pathetic Initiate when I reshaped him to my use, a fool with more piety and good intentions than brains. He is nothing more than what I needed him to be."
"Musa was not so easily manipulated?"
Belor shrugged. "I would have worked through her, but she had too much will of her own to bend so easily to mine. Easier to start over with a new Dream Master."
Ghost nodded, intrigued despite himself. "I had wondered about that. The Emperor wanted Darsa, but he had no quarrel with the Temple at Darsa. The sack was your doing."
Belor fairly preened. "So you understand even that? I'm glad. It was easily arranged. Orders lost, orders forgotten in the heat of battle and the memories of nightmare. Creating confusion is simple. And so much the better for rebuilding later, with the Emperor himself doing penance to Somna."
"And the Enders?"
"Marvelous, aren't they? Who knows? In time they might actually have sickened the Dream to death all by themselves. But I couldn't wait that long. They are my trigger, now. They will attack the city tomorrow; to defend it Tagramon will summon his full power—"
Ghost laughed at him. There was surprise and wonder on Ghost's face as he made the unfamiliar sound, and the cool, sweet emotion closed over him as if he'd fallen from a desert into a clear river.
Belor's grip tightened on the arbalest. "Can't you even appreciate the magnificence of what I've done? What was Tagramon before he borrowed my strength and thought it his own? Who defeated the adepts guarding the Emperor and sent the omen dreams that gave Tagramon the Temple? I showed him the way to the gods!"
Ghost knew how close he was to dying; the idea wasn't so pleasant as it had been. And still the laughter was there. "Belor, who showed you? Did it come to you—perhaps—in a dream?"
It was as if Ghost had slapped him. Belor lost his composure for an instant, and in that instant he no longer seemed so aware of his weapon. It still pointed at Ghost, but the aim was no longer quite so specific. "Nonsense!"
Ghost's eyes were shining. "Can you tell? You, who speak of Tagramon's power and the creation of gods in the same breath? Any power the god will have is the sum of that of the souls you've stolen. And none of it belongs to Tagramon."
"They are linked—"
"How? How does Tagramon—awake—link to any dream but this one? What power held the Nightsouls captive? Tagramon couldn't be there all the time and neither could you. And don't speak to me of his minion 'shadows.' They are neither Nightsoul nor dream, and what they can do is not possible even for a Master Adept's creation. That's what I expected to find at the root of all this, but I was wrong. You're just another of Gahon's fools."
Belor spoke with the terrible calm of a storm's eye. "You're wrong."
And you're wounded; now I'm sure of my weapons... "There's an easy way to test it." Ghost took a single step forward.
"Stay back!" It sounded like a plea.
Ghost took another step. "It is a dilemma, isn't it? My Nightsoul is that of an adept; Tagramon holds its power under his direction, uses it to control the Nightsouls that make up the body of his hand made god. If I'm lying, or even if I'm merely wrong, you can't kill this body without breaking the one link that holds my Nightsoul to the dream. It escapes and the god disintegrates. But if I'm telling the truth you kill me and nothing changes, my soul remains held by the power that held it from the beginning. Not Tagramon. And not you. You win, Priest. But you do it as a pawn, not a king."
Belor raised the arbalest. "You're sure I won't use this?"
Ghost gave a little shrug. "You might. To protect Tagramon you'll have to. But you'll know you were used. That you're no better or finer or more clever than the other poor fools in this game. But the Dream does end. And that's what matters, isn't it?" Ghost took one more step. Belor's knuckles on the stock were ghastly white. Ghost smiled the smile of one condemned man to another. "When the bolt strikes, who will scream the loudest?"
Belor didn't look directly at Ghost; he glanced frantically in several directions as if looking for something he needed desperately. The one place he did not look was behind him. He forced a smile when a confused acolyte stumbled down the hall behind Ghost. "This was Joslyn's work, wasn't it?" Ghost's answer was another step closer to the stair. Belor pretended not to notice. He went on. "Impressive piece of work for someone who didn't dream, but I suppose she's healed herself. Pity."
Ghost knew Belor was stalling; he knew why. "You want to win without paying the price. I can't allow that. One more step and you will know the truth."
"I already know the truth!"
"You believe. All men do, when they choose one path over another. You are blessed by Somna, Priest. You are going to know."
Belor spat. "A blessing worthy of the Celestial Bitch—a curse with a pretty face."
"Now you're speaking like a true Ender."
Now Belor chuckled. "You believe, too. You judge me. But are you ready for the blessing you wish on me? Aren't you even a little curious about why I have done what I have done?"
"I'll guess: the Dream is corrupt, Somna hurt someone you loved, you can't bear your trivial allotment of pain. If you had listened to Enders as much as you spoke to them, I think you'd recognize the voice. It's yours." Ghost measured the distance.
The High Priest shook his head, and his smile was very strange. "I have a new reason."
Belor made a miracle.
It appeared in the air over his head, and spread too quickly for Ghost to avoid. But he did know it for what it was, for all that it was impossible. Ghost stood in the middle of
a dream. Not his own, and not on the Nightstage. It took form from the raw matter of Somna's Dream, and came at Belor's whim.
Ghost almost forgot to breathe. "Blessed Somna..."
Ghost listened, tried to sense. After a moment he shook his head. Despite the numbness in what was left in Ghost's being, he saw the wonder there, and the beauty. Where Tagramon would bring his rag and bone of a god, Belor brought his dream. No pain followed it into the waking world. None at all.
Belor filled his stage. The first curtain lifted and Ghost saw a dream on the nightstage, guarded by freesouls that ringed the glow like sentinel hounds. He saw the silently moving Nightsoul that evaded them and slipped into the dream.
Ghost understood. Belor reaching the Emperor.
The mist-curtain came down and then parted again. Ghost saw Tagramon as a young acolyte, no different from all the others until a strange glow surrounded him, and from that glow came the face and voice of Somna.
Ghost nodded. Belor granting Tagramon a religious vision.
One by one Belor showed Ghost the steps of his plan: Belor appearing as 'The Echo of Malitus.' Belor manipulating the Enders' dreams. Belor creating the first Storm. The images flowed as easily as blood from a deep wound, rich and dark.
Ghost shook his head in wonder. "This is your curse, priest? The root of your hatred of Somna? The power to create waking dreams?!"
The play changed again. Belor sat on a high throne; the doorway to the catacombs was an arc of darkness behind him. "Yes, fool. Because my waking dreams differ from yours in one very tiny way—they change nothing." Belor was laughing. "Now do you understand? This is how Somna blessed me, Half-man. But what are my dreams? Fancies and hallucinations and pretty pictures. Not real. Not in the way the Celestial Bitch reserves for her dreams alone. Every day I create worlds grander, more beautiful, than the one Somna imagined. And every day I lose them. Every damned day... Don't speak to me of Gahon! Somna blessed me with my own demon; I've room for no other—"
They both felt it. A tremor, just a little one as earthquakes went. But it was as big as the world.
It's happening.
Ghost had nothing to put against it, and nothing to cling to except for one mad notion. Nothing to lose, now. Not even time. And in one important respect, Belor, your dream is very real. Ghost took the final step.
Belor didn't even notice. He cackled in triumph, and didn't stop when Ghost slipped his arm around the priest's skinny neck.
He escapes knowledge after all, Ghost mused. Somna is merciful.
"Everyone's pain is greater than everyone else's, in everyone's view. Somna gave you a wonderful gift, Belor. You were the one who turned it into a curse."
"You do not understand."
"Oh, but I do. At heart your reason is no better than an Ender's," Ghost said, sadly, "but it is new. I suppose that's something..."
The next sound was the snap of something hard and brittle snapping clean.
Chapter 19—The God Awakens
Joslyn told the two women all that she remembered—the fire, the smoke, the swords. Losing her mother and being found again.
Musa nodded. "Your mother was slain after the wall was breached; you survived by the Dreamer's smile alone. Daycia found you and brought you to me. Then I took you north and Daycia and Meleay hid in the abandoned Temple. The rest you know."
"The rest...? I know nothing! Why did you abandon me?"
"Abandon? Child, when ever did I not do what was needful for you?"
"It's not the same and you know it!"
Musa shook her head. "And you wonder why I call you 'Child?' Joslyn, only a child believes she is the center of all things. The years after the fall of the Temple were a very dangerous time. I could hide myself well enough, but you were a very strong dreamer, even as an infant. It was inevitable that the Temple would find you before I could even begin your training, and that would lead them directly to me. But finding one talented Dreamer with no memory of her past was less risk to me and you. How could I know Tagramon's attention would be so diverted that it took sixteen years to find you? So I stayed at the fringes of your life, for both our sakes. If you're going to ask questions, please make them sensible!"
Joslyn looked at her. "What was my mother's name?"
Musa smiled a sad little smile. "Jarel. She was a willful, obstinate child, too. I always see her in you."
Joslyn and Musa fell silent for a while, each content to remain in their own thoughts for a while. It was Daycia who first gave warning.
"Something's happening!"
All the dreams on the Ly Ossian Nightstage died at once; the Nightsouls came tumbling out and faded from the nightstage. The pain in the world felt like a tide; Joslyn held fast to her self, and that was the only thing that kept her from being swept away like the rest.
Hope we held them long enough...
Joslyn assessed the damage, and hope withered. The Nightstage looked like a reflection in a double mirror; beyond, she could see the lights of other dreams, vast dreams. She flitted close, found herself at a barrier that shimmered faintly in the misted light, and beyond it dreams she remembered, vast cities of light.
"What is it?!"
Daycia came stumbling out of the mist, her eyes wild. She came against the barrier and stopped, but not before Joslyn saw it give a little bit. She grabbed Daycia and pulled her back. "It used to be a wall. Now it's a gossamer, and getting weaker by the moment! Tagramon's slot-stick god is no mere vision; he is real! With links to Somna's dream that always call. Sooner or later he had to answer."
Musa joined them just in time to see the truth of what Joslyn said. A giant shaped like a man came out of the myth-dreams and walked with slow purpose toward the membrane. Musa measured the distance. "What happened to the wall?"
Joslyn laughed harshly. "This is the wall, weakened from holding what it was never meant to hold. It has about as much chance of stopping him as the barrier between sky and sea to keep a man from drowning."
There was resignation in Musa's eyes, fear in Daycia's. Neither of them moved. Joslyn glared at them. "What are you waiting for? 'We can't fight a god,' remember? Time is short and I've work to do."
Daycia trembled, but she did not run. "You told the truth, Joslyn. I'll do the same—tell me where I can hide from this and I'll damn well go there. Otherwise tell me how I can help you."
Joslyn glanced at Musa, who nodded. "Daycia speaks for me. Tell us what to do."
Joslyn saw the god touch the wall high above them, saw it tremble as his hand passed through. She turned to the others.
"Tonight," she said, "we find out just how grand our dreams can be."
*
Ghost found the Dream Master in the catacombs. He was hard to miss; he was surrounded by a muted glow, like a hooded beacon. Ghost almost thought he could see shadows on the surface of Tagramon's face cast by the fires within him.
"You were a fool to come here, Ghost. I had sought your death, but my transformation came sooner than expected and rendered you moot. I might have let you live."
"I don't think I'd do the same for you, Dream Master. You have too much to answer for. Even Belor could not carry all the blame alone, though his pride made him try."
"Where is Belor?"
"Gone, since there was no one to trap his Nightsoul. I killed him."
Tagramon's face went white. "Now I will kill you."
Ghost shook his head. "You will not. And I will tell you why."
Ghost told the story of Belor's deception, and what would happen when the god finally appeared. When Ghost was finished, Tagramon laughed.
It wasn't encouraging.
Ghost sighed. "You don't believe me, do you?"
The Dream Master's eyes flickered like the screens on a glass lantern, tendrils of smoke caressed his body. "No," he said, "I do not."
Ghost shielded his eyes. "Why?"
Tagramon put his hands on his hips. "Because you have a reason to lie, just as I have a reason not to believe you. Don't yo
u see the sweet inevitability of it all?"
"I'm afraid I do." Ghost sighed. "I would lie to regain my Nightsoul, I think. And if you believe me you admit that the great work for which you dedicated your life is a lie. And, worse, a danger to the Dream and all you believe in. None of that changes the facts."
"Your truth is not my truth, Ghost."
"I said facts. Truth is a matter of belief. I have no belief, no faith, no sense of a higher purpose. All that belongs to my Nightsoul, not to me. I know what I know, Dream Master. You believe. It's not the same thing."
Tagramon shook his head. "Nonsense. This will happen—is happening. You're too late."
The Dream Master's back was to a dark wall. There were other niches carved into that wall, shadowed places where pale bones reflected the weak torchlight. The Dream Master didn't see that wall waver, become like glass. Ghost saw. I could do something silly like asking him to look. I don't think he'd do it. So...
"I think you are wrong again." Ghost took the little knife from his sleeve.
Tagramon laughed at him again. "Will you prick me with that toy, Fool? I could turn you to ash before you took a step!"
"You could. It won't be necessary." Ghost opened the robe over his chest and turned the blade until it touched the bare flesh over his own heart. When a glistening drop of blood gathered at the tip, Tagramon finally understood. He stopped laughing.
Ghost nodded. "Thank you. It's bad enough when the salvation of a world demands your death. A little decorum is the least one should expect."
A Warrior of Dreams Page 33