The Dream Crafter

by Danielle Monsch

  “I brought the motorcycle.”

  “Yay!” And there it was, black and shiny and a thing of beauty, and after Laire hopped on behind Fallon, arms wrapped around the swordswoman’s waist and Spellbook secure, the mage leaned in and said, voice as low and sincere as it had ever been and sincere in a way she would not allow herself to be again for a long while, said, “You know, if you switched sides, my dating pool would be wide open. No more turning people down for that whole being evil thing.”

  Fallon turned her head away, but not so quick that Laire missed the upward curl of the corner of her mouth. After waiting for a final car to pass, Fallon pulled out into traffic, and together they sped away.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

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  “Fallon. A moment, if you please.”

  Fallon paused in her journey through the hallway so Tec could reach her. “What’s up?”

  “I have a question about the Spellbook.” Tec’s gingery curls gave a small bounce as he stopped beside her, and Fallon squelched the momentary desire to ruffle his hair. Wulver kept telling her that was a bad idea, and she listened to let him cling to the idea he had authority. “About its safety.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be safe? Laire gave it to you, right?”

  “Yes…yes, of course. Of course she did.”

  Sirens blared through Fallon’s head at Tec’s stuttery reaction. In fact, the whole conversation, including Tec approaching her, was not quite right. It was only a few words, but it was a few words of different than usual, and right now anything different than usual was not going to be tolerated. “And you gave it to Kyo like I told you earlier?”

  “He was very pleased to have it in his possession.”

  Fallon grabbed the imposter by the throat and heaved him against the wall. “Who are you?”

  How the hells had someone breached headquarters again? There was a flicker, and a moment before the fake Tec disappeared, a split-second shadow of Amana was visible.

  She’s in my dream.

  The revelation no sooner reverberated through Fallon’s skull then the scenery changed, a forest now surrounding her, autumn painting the trees multi-hued and decay heavy in the air, and no matter which way she turned, only a single path to travel. To go forward, to move ahead, and there was no other way, no matter how her body begged her to flee.

  Squaring her shoulders, Fallon began the trek upwards, her long legs eating up the distance, travelling the easy trail with no issues.

  Something startled within the forest, sending creatures in all directions. Fallon glanced over her shoulder, her gold eyes probing before she turned and headed once again up the wooded trail.

  There was nothing special about the trail. It could be any easy climb in any wooded area, and there was nothing memorable enough about it that Amana could pinpoint the locale.

  Fallon knew the area though. She moved with easy memory and no hesitation, stroking trees as she passed, and now…

  Now Fallon stopped in front of one particular tree. This one she didn’t caress, didn’t reach out her hand. Instead she seemed lost as she eyed a spot where layers of bark had been ripped from the trunk, echoes of melancholy memory shining in the redhead’s eyes.

  A hazy mist blanketed the forest now as Fallon turned back to the path. Icy tendrils of wind and water trailed over Amana’s skin as she followed where the warrior led. Black and deadened branches reached for her, scraping over her as she passed, the dreamscape growing darker and closer and filling her with uneasiness. Fallon was supposed to be the one trapped, but now Amana fought the building horrific certainty that she had opened a cell which should never have been disturbed.

  Ahead the trees grew closer together, the branches reaching and entwining to create a tunnel effect, with a natural canopy of wood and leaf above them. Fallon forged ahead, travelling through the large tunnel and passing through the opening at the end of the path, clearing the forest and reaching whatever lay beyond.

  Claws descended in front of the opening, and Amana jumped back in horror. Each claw was taller than she was and twice as wide, and beyond, through the openings of the razor sharp appendages, a nostril so large it could inhale her situated in a reptilian snout, the scales a shimmery silver over deep green, and smoke emanating from the nostril trailing into the sky.

  There was a sharp tug on her sleeve, and Amana looked down into the eyes of a little girl, beautiful and precious, five or six or seven. The girl’s gold eyes were shiny and solemn, and red hair cascaded down her back. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, in a tone too old for someone who should only know innocence.

  “No. She shouldn’t.” This voice was a terrible ricochet, a mix of deep dark magics that swept through her with fiery vengeance. Amana turned to witness the visage of a barbarian warlord, his presence terrible and ferocious, his silver-green eyes tearing through her, and this…this was the monster under the bed, the phantom shadow that clung to each dark place, every primal fear humans fought against and lost. She shut her mouth tight against the pleading, blubbering mess that threatened to erupt under that gaze. “You dare much, Dream Crafter. Your predecessors would never have moved against me so.”

  Swallowing was impossible, her throat parchment dry. Speaking, questioning, neither were desired. She wanted escape, wanted free from his gaze, from the terrible things promised in every lash of his eyes over her.

  He moved forward, creation and destruction cycled in every step. “Do you expect me to leave such a challenge unanswered? You approaching mine?”

  Even as prayers begging to live circled through her brain, the man looked down. Beside him, the little girl now stood. Her hand was in his, and those big, bright eyes were locked on him.

  He gentled under her gaze. Still looking at the girl, he said, “Leave, Dream Crafter. Know death will be a blessing should you ever return.”

  “Amana!”

  Her throat was sore, and only as she awoke did Amana hear herself screaming, but she couldn’t stop it, not yet, not with that man’s eyes still vivid in her mind.

  “Amana, you’re safe. You’re safe.” The words were still being said as she flung her arms around Merc, burrowing close and using him to ward off the terror of those last moments. “You’re here, and I’ll protect you. Shhh.”

  “I can’t go back. Please, I can’t go back. I can’t.” She was babbling, but her brain was on auto and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t rationalize, couldn’t command herself to return to reality. “Please don’t make me go back. I can’t.”

  “No, no.” He held her closer, bringing her into his lap like a child. “I swear, you never have to go back.”

  He rocked her, holding her close, shhing and whispering in her ear, gentle sounds and quiet commands, and let her cry on him until she had cried herself out.

  As the last of the fear faded, embarrassment came hard and fast to the foreground. Amana wiped at her eyes with ineffectual swipes of her hands. “That’s embarrassing,” she said, the comment not as effective as maybe it could have been if she wasn’t still sniffling and wiping at her eyes and nose.

  “You did fine,” he reassured her, and as the fear faded, where she was situated also became clearer. In his lap, pressed hard against him, drawing strength from where he was warm and firm and strong.

  Always with her, but it had shifted from the oppressive bindings of captivity to a wanted chain twining around them, and even if he offered, she would not want him to unlock her. “I didn’t get the book. I wasn’t with Fallon long enough for her to tell me where it was being hidden.” The words were automatic, but her mind was on him alone, near her, imparting strength and safety even in the aftermath of that dream.

  His full lips thinned, his jaw going tight in the way that said he’d made a decision without her. “We’ll figure out something else. I’m not going to let you go back to whatever you experienced there.”

  Her brother’s eyes on her, imploring her You can’t keep doing this. Leave me.

  There was
never a possibility it would happen. She’d never walk away from those she loved. Until the end, she would march forward, bearing the burdens as they came, but she refused to stop moving. “I’m not going to let you die, and you die if we don’t get the Spellbook. That means we’re getting the Spellbook.”

  It was cute how he puffed himself up, making himself as broad as possible and looking at her through narrowed eyes, as if that had the power to intimidate her anymore. “And I’m not letting you try to go after Fallon again.”

  She moved up and kissed him, bringing her lips and hands to his face, pouring all the adoration and joy and gladness inside her that this man, this mercenary, had been brought into her life. It was gentle and it took him a few seconds before he returned it, but his hesitant response had her pushing harder against him, the kiss still light and more playful than passionate, but it was undeniable in its intensity.

  She kissed his forehead. She kissed his eyelids. She kissed over his cheekbones and the tips of his ears and the tip of his nose, and he was giving little huffs of laughter and half shakes of his head, as though this were too ridiculous a thing to be doing at this moment, but he didn’t do anything to get her to stop.

  She did stop though, pulling back from him, her fingertips still travelling over his face. “I think I might have another way.”

  His laughter stopped, seriousness returning, and he eyed her as though watching for a trap to be sprung. “What way?”

  Her hands left his face and now she held his hands, pressing them against her chest so he could feel her heart. “Our second dream meeting, do you remember how you took me to that little park you liked? You said it was one of your favorite places.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, but the look on his face warmed her, like he’d have to be dead and buried before he’d ever forget one of their dates.

  “No one else has ever directed a dream, but somehow you did. Maybe we can somehow do the same thing now. You have some connection to the Spellbook. I’ll bet you can find it within the dreamscape, and if you direct me, I’ll take us to it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

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  They were curled up on the couch, her head on his shirtless chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart underneath her ear. Th-thump, th-thump, rhythmic and patient, accepting and encouraging as he waited to follow where she led.

  Amana stroked over his chest, the rough silk of his skin another meditation to think on, another mystery to puzzle, the juxtaposition of rough and warmth and comfort. “You have a good heart.”

  His chest stuttered in banked amusement under her. “I’m glad you think so. Sometimes I have my doubts about it.”

  “Don’t doubt it. I’ve known men with evil hearts. You’re nothing like them.” Th-thump, th-thump, as if in agreement.

  Now his hand glided through her hair, pulling the long strands with easy strokes. “You’ve always been so scared to use your power. Are you sure you should be using it now? I don’t want you to do this if it’s going to hurt you.”

  “Do we have any other choice? The answer to that is no, by the way,” she cut in before he could give his answer about going to meet Reign himself. That was not ever going to happen. “Even if it wasn’t for you, I no longer have the option of ignoring what I am.” What she didn’t give voice to was the truth of the other, of the fear that the more she used of her power, the less she herself existed.

  His fingers were calming as they stroked her scalp. “Where will we go, after we save your brother?”

  He sounded so sure, and though the words were a false assurance, she clung to them, let herself open to the possibilities of an after. “That depends. Are you going to be with us?”

  “After this adventure with the Spellbook, and pissing off the Guild? It’s going to be hard for me to find anywhere that will take me for long, so I might as well stay with you.”

  His voice had a pleasant lightness to it, the tease evident without going into mocking or melancholy. “I’m pleased you’re so excited over the prospect.”

  “Everyone who knows me will tell you how excitable I am. What about you? Are you excited about being stuck with me?”

  Here his voice lost the lightness, and his hand lay heavy on her head. The cooler air clung to her skin as she rose from the couch, her fingers coiling around his hand and forcing him to rise with her, their movements slow. “I want to be nowhere else. Even with my power, I couldn’t create a more perfect dream than the one where I met you.”

  Happiness radiated from his being, on display from the curve of his lips to the tightening of his grip of her fingers in his.

  There was more, so much more, but that was for later, because now they were in a hallway, business industrial, with a multitude of races milling around them.

  Merc startled as the change in scene registered. A male, huge and bald, his skin with a hint of green undertone and his teeth too big and too sharp, passed them without looking in their direction.

  Merc took in the giant male. “That’s Rorth. We’re in the headquarters of the Guild.” His eyes were wide, his tone impressed, and he looked at her now with respect, and, yes, fear, only a little, only a touch, only a moment, but there. “We’re in a dream.”

  “In a dream.” The other was there, on the edges, but Amana would not give way to fear now, not when she accomplished what she wanted. This was to save Merc. They were going to get the Spellbook. What happened after would be after. “I need you to think about the Spellbook. Concentrate on it. See if it calls out to you.”

  As Merc closed his eyes, Amana twisted her head to look into a faraway corner. Her double stood there, death-blue eyes unblinking, watching them with malevolent intent.

  “This way.” Merc pulled, breaking her attention away from the double. They went down too many corridors that looked exactly the same, but Merc moved without hesitation, and then they stood in front of a huge double door, the magic so strong even in the dreamscape Amana choked on it.

  “The new vault. That was fast.” Amana’s head cocked in confusion at Merc’s words, and Merc must have seen the question in her eyes, because he continued. “Couple months ago, the Guild was attacked and their vault was ransacked. This was a big deal because that vault held some of the deadliest, most powerful magic items and spells in any of the Realms. That’s where the Spellbook came from. I’m a little surprised they got a replacement so fast. The number of magical reinforcements must be incredible.”

  If Merc felt only a quarter of what she felt, then he’d know his statement was instead an understatement, though it was doubtful his powers had any effect here. This was her space, her realm, and here only she could accomplish this task.

  This daunting task, where magic beat against her in ways she’d never come across, not even in those few trips she’d dared try for her brother.

  Merc froze. The entire landscape froze. The breath she did not need to exhale froze mid-air, and Amana’s next blink was eons in the making.

  “You want inside, don’t you?” Her double leaned against the door, all nonchalance and easy demeanor. “To go through? To save him, and ultimately Nakoa? The true question, will you get in there without me?”

  The doppelganger leaned her head back against the heavy door of the vault, the arch of her neck inviting Amana to wrap her hands around the delicate length. And yet… “Help me.”

  Shock was shown in the wide teal eyes, the speed in which her head rose from the door. She glanced around, looking for the ambush, looking for the trap, before coming back to Amana. “What did you say?”

  Amana strode forward, her steps strong and sure. Here, now, was the true test of her, of what she would sacrifice for those she loved, and it wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t a pass or a fail. She would pay the price needed. She would save Merc. She would free Nakoa.

  No longer a scared girl. No longer a cowering mess. The time of words was past, ineffective actions that masked her failure, how she was holding onto that last part of herself. Begg
ing attention for what she did, while deflecting from what she was refusing to do.

  No longer.

  Now she was in front of the other, their eyes locked. “Help me get the Spellbook. Help me break through.”

  The other’s eyes gleamed, and a small smile stole over thin lips, a cruel tinge Amana had never noticed in the mirror. “As if this can stop a Dream Crafter.”

  To the eye, nothing changed. The doors stayed locked. The walls remained in place. Magic, though, magic exploded, powerful forces slicking through the air around them, and they remained unmoving, uncaring, above such petty concerns like magic that could crush the foundations of the world touching either of them.

  “Call for it,” the other said, and of course the Spellbook was waiting for her. She reached out her hand and it was there, warm, fragrant leather and crying for Merc, wanting to be rejoined with him.

  “What happened?” Merc’s voice came from beneath her, as her head lay on his chest, th-thump, th-thump of his heart beneath her ear.

  Amana woke up, the Spellbook wrapped in her arms, her eyes a teal blue, the color of the ocean as darkness sets in, all of death on display in their depths.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

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  “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Amana pulled her head away, shook it as he reached to touch the side of her face yet again. “You’re over worrying.”

  He could almost believe her, almost put the sharp, pinched look on her face to the happenings of the night, but his mind would not be comfortable with the reasoning. He didn’t doubt his senses, and he wouldn’t start now even with the ready excuse of the high emotions of the last two days. For a moment her eyes had been a terrifying blue and there had been a stranger looking out from them.

  As much to change the topic as to show pleasure at her success, she placed the Spellbook in his arms, pushing it towards his chest and forcing him to clutch it to him like a ragdoll. Here she smiled, and this smile was genuine, was full of triumph and joy. “We got it. Part one is done. Hadrien doesn’t have a chance now.”