Tophen frowned. The realm beyond the Rift was not made for humans. It belongs to Colduraan, a play yard for his monsters. I have never heard of anyone journeying there on purpose. The last time Rifts opened, there were stories about people who disappeared near them. I never heard that they came back.
Corran swallowed hard. “Theoretically, could magic find them and bring them home if we could open a Rift near them?”
Tophen considered the statement, silent for so long Corran did not think he would answer. Perhaps, he said finally. But such a working would be dark. I could never condone it for one of my monks, even to save lives.
“Why?”
Tophen looked at him as if he were slow. A Rift can’t be opened without blood magic. And the amount of blood magic it would take to do that would require death—human death.
Corran felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Are you sure?” he croaked, his throat suddenly dry.
From what the records suggest, yes, Tophen replied. I have never worked such infernal magic myself. The ghost managed to look insulted.
“What about a large animal—a wolf or a cow or a horse?” Corran bargained.
Perhaps, the ghost replied. But some magic is intentionally repugnant to test the intentions of the one who casts it. Those who work blood magic care little for life of any kind, only power.
Corran’s chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. His pulse raced, and he wanted to throw up. We can’t get them back. We can’t bring them home. “But suppose… that it didn’t have to be a human sacrifice. How would we reach through the Rift to guide them back?”
Tophen clasped his hands behind his back as he paced, head down, thinking hard. Your grave magic might be able to make an opening, if you focus on the Rift instead of the After. In both cases, you’re pulling apart the fabric of your world to create a doorway to another.
“That door could open anywhere. How do we make sure Rigan and the others are in the right place at the right time?”
Tophen chewed his lip as he thought. You are able to communicate with me—a ghost—across the chasm that is death. The Rift is just another sort of chasm. Two possibilities come to mind. Your grave magic may be able to communicate with your brother’s spirit—dead or alive—if your power is strong enough. The other road lies through dreams.
“Dreams?” Aiden echoed.
Tophen nodded. For those without grave magic, dreams are often a “thin space” where the normal rules of reality don’t always apply. If you can dream walk, you might be able to reach them and pass along a plan. It would have to be simple and quick, but it might work.
“I’ve heard of dream walking, but I don’t know how—”
Before Aiden could finish his sentence, a book wiggled loose from one of the shelves and appeared to topple to the floor entirely on its own. Tophen gave a pleased smile. That text has what you’ll need. His smile faded. But beware—dreams can be just as real as the waking world, and some monsters can hunt in dreams. Die in the dream world or beyond the Rift, and you will remain dead.
Tophen’s image flickered as Corran felt fatigue sap his magic. I will watch over you, Tophen promised. I’m not going anywhere. With that, the monastery’s resident ghost winked out of sight.
Corran found himself breathing heavily and fighting a blinding headache. He released the power from his wardings and smudged open the protective circle. As he tried to get to his feet, he stumbled, and both Elinor and Aiden ran to help him into a chair.
“Well, at least we know who’s been keeping an eye on the place,” Aiden said with forced levity as he fetched a glass of water for Corran.
“Seems like a decent guy,” Elinor added. “Although I would have liked it better if he’d announced himself from the start. I feel a bit… exposed.”
Corran chuckled. “He didn’t seem like the type to misuse his advantage,” he assured her. Aiden brought him cheese, dried fruit, bread, and honey, and Corran forced himself to eat, knowing how much a working took out of him. Elinor gave him a cup of medicinal tea, and Corran felt himself begin to rally.
“I can’t do much to ease your headache,” Aiden said. “It’s a consequence of overusing magic. But when you feel better, remind me to give you a lesson on grounding your power. You might not have quite the same amount of magic as Rigan, but knowing how to ground it properly will keep it from taking quite as bad a toll.”
“What did you think, about our options?” Corran asked.
Aiden leaned against the wall, while Elinor pulled up a chair. “I guess you already know that I don’t like any of them,” Aiden said. “They’re all risky, and we really don’t have good information to know what we’re getting into.”
“The way I see it, we can do it the easy way or the hard way,” Corran said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “The easy way is trying the grave magic again, but focused on the Rift, and if that doesn’t work, doing a dream walk. And the hard way—” He looked to Aiden. “If I cut myself, how far can I bleed out and how close to dead can I get and have you still be able to heal me?”
Aiden paled, and Elinor gasped quietly. “You can’t be serious,” Aiden stammered. “That’s suicide.”
“I’m not going to leave them in that godsforsaken realm if there’s a way to bring them back,” Corran replied. “And I’m not going to trade the life of a horse. So that’s why I’m asking, if it comes down to it, how close can I get and still have you keep me from dying?”
Aiden ran a hand over his face and shook his head, looking as if words failed him. “What you’re asking… I can’t be sure… There’d be no way to promise I could fix that type of blood loss in time, especially if I had to work the actual ritual.” Aiden paced. “Maybe if we had several strong witches—one to work the ritual and open the Rift while one maintains your life, keeps you from dying… even then, it would be too much of a gamble.”
“Elinor?” Corran asked, “could she be the helper?”
Elinor shook her head. “No. I don’t have enough training, and my power doesn’t work that way. I can do like-calls-to-like magic, maybe ease a headache, but my magic is mainly with plants and poppets. I’d be little help on either side of the working, though I’ll do anything that you think would help. I want them back, too.”
“Mina,” Corran said, meeting Aiden’s gaze. “The wife of the Wanderer-hunter we met in Sarolinia. She’s a witch, and a powerful one too, I bet. Maybe she’d help.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point,” Aiden said. “You need to rest, and then tomorrow—”
“Rigan and Mir and Trent are already on borrowed time,” Corran snapped. “How long do you think they can hold out? We don’t even know if they’ve got food and water, but we know for sure that there are plenty of monsters.”
“Pushing yourself until you collapse—or trying some crazy suicide trick—isn’t going to bring them back,” Aiden argued.
“Enough,” Elinor said, in a tone that shut up both men. “You’re both right, but I’ve got to side with Corran—putting this off might be safer for us, but not for Rigan and the others. So how about you split the magic? Aiden does the dream walk—I think I can come up with a way Corran and I can see what he sees without doing the magic ourselves—and then Corran tries the grave magic to open the Rift.”
Aiden looked chagrined. “She’s right. There isn’t time for ‘careful,’ although I’d rather not run right past into ‘reckless.’ I’m in.”
Corran nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
It took another two candlemarks to gather everything needed for the dream walk and put together the mixture that would allow Aiden to slip into his trance. A second potion would enable Corran and Elinor to observe, but not participate, in his dream. Corran glanced at the others. They were all tired, but he saw the same resolute set to the jaw on both Aiden and Elinor that he glimpsed in his own reflection. One way or the other, regardless of the outcome, they intended to see this through.
“Don’t ‘not now, Polly’
me!” Polly kicked the workroom door open with such force that Aiden had to jump back or be knocked off his feet. “You can’t do good magic on an empty stomach. We’ve got rabbit stew, courtesy of Ross’s traps and some onions and potatoes Calfon found in the garden out back. There’s coffee boiling and plenty of whiskey for afterward.”
She set down a tray with three bowls and some fresh bread. “Eat,” she ordered, hands on hips. “Don’t make me get out my wooden spoon!”
Despite everything, Corran and the two witches managed tired smiles and thanked Polly as they ate quickly. Nervousness and grief made Corran’s stomach sour, but he realized how long it had been since he’d had a proper meal and forced the food down, though nothing tasted right.
“That’s better,” Polly said after they finished their meal. “I’ll send Ross down with some bread and honey with some cheese and raisins for later, because I get the feeling you’re in for a long night.” She gathered up the tray and paused. “Do you have a plan? Can you get them back?”
Corran looked away and shrugged. Aiden stepped forward. “I won’t say it’s a great plan, but we’ve got some ideas. And we won’t know whether they’ll work until we try.”
Polly nodded. “All right then. The rest of us will do whatever you need to give you the best shot. Try not to leave too much of a mess.”
Elinor closed the door behind her. Aiden dragged some bedding into the center of the room, and Corran set down a fresh circle of the salt mixture. Later, if they needed him to do grave magic again, he would draw the sigils. Different magic, different wardings.
Aiden sat on the pile of bedding and Elinor handed him a cup with a decidedly unappetizing slimy green mixture. From the expression on Aiden’s face as he drank it, the concoction tasted as bad as it looked. In his right hand, Aiden held something that belonged to Rigan, one of his shirts that Corran had retrieved from Rigan’s room. In his left hand, he held a polished focus stone to help ground his magic and anchor him to this side of the Rift. Elinor placed candles at each of the quarters.
“Ready?” Aiden asked.
Corran and Elinor took cups of a different, brownish mixture and drank. It looked awful, but it smelled like flowers and tasted of mead. Aiden lay down on the bedding, stretching out and getting comfortable. Corran and Elinor sat down one at each side of his head and placed their right hands on Aiden’s shoulders.
“Here we go,” Aiden murmured nervously, closing his eyes.
“It’s going to take a few minutes for the potion to work,” Elinor explained in a whisper. “He won’t begin to dream until he’s relaxed enough to slip into a deep trance.”
Corran tried not to fidget, reining in his nervousness and impatience. He could feel the drink begin to affect him, softening the tightness in his shoulders and lessening the remainder of his headache. He kept his eyes on the candle as Elinor had instructed, using it to focus, and took deep, regular breaths. When he could not hold his eyes open any longer, Corran let them close, still keeping his contact with Aiden.
For a few moments, everything remained black. Then blurry images began to form, though he kept his eyes closed. Gradually, the vision cleared.
Everything around him had been leeched of its color, leaving only shades of gray. They stood in a forest, but it looked unlike any Corran had seen before, with unfamiliar plants and an eerie sense of being watched. He glanced around, searching the brush and the tree canopy for threats, but could not shake a pervasive, primal fear of being stalked. That was when he realized that even when they hunted monsters, Corran took for granted he was the predator. Here, he and the other humans were clearly prey.
Aiden moved through the tangled brush with confidence as if he knew the way. Perhaps he did, Corran thought, remembering that Aiden held something belonging to Rigan. As Aiden ventured deeper into the woods, Corran felt itchy for the grip of his sword in his hand, something to heft and hold to be able to protect Aiden’s back.
The sense of being watched grew stronger, and now that his eyes had adjusted to the shadows, he saw movement everywhere and glimpses of reflected light from the eyes of the things that watched them. Corran had to remind himself that they were not really beyond the Rift, not real. Then again, maybe there are monsters here that feed on dreams that eat ghosts. Maybe you don’t have to be entirely real to die here.
The terrain changed without them moving through it, proof once more that they were in a dream state. In another heartbeat, the forest was behind them, and Aiden looked up at a cliff side in the twilight. Near the top, a fire lit the entrance to a cave. In the blink of an eye, they stood outside the cave, and Corran saw a barricade of stacked stones with a line of burning wood inside, and beyond that, in the flickering light of the fire, he saw the forms of three men.
Aiden’s dream-self passed through the stone wall and the fire without harm. Trent stood watch near the mouth of the cave. As Aiden moved past, Trent frowned, glancing around as if he sensed a presence, then going back to staring into the night after he assured himself nothing had entered.
Mir lay wrapped in his cloak on the left, while Rigan slept huddled on the right. Corran’s heart leaped to see the three of them alive. Then he took a closer look and saw the strain on their dirty faces, the blood and mud that streaked their ripped clothing, and how much thinner they looked.
Aiden knelt next to Rigan and placed his hand on Rigan’s forehead. Rigan stirred his sleep, mumbling and turning over, but did not wake.
Their surroundings changed again, and this time Corran guessed that they were inside Rigan’s dreams. Rigan was running for his life from one of the bat-faced vestir, as big as a sow with matted, shaggy hair, sharp teeth, and wicked claws. Corran felt his brother’s panic as branches and leaves whipped at him when he ran past, slicing skin. The monster grew closer, and Corran had no way to know whether Rigan was reliving a narrow escape or having a nightmare about possible threats.
Aiden stepped between Rigan and the monster. In a blink, the creature vanished, leaving Aiden and Rigan together in the forest.
“How? How are you here?” Rigan panted. “Is Corran with you?”
“He sees what I see,” Aiden replied. “I can’t stay long, so listen. Find your way back to the clearing where you were taken, or the place in this world where you came through. We’re going to try to open the Rift, but you need to be where we can find you when it does.”
“I’ll help from this side,” Rigan promised. “When?”
“I don’t know how you reckon time here,” Aiden replied. “Noon tomorrow is the time our magic will be strongest. It’s around eighth bells here now. Get to the meeting place and stay safe until we can get you out.”
Rigan nodded, and looked as if he were searching behind Aiden for someone he couldn’t see. “Tell Corran and Elinor that I miss them. Tell them we’re going to make it back.”
Corran felt his throat tighten, and he mouthed the words he wished he could say to encourage his brother to hang on.
“I will,” Aiden said. “They know. And they’re doing everything to bring you back. Just be there and watch your backs, and you’ll be home before you know it.”
As quickly as the scene had appeared in their minds, it vanished, leaving Corran in the dark once more. He had wondered if they needed to make the return trek in the dream world, but apparently not. Either that, he thought, or Aiden had tired and snapped them out of the vision when his magic failed.
Slowly, Corran came back to himself. His legs were numb, still folded under him where he sat next to Aiden on the floor of the workshop. His shoulder ached from keeping one arm outstretched in contact with the healer. He felt dazed and groggy, but nothing mattered except that he had seen with his own eyes—through Aiden’s vision—that Rigan and the others were still alive.
Elinor moaned as she shifted position, stiff muscles protesting after remaining still for so long. Corran opened his eyes and looked at Elinor, who stared back in amazement.
“Did you see that?” they bot
h asked in unison.
On the floor between them, Aiden groaned and then blinked awake. He melted into the bedding in relief to see that the others were also lucid and that they were back where they belonged.
“It worked,” Corran said, surprised that after everything he could muster the energy to be excited. He clapped Aiden on the shoulder. “Damn, that was some fine magic.”
“I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a wagon,” Aiden mumbled.
Corran and Elinor moved as quickly as they could to help Aiden off the floor and into a chair. Elinor opened the door, and the promised tray of food lay in the hallway outside, along with a flagon of whiskey.
“Polly was as good as her word,” she chuckled tiredly, bringing the tray inside and setting it on the table.
She looked at Aiden and Corran. “Eat. There’s a reason heroes in the myths are always feasting. Food grounds the body to reality.”
“You’ve been reading the old epic tales again, haven’t you?” Aiden replied, chuckling.
Elinor sniffed as if she were offended, although her tired smile suggested otherwise. “And why not? They’re fine reading. Imagination wound around bits of truth.” She nudged Aiden with her shoulder and elbowed Corran. “So, eat!” She ordered, tearing off a hunk of bread and drizzling it with honey and butter before adding cheese and raisins.
“They’re alive,” Corran said the words aloud and felt a weight roll off his shoulders. “I can hardly believe it, and they look like shit, but they’re alive.”
Aiden nodded. “Damn fine to see that. Now they just have to stay that way a little longer.”
Corran looked over at him, worried. “Do you think he’ll remember?”
Aiden frowned. “Yes. The encounter in his dream was clear and sharp. Stopping the monster attack helped; strong emotion makes dreams more memorable, and Rigan was afraid and then relieved.”
“All right then,” Corran replied, feeling more confident about the possibility of his brother’s and friends’ safe return since their disappearance. “Tomorrow, we head for the clearing, and we give it all we‘ve got.”
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