A Warrior of Dreams (23 page)

Kessa smiled at her. "You still don't understand, do you?"

"No. If you know what this is about I'd appreciate an answer."

"It's simple enough
—
the followers of Malitus believe that Somna's Dream is hopelessly corrupt and must be ended. So anything they can do to hasten her awakening is a holy sacrament in their eyes. They like pain especially."

"That's madness!"

"That's their religion. By their view they have everything to gain, since they believe those who work to end
this
world will be reborn as some sort of 'ruling elite' in the next."

"That doesn't explain this!"

"As I said
—
he's sending his pain into the world. As if there wasn't enough already, they came here today to make a little more and sicken the Dream that much more and push Somna that much closer to the Day of Awakening."

Joslyn looked at the sacrifice's gleeful agony. "Let's go back," she said.

Kessa laughed and reached for the nearest vine. "Welcome to Darsa."

*

Ruins covered the island of Memnyre, gleaming white in the sun like the scavenged bones of a lion's feast. That was the sign the priest of Malitus had given Crucian
—
that and steer south by the Bow Star. He tacked against a slight headwind, then dropped his boomline and let his small craft glide the last few feet to bump against the stone pier. There was no one there to greet the old fisherman; he expected no one. Crucian carefully removed all his supplies from the boat, finally taking the sail itself. Then he took the biggest stone he could lift, smashed the planking of his boat, and made himself watch it sink.

I will never leave this place
.

If Crucian ever needed a reminder of that in what time he had left, then here it lay in three fathoms of water. Great undertakings required care, preparation, and commitment. Crucian knew he had the first two; here was proof of the third.

He found a grove of trees with a small freshwater spring on a hilltop close to one of the greater ruins. Crucian made a tent of the sailcloth and arranged his camp the best way he knew. The sun was an hour past setting when he was done and the old man was weary past belief, but, before he allowed himself sleep Crucian made his way to the nearest tumble of white marble and limestone and chose one perfect stone. He carried it halfway back to the campsite to a place where the grassy slope leveled for a moment, and there he began to build his altar.

God of Endings, see the first step that brings the last. May it speed your work
.

The short prayer was all he had strength for. He crawled into his tent and waited impatiently for sleep.

*

Crucian dreamed of the day, two years before, that he did not visit his wife's grave. Instead, he left his boat and his nets unattended and returned to Darsa. He walked through the streets of the city looking for what he did not remember and could not name. Near nightfall he found himself sitting on a stone outside the west gate watching the color changes in the sunset.

"Friend, you look troubled."

The man was dressed as a priest; Crucian had seen that style of robe before. "You're an Ender."

The priest nodded, pleasantly. He was a little younger than Crucian, but not by much. His hair still had a touch of black remaining. Crucian patted the slim knife at his belt and the priest smiled at him. "You've heard of us. It's true
—
we do kill now and again when it serves our purpose," he admitted. "but we never lie, and I say I mean you no harm."

"What do you want?"

The priest shrugged. "I want what all Enders want. An end to Somna's dream, this corrupt nightmare that is the world. Now, friend: what do
you
want?"

"I don't know. Rest, perhaps."

"Perhaps we can find out together. I'm called Tyen. What is your name?"

Crucian started to say 'Crucian,' but stopped himself. That had not been his name, then. Crucian was the name the Enders gave him when he joined their sect the very next day. He tried to think of his other name, his first name, but the Initiation had taken it from him. One less tie to the goddess Somna's dream that was the corrupt, wicked world. One less shackle to stop him from doing what he needed to do.

One less dream.

Crucian knew he was dreaming, and the shock ended it. He came awake, stiff and sore on his blanket on the ground. As his eyes opened he got one blurry glimpse of a small, slim figure running through the trees. It disappeared in the morning mist.

Aversa
!

At least one of the demons still lived. Skulking close; spying on his dreams. The priests of Malitus, God of Endings, were right once more. Crucian hurried to rise and get back to the great work.

Chapter 11
—
Another Ghost

When Joslyn knocked on Ghost's door at the appointed hour there was no answer. She knocked again and then tried the door. It wasn't locked; she found Ghost sitting in the room's one chair, staring at nothing.

"I'm here," Joslyn said.

Ghost smiled wanly. "I love the way you say that
—
'I'm here.' No hesitation, no uncertainty, no dwelling on any other possibility. As I must, and that is
my
certainty. I envy you yours."

Joslyn saw the pitcher of wine on the table, the cup in his hands. "Feeling sorry for yourself is something of an achievement for you," she said, holding up the pitcher. "Is this the magic draught that made it possible?"

Ghost examined the dregs in his cup. "No... the self-pity I managed on my own. All this seems to do is magnify distance. Take the door for instance
—
when you knocked just now it seemed entirely too far away."

Joslyn took the pitcher and poured a cup for herself. "I went into the city today."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

She glared at him. "No, I did not. If only you'd seen what I've seen!"

Ghost took the pitcher back. "I have."

Joslyn stared at him briefly, shook her head. "I should be surprised. I'm not. You followed us?"

"Tolas and I. I wanted to see what you were up to. Never did figure that part out."

"I found a sickness in Darsa's Nightstage. I wanted to see if it extended into the waking world."

"How could it not? There's nothing in dream that we... I mean you, don't bring there
—
one night glorious visions, the next a fever dream."

"All of Darsa is a fever dream, waking and sleeping. And I never expected the Enders."

"I'd heard rumors, though I didn't connect them to that shrine we found. Rather interesting religion."

Joslyn spat. "It's a disease!"

Ghost smiled. "Perhaps, but the concept is almost elegant
—
all our self-destructive and violent urges given justification, even sanctity. A certain kind of person will always respond."

"I met one today."

Ghost grunted. It was almost a chuckle. "If you mean Phian, you're mistaken."

"He wants to die!"

"He says he does. Unlike an Ender, who
says
he wants the rest of us to die and leave him in peace. I suspect their own oblivion is at the heart of their desire. I don't know the heart of Phian's desire."

"You spoke to him? What I heard didn't make a lot of sense."

Ghost took a long drink. "It made perfect sense. Unfortunately."

Joslyn put her cup on the table and sat down hard on Ghost's bed, putting her head in her hands. "I've had quite enough of 'circle question' for one day, thanks to Kessa. If you know what's wrong with that lunatic, say so!"

"He's not a lunatic. He's a ghost."

Joslyn's hands fell to her sides. "Oh dear."

Ghost sighed. "Indeed."

Joslyn groped for her cup and emptied it a little too quickly. She went through a fit of coughing, but when she recovered a little color had returned to her cheeks. "Are you sure?"

"Now who's starting the circle? Yes, Joslyn, I'm sure. I had thought I was the only one. Not knowing how or why it happened in the first place, that was rather presumptuous of me."

"How long..." Joslyn almost bit her tongue.

Ghost did laugh this time. "So that occurred to you, too? The answer is: Phian's been without a Nightsoul longer than I have. I'd hoped that wasn't the case, that I was just stronger... no. As Phian is, so shall I be. In time."

Joslyn stood up. "Then time is something we shouldn't be wasting. We need to begin the search, and now wouldn't be too soon."

"I agree. I just wish I knew how."

*

The dreaming city wasn't much of a beacon
—
the glow was weak, like a dying fire-beetle. Alyssa flitted closer, found the first feeble mist-plays, examined them, moved on. What she sought would be clear enough when she found it, probably not before.

Joslyn
?

She didn't expect an answer, though there was a time when she had a right to. That was all changed. Only the search mattered now, that and what might come of it.

I will find you, Joslyn. I have to
.

*

Silly, trusting fool
!

Joslyn woke on the Nightstage in fine fury, and fool was the least of the epithets she turned on that other Joslyn now tucked away snug and warm in her bed. Ghost didn't even know where to begin! Granted, since the Nightsoul hadn't returned, it wasn't likely he'd know what happened to it, but surely he knew where to look, how to look --

Of course. He thought I knew
.

So simple. In the augury, dear, dumb, Daysoul Joslyn had let it slip about the wall, something she wouldn't even have admitted knowing about except for the Nightseed. And now that particular harsh truth was rattling the bars in its cage once again, locked securely away. If she'd thought of the search at all, it was only to remind herself that Ghost would know what to do, could show her the way he took beyond the wall. But however Ghost's Nightsoul had breached the wall, it was the first and last time. If there was another way, a path besides the one Joslyn would not take, only Ghost's Nightsoul knew about it, and he wasn't in a position to tell anyone.

Joslyn sat down on the stage and laughed. She laughed until big tears rolled from her eyes and she was weak with laughing. The fit left her lying on the mist, giggling.

"Child, you have the oddest sense of humor I know."

Joslyn sat up, startled, and the scent, sound, and smell of the dream rushed in on her. She was back on the bleak shore, lying on a bed of coarse, hard sand. The harpy with Musa's face perched on a rocky spire, shaking its head and making "tsk, tsk" sounds.

Joslyn covered her face. "Go away."

"Since I'm part of this dream, I can't very well do that. Talk sense, girl."

"Who are you? Musa?"

"Haven't we been through this before? I am an avatar in your dream, that's
what
I am. I can't very well be a
who
at the same time."

Joslyn shook her head. "This isn't my dream."

The harpy shook itself like a hen settling into its roost, rustling iron-grey feathers. "How do you know that?"

Joslyn clenched her fists, and every word came out like a curse. "Because I don't dream!"

"A Temple Dreamer who doesn't dream? Next you'll be telling me about cold fire and stone air. What herbs are you eating these days?"

Joslyn gripped the sand in frustration. It flowed over and under and through her fingers, and left nothing but grit under her fingernails. "Roaming the Nightstage is not the same as dreaming, Musa. You know that."

"A name? My mistress is too kind... Yes, I know that. As the eel is not the same as the perch whose blood it sucks away. Is it a good life, my little lamprey?"

"It's the only one I'm allowed."

"Allows? Who's 'allowing' you?"

Joslyn shrugs. "The Daysoul. The One who Sleeps."

"You mean Joslyn."

"I am Joslyn!"

"And she is Joslyn, too, as much Joslyn as you are. That's a hint, Child. She's also no
more
Joslyn than you are. You have as much say in this matter."

Joslyn shook her head. "Dyaros is still there, waiting, when I dream. I want to face him... I've tried! But she's stronger than I am; she calls me back, ends the fight before it begins."

The harpy laughed, and sang:

"A better foe could not be found!

Mighty Gol fell to the ground,

And wrestled himself for half a day.

'At last!' he cried, 'a worthy fray!'"

Joslyn flushed red. "Nursery rhymes, Musa?"

"Oh, yes. Sung for the amusement and education of children. And what have you learned today, little girl?"

Joslyn cursed and reached for a stone. Her fingers closed on mist and again came up empty. The dream and the harpy were gone as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Joslyn alone on the barren stage.

"Lucky for you, Musa." She almost sounded as if she meant it.

*

Nothing
.

Alyssa left another of the cold, mirthless dreams, the only sort she had been able to find. No dream like that could possibly hold the Joslyn she remembered, and still she continued the search, determined but not hopeful. Time was hard to judge on the Nightstage, but she was sure there wasn't much left. Best to be as certain as possible before the night ended, else the Master would make her return. And she didn't want to do that.

City of nightmares
.

*

Kessa's dream was easy to find; it stood to the other dreams in Darsa as a bonfire to a tallow candle. Joslyn wondered for a moment what gave her the strength to hold off the despair that was the Darsan Nightstage. She was young, but so were others, and Darsa broke young and old alike on the same dark wheel. Whatever it was, Joslyn hoped it stood by her tonight.

I pray Kessa doesn't think this will be easy
.

Joslyn willed herself into the dream and immediately felt a strong sense of relief. Kessa was deep within a play, her untrained Nightsoul unable to maintain the
awareness
that enabled it to move apart from the phantoms of a sleeping mind.