A Warrior of Dreams (25 page)

The Master leaned back on his dark throne. "As I said, Jerdan
—
perhaps. Until your passion for our cause, your devotion is again brought to my attention by such an action as summoning the Great One's humble Echo. Then I don't think I could restrain myself from honoring you suitably. Am I making myself clear, Brother?"

Jerdan put his forehead to the floor. "As the righteousness of our cause, Master."

"Then we won't dwell on it. Now, Brother, tell me what couldn't wait until the appointed time."

Jerdan hesitated. "Compared with the... honor, you sought to bestow, it seems so trivial," he said, "but without warning we weren't able to
prepare
. I'm not questioning your action, understand, but it cost us a valuable convert."

The Master idly drummed the arm of his chair with his fingers during most of Jerdan's speech. "Did it really?" he finally asked, his voice neutral.

"Yes, one of the Sulidun converts, and we get so few of them. They're far too content with their lives, damn them."

The gloved hand never paused. Jerdan felt each tap like a blow, and the faint sound of them rushed out into the silence like pebbles trying to fill a well. After awhile the thrumming stopped, and the silence was loud indeed.

"Brother Jerdan, what are you talking about?"

"Why... the new Storm! He strangled an acolyte before we could restrain him. Usually we lock them away for 'vigil', but when you created this one without giving us word..." Jerdan was suddenly aware of his own voice. How silly and whining it sounded. Perhaps this awareness was because it seemed to be bouncing off the Master like a stone cliff. "You really don't know, do you?" Jerdan asked.

It was a mistake. A bad one. Jerdan knew it, and his fear gave way to a strange calm. Maybe there was only so much terror in him, and the Master Echo had used it all. Or maybe the reminder of things beyond the Master, beyond his knowledge and power, gave him courage. He didn't know about that, but he
was
pretty certain of just how much difference his new-found serenity was going to make.

The Master stood. "I do believe," he said, "that you'll be honored after all."

Jerdan was back on the altar, but this time the stone didn't seem so substantial. He felt suspended by his fetters over a void, he felt the strain at his wrists and ankles. When he looked down he saw the swirl of dark waters.

*

The long step into Tolas's dream was a step back in time. Tolas was there: a little younger, a little softer around the eyes and mouth. The scars within that made his gaze hard and his eyes grim were not there. He stood at the corner of two worn streets at the marketplace; Joslyn recognized the tall pillar where she and Kessa had watched the Enders send pain into the world. Only now there were no Enders
—
a small crowd gathered around Tolas, but it was clear he was in no danger. A cracked leather pack stood beside him on the cobbles, the crowd was friendly and smiling, and Tolas stood tapping one foot, his finger set thoughtfully to his lips as if he had all the time in eternity.

"Ess, what should I do next?"

The pack seemed to squirm; the flap lifted just enough to show the long nose and small, bright eyes of a brown rat. "You might try slicing one of these lovely ladies in two," it said in a squeaky voice. "You might even get it right this time."

There were several gasps from the crowd, though whether triggered by sight of the rat or the sound of it's voice, Joslyn couldn't say. At first she thought the rat was an illusion of the dream, but there were no illusions of that sort here. And she remembered others in Ly Ossia who had the talent of speaking without moving their lips, but of all she had seen, Tolas was the best.

He moved quickly to maintain control of the crowd. "It's all right, good people
—
Ess may complain, but he usually does as he's told. Would that the rest of his kin in this fair city did the same."

With that Tolas again became one with the people around him, sharing the old jokes of comrades at arms. "Now then... oh, I know. Ess, give me the rope."

No doubt acting on some signal, the rat vanished into the depths of the pack and reappeared with the end of a hempen cord in his teeth. Tolas thanked him and began to pull it out of the pack, but the more he pulled, the more cord ribboned out, until there was a small pile at his feet and no end in sight.

"Think you got enough?" the rat asked.

"Well... maybe we'll put a little back." Tolas measured out a single span of the hemp and held a section of the rat's muzzle. "Would you mind cutting this?" Ess obligingly gnawed the cord in two, and Tolas shoved the rest back into the pack. "That'll be all for now."

The rat retreated after the cord, though not without several muttered opinions on Tolas's conjuring talent. There was good-natured laughter from the crowd; Tolas acknowledged it with a wry grin, saying, "Easy for him to talk
—
if things go wrong he's got a place to hide."

For the next several minutes Tolas worked the roped for all it was worth: tying knots that disappeared, knots that moved up and down the rope, one that even slid off the rope entirely. Finally he looped the rope double over his arm and took a small knife from his belt. "And now..."

Ess never missed a cue, though Joslyn had no idea how they were given. He appeared beneath the flap and yawned hugely. "Is that the best you can do? They've seen the healed rope trick a thousand times. Am I right?"

More laughter, and one or two nods from the crowd. Tolas took the knot he had pulled off the rope earlier and threw it at the rat's nose. Ess withdrew, squeaking indignantly. Tolas gazed ruefully at the cord in his hand. "He
is
right... but Ess, don't you know how hard it is to think up impossible things? That no one hasn't already seen, that is."

A muffled reply from the leather bag. "You could scale a lesser mountain, Great Magician."

Tolas smiled. "I could, at that." He turned to the crowd, and his gaze seemed to touch each person there individually, separating them one by one from the identity of the crowd. He came to a little girl near the front rank. She was dirty and ragged, her hair falling in thick, dark rivulets to her shoulder like a muddy river.

Street orphan
, thought Joslyn. It wasn't just her appearance
—
ordinary neglect could do that. It was in the eyes
—
the certainty of nowhere to go, no one to help. The child in those eyes was nearly dead; when the spark was gone, nothing like it would ever come again. Joslyn found it hard to look at her, hard not to remember.

Tolas kneeled in front of the girl, and for a moment Joslyn thought she would turn and bolt into the crowd, but Tolas's friendly smile was like a lasso; it caught and held her long enough for Tolas to complete the snare with his voice. "What's your name?"

"Aynfyr," she said, looking at her feet.

Tolas took her chin in a gentle grip and made her look at him. "Aynfyr... that's a pretty name. Like the princess in the story?"

The girl nodded sheepishly. "She made it up," a man in the crowd said, but he was quickly shushed.

Tolas ignored the interruption. "Then you know all about Aynfyr and her Marvelous Horn. It was supposed to give her whatever she needed. Trouble was, she didn't always know what she needed. Are you like that?" The girl shook her head and Tolas grinned. "No, I didn't think so. Well, I'm no 'marvelous horn', Aynfyr. I can't give you what you need, but maybe I can give you something you'd want, something you've never seen before. Would you like that?"

The girl nodded, and there was the faintest promise of a smile on her face. Joslyn glanced at Kessa
—
no help there
—
then back at Tolas.

What's he doing
?

Tolas stood up, and when he spoke again, he included the rest of the audience in the sweep of his voice. "Aynfyr, what would you like to see?"

Without a moment's hesitation, the answer came in a high, piping voice. "A butterfly."

Tolas, if that child's not working for you, you're in deep trouble
.

Joslyn half-expected Tolas to produce a butterfly from his bag of tricks, perhaps a thing of silk floating on gossamer threads too fine to see, guided by artful gestures. Tolas did no such thing, and Joslyn was relieved, though she couldn't say why.

Tolas smiled at the girl. "Of course... and how many of the rest of you have never seen a butterfly? Not so many of them in Darsa, are there?" There were muttered assents from the crowd, and Tolas paused just a moment to acknowledge them. "No... not so many. Roaches? By the bushel. And rats," he said, turning a pointed look on the leather bag. There was a muffled obscenity from within, but nothing else. Tolas rubbed his chin with the knuckles of his right hand. "Yes, I think we could all use a butterfly today. Thank you, Aynfyr."

He sat down cross-legged as if before a campfire. Some of the people there moved to the side to get a better view; others went down on one knee. The effect was that of a large family gathered around a tale-spinner, and Tolas took his part immediately. "Now then... I'm sure all here have at least
heard
of a butterfly, but maybe everyone doesn't know what it looks like, what it
is
. Then one could land on your head and you'd know no more than you did. So let's picture it together." He spread his hands, palm up, and the put the edges together to form a rough butterfly outline. "The wings move like this..." Tolas's nimble fingers lifted and fell in long wavelike patterns, showing the motion of languid wings.

He's got that perfectly
. Joslyn remembered a butterfly of her own, and for an instant could almost see Tolas's hands as a butterfly, drifting over a meadow filled with flowers...
Nonsense. If he doesn't give these people something soon, they'll turn on him
.

Joslyn had seen street magicians before, and to a man and woman, they kept moving
—
talking, doing their tricks and schemes, never for a moment giving the audience time to get restless. But Tolas set his own pace, oblivious, and the crowd marched to it. He was in control; it was as simple as that.

Tolas moved on without pause. "And the colors of the wings, well, you'll just have to imagine those. Like spatters of a rainbow, meeting and blending one into the other, and such patterns! Like nothing else." He went on, drawing the image of a butterfly in fluid detail: the rainbow wings, the long, fragile legs, the delicate spiral tongue. And all the while his fingers mimed its fluttering motion, Joslyn found herself almost captured by Tolas's word-portrait, but her unease was growing by the moment. Just what was he up to?

There was a gasp for the crowd, then another, then what sounded like one long, communal sigh. Aynfyr laughed and clapped her hands together, her eyes on Tolas's hands... no, on a spot about six inches above his spread fingers. The audience pressed closer, obscuring Joslyn's view, and their voices buzzed with mixed excitement and wonder.

Joslyn felt Kessa's fingers digging into her arm. She glanced to the side, saw the odd light gleaming in the girl's eyes.
She's within the dream
.

Kessa gasped and shook with excitement like a child. "Joslyn, isn't it
wonderful
!?"

Joslyn didn't answer; she didn't know how. She saw the audience now looking up above the circle they made about Tolas, and still she saw nothing.
Has he hypnotized them? I saw what they saw, heard what they
 --

She knew. It wasn't whether she was hypnotized or not, tricked into seeing something that wasn't there. She was outside, as Kessa and Tolas's memories were not. And it was a memory, Joslyn was sure. Those people long ago had seen something, as Kessa did now. Joslyn was the only one who didn't see, and it occurred to her that she very much wanted to see. It would be simple; all she had to do was enter the dream... only she was already in the dream and still apart. But she was not seeing and accepting it, as Kessa did. For that she would have to take one extra step and become a part of Tolas's dream.

Come on, Joslyn. You know how
.

It seemed so strange to think of it that way
—
she knew how. Part of the Dreamer's basic stock of skills. Kessa lacked the dreamer discipline; she didn't know how
not
to accept the dream. Right then Joslyn envied her ignorance very much.

It's easy
...

It sounded like an argument. Joslyn frowned and began to go through the preliminary steps to relax the Nightsoul's conscious control and fade into the play, to blend in like one more drop of water in a stream. One deep breath of the air of the night world and...

Nothing. It didn't work.

Joslyn tried again, but with the same result.
Must be a little out of practice
... Her thought was rudely interrupted by the laughter. Joslyn glanced at Kessa, but she still stood, eyes shining in wonder at nothing Joslyn could see.

"Did you hear that?"

Kessa barely glanced at her. "I didn't hear anything."

Of course not
, Joslyn thought,
Only I can hear a harpy laugh
. And that burst of laughter was like cold water in the face of her delusion. Joslyn knew how to enter the dream. She wasn't going to do it.

THAT'S RIGHT, DEAR
—
DON'T LOSE CONTROL FOR AN INSTANT. NO TELLING WHAT YOU MIGHT SEE.

The harpy hovered over the crowd, sounding its cackle while it crudely aped the flutter of a butterfly with its large, dark wings. The crowd didn't change, didn't react at all. Joslyn knew the harpy was for her alone.

Damn you to every hell there is
!

Joslyn wrenched Kessa out of the dream. It was a rape; she didn't tell herself otherwise. Joslyn went into the part of the dream that Kessa claimed for herself, and for that instant, just before Kessa lost the dream, Joslyn saw the butterfly through Kessa's eyes.

Sweet Dreamer
.