A Warrior of Dreams (31 page)

He smiled through the pain, and little dark flecks of dried blood fell to the ground.
All that I had wasn't enough
.

The last attack was quick; Crucian had no warning at all. One moment he was staggering toward the shrine carrying that final stone, the one that was the last, perfect piece of the puzzle, the one that would seal the unity of the shrine. The next he was on the ground and not really sure how he'd gotten there. Crucian was sure of one thing only
—
he wouldn't be getting up again.

Too much, too fast. Patience. I never did learn patience
...

The demon was there. He couldn't see her, and even her footsteps so very near sounded no louder than a soft breeze against the grass, but he knew she was there. She would have dropped the mask now; there was no longer any reason to pretend.

"Feel... feel free to gloat," he said, concentrating on each word, forcing it out. "I would have. Was looking forward to ..."

The words spun away into darkness. In a moment the demon was beside him, rolling him over onto his back, straightening his contorted limbs. He tried to pull away from her but still couldn't move. He tried to spit and managed only to dribble down his chin. The sour smell of saliva and cooling blood almost made him retch. The demon took a bit of cloth and wiped his face clean.

He had no words now, no strength to use them. Crucian spoke in thought alone and saw another barrier between himself and the Firstborn go down.
Leave me alone
!

HOW CAN I DO THAT AND GLOAT, TOO?

Crucian blinked back the pain, tried to see the demon's face.

She was still Aphel.

I would have exulted in your defeat, Demon; I've admitted as much. I would have crowed and danced and capered like a madman till I dropped dead and finished this little play with just the proper touch of irony. I would not do to you what you're doing to me. I would not torture you
.

The Aversa glanced at the stained cloth she still held. IT WAS SUCH A LITTLE KINDNESS. I MEANT NO INSULT.

Crucian laughed. It brought more blood, which triggered a fit of coughing that brought still more. His breaths came quicker, each one like the tick of an impatient clock. His smile faded slowly.
You may gloat now
.

It sounded like a plea.

She shook her head. I CANNOT. AND NEITHER COULD YOU.

Crucian saw the darkness rising to meet him. It seemed to flow upward from the earth itself, blinding him, muffling his thoughts in its profound nothingness. He still heard the demon in his mind, fainter now but still strong.

I WILL SHOW YOU.

*

It was as if someone had lit a star.

Joslyn kept still for many long minutes, looking at the pin-prick of light. It was the only dreamsign she'd found in a long, weary night of search. At first she had no words to explain her hesitation, just an image, culled from childhood stories of the Wrackers of Syelis
—
a doomed ship, lured into breaking its back on the rocks by a false beacon. The word soon followed the picture.

Trap
.

It made no sense. A dream meant a dreamer, nothing more. And for a trap to be set someone would have to know --

Of course. Someone did know. Joslyn found the thought strangely comforting. She had a reason for the fear, a reason to look at this lonely dream with suspicion. Someone had attacked her before. Not the Dream Master, perhaps nothing to do with him. But there was an enemy. And he could be waiting for her in that spot of light, knowing it for the one bait Joslyn
—
or any dreamer
—
could not resist. No need to search for her when he could make her come to him. Joslyn spread her fears before her like meat at table, and drew strength from them.

Such a trap would work both ways. He'll have found me, but I will have found HIM. That dream didn't spring from nothing
.

Joslyn savored the thought. No more phantoms
—
an enemy. One that had form and substance, ego and will. One that could be hurt. Joslyn nearly shivered with delight, and it was all she could do to maintain caution in approaching the dream. She did a slow circle around the boundaries and found nothing. Whoever had created it had to be inside.

Be patient, whoever you are. I'm coming
.

The dream was empty.

Joslyn stood just within its grasp, the limit shimmering just behind her like a gossamer curtain. She saw nothing, heard no one.

This is wrong
.

Finding no one there didn't disturb Joslyn so much as the silence, so vast, so nearly complete that it threatened to fill that empty place. Even the faint murmur of the true ocean served only to be lost in stillness. Joslyn was certain that if she took a step, no matter how softly, how carefully, the sound would echo like thunder from the bare walls --

Walls
..?

There was something in the dream after all, and it had appeared so quickly that in a blink of her eye Joslyn had missed it. The dream was still empty, but now it was an empty room. Dust lay like a fine layer of ash on the shadowed floor; cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling.

Whoever he was, he knew she was there.

Where are you
?

She heard the echo finally, but it wasn't her footstep.

WHERE ARE YOU?

Joslyn didn't waste any more time with words. She reshaped a fragment of dream into a torch and lit it with a thought. The shadows sprang back from the light and flattened themselves against the wall like figures in a magic lantern. All but the one in the middle of the room. It stood tall and unwavering, and the light had no power over it. Joslyn moved forward slowly, all her senses testing the dream for sign of the one who made it. The shadow waited patiently till Joslyn was close enough to touch it. It was hard and cool; Joslyn caught a faint scent of earth.

Stone
..?

More than that. Her fingers traced the lettering carved into a rough pillar of granite: Joslyn's Dreams.

It was a monument to the dead. In an empty room, in an empty dream. Joslyn turned slowly, but still there was no one.

He must be here. There's no place to hide—

Too late, Joslyn remembered the sound of waters, the one sound in the empty dream.
I thought it was the ocean
...

No time to run. Joslyn threw herself onto the stone just as the illusion-floor disappeared. She landed with a teeth-cracking jolt, tasted blood on her tongue. Her sight clouded for a moment, but she knew it was not the true ocean beneath her now
—
Joslyn heard the surge and hiss of the Dark Waters. When she could see again, the dream was greatly changed. She lay on a small rock surrounded by an angry sea. Storm clouds boiled overhead, lightning flashes seared the sky like white dragons.

The water was rising.

So easy
... thought Joslyn bitterly.
I call myself a Dreamer. I'm nothing but a child playing in the wilderness
.

MERMAID ON THE ROCK, corrected the echo, AWAITING YOUR DROWNED LOVER.

She didn't know who worked the change. It was his will but her image. Joslyn's legs went numb, then merged into a sinuous tail with delicate rainbow fins. She perched on the rock, long black hair flowing over bare breasts. The comb was in her hand.

SLIP INTO THE WATER, MY LOVE.

Joslyn looked down into the depths, saw the steep sides of her refuge fading into darkness. She saw him then, her dead lover. Seaweed trailed from his legs; his left arm was gone. Something small and flat perched on his cheek and fed itself there with thin pincers in the bloated flesh. The drowned man floated up slowly, blind eyes turned toward the rock. He smiled.

Dyaros.

Madness was very close to Joslyn then. She could have reached out and touched it. She almost did.

THE DARK WATERS FLOW THROUGH US ALL, AND IF IT'S THE HOME OF MONSTERS, IT'S BECAUSE WE MADE IT SO.

The thought was a slap in the face, and it hurt. Joslyn knew it didn't come from the Other, and for a moment she thought of the Harpy. Only for a moment.

This isn't my dream. If the Dark Waters are here they belong to someone else
.

But the image didn't
—
the drowned man, lured to his death by a pretty monster. That was Joslyn's. And she gave it to him.

Fool
!

DON'T FRET MY LOVE; YOU AREN'T THE FIRST. AND MADNESS CAN BE SUCH A COMFORTING THING...

Joslyn felt the coldness of the water on her body, saw the rotting arm reach out for her.
The monster belongs to me
. It took all her strength to hold that thought; it fought her. She knew that part of her wanted to accept that embrace, to seek the ending and punishment. She did not deny it, but in the end she chose another image. When the dead man came for her she floated out of his reach on butterfly wings.

ANOTHER ONE. EXQUISITE...

Once more the memory was stolen from her; Joslyn stood on the white sand beach at Darsa. It was almost like before, only this time she was the focus of the nightmare, and there were no wings.

"Pretty..."

The mad boy bore his own wounds now
—
Joslyn traced the thin red line around his jaw where Tolas had slashed his throat. The blood flowed slowly; he would not die before he reached her. She tried to take the knife away from the acolyte but nothing happened. It was Joslyn's memory but not her dream, and the Other was in control. It was like fighting the Dream Master when he was aware of her. She couldn't even run.

NO WAY OUT, DEAR ONE.

Joslyn could feel the waters that flowed beneath the sand, and she knew how fragile the illusion was that kept her above them for now. The wild exultation of the Other screamed in her head, and his control slipped a very little, just enough to reveal his presence in the mad boy's eyes. Joslyn knew the images he so lovingly created, saw herself flayed skin from bone and the ragged pieces thrown one by one into the waiting depths. She would feel the slow bite of the knife every time, and all the fear and pain in her world could not shorten the dream by a moment, not so long as her pain belonged to her alone, trapped in a dream that was no part of her.

Oh
...

Joslyn never put the idea into words that the Other might hear; it was a small, timid thing, like a deer met by chance in a forest, and Joslyn was afraid it might leave her. She was also afraid that it wouldn't. In the end she remained very still, all her attention on something new
—
a delicate, spiraled shell of cream and pink. When the Other came for her as the mad boy he never noticed that one small difference in his dream.

SO PRETTY...

Done in a moment. The dark blade flashed across her face and Joslyn screamed.

So did the dream.

WHAT
—
?

Joslyn's shell was a small thing, but it was hers; the act of dreaming it linked her to the Other's dream, made it partly her own. Just enough so that her pain, too, belonged to the dream. And the dream could not bear it. Joslyn got another glimpse of the Other's thought as the dream tore itself apart: surprise and anger and something Joslyn couldn't put a word to. It was a hopelessly tangled web of emotions and translated itself into Joslyn's consciousness as a picture-play
—
Joslyn saw a little boy robbed of his favorite toy.

Most of the dream still belonged to the Other, and when it ended it took him with it. When the last of the remnants faded Joslyn was left on the bare stage alone. She sank to her knees and let relief battle her terror until her heart stopped beating so painfully hard. She still heard the sound of it when her breathing finally slowed, and she realized it wasn't her heart. It was the beating of wings.

THE DREAMER FINALLY DREAMS.

*

It was some time before Joslyn came to herself again. She remembered the harpy but not clearly, as if it were just another part of the rapidly fading dream. It taunted her, but it was like an oar pushing against the wind. Joslyn gave it nothing to strive against, barely acknowledged its presence. When the harpy left, it was some time before Joslyn knew it was gone. All she could keep in her mind was a picture of the tiny calico shell, and when she started to walk she held onto the image like a talisman.

Where are you going
?

It was a moment before Joslyn realized she'd asked the question herself, and she already knew the answer: Another dream. Not so large as the first, glowing softly on the horizon.

"To the light," she said.

*

Crucian had thought much about Death in his time on the island. He knew of its merciless impartiality, its inevitability. What he hadn't expected was fickleness.

Has Death left me
?

It seemed so. The strength was back in his hands; the sweet final stone was in his hands. His stride was effortless and swift as he moved up the sunlit hill to the Shrine. He knew that he dreamed and did not care. The work would be complete. Trembling, he stepped closer to the ugly mound of stone that was so very beautiful.

This isn't right
...

He saw the change worked by the dream. The shrine was not the altar he had so painstakingly built. Now it was a rough mass of stones laid out in an oval, and the place for the final stone was near one end; Crucian saw the darkness in the hole waiting to be covered.

WHY DO YOU HESITATE?

Why, indeed
?

He took the stone and stretched out his arms toward the last waiting void. A beam of sunlight reached into the darkness and showed him what lay within, waiting, as he himself was waiting, for the final stone.

That stone dropped from his hand and fell heavily to earth.

This isn't my shrine
!

IT IS WHAT YOU CAME HERE TO DO, JARETH.

He shook his head. "A shrine," he croaked, "a shrine to Malitus..."

A DREAM MAY DISGUISE, BUT IT NEVER LIES.

"Damn you! I will not bury Aphel again!"