A Warrior of Dreams (34 page)

NO FARTHER. It was a plea, not a command.

Joslyn put a hand on Ghost's shoulder.
We will not. Can—can you speak aloud? My friend cannot hear you
.

DO YOU WISH HIM TO HEAR?

Joslyn did not really understand what the Aversa meant, but her fear was that, if she tried, she just might. She took a breath.
Yes
.

The Aversa's eyes slowly opened. Joslyn looked into the large amber depths she'd first seen on the Darsan nightstage. There was recognition in the Aversa's eyes, and more beside. Joslyn's head felt light, and the effort of keeping her hope in check threatened to burst her.

"We've come
—
"

"Full of questions." The Aversa nodded. "I know... and my time is short."

"Are you ill?" Ghost asked.

She shook her head. "Not as you understand it. I'm entering
athyran
, the sleep without dreams. I would have done so already if the Ender had not interrupted me. The others have gone before me, and my work is done now. I will join them."

"Why? It is peaceful enough here. And the Ender doesn't threaten you now."

"I made my choice long before the Ender came. You saw what was left of our city above; there is no place for us in this age. We will wait, and perhaps there will be another time... No matter. Did you see the altar?"

Ghost nodded. "We tore down most of it and added a few stones to the grave of the follower of Malitus."

The Firstborn smiled. "His Master's name was Gahon, though poor Crucian did not know... I am sad for him."

"Was his altar no danger to you, then?" Joslyn asked.

She shook her head. "Not the altar... itself. Nothing but stone and dirt and all his prayers would not have changed that. But Crucian thought his pain was that of the world, of the sick dream trying to die, and every stone he placed carried the weight of it. It would have crushed me, and Crucian bore it alone for years
—
for that he deserved a place to rest, and the small kindness you did him."

Joslyn fell silent, and the Aversa turned her attention on Ghost. He returned her gaze, and Joslyn thought she saw a flicker of... something, in his eyes. A spark she had not often seen.

Ghost spoke first. "You knew we were coming." The Aversa nodded, and he went on, "Do you know why?"

"The Dreamwatcher said you wanted my help."

Joslyn bit her lip.
Pray he doesn't
 --

Ghost blinked. "Dreamwatcher? Why do you call her that?"

Too late. Even if all the gods who ever meddled were listening to her prayer. Joslyn still didn't know why the Aversa offered her secret speech, but she cursed herself for not accepting.

"Because that is what she does. I think it is all she does, now. She is scarred, like Crucian, and merely chooses a different sort of stone for her altar..."

Joslyn wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go except darkness. "Damn..."

Ghost looked at her. "I don't understand
—
"

"Understand this," snapped Joslyn. "There is very little time, and you're wasting it!" She turned to the Aversa. "You said earlier that there was no one inside him to hear you. Do you know why?"

The Aversa yawned. "He has no
tekre
... what you call Nightsoul. Is that what you've come to ask me about?"

Ghost leaned forward. "You know, then? You know where it is?"

"Yes," said the Aversa, and pointed at Joslyn, "and so does she."

The chill crept past Joslyn's skin and into her bones. She shook her head. "I know it lies beyond the Nightstage, beyond the wall. I don't know how to reach it, how to search
—
"

The Aversa shook her head, slowly. "You could not know that there is a wall, without knowing the way to find it. Don't be foolish, girl. Your bemused friend here could end the world while you dally."

Joslyn knew Ghost was looking at her and pretended not to notice. He turned back to the Firstborn. "Joslyn has had fear of me, too. Why? What is there about me that is such a peril?"

The Aversa yawned again, and Joslyn could almost feel the weariness in the woman's eyes. "I don't know. There are others like you, but not like you. Somna's dream shudders now, and as long as you are what you are, the world is safe for no one. I will sleep, but I fear there may be no awakening."

"If it's true that I'm a threat
—
and Joslyn has sensed it too, I think
—
What if I don't continue?" Ghost asked. "This is a pleasant enough spot
—
I could die here."

The Aversa turned away from him. "It is hard enough for you to live as it is. Death might be a kindness for you
—
or it might end the dream itself. So much uncertainty... I do know Gahon has played the game well this time. It might be over."

For a while Joslyn felt her part in the play was done, that all remaining belonged to Ghost and the Aversa woman. But the Firstborn's serenity was more than Joslyn could handle. She felt as if the air was full of delicate things that an ill-chosen word could shatter, but she could not keep silent any longer. "You take the triumph of evil very calmly, Firstborn."

The Aversa yawned again, but Joslyn saw something besides weariness on her face
—
amusement. "I take the triumph of
Gahon
calmly," she said, "since there's nothing else I can do. As for evil..." she shrugged, slightly, "Gahon has been called by many names over the years: Demon, Destroyer, Prince of Nightmares... But there is a name forgotten these days, the name he bore before all those
—
Gahon the Lover."

Joslyn frowned and looked at Ghost, but he was no help. He stood without expression, arms folded, totally motionless. Joslyn shook her head. "You make it sound like a courtship."

"Do I? But Gahon is of the same race as Somna, a Lifedreamer. One who can weave creation to suit himself. Yet all our legends, all our fears speak of nothing but his hunger to destroy Somna's world. Why? Why no greater purpose, he who could as easily create his own worlds? Why deny himself that marvel for petty spite?"

Despite herself, the Aversa's words made Joslyn pause. "I never thought of that."

"Then think further: all that we are is an echo of Somna, and that includes our emotions
—
all of them. Even love. Now consider how long the dream that is
us
has lasted, how long Somna has been alone with the children of her own imagination. Consider one who loves our Dreamer watching her odd
—
one might even say unhealthy
—
interest in this one dream. Unable to interfere directly without risking her love. Working through others. Waiting. Gahon does not want what we want and that makes him our enemy, but don't presume a righteousness no one can claim
—
don't call him evil."

The Aversa's tone reminded Joslyn so much of Musa, and how she always made Joslyn feel as if she'd just done something wrong. Not done deliberately, of course, not a conscious choice of right or wrong. More like a child who knows no better. Joslyn desperately wanted to say something, anything, but she had no answer the Aversa would understand. She had no answer at all.

And there was no time.

The Aversa's breathing was very slow and measured, her eyes half-closed. "You must leave me now," she said.

"Please..." Joslyn said, forgetting her anger, and trying to forget her guilt. "At least tell me how to begin the search for Ghost's soul!"

The Aversa shook her head. "What you want is for me to tell you
another
way, and there is no other way. There is only the way you know."

Joslyn took a breath. "I
—
I don't remember."

The Aversa's eyelids flickered open for a moment; Joslyn again felt the weight of time and distance measuring her. Then the feeling was gone. "I hope you do remember," The Aversa said, "for I swear you will never reach that place again except through the same door..."

Eyes closed, movements slow but graceful, the Aversa rose. She stepped down from her seat and past Joslyn, past Ghost, and walked toward one of the passageways behind the stone chair.

Joslyn took a step forward. "Please --"

Now Ghost put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her back. "Come."

Ghost half led, half dragged Joslyn back up the steps and into the narrow stone corridor. She kept looking back, even after the blackness had closed around their puny lantern and there was nothing at all to be seen. The entrance finally appeared as a ghostly patch of lesser darkness. When they emerged into the true night the air was suddenly very warm and heavy after their time in the cave. Joslyn's breathing seemed wrong to her, gasping and short. It took her a while to realize she was crying.

Ghost leaned against the hill, his arms outstretched to each corner of the lintel. "Self-pity," he said. "One emotion I know well enough. It's not so honest as anger, not so painful and sweet as love. But it's always so easy. Stop it, girl. Or cry for her
—
" he nodded into the cave, "or for me. We have more need."

Joslyn's honest anger won just for a moment. She looked at him through the mist in her eyes. "H-how would you know? You know nothing --"

"And what do you know, Joslyn?" Silence. "Weep for me, indeed. I have been trouble for you from the beginning, but your final 'nothing,' this thing you've hidden so long has done for me. At least my grave may be tight against prying eyes, but this..." Ghost stared at the opening as if it was a poisoned wound, offensive to sight and smell. "They're defenseless, now. It's not right..."

Later Joslyn blamed her anger and fear for making her so thick, for not letting her see what was happening. And then it was done. When Ghost stepped away there was no door at all. The hill's side was an unbroken grassy slope to the forest floor. Ghost had changed the dream again.

Ghost saw what he had done and frowned. "I didn't mean to do anything. The thought came so quickly..." He looked at Joslyn. "Was it very bad?"

Joslyn shook her head, and when she spoke it seemed more to herself than to him. "There was nothing this time. No shudder of the dream, no fear." She looked at him, eyes shining. "Don't you know what this means? The Aversa could be wrong about you!"

"And other things, Joslyn? I don't think so, and you
know
it isn't so. This only means that what I did was... right. At least enough not to harm the dream. But what about next time? Will I be right, then?"

He held something cradled in his arms. Joslyn recognized her crossbow. "Ghost, please give me that."

Ghost looked at her askance. "You needn't be so eager, girl. I was going to." He turned the stock toward her and she slipped it out of his grasp. Ghost smiled and stepped back, arms spread wide, until he was flat against the trunk of an ancient cypress. "Will this do?"

Joslyn stared at him. "Ghost, what are you talking about?"

"I meant what I said, there in the cave. I could die here. You could be a dear and arrange it."

"Ghost --"

"Oh, don't worry. I think my death agony could shatter the world if I let it. But it is so easy for me to be empty, to feel nothing. Even your arrow, I bet. I would look down with mild interest at my blood dripping away. A slow steady rate
—
you could tell the time by the drops, just like an hourglass. That would be interesting."

Joslyn took the bolt off the string and pulled the trigger. The crossbow fired at nothing with nothing, and the hum was like a frustrated bee. "I'm not going to kill you, Ghost."

He shook his head. "Joslyn, can't you see that you already have? The Aversa was not playing games with us; even I could see that! You've known what to do all along."

Joslyn sat down on the moss and rested her chin on her knees. "Yes, Ghost."

"Then kill me and be quick about it! The night is ageing and the world should have the same chance."

She shook her head, slowly. "It's true that I know where your Nightsoul is. It's also true that I don't really know where that is. I think I know
how
to get there. I don't know if I
can
get there."

Ghost smiled faintly. "You will explain that or you will shoot me. I really must insist on one or the other."

Joslyn slung her weapon across her back. "First we will get back to camp and reheat the lentils. They'll be cold by now."

"And then we talk?"

Joslyn shook her head. "And then I talk, Ghost. And you're just going to damn well listen."

*

Tagramon was laughing again. He poured another brimming goblet of rich red wine, spilled a little, drank more. "Oh, don't look so disapproving, Belor! Somna won't mind. She appreciates a good joke; look around you if you need the proof of it..."

Belor switched tactics, and when Tagramon stepped away from the table, the High Priest was quick to get between the Dream Master and his wine. "As all things come from Somna," he said piously. "Perhaps if you would share the jest, I might appreciate it with her."

Tagramon fixed him with a bleary eye. "Belor, there are times when I marvel at your density.
Joslyn
, my friend. I would have killed her as a threat to our work. When she escaped, I had you loose that... talented young man on her. But now I find she was not a threat, could never be one! My best Dreamer did not dream! She found the Way to Ghost's Nightsoul, yes, but she could never reach it."

"She could now," Belor pointed out.

"Because Inlos, the dear lunatic, goaded her into dreaming again! I swear, Belor... If I die tonight, Somna herself will laugh in my face."

"An interesting irony," sighed Belor, "but not one you could have foreseen. This changes nothing, Master. The night is growing short, and there is work to do."

"There always is," muttered Tagramon, "damn it and damn you!"

"When the work is done," said Belor firmly, "do it with my blessing."

*

"... after the hanging, it started. Every time I dreamed there he was, waiting for me. Or the memory of him. Soon I just stopped dreaming. It was easier."