A Warrior of Dreams (41 page)

"Damn." Joslyn could no longer tell when one shiver started and the other ended. She watched, eyes dull with fatigue and cold, while Ghost sharpened one end of a slim, straight twig and placed it upright on a piece of dry log. "What's that for?"

"Read about this in a woodcraft treatise... at least I must have. Always wondered if it would work."

He rubbed his hands together as if trying to warm them, and the twig spun rapidly back and forth. Soon a wisp of smoke curled up from the point, a spark jumped. Ghost piled dry leaves on the log and began to blow, cheeks puffing like a bellows. In time he had a small fire going.

Joslyn leaned close, rubbing her numb fingers.
Another mystery solved
, she thought glumly.
Oh, happy day
... "I found you," she said.

Ghost didn't look up from the fire. "I rather thought so."

Joslyn waited, but he didn't say anything else. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Yes," Ghost said, "and I think I should be pleased. But you obviously are not, and I'm afraid I've rather gotten used to feeling the world through you."

Joslyn smiled, but that wasn't enough. She put her head down on her knees and she laughed. Ghost looked bewildered and she laughed harder still.

"Sorry," she managed, finally, "but it was just so fitting. Of course you use human eyes to see the world, dear Ghost
—
how else is a god to manage?"

*

At the time, young Wessys didn't think the Enders asked very much. Surrender "the things of this world" they said. Fine. It's not as if he had so much to forsake. Only they didn't tell him "the thing's of this world" included food and shelter. And warmth. Wessys missed that most of all.

The rain ended some time ago, but the wind still blew fiercely. He found another piece of wreckage washed up on the beach: a section of mast, frayed lines still attached. Perhaps it belonged to the boat they had hounded onto the rocks; it was hard to tell. Past a certain size, the wrack of one ship looked pretty much like another. And there were three, all together.

Not counting the one that sank
...

Wessys made his way back up the beach to where his ten surviving companions took shelter. He found them huddled behind the lee of a large boulder. Cali still tried to start a fire with wet sticks and sea-grass; the rest huddled in their robes, watching with some interest but not much hope.

Wessys looked around, his apprehension growing. "Where's the Master?"

A young, freckle-faced brother glanced up. "He is seeking guidance."

Wessys felt a twinge of unease. "You mean a vision, don't you?"

The boy nodded. "But after what happened tonight, perhaps... perhaps Malitus has forsaken us."

That would be blessing indeed
...

Wessys was ashamed of the thought but there wasn't a lot he could do, it being the nature of thoughts to come and go, asking neither leave nor pardon. Words were much easier to manage.

"Never," he said.

He joined his brother acolytes by the still-born fire. Weariness was no match for the wet and cold; there was little sleep to be had that night. They watched Cali struggle with sodden tinder for what seemed hours; then Wessys had a try, then all the others. It became something of a game after a bit. Dawn and Master Ligen found them still at it, and Wessys couldn't decide which of them hurt his eyes the most.

Ligen beamed blindingly. "My prayers were answered."

Wessys, ambushed by another thought, smiled too.

Mine weren't
.

Chapter 17
—
Deverea's Gift, Daycia's Price

Joslyn lay flat on the ledge, hardly daring to breathe. The Enders were no more than a bowshot away, marching through the valley in military order. She had no illusions about what would happen if she was seen, but still she had to look, had to know what was happening.

What was happening didn't make a lot of sense.

She watched the Enders marching to a quick-time step like children playing soldiers. The line was ragged but cohesive; the marchers looked neither right nor left as they followed a tall priest.

"Lovely day."

Joslyn didn't scream; it was more of a squeak. Ghost stood, his full height broadside to the sun. "Ghost, get down! If they look up here..."

"It would be amazing. First, the rain would have covered our tracks, so we're dead as far as they know. Second, they aren't paying attention anyway."

He was right
—
whatever the Enders were up to, they were not searching. But Joslyn didn't take her eyes off the black line until it disappeared from sight to the east. Ghost went back into the cave and came out with their few belongings.

"Let's go."

Ghost started down the slope and Joslyn fell into step behind him. They followed where the valley carried them for a bit, but at the juncture of two mountains Ghost chose a northward path. Joslyn didn't ask where he was going; she didn't think it mattered.

After a while Ghost said, "I slept. Did you?"

Joslyn shook her head. "I needed rest," she said, "not sleep."

"You'll need both again soon enough."

Joslyn smiled. "Practicing omniscience?"

Ghost stopped. Joslyn nearly ran into him. "Did you or did you not solve the 'Riddle of the Gods' last night?"

Joslyn thought about it. "I believe I did."

"Then you should know I'm no god," he said, moving on. He added over his shoulder, "Whatever I am."

"You're a man with no Nightsoul."

"Certainly. And thanks to you I know whom to blame. I'm grateful. I still don't know
how
my Nightsoul was taken, or
why
. And I especially don't know
what
makes me
—
incomplete
—
so dangerous."

Joslyn kept her silence for a long time. "Ghost, if you have an Imperial tucked away in that dirty robe of yours, hand it over."

Ghost shrugged and obeyed; Joslyn tucked the coin into her belt. "I gave you the dream for nothing, Ghost. Or as much as you stayed awake to hear. But tradition demands payment for what comes now. Are you ready for your augury?"

"My
—
?" Ghost stopped again, but Joslyn was a little quicker this time; there were no collisions. Ghost managed two expressions at once: suspicion and hope. "If you know the answers, tell me."

"Ask me."

"All right: why?"

"Why create a god? Why control all that power?"

Ghost looked properly chastised. "All right
—
How?"

"Nightsouls can be held; I've done it myself. And I know what a skilled dreamer can do to those who cannot master their own dreams. Tagramon needed an adept to control the other Nightsouls he stole, to direct their dreams. His slot-stick god needed a "head." That's you... your Nightsoul, rather. How he mastered your Nightsoul I don't know, but I imagine it was no different than what he used to capture the others. Those shadow-creatures he nearly caught me with back in Ly Ossia."

They were coming to a break in the hills. Ghost and Joslyn stood on a high ridge, and Ghost took a deep breath and asked the last question. "What?"

Joslyn smiled. "Ghost, look around you. What do you see?"

A shadowed green forest met the hills to the west. To the north and northeast was the beginnings of a wide flat plain. Ghost frowned, and for a moment Joslyn was afraid he didn't understand. After a moment Ghost smiled, too. "A dream."

"Blessed Somna... yes, Ghost: a dream. Somna's dream. But we tend to forget that, in its way, Somna's dream is just like the dreams I find on the Nightstage. And when I enter a dream that isn't mine, the only thing that never changes is this: I don't belong. I can control dreams, Ghost, but it's not a simple matter. I trouble them. If I'm not careful I end them. So do you."

"Don't belong? How
—
" Ghost blinked. Joslyn waited. "My Nightsoul," he said, finally.

Joslyn nodded. "The Nightsoul, the 'shining thread', the one and only true link to Somna. I rather thought you'd see that
—
it's in all the catechisms. I wonder if it's possible that the Daysoul is just a dream image created by the Nightsoul. When it dies the Nightsoul remains... or at least it can be held. Sometimes I think the Nightsoul is the only part of us that is truly real."

Ghost looked as if he'd tried to walk through a wall. "Could it really be that simple...?"

He'd asked the question aloud, but Joslyn knew he didn't need the answer. She thought of the dying goddess and gave it anyway. "Yes, Ghost. It damn well could."

They didn't leave the ridge right away; Ghost followed as it turned north behind the first line of trees. The way was narrow and chancy. After a third stumble, somewhat more painful than the first two, Joslyn had a question of her own. "Is there a reason we're going this way?"

"Because he... I... oh, damn it all!
We
have friends this way."

"Friends..?" Joslyn had no sooner absorbed that when the second implication hit her. Joslyn savored a very vivid and compelling impulse, but she'd already had the chance and passed, and her crossbow was driftwood by now anyway. "You mean you know where we are?!"

"Never said I didn't. And you didn't ask, so keep your anger. I've got some of my own working and you'll just spoil it."

Joslyn subsided. "All right. Where are we?"

"Trecastyn."

It took a moment, but Joslyn did remember the name. And after three days march from the sea, they found sails again.

*

Belor used his finger to trace the words in his book. The lettering was tight and fluid; in a poor light it was possible to misread them. His curtains were open now; the harsh morning light left no ambiguities.

"Gambling is a sin."

Belor wasn't surprised to find it written there
—
he'd collected the sins himself, all entered by hand in the thick bound ledger.

Add up all the petty taboos of all the petty gods and there isn't a breath taken that doesn't offend someone
. That was a pleasant thought, and in his time Belor had learned to take comfort where he found it. Sin was inevitable; the only thing that mattered was to make it count. And so twenty years of work and planning came down to one throw.

If I misread the signs
...

He didn't finish the thought; it served no purpose. All his plans were coming together, forces set in motion, risks taken. The thing was done. And, win or lose, so was he. Belor allowed his attention to wander within his collection. After a while he even smiled.
Dislak of the Lost Time says it's a sin to wait. Penance must be thriving
 --

"Belor!"

The shout was nearly at the door. The high priest shoved the book under his coverlet and got to his feet just as the door nearly burst off its hinges. Tagramon stood gasping in the doorway.

He was on fire. Smoke curled away in wisps from the Dream Master's charred right sleeve; sparks were born and died there.

Belor got a better look, and changed his mind.
He is fire
.

"What's happening to me?!"

The high priest rushed forward, treated himself to a little pain when he took Tagramon's hand. "Nothing more than was to be expected, Master. It has begun! Do you feel pain?"

"No..."

"Good." Belor's voice was another firm touch, another slow caress. "The god is waking. You feel the link, Master; that's all it is..."

Tagramon looked down at his smoking hand; Belor saw the struggle for calm and control on the Dream Master's face.

One thing to plan, quite another to do
, Belor thought,
you never understood that
.

Belor noticed the faint glory around the Dream Master's head. A start. Yes, very definitely a start.

I sinned well
.

*

Joslyn awoke to voices outside the tent. Strange, after so long traveling with Ghost, she had come to expect silence. She didn't miss it. Joslyn stretched slowly and allowed herself a smile. She'd forgotten how restful dreams could be.

"Ama'te neea, Jooslan?"

The voice came from outside; Joslyn didn't understand the words, but a pleasant scent came with the voice and she understood that well enough.

Breakfast
.

Joslyn's tattered clothes were missing. She found new ones carefully arranged by her cot: loose-fitting breeks like those all the Windfolk wore, soft leather boots, and a tunic that seemed to be woven of blue sky and clouds. She put them on and came out into the sunlight.

A tall man of strong middle age stood by the fire. Caelo. Joslyn had learned little more of his friendship with Ghost except that it was very old and strong. Caelo had read the change in Ghost; Joslyn was sure of it, but if any explanations were offered or accepted she didn't know about it.

Joslyn had met too many people the day before; his was the only name she remembered. He smiled and motioned for her to sit with the others. The members of his immediate household were all different and all very much alike, with fair hair and sun-darkened skins, and they smiled easily and often. The oldest boy shyly made room for her while the three girls giggled and whispered to one another.

Caelo handed her a trencher filled with small meal cakes and steaming baked apples; the smell was intoxicating. She used the one phrase she'd learned so far.

"Ilsaes, Caelo col."

It was supposed to be a thank-you, and for all she knew, it was. At least no one seemed offended. The children did giggle a little louder. Caelo gave them a stern look and they gave back innocence, then another giggle when his back was turned.

Joslyn concentrated on wolfing the food down without being too obvious about it. The girls nudged each other and whispered. Joslyn didn't mind but she did feel strange, and a little lost, and she wished she knew what they were saying.

If Ghost were here he could tell me
... Suddenly Joslyn wasn't quite so hungry. She forced herself to finish the meal, though fear was claiming most of the room in her stomach. The younger children gathered the empty trenchers and bowls and hurried off toward a nearby stream, and Joslyn asked the question. "Ghost..?"