A Warrior of Dreams (45 page)

Musa nodded. "Your mother was slain after the wall was breached; you survived by the Dreamer's smile alone. Daycia found you and brought you to me. Then I took you north and Daycia and Meleay hid in the abandoned Temple. The rest you know."

"The rest...? I know nothing! Why did you abandon me?"

"Abandon? Child, when ever did I not do what was needful for you?"

"It's not the same and you know it!"

Musa shook her head. "And you wonder why I call you 'Child?' Joslyn, only a child believes she is the center of all things. The years after the fall of the Temple were a very dangerous time. I could hide myself well enough, but you were a very strong dreamer, even as an infant. It was inevitable that the Temple would find you before I could even
begin
your training, and that would lead them directly to
me
. But finding one talented Dreamer with no memory of her past was less risk to me
and
you. How could I know Tagramon's attention would be so diverted that it took sixteen years to find you? So I stayed at the fringes of your life, for both our sakes. If you're going to ask questions, please make them sensible!"

Joslyn looked at her. "What was my mother's name?"

Musa smiled a sad little smile. "Jarel. She was a willful, obstinate child, too. I always see her in you."

Joslyn and Musa fell silent for a while, each content to remain in their own thoughts for a while. It was Daycia who first gave warning.

"Something's happening!"

All the dreams on the Ly Ossian Nightstage died at once; the Nightsouls came tumbling out and faded from the nightstage. The pain in the world felt like a tide; Joslyn held fast to her
self
, and that was the only thing that kept her from being swept away like the rest.

Hope we held them long enough
...

Joslyn assessed the damage, and hope withered. The Nightstage looked like a reflection in a double mirror; beyond, she could see the lights of other dreams, vast dreams. She flitted close, found herself at a barrier that shimmered faintly in the misted light, and beyond it dreams she remembered, vast cities of light.

"What is it?!"

Daycia came stumbling out of the mist, her eyes wild. She came against the barrier and stopped, but not before Joslyn saw it give a little bit. She grabbed Daycia and pulled her back. "It used to be a wall. Now it's a gossamer, and getting weaker by the moment! Tagramon's slot-stick god is no mere vision; he is real! With links to Somna's dream that always call. Sooner or later he had to answer."

Musa joined them just in time to see the truth of what Joslyn said. A giant shaped like a man came out of the myth-dreams and walked with slow purpose toward the membrane. Musa measured the distance. "What happened to the wall?"

Joslyn laughed harshly. "This
is
the wall, weakened from holding what it was never meant to hold. It has about as much chance of stopping him as the barrier between sky and sea to keep a man from drowning."

There was resignation in Musa's eyes, fear in Daycia's. Neither of them moved. Joslyn glared at them. "What are you waiting for? 'We can't fight a god,' remember? Time is short and I've work to do."

Daycia trembled, but she did not run. "You told the truth, Joslyn. I'll do the same
—
tell me where I can hide from
this
and I'll damn well go there. Otherwise tell me how I can help you."

Joslyn glanced at Musa, who nodded. "Daycia speaks for me. Tell us what to do."

Joslyn saw the god touch the wall high above them, saw it tremble as his hand passed through. She turned to the others.

"Tonight," she said, "we find out just how grand our dreams can be."

*

Ghost found the Dream Master in the catacombs. He was hard to miss; he was surrounded by a muted glow, like a hooded beacon. Ghost almost thought he could see shadows on the surface of Tagramon's face cast by the fires within him.

"You were a fool to come here, Ghost. I had sought your death, but my transformation came sooner than expected and rendered you moot. I might have let you live."

"I don't think I'd do the same for you, Dream Master. You have too much to answer for. Even Belor could not carry all the blame alone, though his pride made him try."

"Where is Belor?"

"Gone, since there was no one to trap
his
Nightsoul. I killed him."

Tagramon's face went white. "Now I
will
kill you."

Ghost shook his head. "You will not. And I will tell you why."

Ghost told the story of Belor's deception, and what would happen when the god finally appeared. When Ghost was finished, Tagramon laughed.

It wasn't encouraging.

Ghost sighed. "You don't believe me, do you?"

The Dream Master's eyes flickered like the screens on a glass lantern, tendrils of smoke caressed his body. "No," he said, "I do not."

Ghost shielded his eyes. "Why?"

Tagramon put his hands on his hips. "Because
you
have a reason to lie, just as
I
have a reason not to believe you. Don't you see the sweet inevitability of it all?"

"I'm afraid I do." Ghost sighed. "I would lie to regain my Nightsoul, I think. And if you believe me you admit that the great work for which you dedicated your life is a lie. And, worse, a danger to the Dream and all you believe in. None of that changes the facts."

"Your truth is not my truth, Ghost."

"I said
facts
. Truth is a matter of belief. I have no belief, no faith, no sense of a higher purpose. All that belongs to my Nightsoul, not to me. I
know
what I know, Dream Master. You believe. It's not the same thing."

Tagramon shook his head. "Nonsense. This will happen
—
is happening. You're too late."

The Dream Master's back was to a dark wall. There were other niches carved into that wall, shadowed places where pale bones reflected the weak torchlight. The Dream Master didn't see that wall waver, become like glass. Ghost saw.
I could do something silly like asking him to look. I don't think he'd do it. So
...

"I think you are wrong again." Ghost took the little knife from his sleeve.

Tagramon laughed at him again. "Will you prick me with that toy, Fool? I could turn you to ash before you took a step!"

"You could. It won't be necessary." Ghost opened the robe over his chest and turned the blade until it touched the bare flesh over his own heart. When a glistening drop of blood gathered at the tip, Tagramon finally understood. He stopped laughing.

Ghost nodded. "Thank you. It's bad enough when the salvation of a world demands your death. A little decorum is the least one should expect."

The Dream Master hands glowed red. "Stop where you are, I command it!"

Ghost frowned. "It was your word
—
happening. Not 'happened.' Your god has not joined you on the Daystage. You are not at one with your god... yet."

"Damn you, we're not prepared to hold your Nightsou--." Tagramon looked like he wanted to bite his own tongue off at the root.

"Inevitable," Ghost sighed, borrowing again. "I'm counting on that." Ghost's real opinion was that his own death no longer mattered. Another power would see that his Nightsoul did not escape. But Tagramon didn't know that.

"Stop
—
"

Decorum lost. Tagramon rushed forward with surprising speed and tackled Ghost, shoving him backward. Ghost's head banged against stone and he sagged and fell. It happened very quickly; Ghost almost didn't have time to turn the knife. Almost.

*

They weaved the dream like a net at the weakest point of the wall. It was more inspiration than plan, but there was no reason to explain that and no time; Musa and Daycia maintained the shell of a dream large enough to contain a god.

Now for the bait. What would tempt a god
?

There was only one answer. Joslyn admired the gentle blasphemy of it for a heartbeat, then she created a world. It wasn't so very different from things she
—
and everyone
—
had done before, but the scale dared match the gods. Seas gathered, boiled, receded. Mountains rose and became continents, the sun and moon staked their hours and defended them, one against the other. And sometimes, when the moon was not so bright, there were stars.

Joslyn felt the need for a sip from the well of madness, but there wasn't time. Something was still missing. She thought of Tagramon, gritted her teeth, and did it anyway.

Come out now. All of you
.

Some came. Not enough. And still Joslyn could scarce tell one soul from another. She strained until she felt as if her head would burst, borrowed every face from every person she could remember: Musa. Daycia and her folk. Deverea, the windfolk, and their children. Faces barely remembered from the market in Darsa. Joslyn closed her eyes, tried to hold the images. It was like catching water. She held one for a moment; it flowed into the next and left her a stew of fragments and distortions. Joslyn opened her eyes and groaned.

It won't be enough
...

She was wrong. It was a feeble world, but Joslyn saw the god enter it and take possession, as the mad child had done to her pitiful image of a wasp, those years ago. The slotstick god gathered the seeds Joslyn had planted and tended them, his power coming to bear and sharpening the images Joslyn struggled to hold. She got her first good look at the newborn god then; he still seemed rough and unfinished, but the seams were not so visible now, the sums that made the whole not so easy to separate.

He still had Ghost's face.

That wasn't right. Joslyn didn't know why at first, but the thought nagged at her until she asked the next question.
Where's Tagramon? He has to maintain control
!

Joslyn waited as long as she dared while the god played with its world like a child, then released the dream to him. There was barely a flicker. She slipped closer, trying to lose herself in the faceless ones, the ones who had not, for good or ill, attracted divine attention. She found the answer, a tiny shadow perched daintily on the god's massive shoulder. It whispered and chattered like a monkey, its face inches from the god's ear. It looked a little like the traditional portraits of Gahon the Destroyer, a shrunken, dwarfish little demon, but mostly it looked like someone else.

Tagramon
. Joslyn had seen enough Nightsouls to know that the one who controlled the god was not the sum of the Dream Master. A piece, perhaps. Maybe one he didn't even miss. Still...

You robbed Ghost. Who robbed you
?

YOU ARE A GOOD OPPONENT, JOSLYN. IT ALMOST WORKED.

It was all the warning she had. There was barely time to comprehend the words before the dream was ripped apart. Joslyn stood with Musa and Daycia and the deity on the nightstage. Joslyn didn't know what had happened. She did know that the god was as confused as they were. The imp on his shoulder chattered and shrieked, pointing at the three dreamers and jumping up and down. In a moment they had the slotstick god's full attention. Joslyn glanced behind her, saw what a flimsy gossamer stood between them and the waking world.

She smiled a rueful smile.
It did work. But someone let the god out of our bag
. It wouldn't need any more help. The air above their heads sizzled with power; Joslyn felt the little hairs rising on her neck. A storm was brewing on the nightstage; in a moment it would spill into the waking world.
Nothing in Ghost's worst abuse of Somna's Dream will match this
...

They chose their avatars. Musa spread harpy wings; Daycia stretched and unsheathed the claws of a great cat. Joslyn alone kept the form she normally carried, but all three put all their will into the chosen form, summoning images of strength and power.

On the nightstage, everyone is a god
. There was a seed of truth in that, but Joslyn knew that nothing less than the full flower would do. They would fight because there was no choice. They would fall because there was no chance.

Clear thought is such a burden
 --

Joslyn suddenly wasn't so burdened. The imp disappeared. One moment he was there, and the next the god was alone, looking more confused. The seams in his flesh returned, spread, deepened. He looked like a puzzle box. Joslyn heard the flap of the harpy's wings, sensed the tension as the leopard prepared to spring.

"No!"

Joslyn held them. It took all her strength, but neither the harpy nor the great cat completed its attack. Daycia's voice rumbled in her throat. "Joslyn, what are you doing?!"

Joslyn didn't know. She did have a sense of disaster avoided by the width of a knife-edge. Musa was the first to understand. "Whatever that thing was, it held him together, and now it's gone. We attack now and we give the god something outside himself to focus on. Few things are a better reason to live than the threat of death."

They stepped back slowly. Harpy wings and black fur disappeared. Three bare nightsouls moved apart from each other and retreated into the mist.

THAT ALMOST WORKED, TOO. BUT I'VE WAITED TOO LONG.

Damn it, who are you
?!

Joslyn was the first to see the other. He strode out of the myth-dreams in robes of black, and under the hood of his robe there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Malitus
!

She didn't see the God of Ending's smile, but she knew it was there. The empty hood focused on the patchwork deity.

"Face me, Godling."

The slotstick turned slowly and began to heal itself. Joslyn clenched her fists.
Not this time, Ender. One god is enough
 --

But that wasn't right, was it? One was too much, but the slotstick god was literally made of nightsouls dreaming small, controlled dreams. Its nature made its presence on the nightstage understandable, almost inevitable. But no other god was like the patchwork god. No other god could exist outside the Myth-dreams created for them by their followers.