The Dream Crafter (33 page)

T
he Spellbook was
crying for Merc.

Now that her mind was free, its call was clear, the way it reached for him visible to her now, and she placed it against his chest, taking care not to allow its weight on Merc’s numerous wounds.

The Spellbook released a mournful surge, its magic surrounding Merc, and the black lines of his skin rose up to intertwine with the cascading magic, the resulting glow surrounding him.

“So you’ll step away,
again
.” The other stood on the other side of Merc, her lip curled in unmitigated disgust.

“No.” Amana’s disagreement stopped the other, her mouth pursing and face scrunching in confusion and surprise. “I’ll never deny what I am again.”

Satisfaction radiated from the other. “So you’ll keep using our power.”

“No, I won’t do that either.”

The other went through a whiplash of emotions stalking and prowling in front of Amana. “What are you playing at?”

Before Amana could speak, from the Spellbook came a flash of light, magics swirling in the air above it. Up, up they went, and the forces began to coalesce, take shape.

The form was shimmery, misty, but opaque enough the features were readily seen, and Merc’s mother from that long ago dream took form, opening her eyes and looking straight at Amana and her double. “Dream Crafter. My son would choose such a woman.”

Amana didn’t question, didn’t require anything, only stepped forward and extended her hand. “Please help me save him. Before you even ask, I love him. I’m sure I’ve loved him from the first time I met him, and I’m almost sure my magic made me find him because it knew I loved him. So please, I’ll do anything you ask, but help me save him.”

“It is Merc’s decision.” Her eyes fell to the man on the ground, and even with her translucent figure, it was apparent how her eyes went soft as she looked at the man. “The Spellbook can save him, but only if he accepts his place as its next Guardian. I would not force that position on him during my life, and I will not force him from this existence. All I wish, is for my son to follow his own heart. Though,” and here her eyes turned again to Amana, the softness lingering, “I do hope his heart chooses you.”

“I hope so too.” She kneeled down now, kissed his forehead, placed her hand on top of the Spellbook, the area that covered his heart.

His eyes were closed, hiding those warm, loving eyes from her, and the last look he gave her flashed through her mind, the warmth and love in them so clear though he was hurting, was dying. She leaned close to his ear. “It’s your choice, my love. I’ll never take that away from you. So you choose, and let me follow you.”

I swear to you that will never change. I will follow where you lead, so you can be free to follow your heart.

“And me?” The other was looking down at her, uncertainty and unreleased anger thrumming through her. “What about me?”

It was so
easy
to see now, free from fear, free from the pain that had been driving her. Scales and weights fell, leaving only crisp clear vision and the ability to once again breathe deep. Amana rose, holding out her hand. The other studied it, brows close, looking as though she expected a poisonous snake to reach out and strike.

Amana kept her hand where it was, let the other’s questions and fears run through her eyes, until the other took her hand, and Amana drew her close, brought them in contact for the first time, forehead to forehead, breath to breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The other reared, but Amana kept her close. With tentative movements and after many minutes, the other wrapped her fingers around Amana’s waist, leaning into the touch with jerky, awkward movement.

Amana brought her closer, their foreheads pushing against the others. This was
right
and a mournful surge passed through her, for the damage living in fear had done to all of them. “I didn’t know what I did to you, running from you like I did. I didn’t know what was supposed to be. I forgot how much I loved you, when I was little, and you were dearest to me next to Nakoa.”

The other faltered, her body, a replica of Amana’s own, buckling under the words and memories.

I’m sorry. All of us, doing what we thought was best, and not caring about the aftereffects on the one we were caring for.

The other sobbed, a short, strong inhale of breath, and then she stilled. “What will happen to me now?”

“Stay with me.” Sincerity rang through the tone, and above all,
wanting
to make everything right. “I’m not afraid anymore.
Stay
with me.”

“No one ever wanted me to stay before.” The voice was soft, searching, so small and so desperate to make contact.

“They didn’t know, just like I didn’t. So forgive them, and stay with me.”

“Yes.”

‡

Y
ou’re dreaming…

He was in a room full of scrolls, and everything in him screamed he was back at the beginning, before the Great Collision, before he lost his world.

A woman sat at a table, the smell of ink and paper heavy in the room, seeped into her skin, as though both were part of her. At her side, a large scroll, and a familiar calling from it.

“It knows our line, our blood. As voracious and as selecting as any vampire. For it, no other will do.” The woman was speaking, and he
saw
, in small planes familiar to him in the mirror.

“You…I mean, are you my…” He had to pause, to wait, because he couldn’t articulate it. Couldn’t deal with the disappointment, the
hurt
, if she answered wrong.

She was before him, without him seeing her move, and her skin was so familiar and so welcome as she stroked the palm of her hand over his cheek. “My son. You have your father’s likeness.”

His laugh was small and watery, and he flung aside any reservations as he brought her into his arms and tight against him. She was smaller and slighter than he, but somehow her returning hug was squeezing the breath from his lungs.

They broke apart, and she began, “I’m so sorry,” but he stopped her, his two fingers over her mouth.

“I believe I inherited your intelligence. I realized a long time ago why you gave me to Shisen. I didn’t know who you were, but I was able to frame the story.”

His mother was beautiful, and aside from Amana, there would never be a more beloved face to him.

“If you know my reasons, then you know I will never force you to accept anything against your will. There is no more precious gift then that of having a
choice
.”

Loud, welcoming music rose from the Spellbook, winding its way around him, its enthusiasm and desires obvious, but it still held itself apart from him,
choice
hanging in the air around them.

“My choice is her.”

His mother smiled, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Then it is good you have chosen a strong, wise woman who is able to stand beside you no matter the tribulations you may have to endure, if you take on this task.”

The Spellbook hummed in agreement, and of course it did, because it knew Amana and all she was capable of.

His mother smiled. “It approves.”

Merc took her hands in his and lay them on his chest, over his heart. “I love her.”

“And she loves you. I could ask for none greater for my son.”

Her fingers curled into him, and her face was an open canvas of love and affection. There were no falsehoods or fears here, and gratitude filled him to experience it, though it was lined with melancholy, because this would not last.

“It is a great task, difficult in even the easiest of times. Your time is not easy.”

He shrugged it off. “It’s a nothing price to pay, to be with Amana.”

“I thought you would say that.” She raised up, kissed him on the forehead as though bestowing a benediction. “Be happy.”

Merc opened his eyes, and the difference in his body from earlier was staggering. There was no pain, no smell of blood or coppery taste on his tongue. He stood, to be hit full force with Amana jumping into his arms, and only long training kept them both standing.

She was kissing him, everywhere she could reach, joy and thanks in the motion, and he returned it, never knowing until that moment how difficult it could be to kiss someone with a smiling mouth.

Merc pulled back to look at her, to take in the teal blue of her eyes, but it wasn’t the color that hit him straight in the heart. It was the clarity, the absence of fear. How her eyes were smiling. How her face was free from worry. “Amana?”

“I’m okay now.”

Certainty settled in him. She was. They were. And the Spellbook sang its agreement.

“Hem.”
The over-exaggerated throat clearing by a squeaky voice broke them apart. “He-
llo
. Can we replace the fabric of reality, if you don’t mind?”

In a soft wave, sand became smooth and fixed asphalt, blue sky became dark buildings, and the smell of the ocean no longer lingered in the air.

Amana reached out to Nakoa, her smile a permanent fixture, and she held them both to her. “Nakoa, this is Merc.”

They eyed each other, and this would be more difficult, learning to navigate sharing Amana with her brother, but his choice was her, and they would figure it out. Nakoa looked him up and down for a moment, then stuck out his hand. The man’s grip was twice as strong as it needed to be.

As a trio, they began to move before Amana pulled up short, horror on her face. “Wait, what about Fallon?”

The smaller woman from earlier made a face, shrugged. “She’s somewhere. C’mon, I’m hungry.”

*

Merc was holding
Amana close as they walked away, though Amana refused to let go of Nakoa’s hand. Nakoa kept glancing at Merc, while Laire kept glancing at Nakoa’s butt. If any of them felt the presence of the male who stood studying them from the shadows of the faraway building, none of them made any movement to suggest such a possibility. The male was tall and broad, hair short, skin dark and eyes bronze, both his body and his jaw square and strong.

“You’re not thinking anything you shouldn’t be thinking, are you Cashric?” Fallon made her own appearance, stepping out from a side street to come beside the man.

The solemn male made no move towards her, made no jump to suggest she startled him. He kept his attention on the group, though he spoke to her in measured tones. “You are truly contemplating letting her live free in the world?”

Fallon’s hands came to her hips as she looked to the group, now with the two men posturing and beginning a subtle fight for Amana’s attention. “Free is a relative term. She’ll be under our watch of course, and don’t tell me your followers won’t have their spies clued on her at all times.”

Humor flashed on the male’s face before it returned to its original grave state. “I believe you mean to say priests.”

“Splitting hairs.”

The group was now out of sight before they could tell if the men would start pulling Amana in a ridiculous tug-of-war contest. With them gone, he turned to face her, those inhuman eyes giving off a subtle glow. “And if I was to agree with your thinking, what would keep her under control?”

“That’s simple – Merc.” The bronze-eyed male looked dubious, rumbles of power flickering in lazy waves around him. At her shoulder, Tenro vibrated, magic coiling tight around itself. “I know you hold no stock in human emotions, but sometimes they’re true. She fought through ten years of hell, all out of loyalty to her brother. That’s the steel she’s made of. And now she is in love with that man. We give her a stretch of beach to reside in, let her alone with her brother and Merc beside her, and she’s not going to want anything else.”

“They always want something else.”

“Not her. That’s not what she is. If it was, she’d have explored her powers as soon as she realized what she could do. She could have justified with a sentence or two – revenge, unfairness, teaching them all a lesson. None of it is what she did.”

His massive arms crossed over his chest, the midnight black skin gleaming under the full moon. “What is it you want from her?”

Fallon lifted her chin, the gold of her eyes bright and clear as they clashed with the bronze of his. “I want her as she is now, protector of the Guardian of the Spellbook. There is no safer place for Merc or the Spellbook than to be under her guard. We’ll know both of them are safe, and we’ll also have Merc and Amana’s loyalty to us.”