A Warrior of Dreams (35 page)

The campfire was nothing but embers; the wick drank the last dregs of oil, and the lantern sputtered out. Joslyn sat with her back to what had been a fountain, staring at the ruins of the fire. She was well aware that Ghost was looking at her; she felt a little like a butterfly in a jar, waiting while the child decides what's to be done with her.

"What was his name, Joslyn? You never said."

"Dyaros. He was a thief. We both were, before the Temple took me in." The words sounded strange to her, strange to be said and out so easily. But the Aversa had been the only other possible door, and now that was very firmly closed. Joslyn waited for Ghost's next question, certain she knew what it was. She wasn't wrong.

"Joslyn, you were a Temple Dreamer. How in the blazes of creation did you hide the fact that you don't dream?"

Joslyn laughed. "Easily. By that time my sole duty was to perform auguries
—
it was all any of the Dreamers did
—
and you don't have to True-dream for that, just watch others' dreams, and enter them when necessary. And we were left to ourselves a great deal this past year. The Dream Master was occupied elsewhere."

"Occupied with what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, and I didn't really care. It gave me time to figure out what to do."

"And what will you do?"

She looked at him evenly. "I'm fresh out of choices, Ghost. At first I thought you would know the way, and then there was the Aversa. Two glorious possibilities
—
" Joslyn heard Phian's echo in her voice and crushed it. "If I don't make myself dream, there's no chance in hell of finding your Nightsoul, and that's the least of what's at stake; I realize that, now. Fortunately for you."

He frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because if it were only your life I don't think I could do it," she said. "I think I would let you die."

Ghost looked uncomfortable. "Joslyn, one of these days remind me to explain the concept of 'tact' to you. No matter
—
there's more at risk than even you think."

"More than the world?"

He nodded. "For all practical purposes, since an individual's life
is
her world. Your life, Joslyn. Perhaps not your body, but definitely your life."

"Why is that?"

"Because there's a part of
you
missing, too. All this time I never knew, never even suspected..." He looked at her with such an expression of recognition and wonder that Joslyn took a step backward. "You're just like me," he said.

She shook her head. "No, Ghost. I still have my Nightsoul."

"Do you? I
can't
dream, but you
won't
. How are you so much better off than me?"

"I can change my mind." And if she envied him the choice he didn't have, it was only a little petty not to tell him so.

*

The Storm Vigil was not even half over when Ligen woke. The stars were still high and bright; the acolytes still shivered on the ground in fitful sleep. Beyond their dying fire, the abused body of Brother Jerdan lay where the Watchers had left it. Brother Jerdan had not died easily; the wounds in the corpse were witnesses of the Watchers' anger, and there were many. He'd made a fine Storm, but the Vigil was even better. Ligen hugged himself, barely able to believe it could be true.

I was granted the Vision
.

He wanted to shake the others awake at once; there was so much to be done: the gathering of their forces, the planning... Still, out of respect for Brother Jerdan and the lovely havoc he had made, the Vigil should be complete. Besides, it would give him time to savor the honor and
—
yes, admittedly
—
the triumph. Jerdan's swath through the marketplace would make the stuff of legends wherever the faithful gathered, but Ligen was better than a legend. He was Master of the Order. He did not envy Jerdan his elevation to myth.

One of the novices, a yellow-haired youth with very brown skin, groaned in his sleep.
Nightmare
, thought Ligen. The signs were familiar and unmistakable. Another moment and the acolyte fled from sleep with a rush that left him sitting up, tangled in his blankets. Ligen sighed.
All things end
...

"What troubles your sleep, Novice?"

The boy, shuddered. "It was Master Jerdan. I dreamed he came for me from across the fire, every wound on his body a red-lipped mouth, screaming at me..."

Ligen smiled and laid a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder. "That was a good dream. If all the world had such a one on the same night our work would be done..." Something about the boy's face triggered a memory. Ligen frowned. "Your name is Wessys, isn't it? From Pembek on the east coast?"

The boy looked wary. "Y-yes, Master."

"My boy, do you know anything about boats?"

*

When Ghost awoke the next morning Joslyn was gone. Ghost savored the fear as long as he dared, then went down to the dock. The boat rocked gently at its moorings, its sail furled and secure.

So where has she got off to
?

The sun was setting before Joslyn marched back into camp and dropped her case of quarrels by the fountain. The rattle was so loud that Ghost was nearly startled. As it was, he merely watched while Joslyn put the crossbow aside with only a little more care and then sat down heavily.

"Stupid goats," she muttered.

Ghost brought out the dried fruit. "You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?"

Joslyn shook her head proudly and said, around a piece of apple, "Not last night, and not tonight. Not tomorrow night, if I'm strong enough. I think I am."

"Joslyn, you can still sleep without attempting dream. I won't force you; I
can't
force you..."

Joslyn reached out and patted his cheek. "You're a fragment of a good man, Ghost, but very dim at times. I will dream; that's settled."

"I am a fragment, and I may certainly be dim," Ghost sighed, "but for a proper dream don't you need to be asleep?"

"Eventually."

Ghost's brow furrowed for several moments. It didn't so much smooth away as settle into flat resignation. "Joslyn, I don't understand."

"Ghost, I know me, or at least more these days than makes an easy burden. Do you really think this is the first time I've tried to face my dreams? You and the Dream Master forced me to waste that precious Nightseed I stole to buy; I had other plans for it. Now do you understand?"

He nodded. "You're afraid you'll run."

She laughed. "That's one thing I most certainly am
not
afraid of. I
will
run, unless I'm so weary that waking is nigh impossible before the matter is settled. I'm like Crucian
—
I'm sinking my boat."

Ghost chewed very slowly, very thoughtfully. "Would it be too obvious to point out how well that worked for Crucian?" Joslyn threw what was left of her apple at him and he sighed. "Yes, I thought so, too."

Chapter 15
—
Joslyn Learns a Lesson

Joslyn sat cross-legged near the top of a high hill, the arbalest resting on her knees. The north slope swept away and down toward the sea; long grasses grew there, thick and green and
—
perhaps to a goat
—
tempting. There was something about goats Joslyn was trying to remember, something that seemed important. She couldn't recall what.

Three days
, she thought dreamily.
He didn't believe I could do it
.

Joslyn was only vaguely aware of the small brown and white shapes moving across the slope below. A stiff wind blew from the southeast; it whistled low over the crest of the hill and whipped Joslyn's uncut hair across her face. She brushed it back, but the wind caught it again and blinded her once more. There was a hard edge in the wind; it felt almost cold on her arms and the back of her neck after the heat of the afternoon. Joslyn glanced behind her, saw dark clouds boiling over the southern horizon, saw the waves on the sea flashing white.

Storm coming
.

She considered going back to the camp, but it seemed like too much effort. The earth felt soft beneath her and the cool breeze was pure bliss. She closed her eyes for a moment that stretched longer and longer. She couldn't feel the grass beneath her at all, now, and even a booming roll of thunder seemed impossibly far away. One hard, cold raindrop stung Joslyn's cheek, and she finally opened her eyes.

She smiled. "Hello."

An old black she-goat stood about twenty feet away, its horns like twin hooks of polished ebony. Joslyn glanced down at the crossbow, smiled again. "Now I remember."

The goat didn't move. It regarded her with large brown eyes, serene and unafraid. Joslyn slowly raised the arbalest till the bolt was in line with her left eye, the razor-tipped head centered on the goat's breast. "Teach you to be so trusting..."

The goat still didn't move, and neither did Joslyn. After a while she lowered her weapon.
Wouldn't even grant me the dignity of escaping on its own
. "Run along," she said. "No one should die for one mistake."

This time the goat did turn back down the hill toward the rest of the herd, but before it trotted away it turned to look at Joslyn again. "You really should stop bargaining, Child," it said in a voice very much like a harpy.

Joslyn almost screamed, but another cold drop of rain struck, then another, and Joslyn was finally more awake than asleep. The goats grazed near the foot of the hill, but there wasn't a black one among them. Joslyn took several deep breaths, waited for the fog to lift from her mind.

That was careless of me—
She stopped the thought and shook her head. No, not careless. The Nightsoul was just tired of waiting. And the next time she nodded off, she might go too deep to come back. Joslyn glanced at the sky.
If it's to be now, I'd better find someplace dry
.

She stood up, stretched and was about to walk back over the hill when a bit of color to the northeast caught her attention. A sail. There were two others following behind it, all bright red. Even from that distance, Joslyn could see the curved knife emblem crudely painted onto the canvas.

Enders. Bargaining's no good at all
.

*

When Joslyn staggered into camp Ghost was nearly finished packing their gear. "You saw them?"

He nodded. "Grab the blankets; we're leaving."

"There's a storm coming!"

"I saw that, too, but all the hiding places on this island are taken. Would you rather be caught ashore?" Ghost didn't wait for an answer. Joslyn grabbed her bundle and hurried after him.

The boat jerked and wobbled against the pier; out beyond the lee of the island the sea looked wild and angry and the sky was a scowling face growing darker by the moment. Joslyn shouted over the wind. "Ghost, we
could
stay and fight."

Ghost stepped onto the deck and started to lash their supplies down. "Assuming you didn't fall asleep," he said. "There are three ships, and I counted seven Enders in the lead craft alone. How many bolts do you have left?"

"Seven."

"A marvelous coincidence. But what do you plan to do about the other fourteen?"

Large raindrops like small pieces of ice were falling now. Joslyn shivered and put the blankets away. "You'll master sarcasm yet," she said.

Ghost might not have heard. He was struggling with the lashings on the sail and she went to help. He waved her away. "Untie the moorings and get us clear of the dock."

Freeing the lines took only a moment. It took a little longer for Joslyn to gather enough will to push the boat free. Freed from the brace of the dock, their craft rocked violently. Joslyn lost her balance and only a wild grab at the gunwale kept her from going over. Ghost shouted something she couldn't understand and hoisted the sail. The lines were still slack, and the sail spun on the mast like a weather vane. Ghost worked the tiller to bring the rest of the craft into line. The wind was pushing them away from the dock. Ghost waited until they were well clear; a push of the tiller and a pull on the boomline got them under sail.

"Ghost, you're heading for the rocks!"

"We need speed to turn her," replied Ghost calmly. "Get ready." Ghost waited until Joslyn was certain it was too late, then pushed hard on the tiller. The craft turned away from the island with dizzying speed and for a moment took the full force of the wind across its beam. The craft heeled sharply, and only the speed of the turn kept them from capsizing. Then they were pointed in the right direction and the mast quivered like a bending bow as the sail filled. The craft surged forward, cutting the waves neatly in two.

Joslyn took her place on the opposite side, hanging onto a mast line with all her strength. She watched the red sails getting closer. "Ghost, what are you doing?"

"Testing a notion," he said. Ghost held his course till they were a scant hundred yards from the lead ship. The three boats were coming slowly, tacking into the stiff wind, but when Ghost changed his course to angle away from them, as one they turned to intercept. "Yes," said Ghost, "they're after us."

"Was there really any doubt?"

"But why? And how did they know where to find us?"

"I don't know why, but they found us the same way I found the Aversa. I told you I'd been attacked by an adept."

"You didn't tell me he was an Ender."

Joslyn shrugged. "I didn't know he was." She found it strange that the thought had never occurred to her. But there was something
—
separate, in the attack. There was none of the unfocused viciousness that rested on the Ender's minds like spiky crowns; the attack had been razor-sharp and very, very personal. Still, the Enders were here.

"Can we outrun them?" she asked.

Ghost shook his head. "Staying afloat will be hard enough for all of us. The best we can do is keep out of reach."

The wind gained strength slowly, ruthlessly. More and more the bow was pushed down by the force of it. They met the trough of a large wave and for a moment they sailed through a solid wall of water. Joslyn rose streaming from the deck, water swirling about her ankles. "We'll sink!"