A Warrior of Dreams (36 page)

"If we do that again," Ghost agreed. "Take the mainsail down. Hurry!"

Joslyn struggled to the mast and loosened the top line. The sail collapsed like a billowing bedsheet. Even as Joslyn worked to get the canvas secure, she noticed the smile on Ghost's face. It was the mad joy of Phian embracing the knife.

He's enjoying this
!

There was no time to question or grant the thought its full allotment of fear. They were running before the storm on the jib alone now. Ghost used the tiller to keep the boat turned into the waves, their small sail pulling them on. Joslyn watched the Ender ships closing in. "I thought you said we could stay out of reach!"

Ghost glanced over his shoulder. "They're still under full sail. That's somewhat risky
—
"

More than somewhat. Joslyn gasped despite herself when the lead ship plunged beneath a high crest and foundered. It was as if it had gone full sail into a stone wall. The mainsail rippled with the impact; another moment and the two other boats sliced past the stricken vessel. Joslyn stared. "Aren't they going to try to help
—
?"

"Enders," explained Ghost. "And I don't think they could turn back now if they wanted to."

Joslyn thought of the men on that first ship, what their last moments would be like. And if it wasn't in her to regret their loss very much, neither was it to be very happy about it. "One more mistake like that and my crossbow might do some good," she said.

"To quote Deverea: 'They're scum, girl. They're not stupid.' Look."

Joslyn watched the frantic Enders taking down the mainsails on the other two vessels. Now all, the hunters and the hunted, were running before the wind on jib only. Joslyn stared at the pursuers for many long moments, but couldn't say if the gap between them had widened or narrowed.

"They're carrying more weight than we are," Ghost said. "If we could just put on sail..."

"Ghost, no!!"

There was no question of it later
—
Joslyn knew what he meant to do. It was in the wistful look in his eyes, the sudden concentration that overwhelmed any and all traces of emotion in his face and turned it to stone. "You said yourself that the Aversa might be wrong
—
" He didn't finish.

There was a crack in the sky.

"Sweet Somna..." Ghost swore, softly. He dropped his gaze; Joslyn got only a glimpse of his fear. Above, the rent in the world slowly healed and the storm closed over it.

When Ghost looked up again Joslyn was waiting for him. "You felt it, Ghost. Don't deny it."

He shook his head. "I won't. It was very bad... but why can I feel the world's pain now? Why not before?"

Joslyn looked toward the Enders. "Fear, Ghost. This time you were in touch with your life, at least enough for the world to matter."

"And helping ourselves isn't like helping an Aversa, at least to Somna," he said, and shrugged. "It's the odd mother who has no favorite children."

They gave themselves over to the chase for a while; there seemed little else to do. After a time it seemed to Joslyn that there was a strange serenity in their flight; all three remaining ships ran before the storm to the northwest, like a formation of sea-birds, never touching, never tiring. But it did seem now that the Enders were not so far away.

Joslyn felt her eyelids growing heavy. She huddled in the bow, her dark hair limp and beaded with spray. Ghost, the rudder-bar clamped tightly under one arm, watched her more than the pursuing ships.

"There's a blanket by your feet," he said. "Use it."

Joslyn obeyed with a bad grace. "You really think it'll keep me warm while we drown?"

A lightning flash showed Ghost's face. Joslyn was shocked at how pale and worn he looked. He shrugged. "At least you
—
and the Aversa
—
were right about me. If that's any comfort..."

Joslyn grinned, but a wave broke over the bow and it turned into a grimace. "Not much. I really did want to know. How you do what you do, I mean. Why it hurts the Dream so much. And what happened to your Nightsoul, for that matter."

"Pity. I guess we'll never..." He stopped, and there was a frighteningly eager look on his face.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking," he said, "that there might be a way."

"We can't outrun them; you said so."

"No, not that. About the dream... you were ready, Joslyn. It seems a shame to waste that."

Joslyn looked at Ghost as if he'd sprouted a new head. "You expect me to sleep now!?"

"It's all you can do to stay awake."

Joslyn wanted to argue, but Ghost was right. When the strange ships appeared she'd been almost relieved, and as afraid as she was of the storm, and the followers of Malitus, she was more afraid of a dream she'd never had the courage to finish.

"All right, Ghost. All right. But if we start to drown, wake me up."

"That hardly seems like a favor..."

"Just do it!"

Ghost smiled and drew two fingers over his eyelids, closing them. It was one of those childhood signs that everyone understood, like crossing your fingers or spitting in your shadow. It meant 'may I die if I fail you.'

Joslyn found another blanket and wadded it into a crude pillow. She tried to relax and found it wasn't so very hard. Ghost kept the craft fairly steady, and, if the motion of the sea was violent, it was also regular, predictable. Dreamer training took over and Joslyn soon left the storm and boat far behind.

Ghost watched her sleeping. "I may never know what happened to me," he said. "But perhaps one of us will."

Ghost was still smiling as he steered his dreamer's cradle through starless night.

*

What Tagramon needed was getting harder and harder to find. The shadows did their jobs well enough; Tagramon didn't fault them. But even the best hounds faltered when rabbits were scarce.

Only a few more... One or two, if they're strong
...

Not for the first time, the Dream Master considered raiding the Temple itself, but it was still too soon to play that card. Still, time wasn't waiting, and he'd looked everywhere else.

Almost
.

He almost blocked the thought, but he just wasn't fast enough. And now that it was out in the light he forced himself to look at it. Forced himself to act. With a thought he gathered the Shadows, gave them a word and just enough mind to understand it.

"Darsa."

*

There was a moment in time, a gossamer separating the Joslyn-awake and the Joslyn-asleep, when the world, for a while, belonged to both of them. When it was over, Nightsoul Joslyn came fully awake. The meeting with the Daysoul was already fading in her mind, except for something the other Joslyn said to her. That remained very clear.

Did she mean it? I wonder
...

There was only one way to find out. Beneath her there were vague echoes of a storm, an ocean. Joslyn closed them out. She did not move from her place on the stage, she did not seek others. She pulled solitude around her like a heavy curtain, and when the time came for the play to begin there was nowhere else to look.

*

Tagramon looked about him in disbelief.

Can this be all
?

He felt like a gleaner surveying a barren field. Darsa was a blighted crop as dreams went, and the harvest hadn't even begun. The Dream Master's skepticism soon changed to disgust.
And these folk claimed to be the holy center of the Worship of Somna? Dreamer, forgive us for waiting so long to free you
.

Tagramon was about to leave when he heard the call. A dull moan like a hunting horn, low and powerful.

So. The Shadows found something after all
.

*

Joslyn was back on the dark sand shore, but now the sky was dark, too. A low rumble shook the beach, only a little louder than the booming surf. There was no lightning. The dream seemed to be waiting.

"You're the only thing waiting, Child. But for what, I wonder?"

The harpy perched on a dead tree that was so bleached and wind-burned that it looked like a tall piece of driftwood pounded into the sand. Neither it nor the monster had been there a moment before.

"For you to go away and let me dream!"

"Assuming I could be so thoughtful," the harpy purred, "what makes you think you can? You gave up dreaming long ago."

"I can," Joslyn said. "I have to."

"One or both may be true," the monster sighed, "but one doesn't imply the other. Especially with you, Joslyn. I was wrong when I said you couldn't believe your own lies. You found a way. Clever..."

"No time for riddles, Musa.

The harpy's laugh drowned out the sea. "You've nothing but time, Child. Time and riddles. Ghost's riddle. The Dream Master's. Yours. We could even throw in the Riddle of the Gods without stretching things too much. Solve yours first and you may even have a shot at all those other dancing little goats. Start with a lie, Joslyn. It's the shortest way to the truth."

There was lightning now. Mostly in Joslyn's eyes. But her voice kept to a low rumble. "Pray, which one?"

The harpy shifted its position on the branch, then settled back down, wings folded patiently. "Dyaros. He's your biggest and brightest."

Joslyn frowned. "I told Ghost about him."

"True... Also irrelevant. You did kill Dyaros, or close enough, but the lie is that Dyaros keeps you from dreaming. All he does is keep you from remembering the real reason, the true lie. And if you don't remember, you don't have to deal with it. A master-stroke, Child."

"One insight after another. You're too kind."

The harpy scratched its head with a steel-blue talon. "Can't help it. Even you can't lie to yourself here; doesn't work. Though I daresay if there
were
a way my girl would find it. You have a gift for self-destruction."

Joslyn watched the darkening sky.
Another storm
... She turned to the harpy. "Assuming that's true, what can I do about it?"

"For a start you can call your fear by its true name and let poor Dyaros rest. He's earned it, Child. Take the tiller yourself."

Joslyn remembered the tiny boat that sailed on an impossibly wide ocean. She remembered the rest. "I tried that, once. I nearly drowned."

"You just might succeed this time," the monster cooed. "In drowning, that is."

"And be rid of you? It might be worth it. Let's have it done, Musa. Go away and let me dream."

There was laughter again, but it wasn't coming from the harpy. Joslyn heard it from all sides, filling the stage as if it
were
the stage and the painted scenery, and all the actors. Too late Joslyn was wrenched from the fabric of the dream; now she saw it from outside, saw herself standing before the harpy. And, just before the dream changed to something very different, the monster changed, too. It no longer had Musa's face, Musa's voice.

Joslyn's face. Joslyn's voice.

"Silly Child," it said, "you've already begun."

*

Joslyn was in a remembered dream. It was a place of quiet waters, soft grass and trees that gave shade without stealing the sun. Joslyn swam in a brook that turned wide and deep beneath a stand of willows; the cool water flowed over her skin like a caress.

"I really don't understand this."

He sat on the bank beneath the willow. He was robed and cowled, and his rasping voice was all he revealed of what lay beneath. Joslyn was suddenly very aware of her nakedness. She let herself sink until the water reached her chin. "Who are you?"

Her words came out in a mist like a breath in winter. The sun sparked rainbows in the little cloud and, before her eyes, it changed into a bright-winged butterfly. The intruder reached out, caught her question as it fluttered by and crushed it. He threw the little corpse back into the water where it quivered, making tiny ripples. "You're from the gutter," the man said. "You have been a thief
—
or worse
—
and survived in the streets of Ly Ossia. What is there in your world that can create a pleasant lie like this?"

His words were like blows; they left Joslyn dazed and confused. Now the stream and the trees and the blue sky seemed to be veiled in a curtain of gossamer. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course not. That's why I'm here." He held out his hand. "Come out."

Joslyn took a step back. "I can't..."

"Because you're naked? Nonsense. Clothe yourself in a mile of earth and you're still naked here."

Before he finished speaking Joslyn realized that the stream was much smaller than she thought. The robed man reached out, grabbed her wrist, and drew her out of the water. She tried to cover herself, tried to pull away from him, but could do neither. "Let me go!"

"Reveal yourself and you
invite
attack. It's simple, really."

She was back in the water, just like that. The intruder sat beneath the willow again, but now his cowl was pulled back. and Joslyn saw his face.

"Belor". The moment she said his name, Joslyn knew where she was, what was happening. The dream faded around her.

The High Priest grinned. "Not just yet, little fish."

He was gone, and with him went Joslyn's awareness of him. She was swimming in a shadowed pool; she was content.

It rose from the water beside her, from the dark places where the light did not reach. Its skin was like blackened, rotting leather and had crumbled away in several places to reveal the bones. "We've seen shame and rage," it said. "Fear is easier, really."

It reached for her with long, pale fingers. Joslyn tried to run, but now the firm sandy bottom was covered with a foul, slippery muck. She staggered, caught herself, took another step as the touch of something long dead caressed her cheek. "Time to leave."

It was over. Joslyn stood shivering on the Nightstage; it was only Belor's firm grip that kept her from running back to wakefulness. He held Joslyn there until her emotions were back under control, her footing on the nightstage secure.

"Do you remember?"

The question was part of a catechism; Joslyn had heard it nearly every night for the past month. Not always the Dream Master asking, or even Belor, but the question remained. Joslyn answered it. "Yes," she said, "everything."