The Dream Crafter (25 page)

“I had just turned fourteen, and I hated being on the island. Everyone knew my story. The boys,
the men
, thought I’d become my mom. And then one night he appeared in my dream. He was golden, slender and beautiful, and I thought my dreams created him, because nothing that perfect should exist.”

Amana was shivering, and Merc brought her closer to his body, tightened the covers around her, tucking her underneath his chin.

A pause, and then she continued. “It turned out he was a wizard who knew about dream crafters, and had been following me within the dream world when he saw me and suspected I was one. I was stupid enough, thought I was in love enough, to follow him in the real world. We moved, my brother and I. My mom was dead, and it was so easy to disappear.”

A shudder rippled and roared through her, her voice quavering as she told the story.

“We met in person, and he kept pressuring me, to leave Nakoa and go with him. I thought,
he never had siblings, so he doesn’t
understand. I thought,
he loves me so much, he wants me all too himself without needing to share.
It was so romantic to a stupid girl. So one night I gave in and left to be with him. And when he verified I was alone and had cut all the ties to my world, he hit me, and threw me down. He tore off my clothes, and chained me to the bed. He…”

She broke off, her breathing too fast, too shallow, and she clutched at him, trying to bring him closer, and he followed her lead, bringing them so tight together her skin was imprinted on his.

“Afterward, he spoke about power, and how I would give him children who would serve him while he ruled the world. And I kept thinking, I couldn’t let that happen. Not my babies.
Not my children.
And I fell asleep, and
she
was there in the dream – my devil. And she asked me, if my life was going to be lived under him, or if I was going to make things right, and within the dream I…

…I was able to make things right.”

Despair swirled around her, thick in the air and clinging to her skin like a cloud of rancid perfume. She was shivering, no matter how close she got to him, no matter how huddled or small she made herself, and her voice dropped to the smallest he’d ever heard.

“My brother found me the next day. I wrote Nakoa a note, because I’d never abandon my baby brother. Nakoa came in and saw me chained to the bed, saw the body next to me. We knew Nakoa was
something
, but then there were sirens – I don’t know how they knew – but there were sirens, and Nakoa was screaming I needed to run, and before my eyes my baby brother…a
berserker
, that’s what we found out afterward…and with his bare hands he freed me, and he began tearing apart the body all the while screaming at me, and…I…I
ran
.”

Tears were streaming down her face, her voice shuddering sobs, her frame a shuddering mess. “I left
him
. He was a
baby
, and I left him. I was the big sister, and…”

Sobs wracked her now, and he turned her around, pressed her close to him, let her cry into him, her fingers clawing into his back and she stayed close, her tears running down his chest.

They stayed like that for timeless moments, as she cried, as he held her, as they clung to each other like children riding out the storm.

‡

I
t was now
late evening. After the deep quiet that always followed an anguished cry, Amana retreated, leaving the bed and the cabin to hide in the surrounding woods. Merc squashed all arguments against it and fought within himself the small fearful voice that said if he let her out of his sight, she’d disappear.

With that voice, the last doubts about what he felt for her vanished, because the fear didn’t come from a place that worried what she might do to him now or in the future, nor a place that foresaw her taking the book from him once again.

No, the voice spoke from the perspective of a future without her near him, her body not curled around his and her smile taken away forever. The only sign of relief when she appeared back at the cabin was closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath, both actions he was careful to hide from her. Without asking, he fed her, not surprised when she only picked at her food.

Now they were sitting in front of the fire, and the silence had gone on too long. He despised the doll-like mask that had sat on her face since she had returned. To him, she was shocked smiles and surprised laughter and a bone-deep fire that lit her every action.

This mask she had on now was what she showed to others, how she survived the everyday of the world she’d been fighting to survive to get to her brother. He didn’t want to experience this, to be relegated to the status of everyone else.

Her gasp sounded in the quiet room as he picked her up under her arms so her face was level with his, her feet dangling, and she grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself. “What are you doing?”

“Stop it.”

To her credit, she didn’t ask what he was talking about. Her eyes skittered to the side while her fingers curled into the muscle of his arms, and while the mask didn’t descend again, a haunting sadness seeped into her features.

Merc gathered her close, wrapping his arms around her torso, though letting her legs dangle free, so the moment she made a move for freedom he’d be able to give it. “I don’t care what you told me. If you think it changes anything between us, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not? I killed a man and let my brother go to jail in my place.”

“You were a scared kid, and your brother loved his sister enough that he stepped in. If you had more than a second to think, you would have stopped him, even at the cost of your life.”

She shook her head, that small mouth so tight with pain it was no longer visible. “You’re trying to forgive the unforgivable.”

“That only unforgivable in this situation is already dead.” He leaned close, pressed his forehead to hers as if it would impart everything – the gut-wrenching swoop as it settled within himself what she had gone through, the fearsome and helpless rage that he could not make it right for her, that she had gone through all this alone. The awe for her brother, who had made such a sacrifice. His words were a fierce and fiery whisper, the rumble in the ground that precedes the first eruptions of a mountain spewing fire. “You are a miracle, and your brother has my respect a thousand times over. The way you have fought and carved out your life after such wreckage, with such overwhelming odds against you, is something not even gods can claim. You are a warrior of the highest caliber, and any who can’t see that are fools.”

She buried herself into him, no cries, no sobs, her slight body shaking against his the only sign of emotion. It wasn’t the overwhelming tsunami that had crushed her earlier. These tremors signaled a return of the woman who met him on the beach that first night in the dream, and who had looked at him with such fire though she thought her life forfeit.

And then there was no time to let her finish her mourning, as the tattoos across his back and down his arms burned and rose in warning. Amana jerked back, her voice holding the last hints of tears. “What is it?”

“Enemies. Magic users.” There wasn’t time to berate himself on letting his attention lapse, letting himself get drawn into a personal crisis so deeply that he forgot to be constantly aware.

Now, there was only time to ready himself for the inevitable battle.

He set her down, pushing her up the stairs. “In the back of the closet there is a hidden door. Say the word
Eden
and it will appear. Go through and close the door behind you. You’ll be safe then.”

“I’m not leaving you.” All the prior depression was gone, and now only a fierce and angry woman stood before him.

“You can’t help me.” There was no time to spare feelings, no time to mince words. “Maybe in dreams you’re unstoppable, but here you have no skills. All you will do is divide my attention and give me a vulnerability. Now, help me and get yourself to safety.”

Debate played over her face only a moment, then she nodded and ran upstairs. He hoped she didn’t equate this to what happened with her brother, but he’d worry about that later. Right now, all that mattered was saving her.

His tattoos began to lift from his body, writhe and undulate in a black mass before spreading out. Some became loose formed mist across the floor, climbing the walls, skulking in corners. Another batch cemented together into black opaqueness and slid down his arms, anchoring themselves to his forearms and jutting out into black blades.

Across the room, ten figures materialized and in the next instant, attacked. As Merc fought, in the back of his mind, in the corner that remained calm and rational even during battle, he began cataloguing.

All were male. From the walls one of his shields grabbed up one of them just as he was muttering a spell, and his magic jerked away from the unnaturalness of the necromantic origin of the spell.

Reign’s acolytes then.

And another joined. And another.

As necromancers cared little for the death of their members, they tended to favor throwing large numbers of fighters into battles, uncaring of what the final body count might be.

The first wave had destroyed the cloaking spell around the grounds and now more came, in large numbers and faster than he could slice into them.

Some broke off from attacking him, searching for the Spellbook no doubt. Every time he moved to stop them, especially as they moved up the stairs, three more of their brethren would come before him, eager to fall before his sword if it gave their comrades time to grab the book.

Then within Merc, a pulling, a severing, and there was no doubt they had grabbed the Spellbook.

The next instant, all the acolytes disappeared, taking the bodies of the fallen, leaving behind wreckage and the certainty of his own death.

‡

I
t had been
silent for several minutes – none of the screams or calls to comrades-at-arms that had been constant before.

She couldn’t stay in this room forever. Whatever had happened out there, it was time to go and face it.

Amana emerged, slow and steady, searching and listening as she moved with careful deliberation through the bedroom to look over the railing.

Merc stood statue-still in the middle of the room, bloodstains surrounding him, though no bodies were evident. Amana gave a hesitant, “Merc?”

His head tilted a bare inch, the only sign he heard her. Still, the pull of whatever had his attention now was stronger, and he remained its silent captive.

Even without any verbal confirmation, it was clear this battle was over, and Amana came down the stairs to put her hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

His back was solid stone, a fine tremor rolling through him, and his jaw was so tight it would be a miracle if his teeth hadn’t been ground down half an inch. No, he wasn’t. “They got the Spellbook.”

The words seemed to spur him into action. He pulled away from her, heading to another safe hidden in the wall, grabbing supplies – mostly weapons – and packing in quick, practiced movements.

She stayed quiet, letting him work through whatever was going on in his head as he got ready.

With a last shove of a final weapon into a bag, he zipped it up and grabbed it to go. “We need to move.”

“Of course,” she agreed, feeling him out during this strange mood.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was moving around her, his attention and energy in all directions. “We have to get you somewhere safe, and then I have to go after the Spellbook.”

“What?”
That…that was
insane
. Going after the greatest necromancer of the realms was beyond a job description, beyond anything Hadrien could ever give him. “You’ll never survive going after a
vampire
. Is your pride really worth going after a necromancer for a scum like Hadrien? You’ll get more jobs even if you don’t succeed with this one.”

He was shaking his head, not looking at her as he moved around to pack a few more personal items. “We need to leave now. It’s no longer safe.”