A Warrior of Dreams (37 page)

"Come on, then."

Belor took her wrist again, his grip as harsh and bony as the dead man in her dream, and led her to where another dream was forming on the stage. And it
was
a stage now, not merely a name used for want of a better. Joslyn saw others gathered there, all eyes turned to the glow. She recognized Ter and Alyssa; they were the only ones not standing alone. The rest were like separate stones in a cold stream, their thoughts tightly cloaked.

The Dream Master was already there. He stood before the border of the dream. "We've been waiting for you, Joslyn."

Something did escape from the others then, something she had heard only once before in her life
—
the half-cruel, half-relieved laughter of spectators at an execution. Alyssa did not laugh; she looked worried.

Tagramon waved her forward. "Beside me, girl... lovely." He turned back to the other novice Dreamers. "You've learned something of the power of dreamcraft these last few weeks. A start, but only a start. Tonight you will learn something of its dangers." He smiled at Joslyn. "You will assist me."

Joslyn tried not to let him see her tremble. "Yes, Master."

Tagramon stopped speaking aloud; his command to the other novices echoed in Joslyn's head. FOLLOW TO THE BOUNDARY, NO FARTHER. WATCH THERE.

The Dream Master took Joslyn's shoulders and steered her into the dream. A glance back revealed the shadowy faces of the other novices as they pressed close like children at a misted glass. Ahead, Joslyn saw very little. The dream did not shine brightly, and there were many dark places where the light did not reach at all.

Joslyn heard the sound of water.

UNTIL NOW, YOU'VE MOVED THROUGH DREAM LIKE CHILDREN THROUGH A PLAYGROUND. ALL OF YOU. I CAN UNDERSTAND THAT
—
THE NIGHTSTAGE IS A MARVELOUS PLACE. BUT EVERY DREAM IS REAL WITHIN ITSELF, AND ON THE NIGHTSTAGE EVEN AN UNTRAINED DREAMER IS A GOD. TONIGHT, WITH TARDY JOSLYN'S HELP, I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT THAT MEANS.

Two lessons, one coin. Joslyn could have appreciated the beauty of it, if she hadn't been supplying one of the lessons. The grip on her shoulders was gone now, and Joslyn looked around. Tagramon was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the boundary. Joslyn swore softly.

YOU'RE A TEMPLE DREAMER, AND THIS DREAMER HAS REQUESTED AUGURY. WHAT DO YOU DO?

I play your game
, thought Joslyn,
while I try to figure out what it is
. She was careful to keep her thoughts closed in; the silent speech that dream allowed was still new to her and she didn't know its limits. But even if Tagramon could know her every thought that wasn't going to stop her from having them. "I find the dreamer," she said, "I watch and learn."

VERY GOOD. YOU MAY BEGIN.

It was casually said, not so casually done. Joslyn tread very carefully as she worked her way deeper into the dream. There was still no sign of the dreamer, but Joslyn had a very strong sense of
presence
that guided her on.

The change came in the whisper of one moment passing to the next. The vague shadows and shapes of the dream exploded with a crack like thunder, and Joslyn was nearly staggered by the power of the dreamer's vision. Joslyn stood in a child's nursery, looking down at a shattered porcelain doll. Its one remaining eye was closed, a tear glistened on its cheek. The red in its cracked cheeks and lips was like virgin color on an artist's palette, the image so sharp that Joslyn was sure its edges could draw blood. Joslyn bent over to examine the doll more closely.

The doll opened its eye, a painted black circle. "Go away before she finds you!"

Joslyn jumped back, startled.
I think I've found the supplicant
... Joslyn noticed the doorway and changed her mind.
I think she's found me
.

The doorway was much too large; it reached fifteen feet from the floor and stretched half again as far from side to side. And, from the very top to the cracks by the floor, it was blocked by a silvery web with strands as thick as rope. The spider sat in the center of the spiral-block pattern; it had eight eyes row on row, all of them the large brown eyes of a child. "You're not supposed to be here," it said. The mandibles gave the words a metallic click.

Joslyn stepped backward as the spider slowly descended from the web. Its thick, jointed legs moved with mechanical grace. Joslyn was looking for another way out of the room before she remembered that this was a dream. Nothing was real, nothing could hold or harm her. But the dreamer was aware of her and that interfered with Augury. It occurred to Joslyn that Tagramon's reasons for sending her here had nothing to do with playing oracle, but, as gelid, yellowish poison oozed from the spider-child's fangs, any rationalization seemed better than none. Especially one that would give her an excuse to get away. Joslyn stepped back to the far wall and tried to remove herself from the dream.

She bumped her nose.

YOU REALLY SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE JUST THEN, GIRL.

Master
..?

Joslyn couldn't see him, but she had an image of the Dream Master watching her as if through a glass, the rest of the novices dutifully chuckling. She tried to put it out of her mind; she had more pressing concerns. The dream was changing again: faint gossamer lines appeared in all the corners and grew, shimmering, until Joslyn was circled with webs.

How is she holding me
? It didn't make sense. And the dream itself was different in a way she had trouble defining. She had seen nightmares before in her short time as a novice, but never anything like this. In those nightmares, it was always the dreamer who was in danger, the dreamer who suffered. This fear was directed outward, and the images were more powerful than anything she had ever seen, more real, as if --

As if the dreamer didn't know the difference
. Not in the way that all dreamers believed the reality of the dream only
while
they dreamed; more like one whose waking and sleeping lives flowed one into the other with no seams to change one to the other. Joslyn finally understood.

The child was insane.

This was no shadow-play; the room was every bit as real as the image of
self
that turned a little girl into a monster.

Master, let me out
!

AND IF YOU STUMBLED UPON THIS DELIGHTFUL CHILD BY YOURSELF, ALONE, AS YOU PLAYED VOYEUR ON THE NIGHTSTAGE? WHO WOULD SAVE YOU THEN? THERE'S A LESSON HERE, JOSLYN. LEARN IT.

There was no nursery anymore, only the spider's weaving all around her. The monster moved at will; Joslyn struggled to keep some distance between them, fought to stay clear of the web, and knowing that sooner or later the dream would close in over her and the spider would feed.

It seemed to Joslyn that being a lesson was not quite the same as learning one; she was being punished. She didn't ask for help again.

Must be something I can do, but it isn't my dream—
With the word came the memory.
My dream wasn't Belor's. There is a way
.

There was almost no time at all. Joslyn forced herself to close her eyes in the spider's face, forced her mind to form another image, one that did not belong to the dream. She opened her eyes.

It was a poor thing compared to the dream around it. Pale gray, ghost-like, the wasp hovered inches over Joslyn's head. Its twin faceted eyes were empty; its wings were as thin and wavering as the surface of a pool. The spider hesitated, its slow, stalking step no longer sure. Joslyn shook her head, numbly.
Won't be enough
...

The wasp began to grow. Iridescence flowed over its wings like a spreading frost; the driftwood gray of its abdomen and waist changed to ruby red, its eyes glowed like the many-paned windows of the Temple itself. The force of its wings tore at the webbing with an angry hum. Joslyn cowered on the floor as its shadow loomed over her.

I didn't do that
!

The spider began to cry. Joslyn watched with fearful fascination as its body wavered, and for an instant Joslyn saw through the dream, saw a very young, very frightened little girl with large brown eyes and a ragged dress. In another moment the vision was over. Spider and wasp likewise gone. Joslyn was back in the nursery, very relieved and very puzzled.
The dreamer has fled. Why doesn't the dream end
? After a moment the faint sound registered
—
someone crying. It was the doll.

Joslyn picked it up and, moved by an emotion she didn't really understand, cradled it gently in her arms.
Waking or sleeping, all the same to you. Nowhere to run, nothing to be but a monster or a broken toy
.

The dream was not so well defined now, the boundaries less distinct. Joslyn found the empty cradle and put the doll inside. After a moment she left the dream, but not before a new sound grew as the sobbing faded. A sound Joslyn had never heard before but had dreamed a time or two herself. It was the sound of a distant sea.

The Dream Master stood with the others as she emerged. Joslyn had no doubt that the entire scene had been observed, but Tagramon didn't even hesitate. "Do you remember?"

Joslyn matched him. "Yes," she said, "everything."

*

"Everything."

Joslyn gave the familiar echo as the memory-dream faded around her. She stood alone on the Nightstage, and she did remember. She remembered the time she spent recovering from that night and the time she spent considering what Belor had done to her dream and what she had done to the insane little girl's dream. And how easy it was when others took the seed you planted and nurtured it with their fears, as the girl took Joslyn's puny wasp and made it into what Joslyn could not. Joslyn wondered how much effort Belor had really needed to poison her beautiful dream.

Belor was wrong
, she thought,
you don't invite attack—you create it
.

Joslyn remembered her blind panic when Ghost had given her the tiller of the little boat; only now she could put a name on her fear, make him understand why it was so important that she not risk losing control, not in anything.

And still I'm not finished
.

One more dream to dream, one more step back to take. Joslyn sensed it coming and did nothing. Maybe it would be the center of the storm, calm and safe. Maybe it would be the center of a maelstrom
—
nowhere to go but down into the dark waters forever. Joslyn didn't know. She did know that the time for choosing was already past. She had stepped into the river, and now there was nothing to do but go where the current took her.

*

It isn't enough to be an artist; there has to be an audience
.

Inlos put the finishing touches on his creation, then added a little more scope in the dream, just enough so he could step back and admire his work. It was perfect, of course, perfect down to the last detail of a very harsh reality. Not that Inlos hadn't added his own touches, here and there... He had yet to meet any reality, reflected or no, that couldn't do with a little improvement. He resisted the temptation to try something else, reach for a different effect. Unthinkable not to be ready when the curtain went up. Unthinkable to miss a moment of the play he had written.

Do hurry, Joslyn. You're holding up the show
 --

On cue. Perfect. Inlos caught the dream at first glow and wove his own seamlessly into the fabric. When the time came Joslyn wouldn't know one from the other, and what happened after that... well,
his
hands were clean. He had merely provided the knife, figuratively speaking.

The hand cutting her lovely white throat would be her own.

*

It was one thing to dream; a child could do it. A child couldn't help doing it. But to dream and be aware of the dream without ending it, that was difficult. Dreams were shy things; prying eyes alone were enough to make them flee. Joslyn moved very slowly, holding the delicate balance in her mind that kept the dream from overpowering her will and her will content within the dream. That last was the hardest for her to do normally; where she saw change needed, Joslyn wanted to make it. Tonight there was a different heavy hand on the balance: time. Joslyn was too aware of it.

Why did it have to be tonight
?

It was a careless thought, and of course there were consequences. All thoughts and images were linked; part of the wall in the catacombs she traveled suddenly became an open book
—
the question written within in letters of gold.

A large brown rat came scurrying along beside the wall and paused long enough to read the question aloud in a soft, lisping voice. Joslyn thought the rat looked familiar but just avoided remembering why. When it was done it looked at Joslyn, shrugged its narrow shoulders, and continued on its business. Joslyn smiled.
I don't know, either. Damn you, Dyaros
.

The dream's subversion was nearly complete. As Joslyn walked down the corridor it was if the wall had turned to glass and she watched another play through a long window. She watched her nervous progress down another narrow corridor to unlock the hidden window.

She saw herself leave.

Joslyn felt a touch of guilt, but only a touch. It wasn't safe to wait there; she might have been spotted. Dyaros could find her easily enough, and, in the interval, there was time for other things. Dreaming, for instance. A step farther down into the curious place she had discovered. Another look at what she had found in that deepest place
—
the thing that looked like a wall.

There's too much to do, too much to learn, now that I've joined the Temple. Dyaros won't understand that
.

Someone else was walking down that other corridor. A young man, his clothes a patchwork of styles and materials: gloves of rich black leather, shirt of worn muslin, soft, quilted boots.

Joslyn nodded.
He did smile that way. Even when no one was around
.

It seemed the end of one mystery, at least: Dyaros had the same cocksure smile for himself alone as for the rest of the world. Joslyn had wondered about that from the first time she had seen the young thief to the last time, Tagramon allowed her to say goodbye to her old associates. When she told Dyaros that she had been chosen for the Temple. His expression hadn't even flickered.