Dreams Made Flesh (2 page)

She would have enough time. Just enough time. If this potential Weaver wanted what she had to give.

4

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Light-time… day. Dark-time… night. AboveWorld… sky. Rough… tree. Hard…

scale. Dark Wet… blood. Meat…

Sorrow. Pain. Longing. Need. Hope.… dragon.

She… spider. Small. Golden.

Momentarily distracted by the strange thoughts, the spider returned to her housekeeping, rolled up the tattered remains of her old web, along with the discarded prey, then spun a fresh web. She did not spin in order to catch prey. She spun to keep other things away from the flesh that not only fed her body but sang to her about things she had never known existed. The World kept shifting as she absorbed the Weaver, showing her new things in the familiar.

Showing her ancient things in the familiar.

Showing her a Need for Weavers who could spin dreams into shapes that could walk in the World, for Weavers who could spin dreams into flesh.

She did not understand this Need, but it flavored the flesh her venom liquefied for her to ingest. So at night, when she was safely tucked beneath the scales in the hollow created by her feedings, she drifted on the tangled, silken threads of the dragon's longings and dreams…and began to learn how to weave a different kind of web.

5

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Perhaps the other Seers were right. Perhaps her particular gift was too dangerous to give to the new caretakers of the Realms. Perhaps there was no other race that could, or should, take the deepest heart-dreams and provide a bridge for those dreams to become flesh.

But those dreams would be needed in the world. She knew that with unshakable certainty. They would be needed…and it was unlikely even the simplest of those dreams would ever exist because she hadn't reached the caves as she'd intended.

She wouldn't make the same transition as the rest of her race, transforming her scales into Jewels that would serve as a reservoir for the power the new caretakers could not contain in their smaller, weaker bodies. The Jewels that came from her should have been the vessels that contained her gift and would have changed the wearer into a Seer that could shape dreams into flesh. Now…

Did her mother know she was trapped on this island, exposed and dying? Did her sire, the great Prince of the Dragons, sense her fading presence in the world?

Would they feel disappointment in her that, during moments of despair and heartache and hope, she was trying to pass her gift to a small, golden spider?

She should have stayed in the dark mountain that was the lair of the Prince and the Queen. She should have curled up in one of the deep hollows within that mountain and followed the rest of her race into the forever sleep. Instead she had followed a vision of a cave filled with dreams—a vision that would never come to pass.

Soon now. Soon. Her body was failing. Her power was fading. Soon she would be free of the world. Soon.

Closing her gold eyes, she drifted on dreams.

6

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So much sorrow gave the flesh a bitter taste, but the spider remained, burrowing deeper beneath the scales for meat that still seeped blood, was still fresh. And it wasn't all bitter. When the daring male had approached her and indicated his willingness to mate, Dragon's flesh had been tastier that day, as if the mating had drawn sweeter memories to the surface.

Since she wanted her hatchlings to feed on this flesh that was making her more than just a spider, she worked to find a way to reach the memories, to see the dreams.

Dragon had shown her before. Why wouldn't Dragon show her now?

Frustrated, she climbed up to Dragon s jaw, anchored a strand of silk, and began to build a web. But as she built the web, she… felt things. So she spun them into the web, ignoring instinct and placing the threads where they needed to be.

Sorrow. Pain. Longing. Need. Hope.

As she cautiously traveled the strands of the completed tangled web, warmth flowed through her. She paused, absorbed the feel of this sensation, and added one more small thread. Joy.

Suddenly she saw the caves, the place Dragon had intended to go to do the finest dreaming. And in those caves, she saw golden spiders, much larger than herself, spinning tangled webs.

Sound, faint and fading, filled her.

*You have learned well,* Dragon said. *But heed me, little one. You must guard the webs you weave that make dreams into flesh. Many beings will cherish those webs because they are spun out of magic that lives in the heart. But there will be others who will want to destroy that heart-magic before it can touch the world.

Guard the webs…Weaver of Dreams.*

Dragon's breath came out in a long sigh… and then there was silence.

7

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The golden spider spun out the last thread of the web that filled the space between Dragon's jaw and shoulder. Most of her offspring had gone away, just ordinary spiders who would spin ordinary webs and catch ordinary prey. But the few who were different, who were like her, had stayed nearby, learning how to spin the tangled webs.

Despite the size of her web, she had caught only one small dream, but that one held a deep well of yearning… and a taste of sorrow that was, somehow, connected to Dragon. So she plucked the thread of yearning, sending it back to the heart it had come from.

As day turned to night, she settled into the most sheltered edge of her web…and wondered about the dreamer.

8

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Day had barely touched the sky when she sensed a Presence that resonated with her tangled web. She waited, feeling the faint tremble of footfalls on the earth, the change in the air.

*Sso. My daughter wass able to passs on her gift after all.*

The voice that flowed through her felt like Dragon, but wasn't quite Dragon.

The Presence approached her web. Her offspring plucked the strands of their own webs, trying to ensnare the Presence's mind. But the Presence didn't respond, didn't give any sign that it had felt the tugs and whispers in those webs.

*Blood singss to blood,* the Presence said, leaning over the spider's tangled web.

*Remember me.*

A drop of blood fell on a knot of tangled threads, a glistening bead of power.

The spider waited until the Presence went away before hurrying over to devour the offering.

Power flowed through her, a power even stronger and richer than Dragon's had been.

Draca.

Dragon's Mother. Dragon's Queen.

Remember me.

For hours that day, the spider stroked the strands of her tangled web, remembering Dragon, remembering the feel of Draca. Not shaped like Dragon, but still a dragon.

This dream web had done what it was meant to do. Draca would not sorrow for Dragon anymore because she had seen that, in the most important way, Dragon was still in the world. Small now, and golden, but still in the world.

The spider carefully cut the anchoring threads and just as carefully rolled the web into a cocoon. She traveled down Dragon's neck and shoulder until she reached the hole in the chest.

Perhaps it was the way of Dragon's kind, or perhaps it was some last bit of magic that had changed Dragon's flesh into porous rock covered with hard stone scales.

Inside Dragon were several chambers where she could spin the first stage of a web, then listen, quiet and protected, while the strongest heart-dreams drifted over her, guiding her as she created her web.

The time would come when she and her offspring would make the long journey to the caves where the golden spiders would protect the webs of dreams that would become flesh. But not yet.

She squeezed through the opening that led to a small chamber and pulled the cocoon in with her.

Dragon's body was hollow stone now, but the heart hadn't rotted like the rest of the organs. It had changed to smooth stone. Whenever the spider came to this chamber and brushed a leg over that stone, the chamber filled with warmth, and she felt Dragon's joy that the Weaver's gift had not been lost.

The day would come when she no longer felt that warmth, and the stone would be no more than a stone. When that day came, she would leave. But even then, whatever bit of heart-memory might remain wouldn't be alone.

Before leaving the chamber, she spun out some silk and attached the cocoon of Draca's dream to Dragon's stone heart.

The Prince of Ebon Rih

ONE

Lucivar Ya slana stood at the far end of the flagstone courtyard of his new home, enjoying the early morning sunlight that had begun warming the stones beneath his feet. The mountain air felt chilly against his bare skin, and the freshly made coffee he sipped from a plain white mug tasted rough enough to make him wince.

Didn't matter. The coffee might not have the smooth potency that Mrs. Beale produced for his father's table, but it wasn't any worse than what he made when he went hunting and spent a night out on the land. Couldn't be any worse, since he'd made it the same way.

He looked over his shoulder at the open door that led into the warren of rooms that made up the eyrie. Some of the rooms had been carved out of the living mountain; others had been built from the extracted stone. The result would have been a nightmare for any race that needed predictable lines and angles in a structure, but for anyone born of the Eyrien race, it was perfect.

And this particular eyrie was now his.

Smiling, he closed his gold eyes and tipped his head back to feel the sun on his face. Slowly opening his dark, membranous wings, he savored the feel of sunlight and chilly air playing over his wings and light-brown skin.

In all of his seventeen hundred years, he'd never had a home until three years ago when he'd been reunited with his father…the man who, through the machinations of Dorothea, Hayll's High Priestess, had had his two younger sons taken from him. The man who had never forgotten or forgiven the betrayals that had left scars on all of them.

He'd been happy living in the suite of rooms at SaDiablo Hall, but the Hall was still his father's house. This place was his. Exclusively, totally his.

*Yas?*

Well, maybe not exclusively his.

Sipping his coffee, Lucivar watched the adolescent wolf trot toward him. The youngster had been ready to leave the pack that lived in the north woods of his father's estate but hadn't wanted to go back to the Territory most of the kindred wolves called home. Tassle had grown up near humans and wanted to learn more about them, but there still weren't many places where the wild kindred could safely live in human Territories…and there still weren't many humans beyond Jaenelle An-gelline's court who felt easy about living around an animal who had the same power as the human Blood. Since he now had plenty of land for a wolf to roam in, it was easy enough to share the space.

Tassle, Lucivar thought, raising the mug to hide his smile. What kind of name was Tassle for a Warlord wolf? "Good morning. Smell anything interesting?"

*Yes.Yas, you aren't wearing your cow skin.*

"It's called leather." Which Tassle knew perfectly well. Humans had prejudices, but so did the kindred. If something could be described by referring to the animal it came from, they ignored the human word for the end result. They viewed the world from their own furry perspective, which was fair, he supposed, since no two people, let alone two species, would view the world around them in quite the same way. "I don't need clothes right now. It's a fine morning, we're alone up here, and it's not like anyone living in the valley is going to see me."

*But,Yas—*

He sensed it then. Someone coming up the stone stairs from the landing area below had passed through the perimeter shield he'd placed around the eyrie. The shield wasn't meant to keep anyone out, just to alert him if someone approached his home.

As he turned toward the intruder, Helene, his father's housekeeper, hurried up the last few steps, then stopped abruptly when she reached the flagstones and saw him.

"Good morning, Prince Yaslana," she said politely.

"Helene," he replied with equal, if forced, politeness…especially when a dozen maids who worked at the Hall came up the stairs and gave him a quick, and approving, glance before going into the eyrie.

Well, Lucivar thought sourly, they all got an eyeful to perk up their morning.

"What brings you here, Helene?"

"Now that all the workmen are done with the renovations the High Lord felt were necessary to make Prince Andulvar's old eyrie livable again, we've come to give it a good cleaning."

"I've already cleaned the place."

She made a sound that told him what she thought of his ability to clean anything.

But that was a hearth witch for you. If it didn't sparkle, shine, or gleam, it wasn't clean. Never mind that stone walls weren't supposed to sparkle, shine, or gleam.

"Fine," Lucivar said, knowing he was cornered and arguing was a waste of breath.

"I'll get dressed and show you—"

Helene waved her hand dismissively. "You were obviously enjoying a fine morning. There's no reason why you should do otherwise. I'm sure we can find everything. What there is of it," she added under her breath.

He bared his teeth in what he hoped would be mistaken as a smile. "I wouldn't want to be a distraction."

She gave him a fast sweep with her eyes. "You won't be."

Lucivar just stared at her, too stunned to think of anything to say.

Helene sniffed delicately. "I won't say I've seen better, but I've seen just as good."

Who? He could think of one man Helene could have walked in on and surprised.

As she headed for the door, another woman's voice, coming from the stairs, said,

"Come along, ladies. We don't want to interrupt too much of the Prince's day."

Helene turned toward the stairs, the light of battle in her eyes, as Merry bounded up the last few stairs and saw him. Along with her husband, Briggs, Merry ran a tavern and inn in Riada, the closest Blood village in the valley.

"Oh, my," Merry said with approval. Then she noticed Helene, and the glint in her eyes didn't bode well for a peaceful morning.

"Ladies," Lucivar said, wondering if he was going to start his day breaking up a brawl outside his door.