A Warrior of Dreams (20 page)

"You're being beautiful on a summer's day," he said. "That's a bad thing."

The woman stopped a few feet from the rock. "I don't understand."

"It isn't necessary that you understand," the boy said, "only that I do."

He reached into his robe and pulled out a rusty knife. Joslyn swore, softly, though more in disappointment than shock. The dream was going sour, and after searching so long to find one that didn't start that way it was doubly frustrating. Joslyn braced herself for the change in the dream's dominant emotion. She waited while the robed lunatic chased the woman onto the sand dunes. She waited while he struck her with the pommel of his weapon and sent her dazed and bleeding to the sand.

I don't feel the nightmare
...

The boy's smile was pure serenity. "There's an art to it," he said, making his first cut. "A
beginner
might make the mistake of using a sharp blade, and clean scars have a symmetry of form in and of themselves. Defeats the whole purpose..."

The shock of pain brought the woman around. She screamed once, and the boy methodically clubbed her senseless again and went on with his work. There was still no change, no sudden wave of fear that was nightmare's herald. Joslyn finally understood why.

It's not her dream. It's his
!

Joslyn cursed herself for a fool. Of course the dream's imagery was powerful! A lunatic's vision could not be otherwise. Joslyn remembered her first encounter with such a one clearly, but more than that, she remembered the way it had felt, the sickness that affected everything the dream touched.

That feeling was absent in this dream, despite the horror. What the boy was doing was madness, but he didn't feel it and neither did Joslyn.

If he's not insane, then I am. Shall I test it
?

Joslyn drew back just enough for caution and began the change. First, she restored the woman's face. The dripping blood and ragged gashes vanished. Joslyn resisted the urge to improve on nature; it wasn't necessary. The boy drew back as if slapped, and Joslyn risked a little more direct interference
—
she caused the hood to fall and looked on the dreamer's face.

Sixteen at best
, thought Joslyn, disgusted.
So young to be so warped
.

That was the word
—
warped. There was anger in the boy's blue eyes, a touch of bewilderment, and something else, a touch of... hurt? She wasn't sure. She did know that he wasn't insane, at least not in any sense she understood. The Dark Sea was waiting for him; Joslyn could almost hear it flowing beneath the fabric of this dream. He hadn't crossed the line yet, hadn't tried to turn the play of this dream into a waking reality. And perhaps he wouldn't, if Joslyn could just reach him in time.

The boy touched the woman's face, hesitantly traced the smooth line of her jaw. "You are strong, Somna. Malitus is stronger."

Does he really think he's a stronger dreamer than Somna
?!

This was making less and less sense. Everything he said, everything he
did
smacked on the Dark Sea and madness. But there was no rage, no chaos emotions in the play. Unless he was hiding them even from himself, burying them so deep that his dreams could catch them only as cold reflections? Joslyn decided to find out.

The boy touched his knife to the woman's skin once more, and Joslyn took it away from him. A second's confusion, a second's distortion of the dream that quickly passed. The knife reappeared in his hand.

Quick lad
, Joslyn thought,
Let's see how quick
.

She took the knife away from him again, and before he could adjust, she took his victim. The woman suddenly woke and shoved the boy backward. He flailed his arms frantically and landed hard on his rump. The woman stood and sprouted butterfly wings, blew the boy a kiss and rose from the beach in an explosion of biting sand.

He blinked tears from his eyes as the lovely butterfly-woman flew away with lazy beats of her wings. When she was gone he covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. "Malitus, forgive me. I failed you..."

His bloody god
.

There was one of the curtains lifted. Not madness
—
piety. All other emotions smothered until now, when failure breached his tower of faith. Joslyn finally felt the dream emotion change, the despair flow outward like smoke until the stage was filled with it. Here was his nightmare, summoned when ritual mutilation was thwarted. The boy was warped, yes, but by something larger and stronger than himself.

The tears were just the beginning. Frustration quickly turned to rage, and the boy lay flat on the beach, thrusting his knife into the beach again and again as if
—
if he only tried hard enough
—
he could disfigure the world.

Who is this "Malitus?" A god who hates women
?

It wasn't far-fetched. Joslyn knew more than one man who followed such a creed and didn't need religion to justify it. But Joslyn didn't think it was as simple as that
—
the boy attacked the beach with as much enthusiasm as he'd shown the woman.

Or a god who hates everything
...

Hatred, but not blind hatred. There had been too much method in the mutilation, too much made of beauty destroyed. And the beach, too, was beautiful.

"Look."

Joslyn didn't know what she was going to do until it was done. Her voice carried over he dream; she kept out of sight but still he heard her.

He looked up. "Who's there?"

"Look!"

Joslyn's voice came from the sea. He looked out, eyes searching the horizon. Joslyn waited till his full attention was on he sea, and then she worked one final, devastating change
—
she forced him to see, really
see
what lay in front of him: the white sand, the vast, always moving, never changing ocean. He saw his place in it all as Joslyn saw her own
—
incredibly small, infinitely powerless.

Joslyn drilled the thought into his brain like an executioner driving the last nail. IT IS AS IT IS. AND NOTHING YOU CAN DO WILL MAKE THE SLIGHTEST DIFFERENCE.

There was a warning of sorts
—
the dreamer screamed. Joslyn barely got clear before the dream burst into a thousand glowing shards of thought and mind. For an instant there was a spot of absolute blackness where the dream had been, and Joslyn felt the closeness of the Dark Sea, knew what she had barely avoided. Knew, too, that the boy had not been so fortunate.

If he wasn't insane before, he is now
.

The mist of the nightstage finally covered the darkness, healing itself. Joslyn looked around. Except for the flicker of distant dreams, she was alone. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to Somna, realizing how careless she had been. If there had been a Temple Dreamer anywhere near... Joslyn cursed herself for that, and for what she had done to the fanatical youth. Already close to drowning, and she had handed him a stone.

I've seen enough
.

Joslyn traced her way back to where she had started, back to the place where the Daysoul was waiting to take control again. Tonight she felt no hesitation, no regret. This dreamstage was like... she groped for a word that fit and came up with a memory instead.

The Keepinghouse
!

It was a test. That's what the Dream Master had told her, back when she was training for the Temple. He set the stage, told her where to go. Joslyn found herself touring the dreams of the mad, and equal parts luck and natural skill were the only things that kept her from joining the stinking horde in that place where madness was kept.

I WOULDN'T DARE TEST THE OTHERS SO...

Joslyn's memory brought back the old familiar anger. How like the Dream Master, to risk destroying Joslyn just to test her strength.
One day, my old Master, I'll show you just how strong I can be
 --

She stopped. There was something wrong as she returned to the source, something different.

Somna help me. A dreamer
.

How could that be? The Daysoul was near; Joslyn could feel its impatience to take the reins again and call itself Joslyn for a while. But a dream had taken root almost on top of her. A bright, large dream, rivalling that of the insane youth. And it covered the source like a golden cage.

They've found me
.

Clear enough, but how? No one had traced her; it was by luck alone, but she was sure of it. And the dreamer
—
whoever it might be
—
was in the same room as the sleeper. That meant she was betrayed.
Musa has poor taste in friends
.

Images of Daycia dying in various messy ways swirled through Joslyn's mind, but she knew there was no way to make them come true. She was caught clean like a rat in a box; there was no way out except through the stranger's dream, and someone would be waiting for her. But why enter the stage at all? The daysoul was helpless
—
one quick cut and the fuss would be over. What were they waiting for?

I can stand here making myself as crazy as I made that poor boy. Or
... Joslyn smiled grimly and stepped into the dream.

The stage was bare except for the slim figure seated in the center of the light. Her hair was uncovered now, but the dark clothes were the same, the face that of their shadow from the market.

"You're Kessa," Joslyn said.

The girl smiled. "You're Joslyn," she said, "and I think you're a Temple Dreamer."

"I don't suppose it would help to deny it," Joslyn sighed, "Did Daycia send you?" She spoke calmly, but all the while her trained senses probed the dream's limits, and she kept her strength and will coiled.

Kessa shook her head. "She doesn't even know I'm here. I need to speak to you, and I chose to do it
here
," she swept her arm at the bare stage, "to prove my intent. I'm no threat to you."

"I don't know that."

Kessa smiled. "Yes you do, or you're not what I take you to be."

It was true. Joslyn felt how hard it was for Kessa to maintain the dream as nothing more than a meeting place, noted wavering as Kessa's natural tendency to free-create brought shadow-images into the dream only to fade again. By meeting Joslyn on her own ground, Kessa had placed herself at Joslyn's mercy, and if there was little actual physical danger, Joslyn was sure Kessa didn't know that. "What do you want of me?"

When Kessa answered there was none of the cold calculation Joslyn had seen in the shadow's eyes. "I need your help."

Joslyn thought of the dreamer she had made insane. "I've not been much use to anyone lately."

"Then you won't
—
"

The creation took over as Kessa'S concentration snapped. Joslyn moved aside and let the images form around Kessa, saw her pulled into the dream, oblivious, for the moment, of Joslyn or anything else outside the dream. Joslyn watched Kessa's fears and hopes play out their parts like any Temple Dreamer giving augury. Joslyn saw the dream with her trained sight, saw some of the devils that commanded Kessa, but most of all she saw Tolas as Kessa saw him. And that part of the Nightsoul that shared its name with the Joslyn asleep in the ruins remembered what it was like to look at someone like that.

Joslyn stepped into the dream and pulled Kessa clear of the play. In a moment the images faded and left them alone.

Kessa looked confused. "What happened?"

Joslyn sighed. "Oh, nothing... Time to go, Kessa. We need to talk."

With her arm around the girl's shoulders, Joslyn led Kessa from the stage.

Chapter 10
—
A Holy Storm

Kessa woke first. Joslyn seemed to be having trouble
—
she groaned once or twice and threw off the covers in what seemed more a wrestling match than an awakening. Kessa kept her distance, and finally Joslyn's eyes opened.

"Good morning," Kessa said.

There was no recognition in Joslyn's eyes at first. "Who
—
oh, I remember now. No wonder your dream covered me. What gave me away?"

Kessa shrugged. "You know Musa. She moves in more than one circle, but dreamcraft is the largest. I took a chance."

Joslyn sat on the edge of the bed, massaging her forehead. "Would you tell me which of Musa's circles Daycia fits best?"

Kessa shrugged. "Business associate, relative... Daycia knows a lot of people."

"No doubt, though I don't think she supports this happy family selling cloth." There was a question in Joslyn's eyes that Kessa chose not to answer. Joslyn finally smiled. "So be it. Everyone has their secrets and Daycia's welcome to hers. Yours hasn't kept so well
—
it's Tolas, isn't it?"

Kessa looked for any sign of amusement or condescension, found none. "How did you know?"

"You dreamed. Tolas was quite prominent."

Damn
. This wasn't going as Kessa had planned. One mistake and she'd already given away a part of her soul to this stranger's mercy. She thought of the realm of dreams and what such a one as Joslyn could do there. It seemed more power than anyone should have over another. Kessa was surprised to discover that she was more than a little afraid of Joslyn, but there was no turning back now
—
she's already spent more than she'd intended. "All right," she said, "It is Tolas. He's... my friend. And he's in pain. I think you saw that in the meal hall. I want to help him..." Joslyn was smiling at her. "Is there something amusing in that?"

"Certainly not
—
friends should help friends. But what do you want me to do?"

Kessa took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I want you to enter his dreams, find out what's troubling him... damn you, stop laughing!"

Joslyn raised a hand in apology. "I'm sorry, Kessa, but you're either a fool or think I am. It's all too clear what's troubling Tolas, and clearer still that you want more from him than friendship. I make no judgment on that or what you plan to do about it, but by the Dreamer tell me the truth or there's little hope for anything we do for him."