A Warrior of Dreams (27 page)

Alyssa shook her head, and she looked like she was fighting a smile. "I said you wouldn't understand. Joslyn, he said he'd let Ter stay." Joslyn's shock must have shown on her face; anger crept into Alyssa's voice. "Joslyn, we have nowhere else to go!"

"Nowhere?! With the whole of the world to choose from?"

Alyssa laughed. "You sang the tune differently back in the Temple, for all that you loathed making oracles. Do you know where I was when Tagramon found me?"

Joslyn dismissed that. "On the street, Alyssa. As I was."

"Yes,
friend
. But which one?"

Joslyn caught her meaning. "I didn't know."

Alyssa shrugged. "Ter has always been such a child; it was up to me to take care of us. Maybe the Temple isn't honest, but it's a better trade than I had. I
—
I won't go back there, Joslyn. Not for you, not for anyone."

Joslyn's arms fell to her sides and she stepped back. "All right, Alyssa. You'd better hurry home."

Alyssa frowned. "Just like that? You're letting me go?"

Joslyn laughed a bitter laugh. "There was never any question of that. Morning calls me no less strongly than it calls you. But a friend betrayed me and I had to know why. Now I do. It's all right, Alyssa. In your place I might have done the same."

Much later, when hindsight crystallized the moment for her, Joslyn realized her forgiveness was the worst blow she could have dealt Alyssa. Cursing, attacking, either would have been better than Joslyn's calm acceptance. Anything else would have given her the anger she so desperately needed. As it was, Alyssa was left with nothing at all.

"Somna damn you..."

Alyssa turned blindly and stepped right into the shadowed glow, just as Joslyn finally understood what the chaos of that particular dream meant.

The boy on the beach
!

The moment was frozen in place, it seemed. There was time to realize what Alyssa had stepped into. There was time for fear to strike hard and cold inside Joslyn's body and mind.

But time to warn Alyssa, none at all.

Joslyn did it before she thought
—
she plunged into the dream like a swimmer into the ocean after a drowning friend.

And the Dark Sea was waiting.

Chapter 12
—
Joyous

Inlos lived in an isolated wing of the Temple of Somna. Those who saw to his needs asked no questions and tried not to think about what they saw in his eyes. Only two people in the Temple knew his name. Neither of them was among his keepers.

Belor knew. He walked down the corridor, his slow, arthritic gait echoing its rhythm against the narrow walls. He met one of the attendants just as the man was exiting Inlos's rooms. He carried a tray covered with stained white cloth. With practiced unconcern, he acknowledged Belor with a little bow. "Holiness."

Belor nodded absently. "Is he sane today?"

The question seemed to give the attendant priest a little trouble. "Holiness, I'm not sure. He's said nothing all day; mostly he lies in his bed and sobs as if his heart would break."

A smile touched the corner of Belor's mouth. "Then he's sane." He dismissed the priest and the man scuttled away, looking grateful. Belor rapped once on the door, got no answer, and went in.

The priest had the gist of it: a lean young man with unkempt dark hair lay diagonally across a comfortable-looking bed. His brown eyes were rimmed with tears and swollen. The rest of the room was in better order than Inlos just then: paintings of mystical themes hung straight on the walls; a tall bookshelf nestled securely against the near wall, the scrolls stacked neatly, the few leather-bound books in place. Sometimes the situation was quite the reverse
—
Inlos in smiling serenity in his bed, the room total chaos. But then the keeper priests would scurry into the room like the hearth-sprites of legend and put all to rights again.

Except, of course, for Inlos. He fixed the High Priest with one bleary eye. "Today," he announced, "is tragedy."

Belor sat in the cushioned chair. "The day itself or your attitude toward it?"

Inlos looked petulant. He sounded that way, too. "Since my perception is the only one that matters, I fail to see the difference."

"Quite right," soothed Belor, "but I have some news that may cheer you."

"I doubt it," Inlos said, "but you have my permission to try."

"Thank you," Belor said. There was no mockery in his voice, but it rang loud and clear in his mind. His ability to keep those particular echoes silent was the main reason Tagramon sent him to speak with Inlos
—
the Dream Master had never really mastered the art of dealing with this particular dream talent. Belor began to pluck the strings that would produce the melody he wanted. "We found Joslyn."

Tears still glistened in the young man's eyes, but the sobbing stopped. There might even have been a flicker of interest, but his darkened lids closed and he yawned. "Certainly took you long enough. Where was the dear girl hiding?"

"Darsa, apparently," Belor said, letting just the right hint of half-truth and things hidden to creep into his tone.

An obedient fish, Inlos rose to the bait. "Apparently? I thought you were sure."

Belor spread his hands. "As certain as one can be in these matters. When Alyssa returned as she did, well..."

Inlos sat up by the massive headboard, drew his feet under him, and sat cross-legged like a Sulidun chieftain. He wagged a finger in Belor's direction. "Tell me all there is, Belor, and be quick because I am not a patient man."

Another way of saying you have the attention span of a child. That's all right, lad—I can be patient for both of us
.

Belor went on to describe Alyssa's awakening. How many White Robes it had taken to prevent her from tearing the flesh of her face away. How she fared now, bound and locked away with the shards of her mind.

Inlos listened until the end, and by then his eyes were dry and thoughtful looking. "Joslyn...?"

Belor shrugged. "Alyssa was too cautious to get involved in anything she couldn't handle. Unless, of course, she was pushed. And Joslyn is a powerful dreamer."

"Darsa, you said?"

"Yes. She and that man must be there. We hate to ask this, you know that, but..."

Inlos smiled in satisfaction. "But you need my help. Because I'm the only one who can help."

Belor put his hands together and then opened them, palm up, in a gesture of surrender. "Just so."

Inlos stopped smiling. "Wouldn't it be easier to just kill them both?"

"Simpler," Belor conceded, "assuming we could find them. But it's no secret that the Temple functions, shall we say, less
efficiently
in Darsa. And Joslyn is the renegade, not the poor fool she seduced into helping her. Your way would make a better example."

Inlos grinned. "You said it. You actually said the words. My way! Yes, of course it would." Inlos turned sullen. "But I didn't think you'd admit it."

Belor shrugged. "I'm a practical man. Superior ability makes for superior results. I merely state the facts."

Inlos brightened again, but only for a moment. "If it was Joslyn who scrambled that silly girl's head for her, then Joslyn knows she's been found. She'll be moving."

"They won't have time to go far. And since you know where to start looking, I doubt she'll escape you."

Inlos wasn't really listening. He stared at the velvet coverlet of his bed, fascinated. He reached out and touched it, gingerly, as if it would shrink away from him. "It's soft. Would Joslyn's skin feel anything like it, I wonder? Will madness bring out her inner beauty? So many questions, Belor. Pain strips the masks away. Pain is the greatest god."

The High Priest said nothing, his certainty fading a little. Inlos was dancing on the edge as always, but sometimes it was hard to tell which side of the knife he would fall. "Then the Temple can count on your help?"

Inlos was drifting into a Change; Belor saw it in his eyes. "The Temple can count on me to do whatever amuses me at the moment."

Inlos suddenly grinned, bounced off the bed like an excited child, and began to pull the paintings off the wall, one after the other. Belor bowed slightly and took his leave, but as he walked down the hall, his hands were involved in a little pantomime: that of a man rolling up and tucking away an empty leash.

*

In the short time since her waking, Joslyn's room had transformed into a council room. Ghost and Daycia were there, and Kessa. Meleay, her child riding in a sling on her side, brought Joslyn a cup of tea heavily laced with something strong and soothing. Joslyn needed it; she could barely hold the cup for trembling.

Predictably, it was Daycia who cut to the heart of the matter. "I think we can assume you've been found."

Joslyn nodded, holding the cup with both hands. "I think we can."

Ghost wasn't convinced. "But Joslyn, you told us what happened to poor Alyssa. It isn't likely she'll tell Tagramon of your meeting."

Daycia didn't say anything to that. Joslyn didn't give her a chance. "Ghost, don't be stupid!" she snapped. "Tagramon at the very least will wonder how Alyssa came to grief, and that means they'll concentrate on Darsa, and
that
means we have to leave. Immediately." It seemed to Joslyn that, even in her rattled condition, she was thinking clearer than Ghost. That worried her.

Daycia backed her up. "I'm afraid you're right. I should question why the Dream Master suspects you're capable of such a thing, but I won't. Your abilities must be great, for him to fear you as he obviously does."

Ghost subsided, though he still looked thoughtful. Daycia seemed to think the time for consideration was past. "Kessa, find Tolas and make certain there's no unusual activity around this place. I doubt the Temple has very many agents here, but we'd best make sure. Hurry."

Kessa left, Meleay close behind. Daycia hesitated at the door. "I'm sorry, but it's become too dangerous for you to remain. I'll see what I can do about getting you both safely away."

Joslyn kept silent until she was gone. "I'll be surprised if she doesn't hand us over to the Watchers herself."

"She won't do that," Ghost said.

Joslyn put her head in her hands. "Don't be so trusting."

Ghost frowned. "Trust has nothing to do with it. It'd be difficult to surrender us without implicating herself. Much easier just to kill us and hide the bodies. Neater, too."

Now who's thinking clearly
? The way Ghost's mind worked was startling at times, but polite disinterest in his own survival made it possible to consider all sides of a situation with annoying clarity. Joslyn tried to match it. "Then we'd better be as little trouble as possible... oh, damn."

"What is it?"

"I just remembered the woman I met on the nightstage. I think she was in trouble."

"From what you tell me of the Darsan nightstage I'm not surprised. What sort of trouble?"

Joslyn shook her head. "I didn't get a chance to find out. She wasn't really there
—
it was a projection of some kind... from the south, I think."

"A
sending
is a high order of dream skill, Joslyn. Didn't she say anything?"

"Yes, but it didn't make a lot of sense." Joslyn related the meeting as best she remembered and was a little uneasy to see that Ghost's reaction bordered on excitement.

"She said 'Firstborn'? You're sure?"

"Yes, Ghost." Joslyn felt the beginnings of a bad headache.

"Did you see her eyes?"

Joslyn had almost forgotten that most distinct feature and was a little annoyed with herself. "No whites," she muttered. "Golden, like unfaceted amber. Does that help? And if your next question is 'Did I dream her'; the answer is no."

Ghost shrugged. "It's possible you did, whether you know it or not. But I hope..." He hesitated, looking confused.

"Hope what?"

He shook his head in wonder. "Hope at all. But I do, I actually do. Marvelous!"

"Ghost, what are you
talking
about?"

"
Hope
, Joslyn. There's a trace of it still swimming around in these dead waters of mine. I wasn't sure of that till now. Didn't even suspect, really..." Ghost finally noticed the growing pain in Joslyn's eyes. He finished the thought quickly. "I meant to say that I hope you didn't dream her, because if not, you've met an Aversa."

"There are no more Aversa, if they ever existed," Joslyn said. "I've studied dreamcraft under adepts for two years now, and I've yet to meet anyone who even claimed to have seen one."

"You just did," Ghost pointed out. "That means there's at least one. South, you said?"

"South," Joslyn repeated, not really interested. Her headache was assuming the proportions of a full-scale assault, complete with blaring trumpets and thundering horses.

"Then that's where we go." Ghost's voice had the distinct tone of a discussion ended.

Joslyn was suddenly interested again. "Ghost, there's nothing south of here but ocean. It's very deep, it's very wet, and nothing in legend implied that the Aversa had gills. I know I don't."

A little emotion seemed to go a long way in Ghost. He put his little thread of hope back on the loom, and when it came off it was something like annoyance. "One: we're not going to walk. Two: you know nothing about the Southern Ocean. Three: if there is a Firstborn still in this world, she might be the only one
left
in this world who can help us. And we need help, Joslyn. Or do you think we can hide from the Dream Master forever?"

Joslyn shook her head and regretted the act immediately. She put one hand on either side of her head but just couldn't stop it from spinning. Ghost sat down on the bed and began massaging her neck up to the base of her skull. It was as if someone had opened a window and let in a blast of cool, fresh air. The throbbing eased; the room stopped its maddening pirouette. Without the haze of pain, her thoughts became coherent again. "Ghost, there's no guarantee that finding out either what happened to your soul or why the Dream Master wants me dead will make the slightest difference."