A Warrior of Dreams (29 page)

"Then what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? Joslyn, sometimes you can be an infuriatingly thick young woman. It's Phian."

"Phian is dead and beyond further pain. You're not."

Ghost shook his head. "Give you that much... Yes, I'm alive, but, like Phian, it takes a handshake from Death to provide enough contrast for me to realize it. When I felt that knife bite I was alive, alive in a way I haven't been since your augury."

Joslyn grunted. "That's useful, if anyone ever asks what my auguries and a knife-wielding lunatic have in common."

"Joslyn, that's not it at all. The first was hope, the latter, fear. Hope comes in its own sweet time and way; fear is easier to arrange. What's to stop me from seeking it out, as Phian did?"

Joslyn leaned over the bed until her face was but inches from Ghost's. "Me," she said.

Ghost folded his hands on the coverlet. "Girl, I almost believe you can. But for how long?"

"We leave tomorrow, Ghost. And if that was an Aversa, we'll find her. She can help us."

Ghost's smile was as thin and taut as a spider's thread. "I don't know that," he said, "and neither do you."

*

Joslyn walked the Darsan nightstage for what she hoped would be the last time. She looked at the hard, cold dreams around her and her nose wrinkled in disgust.

South
, she thought,
definitely south
.

She lingered for a moment by Kessa's dream but wasn't even tempted. If there were echoes of Kessa's waking world there and hints of how she would deal with it, it wasn't for Joslyn to listen. She owed Kessa that much.

There were other echoes in the mist that did concern Joslyn; ranging southward, she came to the place that made eddies and currents in the mist, a phantom sea that reminded Joslyn too clearly of the dark waters that had claimed Alyssa and the acolyte. Joslyn wanted to wipe the image away, to give the ghostly sea shape and scent and feel, to raise a warm yellow sun to chase the shadows away. But there were no dreams forming near the water; no one slept on the beach.

Dream it yourself
.

Joslyn smiled to herself. No, no, mustn't. No telling what might happen.

What could happen
?

Joslyn frowned, and as she thought, the furrows on her brow deepened. What could happen? She could fail again. That was all.

You don't trust yourself
.

Joslyn smiled. What a silly thought. Of course she didn't trust herself. Dreaming was different from entering another's dream; the first thing you lost was control. You had to live the moment just like the Daysoul moving in a world made by Somna the Dreamer and shaped by everyone with the strength and will to play a part. But a dream on the Nightstage was its own master, always. The Nightsoul played the part assigned.

What was your part, Joslyn
?

Cat's paw. Bait...

The thought was free; she couldn't call it back. But now, only now she realized that the questioning voice was not her own.

"Who are you?"

Laughter.

Joslyn was aware of the Other. Too late. She saw nothing, but she felt its stare, its concentration, on her. She turned away from the dream-ocean, abandoning any notion of searching for the Aversa tonight. She was being hunted herself.

Show yourself
!

She kept the words silent, intent on reclaiming the inner voice that had been stolen from her so damn easily.

SHOW YOURSELF.

The words were echoed in a voice so very much like her own. The difference was the delicate shimmer of malice that coated them like an oily sheen of poison. This wasn't like before, with Alyssa
—
this one hid well, slipped into her thoughts like a thief and was gone again before she knew he was there.

He.

The Other sent her an image, a dream-fragment thrown like a sharp stone. Joslyn saw herself, beaten and cowering before the Other, a shadow with the form of a man.

THIS WILL BE YOU, JOSLYN.

That was the truth. Joslyn knew it. Without another's dream to work with she couldn't even send out a were-light to seek out the Other, or cast a circle to light the area around her. She turned frantically, saw nothing. She darted this way and that in the Darsan nightstage, found nothing.

SOON, LITTLE GIRL.

Joslyn never found him, but his laughter found her. It started as soft as an executioner's smile, but it grew: bigger, more powerful, the booming, merciless laugh of a mad god.

Sweet Somna
...

It was fear, partly
—
Joslyn didn't deny that to herself then or later
—
but mostly because she didn't know what else to do, Joslyn ran.

Chapter 13
—
Laying the Stones

No one said good-bye.

Ghost was the only one who forgot; he was too busy giving the equipment and provisions a final check. Kessa scanned the cliffs behind the dock for sign of Watchers, knowing full well that there weren't any. Joslyn just stood by the mooring, thinking that
something
should be said and equally certain that she didn't know what that might be. Then it was time to go. Ghost took Joslyn's hand as she stepped into the unsteady craft, and in that instant Joslyn felt Kessa's hand on her shoulder. When she regained her balance enough to turn around, all she saw was a glimpse of Kessa's back as she slipped up the narrow path.

"Damn."

"I may be wrong," Ghost said, "but it does seem that something passed here just now that I don't understand."

Joslyn found a wide slat in the bow and sat down. "It'd be a Miracle of the Dreamer if there wasn't."

Ghost smiled, and suddenly it was Joslyn who had the idea she'd missed something. Ghost unhitched the loop of rope holding the rudder bar and said, "Cast off the bow line, will you? There's a dear."

Joslyn fumbled at the lashing while Ghost waited patiently. When Joslyn finally got it free Ghost pushed them clear of the moorings and the boat slowly turned to face the open sea like a sluggish whale. Ghost tested the wind and began to unfurl the sail. After a moment he stopped. "Would you mind telling me what you're doing?"

They were alone on the boat, but it still took Joslyn a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She frowned. "I'm not doing anything."

Ghost nodded. "Exactly."

Joslyn's face went pink. "I thought I should stay out of the way."

"Well and good if you're
in
the way. But we're likely to be at sea for several days, and I'm going to need help."

Joslyn stood up, forcing herself to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach from the craft's eternal rocking. "Show me what to do."

Ghost guided her through the process of raising the sail, securing lines so they wouldn't foul, setting the trim. Ghost steered the craft through the narrow straits that shielded the bay. The empty ocean spread out before them like some vast pit, and the sky stretched blue and unbroken to the very curve of the earth. Joslyn sensed the pressure of the water on every plank of their boat, and for one terrible moment she floated on a craft of eggshell
—
every wave crest a hammer, every trough a plunge toward disaster.

The feeling didn't pass quickly or easily. Joslyn concentrated on Ghost's instructions. After awhile she began to anticipate the needs of the ship, shifting her weight as Ghost tacked outward, trimming the jib as the wind changed strength and direction. Ghost finally nodded. "You'll catch on."

Joslyn didn't say anything. Any resentment she felt at Ghost's demands was washed away by gratitude for the distraction. But now her slowly shaping skills were buying her longer and longer periods of rest, and they carried a high cost. There were too many things she didn't want to think about, and all those things needed was time.

"I want you to take the tiller now," Ghost said.

Joslyn shook her head. "I don't know anything about steering this thing."

"I know that," was the bland reply, "that's why you're going to learn."

The point didn't seem arguable, but Joslyn felt compelled. "Why is it so important that I learn?"

Ghost brushed her question aside like a dirty cobweb. "Joslyn, why are you stalling me? Does it have anything to do with what happened last night?"

The phantoms in Joslyn's mind vanished.
He doesn't know. He couldn't know
. Joslyn looked at Ghost's impassive face and realized she was wrong; she didn't waste time with more denials. "How did you know something happened?"

Ghost shrugged. "How? I haven't the faintest. But I think I can catch a shred of
why
. As emotions go, I'm a drying puddle. You, Joslyn, are a thundercloud. Emotion surrounds you, always. It's like water to a thirsty man."

Joslyn stared. "You mean you can tell how I'm feeling?
What
I'm feeling?!"

"Usually. Right now you're angry."

She glared at him. "Care to guess why?"

He nodded. "Because how and why you feel as you do is a big part of what you are."

"Truth ringing from the hollow man, who should know better than anyone..." Joslyn shuddered. "You'll pardon me if I don't care for the notion. It's horrid. It's like
—
"

"
—
someone entered your dream?" Ghost asked softly.

Joslyn's voice and anger evaporated as one. She sat, stunned.

Ghost shrugged. "I
was
a dreamer, Joslyn. Sometimes I remember."

Joslyn didn't answer right away. Instead, she rested her head on the gunwale and considered jumping over the side.
I wonder if drowning feels any worse than this
? She decided not to find out. "Ghost, I guess I deserved that. I'm sorry."

"Accepted, if you'll take the tiller now."

The old fear settled into Joslyn with a familiarity that was almost comforting. She took a deep breath, let it out, and slipped into Ghost's place in the stern. He showed her how to grip the steering bar and boomline, how to work rudder and sail together to catch and hold the wind. The craft shot forward like a plow through soft earth.

"That's it," said Ghost, "but not so tight."

Joslyn looked down, saw her knuckles white on the steering bar. She loosened her grip with an effort, only vaguely aware that Ghost was saying something.

"...strong gust will cause the craft to heel. If you feel that happen, just let off on this line and she'll right herself. Do you understand?"

She nodded. She didn't know what he was talking about. Her knuckles were white again, and so was her face. Ghost watched her closely, but he didn't say anything else. He seemed to be waiting. When the wind changed Joslyn realized what he was waiting for.

"Ghost..."

The wind had been a steady flowing stream. Now it was a waterfall. The sail cracked and popped; the mast shuddered and suddenly the small craft leaned violently. Spray shot over the side of the boat and turned to rainbows in the sun. It stung her eyes and left Joslyn half blinded.

"Ghost!"

He didn't move. "Do as I told you."

Joslyn tried. She told her hands to unclench, her fingers to let the line move between them. Such a simple thing, and it was beyond her. A wave broke over the side, then another. Joslyn felt herself sliding down toward the water. Ghost was talking again.

"It's fear now, Joslyn, in case you were wondering. The same sort of fear you tried so hard to hide this morning. Smells the same, tastes the same. I think it is the same. What do you think?"

Joslyn thought she was going to die, and the only comfort she could find was the certainty that Ghost would die, too. "We're going over!"

Ghost nodded. "Quite likely."

Even then she didn't let out on the line
—
exactly. She just dropped it when she lunged at Ghost. The boom skimmed the water as it suddenly whipped to the side like a weather-vane, and the boat righted itself almost violently. Joslyn managed to strike Ghost twice across the face before he caught her wrists.

"Let me go, damn you
—
you almost killed us!"

Ghost shook his head. "
You
almost killed us," he said, "and all because you panicked. You didn't panic when the outlaws attacked on the Grass Sea. Not when you stared madness in the face in Darsa. Not even when you challenged the Dream Master on his own ground. Why now, Joslyn?"

She spat in his face. "I hate you!"

"No, but I think you would," said Ghost, "if your fear left room for anything else." Ghost dropped her wrists and the argument at the same time. He retrieved the boomline, set the sail again and reclaimed his place in the stern. The wind was still strong; Joslyn braced herself against the opposite rail as the craft picked up speed again. She also braced herself for Ghost's next attack. It didn't come. It took her a while to realize that there had never been a first: an attack required anger or purpose, and Ghost had precious little of either. He had told her the truth as he understood it
—
nothing more or less
—
and neither sparing nor inflaming her feelings had a thing to do with it.

"Damn you, Ghost," she said softly.

"Done before you spoke," Ghost replied, "Done a long time ago. Does that help?"

"No." Joslyn settled to the deck, her back against the gunwale.

"That's unfortunate," Ghost said, "because unless the Dreamer changes her mind a night will follow this day. Whatever you're afraid of will be there waiting for you."

*

As much as possible of each of Crucian's days were spent piling stone on stone. He would have used all the time he had doing that very thing, but his body and his will were of different opinions on that matter. When his arms grew tired and his fingers grew stiff and sore, he took that forced time to try and find the enemy.

He did not succeed.

Crucian did learn the placement and size of all the major ruins on the island. And, more important, he learned the lie they told.

Death.