Dreamseeker (8 page)

We took a few minutes to buy fritters and lemonade and then started back. As we headed up the stairs, Seyer opened her purse and took out a business card, which she handed to me. “I'll be leaving tomorrow morning for Terra Prime. You can travel with me if you want. Give me a call tonight, and we'll discuss the details. You can deliver the painting yourself when you arrive.” As we neared the pottery booth she instructed, “Introduce me to your aunt as an old family friend, so we can arrange for the proper cover story. The fact that your mother doesn't really know me won't be an issue, given the current state of her memory. No doubt she has forgotten a lot of other friends.”

My heart clenched at the callous reminder of my mom's incapacity, but as we delivered Rose's lemonade, I did as Seyer had suggested, and marveled at how easily she slipped into a new role, playing the part of an old family friend to perfection. Truly, she was a social chameleon of impressive skill. I listened as she told Rose about a cabin she had in the mountains, and how she would love to invite me out there for a week. It would be restful, she said. Good for my soul. Rose said she wasn't sure this was a good time for me to part from my family, given recent events, but Seyer said she'd stop by in the morning to discuss it with Mom, and that was good enough for now.

“Pack for overnight,” she said in a low voice, as Rose turned her attention to her customers. “And leave your electronics behind. I don't want trouble with Customs.”

“But Mom hasn't agreed yet—”

She put a finger to her lips, cautioning me to silence. “She will. I promise. So will everyone else. Trust me.”

When she left I was far too agitated to hang out with Rose, and
besides, I needed to fill my friends in on what had happened. So I said goodbye to my aunt, and gestured for Devon and Rita to follow me outside the building. There, at least, people wouldn't be breathing down our necks as we talked about aliens and mindreaders.

As we descended the worn wooden stairs of the mill, I wondered if I had just done something very clever, or very stupid.

“You're
what?
” Rita's tone left no room for doubt about what she thought of my bargain with Seyer.

“I'm going back to Terra Prime.” I tried to say it casually, like you might talk about taking a train to visit Philadelphia. Maybe if I could keep myself sounding calm, the fear swirling in my stomach would settle down. “Round trip tickets compliments of Ms. Seyer.”

“You
trust
her?” Devon asked sharply.

“No,” I said, equally sharply, “and I trust Morgana even less. But what else am I supposed to do, Devon? Sit home and watch Mom fade away little by little, knowing there are people in that world who could help her?”
It's my fault she's sick,
I wanted to say.
So it's my responsibility to heal her.

Rita was silent for a moment, just staring at me. Finally she muttered. “You shouldn't do this alone, you know that. I'll go with you.”

I'd been praying she would say that—hence the relevant clause in my bargain with Seyer—but I couldn't accept it without challenge. “You just got back from there. You've still got bruises—”

“And you shouldn't be alone with those people. Least of all in a place where if something happened to you, no one back home would know about it.” She raised up a hand to silence me. “Don't even argue with me, Jesse. I'm coming.”

Relief washed over me. “I would like the company,” I admitted.

“Provided Seyer makes proper arrangements for us to cross over, of course. And protects us from the Shadows while we're there. Assuming she—or anyone—can do that.” How quickly and easily Rita committed herself to that other world again! I remembered what she
told me, the last time we talked about going through a Gate.
I've got nowhere better to go.
With no family or home she cared about, Rita could pick up and leave at will. And while I'd never asked about the intimate details of her upbringing, I knew she came from a challenging environment, and wasn't the kind of person who expected life to be easy or safe on a normal day.

The thought that I would have her by my side in Terra Prime did a lot to steady my nerves.

Devon shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I wish I could say the same, but it's not as easy to walk away when you've got a parent watching you like a hawk. My dad was pretty shaken by our ‘kidnapping,' and he's determined not to let me out of his sight for a while. Just in case any of our assailants survived. I'm so sorry, Jesse. I'd go with you otherwise.”

“Seyer said she could convince my family to let me go. She sounded pretty confident that she could deal with all their objections. Maybe she could do the same with your Dad as well.”

God, it would be good to have him with me. Good to have both of them with me. The mere thought of us going to Terra Prime all together bolstered my spirit considerably.

Hopefully we would all come home together.

Filling Tommy in on my plans didn't go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped.

“I'm going with you,” he said, folding his arms defiantly over his chest.

I shook my head. “You can't, Tommy.”

“Why? Do you think I can't handle myself there? I tricked the Shadows into keeping me alive,” he reminded me. “I kept them thinking that I was the one they were interested in, so they wouldn't go after you. I even fooled one of them into making their ghost guards leave me alone. Isn't that enough to prove I can take care of myself?” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “What more do you want?”

I sighed.
You're my 13-year-old brother. The ‘brother' part of that means I'm supposed to protect you, not drag you into danger. And the 13-year-old part matters. I'm sorry, but it does.
Yes, Tommy was a hellishly resourceful kid, and with his background in fantasy gaming he was probably more qualified to explore an alien world than the rest of us put together. But we weren't going there to explore. We were going to negotiate with dangerous and powerful people, and having Tommy play fly-on-the-wall would only complicate that meeting.

None of which would matter to the kid standing in front of me, of course. All he would hear if I said that was that his sister was going to visit an alien world and not allowing him to come. “I have as much right to go there as you do,” he said between gritted teeth.

But he didn't. That was the key point. I'd been born in Terra Prime, Devon and Rita also. Discovering that our DNA didn't match that of our parents had been the first step in that discovery. Tommy was a child of this world, and though that might not matter to us, it mattered a hell of a lot to the people we would be bargaining with. And they were the ones responsible for our safety. I'd already seen how they treated children from their own world, and I didn't want to think about how they would treat Tommy, who had no intrinsic right to be in their territory.

With a sigh I took him by the arms and drew him near to where I was sitting on my bed. I held him like that for a moment, just gazing into his eyes, wishing I had some words to offer that would make this easier. “What about Mom?” I asked gently. “What if I don't make it back—or at least, don't make it back in the right time frame? Because you know that's a possibility, no matter how well we plan. Losing one kid would be hard enough on her. How would she take it if both of us disappeared, and she never found out what happened to us?” I paused. “It would kill her, Tommy.”

He stared at me for a moment. “Aw, crap,” he muttered. He jerked out of my grip. “Crap!”

“You know I'm right,” I pressed.

He turned from me and stomped melodramatically out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. I shut my eyes and sighed deeply. It was not the way I'd wanted to end this conversation, but at least he seemed to accept the inevitable. One hurdle down.

The rest would be dealt with in the morning.

We watched the fireworks from the roof of the house that night, Devon and Rita and Tommy and I, four world-travelers strung out in a line along the gritty shingles, while a backyard full of adults with beer cans in their hands watched from the property below. The night was misty and warm and the park was near enough to the house that, as each rocket exploded, it blossomed overhead, lighting up the sky from horizon to horizon. It was an amazing sight, invigorating to watch.

But it was also saddening. I couldn't help but think about Sebastian, who'd fought in the war we were now celebrating. I wished there was some way to bring him home to Terra Colonna, so that he could see the whole country lit up like a field of stars, honoring his victory.

Devon caught sight of a tear forming in my eye and put his hand over mine. We stayed that way until the last of the lights were gone from the sky, and the mist faded into darkness. Then we climbed back in through the attic window to go join the others.

S
EER
G
UILDHOUSE IN
L
URAY

V
IRGINIA
P
RIME

A
LIA
M
ORGANA

T
HE SAFETY LAMPS CAME ON
as Morgana entered the underground chamber, providing just enough light for her to make her way to the large circular table at its center. A dozen velvet-upholstered chairs were visible surrounding it, but the rest of the chamber was shrouded in shadow.

Fewer distractions that way.

Morgana walked to the table and put down the two things she was carrying: a golden mask with a length of striped cloth attached, and an elaborately carved box. The mask was in the style of ancient Egypt, regal and elegant, the kind one would expect to find in the tomb of a queen. The box, when opened, revealed a large quartz crystal cut neatly into slices, nested in folds of velvet. Morgana lifted out one of the slices, looked at the Guild sign etched into its polished surface, and then put it back. Not the one she wanted. She inspected other slices, one by one, placing the ones she needed on the table as she found them. Elemental, Fleshcrafter, Obfuscate, Domitor, Healer, Soulrider, Weaver, and of course Seer. Eight Guild sigils in all.

“Brighter,” she commanded, and the fetter lamps obediently
increased their illumination. Now patterns etched into the table's surface were visible, a series of stars radiating out from its center, each with a different number of points. The resulting design was somewhat chaotic, and it took her a moment to isolate the star she wanted. Eight points. Using it as a guideline, she placed her crystal slices at the ends of the rays, so that they were perfectly spaced around the edge of the table. Then she sat down in front of the Seer sigil and checked the time. There were still a few minutes left to go.

It was rare these days that she experienced quiet. Rare for her to be so far away from other people that the incessant buzz of their thoughts and emotions was dulled to a murmur, little more than soft background music. She'd built this chamber far beneath the Guildhouse so that the earth would provide her with privacy—as much as was possible for a master Seer—and now, as she waited for her meeting to begin, she drank in the silence with relish.

A few minutes later her fetter watch vibrated gently. She took up the golden mask and fitted it to her face, smoothing the striped cloth back over her head until her hair was completely covered. Then she reached out and placed her hand on the Seers' crystal. As soon as she did, ghostly figures began to take shape around the table. Each one was masked, and like her, had its hand upon the crystal fetter corresponding to its Guild.

The first to appear was a Healer, a man wearing a mask of polished silver with a jeweled eye set in the center of the forehead. Right after that a Domitor appeared, a short and stocky man whose fierce red-and-black mask reminded Morgana of a Kabuki demon. Next came an Elemental, whose mask appeared to be carved from ice and crowned in flickering fire. Though the flames danced realistically about her head they brought no heat to the room, and the light they cast did not extend more than a few feet past her fetter. Next, an Obfuscate and a Weaver appeared simultaneously. The Grey was a small man whose mask had a mirrored surface; as he looked around at each of the others, their own faces were reflected back at them, distorted as if by a funhouse mirror. It was more than a little disturbing. The
Weaver's mask was an intricate tapestry with arcane symbols woven into it and more designs embroidered on top of that; despite her exhaustive knowledge of symbology, Morgana didn't recognize all of them. Next a Soulrider arrived, a tall, lanky man in a wolf mask, and right behind him came a Fleshcrafter. The latter's mask was colorful, a bright carnival design that was elegantly human on the right side and twisted and bestial on the left. Morgana wondered which side better represented her true nature.

They all knew each other, of course, but given that their consortium sometimes acted against the interests of the Shadows, it was best to make sure that any spirits who might spy on them wouldn't recognize the participants. “I'm glad to see everyone could make it,” Morgana said. “Master Grey, would you be so good as to update us on the situation with Luray's Gate?”

The Grey's mask hid his expression, but from his posture Morgana guessed that he was surprised to be the first one addressed. He was relatively new to the group, and of lower Guild rank than the rest of them; it was possible he felt a bit intimidated in this company. If so, that was something he would have to get used to. He was too valuable to the group to be cast out for simple social awkwardness.

He cleared his throat. “Things are moving at a good pace, but we've still got tons of rubble to move before we can allow access to the main chamber. The Lord Governor has crews working day and night on it, and the Elementals have provided terramancers, but it's still a monumental task. I estimate another week before we can send someone down to evaluate the condition of the portal. If we find that it's collapsed or become so unstable it's beyond practical use . . .” he hesitated. “Then there's no point in clearing out any more rocks, is there?”

The Weaver spoke quietly. “The Luray portal existed for centuries before the Gate was built to stabilize it. It's hard to believe a simple explosion would damage it.”

“That explosion took place on the Gate's threshold,” the Grey reminded her, “and thus did far more damage than an explosion in the
chamber would have. We already know that it resonated in other spheres; we can't ignore the possibility that the portal itself has been damaged.”

The Domitor shook his head. “Bad news for Luray if the Gate is gone for good.” He was one of the few members of the group who didn't live in or near the city, but he sounded like he would take a perverse pleasure in Luray's being humbled. Morgana made a mental note of it. “What's this I hear about lawsuits on the horizon?”

Morgana answered him. “Every day the Gate remains nonfunctional means our merchants have to route their goods and people through distant cities. That costs time and money. People will expect compensation for it: it's human nature. And Luray is a hub of interworld commerce, so the compensation will be sizeable.”

“Who are they planning to sue? Or, to put it in plainer English: Who's getting blamed for all this?”

The Grey reached up nervously to rub his forehead and seemed startled when his fingers encountered the mask. Such disguises were a necessary precaution, but it took time to get used to wearing one. “Lord Virilian has informed the governor that my Guild was responsible for the Gate's security, hence this was our failing. Which is bullshit,” he muttered. “We're facilitators for his Guild, nothing more. Don't they keep telling us that? The ultimate responsibility for this mess lies with them. But who wants to drag a Shadowlord into court? It's much easier to target us.”

“This will go all the way to the top,” the Healer mused. “And if it turns out the portal can't be made functional, someone big is going to go down for it. Possibly even a Guildmaster.”

“Let's hope it's Virilian,” the Weaver offered, “and not the Grey's Garret.”

The Grey turned to glare at her. Even through his mask one could sense the intensity of his gaze. “Lady, I spent ten years in a hellhole in the Sauran Cluster because of one spoiled aristo brat who suffered a week's time displacement and missed a final exam. When his family demanded that someone be punished for that, Guildmaster Garret
decided that I was the ideal scapegoat. Do you know what it's like to milk a six-foot centipede for venom? No? Because I do. It's not fun. It's even less fun when you have to do it for eight years straight. So either Virilian or Guildmaster Garret can go to hell for all I care.”

“Easy, brother.” Morgana's tone was sympathetic but firm. “You're among friends now.”

The Domitor nodded. “The fall of your Guildmaster, pleasing though it might be, won't help us achieve our goals. We need to make sure this incident serves our greater purpose.”

The Grey lowered his eyes and said nothing more. Like a child being admonished, Morgana thought. Such a gesture of submission wasn't necessary in this company—or appropriate—but the Grey wasn't a political player by nature, and he didn't yet understand all the fine points of the game he had been dragged into.

We'll have to keep an eye on him,
Morgana thought.
See that he makes no mistakes while he's learning.

Normally they would never have invited someone so inexperienced to join their conspiracy, but it was hard to find any Grey who was willing to act against his undead masters, and the opportunity could not be wasted. Never mind that this one had just returned from exile and had neither influence nor authority among his fellow Greys. For Morgana and her allies to have eyes and ears inside the Guild of Obfuscates had value in its own right.

He needs training,
she thought
. Someone to take him under wing and see that he becomes what we need him to be.

“Virilian isn't the most stable of Shadowlords on a good day,” the Fleshcrafter noted. “If he gets hit with the blame for this, things could get interesting. And not in a good way.”

The Elemental snorted, “I'm not sure ‘stable' is an adjective one can apply to any Shadowlord.”

“They're all pretty crazy,” the Healer agreed.

“But some more than most,” the Grey warned them.

All eyes turned to him.

Startled to have suddenly become the focus of attention, the Grey
needed a few seconds to find his voice. “There are dark souls in our Guild. Monsters who should have been left in their graves, but whose spirits were preserved for future Shadowlords to Commune with. Only the strongest ones can take them in without going insane . . . or so I'm told, anyway. But as the Lady Elemental pointed out, how many of the undead are sane to start with?”

The Domitor breathed in sharply. “Are you telling us that Virilian is host to one of these—what did you call them—dark souls?”

The Grey hesitated. “It's rumored that he is. No one knows for sure.”

“So the psychopathic Guildmaster may be host to an even bigger psychopath?” The Weaver shook her head in exasperation. “That's just great.”

“It won't change our plans if he is,” Morgana said evenly. She bowed her head respectfully to the Grey. “Thank you for that information.”
Which no one but a Grey could have provided,
she thought with satisfaction.
You are as close as we will ever come to having a spy among the Shadows.

The Healer looked at Morgana
.
“You said you had a tool that might prove useful to us, something you were testing. Can you give us an update on that?”

“I wish I could,” Morgana answered, her voice tinged with regret. Fortunately she was the only one in the room who could sense when a person was lying
.
“But at this point I need to keep the details quiet, so my testing environment won't be compromised. When I have results worth talking about, you'll all know it. I promise.”

The Domitor stared at her for a moment in obvious displeasure, then snorted. “Well then, there's not much point in going on with this meeting, is there? Because we can't discuss future plans without knowing the status of the portal. And some people clearly aren't willing to talk about their existing plans.” He glared at Morgana.

“There's no reason for you to share in the risk of my work until I've confirmed its value,” she said steadily.

Before the Domitor could respond the Healer clapped his hands,
putting an end to the exchange. “All right. What say we close this meeting now and reconvene next week for an update? I'm sure there will be more to report then.” He looked pointedly at Morgana.

“I second that,” the Weaver said.

“Any objections?”

There were none.

The Elemental was the first to remove her hand from her fetter; the minute she did so her image vanished. One by one the others followed suit, until the Soulrider's image was the only one left in the room.

Before the wolf-masked figure could break the connection, Morgana gestured for him to wait.

“A moment, Hunter.”

The Soulrider looked at her.

“I need a favor from you. And I'm afraid it's a somewhat challenging one.”

“Challenges temper the soul, Lady Seer. What is it?”

“Four changelings from Terra Colonna crossed into our world a short while ago. They're back on their adoptive world now, but I expect some of them to return here. When they do, I need time to observe them . . . without interference.”

It took the Soulrider a minute to realize what she was driving at; when he did, he breathed in sharply. “You think one of my Guild will be tasked with hunting them down?”

“They angered Virilian. He's a notoriously vengeful creature. If he learns they're back on Terra Prime, there's a good chance he'll go after them, if only for personal satisfaction. And his Soulrider already knows their scent.”

He nodded. “Rhegar is a skilled tracker, and he's fiercely loyal to Virilian. I doubt he would refuse to hunt someone if the Guildmaster asked him to.”

“He doesn't have to refuse the request,” she said quietly. “He just has to fail at it.”

For a moment the Hunter stared at her in silence. Then he shook
his head. “You weren't kidding about the
challenging
part, were you? Rhegar's as proud—and as stubborn—as his undead master. Asking him to feign a hunt would be like asking a champion prizefighter to throw a match.”

“But sometimes prizefighters do that, when the price is right. So the issue is not
whether
it can be done but
how
.” When the Hunter said nothing she pressed, “Can you arrange it?”