Dreamseeker

by C. S. Friedman

  Did I sound bitter enough for that speech to be convincing? The part about my mom was true enough, though the part about failing in my quest was pure fiction. But I needed Morgana to think I was avoiding her out of despair, not because I feared her ability to sense deception. It was easier to stare out a train window and lie to Seyer—and Rita—than it would be stare into Morgana’s eyes and try the same thing. I needed to play my part well enough for Seyer to report to her mistress that the failure of our mission had left me so overcome by despair that there was no point in her meeting with me, so that she wouldn’t question why I avoided her.

  “Just give us the tickets home,” I muttered miserably. “We’ll find our own way.”

  Private Sebastian Hayes is handsome in his youth, his hair still brown, his face still unlined. But his eyes . . . they are ancient, and they will always be ancient, no matter what form his dream body takes. Clearly he’s startled to find me here, in this setting from his past. I see him blink as he struggles to make sense of it. “Jessica?”

  I try to get back on my feet, but my legs are unsteady—and then he is right there, raising me up, lending me strength, my one certain anchor in a world where everyone and everything else has failed me. “What is it?” he says. “What happened?”

  So I tell him the story. All of it. The dreams, the discovery about Rita, the nightmare in the compound, all of it. My delivery is halting and at times not wholly coherent, but he seems to get the gist of it.

  When I’m done he’s very quiet. I can sense that he’s struggling to digest it all, so I wait. Finally he looks out at the blood-soaked battlefield and says, “So this . . . this is something my own mind created for me?” He looks back at me. “But you being here, in the midst of it, my dream . . . is that real? Can you enter other people’s dreams?”

  I nod. It’s unnerving to share that secret with anyone other than Tommy, but it’s also liberating. A weight that has been suffocating me since the night of the toaster strudel eases ever so slightly. “I trust you,” I tell him. “I know you would never hurt me.”

  A shadow passes over his face. “You shouldn’t trust anyone on Terra Prime,” he says quietly. “Even me.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “The children need help, Sebastian. They have some food and a general idea of where to go—and Moth has enough courage for a hundred children—but I’m worried for them. Please, can you help them? Bring them some supplies and point them in the right direction? It isn’t that far from your own territory. I . . . I have the means to pay for it.”

  Those ancient eyes fix on me. So much pain in them. So much weariness. “There’s no need to pay me,” he says quietly. “I can’t go myself, right now, but I know someone who might be able to do so. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. Another crushing weight lifts from my soul. “Thank you so much. . . .”

  “What will you do about your mother now? Morgana’s not likely to help you if you won’t do her bidding. And if I were you I would have second thoughts about meeting with her again. It’s rumored she can sense when people are lying, and you’re keeping a lot of secrets these days.”

  I draw in a deep breath and look straight into his eyes. “I was hoping you could help me with the Fleshcrafters.”

  “Me?” He raises an eyebrow. “The Potters owe me no favors. Nothing that I can use on your behalf, anyway.”

  “No, but you have access to information. You can help me identify something they want, that I can get for them. Or do for them. Or . . . something.” He doesn’t answer me right away so I press, “Is that too crazy an idea?”

  There is a long silence. “It’s not crazy,” he says at last. His expression is dark. “I do know something they want, and given what you’ve just told me about your Gift, it might be possible for you to obtain it. Maybe.” He sighs. “You go back to Luray. I’ll make what arrangements I can for the children and look into the Fleshcrafter issue. Try to get some rest tonight; you’ll need your energy tomorrow. I’ll meet you at noon, at the pier where we left Isaac. Hopefully I’ll have information for you then.”

  I hesitate. “Sebastian . . . the creature that chased me . . . do you have any idea what it was?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve heard legends about a wraith that devours dreams, but little more than that. Even if such a creature did exist, none of the legends suggest it would be able to manifest in the real world. The Shadows are the ones who study the dead, so they might know more.”

  “Yeah. Like they’re about to share their knowledge with me.” I sighed heavily. “So . . . what? If it shows up again, I just run away?”

  A faint smile flickers. “I would.”

  He leans over and kisses me on the forehead. There is warmth in the gesture but also tremendous sorrow, and I feel a lump rise in my throat. “Be careful, Jessica.”

  “I can’t go home like this,” I muttered into the window. My breath frosted the glass. “Going through the Gate brings back such terrible memories . . . I need some time to pull myself together before I have to go through that again.” Maybe it was a weak excuse for delaying our return, but I could hardly tell them why I really wanted to stay in Terra Prime. Hopefully Rita would remember the agitated state I’d been in after our first crossing, and buy the excuse.

  She looked at Seyer, “Maybe we could spend a night at the Guildhouse—”

  “No,” I said quickly. “That’s not right. We failed in our mission, so we shouldn’t be asking Morgana for favors. And I . . .” I pretended to hesitate. “I really need some time alone, Rita. Just a few hours. I haven’t had a minute to myself since we got here. I’m so sorry, it’s got nothing to do with you. I just need to pull myself together.”

  “I understand,” she said gently. “I’ve been feeling a little edgy myself. But where would you go?”

  “We’ve got some cash, right? I guess I could just pay for a hotel room. Like a normal person.”

  Rita glanced at Seyer—for permission, no doubt—then dug into her backpack. Taking out the wad of petty cash Morgana had given us, she divided it in two and gave me half. The bills were crisp, multi-colored, and had the face of some unknown queen engraved on them. I flipped one over to look on the back and see if the little pyramid was there. It was, but without the eye in it. There were other symbols as well, that I didn’t recognize.

  Tucking the money into my jeans pocket, I rested my head on the glass again and let the vibrations of the train carry me away.

  “The horrors unleashed by your fetters may not be unique,” Sebastian says. “I’ve heard tales of similar things happening out west, in a benighted region called the Badlands. People who try to enter the area generally don’t come out, or if they do, they come out mad. Even zeppelins that fly over it are affected, and the last one to make the attempt drifted back into civilized space with nothing but corpses and madmen on board.” He pauses. “In the days when travelers still tested themselves against the Badlands’ borders, survivors spoke of unnatural rain, trembling earth, sickness that came out of nowhere . . . and creatures out of nightmare coming to life.”

  “You think they meant that literally? The last one?”

  “Who knows? All I can tell you is that Gifts don’t appear out of nowhere. They require a human source. And while no one ever associated the wild forces of the Badlands with human Gifts, the similarity to what you witnessed at the compound is unmistakable. And that had a human source.”

  “You think there are people living out there? That no one knows about?”

  “It’s one possibility.”

  “Maybe . . . maybe Dreamwalkers? Because that’s the only Gift that would manifest nightmares, right?”

  The ancient eyes fix on me. So intense, that gaze. So enigmatic.

  “Maybe Dreamwalkers,” he agrees.

  19

  SHADOWCREST

  VIRGINIA PRIME

&nb
sp; ALASTAIR WELLS

  MASTER ALASTAIR WELLS took a deep breath before entering Lord Virilian’s audience chamber. The fact that the Greys had sent someone of his rank to deliver their report, rather than the usual journeyman, was a sad comment on how they expected that report to be received. Virilian might lash out at a mere apprentice in anger, they’d reasoned, but surely he would exhibit more control with a Master of Obfuscates.

  Surely.

  Nodding to the guard, Wells reminded himself that not all the news he brought was bad. Just the part that would impact Virilian’s personal fortune.

  The doors opened, and he stepped forward with what he hoped looked like confidence. Virilian, like a wolf, could smell fear. The Shadowlord was seated on his usual throne, with the usual clamor of dead souls surrounding him. Wells had dealt with Shadowlords often enough to regard the latter as background music, albeit of an irritating variety. “Your Grace.” He bowed his head respectfully.

  The Guildmaster nodded. “Master Wells. You honor this Guild by your presence. I understand you have news for me?”

  “Yes, your Lordship. Both good and bad, I’m afraid.”

  Virilian’s eyes narrowed. “In whatever order you like, then.”

  “We reached the portal, and have evaluated it. I’m pleased to report it’s still functional. A bit unstable, but once we restore the Gate we should be able to rectify that.”

  “That’s excellent news. How long before it can return to full service?”

  Wells hesitated.

  “There’s a problem?”

  “Not here, your Grace. We cleared out the entrance, and once we put a new Gate in place our people should be able to come and go freely. At this end, at least.”

  Virilian raised an eyebrow. “But?”

  “Our Gate wasn’t the only one damaged. Reverberations from the explosion triggered earthquakes throughout our network, destroying the infrastructure on several worlds. Those Gates are still inaccessible.”

  For a moment there was silence. A spirit moaned softly behind Wells’s left ear.

  “So what you are saying is, our people can enter the portal safely from this side, and use it to gain access to other worlds, but the points of arrival on those worlds have been blocked, so it is, for all intents and purposes, useless.”

  “Only on certain worlds,” Wells said quickly. “We’re cataloging the extent of the damage. Gates outside the Terran Cluster are unaffected, and many of those within the cluster can be restored quickly. Long term, we estimate we can restore eighty to ninety percent of the original network.”

  “Long term,” he mused darkly.

  “Yes.”

  “That does little for us right now.”

  Wells bridled slightly. “We’re working as fast as we can, your Grace. There are still other Gates available. No world has been cut off from contact with ours.”

  “But commerce must divert to other cities. And merchants may establish such connections there that, even when Luray is restored to full functioning, some will not return.”

  Wells said nothing. Virilian’s personal power was rooted in his control of a major interworld trade hub. Devalue that hub, and his power was diminished. No words from a Grey would change that reality, or make the current situation more palatable.

  “I want this addressed as quickly as possible,” the Guildmaster said. “Hire whomever you need, Gifted or otherwise. My Guild will cover the cost of it for now . . . though your Guildmaster and I will need to have a conversation about that responsibility.”

  It took all Wells’s self-control not to respond sharply. Don’t think you’re going to saddle us with the cost of this mess, he thought. If you hadn’t kidnapped that Colonnan boy, thinking he was a Dreamwalker, none of this would have happened. “I’m sure our Master will be pleased to receive you.” He reached into his frock coat and took out a thick envelope, which he offered to Virilian.

  “What is this?”

  “A full report on the explosion.”

  Virilian took the envelope from him. “Have you identified the nature of the Codex?”

  He hesitated. “Not yet, Your Grace. We’re still working on it.”

  “Very well. I’ll take your report under advisement. Meanwhile, you will keep me informed of your progress on the Gate.”

  “Of course.” He bowed his head respectfully. “And I will communicate to my Guild how important it is that we restore it to full function as quickly as possible.”

  Like we didn’t already know that, he thought acidly. Like we haven’t been overseeing the Gates for centuries, and need you to tell us how to manage them. But he kept a polite expression on his face, and just in case that wasn’t convincing enough, activated his Gift to mask his irritation. Never let a Shadow know how you are really feeling. That was the first rule of Guild etiquette.

  If this Shadow wasn’t so damn obsessed with hunting Dreamwalkers, the Blue Ridge Gate would still be standing.

  He wound up leaving with his head still on his shoulders and his mind intact. Which, given the circumstances, was all anyone could ask for.

  20

  LURAY

  VIRGINIA PRIME

  JESSE

  LURAY’S LONG RIVER BANKS were host to a wide variety of docks—public, private, and commercial—and getting a cab to take me to the one I wanted without my being able to provide its name, or to offer better direction than “it’s at the south end of town,” wasted a good chunk of my petty cash allotment. By the time we found the right one the sun was setting, and I was hard-pressed to find suitable lodging before it got dark.

  The place where I’d booked a room was laid out like a motel, though of course in a world without cars it probably wasn’t called that. Two U-shaped floors had small rooms that opened directly onto a central courtyard, allowing guests to come and go without having to pass through a lobby or office. That suited my desire for privacy. It also suited other people who wanted to come and go unseen, who, in this particular neighborhood, were an unsavory lot. I was careful to lock my door once I was inside.

  Despite hours of lying on top of the bedspread with my eyes closed, I’d gotten little rest the night before. Maybe sleep deprivation was what drove the ancient Dreamwalkers mad.

  It felt strange to spend a night on this world like a normal person. Not hiding in the woods, not cringing in the sewers, and not lying awake at the Seers’ headquarters wondering who was spying on my brain emanations. Just me, a rented bed, and enough tired whores and petty drug dealers to give the place atmosphere.

  At noon I headed back to the pier, where Sebastian was waiting for me. He wasn’t dressed in his usual attire, but in an outfit so mundane that at first I didn’t recognize him. Yes, there was a slight period flavor to the collar of his white cotton shirt, and the leather bag slung over his shoulder did have a military air to it, but no stranger seeing him would think to look twice.

  I couldn’t see his expression as I approached, due to his broad-brimmed hat, but I did see him tense when he spotted me. It took me a moment to realize why he was reacting that way. I’d been living with the concept of visiting other peoples’ dreams for long enough that I’d gotten used to the idea. He, on the other hand, had not known up until this moment whether the Jessica who visited him in his dream was real or not. This was his toaster strudel moment.

  “It’s really you,” he breathed, as I approached. Wonder resonated in his voice. “God in Heaven, it’s really you. . . .”

  Despite my generally somber mood, I couldn’t help but smile. “It does take a little getting used to.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but just then a couple of people walking along the shore started up the pier. Given the sensitivity of what we needed to discuss, they were getting too close for comfort. “Perhaps we should seek some privacy,” he said. He nodded toward where his canoe was moored, a question in his eyes.r />
  I looked across the river, noted that the people on the opposite shore weren’t all that far away, and said, “Walls are better. I have a room nearby we can use.”

  There were only a couple of people hanging around the motel when we arrived, both of them women with smeared makeup and tousled hair, who looked more than a little hung over. They watched with blatant curiosity as I led Sebastian into my room. Probably they were wondering what I would charge a man three times my age for my services. It was not a good neighborhood.

  I offered Sebastian the one chair in the room, but he chose to remain standing. I watched as he took stock of the small space, and I was reminded of Rita in IHOP, checking for exits. It was a more wary aspect than I’d seen in him before, and I wondered what had put him on edge.

  “You said you had something for me,” I prompted.

  “So I did.” A shadow crossed his face. “You asked me if I knew of a task that you might undertake for the Fleshcrafters. I do, but it would be a dangerous one, with no guarantee of success. Are you sure this is something you want to pursue? It won’t be easy.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing on this world is ever easy.” Maybe that sounded impossibly brave, but I had just spent a long and sleepless night resigning myself to the fact that anything the Potters wanted that was safe and easy to obtain, they’d have gotten for themselves long ago. Anything I offered them would have to involve a task so dark, dangerous, or difficult, that they hadn’t done it themselves. “Tell me.”

  With a sigh he sat in the room’s one chair; it creaked beneath him. “There’s one piece of information that the Fleshcrafters want, and they want it badly. Their Guildmaster approached me about it some time ago, but I wasn’t able to help him. Please note, it’s rare that a secret is so perfectly guarded that my contacts can’t unearth it, but in this case it was true. The commission he offered me is still open. If you were to deliver that information to Guildmaster Alexander, payment of some sort would be guaranteed. I’m sure you could negotiate for what you want.”