Dreamweaver

by C. S. Friedman

  Sebastian said quietly, “You shouldn’t dreamwalk again until this is over.”

  “No shit.” I stared down into my glass. “But that would take away the one advantage I have.”

  “It’s not an advantage if it gets you killed.”

  I sighed. He was right. I hated him for being right.

  Isaac asked, “Did you get what you went for? Or did we wake you up too soon for that?”

  “I got it. Just in time. And no, you didn’t wake me up too soon. A few seconds more in that dream and I might not have made it back.” I looked at Isaac. “Do the abbies have Gifts?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What did you see?” Sebastian asked.

  “Devon helped me recreate some abbie pictures I once saw. There were patterns that looked like . . . like a codex.”

  “Those patterns are visible when a Gate activates,” Isaac said. “So any abbies who serve the Shadows or the Greys might have seen them.”

  Yes, I wanted to say, but they would associate such patterns with their masters, and why would a slave want to decorate walls with his oppressors’ designs? But I couldn’t say that without revealing that we’d discovered the mural while sneaking into Shadowcrest, and I wasn’t comfortable revealing that to Isaac. No, he wasn’t a Shadow any more, and should have no reason to care about Shadow business after what they did to him. But telling him that there were abbie secrets hidden in that Guild’s stronghold just didn’t seem right. They weren’t my secrets to share. “There was a drawing that reminded me of the changing tower. I thought only Dreamwalkers could see that. Hence my question about the abbies.”

  “Their brains aren’t as developed as ours,” Isaac said. “And the abbies on Terra Prime were bred for servitude. Any that showed signs of Gift-like abilities would have been culled from stock before market.”

  Culled from stock before market. I tried not to resent him for using such dehumanizing references. It wasn’t his fault. He’d been raised to think of the abbies as little more than animals, and to take their servitude for granted. But the place that I called home had outgrown such arrogance long ago, and it was hard to stomach. “At any rate,” I said, “the significance of my first dream has been confirmed. The abbie drawing was indeed important. So it seems likely the message of my second dream was equally meaningful, and not just a figment of my imagination.” I glanced at Sebastian. “Which means El Malo doesn’t cover the whole of the Badlands. It’s just at the border. And I need to cross it.”

  I put my glass on the night stand and eased myself off the bed. My legs felt a bit wobbly, but I was able to stand. After I ate something I’d probably feel okay. Suddenly I felt sympathy for the Fleshcrafters and their endless boxes of donuts. I would have given my soul for a couple of those right now.

  As I walked to the bathroom to freshen up I said, “It’s time we took a look at El Malo.”

  16

  ROUELLE

  TERRA PRIME

  JESSE

  WE PACKED ALL OUR BELONGINGS into our bags, along with a good supply of water, but left our bedrolls behind, the better to look like normal tourists. Sebastian dithered over what to do with his musket. He knew he couldn’t play the tourist with a five foot gun slung across his back, but he didn’t want to leave it in the room. Finally he decided to leave it with hotel security, so we stopped at the desk on the way out to take care of that.

  The Native American woman who had checked us in was working the desk, and she assured Sebastian several times that his treasured possession would be well cared for. When he finally turned it over to her she handled it with the kind of care one would give a child, which seemed to soothe his fears a bit. Bless her for that.

  When we turned to leave she said, “A brief question, if I may?”

  We all turned back to look at her.

  “A man came here last night asking after a Jennifer Dolan. Is that name known to any of you?”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar to me,” Sebastian said quickly.

  “Or me,” Isaac said.

  I shook my head, afraid that if I tried to speak the wrong words would come out. “He described her to me in some detail,” she continued. “I imagine anyone who heard that description would have a pretty easy time recognizing her.” Her eyes were on me now.

  “Don’t know her,” I said. “Sorry.”

  I saw a brief smile as she turned back to her work.

  Isaac had to press a hand to my back to get me to leave. My legs felt frozen. “Who’s looking for me?” I muttered as the door closed behind us, my voice hardly louder than a whisper. There were a few people across the street, and though no one was paying attention to us I suddenly felt dreadfully exposed. “How did they know my name?”

  “Do you want to leave this place?” Sebastian asked.

  I considered it for a moment, then shook my head. “No, if they’ve checked here already and been turned away, it’s safer here than elsewhere. And she did warn us. We may not get that courtesy at another hotel.”

  “That was odd,” Isaac said. “She obviously knew who you were.”

  It was odd. I didn’t know quite what to make of it. “Maybe she disliked the people who were asking. Or just doesn’t approve of her hotel being used for manhunts.” I remembered the way she had looked at my feather when we’d first arrived. Did this have something to do with that?

  I sent Isaac into the first shop we passed to buy me a sunhat. I needed one anyway, and he bought one I could pull down low over my eyes to cast my face into shadow. Given that he was wearing his own cap equally low to hide his mark, together we looked like a pair of fashion-challenged turistas. On my world it would have gone unnoticed, but I wasn’t so sure about Rouelle.

  I wondered if the people who were asking about me knew that Sebastian and Isaac were with me.

  We stopped at a small café for breakfast, and over eggs and toast decided to start our day with a tour of El Malo, to get a general overview of the situation. The tour service that operated closest to the Badlands border started some distance from town, but there was a tunnel we could use to get there, half underground, half open to the sky. It was comfortably cool thanks to the insulation of the surrounding sandstone, but the setup worried Sebastian. As we walked, he studied the walls intently, and I realized he was assessing our chances of climbing out if we had to. And it really was an ideal arrangement for an ambush. As we walked I grew anxious as well, and I kept turning back to see who was behind us. At one point Isaac drew close enough to whisper to me, “Jacob says there are bad spirits here.” I knew from the tour brochures that anxiety was one of the effects of El Malo, but knowing didn’t make it any easier to deal with. I was relieved when we finally reached the staircase at the end of the tunnel and could return to open ground; at least we would no longer feel so enclosed.

  The stairs led to a vast, glass-walled chamber filled with ruddy light. One side of it faced El Malo, and we were so close to the great sand wave that it looked like it was about to break over our heads. I could see now that every inch of it was in motion—eddies and whirls of sand rippling across its surface, with spouts of dust vomited forth whenever they collided. Now and then a gust of sand-filled wind struck the glass and the tourists standing close to it gasped. Everyone seemed on edge, but in an excited, roller-coaster kind of way. They’d come to be scared.

  At the other side of the room were a ticket counter and a small souvenir shop. I was tempted to buy Tommy a tacky postcard (well, he had asked for a souvenir) but Sebastian nudged me gently forward. Business first. We bought our tickets and were asked to sign waivers. They were similar to the ones I’d signed to go through the Gate, except this one had a much sterner warning, and a longer list of things that might go wrong. I understand that El Malo is a natural phenomenon over which tour administrators have no control, and that by choosing to app
roach it I am accepting legal responsibility for any damages to my body or mind. I started to sign as Jennifer Dolan, then hesitated, then started to sign it as Jessica Drake, then hesitated again, and finally just made up a name. Dana Adams.

  A crowd of two dozen people had gathered by the western window, and we headed in that direction. Just as we got to the back of the group a brightly dressed man with VISTA MALA TOURS emblazoned across his shirt clapped his hands for attention. When everyone was looking at him he raised a hand toward the window and announced melodramatically, “Ladies and gentlemen, behold one of the most fearsome phenomena on this Earth, or on any Earth. The Badlands encompass nearly three hundred thousand square kilometers of territory, more than half of which is desert, and El Malo sits like a crown atop it, impassable to all human travelers. Some legends say it was created by spirits to guard a sacred location hidden deep in the desert, while others claim it is a gathering point for the ghosts of those who died defending this region against invaders. Whatever the cause, it is a truly terrifying phenomenon, and even its outermost effects are capable of driving a man mad—as you are soon to experience for yourselves.

  “The red cloud you see before you is a secondary phenomenon, first noted by travelers in the early twentieth century. Frightening though it may appear, it actually serves a useful purpose by making the border of the Badlands clearly visible. Prior to its appearance, explorers or settlers might wander into the area by accident and never be seen again.

  “My assistant will be offering you Elemental fetters to protect you from the sand. Twenty pounds rental for the hour. I strongly recommend them, especially for people with respiratory issues. Please stay on the marked paths at all times. El Malo can shift position without warning, and some people are more sensitive to its effect than others. If you start feeling odd, or have a sudden impulse to do something destructive—or self-destructive—please alert the tour guide so he can help you get back safely. We don’t want to lose anyone.” He gestured toward a rack of canteens by the door. “Remember, the air out here is very dry. It’s easy to dehydrate without knowing it. Please take a canteen on your way out, and drink from it periodically during the tour. If you start to feel weak or dizzy, notify your guide immediately.” He looked over the crowd. “Any questions?”

  A woman in a bright floral shirt raised her hand. “Does El Malo affect animals?”

  “Not in a mental sense, but they don’t like the sandstorms any more than we do. Any others?” There were none. “Very well.” He stepped back and gestured toward the door. “Have a good tour, folks, and don’t forget to visit our souvenir shop on the way out!”

  A young woman with medallions looped over her arm started moving through the crowd, exchanging fetters for cash. I gave her twenty pounds and received a large bronze disk with VISTA MALA TOURS on one side and a relief picture of the wave on the other. I put the cord around my neck as the crowd began to move forward, while Sebastian purchased his own. Isaac whispered reassurances into the air as he put his on; apparently Jacob was upset. I wasn’t sure if that was because of El Malo’s general effect or the bad spirits he’d mentioned, but I got the impression that Jacob was trying to get Isaac to go back to the hotel.

  We kept to the back of the crowd, not wanting to be surrounded by strangers. Soon the door opened and a wave of heat swept inside, along with a gust of sand that set several people to coughing. I touched my fetter to activate it. There was no visible effect, but I didn’t breathe in any sand, so apparently it was working.

  Outside, both the sun and the heat were harsh, but it was the great sand wave that drew one’s eye. Without the glass wall it appeared much closer, and it was hard to look up at it without cringing. Gusts of sand whipped in our direction, but they parted before they reached us. I remembered how the winds had parted for me in my dream, and I felt a rush of excitement. One omen, at least, was proving true.

  Outside the welcome center was a stone path with a wind-scoured iron railing on one side, and I gripped the latter tightly as we followed the herd of tourists moving slowly toward the Badlands. El Malo invoked a fear that was primitive and visceral, impossible to deny; if not for the urgency of my mission I might not have been able to force myself to go forward. Indeed, I saw several people turn back, unable to tolerate the metaphysical assault. Isaac looked anxious but determined, but Sebastian . . . Jeez. He was gazing at the cloud in utter fascination, looking more curious than afraid. The loremaster in him had taken over, his hunger for knowledge counteracting El Malo’s malevolent magic. It was exactly the reaction I’d hoped he would have, though I’d never imagined a trial quite this intense.

  Step by step, we struggled toward the nightmare that was the Badlands. At one point I felt the railing beneath my hand fall away, and I cried out as I started to plummet into a bottomless abyss. Isaac grabbed me and held me until the fit passed. The railing was fine. I was fine. I took a few deep breaths and started walking again. Ahead of us I saw a young boy try to climb over the railing; his parents frantically pulled him back. Apparently sensory distortion wasn’t the only weapon in El Malo’s arsenal. I remembered the tour guide’s warning about self-destructive impulses, and I shuddered. The thought that the Badlands could draw people to it against their conscious will was truly frightening.

  The fifteen minutes that it took us to reach the first observation platform seemed to last an eternity. Now we were close enough that sand was swirling all around us. It wasn’t sharp, like in my dream, but I was still glad that the fetter was keeping it away from me, so that I could see and breathe. I wouldn’t want to be out here without one.

  The three of us stood at the railing, side by side, and gazed into the face of Hell.

  “That’s where you want to go,” Sebastian reminded me. “Into that.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, but it did nothing to shut out the waves of malevolence that were pounding in my brain. “It’s where I have to go.” I could hear voices in the wind now, low moans, as if from dying animals. “There’s no other choice.”

  “There are spirits in there,” Isaac said. “I can sense them now.”

  “Malevolent?” Sebastian asked.

  “No way to tell in this mess. Everything feels malevolent here. What?” He was silent for a moment. “Jacob says we’re being watched. I think he’s trying to tell me . . . it’s been happening since we left the tunnel.”

  I resisted my instinct to turn around quickly and try to catch someone in the act of staring at us. Instead I turned slowly, trying to make the motion look casual. But everyone else in the crowd looked like real tourists, and no one seemed to be paying attention to us.

  “Look. Those are Soulriders.” Isaac nodded toward a group at the far end of the platform. “And those.” A group at the other end.

  “How do you know?”

  “They pick up animal mannerisms from their hosts. Shadows deal with them a lot, so I know the signs. That one uses birds.” He was using his eyes to try to indicate someone, but I couldn’t tell who he meant. They all looked pretty human to me. “This isn’t good, Jesse.”

  Before I could say anything the crowd began to move again. We tried to bring up the rear, but one group of Soulriders was chatting at the railing, waiting for us to move ahead of them. My heart was pounding now, and not just because of El Malo. I feigned an issue with one of my shoelaces to gain a moment’s time for thought, and knelt down to retie it. I took long enough that I guess the Soulriders felt it would blow their cover if they kept waiting, so they moved on ahead of us. For now.

  There had to be a way out of this situation. Clearly the Soulriders weren’t willing to attack us while there were so many witnesses around, or they would have done so already. Most likely they planned to target us on the way back. An ambush in the tunnel, maybe, or, if we avoided the tunnel, an assault on open ground. The land surrounding the tour center was flat and bare, with no nearby buildings for cover. Nothing to hid
e behind, no way to lose them. There were eight of them—maybe more that we didn’t know about—and three of us. Not good.

  I looked at El Malo. A lump rose in my throat.

  Isaac said in a worried tone, “Jesse.”

  “They’re here for me.” I was speaking as quietly as I could, so that the Soulriders wouldn’t hear us, but the sound of the wind made whispering impossible. “You heard the girl at the desk. They don’t care about either of you.”

  “You don’t know that,” Sebastian said.

  I looked at him. “Sooner or later I’m going to have to go in there.” I nodded toward El Malo. “You know it. I know it. Even Jacob probably knows it. Yeah, I would have liked more prep time, but who’s to say that would have changed anything? El Malo is what it is.” I touched the fetter around my neck. “Right now I have this to protect me from the sand. I won’t have it later.”

  Suddenly a voice rang out from ahead of us. “You people all right?”

  I looked up and saw the tour guide staring at us. Everyone else appeared to have moved on.

  “We’re fine,” Sebastian called back. “She just needs to get a rock out of her shoe.”

  I hobbled a few steps and winced.

  “Okay. Just checking. I’ll hold things up at the next platform so you can catch up.” As he walked back to the other tourists sand blew between us, blurring his outline, making him seem more ghostly than real.

  “It’s only a border phenomenon,” I said in a low voice. “If I can get through it, I’ll be okay on the other side.”