I see spirits of the dead assaulting the tower, and I know that shouldn’t be possible. Ghosts can’t enter the dreams of the living. How did they get here?
I see Dreamwalkers seeding the land around the tower with nightmares to defend against invasion. Among the mythical horrors they conjure I see a three headed dog, and I understand now that the creatures that attacked us were the last remnants of that fearsome strategy.
I see those monsters destroyed by faceless shadows. I see dreamers fall in battle, torn to pieces by ghosts. I see other Dreamwalkers captured and bound, then sacrificed in bloody rituals so that Shadowlords can claim their Gift. I hear dreamers scream as their talent is stripped from them, and they keep screaming long after they are dead, bound forever to their tormentors.
Now the enemy can see our designs. The mournful words are in the same voice as before. Now they can hear our music.
I see twelve Dreamwalkers brought to a man in brocade robes, who drinks their blood and claims their souls. I watch as he shatters their spirits, molding them into the perfect predators. He calls them ruuh bal, but I recognize the creatures I know as reapers. And I hear their cries of anguish as they are forced to kill their own kind, a sound so full of hatred and pain that the universe itself must surely weep in sympathy.
I see five of them die the true death in battle. I witness the ritual that is used to destroy them.
Then silence.
I am sitting with my hand upon a fetter, my face wet with tears, my breath coming in gasps. My mind still resonates with the pain of all those lost souls. I look down and realize it’s the last fetter I’m touching; I must have turned the pages without realizing it. Sebastian and Isaac are watching me with obvious concern, and I can only imagine how much they must have wanted to pull the fetters away and summon me back from whatever vision was tormenting me. I’m pleased that they had enough faith in my strength to wait.
I look up at them slowly. “They’re Dreamwalkers,” I whisper.
Isaac’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“The reapers. They’re Dreamwalkers. Or they were Dreamwalkers.” I lift an unsteady hand to wipe the wetness from my face. “That’s why they can hunt people in dreams. Normal ghosts don’t have that power. Shadows don’t have that power. But Dreamwalkers do.”
“Good God . . .” Sebastian mutters.
I wrap my arms around myself, shivering. “I’ve seen how to destroy them. But how can I do that? They’re just like me. Victims of the Shadows.”
“But they’ll kill you,” Isaac says sharply. “It’s what they were made for. They have no choice about it.”
“I know,” I whisper, lowering my head. “I know. It’s kill-or-be-killed now . . . but what happens when you can’t bring yourself to kill? Does that mean you have to die? There must be some other way. . . .” My words trail off into helpless silence.
“Come.” Sebastian reaches out and takes the fetters from my hand, laying them aside. “You have what you came for. Let’s go home. We can talk about this more in a safe place.”
Soul numb, I nod. The whole world seems distant to me now, like a movie I’m watching, instead of something I’m part of. I look down at the fetters. “I can’t bring these back with me.”
“I’ll put them back,” Isaac says. He gathers them up and starts toward the staircase.
“Hide them,” I call after him. “Under the ash.” So that enemies coming to this place won’t find them, I think. But does that really matter anymore?
I wonder where the avatar is. I wonder if she’s watching us.
When Isaac returns I gesture for him and Sebastian to sit by my side like they did in the desert. I don’t really have a clue if that’s necessary, but since Dr. Redwind talked about how it would be easier to manipulate things in one world if they matched what was in the other, it seems a logical thing to try. We lay out the weapons on the floor in the same configuration as the ones that are lying next to our bodies, back in the desert, and I take their hands just to make sure they stay connected to me. Then I try to wake myself up.
Nothing happens.
A wave of exhaustion washes over me. I barely have enough energy left to think clearly, much less manipulate dreams. If I have to go through the whole sand-painting-pattern-conjuration thing again to get us home, I’m not sure I can manage it. But what’s the alternative? Chopping our way through the vines to find our entry point? What other mythological monsters are still out there, waiting for us to try?
You have to do this, girl. They’re counting on you.
I close my eyes and try to envision the real world, detail by detail, just as I last saw it. First I fix the desert in my mind, then I focus in on the canopy. Then the carved support poles. The circular platform. I picture our bodies as they were when we left them, trying to make them as real as possible in my mind. Then suddenly a whiff of scent drifts past me, and I remember Dr. Redwind’s incense. I bring to mind the four plumes of scented smoke, each with its own unique essence: Musky, spicy, floral, woodsy. I arrange the scents around us just as they were in the desert, using them to orient myself in space. Slowly the smells become stronger, more real. I squeeze the hands of my companions just to make sure they’re still with me—they are—and give myself over to the perfume—
—And sickness welled up inside me. With a cry of pain I fell to my side, curled up in a ball, and started retching. There was nothing in my stomach to bring up—not even water—but that didn’t stop my body from trying. Others moved toward me, anxious to help, and I could hear both male and female voices asking if I was okay. I’m fine, I wanted to tell them. I know what this sickness means. I pushed myself too hard in the dream world, and now my body is paying the price for it. This is normal. This is good.
We were in the real world again.
23
TERRA COLONNA
PAGE COUNTY, VIRGINIA
SHENANDOAH JOURNAL, WEEKEND EDITION
MYSTIC CAVERNS TO BE RESTORED
When Mystic Caverns closed to the public in 2007 it was a disappointment to cave lovers everywhere, and damage from the June 2016 earthquake seemed to banish any hope of its ever opening again. But today its parking lots are full of vehicles as an excavation team prepares to assess the cavern’s overall condition and decide how best to stabilize it.
Sadly, this is not happening because of the caverns’ unique geological offerings, but for a more sobering reason. Ever since three kidnapped teens were rescued from the property in late June, law enforcement officials have suspected that illegal activities were being pursued deep underground, perhaps in the very chambers where bootleggers once hid their revels from Prohibition authorities. Up until now the prohibitive cost of excavation has made it impossible for local authorities to investigate the matter, but with the federal government now stepping in to finance the project, the caverns may soon be forced to reveal their darkest secrets.
One can only hope that after the official investigation is concluded, Mystic Caverns will be able to reclaim its status as one of the more popular tourist destinations in the Shenandoah Valley.
24
BADLANDS
TERRA PRIME
ISAAC
THEY’RE DREAMWALKERS.
The words resonated in Isaac’s brain as he struggled to help Jesse. Even after her fit of retching ended she was so weak she could barely lift her head from the platform, so he gathered her gently into his arms, not knowing what else to do. At least that position kept her from seeing the dismay on his face. If what she had said about the reapers was true, it cast the Dream Wars in a whole new light . . . and the Shadows as well.
A few meters away, Dr. Redwind was inspecting Sebastian’s injured ankle. Isaac couldn’t see the wound itself, but she seemed worried about it. He watched as she took small bottle of ointment from her bag and applied a few drops to Sebastian’s leg, then pressed some herbs over the wo
und and wrapped a strip of cloth around it. Her lips moved slightly as worked, perhaps in some kind of prayer or incantation? She had told them this site was considered sacred, so maybe she was trying to summon its power. Or maybe apologizing to the local spirits for Jesse vomiting on their altar.
What if everything he had been taught about the Dreamwalkers was a lie? What if they really hadn’t been destroyed, but had been transformed into bound spirits? If it had been done to the twelve reapers it might well have been done to others. And if the bound spirit of a Dreamwalker retained a vestige of its living Gift. . . . The implications were staggering. And sickening.
Jesse raised her head slowly and looked at him. He forced a smile to his lips, trying to make it look convincing. “Welcome back.”
“Hey.” Her voice was barely audible.
“You all right?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
Sebastian joined them. “Apparently this is a natural consequence of dreamwalking.”
“Only if I overexert myself,” Jesse reminded him. She coughed weakly. “I do fine if I don’t.”
“You’re like a runner who can’t feel pain,” Dr. Redwind observed. She put the leftover herbs back in their respective pouches and tucked them into her bag. “She may run until her muscles cramp and her joints cry out in agony, but since she can’t feel the pain, she doesn’t know to stop. So the damage gets worse. Like her, a dreamer is not aware of her body’s needs, so she misses all the warning signs.”
“Maybe the runner wouldn’t stop even if she was in pain,” Jesse said. “Maybe she really needs to get where she’s going.”
Redwind’s aged skin crinkled around her eyes as she smiled. “Maybe.”
Jesse tried to get to her feet, but she wasn’t steady enough yet. “I’ll get you some water,” Isaac said. He helped her settle into a sitting position and went to fetch a canteen.
There was an unspoken code of ethics that all the Gifted followed, which forbade them from using their talents to attack each other. If Shadows really did enslave the souls of Dreamwalkers, commanding them to hunt down and kill their own kind, they had betrayed that code. If the other Guilds ever found out about that, there should rightfully be hell to pay. But would that really happen? The Shadows controlled all passage between the worlds. Any Guild that refused to deal with them would suffer more than it gained. For so long as the Shadows had no competition, they were effectively immune from punishment, and could break any rule they wanted.
He came back to Jesse and handed her the canteen. “Slowly,” Sebastian warned as she began to drink. “Or it may all come back up.”
If Jesse’s vision was accurate, then the reapers were simply wraiths. Hellishly powerful wraiths because of their innate Gift—terrifying even to the undead—but no different in substance than any other ghost. A Master Shadow should be able to destroy them, without question. But was Isaac strong enough to do the same? Even more to the point, could he figure out how to do so without the archives of the Shadowlords to guide his research?
Dr. Redwind made them clean the sacred space before they left, scrubbing the platform until not a trace of Jesse’s misery remained, and then scrubbing it again. All ash had to be removed from the pottery bowls and buried outside. The last thing she required was that they smooth the ground to erase all signs of their presence. By the time they stood at the edge of the canopy with their backpacks, ready to trek the desert again, the place looked like they had never been there.
No one talked much on the way back. Dr. Redwind had given Sebastian permission to use the spear as a walking staff, but even so, he was still limping slightly. Jesse was so weak that Isaac had to help support her, and it took all of their joint effort to keep moving. By the time they got back to the supply cave they were all on their last legs, and as Redwind saw to the horses, the three travelers collapsed onto the rough-hewn stools inside, totally exhausted. After a few minutes Jesse pulled over her backpack and dug out some things she called energy bars, which she unwrapped and passed around. They were sweet and nutty, but the small portion of food only reminded Isaac how ravenously hungry he was. He headed over to the storage area to see if there was any more substantive fare.
“We need to discuss our plans,” Sebastian said.
Isaac looked back at them. “I think I understand how the reapers were made. If so, I may be able to figure out how a Shadow would destroy them.”
Jessica said, “We’re not going to do that.”
They both looked at her.
“I told you. They’re Dreamwalkers. Just like me. They were captured and mind-raped and turned into slaves.” She looked at Isaac defiantly. “If Virilian did that to me, would you destroy me, too?”
“Jessica—” Sebastian began.
“They’ll kill you,” Isaac said sharply. “Do you understand that? The dead don’t tire or lose focus. They’ll never let up. For as long as you live you’ll have to worry every time you go to sleep. And every time your family sleeps they’ll be at risk, too.”
She sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t understand all that. I’m just saying that killing someone for something he was forced to do wouldn’t be my first choice for a solution. So help me find another way? There’s got to be one.”
“They’re not whole people,” Isaac told her. “The ritual that makes them—” Suddenly he felt as if a knife had been plunged into his stomach. He doubled over in pain, struggling not to vomit.
“Isaac? What is it?”
“Nothing,” he gasped. “Nothing. Give me a minute.” He stayed doubled over, one hand on the wall to steady himself, trying to breathe deeply. He remembered the moment when Virilian had demonstrated the full power of the Domitor’s security mesmerism, showing Isaac that if he tried to betray Guild secrets he would suffer dearly for it. Thus far, nothing Isaac had discussed with Sebastian or Jesse had fallen into that category, but apparently details of Shadowlord rituals crossed the line. But if I can’t even talk to them about Shadowlord rituals I certainly won’t be able to perform one in front of them. So how the hell am I supposed to do anything about the reapers?
Breathing was becoming easier. Slowly he straightened up. “I’m okay,” he gasped.
“You sure?” Jesse didn’t sound convinced.
“Yeah.” He came back to where they were sitting and lowered himself stiffly onto his stool. “What I was trying to say is, these reapers may have once been people, but the process they’ve been put through . . .” He felt a warning twinge in his gut. “They’re just fragments of consciousness now. Not self-aware in the same way you and I are. They don’t remember the past, or worry about what might happen in the future. They just exist. In this case, they exist for a specific purpose. It’s all they know.”
“A soul shard,” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“Like Jacob?”
The question startled him. Yes, by every measure of classic necromancy Jacob was a soul shard, so damaged by the binding ritual that only fragments of his original identity remained. In theory he shouldn’t be capable of anything but the most primitive level of functioning. Yet the damaged wraith had managed to guide them out of El Malo. In fact, he had risked his own existence to save Isaac. Was it possible for a spirit to regain his self-awareness over time? Or was the binding ritual not as effective as Isaac had been taught? If so, that was just one more area in which his teachers had failed him.
“Are you telling me they can’t feel pain?” she pressed.
Isaac remembered how Jacob had begged him to contact Mae. The dead spirit’s affection for his former sweetheart had survived a ritual meant to destroy all capacity for love. How many other wraiths might be more human than their masters suspected? “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
Sebastian asked, “So what do you want to do? Because clearly we need to do something.”
She shu
t her eyes for a moment, then said softy, “I want to free them.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened, and Isaac asked, “Free them how?”
“I’m not sure of the mechanics. You know that stuff better than I do. But the reason they’re hunting me in the first place is because their master ordered them to. Right? So if his control over them could be broken, they would have no reason to come after me.”
“There’s no way to know that for sure.”
“Isaac, I saw what they were before they were enslaved. Can all of that simply be erased?” She looked defiantly at him. “It wasn’t with Jacob.”
He chose his words carefully, wary of triggering the Domitor’s safeguard again. “Jacob is a new wraith, freshly bound. The reapers have been around for centuries. In all that time they’ve known nothing but hate, and had no purpose other than killing Dreamwalkers. Even if they began their wraithly existence with some degree of humanity—which is debatable—wouldn’t all those centuries have changed them? After serving as the embodiment of Death for so long, might a soul not lose sight of who and what it was before?”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “But no one knows for sure, right? So just tell me: could it be done? Could they be freed?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I mean, in theory, perhaps.”
I was freed, Jacob reminded him.
Shhh, he thought.
“Can you figure out how to do it?” she pressed.
“Jesus, Jesse . . . I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I was only an apprentice when I left. The greater mysteries of our Gift hadn’t been taught to me yet. I don’t know if such a thing is even possible, much less how to go about doing it.”
“Well, we’re in a place where impossible things happen.” Her eyes were pleading now. “Please, Isaac. Promise me you’ll try.”
Dreamweaver Page 22
