Dreamweaver

by C. S. Friedman

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “Not just for this, but for everything.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Let’s hope you still want to thank me when all this is over.”

  26

  BADLANDS

  TERRA PRIME

  ISAAC

  By dawn, Isaac had seven bodies ready to go. They were the size of small dolls, not fully grown people, and they weren’t perfectly human in form, but when he had tried to shape them more realistically they always came out looking wrong. In the end he had taken Dr. Redwind’s advice and focused on their essence rather than on physical appearance. Simulacra, she called them.

  Looking down at his handiwork now, he was tired but pleased. His goal had been to create spiritual representations of human beings by weaving together items that symbolized different aspects of the human spirit: cloth, herbs, feathers, shells, and even mystical patterns inked on paper, all woven and wrapped and tied together to the accompaniment of appropriate incantations. It had amazed him at the start of this project how many such items Dr. Redwind had stored in her wagon, but at this point he would have been more surprised if they were absent. After hearing her explain the significance of hundreds of items in various cultures, Isaac was filled with a respect for her that bordered on awe. He had no idea what Gifts she possessed—her people didn’t name their talents—but her knowledge of mystical symbology was truly daunting. He now understood why the azteca deferred to her like they did.

  He knew from Jacob that the ritual that had severed the wraith from his undead mistress—and nearly destroyed him—had incorporated a fragment of bone from his corpse. It wasn’t uncommon for Shadowlords to use relics of the dead to control their spirits, but Isaac had no access to the mortal bodies of the reapers. Hell, he didn’t even know their living names. Hopefully these ritual objects could substitute for bodily relics, representing the flesh that the reapers had once called their own. If that didn’t work . . . well then, he and Jesse and Sebastian were all going to die. He wasn’t under any illusion about that. This project didn’t allow for half measures.

  “You should get some sleep,” Dr. Redwind said. “If only for an hour.”

  “Can’t sleep,” he said, but he agreed to lie down for a few minutes and shut his eyes while she packed the supplies they would be taking with them.

  His necromantic senses seemed to be growing sharper by the hour. Maybe it was because of all the practice he’d been getting recently, or maybe the special magic of this place was affecting him. They were still close enough to the Grand Portal that some of its effects could be felt; maybe that was having an impact on his Gift. He’d noticed that now, when Jacob spoke, it was much easier for Isaac to understand him.

  I am afraid, the wraith said.

  “We’re all afraid,” Isaac murmured.

  He did try to sleep, but of course it was impossible. Never before had the lives of others been placed in his hands this way. He was terrified of failing them. And of failing her.

  And of failing himself.

  Dr. Redwind guided them to a site that was flat, desolate, and close enough to the northern border of the Badlands that El Malo loomed over them once more. Whether she wanted the guardian spirits of the border region to play some role in Isaac’s ritual, or just wanted him to perform it as far as possible from the inhabited parts of the Badlands, he didn’t know and didn’t ask. His mind was so focused on the ritual now that there was no room in it for anything else.

  Two of the azteca met them at the site, and the way they took up station on opposite sides of Dr. Redwind made it clear they were there to protect her. Not only had they brought full-sized crossbows with them but a collection of bladed weapons also, including obsidian-tipped spears similar to the one Sebastian had carried earlier. They had regular guns as well, but everyone was in agreement that if the reapers manifested in physical form, it was unlikely that bullets would stop them. The single most important thing was to be able to hold them at bay until the ritual was completed, for which spears were the best option. The azteca had brought extra weapons with them for the visitors to use; Sebastian gratefully accepted one of the spears and Isaac hung a long sheathed blade from his belt and positioned a spear within easy reach. Jesse wouldn’t take anything.

  “What if they manifest physically?” Sebastian pressed her. “You need to be able to protect yourself.”

  “We’re trying to restore their Dreamwalker identities, so I need to approach them as kin. If I look like I want a fight, it will send exactly the wrong message.” Sebastian tried his best to convince her to take one of the spears, but she was adamant. In the end the best he could do was convince her to accept a long blade with a leather-wrapped handle, which she said she would wear sheathed.

  Isaac said nothing during all that. He had seen in Jesse’s eyes a reflection of his own mindset: It’s all or nothing now. We must commit ourselves to this without reservation and without compromise. Anything less dooms us to certain failure. He did convince Jesse to stand close enough to Sebastian that the ex-soldier could protect her.

  Choosing a stretch of earth that was flat and bare, Isaac began to sketch patterns into the soil with a pointed stick. A great sun circle would contain all his other symbols and act as a focal point for the ritual. Since the undead were weakened by sunlight, he was hoping that would make it easier to banish Shekarchiyandar’s necromancy. Every little bit helped, right?

  When all his designs were in place, he walked to the small folding table he’d set up inside the circle, and took a moment to gather himself. The seven simulacra, now wrapped in strips of black cloth, were lined up neatly before him, and his other supplies were in small bowls along the far edge of the table. Beyond them, in the center of the sun circle, Sebastian had arranged a pyramid of tinder and started a fire. Its heat was anything but welcome beneath the blazing desert sun, but Isaac would need a fire for the end of his ritual and didn’t want to have to worry about trying to get one started after he began.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, turning inward, trying to still his nerves. When he finally felt ready, he looked at Jesse. “Call them.”

  She swallowed nervously, but nodded. The plan was for her to try to invoke her Gift without sleeping, creating a dream vision in her mind that mirrored what she saw in front of her. Thus she would be able to stay focused on what Isaac was doing, while still activating the power that would draw the reapers to her. That was the theory, anyway. All of this was just theory—him with his improvised necromancy, her with a Gift whose rules had been forgotten centuries ago. What a pair they made!

  The first step was for him to invoke his own Gift, which he did by lighting the bundles of herbs he’d prepared under Redwind’s guidance, offering the scented smoke at ritual locations around the circle. Four cardinal points, the center of the sun pattern, the sky overhead. At each location he focused his concentration, trying to attune himself to the spirit world. It seemed that the circle changed as he did so, the lines of his inscribed pattern giving off a subtle heat beneath his feet. His awareness of Jacob became sharper—crisper—until he could see the ghost almost as clearly as he could see a living man. When he was done, he placed the remaining herbs in the fire and glanced at Jesse. She seemed lost in her own world, and he could only hope that she had achieved the state of mind they needed. If she had, the dream realm was now resonating with her Gift, and the fearsome predators who hunted her kind would catch wind of that and follow it to its source.

  Respect what was disdained, the raven said.

  At the table, he began to unwrap the black bindings from each of his simulacra. The reapers’ original bodies, lacerated during the binding ritual, would have been discarded like rotten meat afterward. He had made them new bodies, weaving together sacred materials to serve them as flesh. Now those bodies lay naked before him, empty of soul. Isaac didn’t know who or what the reapers were before they died, so he couldn’t invoke
their original identities, but he could give them new ones, replacing what the Shadows had destroyed.

  It seemed that the sky overhead was darkening slightly. Or was that his imagination? The entire world looked different to him now; it was hard to tell which parts were as they were supposed to be.

  Focus, Isaac. Focus.

  “For those whose names were taken, I give them new ones.” He touched a drop of oil to the first simulacrum. “I christen you Ethan Antonin.” It was perversely pleasurable to give the reapers his family name, and also an act of defiance. The Shadowlords had tried to take his name from him by casting him out of his family, but no mere words from a Guildmaster—or even his own father—could change who and what he was. He was an Antonin and had the right to adopt these lost souls into his line if he wanted to. “I christen you Sarah Antonin,” he said as he anointed the second simulacrum. Next came Kurt. And June. And Seth. He had no idea what sex the original reapers were, but he figured making them half female and half male was a reasonable guess. And so he continued, naming them after the children of the Warrens, whose resilience and strength had so impressed him. They were good names to have, proud names to have, and the act served as a memorial to the fallen children. “I christen you Moth Antonin,” he said as he anointed the final one.

  The sky was definitely growing darker. Jesse had noticed it too, and he could see the fear in her eyes as she looked up to check it out. But a moment later she forced her gaze back to the ritual, nodding to him as if to say, Don’t worry about me, I can do my part.

  Provide what was denied, the raven said.

  In Shadowcrest, Isaac had been taught that a spirit of the dead was shaped by two things: who he was in life, and the manner of his dying. The Shadowlords staged traumatic deaths in order to shatter the souls of their victims, so that their spirits could be molded like clay afterward. Isaac was going to give the reapers the death they should have had, and provide the funeral rites they’d originally been denied. Normally that alone wouldn’t be enough to counteract the necromancy of a Master Shadow, but the reapers had been created many centuries ago, and control of them had been passed down through numerous Communions. Each time that happened, memories were diluted and power degraded. Hopefully the original binding ritual had been weakened enough by now that Isaac could override it.

  Murmuring a prayer for the dead under his breath, Isaac prepared the simulacra as he would bodies for a funeral pyre, wrapping each one gently in a white shroud, laying it respectfully upon a wooden framework he’d prepared the night before. Overhead the sky had grown dark, and black clouds were beginning to gather, swirling in a circular motion around the ritual site. But reapers had not yet appeared. Perhaps they were wary of the power he had raised and not yet sure how to deal with it. Or perhaps they were having trouble entering the waking world.

  No matter. If anything was going to draw them out, his next action would.

  Return to them what was taken.

  Taking up a small knife from the table, Isaac held out both hands over the first simulacrum. “That which the Shadows took from you, I return.” Wincing slightly, he slit his palm with the knife. Blood welled up in the wound and began to drip onto the white shroud. Shekarchiyandar had stolen the blood of Dreamwalkers and taken it into himself to shackle their spirits; Isaac now offered his own blood, the blood of a Shadow, to unshackle them. It was the core of everything his ritual represented.

  The clouds overhead started to swirl faster.

  He moved to the second simulacrum and made the same offering. The blood flowed more easily now, so he was able to move on quickly to the third.

  They’re coming, Jacob warned. There was fear in the words.

  Isaac turned to Jesse to warn her, but before he could say anything she said in a strained voice, “I know. Finish it.”

  He offered his blood to the next simulacrum. The earth surrounding him was taking on a greyish cast now, and even the color of his blood was growing duller. Keep going, he told himself. Don’t get distracted. His hands trembled slightly as he offered blood to the next simulacrum. You have to complete the whole ritual no matter what happens, or it will all be wasted.

  Then he heard Jesse gasp. Reflexively he looked up and saw several figures in the sky, blacker than any normal creature could ever be, emanating such unearthly cold that Isaac’s eyes were chilled when he looked at them. None of Jesse’s descriptions had done them justice, but that was to be expected; she lacked the ability to see them for what they really were. But Isaac could see them. To his eyes they were corruption incarnate, creatures that should never exist in any realm, piecemeal monsters constructed from broken bits of humanity reassembled into a new configuration. If there was a Dreamwalker at the heart of such a creature he could not see it. If there was anything human there he could not see it.

  Finish the ritual! an inner voice cried. It’s your only hope.

  He forced himself to look away, but his hands were shaking so badly now it was hard to direct the blood sacrifice properly. Cold enveloped him as the reapers drew closer, and he could sense the raw hatred that was their essence; it took all his strength to shut them out of his mind so he could concentrate.

  Then Sebastian yelled, “No!” Startled, Isaac whipped around, and saw that Jesse had moved away from her protector. Her face was white with terror but she spread her arms wide, as if to embrace the reapers. “Brothers!” she cried. “Dreamwalkers! I know you! I know what was done to you! Let us help you!”

  Heart pounding, Isaac somehow managed to turn back to his work and make the final blood offering, praying that when it was complete there would be some effect. But nothing happened. If anything, the reapers were becoming more agitated, and the unnatural cold of their presence was more intense with each passing moment. Shivering, he tried not to lose faith in his own efforts, but doubt was beginning to erode his spirit. He took a moment to steady himself, then picked up the framework the simulacra were lying on, moving oh-so-carefully toward the fire. The final phase of his ritual was intended as a gesture of respect to the seven murdered Dreamwalkers, and if he dropped one of them on the ground that gesture would lose all its power. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the black shapes plummet toward Sebastian, but it pulled up at the last minute, just before reaching the tip of his spear. Like a shark testing its prey, Isaac thought. He longed to keep watching but forced himself to turn away, to focus on the task at hand. As long as the reapers weren’t attacking him, his job was to complete their funeral.

  They do have physical bodies, he thought as he approached the fire. It wouldn’t have turned aside otherwise. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his wooden frame down over the fire, positioning it so that the simulacra were directly over the flames. “Find your peace,” he whispered. The dried herbs and paper talismans flared brilliantly as the fire claimed them, driving away the cold for a moment. “Rest as the dead were meant to rest.”

  Now it was done. He turned back to his companions, hoping to see the reapers withdraw—or at least change tactics—but it was as if his ritual had never been performed. One of them dove suddenly toward Jesse, and he knew with terrifying instinct that this time it was not a test: The reaper meant to kill her. Sebastian must have sensed it also, because he grabbed her and shoved her behind him, getting his hand back on the spear just in time to meet the downward charge fully braced. The reaper impaled itself on the obsidian blade with a spine-chilling shriek, slowing to a stop just inches short of being able to reach him. Isaac forced his eyes away from the scene long enough to grab the spear he’d prepared, then ran toward his companions. And he did so he realized to his horror that the reaper wasn’t trying to escape, but to work its way down the shaft to reach Sebastian.

  As soon as he was close enough to strike he thrust his own spear into the creature, and his blade bit into . . . something. It didn’t feel like flesh, but at least it was solid. Jesse was on her feet now, azteca blade draw
n, ready to join the battle as soon as the reaper got within reach. But then, with a final convulsive heave, the reaper slid down and closed the distance between it and Sebastian. Isaac tried to angle his spear to force the creature back, but he lacked either the strength or the angle needed to succeed. Darkness whipped around Sebastian like strands of a horrific cocoon, and an unearthly scream pierced the air; whether it was his scream or the reaper’s was anyone’s guess. With a cry of anguish Jesse ran forward and thrust her blade deep in the reaper’s substance. Again and again she stabbed it, her blade sinking deep into whatever body it had, but if she was trying to draw its attention away from Sebastian it wasn’t working.

  Then suddenly Isaac’s spear lurched forward; surprised, he went stumbling toward the reaper. But the dark creature dissipated before he made contact with it, and with nothing to resist his thrust he fell heavily to the ground, his spear clattering several feet away as it hit the earth. Quickly he rolled over to see what the other reapers were doing, and he saw—

  Nothing.

  The reaper that had attacked Sebastian was gone. So were all the others. The swirling black clouds were gone as well, and the sky was a natural blue. It was as if the monsters had never existed.

  “No!” Jesse screamed. “No!”

  Sebastian was lying limp on the ground, with Jesse holding his face in her hands. “No,” she cried. “You can’t die now! Come back!” But Sebastian’s body had been raked across the torso as if by a massive claw, with such force that the ends of shattered ribs were visible in the gashes. The largest gash cut so deeply across his chest that it must surely have reached his heart, which was probably the intent. All his wounds were edged in frost, and where the surrounding flesh was visible it was blackened, as if by frostbite.

  Stunned, Isaac stared down at his fallen companion, trying to absorb what had just happened. Jesse was weeping now, and she hugged Sebastian’s ravaged body in her arms, rocking him rhythmically as one would a child. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed to him. “I’m so sorry. You should have let me face them alone. I was the one they wanted, not you.”