Dreamweaver

by C. S. Friedman

  “You were afraid,” I challenge her. “You didn’t know what form my Gift would take, or how it might threaten you. You thought the ancient legends of madness might be true. You hedged your bets.”

  For a seemingly endless moment she says nothing. That surprises me. I had expected an immediate denial, or at least evasion. “I was afraid,” she agrees, “not only of what you might become, but of what your Gift might awaken in others. And I needed to know who you were, and what you were capable of, before I entrusted you with the truth.”

  Whatever I had expected from her, honesty wasn’t part of it. “And now what? You’re satisfied?”

  There’s a nanosecond’s hesitation. “Yes.”

  I can tell she’s not being completely honest with me, but I also know she’s adept enough to fool me, so if I notice the hesitation, it’s because she wants me to. Games within games within games; dealing with her makes my head hurt. “Tell me, Jesse . . . I see that you can enter my dream and control it; can you do that with more than one person at a time? Draw numerous people into the same setting, all at once?”

  Suddenly I’m on my guard. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because that’s what the first Dreamwalkers did. Or so my sources suggest. Granted, I don’t have many details, but it’s said they created a location where such a thing was possible. In the words of one source, ‘a land poised between the worlds, answering to none.’”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question about why you’re asking.”

  A smile flickers briefly on those perfectly painted lips. “They used it as a battlefield, summoning all their enemies to it. That was long after the Guilds turned against them. But the Dreamwalkers thought that if they could destroy the Shadows involved, perhaps they could negotiate with the rest. The Shadows were the driving force behind the whole effort, so maybe that would have worked. And what better place to fight your enemy than on a battlefield of your own design? It is said they all gathered in that one place, armed with weapons from a hundred different worlds, and summoned the Shadowlords to them—or so I read in fragments of ancient journals. Who can say how accurate such testimonies are?”

  I realize she’s probably talking about the battle I saw in the fetter vision, but I’m not going to give her the pleasure of confirming her story. “What do they say happened?”

  “The Shadows survived. The Dreamwalkers disappeared. Few witnesses were left, and those who did survive were mentally damaged. Hence the reason I have so few details to offer you. But I do have a theory about why the Dreamwalkers lost that fight.”

  Now I’m interested, though still wary of her motives. “Which is?”

  “They fought as the unGifted would fight. True, they could control the battlefield itself and create any weapon that the human mind could imagine, but those were still just physical weapons, meant for traditional warfare. Their goal was simply to kill their enemies in the dream world, believing that it would cause them to die in this one.”

  I reach up reflexively to rub the scar on my arm, souvenir of my first encounter with a reaper. I often wondered what would have happened had it killed me in that dream; now I know. “So what do you think they should have done instead?”

  “Fought like Dreamwalkers. Leveraged their unique Gift to advantage. Used weapons that the Shadows could not defend against.”

  “That’s sounds pretty vague. Got anything more specific?”

  Smiling enigmatically, she offers me a small book. After eyeing it suspiciously for a moment I take it. The binding is leather with a gilt design around the edges, the kind of blank journal you might buy in an upscale gift shop. I open it to a random page and see a man’s name at the top. Beneath it is an odd list:

  Sunlight

  Claustrophobia

  Physical abuse. Uncle?

  Political embarrassment. Something in Richmond. No records.

  I flip to another page to find a similar list. And another. The whole book is full of them. “What are these?”

  “The fears of Luray’s Shadowlords. And a few from other cities.”

  I look up in astonishment. “How did you get this information?”

  She laughs softly. “I’ve spent the last sixteen years sensing and recording every weakness my Gift could detect. Other Seers helped with the project, though they had no idea of its true purpose. They thought it was for political manipulation. Every Shadowlord who appeared in public was studied. I even arranged meetings with some, under cover of Guild business, to get them into the presence of the right Seers. Only our most gifted Masters can draw that kind of information from a man’s mind without his knowledge.”

  I turn the small book over in my hand, awed by its potential. What might my foray into Virilian’s dream have been like if I’d had this kind of information then? What might my current conflict with the Shadows become, with this in hand?

  “These are the fears of your enemies, Jessica. These are the nightmares that eat at their souls. All Shadowlords are afraid of strong emotion, because they believe it disturbs the balance of spirit that keeps them both alive and dead. Awaken fear in them—or any strong emotion—and it will cut them more deeply than a sword ever could.”

  I turn the book over my hand, still struggling to absorb the significance of what I’ve been given. “You’ve been working on this for sixteen years?”

  “I have.”

  “Since the day I was born?”

  “Give or take a few weeks.”

  “Because you knew that I would go to war with the Shadows someday.”

  “Given that they consider it their duty to kill all Dreamwalkers, it seemed likely you’d wind up in conflict with them, so yes.”

  I raise my head up slowly and meet her gaze head-on. “And you only wanted to protect me. Was that it?”

  She smiles slightly. “I wouldn’t say only, but yes. I wanted to protect you.”

  All her manipulations of me have been toward this end. All the spying, all the tests she’s put me through, the torment she’s imposed upon my family . . . it was all to bring me to this point, so I would take up the sword and win the battle that the first Dreamwalkers lost. Maybe she even had a hand in inspiring the Shadows to kidnap Tommy as part of the training program; her mind is so twisted I wouldn’t put it past her. I have a sudden urge to throw the book in her face, to tell her that she has no right to play with my life that way, preparing me for a destiny I neither understand nor want. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Because this time we want the same thing. Oh, I’m sure her reasons for wanting it are completely different from mine, and maybe someday I’ll regret having helped her, but right now, in this brief window of time, fate has made us allies. Only a fool would deny that.

  “The physical book is in my study,” she says. “You understand I can’t entrust a messenger with it. When you come back to Luray I’ll give it to you.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not coming back to Luray yet.” And I sure as hell don’t want to meet with you in person. “You’ll need to produce a copy here so that I can read it. Which unfortunately means you’ll need to go back and memorize the information in it, so that your mind can produce an accurate copy. I’ll come to you later tonight and memorize whatever you bring me, so I can reproduce it when I wake up. If you can’t remember it all at once, that’s okay. We’ll just have to do this several times. Whatever it takes.”

  She looks at me for a long time. I wonder how many people have ever dared to give her instructions. But it really is the only logical way to transfer the information, if we can’t meet in person. At last she nods. “Very well.”

  “Is there other business you want to discuss?”

  A corner of her mouth twitches slightly. “That depends on whether you still want to learn who your mother is.”

  It’s bait, pure and simple, and much as I would like to hear her speak the name aloud, I don’t want h
er to enjoy the kind of power that would come of my begging her for information. Thank God Sebastian shared his suspicions with me so that I’d be prepared for this moment. “I know who my mother is. She lives on Terra Colonna, and she’s devoted her entire life to keeping me safe. Not because there’s some grand scheme she wants me to be part of, but because that’s just what a mother does. As for the person who gave birth to me . . .” I hesitate. Bitter words are poised on my tongue, but Morgana deserves better than that. She spared my life and protected me for sixteen years, at risk to her own reputation. And she’s just handed me a weapon that may enable me to live for another sixteen. I might not be pleased by her motives or her methods, but she deserves something better than summary rejection. “We can talk about that when all this is over.”

  She nods—a bit sadly, it seems. Or maybe sadness is just part of her game. “Tell Sebastian he’s free from his debt to me.”

  “Sebastian is free from all his debts,” I answer.

  I banish the dream before she can ask me what that means.

  The black plain is still. Peaceful. The instability it has exhibited in recent visits is gone now; apparently that was just a reflection of my fear. Sorrow seems to have no such effect on it.

  “We need to talk!” I call out. The words themselves won’t be heard, I know, but they help me focus my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I cast my desire out into the darkness, letting it filter into all the dreams that surround me. It seems easier now than the first time I tried to find her, perhaps because this time I know what I’m doing. Or maybe dreamwalking is just easier when you’re not afraid that monsters may emerge from the darkness at any moment and devour you.

  When I open my eyes she’s there, wearing the body that Dr. Redwind described to me: red skin and long black hair, with a garment of shimmering patterns that change as I look at them. I recognize those patterns now, and I can hear a subtle music that ebbs and flows as they transform. The great web that binds all the worlds together is reflected in her garment. “They’re gone,” I tell her. “The reapers. We freed them from bondage and they left the physical world. We’re safe now.” I pause. “All of us.”

  As always she is silent, but I can see how deeply my words affect her. A golden tear shimmers in one eye, and the sight of it fills me with vast sorrow. I realize in that moment that all the things I have speculated about her nature must be right, and I say, very softly, “You died in that battle, didn’t you? Probably by your own hand, because if the Shadows had killed you they would have bound your spirit. You wanted to escape them, and suicide was the only way to do it.” I pause. “Is that right? You’ve been around too long for any other explanation to make sense.”

  Her eyes are filled with a terrible sadness.

  “Show me who you really are,” I beg her. “Please.”

  She hesitates, then nods, and the body she is wearing begins to transform. Her red skin changes color to medium brown, with tiger-streaks of black banding her arms and legs. Her hair becomes shorter and takes on a tightly curled texture. Her body becomes smaller and leaner, until she is little larger than a child, with arms that are slightly too long in proportion to the rest of her body. As I realize what she is becoming, a sense of wonder fills me . . . and excitement, for what it implies.

  The girl who stands before me now is smaller and darker than I am, and while her features are not exactly those of an abbie, her kinship with them is undeniable. Whatever cluster of worlds produced the abbies is clearly her home as well.

  “They’re so arrogantly human.” I shake my head slowly as I speak. “They hunted down all the Dreamwalkers in their own species, but never imagined that the Gift might have manifested in others. Especially human variants that they regard as little more than animal. That’s why you were afraid to show yourself to me, wasn’t it? You feared that if a Terran Dreamwalker learned the truth, they might find out.”

  She nods.

  “Are there others among your people who have this Gift? Or something like it?”

  She hesitates, then nods.

  “Can you communicate with them?”

  She’s more wary now, probably wondering why I’m asking. But she nods.

  I draw in a deep breath. It’s all or nothing now. “You know that the Shadows were the ones who called for our slaughter. The other Guilds acted at their urging.” That much I had seen clearly in the fetter visions.

  She nods.

  “And the Dreamwalkers who fell . . . you know what was done to them. We may have freed the reapers, but many others are still bound.”

  A golden tear trickles down her cheek. She nods.

  “If I said that there was a way we might be able to free some of those Dreamwalkers, but we would have to confront the Shadows to do it, do you think the others might be willing to help?”

  This time there is no nod. No response at all.

  “It’ll be different than last time, I promise. A whole different kind of battle, one that we can really win. But there will still be risk. I won’t lie to you about that.” When there’s still no response I press, “If I explain my idea to you and you see merit in it, will you at least bring it to your people? We would need strong numbers to succeed, and I . . . I have no way of contacting them myself.” Still no response. “Please.”

  Still there’s no answer. I’m frustrated, but I understand the cause. How many centuries has she wandered the dream worlds in search of hope—any hope—praying that things would change for our kind? Guarding the passageway to the Dreamwalker’s haven, so that when it was finally needed it could be accessed? But it’s hard to accept a call to arms that asks her to fight alongside the humans she has feared for so long. I may be a sister to her in spirit, but in my blood I am kin to slavers and murderers. Nothing I say can ever change that.

  But finally she nods. Relief washes over me. “All right.” My mind is racing now, a thousand possibilities unfolding before me. No—before us. “Let me tell you what I’m thinking . . .”

  When I awoke, the stars overhead were so numerous and bright that the sky looked like a Christmas tree. I lay still for a few minutes, expecting a wave of sickness, but all I felt was an ache in my muscles and a vague nausea. Either my Gift was getting stronger or I was learning to pace myself.

  I rolled up onto one elbow and saw our hostess sitting on the steps of her wagon, smoking a long clay pipe. The smell of it wafted over to me as I got to my feet, moving quietly so as not to wake Isaac. Spice and musk. She moved over on the step so that I could sit down beside her. “Did you tell your family you were well?” she asked.

  I nodded. “And found the shallow’s guardian. She confirmed that there are a lot of other Dreamwalkers. They’re from a different branch of humanity, so no one ever thought to look for them.”

  “Ah, yes. The arrogance of the conqueror, triumphant over the obvious. I could make a comment about Anglo incompetence, too, but I’ll spare you that.” She drew on her pipe, took a moment to savor the smoke, then said, “You’re going to confront the Shadows?”

  I sighed. “I don’t see that I have much choice.”

  “Nor I, quite frankly. Do you have a plan?”

  “I think so. It depends on some allies coming through for me, so we’ll see where that goes.” I hesitated. “I would need permission to use the shallow.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she lowered her pipe. “You want to stage a battle here? Draw the attention of Shadows to this place?”

  “I need it to get back to the Dreamwalker haven. Nothing will come in the other direction, I promise.”

  “I refused your friend when he asked the same thing, you know.”

  “That was different. He was summoning spirits to your home. I just need a place where my body can rest while my mind goes elsewhere.”

  “And what if you die in this Dreamwalker haven of yours?”

  My smile faded. “Then you have my mot
her’s address, don’t you?”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “I’ll want to know more about your plan. In case something does—as you so succinctly put it—come in the other direction.”

  “As soon as I get confirmation that the other Dreamwalkers will help me, I’ll fill you in on everything. If they won’t . . .” I sighed. “Then it’s back to square one, I guess.” I looked back at the campfire. “I suppose I should go back and start memorizing data.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Long story,” I said. “Sort of like cramming for a test. I’ll explain everything in the morning, I promise.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  I got up, nodded a respectful leavetaking, and started back toward my bedding.

  “Ahota,” she said quietly.

  I turned back to her. “What?”

  “Ahota. The name my people know me by.”

  I was silent for a moment. It was as if I’d just been handed a precious, fragile artifact, and moving wrong might shatter it. “I don’t have a special name to give you. Just the two.”

  She tapped some ashes out of the bowl of her pipe. “It’s a shame. Names are meaningful. Your parents gave you one, but now you should choose one for yourself. Something that speaks to the recent transformation of your soul.”

  The transformation of my soul. I remembered looking at my reflection in the water, how surprised I had been when I saw it hadn’t changed. Dr. Redwind was right; I was a different person now than when I first came to Terra Prime. That deserved some kind of acknowledgement. “Did your soul transform?” I asked.

  “All souls transform. Some more dramatically than others.”

  “I guess I’m in the heavy drama category.”

  Her aged eyes sparkled in the starlight as she chuckled softly. “I don’t think there’s any arguing that, my dear.”

  As I headed back to my bedroll to see if Morgana was ready to deliver her data, I wondered what kind of name you gave to someone who was about to face off against the undead.