Dreamstrider

by Lindsay Smith

  But, of course, my pool is not undisturbed. A sword sticks upright from the center of the pool, pinning down the trailing strands of the Emperor’s soul and the others whose blood was shed. So Marez takes the more direct approach—not happy to merely brush against his target’s thoughts, he instead skewers them and demands they cough up their secrets. No wonder I remember so many of my alleged “dreams” when he stole my skin. I should have caught on earlier.

  I grasp the sword by its hilt. It’s a pale shade of gold, thick with scrollwork depicting screeching birds of prey. It suits him all too well. I grip the hilt with both hands and yank.

  But the sword won’t budge.

  “Problems?” Marez’s voice slithers in my ear, as if he stood just over my shoulder.

  Shadows dart around the pool, threading through the trees. The first Commandant and Lady Twyne glide forward. The color is back in her skin, her hair glossy and styled once more. “If we can’t have the real world just yet…”

  “… then this one will suit us fine,” the Commandant says.

  I tighten my grip on the sword’s hilt, pressing into Marez’s consciousness. Colors bleed through, strung across short bursts of sound. Screams, the march of boots. I can almost see through my body’s eyes—almost feel the pinch of shoes at my ankles and the rough scarf tied at my throat. Then the sword pulses and throws me back to the edge of the pool.

  Marez’s easy honey-smooth laugh rings in my ears. “And this body suits me just fine.”

  “Professor Hesse was a fool, same as all the Dreamer’s priests,” Marez says. “Who was he to keep the secrets of Oneiros for himself, or one hopelessly broken nation? They should be there for the taking of those bold enough to master them. Oneiros belongs to the dreamstriders, not these pathetic priests.”

  “You’re lying.” My voice is fuzzy; I fear it might get lost over the roar of the water as it churns around me. A whirlpool centers on the sword. I flail for purchase, but I am incorporeal. I’m lost to the whims of Oneiros.

  “Give up, little girl,” Marez growls. “You can’t suppress nightmares forever. This is the punishment Barstadt has earned. For centuries, Barstadt has crushed hopes and dreams. Why shouldn’t they pay? Barstadt doesn’t deserve its power!” Marez laughs.

  “That isn’t for you to decide.” I gasp for air. “Even Barstadt can be changed. The right way—not like this.”

  “Don’t be so certain. When I joined the Dreamer’s priesthood, they threw me out for asking uncomfortable questions. Hesse locked me out for rubbing his nose in his own disgrace. But I knew what they refused to acknowledge—Barstadt’s weakness. Its failure. It’s time to stop hiding from the truth.”

  “What truth? What is the truth to you?”

  “The tunnelers and the Dreamer’s priests and men like Hesse are all part of a larger machine. They feed endless death to the Wastes so the Emperor and his chosen few can revel in luxury and sweet dreams.”

  “And you think the Farthing Confederacy can do a better job?” I cry. “You’re no stranger to using people for your needs.”

  Marez’s consciousness turns jagged; the sword’s blade hums. “Because I’ve earned this. I deserve control. I understand what you fools refuse to see!”

  “We will become the Dreamers,” Lady Twyne says from her perch at the pool’s lip. “Why merely suggest a path to mortals through their dreams? We can command. Control. We can be gods.”

  The first Commandant nods. “Look what life is like without a stern god at its helm. Nightmare has nearly destroyed your home for a second time, and your dreamland is in ruins. You are a flock without a shepherd. The Dreamer only suggests, while Nightmare commands. This is the way of the Iron Winds—to take by force.” The Commandant laughs. “What has the Dreamer ever given you? What have you ever claimed as your own?”

  “Nothing,” Marez says. The sword throbs with painful heat. “Not even a body to call your own.”

  A memory of tears stings my cheeks. No. I’ve come too far for this. I’ve defeated Nightmare and sent him and his minions back into the Wastes. I can’t give up now. But my aching, battered soul cries out for relinquishment. How easy it would be to sink into those purifying waters and let Marez do whatever he likes.

  But I have too many dreams left to turn to reality.

  “I think we’ll take our chances with dreams of what might be,” I say.

  I sink into the water. It purifies, washing away my fears and doubts. There’s no monolith, but I don’t need one to pray. I pray to that shard of Dreamer inside of me. I pray for strength. I pray for the rest of my life, because I’m just getting started.

  At first, the sword wobbles uncertainly. Maybe it’s just rippling with the waves. Distantly, I sense Marez’s panic. I plunge underwater and let my curls spread around me like a grasping hand. Three, two, one. I surge to the surface.

  With a pop, the sword sails high into the air before clattering to the ground beside the pool.

  Lady Twyne and the first Commandant—I scan the forest for them, but they’ve melted into the shadows. Someday soon, I’ll have to find them. But—as the insistent snap within my soul tells me—right now, I need to claim my body for my own.

  I’m shaking as I seize my body’s tether and anchor my soul to it. I push against my body like it’s an unfamiliar hallway at night, stubbing my toe and crashing my shoulder against unfamiliar corners. An imperfect host for me in my imperfect land—a great place to begin once more.

  I’m home.

  I open my eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brandt crouches over me with a dagger to my throat.

  “No!” I shriek. I try to throw my arms up to shield myself, but they’re pinned to my sides. “No! Please, it’s me! I just fought my way back, I swear to you—”

  He staggers up and away; the dagger clatters out of his hand onto the stones beneath us. Stones. Where are we? No stars flitter overhead; no beached bones of Nightmare. What about Vera? The Emperor? Edina?

  “Prove it,” Brandt says. He’s choking; his hands are tight fists jammed against his thighs. “Prove to me you’re Livia.”

  I slump back against the stone. “Your middle name is Germanius, which you utterly despise. You always get the almond croissants at Kruger’s, and a butter pie, too, if we’ve just pulled off a mission. Your birthday is the last day in Tremmer’s month, and I bought you a notebook for your last one because you swore you’d write down all our adventures someday. And you’re … you are…”

  Now I’m the one choking—weeping big, fat, inexcusably childish tears.

  “I love you. I love you so much, Brandt Germanius Strassbourg, and I don’t care if you’re promised to House Alizard, because I’m not afraid to dream.”

  Brandt’s face has turned ashen, and I can see bruises in the crystal-cut hollows of his cheeks. He reeks of exhaustion and strife. But now, as he leans over me, his smile lights him from the inside.

  “Neither am I.”

  He kisses me like nothing else matters at all. Nightmare, Farthing, Barstadt, the Iron Winds—for this moment, there’s only my golden-haired boy nestled in my arms, his warmth burning through me like a fire. This is what I dream of—my best friend, my confidant, my love. He pulls me closer, and I curl against him, both of us moving wordlessly in our own fluency.

  “I love you, Brandt,” I whisper, gasping for breath against his ear. “I always have.”

  Brandt nestles his nose into my hair. “I love you, dreamstrider.”

  Reluctantly, we part. In the distance, a cannon rumbles; thick columns of smoke swirl up from the city beneath us. We’re on the foothills of Nightmare’s Spine, not far from where Marez enacted the binding ritual. “Brandt,” I say, “what exactly happened while I was—was gone?”

  Brandt reaches for my hands and faces me, those gray eyes looking right into mine. “Marez found me and your body at the warehouse. He had a squadron of Farthing soldiers with him. I tried to escape out the window, but they caught me and
dragged me back to the Stargazer headquarters to lock me up.

  “Sora was still there watching over Jorn, and she and I rallied together some of the Destroyers that were amongst Retch’s forces. There were too many Farthing soldiers with Marez for the Destroyers to overpower them, so we couldn’t keep him from walking off with your body.” He flinches and tightens his grip on my hands. “But he left me in the Stargazers’ custody, not realizing we’d seized control. Once they left, the Destroyers went to liberate a few of the constabularies.”

  “The mobs I saw.” I nod. “They were pushing back the Farthingers. What about Jorn?”

  “One of the Destroyers helped me carry him to safety at a physicker’s office the Ministry employs from time to time—the wound is nasty, but the physicker’s confident it’ll heal up all right now that he’s cleaned it. The Destroyers made a deeper push toward the palace, so I went to track you—that is, track Marez to where he was using your body to control Nightmare.” Brandt’s expression hardens; his jaw clenches tight. “I didn’t know how to stop him—and not without taking the risk of hurting you. I thought we were done for—that it was all for naught. But then a golden light poured through Nightmare, through all of his monsters in the streets, burning them up.” He smiles. “The Dreamer, Livia. He answered our prayers.”

  I cup one hand around Brandt’s cheek. “Sounds like you answered your own prayers.” There’ll be time later to explain the truth to him. For now, the warmth of his hand in mine and the glow of dreams realized are all I need.

  “I—I suppose so, yes.” He smiles, nuzzling my hand. “I can’t believe you’re safe. I was afraid you were trapped in the dreamworld, or—or worse—”

  I cup his face in my palm. “The Dreamer blessed us,” I say. “He blessed us all.”

  We kiss against the backdrop of Nightmare’s Spine, above the city still glowing with the proof of the power of dreams.

  *

  “Dreamstrider?” Minister Durst calls. “I believe it’s your turn.”

  Two days after the invasion began, Barstadt’s forces have managed to push back the Farthingers and Iron Winders alike, and the Emperor is now listening to our testimonies of what transpired. Brandt gives my hand a sharp squeeze before I stand up.

  The Emperor’s recuperation room swirls around me—all eyes are on me. I’m surrounded by the commanders of the Barstadt army. They are the men who held off the Commandant’s ships in the Bay of Dreams amidst the chaos of the transference. The leaders and spies who fought off our supposed Farthing allies. The soldiers and constables who faced down Nightmare’s minions. Who am I to stand amongst them, to profess any sort of knowledge?

  But I am the dreamstrider. The Dreamer’s chosen, or so they all believe after the way Nightmare disintegrated in a burst of light. Will they believe me now? Can they acknowledge that we were all wrong about our dreams?

  I approach the foot of the Emperor’s bed. “Your Imperial Majesty.” I drop into a practiced curtsey, never taking my eyes from him. “For centuries, the Dreamer’s priests have told us that the Dreamer slew Nightmare. Shattered his heart and scattered it to the far corners of the Central Realms so he could never rise again. But they were mistaken. People found those shards. People reassembled his heart, and brought Nightmare back to life. I stood in the Dreamer’s temple inside Oneiros—I saw what they had done.”

  The High Priest’s teeth are bared; he looks like he’s swallowed something foul. I stare right back at him, unblinking, for a few moments, but when he says nothing, I turn back to the Emperor.

  “I, too, am just a person. The Dreamer didn’t choose me for anything special. Not for dreamstriding or anything else. I learned to dreamstride because I didn’t know that I couldn’t. I fought off Nightmare’s minions because I had no choice. I thought only the Dreamer could slay Nightmare. But that isn’t what the Dreamer wants for us. He doesn’t want us to wait for him—he wants us to fulfill our own dreams.”

  “Heresy,” the High Priest cries. “Every sacred text—every account of how Nightmare was first slain—”

  “Not every account,” I say. “Professor Hesse believed it was humans who first defeated Nightmare—that the blood of the early nations of the Central Realms and all the leaders working together brought him down. And Marez Tanin brought Nightmare back to life in the same way. By using what’s within each of us—the Dreamer’s gift.”

  The Emperor scoots higher up on the pillows propping him up. “What do you mean, the Dreamer’s gift?”

  “The Dreamer is in all of us—it’s why he gives us dreams, something to strive for. Because we have the power to reach them. Not to wait for him to reach them for us. It’s how I defeated Nightmare.” I lift my chin. “I found the Dreamer in me.”

  The priests huddle to whisper back and forth; the generals and admirals chatter amongst themselves. But the Emperor’s gaze holds mine. Slowly, a smile unfolds beneath his mustache. “Thank you, dreamstrider,” he says.

  We depart, leaving Minister Durst and the other members of the Emperor’s war cabinet to discuss Barstadt’s next steps. Brandt laces his fingers in mine as we head toward the palace’s common rooms.

  From down at the end of the long hall, Edina approaches us. I try to untangle my fingers from Brandt’s, but he only squeezes me tighter. “Livia. Brandt.” She’s as polished as ever, standing ramrod straight, hands clasped before her, but a tiny smile parts her lips.

  I finally disentangle myself from Brandt and step away so there’s some space between us. Edina, however, seems to hardly notice me as she addresses Brandt. “Lord Strassbourg?” she asks, her tone playful. “I cannot thank you and Jornisander enough for your successful capture of the heinous criminal Adolphus Retch.”

  “I’m grateful Jorn’s doing better, as well.” Brandt’s lips twitch into a grin. “I don’t suppose this will help you with your issues with your father, Lady Alizard?”

  “Well, I can’t bloody well marry you.” She laughs. “Look at you two. You’re just—disgustingly in love with each other.”

  My heart lurches into my throat. But Brandt’s laughing; Edina’s laughing, too. “So you’ve completed the paperwork?” Brandt asks.

  Edina nods, grining wider now. “Our marriage contract is formally dissolved.”

  Brandt slings one arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek. “My parents are going to be furious!” Brandt cries. “I can’t wait.”

  I glance between the two of them, blinking. “I’m, uh … a bit lost.”

  Edina tilts her head toward me, a dark glint in her expression. “My father will find it quite difficult to threaten me to comply with his wishes once he’s imprisoned for gross corruption and conspiracy.”

  “The proof of which Adolphus Retch has in spades. Along with the numerous records the Ministry is recovering from his office as we speak,” Brandt says.

  “And—and you’re all right with your father going to prison?” I hesitate. “With not marrying Brandt?”

  Edina narrows her eyes. “My father threatened to kill Vera if I tried to run off with her. All my life, he’s threatened me. I’m sure he’ll be right at home with the other criminals.” She looks from Brandt to me. “Lord Strassbourg will make a wonderful husband someday, but not to me. We both knew that. And I’m going to be rather occupied with the Aristocrat’s Council once I inherit my imprisoned father’s seat. I’ll continue to serve House Alizard while setting right some of the wrongs my father caused.”

  I stare at her, sensing my lower jaw starting to droop. “But your father’s seat is as one of the council heads. One of the most powerful seats in the Council.”

  “So it is.” Edina smiles again. “I’d say the Writ of Emancipation just might get passed after all.”

  I take a deep breath as I wrap my arm around Brandt’s waist. “I—I don’t know how to thank you, Edina. Lady Alizard. Councilwoman—whatever you prefer.”

  “How about the both of you keep up the good work within the Ministry of Affairs?” she repli
es. “Professor Hesse left so much research behind—it would be a shame to see nothing come of it. No one knows his work better than you.”

  “You really think Minister Durst would allow me to do that?”

  Edina laughs again. “It’s your choice, of course, now that you have your full papers, but you’ve proved yourself a hundred times over, Livia. You’re the dreamstrider. He’ll let you do whatever you wish.”

  Edina departs to consult with Minister Durst, and Brandt takes my arm in his as we make our way through the palace’s lower tiers. I keep glancing at him in disbelief, as if he’ll vanish from me if I let him out of my sight. He grins and presses a kiss to my temple.

  “I’m not going anywhere, dreamstrider. You’re stuck with me for all the missions you like.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you beyond our missions, as well,” I say.

  He laughs and pats my hand. “As my lady wishes.”

  We walk down twisting stone steps toward the Imperial Cleansing Pool. It’s more or less on the same level as the dungeons, where our prisoners of war—the younger Commandant, Retch, Marez, Kriza, and the Farthing generals—await trial. Marez is kept dosed with a mild form of Lullaby, to prevent him from accessing Oneiros again.

  The palace attendants help me into a soft cotton shift. Brandt settles onto a prayer bench to commune with the Dreamer in his own way as I wade into the cleansing pool’s depths. The monolith surges before me, and I smile at the golden arms plunging down to defeat Nightmare. The Dreamer’s Embrace.

  Dreamer, your gifts are far greater than I ever could have hoped. I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool, looking for them in the wrong places all this time. I close my eyes and plunge underwater, soaking my hair, then surface again right below the monolith. I will be a great dreamstrider. I will doubt myself no more, and when you speak, I’ll have no choice but to listen.