by Roger Taylor
Antyr spoke softly and urgently. ‘I’m sure you do,’ he said, recalling Andawyr’s accurate and perceptive retelling of his own story to Usche. ‘But no one here knows anything about Dream Finding and for my peace of mind I need to remind you.’
Oslang did not argue.
‘Tarrian and Grayle may make some strange noises, possibly quite frightening ones, as perhaps might I or Andawyr, though that’s less likely. Whatever happens, remember that there’s no danger here to anyone, except you. And only to you if you intervene. You must not come near us and still less must you make any attempt to touch either of us. If you do, Tarrian and Grayle will attack you and there’s every chance they’ll kill you. I doubt even Yatsu here could cope with the two of them. Just stay where you are. You’re here out of curiosity, I appreciate, but your job is to intercept anyone who might come in unexpectedly. Do you understand this?’
‘Yes,’ Oslang said, though he was patently taken aback by Antyr’s sudden authoritativeness.
Yatsu grinned and patted him on the arm in a fatherly manner as Antyr went over to the bed, carefully trying to avoid Andawyr’s scattered clothing.
A chair had been placed by the bed for him. As he sat down in it, Andawyr turned over with a peevish grunt. The two wolves were each circling repeatedly prior to lying down. Antyr smiled. Small, familiar rituals were closing about them all.
His mind reached out to touch Tarrian’s and Grayle’s. They both looked up at him.
Their eyes were bright burning yellow, penetrating and profoundly wild. He was vaguely aware of Oslang drawing in a long breath.
Then, briefly, he was Tarrian and the wolf was him. As always, countless scents and sensations pervaded him, but he ignored them. He looked up to see himself staring down, a looming figure with eyes that were now entirely black. ‘Pits of night,’ they had been called. It was a sight that few could look on with ease, but that was as it should be. All was well. And, as suddenly, he was himself again, as was Tarrian, though, as usual, the wolf was momentarily unsettled by its temporary occupation of what it regularly denounced as an ungainly, unresponsive and claustrophobic frame.
Slowly Tarrian and Grayle closed their eyes and lowered their heads. Antyr turned to Andawyr. ‘Close your eyes and give me your hand,’ he said.
‘It’s no good. I’m not asleep,’ Andawyr protested, though doing as he was asked.
Antyr did not reply, but took the offered hand in his right and gently passed his left over Andawyr’s face.
‘Sleep easy,’ he said, very softly. ‘Whatever befalls, nothing can harm. Dreams are but shadows and you are guarded in all places by a great and ancient strength.’
He felt the Cadwanwr drifting into sleep immediately. Then he, too, was drifting after him. The room faded and the night that filled his eyes seemed to spread inwardly through every part of him until there was nothing but darkness and silence. Nothing save his awareness, hard as diamond yet as insubstantial as a summer breeze.
Then there were faint sounds all about him, like distant voices and strange instruments carried on an uncertain wind. Mingling with them came lights, twisting, flitting, swelling and star-bursting through the darkness, iridescent and hued beyond the rainbow, some jagged and lightning-fast, others hovering, drifting, watchful.
And then he was whole again, as solid as the figure sitting by Andawyr’s bed and holding the Cadwanwr’s hand, but other than he. Tarrian and Grayle were there too, but not to be seen. As he always did, a remnant of his earliest apprentice days with his father, he touched the wolf’s soft, unseen fur. It was a mutual reassurance. Here, in this strange other place, surrounded by countless shifting sounds and insistent, luring lights, a Dream Finder was lost. For this was the Dream Nexus of Andawyr, leader of the Cadwanol, and all around were the Portals of his many dreams; dreams forgotten, dreams remembered, dreams waking, dreams sleeping, dreams undreamt. And here only a Dream Finder’s Earth Holder could guide.
Yet here there was a newness, still unfamiliar to Antyr, for he had not one, but two Earth Holders. It was one of many changes that had come about since he had been drawn along the way that eventually brought him into his terrible confrontation with the blind man and set him on his long, hard journey from his homeland. Unlike many of those changes, however, this one did not disturb him, for his trust in Tarrian and Grayle, as theirs in him, was absolute. But it still puzzled and intrigued him. It was a commonplace in his profession that a Dream Finder could have only one Earth Holder. But why should that be? How an Earth Holder roamed the dreamways was knowledge far beyond the reach of any human inquirer; it was something hidden deep in the wild nature of such creatures. And, too, though he still felt a need for Tarrian and Grayle to be with him, how had it come about that he no longer truly needed their guidance at the Nexus? He let the questions drift away; he could not answer them, he knew, that was why he was here. And this was neither the time nor the place for them. Now, he had a client to attend to and it was sufficient that all was well.
He could feel Tarrian and Grayle reaching out, testing their surroundings just as they would whether in the city or in the mountains. Once he would also have felt Tarrian resisting a deep desire to roam the dreamways unfettered, but that was gone now. Somehow, between them, the two wolves fulfilled this desire, though in what manner neither of them ever spoke of nor could any interrogation elicit.
‘This way. This way.’ Tarrian’s familiar and expected call billowed into his mind. The sounds and sights of the Nexus moved around and through him and, though there was no sensation of change, Dream Finder and Earth Holder were Andawyr.
They were in the mountains.
‘As you see and feel, so shall we,’ Antyr said. It was the traditional assurance to a client.
‘Aah,’ said Andawyr. ‘Interesting.’
The same thought was occurring to Antyr. He had entered many dreams and witnessed many fantasies, but even though there was a degree of commonality between many of them, each one had not only been unique but had always contained visions that surprised him, albeit not always pleasantly.
His surprise now was not at the vaulting span of Andawyr’s imagination, but at his control. Antyr had known clients who were deeply aware of their dreams and who could, to some extent, manipulate them in order to move within a world where wishes that were perhaps forbidden or impossible in the waking world could be freely fulfilled. But this was very different. Andawyr’s control was like nothing he had ever encountered before. Yet . . .
‘Where shall we go?’
Antyr did not reply, nor would he. Only at some moment of great terror might he gently touch the dreamer, to give a little reassurance, otherwise he would just watch and listen, and feel. The time for talking was on waking.
‘Ah. I see. My dream, my choice,’ Andawyr deduced correctly.
He was looking down at his reflection at the edge of a motionless lake. Everything was vividly intense. Snow-covered peaks, bright in the sunlight and sharp against the blue sky, were all around him. They too were reflected in the lake, but so clearly that it was difficult to know which was real and which was image. A giddying ambivalence oozed into the scene but Andawyr forbade it. As he looked up, the mountains were still bright and clear, but the sky was filled with dark and menacing clouds.
‘Come along,’ he said to Usche and Ar-Billan. ‘We must reach Anderras Darion before the storm comes.’ Neither spoke, but stood looking at him expectantly.
They were not dressed for hard walking, he thought. He should be more careful with his charges. On the other hand, some things they had to learn the hard way.
The wind was screaming all about him, shaking and battering him. It threw stinging white spears of snow into his face as he struggled along the corridors of the Cadwanen, dimly lit by familiar symbols whose meaning had slipped away from him.
They blinked distantly and urgently through the streaked gloom, the touch of their uncertain light turning the flying snow into black, prison bar streaks.
It’s very bad this year, Andawyr thought. I must get this place swept out.
The snow was deep, and curving drifts piled up against the walls, blocking the doorways and wilfully stifling the symbols. Andawyr’s calves were aching with the effort of walking and he was beginning to breathe heavily.
The tall figure by his side turned and looked down at him.
‘Hawklan, I didn’t know you were here. What a happy surprise. We were coming to see you, but the weather seems to be unseasonable.’ He could not go on. The wind was like a solid wall and he was exhausted.
‘Let’s sit here for a moment.’
He moved into the lee of the figure and rested against him. ‘You’ve found the Sword, I see. That’s good.’ He looked at the hilt of the black sword with its inner motif of intertwined strands. They seemed to stretch for ever, across a dark void filled with countless stars. There was such mystery in this thing, he had to know . . .
He reached out to search into it . . .
Then a force was tumbling him violently into wakefulness.
His heart was pounding so fiercely that it threatened to choke him, his hand was being gripped tightly and he was surrounded by confusion and noise. It took him some time to realize what was happening.
The two wolves were barking frantically and a strident, wavering note was filling the room. It was a chilling sound. One that should never be heard here. It emanated from two symbols by the door, as did a baleful, pulsating red light, though Andawyr did not need to look to know this. Frozen in this masque was Oslang, eyes wide and mouth gaping, while Yatsu was little better, half standing with one powerful hand extended sideways to prevent the Cadwanwr leaving his seat.
An urgent knocking made itself heard above the din, then the door burst open. Yatsu was on his feet and the first person through the door found himself spun around and pushed into others close behind him. Several of them went sprawling.
‘Stay where you are, all of you!’
Yatsu’s powerful command overrode the mounting confusion in the room. The wolves stopped barking and slithered close to Antyr, their tails low and wagging hesitantly. He let Andawyr’s hand fall, then slumped forward and began cradling their heads.
Oslang was grasping the arms of his chair, his gaze oscillating desperately between Yatsu and Andawyr. ‘Can I move now?’ he demanded of the Goraidin.
‘Antyr?’ Yatsu called out in his turn.
The Dream Finder straightened up and stared blankly at the two men and the crowded doorway for a moment. Then he released the wolves and held up a pleading hand. ‘A moment, a moment,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Let me get my wits back. There’s no danger now.’
‘The hell there isn’t,’ Oslang shouted angrily, pointing towards the symbols. ‘What do you think that is?’
Antyr looked at him helplessly.
‘Still that and see how many others have been activated, Oslang. See how far it’s spread.’
It was Andawyr. He had swung out of bed and was unsteadily fastening his robe about him. Oslang hesitated, torn between the instruction and attending on his friend. A gesture from Andawyr brightened the lights. ‘See how far it’s spread,’ he repeated, firmly. ‘And for mercy’s sake, still the damned thing.’
He acknowledged the small but obviously anxious group being held at bay in the doorway by Yatsu. ‘Well done, all of you,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Just a little experiment that went awry, I’m afraid. Help Oslang get the measure of it, then get back to your beds. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
Oslang, brow furrowed, was peering closely at the symbols. Their pulsing red light lit his face, etching its lines deeply. He looked as though he were staring down into a furnace. Then, apparently satisfied but still fretful, he placed his hand over each in turn. The noise stopped immediately and the redness faded until both symbols were still and pale again. The sudden silence jolted breaths of relief from everyone.
Oslang took Yatsu’s arm. ‘Well done to you as well. Thanks for not hurting any of them.’ Then he disappeared into a babble of voices in the corridor.
‘An explanation wouldn’t go amiss,’ Yatsu said to Antyr and Andawyr as the door closed.
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ Andawyr said, dropping back on to his bed.
He looked at Antyr. ‘What happened in there? What happened to “Dreams are shadows? Nothing can harm?”’ There was both fear and anger in his voice. His expression softened, however, as he saw the pain of the Dream Finder’s face.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Antyr replied, though his voice was weak. ‘Just shaky.’
Andawyr waited.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ Antyr replied after a moment. ‘But whatever it was, it came out of nowhere and without any warning.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I dragged you out of there as much by pure reflex as anything else. I’m not thinking clearly yet.’ He allowed himself no time to recover, however. ‘Maybe it was something to do with your being able to use the Power.’ He looked at Andawyr intently. ‘Were you about to use it when you reached out for that sword?’
‘No, of course not, why should I? Besides, I don’t think I could. I know I can control my dreams but to use the Power you need control over every faculty.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Though I confess I’d never thought about it.’ He became pensive for a moment then frowned. ‘It must be impossible, surely,’ he said, though more to himself than for the information of the others. ‘There’s no saying what the consequences might be if it weren’t. Then again, it’s an intriguing problem. If I used the Power in a dream would it be the Power or just a dream of it? Fascinating. This will make an excellent project for someone.’
‘Before you become too enthralled we need to find out what just happened. Because it was dangerous, and there shouldn’t have been even a vestige of danger there.’ Antyr’s firm interruption ended Andawyr’s reverie abruptly. The Dream Finder waved towards the door. ‘What was that noise and that red light? And why did those people break in like that?’
Andawyr scratched his head vigorously, then held out his hand. It was shaking. ‘Yes, there was a danger, wasn’t there?’ he said. ‘As for the Beacons, that’s a good question.’
There was a discreet tapping on the door and Oslang entered. He was more relaxed but he was still obviously concerned. ‘It was just in here and immediately outside in the corridor,’ he said. ‘There’s no danger. Everything’s stilled now, though I doubt it will be tomorrow when the word gets around.’
Andawyr looked relieved but puzzled. ‘Well, it seems that it was confined, so that’s one problem the less but several more new ones. As for the gossip, we’ll just tell them what happened.’
‘What did happen?’ Oslang demanded.
‘One thing at a time,’ Andawyr replied. He pointed to the now quiescent symbol and turned to Antyr.
‘Something in that dream set off one of the devices you were asking about earlier – one of the Beacons. That did what it did because there’d been a use of the Power in here that didn’t come from any of us – any members of the Order, that is.’ He looked at Antyr curiously. ‘Are you sure you’ve no skill with the Power?’
‘I know nothing about it, except what I felt from the blind man and what I’ve learned from Yatsu and Jaldaric and yourself.’
Andawyr pursed his lips. ‘Well, that was my judgement, too. And it certainly should be the case. The ability of any individual to use the Power is tested automatically when they enter the place.’ He glanced at the symbols again. ‘Furthermore, if by some highly improbable chance you’d spontaneously acquired such an ability while you were actually here, then the Beacons would not only have detected it, but would’ve immobilized you, one way or another – up to and including killing you if your intention had been destructive.’
Antyr’s eyes widened. His mouth went dry.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Andawyr asked.
&nbs
p; ‘Yes,’ Antyr insisted, though his general demeanour gave the lie to this. ‘It’s just that your dream was dangerous enough without finding out I was in danger here as well.’
‘And that’s another problem. You weren’t. It had no effect on you. Which confirms what I already knew, namely that whatever activated it couldn’t have come from you.’
‘All of this makes no sense,’ Oslang said. ‘Beacons don’t just go off like that. Nor should it have been confined to such a small area. And at that level of intensity I’d have expected to see one of the Uhriel coming through the door, not a crowd of bewildered Brothers.’
‘You always were given to exaggeration,’ Andawyr snapped, adding lamely, ‘Maybe it’s faulty.’
Oslang gave him a look verging on disdain. ‘Faulty! How could it possibly be faulty? And I’m not exaggerating, you know that. For crying out . . .’
Andawyr raised his hand to accept the rebuff. He blew out a noisy breath. ‘Well, I couldn’t sleep now even if I wanted to. Let’s get started on this while everything’s fresh in our minds.’ He looked down at the wolves and clicked his tongue reproachfully. ‘Are they all right?’ he asked Antyr softly.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Tarrian’s voice filled Andawyr’s head. ‘And, for what it’s worth, you can thank Antyr for getting us all back safely. Whatever you did in there nearly lost us all.’
‘What I did?’ Andawyr exclaimed out loud, startling both Oslang and Yatsu. ‘What do you mean, what I did? I did nothing.’
‘Antyr didn’t, we didn’t, you were the only other one there.’
‘But . . .’
He received the canine equivalent of a dismissive shrug, which ended the matter as far as Tarrian was concerned. Faced with silence, Andawyr made a gesture that further brightened the lights, then he beat his pillow vigorously, swung his feet up on to the bed, and lay back, his hands behind his head.
‘Can’t we go somewhere a little more . . . congenial . . . if you want to talk about this now?’ Oslang asked with a pained glance about the disordered room.
‘I’m comfortable,’ Andawyr said with finality.
