Begrimed barrels, filled with liquid barely more palatable than seawater, stood two high along the starboard wall under reams of white sailcloth folded on top. Along the hold’s port wall, coils of thick hawser hung. Rope was like ship’s blood. It could be used for hundreds of tasks, from lashing men and equipment to the deck during storm seas, to repairing sail lines during hot becalmed days when nothing else could be done. Also, rope was useful for punishment. Keelhauling wasn’t unknown on the Green Siren for crew members who defied the captain and his hulking first mate, Nyrotha.
Smaller kegs were stored under lock and key behind an iron portcullis, whose rusty expanse covered the port wall. Harsh fumes proclaimed their rum-filled contents to any who drew near.
A shelf next to the portcullis was stuffed with sheathed swords, spears, hanging crossbows, and a few well-polished shields.
The ceiling was composed of well-fitted planks, except for a wide, square opening directly above, which pierced the ship from the top deck, to mid deck, to hold, to the orlop deck. A rope ladder of rough hawser ran up the side of the opening, connecting all four decks.
Beneath the opening, a sailor lay on the stained, planked floor of the hold.
The sailor quivered and bucked as if possessed, and froth formed at the corners of his mouth. The veins that crisscrossed the exposed flesh of his face, arms, calves, and bare feet flamed scarlet with pain.
Anusha Marhana looked down at the thrashing, barefoot man, a hand to her mouth.
All she had done was touch him!
A dark-haired woman with a scar disfiguring the left side of her face perched half-way down the ladder leading into the hold. Terror robbed the woman of the strength to move up or down. Her ability to scream, however, was unhampered. The scarred woman’s mouth was wide with a howl of dread, and her eyes seemed locked at something she saw near her writhing companion.
The scarred woman looked not at Anusha, but at one of the half-silvered shields that hung from the ship’s weapon depot. Anusha followed the direction of the woman’s terrified vision, into the face of the mirrorlike shield … and something looked back at Anusha. A humanoid silhouette of purest black, outlined in erratic white and blue flashes.
She recognized the silhouette as her own.
The first time Anusha had dream-stepped, she hadn’t realized it.
She had awakened from what seemed merely an unusually detailed dream. During the dream she’d seen her half brother, Behroun, and the mysterious warlock plotting. True, upon “waking,” her mind was almost ready to accept the first wild explanation that occurred to her, that she’d somehow stepped beyond her body and spied on events in the outside world as she slept … but she backed away from that explanation quickly enough. She managed to convince herself the experience was mere fancy, born of unsettled sleep.
She was able to hold on to that conviction for all of half a day.
The morning after her first dream, Behroun had summoned her to his office to warn her that enemies of Marhana were sending assassins into the manor. Shadow assassins that burned with a corona of azure fire.
Anusha realized Behroun was describing the very event she had dreamed! How was that possible—had she sleepwalked? No, she’d ghosted through solid objects without effort. It must have been a dream after all, but a dream dreamt beyond the confines of her own head!
Dazed with the insight, she sat dumbly as Behroun recounted his discovery of the assassin.
Nor did she contradict her half brother as he went on to explain how fortunate it was that his agent, Japheth, had been present to drive off the specter. Anusha remembered it was her terror of the darkness hiding under the warlock’s cloak that proved impetus enough to awaken her physical body.
Behroun explained he had arranged for Anusha to summer beyond the walls of New Sarshel, where she would be safe from those who wished her ill. He described how getting her out of the city would allow him to concentrate fully on discovering which jealous noble house wished to destroy the soon-to-be-noble House of Marhana.
Anusha rushed back to her suite to pack, cold fear prickling across her body. But it wasn’t the thought of assassins that scared her.
Behroun and Japheth had seen her! She had dreamed them, but they saw her, even though they had been awake.
Anusha was again convinced that the dream of the night before had been more than simple fancy. Something of it had been real.
A giddiness brought on by visceral fear stifled her wild packing. She stood frozen amidst a flurry of expensive clothes strewn on the floor and across her bed. What was happening to her?
Behroun talked of assassins. Had some demonic creature lured her spirit beyond the confines of her body in order to steal it away? It had failed to find her this time, but would she be so lucky again? Would every foray into sleep be a cat-and-mouse game between her and some unseen soul stealer?
Then again, she had seen no evidence of such a creature. To fabricate the existence of a soul stealer to explain her too lucid dream based only on Behroun’s talk of enemies of House Marhana was premature.
Especially because her half brother’s belief in a potent rival stalking the family was based on his glimpse of her!
Anusha clenched her hands, then loosed them, one muscle at a time. She willed the muscles in her forearms to go slack, then the muscles in her shoulders and neck. She even imagined tiny muscles in her face and scalp drooping into utter relaxation. Her breathing slowed, as did her heart’s frantic pace. She tried to push herself beyond the reach of a panic that could not answer her questions or explain what had happened.
When her body was her own again, she sighed and resumed packing.
If she wished to understand what had happened to her, she must think. What was the significance of her dream?
Perhaps it had been a one-time event brought on by some unknowable, arcane event beyond her ken. Or a glimpse provided by fate of a pivotal event that was somehow important to her future. Or, when all was said and done, a giant coincidence?
Anusha wondered if she was spinning fantasies no more likely than her first panicked invention of a soul-stealing stalker.
The only way to know what afflicted her was to experiment. As her tutor so often tried to instill in her, only repeated observation, study, and questions could uncover real knowledge. She needed to explore the experience again.
Her heart’s pace quickened once more, but now in anticipation.
Could I, she wondered, walk purposely as a dream in the waking world?
Anusha dumped all the clothing, shoes, and purses she’d pulled from her closets into the great leather-padded travel chest Behroun had ordered delivered to her room. The chest was so large it reminded her of a coffin.
Once the bed was cleared, she settled herself on the soft, pink-hued coverlet and closed her eyes. Beneath the coverlet, her costly feather mattress pressed only lightly into her shoulders, calves, and ankles, but her skirts and blouse made her feel uncomfortably warm and confined. Sounds of distant horns, shouts, and braying animals in the market competed for her attention. The nearer clattering chime of servants working at their own tasks in other parts of the manor jangled at discordant intervals.
Sleep seemed far away.
She tried to evoke the sensation she’d felt when striding unseen down the streets of New Sarshel. She had been neither cold nor warm despite wearing only her sleeping gown. Not the least breath of wind had caressed her cheek, nor had the cobblestones pinched her bare feet. Yes, something like that.
This is not working!
She groaned and left the bed, feeling a sudden pinch as she rose.
“Oh,” she exhaled quietly.
A girl still lay half swaddled in the quilt, fully dressed, eyes closed. It was herself.
She had dream-skipped out of her body again!
Anusha gazed down on the sleeping form. Her body breathed in a slow but regular pattern, very much like sleep.
She glanced away from the sleeping body and instead
drew her dream hands up before her face. They looked completely normal, maybe a bit hazy if she squinted.
Anusha rubbed her hands together. The sensation was exactly what she expected.
She was further surprised to see her dream self dressed in the very same clothes worn by her sleeping body. Then again, why was she surprised? In a dream, anything was possible, wasn’t it? Insofar as her consciousness existed beyond her mind, perhaps dream logic ruled what she could accomplish, just as in regular dreams.
Turning, she tentatively reached for the closed travel chest. She touched it. She could discern its leathery texture. It was cold, and slightly gritty with dust.
With a deep breath, she tried to reach through the closed lid.
She pushed her hand through the top of the travel chest as if it were mere smoke. The sensation was not unlike pushing her hand into a thin stream of falling water.
Inside the chest, her hand brushed the heel of one of the shoes she’d thrown into the great piece of luggage. She grasped it and pulled it out. Right through the still-fastened chest.
She could do more than observe the waking world; she could affect it!
The possibilities of what she might accomplish, why, they were endless!
What couldn’t she do? She giggled as exhilaration burst up through her chest and throat. She dropped the lone shoe on the travel chest’s top and strode to her door, just as it banged open.
Behroun stood there, scowling. Her irritated half brother stood only five feet from her. But he looked right past Anusha as if she weren’t there at all. Instead, he fixed his glare on her real, sleeping body.
Behroun growled. “She sleeps when she should be preparing for her trip. If she weren’t essential, I’d kill her myself.”
Anusha gasped and took an inadvertent step backward. Her hand brushed her vanity mirror poised on a small stand. It shifted, wobbled, then fell to the tiled floor. It shattered with a violent, crystalline retort.
Behroun started. He swiveled his head back and forth, his eyes narrow and searching, his breathing accelerating. He took a half step toward the shattered mirror, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he spun around to look back into the hallway.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice’s normally basso rumble rising in pitch.
Getting no answer, Behroun returned his regard to the broken mirror, then to her sleeping form. His composure was as broken as the glass. He grimaced, then stalked off, rather too quickly for his dignity.
The scene would have been comical, Anusha thought, if Behroun hadn’t just offhandedly revealed his desire to see her dead. He was talking figuratively, right?
She wondered.
She’d watched him utter those words, thinking himself unobserved and free to reveal his inner self. Anusha judged he’d meant them.
“You bastard,” she breathed, as fear shivered her own composure.
She couldn’t deny reality any longer. Her half brother was a perfect villain, as she’d always suspected but refused to ponder.
He was no fitting heir to Marhana.
“If I help him, am I any better?” Inaction on her part was as good as helping Behroun achieve his ends. His actions threatened to stain her parents’ memory, with her as his unwitting accomplice.
Unless she took a stand.
A new surety of purpose enveloped Anusha.
She nodded her head, thinking yes, I will obey Behroun’s command to leave the manor. But I’ll choose my own destination!
He wouldn’t be able to use her heritage to advance his claims of nobility. As little noble blood as she possessed, less flowed in his debauched veins.
And why shouldn’t she depart on her own road? Although, her best bet would be to set herself actively against Behroun’s schemes.
A smile curled across her lips. “You’ll see, Brother. Or, actually, you won’t!”
With her dreamer’s ability to walk unseen, like a ghost even, dangers she would normally shrink from were transformed in her mind’s eye.
Imagine, she thought, what sights I can witness, safe from all harm, only needing to awake to find myself safe back in bed!
She could go anywhere from the safety of her room!
Except that wasn’t right. She recalled the very first time she walked knowingly in a lucid dream. She had dream-stepped down toward the docks, a fair distance from her sleeping body. Only to be yanked up short before she quite made the distance.
Despite her inexperience with her ability, she thought it likely her dream form could reach only so far. What was the radius she could travel from her sleeping body before her dream self’s connection became too attenuated? A mile or two, the dock experience suggested. She needed to experiment to discover her exact range, but it wasn’t enough to allow her to stay safe at home.
If she desired to dream-step into danger, her real body would have to be somewhat close too.
Later that day, using her dream form, Anusha slipped unseen into Behroun’s office and altered a bill of lading for the merchant ship Green Siren to include her travel chest. A travel chest to be delivered straightaway to the docks. A travel chest that would contain more than clothes—it would contain Anusha too! And a tidy sum of water, rations, and perhaps her journal. Once on the ship, safely packed away in the hold, she imagined she’d have the opportunity to physically emerge from her luggage to get occasional exercise and use the lavatory when no one was watching.
Her plan hadn’t quite worked out as she’d hoped.
The barefoot sailor had proved a little too curious about Anusha’s travel chest.
She’d seen him poking around a couple of days earlier. To distract him, she had created a ruckus in the aft hold by knocking over a crate half filled with belaying pins. The effort to push over the crate, something her physical body could have accomplished with relative ease, proved almost beyond her, but she’d managed it.
She theorized her dream body didn’t have the strength of reality.
The interloper, startled at the sound, had relinquished his interest in the travel chest to investigate the spilled belaying pins. By his cussing response, it was obvious he thought they’d merely been poorly packed, not intentionally spilled. After picking up and stowing the crate, this time with ropes to hold the crates in place against accidental shifting, he’d left the hold. Anusha hoped never to see him again. She didn’t know what he’d do if he found her sleeping body in the hold.
It was already disconcerting enough to discover one creature aboard the ship that could see her dream form whenever she drew near it.
The first time she’d tried to leave her cabin in dream form, via the short hallway that connected several staterooms to the upper deck, she’d come across a black dog. Tied with only enough slack to roam the hallway, the dog was obviously set to guard the approach to the captain’s cabin at the end. When she’d dream-stepped toward it, the dog’s ears had come up and its tail had gone down. It broke into a low, rumbling growl. It fixed her with its eyes and bared its teeth, warning her to keep her distance. The animal scared her for a moment, before she recalled she didn’t possess a physical body the guard dog could bite.
Still, she felt sorry for the dog. She began feeding the guard dog bits of meat she stole from the constantly simmering stewpot in the galley. After only a day, she’d managed to calm the creature so much that her immaterial presence elicited a happy whine and wagging tail instead of vicious growls. Not knowing if it already had a name, Anusha called it Lucky.
Besides Lucky, she also suspected Japheth might be able to see her, as the Green Siren put out from port. The man’s gaze seemed to meet hers. She’d stopped, appalled. But he took no action other than stare at her, his expression somewhat bemused. She immediately forced herself awake back in her travel chest, her breathing suddenly coming too swift for the enclosed space.
After a few days thinking about those dark, mysterious eyes, she worked up enough courage to seek out the warlock.
She’d entertain
ed a little fantasy that she would reveal her stowaway status on the ship to the man. Despite knowing nothing of Japheth, she felt a slight twinge of … interest. But his lethal habit! How terrible. She wondered how he was able to control its symptoms. Perhaps she had mistaken what she’d seen in the curio shop in New Sarshel.
One thing was certain—loneliness weighed upon her like an anvil. After four days of speaking only to Lucky, she yearned for conversation and companionship more than food. Well, the fact that the rations she’d packed with her sleeping body in the travel chest were beginning to taste like chalk wasn’t helping her mood.
She’d been dream-stepping across the upper decks by starlight, looking for Japheth, when dread tingled on her neck. Not knowing from whence it came, she descended to check on her body, only to find the inquisitive sailor had returned. He was hunched over her travel chest once more, this time inserting a pry bar under the travel chest’s lid. With him was another sailor, a dark-haired woman with a terrible scar.
Anusha dashed forward and instinctively reached to grab the man’s arm. Unlike all her recent practice with inert objects, her attempt to interact with a living creature failed. Her hand slipped right off the interloper.
Desperate, she reached for the man with both hands, thinking to grab the too curious investigator by his collar and haul him backward. Instead, her hands “slid” into his back, and she’d touched something slick and warm that had pulsed thub-dub, thub-dub, thub-dub …
The man screamed with a throaty, awful tone, fell backward onto the floor, and began convulsing.
The scarred woman looked at Anusha’s image in the polished shield and screamed, “Ghost! A ghost is killing Dorlan!”
Anusha took another moment to gaze at her own terrifying image in the polished shield. A ghostlike image stared back, a burning silhouette in a girlish dress. If she didn’t know better, she’d scream seeing herself too. Especially if one of Anusha’s companions lay insensate upon the floor.
Plague of Spells Page 9
