Dreamweaver Page 23

  “I . . .” He shook his head. “I’ll try to come up with something.” He wondered if that promise sounded as empty to her as it did to him. We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no necromantic teachers and no research library. My Gift may not even be fully manifested yet. And even if I could figure out how Shadowlords normally handle this kind of thing, I can’t perform one of their rituals in front of you. So how the hell am I supposed to help?

  “That’s all I ask,” Jesse said gratefully.

  Suddenly Isaac realized there was a figure standing in the entrance. Dr. Redwind was leaning against one side of the stone archway, arms folded, watching them intently. How long had she been there? As Jesse and Sebastian followed his gaze and also saw her, he could see the same question in their eyes.

  She might not take kindly to seven angry wraiths being set loose near her sacred ground, he thought.

  But if their conversation had displeased her, she offered no sign of it. “We’ll spend the night here.” She walked across the room to the food stores and began to pry a container open. “It will give you time to rest before we head back. Which the three of you clearly need.”

  Her dark eyes fixed on Jesse for a moment. Her expression was unreadable. Then she turned away, took up a wooden scoop, and began to measure out supplies for their evening meal.

  Night. Darkness. Silence.

  Isaac’s footsteps resonate in the desert, punctuating an otherwise eerie stillness. Behind him, on the other side of the ridge, his companions are still sleeping, surrounded by supplies, weapons, and fear. He is surrounded by fear also, but of a different kind.

  He comes to a group of boulders and settles down on one of them, and for a while just gazes out at the desert in silence. Overhead there’s no moon, only a sky full of stars, glimmering like tears.

  What is he supposed to do? Try his amateur best to give Jesse what she wants, and maybe get all of them killed in the process? What she’s asking for is so risky that even a master Shadow would be wary of trying it, and Isaac isn’t that, not by a long stretch. And what if he did succeed in freeing the reapers from Shadowlord control? There was no guarantee they wouldn’t go after Jesse anyway. And probably Isaac too, because once they were free they’d be able to choose their own prey. For centuries they had suffered at the hands of the Shadows, and now there would be a Shadow standing right in front of them, the perfect vehicle for their vengeance. Hell, they might even go for him before they attacked Jesse.

  There’s only one thing he’s sure of in this whole mess, and that is that he doesn’t have the ritual knowledge or the strength of Gift that would be needed to fight off seven murderous wraiths.

  Ritual knowledge. That’s the key. His Gift is an innate power that even Virilian can’t strip from him, but Shadowlords use rituals to focus and intensify their Gift. Back home there’s a vast library full of such rituals, but the only ones Isaac ever learned were low level apprentice tricks. Definitely not the kind of thing he needs now.

  Could he develop something on his own? Abandon Shadowlord tradition entirely, and seek his inspiration elsewhere? The idea is daunting. To even attempt it he would need information about ritual practices outside the Guild, non-Shadow necromancy, and that’s not something apprentice Shadows are usually taught. Dr. Redwind probably has that kind of knowledge, but logic suggests that a woman who won’t even give you her real name is unlikely to share her mystical secrets with you. Then again, there may be some general knowledge she can share, not in the category of secrets, to suggest ritual elements that he can use.

  Whether he can come up with a combination of symbols and incantations, powerful enough to sever the ties of bondage imposed on the reapers by Shekarchiyandar, is another question entirely. But he has to try. Jesse is counting on him.

  Suddenly he hears a sound behind him. He turns to find the raven sitting on a rock several yards away, watching him. Its feathers are as white as polished ivory, its eyes as black as the starless night sky overhead. For an endless moment they just stare at each other.

  Finally Isaac says, “All those souls we saw.” His throat is so dry it’s hard to force words out. “Chained to their masters. Those were Dreamwalkers, weren’t they?”

  The raven says nothing.

  “You can hear them suffering whenever a Shadowlord is around. I thought they were normal wraiths, and that the sounds of misery that always surround the umbrae majae were normal. But they’re not, are they? Those are Gifted spirits who were enslaved, and because of Communion they can never break free. Each new Shadowlord claims the slaves of his predecessors.” His hands grip the rock by his side with painful intensity. “They’re the ones with the Gift. Not us. All those things that my father said I would experience after Communion—seeing the pathways between the worlds, hearing the music of the spheres—it’s the Dreamwalkers who were meant to see and hear those things. Not us.” He chokes out, “We stole their dreams.”

  The raven says nothing.

  “Jesse wants to save seven of them. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Maybe we can’t help all the rest, but at least we can save those seven. And then pray that once they’re free they won’t turn on us.” He laughs bitterly. “That’s assuming I can figure out now to negate a ritual performed by one of our most powerful Shadowlords. Hell, I don’t even know where to start.”

  The ground in front of him begins to stir. Startled, he backs away. Lines appear in the dirt, as if someone is etching them with a sharp stick. Letters are forming. Words. Sentences.

  Respect what was disdained.

  Return what was taken.

  Provide what was denied.

  He looks up to the raven again, but it’s gone. Overhead he sees a brief flash of white wings, but then those are swallowed by the night, leaving only stars. When he looks down at the earth again the words are gone; the ground is as smooth as if it had never been disturbed. But that’s all right. The lines that were once etched in dirt are now etched into his brain. Nothing short of death can erase them from his memory.

  Now all he needs to do is figure out what they mean.

  25

  BADLANDS

  TERRA PRIME

  JESSE

  WE GOT BACK to the canyon campsite in the late afternoon. I collapsed onto a patch of grass as soon as I dismounted, and swore I would never move again. Dr. Redwind fed and watered the horses, then gestured for Sebastian to join her in the wagon. By that time I felt recovered enough to get to my feet and head over to the bathing pool, meaning to dunk myself, clothes and all, in its cool, healing water. But I wound up just sitting on a rock by its edge instead, staring at my own reflection. The fact that it still looked like me was strangely disconcerting. With all that we’d been through, I felt like I should have changed somehow.

  Isaac came and sat beside me, and for a while we stared at the water together.

  “I do think I could destroy them,” he said. “That’s not to say it would be easy, but I understand the theory, and I could try.”

  Without looking up I said, “You know my answer to that.”

  “I know. I’m just checking to make sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “You’d really risk dying to save them?”

  I gestured toward my reflection in the water. “Mom once told me that any time you faced a moral dilemma you should ask yourself, if I do this, how will I feel when I look at myself in the mirror tomorrow? Will I like the person I see? Part of me is doing this for them. Part is doing it for me.”

  “Your mother sounds like an insightful woman.”

  I shrugged. “She’s honest, and decent, and does her best never to hurt anyone. Qualities that seem to be in short supply in this world.”

  He reached out and took my hand. “You have those things here, Jesse.”

  “Yeah.” I squeezed his hand. “I know.”

&
nbsp; “If that’s what you really want, I’ll try to free them.”

  I looked at him. “Do you think you can?”

  “In theory? Yes. In actual practice?” He stared out over the water again. “I’ll need a ritual to provide focus, but there’s nothing that says it has to be a Shadow ritual. I could come up with something completely different, on my own.”

  “Do you know how to do that?”

  He laughed. “Not a clue.”

  Despite myself I smiled. “Guesswork seems to be the theme of our expedition.”

  “I’m hoping Dr. Redwind will help me. I know she wants no part of Shadow necromancy—she’s made that clear enough—but she knows so much about spiritual symbology, maybe she can suggest some options. A ritual is just a collection of symbols and incantations used to focus the mind, but you have to choose the right combination of elements or the whole thing fails.”

  “Like weaving a web,” I mused. “Has to be perfect.”

  “I suppose.” His hand tightened around mine. “Jesse, you know, whatever happens tomorrow—”

  “Hey.” I pulled my hand away. “No final statements, okay? Don’t jinx this.”

  “Okay,” he murmured.

  I heard footsteps coming down the wagon stairs; the rhythm of the limp made it clear whose they were. Sebastian came over to where we were sitting and said, “She wants to see you, Isaac.”

  As Isaac headed off toward the wagon, Sebastian eased himself down beside me with a soft groan. “How’s he doing?”

  “Pretty well, considering how scared he is. He’s doing his best not to let it show.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Pretty much the same. And you? How’s the leg?”

  He stretched it out in front of him. The ankle of his boot was distended from all the bandages underneath it. “Still hurts like hell.”

  “Infected?”

  “No,” he said. A little too quickly. I looked at him suspiciously. “Jessica, there’s a hole in a part of my body that isn’t supposed to have a hole in it. It’s going to hurt for a while. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay,” I said, unconvinced.

  “I do have something I want to discuss with you privately.” He glanced meaningfully toward the wagon. “Serendipity seems to have provided us with the opportunity for it.”

  Curious, I shifted position so that I faced him, tucking my legs underneath me. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about what we know about your birth story. Some of it just doesn’t add up right. I’ve come up with a theory about why.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know that children on this world are tested by Seers soon after birth, to see if they have Gifted potential.”

  I nodded. “Isaac explained that to me when we first got here.”

  “We know you were born to a woman from Terra Prime, after which a Seer identified your Dreamwalker potential and communicated that to Morgana—who then hid you on Terra Colonna so the Shadows wouldn’t find you. Correct?”

  I nodded. “That’s the story as I understand it.”

  “But what reason would she have given for taking you from your birth family? She couldn’t declare you Gifted, because then the Greys wouldn’t accept you for a changeling swap. But if you weren’t Gifted, why would a Guildmaster take you from your home? And if a Seer realized you had Dreamwalker potential, why wouldn’t she turn you over to the Greys for destruction, as has been the practice for centuries? The risk of not doing so would be immense, if it were discovered later.”

  My eyes narrowed slightly. “So what are you thinking?”

  Glancing back at the wagon, he quieted his voice so that those inside wouldn’t hear him. “Your mother was probably a Seer, Jessica. And a high ranking one. No one else could have pulled it off.”

  “How high?”

  “Enough that only Morgana would know your secret.”

  It took me a moment to realize what he was suggesting. “Sebastian, please don’t tell me you’re saying what I think you are.”

  “It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

  “You think Alia Morgana is my birth mother?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “But . . . but . . . shit!”

  He raised a finger to his lips, warning me to keep my voice down.

  “No,” I said, more quietly this time. I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. “That’s just crazy.”

  But even as I protested, I had to admit that it would indeed explain a lot. Morgana could have assessed her own child without anyone asking questions. She could have sent it away without anyone knowing it was hers. And this would certainly explain her fixation on me. Oh, the Dreamwalker stuff was important to her, but her interest in my life clearly went beyond that. This would explain it all.

  “It could have been Miriam Seyer,” I offered, floundering for another viable option. “She’s in on all Morgana’s secrets. Morgana even used her to spy on me. So Miriam might have known what was going on.”

  “Jessica.” Was it my imagination, or was there a spark of amusement in his eyes? “Seyer is Morgana’s daughter.”

  For a moment I couldn’t find my voice. “You . . . you knew that? And didn’t tell me?”

  “You never asked me about Seyer. And honestly, it never seemed relevant. How would it have changed anything if the two were related?”

  “But they don’t look that different in age—” Halfway through the sentence I realized what I was saying. “Fleshcrafters?”

  “I would assume.” A corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “No one has ever accused Morgana of lacking vanity.”

  “Jesus.” My head was spinning. “That’s why she trusted Seyer with everything. They’re family.” And so what was I? Morgana’s child, or her grandchild? Did knowing my heritage mean I should hate the two of them less? More? It was all too much to process. My head was spinning.

  “At any rate,” he said quietly, “I thought you should know my suspicions before you contacted her. In case you ever decided to do that.”

  “Yeah” I muttered. “I appreciate it.” It might not be true, I reminded myself. He’s just guessing. We’re all just guessing. But at least I now knew it was a possibility, which meant that Morgana couldn’t use the information to surprise me. That was worth something, wasn’t it?

  Isaac spent a long time talking to Redwind in the wagon; I hoped it was a good omen. The light was beginning to fade when they finally emerged, and Redwind waved for us to join her at the campfire. She sat down on a boulder and for a moment just sat there, staring into the circle of ashes. We waited in respectful silence. Finally she looked up and said, “These spirits that you want to summon embody a corrupt and unclean power, and the kind of necromancy that created them is abhorrent to my people. Nonetheless, Isaac has asked permission to perform his ritual in the Badlands. My first instinct is to say no, out of concern for how the essence of this land might be affected by it. But he asked me for the protection of El Malo, saying that if you left the Badlands, it would be impossible to perform the ritual without your enemies finding you. I do believe this to be true. I also know that your ultimate intent is to perform an act of mercy, to save tormented spirits from suffering. Therefore I have agreed to allow it.

  “In the morning I’ll bring you to a suitable location and provide the supplies Isaac has asked for. Understand, neither I nor any other locals who might attend can help you against the reapers. I say this not because we are callous creatures who don’t care what happens to you, but because our primary duty is to protect this land. If we were to engage the reapers it would give them a spiritual connection to us, and through us, to the people we’re sworn to protect. So you must rise or fall in this on your own. Do you understand?”

  We all assured her that we did.

  “I can promis
e that if any of you die in this effort, I will do what I can to ease your spirits’ journey into the next world. Now . . .” she got up and brushed off her skirt, “I’m going to make some dinner, and then you should try to get a good night’s sleep. Your minds will need to be sharp tomorrow, as well as your reflexes.”

  “Might we speak for a moment?” I asked. “Privately?”

  She looked at me curiously, then nodded and gestured for me to follow her back to the wagon. Once inside, she turned to me and waited.

  “I have a favor to ask,” I said.

  A grey eyebrow lifted slightly. “You’ve been granted quite a few already.”

  I took a slip of paper out of my pocket and handed it to her. “This is contact information for my family on Terra Colonna. Sebastian promised that if anything happened to me he would get word to them, so at least they wouldn’t keep wondering if I was ever coming home . . .” I had to stop for a moment to compose myself. “With what we’re doing tomorrow—”

  “He might not be able to,” she said. “I understand.”

  “If that happens, please, would you send them a message? Just let them know what happened to me. They know about the reapers already. And the tower. They’ll understand whatever you tell them.” I took out the box that my mother had given me and offered it to her. “This should cover whatever the Greys charge you for delivery.”

  As she opened the box her eyes widened slightly. For a long moment she gazed at my mother’s rings in silence. Finally she said, “This isn’t necessary.”

  “Please. We’ve imposed on you so much already. At least let me cover the cost of what I’m asking.” After a moment I added, “My mother would want you to have them.”

  Lips tight, she nodded solemnly, closed the box, and put it aside. “I’ll hold it for you until your business with the reapers is done. And if that doesn’t go as planned, I’ll make sure your family is told something that will comfort them.”