Bridge of Dreams (3 page)

“I’m sorry, Glorianna,” he said.

“So am I.”

As he walked away from his sister and her dark landscapes, he heard her say, “Ephemera, hear me.”

He wasn’t sure who had summoned the world—the Guide who belonged to the Light or the monster who ruled the Dark.

Setting her feet on the bench, Glorianna dropped her forehead to her knees and trembled with the effort not to give Ephemera a command as the world’s currents of Dark and Light swirled around her, waiting to resonate with whatever her heart wanted.

Unfortunately, when she wasn’t vigilant, she craved the undiluted power she had wielded in the dark landscape she had made for the Eater of the World. She wasn’t supposed to leave that landscape. The Warrior of Light must drink from the Dark Cup and cast out the Light from her own heart. Once she had done that, she became the greatest danger to the people around her.

But Michael, Sebastian, and Ephemera had found a way to reach her, made her remember who she had been, and hearing the music in Michael’s heart, she had used the access point Ephemera had created and taken the step between here and there.

And in taking that step, she had taken back the Light she had cast out of her heart. But she wasn’t whole. She wasn’t Glorianna Belladonna anymore. She was Glorianna and she was Belladonna. Separate. Opposite. Much like her dark landscapes and Sanctuary. The problem was that the middle ground was missing inside her, and she didn’t know how to fix that. Didn’t know if anyone could fix that.

Now she had this mysterious landscape that wasn’t yet hers. She
thought
its resonance might be enough for her to cross over and find out what the place was—and where it was. Only it didn’t feel like a dark landscape, despite Ephemera thinking it should connect with the Den, and it didn’t feel like a landscape that belonged to the Light.

And she wasn’t sure if that piece of the world called to Glorianna or to Belladonna.

Something rippled through Ephemera’s currents of power. Then it washed through her. Both parts of her.

“Maybe it’s not the landscape that’s calling to me,” she whispered as she raised her head to study the triangle of grass.

Someone from that landscape wanted something so much, a heart wish had gone out through the currents of power—and had found her because she wasn’t just a powerful Landscaper; she was also a Guide of the Heart.

Glorianna swung her feet off the bench, then lifted them again, startled by the gravel suddenly moving between her feet. A moment later, a pocket watch poked partway out of the gravel.

Oh, that can’t be good
, she thought as she reached for the watch with the same enthusiasm a person feels when picking up a mouse the family cat left as a gift.

Before she could touch it, the watch wiggled back under the gravel.

She stared at the gravel, then at the triangle of grass. “It’s not time for me to go there?”

yes yes yes

At least she understood Ephemera’s message.

And she thought it best not to ask her lover where—and how—the wild child had acquired the watch.

Then she heard the music. Michael, tending to the garden he had made within her garden by playing his tin whistle. He heard the song of a place and kept his pieces of the world balanced with tunes—along with the ill-wishing and luck-bringing that were the ways a Magician’s power connected with the world.

Giving the triangle of grass a last, thoughtful look, she followed the sound of the whistle until she reached Michael’s garden.

He finished the tune and gave her a sheepish smile.

“So what have you and the wild child been up to today?” she asked.

“That depends,” he replied. “How do you feel about diamonds and emeralds?”

yes yes yes

Knowing better than to answer when Ephemera was so eager to please, she said, “Play another tune, Magician.”

“Lee.”

Swearing silently, Lee turned to wait for the man striding from Sanctuary’s guesthouse. If he hadn’t stopped for some food to add to his pack, he could have slipped away from Sanctuary like he had slipped away from the Island in the Mist after he left Glorianna’s garden.

“Honorable Yoshani,” he said. “Have you come to argue with me too?”

“Who have you argued with today?” Yoshani asked.

Lee saw nothing but compassion in the holy man’s dark eyes. “Michael. Sebastian. Glorianna.” He looked away, not wanting to meet Yoshani’s eyes. “You all think I’m wrong, that I should accept she will never be the same, and that I should make some kind of peace with Michael because I’m Glorianna’s brother and he’s as close to being her husband as a man can get without the formal vows.”

“He would speak those vows without hesitation. It is Glorianna Dark and Wise who is not ready to take that step.” Yoshani hesitated. “You have not asked for my advice, but as we are standing in Sanctuary, I will offer it anyway. There is much hurt and anger in your heart. It clouds your ability to see the people around you for who and what they are now. Perhaps you need this, but a man who does the work you do cannot afford to hold that much hurt and anger in his heart. People change, Lee. And the world changes. You know this better than most. Don’t let these dark feelings change you so much that you can’t find your way home again.”

“I’ll always be able to get back home,” Lee said, his voice turning sharp as a way to defy the odd shiver produced by Yoshani’s words.

“Will you?” Yoshani asked gently. “If you refuse to see the Landscaper, will you be able to find her landscapes?”

Lee took a couple of steps away from Yoshani. “I have to go.”

“Do your friends and family a kindness. Every two days, return to Sanctuary and let us know you are well. There are still wizards and some Dark Guides hiding in the landscapes beyond your mother’s and sister’s control. And the Bridges who survived the Eater’s attack haven’t stopped creating bridges for people who need to leave where they are.”

Which was why he needed to patrol and stay vigilant. But he couldn’t deny that Yoshani’s suggestion was prudent.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll use my island to reach Glorianna’s and Mother’s landscapes so I’m not spending a lot of time on the roads alone. And every second day I’ll return here and give you or Brighid my itinerary for the next bit of journeying.”

“Fair enough.” Yoshani smiled. “Travel lightly, Lee.”

Giving the man a terse nod, Lee walked to the stream and the small island that sat in the middle of it. His own personal landscape, it existed on the bridge of his will when he imposed it over other landscapes. Because of that, Sanctuary—and safety—was never more than a step away.

Nimbly walking across the stepping stones, he jumped to the island and staggered, off balance.

Had
there been a moment when the island hadn’t been under his feet? But he was in Sanctuary, where the island actually existed. How was it possible for it
not
to be there?

Lee went to the center of the island and left his pack near the fountain—a bowl of black stone with a hollowed-out piece of cane that drew fresh water from the stream. He carefully inspected every section of the island to be certain nothing about it had changed. Then he shifted it to a landscape held by his mother.

Let your heart travel lightly. Because what you bring with you becomes part of the landscape.

Heart’s Blessing was one of the first things he had learned, but this was the first time in his twenty-nine years that the words made him uneasy.

D
anyal felt his heart lift as he looked at the two females who were now the center of his nephew Kanzi’s life. Four years ago, he had nudged Nalah toward this community of artists and artisans, hoping she was the one who could fill the empty place in Kanzi’s life.

She had done more than fill it. That empty place in his nephew now overflowed with energy and joy.

Holding his hands heart-high, Danyal pressed his palms together and spoke the blessing for newborns. “May she give you a hundred tears and a thousand moments of joy.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Kanzi said.

“Have you decided on a name?” he asked.

“Nali,” Kanzi said at the same moment Nalah said, “Ephyra.”

Danyal laughed. “Ah, well. You have a little time yet before the Naming Day to decide.”

“We’ve already decided,” Kanzi said.

Nalah followed those words with, “We just don’t agree.” Then she smiled at Danyal. “What about you, Uncle? Wouldn’t you like one of your
own? Or perhaps just a wife, someone to be companion and partner? I have some friends who…”

Startled, he rocked back, which made her laugh, and that laughter helped him hide the ache produced by the truth in her words. He
would
like to have a partner, to
be
a partner. But Shamans weren’t ordinary people. While he’d enjoyed being a lover whenever time and circumstance allowed, he hadn’t yet met a woman who was comfortable for long with the way he saw the world—or saw the core of people’s hearts. And lately he’d begun to wonder when he’d stopped associating the words “companion” and “partner” with sex.

He’d been wondering about too many things lately.

“No response, Uncle?” Nalah asked, her voice still full of teasing laughter that also held love.

“Nalah,”
Kanzi said, looking flustered.

“Be easy, Nephew,” Danyal said. “I won’t admit to playing matchmaker where the two of you are concerned, but I’ll allow that I deserved that tease.” He playfully shook a finger at Nalah. “But only once.”

“Only once,” she agreed.

“Why don’t I slice some fruit for all of us?” He retreated into the airy kitchen, wanting solitude. He barely had the sense of being alone before his nephew joined him.

“Nalah meant no harm,” Kanzi said.

“And no harm was given,” Danyal replied quietly as he selected the ripest fruit from the bowl on the table. “Would you loan me your daypack, Nephew?”

“Of course, but…You’re not staying?”

“My mind needs to think, and my feet need to walk. Your house will be crowded tomorrow.”
And having a Shaman here will make your other guests uneasy about being themselves
, he finished silently.

But Kanzi heard what wasn’t spoken. “You’re always welcome in my house, Uncle. You know that, don’t you?”

Danyal smiled as he sliced the fruit and arranged it on a plate. “I know. Being here with the three of you is cool water on parched land, but I would like a day of solitude in the village where I grew up, a day to listen to the
land.” He put a small bowl in the center of the dish holding the sliced fruit and began cracking nuts.

“Then you’ll have your solitary day.” Kanzi hesitated. “I’m glad you’re here. Nalah is too.”

The words were said too heartily to hide the worry. A forty-one-year-old Shaman might take a season’s rest after a demanding assignment, but he didn’t take a year’s leave without a serious reason.

“I am glad to be here.” Danyal picked up the dish of fruit and nuts, a clear signal that the conversation had ended. “Let’s return to the other room and admire your daughter.”

The next morning, Danyal slipped out of Kanzi’s house at first light. The daypack held a slender, stoppered jug of water and a rolled flatbread filled with a mixture of dates, chopped nuts, and sweet cheese. It also held his box of pencils and the sheets of paper he used for quick sketches.

Today that was all he needed.

He walked the familiar streets, relieved so few people were up yet. He’d grown up here, and he still loved the feel of the land in this part of Vision. But he’d known early on that he wasn’t like the rest of the people in this community, wasn’t like his parents or older sister, wasn’t even like the young men and women who were called to the village temples and a spiritual life. He was a Shaman, a voice of the world. Someone who wasn’t quite human—or was a bit more than human. Someone
different
because of something that emerged in particular bloodlines every generation or so.

It was considered a blessing to have a Shaman in the family, but blessings were often mixed, and many people felt such a relation was best enjoyed at a distance.

Don’t fill your pockets with sorrows
, he scolded himself.

After taking a long drink of water, he changed direction to refill the jug at the market well. People were up and about now, opening their booths and setting up their merchandise. Soon the market would be packed with people.

As he walked to the well, he was aware of the bold, assessing looks some of the women gave him—until they looked at his face, at his eyes. Then they turned away, their faces filled with shame and fear, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

What a body wants isn’t always what the heart needs
, his mentor Farzeen had said once.
Even among Shamans, your eyes are unusual. When a woman can tell you the color of your eyes, you’ll know she sees the man and not just your bond to the world.

“Something I can do for you, Shaman?”

The man’s voice was hearty, but his brown eyes held worry.

Danyal suppressed a sigh. A Shaman put aside his name when he put on the white robes. But he wasn’t wearing the white robes today, wasn’t working as a voice of the world. That didn’t matter to most people, even to a man he’d gone to school with as a boy.

“I’m just refilling my water jug,” Danyal said.

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

He didn’t need a hand, but he let the man haul up the well’s bucket and pour the cool water into the jug.