Steven Brust - Athyra

He was very aware of his own breathing, of the sounds of the small, scurrying animals around him, of the light through his eyelids. He wished to remove himself from all of these things that were part of his world, so: Again, deeper. Deeper. Draw in and down.

Savn imagined his body sinking further through the dirt and the clay and the stone, and with each layer, he became more distant from himself, from Vlad, from the world he knew. He was aware of controlling his descent, and so he gave up the control, and drifted.

Falling through the ground to the spaces beneath, alone, spinning in place, seeing without eyes, walking without legs, coming to an emptiness where emotion is pale and translucent, and sensations are the fog through which thoughts are observed. He regarded himself, reflected in narrow seclusion, and realized that, in fact, he was not alone, had never been alone. His sister, his mother, his father. Master Wag—they slowly spun around him, looking away; his own gaze retreated and advanced, went past them all, past his friends, past the Easterner.

He created a vast forest to walk through—a forest the like of which he’d never seen, where the trees rubbed shoulders and their tall, thick branches created a roof. At his feet was a large silver goblet. He picked it up and carried it with him for a while, enjoying the coolness he imagined against his fingers. Or did he imagine it?

There was a break in the forest, a clearing, and tall grasses grew there. He was barefoot now, and he loved the way the grass felt between his toes. In the center of the clearing was a pond of clear water. He dipped his goblet into it, and drank. It was very cold, yet he knew that he could dive in and it would be as warm as a spring afternoon. He thought of doing so, but now was not the time. He walked on, and before him was a high stone wall. In the way of dreams, it had appeared before him with no warning, stretching out to the sides forever, and towering high above him. For a moment he quailed, as if it were a threat rather than an obstacle, but he thought, This is my dream, I can do as I will.

And so he took to the sky, like a jhereg, circling once, then up, past the wall and out over the chasm of the future, into which he could climb or jump, the choice arbitrary but full of significance.

Like a jhereg?

There was a jhereg there—no, two of them—flying about over and under him, saying, Isn’t it grand to fly to fly to fly? But now you must choose must choose must choose.

It annoyed him, to be told what he had to do by jhereg, so he refused to choose, but instead continued once he was over the wall, continued aloft, light as the air, warmed by the winds of chance, until the burden of his own power threatened to pull him down.

“I need wings,” he said to the emptiness below him.

“No,” said a voice which he did not recognize. “You are wings. You do not fly, you are flight.”

The surprise of hearing a voice where nothing could exist outside of his will was buffered by the words themselves—What did it mean to be flight? He was now wrapped in the dream fabric he had created, and in his confusion chasm and world disappeared, leaving him bodiless and nowhere, yet he scarcely noticed, for the sensation of flight never left, which, he realized suddenly, was the answer.

“I can go anywhere, then; do anything.”

“Yes.” The voice was quiet, and echoed oddly in what were not his ears, its age.and sex impossible to determine, and irrelevant.

“But this is only my dream. When I am awake, I can’t fly and there is only one path.”

“This place will always be here.”

“But it isn’t real.”

“Real? No. It is not. The trick is to find this place along the one path you think you have. Then, perhaps, you will find others.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“This is where Vlad lives, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you G’mon, the Lord of Dreams?”

The answer was accompanied by a laugh that reminded him of Polyi’s. “No.”

“Then who are you?”

“It does not matter.”

Below him, around him, there were points of light. He knew without trying that he could focus on any of them, and learn of it, and it would be as important as he chose to make it. How, then, to choose among them?

“What does matter?” he said.

“You matter, and he matters.”

“He? Vlad?”

“Yes.”

“I need his help.”

“Yes, you do. But he needs you more than you need him, you know.”

“I saved his life.”

“Yes. And he will need you again.”

“For what?”

“Be kind,” said the voice, trailing away in an impossible direction. He tried to follow, and rose up, up, up. The world he had built was gone, so he thought to build another as he rose. He was climbing now, and weaving in and out of thick strands that were the roots of the tree of the world. There was a strange sound, and it was a coolness on his face. The darkness had become light, yet he was unaware of the transition. Sensations grew, and seemed real: a stiffness in a shoulder, the fluttering of a bird, the smell of the trees and the brush.

He opened his eyes.

“You were far away,” said Vlad.

Savn stared. The Easterner still lay on his back, but his eyes were open. In his hand was the wax plug from the bottle, and the two leather sheaths that were still thrust through it.

“You’re awake,” said Savn.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?”

“Pleased to be alive, as well as surprised.”

“No,” said Vlad, “don’t tell me.” He looked at the odd device in his hand, inspecting the blood at the cut end of the sword sheath. “I think I’d rather not know how you did it.”

“All right.”

“But I owe you my life, and I won’t forget that. Where did you go?”

“I was, uh, I guess I was exploring.”

“How was your journey?”

“It was ... I don’t know. I’m not sure where I went.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I was alone, only then everyone was there, and I made a forest and walked through it, and then there was a wall, and I flew over it, and there was a voice....” He scowled. “I don’t think I can describe it.”

“That was sufficient,” said Vlad. “You went to visit your dreams.”

“Yes. I knew it was a dream, and I knew I was making it up.”

“Did you like your dream?”

“Yes,” said Savn, sitting up suddenly. “I did.”

“That’s a good sign, then. You should always like your own dreams.”

Savn didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, he wanted to talk about it, but on the other, it seemed too private. He waited for Vlad to ask him a question, but the Easterner just closed his eyes.

“I have some food,” said Savn.

“Not now,” said Vlad.

“Do you think you can move?”

“No.”

“Oh. I’d like to get you somewhere safer.”

“Then you know I’m in danger?”

“I saw the fight.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. It’s a little hazy. How did I do?”

“How did you—”

“Never mind. Perhaps it will come back to me.”

The two jhereg rose, took a couple of steps forward, and flew off. Savn tried to follow them with his eyes, but they soon became lost in the trees. A moment later, Vlad said, “There is no one around.”

“Still,” said Savn. “I’d like—”

“In a while. I’m feeling very weak, right now; I need to rest. You don’t have to stay, however. I’ll be fine.”

Savn grunted. Vlad started to say something else, but instead he closed his eyes again. Savn ate bread and cheese, then took a chance and carried the water jug to the nearest stream and filled it, which took over an hour. When he returned, Vlad was still sleeping, but presently his eyes snapped open and he said, “Is someone pounding nails into my side?”