Anne Bishop - Dreams Made Flesh

for Debra Dixon and Annemarie Jason

My thanks to Blair Boone for continuing to be my first reader, to Debra Dixon for being second reader, to Laura Anne Gilman for giving me the go-ahead to do these stories and to Anne Sowards for seeing the book through to completion, to Kandra for her continued patience in keeping up the Web site, and to Pat and Bill Feidner for the dinners and laughter and all the other things that make them special.

White

Yellow

Tiger Eye

Rose

Summer-sky

Purple Dusk

Opal*

Green

Sapphire

Red

Gray

Ebon-gray

Black

*Opal is the dividing line between lighter and darker Jewels because it can be either.

When making the Offering to the Darkness, a person can descend a maximum of three ranks from his/her Birthright Jewel.

Example: Birthright White could descend to Rose.

landen…non-Blood of any race

Blood male…a general term for all males of the Blood; also refers to any Blood male who doesn't wear Jewels

Warlord…a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch

Prince…a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or a Healer

Warlord Prince…a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; in status, slightly lower than a Queen

landen…non-Blood of any race

Blood female…a general term for all females of the Blood; mostly refers to any Blood female who doesn't wear Jewels witch…a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn't one of the other hierarchical levels; also refers to any Jeweled female

Healer…a witch who heals physical wounds and illnesses; equal in status to a Priestess and a Prince

Priestess…a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries and Dark Altars; witnesses handfasts and marriages; performs offerings; equal in status to a Healer and a Prince

Black Widow…a witch who heals the mind; weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions; is trained in illusions and poisons

Queen…a witch who rules the Blood; is considered to be the land's heart and the Blood's moral center; as such, she is the focal point of their society

Askavi

Black Valley…valley that is the Keep's territory

Blood Run

Ebon Askavi (aka the Black Mountain, the Keep)

Khaldharon Run

Dhemlan

SaDiablo Hall

Hayll

Draega…capital city

Zuulaman Islands

Arachna

Arceria

Askavi

Agio…Blood village in Ebon Rih

Blood Run

Doun…Blood village in Ebon Rih

Ebon Askavi (aka the Black Mountain, the Keep)

Ebon Rih…valley that is the Keep's territory

Khaldharon Run

Riada…Blood village in Ebon Rih

Dea al Mon

Dharo

Dhemlan

Amdarh…capital city

Halaway…village near SaDiablo Hall

SaDiablo Hall (the Hall)

Fyreborn Islands

Gloria

Nharkhava

Scelt (shelt)

Maghre (ma-gra)…village

Sceval (she-VAL)

Ebon Askavi (aka the Black Mountain, the Keep) SaDiablo Hall

The "Sc" in the names Scelt and Sceval is pronouced "Sh."

Her web shook with the violence of the storm. Above-World roared and flashed, turning dark-time to light-time. But there was something more, something different that trembled through the strands of silk. Something she'd never felt before.

Above World roared and flashed again. Then something screamed…a terrible shuddering in her web…and a piece of Above-World crashed into World, ripping, tearing, roaring, shrieking.

Dark Wet splashed her, splashed her web, at the same moment something struck the web near the center. Prey?

Hunger overcame hesitation. She hurried along the threads, intending to secure her meal before heading back to the safer, more sheltered edge of her web.

But the something was hard and had no meat. As she tried to sink her fangs into it, she ingested some of the Dark Wet, and that… filled her, flowed through her, sang inside her.

Changed her.

After cleaning off every bit of Dark Wet, she discarded the something and hurried back to the sheltered edge of her web to wait out the storm.

Light. And a hunger. For meat, yes. But also for something more.

Leaving her web, she traveled along the Rough that stretched out over World until she reached a place where the piece of Above-World had crashed into World. The Dark Wet still sang inside her, almost too quiet to feel, but it was enough to guide her to more of the Dark Wet.

Fixing an anchor thread to the Rough, she spun out silk. The World trembled with anger. The air quivered with grief and despair… and longing.

Her legs touched the piece of Above-World. Hard, like the something that had struck her web. Moving cautiously, she found a place where the Hard was torn away, revealing meat…and the Dark Wet.

After consuming as much of the Dark Wet as she could, she sank her fangs into meat and pumped her venom into the spot. It would only liquefy a tiny bit of meat, but that tiny bit would feed her well.

So she spun a web as close as she could to the meat…and the Dark Wet that seeped over the meat.

In dreams, she unfurled her wings and sailed through the Darkness—a vastness that was outside the body, and yet the body became its vessel; a power reached by heart and mind and spirit. Through it flowed the whispers of creation… and the silence of destruction. Her race had spiraled down its chasms and canyons and strange abysses for years beyond memory—and had understood that they would never understand this place that was, and wasn't, a place.

In dreams, the vision of webs shining in the Darkness hadn't dazzled and overwhelmed her mind, hadn't blinded her to the danger of the storm, and she had reached the caves on this island that she had chosen as her final resting place. But the wounds received because of the storm were fatal, and the caves were too far away.

No. Not quite true. She could have used her power to shift her broken body to the caves, but she felt a small tug, a small promise that her unique gift would not be lost if she remained where she was.

So in a dream that was more than a dream, she sent her last vision to her mother, Draca, showing her Queen how the new caretakers of the world would be able to travel safely through the Darkness: shimmering, colored webs of power stretched through that vastness … pathways that could be reached from the Realms.

She could not say why the beautiful symmetry of the web resonated so strongly inside her, but the image didn't fade from her mind, despite the agony that clawed at her flesh. Nor could she say why, as she drifted between visions and dreams, she felt certain there was something nearby, something small and golden, that would be able to hold her particular gift.

She would have enough time. Just enough time. If this potential Weaver wanted what she had to give.