The images flashed before Nita’s mind again: Carmela shaking with terror, stammering with fear of something that was about to happen. Kit, looking for her, finding her, and then suddenly and terribly falling down into darkness. And Nita shivered all over, because this was so peculiar. A dream within a dream . . . When the levels nest this deep, how will you know when you wake up? How will you know the difference between the vision and reality? And what happens when you can’t tell anymore? What are you then? There’s a word for that, and it’s not “visionary” . . .
“Yes,” said the Lone One. “Such a common problem for people with a specialty like yours. They lose their way. They get overconfident, and go wandering off among the paths of vision one time too many, and after that they never come out.” It wore an amused smile that was a parody of expressions Nita had seen Roshaun wear.
“I wouldn’t say that overconfidence is the problem here,” Nita muttered.
“Well, no,” the Lone One said, “because you do keep changing specialties, don’t you? Can’t seem to make up your mind. Try one thing . . . can’t make it work . . . try something else. You seem unable to settle.”
“Can this not be about me for the time being?” Nita said. “I’m trying hard to be useful to somebody else here.”
“Yet the visionary who fails to include herself as a point of reference in her vision can’t possibly see clearly or effectively,” the Lone Power said. “There is no seeing without the one who sees. And if the medium through which one sees is clouded, all the visions will be clouded, too. If the medium’s left clouded on purpose, the question then becomes what good you’re going to be to anybody.”
That had the sound of something that Tom or Carl might have said, and for some reason that annoyed Nita even more. “You know,” she said, “nobody with a brain would trust anything you say. You’re all about the lies. The smartest thing might be to do the opposite of everything you’re saying. And to assume that this is all some attempt to lead me off into the wrong direction.”
The Lone Power in Roshaun’s shape actually rolled Its eyes at Nita. This, too, was an expression she’d seen on the original, frequently when the royalty in question had a lollipop stick hanging out of his face. “The reverse psychology argument?” It said. “Truly, I thought better of you. You’re the one eager to throw it into my face that I’ve been given a chance to change. If you’re not willing to at least entertain the possibility that I might honestly be trying to be of assistance to you, then what’s been the point of this whole exercise? You’re the one keeping me stuck in the old role. And if you won’t avail yourself of available help, then I can’t be blamed. I did my best . . .”
It didn’t sound wistful; It didn’t sound smug. It sounded blasé. And something about that tone caught Nita’s attention. She wasn’t about to give up being alert for her old enemy’s trickery, but she did have to give It a chance.
“Okay,” she said, doing her best to sound as blasé as It had. “What have you got for me?”
They walked along again quietly for a few steps. Then, in an altered tone, as if suddenly dealing with an entirely different subject, the Lone One said, “What’s the old saying—that every wizard is the answer to a problem? And that every intervention, every wizardry, solves not only its own problem but others that you may never even know about?”
“‘All is done for each,’” Nita said. She hadn’t quite known what to make of that concept the first time that Tom mentioned it to her. Later, the more she’d thought about it, the more it had unsettled her, even as she came to understand that it was a simple expression of a quantum reality: that all events in the universe, at least theoretically, were interconnected on levels that beings functioning only in three or four or five dimensions were ill-equipped to grasp.
“Sheer laziness, that’s all it is,” said the being walking beside her. It was a growl of pure irritation. “The One may try to pretend that It simply hates wasted motion, but It’s not fooling anyone. All this finagling around with the structure of reality to have everybody possible be happy when they don’t even particularly deserve to be—”
Nita cleared her throat. “Less bitching, please?” she said.
The Power that invented death stopped in mid-stride and looked at Nita out of Roshaun’s eyes with the strangest expression of appreciation. “You have no idea,” it said, “how disappointing it is that you chose the side you did to work on. We could’ve been so good together.”
This struck Nita as some of the most backhanded flattery she’d ever received. At least until Penn came along . . .“I know this is a dream, but try to focus, okay?”
It heaved a sigh and started walking again. “Right. Problem solving. There probably ought to be some irony in the concept that while you’re being the solution to someone else’s problem, they’re being the solution to yours.”
“As long as the problems get solved,” Nita said, “I can cope with that.”
“Actually, no, you can’t. And that’s where I get my fun. So very often, humans who’re wizards and humans who aren’t get so intent on having the solution come out their way that they mess up what the other side is doing, and nobody gets what they want.” It smiled a lazy smile at her.
“So you’re telling me that’s something that might start happening . . .”
“Oh no. I’m telling you that it’s something that’s happening right now.”
Nita frowned. “And of course you’re not going to tell me exactly how this is happening.”
“Where would be the fun in that? For either of us.” It smiled more broadly. “Besides, you like to think of yourself as a smart person. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
“But ideally,” Nita said, “not before I screw it up.”
The Lone One bowed Its head to her to indicate she’d got that right.
Nita took a deep breath and let it out again. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for that.”
The being walking beside her in Roshaun’s body threw Nita a rather testy look. “You know,” it said, “you’re a lot more fun when you’re less controlled.”
“It’s funny you should say that,” Nita said. “Because normally when we’re playing the game, you and I, and I lose my temper, things don’t always go real well for you.”
“Yes, well,” the Lone One said, “at least there’s someone to play the game with. Nonwizards don’t even know they’re playing, half the time. And wizards . . .” It shrugged. “Even they forget. They get into their day-to-day practice and the minutiae of problem solving—do a spell to move this piece here or that piece there—and they stop bothering to look up, across the board, and remember who they’re playing with.”
And that time it was Nita who stopped walking. She stood still, and looked down at the dusty, rocky ground; and for that moment didn’t need to glance up to see the butterscotch sky. Mars, she thought, on one level; how did we wind up here? But there was something else going on, something she hadn’t been meant to hear, or to understand, about the one who walked in the shape beside her. A long time ago . . . Nita thought. Who did you think wasn’t noticing you enough when you made things, did things? When did you start getting the idea that Somebody thought others were more important than you? And so you did something that would get everyone’s attention once and for all . . .