When he woke just as the sky began to lighten with dawn, he missed the sound of the jungissa, so distracted was he by his own misery. The urge to sleep again seemed so natural, dark and early as it was, that he did not fight it. Perhaps if he slept again, his dreams would be more peaceful.
"Gatherer!"
Perhaps if he slept again...
A foot kicked Cet hard in his side. He cried out and rolled to a crouch, disoriented. Ginnem sat nearby, his hands raised in that defensive gesture again, his face tight with concentration. Only then did Cet notice the high, discordant whine of the narcomancer's jungissa, startlingly loud and nearby.
"The window," Ginnem gritted through his teeth. The narcomancer was right outside the house.
There was a sudden scramble of footsteps outside. The window was too small for egress, so Cet ran through the house, bursting out of the front door just as a fleet shadow ran past. In that same instant Cet passed beyond range of Ginnem's protective magic, and stumbled as the urge to sleep came down heavy as stones. Lifting his legs was like running through mud; he groaned in near pain from the effort. He was dreaming awake when he reached for his own jungissa. But he was a Gatherer and dreams were his domain, so he willed his dream-self to strike the ornament against the doorsill, and it was his waking hand that obeyed.
The pure reverberation of the dragonfly jungissa cleared the lethargy from his mind, and his own heart supplied the righteous fury to replace it. Shaping that fury into a lance of vibration and power, Cet sent it at the fleeing figure's back with all the imperative he could muster. The figure stumbled, and in that instant Cet caught hold of the narcomancer's soul.
There was no resistance as Cet dragged him into dream; whatever training the brigands' narcomancer had, it went no further than sleep-spells. So they fell, blurring through the land of dreams until their shared minds snagged on a commonality. The Temple appeared around them as a skewed, too-large version of the Hall of Blessings, with a monstrous statue of the Dream Goddess looming over all. The narcomancer cried out and fell to his knees at the sight of the statue, and Cet took the measure of his enemy at last.
He was surprised to see how young the man was — twenty at the most, thin and ragged with hair in a half-matted mix of braids and knots. Even in the dream he stank of months unwashed. But despite the filth, it was the narcomancer's awe of the statue which revealed the truth.
"You were raised in the Temple," Cet said.
The narcomancer crossed his arms over his breast and bent his head to the statue. "Yes, yes."
"You were trained?"
"No. But I saw how the magic was done."
And he had taught himself, just from that? But the rest of the youth's tale was easy enough to guess. The Temple raised orphans and other promising youngsters in its House of Children. At the age of twelve those children chose whether to pursue one of the paths to service, or leave for a life among the laity. Most of the latter did well, for the Temple found apprenticeships or other vocations for them, but there were always a few who suffered from mistakes or misfortune and ended badly.
"Why?" Cet asked. "You were raised to serve peace. How could you turn your back on the Goddess' ways?"
"The brigands," whispered the youth. "They stole me from my farm, used me, beat me. I, I tried to run away. They caught me, but not before I'd found the holy stone, taken a piece for myself. They said I wasn't worthy to be one of them. I showed them, showed them. I showed them I could make the stone work. I didn't want to hurt anyone but it had been so long! So long. It felt so good to be strong again."
Cet cupped his hands around the young man's face. "And look what you have become. Are you proud?"
"...No."
"Where did you find the jungissa?"
The dreamscape blurred in response to the youth's desire. Cet allowed this, admiring the magic in spite of himself. The boy was no true narcomancer, not half-trained and half-mad as he was, but what a Gatherer he could have been! The dream re-formed into an encampment among the hills: the brigands, settled in for the night, eighteen or twenty snoring lumps that had caused so much suffering. Through the shared underpinnings of the dream Cet understood at once where to find them. Then the dream flew over the hills to a rocky basin. On its upper cliff-face was an outcropping shaped like a bird of prey's beak. In a black-burned scar beneath this lay a small, pitted lump of stone.
"Thank you," Cet said. Taking control of the dream, he carried them from the hills to a greener dreamscape. They stood near the delta of a great river, beyond which lay an endless sea. The sky stretched overhead in shades of blue, some lapis and some as deep as Namsut's mourning gown. In the distance a small town shone like a gemstone amid the carpet of green. Cet imagined it full of people who would welcome the youth when they met him.
"Your soul will find peace here," Cet said.
The youth stared out over the dreamscape, lifting a hand as if the beauty hurt his eyes. When he looked at Cet he was weeping. "Must I die now?"
Cet nodded, and after a moment the youth sighed.
"I never meant to hurt anyone," he said. "I just wanted to be free."
"I understand," Cet said. "But your freedom came at the cost of others' suffering. That is corruption, unacceptable under the Goddess' law."
The narcomancer bowed his head. "I know. I'm sorry."
Cet smiled and passed a hand over the youth's head. The grime and reek vanished, his appearance becoming wholesome at last. "Then She will welcome your return to the path of peace."
"Thank you," said the youth.
"Thank Her," Cet replied. He withdrew from the dream then, severing the tether and collecting the dreamblood. Back in waking, the boy's body released one last breath and went still. As shouts rang out around the village, Cet knelt beside the body and arranged its limbs for dignity.
Ginnem and one of the Sentinels ran up. "Is it done?" the Sentinel asked.
"It is," Cet said. He lifted the jungissa stone he'd taken from the boy's hand. It was a heavy, irregular lump, its surface jagged and cracked. Amazing the thing had worked at all.
"And are you well?" That was Ginnem. Cet looked at the Sister and understood then that the question had nothing to do with Cet's physical health.
So Cet smiled to let Ginnem see the truth. "I am very well, Sister Ginnem."
Ginnem blinked in surprise, but nodded.
More of the villagers arrived. One of them was Namsut, breathless, with a knife in one hand. Cet admired her for a moment, then bowed his head to the Goddess' will.
"Everything for Her peace," he said.
The Sentinels went into the hills with some of the armed village men, after Cet told them where the brigands could be found. He also told the villagefolk where they could find the parent-stone of the narcomancer's jungissa.
"A basin marked by a bird's beak. I know the place," said Mehepi with a frown. "We'll go destroy the thing."
"No," Namsut said. Mehepi glared at her, but Namsut met her eyes. "We must fetch it back here. That kind of power is always valuable to someone, somewhere."
Cet nodded. "The Temple would indeed pay well for the stone and any pieces of it."
This set the villagers a-murmur, their voices full of wonder and, for the first time since Cet had met them, hope. He left them to their speculations and returned to the guestroom of the headman's house, where he settled himself against a wall and gazed through the window at passing clouds. Presently, as he had known she would, Namsut came to find him.
"Thank you," she said. "You have saved us in more ways than one."
He smiled. "I am only Her servant."
She hesitated and then said, "I...I should not have asked you for what I did. It seemed a simple matter to me, but I see how it troubles you."