Spellwright

With both hands, she threw up her remaining bar. Steel met steel with a deafening clang. She kicked down, slamming her heel into the thing’s knee. Any blood-and-bone joint would have snapped, but she felt the creature’s flesh give.

The thing collapsed with a whistling shriek, but she could tell that the kick had not done lasting damage.

Somehow the creature had known she had no magic or blade. Being made of clay, the monster faced no danger from blunt weapons no matter how powerfully wielded. Only if she could find the author’s true body could she kill the creature.

Wasting no time renewing her attack, Deirdre struggled to her feet and ran up the stairs.

“DEAD?” NICODEMUS SAID. “Magister, why would you be dead?”

“Follow me onto the Spindle Bridge,” Shannon said wearily. They walked side by side. The clicking of their boot heels on the bridge echoed loudly.

Far below them stretched the alpine forest; ahead, the sheer mountain face. As they went, Shannon related everything he knew about Nora Finn’s murder, his encounter with the inhuman murderer, Amadi’s suspicions, the counter-prophecy, and Eric’s and Adan’s deaths.

“Sweet heaven!” Nicodemus exclaimed, stopping. “Little Eric Everson with the long brown hair, he’s dead? Adan too?”

He hadn’t known either boy well, but their deaths still came as a shock.

“Magister! During my nap, I dreamt of a monster attacking a neophyte in the glen.” He described the pale monster and then the cavern filled with the strange turtles.

Shannon made no immediate reply. A gust of cold wind set Nicodemus’s robes flapping and his hair fluttering. They were halfway across the bridge.

At last Shannon spoke: “This new nightmare-when you were both yourself and the figure on the table-also sounds to be a form of quaternary thought. What do you know about the levels of cognition?”

“Only that humans have tertiary cognition,” Nicodemus answered. “And that constructs can have secondary or primary cognition, which are like tertiary but with restrictions on what they can think or want or remember.”

“And quaternary?” Shannon asked.

Nicodemus hesitated. “Are thoughts that are unthinkable without certain texts cast about one’s mind.”

“Quite right, but do you know what that means?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Nicodemus admitted with a laugh. “An unthinkable thought sounds like a silent noise or illuminating darkness.”

Shannon smiled. “But you’ve already thought unthinkable thoughts. In your nightmares, you thought as both yourself and as other creatures. That phenomenon, what we call shared consciousness, is the simplest form of quaternary cognition. At its most basic level, quaternary cognition involves thinking with at least two minds-one inside your head, another made of magical text.”

“So the murderer cast a spell on my sleeping mind that allowed me to think with that spell?”

“Yes, but perhaps it was not the murderer who cast it,” Shannon replied slowly. “Given what the villain told me, it’s likely he manipulated the dreams of Adan and Eric to lure them out of Starhaven’s walls. But your nightmares seem to warn rather than lure. The vision of the glen must have been a vision of poor Eric’s fate. The fiend wouldn’t want you to know how and where he’s attacking cacographers.”

“But then where are the dreams coming from?”

“We’ve no way of knowing,” Shannon said, scratching his beard. “But we might ask how the nightmares are related. You dreamed of the dragon attacking Trillinon and the murderer attacking Eric while both events were happening. Whoever or whatever is sending you these dreams wants you to know about these events. The dream-sender must want us to find a connection between them. Perhaps the murderer is connected to the dragon.”

“And what of the turtles underground?”

“That one is the strangest of all. Perhaps future dreams will reveal more.” Another gust of wind set the old man’s white dreadlocks swaying.

“But why send these dreams to me?” Nicodemus asked, his voice growing strained. “And Eric and Adan, what do their deaths…”

Shannon placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is horrifying, I know, but we’ve no time to panic or grieve. We have to think logically.”

The old man blew out a breath, his cheeks bulging. “We know the murderer seeks you so that you might replenish some artifact, an emerald. I’m unsure what he meant by ‘replenish,’ but I’m positive that he will attack the Drum Tower boys in an attempt to find you. We must protect you and the other cacographers. That’s why we’re here.”

“Magister, the druid spoke of a demon-worshiper being nearby. Perhaps we should consult her.”

“Not until we know more about her and the murderer.” The wizard grimaced. “And we know almost nothing for fact.”

Nicodemus blinked. “We know the murderer stole my ability to spell.”

“That is the druid’s explanation.”