Dreams Made Flesh

Anne Bishop

Praise

Dreams Made Flesh

“Exciting, entertaining, and exotic tales.”*

Featuring . . .

“Weaver of Dreams”
“[Full of] sensual richness.”**

The magic of the darkness is passed from one race to
another as new caretakers for the realms are chosen,
in this tale of the origin of the Jewels of Power. . . .

“The Prince of Ebon Rih”
“Absolutely riveting romantic fantasy.”*

Against the wishes of his aristocratic mother,
Eyrien Warlord Prince Lucivar Yaslana struggles with his
feelings for his housekeeper, the hearth witch Marian. . . .

“Zuulaman”
“A great character study.”*

The Queens of Zuulaman believe they can coerce Saetan into
doing their bidding by threatening the life of his child—only
to unleash the High Lord of Hell’s incalculable fury. . . .

“Kaeleer’s Heart”
“Beautiful.”*

Daemon fears Jaenelle will never recover from sacrificing
her Black Jewels to purge the realm of the corrupt Queens.
He desires nothing more than to heal her, body and
soul—and help her unravel the secret of Twilight’s Dawn,
the Jewel Jaenelle now possesses. . . .

*Midwest Book Review
**Library Journal

continued . . .

Praise for The Black Jewels Trilogy

“A terrific writer. . . . The more I read, the more excited I became because of the freshness of [her] take on the usual high fantasy setting, the assurance of [her] language, all the lovely touches of characterization that [she slips] in so effortlessly.”

—Charles de Lint

“Rich and fascinatingly different dark fantasy, a series definitely worth checking out.”—Locus

“A darkly fascinating world. ... Vivid and sympathetic characters, a fascinating and fully-realized magical system, lavish and sensuous descriptions, and interesting world building. . . . Many compelling and beautifully realized elements. A terrific read.”

—SF Site

“Lavishly sensual . . . a richly detailed world.”

—Library Journal

“Vividly painted . . . dramatic, erotic, hope-filled.”

—Lynn Flewelling

“Intense . . . erotic, violent, and imaginative. This one is white-hot.” —Nancy Kress

“Mystical, sensual, glittering with dark magic.”

—Terri Windling, coeditor of Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror

“Dark, intricate, and disturbing.”

—Josepha Sherman, author of Forging the Runes

“A high voltage ride through a new realm. Bishop draws her characters with acute emotion [and] leaves the reader lusting for her next novel.”

—Lois H. Gresh, coauthor of The Termination Node

“[Anne Bishop’s] poignant storytelling skills are surpassed only by her flair for the dramatic and her deft characterization . . . a talented author.”—Affaire de Coeur

“Daemon, Lucivar, and Saetan ooze more sex appeal than any three fictional characters created in a very long time . . . a fascinating world consisting of three realms peopled with interesting and nearly always dangerous characters.”

—The Romance Reader

“When I first read Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop, I was blown away by the vividness of her writing. Dark, morbid, sinister, and yet it holds you completely fascinated and spell-bound by its beauty. . . . One of the most original and readable books in the fantasy genre.”—The 11th Hour

“Has immense appeal for fans of dark fantasy or horror. Most highly recommended.”—Hypatia’s Hoard

Praise for The Invisible Ring

“Plenty of adventure.”—Locus

“[An] entertaining otherworlds fantasy adventure with battles and dangers and chases.”—Chronicle

“Plenty of adventure, romance, dazzling wizardly pyrotechnics and internal workings of Bishop’s unique and fascinating hierarchical magic system. The plot strands’ convergence is skillfully handled, building tension and suspense right up to the end. . . . Bishop’s world is rich in strongly dark elements balanced by a firm belief in ideals like loyalty and love.”

—SF Site

“Anne Bishop has an awesome knack for characterization, used to great effect in this novel. It’s a bittersweet story, and you’ll love every word of it. Readers of fantasy and romance will love this book, and of course it’s a must-have for Bishop fans. Most highly recommended.”—Hypatia’s Hoard

ALSO BY ANNE BISHOP

The Ephemera Series
Sebastian

The Black Jewels Series
Daughter of the Blood
Heir to the Shadows
Queen of the Darkness
The Invisible Ring

The Tir Alainn Trilogy
Pillars of the World
Shadows and Light
The House of Gaian

Title Page

Copyright Page

ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,
Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin
Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a Roc trade paperback edition.
First Roc Mass Market Printing, February 2006

eISBN : 978-1-101-04368-4

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

for
Debra Dixon
and
Annemarie Jason

Acknowledgements

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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.

JEWELS

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.

BLOOD HIERARCHY/CASTES

MALES:

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

FEMALES:

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

PLACES IN THE REALMS MENTIONED IN THESE STORIES

TERREILLE

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

KAELEER (THE SHADOW REALM)

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
Glacia
Nharkhava
Scelt (shelt)
Maghre (ma-gra)—village
Sceval (she-VAL)

HELL (THE DARK REALM, THE REALM OF THE DEAD)

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

AUTHOR’S NOTE
The “Sc” in the names Scelt and Sceval is pronouced “Sh.”

WEAVER OF DREAMS - Long, long ago . . .

WEAVER OF DREAMS

Long, long ago . . .

Chapter 1

Her web shook with the violence of the storm. AboveWorld 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.

AboveWorld roared and flashed again. Then something screamed—a terrible shuddering in her web—and a piece of AboveWorld 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.

Chapter 2

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 AboveWorld 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 AboveWorld. 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.

Chapter 3

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.

Chapter 4

Light-time ... day. Dark-time ... night. AboveWorld ... sky. Rough . . . tree. Hard . . . scale. Dark Wet . . . blood. Meat . . .

Sorrow. Pain. Longing. Need. Hope.

... dragon.

She . . . spider. Small. Golden.

Momentarily distracted by the strange thoughts, the spider returned to her housekeeping, rolled up the tattered remains of her old web, along with the discarded prey, then spun a fresh web. She did not spin in order to catch prey. She spun to keep other things away from the flesh that not only fed her body but sang to her about things she had never known existed. The World kept shifting as she absorbed the Weaver, showing her new things in the familiar.

Showing her ancient things in the familiar.

Showing her a Need for Weavers who could spin dreams into shapes that could walk in the World, for Weavers who could spin dreams into flesh.

She did not understand this Need, but it flavored the flesh her venom liquefied for her to ingest. So at night, when she was safely tucked beneath the scales in the hollow created by her feedings, she drifted on the tangled, silken threads of the dragon’s longings and dreams—and began to learn how to weave a different kind of web.

Chapter 5

Perhaps the other Seers were right. Perhaps her particular gift was too dangerous to give to the new caretakers of the Realms. Perhaps there was no other race that could, or should, take the deepest heart-dreams and provide a bridge for those dreams to become flesh.

But those dreams would be needed in the world. She knew that with unshakable certainty. They would be needed—and it was unlikely even the simplest of those dreams would ever exist because she hadn’t reached the caves as she’d intended. She wouldn’t make the same transition as the rest of her race, transforming her scales into Jewels that would serve as a reservoir for the power the new caretakers could not contain in their smaller, weaker bodies. The Jewels that came from her should have been the vessels that contained her gift and would have changed the wearer into a Seer that could shape dreams into flesh. Now . . .

Did her mother know she was trapped on this island, exposed and dying? Did her sire, the great Prince of the Dragons, sense her fading presence in the world? Would they feel disappointment in her that, during moments of despair and heartache and hope, she was trying to pass her gift to a small, golden spider?

She should have stayed in the dark mountain that was the lair of the Prince and the Queen. She should have curled up in one of the deep hollows within that mountain and followed the rest of her race into the forever sleep. Instead she had followed a vision of a cave filled with dreams—a vision that would never come to pass.

Soon now. Soon. Her body was failing. Her power was fading. Soon she would be free of the world. Soon.

Closing her gold eyes, she drifted on dreams.

Chapter 6

So much sorrow gave the flesh a bitter taste, but the spider remained, burrowing deeper beneath the scales for meat that still seeped blood, was still fresh. And it wasn’t all bitter. When the daring male had approached her and indicated his willingness to mate, Dragon’s flesh had been tastier that day, as if the mating had drawn sweeter memories to the surface.

Since she wanted her hatchlings to feed on this flesh that was making her more than just a spider, she worked to find a way to reach the memories, to see the dreams.

Dragon had shown her before. Why wouldn’t Dragon show her now?

Frustrated, she climbed up to Dragon’s jaw, anchored a strand of silk, and began to build a web. But as she built the web, she . . . felt things. So she spun them into the web, ignoring instinct and placing the threads where they needed to be. Sorrow. Pain. Longing. Need. Hope.

As she cautiously traveled the strands of the completed tangled web, warmth flowed through her. She paused, absorbed the feel of this sensation, and added one more small thread. Joy.

Suddenly she saw the caves, the place Dragon had intended to go to do the finest dreaming. And in those caves, she saw golden spiders, much larger than herself, spinning tangled webs.

Sound, faint and fading, filled her.

*You have learned well,* Dragon said. *But heed me, little one. You must guard the webs you weave that make dreams into flesh. Many beings will cherish those webs because they are spun out of magic that lives in the heart. But there will be others who will want to destroy that heart-magic before it can touch the world. Guard the webs . . . Weaver of Dreams.*

Dragon’s breath came out in a long sigh . . . and then there was silence.

Chapter 7

The golden spider spun out the last thread of the web that filled the space between Dragon’s jaw and shoulder. Most of her offspring had gone away, just ordinary spiders who would spin ordinary webs and catch ordinary prey. But the few who were different, who were like her, had stayed nearby, learning how to spin the tangled webs.

Despite the size of her web, she had caught only one small dream, but that one held a deep well of yearning . . . and a taste of sorrow that was, somehow, connected to Dragon. So she plucked the thread of yearning, sending it back to the heart it had come from.

As day turned to night, she settled into the most sheltered edge of her web—and wondered about the dreamer.

Chapter 8

Day had barely touched the sky when she sensed a Presence that resonated with her tangled web. She waited, feeling the faint tremble of footfalls on the earth, the change in the air.

*Sso. My daughter wass able to passs on her gift after all.*

The voice that flowed through her felt like Dragon, but wasn’t quite Dragon.

The Presence approached her web. Her offspring plucked the strands of their own webs, trying to ensnare the Presence’s mind. But the Presence didn’t respond, didn’t give any sign that it had felt the tugs and whispers in those webs.

*Blood singss to blood,* the Presence said, leaning over the spider’s tangled web. *Remember me.*

A drop of blood fell on a knot of tangled threads, a glistening bead of power.

The spider waited until the Presence went away before hurrying over to devour the offering.

Power flowed through her, a power even stronger and richer than Dragon’s had been.

Draca.

Dragon’s Mother. Dragon’s Queen.

Remember me.

For hours that day, the spider stroked the strands of her tangled web, remembering Dragon, remembering the feel of Draca. Not shaped like Dragon, but still a dragon.

This dream web had done what it was meant to do. Draca would not sorrow for Dragon anymore because she had seen that, in the most important way, Dragon was still in the world. Small now, and golden, but still in the world.

The spider carefully cut the anchoring threads and just as carefully rolled the web into a cocoon. She traveled down Dragon’s neck and shoulder until she reached the hole in the chest.

Perhaps it was the way of Dragon’s kind, or perhaps it was some last bit of magic that had changed Dragon’s flesh into porous rock covered with hard stone scales. Inside Dragon were several chambers where she could spin the first stage of a web, then listen, quiet and protected, while the strongest heart-dreams drifted over her, guiding her as she created her web.

The time would come when she and her offspring would make the long journey to the caves where the golden spiders would protect the webs of dreams that would become flesh. But not yet.

She squeezed through the opening that led to a small chamber and pulled the cocoon in with her.

Dragon’s body was hollow stone now, but the heart hadn’t rotted like the rest of the organs. It had changed to smooth stone. Whenever the spider came to this chamber and brushed a leg over that stone, the chamber filled with warmth, and she felt Dragon’s joy that the Weaver’s gift had not been lost.

The day would come when she no longer felt that warmth, and the stone would be no more than a stone. When that day came, she would leave. But even then, whatever bit of heart-memory might remain wouldn’t be alone.

Before leaving the chamber, she spun out some silk and attached the cocoon of Draca’s dream to Dragon’s stone heart.

THE PRINCE OF EBON RIH - This story takes place after the events in Heir to the Shadows

THE PRINCE OF EBON RIH

This story takes place after the events in Heir to the Shadows

ONE

Lucivar Yaslana stood at the far end of the flagstone courtyard of his new home, enjoying the early morning sunlight that had begun warming the stones beneath his feet. The mountain air felt chilly against his bare skin, and the freshly made coffee he sipped from a plain white mug tasted rough enough to make him wince. Didn’t matter. The coffee might not have the smooth potency that Mrs. Beale produced for his father’s table, but it wasn’t any worse than what he made when he went hunting and spent a night out on the land. Couldn’t be any worse, since he’d made it the same way.

He looked over his shoulder at the open door that led into the warren of rooms that made up the eyrie. Some of the rooms had been carved out of the living mountain; others had been built from the extracted stone. The result would have been a nightmare for any race that needed predictable lines and angles in a structure, but for anyone born of the Eyrien race, it was perfect.

And this particular eyrie was now his.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!

Read the complete book free online → 🔗

Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!

Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!

Happy Reading!