'I was instrumental in getting Zalzan Kavol to hire the giantess. But for that, you’d be tidbits for the mouthplant now.'
'For that I thank you.'
'I want more than thanks from you,' said Valentine. 'It could be said that you’re indebted to me for your life, in a way.'
'That may be.'
'Then I ask by way of repayment that you withdraw your resignation.'
Sleet’s eyes flashed. 'You don’t know what you ask!'
'The Metamorphs are strange and unsympathetic creatures, yes. But Deliamber says they’re not as menacing as often reported. Stay with the troupe, Sleet.'
'You think I’m being whimsical in quitting?'
'Not at all. But irrational, perhaps.'
Sleet shook his head. 'I had a sending from the King, once, in which a Metamorph imposed on me a terrible fate. One listens to such sendings. I have no desire to go near the place where those beings dwell.'
'Sendings don’t always bear the literal truth.'
'Agreed. But often they do. Valentine, the King told me I would have a wife that I loved more dearly than my art itself, a wife who juggled with me the way Carabella does, but far more closely, so much in tune with my rhythms that it was as if we were one person.' Sweat broke out on Sleet’s scarred face, and he faltered, and almost did not go on, but after a moment he said, 'I dreamed, Valentine, that the Shape-shifters came one day and stole that wife of mine, and substituted for her one of their own people, disguised so cunningly that I couldn’t tell the difference. And that night, I dreamed, we performed before the Coronal, before Lord Malibor that ruled then and drowned soon after, and our juggling was perfection, it was a harmony unequaled in all of my life, and the Coronal feasted us with fine meats and wines, and gave us a bedchamber draped with silks, and I took her in my arms and began to make love, and as I entered her she changed before me and was a Metamorph in my bed, a thing of horror, Valentine, with rubbery gray skin and gristle instead of teeth, and eyes like dirty puddles, who kissed me and pressed close against me. I have not sought the body of a woman,' Sleet said, 'since that night, out of dread that some such thing might befall me in the embrace. Nor have I told this story to anyone. Nor can I bear the prospect of going to Ilirivoyne and finding myself surrounded by creatures with Shapeshifter faces and Shapeshifter bodies.'
Compassion flooded Valentine’s spirit. In silence he held the smaller man for a moment, as if with the strength of his arms alone he could eradicate the memory of the horrific nightmare that had maimed his soul. When he released him Valentine said slowly, 'Such a dream is truly terrible. But we are taught to use our dreams, not to let ourselves be crushed by them.'
'This one is beyond my using, friend. Except to warn me to stay clear of Metamorphs.'
'You take it too straightforwardly. What if something more oblique was intended? Did you have the dream spoken, Sleet?'
'It seemed unnecessary.'
'It was you who urged me to see a speaker, when I dreamed strangely in Pidruid! I remember your very words. The King never sends simple messages, you said.'
Sleet offered an ironic smile. 'We are always better doctors for others than for ourselves, Valentine. In any event, it’s too late to have a fifteen-year-old dream spoken, and I am its prisoner now.'
'Free yourself!'
'How?'
'When a child has a dream that he is falling, and awakens in fright, what does his parent say? That falling dreams are not to be taken seriously, because one doesn’t really get hurt in dreams? Or that the child should be thankful for a falling dream, because such a dream is a good dream, that it speaks of power and strength, that the child was not falling but flying, to a place where he would have learned something, if he had not allowed anxiety and fear to shake him loose of the dream- world?'
'That the child should be thankful for the dream,' said Sleet.
'Indeed. And so too with all other ‘bad’ dreams: we must not be frightened, they tell us, but be grateful for the wisdom of dreams, and act on it.'
'So children are told, yes. Even so, adults don’t always handle such dreams better than children. I recall some cries and whimpers coming from you in your sleep of late, Valentine.'
'I try to learn from my dreams, however dark they may be.'
'What do you want from me, Valentine?'
'That you come with us to Ilirivoyne.'
'Why is that so important to you?'
Valentine said, 'You belong to this troupe. We are a whole with you and broken without you.'
'The Skandars are masterly jugglers. It hardly matters what the human performers contribute. Carabella and I are with the troupe for the same reason as you, to comply with a stupid law. You’ll earn your pay whether I’m with you or not.'
'I learn the art from you, though.'
'You can learn from Carabella. She’s as skilled as I am, and is your lover besides, who knows you better than I ever could. And the Divine spare you,' said Sleet in a suddenly terrifying voice, 'from losing her to the Shapeshifters in Ilirivoyne!'
'It isn’t something I fear,' said Valentine. He extended his hands toward Sleet. 'I would have you remain with us.'
'I value you.'
'And I value you, Valentine. But it would give me great pain to go where Zalzan Kavol would have us go. Why is it so urgent for you to insist on my enduring that pain?'
'You might be healed of that pain,' said Valentine, 'if you go to Ilirivoyne and find that the Metamorphs are only harmless primitives.'
'I can live with my pain,' Sleet replied. 'The price of that healing seems too high.'
'We can live with the most horrible wounds. But why not attempt to cure them?'
'There is some other thing not being spoken here, Valentine.'
Valentine paused and let his breath out slowly. 'Yes,' he said.
'What is it, then?'
With some hesitation Valentine said, 'Sleet, have I figured in your dreams at all, since we met in Pidruid?'
'You have, yes.'
'In what way?'
'How does this matter?'
'Have you dreamed,' said Valentine, 'that I might be somewhat unusual in Majipoor, someone of more distinction and power than I myself comprehend?'
'Your bearing and poise told me that at our first meeting. And the phenomenal skill with which you learned our art. And the content of your own dreams that you’ve shared with me.'
'And who am I, in those dreams, Sleet?'
'A person of might and grace, fallen through deceit from his high position. A duke, maybe. A prince of the realm.'
'Or higher?'
Sleet licked his lips. 'Higher, yes. Perhaps. What do you want with me, Valentine?'
'To accompany me to Ilirivoyne and beyond.'
'Do you tell me that there’s truth in what I’ve dreamed?'
'This I’m yet to learn,' said Valentine. 'But I think there’s truth in it, yes. I feel more and more strongly that there must be truth in it. Sendings tell me there’s truth in it.'
'My lord—' Sleet whispered.
'Perhaps.'
Sleet looked at him in amazement and began to fall to his knees. Valentine caught him hastily and held him upright. 'None of that,' he said. 'The others can see. I want nobody to have an inkling of this. Besides, there remain great areas of doubt. I would not have you kneeling to me, Sleet, or making starbursts with your fingers, or any of that, while I still am uncertain of the truth.'
'My lord—'
'I remain Valentine the juggler.'
'I am frightened now, my lord. I came within a minute of a foul death today, and this frightens me more, to stand here quietly talking with you about these things.'
'Call me Valentine.'
'How can I?' Sleet asked.
'You called me Valentine five minutes ago.'
'That was before.'
'Nothing has changed, Sleet.'
Sleet shook the idea away. 'Everything has changed, my lord.'
Valentine sighed heavily. He felt like an impostor, like a fraud, manipulating Sleet in this way, and yet there seemed purpose to it, and genuine need. 'If everything has changed, then will you follow me as I command? Even to Ilirivoyne?'
'If I must,' said Sleet, dazed.
'No harm of the kind you fear will come to you among the Metamorphs. You’ll emerge from their country healed of the pain that has racked you. You do believe that, don’t you, Sleet?'
'It frightens me to go there.'
