The Dreamwalker's Path

1/ Hall of the Hours, Sanctuary

The door to Eight’s apartment burst open and closed with a bang. Trite, the Seventh Hour, was still in the process of fighting with the long row of buttons that lined the front of his orange surcoat.

“Eight!” No response. Trite glanced up, brow furrowed, and called again, tentatively, “Gabe, are you here?”

Eight appeared from around the corner, his expression a little dour. Stifling a yawn, the blood-fiend barely managed to ask, “What are you shouting for, Trite? Why the hell are you dressed? It’s barely Two’s First yet.”

Unfortunately, Trite would not be discouraged by announcement of the early hour. He slipped around the table that sat in the middle of Eight’s kitchen, pausing to grab the green surcoat that had been discarded on one of the chairs. “What do you mean why am I dressed?” he tossed the surcoat at Eight who barely seemed to realize he was meant to catch it. “Time’s calling for us; don’t you hear her?”

Gabriel stared at Trite for a long moment while he fiddled with the surcoat to put it the right way up. “I haven’t heard anything,” he muttered, “I’ve been dead aaah-“ he yawned, his long tongue passing between two rows of sharp fangs, and then gave himself a little shake, “asleep,” he tried again, sniffing. “What the fuck does she want from us so early in the morning?”

Trite shrugged. “It was important; that’s all she said. I can’t believe you couldn’t hear her—she normally knocks me out of a dead slumber with ease.”

A look of concern passed over Gabriel’s face and, for a moment, Trite thought that there was something wrong with the Eighth Hour; his worry passed when Gabriel rather blearily announced that he needed an under shirt before he could put his surcoat on and then stumbled gracelessly in the direction of his bedroom.

Now that he was alone, he took a few minutes to look around the apartment. The card table on the other side of the room was covered with an assortment of game pieces and beer bottles.

Ah. Well, that might be why Eight hadn’t heard Time.

Eight appeared a few moments later looking a little bit more put together. Or he did if you didn’t look too closely.

“You missed the top button,” Trite muttered, smoothing out his own surcoat.

Gabriel looked down at himself. He waved his hand. “Ah, fuck it. She won’t notice.”

The door to the apartment opened a second time, this time much quieter. The plain, oval face of the Ninth Hour pushed through the small opening. “Are the two of you coming?”

Tevahn’s voice was the rustling of leaves on a hot summer day and they invoked in Trite the same heavy, sleepy feeling that he had spent many a long afternoons with on the Illaim plains as a child. It took the demon a long moment to realize that the dryad was looking directly at him as she spoke.

He returned from his memories with a slight start. “What? Right, yes, we are. We just need a minute for Eight to… straighten himself up.” He cast a sidelong glance at Eight who was looking much more aware of his surroundings than he had a few moments ago—and much more amused than Trite thought he should be.

Tevahn nodded once, smiling, perhaps a little confused herself, and then disappeared, closing the door behind her.

“Shit,” Trite put his hands over his eyes and ran them down the sides of his face while Gabriel chuckled.

“Catch you by surprise, did she?”

“Gah,” Trite waved the man away with both hands and then sighed.

After several heartbeats of silence, he chanced a glance at Gabriel. The Hour was looking at him with a smug expression plastered across his face.

“What?” Trite wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway.

“Nothing—nothing much, really. Just, you know.” He

pointed at Trite, then at himself, then at the door.

Trite looked between the Eighth Hour and the door, not entirely sure he knew what Gabriel was doing.

And then it clicked, and Trite felt himself turn bright red. “Really? Really, Gabriel? Seven, Eight, Nine?” He reached out to strike the other Hour but Eight dodged and moved quickly toward the door.

“I never said it.”

“Because it’s awful.”

“It’s funny!”

“It’s not funny, Eight, it's crass, and a disservice to her.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the Eighth Hour opened the front door and slipped out of the apartment. “You can’t tell me you’re not going to think about that later and giggle.”

Trite followed, not entirely certain that he would not find the comment funny later.

“Oh come on,” Eight nudged him as they approached the door to Time’s personal chamber. “It’s only because you’re a virgin eater.”

“I told you, the word doesn’t translate over into the common tongue very well,” Trite lowered his voice as he opened the door and slipped inside.

“How else are you supposed to translate it?” Eight followed.

Before the pale demon could answer, the door closed pointedly behind them in a rather dramatic, but effective notion for their attention.

Time stood in the center of a nearly empty room, three other Hours—Nine, Four, and Eleven—stood in front of her.

“You’re late,” she noted when Trite and Gabriel stood in

their places in the circle.

“I apologize, Time; that was my fault,” Eight held his hand up slightly. “One of the buttons fell off of my surcoat and when Seven realized I hadn’t answered your summons, he came to make sure I was all right.” He cast a sidelong look at Trite who, feeling a little put on the spot, shrugged.

He could see why Gabriel wouldn’t want Time to know that he hadn’t heard her call because he’d been in a drunken stupor, but somehow it felt cheap to be pulled into a lie without being consulted.

Time, it seemed, didn’t care one way or the other. “I called the five of you here because I think I have found my Twelfth Hour,” she said the words with a pleased sigh. “I would like you five to meet her before I decide.”

The five Hours shifted uncomfortably, looking at each other.

“Why just us?” Nine asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair the color of an olive leaf out of her very large eyes.

Thankfully it did not seem like it was a question that caught Time off-guard. “Eleven should meet her because she is the Hour who will work closest with Twelve; it is important the two of them get along. Nine, I would like you to meet her because she is young—very young, and you have a way with the hearts of children. Eight and Four,” she looked proudly at each of them, “I trust the judgment of each of you as I would trust my own. Neither of you would let me lead Sanctuary astray.” And then she looked at Trite, and everyone else looked at Trite, and Trite felt a bit like he wanted to seep into the floor.

“Seven, I made an agreement with you before I made you my Seventh Hour, and I’ve…broken that agreement many times in the past months. If it pleases you, I offer you this opportunity to meet the girl who might be Twelve before the other Hours. Consider it my apology to you for not being as true to our agreement as I should have been.”

The statement was met with a few moments of silence and Trite realized that she was waiting specifically for him to respond. He wanted to thank her, he really did, but he found himself caught up in her words, caught up in the inconsistency of past and present. “I thought you said Twelve was a woman the last time we spoke, Time. Now she is a child?”

He cast a brief glance to Eight whose face was pinched with confusion as well. Had Eight also been told of Time’s hopes for a fully grown Hour?

Trite didn’t care in the long run, as long as the girl’s initiation happened quickly and the city could begin to stabilize.

Time licked her lips and looked as though she were striving for patience. “I had hoped to convince the Dreamwalker to hold the place of Twelve until I could find someone more suitable. Now, thankfully, I have found a proper replacement, and the witch is unnecessary.”

It all seemed so simple when it was said out loud, and Trite wondered why she hadn’t just said as much before. Surely any argument she might have had to face regarding her choice would have been easier to defend against than defending a secret?

Being a creature to whom secrets were a largely foreign concept, Trite could not say for certain, so he accepted, in the end, that Time did as she thought was best, and the matter ended with his soft, “Thank you, Time. Yes, I accept.”

The other Hours murmured their agreements, and then Eight, running his hand through his dark hair, asked, “Will this…stop the changes, then? Making this woman—child, whatever she is…making her Twelve will stabilize Sanctuary?”

Time nodded. “Almost immediately; when she accepts the position as Twelve, the unstable portions of Sanctuary will bind themselves to her, and she’ll become the support that those portions of Sanctuary need to stand.”

Eight’s brow furrowed slightly, and then his expression relaxed in relief. “When will we meet her?”

“Either at the end of the next cycle or the cycle afterward,” Time ran her fingers through her hair and settled into the form of an old woman. “She’s very young, Eight, and she has no idea that she has the potential to be an Hour. I would like to…ease her into her new position gently—if you five approve of her.”

“Where is she in the meanwhile? Have you brought her to Sanctuary?”

Eight almost jumped out of his skin when Eleven spoke up; he’d forgotten that the others were in the room with them.

Time turned her attention to Eleven and smiled, “She is with Lyriel in the Temple of the Lost; he found her, in fact. As it happens she’s Sanctuary-born. The first of the city who has ever had the potential to become an Hour.”

“Fitting, then, that she would be your Twelve,” Four muttered, sounding a little less than pleased. “Being human and one of the first for something.”

“Try not to judge her just yet, Four,” Time stayed the Fourth Hour with a motion of her hand. “We are not in a situation where we can be picky about who picks up the black garb.”

“I think this is good,” each Hour and Time turned to look at Eight who nodded distractedly. “It will be good for the people to see one of their own clad as one of us.” He looked up at Time again. “With your permission, Time, I would take my leave; I promised one of the merchants in the Main Street market that I would look over his wares today,” he paused and then added, “I could pick something out for the girl to make her feel welcomed, if you like—how young is she?”

Time looked surprised at the sudden request to withdraw but said, “Perhaps eight? Perhaps ten. She’s small, as most Sanctuary children are. You might get her a ring of office, as the former Twelve was a grown man and it wouldn’t suit her smaller hands, even when she is grown.”

Eight bowed. “I’ll do that. And I will meet you all at the Temple when it’s time to meet the girl.”

He strode out of the room without another word on the matter. Trite looked at each of his comrades, hoping that at least one of them would look as confused as he felt by Eight’s sudden departure, but they were distracted, each of them wanting to ask questions of Time regarding the new Hour.

And for the first time in a long time, each question was answered.