“Yes,” she said, scurrying away from the bed, snatching her robe from the hook on the bedpost. She got to her feet, keeping her head lowered, and ran for the bedroom door.
The door was gone. The entirewall was gone. She almost fell down the open stairwell before catching herself on the remaining fragment of railing. She half ran, half tumbled down, out of Var-rin’s sight-and out of his strange new awareness of his surroundings, as well.
Once he was sure she was safe, he looked up at the ruins of the roof and ceiling. Huge cracks ran through the remaining plaster, and chunks had fallen away, exposing the wooden beams. He studied it and saw that he was holding it together as well as holding it up. Keeping the space above him unavailable to the wreckage, he let it go.
The roof split into two large pieces and a thousand small ones, falling down on either side of the bed. The crash shook the entire house and echoed from the upper stories of the surrounding buildings, and as some of the smaller fragments skittered down the walls to the street Varrin found himself gazing up at the cloudy night sky.
Dark shapes flew swiftly across his field of vision, headed northward, but before he could recognize what they were, they were gone.
He sat up and looked around at a landscape that no longer made sense. He was still in his bed, his familiar feather pillow at the head, the quilt Annis had made from factory scraps bunched at the foot-but his bedroom was gone, reduced to a pile of rubble lying all around the bed, atop the still-solid lower floors. The broad rooftop that had extended out behind the bedroom was intact, though the ruins of the back wall were strewn across it; the clothesline where Annis hung their laundry was undamaged, the last batch of washing still swaying gently in the breeze.
The houses on either side still stood; the one to the south, on the other side of the tiny alley between street and courtyard, was untouched, while Kelder the Felter’s roof, to the north, was now strewn with broken planking and bits of shattered roofing tile.
That view to the north was oddly fascinating; he stared at it for a moment before tearing his gaze away and looking at his own house again.
Only the one room and its adjoining hallway, the little wooden addition he had built atop the original structure so that more room below could be used to store fabrics, had been damaged-but that one room had been not just damaged, but obliterated.
“Gods,” he said. “What happened?”
No one answered.
He swung his feet over the side of the bed, kicking aside a chunk of ceiling, and stood up-and realized he was naked. He looked for the wardrobe, but it had plunged into the alley.
He had clothes on the line, though. He pushed himself upward, thinking he would climb across the wreckage.
Instead he found himself floatingabove the wreckage.
“Gods!” he said again.
This was magic, of course-but what kind of magic? Who was doing it? Had he managed to offend a wizard or sorcerer without knowing it?
He moved himself eastward over the broken roof and fetched girdle, tunic, and breeches from the line. He dressed hastily and looked out over the city to the west.
A building was on fire somewhere-he could see leaping flames and a bright orange glow. The screaming had stopped, but there were voices in the street, shouting at one another. Who was up at this hour? Had the destruction of his home woken the whole neighborhood?
He made his way to the stairwell and hurried downstairs.
He found Annis in the front showroom on the ground floor; she was staring out the front window at the street.
“What’s happened?” he asked her.
She whirled and stared at him. “Don’tyou know?” she asked.
“No,” he said, puzzled. “It’s some sort of magic that smashed our room, obviously, but I don’t know why or who did it.”
“Youdid it, somehow!”
“But...” Varrin stopped, remembering.
Yes, hehad done it. He didn’t know how or exactly why— something to do with a nightmare of being smothered-but yes, he had done it.
And he had held up the roof, which must have weighed hundreds or thousands of pounds, and he had flown across the wreckage like a wizard with a levitation spell.
“How did you do that?” Annis demanded.
“I don’t know,” Varrin said. “You mean you can’t? I assumed that whatever it was happened toboth of us.”
She waved that idea away. “It’s justyou” she said. “At least, in here. There are others out there.” She pointed at the window.
“There are?” Varrin glanced at the window.
“Yes,” Annis said. “I saw them.”
“Maybe I had better go talk to them,” Varrin said. “They might know what’s happening.”
“Yes,” she said, stepping backward, away from him. “You do that.”
“Annis, don’t be frightened,” he said as the firelight from outside spilled across her face and let him see her eyes. “Especially don’t be frightened ofme.”
“But I’m not sure itis you!” she wailed. “What if you’re some demon that took my husband’s form?”
“Annis, I’m me. I’m Varrin.” He stepped toward her. “We’ve been married for thirty-one years-you know me!”
She squealed and backed away again. “Go away!” she said. “If you’re really Varrin, go find out what happened to you!” He stopped, baffled.
“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll go see what I can find out.” He turned away.
A moment later he was out on the street, looking around in confusion.
Something in him wanted to go north, but that was absurd; he lived and worked just three blocks from the beaches along the eastern shoals and four blocks from the city’s eastern wall. Almost the entirety of the city of Ethshar lay south and west of Seacorner.
He could hear voices shouting to the south; he turned and headed toward them, and found his feet leaving the ground. At first he fought it, but then he turned up a palm, lifted his feet, and flew.
At the same time as the others, Kirsha the Younger dreamed of fire and falling and then entombment somewhere deep beneath the earth, dreamed she was fighting her way upward through unyielding soil, and then awoke to find herself floating a foot or so above her bed. She stared up at the too-close canopy of her bed in astonishment, awash in unreasoning panic.
Then the panic popped like a soap bubble, and she smiled as understanding dawned.
“I’m still dreaming,” she said.
She rolled over in mid air and pushed herself toward the bedroom window.
It worked, just like in so many other dreams-she could fly, swim through the air like a fish through water. She didn’t even have to wriggle like a fish; thought alone was enough to propel her.
Kirsha felt the cool night air on her bare skin as her bedsheet slipped free and fell away, could hear voices in the street outside— and some of them were screaming.
She wondered why, but then dismissed the question. This was adream; it didn’t need to make sense.
It was the oddest flying dream she had ever had, though, starting with a vague nightmare like that and then turning so intensely real. Still, she was enjoying it.
She reached the window and fumbled with the latch, then opened the shutters-or rather she made the shutters fling themselves open, she didn’t use her hands. She looked out at the night.
People were flying, dozens of them. Kirsha smiled happily at the thought of sharing her newfound talent. She swung open the casement, planning to fly out into the street.
Then she realized she was still naked.
It probably didn’t matter in a dream, but still, she hated dreams where she went outside naked and could feel people staring at her. She flew quickly across the room to a chest of drawers and found a tunic and skirt. A moment later she was soaring above the streets, watching people running below and flying above. She didn’t see anyone she knew, and did not want to talk to strangers, even in a dream-at least, not yet-so she did not rise up to join the other flyers.