Later that night, Janus was dreaming. But at the same time, he was not dreaming. He was somewhere in between dreams and wakefulness, where he knew he was no longer awake, yet had no control over the images that appeared before him like in a waking dream. He was suspended underwater in a vast ocean with no end, but he had no trouble breathing. The water around was him greenish blue and beneath his feet, there was a vague glow coming from something too deep for him to see. Across from him, a ball of nondescript light floated placidly, as if this ocean were its natural habitat. This, Janus knew, was the Voice.

"Can we talk?" Janus asked the ball of light tentatively. He had not summoned the Voice, but he felt like Fate had set up this scene for him to get some answers out of it and he would not pass up the opportunity.

"Didn’t you tell me to go away?” the Voice answered, the light pulsing with each syllable. Its tone was not sulky or angry, but there was definitely some bite to it. “You’ve changed your mind awfully fast.”

“You kept on saying mean things, so of course I told you—or whatever part of myself you represent—to go away. But before we go on with this, can you appear like a person? Talking to a ball of light is just too weird for me.”

The light expanded and twisted into a mirror image of himself.

"Oh no no no, not like that. Take any other shape, just not me.”

His other self closed its eyes and reformed as a young man with dark curly hair and a prominent nose. It took a moment, but Janus recognized his own mental image of the poet Ovid. He didn't like the idea that the Voice was able to see his own thoughts with such detail, but he had to put that aside for now.

“How strange that you don’t want to see me as yourself, yet you can’t dismiss the idea I am you.”

“Okay then, if you’re so smart, what do you think you are?”

The Voice shrugged. “I have no interest in my own nature. Who, or whatever I am, I am here What matters isn't that, but what sort of relationship we are to have.”

“Riiiiight. Or maybe you just don’t want me to think about it too hard so you can back on top.”

The Voice rolled its eyes. “Did you want something?”

“Yes! I need to know what you meant by that sending me that message in the wax tablet even when you were sulking. Why should I fear that song? What does it do anyway?”

Janus expected more evasion but on this matter the Voice was forthcoming.

“The Song of Waking-Death makes Crafting not work. And not only the four the Dust-man mentioned but the dark Craft as well. And it is unlike other Bardsong as it spreads long after the performance through the malaise it engenders in all it touches. It strains credulity that the likes of Bards could fashion something so potent, yet I know it to be true.”

“That’s…did you forget I'm not Crafter? Why should I ‘beware’ it?”

“Well, you’ve seen the rub from my perspective as well. I should have naught to fear from the song, as my strength is not Craft, yet I do fear it. And I fear the Bard named Basso who wields it. I don't know why this fear exists, but it does. And what I fear, you ought to fear ten times more.”

Janus didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe it was best just to move on to another topic.”

"The other thing is—if there’s trouble during this mission, what do you intend to do? Will it be like the woods? Or will I black out again?”

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“That depends on you. Despite what you think, I have no desire to interfere with you, but as I have said: I am here. I will defend the place where I am.”

“Well, I’m done doing it that way. From now on, if we’re in danger we’ll work together.”

The Voice scoffed, “Oh really? And how will we go about that?”

“You had better figure out a way to do it, otherwise I’ll tell Yew about you, and I'm sure he’ll have something to say about me having another person in my head. Maybe he'll even know a way to get rid of you for good.”

The Voice gave Janus a pitying look. “There you go again, trying to be rid of me. You must know I am the only thing standing between yourself and death. Does poor little lamb think it made it all this way without a shepherd?”

“I know, but I’ll do it anyway!”

Janus tried to put on a defiant expression, but considering that he talking to Ovid while floating in what seemed more like a large bathtub than an ocean the more he got used to it, he had to suppress the urge to laugh.

“It seems that you’re about to burst out laughing any second now,” the Voice said with a smirk. “But behind that is a tiny fragment of actual resolve. Well, if we’re going to do this, it shouldn’t be here. Follow me.”

The Voice swam up to the surface of the water with Janus following behind. He had no sea what to make of the change of scenery, but he would be glad to have to remind himself that he really wasn't drowning in the ocean. They walked together onto a beach of dark rough sand with tall grass poking out. In the distance, Janus saw a monastery on a hill overlooking the sea and he knew he was back home.

“This isn’t ‘home’,” said the Voice. “This is a dream. Now, sit down here.”

Janus did as instructed, expecting the Voice to sit as well. He did not but stood off to the side.

“Stop watching me. Watch the waves.”

Janus hadn’t noticed them when they came out of the surf, but now he saw the big waves cresting toward the shore like teams of runaway horses.

The smell of salt wafted through the air. Janus’s family had not often come to the sea despite living on an island surrounded by it, so the smell only reminded him most of the day he and his father went to see the Northmen. He half expected one of their longboats to appear bobbing in the water like on that day, but the waves just went on lapping placidly.

Whether this was what the Voice intended or not, Janus was caught up in thoughts of the past that washed over him with the sound of the waves.

After they had crossed the sea and the channel, the Northmen brought Janus to a town called Rotomagus in the north of Francia. He expected to be sold into hard labor, a prospect he regarded with ambivalence rather than dread. His family never stayed in one place long and he often didn’t get enough to eat, so bondage might at least provide more stability and bread. But he soon found out they were waiting for someone to pick him up.

The Northmen didn’t know when this buyer was coming but they knew he was going to pay a great deal for Janus specifically and they wanted their merchandise “in pristine condition”, whatever that meant. The last thing he remembered from that part of his life was overhearing someone say “he” would be there soon for “the boy”.

The year after that was a burned-out hole in his memory, but Janus was sure that, whoever he was, he had indeed come for him and taken him somewhere he had not wanted to go.

“I bet that’s where you came from,” Janus muttered, not bothering to look at the Voice.

“Stop thinking about the past. Focus on the waves.”

Janus did as he was told. Or he tried. His thoughts kept coming back to his father. He had tried to convince himself he didn’t have enough regard for the man to be resentful but…in the end, wasn’t it an awful thing to sell your own son into slavery? He wished the bastard was here now so he could sock him in the jaw.

The waves started getting bigger.

“Good,” said the Voice. “You can make them even bigger, but keep the rate even. And don’t lose touch with that emotion.”

Realizing that he had some control over the landscape after all nearly made Janus forget about his father. But in the next few moments began to see the secret of the Trance technique. The heightened emotion acted as a spark, then you had to concentrate to keep the flame going because you yourself were the fuel for the flame. But unlike wood, his mind wasn't consumed. Well, not completely. If he were doing it for real, they would probably be that numen backlash again.

“Just so you don’t get a big head,” said the Voice, “knowing the idea behind the technique is worthless on its own. It takes years of practice to do the real thing. But if you know the basics, I suppose I can feed you some of my power in a pinch, and it might work without me having to take over.”

The Voice put his hand on Janus’s shoulder. It was gentle enough that he almost anticipated a word of encouragement from it.

“Now get out.”

The Voice kicked Janus hard in the backside and he fell from the top bunk onto the dormitory floor with a thud.