Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen

by Scott Rhine

  With no thought about the cultural or religious history involved, Hisbet asked, “What about the rain?”

  Sandarac replied, “I have other experts watching this phenomenon. They tell me that the City of the Gods is in the eye of this freak weather. It may be a little damper than normal, but oil and certain powders should still work. Ask the priests of Intaglios for help with the burning. Use anything we have in the Capital to accomplish this deed. Work all night if you must. Find a way to open up the mine cars and have them dump their loads automatically. I know they sometimes do this for delivering food and equipment. As soon as the sun comes up, begin packing as much kindling as you can into that area. Then use your deaf men to throw the torches if you need to. The sooner we eliminate this sheriff, the sooner we can continue our plans.”

  Hisbet bowed. “It shall be done even as you have said.”

  ****

  Nearby, Urgot the Fire Mage was awaked from his slumber by a sense of extreme terror. He took care not to rouse the female slave in his bed as he splashed cool water over his face and bald head. Urgot couldn’t allow her to see him panicking. Grabbing his staff from its resting place against the wall, he recalled the gist of the nightmare. The City of the Gods had to burn to the ground or his entire church, and all the power he possessed, might be extinguished by the next sundown. He was as sure of this inevitability as the very air he breathed. Looking out his window he gave thanks to the gods. They had shown favor by reducing the amount of rain to the point where a proper pyre could be ignited.

  Urgot hastily threw on a red robe and set about kicking his subordinates out of bed. Every wizard he had would be laying siege to the Holy Mountain as soon as they could light tinder. When he contacted the Viper, the efficient spy had somehow known to lay the groundwork for him. Urgot began planning for the largest display of magical pyrotechnics the empire had ever seen.

  ****

  The Stone Monkeys in the Dreaming City gathered by the lime pits. “Any luck?”

  They all grumbled in the negative. “The next bell is coming up fast, and we don’t have a clue. The closer we got to the middle of the temple, the crazier the dice got. But we couldn’t get into the very center. It was too heavily guarded,” complained Sven.

  “Zariah’s chambers no doubt,” guessed Bjorn.

  “The roof was the same way,” admitted Brent. “But I slipped on a loose tile before I could get close enough. Luckily, I caught myself on one of the lightning rods.”

  “One of the lightning rods? How many do they have?” asked Bjorn.

  Brent shrugged. “More than a dozen. They’re all over up there.”

  “That only stands to reason,” said Jotham. “If the creature is a strong negative force, Nature would continually be striving to balance the energies in the area. The feeder may even use the rooftops to scout out food. We may well have gone in through its out door.”

  Sven looked more nervous now than before. “Does anything seem different to anyone here?”

  “It’s not raining as heavily. Kind of nice, really,” observed Brent.

  “Smells a little smoky,” noted Bjorn.

  “That’s because the top of the Holy Mountain has been lit up like a torch,” said a shocked Jotham. “By the Halls, they’re burning the City of the Gods.” The implications held him spellbound for several moments as he stared at the smoldering orange glow.

  Sven ignored the fire, trying to describe his feeling. “No. It’s like someone’s watching me. Did you hear that? The faint jingling of bells? It might’ve found us. Kiateros preserve us!”

  Just then, a grizzled stranger let out a tremendous yell as Ekvar smashed into him from behind. Both men tumbled head over heels down a slippery, festering pile of garbage, stopping inches from the lime pit. Ekvar pulled the newcomer’s arms backward, leading to more screams.

  Bjorn pried the two apart. “Spying on us, eh?”

  “Be quiet,” commanded Jotham, snapping out of his reverie.

  “Is this the feeder?” demanded Brent.

  “Unlikely, he’s male. Throw me his pouch.” Jotham held open a hand. It took all the Stone Monkeys to wrest the boxy, leather pouch from the spy’s side. The priest held the personal item for a few moments before saying. “No. He’s probably one of the Viper’s agents. This is a specialized weapon of some sort.” Squinting, he looked at the intruder’s forehead. “This man used to be one of ours, a walker of the six-fold path.”

  “How do we know he’s not a gray man, a servant of sleep?” asked Bjorn.

  “He’s a former bard; they have some natural resistance to the corrupted magic flowing from the remnants of the College of the Bards. Greetings, I’m Jotham the Tenor, High Priest of both Hospitality and the Great Library.”

  Nigel spit refuse out of his mouth onto the ground. “I was never one of your ilk!”

  “You still have a name, and I would hear it,” said Jotham.

  “Nigel the actor,” he introduced himself in a mumble.

  “Hey,” noticed Bjorn. “He’s the traitor who turned Tashi in to the Pretender.”

  The Tenor looked serious. “Is this true?”

  Nigel’s defiance softened a little with blossoming fear. He struggled to hide the emotion. “I did my duty to the emperor. I also aided the sheriff in every way I was able. I loaned him something of great personal worth to me, and he promised to bring it back to the gate of this temple.”

  “Excellent,” said Jotham. “You swear not to interfere with us?” Ekvar still kneeled on top of the old actor’s back.

  “I’d call this duress, wouldn’t you?” argued Nigel. “No more than I’d expect from an evil wizard such as yourself.”

  “He’s not evil,” protested Brent.

  “Deluded child,” sighed Nigel. He grunted in pain as Ekvar twisted the actor’s arm in its socket again.

  “We haven’t much time. I need help closing this temple forever. Are you with us?”

  “The Viper is, and I for my own reasons. Yes,” Nigel admitted.

  “Then I bind myself and these men here to do you no harm if you promise the same,” offered Jotham, his hand extended.

  “Do I dare choose between evils?” muttered the actor. His rider aimed Nigel’s mouth at a particularly vile-smelling heap.

  “What if I were to wipe the mark from your forehead in exchange for an hour of your aid?” asked Jotham. The actor didn’t answer, but stopped wriggling. “Cycles of debt on your shoulders erased in a single hour.”

  “You toy with me.”

  Jotham stepped forward and spoke a short phrase and slid his thumb between the actor’s eyebrows. Nigel went limp, collapsing as if his strings had been cut. Ekvar let go in surprise at the lack of resistance. Jotham gestured for him to stand clear. In the next moment, Nigel drew a deep, shuddering breath.

  Nigel looked at the sky and then his own hands as if seeing both for the first time. “For one hour, Tenor, you have my alliance. May the gods have mercy on my soul.”

  Jotham ped Nigel to his feet. “If you’re quite finished with your drama, we have to find the lair of the spirit that guards this place and feeds on its innocents.”

  “The guardian is held within the Great Eye above the Door,” Nigel explained. “Zariah is the one who feeds. She can use the life-force of others to make herself younger and stronger. But every time she uses magic, she ages. She wears a veil to hide this effect until she hunts again. I’ve been tracking her for days.”

  “The Viper’s finally decided to eliminate her?” asked Bjorn.

  “He’s never stopped trying. She seems to be weak right now, though, or at least distracted,” said Nigel.

  Jotham blinked when he noticed the return of one of the guards they’d put on the captured handmaiden. “Ekvar, why are you back so soon?”

  The broken-jawed Stone Monkey mimed kissing the crook of his own arm. Bjorn chuckled. “Smooth Olaf strikes again, always a winner with the ladies.”

  “Fools,” shouted Jotham. “I told
you to keep her bound and watch in pairs for a reason.”

  Nigel was grinning ear to ear. Brent and the Stone Monkeys all looked confused. Nigel said, “Let me guess: the willing lass, grateful for her rescue, has skin the color of cinnamon, and breasts like small apples.” When the men nodded, the actor scoffed. “Your dumb friend is trying to bag Zariah herself. As soon as she gets her mouth on him, he’s lunch. It’s already too late for him.”

  “But Zariah’s an old withered hag,” protested Sven.

  “Not after she’s been fed,” Nigel explained. “However, there’s a brief period of afterglow where she’s vulnerable. That’s what I’ve been waiting for days to catch. As soon as she’s done with him, she’s coming after the rest of you. Because believe me, toward the end, old Olaf will talk. He’ll say anything.”

  Nearly in tears, Sven said, “I knew we should’ve killed her when we had the chance, killed them all!”

  Jotham ignored him, planning furiously. “We’re going in at the next bell, before she can stop us. If I can cut her power supply, we just might stand a chance.” To Nigel, the Tenor said, “I need you to go into the Temple and provide a distraction.”

  “I wouldn’t last the hour I promised. Are you serious?” asked the actor.

  “Yes,” said everyone else in unison.

  Chapter 10 – Three the Hard Way

  Tashi awoke coughing. Ash settled around him on the plateau like snow, but the air was hot. He was tired, still overwhelmed by the flood of revelation. Everything had hidden meaning. Even the pattern etched in the ground beneath his face resonated with symbolism and portent. The six radial grooves in the marble became the six-fold path and the coin at the center, the signet of the empire, represented some secret core. Each of the arms held a power dedicated to protecting mankind, protecting it from everything but itself. Tashi reached out and touched the magic coin. If he plucked it out, there would be a void at the center. That too would have meaning.

  The steps of the floating staircase each stood for tenets one had to learn in order to ascend. Tashi knew without being told that the first stephollow. The time-distortion effect made the smoke surrounding him whirl like dust storms in the desert. The patterns were fascinating.

  As the sheriff lay on the ground, Archanon kicked him rudely in the side. “Wake up!” When Tashi turned to face his tormentor, he noticed that the archfiend was wrapped in a dark cloak with a loose hood drawn across his mouth. “They finally let me intercede. Sandarac’s set fire to the Holy City. The Burning One’s servants crouch around the base of the railway elevator, pouring everything they can into this pyre. The old stairway down has been demolished. Escape through mundane means is unlikely. You won’t survive till sundown if you remain here. You need to speak your third boon immediately.”

  Tashi blinked. If he asked the third question, he’d know the secret of the Traveler but die. If he escaped with his life, his mission and years of sacrifice would’ve been in vain. This way wouldn’t be open again for generations.

  Tashi filtered through the noise for the rules of this round of the game. No physical aid. No information he did not possess already.

  Archanon caught the thought and nodded back.

  Neither death nor surrender seemed a viable option. “I have a dilemma, but I’m not wise. How do I decide?” Tashi muttered out loud, stroking the coin in the center of everything.

  Archanon seemed excited by this prospect and tried to encourage him. “How do you normally resolve a choice between two daunting paths? How did you get to this place?”

  The sheriff wrapped his fingers around the magic coin, pulling it from its anchorage. Over the plateau, the barrier of Nightfall lifted. The archfiend leaned over, waiting eagerly, certain that the triumph of a thousand-year plan was at hand.

  Tashi imagined flipping the coin, and having it roll off the sheer precipice and into space. But he could no longer trust such an important decision to the gods. Looking around at the slag heap that resulted from their last choice, he vowed never to trust them again. There had to be more than two options here; he merely lacked the wisdom to see them.

  “For my third boon . . .” The words slipped out, unplanned. “I wish my Master were here in my place. He’s much wiser than I.”

  Archanon cried “NO!” at the top of his lungs and magic. Thunder shook the ground, throwing those burning the mountainside to their knees. But the seeker’s words were loose.

  They couldn’t be contained.

  They couldn’t be unsaid.

  A voice from beyond the veil said, “Done.”

  Tashi disappeared and the Archfiend bowed his head in defeat. The final question was wasted.

  ****

  Jotham peered through the narrow window and into the vast auditorium where dreamers sprawled. This window, above the leftmost lip of the central stage, was the closest covert entrance they could find to the Door. All the Stone Monkeys and followers of the Traveler were on the roof of the Temple of Sleep. There were safety-roped together using red silk sashes they’d found in a nearby storage room. When Ekvar saw the sixteen-cubit drop, he mimed the suggestion for knotting together a long rope out of the sashes.

  Jotham shook his head and pointed to the bell. They didn’t have enough time. Besides, people might see the red rope dangling and ask questions. Jotham pointed to his own chest and performed a diving gesture with his hands. He gave his staff to the boy, untied himself, and motioned for the others to give him room.

  When the great bell swung in its cradle and tolled for the first time, the Stone Monkeys covered their ears. Jotham picked up enough speed to cover the short horizontal distance to the stage and leapt. On the counter swing, the second peal sounded, and the old half-Imperial landed, rolling with gravity-enhanced force. He yielded to the flow of the inertia like he would’ve to a mighty river, bending without breaking. His tiny bells hissed and jingled furiously. At the third and final toll, he regained his feet and dodged behind a wide, brass bowl of smoking incense. The Stone Monkeys blinked in amazement. Brent pulled them away from the window before they could be seen by the bustling acolytes of Sleep who were clearing the sanctuary for another service.

  On cue, Nigel made his entrance through the main doors, pushing past the stream of exiting worshippers. The Somnambulist guards stopped him cold in the foyer, but he yelled to attract the attention of all the handmaidens. “I have an urgent message for Zariah!”

  The guards confiscated his fencing foil. No weapons of any kind could be allowed into her holy presence.

  The three handmaidens converged on the intruder. The first woman to reach him searched the actor from head to toe and then examined the pouch he carried at his hip. “The box in his pouch is sealed with the mark of Hisbet. This man is a spy!”

  Nigel defended his honor loudly. “This man is a messenger sent with a personal letter from Lord Hisbet to Zariah the Seeress. Hisbet wishes to demonstrate goodwill by warning her of an imminent danger to her stronghold.”

  “Quiet,” ordered the handmaiden in charge, a severe woman with her hair bound beneath white cloth. “Wait till the faithful are gone. This matter doesn’t concern them.”

  The Stone Monkeys, eavesdropping, feared the worst from Nigel’s intentions. “I wish I had a bow,” mumbled Bjorn. “I’d shut him up before he had a chance to stab us in the back.” They were all desperate to stop the looming disaster.

  Sven untied himself from the group and disappeared from the roof in search of an oil lamp. Ekvar undid his sash as well, then jumped through the window to grab the nearest wooden pillar. The wild-eyed man with the broken jaw garnered several large splinters on his slide down to the auditorium floor. Brent held his silence and position as ordered, tying all of the remaining sashes together into a single rope about eight cubits long.

  Jotham took advantage of the chaos and crawled to the altar. Pressing a stone at its base, he opened a secret compartment slightly larger than a man’s head. The relic storage vault was lined with gray felt, but
otherwise empty.

  When the doors to the temple closed, all the Somnambulists surrounded the actor, and the severe handmaiden said, “Continue.”

  Nigel announced, “The Sheriff of Tamarind Pass has escaped from the emperor’s dungeon.”

  “Impossible,” claimed one priestess.

  Another handmaiden, who held a pig goad eagerly in her hand, looked up at the Great Eye and read something there. “He’s not lying. What else do you have to say, worm?”

  Nigel narrowed his eyes, wary of the soothsayer. “Isn’t that enough? I know for a fact that the man will stop at nothing to wipe out your entire sect. The sheriff is on his way here at the earliest opportunity.”

  The truth-witch gazed at the round stone window again. “He’s sincere. Call the Holy One,” she ordered.

  Jotham searched the treasure hole beneath the altar and found no clues, no hint of the relic once hidden there. The senses he gained from passing through the Doors told him the missing magical device had been a deck of special cards. But there remained no trace of the item anywhere around the altar. It made no sense; there was always a relic.

  Glancing at the Door to Eternity, Jotham noted several differences when compared with previous magic doors. This Door was the largest so far, easily three times the height of his tallest companion. The frame was curved on top instead of squared off. Instead of oak, the wood seemed to be a heavy teak, reinforced with studded iron. But most significantly, the door was ajar. A black, glass brick had been wedged in the entryway to prevent the door from closing. A gentle wind blew from behind the Door and filled the sanctuary with a hint of spices and an exhilarating power richer than wine. The raw mana made the priest’s skin tingle. In his haste, he felt he was missing something obvious.