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

by Scott Rhine

  “I’m a seeress and have walked with the Dawn folk for long years. I grew up in the plague lands, but have nowhere to call home now.”

  The panther man leapt onto the branch beside her. “You sadden me, child. How may I help?”

  She thought warmly about the beauty of its pelt and said aloud, “I am constrained by the meddling of a human.”

  The panther bridled at this concept and growled, “Tell me his name and I’ll crush his bones.”

  “I won’t be in any male’s debt right now. Yet, I have an item of value to trade,” she offered, taking out a single, clear brick.

  He gasped. “This is a treasure beyond price.”

  She nodded. “It took fourteen years, two complete cycles, to clean. Would you like to touch it? It absorbs spells, curses, and even guards against the negative effects of the nightmare path.”

  He reached out a clawed finger and stroked the glass. The very act brought him bliss.

  “How many days of service would such an offering buy me?” she asked. “Ten?”

  “Three.”

  “How about seven, one for every two years this took me,” she countered.

  He agreed, unable to take his black eyes off the brick from the City of the Gods. Pricking the back of his arm with a claw tip, the panther man drew a single drop of his own blood and touched it to her lips. “I’m Bagierog. Call my name, and if I’m within seven leagues I’ll come. I’ll defend you as my closest friend.”

  “I’m Sarajah.” She presented him with the brick, one of three she had rescued from the Temple of Sleep.

  “What could a mere human have done to incur the wrath of a witch of your considerable skill?”

  “He sent a criminal to kill me while I was chained, powerless, in a collapsing building. Then he had the gall to post a bounty on my head.”

  “Why not drink his life yourself?”

  “I only have one dress and I might need it to go to this wedding,” she said, making him laugh. “What’s your name?”

  “A few days ago, I would’ve, without a trace. I could still order certain humans to obey me. But this would be more poetic. I want his death to be an example, an object lesson for men to talk about for years to come.”

  “Tell me the human’s name.”

  “Hisbet, the Viper.”

  The cat purred. “That would be an interesting hunt, and his hubris offends me as well. I won’t charge for him.”

  “Only him,” she insisted. “He has a walled home on the northwest border, red curved shingles. I think it belongs to a countess.”

  The panther rumbled, “Can I play with him first?”

  “Until sundown tomorrow.”

  “Talk to him?”

  “You may tell him why,” she allowed. “Do you mind if I prophesy his doom to him beforehand?”

  “Please do. Sometimes the rabbit runs so hard his heart explodes.”

  “Thank you, friend.”

  The panther ran to begin his hunt.

  Whthe beast was gone, Sarajah noticed another Dawn person sitting on a branch above her, dressed as a swordsman from the Executioner’s Guild. She sighed, “I suppose you want the cloak back, Mr. A.” She carefully avoided using his full name.

  The archfiend waved his hand. “No, you’re the first one who’s known how to use it.”

  She shrugged. “Act like a friend, and I’ll be treated like one.”

  Archanon tapped his finger beside his nose. “Exactly. I love dealing with someone on your level. How’d you like to be head of my church?”

  Sarajah made a face. “I don’t know. I just got out of another long-term relationship, and that didn’t work out well.”

  “Saying no to authority? Now I’ve got to have you.”

  “You say that to all the witches you find up trees,” she teased. He chuckled throatily. “Besides, your dress code is a little drab for me,” she said, pointing to the dark cloak.

  “What color do you expect it to be?” he asked.

  She glanced down and the shade shifted to a golden brown that complemented her dress. On a whim, she concentrated, and both the dress and cloak transmuted to green. This made her grin.

  Archanon approved. “Now I won’t take no for an answer. You’ll be my High Priestess till Emperor’s Day, on a trial basis, no strings attached. If you don’t like it, give back the cloak and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

  “What’ll your doctrines be?”

  The swordsman shrugged. “Make them up, I don’t care. I only have one rule: there are no enemies. Give everyone a chance.”

  “Ouch, the man I just sentenced to death might disagree with that,” Sarajah said.

  Archanon spread his hands. “Just give him a chance to redeem himself, no matter how small.”

  “What do I get out of that deal?” she asked.

  “The same thing.”

  She sighed. “Do I get any cool abilities?”

  “Just the ones you have already.”

  “That’s it?”

  He shrugged. “I’m naturally lazy, and breaking free from the undergirding has taxed me. Besides, I only have one follower.”

  “A reluctant, conditional follower,” she reminded.

  “Is busting balls going to be one of my tenets?” he asked, wincing.

  She snorted. “I haven’t decided yet. It might be fun.”

  Archanon appeared on the same branch as her. “You’re fun. Square things with your old boss before leaving town,” he insisted. “You’ll find him at the marble gardensp>

  He kissed her on the forehead and vanished. The spot where his lips had touched tingled.

  She felt curiously light-headed as she leapt down from the branch and headed for the gardens of Cemetery Hill, where nobles signed up to be buried on the day they were born. There were no inns nearby, but Sarajah found an antique shop that was still open. The shop did a rousing business buying antiques from estates so that the deceased could afford bigger memorials from the artisan next door.

  She popped in on a whim and noticed several unusual items. “You have this magnifying glass underpriced,” she told the thirty-five-year-old proprietor.

  “Pardon?”

  “The inscription on the handle means it came from the City of the Gods. It’s worth ten times what you have marked on it.”

  “Indeed. You read that language?”

  “My uncle is the expert, and I came to town to visit him. But it’s dark already, and I can’t find an inn. I’m sorry to tell you that this leviathan-bone dagger over here is a bad forgery. The real curve would be much more gradual.”

  “You don’t need to visit some overpriced inn! My sister lives just down the street, and she has a spare room. With everything you just earned me, I insist that you stay with her.”

  “Well, if it’d make you feel better. It is getting rather late,” she said, making a show of yielding.

  “And perhaps tomorrow, we could discuss your appraisal skills over breakfast.”

  She smiled. Who knew working for an archfiend could be this easy?

  Chapter 31 – Funeral for a Friend

  Sarajah the seeress found the new memorial shortly after sunrise. The crew was still arranging the stone when she

  breezed into their frantic circle. When she read the name engraved on it, she shivered. With the Mute dead, the deck was shuffled again. Who was she kidding? The moment Archanon had made her the High Priestess, all bets were off. She shook her head firmly. “No, the headstone and name have to face Center. Lord Morlan was an Imperial.”

  The foreman’s eyes bulged. Had he neglected proper positioning, the perceived insult would have resulted in his beheading. “Many thanks, Miss . . . Who are you?”

  “Just an old priestess that someone high up contacted last night to make sure everything goes smoothly. What time is the ceremony scheduled?”

  “Noon. Anything else we should know?” begged the foreman. “We don’t have a body.”

  “Do you at least have his Hon
or and a clean kalura?”

  The men, ashen, all said, “No.”

  She sighed. From Tumberlin and the emperor, she knew most of this knight’s story. “His sword was stolen by a sheriff a while back. The emperor’s sergeant of arms took custody of it.In all the wedding bustle, I doubt it’s been handed over to the Kragen house. Send one of your men to fetch it. There’s only one like it in the armory. Borrow an ebony sword rack from the antique shop over there. Tell the owner that the empress-to-be will be grateful, and he’ll loan it for free. I think Morlan was posthumously promoted to general. I’ll go see about a suitable kalura.”

  The foreman panicked. “You can’t leave. You know too much.”

  “Very well. At least let me sit down out of the way till the ceremony starts,” Sarajah sighed. She recalled a recent example of the emperor’s cruelty. “Emperor Sandarac recently demoted the wealthy Commander Penrose and gave his home to the hospital system. His wife, Marjoram, will be in need of some extra money. She’ll sell you clothing of appropriate pomp. It’ll be about a hand span too short, but without a body, no one will care.”

  The man nodded eagerly. From then on, workers brought her tea and consulted her about every flower and prop. “No, use the new dragon banners. Ask the silk merchant or get one from the docks. If you have to, invite the captain of the ship to be part of the honor guard that marches in the flag.”

  “Over an empty coffin,” suggested the foreman. “Yes, we’ve done that for sailors before. It’ll mean a few changes in the choreography and seating.”

  She shook her head. “The emperor and empress-to-be prefer to be seated in their palanquins, on polished wooden stands—lemon oil, not wax.”

  “Very good, your holiness.”

  Subtly, Sarajah helped to order the eulogy and speeches so that she would provide the closing address. Koloscas, the royal wedding coordinator, showed up three hours later to arrange who sat where. He was effeminate, had a retinue of worker bees, and a flowing, white gown in proper mourning style. “You’re not wearing that, are you?” he asked her frostily.

  She lied, “I’ve just been too busy. My assistant delivered the dress to that mausoleum over there. If one of your men could stand guard over the door, I’d appreciate it.”

  “The peon over there said you have final approval of the seating chart,” said the coordinator dubiously.

  Sarajah scanned the chart. “The royal couple will stay in their palanquins, the foreman over there will explain. Most of the plan looks fine other than that. Oh, don’t put these two men near each other. This one slept with the other’s wife. This judge is sick with a wasting lung disease. Put him on the far right. And, dear me, make sure to leave a blank space behind the Viper’s chair. He doesn’t like anyone within reach of his back.” She’d made up the bit about Hisbet, but it sounded good. More importantly, it gave her an easy way to mark him for the Dawn creature.

  The coordinator bowed. “Your holiness, I am in your debt. Rudolfo, escort this lady to her changing room.”

  She walked into the large mausoleum and willed her clothing to become the proper, snowy, mourning garb. “Bagierog,” she whispered.

  While she waited, she pulled out the cards and did a reading for Sandarac. She had done this for him so often that he didn’t need to be present. She just concentrated on his pattern. The card for the present was a man dragging his ox through a storm. The storm was the key metaphor for everything happening to the emperor, and she should look to the background of each card for clues. Hs greatest challenge card was a thief, a new player. The deciding point was the tower of judgment, struck by lightning. What if it weren’t striking down, but up? Could the card represent the beacon of the Final Temple? Regardless, someone else held the power to decide Sandarac’s fate. His greatest help was grass bending in the wind—flexibility. Bowing down? Clearly, the Pretender wouldn’t succeed in his bid to be the emperor of all. He’d gained a Mute by joining with Kragen. However, with that Mute gone, he lacked the Arcana to succeed.

  A shadow fell over the judgment card. The panther looked intently over her shoulder. “They’re very pretty pictures. Makes me wish I could see in color. You called? I haven’t located the target yet.”

  “Yes, he’ll be at the funeral today, and I’ve left you an open seat behind him. It will be labeled ‘reserved for the Viper’s shadow.’”

  “You’re delightfully wicked,” Bagierog purred.

  “I do have to add a complication to the game. My new boss wants me to give him a slim chance at redemption. If he cuts out his own tongue to become the new Mute by sundown, spare him.”

  “Oh, I love tongue,” said the beast. “And his will be so slippery and twisted.”

  “Well, you can eat it either way,” she offered. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

  The panther bowed, leapt to the skylight, and squeezed out.

  ****

  The master of ceremonies introduced Dame Vasolar, the head of the Imperial Guard Ladies’ Auxiliary, who prattled on for some time. Backstage, the empress-to-be surprised Sarajah by saying, “You did an exquisite job with the funeral on such short notice. Please add these to the coffin.” Humi handed her a large bouquet of flawless white roses.

  Sarajah bowed and strolled respectfully over to the coffin with the offering. Her back to Humi, the green-eyed woman tucked one of the roses into her own cloak while she arranged the flowers over the decorated kalura. Then, Sarajah dashed off to the mausoleum. Lady Kragen began her speech as the seeress began a reading. She concentrated on the woman’s voice and captured the aural resonance from the rose.

  “Lord Morlan was a beloved (choke) retainer of my late husband. Loyal to the end, he sacrificed everything so we might unify the empire again.”

  Sarajah tuned the exact words of the eulogy out so that she could focus on the cards. Humi’s greatest enemy was the card for memory. The lady needed to break her obsession for revenge against the sheriff. Her future was the High Priestess trump, but for the religion of the sea dragon Serog. Her enemy was the Hungry Ghost—the Shadow, not Sarajah. The creature was learning the dark ways too fast and was bound to slip the leash soon. Her strongest ally was the pregnant Empress card—the child within her would be protection. Another supporting card was pentacles, a lot of coins.

  The seeress couldn’t finish the reading completely because she heard the crowd cheering. “But my new husband has lost many loyal followers for the same reason. Thus, they are all Morlan . . . all beloved.”

  Lady Humi had turned the funeral into a political rally. People would notice anyone missing from the eventa readinSarajah repacked the deck and ran. “I . . . we embrace them all. The way is hard, but their courage lights our path to the invisible sun.”

  The seeress arrived just in time to signal the man to toss the torch into the brazier atop the memorial. Technically, there were supposed to be ten more tributes, but the crowd went wild with applause at the early lighting. Several dignitaries crumpled the paper copies of their speeches and tossed them into the pyre. Only one general shouted his tag line above the crowd. “A man head and shoulders above the rest.”

  The other two planned speakers congratulated Humi and faded into the background, and the crowd began to file in front of the brazier, each tossing a pinch of costly incense into the flames. After each person made their offering, they bowed to the emperor and his betrothed and shuffled out of the cemetery. Soon, only workers, guards, and a few nobles remained beside the palanquins.

  Sarajah tossed the white rose into the fire and stepped up to the podium to close the ceremony officially. She grabbed a sack of special powder in her left hand in case of emergency. The Viper sat in his chair, bored, staring at her breasts. The unseen panther man sat behind him, smiling. In a loud voice, the seeress announced, “I come bearing gifts for the royal couple, fulfilling my obligation to you both.” The emperor and his chief of intelligence both snapped to alert status, recognizing her voice. “Do not speak my name, or the dream will end
early without the reading I wish to give. Harken to the cards and live.”

  Guards looked at Sandarac in puzzlement, but he said, “All of you: go guard the cemetery entrance. Let no one come in while she speaks.” When only Sandarac, Humi, and Hisbet remained, he asked, “How? My enemies killed you.”

  “Some on your own council tried; however, I’m more adaptable than they can imagine,” Sarajah said, staring at Hisbet. “What do you offer for your reading?” she asked the emperor.

  “A place at my side,” he replied.

  “My time as High Priestess is done. You have a new one at your side. There cannot be two.”

  “I never . . .” began Humi.

  Sarajah held up her hand. “Peace, sister. The same one is mother to us both. I bear you no ill will. I’ve passed from dreams into waking. My new form has its benefits.”

  “I could give you free passage to anywhere the sea touches,” offered Humi.

  Sarajah smiled. “So you shall, in your turn. Make the letter of safe passage open, for I do not wish to tell you my new name. Emperor, how pay you?”

  “I can give you passage by land.”

  She laughed. “My own legs do that. How about something more concrete. Since I faced attack from your own people, I would like a letter preventing that from happening again, one obliging your commanders to obey me.”