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

by Scott Rhine

  “We need no ships for a blockade,” said Lady Kragen. “Say the word and every rowboat they have will sink before my goddess’s wrath.”

  “Indeed,” said Vinspar, bowing. “Until the other battles are resolved, we can use your sea supremacy to weaken the members of the College. Perhaps we can present them with a fait accompli, and they’ll offer the crown out of sheer hunger. Who else needs troops? Perhaps we could retain the rest at the docks.”

  “Um . . . the leeches have also petitioned for protection from his highness,” noted General Garad’s aide.

  Vinspar groaned. “We can’t afford to lose the ki mages from the north temple, sire. They’re key to our hospitals and field medcine.”

  “And they’ve never asked his highness for anything before,” reasoned the Keeper sergeant at arms.

  “What emergency are they having?” asked Sandarac.

  The man consulted his notes. “An outbreak of trolls and wolves in the valley near the border.”

  “By the Final Temple of the Traveler?” the emperor asked, remembering Zariah’s final warning to him. “My dreams have told me this is vital to our interests. Send two hundred soldiers north immediately, march them double-time if necessary. Tell the ki mages that we take their safety most seriously.”

  Vinspar nodded. “Such a deployment will take a long time, and the troops would arrive exhausted. It might be faster to shift men from northeast Intaglios and send the local men there. Twice as many men will move, but half the distance each.”

  “Make it so,” ordered Sandarac.

  ****

  The wedding would be the talk of every noble for a hundred years. The empress’s trousseau was already the stuff of legends. The ceremony took three hours, end-to-end. Kragen’s might and fate were wed to Sandarac’s. Then the excessive pageantry truly began. They served the best alcohol from every part of the realm: Imperial rice wine, Intaglian spice beer, Semenean honey mead, wine imported from Bablios, potato vodka from Mandibos, and aged Zanzibosian ale. Onira’s Scouts camped by this table. The empress was handfed white asparagus from the temple gardens of Semenos. Entertainers had to be limited to ten bits each because so many spectacles vied for their attention. The cake alone took ten men to carry out, and the top burst into colored, magical flames.

  Onira never took his eyes off Jolia. They both enjoyed the wedding feast and the stimulating conversation. All the while, he was looking forward to seeing Jolia’s new purchases.

  A messenger came to the emperor’s table during the first dance of the ball. Prior to the wedding, a fake emergency had been staged to give Sandarac an excuse not to dance with his bride. Even without his presence, the empress had a long line of men wanting to impress her.

  Soon after, Onira and several other high-ranking men were called away.

  The emperor addressed his men coldly from a lectern. Because he couldn’t stand on his own, he had to be held upright by hidden straps. “Semenea has surrendered prematurely. Our simple reinforcement has turned into a winter-long siege. But I’ll turn this to our advantage. The enemy’s strength is pinned in one place while we are free to move throughout the world. Through mobility, logistics, and training, we will prevail.

  “Governor Onira, your mission is more vital than ever. Tell your men to embark immediately.”

  After speaking to the emperor, the governor returned to the ball. Onira gave Jolia a long, promising kiss goodbye. “I must again into danger fare.”

  She snorted. “You’re not leaving me here.”

  “You’d go into war with me?” asked the governor, thinking this too good to be true.

  “There’s a war here, too. And they don’t like me,” she countered.

  “What say you men?” Onira asked his scouts, knowing what the answer would be. They cheered their approval.

  They took a ferry down to Humi’s ship in Turiv. Everyone had new clothing and gifts from the Imperial family. As they walked up the gangplank, Onira confessed, “I hate water travel.”

  “I’ve done it hundreds of times. Stay below decks. You have a nice cabin and you got here safely, right?” Jolia confirmed.

  “Yes, but that was river travel and close to shore with a dozen other boats in sight. The Inner Sea frightens me.”

  “You’ve earned a dozen medals, crossed deserts, and marched into battle against emperors to do what you think is right,” she encouraged.

  “That’s different. Not being able to see the shore, in a floating coffin, with demons beating on the walls . . .” Onira began.

  She put a finger on his lips. “You’re scaring the men. You need to set an example.” He straightened, knowing she was right. “I know you’re disappointed about missing the bathhouse,” she whispered in his ear in a tone that made him shiver. “But I plan to distract you for the entire voyage.”

  Chapter 40 – Heading North

  Jotham, with his Imperial night vision, led the group northward. Being a local, Simon the architect made a few suggestions to speed their progress and avoid patrols. Tashi flipped the magic coin

  each time they approached an obstacle or crossroads. They remained as silent as possible throughout the night. At dawn, they made camp to rest for a few hours.

  Tashi noted, “We can slip through the next major town over the lunch hour without raising suspicions.”

  “Looks like we’re clear,” remarked Simon as the couple set up one of four small tents that he’d procured for their journey. Sarajah shared with the boy. The gravediggers shared another, and Tashi shared the last one with the priest.

  Sophia, the architect’s wife, helped Jotham examine the group’s injuries. The eunuch gave the architect bark tea for his sore muscles. The sheriff’s fingertips were healing rapidly. “No need for bandages anymore, but you should sleep first shift,” Jotham ordered.

  “I thought each tent would take a shift standing a two-hour watch,” said Tashi.

  “One person per shift should be enough for daylight, until the territory gets more hostile,” Sarajah reasoned. “When we get close to the temple, there’ll be a lot of Dawn race activity. When we cross their feeding grounds, we’ll want to be as fresh as possible.”

  The sheriff nodded. “If anyone meets up with us today, we need a good story. Tell them we’re a family traveling home after the Imperial wedding.”

  Jotham glanced over at the boy and Tatters helping Simon to build the campfire. Owl was in bed snoring already. “Close enough.”

  In contrast to the sheriff, Sarajah’s fingers were not progressing well.

  “I didn’t know the tuning fork was capable of that,” remarked Jotham, as he examined the swollen digits.

  The seeress shrugged. “I’ve picked up a lot of trivia over the years. The feedback loop would’ve intensified the closer the shadow approached. When the resonance reached the proper level, I could’ve subdued the monster on my own—if our good knight hadn’t interfered.”

  “You stopped the circuit because Tashi would’ve born the brunt of the discharge.”

  The mute woman smirked as she finger-spelled, “You l-i-k-e . . .”

  “Shut up,” snapped Sarajah. “I would’ve done the same for any member of our team. He has a thick head, but it could’ve stopped his heart.”

  Sophia nodded in an exaggerated fashion and made a beating heart with her fist on her chest.

  “I have a panther-demon who owes me. I could send him back to shred your garden. Cats like to do that sort of thing. He wouldn’t even charge me.”

  Sophia stuck out her tongue.

  “We have two choices,” mused Jotham, ignoring the schoolgirl antics. “First, we could have Brent give you the blessing of mountains. He still carries some of the chalk with him.”

  “That’s for old women,” objected the seeress.

  Sophia snickered.

  “Technically, you’re older than me,” Jotham pointed out. “Flesh and mass can be faked with magic infusion. However, the bones lose minerals over time. Unless you exercise .
. .”

  “You just called me an old, fat, lazy deceiver. Get to the next choice before I break the other hand on your face.”

  “Or we perform the Ceremony of Freeing. It’s the rite of initiation into our order. Afterward, you’ll have more energy and heal more quickly.” When she didn’t respond, the priest added, “Or we can dip you in the river over here and bring you back to the fire. It’d only take a few bits and it would make you safe from repossession.”

  “Do it.”

  Sophia signed, “A-r-e you s-u-r-e?”

  “I’d smear myself in camel dung and eat a live toad if I thought it would stop that from ever happening again.”

  “I’ll need to draw glyphs on the spirtual entry points. The risk of possession is worse than you realize. The gift from your kingdom’s ill-fated goddess to your people was immunity to life drain. When spirits see your eye color, they know you’re the perfect host. You were the only one Zariah could ride without fear of killing. Normal people turn to husks when an Air spirit rides them too long. They have to keep getting new hosts . . .”

  “Stop! I said do it,” Sarajah hissed.

  “H-o-w you k-n-o-w?” Sophia spelled, as the other woman translated.

  “The Book of Dominion said that the goddess Eutheros was one of the worst winnowers, pruners of unnecessary human life. Because of their ability to resist drain, she could use her people as a weapon against other Dawn folk. The Book warns any emperor to kill your kind first.”

  “If you can’t say anything nice . . .” the seeress commented.

  “Sophia, please stoke the fire. We’ll be cold when we return,” the priest requested politely. The architect’s wife nodded and left to prepare blankets. The other men in the camp crawled into their tents to sleep as Jotham led the seeress to the river by the morning’s first light.

  “We’ll need a holy symbol,” he said. “Perhaps the sheriff’s tabard?”

  When Sarajah held up the tuning fork in an obscene gesture, he said, “You’re right. A relic would be better. Although, it will be easier if you remove your clothes.”

  She gave him a sharp stare before remembering he was a eunuch. “Won’t you have to touch me then?”

  He pulled out the blue gloves from Tamarind Pass and slipped them on. “No. I came prepared.”

  “No offense, but do women normally take off their clothes for ceremonies in your religion?”

  “You’re the first woman I’ve ever performed this ceremony for.”

  “Why naked?”

  Jotham held up an ink bottle and pen. “Wards on your forehead, neck, chest, spine . . .”

  “I get it. I’ll keep the dress, lay by the fire, and move it out of the way as needed.”

  The priest nodded. “So none of the other men see. Very well.” So saying, he stripped down to his loincloth and waded in. Other than his newly matching, blue eyes, Jotham appeared the same as the night he freed Brent. As she followed, the cold squeezed a gasp of shock from her lungs.

  He dunked her, intoned the words, and gave her the relic. She was shivering so violently that Jotham carried her back to the fire. Sophia wrapped her in pre-warmed blankets as the priest started to draw symbols. “These are temporary. The ink I’m using is similar to henna and will scrub off after a month or so.”

  They made the marks on her head small and hid them under her hair. However, the curved parts of her body took longer than expected. The priest was gentle and Sophia watched with interest.

  After the last tattoo, Jotham gave the freed woman basic instructions. “Avoid touching fossils, conduits, ruins, or spirits until we teach you some basic meditation and repulsion exercises.”

  After Sophia went to bed, Jotham did something unusual, even by his standards: the priest gave her the rest of the ink, the pen, and an extra journal, left over from his transcription of the Book of Dominion. “You’ll only need to sleep about four hours a night now. The rest of them will need at least six. With the extra time, I suggest you write. Since you have no interdictions against you, capturing all the supernatural lore gleaned from years at Zariah’s ‘side’ would be invaluable.”

  “Some of it was pretty evil.”

  “Trust me; getting it on paper will help you . . . distance yourself from it. The information may help others. An adroit woman such as yourself might even be able to generalize some principles to organize the spirit lore.”

  “Yeah, Archanos hinted that I should make up some precepts for his new religion.”

  “I thought it was Archanon,” observed the priest.

  Geturing to Tashi, she said, “It was, until the one-man wrecking crew over there set him free. Now that he can use his vote on the council, the honorific ‘os’ is added. The ‘on’ suffix is for archfiends. Normal demon names end in ‘og’—like Serog and Bagierog.” Her lips tingled where the panther had touched her as she said his name.

  “That would indicate that archangels use the ‘ose’ on their names. Fascinating,” said Jotham. “You prove me right already. You could write the definitive treatise on the structure of heaven.”

  “There are holes in the scheme. For instance, Emperor Myron would be a Fallen one by blind application of these rules.”

  “Not so far off as you might imagine,” the priest noted, philosophically. “Wait, gods have people. Where are Archanos’s?”

  “He has islands off the coast of the plague lands, in the real ocean. They’re raiders and pirates,” she explained.

  “Not unexpected,” said the tenor wryly. “You could draw maps than stretch far beyond the Inner Sea, explore histories lost to mankind . . .”

  “Whoa. I’ll try it, but only for my own edification. I’m not doing this for anyone else.” After a pause, Sarajah whispered, “Thank you, Jotham. You’re not bad for a man.”

  “High praise,” he said with a smile.

  “I feel I should repay you,” she said reluctantly.

  Jotham held out a hand. “The recipient may not offer anything in payment!”

  “I did a reading for you.” When he began to object, she held up a finger. “There’s an excellent chance that you’re going to be the next emperor.”

  He gaped, unable to find a response, so she continued. “Since this is likely to be the last time we get to talk in private, I’m going to give you the embarrassing stuff now. I have three pieces of advice. One, grow a pair of balls—not just physical ones. The Imperials won’t follow you unless you can kick their asses into it. History is full of well-meaning, moral milk-sops who ruined their countries. Two, decide on a new name; you’ll need it for your dynasty. And three, find at least one noble wife, possibly even one from each of the first-tier aristocratic families. It’ll cement your power base and unite the empire.”

  Jotham swallowed hard. “You’ve given me much to consider.”

  She shrugged. “In a couple days, you’ll be dead or I’ll be bowing down to you. Either way, this is the last chance I’ll have to talk this way to you.”

  Still stupefied by the information, the priest wandered back to his tent to digest it. “I’ll leave you to the first watch. Goodnight.”

  ****

  The eight mismatched travelers rose and pressed northward. This time, most of their journey was on the highway. During daylight hours, Tashi scouted ahead, and when he spotted other people, he’d whistle for them to hide. Jotham led at night. Whoever took point carried the holy myrtle staff. Owl pulled up the rear and had instructions to argue loudly if he encountered anyone.

  Brent had a great time talking philosophy and carpentry with Simon. Using the Book of the Bards and his outstanding memory, the boy turned out to be an outstanding pupil. The two talked so much, Sarajah asked her new friend Sophia, “Feeling left out?”

  The woman shook her head and gazed with love at both her husband and the boy. “H-a-p-p-i-e-s-t e-v-e-r seen.”

  “Simon or Brent?”

  “Y-e-s.”

  The seeress chatted the whole day with the architect’s wife.
“A-n-y i-l-l e-f-f-e-c-t-s?” signed Sophia.

  “None. I just have more time on my hands and more energy.” The seeress explained about her exercise writing a religious text. “I just don’t think I’m the right person to do this. I have too much to atone for.”

  “L-i-k-e?”

  “I was a weapon of the enemy for a long time.”

  “N-o c-h-o-i-c-e!”

  “I watched sometimes. She punished men who raped sleepers. It was brutal, but I’m ashamed to say I enjoyed that.”

  “J-u-s-t-i-c-e n-o-t e-v-i-l.”

  “The sword doesn’t know what the words on paper are. Force is force. It’s rarely right when you enjoy inflicting it.”

  Eventually, Sarajah heard the signing as words, complete with inflection and emotion. The magic of the cloak seemed to help her more the closer the women grew. The first message she read fluidly was, “What are your tenets?”

  “Everyone gets a second chance. I’m also keeping the freeing ceremony; I like that,” the seeress replied.

  “How about the man?”

  “What do you mean?” Sarajah asked, slightly panicked.

  “Why did Zariah spare Tashi?”

  “I think she admired his integrity. As flawed as he is, there’s something pure and incorruptible that wouldn’t bend to the witch’s will.”

  “You liked him.”

  “No, I was never able too . . .”

  “She killed the man next to him first when the sheriff ruined her.”

  Sarajah had no explanation for the uncharacteristic behavior. “It’s too soon for a man in my life.”