Dreamer's Cycle Series
Page 44
aderyn: birds
aethnen: aspen tree; sacred to Ederynion
alarch: swan; the symbol of the royal house of Ederynion
alban: light; any one of the four solar festivals
Alban Awyr: festival honoring Taran; Spring Equinox
Alban Haf: festival honoring Modron; Summer Solstice
Alban Nerth: festival honoring Agrona and Camulos; Autumnal Equinox
Alban Nos: festival honoring Sirona and Grannos; the Winter Solstice
ap: son of
ar: high
Archdruid: leader of the Druids, must be a descendent of Llyr
Arderydd: high eagle; symbol of the High Kings
Ardewin: leader of the Dewin, must be a descendent of Llyr
arymes: prophecy
Awenyddion: dreamer (see Dreamer)
awyr: air
bach: boy
Bard: a telepath; they are musicians, poets, and arbiters of the law in matters of inheritance, marriage, and divorce; Bards can Far-Sense and Wind-Speak; they revere the god Taran, King of the Winds
bedwen: birch tree; sacred to the Bards
Bedwen Mis: birch month; roughly corresponds to March
blaid: wolf; the symbol of the royal house of Prydyn
bran: raven; the symbol of the Dreamers
Brenin: high or noble one; the High King; acts as an amplifier for the Y Dawnus
buarth: circle
cad: battle
cadair: chair (of state)
caer: fortress
calan: first day; any one of the four fire festivals
Calan Gaef: festival honoring Annwyn and Aertan
Calan Llachar: festival honoring Cerridwen and Cerrunnos
Calan Morynion: festival honoring Nantsovelta
Calan Olau: festival honoring Mabon
cantref: a large division of land for administrative purposes; two to three commotes make up a cantref; a cantref is ruled by a Lord or Lady
canu: song
cariad: beloved
celynnen: holly
Celynnen Mis: holly month; roughly corresponds to late May/early June
cenedl: clan
cerdinen: rowan tree; sacred to the Dreamers
Cerdinen Mis: rowan month; roughly corresponds to July
cleddyf: sword
collen: hazel tree; sacred to Prydyn
Collen Mis: hazel month; roughly corresponds to October
commote: a small division of land for administrative purposes; two or three commotes make up a cantref; a commote is ruled by a Gwarda
coed: forest, wood
Cynyddu: increase; the time when the moon is waxing
Da: father dan: fire
derwen: oak tree; sacred to the Druids
Derwen Mis: oak month; roughly corresponds to December
Dewin: a clairvoyant; they are physicians; they can Life-Read and Wind-Ride; they revere the goddess Nantsovelta, Lady of the Moon
Disglair: bright; the time when the moon is full
draig: dragon; the symbol of the Dewin
draenenwen: hawthorn tree; sacred to Rheged
Draenenwen Mis: hawthorn month; roughly corresponds to late June/early July
Dreamer: a descendent of Llyr who has precognitive abilities; the Dreamer can Dream-Speak and Time-Walk; the Dreamer also has the other three gifts—telepathy, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis; there is only one Dreamer in a generation; they revere the god Mabon, King of Fire
Dream-Speaking: precognitive dreams; one of the Dreamer’s gifts
Druid: a psychokinetic; they are astronomers, scientists, and lead all festivals; they can Shape-Move, Fire-Weave, and, in partnership with the High King, Storm-Bring; they revere the goddess Modron, the Great Mother of All
drwys: doors
dwfr: water
dwyvach-breichled: goddess-bracelet; bracelet made of oak used by Druids
eiddew: ivy
Eiddew Mis: ivy month; roughly corresponds to April
enaid-dal: soul-catcher; lead collars that prevent Y Dawnus from using their gifts
eos: nightingale; the symbol of the Bards
erias: fire
erydd: eagle
Far-Sensing: the telepathic ability to communicate with animals
ffynidwydden: fir tree; sacred to the High Kings
Fire-Weaving: the psychokinetic ability to light fires
gaef: winter
galanas: blood price
galor: mourning, sorrow
goddeau: trees
gorsedd: a gathering (of Bards)
greu: blood
Gwaithdydd: third day of the week
gwarchan: incantation
Gwarda: ruler of a commote
gwernan: alder tree; sacred to Gwynedd
Gwernan Mis: alder month; roughly corresponds to late April/ early May
gwinydden: vine
Gwinydden: vine month; roughly corresponds to August
Gwlad Yr Haf: the Land of Summer; the Otherworld
gwydd: knowledge
gwyn: white
gwynt: wind
Gwyntdydd: fifth day of the week
gwyr: seeker
haf: summer
hebog: hawk; the symbol of the royal house of Gwynedd
helygen: willow
Helygen Mis: willow month; roughly corresponds to January
honneit: spear
Life-Reading: the clairvoyant ability to lay hands on a patient and determine the nature of their ailment
llachar: bright
llech: stone
Lleihau: to diminish; the time when the moon is waning
lleu: lion
Llundydd: second day of the week
llyfr: book
llyn: lake llys: court
Lord/Lady: ruler of a cantref
Mam: mother
march: horse; the symbol of the royal house of Rheged
Master Bard: leader of the Bards, must be a descendent of Llyr
Meirgdydd: fourth day of the week
meirig: guardian
Meriwydd: seventh day of the week
mis: month
morynion: maiden
mwg-breudduyd: smoke-dream; a method Dreamers can use to induce dreams
mynydd: mountain
mynyddoedd: mountains
naid: leap
nemed: shrine, a sacred grove
nerth: strength
neuadd: hall
niam-lann: a jeweled metallic headpiece, worn by ladies of rank
nos: night
ogaf: cave olau: fair
onnen: ash tree; sacred to the Dewin
Onnen Mis: ash month; roughly corresponds to February
pair: cauldron
pen: head of
Plentyn Prawf: child test; the testing of children, performed by the Bards, to determine if they are Y Dawnus
rhyfelwr: warrior
sarn: road
Shape-Moving: the psychokinetic ability to move objects
Storm-Bringing: the psychokinetic ability to control certain weather conditions; only effective in partnership with the High King
Suldydd: first day of the week
tarbell: a board game, similar to chess
tarw: bull; the symbol of the Druids
tarw-casgliad: the ceremony where Druids invite a dream from Modron
telyn: harp
teulu: warband
Time-Walking: the ability to see events in the past; one of the Dreamer’s gifts
tir: earth
triskele: the crystal medallion used by Dewin
ty: house
tynge tynghed: the swearing of a destiny
Tynged Mawr: great fate; the test to determine a High King
Tywyllu: dark; the time when the moon is new
ur: daughter of
var: out of
Wind-Riding: the clairvoyant ability of astral projection
Wind-Speaking: the telepathic ability to communicate with other humans
wythnos: week
Y Dawnus: the gifted; a Druid, Bard, Dewin, or Dreamer
ysgawen: elder
Ysgawen Mis: elder month; roughly corresponds to September
ystafell: the Ruler’s chambers
ywen: yew
Ywen Mis : yew month; roughly corresponds to November
A Special Preview of Memories of Empire
by Django Wexler
Chapter 1
“The fundamental flaw in their culture is a certain stubbornness, a continued resistance to the world as it is. The clearest example is their religion, worshipping ghosts six thousand years dead, but this trait runs throughout their entire culture. It makes them fearsome in times of strength but pathetic in times of weakness, and it leaves them unable or unwilling to adapt to changing conditions . . .”
–Kabiru Shun, The Fall of the Sixth Dynasty
THERE’S ALWAYS ONE perfect moment, when the mind has just awoken and consciousness has yet to fully engage—still half-wrapped in dream, eyes open but uncomprehending, until the weight of the world crashes down with all its harsh reality. That moment, Veil had decided, was something to be savored. It slipped away all too quickly. The very act of thinking about it kicked her mind into action, and what had been mere patterns of light and shadow resolved into familiar objects. She managed one clean breath, held it for one perfect moment.
Then memory returned, and Veil settled in for a nice long scream.
ONE MAN. IT didn’t seem possible.
The scream was very uncharacteristic of Veil. She was not, as a rule, a person who screamed or cried or threw tantrums. Growing up in Kalil’s massive household had taught her a number of important lessons about life, and not the least of these was that screaming and crying rarely accomplished anything.
But, in this case, she felt she deserved a good scream. It helped to burn off tension, that was the main thing, And, once she was done, she was able to look at the situation with a great deal more equanimity. Under other circumstances she might have been worried about her reputation, but since there wasn’t another human being for at least fifty miles in any direction that was also not a concern.
The sun was up, having just cleared the eastern horizon, and was beginning to make itself felt. The day promised to be a scorcher—the sky was blue from edge to edge, not even a wisp of cloud to blunt the heat. Veil could feel the sand, gritty and cold against her back, but already starting to drink in the sun’s rays. In a few hours it would be too hot to touch.
Mahmata lay on top of her, and blood from the wound in the fat woman’s belly had crusted over Veil’s legs. Once she was done screaming, Veil set about freeing herself. This took some time, since Mahmata was quite fat and Veil might have described herself, charitably, as ‘wiry.’ Eventually, though, she managed to wriggle out from underneath the corpse and survey what was left of the camp.
Most of Bali’s men were sprawled on a blood-soaked stretch of sand halfway to the bluff. Low as it was, it was the only decent shade for miles; it was no surprise they’d run into someone. That was where they’d confronted the stranger, and it didn’t look like any of them had gotten more than two steps. Veil wandered over to inspect them, in a stunned state of idle curiosity. Dead bodies didn’t bother her—the spirits were gone, after all, settling into the Aether or snapped up as food for something bigger and meaner.
So what was left to be afraid of? They were all dead—seven men. Vosh, who’d boasted so around the campfire, hadn’t even gotten his sword out of its scabbard. Vosh had voted to pass Veil around at night, as a kind of bonus for the guards. Thankfully Bali had overruled him—apparently her virginity was worth more than a sellsword could offer—but Veil gave Vosh’s corpse a kick anyway and felt a little better.
The other slaves had died, too, tied together and unable to even run. Veil hadn’t known the pair of dark-skinned aborigines very well, since they spoke no Imperial and only a few broken words of Khaev, but fair-haired Silel had come from a clan to the west of Kalil’s. Veil had gotten to know her in a month of traveling—a pretty, empty-headed thing. It was no wonder her father had gotten rid of her; still, she hadn’t deserved to be slashed open like a Mourning fowl, spilling purple and black on the sands. Veil looked at her a moment, and shook her head. In clan lands the corpse would already be covered with flies, or torn apart by coyotes, but nothing lived in the high desert. Not even insects.
Bali, himself, had gotten the farthest. She assumed he’d started to run as soon as his sellswords started falling like trees in a sandstorm, but he’d made the mistake of stopping at his pack to dig out his purses. She found him there, slumped over his gold, run through from behind. Blood had coated the open purse and dulled the gleam of the coins.
She thought about kicking Bali, too, but he was so pathetic in death that adding further insult to his corpse seemed pointless. Instead she bent down to look in the purse. It was filled to bursting, a not-inconsiderable load for a grown man and a hopeless encumbrance for a girl of fifteen. She reached in, delicately, and extracted two fat golden eyes. That had been the slave-price Bali paid her father; more than the usual one-six he paid for children, she remembered, because there was a shortage of virgin girls in Corsa and the brothels were paying double.
Veil tucked the coins into the pocket of her ragged shorts and sat down heavily on the already-warming sands, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to die.
Even that was a bit egotistical, she had to admit.
It’s not as though I have much of a choice. A hundred miles from home, in the middle of the trackless high desert, with no food and no water other than what she might salvage from the wreckage of the camp. The right thing to do, the logical thing, would be to lie down in the sun, enjoy the warmth, and slowly wither to a mummified corpse. Either that or, if she was feeling brave, borrow a dagger from one of the guards and end it herself. That would be the logical choice. No food, no water, no help, no chance.
On the other hand, why not? Veil’s life had ended two months ago, when Kalil lost a war against Siorn and came up short on the reparations. And yet, I’m still here. Might as well make the most of it. What’s the worst that happens:, I die in the desert?
She permitted herself a tight, sarcastic grin and went about stripping the bodies. She acquired a white cloth robe, suitable for desert wear, from Mahmata; it was a bit used and had a bloody hole through the middle, but Veil felt she wasn’t in a position to pick and choose. From Silel, after a brief internal struggle, she took shoes—real bound-leather shoes, better by far for loose sand than the sandals Veil was wearing. The two biggest water skins - which Bali had been carrying - she hoisted over one shoulder. The little canteens that everyone had carried she drained, drinking until she squelched at the edges. There was no food—presumably the stranger had taken it. Veil shrugged. If I live long enough that food becomes an issue, I’ll have gotten farther than I expected.
She hesitated over the last item. It seemed pointless, really—there wasn’t a human for miles and miles , except for maybe the stranger, and there were no animals in the high desert. Nevertheless, she finally unstrapped Vosh’s short sword and slung it awkwardly over her other shoulder. It was only a piece of pointed steel, but it made her feel better.
That left one last choice to make. Which direction to go?
Two options presented themselves. She could backtrack, heading west toward the Red Hills and home. That did not sound promising—the hills themselves were rife with bandits and rebels, and soldiers hunting both. Not to mention it was at least two weeks’ walk through the high desert that way. And if I turned up again at Kalil’s door, what would he do? Probably chastise me for being disobedient and sell me to the next caravan that passed by, counting himself lucky to get paid twice for the same girl. Veil’s memories of her father were understandably colored by recent events, but, even in the past, Kalil had not been the kindliest of men. Not that he’d been particularly cruel, either—he didn’t have time, with seven wives
and uncounted children to manage, and there had been nannies and tutors to dispense the punishments. But she remembered him as distant, and cold.
Still, she hesitated. There was someone at home who would welcome her. Kyre. He was her truebrother, sharing both a father and a mother, born almost two years to the day before her. He’d cried, a little, when Kalil announced that she was to be sold. Afterwards, as she’d sat on her bunk in stunned silence, he’d kissed her lightly on the cheek and told her not to worry. Kyre would be happy to see me.
The other choice was south. The trail was clear enough, for the moment, a line of footprints running straight as an arrow across the sand. The first wind would obliterate them, but the baking air had barely stirred. The stranger had gone that way.
Bali had been heading vaguely south, she knew. There were oases, and little towns where you could buy water. She’d searched his body for a map, but either the slaver had navigated by memory or the stranger had taken it; probably the former, since Bali was—had been—only barely literate. Go south far enough, and the desert ran out. The city of Corsa was out there, somewhere. Every vile, nasty story Veil had ever heard had been set in Corsa; apparently the place was populated entirely by slavers and pirates, and operated beyond the reach of Khaev law.
It was ultimately curiosity that helped her to make up her mind. One man against seven. Her memories of the fight were confused, a blur of blood and flashing steel, but she remembered the stranger. All in black, and he’d moved like a phantom. He won’t last, in the heat. He’ll have to rest. I can catch up with him, and he has the food. He’d killed everyone, even the women and slaves. He didn’t kill me. In all likelihood, he hadn’t even noticed her—Mahmata had fallen on top of her, and Veil had fainted. But, still...
The sun had climbed higher, and the sand was getting hot. Veil struggled to her feet, water skins clonking heavily against her breast, and started south. One step at a time, one foot after the other.
JUST AFTER MIDDAY, when the sun was at its hottest, she finally caught sight of him.
The air felt like it had been cooked, so dry she could feel her skin cracking every time she moved. It was like the inside of the bakery, back home, when she was standing next to the oven and feeling the waves of heat it threw off; except here the oven was the whole world, and she couldn’t duck outside the hut for a quick break. Everything Veil wore—her new boots, her flimsy shirt—was soaked in sweat.