Sower of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  They reached Micfal’s side, and Khan reined in.

  Taking a deep breath, Daria tried to calm herself.

  The animals were only obeying the cycle of life. Not like human animals. And when it came down to it, death was death. She’d much prefer her body feed the creatures of the wasteland than live with whatever Thaddis had in store for her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Khan eyed Micfal’s body. The man lay on his back where Khan had left him, sword still clutched in his hand. A few feet away sprawled the carcass of the female reptile-dog, poison talon extended, while the mate lay in a heap about ten feet away.

  When he saw the claws of the reptile-dog, stories he’d heard while traveling in the American West popped into his mind, how some natives had used poisoned arrows against their enemies. That might work—even out their odds. They could dip the arrowheads in the toxin from the reptile-dogs’ talons. While venom might not kill, the substance could cause loss of consciousness or paralysis.

  He glanced over at Daria, about to voice his idea, then stopped. This was not the time.

  Sadness shaded her eyes. “I need to see to Micfal’s burial.”

  “Of course.” Khan ached to give her comfort, but realized, by the firming of her jaw, she was trying to be strong.

  The other horses huddled in a shady alcove far enough away from the bodies, their heads hanging. He’d need to get them corralled, watered, and fed as soon as possible. His thoughts raced, as he tried to figure out where he’d put the horses, how he’d handle a burial, what to do about Amir.

  Nika slowed, prancing sideways, clearly not relishing being in the presence of the dead animals. Khan knew just how the horse felt. He had never handled a dead body. Saying farewell at his parents’ funerals could hardly count. But since he’d come to this world, he’d faced a lot of things he’d never had to deal with before.

  Chalk it up to a learning experience, old man, he said to himself in the English accent of one of his college tutors. His mental voice switched to his own. He doubted his former tutor had meant a situation like this. But maybe he had. The man had been a decorated World War II veteran, and steel had often shone through his elderly softness. Even in old age, he continued to teach long past the time others would have retired.

  What he wouldn’t give for some war experience. He’d never killed anyone and had fled rather than confront his own brother. Now there was no place to run.

  Time to take a stand. I’m through running.

  ~ ~ ~

  Daria stood in front of the funeral pyre, numbness closing down her heart and lending weariness to her muscles. Micfal’s corpse lay on a pile of gray rock, which glowed orange in the center, shooting colored flames, burning with an acrid smell.

  She’d washed his body, dressing him in the cleanest of his clothes. With tears in her eyes, she’d pinned to his chest the gold seal of office she’d found in his saddlebag. Micfal had proudly worn the badge for as long as she’d known him. Too late, Daria wished she’d allowed him to wear it in her honor. She’d been selfish in denying him the outer symbol of his service. No longer would the seal be passed to another who’d advise the ruler. Micfal, the last of those office holders, deserved to take the seal with him.

  While she’d readied the body, Khan had built the funeral pyre. Now he stood beside her, head bowed, as if saying his own prayers for Micfal’s passing.

  The ritual phrases of the death song, long embedded in her mind, fought with her rejection of Yadarius. Finally, she remembered that Micfal had never agreed with her angry repudiation of their God. He’d remained silent when she’d spewed out her own resentment, just listening. Perhaps she wronged Micfal by withholding the words that would speed him on his way to the Hall of the Yadarius.

  She inhaled a deep breath of the smoky air. Reaching for the high note that began the dirge, she started to chant. At first her singing voice, silent for so many months, sounded rusty, as if scraped out of her throat. But she’d once possessed a beautiful voice, sweet and true, and after a few notes, it returned.

  She fought to hold her voice steady, to not let the pain in her chest rise up to clog her throat. For a moment, she relaxed her resentment with Yadarius, chanting the phrases that would accompany all those she’d loved to the afterlife.

  Hot tears spiked in her eyes, but she clenched her hands, refusing to allow them to fall. Not until the end of the ritual. No, not even then. For when this funeral was over, they had battles to prepare for. Perhaps afterwards, if they survived, there would be a time for tears.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time the last of the smoke from the funeral pyre cleared, the amber sun hung low on the horizon. Daria studied the cooling fire rocks, the orange centers fading to sunset pink. Although they’d burned brightly, they hadn’t lost their jagged globular shapes. Micfal’s ashes lay scattered over and between them. It would take several more hours before the rocks had cooled enough for her to gather the ashes for burial.

  Standing beside her, Khan cupped his hand under her elbow. The casual gesture of support pulled her awareness from Micfal to him. Warmth flooded up her arm to her heart. She couldn’t help wanting to lean against his shoulder, feel the strength of his arms around her.

  She kept herself rigid, trying to remember that she was a princess of Seagem, trained for battle since a small child. A warrior who needed to lean on no one. But a traitorous voice whispered that she’d always had loved ones around and never had to stand alone.

  I’m the one who pushed him away, she reminded herself.

  In addition, Khan had become a celibate priest dedicated to a Goddess Daria didn’t trust. The gulf between them was far wider than the few inches that separated their bodies. She’d better get used to being self-sufficient.

  Khan turned her toward the horses. “Let’s head over to the water hole and dump in the pucker plant leaves. By the time we return, we can gather the ashes and bury them in my garden.” He glanced at the fading sun, then back to her. “Then we’ll take our rest for the night. Tomorrow, the Goddess will release Amir and Moussad, and we need to be prepared for them.”

  Daria nodded, scooped up the quiver of arrows and the bow lying in the dust near her boots, and headed for Teifa. As she walked, the scabbard of her sword thumped a reassuring rhythm. Her weapons might have little effectiveness against these guns Khan had described, but the lack of their constant familiar presence had left her feeling far too vulnerable.

  She mounted Teifa, making sure to scan the area with her othersense to see if any hellhounds prowled nearby. As far as she could tell, nothing. But she kept one hand near her bow. Those evil creatures wouldn’t take her by surprise a second time.

  As they rode through the ruins, Daria studied her surroundings. No longer debilitated by the lack of water and the grinding down of her spirit, nor focused on Micfal’s funeral, she finally paid attention to the decimated city.

  Some places were reduced to indecipherable piles of sand-covered rocks. Others showed the bones of the once-proud buildings they’d been. A laced piece of iron sticking out of a heap of dirt, a carved bit of stone perched on the top of cracked wall, gave fuel to her imagination. Daria tried to flesh out the picture—imagine the place whole and thriving, with people bustling through the streets and children playing in the parks—but her fantasies couldn’t stretch beyond the eerie emptiness bathing the scene in grim reality.

  They rounded a corner of piled rusted metal and rode between two crumbling towers, their sides pitted from decay.

  Khan nudged Nika closer. “Before I came here, the Goddess showed me this city in its former glory.” He waved one hand around. “The buildings were made of golden brick that shimmered in the sunlight. Green plants and trees grew everywhere. The people bustled about the streets wearing colorful clothes.”

  Bitterness rose in her throat. “Your Goddess didn’t care for her own, did she?”

  His jaw tightened. “If only you could have experienced her sorrow like I did. So profoundly
deep. She grieves, Daria. She has for a long, long time. If something she did caused this, She’s had plenty of time for regrets.”

  Daria batted aside a vision of Yadarius mourning for fallen Seagem. She didn’t want to have any empathy for Him. The SeaGod deserved all His grief. “Even if your Lady has suffered, that doesn’t mean you should trust her, Khan.”

  “I don’t think She has much power to help us outside her shrine. This plan is up to us.”

  “What plan?”

  “I don’t quite know. Somehow, we need to get their guns. With the guns, we’ll be able to easily deal with Thaddis.”

  A sudden surge of hope had Daria straightening in the saddle. To use the strange weapons of Khan’s enemy to defeat her own enemy would be irony, indeed. However, she didn’t think capturing those guns would be as easy as Khan made it sound.

  ~ ~ ~

  The dream tossed Khan out of his peaceful slumber and into Amir’s body. He had a second to yell in protest before he melded with his half-brother.

  Amir/Khan slumped against the door at the end of the tunnel. Darkness surrounded him, blacker than the darkest night in the desert. Although he didn’t know it, just on the other side lay the healing waters of the Goddess’s pool. The back of his head rested against the brick, his body exhausted from the various attempts to free them from their dark prison. His stomach grumbled with hunger. A parched thirst withered his mouth and tongue.

  Lying on the floor beside him, Moussad let out a snort, which slid into a rattling snore.

  Annoyed, Amir was tempted to kick his bodyguard awake, but couldn’t muster up the energy.

  The fear he’d been fighting for the hours they’d been trapped in this hellhole stormed through his body, growing ever stronger. It was all he could do to contain the hurricane of panic, for he knew if he released the scream building in his throat, he’d lose his sanity.

  To distract himself, he focused on his brother. They’d groped through the tunnel, hoping to find Khan’s moldering corpse. But somehow that rat had escaped this deathtrap. Jasmine, too.

  Amir growled, thinking about what he’d do to that bitch when he found her. What he’d do to both of them.

  He imagined his hated little brother bound and gagged, so he’d had to watch. No, not gagged. Amir wanted to hear Khan grovel and beg. Tied. Lying in the dirt. Helpless, while Amir took that bitch in front of Khan’s eyes. Then he would toss her to Moussad to play with.

  Afterward, they’d torture Khan. Amir had years of torments he’d dreamed of inflicting on the little rat. The child who’d stolen his father’s rightful affection and attention from his firstborn son.

  The fantasies kept the madness of terror at bay. But the maelstrom of icy fear and hot hatred writhed within him.

  Amir slid down the wall until he lay prone. With his hands on his chest, he forced himself to take deep breaths and try to relax. He desperately needed the rest. After he’d had a chance to sleep, then he and Moussad would find a way out.

  If Khan and Jasmine could escape this place, so would he. And when he did….

  ~ ~ ~

  A smothered cry jolted Daria awake. Energy spiked through her muscles, and she grabbed for the hilt of her sword almost before she’d opened her eyes. She scrambled out of the bedroll, and then realized the noise had come from Khan.

  He moaned and thrashed out an arm.

  She knelt beside him, dropping her sword back on her bedroll. Tucking her hand into his, she tried not to disturb his slumber. Whatever heaviness lay in Khan’s dream passage, all she could do was give him silent support.

  He quieted under her touch; his breathing evened out.

  The moonlight from the twin moons of Reescue and Narune lit the large upstairs room of Khan’s home with a warm golden glow. In an hour, Reescue would set, leaving only the dimmer light of Narune.

  She took the time to study this man whom she’d known in reality less than a day, yet seemed to have known for a lifetime. The moons’ light angled the planes of his cheekbones and shadowed the closed eyes set under dark brows. His thick lashes fluttered.

  The covering slid off his shoulder, and she admired his muscular brown chest and the strong lines of his arm.

  His hand tightened in hers, and then relaxed again.

  Daria held her breath, anxious not to awaken him.

  His eyelids stilled.

  She resisted the impulse to run a finger down the bridge of his hawk nose, feel the warmth of the skin under her hand. His exotic features cast a spell on her. Daria tried to imagine what his homeland must be like, peopled with handsome men and women like him.

  Unbidden, the memory of their kissing bloomed in her mind. Her body heated at the thought. This time, she could seduce him into making love. She gave in to temptation, brushing her fingers over his shoulder, tracing his collarbone.

  He murmured and stirred.

  This is wrong. No matter if she had the power to arouse him…to make him forsake his vows.… She’d be like Thaddis, making another do what she wanted for her pleasure, regardless of how he’d feel afterwards.

  But I wouldn’t be like Thaddis, she argued with herself.

  Maybe you wouldn’t kill anyone to get your way, but you’d still be causing harm out of your selfishness. He might go along because he’s a man. And he cares about you. Afterwards, he’d be remorseful. Then how would you feel?

  Ashamed, she slipped her hand free, stood, and strode to the large round window. She caught her breath at the view.

  Khan’s park had been shrouded in darkness when they’d returned with Micfal’s ashes. The moons had not yet risen, and she hadn’t seen the outdoors before stabling the horses and coming into the house. But now the verdant growth stood bathed in golden rays, and the green scent of plants mingled with the mineral dryness of the desert, wafting to her on a gentle night breeze.

  Toward the edge of the planted area, a statue glowed inside a walled circle, brighter than the orbs overhead. Khan’s Goddess.

  Daria turned her head, struggling with a memory.

  In her corner room at Seagem, the windows on one side overlooked Yadarius’s garden. Some nights, she’d watched the SeaGod’s statue—the moons’ rays playing over his powerful body, nude except for the kilt of sealeaves girding his hips. A braided crown circled His brow, holding back hair that curled to His broad shoulders. Godly wisdom infused His handsome face. In His right hand, He held a fishing spear. His left hand cupped a handful of pearls. The sweet scents of the flowers planted around the base of the statue mingled with the tangy brine of the sea, a perfume that had sent her to sleep all her days.

  Until Yadarius had abandoned his people.

  And Khan’s Lady had done likewise, generations before. Who knew when the fickle Goddess would once again do the same? Khan was foolish to place his trust in Her.

  Daria touched the side of her thigh, where her sword usually hung.

  I’ll trust only in myself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The rasping sound of the door opening woke Amir. Khan stirred within his brother’s mind, blending into Amir’s thoughts.

  Amir scrambled to his feet, swaying a little from the abrupt transition of sleep to wakefulness. He blinked as a yellow glow flicked on inside a statue in the middle of a circular room.

  Light!

  As a blind man gifted with sudden sight, he started toward the opening.

  Moussad elbowed him aside. “Behind me,” his bodyguard growled.

  Reluctantly, Amir stepped back, containing his impatience to head toward the warmth of the light. He’d never again take for granted the ability to see.

  Moussad stalked into the room, AK-47 ready.

  Nothing happened. Khan didn’t show. Nor did anyone else.

  The fresh scent of water lured Amir forward, but he first took the precaution of pulling out his gun.

  After a quick walking scan of the room, Moussad pronounced everything to be safe.

  Amir tucked the gun into the waistband of hi
s pants, dropped to his knees at the side of the pool, and scooped water into his mouth. Next to him, he could hear Moussad splashing around.

  Amir ducked his head under the water.

  The cool liquid beckoned, seductive.

  He came up for air and tossed his wet hair out of his face. First, he tugged his robe over his head, then the white tee shirt he wore underneath it.

  Moussad stared at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Going for a swim.”

  “We can’t take the time. We have to get out of here.”

  Amir ignored him, stubbornness making him tear off his unbuttoned shirt and set aside his weapon.

  Moussad shrugged. “Make it quick,” he growled.

  Amir stripped and waded into the water.

  The statue of a veiled woman shone brighter. Gold flecks embedded in the walls sparkled like stars.

  The refreshing liquid relaxed him. A hard core of tension in his stomach melted. He submerged, then turned over to float.

  Through lowered eyelids, he gazed up at the statue. The light blurred until he couldn’t even see the solid shape of the woman’s form.

  Somehow the veiled features changed, became the face of his mother, showing a softness he hadn’t seen since he was three years old. He’d forgotten this mother, having known the bitter one all his life. For when he was three, his father had brought home Khan’s mother, and Kadija’s life had shattered.

  Amir’s heart clenched as if he were feeling Kadija’s pain— experiencing how she’d tried desperately to regain her place as her husband’s beloved. But in his bewitchment with the other woman, he had acted as one deaf to her. In time, Kadija’s love had withered to ashes, and her heart had become as coal. She barely retained any feeling for her own son.

  A little boy held up a plaintive hand to his mother. She turned away, leaving him alone, abandoned.