As they came together, body and soul, Daria cried out. Khan echoed her release. Their combined othersense showered firesparks of silver and blue, echoing bursts of sensations shooting throughout her body.
Spent, they collapsed together in the afterglow. The warm light of their othersense faded to sweet bliss.
Breathing deeply, they lay together in a tangle of limbs. Khan stroked Daria’s hair from her face. The love between them flowed like a clear channel, making words unnecessary.
Content with the feel of Khan’s arms around her, Daria drifted to sleep. Even in slumber, their connection wrapped around her—making her feel cherished, safe. Within moments, she slipped into a dream.
Daria floated over the ocean, looking down upon Seagem’s familiar turquoise-green hue, the smooth swells rising and falling.
In the sky to the left, she saw Yadarius’s throne—empty. The mother-of-pearl and gold inlay, with a gold Y and crown etched into the back, glistened in the sun. Saddened, she tried to turn away, but her vision held steady, captive of some unknown force.
Something shimmered. For an instant, she saw Yadarius, His image fainter than smoke. But the glimpse was enough for her to see Him slumped against the back of the throne, the broken trident resting in His lap, and the sideways droop of His head.
Something’s wrong with Him.
Daria blinked, trying to focus, willing the SeaGod to look up and see her. But He didn’t. Gasping in panic, she started to move to Him. But something jerked her back.
“Yadarius!” she cried, trying to get His attention.
But He didn’t stir.
Was He even alive?
The smoky image dissolved, and the unseen power shoved her in another direction. Helpless against the flow, Daria sped to the southwest. The sea color changed, dulled and grayed.
The grayness echoed the unease in her heart. She’d seen this murky water before. With a jolt of fear, she remembered.
This is the ocean where Indaran died!
As soon as the memory returned, she saw the jagged outline of the coast. She wanted to turn and flee back to Withea’s country, to Khan’s arms. She strove to resist her forward progress. But like a swimmer caught in the moon tides of Narune and Reescue, the pull proved too strong to fight. The land loomed; her trepidation increased. Waves dashed against an uneven, rocky coastline. In a small harbor, a few ships lay anchored. A stone jetty bit into a sharp cliff with gray block warehouses shadowed under an overhanging bluff.
A stone road zigzagged to the top of the crest, where small ramshackle huts and faded tent-like structures gave way to blocky gray boxes. A poor excuse for a city.
As she sailed over, she saw a few people in the streets, their ragged garments flapping in the wind. A few blondes and redheads, but mostly brown or black-haired men and women like Pasinae, although none with skin as dark as Khan’s. They proceeded about their business in silence—no apparent haggling, or gossiping. No children darted through the scant crowd.
Was this Pasinae’s land?
A huge square structure, built with gray blocks, crouched in the center of the city. No adornment, signs, or banners added to the plain decor. A swath of empty dirt surrounded the building like a moat. The palace?
She was drawn, inevitably, toward the place.
As she floated closer, Daria’s othersense throbbed with warning, and she reached for her nonexistent sword, even though she knew a weapon would be useless against what awaited her there.
The downward pull strengthened.
Daria kicked out, struggling with the air. But even her othersense couldn’t break the hold. She cried out for Khan, but no blue energy answered, nor was there any response from an appeal to Withea.
Daria closed in on the building. She thought she’d smash against the stark walls, but instead slid through as if they were butter. Once inside, she hovered in a large room.
People lay on stone slabs. Bodies? Was this some kind of crypt?
No. Her othersense told her they lived, if such could be called life.
She drifted closer.
All the sleepers had blond or red hair and fair skin. A sense of familiarity teased her. One dark-haired man moved between the slabs, seeming to tend the inert bodies.
In the center, a man, wearing a gold-trimmed green tunic and trews, lay on the largest of the blocks, his long, blond hair fanning around his head, hands folded over his chest.
She moved close enough to almost touch his shoulder. The sight of the beloved broad forehead and angled cheekbones slapped at her face.
Daria reached out to jerk him awake, praying to see his green eyes flash with life. But before she could contact him, the dream severed.
With a muffled scream, she jerked herself awake, and shot to a sitting position. Her heart beat so hard, Daria thought it might thump out of her chest. She reached over, shaking her new husband’s shoulder to the pounding rhythm. All the while she wanted to leap up and rush to her brother.
Indaran is alive!
END OF BOOK ONE
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READ AN EXCERPT OF BOOK TWO IN THE GODS’ DREAM TRILOGY, REAPER OF DREAMS
REAPER OF DREAMS
~ Excerpt~
CHAPTER ONE
LOUAT
Indaran, crown prince of Seagem, lay immobilized on a vast altar-like slab in the center of Ontarem’s temple, the Evil God’s mental tentacles enmeshed with his mind. Ontarem fed on Indaran’s memories, greedily gnawing off chunks of emotion. Then He cracked them apart like a bone, sucking out the marrow of the prince’s life essence. When the God had slurped up every shred of feelings, He carelessly tossed aside the remains, leaving only black-and-white facts, devoid of color, absent of sensation.
I don’t have many memories left for Him to ravish.
Indaran didn’t fight Him. Over the long years of imprisonment, he’d discovered the futility of struggle. The Evil One would easily overpower him, and then use whips of pain to force compliance, a torment that seared through his head and burned through the muscles of his paralyzed body.
Just endure.
With a jolt that radiated agony through Indaran’s brain, the Evil One withdrew. Although his head throbbed, Indaran’s mind sagged with relief. He closed his eyes, the only part of his body he could control, and took a deep breath of air, foul with the reek of geserat incense that burned day and night—a smell he’d also learned to bear. After all the years of his captivity, he couldn’t even remember the briny scent of the breeze blowing through his native Seagem.
One more loss among many.
Indaran didn’t know how long he had before Ontarem returned to the torture of draining him. Sometimes long periods of time seemed to pass, at others only a few minutes. But he needed to use the reprieve to strengthen his resolve...to hold on...to never give up.
He tested the memories Ontarem had just wrested from him…the farewell scene with his family at the palace…the ride to the harbor, waving to the people who’d gathered to see him off. He knew the day had sparkled with sunshine and vivid hues, but he could no longer picture anything but shades of gray. And although Indaran remembered riding with impatience and excitement, he could no longer feel those long-ago emotions.
Sometimes, he occupied himself by taking his current knowledge of color and emotion and going back in time, trying to paint in the scene. With enough concentration, the exercise almost worked.
What will happen when all my memories are taken? Will I even know color? Emotion? Perhaps it won’t matter. We will be of no use to the Evil One, and He’ll kill us.
With a vague brush of his othersense—his psychic power—Indaran could feel the presence of his fellow captives, each cocooned in his or her own prison. But he couldn’t turn his head to look at them. He slid his awareness out to those around him, trying to penetrate the blankness of their minds. He touched each one, counting.
Two hundred and twenty-four.
He g
roped for the memory of the last count he’d taken, trying to separate the number from all the other head counts he’d done between times of physical and mental torture. Finally, he settled on the number.
Two hundred and twenty five. Three fewer. Three more good men or women who would never return to their families. The anguish of their deaths swelled in his heart until that organ battered against his chest.
Three more people he’d killed in his reckless desire to explore the long forgotten home of their ancestors. Three who’d trusted him…whom he’d led into this trap.
Familiar guilt flooded him. Every one of his people had died because he’d had a desire for glory and excitement as well as a restless longing to shrug off his royal role.
Forgive me.
Indaran began the death chant, the cadence thrumming through his mind. He hoped, as he’d done through the other ninety-five deaths, that the souls of the departed would find their way to Yadarius, and the SeaGod would lead them to the Hall of the Dead. He prayed their souls would not be trapped in the Realm of Ontarem like their minds and bodies had been....
That they would finally be free.
When he’d finished with the death chant, once again he made the rounds with his othersense, extending to each individual a message of hope. Hold. Don’t give up. I am here. I care.
Hours passed. Indaran had no idea if the others ever heard his sendings. But he had to keep trying. He was their prince. He couldn’t abandon them. The need to sustain his people was the only thing that kept him from letting go and joining the others in the release of death.
He drifted into sleep, a temporary escape. But he wasn’t allowed to remain in oblivion for long.
A painful contraction in his mind jolted him awake, like a giant fist squeezing his brain. Ontarem’s usual greeting flickered despair through Indaran’s body. He quickly suppressed his reaction. The Evil God delighted over every emotion, especially the dark ones, gloating as He sucked up every last bit of energy. Indaran wasn’t about to surrender to Ontarem any more of his essence than the Evil One could wrest away.
Ontarem took them to the point in time where the Evil God had previously left off—the departure from Seagem. With a snap of disorientation, He thrust Indaran into the memory, forcing him to relive it for His pleasure.
Indaran stood beside the pilot who navigated Seagem’s Treasure through the rock-studded girdle of turquoise ocean, surrounding the peninsula city. Too full of excitement to remain still, he paced to the railing, his cloak flapping in the wind, and checked over the side to make sure they’d have enough leeway when they passed the Needle, a rocky spire of barnacle-encrusted stone that marked the secret channel to the open sea. Not that he needed to monitor the pilot’s work. The man had been guiding ships through these waters longer than Indaran had been alive.
Indaran glanced over at the rotting hull of a trader from Ocean’s Glory, resting ancient spars between the rocky breasts of the Maiden. A warning for any voyagers foolish enough to attempt to sail to or from the city without one of the official pilots. The ship had gone aground in his great-great grandfather’s reign—the last time anyone had dared defy the law.
Three steps took him back to the helm.
At the hail from the lookout leaning over the bow, the pilot turned the wheel precisely eight degrees, then flashed Indaran a wink. A wide grin split his white-bearded face. “Can’t be much more adventure out there than sailing through our very own waters.”
“I want to know more than our own waters.”
“Best to leave stingfish alone in their reefs.”
Almost everyone else agreed with the man. A familiar surge of restlessness sent Indaran striding back toward the rail. For generations, the people of Seagem had been content to stay home. Obeying some long-forgotten injunction to remain close to the safe haven they’d found in the SeaGod Yadarius’s realm, they sailed no farther than neighboring Ocean’s Glory.
No one had ever returned to the far-off, fabled land of their ancestors, tried to connect with the TwinGods who ruled there. The very idea brought a miasma of fear to the othersense of any person Indaran spoke with. Except his loyal sailors. Those men and women might be afraid, but they willingly followed their prince into his grand adventure.
He clenched his fist. “I will find the lost land.” He threw the words at the distant horizon.
The snap of the royal flag flying in the breeze caught his attention. The gold Y emblem proclaimed the ship sailed under the auspices of Yadarius. At least this expedition had the SeaGod’s blessing. Otherwise, the king, his father, would never have let him depart.
Behind the Treasure, the two other ships composing his small fleet, Wind Chaser and Katerine, began their journey out of the harbor. Wind Chaser approached the channel, and Katerine had pulled away from the quay. Several minutes later, Indaran nodded in approval as Wind Chaser cleared the Needle. The other captains, Busale and Suz were good men, with years of experience.
The Treasure navigated the rest of the way through the shoals. Indaran barely contained his impatience, mentally marking their course as if he had the helm. Finally, the ship reached Pilot’s Point, the ancient tower built on a rocky reef that guarded the secret channel to Seagem. The greenstone tower glistened in the sunlight; a pennant similar to the ship’s flew in the wind.
No other vessels rode the waters beyond the point. Only three small rowboats floated near the circular dock, each manned by two rowers, who would approach and ferry the departing pilots to the tower; then the fleet would be underway. As soon as the lookout had seen the royal flag, soldiers had lowered the chain that usually blocked the entrance to the channel.
The Treasure hove to, and the pilot relinquished the helm.
“Well done, Rees.” Indaran unknotted a small leather pouch containing the traditional pilot’s fee from his belt and tossed it to the man.
The pilot caught the pouch with ease. “Fair sailing, my lord. May Yadarius guide you safely back to us.” With a jerky bow, he departed.
Indaran nodded at the younger red-haired man taking Rees’ place at the helm. “Mastin.”
“My Lord Prince.” The new pilot squinted into the distance, then turned to smile at Indaran. Sunlines crinkled around his pale blue eyes. One of Indaran’s friends, Mastin always had a ready laugh, and an even quicker temper. “Quite an adventure we are about, eh?” His grin showed pointed eyeteeth.
Indaran clapped a hand on Mastin’s shoulder. “That we are.”
“I thought we’d never leave. My mother and sisters have been crying all morning. I think only the fact that you visited them last week, giving your personal pledge for my safety allowed me to escape their clutches. Something about your princely charm must have reassured them.”
Indaran gave him a mocking smile. “Princely charm comes in handy, sometimes.”
“More than sometimes,” Mastin muttered under his breath, turning his attention to his job.
Indaran dropped his hand from his friend’s shoulder and looked behind him at Seagem, the greenstone walls of the palace dominating the city. The many balconies spread across the structure held colorful dots of people. He didn’t doubt his parents and siblings stood among them.
A thread of yellow from his little sister’s balcony caused him to pull up the case of a gold telescope that dangled from a thick chain around his neck, a replica of the one his father, King Iceros, wore. He slid the scope open and held the lens to his eye.
Sure enough, his little sister, Daria, focused into view, her tiny figure waving a yellow scarf. Little imp. From this far away, he couldn’t see the tearstains on her face. The worst part of leaving had been unpeeling her arms from around his waist.
Indaran bit down on the regret that spiraled up his chest and pressed into his throat. Farewell, little bird. I’ll miss you. He touched his othersense, sending Daria one last emotion of love. He could tell she caught his message because her arm flapped in frantic circles, the scarf fluttering around her.
Many months would pass before he’d return. His three younger brothers and Daria would change a great deal in that time. He dropped the telescope, collapsing it into the case.
Uneasiness began to churn in his stomach. With resolution, he ignored the feeling, turning to the open ocean. He gave the order that sped the ships on their way. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d return, with tales of adventure and holds full of trade goods.
~ ~ ~
Indaran stood on the king’s deck of the Treasure, looking out to sea and wondering if the interminable voyage would ever end. Three long months had passed since they’d left Seagem, with no sign of the country for which they searched. They’d run low on supplies. If they didn’t find land soon, they’d be forced to head home.
In the last few days, the blue-green waters of the ocean had darkened to a murky olive-gray. The once-vivid lavender sky had taken on the color of a pale storm cloud, although the weather remained clear. The changes in their surroundings shadowed an ebbing of Indaran’s othersense bond with Yadarius.
With an absentminded mental gesture, he touched his othersense.
Nothing stirred.
He shuddered away from the emptiness. He’d have to get used to being without it. But how can I?
Queen Iselde had bequeathed her strong gift of othersense to her oldest son, and for the first two months, he and his mother had spoken nightly during his dreamtime. But several weeks ago, the ships had sailed beyond even the faintest trace of connection. He missed the contact with home. So did his crew. He’d been in the habit of passing on the news from Seagem and the tidings from loved ones.
Uneasiness had spread through the crew. The sailors had taken to touching their hearts with their index and center fingers spread apart, the ancient sign of communication with Yadarius, usually only used in the yah-dar-sae and yar-dar-net, the morning and evening prayer and exercise ritual. The faint othersense bond that connected the people of Seagem, even though only apparent to his stronger power, magnified their fears.
Sower of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) Page 30
