Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)
Page 3
Jasmine gasped, cringing to avoid a horse-drawn wagon, laden with barrels, heading straight for the two of them.
Arvintor squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. We are not really here. You can’t be hurt.”
He must be right. Jasmine couldn’t hear the clop of hooves on the stone street, nor the clatter of wagon wheels, nor the jingle of harness. But she still shuddered when the wagon drove right through them. Sure enough, she didn’t feel anything.
This is like a hologram.
She craned her head, watching the back of the wagon disappear around the corner of a building made of some kind of pink-gray stone the color of earthworms.
I feel as if I’m on the set of a historical movie.
Curious, Jasmine examined the rest of her surroundings. The city reminded her of the pictures she’d seen of ancient Greece or Rome. Bright banners and awnings in emerald and sapphire hues splashed jeweled colors against the walls of graceful stone structures lined with columns. In the distance loomed larger facilities with domed roofs. Temples? Government buildings?
The people going about their business or stopping to chat with friends appeared Irish or Scottish. Long hair in shades from auburn, to flame red, to blond, framed pale or ruddy faces. Blue, green, or gray eyes radiated an enjoyment of life. They were clad in garments in shades of green and blue—embroidered tunics worn over leggings—though she glimpsed an occasional woman wearing a long dress. Some of the men, and a few women, wore belts from which hung swords in tooled leather scabbards.
A group of boys darted through the crowd, laughing and shoving each other. They carried leather satchels slung over their shoulders. Just released from school?
Yes, she answered her own question. Clumps of girls, long braids swinging as they walked, followed more sedately, chattering. They too, carried the leather satchels.
Arvintor stirred beside her. “My people.” The two words held generations of sorrow.
“You must miss them very much.”
“I have no words to describe the pain of their absence.” He waved his hand.
The city changed.
Jasmine blinked. No, the city stayed the same, but the banners and awnings shifted from blues and greens to rainbow hues.
People bustled through paved streets, wearing colorful toga-like garments, draped over close-fitting long-sleeved shirts and leggings. Fascinated, she examined those who streamed by. Dark hair was worn long by both men and women, although the women’s tresses were more elaborately styled. Black, vibrant eyes snapped with vitality. Skin in shades from pale gold to rich tan reminded Jasmine of her own people except their eyes bore a hint of the Asiatic.
She looked up at Arvintor, knowing her puzzlement showed on her face.
“My brother Ontarem and I built the twin cities of Darvenor and Darvenac. That’s why they look the same.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“They were beautiful. Neither exists anymore. Only piles of rubble remain.” He waved his hand, and they returned to the clearing. “I cannot bear to look at them for long.” He motioned her to take a seat on the marble base, then sat next to her, his gaze distant.
She settled in a comfortable position next to him, waiting.
After a while, he brought his attention back to her. “I must hurry with my explanation. I don’t have much power left.”
“Can you recharge somehow?”
He smiled, then touched her face. “With your dark hair and skin, you look like Ontarem’s people, yet you have the blue eyes of one of my own. A beautiful combination.”
Warmth crept into her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“You, Jasmine, have given me the first power I’ve experienced in centuries.”
“I’ve ‘given’ you?”
“The Gods and Goddesses of Kimtair receive their power from the service of their people. Worship is another way to describe it. Not just the ceremonies in the temples or private prayers one murmurs to a God, but their whole act of living, resonating actually, in tune with me as their God. You might say it’s a symbiotic relationship. They give me power. I guide and protect them.”
“I think I understand,” she said slowly, thinking of Allah, and how her frantic prayers to him for safety from Amir and Moussad had gone unanswered. “It’s not like that on Earth,”
He touched his thumb and the tip of his index finger together, forming an oval that he held to his eye level and looked through. “To answer within a small circle, Gods don’t always grant prayers. Sometimes my answer is no. Sometimes I counsel patience.”
Unwilling to sort through her tangled feelings about Allah, Jasmine changed the subject.
“What happened to your people?”
“My twin brother and I ruled over this realm.” He made a sweeping gesture with a hand. “All the others had their own land. Their own people. Or in Yadarius’s case, chose not to assume the charge of any. Instead, Yadarius chose all the creatures of the sea.”
“How many Gods are there?”
“Besides Ontarem and myself, Yadarius is the other God. Withea, Besolet, and Guinheld are the goddesses. In the days when the world was young, we all were powerful. Our people were happy. Yet, we all remained apart from each other. Autonomous. That would ultimately lead to our undoing.”
She tugged on the end of her braid, already sensing his next words.
“My brother became dissatisfied with having the service of only half the people of Louat. He became jealous if one of his own people gave me homage. He was always more vain, more showy. I used to tease him about that. I was the quiet one, prone to go off to Exonlah for long periods of time. Leaving my people to fend for themselves. They were capable, I thought….” His voice trailed off.
Jasmine waited, brushing her thumb over the loose end of her braid.
“That was one of my mistakes. I left my followers alone too much. Over the generations, Ontarem worked to undermine my position. I loved my brother. Trusted him. By the time I realized what had happened, many of my people had turned from me, and I had lost much of my power. Ontarem threatened the rest of my people.”
“Threatened?”
“If they did not yield to Ontarem, he would destroy them. When I saw what was to come, I sent them away, across the sea to the empty lands guarded by Yadarius.”
“If Yadarius didn’t have people to worship him, how did he get his powers?”
“From the sea creatures. Yadarius is the SeaGod. Most of the denizens of the deep pay him homage.”
“I see,” Jasmine said, grateful for the mythology she’d studied. The gods and goddesses of Kimtair sounded like ancient Roman and Greek gods, except they weren’t myths.
“When their ships crossed the ocean boundary of Louat, I lost contact with them. Without the connection with my people, the last of my power drained away.”
“So without your power, you were at Ontarem’s mercy.”
His jaw firmed. “My brother showed me mercy.”
“Did he try to kill you?”
“Gods cannot be killed. He wrapped me in chains, leaving me in this place, drained of any power. After all this time, I doubt any of the people of Louat even remember my name.”
“I know your name.”
“Yes.”
“Won’t that help?”
“You’ve given me enough power to create this dream communication. But you, alone, won’t be enough to free me.” His image flickered. He stood and stepped back onto the pedestal. “My power is depleted. Rest, Jasmine. Tomorrow, we must begin the plan to challenge my brother.”
~ ~ ~
Indaran’s memory unwound, like yarn from a kitten’s ball. But the Evil God who toyed with him was no kitten. But rather, Ontarem, like a rabid mountain cat, sank fangs and claws deep into his mind, radiating pain through his head and down to his heart.
This, Indaran’s remembrance of his last hours of freedom…his foolish stroll into the clutches of the Evil God—seemed to especially please Ontarem, who lapped up every drop of emotion.
No people bustled about the wharf, no other ships rocked at anchor—an eerie sight for one used to the busy harbors of Seagem and Ocean’s Glory.
Beside him, Mastin grasped the wheel with both hands. He shook his head. “I do not like it, my Lord.”
“I don’t either. No people around.”
“They’re probably simple fishermen and women.” Mastin infused optimism into his voice. “They’re out plying their nets.”
Indaran cocked one eyebrow. “Then why don’t we see them?”
“Ocean’s Glory’s fishing grounds are outside the harbor. Perhaps the same is true here. The cliffs block our view of the boats.” Mastin tried to sound convincing, but his eyes betrayed his doubt. “At sunset, we’ll probably see them rowing in.”
“Perhaps. However, we’re still sailing in under full guard.”
Mastin rumbled an acknowledgement, but the concerned look did not ebb from his sunburned face.
“At least, we don’t have to worry about an immediate attack. “Although,” Indaran snapped open the telescope case dangling from the chain around his neck, pulled out the lens, and scanned the cliffs. “This place is fortified well enough, if the inhabitants judge us to be enemies.” He lingered a while longer, marking the twisting road up the cliffs, the high wall at the top. What wonders lay up there? He couldn’t wait to explore.
Soon. He lowered the scope, snapping the barrel shut.
Indaran gave Mastin the order to dock, then, impatient, paced the rail to oversee the berthing of the Treasure. Indaran watched in approval as Mastin slid the Treasure in, leaving plenty of room for the two other ships.
The door to one of the buildings flew open, and three men, wearing short gray robes with tatters around the sleeves and hem, scuttled out, obviously willing to help with the docking. While they fastened the ships’ ropes to massive cleats, Indaran studied them, fascinated. Their skin was burnished a toasty dark brown; their hair, gathered into tails in back, shone like obsidian. Such unusual coloring. He could hardly wait to see these people close up.
The docking procedures completed, Indaran gave the order to run out the gangplank.
As soon as the end touched the dock, the men turned and ran back to the building.
Mastin wrinkled his brow. “Do you think we scared them off?”
Indaran ignored him, instead glancing at the captain of his small band of soldiers, making sure their archers remained alert for trouble.
Another man in a gray robe emerged, moving with ponderous importance. He’d folded his arms across his body and tucked his hands into his sleeves, his gait so smooth he could have wheels under that robe instead of legs. He didn’t deviate from his posture, even when carefully climbing the gangplank.
Indaran hurried down to the lower deck, anxious to greet him.
When the man reached the deck, he relaxed his arms, using his hands to help him climb on board. Upright once more, he resumed his closed-up position, rolling over to stand in front of Indaran, just a bit too close.
The man’s slanting eyes were as black as his hair. He had a round face and a narrow mouth. A tiny mole dotted the side of a nose that looked like it had once been broken, then crookedly healed.
Feeling crowded, Indaran resisted stepping backward, reluctant to offend.
The man bowed. “I am Vol, servant to the God, Ontarem. I bid you welcome to the land of Louat. The Trine awaits your presence above, in the city of Penutar.”
Indaran returned the bow. “I am Indaran, leader of this small fleet—” he waved an arm to encompass the other two ships “—and prince of Seagem, a land on the other side of the ocean. We wish to reestablish ties with your people. We’ve brought trade goods and,” he grinned, “stories of our land, our history.”
Vol nodded; his face remained impassive. “The Trine bids you attend a welcome feast.”
“The Trine?”
“The three prongs supporting Ontarem’s pearl. Lady Pasinae, Lord Kokam, and Lord Nabric. Three born at one birth. Our highest priests and priestess. As Ontarem’s Trine, they rule the city of Penutar.” The words poured out in one smooth burst.
“Ah, I see. I would be honored to join with them at their welcome feast. How many of my crew should I bring?”
“All of them.”
Indaran smiled. “Well, perhaps not all.”
“All.”
Not all. I won’t leave my ships unguarded, Indaran thought, but didn’t insult the man by arguing. “When should we present ourselves to the Trine?”
“Now.”
“Now?” Indaran glanced down at his travel-stained clothes. “Give us an hour to clean and change into finery suitable for meeting with your rulers.”
The priest bowed. “I will attend you on the docks in one hour.”
“In one hour,” Indaran echoed, returning the bow.
As soon as Vol left, Indaran turned to Mastin. “Notify the rest of the crew, and send messages to Captains Suz and Busale. Formal dress. Skeleton crews left on board. Draw lots for who stays behind.”
Mastin looked as if he were about to protest, but then thought better of speaking.
Indaran turned his back and walked toward his cabin. He had an hour to turn a scruffy sailor into a diplomatic prince.
Since they’d docked, he could use the precious fresh water to bathe. Perhaps, when they took quarters in the city, he could have an actual bath. He hurried through his ablutions, donning his best clothing, emerald green velvet pants and vest over a paler green silk shirt. He shook out the gold lace at the sleeves and slipped the thick chain of the gold telescope case over his head. He brushed out his hair, wearing it loose, then set his simple braided-gold coronet on his head, centering the band on his forehead.
Bring sword? Leave sword? Which? He didn’t want to appear threatening. Yet, this was a foreign land. What dangers could lurk?
Indaran shrugged, ignoring a little tug of othersense. They were expected, bidden to a welcome feast. What could go wrong? Still, he buckled the leather strap around his waist, letting the familiar weight of the sword rest against his leg.
He reached in a cabinet and took down three small carved cases. Good thing he’d brought several kinds of gifts. He opened each lid to check on the contents, then closed them and strode out of the cabin.
He sprinted up the stairs to the deck, where the other two captains waited, both wearing their best clothes in shades of forest green and brown for Busale, and black and emerald for Suz.
Busale, his grizzled hair slicked back from his craggy, weathered face, grinned at Indaran. “Ya look mighty fine, boyo,” he said with the teasing disrespect of an old family friend, almost an honorary uncle.
Although nearing the age when most men would choose to relax at home by the fire, playing with their grandchildren, Busale had never lost his taste for adventure. He’d been the first person to volunteer for this expedition, and Indaran valued his wisdom and experience.
Indaran slapped Busale on the shoulder. “We made it.”
“Ah, that we did, boyo. Our feat will ruffle the feathers of the naysayers. I can see Counselor Rickel’s face now. His eyes will protrude like a swampfrog’s. He’ll have a lot of words to swallow. I hope they don’t choke him.” They chuckled.
Suz remained silent, contenting himself with a bow of greeting. A younger man, tall and as thin as a seasnake, whose fair hair receded from a high forehead. His docile blue gaze could fool you into thinking him a soft man. But in a snap, those eyes would freeze to shards of ice. His crew both adored and feared him—the perfect balance for a successful captain.
The rest of the crews, dressed i
n their forest-green uniforms, fanned out behind the captains and spilled over onto the docks, bringing life to the quiet scene.
Impatient to be off, Indaran relayed a few precautionary orders to Felon, the man in charge, and then hustled down the gangplank.
Vol must have been watching, for he rolled out the door and joined them. “Prince Indaran,” he greeted with a bow. “We don’t have any carriages suitable or large enough for your group. I hope you don’t mind a walk to the temple.”
“We’ve been long at sea. My crew is anxious for exercise. I, too, would welcome a walk,” Indaran said, almost with sincerity. He thought of the twisty, steep road he’d studied earlier. “How do you arrange for cargo to be freighted up the cliff road?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll send bearers.” Without veering from his cross-armed posture, Vol led the way.
Indaran fell into step next to him, intending to ask the man questions, but in the face of the steepness of the graybrick road, and the priest’s curt responses, he soon gave up.
I hope the Trine will be more forthcoming, he thought.
By halfway up the cliff, Indaran huffed with each step, annoyed with his faltering endurance, and trying not to let his state show. He’d kept up with his sword practice and the morning yah-dar-sae and evening yah-dar-net, and even climbed the rigging once in a while. But captaining wasn’t the active lifestyle he was used to, and he wasn’t in the same shape as when he’d left home.
No structures lined the road, only a low stonewall intended to keep wayfarers from careening over the side. Indaran judged the hike to have taken an hour, enough to work up an unprincely sweat and a deep thirst. He didn’t envy the poor brutes who’d have to lug up the cargo.
Maybe we can develop a trade in horses. The tough mountain ponies of Zacatlan should work well here. He spent the rest of the way outlining a sales plan.
At the top, the road unfolded into the city. Blocky buildings framed a wide thoroughfare, leading to a towering rectangular structure, looming over the city. Again, no people hustled through the streets, busy about their business. The doors of the shops and houses remained closed, shutters fastened over the windows. Not even a crack for the curious to peer through.