From that point, he had different variations of what happened. In this one, he swept her off her feet, twirling her in a circle until she laughed. Seeing the delight on her face brought warmth to the cold barrenness of his heart. In his mind, he smiled back.
But the smile jerked into a grimace, for with a whoosh of power, Ontarem swooped into his mind.
The Evil One dug spikes into Indaran’s brain, uprooting the colorful dream. He fought back, desperate not to lose his last memory of bright hues, of emotion. But like all the other times, Ontarem squashed his resistance as easily as if he’d been a kettlebug.
Then the Evil One withdrew with a casual backhanded slap that left agony ringing through Indaran’s head, and his body racked with internal shivers of pain.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before he could once again think coherently. Hours? Days? When his mind cleared, he tried to walk through the vast blue-green meadow, feel the breeze on his face, the joy in being free. He wanted to reach her. Oh, how he wanted to reach her.
Now, although his feet took him through the long grass, the thick wavy blades were coated in shades of gray, and the distant forest was a charcoal smudge. Gone was the feeling of freedom, of joy, of anticipation.
The woman stepped out from the forest. His heart lifted and quickened. Apparently, he could still feel for her. But rather than hasten toward her, a protective instinct made him turn his back, and walk away.
He’d already made her Ontarem’s target. He would not enhance her danger by indulging in precious fantasy—no matter what denying her cost him.
~ ~ ~
Two guards dragged Jasmine back toward the tent so fast, her feet barely touched the ground. Fear grabbed her throat and clawed down to her stomach. Despite knowing from her experience with Amir and Moussad that resisting would only bring blows, she struggled, twisting and yanking at their arms.
“Arvintor lives!” she shouted. One of the men smacked the side of her head. Black speckled her vision. She almost fainted from the blow, but fought to remain conscious.
Around them, the camp whirled with activity. People cast glances of fear and hostility at her. But no one stopped his or her tasks. Instead, as she passed, their urgency seemed to increase.
When the guards tossed her through the tent opening, once again, Jasmine landed on her hands and knees on the skin floor.
The pup, curled in a fuzzy ball, jerked to his feet. With a yip of joy, he shimmied over to her, round cottontail wagging, and licked her face.
Although shivers shook her body, the warmth of the greeting loosened the clawhold that fear had dug into her, enough so she could plan. Amir had almost killed her, but she’d escaped.
A flashback pushed against the film of distance the Goddess Withea had created in Jasmine’s mind. Moussad stood behind her, holding her shoulders. His fingers dug painfully into her skin. Amir’s hands squeezed her breasts, and he bent and lapped a slurping kiss over her mouth. She tried to twist away….
Jasmine struggled to remain in the present, strengthening her mental protections. She couldn’t give in to the flashback. Not if she wanted to escape. She sat back on her haunches and scooped the pup into her arms, nuzzling her face into the thick fur, and stroking his sides with shaking hands.
Rubbing her cheek over the fuzzy, domed head, she tried to still her heartbeat and think. She glanced around the room, hoping to find inspiration. The trunks had disappeared, and the walls of the tent had been swept clean of the root vegetables. No lantern either. But a handful of the moss she’d brought from the forest lay tucked under the deepest edge of the tent, kicked aside unseen.
As she reached for the clump, her fingers slipped under the edge, encountering a tent peg. She gently tumbled the pup off her lap, and, sliding to her stomach, groped further along the wall of the tent, feeling the tautness of the hide. Maybe she could loosen the peg enough to slip underneath the side. But not here.
Glimmers of hope wove through her fear. She lay there for a few minutes, trying to relax her trembling body and keep the flashbacks at bay. The power of the memories receded; the spike of adrenalin racing through her body calmed.
Sitting up, Jasmine took an absentminded bite of the moss, chewing the tangy strings. She offered a small clump to the pup. To her surprise, he bit into it, looking like she’d given him a treat. Perhaps she had. She just hoped he wouldn’t get sick.
As she ate, she planned the next steps. The back of the tent would be best. She might still be seen and killed, but they planned to murder her anyway.
I’d rather die escaping than wait helplessly for death.
She ate and listened for the sounds near her to diminish. She didn’t want to escape into a pocket of human activity. Time passed. Except for a clang of metal, a thud or two in the distance, the area grew quiet, and she crawled to the rear of the tent.
The pup pranced beside her, his rabbit tail twitching, obviously relishing this new game.
Jasmine plopped down on her stomach, walked her fingers under the edge of the hide, then slid her hand back and forth until she found a peg.
She fisted her fingers around the wood and gave it an experimental tug. No movement.
She pulled harder, straining. Still nothing.
Sweat broke out on her brow. She shoved the peg back and forth, trying to loosen it, then gave another yank.
The wood eased the slightest bit. Encouraged, she shook the peg back and forth. A small shift.
Panting by now, she didn’t allow herself to stop. Instead, she used the vision of her dead body to drive her efforts. Rock, two, three, four, pull. Over and over. Rock….
The peg eased out of the ground, and a portion of the tent side collapsed. Jasmine rolled over on her back and gasped for air, listening to see if anyone called out a warning. Only the distant bustle of the camp met her ears.
She pushed herself up and tore the chador over her head. The darkness of her shirt and jeans would blend better into the night. But she couldn’t bring herself to discard her chador. Withea had added a touch of magic to the material, and she’d want the warmth as soon as the night chilled. But how to carry it? She needed her hands free. Nor could she stuff it into the front of her shirt. She might have to slither over the ground, and she couldn’t do that with a lump on her stomach.
Jasmine resolved the decision by folding the garment flat, yanking out the tail of her blouse, shoving the chador under her shirt, and retucking her blouse. She’d have a bit of a hunchback, but she hoped the bump wasn’t too obvious.
Cupping the jaw of the pup, she dropped a kiss on the knobby head. “Thank you, baby, for being here when I needed you,” she said in the ancient language. “Now stay, okay?” She patted him in a stay-here gesture.
The pup licked Jasmine’s face, and with reluctance, she turned away. She slid onto her stomach, and, wiggling until her head popped out of the bottom of the tent, surveyed the area. A fat silver moon drenched the camp in mercury shadows, giving her enough light to see. On either side, about five meters away, lay other tents. In the one on her right, she could see two occupants silhouetted against the side. Packing, no doubt.
No one stirred in the other one. Another row of tents lay between her and freedom. The two closest also had shadows of people inside. The grass between the tents was mostly downtrodden, with odd clumps sticking up. A firepit burned untended between the tent to her right and the one on the last row.
She wiggled out, slithering like a snake to the nearest bunch of grass.
With a happy chirp, the pup followed her.
“No,” she hissed in the old language. “You can’t come with me.”
Undaunted, he pounced on her leg.
Pushing him off, she jumped to her feet, dashing to the shadow of the left tent, leaving the pup behind.
No one seemed to have noticed her. Another sprint sent her into the darkness of the plain, where she tumbled to her stomach, hidden in the grass. She inhaled sharp breaths of the grass-fragrant air.
I made it!
Above the sound of her harsh breathing and heavy heartbeat, she listened to the camp.
Still no outcry.
The horses were hobbled near the west end of the camp. Dare she steal one, or should she just race for the forest? No, that was the first place the Che-da-wah would hunt for her.
Circle the camp, head for the horses, she decided. If one looks available, she’d steal it and ride toward the city.
She crawled through the grass about twenty meters, then rose to an upright hunch. Bent over, she crept along the periphery of the camp, ready to dive for cover at the least sign of trouble. Long before she reached the hobbled horses, her back ached. Her head throbbed from the guard’s blow, and she wished she were home safely in her bed.
About fifty meters from the horses, she dropped to a crawl, then stopped to assess the situation. Several of the metal lantern boxes hung on hooked poles on the outskirts of the herd. Inside each, she could see one of the firestones crackling out a sullen glow. In the light of the moon and lanterns, the herd looked smaller. Probably some had been taken away and hitched to wagons or a travois.
A few of the remaining mounts had on saddle pads and bridles, as if their owners would be back at any moment. Several people moved in and out of the herd, loading up their mounts. Most of the adolescent guards had vanished, probably put to work by their parents.
She eyed the horses nearest her, searching for the best possible choice. She singled out a dark mare, liking the sleek lines of her body, the strength in the chest and haunches. Already saddled and bridled, the mare looked a perfect choice.
Jasmine waited until no one seemed to be near this side of the herd, then crawled forward. When she closed in on her choice, she made the soft clicking noises she used with the horses at home. Slowly she stood, taking the time to talk in a low voice and run her hands over the mare’s neck.
Stooping she untied the leather hobbles, then wrapped them around her waist. She might need them again. Before she could loop the reins over the horse’s head, a plaintive howl and a rustle in the grass heralded the appearance of the pup.
Oh, no.
She dropped down, peering through the grass.
A man on the outskirts of the herd paused in the act of fastening a rolled-up bundle to the back of a saddle pad, looking straight at her position. Roe-al!
She froze, not daring to move.
The pup wiggled through the grass, pouncing on her hand and gnawing her fingers.
She petted his head, frantic to keep him quiet.
Roe-al’s gaze lingered in her direction.
Jasmine held her breath. A blade of grass tickled her nose. A sneeze built up. She clamped her fingers to her nostrils, suppressing the sneeze.
After a long minute, Roe-al glanced away, turning his attention to his task. Once he’d finished, he looked in her direction, paused, then, apparently satisfied, moved away.
She waited until he’d melted back into the camp.
Giving in to the inevitable, she grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck, swung him up, and plopped him on the back of the padded saddle, hoping he’d cling like the blue one she’d seen with Roe-al. Then she eased the horse out of the herd, keeping the mare’s body between herself and the camp. In the darkness, she hoped anyone who glanced this way would assume the owner was taking the horse somewhere.
As they vanished into the shadowy night, the lights and noises of the camp faded. Then, she scooped up the pup and moved him to the front of the saddle. He dug in his claws.
She mounted the mare, bending low over the animal’s neck, making sure the pup stayed tucked between her thighs. With reins and pressure from her knees, she directed the horse to circle the camp, heading toward Ontarem’s city.
Keeping the lights of the camp in sight, but staying out of eye and earshot, she walked the horse, not daring to quicken her pace. A rider on a galloping mount would look suspicious.
They’d made it almost halfway around before she saw a line of torches blazing across her projected path. By squinting, she could see the outlines of wagons. She could detour far out onto the plain to avoid them, or she could retrace her path and head back to the forest.
Jasmine made the more comfortable choice, wheeling her mount around. Once more she passed the perimeter of the camp, then moved out into the open.
As soon as she judged them safe from the sound of pounding hoof beats, she urged the mare into a trot, restraining the impulse to kick her into a gallop. They had a long ride ahead.
The pup barked, shifting his position. She patted his head. “Is this your first horseback ride, little one? What a way to start. You have courage, my boy.”
He nuzzled her hand.
“Hang on, baby. I don’t know how long until we reach the forest.”
What if she misjudged the direction?
Jasmine glanced up at the unfamiliar stars, brilliant white pinpoints in the inky night sky, unable to use them as a guide. No landmarks. Only shadowy darkness surrounded her, and the sound of the breeze rustled through the long grass. Look for the Red Star, the God had said. She found it, slightly to her right.
Jasmine nudged the horse’s flank with her leg, signaling the course correction. She’d lost precious time by heading more toward the left. But at least she knew where she was going, and what—no, whom she’d find when she got there.
For the first time in hours, the tension in her stomach relaxed.
A clang of metal on metal, like two rods beaten together, vibrated through the night. She glanced behind her, and saw the tiny pinpoints of light scurrying back and forth through the camp. Not long before the Che-da-wah realized she’d stolen a horse. Perhaps in their hurry to escape from Ontarem’s notice, they’d choose not to pursue her.
But she’d stolen a horse. In her heart, she knew the warriors would give chase.
She kneed the horse, urging her to a canter. Best get some distance before we drop back to a walk.
After a few minutes, she looked behind her and saw dipping lights moving toward her. Riders. Her heart thumped against her breastbone. They’re coming after me. They must know I’m headed to Exonlah.
Jasmine debated with herself. She could probably veer off course and remain hidden, at least through the night, but when morning came the horse would stand out on the flat plain, a beacon to the hunters.
Fear raced through her veins, tightening her muscles. I have to keep going.
After a while, Jasmine slowed the mare. Leaning over, she patted the horse on the neck. “You’ve done well, beautiful one,” she said in Arabic. “You must be strong through the night, and, if we need to run for our lives, as swift as the wind that blows up a sandstorm in the desert.”
Hours passed.
A second moon rose, a thin golden sickle. In wonder, Jasmine watched the two moons, goosebumps shivering down her arms. The dance of double moon and foreign stars was even more beautiful than the sky in any science fiction movie she’d ever seen. Even more than her encounter with Arvintor, or the lavender sky of the plain, the two moons impressed the truth upon her.
I’m not on Earth anymore.
Awe soothed the edges from her fear. “I’m not sorry,” she said aloud. “I’m glad I’ve come to this strange, ancient world, partaken of this adventure. I would have died anyway, killed by Amir or alone in the harsh desert. And I still have a chance.”
The lights behind them continued to follow. Whenever she decided they looked closer, Jasmine urged the mare to a faster pace, then dropped the horse back to a walk when they’d gained some ground.
The night chilled. She reached behind her and fished out her chador, pulling the garment over her head, grateful for the warmth of the magic material.
The first moon set. The night darkened. The stars waltzed across the heavens, followed by the golden sickle. She tried to familiarize herself with the stars, make up patterns. A snake, a spider, a spiral.
A bird nesting in the grass startled into flight;
the horse shied.
Jasmine soothed the mare in soft Arabic.
Her inner thigh muscles ached. She hadn’t ridden in six months. Tomorrow, she was going to be too sore to move. She returned to studying the stars, trying to take her mind off her discomfort. But she didn’t quite succeed.
~ ~ ~
Indaran stared up at the bland gray ceiling of the temple. Ontarem had left him alone for a while, and he wondered what the Evil One was planning. Taking advantage of the quiet time, he had checked on his people, slept, and done his best not to think about his blue-eyed lady. But that hadn’t been an easy task. Being with the woman in the forest—if only in a dream—had stirred longings he’d tried to suppress. What use wishing for freedom, for love, for happiness, if you could not escape captivity and pain? To wish only made the present more unendurable, yet that was all he could do—endure.
He heard the sound of voices, and his ears perked. Usually a priest or priestess checked on him once a day, presumably to find out if he lived or had died—a quick touch of fingertips to the pulse in his throat, then he or she moved on. But to overhear a conversation was rare and an interesting break from boredom.
“Trine Kokam,” said a harsh-voiced speaker, “Thank you for coming.”
“Vol.” This voice was confident, male, sounding presumptive. “What do you want?”
Vol. The man who’d led Indaran and his followers to Ontarem, like a shepherd leading sheep to the slaughter. Sheep. Indaran had never stopped berating himself for that day, for acting as witless as a sheep. If he had that time to do over, he’d run his sword through Vol’s black heart.
“We’ve lost three today,” said Vol “Two originals and one new woman.”
Originals? New woman? My crew must be the originals. But who are the new ones?
“Replace them immediately. Ontarem needs to have His full strength.”
Trine Kokam’s voice held the power of leadership, yet sounded completely dispassionate. Indaran had heard him before, a handful of times over the long years.
Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) Page 6
