Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Will the God have enough energy this time? Is that Che-da-wah clan He was protecting safe? She visualized herself holding her hand to Arvintor’s and asking Him the questions. In response, He touched her fingers. Through the God’s vision, she caught a glimpse of a huge burial mound, the fresh brown dirt stark against the grassland, and a line of nomads of all ages heading for Exonlah. At least they’ll be safe with Arvintor.

  Jasmine scanned the area for Indaran, feeling a quick kick of her heart when she saw him in the midst of a group of nomads guarding Ontarem’s captured soldiers. About forty prisoners, she thought, most of them injured. Once her eyes assured her of what she’d known with her othersense—that her beloved remained unharmed—Jasmine surveyed the rest of the scene.

  Far too many bodies sprawled on the grass, a few with dead mounts collapsed nearby. One riderless horse stood over his master, nose touching the body as if to rouse him. A woman knelt by her fallen horse, stroking the mane and weeping.

  Her heart ached and tears pricked Jasmine’s eyes. She blinked them away, knowing she had to stay strong in the face of the tragedy before her.

  The wounded were laid out in a line. Some sat with a bloody hand clapped over their injury; others didn’t move. Daria knelt by a man in a green uniform and wrapped a bandage around his leg, while Khan carried an unconscious woman to the wagon. Roe-al and Jora helped those with lesser injuries onto their horses. Others gathered spears and arrows to reuse.

  Jasmine let out a sigh of relief that everyone she cared about had safely come through the battle. In the next instant, guilt stabbed at her selfish thought. Too many grieved losses today, and more on both sides would suffer when the news reached the families of the dead. With a heavy heart she dismounted.

  A Che-da-wah man held out his hand for her reins.

  Indaran caught sight of her and strode over. He was sweaty and covered in gore, but alive and all hers. Regardless of the state of his clothing, she threw herself at him. She’d be bloody soon enough, and she needed to feel his arms around her.

  Indaran dropped a quick kiss on her lips and gave her a deep, heartfelt hug before releasing her. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Jasmine surveyed the scene. “I’ll start with our people and the Che-da-wah. Have the able-bodied bind the minor wounds and send those people to Exonlah. Anza, Sha-na, and the other healers there can tend them. I’ll work on the more seriously wounded. Once everyone is treated or on their way to Arvintor, I’ll need the three of you to help me break Ontarem’s soldiers free from their bondage to Him.”

  “I’ll see that everything’s taken care of. Go to your patients.” With a thin smile, Indaran gave her a gentle push in the direction of the line and started shouting orders.

  Everyone who was unhurt hastened to help the walking wounded into the wagons or to carry those whose injuries prevented them from moving. A few of the nomads, wearing makeshift bandages, hauled themselves onto their horses and headed for the forest.

  Someone had already opened the trunks of medical supplies that Daria had transported from Ocean’s Glory, which the men had laboriously hoisted up the cliff and carried through the marsh. The princess finished wrapping the wounded man’s leg and motioned for two of her soldiers to take him to a wagon.

  Steeling herself to do triage first, no matter how much her healing senses longed to leap to the aid the nearest injured man, Jasmine hurriedly went down the line, touching, assessing, and directing her helpers to bind wounds and carry away those less injured. Once she’d finished with the last person, only five severely hurt soldiers remained.

  The worst was a man who’d taken a spear thrust on his right side, under the ribs. The tip punctured his liver, but luckily missed his gut. Holding her hand over the wound, she used her othersense to seal off the tear in the liver before he bled to death.

  Once she’d closed the wound, Jasmine took a deep breath, rose, stepped over him, and knelt by the next person, a Che-da-wah woman with a mangled leg. Someone had tied a tourniquet high around her thigh. Jasmine took a deep breath and sank her othersense into the woman’s body. This time, she felt more sure of her ability and deftly repaired the artery. She removed the tourniquet, straightened the thighbone, fused the break, and knit the muscles back together.

  Jasmine finished the healing and didn’t stop to think, moving on to the next man. As she worked, her awareness of the swift passage of time pressured her to hurry—knowing if she didn’t work fast enough some people would die. Yet the healing process wasn’t something she could rush. In her haste, too much could go wrong.

  By the time she’d finished with all five, Jasmine’s legs ached. When she tried to stand, she stumbled as her cramped muscles protested. Strong arms caught her. Indaran, she knew without looking.

  “Are you all right? Have you depleted yourself?” Her husband moved in front of her and anxiously studied her face.

  “I’m fine. Stiff from kneeling is all.”

  He let out a relieved breath. “You ready for Ontarem’s soldiers?”

  “Of course.”

  As they walked to the prisoners, he kept a supportive arm around her. They saw the Che-da-woman who wept by her downed horse, stroking his shoulder. The gelding had a spear in his side. Blood oozed over the horse’s belly and soaked into the ground.

  Jasmine thought the horse was dead, until she saw the head move slightly. She stopped and touched the nomad’s shoulder in comfort.

  The woman lifted her tear-ravaged face to Jasmine’s. “I raised him from a colt. He’s been my constant companion. Today, he took the spear meant for me.” Her words choked with grief. “He’s dying, in pain. I must send him off, and I’m gathering my strength to do so.”

  “Wait.” Jasmine sank to a crouch, placed her palm on the animal’s side, and touched him with her othersense. A belly wound, not unlike that of the man whose liver she’d just healed. “Ease the spear out,” she ordered Indaran.

  Her husband gently pulled out the shaft. Blood gushed from the wound.

  As her othersense sank into the animal, Jasmine engaged her healer senses, sending the red energy into the horse. Although she hadn’t asked, Jasmine felt Arvintor’s power flow into her as she repaired the nick in the liver and knit together the damaged muscles. With a surge of energy, she closed the wound, opened her eyes, and rocked back on her heels.

  The woman gazed at Jasmine, her dark eyes round with awe. Her mouth quivered. “You healed him,” she said the words on a breath. “A horse.”

  “Arvintor and I healed him.” She patted the horse’s neck. “Let him rest a few minutes longer, then get him up.”

  “But you spent othersense power on my horse.”

  Her throat tightened. Jasmine thought of the spirited mare she’d left behind at home on Earth, of her bond with Shareef and how he’d helped to defeat Trine Kokam when Ontarem’s priest had captured her. “For the Che-da-wah, horses are more than mere animals. And our animals…our companions are valiant allies in our fight with Ontarem.”

  And if those soldiers start targeting the Che-da-wah’s mounts, we will be in trouble.

  Shaking off the feeling, Jasmine patted the woman’s shoulder and started toward the prisoners, Indaran half a step behind her. As she walked, she rolled her shoulders and twisted her head to ease her stiff muscles. Somehow, she had to find a way to relax while healing, instead of tensing up. Hopefully calm and confidence would come with experience.

  Ontarem’s soldiers stared sullenly at her approach, or gazed at the ground, hopelessness on their faces.

  Roe-al dashed over to her. “They think we’re going to kill them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what they do when they capture one of us.”

  Horrified, Jasmine glanced at Roe-al, having a hard time believing what she’d just heard. But she saw the truth of his words in the set of his jaw. Why would Ontarem kill the nomads instead of taking them over? Before she came up with an answer, Khan and Daria joined them. Kha
n’s uniform was far cleaner than Indaran’s.

  “We tried to keep our shots to arms and legs. Didn’t always manage.” Daria’s face looked drawn. “And with the sword…” She shook her head. “Killed all except one whom I was able to knock out with the flat of my blade. He’s still unconscious.”

  “You did your best against men who were trying to kill you,” Jasmine said in a firm tone. “That’s all that can be expected. Their blood is on Ontarem’s hands, not yours.”

  She gestured to some of the Che-da-wah who’d approached her for orders. “Wrap the wounds of those less injured.”

  Their expressions impassive, the two women and one man nodded. Their stiff body language spoke volumes about their reluctance to aid the enemy. But they did as she had bid, which was all that mattered.

  Jasmine pointed to the nearest soldier with a minor wound. “Link with me,” she told Khan and Daria.

  They joined hands and connected with her othersense.

  “See this?” Jasmine showed them what looked like slimy gray roots attached to the man’s brain. “Cut or saw it off.” She drew on Arvintor’s energy to aid her. With the God’s help, Jasmine was able to sever Ontarem’s tentacles with a swipe of her mental blade. Grateful for the ease of the task compared to the challenge she’d had with baby Merrel, she started to withdraw her othersense.

  The man convulsed. His eyes stared blankly upward.

  Alarmed, Jasmine plunged back into his body. On a quick scan, she couldn’t see anything wrong, although his heart beat faster, his pulse raced, and his breathing was rapid.

  Before she could do anything, his body calmed. Alertness returned to the soldier’s eyes. He stared at the three around him, uncomprehending, then blinked several times. A fearful expression crossed his face. He placed his hand to his head, rubbed, and swallowed. “Can I sit?”

  Indaran helped lift the man’s shoulders.

  “My head feels funny.”

  Alarmed that she’d missed something, Jasmine placed her hand on his forehead. She couldn’t find anything wrong. No wound. No backlash from the tentacles. In fact, there wasn’t anything besides two slight indentations on his brain to show they’d ever been attached.

  The soldier moved her hand gently away. “I feel good. My head feels clear.” He wrinkled his broad forehead a few times. “There’s no pain except in my arm.” He raised his elbow. Blood seeped through the bandage wrapped around his arm. “I didn’t know I had pain before. It was always there.”

  Jasmine released a deep breath of relief. “You are healed and free of Ontarem’s bondage.”

  With a look of awe in his eyes, the soldier inclined his head. “You have my thanks, my lady. I am your humble servant.”

  Jasmine placed her hand under his chin and lifted his head to meet his eyes. “You are no one’s servant. Rest now. I have others who need me.” She reached her hand up.

  Indaran assisted her to her feet.

  She gestured to the less wounded. “Each of you start detaching the soldiers from Ontarem while I focus on healing…” She waved at the most severely injured soldiers.

  The three each selected a soldier and began to work.

  Jasmine watched as they disengaged the tentacles. Satisfied they knew what to do, she turned to her task.

  Indaran had seen to the triaging of the prisoners and had made sure they received some preliminary first aid. Jasmine hurried to the soldiers in the front of the line. One glance at their bloody clothes showed these men were seriously wounded, and she was grateful to have Arvintor bolstering her strength.

  The first man had a belly wound. He held onto life by a thread.

  Jasmine sank to her knees by his side and began to heal him, the procedure easier from familiarity. When she finished, she brushed her othersense over his head and summoned her mental knife to free the man from the Evil God. She severed the binding and waited for his physical response and disorientation to pass, before starting work on the next soldier.

  Jasmine finished treating the worst of the injured and moved on to those who’d taken hits on their arms and legs. She’d just mended a man’s hand, when a shout ran out. The alarm in the voice made her gasp and leap to her feet.

  At first Jasmine couldn’t tell what was wrong. Then she saw that the twenty or so remaining soldiers who’d been sitting and waiting for healing and freedom had collapsed on the grass. Heart pounding, she ran to the nearest one. His lifeless eyes stared at the sky. With two fingers, she touched his neck but could feel no pulse. Try chest compressions,” she commanded Khan.

  Her friend nodded and dropped to his knees, beginning CPR. Indaran and Daria stared at her, not comprehending what she wanted them to do. Knowing she must hurry, she raced to the next man. He also was dead. She pivoted, rapidly surveying the rest. Every man still connected to the God was dead. With a heavy heart, she realized Ontarem had murdered His soldiers rather than allow them their freedom.

  ~ ~ ~

  Khan and Daria rode on either side of the twenty-one prisoners marching toward Exonlah, keeping watch to make sure none broke and ran. Ontarem’s slaying of their comrades, what must seem to them like a betrayal from their God, had devastated the prisoners’ morale, and for the most part the men tramped with lowered heads and slumped shoulders.

  Behind them strode the soldiers from Ocean’s Glory, another deterrent to the prisoners making an escape. Khan could tell Daria’s men were weary, but they still remained alert.

  From time to time, Khan shot a concerned look at his wife, not liking the haunted look in her eyes—one he was sure must match his own. No matter what he did, the images from the battle kept replaying in his mind. He wanted to hold Daria, to try to give and receive comfort. But taking care of emotional needs would have to wait.

  Before them rolled the wagons transporting the wounded. Jasmine rode close enough to watch over the men and women inside. Indaran, on his black stallion, often dropped back to check on the prisoners as well as the soldiers, then cantered forward to Jasmine.

  From time to time, they’d startle plump blue birds into the air. Khan tracked their flight, admiring the cobalt color. Daria didn’t seem to notice them. Maybe the birds were common in Seagem too.

  A Che-da-wah encampment had sprouted rows of hide tents alongside the edge of a forest, which looked like teepees straight out of an American cowboy and Indian movie. A gust of breeze brought a whiff of smoke from the campfires. Children scampered in the open area playing a game that involved throwing a feathered stick and a lot of running around and calling out. A herd of horses grazed peacefully on the rich grass, guarded by the youth of the clans.

  When the wagons reached the edge of the forest, they halted. The green-trunked trees grew so thick no path existed to ride, much less drive, through the woods. They’d need to lead their horses around the low-branched trees.

  Roe-al, who’d been riding behind, caught up to him. “For generations, this was the forbidden forest. We didn’t know the place was really Exonlah, home of Arvintor.”

  Khan caught his breath at the beauty of Exonlah. Spongy cobalt moss carpeted the forest floor. The dangling round leaves of the trees looked like stained glass. They chimed in the breeze and sent sparkling rainbows to dance around everyone. He’d traveled extensively on Earth but had never seen any place as lovely as Arvintor’s home.

  He exchanged an awed glance with his wife, relieved to see Daria’s expression brighten, although the shadows hadn’t completely left her eyes.

  They dismounted, leading their horses to the wagons. Khan took the reins of Darklady so Jasmine could be free to hover over her patients.

  “Get the injured unloaded,” called Indaran, working his stallion among the fighters. “Have a care moving them to the carriers.”

  The soldiers saw to the unloading of the injured, shifting them onto stretchers to carry them into Exonlah.

  Jasmine supervised the transition until the last person was lifted off a wagon. She turned to Indaran, who’d been standing gu
ard over her, and caught his hand. “Come on. I want to beat the stretchers to the clearing.” She turned to Khan. “Will you take Darklady with your horses? We’ll make better time without them.”

  “Done.” Khan said.

  Indaran cocked an eyebrow at his sister, silently asking her the same question.

  Daria nodded and took the stallion’s reins.

  The unspoken sibling communication amused Khan. He’d already observed how the two read each other as if they’d never been apart and wondered if Jasmine had noticed the same thing.

  Daria motioned the Ocean’s Glory soldiers to surround the prisoners and escort them through the trees. If any were to escape, this would be the place. But as far as Khan could tell, the men gazed around them with wondering looks on their faces. Not surprising really, given what he’d seen of the gray block city of Penutar. He didn’t recall trees in that stark place, much less trees so beautiful. Khan wished he and Daria could stop and enjoy the beauty of Arvintor’s homeland, instead of herding a group of the enemy through the forest.

  A while later, they stopped at the edge of a huge clearing filled with people and activity. More teepees ringed the outskirts of the clearing.

  A large statue stood on the far side of the open space, looking similar to the one Khan had seen in Ontarem’s temple. But the energy he felt from this God felt good and wise, not evil. A group of Che-da-wah, the West Clan he assumed, lined up to touch His hands, their expressions fearful, and Khan wondered why this clan had resisted bonding with Arvintor before now. They’d certainly paid the price today for that decision.

  He watched a young woman connect with Arvintor, saw her expression change from fearful to awed. She leaped in joy and bounded over to another girl her age, her braids bouncing. The two squealed, clasped hands, and started chattering, obviously sharing their experiences.

  Waves of energy rushed toward the statue of Arvintor in streams that rippled to the statue. Each person, whether occupied with a task or not, supplied a power stream from his or herself to the God.