He drew her close, gratitude sweeping through him.
The two leaders motioned the three couples to gather close. The Stridzae waved to a row of men and women sitting cross-legged on either side of Arvintor’s statue, squat round drums in front of them. The drummers slowly pounded with the flat of their hands, a slow thrum that matched the beat of Indaran’s heart.
The Stridzat beckoned the three couples to gather closer to the fire. He chanted something in a dialect so ancient Indaran could barely make out the words—something about unity. The man reached into a beaded pouch hanging from his belt and tossed what looked like a handful of sand into the fire. To his surprise, the flames blazed with a blue hue, and a cloud of sweet incense drifted his way.
The Stridzae waved her hand. Using the same dialect, she intoned several sentences in commanding tone, sounding as if she ordered them to love each other.
Indaran glanced down at Jasmine. He needed no such injunction.
At the same time, she looked up at him, devotion shining in her blue eyes.
She already has my whole heart and will for the rest of my life.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the Stridzae throw sand from her pouch into the fire and the flames turned green. In unison, the two Stridza raised their arms and recited a blessing, joining each pair as one in Arvintor’s name. From a second pouch, they took a handful of the sand and tossed the granules into the fire. The grains sparkled like rainbows before bursting into tiny fireworks and shooting into the sky.
The drumbeat deepened, and the multicolored flames rapidly died to knee high. The watching nomads clapped in time to the drums, and the rest of the people joined in. Some Che-da-wah shouted “jump” and waved their arms toward the fire.
Roe-al flashed Indaran and Khan a challenging grin. “Watch and follow, my friends.” He pressed a hard kiss to Jora’s mouth, left her side, and leaped over the fire.
The crowd yelled.
He turned and held out his hands to Jora, who jumped after him and into his arms. They laughed and exchanged looks of love. Jora nodded, and together they reversed directions, took two running steps, and sailed over the fire.
The nomads roared and called their names.
The two hugged, before breaking apart and facing Indaran and Jasmine.
Jora gave Jasmine a quick hug.
Roe-al slapped Indaran’s shoulder. “Your turn.”
Indaran glanced at Jasmine, eager to make her his all over again. “You ready, dearheart?”
She smiled, her blue eyes alight with excitement. “Just jump high. I don’t want to have to heal burns on the night of my second wedding.”
Hands gripping her shoulders, he kissed her with a fervent promise of what was to come.
The drums picked up the pace, and the sound blended with the blood racing through his veins. He broke into a run, leaping into the air as high as he could. For a moment, soaring over the flames, inhaling the pungent fumes, Indaran felt like he was flying, only to have his feet hit the earth all too soon. He pivoted and extended his arms to his mate.
Jasmine gathered up her robe with both hands and jumped.
Indaran caught her and twirled her around, only dimly hearing the laughter and catcalls from the audience. He set her down facing the other direction. This time, Jasmine held his hand, bunching up her robe under her other arm. With a nod she indicated her readiness. Together, they raced to the fire and jumped, landing on the other side. Not as smooth as Roe-al and Jora, but he suspected those two had practiced before.
He pulled Jasmine into his arms, holding her tight. After a kiss, he released her. They joined the clapping for Daria and Khan.
Indaran opened himself to the moment, trying to absorb every sensory detail—the shine of the fire on his sister’s hair, the sparkle in her green eyes, and the look of love she threw at her husband. He inhaled the scent of smoke and incense, saw the happy faces of those around him, felt the smack of his hands clapping to the beat, Jasmine leaning against his side, and the energy swirling around the clearing.
In only a few seconds, Daria and Khan were married for the second time. And in watching his little sister, grown so beautiful, Indaran’s vision blurred. He felt grateful to the very depths of his heart to be able to witness her marriage. Would I have felt so intensely about Daria’s marriage if we hadn’t been parted for so long? Would I have taken her for granted, no matter how much I loved her?
Jasmine ran to Khan to hug him, and Indaran embraced Daria. “Congratulations, sister. May you have many happy years together.”
“And you as well, brother.”
The crowd surrounded them, calling out best wishes and congratulations. Attendants placed plates of roasted meat and cups of fermented beverages in their hands, and the wedding party ate and drank and talked. The drums continued to pound, the rhythm joined by pipes. People began a stomping dance. Some pulled all the newlyweds into the center and the six of them danced until they were breathless.
At one point in the evening, as things quieted and the children started falling asleep, Daria approached Indaran where he stood at the edge of the crowd near the trees, taking a solitary moment and watching his wife. Jasmine was in the midst of what looked like an earnest conversation with Sha-na, the Che-da-wah healer. He was so proud of her compassion, her dedication to the sick and wounded…
Daria leaned her head on his shoulder. “Definitely not the wedding I’d dreamed of—the one that took months of planning, involved a fancy gown, jewels, flowers, and an overflowing temple of Yadarius, a feast, orchestral dance music….” Her voice hitched. “My family all around me.”
Indaran placed his arm around her shoulders. “I remember thinking a time or two that I’d have to fight off your suitors when you grew up. Never thought of you married, though, or me either, for that matter. A young man doesn’t think of weddings. And as a captive of Ontarem, I never thought I’d live to have one.” He glanced up at the stars. “So many didn’t.”
“I never thought I’d pledge to my husband, and he to me, without the blessings of Yadarius.”
He hugged her. “We’ll free Yadarius and speak our vows again before Him.”
With a shake of her head, she laughed. “That will be three weddings for Khan and me. Although tonight wasn’t about pledges. We didn’t say a word.”
“When you think of it, jumping over a fire together is very symbolic. We’ve all already been through fire. And will be again.”
“I’d go through or over anything to get to Khan,” Daria said in a fierce tone. “As he would to me. As he already did for me.” She slipped her hand into the crook of Indaran’s arm. “That’s a story for another time. Tonight is for weddings.”
“I like to think our family is here with us.”
She let out a slow breath. “I know they are.” Her pensive look changed. “One other thing I never dreamed about my wedding…that you’d be present. Aside from us finding our mates, your being alive is the greatest blessing of all.” She glanced over her shoulder to check on her husband, who was talking to the two Stridza, straightened her shoulders and firmed her chin.
Indaran recognized that look, although years had passed since he’d seen it. His sister had set her mind to something, and nothing would change it.
Daria lifted the heavy necklace over her head. The firelight glinted on the gold telescope case. “You proved yourself today, my brother. You are worthy to wear this.” She dropped the chain over his head, and the case thunked against his chest. “From our father to you.” She kissed his cheek. “My king.”
Indaran took a deep breath, allowing the weight of the telescope to settle in. For the first time, he knew his sister was right. He could be king. He would be king. From the depths of his soul, he vowed to be a good one.
Daria set her hand around the loveshell that dangled from a chain around her neck. “Now I must return to my husband before one of those pretty Che-da-wah girls starts flirting with him.” Daria winked before slipping away throug
h the crowd.
For a few seconds, he watched his sister. Then, his gaze turned, like a magnet to metal, to his wife still talking to Sha-na. Indaran reveled in the rare chance he had just to watch her—the firelight gleaming on her dark hair, the light in her blue eyes, the way her hands moved when she wanted to make an important point. Need tugged at him. He’d give her another couple of minutes. Then he’d claim his wife and sweep her off to their private teepee.
But first, Indaran spent a few minutes in gratitude, sending his energy toward Arvintor and across the sea to Withea. He spread his arms, relishing the movement, something that in fourteen years of frozen imprisonment he’d despaired of ever achieving. Never again would he take freedom for granted. I have love. I have companionship. I have family. I am my own man.
Perhaps tomorrow everything would change. But he had tonight. Indaran started through the crowd to Jasmine, intending to make the most of it.
~ ~ ~
The next day, escorted by Priestess Wenda, Sadie approached the inner sanctum of the temple, located near where she’d stepped through the window from Seagem yesterday. After Sadie and Cheta had eaten breakfast, Wenda had appeared, bringing her the summons to Guinheld’s presence.
The closer they drew to Guinheld’s area, the more nervousness roiled in Sadie’s stomach.
After all, it isn’t every day that you talk to a real, live Goddess.
They passed the open doors of a tranquil indoor garden. The fragrant scent of growing things beckoned her inside. Sadie made a mental note to return and explore when she had a chance.
As Sadie walked, she could feel the stiffness of her muscles from yesterday’s workout. Although she’d woken feeling refreshed from a deep sleep, she’d needed a hot bath to loosen her up. Even a soak hadn’t made the muscle pain go away. She definitely missed ibuprofen. Maybe this world had some equivalent.
She rolled her shoulder, enjoying the freedom of movement, and concentrated on her body rather than her anxious thoughts. A sore body from a workout was different than pain from an injury. And she was so very grateful to Withea for healing her injury. Not for the first time, Sadie mentally quoted one of her coaches. Post-practice pain is good pain. Means you worked out hard.
Sadie started to wonder about the meaning of “training.” Would she really do sword drills in the temple? “Is Guinheld going to train me?” she asked the priestess.
Wenda gave a faint shrug. “I don’t know. Perhaps She’ll put you into an othersense dream?”
“What’s that?”
Wenda shook her head. “Forgive me, Sadie. I forget you don’t know these things. An othersense dream is sent by the God…Goddess to communicate with us, teach us something, or show us someone.” The smile she gave Sadie trembled. “Yadarius sent othersense dreams to my parents to help them find each other. He doesn’t usually pick our mates, but sometimes he intervenes. Those marriages are especially blessed.”
“The perfect match,” Sadie said in a wry tone.
Wenda wrinkled her nose. “No one’s perfect. Nor are God-ordained marriages perfect. But a couple who is brought together by the SeaGod is well content with their relationship, and their children have powerful othersense, often becoming priests and priestesses.”
“What’s an othersense dream like?”
“They are all different. All I can tell you is the experience will feel very real.” the priestess’s tone turned cryptic. “Perhaps some of them are real.”
As she moved through the arched double doorway, twice the height of the women, Sadie’s attention shifted to her surroundings. The room with the vaulted ceilings was smaller than she’d expected—chapel size—and smelled like citrus incense. A larger-than-life-size statue of the Goddess, standing in the place of an altar in a Christian church, dominated the room. Two cot-sized blocks of stone, like parallel altars, lined up in front of Her.
The glowing marble figure of Guinheld wore a floor-length robe with a hood covering Her hair, but unlike Withea, she didn’t wear a veil. Her oval face and classically beautiful features seemed stern, until the Goddess gazed down at them, and Sadie saw the compassion and understanding in Her marble eyes. Her expression seemed softer than Withea’s.
Wenda bowed, and Sadie followed suit. “I’ll leave you here,” the priestess said, pressing her hands together and giving Sadie a slight bow of farewell.
Sadie wanted to protest. But she held in the words.
The Goddess waved one tapering hand toward the block on Sadie’s left. Rest, Sadie, said a voice in her head—like Withea; except the mental tone vibrated softer than the desert Goddess’s mental speech. You have work to do.
Wondering at Guinheld’s juxtaposition of rest and work, Sadie obediently sat on the block. To her surprise, instead of a hard surface, the top gave like a cushion.
The sound of footsteps made her look toward the entrance. Archpriest Devore and Tharon, both wearing white robes, entered the room. Tharon’s face looked drawn, and his smile to her and Wenda seemed forced.
“Good morning, Tharon.” Sadie wished she knew what was on his mind. “Good morning, Devore.”
Devore greeted her. He waved Tharon toward the other stone cot.
“Are we doing this together?” Sadie asked the Archpriest.
“Yes. I don’t know if you’ll be together throughout the whole othersense dream, but you surely will for part of it.”
Sadie didn’t know whether Tharon’s presence made her feel more or less apprehensive.
Another prompt from the Goddess made her lie down.
Tharon followed suit, staring at the ceiling.
Before Sadie had time to think about what was going to happen, she drifted to sleep.
Sadie found herself holding the handle of her travel case and standing at a wooden door set in a familiar looking greenstone wall. I’m in Seagem, she marveled, wondering why the Goddess had sent her here.
The door opened and Tharon appeared, but a Tharon she’d never seen before—young, perhaps even younger than she, auburn-haired and vibrant. He grinned at her, his golden eyes alight with pleasure, and gestured with the sword he held in his right hand for her to come in.
Shocked at his appearance, Sadie rooted her feet to the ground.
Tharon glanced behind him.
She saw his profile. He looks like a face on a coin—with his auburn hair, he’s a shiny copper penny. “How….how?” she stuttered.
Tharon reached out and grabbed her hand, towing her into the room. The wheels of the travel case rattled on the floor. “Ask not the ways of Deities,” he said.
The two-story room was filled with sunshine from large clerestory windows set high on one side, which reflected light off mirrored walls. Opposite the windows, a balcony for spectators ran the length of the room. Even sanding and polishing hadn’t erased the scuffs and dings in the wooden floor. Some of the windows were open, sending a fresh briny breeze through the area.
At a far corner, a little girl with long blond braids attacked pells with a miniature wooden sword. In the middle of the salle a grizzled old warrior fought with a young man about Tharon’s age.
Tharon slid his hand down her arm and entwined his fingers with Sadie’s, startling her and sending a thrill of energy shooting through her body. Connected, they watched the two men battle.
Here was the expertise she’d missed in the Ocean’s Glory soldiers. The men fought with strength and skill beyond what she’d ever seen, even in the best of Renaissance fighters. One part of her watched in awe, enjoying the spectacle. The other part of her analyzed, trying to learn as much as she could about their style.
Sadie narrowed her eyes, quickly figuring out the two fought to a pattern. But unlike the chorography needed at Renaissance shows and fairs, these two pulled no blows, gave no quarter. The bout ended with a cross of swords. The two held the position for several seconds—probably a specific count, before lowering their blades.
The little girl glanced over, but, obedient to her training, didn�
�t stop whacking at the pells.
The men turned toward Sadie.
Tharon tugged her forward.
The young man eyed their joined hands and quirked a playful eyebrow.
Self-conscious, Sadie wiggled her fingers away from Tharon’s, wondering if she should set down her travel case. This time, she studied the men, not their bladework. Both wore padded tunics of faded green, which left their well-muscled shoulders and arms bare.
The younger man had laughing green eyes under dark brows, strong, handsome features, and long, blond hair tied back in a ponytail. He stood about the same height as Tharon. The older man wore his white-streaked bronze hair in a long plait, which matched his braided beard. Under bushy brows, sharp blue eyes assessed her, giving Sadie the feeling he could see every single one of her strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps in this magical world, he could, as well as access all her lessons, going back to the first one taken when she was five.
The young man swept her a bow. “I’m Indaran, and you’re obviously here to learn fighting from someone who knows how, rather than clumsy dolts who dance the patterns of Besolet.” His engaging grin made her smile back.
Besolet. Sadie had to think for a few seconds before remembering the name of Ocean’s Glory’s displaced goddess.
Tharon stiffened. “Besolet’s patterns are quite effective, as I’ve proven to you time and time again.”
“Only when I’ve let you.” Indaran winked at Sadie.
The older man scowled and cleared his throat.
Tharon gave him a small bow of acknowledgment. “Sadie Issacson, I’d like you to meet Weaponsmaster Micfal, the greatest warrior in the land.”
The weaponsmaster nodded at her, then directed a pointed glance at the black travel case. “What do you have there?”
He’s probably never seen plastic before. “I have my sabres inside.”
Micfal tugged on his beard. “Interesting way to carry them. Doesn’t look heavy.”
“It’s not.” Sadie twisted to tap the top of the case with her knuckles. “Although I doubt you have this material here.”
Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) Page 18