Sower of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Standing alone on the small, high deck, Indaran watched his crew move about their tasks. They, too, felt the absence of the SeaGod’s presence. Although no one dared speak their fears, Indaran knew they’d lost their resolve and wanted to turn back.

  I want to go home, too. He suppressed the cowardly thought. The idea of returning to Seagem with his curiosity and the holds of his vessels unfilled shamed him into staying his course.

  Nevertheless, he wasn’t foolish. Tonight, he’d enter into the deep trance necessary to reach Yadarius even from this distance. If the SeaGod advised them to return, then Indaran would very willingly give the order to come about.

  A yell from aloft yanked his attention upward. A sentry, perched on the platform built around the top of the tallest mast, waved so wildly he almost overbalanced. “Land! Land!”

  Excitement purged Indaran’s dark spirits. He gripped the case of his telescope, snapped it open, and peered through the lens. A distant smudge of gray wavered into view.

  Land, indeed.

  With their goal in sight, he would order the cook to break out the bottles of wine he’d set aside for this day. Tonight at dinner, they’d celebrate. A special dinner should raise everyone’s spirits.

  Within a day or two, the ships from Seagem would reach their long-sought destination, and he’d finally have the answers to his questions.

  ~ ~ ~

  In his cabin aboard the Treasure, Indaran pulled on his worn blue sleepclothes and loosened his braid, combing his fingers through the long hair. The flame in the single lantern hanging by his narrow bed cast eerie flickers of orange light around the room, illuminating the simple furnishings—bed, desk, bookshelf stuffed with volumes, and a huge trunk holding his wardrobe and some special trading goods.

  He yawned, exhausted from the strain of the evening. While everyone had pretended to have a good time, with his othersense, he could feel the tension underneath the crew’s apparent good cheer. At least in this area, his ability still worked.

  He tossed back the covers, slid inside the clammy bedding, and wrinkled his nose at the musty smell of the linen and blankets. Tomorrow, he’d make sure his steward spread them out in the sun to air. If there is sun.

  Closing his eyes, he began the breathing and mind-clearing meditation that would send him into a deep dreamstate. There, even at this distance from Seagem, he should be able to reach Yadarius.

  Indaran slipped into sleep. For a while, he slumbered peacefully. Then he found himself on the deck of the Treasure, watching as the dawn faded the darkness into fog-gray light; the distant outline of the land formed a jagged bump on the horizon.

  The wind whipped his hair around his face. He pushed the flying strands out of his eyes, and reached for his telescope, only to remember he’d left the case in his cabin.

  “Indaran!”

  He heard his name called in a familiar piping voice. Daria? He spun around.

  His little sister sped over the deck to him, her arms outstretched, blond braids bouncing, her face beaming with a smile as big as Reescue, the golden crescent moon.

  Overjoyed, he bounded two steps toward her.

  She jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a suckervine.

  He squeezed her tight, twirling her in a circle. When their momentum stopped, he kissed both her soft, round cheeks, inhaling her little girl scent. He couldn’t believe how his baby sister’s othersense had blossomed. With a flash of pride, he realized she’d probably grow up to be the most gifted woman in generations.

  “Daria, little bird. Look how strong you’ve become to appear like this in our dreamtime. Even mother’s othersense can no longer reach me when I sleep. Now she’s just the faintest voice, like a breeze.”

  A band of tension tightened around his head. Another vision wavered before him. “Not here,” a voice soothed. “Here is only a happy reunion with your sister.”

  “I miss you so much, Indaran. I wanted to see you. You’ve been gone sooo long.”

  Much too long. He’d forgotten how her clinging to him warmed his heart.

  He carried her to the prow, relishing the feel of her childish body in his arms.

  She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the changes in the water and sky.

  He pointed. “Look, little bird, the land of our ancestors, unseen by any of our people for generations.” She’ll be able to tell everyone that we made it.

  Daria shivered in his arms and glanced away, obviously frightened.

  Indaran nuzzled her hair with his cheek, trying to reassure her. “I’ll bring the ships back laden with interesting goods. Just think of all the stories I’ll have to tell.” He tried to coax a smile out of her. “I’ll even seek out a special trinket for you, little bird. Or would you prefer a toy or a new pet?”

  The set look on her girlish face made her seem old beyond her years. “I want you to come home, Indaran.” Her emerald-green eyes appealed. “Father’s counselors grumble that their prince is out—” she deepened her voice “’—gallivanting on a useless chase for glory.’”

  He laughed, delighted with her mimicry of Counselor Rickel. “I can see them now. This voyage isn’t for glory, Daria, but for exploration, for adventure...” And...to be completely truthful, she was right. “And...maybe a little glory.”

  Her solemn expression didn’t change. “Mama’s worried. She walks around with her forehead like this—” she used two fingers to pinch together the skin of her brow “—when she thinks I’m not looking.”

  Her words hit him like a fist in the stomach. His people had followed him, leaving behind family and friends. They wanted to turn home; their loved ones wanted them to return home. The burden of decision weighed on him, and he set Daria down. “Yadarius will keep us safe,” he said to assure himself as much as her. But will He? We are out of touch with Him.

  “Mama says you are sailing beyond Yadarius’s realm.” Her words gave voice to his concerns. “We don’t even know what gods rule the ancestors’ where you are going.”

  Indaran looked toward the distant land, drawn like a magnet to metal. “We only know that they’re TwinGods,” he murmured. “Even their names are lost to us.” Determined, he clenched his fist. “But I’ll find them out.”

  I need to speak with Yadarius. “Time to return, Little Bird. Tell Mama not to worry. Yadarius will never forsake us.”

  “But how do you know?”

  He flicked the tip of her little nose. “Because when we started this trip, He told me so.”

  The ship shuddered.

  Indaran straightened. Was something wrong? He tried to shield his sister from his sudden concern. “Go, little bird, I must awaken.”

  Her expression almost slid into a pout, but she caught herself. “I’ll visit again.”

  He smiled. “Promise?”

  His body acted out the gestures and said the words, perfectly following the script of that day, but underneath another memory stirred.

  I’m lying on a slab in Ontarem’s temple.

  Indaran tried to reconcile the ripple of awareness with the present, but couldn’t.

  Daria slashed her fingers across her chest. “Sword’s oath.”

  He laughed at her fierceness, but inside another him wanted to scream a warning. “My little warrior.”

  The Treasure shuddered again.

  Daria vanished.

  With a strangled gasp, Indaran awoke. Bolting upright, he kicked aside the bedclothes and scrambled out of bed, panting in the chill early morning air. He grabbed the telescope case and flung the chain over his head. Not bothering to change, he yanked on socks and boots, and ran out of his cabin.

  He flew up the stairs and across the deck to the helm. “What’s amiss, Mastin?”

  “A current seized us, My Lord.” The man’s thin face tightened with worry. “Never saw one so strong. It’s carrying us straight to that land. Don’t think we could come about if we wanted.”

  Something has torn the decision from my hands. Those
TwinGods?

  I don’t know whether to feel excited or afraid. Maybe both.

  With a painful snap, Ontarem disconnected from Indaran’s brain, leaving behind the slime of His avariciousness.

  Daria. He wants Daria!

  A scream of horror built up in Indaran’s throat, but his locked jaws only reverberated the sound against his teeth. Rage shot through him. He strained with all his might to break the paralysis of his body, until he thought his heart would burst with the effort.

  Finally, exhausted from the fight, Indaran collapsed. He shut his eyes against the tears of weakness that threatened to spill forth. Shame coursed through his veins. Would that he had died before he’d given up that last memory....

  Before I betrayed Daria to Ontarem.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Khan Liaquat—the inspiration for my hero.

  I’m blessed to have had a wonderful, talented team working on Sower of Dreams.

  Many thanks to:

  Lex Valentine, cover artist

  Louella Nelson, writing teacher and developmental editor

  Linda Carroll-Bradd, copy editor

  Amy Atwell, formatter

  Also thanks to the many friends who read the book and gave feedback.

  I’m grateful to Susan Squires, Cate Rowan, Kim Beckley, Theresa Ragan, Alexis Montgomery, Diane Dallape, Erika Burkhalter, Janis Tereault, Judy Lewis, R.J. Sullivan and Kelly Mortimer.

  To Noah Michael Levine, the talented narrator who brought the audio book to life.

  OTHER BOOKS BY DEBRA HOLLAND

  THE GODS’ DREAM TRILOGY

  In order:

  Sower of Dreams

  Reaper of Dreams

  Harvest of Dreams

  ~ ~ ~

  MONTANA SKY SERIES

  By Date:

  1886

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Lina

  1890’s

  Wild Montana Sky

  Starry Montana Sky

  Stormy Montana Sky

  Glorious Montana Sky (Fall, 2014)

  Painted Montana Sky: A Sweetwater Springs Novella

  Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection

  Sweetwater Springs Christmas: A Montana Sky Short Story Collection

  Look for future Montana Sky books, novellas, and short stories

  ~ ~ ~

  TWINBORNE TRILOGY

  Lywin’s Quest

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Debra Holland, is a psychotherapist and corporate crisis/grief counselor, who lives in Southern California with her dog and two cats.

  Debra writes the bestselling Montana Sky Series—sweet historical Western romance, as well as fantasy romance and science fiction. Debra also writes nonfiction. Her book, The Essential Guide to Grief and Grieving, published by Alpha Books is available in print and ebooks. Look for her other fiction and nonfiction books online. You can download her free ebooklet: 58 Tips For Getting What You Want From a Difficult Conversation on her website: http://drdebraholland.com.

  You can contact Debra at:

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/drdebraholland

  Facebook: https://facebook.com/drdebraholland.731

  Now I’d like to introduce you to another award-winning fantasy romance, The Source of Magic by Cate Rowan. Here’s a taste:

  When a gorgeous man clasps Jilian Stewart to his chest and yanks her from Scotland into a magical battle, she thinks it must be another of her bizarre dreams. Plagued by unnerving visions of this man, she's sure they're brought on by the stress of her mother's deadly paralysis. Instead, Jilian finds herself ensnared in a world of fantasy, treachery, and family secrets, opposing the one man who can make everything right.

  I hope you enjoy this excerpt!

  THE SOURCE OF MAGIC

  by Cate Rowan

  CHAPTER ONE

  Present day Bhruic’s castle, world of Alaia

  A frigid draft slunk through the dungeon cell, chilling the muck-fouled cobblestones until even the rats looked miserable.

  Jilian Stewart drew her thin cloak around her and tried to ignore her thudding heart. Each heartbeat seemed to reverberate off the clammy walls as if seeking a crack in her prison.

  The linen chemise beneath her borrowed gown clung to her, damp with cold sweat. She licked her lips and caught the iron tang of blood leaking from the gash on her forehead. As her gaze flicked to the door, her breath hitched, then her lungs sped up of their own accord.

  Stop, Jil. Panicking won’t help. You’ve got some brain cells left and you’re going to need them all.

  Icy fingers of air flowed down the walls and skimmed across her collarbone. She shivered and pulled the cloak tighter, craving the warmth of Alvarr’s arms around her instead.

  Alvarr. His teasing smile played through her mind. He’d saved her life with his sword and wits, and shown her that love still lingered in the world. This world, anyway.

  Now he probably cursed her name.

  “Enough! Get a grip.” She shoved away from the rough wall, trying to leave the path of her thoughts behind.

  A grip. Her gaze snapped to the claw-shaped hinges of the iron door. Could she pry them open?

  She seized the nearest one, cold and hard under her fingers. The hinge crackled. A piercing shock surged up her arm and flung her to the opposite wall.

  Air scorched her lungs; her numbed hand shook. Fantastic. First I’m yanked light years—or is it dimensions?—from home and Earth and useful things like 911, and now I’ve nearly had a limb fried off. Hysterical laughter surged up, only to clog and die in her throat.

  Her head sagged against the jagged stones.

  Mom, how could you? How could you keep all this a secret?

  Another shiver slid over her. The dungeon’s putrid stench roiled in her nose; the chill of the wall at her back seeped into her bones. In the growing hush, her heart echoed. Thump. Thump.

  Metal clanged beyond the boundaries of her cell, followed by the groan of a massive door. A squadron of footsteps thudded toward her in counterpoint to her accelerating pulse.

  She clutched her cloak to her body and tried, in vain, to blend into the shadows.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Three weeks earlier

  Fort Nevis, Scotland, Earth

  Jilian reached for the door to Room 309, then stopped.

  She slid her palm down her face. It’s going to be fine. It has to be.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped toward the steel-framed bed. “Hi Mom,” she said softly.

  “Hello, Jilly Love.” Sara Stewart reached up and gave Jilian’s hand a feeble squeeze. Her wrinkled face and smiling eyes seemed at odds with the white and anonymous hospital bed linens. The frail legs that could no longer move were tucked neatly under the blanket.

  Without relinquishing her mother’s fingers, Jilian reached for a nearby chair and drew it close. When she settled upon it, silence grew between them and became entwined like their hands.

  Finally, Sara spoke. “Ach, Jilly, no matter what happens, everything’ll be all right.”

  Caressing the soft skin of her mother’s wrist, Jilian replied in cheerful tones. “Of course it will.”

  Sara grinned and raised a brow.

  “Fine, you caught me.” Jilian gave a wry smile. “I never could hide things from you.”

  “No, m’girl. And that’s just as it should be.” Sara reached over and tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind Jilian’s ear. “Have ye been to yer father’s house yet?”

  “I stayed in it last night. It seems…smaller than I’d remembered. His things—his clothes, the teapot, his books—they’re all there.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep in his room. The bed was neat, perfectly made, like most of the house. Waiting, almost. As if he were coming home.” She brushed her thumb over her mother’s knuckles. “The only place not spic-and-span was your old study. The door was st
uck shut at first, and the room’s coated in dust. I doubt he’d been there in years.”

  Sara’s gaze slid away and she picked at a loose thread on the sheet.

  “I’m sorry,” Jilian said, and bit her lip.

  Her mother squared her shoulders. “Don’t apologize, lass. It’s fine.” She took a breath, then began again. “Ye never really got to know yer father, and I wish it were otherwise. Maybe that’s why he left ye his house—because he wished it, too.”

  Jilian gave a half-hearted shrug. Colin Stewart was a distant memory, and that was all he deserved.

  But her mother…they’d shared love and dreams. For all Jilian’s twenty-five years, she’d felt safely anchored. No matter what happened, her mother had always been able to pull her back to calm waters and comfort.

  Now her anchor was disintegrating.

  Her mother tugged at her fingers. “Yer father’s heart attack, the house, me—everything at once, m’girl, I know. But chin up. Sometimes we must leave things to fate.”

  Then fate’s a jackass.

  Jilian leaned forward to fuss with the wool blanket, smoothing it over her mother’s motionless legs. The flights from their longtime home in San Francisco had been uneventful and then the train ride from Glasgow breathtaking, with the mountains curving up around them and the lochs shining in the sun. The raw beauty of Scotland still made her shiver in joy, even after nineteen years away, and had let her forget for a short while the reason she was back: her father’s death. But they’d been only a few miles from Fort Nevis when her mother’s face had pinched into frightened lines. “Jilly,” she’d whispered, “I can’t move my feet!”

  Toes, feet, knees, thighs… Days and myriad tests later, the paralysis continued its slither up her mother’s body. “Acute idiopathic progressive neuropathy,” the doctors said, which really meant they knew zip—not what was causing it, nor how to treat it.