Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Help had arrived.

  Indaran gave her one last smile of love, of reassurance, then he laid her down, reluctance in every muscle of his body.

  A young dark-haired man and woman hastened across the openness. They didn’t appear to see him.

  Knowing he left her in good hands, Indaran stepped away, and faded back to himself.

  Trapped in Ontarem’s temple.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jasmine floated into consciousness, aware of a dull ache in her side and the feel of strong arms around her. Roe-al? No, not Roe-al.

  Someone wonderful. Safe. Caring. She snuggled into the feeling, loath to open her eyes. But curiosity won.

  A handsome man stared down at her, his emerald-green eyes anxious. A braided circle of gold held his long, blond hair off his forehead. The breeze tossed some strands across one sharp-edged cheekbone.

  By his coloring, he must be one of Arvintor’s people. How did he find me?

  When he saw her looking at him, he smiled in obvious relief.

  In the distance, she heard voices and the stomping of horses.

  He looked away, eyes narrowed, face stern, his body poised to react. Then he relaxed and smiled down at her again, a look so full of love and longing that she wanted to reach up and touch his face. But her body reacted too sluggishly. Before her hand could move more than a few inches, he was laying her down on the moss.

  His fingers touched her face in a gentle farewell. Then he faded away.

  “No,” Jasmine moaned. “No, come back.”

  The snorting of a horse startled Jasmine. Her eyes jerked open, and she turned her head toward the sound.

  The hunters ringed the clearing. Six men and two women, each holding spears in one hand, the reins of their mounts in the other, stood frozen, staring at Arvintor. Identical expressions of awe and fear showed on each face.

  The brown and black horses oriented their bodies toward the statue, but seemed calm, drooping their heads. Jasmine wondered if Arvintor was soothing them.

  Roe-al flashed Jasmine an angry look, then took one hesitant step forward, his knees bent, arm poised to throw.

  Jasmine could tell he didn’t know whether to cast the spear at her or run.

  Hold! The word seemed to echo through the clearing, but Jasmine knew it sounded in everyone’s mind, not their ears.

  I am Arvintor, TwinGod to Ontarem.

  Even with her fading senses, Jasmine could feel Arvintor’s weakness, the effort He was making to sound strong. He’d depleted himself in giving her the energy to reach him.

  The hunters gasped. They opened their eyes wide, dropping their spears, and sinking to their knees. They lowered their heads to the ground.

  Rise, my children.

  Already Arvintor’s mental voice sounded stronger. Jasmine realized He must be gaining power from the Che-da-wah.

  Roe-al was the first to tentatively raise his face, staring at the statue.

  Jasmine lifted her head so he could see her. “It’s safe,” she called in their language, her voice barely stronger than the breeze. “Arvintor is a good God, not an evil one like Ontarem.”

  The rest lifted their heads, then gingerly rose to their feet, obvious doubt on their faces.

  Come forward.

  They shuffled a few reluctant steps. One man with a scarred face mumbled and shook his head, sliding his feet sideways about to turn and run.

  Roe-al growled at him, and he stopped, frozen in place.

  Touch me.

  Roe-al appeared to be the bravest. Masking his fear, he swaggered toward the statue with apparent arrogance and placed his hand in Arvintor’s. After a few seconds, his eyes widened. He snatched his hand back, caught himself, then slid his palm over Arvintor’s.

  For several minutes, Roe-al stood in private communion with the TwinGod, his gaze locked on the statue’s. Then he withdrew his hand and turned to the others. “He is good!” His voice rang through the clearing, and his face glowed with an inner light. “It’s not how we were taught communication with the Evil One would be. No pain. No seizing of my mind. Only joy. Come, my comrades, and join with Him.”

  One woman leaped to be the first, extending a long, lean arm and touching tapering fingers to Arvintor’s.

  “Jora.” Roe-al grinned at the woman in approval.

  She flashed him a loving look out of bold, black eyes, before making eye-contact with Arvintor.

  Jasmine studied the young woman’s oval, proud-featured face, noticed the twitch of a smile on her lips as her connection with the God deepened. Jasmine couldn’t help remembering her first contact with Arvintor—her awe, the development of the bond.

  When Jora stepped away, she nodded reassurance at the others. Another man took her place. Jasmine didn’t doubt that soon the whole clan would be gathering in Arvintor’s clearing. With natives at his command, Arvintor wouldn’t need her to go to Ontarem’s City.

  Or would he?

  Not that I could get far with my wound. I can’t even—

  Giving up the fight, Jasmine slid into unconsciousness.

  ~ ~ ~

  Roe-al leaped around Arvintor’s statue to the fallen woman, stretching out her body on the moss. He pulled away the torn, bloodstained material, examining the wound in her side. Deep, but he didn’t think his spear had hit any vital organs. Yet, he realized, with a squeeze of guilt, she could soon bleed to death. “Dihel, you must ride for the healer,” he snapped out the command. “Jora, find something to bind her wound.”

  Dihel nodded, gathering the reins of his mount.

  Wait.

  Dihel froze, his gaze flashing to the statue.

  You have provided enough energy for me to stem the blood loss and begin Jasmine’s healing. But I will need more power to completely heal her. Also, I have much to share with your people, especially your healer. You must bring them here.

  Roe-al swallowed. “All of them, Mighty One?”

  I’m not so mighty now, Roe-al.

  Was that humor he heard in the God’s mental voice? The sound of the irony shocked him more than anything else that had happened today. Astonished, he glanced up. The statue had shifted on the pedestal. The God appeared to watch him. Blue sparked in the statue’s eyes. One closed in a wink, before the color faded.

  The idea of a God with a sense of humor appealed to Roe-al’s own view of the world. How different Arvintor was from what they’d always been told about the evilness of Ontarem. If Arvintor regained his powers, Roe-al would be proud to serve this God. He just needed to bring his people to join him. Once they touched the hand of Arvintor, they, too, would believe.

  But will I convince the Stridza?

  Making a decision, he called out to his friend. “Wait, Dihel. Once Arvintor has helped Jasmine, we’ll all go together.”

  Green light sparkled around the wound.

  Roe-al watched in awe as the seep of scarlet blood slowed. But the woman’s eyes stayed closed, and her skin remained pale.

  He glanced down at the unconscious woman, firming his jaw.

  I’ll make them believe me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jasmine dozed in a haze of pain. Voices and the sounds of horses pulled her back into consciousness. She opened her eyes and watched a group of the natives take tentative steps into the clearing. Roe-al and Jora dropped the reins of their horses and ran over to her.

  Roe-al stooped to examine her, and Jora dropped to her knees, taking Jasmine’s hand and pressing gently. “We have brought our people. Our healer.”

  Roe-al touched Jasmine’s shoulder. “I will introduce the rest of our people to Arvintor. They will give him energy. With the extra power, He will heal you.”

  Jasmine managed a slight smile. “Thank you, Roe-al.”

  When he stood and walked over to the statue, she couldn’t help but tilt her head, looking beyond him for the blond man. But she only saw dark people.

  Who was he? Where was he? How can he just vanish like that?

  Even through the nu
mbness of her body, her heart ached. She missed him. After her experiences with Amir and Moussad, she never thought she’d long for the touch of a man. But he’d made her feel so safe, so protected.

  The two leaders who’d condemned Jasmine walked across the clearing, identical wary expressions on their faces. The woman, her hair still braided into a crown, carried herself with queenly grace. The man moved more stiffly, as if achy.

  “Our Stridza,” Jora murmured. “Our leaders.”

  Roe-al waved them toward the statue, explaining how they each needed to place a hand in Arvintor’s. The woman shot her a hostile glance. Braid-crowned head held high, jaw rigid, she reached out as if she was about to touch fire.

  Even through her debility, Jasmine couldn’t help but enjoy the leader’s change of expression. Her firm mouth slackened, and her eyes widened. Jasmine wished she could hear what Arvintor was saying. Was He doing some fast-talking to persuade her? Or was he commanding her to follow him? Most likely, the God was just touching her with his love.

  Jora chuckled. “Our Stridzae is a woman of fixed ideas. Her mind, once set, is not easily changed. She didn’t really believe us, but for once, the Stridzat, her mate, overruled her. Now, I believe, she has just received the shock of her life.”

  The Stridzae pulled away from Arvintor and said a few quick words to her husband, obviously apologizing.

  With a tender gesture, he laid his hand on her cheek, smiled and said something in return. Then he took his turn connecting with the TwinGod.

  Dihel, leading a gray horse into the clearing, waved at Roe-al, an eager grin lighting his scarred face. A low cart, bumping along behind the horse, contained an elderly woman.

  “Sha-na, our healer.” Jora jumped to her feet and trotted over to the cart. She tucked a solicitous arm around the old woman and helped her to step out, then escorted her over to Jasmine.

  Sha-na leaned heavily on Jora’s arm, her dark eyes tired in a face as wrinkled and weathered as the dried prunes Mrs. Baker served for breakfast. The healer’s movements were stiff, as if her joints pained her. Her thick gray braids fell down to her knees, and hundreds of tiny bone beads covered her clothing. A beaded fringe along the hem ticked with each halting step.

  Dihel followed behind them, carrying a plump cushion made of suede and a hide bag. He placed the cushion next to Jasmine.

  Jora angled the old woman toward the cushion.

  But before Sha-na could sit, Jasmine held up a weak hand. “Wait. Take her to Arvintor first. Then they will be able to work together.”

  Jora nodded, turning the healer so she could face the statue.

  Roe-al had already introduced several of the Che-da-wah to the TwinGod, and the next man in line bowed, then stepped away, deferring to Sha-na.

  The old woman placed her palm in Arvintor’s; her tired black eyes stared into his. Their exchange seemed longer than that of the other Che-da-wah.

  Finally, Sha-na straightened, shifting away from Jora’s support. When the healer removed her hand from the statue’s, Jasmine could see the older woman’s exhaustion and pain had vanished. The muscles under the wrinkled skin firmed until she appeared ten years younger.

  Excited whispers flew around the clearing.

  Sha-na nodded her head. “Thank you, Arvintor. You are truly all that Roe-al promised. I offer myself as the humble instrument of healing for your new people.”

  I know you will serve my people well, Healer Sha-na.

  To her surprise, Jasmine heard the words, too.

  However, before we can finish our work with Jasmine, I will need more power.

  Roe-al made a sharp gesture to the next man in line, urging him to Arvintor.

  Sha-na sidled to Jasmine’s side, and without Jora’s help, lowered herself to the cushion. She took Jasmine’s hand, sliding two fingers over her pulse points and smiled, showing crooked, yellow teeth. The smile compressed the wrinkles around the healer’s wise dark eyes.

  Jasmine sniffed the herbal scent that clung to the healer, and with an immediate tug of trust, and smiled back,

  After the healer had taken Jasmine’s pulse, she leaned forward and examined the wound, touching the edges with delicate fingers. “Jora, have someone boil a pan of water. We must make her the berst tea. That will help bring back her strength. Bring my flask of stepta. I must clean out her wound.”

  “Yes, Sha-na.” Jora hurried away.

  The healer removed a clean cloth from her bag, folding the material into a pad.

  Jora returned, handing Sha-na a cylinder flask that looked to be of bone. “I told Dihel to make a fire and boil water.”

  The older woman nodded, then poured a thin brown liquid from the container onto the pad. She glanced up at the TwinGod. “Some numbness would be good, Arvintor, while I clean out the wound.”

  Warmth flooded into Jasmine’s side; she barely felt the pad press against her skin. But curious, she watched the healer, wanting to learn everything she could about the medical knowledge of these people. As soon as she had regained her strength, she intended to ask Sha-na to teach her their ways.

  Dihel brought over a smooth tan bowl filled with steaming water and presented it to Jora. He lingered, watching, until a sharp command from Sha-na sent him scurrying away.

  Jora held the bowl while Sha-na pulled out a small skin bag from her bigger sack and pinched dry rusty-looking leaves into the water.

  As if sensing Jasmine’s curiosity, the healer said, “These are the leaves of the berst plant, which grows in a marshy area near Ontarem’s city of Penutar. Once a year, my young, brave ones—” she threw a fond smile at Jora “—sneak there to gather the leaves. The plant is orange-colored and grows to my knees. The leaves have three points.” She spread her fingers, demonstrating to Jasmine. “You must use five leaves per drink, and steep them for a while.”

  Jasmine shifted her hand, touching Sha-na’s knee. “Thank you for the information.”

  The old woman smiled, crinkling her withered skin. She cocked her head as if listening. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Arvintor tells me He is strong enough to completely heal you. He says for me to use my othersense—” her voice trembled, and she repeated the word “—othersense to also send my healing energy into you. He will tell me how.”

  Sha-na closed her eyes for a few minutes, apparently listening. She nodded, then opened her eyes, and held her hand over Jasmine’s side. Red sparks of energy flowed from her fingertips. At the same time, a green glow surrounded the wound.

  Jasmine craned her neck, trying to see everything, but she could only see the surface.

  Here, my curious one. Arvintor’s amused voice drifted into Jasmine’s thoughts. I’ll show you. You, too need to learn to use your othersense. Sha-na’s is the red energy. Mine is green.

  In her mind’s eye, Jasmine saw the tissue knit back together. The wound grew smaller and vanished, lost in the smoothness of her body.

  Then, in a teasing afterthought, Arvintor brushed his hand over her red blouse until the rents repaired and the bloodstains vanished.

  Strength washed into Jasmine. She closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you, Arvintor. Thank you for my life.”

  Sha-na linked her fingers with Jasmine’s. “Close your eyes,” she ordered. “Use your othersense to see inside my body. You will see my center glow red, the color of our life’s blood. That is the source of my othersense. Then go within yourself and find your own center.”

  Through her closed eyes, Jasmine could, indeed, see Sha-na’s center swirl with red light. Then she searched for her own, finding the red ball of energy just where she’d always imagined golden-white healing power. In all the metaphysical reading she’d done, the visualization for energy was always golden or white. Red was a bit jarring to her imagination, but the pulse of power grew so strong she knew she’d quickly adjust.

  “Now,” Sha-na coached. “Send your energy from your center down your arms and out your fingertips.”

  Again, this was a familiar exercise to Jasmi
ne, and she didn’t have any problem.

  “Ah.” Sha-na drew the word out in a satisfied rumble. “You do this well.”

  “Practice,” Jasmine murmured.

  “Your othersense is very clear. Much, much stronger, even than mine. You are a blessing to the Che-da-wah.”

  Jasmine opened her eyes and sat up, her body feeling alive and full of energy.

  The two Stridza stood near her feet, waiting. The Stridzae clasped her hands before her and bowed her head. “I was wrong. Instead of being an enemy to our people, you are a great gift. We can never repay you for leading us…the Godless ones…to Arvintor. Now we are Godless no more.”

  Jasmine stared into the sharp black eyes of the woman who’d ordered her killed. Time must pass before the terror of that night would leave her. She coolly returned the acknowledgement.

  The Stridzat mirrored her pose. “Jasmine, you must consider yourself one of the Che-da-wah, as from this day forward we will consider you one of us,” he said in a gentle voice.

  Jasmine remembered the terror of her capture, the frantic flight to Exonlah, the pain of her wound. Not so easy to set aside.

  Did she want to be one of them? No. She preferred to be alone.

  Yet, the Che-da-wah had also given Arvintor the power to heal her. And they were now His people. With time, she could forgive them, although her emotional healing from the trauma they’d caused her would take longer to get over. However, she was a stranger in a strange world, and these people wanted to reach out to her. “Thank you. I am honored to be one of the Che-da-wah.”

  The Stridzae smiled, her stern face transformed by the change of expression into shining beauty. Jasmine caught a glimpse of the charisma that had made the woman a leader. The Stridzae bowed her head to Jasmine in acknowledgement, then turned and walked away.

  The Stridzat reached out and placed his hand on her shoulders, the merest brush of a connection, then he, too, smiled and followed his wife.

  Ignoring all the curious eyes upon her, Jasmine scanned the clearing. Now that she was feeling better and politics were taken care of, she could think about her mystery man.