Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  He grimaced, thinking of Porval-nic, the cousin of one of his cousins who belonged to the West Clan. At the summer Woldamer, he and Porval-nic had rivaled each other in the horse races and the spear throwing. Last year Roe-al and Racer had won the horse race, but Porval-nic’s spear cast had surpassed his by two inches. That loss still stung his pride, and he’d been practicing diligently ever since, determined to beat his rival at the next Woldamer.

  Porval-nic had never failed to hold his victories over Roe-al’s head. He’d been a spiteful boy, and he’d grown into a sly, skeptical man. Roe-al knew he’d scoff at the tale of Arvintor’s awakening. But the Stridza of the West Clan had long demonstrated their wisdom. They would listen to Dihel and bring their people to pay homage to the God.

  Still, Roe-al wished he could be a me-are bird perched in a tree in Sanglakic, no Exonlah, watching Porval-nic when he walked into the clearing of the TwinGod and placed his hand in the statue’s. He could only imagine the stunned look on the West Clan man’s face.

  Such a vision would be beyond price.

  He shrugged. Even though Jora thought their rivalry was silly, his pespayzae had promised to observe Porval-nic closely and report the whole tale upon his return.

  But hearing the story wouldn’t be the same as being there.

  A trickle of ruenar bubbles spiraled in front of Jasmine. Her whole face lit up.

  Curiosity pinched, and he had to ask. “You act as if you haven’t seen ruenar before.”

  “Ruenar?”

  He waved his hand at a trail of bubbles floating by.

  “I haven’t. It’s sandy and hot where I come from. Dew… ruenar, doesn’t lie around on the ground. And in London, the ruenar doesn’t float into the air, nor have colors. It just dries up.”

  Inquisitiveness picked at him. The Stridza had ordered him not to ask impertinent questions of Jasmine, to respect whatever information she chose to share. But lately, he hadn’t been good about following the commands of the Stridza, and he let his curiosity win over the cautions of his elders. “Where do you come from?”

  Her expression turned sad, and he mentally speared himself for asking. Perhaps I should have listened to the wisdom of the Stridza, after all.

  “I don’t know if you’ll believe me. But, I come from a different world from this. It’s called Earth. The Goddess, Withea, brought me here. I think She wanted me to help Arvintor.”

  With just a few sentences Jasmine flooded his mind with new concepts, and he didn’t know which one to grab onto first. His hands tightened in agitation.

  Racer danced a step.

  Roe-al forced himself to relax. He murmured an apology to his mount, using the moment to sort through and settle on the easiest question. “Withea?”

  “According to Arvintor, there are six Gods and Goddesses who rule over Kimtair. The other four are on a different continent.”

  “Continent?”

  “A major chunk of land with the ocean between.”

  “I have seen the ocean. Drayleth extends to the right of Ontarem’s city of Penutar. Sometimes, we go to fish there. But that too, is dangerous.”

  “Drayleth?”

  He swept one hand out to the right, a gesture indicating the vast plain. “Our homeland.”

  “You have a beautiful homeland.”

  He pondered which of his many questions to ask next. “You say you come from a different world. What is it like?”

  Her face closed off. “I could talk to you about Earth for days, and still you wouldn’t understand much of what I said.”

  “I will try to listen well.”

  “It’s so different from Kimtair. Perhaps the most important is that our God…to be truthful, I’d have to say Gods, because many of us believe in different ones…is more distant from us. We can feel him in our hearts. We can learn about him from our teachings. But our religious beliefs are based on faith. We trust that we have a relationship with God, and that he cares. But we don’t have statues of Gods that talk in our minds, and do magic, and healing, so we know for sure. Believing is much harder.” She fell silent, apparently lost in melancholy thoughts.

  Mindful of the Stridza’s restrictions, Roe-al respected her need to withdraw into herself, but he couldn’t help regretting that he hadn’t chosen a different question. One that wouldn’t have closed her off.

  They rode for a long time before Jasmine shook off her musings and turned to him. “Have you ever been to Penutar before?”

  He puffed out his chest. “It is a rite of passage for our youths to sneak into the marshland in the shadow of Penutar, gathering the berst leaves for Sha-na.” He allowed pride to slip into his voice. “I’ve been there seven times.”

  “Was anyone ever caught?”

  He grinned. “Our horses are swifter than the guards’ ponderous beasts. We can disappear quickly. And, if the Evil One’s soldiers follow, we fight skirmishes against them. Swords aren’t much good against spears and fast horses. Sometimes, one of us is killed. But we never allow ourselves to be captured. I would kill Jora rather than let her fall into Ontarem’s power.”

  Jasmine caught her breath. “You’d kill her?”

  “As she would want of me. As I would ask from her if I was captured.”

  “What if the guards followed you to the camp?”

  “They don’t. We whittle them away until they get tired and leave us alone.”

  “They give up?”

  “Over the generations, the Evil One’s people have not prospered. Their birthrate is low. Ontarem’s priests and priestesses would rather capture us alive and force us to live in the city as slaves, worshiping Him. The Evil One doesn’t want to lose more soldiers in a futile battle. That only weakens Him.”

  “Now I know how generations of the Che-da-wah have managed to remain free.”

  Roe-al’s jaw hardened. “He has never sent all His might against us. This time, there will be a battle. The Evil One will not allow Arvintor to challenge His power. He will need to slaughter us or capture us, right down to the tiniest baby.”

  Jasmine’s hand flew to cover her mouth, obviously trying to contain her horror.

  Roe-al shifted on the saddlepad, uncomfortable with feminine emotion. He cleared his throat, trying to find the words to make her understand. “Jasmine, it is only half a life—to live without a God.”

  She sniffed, then opened her blue eyes, obviously trying to understand.

  Now that he was no longer afraid of her, Roe-al found himself mesmerized by their unusual blue color. He leaned closer, the muscles in his face taut with tension. “We were always taught that half a life lived free in Drayleth is better than a whole life lived in slavery to the Evil One.” He emphasized each word, his meaning serious.

  She shuddered.

  He grinned, trying to coax an ironic smile from her in return. “I never even thought to know what living a whole life with a good God would be like.”

  “But…,” she sputtered.

  He could sense her fears. “I don’t want to die, Jasmine. I want to marry Jora, my soul’s light, and raise children to ride free in Arvintor’s glory. But because I’ve connected with Arvintor, I can die with a full heart, rather than a half-empty one.”

  She inhaled, then released a long breath. “I understand.”

  “A clean death in battle, fighting in service of my God. A warrior’s death, Jasmine. Not so bad, I think.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Pasinae, Trine Priestess of Ontarem, approached the door to the Goddess Besolet’s chapel. For once, the news she brought overshadowed her annoyance with having to wait attendance on the haughty, self-centered Goddess of Ocean’s Glory. She pushed open the wide golden door and stalked in, making her genuflection to the painted statue as shallow as she could without giving offence.

  The morning sun shone through the circle of the sky dome set into the roof, gilding the gold cushions covering the round bench, running along the side of the room, and sparkling off the gems that flowed in intricate patt
erns over half of the curving wall.

  No jewels decorated the remainder of the wall. Painted designs awaited the offerings of petitioners to bring them to dazzling life. In fact, when Thaddis returned with Princess Daria as his prisoner, he would probably gift Besolet with an entire panel.

  In the center of the circular room stood the statue of Besolet. The Goddess was a masterpiece of beauty, lush curves covered by skimpy wisps of carved and painted rose-colored fabric, revealing long, shapely legs. Her hair, partly caught up with a jeweled circlet, flowed in long golden curls to her feet. Wide-set cow eyes of sapphire blue in a perfect oval face appraised Pasinae.

  Welcome, Ontarem’s Trine, Besolet said in Pasinae’s mind, looking as if She didn’t mean her greeting.

  Pasinae inclined her head.

  Besolet waved a bouquet of fresh flowers held in Her left hand. One of the priestesses changed the arrangement daily, and today, purple and white tashalilies and pale pink chriebels filled the room with their cloying fragrance.

  Pasinae lifted the round black medallion that hung around her neck from a golden chain, twin to the one Thaddis wore, and held it up. “I bring you news of King Thaddis.”

  Tell me of my beloved young king.

  Pasinae sat on the padded bench in front of the Goddess. “King Thaddis is close to capturing Princess Daria; she’s only hours ahead of him.”

  Good. Then he will be home soon. It’s been months. I have missed his adulation. He has been gone from my side far too long. The delicate fingers of one hand brushed over Her hair, and the full lips pouted.

  Recognizing the signs, Pasinae braced herself for the usual boring run of complaints.

  Besolet’s sending took on an irritable tone. Ontarem promised this would only take a little while. Conquer Seagem. Capture the royal family. But everything has gone wrong. King Iceros and his sons were all slain. Princess Daria escaped.

  “She soon will be recaptured, my lady.”

  Besolet paid no attention to Pasinae, continuing Her monologue. I should never have agreed to let Thaddis murder his father. Too much of Thaddis belongs to Ontarem. His father, Stevenes, was all mine. Now he’s gone. And I don’t even have Iceros and those handsome young princes to replace him like Thaddis promised.

  Pasinae was careful to keep her face impassive and her thoughts behind the barrier of protection Ontarem had erected in her mind. How dare Besolet criticize Ontarem! Compared to Him, The Goddess was weak. Stupid. Not much more than the cow She resembled.

  Pasinae could hardly wait for the day Ontarem would reveal Himself to everyone in Ocean’s Glory. Then she could stop placating this silly cow of a Goddess, and all the people of Ocean’s Glory would bow before Him. But until then…. She suppressed a sigh. Time to appease Her. “With the princess in Ontarem’s control, He will be powerful enough to leave Louat. Journey here to be with You.” To conquer You.

  The petulant expression vanished from Besolet’s face; the big blue eyes grew dreamy.

  Although bored with the familiar placating, Pasinae allowed her voice to become coaxing, spilling out the usual blandishments. “The two of You will be together, as He has longed for all these lonely generations.” The idea turns my stomach.

  The Goddess played with one of her curls. As I have longed for him.

  “He has had to be content with worshiping You from afar. Soon, You will know a love more powerful than any sung by the bards.” Soon, you will be conquered and powerless.

  A smile bloomed on Besolet’s face.

  That should do the job, at least until the next time. “I will withdraw to commune with Ontarem. Have You any messages to convey to Him?”

  Besolet raised the bouquet to her nose and inhaled, her heavy-lashed eyes half-lowered, regarding Pasinae with a seductive look. Tell Ontarem, that I eagerly await his embrace. As soon as you convey the princess to him, and He has taken her power, I expect Him to fly to my side.

  Pasinae rose. That will be the last order You ever give Him. She genuflected. “I will give Him Your message. I’m sure He will be very pleased to hear of Your eagerness to welcome Him to Your land.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Riding through the beauty of Drayleth, Jasmine watched the sparkling glitter of the ruenar coating the grass, enjoying the play of translucent colored bubbles glistening in the air. She had never seen anything so beautiful, and, as she delighted in her strange new surroundings, the idea of facing Ontarem faded to a distant part of her mind, easily separated from the splendor of the morning. She’d deal with her fears later.

  The sun rose higher; the ruenar evaporated. Roe-al’s words had given her a lot to think about, and hours passed with silence between them. They stopped for a mid-day meal, then continued on. They saw no one, only a few cobalt birds skittering out of the grass into the air.

  Roe-al uncoiled several ropes he’d wound around a small loop on his saddlepad. Each had a round stone ball on one end and two crescent-shaped objects on the others. With a quick wind-up, he flung first one then the other. The ropes tangled through the air, wrapping around the birds.

  Roe-al jumped off his mount to grab them up by their feet, then gave each a quick twist of their necks. He turned to her, a triumphant grin on his face. “We eat well tonight.”

  Jasmine laughed. “You remind me of my friend Khan. He’s just as good a shot with a bow and arrows as you are with that contraption.”

  He hefted the birds with one hand and flicked the rope with another. “My sental.”

  “Your sental. An interesting weapon.”

  He tied the birds’ feet to his saddle. “Tell me of this Khan.”

  “He is my closest friend, almost like a brother. Because of him I’m not just a traditional woman of my people.” She waited, thinking of Khan and all he meant to her. I miss him so much. “He’s here on Kimtair. In Withea’s desert land across the sea. I hope someday after your people are free, we have a chance to find each other.”

  “Perhaps you can sail in one of Ontarem’s ships across the sea.”

  “Ontarem has ships?” Her thoughts bounced around in excitement. Just knowing she might find a way to get to Khan relaxed some part of her mind that had been twisted with worry for him.

  “We believe so. Once or twice in the times we have been fishing, we have seen ships sail in and out of the harbor.” His voice turned wistful. “I, myself, have never seen one. But my father’s youngest brother did when he was a youth.”

  “Thank you, Roe-al. You have given me hope.”

  “Having hope lightens one’s heart.” His young face took on a solemn cast. “Not a bad thing to have when one must face the Evil One.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jasmine tossed on her bedroll, her sleep light and restless. She’d awaken, stare at the firerocks, listen to the sounds of Roe-al sleeping, or the horses moving, then drift back to sleep. Finally, she slid deep into a dream.

  She stood on the ramparts of a ruined wall in the decimated desert city she now recognized as Withea’s land. Ruined buildings surrounded a makeshift arena into which rode men on horseback.

  She recognized the auburn-haired man she’d seen in her earlier dream. With an ominous quiver of her othersense, she knew his presence here boded no good.

  To the right, perched in a niche on top of another building, a woman rose from her hiding place, holding a cocked bow and arrow. The harsh sunshine gleamed off her golden hair. Even from this distance, Jasmine could see the determination in her green eyes. As she concentrated on her target, her dark brows drew together. There was a sense of familiarity about her, yet Jasmine knew she’d never seen the woman before.

  She shot.

  The arrow flew true, straight to the chest of the red-haired man. But then, several inches from his body, the arrow bounced off, as if smashing against an invisible glass wall.

  Another arrow followed, this time striking a man who held a severed head on a pole. The arrow penetrated his chest, and he toppled off the horse.

  A soldier shouted,
pointing up at the blond woman.

  Her third shot caught him in the armpit.

  One of the archers aimed at the woman.

  There was a movement in the structure across from Jasmine.

  Khan! Jasmine drew in her breath.

  He, too, held a bow. She recognized the one he’d brought from home. He shot at the soldier aiming for the woman. The arrow flew deep into the man’s back.

  In quick succession, Khan released two more arrows toward the leader. Both bounced off him.

  The leader pointed at one of his soldiers, then waved to Khan, the message obvious.

  The man began to wheel his horse around.

  Khan shot him in the shoulder.

  The soldier slumped forward.

  Seven of the enemy still remained.

  One of the woman’s arrows took a man in the leg, drilling through his flesh into the horse. He kicked out his wounded leg, tearing the arrowhead from the horse, then the man toppled sideways. The horse collapsed, and the animal dropped to its knees and keeled over.

  The arrows must be poisoned.

  Horses neighed in confusion.

  The leader stared at the downed horse, an annoyed expression on his face. He fingered the medallion around his neck, then held up the pendant so the woman could see it.

  A bad feeling shivered through Jasmine’s othersense.

  The leader shouted to the woman, calling her princess. Jasmine shrank from the evil, yet sexual, expression on his face. She’d seen the same look on Amir’s when he’d held her captive.

  The leader yelled to Khan.

  Her friend held his bow over his head, obviously surrendering.

  “No, Khan. He’ll kill you,” Jasmine screamed, but no one took any notice of her.

  The act of screaming seemed to affect the dream. A green vortex of energy tornadoed around Jasmine, sucking her up and tossing her awake.

  She blinked open her eyes. Instead of being at the battle site, she lay snug in her bedroll, unseeing of the gray dawn lightening her surroundings.

  Adrenalin raced through her body, and her mind replayed the scene she’d just witnessed, for she had no doubt the events were real.