Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

It seemed he was heard. Why now, when he’d never been heard before? He didn’t know, but as the surge of resistance swept around the room, he wasn’t about to question the good fortune.

  In his head, the Evil One roared with anger, not all of the emotion directed at Indaran and the other captives in the temple.

  Indaran sensed Ontarem was divided, battling someone or perhaps some God far away from His temple.

  Yadarius? Had his God finally moved to save them?

  He took advantage of the Evil One’s distraction, reaching out a mental hand to grab at Ontarem’s fist wrapped around his heart.

  The minute his mental hand touched Ontarem, they connected. Through the dark power in the God’s mind, Indaran saw a beautiful woman, her lush body clad in a scarlet silk gown, who radiated evil. He remembered her as the one who’d given him the welcome cup, and he wanted to reach out and wring her slender neck.

  But she wasn’t in Louat. He recognized her setting—the jeweled chapel of Besolet in the palace of Ocean’s Glory. Underneath a diadem set with a huge gray pearl, her brow creased in concentration as she bent over a black medallion she held cupped in her hand.

  Then the picture changed to an auburn-haired man clad in black and riding a golden horse through a desert.

  Thaddis! The crown prince of Ocean’s Glory, and Indaran’s best friend and foster brother, appeared older, sunburned and worn, but he hadn’t lost his ever-present regality. He’d worn that princely air like a second set of clothes ever since they were children. Not like Indaran who tossed his aside whenever he could.

  Indaran almost smiled, until he looked closer with his othersense. A darkness clung to his friend’s soul that hadn’t been there before.

  Something’s wrong.

  Indaran searched his friend using his othersense. With a muffled exclamation of horror, he saw a smoky miasma clouded Thaddis’s brain and an evil black line wrapped around his friend’s heart, stretching over the leagues and attaching to Pasinae.

  How did that witch get to him?

  Another line extended from Pasinae across the ocean to Louat and Ontarem.

  They’re all connected, and Ontarem is somehow controlling them.

  Thaddis narrowed his amber eyes.

  Indaran knew that look. Thaddis had determined on a course of action. But he’d never before seen his friend’s gaze so harsh, lined with malignancy until his eyes glowed with a feral orange light.

  Thaddis held up a medallion, a twin to Pasinae’s.

  No, Thaddis. No. Indaran tried to yell through his othersense. Whatever you’re doing, stop.

  Ontarem grabbed for another chunk of Indaran’s life energy.

  Caught off guard, he writhed, the agony squeezing out all his breath. Black speckles danced across his vision.

  He’s ripping out my soul.

  The black speckles widened to patches, which spread to cover his sight. Another jerk from Ontarem, and Indaran tumbled into nothingness.

  ~ ~ ~

  The march of footsteps halted at the opening to Jasmine’s hiding place.

  She pressed against the wall at the back of the gap between the two buildings, wishing she could melt into the stone. Would the dark shadows hide her?

  “In here.” The tone was deep and rumbling, the accent harsher than the Che-da-wah’s, but still understandable. The voice rose to a demand. “Come out before we drag you out.”

  Frantic ideas of escape scrambled around her brain. But Jasmine knew the truth—she could either fight or not, but she’d still be captured. If she fought, she could be hurt, or incapacitated. But if she surrendered, allowing them to think she was helpless, perhaps they’d let down their guard. Then maybe she could escape.

  Opening her bag, she plucked out Shareef.

  He whimpered and squirmed, grabbing her wrists with his paws. She could feel his small bone structure underneath the soft fur. So vulnerable. One soldier could stomp on the monga, and he’d be crushed.

  “No, baby. You must stay.” She made the whisper firm, enforcing the command with a mental othersense picture.

  The pup whimpered again, but she sensed compliance. She kissed the top of his head in relief, then set him on the ground. Straightening, she slung her bag over her shoulder.

  “Come out.” The voice boomed.

  The shout sent her scurrying ahead a few feet, then apprehension slowed her pace. Her knees trembled, and, as she shuffled forward, she lurched against the wall.

  Before Jasmine stepped out into the open, she allowed her fear to show on her face, wanting to appear cowed and helpless. The expression wasn’t hard to do. “I’m coming out.” Her voice trembled. “Don’t hurt me.”

  Raising her hands in surrender, Jasmine stepped into the open; her legs threatened to collapse.

  A dozen muscle-bound warriors wearing gray kilts waited, their hands resting on the hilt of the swords dangling in scabbards at their sides. They had rounder faces than the Che-da-wah and wore their black hair slicked back into long braids. Silver-embossed leather straps crossed their bare, muscular chests and attached to wide belts. A dull silver torc wrapped around each thick neck.

  The soldiers surrounded her. One reached out a meaty hand and grasped her arm, pulling her against him. He grunted something; she couldn’t make out the words, but the sexual meaning was clear.

  She tried to shrink away, but his hand was a band of iron around her arm. The veil surrounding her rape memories quivered from the torrent of feelings that gushed up. Shame slimed beneath her skin. She wanted to tear herself loose from the guard’s hold—to molt out of her own skin.

  To escape the torment, Jasmine squeezed her soul from her body and floated above herself. A safe, blank place where she didn’t have to feel. She watched the panorama below her with vague eyes.

  But she couldn’t stay out here, floating. The healer part of her tugged her soul back into her body. As soon as she slipped inside herself, tears clouded her vision and nausea roiled in her stomach. She couldn’t help the shudder that shook her down to her toes.

  “Come.” The leader snapped out the order.

  Jasmine caught a glimpse of a broken front tooth.

  He turned in the direction of the temple, not bothering to see if she obeyed.

  A feral light gleamed in the guard’s dark eyes before he pushed her to follow the leader. Her pack swung against her back, and she vaguely wondered why they’d allowed her to keep it.

  The men fell in behind the leader, Jasmine in their midst. They moved in a group, the soldiers marching in cadence.

  For the first few minutes, Jasmine’s mind stayed fuzzy. The beat of their footsteps drummed along with Ontarem’s pulse in her head. Hypnotic. Seductive.

  She struggled to stay present, not letting herself slide away into Ontarem’s oblivion. To give up the fight meant peril. She’d never again wake up.

  With a spark of rebellion, Jasmine deliberately made her footsteps break the pattern of their march. To keep her thoughts free, and her soul safely anchored, she snuck searching looks around, memorizing their path.

  The leader never glanced back, nor did the men appear to monitor her. Were they so sure of their prisoner? Did people here never resist? Or was she just looked upon as a helpless woman, as she intended?

  She’d bide her time, be alert for opportunities to escape. These men looked strong, but not very fast. Maybe in the twisting, narrow streets, she could out-run them, head for Drayleth, and burrow into the grasses. Hidden, invisible in the grass, she could watch a searcher pass within a few feet of her.

  Where is Arvintor’s show of fireworks?

  Fear coursed through her. What if He can’t keep His promise?

  Arvintor! She called to the TwinGod through her othersense, not sure if he would receive the sending. Now would be a good time to divert attention.

  They reached the dirt area surrounding the temple. The turbine generator feeling in her mind revved, pounding through her brain. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, but knew
the gesture would be futile. The noise reverberated through her mind, not the air.

  The temple loomed, stark and ominous, even more forbidding than in her dream. Fear spiraled from her stomach into her throat and wedged there. She slowed. The guard behind her prodded her with a sharp poke of his fingers. Her shoulders twitched from his touch.

  The leader marched them to the entrance. Nearly twice their height in size, dwarfing the guards, the doors made Jasmine feel tiny and vulnerable. The men didn’t give her any time to hesitate, flinging back the doors and stomping into the hushed interior, their footsteps on the smooth gray stone floor breaking the pall of silence hanging over the room.

  The pungent scent of incense, familiar from her dream, clogged her nostrils and fogged her mind. Jasmine pinched her nose to prevent a sneeze. A wide aisle bisected the cavernous room, leading to the enormous statue in the front that drew the eye, both with its imposing size and the vivid splash of crimson of Ontarem’s brief kilt, the only bright hue she’d seen in this city.

  As in her dream, the evil beauty of the statue, so like Arvintor, was startling. Unlike Arvintor’s handsome countenance, Ontarem’s repelled her, and she looked away.

  The statue towered over a body, lying on a raised altar. She knew her dream man rested on the slab in eternal sleep. On each side of the aisle lay stone blocks aligned in perfect rows. The prisoners lying on top were encased in an invisible barrier.

  Soon I will be one of them. Her legs shook with each step.

  Like storm currents swirling, waves of energy thundered around the room, battering against the walls. Jasmine found herself sucked into the whirlpool. She cried out, her knees buckling. A soldier grasped her arm. She could see the sign of strain on his broad face. Sweat glistened on his brow.

  “Arvintor!” she screamed, exploding her appeal through her othersense.

  The promised fireworks answered her. In her mind’s eye, Exonlah burst into the vibrant hues she’d seen in her first dream. With a dramatic flourish, Arvintor flooded Exonlah with brilliant color, flaring lavender into the air and restoring the sky to normal.

  The statue of Ontarem flung up an arm, shaking his fist in the direction of Exonlah.

  A crack shattered the silence of the room. Ontarem’s arm fell to his side, and his head drooped forward.

  The soldiers crumpled to the ground, dragging Jasmine down with them. She hit the stone floor with a painful jarring of her tailbone.

  A heavy body fell across her. Air wuffed out of her lungs.

  The man sprawled on top of her as if he were dead. A reek of rancid hair oil and male body odor clogged her nose, making her gag. Nausea cramped her stomach. She thrust against the heavy, limp body, barely able to budge the man.

  She wiggled out from under the fallen guard, then pushed him with her feet, tugging on her pack to get it released. Dizziness swirled around her head, and clamminess chilled her skin. She tucked her legs under her, kneeling.

  The nausea burned in her throat, and bending, she vomited all over his back, retching until she’d lost all the contents of her stomach. Gasping, she wiped her mouth with the hem of her chador and sat up. As she groped for the water flask in her bag, her hands shook. She rinsed her mouth, hesitated, then spit out the mouthful over the man. He definitely wouldn’t be pleased when he woke up. If he woke up.

  She touched two shaking fingers to his neck. A faint pulse. Still alive.

  Dragging her pack, Jasmine crawled away, weaving around the fallen bodies until she reached the nearest slab. She groped for the edge of the top and levered herself up.

  Her vision cleared, and she saw the red-haired woman from her dream, lying unmoving.

  Jasmine shook the woman’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

  The woman’s body remained limp.

  Jasmine slipped her hand to the woman’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing.

  Abandoning her, Jasmine ran to the next slab, groping for the man’s pulse. Dead.

  Oh, no, my dream man!

  She pivoted and raced up the aisle to the large altar in front of the statue.

  Please, please, please.

  She reached his side. He’s real. He’s really real. The man appeared just as he had in her dream, only his skin was almost translucent, his eyes sunken and bruised.

  As she reached for his pulse, her hand trembled. His skin was still warm under her fingertips. But the pounding in her heart and the adrenalin skittering through her body prevented her from feeling anything. No. No. No.

  Jasmine forced herself to take deep breaths, calming herself to try again. This time she felt a pulse so faint she wondered if it was just her hopeful imagination.

  Arvintor, I need help.

  She reached for her healing power and extended a mental hand to Arvintor, demanding.

  Healing energy trickled through her, not the flood she needed. Arvintor had probably expended Himself on the fireworks show and the battle with His brother. She would have to make do.

  Holding her hands over the man’s heart, she sent energy into his body. In her visualization, the power flowed in red sparks, threaded with green, not the golden stream she was used to. After a start of alarm, she remembered Sha-na healing the wound in her side. The colors had been the same.

  The man’s eyelids drifted open. Emerald eyes, dim with pain, stared at her in a daze.

  Jasmine gave him a smile full of warmth and encouragement, but didn’t cease her transmission of energy.

  “Beloved,” he whispered, his voice scratchy from disuse. “I have died and found you. We can be together now. He can’t tear us apart.”

  He’s hallucinating. “You’re not dead.” She made her voice firm.

  He closed his eyes, resignation relaxing the hope from his face. “I’m dreaming then. Another memory for Ontarem to steal away.”

  “No, you’re alive.” She resisted shaking the truth into him. “This is real, not a dream. What is your name?”

  “In—Indaran.”

  At last the haunting dream man had a name. “I’m Jasmine.”

  His gaze flickered. He mouthed the word, still seeming dazed.

  “Can you move?” The flow of her energy ebbed; she had little left. She slipped a hand into his and squeezed. “Can you feel that?” Feel me?

  “Move.” His ironic tone sounded rusty. “I haven’t moved in years. My legs probably don’t work.”

  “They have to. We must get out of here.” She glanced up at the statue. Had His head moved? Raised? Or had Arvintor conquered Ontarem?

  The man turned his head, following her gaze. “He is only weakened. Soon He will arise.”

  Then his head whipped back to her; his eyes widened. “I moved.”

  “Yes.” Relief flooded her. Jasmine slipped a hand under his shoulders. “Let’s see if you can sit up.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Indaran couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream. True, he’d moved, but in his dreams he also moved. And, just as in his dreams, this one radiated color and aliveness. He saw the smoky blueness of the woman’s eyes, the wide smile of her generous mouth. He felt the pressure of her hands under his shoulders, breathed in her feminine scent. Her braid slipped over her shoulder, the end tickling his cheek. He’d live in this dream for as long as Ontarem allowed him.

  I’ll pay the price later.

  He braced his hands against the stone, and, with the woman’s help, pushed himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the side. His head whirled, and he closed his eyes. Why can’t I move easily in this dream?

  The woman placed a firm hand on each of his shoulders, anchoring him. Without opening his eyes, he slipped his hand over hers.

  “Try to stand. We must leave here. You said Ontarem’s power could return. We must hurry.”

  “He’s depleted. We have time, probably several hours. But we can’t escape the Evil One. He’ll soon take this dream away from me, too.”

  “It isn’t a dream.” The words came out with an edge of frustration.


  He opened his eyes to see her face bent near his, her smoky-blue eyes anxious. Obeying the deep need he’d experienced ever since he’d first dreamed her, he cupped her cheeks with both his hands and pulled her face to his, then touched her mouth with the lightest of kisses.

  Her lips trembled under his, and, remembering the deep wariness he’d seen in her eyes, he kept the pressure gentle.

  She drew away, her cheeks blushing pink. But the faint smile and the brightness in her eyes gave him hope.

  He kept his hands curved around her cheeks. “Jasmine, you brighten my imprisonment.”

  She tugged on his arm. “If we don’t leave here soon, we might both be imprisoned.”

  Dream or no dream, the threat of her being Ontarem’s captive stirred him like a spur in his backside. “We will go then. But first, we must awaken the others.”

  “I think they’re all dead.”

  “Many are, yes. But not all.”

  He slid off the side of the altar and tried to stand. His legs wobbled worse than a newborn foal’s, and he bit off a curse.

  Jasmine eased herself under his shoulder, fitting there as if she belonged.

  Indaran wanted to stand together, savoring their embrace, but her urgency was beginning to penetrate the fog of his mind. He hobbled toward the nearest slab, her shoulder a welcome crutch and bent over the body of a man whose red hair framed a faded sun-lined face. Mastin.

  He shook his pilot’s shoulder. “Mastin, wake up, man.”

  Mastin’s eyelids fluttered, and he opened his blue eyes, his gaze unseeing.

  Indaran balanced himself against the side of the slab and looked down at Jasmine. “I’ll try to get him up.” He indicated the other side of the room with a jerk of his head. “You start on that side. Be rough if you need to.”

  Jasmine nodded, then released him and trotted away. She detoured and kicked over the brazier burning the incense, holding up her robe and stomping out the smoldering herbs. She headed for the second one, knocking it over.

  As Jasmine moved, Indaran caught a glimpse of blue cloth-covered legs. He smiled at her intensity, but realized the importance of quenching the mind-numbing incense.

  Indaran waited until her back was turned, and she was out of earshot. He sensed she wouldn’t be too pleased if he had to get rough with his pilot. He shook Mastin’s shoulder.