Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Elanath’s eyes filled, and she began to tremble. The back of her hand flew to her mouth, an obvious attempt to block her emotions.

  Indaran squeezed her hand. “Your father’s eyes would light up. Sometimes he’d have an exasperated tone, but his pride in you two always leaked through.”

  “Both Tempor and I adored him. We loved our mother, of course. But she was quieter, a giver. I didn’t appreciate her as much as I should have.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.”

  She looked into his eyes. “You look so much like him,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away and sniffing.

  “Him?”

  “Cihkel.”

  “You knew my brother?”

  “All your brothers, and Princess Daria, of course. But Cihkel—” her voice hitched. “We were betrothed. He hadn’t announced it yet. Hadn’t even asked the king’s permission. Everything was so unsettled, we wanted to wait.” She rushed out the words, “I wish now that we hadn’t. I wish I’d given myself to him…that he’d been the first to touch me.”

  “I’m sorry.” What an inadequate phrase. He’d been expressing his regret to everyone, but the words couldn’t convey the depth of his remorse. All Indaran could do was put all his compassion into the tone of his voice. “I want to hear what happened to you. But I also want to hear of my brother.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Your death…your supposed death hit Cihkel very hard. He told me he never really felt entirely comfortable as crown prince because he’d stepped into the role due to your death. But he took his position as the future king seriously. The people loved him, as they loved your father.”

  “He sounds like he might have been a better successor to our father than I.” He withdrew his hand from hers.

  Elanath made a sound of distress, grabbing for his arm. “Don’t think that. Cihkel was thirty—a mature man. You were much younger when you left. You would have grown into your position.”

  “I hope so,” he murmured.

  “Cihkel liked to hunt, spar with his brothers and Daria. He was a wonderful dancer. He’d spin me around the dance floor, until I was laughing and dizzy.” She smiled in remembrance. “He’d bring me flowers from your mother’s garden. He had a warrior’s strength and courage, but he was so gentle and loving with me.” Her eyes welled. “I miss him so much.”

  “I do, too. I’ve been mourning the loss of my little brother for years. And now I have to grieve the loss of the man who was my brother. A man I never knew.”

  “It must be very difficult for you.”

  “More than difficult.” He fell silent for a minute. “I don’t even have the words to describe what I feel. I wonder if I ever will.”

  “Surely, someday with time.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “When the reavers came—” Elanath dropped back into her story “—Cihkel kissed me goodbye, then went off to fight. I stayed with the women and children in the palace, watching Daria and your father fire arrows off the balcony. Your sister was so strong and brave. I wanted to be like her. How I wished I had learned to fight, too.”

  “You can learn now. I’ll teach you.”

  “When it’s too late,” she said bitterly.

  “No, we will have to fight for our freedom. When and how, I don’t know. But a fight will come. To the death. For I don’t intend to be recaptured. I will need all the warriors who are willing to take up a blade or a spear.” He lightened his tone. “Even a rock will do.”

  She ignored his poor attempt at humor. “I tried to fight the reavers. I had a sword of my brother’s. But I didn’t know what to do with it. The enemy, two men, just stood there and laughed at me. They rushed me, one on each side and caught me. They dragged me off and…and….”

  “I understand. You don’t have to say anything more.”

  “I screamed and fought them. I screamed for Cihkel, even though I knew he was already dead. Someone had brought the news earlier.” A sob burst out. “I wanted him to come and save me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I still do.”

  “I understand,” he repeated. “I think it will be a long time before I accept his death…accept all their deaths.”

  She bowed her head. “I, at least, have my brother. Many are not so fortunate. However, he has suffered for my fate.”

  Indaran thought of how he’d feel if Daria were in her position. He’d want to rip the head off any man who touched her against her will. Just the thought sent adrenalin spiking through him.

  Elanath continued to talk. The more she shared, the more the tension ebbed from her body. Sometimes tears came, and she’d pull out a rag she used for a handkerchief and blow her nose.

  He waited patiently until she was ready to talk again.

  Once, she subsided into hiccupping sobs, burying her face in her hands. Finally, she seemed to wind down, giving him a tremulous smile. “Thank you for listening.”

  Her delicate beauty showed through the puffiness of her eyes and the redness of her nose, and Indaran could see why Cihkel had fallen in love with her. This, more than anything he’d been told, connected him with Cihkel, the man.

  “We would have been family. I’m sure my brother…” Indaran’s voice hitched. “Cihkel would want me to take care of you.”

  An adoring glow flowed into her eyes.

  Something about that look made him shift in discomfort.

  She slipped her hand into his. “I’m so happy you’ve returned, Indaran. I accept you as my protector.” She reached up and stroked a finger along his eyebrow. “I can’t get over how much you look like my beloved. It’s almost like being with him.”

  Uh, oh. He needed to back up, put some safe distance between them.

  “From now on, you shall be my sister, and I your brother.” He emphasized the words, hoping she’d understand the hint, then rose to his feet, giving her a hand up. “Come, I believe the evening meal awaits. Lady Jasmine will be expecting us. And tomorrow, you will start learning how to fight.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jasmine threaded her way through the group of people lingering in the vicinity of the area Indaran had designated as the weapons salon. Although many appeared tired, she also sensed the utter hopelessness they’d struggled with for the last six months of their captivity had lifted with the return of their king. Now if only she could heal the rest of the dark feelings the people suffered.

  While she could help, othersense wasn’t magic that would return to them their lost loved ones, their lost lives. The needs of these people were overwhelming and discouraging.

  A woman stepped through the hay bales that formed the entrance to practice area followed by the king. Jasmine recognized her as Tempor’s sister. Now what was her name? Elaine, Elanath, that was it.

  Elanath turned and grasped Indaran’s sleeve with both hands and said something to him in a low voice.

  From twenty feet away, Jasmine could see the adoration in her eyes, far above feelings a subject held for the king. Elanath looked at Indaran with a woman’s romantic longing.

  A primitive feeling of possession spiraled around Jasmine’s heart. He’s mine. Shocked at her response, she tugged on the emotion. He’s not mine. He belongs to everyone, she told herself in a calm, inner voice.

  Mine.

  The possessive feeling lingered.

  Indaran smiled and patted Elanath’s hands, then looked around, a desperate look on his face that cleared when he caught sight of Jasmine. “Lady Jasmine.” He waved her over, then deftly disengaged Elanath’s hands from his arm. “You met Lady Elanath in the temple. Have you had a chance to speak together?”

  Stepping into her healer’s role, Jasmine smiled at the woman, who didn’t appear happy to share the king’s attention. “Just for a few minutes, when I spoke to her about coming to see me.”

  Indaran nodded at them. “Well you two will have to make that appointment then,” he said in a tone a shade too hearty.

  “Of course.”

  Elanath tore her gaze
from Indaran. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” Jasmine confirmed. “Let’s see if I can do something to help with those bruises.” Both on the inside and the outside.

  But could she set aside her jealous feelings enough to do the job?

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, a thrum of power pulled at Jasmine’s mind, waking her out of an exhausted sleep. For a moment, she remained disoriented, staring at the gray canvas over her head. She shifted, hearing the crackle of the dried seaweed underneath her and smelling the scent of the berst leaves. She eased herself to a sitting position.

  Indaran jerked from sleep to instant wakefulness, shooting straight up and staring at Jasmine with shadowed green eyes. He blinked, obviously trying to orient himself. “Do you feel Him, too?”

  On Jasmine’s other side, Anza, curled up in a ball, stirred, opened her eyes and stared at them, puzzled.

  “It’s Ontarem,” Jasmine explained. “He’s active again, pulling energy from everyone. I can feel him through my othersense.”

  Anza brushed her graying hair off her face. “I do my best to stay shielded from Him. I’ll teach you how.”

  Jasmine nodded in thanks. “That would be good.”

  “Does He know you’re here?”

  Jasmine exchanged a questioning glance with Indaran. “I don’t know.”

  He shrugged, his eyebrows pulling together.

  Jasmine closed her eyes, sinking into her othersense. The turbine engine feeling she’d had yesterday—was it really only yesterday—had returned, although it was somehow different.

  She concentrated, trying to assess the beat without becoming lost in it. The last thing they needed was for her to be swept into the current and become a captive to Ontarem. She rocked back and forth in a counterpoint to the rhythm.

  After a while, she figured out what was wrong. If she stuck with her turbine analogy, the engine had developed a whine, grating on the nerves, but not as seductive as the constant draining vibration.

  In His challenge, Arvintor must have seriously harmed His twin. Badly enough for Ontarem not to even sense her presence.

  How long would Ontarem remain unbalanced? An hour? A day? Two, five?

  She used her healing othersense, trying to gage the extent of the Evil God’s injury, but could only receive the vague impression of damage.

  Jasmine opened her eyes. “I think we’re safe for now. But I don’t know how long. Perhaps a few days.”

  Indaran nodded, relaxing his stiff shoulders. “I agree. The Evil One’s power drain doesn’t feel right. He’s weak. Off kilter.”

  “May He stay that way.” Anza made the statement almost a prayer.

  Indaran squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. “A few days won’t give us enough time to train everyone to fight. And we don’t know for sure we have that much time. Ontarem could regain his power at any moment.”

  They fell silent, thinking.

  Indaran dropped his hand into his lap. “Have you been doing the yah-dar-sae?” he asked Anza.

  “No. With no God to worship, there didn’t seem to be a point.”

  Jasmine searched her language banks and came up blank. “What’s the yah-dar-sae?”

  “It’s the morning meditation and movement ritual we do…used to do to connect with Yadarius,” Anza explained. “The one we perform in the evening is called the yah-dar-net. It’s very powerful for Him…and for us.”

  Jasmine felt a thrill of hope. She leaned toward Anza. “Then your people should do this for Arvintor.”

  They both looked at her, stunned. Then Indaran smiled with keen warmth.

  Jasmine could feel a blush creep into her cheeks, and, suddenly shy, looked away from the admiration in his eyes.

  “An excellent idea. The ritual will give Him homage.” Indaran turned to Anza. “Gather the people into small groups scattered throughout the camp. Pick a leader for each. I will lead one group. You can lead another. We will perform the yah-dar-sae to Arvintor.”

  Jasmine wanted to join in—to truly become one with these people. “Is it hard to learn?”

  Indaran shrugged. “The movements are slow, but good for stretching the muscles. I’d be honored to have you join my group.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll be rusty. I’ve done the yah-dar-sae in my mind over the years, but not with my body.”

  “I’d love to join you.”

  Excitement sparked his green eyes to emeralds. He jumped to his feet. “Come. I can’t wait to greet the morning by doing the yah-dar-sae.” He hastily bundled up his blanket and set it next to the bags containing the herbal medicines.

  Jasmine followed more slowly, a little nervous, but also pleased. She’d fulfilled her promise to help Arvintor. Now He’d be receiving more power from the people of Seagem.

  But will the energy be enough to free Him?

  ~ ~ ~

  Indaran walked into a cleared area between several tents, well away from the front of the camp and motioned the people waiting to gather around him. The people moved into staggered rows, each preserving an arm’s length of space around their bodies. Jasmine took a place right behind him; he could feel her presence through their othersense connection. The rest of the twenty or so people clumped around her.

  He waited for a few minutes, watching the morning sun glow pale orange in the gray sky. A flat cloud with a rosy pink underside and a shadowed blue-and-gold surface floated pristine and peaceful. His heart swelled with gratitude for being free and able to experience such beauty.

  Indaran raised his face and arms to the sky, the signal to begin, then crossed his hands over his chest. He took deep breaths, one for centering, one for focusing, one for cleansing, and one for connecting with Arvintor. He waited for a moment, expecting the tingling rush he’d been used to with Yadarius. But nothing happened. Perhaps the bonding would take a while.

  He extended his arms forward, then began to slide into the pattern of the yah-dar-sae, timing his breathing to match each movement. His muscles were stiff from disuse and sore from the practice yesterday, lacking the grace of the past. But Indaran didn’t care. He just relished being able to do what he’d dreamed of for so long. As he reveled in the flow of his limbs, tears of thanksgiving stung his eyes.

  The only thing missing was his bond with the God. After all the years of longing to connect with Yadarius, the lack was disappointing. And although he’d known a relationship with Arvintor would feel different, he at least thought there would be one…not this emptiness.

  Indaran struggled to keep his mind clear and his up-and-down emotions calm, to find the balance within. For these few moments, he set aside his shame of the past and fear of the future, and just concentrated on being in the present. For a while, he succeeded.

  He moved into the final part of the yah-dar-sae, then slipped into the close. Pausing in the final position, he oriented himself to where the evening sun would set…and released. Then he turned and grinned at everyone, enjoying the sight of the glowing faces beaming back at him.

  Indaran gave a more intimate smile to Jasmine. “Did you enjoy the ritual?”

  “I just tried to follow along.”

  “A good way to start. I’m sure you’ll know the pattern within a few days. The breathing, the connections, that takes longer.”

  “It’s very like a martial arts and relaxation practice I’m familiar with called Tai Chi. I used to see it performed in the park and always wanted to learn the style.”

  “Now you have a chance.”

  Her brows pulled together. “I didn’t feel a connection to Arvintor, though.”

  “Nor did I. Perhaps it will take a few days of build-up.”

  “I hope so.”

  Because what will we do if we can’t connect with Arvintor and send Him the extra energy He’ll need to defeat Ontarem?

  ~ ~ ~

  Inside Anza’s tent, the stuffy air reeked of the fish oil Jasmine had used to massage the kinks out of her last patient’s wrenched shoulder.
She kept the flap closed, using the few minutes of privacy to relax her sore muscles.

  Then she rose to her feet and thrust back the tent flap, breathing in the fresh, briny air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elanath sitting on a strawbale, obviously waiting for her. She watched the woman float to her feet, with a grace Jasmine envied.

  The breeze pressed the blue material of her gown against her shapely body, outlining her full breasts. No wonder she caught the guards’ fancy. Poor woman.

  Jasmine motioned her into the tent.

  Elanath crossed the threshold and wrinkled her nose at the smell of fish oil.

  Jasmine grimaced. “I know it’s bad. But it’s all I have for massage oil.”

  Elanath lifted one eyebrow. “I’m glad I don’t need a massage.”

  Jasmine waved to the ground, struggling to set aside her twinges of envy and mistrust, to thrust Indaran from her thoughts and calm the atmosphere of tension between herself and the beautiful Elanath. “Come, tell me what you do need.” She sank into a sitting position.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m trying to forget.”

  “But being raped is not something you can forget,” Jasmine said softly, remembering the brutality she had endured. “Perhaps today, we can start with healing your bruises.” She gestured. “I saw the ones on your face and your chest. What about the rest of your body?”

  Elanath looked down, red creeping into her fair cheeks. “Between my legs in my woman’s area.”

  “I understand. How about if I first do your face?”

  “Lady Jasmine, my bruises will heal. You shouldn’t expend your powers for me. You might need them for others.”

  Jasmine shifted her weight back and exhaled in frustration. Elanath was right. Yet the woman’s pain called to her. She remembered those days of agony before the Goddess healed

  her. How much it hurt to move. The aches and the shame.

  “How about if we compromise? We’ll leave your bruises alone, but I’ll heal your woman’s area.”