Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Mastin’s attracted to Elanath, Jasmine thought. A good sign. He’s getting on with his life. But for some reason, her othersense shuddered.

  She closed her eyes, putting the two from her mind, and centering her attention on her breathing. Would today be the day they managed to connect with Arvintor? She had worried over the lack of bonding. Arvintor needed the energy from these people, especially with Ontarem’s army about to march to Drayleth. What if they hadn’t provided Arvintor with any power so far? They didn’t have any way of knowing. What if they never do? What will happen to them?

  Jasmine opened her eyes. Banish your negativity, she told herself. Trust that Arvintor will find a way to us.

  Indaran raised his hands in the signal to begin.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and flowed into the first posture with him, imitating every arm and leg pose.

  The group moved as one, and she smiled, feeling the union build among Seagem’s people. In just a few days of performing the yah-dar-sae and yah-dar-net, through her othersense, she could feel some healing occurring. Not so much of the individual emotional wounds, but of the brokenness they’d felt as a people.

  Although Seagem’s survivors had lived together in this camp, they hadn’t become a community. Each individual or small family group struggled just to survive. Perhaps reaching out to each other had been too painful. Perhaps they were too afraid of being hurt again. They’d been through so much—abandoned by their God, their royal family murdered, most others whom they’d known and loved slaughtered, displaced from their homes, their city destroyed. But now the scattered fragments were showing a hint of knitting back together.

  The pattern of the yah-dar-sae came easier today, and Jasmine focused on her breathing, reaching out loving arms of othersense to Arvintor.

  This time, she caught the faintest thread of a connection and had to restrain a gasp and bounce of excitement. Instead, she held her energy steady, merged herself with the others, a smooth channel to the God.

  Arvintor reached for her…for them…warm, caring, as if brushing a loving hand over everyone’s head.

  Tears pricked her eyes.

  The group moved into the final posture, held the position, then ended. When she looked around, excited murmurs and smiles greeted her. She saw tears trickling down the faces of some of the others.

  Indaran turned to face her. The careworn look on his young face had vanished. His green eyes sparkled. He swept her into a big hug. “We did it! I felt Him.”

  “I did, too. Not strong. But there.”

  “His presence…how can I describe Him? Different from Yadarius. Obviously different from Ontarem.”

  “That description doesn’t help me any,” she teased. “Arvintor is the only one of your Deities I’m intimately familiar with.”

  He smiled and shrugged. “When I get to know Him better, I’ll be able to describe the difference between Arvintor and Yadarius.”

  “It’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That one becomes acquainted with a God, just like you would with a person—that the God or Goddess has His or Her own personality, likes and dislikes, ways of being with their followers. I find the concept fascinating.”

  His expression sobered. “Jasmine, you have no idea how much I miss Yadarius. I feel like a part of me, of my heart or my soul is missing. I don’t know whether Arvintor can step into that place for me. For us.” He waved his hand to indicate the others who were hugging each other and talking excitedly. “Can He make us whole again?”

  “A spiritual loss is just the same as experiencing the death of one whom you love. No one can replace the person you lost. You just make room for new loves. A different type of wholeness.” She held up her hands, intertwining fingers to form a ball. Then she wiggled the middle finger of her right hand. “If part of you is missing…” she wiggled her left thumb “our heart expands in a different area.”

  He looked down at her, his green gaze warm. “You’re a wise counselor.”

  Her heartbeat sped up, and she could feel heat creeping into her cheeks. “Well, your wise counselor,” she said playfully, talking over her reaction so he wouldn’t notice, “suggests you go walk among your subjects. They will be eager to speak with you.”

  One corner of his mouth pulled up. “I’ll follow your advice. However, I reserve the right to seek counsel later. We’ve been so busy that I haven’t had any time to get to know you. And I want to.” He lowered his voice and brushed a finger over her cheek. “Very much.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Indaran strolled away from Jasmine, touching people on their shoulders as he passed, stopping to talk to any who wanted to share their feelings about Arvintor. He listened and nodded, and said all the right things in response. However, part of his attention remained with the woman he’d just left.

  He’d seen her dark cheeks tint a delicate pink and hadn’t been able to resist getting closer to her. Was his reaction only because he was more aware of color now that all his memories prior to his rescue were devoid of hue?

  No. He couldn’t even fool himself for a few seconds. He was attracted to Jasmine…had been from the beginning. Now that he’d come to know her, his feelings had only increased. She was smart, gentle, beautiful, courageous, and strong in her othersense. A leader when she needed to be, no matter how strong her reluctance. The perfect woman for him.

  Unfortunately, I’m not the perfect man for her.

  Indaran thought of the meeting he’d requested for later—how he’d desired to spend some private time together, even though he knew better. The impulse of the moment and the lure of pink cheeks. Hadn’t he vowed to put all impulsive, reckless behavior behind him? Being impulsive was what led to the destruction of Seagem. Being impulsive could be deadly.

  Associating with me places her in jeopardy. I couldn’t bear to lose her, too.

  Even if my future is safe, there’s still my past.

  He’d have to keep his attraction on a tight rein. Yes, he’d get to know her better. Be a friend to her. But he must never, never open his heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jasmine stood in the shadow of a building, her back pressed into a wall. As she watched Ontarem’s army line up in straggly ten-man rows, her mouth dried, and her heart raced in shallow beats. So many.

  Each man wore a sword in a scabbard at his side and held a spear. They also carried a pack on their back. Many stood in hunched positions, looking reluctant rather than at ease.

  These soldiers lacked the spit and polish of the ones she’d watched in the movies or the rigid perfection of Ontarem’s personal guard, but they still looked lethal enough.

  Are they conscripts or did they enlist voluntarily? Even if they were conscripts, she doubted any would desert. Had these soldiers heard the rumors spread by Landers? The ones about Arvintor? When they did, perhaps the men would begin to question their orders.

  Ontarem’s fist was firmly clenched around this city and around every inhabitant’s soul. She doubted these men even realized they had a choice. Although considering what Ontarem might do to deserters…perhaps they didn’t have a choice after all. But on the plain, in Arvintor’s range, things might change.

  Teams of horses pulled laden wagons. An occasional officer rode a horse. But she saw no other mounts. Fighting as infantry instead of cavalry, these soldiers would be at a disadvantage with the Che-da-wah. As Roe-al had told her, the nomads would be able to fight skirmishes and whittle away at the army.

  As long as they don’t think about setting fires…

  Some men talked together in a furtive manner.

  As she watched, she could see a pattern emerge—each man learned something from his neighbor, a discussion seemed to spurt back and forth for a few minutes, then the man turned to his other side and started another conversation. A ripple effect spread through the lines.

  Jasmine smiled, wondering what Arvintor’s story sounded like by now. Probably exaggerated out of all reason. However, the morale of the soldiers, proba
bly not that great to begin with, should certainly suffer. And, if Arvintor gained some energy by this, all the better.

  An officer rode by on a black horse. The morning sun glittered off his dull silver armor. He waved an arm, obviously giving the order to begin marching.

  The men shuffled into their positions, then evened up the rows. One by one, they marched by her, their steps ragged, but soon falling into a common rhythm.

  As the soldiers passed, their bodies strong and hale, Jasmine realized many would not be returning, or if they did, they’d be missing limbs, or might have other wounds. She hated to think of these men injured or killed. They all had families who loved them, who’d mourn if they died. But unfortunately they also had a merciless God who didn’t care.

  One more mark to add to the count against Ontarem.

  To shift her melancholy thoughts, Jasmine concentrated on counting. Indaran wanted an idea of the size of Ontarem’s army. The more soldiers who left Penutar, the stronger the possibility of escape. But the increased numbers would also endanger the Che-da-wah.

  Landers had said that each halhore consisted of twenty men. Telling the halhores apart was easy, because a few meters separated each marching group. Otherwise they all appeared the same. Before every five halhores rode an officer who must be in charge.

  An hour passed, and she noted ten such officers. Jasmine had her answer. One thousand. A greater number than her estimate of the Che-da-wah.

  Ontarem’s troops outnumbered the nomads.

  ~ ~ ~

  Feeling tired and drained, Pasinae rode in the derli shell carriage drawn up the winding cliff road by two white horses. The enormous hollow shell curved like a clam on the bottom, then continued in an arched roof overhead to finish in a scalloped edge that looked like a ruffle.

  A coachman in a gray robe perched on the tiny seat over the bottom half of the ruffle. The inside glittered with swirling iridescent patterns in delicate colors. A vermillion thread wove through the shiny texture. In a gesture from her childhood, she traced a finger along the red path. Until she’d traveled to Ocean’s Glory, the threads inside the derli shells, Ontarem’s kilt, and the bright colored feathers of the me-are bird were the only brilliant hues she’d ever seen.

  Pasinae ran her hand over the smooth silk of her scarlet dress. She’d quickly made up for lost time. She settled back against the white leather seat, wide enough to include two others, now missing—her brothers—the only others allowed to travel in the carriage.

  Her beloved rivals. How she’d missed them. She’d see Kokam soon, but Nabric was away on a mission for Ontarem, keeping that puny deity, Yadarius, occupied. When she joined forces with Kokam and Ontarem, the power of the Trine would be incomplete because of their missing brother. However, she and Kokam would still be formidable against Ontarem’s enemies.

  Just a few weeks ago, Pasinae had believed that when she returned, she’d be rejoining both her brothers in triumph because Ontarem would rule all of Kimtair. Now her part of the plan lay in ruins, foiled by a princess she’d underestimated.

  With a shiver, Pasinae wondered how angry her God might be with her. Not only had she failed to bring Daria to Him, but the power he’d been receiving from Besolet was now cut off.

  A minor setback. Pasinae shrugged, trying to regain the optimism of a few weeks ago. Besolet’s power was negligible. Ontarem shouldn’t miss it too much. She hoped.

  Her God wouldn’t punish her. He never punished her. He might withdraw His presence for a while. She cringed, just thinking about the horrible times when He’d done that in the past. Now with her power so depleted, such an act would be prolonged agony. Although she’d regained some strength on their voyage, she was still far below her regular capacity. She counted on Ontarem to fill her up with his energy. Once she was her true self, they could make new plans.

  We will formulate a way to capture Princess Daria and reclaim the power from Ocean’s Glory. Pasinae closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling the rawness of her depletion. She just needed to be reenergized, and then everything would be all right. She’d be able to help Ontarem develop the next steps for his future domination of Kimtair.

  When they reached the top of the cliff road, the horses pulled the derli up the broad thoroughfare leading to the temple. After living for so long in Ocean’s Glory, she noted Penutar’s gray stone buildings seemed dreary. She missed the color and bustle of Ocean’s Glory’s busy streets.

  She peered up at the overcast sky. She’d forgotten the perpetual gloom of the sky over Penutar. Why isn’t the sun shining? I’ve returned home. The city should be bathed in sunlight as a celebration. My people should be lined up, cheering and welcoming me home. Perhaps I’ll have to make some changes.

  But no one pointed in amazement. No one cheered. Only the clop of horses’ hooves on the graybrick road broke the silence. She might as well be alone.

  Few of the citizens were about, and those they passed gave her a quick side-ways glance and looked away. Then as if drawn by the brilliance of her scarlet, form-fitting gown, they shot her a second curious glance. One more than if I was dressed in those drab gray robes.

  Pasinae wrinkled her nose, annoyed. She’d become used to the attention she’d received when she traveled through the streets of Ocean’s Glory, whether by herself or with Thaddis. In that city, people would stop and stare with frank admiration. She knew she wasn’t well liked, but that made the attention all the more interesting.

  To think I once craved the peace of my homeland.

  For the first time, she realized the citizens of Penutar were boring. If I spend too much time here, I might become bored.

  As quick as the thought came, she dismissed it.

  I will be filled with the power from my God and basking in the sunlight of His attention. I couldn’t possibly become bored.

  But I won’t go back to wearing gray robes. This drab town needs some color. And I intend to provide it!

  The derli drew up in front of the temple.

  She wrinkled her nose at the unadorned blockiness of the immense structure, once again wishing for the color and warmth of Ocean’s Glory. But her God was within. Ontarem would provide all the inner color and warmth she’d need.

  Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation. Soon. I’ll see my God, soon.

  The coachman secured the brake, then jumped down, striding over to hand her out of the carriage.

  She straightened her gown, suddenly nervous, and fingered the pearl, which today she wore around her neck on a silveral chain, the same rare metal as the doors looming in front of her. She lifted her chin, and, with her head held high, pulled open the doors and strolled through.

  The handsome statue of Ontarem standing in the front of the cavernous room drew her gaze, and she walked down the aisle toward Him, eager for His spiritual embrace. After dealing with the painted, sulky figure of Besolet, she reveled in the clean lines of Ontarem’s muscled body, and the sharp planes of His handsome, arrogant face.

  The familiar scent of the geserat incense wrapped around her. But then the emptiness of the temple seeped into her awareness, and she faltered, glancing around.

  No captives lay on the pektats.

  Where are the prisoners? Why aren’t they here, feeding Ontarem their energy?

  Annoyed and a little afraid, Pasinae swished up the aisle.

  The statue of Ontarem paid her no attention.

  Her annoyance increased. Ontarem always greeted her when she entered the temple. She’d been away for several months. He should be as eager to connect with her as she was with Him.

  When she reached the base of the statue, she stopped, waiting. Nothing happened. She stared up at the patrician head of her God, hoping for an acknowledgement. When none came, she touched his foot, like any common priest or priestess needing His attention.

  A member of the Trine reduced to this!

  He stood like a stone, not responding.

  Fear spiked up through her annoyance. Is He angry with me? Wha
t if He continues to ignore me?

  Her arrogance crumpled.

  “Ontarem, won’t you please talk to me?” The words slipped out as if she was a little girl, and a forgotten memory from her childhood pierced her heart.

  She’d done something wrong, but she didn’t know what.

  The warm tickly feeling, which she’d been receiving from Ontarem, was gone. Why had He left her alone?

  Pasinae huddled on her bed in her room in the back of the temple, her feet tucked under her gray robe, one arm wrapped around her knees, while she played with the big pearl pendent hanging around her neck.

  Today, the iridescent walls made of the inside of the derli shell failed to delight her. For the first time since she’d been brought to the temple to live, she remembered her home—the tiny room she’d shared with her brothers, how the three of them would sleep snugly in one bed. Now they each had their own rooms. But her brothers’ rooms were in the men’s quarters on the other side of the temple. She was allowed arranged meetings whenever she wanted, but the time together wasn’t the same.

  She missed her parents. A long time had passed since she’d thought of them. Now she remembered—not so much how they looked—the months she’d spent here had faded their image, but how they felt. The way she’d giggle when the strong hands of her father picked her up and sat her on his shoulders, so high she could touch the ceiling of their little house. The sweet scent and soft bosom of her mother when Pasinae curled up in her lap. The croon of the songs her mother sang as she rocked Pasinae to sleep.

  She reached out to run her fingertips over the red line weaving through the soft, shimmering wall. She’d traced the bright path many times, but today, the repetition failed to soothe her.

  There’d been no shoulder rides or lap cuddles since the triplets had come to live here. They’d never seen their parents again. The loss burned with the rawness of a newly skinned knee, only this was inside her.