Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (2 page)

The thought of coupling with her no longer seemed as enticing. Thaddis tried to break free from the men holding him, only to discover his limbs responded as if they were bags of sand instead of powerful muscle and bone.

With a wave of her hand, Pasinae motioned for the priests to bring him and follow her.

The two half-walked, half-dragged him to the foot of the statue.

The statue glanced down at him; the carved eyes took on a blue cast.

Thaddis felt the probe as the God penetrated his brain.

The God nodded.
You will do nicely.

He didn’t like the sound of that.

With a slow move, the God lifted His hand and splayed His fingers.

The men holding Thaddis shoved him until he stood directly underneath the statue.

The God dropped a hand to Thaddis’s shoulder. His fingers squeezed.

Thaddis stiffened, expecting a hard grip. But instead the hand touching him warmed and the gesture of camaraderie felt familiar, as if…he couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out the sensation.

My beloved son,
the God said.
I am Ontarem. For many years, you have longed to know me, and I have heard your prayers.

The warmth went deeper into Thaddis’ body, penetrating his heart. “Father?” The little boy inside him remembered the feeling of love, of attention, of protection. Then his mother had died of fever. Lost in his own grief, the king had turned away from his son. Thaddis had needed love and comfort, and his father could not give it.

But now He can.
The connection nourished a part of his heart that was starved. Vulnerable, Thaddis reached up to cover Ontarem’s hand.

The second his fingers touched the God’s hand, the Deity struck, driving a knife of pain into Thaddis’s brain.

Thaddis flailed the air between them, trying to disengage, but the God only drove deeper into his mind. The excruciating agony would have dropped Thaddis to his knees if the temple guards hadn’t held him up.

A priest in a gray robe joined Pasinae. The man was tall, with the pleasing features similar to the woman’s, and moved like a leader with a straight-backed haughty air. He too wore a circlet on his head like hers with a huge gray pearl that seemed to pulse.

He directed a sharp gaze at Thaddis. “You’re not powerful enough to remain and supply energy to Ontarem.” The man took obvious pleasure in taunting Thaddis. “We’re sending you back to Ocean’s Glory to do His bidding.”

All Thaddis could do was moan in response, the forming of actual words too difficult to accomplish through the pain that beat at him.

The priest’s cruel smile grew more satisfied.

Ontarem bound Thaddis to him, wrapping an invisible chain around his head.

I have to fight Him.
Gathering what little remained of his strength, Thaddis drove his elbow into the stomach of the guard on his right.

Wincing, the man loosened his grip.

Thaddis grabbed for the guard’s sword, only to be jerked upright as if the God had him on a short leash.

The guards tightened their grips.

Sinister laughter echoed around the room and shivered down Thaddis’s spine. As the pressure on his brain increased, he realized he was well and truly trapped.

The God gorged on every shard of his agony and shame. Another twist of the shackle brought Thaddis, Prince of Ocean’s Glory, completely under Ontarem’s control.

As the God’s laughter echoed around the cavernous room, Thaddis felt his own will drain from him, replaced by the dark command of Ontarem.

Pasinae accompanied Thaddis back to the ship. By sundown of that day, he was bound for Ocean’s Glory to do the God’s evil work.

CHAPTER ONE

KIMTAIR, SEAGEM

YEAR 37 OF THE REIGN OF ICEROS

Out in the harbor, Thaddis, King of Ocean’s Glory, stood at the bow of the flagship
Vengeance
, watching the reavers he’d unleashed storm the ramparts of Seagem. The ships of the seascum had berthed at the docks, while the
Vengeance
and other vessels from Ocean’s Glory under Thaddis’s command anchored in the safety of the harbor. The reavers would be the first wave of attackers.

Behind and below him on the decks of the ship, his soldiers wearing black uniforms formed disciplined rows, waiting for the seadogs to inflict the most damage to the city, killing, burning, and looting. Only after the reavers had taken their toll on the Seagem soldiers would Thaddis allow his army to disembark and attack.

The sounds of battle carried over the water—the yells of fighters, the clash of weapons, and the screams of the wounded—a cacophony of music that swelled the power of the God, Ontarem, within him. He felt no pity for the victims—only a cold duty. The God must be obeyed.

Fires burned in some of the wooden structures between the greenstone buildings. The smell of smoke drifted to him on the briny breeze. Black clouds spiraled into the lavender sky, a pyre of incense to the nostrils of the God.

Thaddis lifted a spyglass to his eye, focusing on individual battles. For each Seagem soldier who fell, a surge of satisfaction cascaded within him, funneling across the ocean to Ontarem.

Thaddis caught sight of a familiar figure on the stone quay and frowned.

Cihkel, brother to the missing Indaran and Prince of Seagem, felled raider after fur-and-armor clad raider. If he didn’t know better, Thaddis would think the prince fought with the power of Yadarius, the God of Seagem. But the SeaGod was bound in chains and submerged in the midst of the far-away Triangle Islands, helpless to prevent the destruction of His people.

Cihkel wasn’t alone. Soldiers in green uniforms, citizens in their everyday garb, and barefoot local sailors engaged the seadogs around him, trying to protect their prince and defend the city. One by one, they died as the ruthless invaders pressed forward.

Prince Cihkel lunged and stabbed, spun and slashed. Reavers crumpled. He kicked a burly fellow off the wharf, where he thrashed in the water, screaming, before sinking. Seascum were notoriously poor swimmers. Foolish, really, for reavers.

Cihkel took a slash to his leg, faltered, and then dodged a thrust to his middle. But the sword caught his side. More and more of the horde surrounded the prince, and Thaddis saw the desperation on his face. Cihkel was a dead man, and he knew it. But the prince would take many down with him. Not that Thaddis cared how many reavers died. He wanted to waste their lives. The more the better, leaving fewer seadogs to harry his ships when the temporary alliance between them and Ocean’s Glory ended.

Covered in blood, some his, Cihkel leaped to the top of a wooden loading dock on the stone quay. Perched above the press of fighters, he could catch his breath. For a moment, the prince glared across the harbor at Thaddis as if he could see the king. Hatred contorted Cihkel’s handsome face, so like his older brother’s. The distain in the prince’s sharp green eyes forced Thaddis to take a step back, his heart thudding. For a moment, the king experienced a heart tug—remembering the young boy who’d hero-worshiped him. But Ontarem tightened His leash around Thaddis’s mind, gloating, and the memory slipped away.

Three pirates climbed up after Cihkel, but he fought them off. More followed, a pack of vermin that even the prince, with all his fighting skill, could not eliminate.

The bleeding gashes took a toll on Cihkel. His movements slowed. Finally, the press of reavers overwhelmed him, and Seagem’s crown prince went down.

A roar of triumph burst from the marauders. The horde stormed up the quay. Those still on the loading dock jumped off, leaving Cihkel to lie where he’d fallen, his blood seeping into the wood.

His arm suddenly weak, Thaddis lowered the spyglass. He should have felt triumphant, and he waited for the rush of emotion to fill him, but it didn’t come. Instead, Ontarem’s satisfaction ate at his feelings and fed on the emotions from all those who fought, growing in power. In his passionate defense of Seagem, and in his dying, Cihkel had strengthened Ontarem.

Thaddis took a steadying breath and again raised the spyglass to view the greenstone palace on the cliff above the harbor. Iceros, King of Seagem, stood on a balcony waiting, grim expression, bow in hands, and his helm resting on the railing. As he viewed the reavers overpowering his soldiers, his face remained impassive, but Thaddis knew the sight of his dying city must be tearing out his guts. The king would be busy soon, defending his palace, and all who sheltered within. But to no avail. Thaddis would defeat the older king and conquer Seagem.

Had Iceros felt his heir’s heartline snap?
No
. He doubted the king possessed enough power. But his daughter….

Thaddis focused the spyglass to the right, to the balcony next to the king’s. Princess Daria came in sight. Unlike her father, she paced the space, her long blond braid swinging like the twitch of an angry cat’s tail. She, too, carried a bow ready to shoot when the first wave of invaders reached the courtyard in front of the palace.

He smiled at his quarry.
Soon you will be mine, princess….

Thaddis turned his attention back to the harbor. The seadogs cleared the docks of defenders, leaving crumpled, bloodied bodies all around them. Here and there, citizens and soldiers waged solitary battles.

Thaddis raised his hand and made a forward motion.

A horn blared. The sound echoed from the other two ships. Sailors rushed to the longboats. The black-uniformed soldiers climbed in. The sailors lowered the boats over the sides of the
Vengeance
and rowed them to the quay.

Thaddis nodded at the captain of his private guard and strode to his longboat, bigger and more luxurious than the others. His guard settled around him, and, with a jerk that had him grasping the bench, the boat was swung over the side and lowered into the water.

As the boat cut through the turquoise water, Thaddis ignored the mangled bodies and other debris floating in the brine. Nor did he pay attention as the final fights sputtered to an end. His attention focused on the palace—on his goal.

Once they’d disembarked, the group tramped up the wide road leading to the castle. Thaddis spared a thought of annoyance that he didn’t have a carriage. Not that he hadn’t run through these streets enough as a lad… For a second, a memory flashed—
he and Indaran scampering through alleys, dodging an irate watchman who’d fallen victim to one of their pranks…hiding in a dark corner and covering each other’s mouths lest their laughter give them away.

From a side street, a group of soldiers in green uniforms rushed into the main thoroughfare. One shouted his name and pointed. The soldiers converged on his guard. They fought for their city, their people, their families, their king with the wild strength of hopeless men.

A burly fellow broke through the royal guard and with a growl leapt at Thaddis, jabbing with his sword. Anger convulsed his ruddy face. The soldier had some skill, forcing Thaddis to defend himself. He fought with cold necessity, his movements automatic. He slashed across the man’s arm.

The soldier’s arm bled and his block slipped.

Thaddis ran him through. He shook the soldier off his sword and stepped over the body. His remaining guards surrounded him, forming a wedge that blasted through any defenders the seadogs had left alive. Bloody sword in hand, Thaddis began to jog toward the castle, eager to claim his bride.

CHAPTER TWO

EARTH, ISRAEL

PRESENT DAY

The beeping of a machine jerked Sadie Isaacson awake. She straightened in the chair, wincing at the crick in her neck from sleeping with her head on the foot of her grandmother’s hospital bed.

She opened and shut her dry eyes a few times, trying to make them focus. Then she checked on her grandmother, lying withered and pale near death. A while had passed since her grandmother had last woken, much less spoken, but Sadie hadn’t given up hope that she would again.
Before the end.

Beyond the partly-opened door of the room, Sadie could hear the bustle of the hospital and the sound of voices. But in the room there was silence, except for the occasional beep from one of the machines connected to her beloved grandmother, her last living relative.

Please, wake up.

As if her grandmother had heard her wish, she slowly opened her eyes and blinked in confusion. She turned her head toward Sadie.

“I’m here,
Bubby
,” Sadie said in Yiddish, the language her grandmother preferred. She smoothed away strands of hair that had escaped from her grandmother’s long gray braid and now curled near the faded brown eyes—eyes that had lost their alertness several weeks ago.

Bubby tried to smile. “I’m…going,
Zeesa.”

“I know.” Just saying the words made Sadie’s throat close up.

“I hate to…I hate to leave…you alone.”

Sadie tried to speak, but couldn’t. Instead, she tried to smile through her tears.

Her grandmother inched her fingers over to the side of the bed.

Sadie reached out and took her hand, feeling the papery skin slide over fragile bird bones.