Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (14 page)
Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
The remark caused a slight frown to crease the tailor’s forehead. “There
is
a way to bargain fairly if both parties are willing. You have accumulated some small amount of time dilation at this threshold because of the days that passed you by in the Holy City. But your leeway is not without limits.”
“Dilation?”
“Your transition shall appear to others as the blink of an eye. The longer you dally, however, the more effort your journey shall require.”
Tashi sobered rapidly. “What do you want?”
“A trifle, really. You have in your possession a token, a coin from our realm.”
A number of his possessions had made the crossing with him, his armor, and symbols of office among them. Tashi felt in his pockets; the coin was still there. A quick peek, however, told him that it was now a pale, warm disc with no markings. “It changed forms.”
“When magic things translate, they often adapt form to keep their meaning. But the essence remains the same. That token is currency here, and represents a promise by one of the Ascended. In exchange, I would provide you with services of equal value.”
Tashi shook his head. “I can’t give you this token. It’s been borrowed from another with the promise of return. I’ve never broken my word of honor.”
The tailor nodded. “Certainly, or you would have discorporated already.”
“Would you consider a promise from me?” asked the sheriff.
The tailor considered a moment. “Let me take a few measurements first and see what will be necessary.”
The man gestured, and Tashi took a step forward, noticing for the first time the three mirrored panels in the center of the room.
The sheriff regarded himself from several angles at once with confusion. “That’s not me.”
The tailor smiled. “It’s your core self-image. Not that much is different from the true physical, really. Those who do heavy, physical work generally know their external selves better. You even kept a lot of the scars. You merely appear a little younger, and the tattoos are gone.”
“What does that mean?” Tashi asked with distress when he noticed the absence.
The tailor shrugged. “Only you’d know. But an educated guess would be that you either never fully accepted them or you no longer feel a need for them. In a practical sense, this means you’re now free from the protection and constraints of that man you call your Master. You’re now on your own.”
“Aren’t we all?” Tashi answered automatically.
The tailor inclined his head in approval.
“Will sething I acquire here carry over into the mortal realm?” the sheriff asked.
“Truth persists, although the form may vary.”
Tashi scratched his head. “That means that people could choose their forms here and wear them over. It’d help explain how the Dawn folk shift shapes. But why did my Master become an old man?”
“You’d have to ask him that.” The tailor took off his tape and held it to Tashi’s shoulder blades. “Where are you going?”
Tashi answered, “Away from the Stair.”
“That’s not a destination.”
“I wished my master to the Stair. I suppose the easiest place to go would be the place he left.”
“Not the easiest, but it makes sense from the standpoint of matter conservation. It’s also the quickest equation to balance. There are two roads that could be used for that end. The first involves self-discovery. This is the path your Master chose and takes years of preparation.”
Tashi ignored the slight. “Why can’t I do as he did?”
“He follows the way of Water and you follow the way of Stone.”
“You don’t answer many questions directly, do you?”
“You don’t like to think much, do you?”
Tashi winced at the criticism. “I’m strong, but too brittle? How so?”
The tailor seemed to ignore him while taking more measurements. “Have you committed any major crimes?”
Tashi chuckled. “What do you consider major?”
“Ever killed anyone?”
“Forty-one,” he replied. The tailor arched an eyebrow and began marking with chalk.
“Your office shields you from most of the fallout.”
Tashi considered. “All but three of the killings were criminals. Another two were traitors, my own men who tried to kill me.”
“Self-preservation is allowed. And the final one?”
“Why do you want me to remember this?” snapped Tashi.
“That first path would probably kill you. Certainly you’d wish yourself dead. On the high road you re-experience everything you’ve ever done.”
“The low road it is, then,” Tashi decided.
“I’ll need to custom-make a dampening device to aid you.”
“You’ll remember everything with crystal clarity. However, instead of experiencing overwhelming events all at once, the device will spread them out over a longer period so that you may better process them.”
Tashi grunted. “What will this device look like?”
“It is a defense, so the appearance of armor seems appropriate for your comprehension level.”
Tashi looked down. “But I already have a set.”
“Your psychic resistance is almost nonexistent. I’ll infuse your current symbol set with pure Eog, the living substance of this place. To you, it’d look like glass. It’ll buffer nearly any mental or magical assault. The attack will still hurt, but what reaches you will be like the overflow washing over the top of a dam. The more it absorbs, the darker it gets.”
“What happens after it reaches some upper limit?” asked the sheriff warily.
“Damage will flow through to you. Because of our chosen construct, it’ll most likely manifest as physical wounds. But if you stick to the path, you should live.”
“Hey, is this why all the glass in the City of the Gods is black?”
Grief flickered in the tailor’s eyes for a moment before he continued. “Over time, as it releases the energy back into you, it will grow lighter and more transparent.” The tailor removed Tashi’s armor, slipping it off over the head and arms. Tashi felt paradoxically chilly without the metal pressed against him. The tailor stood with the chainmail draped over his arm like a tea towel.
The sheriff asked the question he had been dreading. “What promise do you require?”
“That you never kill another person again, not even in self-defense.”
Tashi looked startled. “How could I finish my quest?”
“You are allegedly the pinnacle of philosophical and fighting prowess of your era. Find another way.”
“Forever?”
“For as long as you carry the armor.”
“If I find someone else willing to bear the burden?”
“The blessing and the consequence shall transfer."
Tashi wouldn’t refuse, but struggled for another way. “Why this price?”
“A coin must cost something to the giver to have worth.”
Tashi closed his eyes. “And if I inadvertently break my word and someone dies by my hand?”
“The armor will unleash all of its stored negative energy into you at once, most likely killing you. The choice is yours.”
The sheriff nodded slowly.
“You need to say the words, so there can be no shadow of doubt.”
Once Tashi spoke the oath, the tailor placed his fingers on Tashi’s chest. Using a single, well-manicured nail, he excised a small disc of flesh from the left pectoral. When he finished, there was no blood, only a pink, tender area to remind him of his oath. The tailor retired to his private workroom to spin enchantments of spider webs and glass.
Only when Tashi stood in the mirror room alone did it occur to him to ask what the low road entailed.
The switch wasn’t instantaneous. After Jotham disappeared from the Temple of Sleep, there was silence for several beats. Zariah and the soothsayer were both confused. The giant guardian perched over the Door swiveled its eye to search for the intruder, but the stage in front of the Door was empty. The rings of bunk beds were still infested with humans like ticks on a deer. Lacking a target, the guardian continued to watch, pretending to be an immobile work of art.
All acolytes who weren’t already congregated near the front doors abandoned their cleaning duties to drift up the amphitheater ramps toward their leader Zariah. Ekvar used the cover of the rice paper panels to creep ten paces to the foot of the stage. He drew his dagger and prepared to slit the throat of the sleeping guardsman nearest him.
Bjorn lowered himself gently to the floor and untied the rope. Pulling a spear from the wall rack, the man searched for the best way to strike at the handmaidens and the traitor Nigel. To throw with lethal force at any distance, he’d need to get a running start. He found a few sets of wooden bunk beds placed end-to-end and climbed up on them, his eyes barely peeking over the rice-paper walls. Bjorn’s only regret was that the throw would reveal him to the guards at the nearest entrance to the stone parsonage. Nevertheless, he vowed to keep the guards off of Ekvar for as long as possible while his colleague slaughtered the Sleepers. With the disappearance of the boy’s face from the window, Bjorn felt hopelessly outnumbered. The plan had seemed much better from the roof.
Sven had managed to locate an oil lamp in short order. The lack of rain now made arson possible. He dragged three small hay bales against the wall to shelter and feed the blaze and smashed the lamp inside the alcove he’d created. The smell of smoke teased the air. More alert than sleepers, the Stone Monkeys inside detected the odor first. But the veteran highwaymen kept silent, waiting for flames to devour the entire cursed building and all those inside. However, when Brent saw flames licking the outer walls, he shouted a sincere warning to the acolytes below. “Fire! Run for your lives!”
Most of the acolytes did just that when they noticed the black smoke creeping up the wall. Still staring at the guardian, Zariah snapped, “Serog, do your duty. Protect this shrine and the holy servants in it!”
The giant, snakelike creature glared back at her but dared not disobey. With a flick of its wings, the long, sinuous beast streaked across the ceiling and wriggled up the bell tower, vanishing into the gray of the sky. Because the movement was so fast and so high up, only Brent in his window perch noticed tal him tian. The boy gaped, not moving or speaking to avoid drawing the attention of the giant, impossible creature. Ekvar and Bjorn felt no more than a warm breeze. However, the panic did have the advantage of removing inconvenient witnesses. With another comrade to distract the two hands of Somnambulists inside the Temple, they might’ve stood a chance.
Then the giant Door on the stage of the Temple of Sleep crashed wide open like an unfastened shutter in a hurricane. Hot winds tore through the cots where Ekvar and the Sleepers lay. Light was drained from the stage area, and a vibrating roar in that region dampened to a mere shout of human anguish. When everyone’s sight was restored, an unarmed man with close-cropped, black hair knelt center stage, wearing armor of crystallized night. His hands covered his eyes. Tiny rivulets of blood dripped from his left elbow. The tattoos were gone, but his acquaintances recognized Tashi at a glance. The symbols on his uniform collar told everyone else.
“I tried to warn you,” whispered Nigel.
“Guards, seize the sheriff by the Door!” Zariah shrieked to her Somnambulists.
Both contingents left their exits and strode toward the small sets of stairs on each side of the stage. They didn’t hurry, but moved with an inevitable sense of purpose. Tashi didn’t react to their advance; rather, he placed his hands over his ears as if to block out some sound coming from beyond the giant Door.
Gripping the spear shaft, Bjorn muttered a prayer to Kiateros, or whoever else might be listening. He ran as fast as he could on the rickety bed frames. Brent could have sworn he saw tiny sparks of static discharge coming from the soles of the short man’s boots. Bjorn thrust his entire weight into the cast and willed it to strike his enemies. Strike it did, but not his intended target. An old handmaiden fell dead, eyes still open in shock. Zariah, splashed with blood from the handmainden’s lung, looked at her minion and traced the cast back toward its source.
“Front guards, to me immediately! Right guards, half of you stop the man atop the bunks.”
The front doors swung inward as the first dazed soldiers trundled through. The right hand of Somnambulists stared in a confused manner out at the audience until Zariah cast with her hand to say, “There!” A cone of bluish light came from the Great Eye and spotlighted Bjorn. The guards then fixated on the Stone Monkey as if he were the only man in the world. Bjorn swore, and jumped down into the aisle, but the blue-tinted light and the attention of the guards followed him unwaveringly. He ran from the three guards who threw themselves off the edge of the stage.
“To arms all!” shouted the severe handmaiden. An acolyte rushed to sound the gong that would awaken the sleepers.
