Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (27 page)
Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
Jotham sat by the fire reading the Book of Dominion. His face was rapt. The historian turned the pages using a cuttlebone letter-opener so that his fingers didn’t stain or damage the ancient document.
Boys and their toys
, she thought, shaking her head. “Learning how to build a catapult? Sandarac loved that lesson.”
“No, I just figured out who the anonymous author of the book is!” he blurted, holding the cuttlebone up like a toy flag at a sporting event.
“Good for you,” she said, dripping sarcasm. “You’re oicially qualified to be emperor.”
Jotham shook his head. “No, I’m short two fingers and two testicles for that.”
“That’s not stopping Sandarac. Besides, you seem to be able to change your appearance with magic.”
Unable to refute either argument, Jotham changed tactics. “Why are you back so soon? And where did you get that outfit? It’s a little . . . clingy.”
She looked down at her newly displayed curves. “Yeah, this is the tamest clothing Jolia had.”
“Did the architect expel you, too?”
“No, Brent’s convinced that Simon’s young wife is your precious Answer.”
Jotham dropped the cuttlebone. He was so still and silent, she was afraid the priest was suffering an attack of sorts. When she moved forward to shake him, he snapped out of his trance. The eunuch hopped backward to avoid her touch.
“I’m not going to give you the plague. I was trying to help. Don’t worry; I won’t make that mistake again,” she said.
“Nobody can. I have to save all my virtue for the spell,” he squeaked, barely audible.
“What spell?”
“All my students have surpassed me, spoken with the greats—correcting my assumptions.”
She scoffed. “Boo hoo. For the kid’s sake, I gave you the message. But we have a serious problem: Jolia and I encountered one of the Viper’s spies.”
“Oh dear, I do hope you didn’t hurt him too badly,” said Jotham.
“I left him tied up in the concubine’s room. Thank you for your concern.” Sarajah leaned closely as if to whisper in his ear, and then shouted, “There’s a
death warrant
out on me!”
“You’re distressed,” he said mildly, rubbing his ear.
“The Viper is trying to kill me. He must know I’m not the daughter of the dragon anymore. I know too much, and he’s trying to clean up loose ends.” She started pacing.
“Don’t be too hasty. The Pretender probably has nothing to do with this. The Viper only knows you’ve been stripped of your handmaidens and your powers, and wishes to strike while you’re weak. He wants to blame the sheriff for your fall and to nominate one of his puppets for the empty council seat.”
“So I just make a public appearance, and I’m safe.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
Her eyes flashed, and she widened her stance for a fight. “You are not my master. No man is!”
“Why do you hate men so? You must learn to forgive.”
“You’re never had them chain you up and rape you.”
“Actually, I have. There were no women in Tor Mardun.”
Sarajah opened her mouth, but said nothing for a moment. “I stand corrected. But there are things about me you don’t know. I hunger for life-force like an addict who wants one more dose.”
“It will take time. You’ll overcome it. You’ll become yourself again.”
“I don’t know who that is anymore.”
“The magic chain will keep you safe until you do,” the priest insisted.
“I’ve already broken your precious chain!” Sarajah shouted. “I tried to drain the spy. I’m dangerous!” Her breathing was ragged. “I held the sheriff in the palm of my hand when I met him at the river. He’d have done
anything
to be with me, with Alana again. I can’t be trusted with that kind of power.”
“You’re stronger than you realize. We can start with exercises that will help to center you . . .”
She wanted to shake him, make him see. “I’m not here to learn relaxation. I’m here to decide whether I turn you all over to the Pretender, or even kill you myself. Can you think of one reason why I should help you? You all hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, and neither does the boy, nor the sheriff,” Jotham said. “Either would die to protect you. Tashi treats you like a Brotherhood recruit because he doesn’t know how else to interact. Right now, you’re a wounded wild animal who needs my help. You might bite me, but I won’t hold it against you.”
“I’m not a dog or a pack mule. I’m a woman and a sensitive. I’ve seen a great deal of secrets during my imprisonment and know more than any other mortal about the hunting practices of the Dawn creatures. The leaders of the world would beg for my wisdom.”
“You’d serve Sandarac?”
“I could. I have nothing to fear from him, but also little to gain unless he wins his little war.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t want to traipse around lost in the woods with you all,” she snapped.
“You need protection and instruction.”
“Somehow I doubt travel with you will be safe.”
“You’re a spiritual void, asking to be filled.”
“Yes, I’m the Hungry Ghost,” she admitted. “You made me that.”
Tatters stood up from where he had been crouching at the edge of the woods. He’d been listening to their debate for some time. The filthy man in rags shuffled up to the former priestess of sleep. He had a tic in his right eye, and his left looked filmed with white. For the first time in her memory, the gravedigger spoke. His voice was soft as leather. “You’ll find yourself again eventually; you just have to listen closey instead of reacting. Always ask why—because you can.”
Sarajah stared at him. “You’ve been ridden . . . possessed by a spirit?”
Tatters nodded, but said nothing more. Reeking of sweat, dirt, and his trip through the garbage dumps, the near-vagrant gave her a hug. Instead of pulling away screaming, the terror of the north shore let him. For the first time since she was a girl, she cried.
Owl, drawn by the shouting, helped Jotham pack up the camp. Tashi stood at the perimeter and watched the embrace with longing.
When the priest noticed his student, he strode over, excited. “The Book of Dominion was written by the Traveler as . . .”
“. . . penance to the tribe of Osos. Yes. I know,” said Tashi distantly, his eyes still riveted on the woman’s back.
“You knew?” Jotham said, aghast.
“I can’t do this anymore,” the sheriff said, removing the totem from the Temple of Souls from around his neck. “A man with these thoughts can’t be an abbot.” He held out the symbol of office for the old priest.
“We can find a way to . . .”
“Take it,” Tashi ordered, as if instructing a student who didn’t want to touch a fencing foil. The priest stared into his eyes, not intimidated. Neither man moved until he added, “Please, Jotham.”
Sighing, the priest accepted the symbol. The tiny model of the temple had interlocking infinity symbols on the bottom. Tashi said, “I abdicate and pass my knowledge on.”
An invisible lighting bolt struck Jotham to the ground, his eyes wide open.
The sheriff gasped in relief. “Finally!”
Sarajah ran over when she heard the collapse. “Is this catalepsy contagious?”
Her every word was musical to Tashi. He replied, “Transmitted by a vector. Yes. It will take him a while to process it all. Now I’m free. Alana, will you marry me?”
She gawked at him. “What is this, an opera?”
“What’s an opera?” asked Owl.
“An entertainment for the masses that Sandarac is trying to cultivate. It goes on far too long and never ends well,” she explained to Owl. “Get that travois and put the Imperial on it.” To the sheriff, she said, “I just got my freedom back after decades. Why would I throw it away the next day?”
Tashi held up the top of his chainmail. “You drained the pain with a touch. The links you held are clear again. This is proof: we’re meant to be together.”
“It’s proof that I drink pain like mead. Look, you’re a decent guy and not bad to look at,” she said, causing him to light up like a bonfire. “But inside, I’m still
nine
. I’ve never held hands with or even kissed a boy.”
“I’ll wait if you ask me,” Tashi said, transfixed by her gaze.
Sarajah pulled the kalura she’d borrowed out of her sack. “I return what I have taken from you.”
The sheriff took off the torn, bloodstained shirt he wore and put on the clean kalura. When he breathed in her smell, she almost screamed again. Instead she said, “Nightingale.”
The sheriff froze.
She laid a finger to her lips to warn the others to silence. “I release you. When I clap my hands, you will no longer be in thrall to my voice. The pain that the handmaidens caused you will be forgotten. You’ll remember that Alana is dead and let the wounds she caused begin to close. You’ll realize that you are worthy of someone better. Now, rest for ten bits and during that time, don’t listen to anything else I say.” When she clapped her hands, the color leached out of five more links of the armor. Tashi stood like a statue in a cemetery.
To Tatters, she said, “Put the old shirt on the mound of dirt. Make it look like a grave.” The raggedy man nodded. To Owl, she said, “If anyone asks, the sheriff died here today. I ripped out his heart. Tell people that the tattooed man is no more.”
“Yes, Miss. I’ll need help with the Imperial.”
The work was mildly offensive, but she owed Owl. She sighed and helped to pull the priest onto the litter. “You freed Tatters from possession as well?”
“Aye, Miss. Found him in a graveyard, I did,” said Owl. “He was confused. Needed his nails trimmed and a good meal. Afterward, he followed me like a puppy.”
“If I had more money, I’d give it to you, sir,” she said sincerely. “If I’m ever in a position to aid you, don’t hesitate to ask me.”
As she pulled away from the Imperial, the Cloak of Archanon clung to her arm. Then it flowed, almost grew, up to her elbow. “It likes you, Miss,” said Owl.
The sensation was not unpleasant, so she helped it on the rest of the way. She was immediately warmer, and the sun’s glare no longer disturbed her. “I think it’s chosen me. Just to be fair, I’ll leave the Promise of the Traveler for him as a trade.” She took the chain and coin out of her sack and dropped it on the stretcher next to Jotham.
“Very good, Miss,” Owl said to his former employer. “What about the cards?”
“I’ll hold on to them for the nonce. Take these disasters to the architect,” she ordered. “I’m going to take care of a snake.”
As her last act, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed Tashi’s forehead. “Goodbye.”
When Tashi snapped out of the trance, he looked for Alana. Then,
he remembered. Instead of reaching out or weeping like others might have done, he pushed the emotion down into the pit and guarded it with anger. Owl watched the sheriff’s face transition to stone. Seeing this frightened the gravedigger more than the boy’s story about Tashi walking through a Door to nowhere and besting the Somnambulists and a dragon. Tashi strapped his shoulders to the travois and started pulling. Even loaded down, this man walked faster than the gravediggers.
From time to time, Jotham would mutter a random phrase. The sheriff explained, “He’s processing the information from the abbots and the question session in the City of the Gods. I found a way to sneak forbidden knowledge to him.”
“Did that knock you flat, too?” asked Owl.
“No, he’s probably on his back because of the bleed-over from my trip through nightmare, the dark side of the undergirding.”
The sheriff started to explain, but the gravedigger stopped him. “Sorry, sir, there’s things we don’t want to know nothing about.”
Tashi nodded, understanding.
Only when the travois bottom smacked into the first step at the base of the hill did Jotham break free of the effects. “Gently. I’m not a cartful of tin pots.”
“If you can complain, you can walk,” said Tashi.
“Fair enough. Untie me, please,” Jotham asked. “What happened to the witch?”
Tashi dropped the top of the travois. The frame smacked into the stone path, knocking the wind out of the Imperial priest.
“Don’t ask,” whispered Owl, undoing the ropes and sashes holding him to the frame.
Together, the four followers of the Traveler trudged to the top of the hill in silence. When Jotham knocked on the architect’s gate, a voice from the other side said, “Go away.”
“Make us,” Tashi demanded. When there was no counter, the sheriff said, “I’m going to knock this door down at the count of ten, so I’d get out from behind it if I were you.”
Changing his stance to the Boulder to make himself heavier, he skipped straight to, “Ten!” It took three weight-augmented kicks before the latch shattered on one side. The old caretaker and guests were running from his assault.
