Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (32 page)
A shadow fell over the judgment card. The panther looked intently over her shoulder. “They’re very pretty pictures. Makes me wish I could see in color. You called? I haven’t located the target yet.”
“Yes, he’ll be at the funeral today, and I’ve left you an open seat behind him. It will be labeled ‘reserved for the Viper’s shadow.’”
“You’re delightfully wicked,” Bagierog purred.
“I do have to add a complication to the game. My new boss wants me to give him a slim chance at redemption. If he cuts out his own tongue to become the new Mute by sundown, spare him.”
“Oh, I love tongue,” said the beast. “And his will be so slippery and twisted.”
“Well, you can eat it either way,” she offered. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
The panther bowed, leapt to the skylight, and squeezed out.
****
The master of ceremonies introduced Dame Vasolar, the head of the Imperial Guard Ladies’ Auxiliary, who prattled on for some time. Backstage, the empress-to-be surprised Sarajah by saying, “You did an exquisite job with the funeral on such short notice. Please add these to the coffin.” Humi handed her a large bouquet of flawless white roses.
Sarajah bowed and strolled respectfully over to the coffin with the offering. Her back to Humi, the green-eyed woman tucked one of the roses into her own cloak while she arranged the flowers over the decorated kalura. Then, Sarajah dashed off to the mausoleum. Lady Kragen began her speech as the seeress began a reading. She concentrated on the woman’s voice and captured the aural resonance from the rose.
“Lord Morlan was a beloved (choke) retainer of my late husband. Loyal to the end, he sacrificed everything so we might unify the empire again.”
Sarajah tuned the exact words of the eulogy out so that she could focus on the cards. Humi’s greatest enemy was the card for memory. The lady needed to break her obsession for revenge against the sheriff. Her future was the High Priestess trump, but for the religion of the sea dragon Serog. Her enemy was the Hungry Ghost—the Shadow, not Sarajah. The creature was learning the dark ways too fast and was bound to slip the leash soon. Her strongest ally was the pregnant Empress card—the child within her would be protection. Another supporting card was pentacles, a lot of coins.
The seeress couldn’t finish the reading completely because she heard the crowd cheering. “But my new husband has lost many loyal followers for the same reason. Thus, they are all Morlan . . . all beloved.”
Lady Humi had turned the funeral into a political rally. People would notice anyone missing from the eventa readinSarajah repacked the deck and ran. “I . . . we embrace them all. The way is hard, but their courage lights our path to the invisible sun.”
The seeress arrived just in time to signal the man to toss the torch into the brazier atop the memorial. Technically, there were supposed to be ten more tributes, but the crowd went wild with applause at the early lighting. Several dignitaries crumpled the paper copies of their speeches and tossed them into the pyre. Only one general shouted his tag line above the crowd. “A man head and shoulders above the rest.”
The other two planned speakers congratulated Humi and faded into the background, and the crowd began to file in front of the brazier, each tossing a pinch of costly incense into the flames. After each person made their offering, they bowed to the emperor and his betrothed and shuffled out of the cemetery. Soon, only workers, guards, and a few nobles remained beside the palanquins.
Sarajah tossed the white rose into the fire and stepped up to the podium to close the ceremony officially. She grabbed a sack of special powder in her left hand in case of emergency. The Viper sat in his chair, bored, staring at her breasts. The unseen panther man sat behind him, smiling. In a loud voice, the seeress announced, “I come bearing gifts for the royal couple, fulfilling my obligation to you both.” The emperor and his chief of intelligence both snapped to alert status, recognizing her voice. “Do not speak my name, or the dream will end early without the reading I wish to give. Harken to the cards and live.”
Guards looked at Sandarac in puzzlement, but he said, “All of you: go guard the cemetery entrance. Let no one come in while she speaks.” When only Sandarac, Humi, and Hisbet remained, he asked, “How? My enemies killed you.”
“Some on your own council tried; however, I’m more adaptable than they can imagine,” Sarajah said, staring at Hisbet. “What do you offer for your reading?” she asked the emperor.
“A place at my side,” he replied.
“My time as High Priestess is done. You have a new one at your side. There cannot be two.”
“I never . . .” began Humi.
Sarajah held up her hand. “Peace, sister. The same one is mother to us both. I bear you no ill will. I’ve passed from dreams into waking. My new form has its benefits.”
“I could give you free passage to anywhere the sea touches,” offered Humi.
Sarajah smiled. “So you shall, in your turn. Make the letter of safe passage open, for I do not wish to tell you my new name. Emperor, how pay you?”
“I can give you passage by land.”
She laughed. “My own legs do that. How about something more concrete. Since I faced attack from your own people, I would like a letter preventing that from happening again, one obliging your commanders to obey me.”
The Viper leapt up. “That’d be too powerful, sire. She could use that to settle her own imagined slights.”
The panther man mocked him from behind, shaking his finger and making the seeress giggle. “Viper, your fate has already been foretold. By the sundown today, you shall be torn to pieces by wild beasts in the heart of your own stronghold.”
“Unless,” she shouted dramatically, “you cut out your own tongue and feed it, still warm, to the beast.”
Hisbet stomped toward the podium, fuming. Sandarac bellowed, “Sit down! Cease your childish bickering. What is the meaning of this threat, Z . . . unnamed priestess?”
“It is part of my gift to you, sire. You need a Mute card to ascend. Your old one is dead. I’ve found a way for you to acquire a new one,” she reasoned. The panther’s tongue lolled in his mouth with mirth.
When the spy started to object, she stopped the rant with, “Beware, the weird is out of my hands. Whatever you threaten shall come back upon your own head. The ones I serve are more powerful . . .”
“Than I can imagine, yeah, yeah,” mocked the spy. “You’re powerless, witch. These hypothetical gods can just kiss my . . .” He shrieked as Bagieron’s nose hit him in the butt.
Sarajah put a finger to her lips. “Show respect for the emperor’s reading. The cards will not be ridiculed.”
Hisbet had his dagger drawn and was poking the air at random. Bagierog had already jumped atop a nearby monument. He was enjoying himself far too much.
The emperor said, “Hisbet, depart. You’re too disruptive.”
“As you wish, m-majesty,” said the spymaster, slinking away to the safety of many guards. The panther followed, waving a cheerful goodbye.
“I give you a writ of non-aggression. No one in the empire will attack you, upon pain of death,” Sandarac promised. After a moment, she nodded her agreement. He used Humi’s paper and pen to write a letter of his own. He sealed both with his ring.
“Now, your final proclamation for each of us,” he commanded.
The priestess stepped down from the podium to accept the proffered letters. “In the north is a tower of invisible light, of exceeding power. Armies gather at its feet. This place is the crux, the axle about which your future turns. The energies cloud my sight, but I glimpsed thieves sneaking northward to do you harm. Catch them if you wish to avoid disaster.”
Sandarac wanted to stand up and grab her as she stepped back. “Wait. This is too vague. How will I find my path without your counsel?”
“As I have said, you have another High Priestess now. Listen to her,” said the seeress. This made Humi smirk. “With her, you can survive anything. But your strength is not that of iron; rather, you’re like the wheat that bends before the storm. Remember you are at all times a politician. Practice diplomacy.”
The lame man looked puzzled as the green-eyed woman turned to Humi. “Lady, untold riches flow to you. The child of your womb shall serve you well. When you ask aught from our goddess, always phrase it as a plea for the protection of your child. This is your point of sympathy with her.”
Humi bowed in acceptance of the advice. “You are gracious, sister.”
Leaning close to the other woman, Sarajah whispered the lie she had been shaping for days. “The tattooed man is no more. The man who destroyed my temple followed this body to the river, gave me his armor, and begged to be held under the water. I ripped out his heart and tasted his sufferis until he lay motionless at my feet.”
Lady Kragen shivered with pleasure at the pronouncement. She removed the expensive sesterina and sapphire necklace from her neck and placed it around the seeress’s neck. “I must see his body.”
Sarajah shook her head. “Only his bloody kalura remains, and that I ordered the gravediggers to bury. Forget he ever existed. Be the great woman you were always meant to be.” Tears streamed down Humi’s cheeks again. As the seeress backed away toward the brazier, Sarajah shouted one last warning, “
But
do not trust the Hungry Ghost. He lusts for you even now. He’s learned the secret dark arts too fast and would rip your soul from your screaming body.”
When she reached the brazier, the emperor called out, “What about the Viper?”
“Sometimes the rabbit runs so hard, his heart explodes,” Sarajah repeated. Then, she tossed the pouch of dust into the fire, causing a dark-gray smoke to billow out. Grabbing a wheelbarrow full of garbage picked up from the graveyard and approaching avenue, she willed the cloak to become sooty, patched clothing and walked out of the cemetery by the side exit. No one questioned her.
The emperor told his betrothed, “Everything is still in play. Together, we can still win.”
Their guards, drawn by the smoke, returned. Humi ordered her head guard, “Check on Tumberlin personally. Meet us at the pre-wedding feast to report.”
****
Tumberlin had crawled to the edge of the circle, his leg chain taut. When the maid came in to clean the spilled chamber pot, he paralyzed her vocal cords with a touch to the neck. Then, he fed as she kicked and writhed. Her eyes begged for mercy. Once his hunger was sated, he decided to have fun, and dominated the maid’s mind to have her fetch the key.
They found the dead girl dressed in Lady Kragen’s clothing, lying facedown on the Lady’s bed. The dagger, belonging to the traitor Drasnir, had been left in her back. Horrible things had been done to her before the final thrust. As Tumberlin was clearly still chained in his cell, he couldn’t be the culprit. “It was horrible,” wailed the prisoner. “That guard took her in front of me, teasing me. Then he ate pudding to torment me further.”
When they found pudding stains on poor Drasnir’s lapels, the sergeant at arms beheaded him on the spot. Experts cleaned up the mess and the emperor was never informed. It was considered a bad omen for the wedding.
Tumberlin was still cackling with glee when the Lady returned. She described Zariah’s new body and the necklace she was wearing. “People will notice it, even if she passes unseen. She was headed toward the eastern river.”
“I don’t need a necklace to locate people I know well. But why are you so wroth, milady?” He was picturing Humi in the clothes that the maid had died in.
“That witch just killed Hisbet in front of two hundred witnesses. Something with claws dragged him under a banquet table,” she announced. Tumberlin couldn’t help but snicker. “Find her.”
Everyone at the architect’s mansion ate breakfast and lunch at different times, but the evening dinner was communal. By the
final day, most of the guests were gone. Remaining in the manor were the eight leaving on the journey, two students, and an artisan from the small town below. Sitting in the dining hall with the large, circular window, they enjoyed their final feast.
Jolia admired the river view by the light of the setting sun, framed by polished, golden wood.
Brent raved about their previous meal. “I don’t know how we’d ever top it.”
Simon smiled. “In good company, you can talk about anything and have it be memorable.” When Brent looked skeptical, the architect said, “As a lark, let’s try the direct opposite of the last topic.”
“What’s the opposite of writing?” asked the boy.
“Sleep,” answered a tired Jotham. People chuckled politely. He had dozed in his chair that night. The Book of Dominion was taking more effort than anticipated. The passages on vows and diplomacy might be vital to freeing the Traveler. He couldn’t race through the detailed drawings and rules.
“Censorship,” suggested one of the students.
Simon waved the topic away, as if erasing a chalkboard. “Too pat. We said it was a multidimensional seed for storing thoughts. What would be the obverse?”
“Action?” suggested another student.
The artisan cleared his throat, glancing at Jolia as she leaned over the table with a tray. “Well, the physical seed often makes thoughts evaporate.”
The courtesan harrumphed. “The circus and the two-bit operas are flat things that suck the thoughts out of people, keep them from wondering about important things.”
Simon prompted, “Brent, what do you think the opposite could be?”
The boy mused. “Something that destroys, cuts through many dimensions.”
“The One True Sword,” Tashi observed.
Sophia made an ‘o’ with her mouth. Simon nodded, “You surprise us daily, sir.”
Tashi sneered, “Only, it wasn’t true. The sword snapped off in my hand.”