Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (48 page)

The flagship berthed at the quay, washed clean by the tidal wave, leaving only the stone of the dock and the buildings intact. As long boats rowed in men, weapons, and supplies from the vessels anchored in the harbor, the captain approached Sadie and Thaddis carrying a tube that was as long as he was tall. A sailor walked behind him, hefting a square wooden box. Both stopped in front of Thaddis.

The captain gave him a short bow. “With Withea’s compliments, Lord Commander Thaddis. The Archpriest bade me give these to you before you disembarked in Penutar.” He held out the tube.

“What are they?”

“I don’t know. But he bade me to tell you to use them only in Ontarem’s presence and to let no one other than yourself touch the bare metal.”

Curious, Thaddis took the tube, which was heavier than it appeared. He twisted off the end and carefully reached inside, feeling something hard under a covering of padded velvet. He pulled out the long, thin object and laid it on the deck. The padding proved to be a carrying case of emerald green velvet—Seagem’s colors—with a long strap and two ties used as a closure.

Thaddis untied the strings and unrolled the fabric to expose a gray spear with strange markings on the shaft. Something about the metal made him reluctant to further examine the runes. He re-wrapped the spear and stood. “Hold this for me.” He handed the weapon to the captain.

With a grimace, the man gingerly held the spear away from his body, as if it would turn into a snake and bite him.

Thaddis took the box from the sailor and set it on the deck. When he flicked open the clasp and lifted the lid, he saw a large pouch made of the same material as the covering for the spear. This time, when he ran his fingers over the velvety surface, he could discern a helmet lay within, and his othersense jangled at touching the evil object. He didn’t want to undo the string holding the pouch closed, much less think of wearing the thing.

With both hands, he lifted the bundle and saw two strips of cloth attached to one side.

“A backpack.” Sadie took the straps from him and held the pouch in front of her. “What’s inside?”

“A helmet. I can’t even bear to open the covering.”

Sadie glanced from the spear to the helmet. “You can’t hold both and keep your hands free to fight. I’ll carry the helmet on my back.”

Thaddis wanted to protest, but Sadie was right. He couldn’t do both. He glared at the evil object. “I shudder just thinking about wearing that
thing
on my head, putting myself in Ontarem’s control that way.”

“Hopefully, you won’t have to.” She tried to sound matter of fact, but her eyes looked worried.

As much as Thaddis agreed with Sadie’s statement, his othersense told him differently. The time would come, and soon, when he’d have to don Ontarem’s helmet.

~ ~ ~

As the derli carriage careened down the main road of Penutar, the horses’ hooves pounding on the stone street, their sides lathered, Pasinae gripped the side so she wouldn’t be thrown about. They passed an older man collapsed in front of a fish shop, then a child crumbled at the foot of a pillar, and a pregnant woman, belly distended against her gray robe, sprawled in the middle of the road.

Some kind of illness?

The driver slowed and guided the horses around the human obstacle. Apparently feeling they’d gotten far enough for safety, he didn’t urge the horses to full speed.

Pasinae leaned forward. “Why are these people laying in the street? Are they sick?”

He shrugged and shook his head, unable to meet her gaze. “Someone will remove them before too long,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Dissatisfied with his response, Pasinae probed with her othersense and received an answer. Those who’d collapsed lacked any spiritual energy. They were attached to life only by the slightest threads, and as she watched, their cords unraveled further. She could feel the faint beat of their hearts, but knew even that physical function would extinguish in minutes.

She bit her lip, shaken to her very core.
Ontarem is draining His people to death.

They passed the open-air market, usually the busiest place in the city. Today was no exception. The smell of roasting nuts drifted over to her, a favorite childhood treat. The rich scent brought back the memory of the crunch of the hot kernels, her mother playfully slapping her hands away from the fire when she tried to sneak some from the vendor’s grill. Pasinae eagerly searched the marketplace for anything else that reminded her of those long-forgotten times, for she certainly hadn’t frequented the market once she’d gone to live in the temple.

The small stalls of the vendors displayed sparse selections, and the people wandering the aisles looked thin and drawn. A child wavered and sank to her knees, tattered robe pooling around her. The mother, her face anxious, leaned to pick her up, hugging her tight. The girl’s robe hitched up, showing stick-thin legs.

Her stomach clenched. Pasinae didn’t care if the God chose to drain the life from the seadogs. Previously, she wouldn’t have thought she cared much about
anyone
besides Ontarem, and to some extent, her brothers. But, she flashed back to the hallucinations she’d experienced in the Cave of Crystals—seeing visions of her parents, remembering the love and closeness of their family—made her discover a hithertofore unknown feeling of connection with, perhaps even a sense of ownership for, the citizens of Penutar.
They’re My people.

And my God is killing them.

She tried to force her mind back into the old mold—that whatever Ontarem wanted, whatever act the God did—was right. But she couldn’t see how destroying His people—His loyal power base—would benefit Him. Unless, He didn’t care who did the worshiping, as long as His needs and wishes were provided for.
Would that concept hold true for His priests and priestesses as well? What about His Trine?
Would He be equally satisfied if Daria, for example, willingly took my place?

Before she could answer
yes
to her own question, a rumbling sound and an ominous feeling of dread made Pasinae lean out of the carriage to look behind her.

Down the street at the cliff edge, she saw the crest of the tidal wave appear—higher than she’d expected, than she’d believed even possible. Her heart jumped. “Go!” She screamed at the driver.

The man whipped the horses, and they lurched forward.

But even the increased speed of the carriage was too slow. Pasinae watched the water wash around the buildings nearest the cliff and race down the main street as if it were a river. People screamed and ran. The woman with the child slipped and fell, losing her hold on the girl, then shrieked as her child was swept away, to wedge against the side of a building.

Acting on instinct, Pasinae scrambled to her feet, ducking around the overhang of the derli shell canopy. She faced backwards and propped her arms on the ridged top, squeezing with her elbows to keep her balance on the bouncing vehicle, while she held her hands up in a stopping motion. Pushing with her othersense, she visualized damming back the water. As she thrust her power in front of her, she simultaneously yanked from Ontarem’s reserves.

The wave paused as if frozen, held in place by her strength. She continued to press her energy against the wall of water, her muscles quivering with the strain. Slowly, the water ebbed over the cliff and back into the sea, leaving slick streets and flotsam in its wake.

Exhausted, Pasinae dropped her arms to relieve the throbbing. The carriage cut to the left, and she lost her balance, toppling over the side. She made a grab for the edge of the roof, but her hands slipped off. She tumbled out of the carriage, realizing with horror she was going to land on the stone street. Dredging up the last of her power, she slowed her landing, but still hit hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs.

Flat on her back in six inches of salty water, Pasinae felt the jar of landing on the street on her back, hip, and shoulder. In shock, she took a minute to take stock of what had just happened. Her body throbbed in pain, and cold invaded her muscles. Before her mind started to work again, she heard the sound of running footsteps. Gentle hands helped Pasinae to her feet. Several people surrounded her, and more ran over. Trembling, she allowed them to steady her.

Quiet expressions of praise and gratitude flowed from the people around her.

“You saved us, Trine Priestess.”

“Praised be to the God you were here.”

“You held back the ocean!”

That last sentence was uttered by an older man holding onto her elbow. The respect in his brown eyes, so different from the forced deference she usually received from the citizens of Penutar, softened Pasinae’s heart toward him.

The woman whose child was swept from her arms, rushed over, carrying her daughter. “Thank you, Trine Priestess. Thank you for our lives.”

The sopping wet child turned her head to watch Pasinae, her big brown eyes frightened and teary.

From multiple directions, people surrounded her, daring to place the tips of their fingers on her body. Before she could shake them off, tiny spurts of energy flowed into her. Shocked, Pasinae realized these people, even the mother holding her daughter, already depleted to gauntness by Ontarem’s demands, were sharing the minute bits of their life energy—taken from their own debilitated bodies—all the sweeter for being given with love and gratitude.

Her pain faded, and her heart filled. She’d never experienced anything like the mild gifts of power from these people, not even during the times of the strongest connection with her God.

“Are you all right, Trine Priestess?” asked the young woman with her hand on Pasinae’s hip.

“Yes.” Pasinae had to swallow against a suddenly thick throat before she could speak more. “Yes, I am. My thanks, good people.” Her gaze swept them. She reached out to stroke the child’s cheek, pulling on Ontarem to provide the little one some much-needed energy. The potential strength of the girl’s othersense astonished her. “She should be in the temple, training to become a priestess.”

The mother swung the girl away. Her othersense was equally as strong as her daughter’s. “Please don’t take Tashta from me. She’s all I have left.”

Pasinae pursed her lips. The child belonged with Ontarem. She was much the same age as Pasinae and her brothers had been when they’d begun their training. She gave the woman a reluctant nod
.
“The temple’s not the safest place now, anyway.”

A withered crone with thin gray braids and a tattered robe wet from the knees down, hobbled over, cupped Pasinae’s cheek, and looked up at her with shining eyes. “Your mother will be so proud.”

Stunned by the intimate touch, Pasinae took a moment to absorb the words. When their meaning seeped into her dazed mind, she grabbed the woman’s wrist and pulled her a few feet away from the others before letting go. “You know my mother?”

“And you too, dearling, from the day you were born.” She tapped Pasinae’s nose with a gnarled finger.

The gesture felt familiar somehow, and Pasinae’s heart beat faster. “Who are you?”

“Rebda, dearling. I’ve lived next door to your family these thirty years. You were always such a sweet child. So kind and considerate. You’d keep me company, help me bake cookies. But those brothers of yours…” She rolled her eyes and threw up her hand. “Such mischief-makers.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Pasinae.

“After you three were taken from her, your mother cried every day for months.” The woman shook her head. “And your father had the saddest look in his eyes, as if the life had gone out of him. He passed on to Ontarem’s Hall five years ago. Your mother always watches the main road, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of you riding by. Kokam’s death hit her hard. But she saw Nabric a few days ago, and that perked up her spirits. She hadn’t seen him in so long.

All those times she’d driven through the streets of the city on the way to or from the harbor, barely noticing the people going about their daily business. In her arrogance she’d dismissed them as beneath her notice, their drab lives uninteresting. Shame curled in her belly. If only she’d eagerly searched the crowd, gone among them even, would she have seen her mother or her father?

The woman babbled on. “Your sister’s birth eased their pain.”

A sister.
Pasinae’s knees weakened.

“And now she has a son of her own, just as much of a handful as your brothers, although thank Ontarem, there’s only one of him. Lately though, he’s been ill. Your mother, too. I worry about them. But there’s not much I can do.” She gave Pasinae a wry smile. “I don’t feel like I used to, either.”

Ill!
That fact cut through her befuddled mind. She had no doubt their sickness was caused by Ontarem’s drain. She straightened. “Thank you for telling me. Where do you live?”

“On the baker’s street, Pasinae. The same as always.”

A clear memory took her back to childhood—playing in the street with her brothers and their friends, the fragrant scent of baking bread lingering in the air. “I remember.” A sense of foreboding seized her. She grasped the woman’s hand. “Hasten back. Tell my mother, my sister and her child to get in the house and stay
inside.
You too.” She paused and bit her lip. “And give my mother my regards. I’ll visit her soon. Hurry, now.”

The woman nodded, but her eyes looked bewildered.