Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (16 page)

Indaran didn’t try to move the wheel to correct their course. The tether wouldn’t allow them to turn. When Ontarem had first taken hold of the ship, the pilot had tried to break free of His tow—not because they thought it possible, but because they knew the God would expect them to resist.

Daria looked at her brother, obviously saw his struggle, and moved behind him to place a hand on his back, as if bolstering his strength.

Indaran squared his shoulders and looked at Jasmine. “Now.”

Focusing her attention, she opened the channel to Arvintor, reaching for the God’s energy to assist in breaking their ship free. Instead of the greeting she expected, followed by a flow of power to her, the energy in the conduit remained low. She extended her othersene for more but didn’t receive even a pulse from the God.

Jasmine stretched her power. Still no aid. Her stomach clenched.
What is wrong?
What if He can’t help us?

Arvintor!
she yelled, putting her strength behind the mental call.

The God didn’t answer.

The ship sailed closer to the cove.

Jasmine could see the distant edges of the cliff jutting into the ocean. Cold fear froze her body and must have shown on her face. She clutched Shareef to her chest, and he squeaked in protest.

Khan, with big brother protectiveness, took two steps to her side and placed his hand on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Arvintor’s not responding. We’re connected, but I’m not receiving any power from Him. I can’t free us!”

“Is Ontarem blocking Arvintor?”

“No, not that I can feel.”
I’ve failed. We’re going to be captured by Ontarem!
“I don’t know what to do,” her voice rose.

Indaran leaned over the side of the wheelhouse and shouted a command, ordering the crew to lower the sails and drop the anchor. The sailors scurried to obey. With the sails furled and the anchor sunk into the olive-green depth, the ship slowed, but still Ontarem pulled them toward Penutar.

Khan squeezed Jasmine’s shoulder and lifted Sheriff out of her arms, handing the Monga to Daria, who cradled him in her free arm. “Take me with you to Arvintor.” He reached for her hands and closed his eyes.

Jasmine did the same. Shutting out the sight of her gray surroundings actually made her feel calmer. She inhaled and imagined reaching for Khan with her othersense. His blue energy swirled with hers, propelling her awareness toward Arvintor.

Close to the God, Jasmine realized Arvintor wasn’t answering her because He was giving all His attention to the Che-da-wah. She caught a glimpse of a group of mounted nomads throwing spears at Ontarem’s soldiers—desperation on some faces, determination on others. Not far away, Jasmine could see the teepees of a camp, oldsters and mothers with babes in arms crowded into the middle, children holding on to their hands or clutching their legs. Some of the old men and women held spears, facing outward, the last defense of the vulnerable.

With a gasp, Jasmine withdrew, not wanting to shake the God’s support of His people.

“Ontarem’s soldiers war with one of the clans.” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears, and she strove to calm herself. “The nomads are protecting their elderly and children. They need Arvintor’s help.”

Indaran let out a curse. “Combine our energies,” he snapped. “Jasmine, you bind us together.”

Jasmine sank into her othersense. Once again, she extended a mental hand to Khan, who’d already linked with Daria, their silver and blue energy perfectly blended. She reached for a link to Indaran’s, his power a darker cobalt than Khan’s, then braided their power together. Remembering her prior attempts to sever Ontarem’s connection with Baby Merrel, she visualized a giant saw and exerted all her efforts into slicing through the tow.

The black tentacle bent like rubber but didn’t cut.

Sweat dripped down her back. No matter how hard she tried, Jasmine couldn’t free the ship.

Beside her, she felt Indaran coil his power. “Give to me, my people!” he yelled with voice and othersense.

The crew and soldiers, the people from Seagem, including the priest and Archpriestess Anza, answered their king’s command, sending their energy toward him. Indaran grabbed their offering and flung everything they had into the flow.

This time Jasmine’s saw cut into the rubbery substance. Ichor spilled out with a hiss like acid. Before she sliced more than a few inches into the tentacle, the visualized blade stuck fast and would not budge. Even the extra strength from everyone on board wasn’t enough. Her fear grew, threatening her concentration.

“Khan, Daria,” Indaran said in a sharp tone. “Reach for Withea.”

Jasmine sensed the two of them withdrawing from the meld, stretching across the ocean to the Goddess. Khan and Daria had to struggle to move out of Ontarem’s territory. But once free, she felt Withea waiting to pour Her power into them.

Khan and Daria’s bodies arched, as if they couldn’t contain the wave the Goddess sent to them. They struggled to shape the flow and pass it to Jasmine. The energy whipped around like a giant hose with the water pumping through too strongly.

The wave of power hit Jasmine, almost knocking her off her feet. As the strength swelled within her, the sawblade unstuck, slicing through the tentacle as if it were butter. Jasmine had a sense of Withea’s satisfaction before the Goddess withdrew.

Indaran fisted his hand into the air in a victory motion, then grabbed the handles of the wheel. He yelled commands to hoist the sails and raise the anchor, and the ship headed toward the cove.

~ ~ ~

The day after viewing Yadarius, Pasinae paused at the heavy metal door that lead into the Cave of Crystals. She’d never been inside but had heard tales from Dorent, the priest who’d resided on the island when a seadog burying some of his ill-gotten plunder had broken into the cave and discovered the giant crystals.

When the seadog had fetched Dorent to see the cavern, the priest immediately knew the discovery would have enormous ramifications. In the presence of the immense crystal prisms, he could feel his othersense increase in power. He’d ordered the hole closed until he could get a crew to chisel a proper opening, which he then sealed with a metal door. As soon as he’d accomplished that task, Dorent had sailed for Penutar and reported the find to Ontarem.

Ontarem had ordered Nabric and Kokam to the island to experiment with the crystals. But the intense heat of the cavern, seeping up from the magna below, hampered their research. Men could only endure the furnace within the cave for about ten minutes. And one man who’d wandered off to steal some of the smaller crystals was later found baked to death. Using their othersense, the two Trine Priests could double their time inside, but they’d quickly learned that the heat sapped their physical and mental energy for two or three days afterward.

Kokam and Nabric took several years to learn how to manipulate the crystals to magnify Ontarem’s energy tenfold. Only then did the God concoct the plan to trap the SeaGod. But neither the Trine Priests nor Ontarem had realized that the strength of the crystals could fade just when the power was needed the most.

Pasinae took a deep breath, pushing aside her reluctance to face the task ahead of her.

Dorent opened the metal door.

She clutched the pearl of power to gather her othersense reserves and entered the cavern. Inside the horseshoe-shaped cavity, uneven crystal blocks lined the floor. Huge crystaline prisms jutted out from the bottom at strange angles. At her first glimpse of the incredible crystals, Pasinae forgot her discomfort with the heat and wanted to explore the space.

Her heart pounded from fear and the intensity of the temperature. Pasinae placed each footstep with care. If she slipped and fell, she could impale herself or tumble into deep pits.

Dorent followed close behind her.

Within minutes, sweat had completely soaked through her clothes. Her breathing became labored. With her eyes and her othersense, Pasinae searched for the perfect crystal—one that was big, but not too big for a crew of strong men to carry up the mountain, one that ended in a perfect point, and resonated with the power of the God.

Dorent touched her arm and signaled toward the exit. “I’m leaving.

She nodded, knowing another priest would take the man’s place. They wouldn’t leave her unprotected. A wave of dizziness washed over her. For a second she glimpsed her mother standing near a translucent pillar, beckoning to her. A childish longing welled up in her, then Pasinae blinked and the image disappeared.
Rein-in your thoughts
.
You don’t remember your mother. How could you even imagine you saw her?

A man touched her arm.

She turned to smack away his hand, then vaguely recognized the hook-nosed priest, Vaptor.

Frowning, the priest shook his head and pointed at the door.

Through her disoriented thoughts, Pasinae vaguely realized she’d come to the end of her ability to withstand the heat. She turned and stumbled.

Vaptor caught her elbow and half-dragged, half-walked her toward the door.

Outside, the humid air seemed as cool as a winter night. Bending over, hands on her knees, Pasinae gasped for breath. She heard the slam of the metal door behind her.

Someone handed her a gourd, and she greedily gulped down the water, then held out her hand for another. She dropped onto a chair and drank as if she could never replace the moisture squeezed out of her body from the heat. Her energy depleted, all she wanted to do was lie down. Pasinae wondered how she was going to make the trip back to her house.

A man cleared his throat.

She looked up at Dorent. He too was dripping wet and held a gourd in his hand.

“Knowing how debilitating the journey into the cave is, we have prepared a place for you to rest, Trine Priestess. Your maid awaits you there with your pack.” Vaptor pointed toward a small, hut-sized shelter made of the black rock and tucked against the cliff. “The men will be over there.” He gestured toward a slightly larger one on the opposite side of the cave mouth.

Pasinae couldn’t speak. She could only muster the energy to nod.

Vaptor held out a hand to help her to her feet.

As much as she hated touching the seadogs—even one of Ontarem’s priests—she didn’t have the strength to rise unaided, so Pasinae allowed Vaptor to assist her to the hut, where he left her in the hands of her maid.

Inside the darkened room, a small pool of water beckoned. She stripped off her clothing and waded in, sinking to her knees. The slide of cool water over her parched body felt better than she could have imagined.

Her maid handed her the ground leaves of a juma plant, which the natives used on the rare times they bothered to bathe. She immersed herself before rubbing the juma over her hair and body and then rinsing. Her skin tingled. Although tempted to linger, Pasinae knew she’d fall asleep any minute now. Rising from the bath, she took a towel from the maid and dried off. She donned a loose sleeping shift, drank another big gourd full of water, then tumbled onto the bed stretched across the back wall. Sleep pulled her down. But before she went entirely under, Pasinae realized she’d have to brave the cavern again…and again until she found the crystals Ontarem needed to restrain the SeaGod.

~ ~ ~

In his quarters, Tharon hesitated in front of a peg holding an outfit that he assumed was to work in—gardening or performing the opened-handed dances all the people here did, or…weapons practice. Instead of the white robe he usually wore, this was an off-white tunic and trews. He fingered the trews, which seemed made of chamois material, while the shirt was of heavy pliable cotton.

As if challenging him, a rectangular box the length of his forearm lay on one of the shelves of the wardrobe, and he knew what it contained. He’d peeked at the knife when he’d first entered the room after his healing. But he hadn’t felt ready to face the weapon because he wanted to run the blade through his chest and end his miserable life. The only thing stopping him was the sense that taking his life wasn’t an option. He had a feeling Guinheld would just revive him.

Today, for the first time since Withea had severed his link with Ontarem and Tharon had become free from Ontarem’s enmeshment, the weight of shame and pain had lessened and his future prospects seemed less bleak. Hope wound through the darkness within him, as thin and delicate as gold silk thread.
All because a foreign woman crossed the window from Seagem into Zacatlan.

A sudden and unexpected surge of energy made Tharon yank the robe off over his head. Hanging it on a peg, he donned workout clothes. Grateful to have retained his own footwear, he lifted the knife box down and slipped the blade into the special sheath in his right boot.

Then he opened the large trunk in the corner of his room, one of several sent with him.

Early on, he’d given the contents a cursory look through, but then the items held little meaning and he’d closed the lid on his past. Now, he remembered seeing his sword—not the bejeweled one he’d used as king, but the unadorned practice blade of his youth, the weapon so often wielded in friendly competition with Indaran.

Tharon found the sword at the bottom of a trunk and pulled it out. Leaving the blade sheathed, he balanced the weapon across his open palms. Micfal, the weaponsmaster of Seagem, had had this sword made for him. None of his royal students were allowed fancy weapons. He could hear Micfal’s gravely voice in his mind and, with a surge of nostalgia, remembered sparring with the old man.