Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (10 page)

Jotham ped Nigel to his feet. “If you’re quite finished with your drama, we have to find the lair of the spirit that guards this place and feeds on its innocents.”

“The guardian is held within the Great Eye above the Door,” Nigel explained. “Zariah is the one who feeds. She can use the life-force of others to make herself younger and stronger. But every time she uses magic, she ages. She wears a veil to hide this effect until she hunts again. I’ve been tracking her for days.”

“The Viper’s finally decided to eliminate her?” asked Bjorn.

“He’s never stopped trying. She seems to be weak right now, though, or at least distracted,” said Nigel.

Jotham blinked when he noticed the return of one of the guards they’d put on the captured handmaiden. “Ekvar, why are you back so soon?”

The broken-jawed Stone Monkey mimed kissing the crook of his own arm. Bjorn chuckled. “Smooth Olaf strikes again, always a winner with the ladies.”

“
Fools
,” shouted Jotham. “I told you to keep her bound and watch in pairs for a reason.”

Nigel was grinning ear to ear. Brent and the Stone Monkeys all looked confused. Nigel said, “Let me guess: the willing lass, grateful for her rescue, has skin the color of cinnamon, and breasts like small apples.” When the men nodded, the actor scoffed. “Your dumb friend is trying to bag Zariah herself. As soon as she gets her mouth on him, he’s lunch. It’s already too late for him.”

“But Zariah’s an old withered hag,” protested Sven.

“Not after she’s been fed,” Nigel explained. “However, there’s a brief period of afterglow where she’s vulnerable. That’s what I’ve been waiting for days to catch. As soon as she’s done with him, she’s coming after the rest of you. Because believe me, toward the end, old Olaf will talk. He’ll say anything.”

Nearly in tears, Sven said, “I knew we should’ve killed her when we had the chance, killed them all!”

Jotham ignored him, planning furiously. “We’re going in at the next bell, before she can stop us. If I can cut her power supply, we just might stand a chance.” To Nigel, the Tenor said, “I need you to go into the Temple and provide a distraction.”

“I wouldn’t last the hour I promised. Are you serious?” asked the actor.

“Yes,” said everyone else in unison.

Tashi awoke coughing. Ash settled around him on the plateau like snow, but the air was hot. He was tired, still overwhelmed by the flood of revelation. Everything had hidden meaning. Even the pattern etched in the ground beneath his face resonated with symbolism and portent. The six radial grooves in the marble became the six-fold path and the coin at the center, the signet of the empire, represented some secret core. Each of the arms held a power dedicated to protecting mankind, protecting it from everything but itself. Tashi reached out and touched the magic coin. If he plucked it out, there would be a void at the center. That too would have meaning.

The steps of the floating staircase each stood for tenets one had to learn in order to ascend. Tashi knew without being told that the first stephollow. The time-distortion effect made the smoke surrounding him whirl like dust storms in the desert. The patterns were fascinating.

As the sheriff lay on the ground, Archanon kicked him rudely in the side. “Wake up!” When Tashi turned to face his tormentor, he noticed that the archfiend was wrapped in a dark cloak with a loose hood drawn across his mouth. “They finally let me intercede. Sandarac’s set fire to the Holy City. The Burning One’s servants crouch around the base of the railway elevator, pouring everything they can into this pyre. The old stairway down has been demolished. Escape through mundane means is unlikely. You won’t survive till sundown if you remain here. You need to speak your third boon immediately.”

Tashi blinked. If he asked the third question, he’d know the secret of the Traveler but die. If he escaped with his life, his mission and years of sacrifice would’ve been in vain. This way wouldn’t be open again for generations.

Tashi filtered through the noise for the rules of this round of the game.
No physical aid
.
No information he did not possess already
.

Archanon caught the thought and nodded back.

Neither death nor surrender seemed a viable option. “I have a dilemma, but I’m not wise. How do I decide?” Tashi muttered out loud, stroking the coin in the center of everything.

Archanon seemed excited by this prospect and tried to encourage him. “How do you normally resolve a choice between two daunting paths? How did you get to this place?”

The sheriff wrapped his fingers around the magic coin, pulling it from its anchorage. Over the plateau, the barrier of Nightfall lifted. The archfiend leaned over, waiting eagerly, certain that the triumph of a thousand-year plan was at hand.

Tashi imagined flipping the coin, and having it roll off the sheer precipice and into space. But he could no longer trust such an important decision to the gods. Looking around at the slag heap that resulted from their last choice, he vowed never to trust them again. There had to be more than two options here; he merely lacked the wisdom to see them.

“For my third boon . . .” The words slipped out, unplanned. “I wish my Master were here in my place. He’s much wiser than I.”

Archanon cried “NO!” at the top of his lungs and magic. Thunder shook the ground, throwing those burning the mountainside to their knees. But the seeker’s words were loose.

Jotham peered through the narrow window and into the vast auditorium where dreamers sprawled. This window, above the leftmost lip of the central stage, was the closest covert entrance they could find to the Door. All the Stone Monkeys and followers of the Traveler were on the roof of the Temple of Sleep. There were safety-roped together using red silk sashes they’d found in a nearby storage room. When Ekvar saw the sixteen-cubit drop, he mimed the suggestion for knotting together a long rope out of the sashes.

Jotham shook his head and pointed to the bell. They didn’t have enough time. Besides, people might see the red rope dangling and ask questions. Jotham pointed to his own chest and performed a diving gesture with his hands. He gave his staff to the boy, untied himself, and motioned for the others to give him room.

When the great bell swung in its cradle and tolled for the first time, the Stone Monkeys covered their ears. Jotham picked up enough speed to cover the short horizontal distance to the stage and leapt. On the counter swing, the second peal sounded, and the old half-Imperial landed, rolling with gravity-enhanced force. He yielded to the flow of the inertia like he would’ve to a mighty river, bending without breaking. His tiny bells hissed and jingled furiously. At the third and final toll, he regained his feet and dodged behind a wide, brass bowl of smoking incense. The Stone Monkeys blinked in amazement. Brent pulled them away from the window before they could be seen by the bustling acolytes of Sleep who were clearing the sanctuary for another service.

On cue, Nigel made his entrance through the main doors, pushing past the stream of exiting worshippers. The Somnambulist guards stopped him cold in the foyer, but he yelled to attract the attention of all the handmaidens. “I have an urgent message for Zariah!”

The guards confiscated his fencing foil. No weapons of any kind could be allowed into her holy presence.

The three handmaidens converged on the intruder. The first woman to reach him searched the actor from head to toe and then examined the pouch he carried at his hip. “The box in his pouch is sealed with the mark of Hisbet. This man is a spy!”

Nigel defended his honor loudly. “This man is a
messenger
sent with a personal letter from Lord Hisbet to Zariah the Seeress. Hisbet wishes to demonstrate goodwill by warning her of an imminent danger to her stronghold.”

“Quiet,” ordered the handmaiden in charge, a severe woman with her hair bound beneath white cloth. “Wait till the faithful are gone. This matter doesn’t concern them.”

The Stone Monkeys, eavesdropping, feared the worst from Nigel’s intentions. “I wish I had a bow,” mumbled Bjorn. “I’d shut him up before he had a chance to stab us in the back.” They were all desperate to stop the looming disaster.

Sven untied himself from the group and disappeared from the roof in search of an oil lamp. Ekvar undid his sash as well, then jumped through the window to grab the nearest wooden pillar. The wild-eyed man with the broken jaw garnered several large splinters on his slide down to the auditorium floor. Brent held his silence and position as ordered, tying all of the remaining sashes together into a single rope about eight cubits long.

Jotham took advantage of the chaos and crawled to the altar. Pressing a stone at its base, he opened a secret compartment slightly larger than a man’s head. The relic storage vault was lined with gray felt, but otherwise empty.

Another handmaiden, who held a pig goad eagerly in her hand, looked up at the Great Eye and read something there. “He’s not lying. What else do you have to say, worm?”

Nigel narrowed his eyes, wary of the soothsayer. “Isn’t that enough? I know for a fact that the man will stop at nothing to wipe out your entire sect. The sheriff is on his way here at the earliest opportunity.”

The truth-witch gazed at the round stone window again. “He’s sincere. Call the Holy One,” she ordered.

Jotham searched the treasure hole beneath the altar and found no clues, no hint of the relic once hidden there. The senses he gained from passing through the Doors told him the missing magical device had been a deck of special cards. But there remained no trace of the item anywhere around the altar. It made no sense; there was always a relic.

Glancing at the Door to Eternity, Jotham noted several differences when compared with previous magic doors. This Door was the largest so far, easily three times the height of his tallest companion. The frame was curved on top instead of squared off. Instead of oak, the wood seemed to be a heavy teak, reinforced with studded iron. But most significantly, the door was ajar. A black, glass brick had been wedged in the entryway to prevent the door from closing. A gentle wind blew from behind the Door and filled the sanctuary with a hint of spices and an exhilarating power richer than wine. The raw mana made the priest’s skin tingle. In his haste, he felt he was missing something obvious.

Ekvar pulled wood slivers out of his hands and knees. As he finished wrapping his injured palms, someone rang a gong. Bjorn spotted a brace of unused spears nearby and anchored the sash rope to the window jam using Jotham’s iron-hard staff across the narrow frame. Brent helped to make sure the knot would hold. By the time the summoning gong rang again, Bjorn was halfway down the wall, dangling at the end of his rope. Swinging in a gentle arc, he caught hold of a large piece of masonry in the parsonage wall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get the rest of the way down because he couldn’t keep his grip on the ledge and untie the rope at the same time. Seeing his predicament, Brent reluctantly turned the staff and slipped the knot off the bottom. Freed from his lifeline, Bjorn resumed his climb down.

Jotham looked up at the Great Eye above him to find out how the sooth-saying trick had been accomplished. What he saw there turned his blood cold. Where normal pilgrims here saw thin layers of ancient stone, Jotham’s finely tuned senses perceived something quite different—scales. The scales belonged to an enormous snake body curled into the shape of a circle. Jotham heard the Stone Monkeys moving around the stage area, eager to help him. Too late, he tried to wave them off. The Eye turned to gaze straight down at him.

Upon hearing her voice, Jotham knew that Zariah had the relic cards and had used them often in her rise to power. He started to warn the others when the world turned inside out.

Tashi’s last wish reached him through the open Door.

Thunder rolled.

Jotham lost his balance. Fourteen years crowded around him like mourners at a funeral. But this time he was ready for them. They were gentle friends who lowered him lovingly into the light.

****

Suddenly, Jotham was falling through heavy smoke. As before, he rolled with the forces, taking little damage other than to his dignity. When he stumbled to the bottom of a great staircase, there was a shadowy form in black robes awaiting him. The Tenor wasted no time in pouring some water from his canteen into a spare sackcloth and wrapping it about his face and head. Upon examination, the figure had the form of the boatman from Semenea. Jotham approached the figure and said boldly, “Why are you wearing that sad body like a hand puppet?”

“We wished to present you with a form you called friend,” Archanon said, a little awed at the ease with which the priest was adapting.

“I call all men friend and embrace all who have suffered in prison. Take whatever form uses the least energy,” said Jotham.

“You
see
.”

“Hmph. For all the good it does. Fortunately, I also have patience,” said Jotham.

The archfiend became a haggard-looking student of philosophy in his school robes. “You’re wise.”