Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (33 page)

“The question is: where is the sword?” Jotham wondered out loud. Brent looked wordlessly at Sophia, who shook her head. “The abbot rescued it from the inner islands and left it in the fortress of Tor Mardun for safe-keeping. That’s where I found it. However, the blade had been switched efore he traded it from that fool Myron.”

“Because of what it represents,” said Jotham. “The sword is a physical manifestation of a divine principle—the Council vote of Osos.”

Jotham shrugged. “It’s still a very sharp piece of metal. But the special aspects only work for the true bearer. For the chosen, it moves heaven and earth. No army carrying it has ever lost; although the emperor always backs it with overwhelming force. Probabilities bend around it. It folds reality like a paper crane. His will is law.”

“A trick of memory,” said Jotham. “We’ve both worn the amulet of the abbot, and examined his account. In the hands of the high priest of Osos, however, it has more powers.”

“In the gods’ names, why?” asked the architect.

“A gift–penance, protection against the lesser Dawn folk as it can harm them,” the priest supposed. “The Fallen of the Dawn race cannot touch it. Perhaps they conspired to hide it.”

Sophia signed and Simon repeated aloud, “Go back. What did the last Abbot of Souls do when he visited the Center?”

Brent answered the question. “Emperor Myron was too dangerous. The abbot traded the One True Sword for the spell that the Traveler taught Osos—the gathering of power through difference. He had to know Myron would explode the same way Osos did.”

Tashi grabbed the etched-glass fruit bowl. He held the single remaining orange above it. “This bowl is the Inner Sea, formed when Osos transfigured. The orange is his sun, still pouring energy into our realm. But as Abbot of the Spirit Temple, he knew that about a third of the energy from the Compass Star was being channeled into that bowl.”

“No, he was misguided. I believe the glass is insulation that protects us all. Without it, the circuit might complete, releasing even more power,” Jotham speculated. “Certainly the result would be . . . unsettling for the living. Fortunately, that’s not where the clues led me.”

“How would
you
use the sword?” asked Brent, completing the thought Sophia had begun to spell. Jolia watched as Simon moved his gaze back and forth between them, uncertain what the boy and his wife were sharing. There was a twinge of jealousy in the architect, as he was accustomed to being the only one who shared her secrets.

Sarajah had returned to the house in secret. She’d stopped at the kitchen door to listen when she overheard Tashi’s foul mood. When no one at the table could answer the last question, she walked into the dining room and slipped behind his chair with predatory grace. She was uneasy, and her eyes roved the room. “Because I shared for decades with one of the Dawn folk, I know this. Though it was not recorded in the holy tomes or the legends, the Traveler was punished, first for the death of his mother, and then for the death of Osos.”

Sophia popped up so fast that she knocked over her chair, and then she stepped between the horror and Brent. Simon raced to get his halberd from the hall.

Jotham and Owl began slow chants. Even Tatters joined in by lighting incense from his pouch with the dinner candles. But the monster could feed and escape before they finished. Sarajah reached down Tashi’s shirt, ignoring the sharp pain as her wrist made contact with the dark chainmail. The sheriff made the decision to trust her, putting his arms up in surrender. She found the large, sesterina-covered tuning fork and removed it from his neck with the speed of a cobra strike. Even so, he could’ve seized her arm on the way out. He chose to watch. She could’ve been pulling his dagger, and he’d have let her.

Striking the fork on the table, she caused it to sing with the same tone it made on the Holy Mountain. The students, artisan, architect, and courtesan all covered their ears at the noise. The glass bowl shattered, and the orange rolled out and bounced to the floor.

Aiming the tines at the Shadow, Sarajah shouted a harsh and guttural five-syllable word. The tuning fork picked up the word and amplified it. The air rippled, the chandelier rocked, and a bolt of unseen energy lanced into Tumberlin. His scream of pain shattered the picture window. Chill air swirled through the room. Though injured, the Shadow had fed much in recent days, and this gave him the reserves to resist. He began stalking toward the High Priestess of Archanon.

Seeing this threat to Alana, Tashi roared and leapt on the Shadow. Tumberlin didn’t dodge because no one had ever touched him before. Then again, no one else had worn armor of pure Eog. Tashi pinned the enemy to the ground, getting some of the blast himself before Sarajah stuck her left hand between the tines to stop the ringing. She dislocated two fingers doing so.

The sheriff and the Shadow rolled on the floor, both grunting in pain. The wooden floor smoked where they touched it. Still chanting, Jotham circled toward the pair. The students fled in panic. Only Sophia remained immobile at the center of the drama. This was
her
house. Simon pointed his halberd at the abomination. The tip of the pole had a pointed cap made of spirit metal. He didn’t dare poke at the pair with it for fear of chopping an ear off the sheriff, but if the abomination got free, he could hold it at bay.

The Eog began to pulsate with Jotham’s words. The Shadow cursed. “The Viper’s men know where you are now, all of you! Surrender and only the sheriff and priest need to die.” When that failed, Tumberlin switched to pleading, “Zariah, you said you’d teach me. Help me and my Mistress will reward you . . . restore your glory.”

Sarajah placed the tuning fork on the table, knelt beside the pair, and said, “Be still, and I will give thee what thou needs.”

Both Tashi and the Shadow stopped struggling.

Taking a clear brick from her pouch with her good hand, she slid it between the combatants. “Be free.” Tumberlin vanished like smoke, sucked into the clean glass from the City of the Gods. Most of Tashi’s armor links turned transparent, with a few light-gray swirls decorating the surface. He gasped with relief, and passed out from the repeated extremes. Steam rose from the blackened brick. The smell was terrible.

“He’s trapped in that brick forever. I just spent half my magic and half my hand, boy. My debt is paid,” the high priestess announced, wincing as she attempted to set her own fingers.

“You like us, admit it,” Brent said. “You couldn’t stay away.”

“The deck has been shuffled,” Sarajah said. “The cards say your side has the best chance of victory.”

“You
chose
,” Tatters whispered, waving the incense around to dispel the foul smoke.

The high priestess grunted. “Is anyone going to look at the hero who caused me to ruin a perfectly good aetheric circuit and this hand?”

Nearly every man in the room said, at the same time, “He’ll be all right.”

Jolia said, “Well I’m not cleaning this mess up.”

Jotham shook his head, “I don’t imagine you’ll have time. We need to leave early. I’ll take the Book of Dominion with me to finish. We just need to know where we’re going. I have to find the One True Sword before we go to the Final Temple. Perhaps our newest member could perform a reading on the cards.”

“I should just change my name to Ox. That’s all I am to you,” complained Sarajah. “But if you’d been listening, Brent could tell you.”

“You used my name,” noted the boy.

“Your mom is performing a delicate operation on my body right now. I thought it best to be polite. Don’t get used to it.” The lady of the house gave one finger a twist that made it pop back into place. “Ouch! I’ll have some of that wine.”

“The Shadow turned it all to vinegar,” noted Owl.

“Mom?” asked Brent. “But Master Jotham hasn’t signed over my papers yet.”

Sarajah snorted. “The moment you became a master, he had no say over you, child. And her standing unarmed in front of a Hungry Ghost for you trumps any certificate of adoption.”

“Huh,” Brent mused, with a smile.

Jotham sighed. “The destination?”

“Oh,” the boy said, looking to his new mother for confirmation. She nodded with a smile of her own. “It’s in the Holy of Holies in the Final Temple. I saw it in . . . Mom’s model downstairs. I like that.”

“Interesting,” Jotham observed. “That might increase the challenge slightly, as they’re bound to have guards.”

“It gets worse. Low-level Dawn folk are gathering around the last gate like bugs around a flame. Things are converging, all the Arcana,” Sarajah choked back a curse word as the other woman cracked the last finger into place.

Sophia left to get medical supplies. It was far easier for her to fetch them herself than to explain the location to anyone, especially her husband.

“What did you do with the relic cloak?” asked Jotham, seeing the patches and soot.

The seeress smiled and changed it to a grey-green that matched her eyes. As Jolia cooed at the trick, Sarajah explained, “The owner and I had a chat. He taught me a few things and suggested that I resolve matters with the Pretender and his bride-to-be. Nothing remains of my old life. I felt safe to come back here because the Viper’s dead.”