Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (42 page)

The priest nodded. “So none of the other men see. Very well.” So saying, he stripped down to his loincloth and waded in. Other than his newly matching, blue eyes, Jotham appeared the same as the night he freed Brent. As she followed, the cold squeezed a gasp of shock from her lungs.

He dunked her, intoned the words, and gave her the relic. She was shivering so violently that Jotham carried her back to the fire. Sophia wrapped her in pre-warmed blankets as the priest started to draw symbols. “These are temporary. The ink I’m using is similar to henna and will scrub off after a month or so.”

They made the marks on her head small and hid them under her hair. However, the curved parts of her body took longer than expected. The priest was gentle and Sophia watched with interest.

After the last tattoo, Jotham gave the freed woman basic instructions. “Avoid touching fossils, conduits, ruins, or spirits until we teach you some basic meditation and repulsion exercises.”

After Sophia went to bed, Jotham did something unusual, even by his standards: the priest gave her the rest of the ink, the pen, and an extra journal, left over from his transcription of the Book of Dominion. “You’ll only need to sleep about four hours a night now. The rest of them will need at least six. With the extra time, I suggest you write. Since you have no interdictions against you, capturing all the supernatural lore gleaned from years at Zariah’s ‘side’ would be invaluable.”

“Some of it was pretty evil.”

“Trust me; getting it on paper will help you . . . distance yourself from it. The information may help others. An adroit woman such as yourself might even be able to generalize some principles to organize the spirit lore.”

“Yeah, Archanos hinted that I should make up some precepts for his new religion.”

“I thought it was Archano
n
,” observed the priest.

Geturing to Tashi, she said, “It was, until the one-man wrecking crew over there set him free. Now that he can use his vote on the council, the honorific ‘os’ is added. The ‘on’ suffix is for archfiends. Normal demon names end in ‘og’—like Serog and Bagierog.” Her lips tingled where the panther had touched her as she said his name.

“That would indicate that archangels use the ‘ose’ on their names. Fascinating,” said Jotham. “You prove me right already. You could write the definitive treatise on the structure of heaven.”

“Not unexpected,” said the tenor wryly. “You could draw maps than stretch far beyond the Inner Sea, explore histories lost to mankind . . .”

“Whoa. I’ll try it, but only for my own edification. I’m not doing this for anyone else.” After a pause, Sarajah whispered, “Thank you, Jotham. You’re not bad for a man.”

“I did a reading for you.” When he began to object, she held up a finger. “There’s an excellent chance that you’re going to be the next emperor.”

He gaped, unable to find a response, so she continued. “Since this is likely to be the last time we get to talk in private, I’m going to give you the embarrassing stuff now. I have three pieces of advice. One, grow a pair of balls—not just physical ones. The Imperials won’t follow you unless you can kick their asses into it. History is full of well-meaning, moral milk-sops who ruined their countries. Two, decide on a new name; you’ll need it for your dynasty. And three, find at least one noble wife, possibly even one from each of the first-tier aristocratic families. It’ll cement your power base and unite the empire.”

Jotham swallowed hard. “You’ve given me much to consider.”

She shrugged. “In a couple days, you’ll be dead or I’ll be bowing down to you. Either way, this is the last chance I’ll have to talk this way to you.”

Still stupefied by the information, the priest wandered back to his tent to digest it. “I’ll leave you to the first watch. Goodnight.”

****

The eight mismatched travelers rose and pressed northward. This time, most of their journey was on the highway. During daylight hours, Tashi scouted ahead, and when he spotted other people, he’d whistle for them to hide. Jotham led at night. Whoever took point carried the holy myrtle staff. Owl pulled up the rear and had instructions to argue loudly if he encountered anyone.

Brent had a great time talking philosophy and carpentry with Simon. Using the Book of the Bards and his outstanding memory, the boy turned out to be an outstanding pupil. The two talked so much, Sarajah asked her new friend Sophia, “Feeling left out?”

“None. I just have more time on my hands and more energy.” The seeress explained about her exercise writing a religious text. “I just don’t think I’m the right person to do this. I have too much to atone for.”

Eventually, Sarajah heard the signing as words, complete with inflection and emotion. The magic of the cloak seemed to help her more the closer the women grew. The first message she read fluidly was, “What are your tenets?”

“I think she admired his integrity. As flawed as he is, there’s something pure and incorruptible that wouldn’t bend to the witch’s will.”

“
You
liked him.”

Sophia made a goose-beak, talking motion with her hands. “Blah-blah-blah. Whether it’s right for her or a mistake, a woman knows within minutes of meeting—will she or won’t she. You know how you respond to him. You’re just afraid.”

“I already wear the symbols.” The perpetual sixteen-year-old slid her robe away from her neck, revealing an inch of her shoulder blade. There was a swirling pattern burned into the flesh.

“Oh, the other priests did that to you. I can understand why you wouldn’t want anything to do with their ways. But we’ll fix it. We’ll fix all of them,” the seeress vowed.

Sophia had Sarajah help carry the meals to the men. Had a man asked Sarajah to serve, she would’ve blistered his hair back. But she was glad to help her new friend.

As the seeress carried a bowl over to Tashi, Sophia ‘accidentally’ tripped her. The swordsman caught her before she spilled a drop. Sarajah muttered a weak, “Thank you,” to Tashi. Then she rubbed her eyebrow in an obscene gesture to the architect’s wife.

Her friend pretended not to see.

Jotham started by reviewing what each of the artifacts did, where they were going, and why. “The harder something is to cut through, the brighter the One True Sword flares. We know now that the gloves were made so that a human could hold the sword without being burned.”

“What about the tuning fork?” asked Brent.

Tashi announced, “I think that’s a defense. The gods use some sort of killing sound in the City of the Gods. I think that it emanates through the Door from wherever the Traveler is.”

“So I’m supposed to hold it in my left hand while I hold the sword in my right?” guessed Jotham.

“Who said
you’re
going to hold it?” demanded Tashi.

“Friend, the bearer must walk through nightmare and unite all the arms of the temple. You’ve already abdicated your responsibilities.” The sheriff glanced over at the seeress, admiring her form. “And I doubt you’d survive a second, longer trip through the undergirding.”

“You’ll need to plant the hilt of the fork into the center of your safe zone. That sword will take both hands to swing. You make a good point, though. Wea ll have to give you all the symbols eventually. We should do it gradually, so you can adjust. We don’t want you passing out and falling through the Door.” Tashi took off his tabard and handed it to Jotham.

When he stopped coughing, the architect said, “Sarajah has something she wants to share with the class.” All eyes swiveled to the seeress, who still had her fingers up to her forehead. “How does the deck of cards work?”

“Um . . . nothing that would be combat related,” the seeress said awkwardly. “I’m almost positive that the cards are only used to get us, the Arcana, to the conjunction at precisely the right time and place.”

Jotham shook his head. “They’re almost always usable as a key of some kind. Even the tuning fork could be employed to vibrate the Door to a certain resonance frequency.”

“Could I see the cards?” asked Simon.

Sarajah took a step back. “No. They’re mine.”

“She treats the deck like some old men treat a flask of vodka,” noted Brent. “You’d have to hold her down first to take it and then sew your pocket shut to keep it.”

Tashi stood up to volunteer and the seeress dropped into a defensive crouch. The former sheriff grinned at the challenge—win or lose, it would be fun wrestling with her.

Sophia interceded and shook her head. “N-o F-o-r-c-e,” translated Simon.

Jotham agreed. “A relic or office must pass by free will or it’s meaningless. It was stored at the Bards’ College; perhaps, their book knows something about the key.”

Brent examined the inside of his mantle and concentrated. Words from the book appeared in the lining. He read a quote out loud: “At the Door to forever, nothing has meaning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” complained Tashi. “I was never good at koans.”

Sarajah remained silent.

Jotham scratched his head. “Nothing has meaning. What word was used for nothing?” Brent showed him the text. “It also means blank or empty.”

The seeress began sidling away. Owl blocked her escape, clearing his throat. In his high, kind voice, Jotham said, “It obviously means something to her.”

Staring the architect in the face, she said, “There’s a blank card included in the deck, in case any of the others are damaged—the Void. It can be used as a replacement. I mix it in for all the readings but it’s never been drawn in a reading I’ve done for someone else.”