Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (12 page)

While she was drawing a bucket of water from the well, a drab village woman approached her. “Fine Winter’s Edge to ye. Thought you might do with a bit of spare bacon grease I had in my kitchen.”

“Thank you, goodwife,” the ambassador replied, accepting the ceramic jar. They chatted for a while. When the woman commented on the tiger’s-eye ring on her finger, she admitted, “I just got engaged this week.” The ring could be used as magical light source, but she left out that detail.

“How’d’ja meet?”

“He was studying to be an astronomer at the university and . . . volunteered for the detail I was leading in the War for Independence.”

“A good man, then,” the villager decided.

“The best,” she confirmed.

Back inside, Sajika tossed a handful of straw and a broken chair leg into the kitchen stove. Rather than wrestle with flint and steel, she strode into the den with a twig.

“Yes, beautiful?” asked Pinetto. He had his nose buried in a book while he healed from dozens of minor injuries. His pale, skinny body sported a wide palette of colored spots, including one on his forehead from not ducking when coming in the front door.

Hearing him, she smiled, and her face transformed from a stern taskmaster into a helpless, flirting girl. “Would you please light this for me?” she asked, holding the twig out to him.

He concentrated for a moment and the twig flared so brightly she screamed and tossed it into the fireplace. Without acrimony, Sajika threw crumpled papers and more stubble from the floor after it. She knew there’d been no malice. He was so tender he couldn’t kill his own food, yet his newfound magic was a threat to armies.

“Sorry. If I don’t bleed the power off often enough, too much builds up.”

She asked questions because it was her stock in trade, and her fiancé loved to explain. “I thought the magic current thingy is only strong by the waterfall.”

“Any border, really. If you ignore these tall mountains, Intaglios is practically in our backyard. It was stronger at the falls because three kingdoms and a Door meet there.” Normally, he would have rambled for twenty bits on such an open question; however, he stopped suddenly, frowning.

“What has you so distracted, dear?” she asked pleasantly.

“I was searching for paper to take notes on this new magic Jotham taught me, and I found something fascinating in Sarajah’s pack.”

When she raised an eyebrow, he added, “Tashi told me I could. It’s filled with thin bronze plates engraved with lore about the Dawn folk and the teachings of Archanos.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?” Sajika asked out of nowhere.

“Eh?” Pinetto puzzled for a moment until he realized it was a test and he’d already taken too long. “She can change shapes and her cloak enchants people. It doesn’t count. Besides, her boyfriend is a jealous half-troll.” He nodded to Tashi, sleeping on the floor at the far side of the room where prying eyes couldn’t see him from the front door or windows. His skin had a southern, olive cast and his jet-black hair was cut so short that it stood on end. They covered him with blankets because the thick hide visible on the backs of his arms and neck frightened peasants. Men who’d seen him jump from great heights and gleefully bowl over bands of soldiers feared him even more. The sleeping man wore the gray uniform of a defunct warrior-priest sect known as the sheriffs; however, the emblems of office had been torn off, and the shirt back had been ripped to shreds in battle.

Cradling his ribs, the wizard led his betrothed to the cloak room to speak more privately.

“I’m only reading her notes because we still have that monster from the crystal mines chasing us. My wards might not hold it at bay forever. Sarajah might be able to give us information we need to defend ourselves. The dimensional mechanics she describes are mind-blowing. I don’t know what she is, but this information is not from a human source, not entirely.”

“Can we trust the witch?”

The wizard shrugged. “Jotham, that priest I told you about, said she was the Ghost Rose, hope for the gods themselves. But the boy says that until Tashi fancied her, they kept her chained up because they thought she was too dangerous.”

“Lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.” She groused like one of the old wives she’d been gossiping with. A spy by training, absorbing local color was an unconscious habit in her profession. “Why did you crumple up that paper? It’s not like you to waste.”

He smiled, fishing a singed quill from his pocket and waving it in the air. “Happens when I write too fast; the page starts to smoke.”

She shook her head. “For gods’ sakes, hire a scribe.”

“I’m sort of broke, love. Why don’t you hire a cook and a maid?”

She blinked at this. “I suppose my station demands it. I’m used to being the one hired. First we need money. I’ll take out a loan from the crown using my letter from the Prefect of Bablios and this broken-down heap as collateral.”

When Brent brought in a bundle of twigs and branches, she stoked the den fire to a toasty blaze. Taking a few lit sticks to the kitchen, she caused the stove to flare as well. Soon it was so warm in the kitchen that she took off her wine-red uniform coat with the stiff collar and hung it on the only good chair.

After the boy filled the bin in the kitchen, she released him to study repair work with his adopted father, Simon. While she brought the water to a boil and swept the floor, a small, old man brought a jar of extra pickles. Following this were visitors bearing foods of the north: salted bacon, potatoes, dried fish, goat cheese, and fermented cabbage. The amounts were not significant, but they helped her meet the neighbors and spread the word about possible employment opportunities.

Sajika had to travel to the market to buy apples, flour, a few familiar southern spices, wine, and an outdoor coop for the chickens. Simon could’ve built one, but he was so depressed that he rarely spoke. He only fixed the door latch that morning because he saw Pinetto doing it the wrong way and couldn’t bear to watch. A stout lad volunteered to bring the coop and barrels of supplies.

When she returned, Simon and Brent were hammering away at the cedar-shake shingles. A local man hauled bundles up the ladder in exchange for advice about weatherproofing a barn.

Pushing the front door open with a sack in each hand, Sajika complained, “I know you’re sore all over, but you could at least open the front door for me.”

“I need help,” the wizard said, hiding in the shadows by Tashi.

Afraid the half-troll was harming her lover, she dropped the sacks and removed the thin, red belt that hid her garrote as she ran.

Seeing her charge in, Tashi soothed, “Nothing life-threatening, barely noticeable, really.”

The curtains were drawn and Pinetto covered his face with his hands. “Close the door.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, holding the garrote before her, eyes darting around the room. In a pinch, the wire could be used to block a weapon while she disabled the wielder with kicks.

The wizard sighed. “I finished reading Sarajah’s journal when I noticed the same sigil at the end of the document as at the beginning.”

“And?”

The wizard removed his hands and closed his eyes. Over each eyelid was a white mark that appeared to be a tattoo—a stylized A that looked like a pentagram. “What is that?” she asked, as if inquiring about a large lump in the middle of a snake.

“Barely noticeable, my ass,” grumbled Pinetto. “I told you she’s smart.”

Tashi replied, “It’s the sign of Archanos, my beloved’s patron. I suppose your wizard’s either been branded for reading forbidden knowledge—Archanos hates the children of Osos—or as the first human to read the divine manuscript, he earned the mark of a prophet—a testimony.”

“We should put the book under lock and key,” Pinetto insisted.

“You said it was safe to read!” she objected.

The ex-sheriff raised a finger. “I said I didn’t mind if he went through her backpack for blank paper. Besides, I read the journal over her shoulder and it didn’t hurt me.”

“Did you read
all
of it?” she asked Tashi.

“Nah. It’s pretty dull; I just wanted to see if my name was in there.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” Tashi grinned. “With a little heart around it.”

“What are you going to do to help my fiancé?”

“He should be fine . . . by the time Sarajah gets home. Until then, you might want to close that door; you’re letting all the warm air out. I’d do it, but nearly every joint I had was bent backwards in the Battle of the Falls.”

The ambassador glared daggers at Tashi as she closed the front door and collected her groceries. Lacking a better plan, she prepared soup for dinner. The longer Pinetto’s recovery took, the more dishes she cooked. By afternoon, the wonderful smells of Bablios filled the den.

While they waited, Tashi asked the wizard, “What do you think of Sarajah’s writing?”

“Right in with the introductory stuff, she has secrets that only the most trusted sages should know—world changing but poorly organized. I’d restructure it into at least three books: common teachings, what a priest needs to know, and the sacred mysteries.”

Tashi nodded. “That’s sort of how the books of the Traveler were laid out.”

“You know about those?”

“Yes, and so does Brent. But right now, your woman’s glaring at you.”

“Could you help me in the kitchen for a moment?” Sajika asked. “I need to baste the bird, and then you can help set the table.”

“Sure,” Pinetto agreed. When she opened the door to the kitchen, he inhaled and exclaimed, “Apple tart!”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You have fond memories of that dessert?”

When she was alone with him, he expected to be verbally assaulted. Instead, she kissed him so hard and long that he had to lean against the table for support. They only stopped when he said, “I smell something burning.”

“Let it,” she said breathily.

“No, I think . . .” The two of them had to pour water on the smoking handprints on the table.

She giggled. “Got you hot.”

He wasn’t smiling. “I need to discharge before I touch you. I can’t risk hurting you.”

She stroked his face. “The only way you could hurt me is by leaving. For an instant when I got home, I was afraid you were dying.”

****

Sarajah returned with a wagonload of beds and blankets. As she stepped into the den, she whispered to Tashi, “I’ll never get used to those giant spirit eagles sitting on the roof. I don’t know whether they’re guarding the wizard blessed by Kiateros or they’re waiting for something. I traded my smaller gemstones for bedroom furnishings.”

She raised an eyebrow at the amorous sounds coming from the kitchen. “I guess someone couldn’t wait for the bed.”

Tashi explained, “They’re basting the bird in the oven, and he’s helping set the table.”

“First time I’ve ever heard it called that.” The seeress chuckled, her pale-green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Would you like an appetizer?”

“I want the whole meal; I’m starving.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was using a euphemism.”

“So was I,” he said, licking his lips.

She had just snuggled onto his lap when Brent kicked open the front door. “Smells great. Hope there’s enough for everyone. We’re all hungry.”

Simon stepped inside saying, “We finished roofing the main house. We’ll do the wings tomorrow. The attics will take a little shoring up first . . .” He saw the embrace and told the boy, “Turn around, son. We need to unload the wagon before we can eat.”

Sarajah self-consciously straightened her clothes and pulled a new hair comb from her backpack on the floor. Tashi’s casual caress had shattered the tortoiseshell comb she had been wearing.

“That reminds me,” Tashi said. “Pinetto read your musings on theology and the spirit folk.”

Her eyes grew large. “That wasn’t ready for other people yet. I had things scratched out and it rambled all over.”

“Yes, he mentioned something like that—a threat to mankind in the wrong hands, blah, blah, blah. Despite the minor flaws, he was fascinated.”

“Um . . . how much did you let him read?”

“I slept through most of it, but he read every word.”

“How do you know?”

“His eyelids have been branded with your god’s sigil.”

She stood to run into the kitchen. “I’ve got to see this.”

Tashi grabbed her hand. “If you go in there now, you’ll see more than his eyelids.”

“Right, I’ll go supervise the unloading.”

“Is that another euphemism?”

Later, the seeress was jealous of Sajika’s mussed hair when she came out with the soup pot. Pinetto carried a grin and a stack of bowls.

A week later, the group at the ancient palace by the lake had established patterns. Ambassador Sajika had hired two older women who’d cut throats for the resistance: Brunhilda and Hildegard. They kept the house in order without tempting Pinetto with their wiles. Indeed, the two servants were so surly that once the roof was repaired, Tashi and Sarajah moved into the east wing, while Simon and Brent moved into the west. There were separate doors, so no one else had to face the battle maidens if they didn’t wish to.

However, they still ate together. When Sarajah complained one meal about not being able to sell the expensive necklace, Simon said, “I can buy it from you.” Everyone stopped eating.

“How much?” the seeress asked casually.

“Let me see it,” the builder requested. A distinguished man in his forties, he’d handled large sums of money before and had a keen, analytical mind.

She pulled the unique jewelry from her belt pouch. The ambassador coughed to cover her shock. The seeress explained, “The Empress Humi received it as a wedding gift, and she gave it to me in payment for a reading.”

The builder examined the necklace. “Exquisite.” Removing a stone from his own belt, he said, “That gem is worth a year of labor.”

“The necklace is worth a lot more than that,” the seeress complained.

He nodded. “But those are the only form of currency I carried with me from my hold.”

“Those?”