Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (32 page)

Come to me, Philan
.

Shivers raced down his spine. As if pulled by an unseen force, he stepped inside. The door shut behind him, blocking out the sound of people. In the sudden silence, he could hear the tinkling of a fountain, and he cautiously walked in that direction. The room brightened, or maybe his eyesight focused, he didn’t know which. A hint of desert breeze, smelling of sunbaked sand, whirled around him, hot and dry, only to dissipate in the cool room.

Philan found himself near the edge of a circular pool. A draped figure of a woman stood on a pedestal in the middle. Droplets like fat tears dripped from her outstretched palm onto the surface of the water. He couldn’t see her face beneath the veil, but her eyes compelled him to come closer.

Philan moved until he reached the edge of the pool and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why didn’t you help us?”

Ontarem destroyed my city long ago. Without the energy given me by my people, I was helpless to prevent him from doing it again. And withdrawn Guinheld ever took the position of neutrality. I think my sister Goddess regrets that she didn’t do more than accept the refugees from Seagem into her land. But they, in turn, have given her more power, brought the reality of the wider world into her isolated realm. Their pain has made it difficult for Guinheld to turn her face from Ontarem’s ever-growing evil.

Philan inhaled a ragged breath. “My grandfather, my family? Are they in Zacatlan?” Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Had always known the answer. His warrior family would have fought to their deaths.

Princess Daria and your grandsire fled into the desert. The moment your grandsire crossed into my land, he became one of my own. He died in defense of your princess, who is now my priestess, and I guided him when he passed to the Halls of Yadarius. Daria and her mate made the rites for him.

“Then Daria truly is alive?” For the first time in months, he felt a surge of hope...of gratitude.

Thanks mostly to your grandsire.

Something hard and tight loosened in Philan’s chest. “Thank you.”

I have called you, Philan. I will mark you as mine. Will you answer my call?

The words reverberated through his mind and body, and he longed to answer her with a “yes.” But his hate and desire for revenge burned stronger. He shook his head and turned to head to the door to find Thaddis.

I can take your anger from you, Philan. You must not let it control you. You will need to work with Thaddis.

“No longer Tharon?” he spat out.

That was Guinheld’s doing. The change name worked as it was meant to. Now he is Thaddis again, and so must redeem his name.

“I will carve it into his forehead.”

He felt, rather than saw, the statue release a sigh.

To vanquish my old foe Ontarem has been my entire desire since my city lay in ruins.

“Then you must understand how I feel about Thaddis.”

I’ve had centuries to plan vengeance against Ontarem and free all the people of Kimtair from his dominion. But I knew I didn’t have the strength. Not all of us combined had the strength to bind Him. But Khan came from another world, followed by Jasmine, and now Sadie. Their presence has tipped the balance of Ontarem’s power in our favor just enough that we have the slightest chance to prevail.

Philan relaxed the fists he hadn’t realized he’d clenched. “You give me hope. But I’m still going to kill Thaddis.”

Philan, my called one, Thaddis is needed. He is the key to unlocking Ontarem’s vulnerability. Without that small weakness within the Evil One, we cannot prevail.

As if She’d just sucked all the blood from him, Philan’s knees weakened. Folding to the ground, he propped his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together. He pressed them against his face, shutting out the sight of the Goddess. Two forces warred within him—the burning need for revenge and the calm words of hope the Goddess offered.

Philan wrestled with himself for what seemed a long time. Then one side won the fight. The other didn’t surrender with good grace, and he was forced to temporarily imprison his desire for vengeance, promising to kill Thaddis
after
vanquishing Ontarem.
Best not to communicate that fact to Withea.
Not that he thought it would bother Her. He sensed this Goddess had a ruthless streak when it came to Ontarem, and he wondered if She’d been that way before the Evil God destroyed her city, or if bitterness and pain had changed Her character like it had changed his.

He released a long breath, dropped his hands, and stood. He swept the statue a bow. “Goddess, behold Your servant.”

The statue glowed with an inner light.

Remove all your weapons, your boots, your clothing. Step into the water.

Mesmerized, all his protests died. After stripping, Philan waded in the warm knee-high water until he reached her pedestal.

Withea’s hand moved to touch his face. The eye patch dissolved, and Her finger probed where his eye should be. Heat shot through the socket, almost enough to hurt.
Lie down in the water,
She commanded, releasing him.

Philan knelt in the balmy water, then leaned forward, dropping facedown and floating. His weight slowly settled to the bottom of the pool, but he seemed to have grown gills like a fish, for he never ran out of air. The temperature in his eye socket intensified, and the heat spread to scald his whole face.

As time stretched, he drifted, mindless, aware only of his body and the searing warmth on his face. Abruptly the sensation ended.

Rise, Tanmargis.

Philan obeyed, aware that his body felt renewed. He flexed his muscles, looking at his right bicep. Then he realized that he’d barely turned his head, but could clearly view his arm. Excitement and hope shot through him. “I can see!” He patted his face, wincing as he poked his newly-formed eye. In disbelief, he covered his good eye and could still see. He fingered the smooth skin on his face. The scar was gone.

A sob rumbled from deep within him and erupted as a gasp. “You’ve healed me!” His chest couldn’t contain all his gratitude. He wanted to whoop with joy, sink to his knees, and cry like a baby. He settled for mumbling, “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Goddess Withea.”

Go to Zacatlan, Tanmargis.

“Why are you calling me
Tanmargis
?”

Because you are now my priest.

Philan felt his eyes,
both eyes
, bulge in shock. But he couldn’t protest…didn’t want to protest. He was too full of gratitude for his healing. But even as he thought about it, he realized that his othersense swirled within him, more strong and powerful than before.

In Zacatlan, you must join with Thaddis in preparing for the upcoming battle. He will need your skills and your experience.

The hatred he’d carried for so many months had ebbed, not vanished.
No, never vanished,
he told himself. But for the first time, Philan thought he could work with King Thaddis.

Withea must have read his mind.
King no longer. Ocean’s Glory is governed by Counselor Ogan.

“I will…” He had to force out the words. “Observe a truce until Ontarem is bound and powerless.”

That will suffice.

Philan thought of the others from Seagem who carried tremendous wounds. “Will You heal the rest?” For the first time he noticed the statue’s glow had dimmed. With his words, the light within the statue flickered.

Healing takes much power, Tanmargis. Between Guinheld and I, perhaps we can spare some energy for the soldiers. But not the rest. However
… She held up one hand.
If we win the battle against Ontarem, if we Goddesses and Gods have any reserves within us or can restore them, then we will heal all in need.

Philan felt a weight settle around his shoulders. He’d do
anything
to help the people he’d come to regard as
his,
even if that meant playing nice with Thaddis. He had a sudden vision of a cat toying with a mouse before putting an end to the creature.
I’m the cat.
Not liking the idea, he dressed in silence.

Go, Tanmargis. Thaddis requires your assistance.

A different portal open, one that looked into a temple filled with people.
Zacatlan?

Reluctantly, Philan eyed the throng.

Hurry!
The word was accompanied by a push to his back.

Philan drew his sword, loped around the pool, and leapt through the window.

~ ~ ~

Trying to outrun her hurt and anger, Sadie sprinted up the hill to the temple. Her breath came in gasps, and her chest burned. With each stride, Ganawen’s sword in the scabbard thumped her leg. But she wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. She raced until she reached the courtyard and had to stop or she’d plunge into the pool.

The dripping statue of Yadarius stood on the pedestal, the rusty chains used to bind Him tossed in a pile in the corner.

The sight gave Sadie a momentary lift of her spirits before she remembered who was responsible for deposing the SeaGod in the first place, and they darkened. Her steps heavy, she saluted the statue before skirting Him to head to the opening to Zacatlan.

Although Sadie had missed the beginning of the reunion, she climbed through the window in time to see the refuges of Seagem rushing into the temple to reunite with the ones who’d just come through. The great room of Guinheld’s temple was packed with individuals. Screams of joy and the shouts of many names echoed up to the domed roof.

Sadie watched Seagem’s citizens search through the crowd for loved ones, their energy frantic and hopeful. Quiet tears poured down many faces. Devore directed the priests and priestesses to help sort people out and comfort those in need.

Some people broke down and sobbed. A mother in a white robe dropped to her knees to fling her arms around a small green-clad boy. An aged grandmother was embraced by her kin. Two women, one wearing green, one white reunited—sisters, judging from their similar features. One man buffeted another on the shoulder, the casual gesture belying the emotion on his face.

Still others stood to the side or persisted in searching the crowd, anguish on their faces at not finding loved ones. To Sadie’s relief, white-robed priests and priestesses moved toward them.

As Sadie watched, a lump in her throat held back her tears. Emotions churned within her; the hurt from Tharon—no
Thaddis’s
deception—her rage at him being the man who’d caused all this pain, her joy in witnessing the reunions, her sadness that so many would not come home.

Cheta nudged her leg. One of the girls must have let her out of Sadie’s room.

She crouched, set her knife on the ground, and hugged the dog, kissing the top of Cheta’s knobby head. “I’m sorry your family isn’t here, baby. But I’m selfish. I need you, too. Especially now.” Her words ended in a sob.

Cheta whined and licked Sadie’s cheek.

She hugged the dog again, picked up the knife, and rose to her feet. While she observed the crowd, Sadie unbuckled her swordbelt and slipped the knife sheath on it. She settled the belt around her waist, knife resting on the opposite hip from the sword, and clasped the buckle.

For every person reunited with someone he or she cared about, there were so many who would never come home. And those enslaved....
Who knows what they are enduring now?

Trying for optimism, she told herself that perhaps there could be this kind of reunion for them too—if they vanquished Ontarem. As Sadie stood there, she became determined to focus on the goal before them, to put a certain traitorous man out of her mind, and to do whatever she could to bring the captives home, so she could witness another scene like this. Although what she’d do when she had to train with him….

Finally people sorted themselves out. Family or friends mingled together, or a priest or priestess comforted those still alone. They also sought out any who looked distressed—for no matter how much people rejoiced at being reunited with a loved one, they grieved for those no longer with them.

A sudden tingle down her spine made her whirl, dropping her hand to her sword hilt.

Thaddis stood in the window to Seagem, watching the scene, sorrow lining his face. He scanned the crowd before settling his gaze on her, golden eyes dull with pain.

Sadie hardened her heart and turned away. Yet she couldn’t shut off her awareness of the man. She sensed him climb through the window, although, thank goodness, he didn’t move her way.

Cheta whined and trotted over to Thaddis.

Sadie pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the ache of pain and the tears that burned unshed in her eyes. They could easily well up and fall, but crying wouldn’t change the fact that she’d fallen for a mass-murderer.

She heard the rapid approach of footsteps from behind and to her left. Sadie turned to see a man rushing toward her. Without the eye-patch, it took her a few seconds to realize the man was Philan. She gaped at him.

He shot her a feral grin.

“Philan, you’re...you’re....” She couldn’t even form the words.

“Two-eyed?” He winked with his new eye.

She blinked. Without the scar and with his blue eyes staring boldly at her, Philan was a rakishly attractive man, a man who held his sword unsheathed.