Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (18 page)

“As long as the South has life, I have no peace. As long as the gates of Zanzibos stand, I hate. As long as the sands of my desert don’t eat their bones, I may not rest!” Zariah shrieked, her eyes bulging and mouth nearly frothing. The two sleepers remained unconscious. Brent began to worry.

Zariah shrieked in rage at the top of her lungs. “I’ve had enough of your rules, Mother-goddess. Enough! The men who used me like a pack animal and raped me every day of my life after destroying the country I loved won’t be allowed to win this conflict. Never! Not while I draw breath. I
will
change the outcome.” So saying, Zariah lifted Bjorn’s sword.

Owl continued, more forcefully. “You, who live no more, depart from the shores of the living. Leave the habitations of men and return no more.”

“I don’t listen to
men
,” croaked Zariah, in obvious pain. She plunged the blade through Bjorn’s chest. “You were going to do the same to me.”

“No,” said the dragon, returning to stone. She couldn’t bear to watch it again.

“What’s her name?” muttered Owl out of the corner of his mouth.

Brent couldn’t help comparing the gray and black bristles on the tramp’s face to the back of a warthog or a hedgehog. “Zariah the bd, student of Abu Nirah, the last true worshipper of Serog,” said the boy.

On her knees, the frothing, incantation-wracked Zariah pulled the blade loose and turned toward Tashi.

Owl bellowed, “Zariah, thrice named, be gone from this place and wander the waste places forever. In the name of the Traveler, be gone!”

The one known as Zariah fell across Tashi’s body and began convulsing. Brent raced up to disarm her, and held her down to prevent damage to the woman’s body or Tashi. After several minutes of impotent rage, the struggle continued, neither side winning. What neither boy nor man realized was that, apart from her long-time host body, Zariah would effectively perish. What was obvious to all was that this spirit was fighting with everything she had and would not go gently.

Brent asked himself what his master or a good lawyer would do. Eventually the boy said, “Serog is in a lot of pain. I don’t like to see anyone suffer. If you leave now, I promise that I’ll free her by sundown.”

The high priestess turned a stretched grimace toward him, decided that there was no lie hiding in that face, and surrendered, hoping that her death for a good cause might harm her enemies more than a continued life of bondage and misery. “Done.” Her body went slack and the wind blew from the Door toward the Inner Sea. This time the odor was sulfurous and foul.

Tashi woke
to strange circumstances, healed of most of his bruises and armor-induced lesions. “Did I miss something?”

The stone dragon sat immobile.

“I only turned my back for a moment,” began Brent. “She was possessed . . . evil . . . hated men.”

“Of course,” said Tashi, rolling the unconscious woman off him gently and regaining his holy myrtle staff. As an afterthought, he added, “Not your fault.”

Brent checked Bjorn for signs of life before removing the bells and handing them to Tashi. “If you’re ever surrounded by Somnambulists, shake those and they won’t be able to see you. It’s magic.” The former executioner looked unconvinced but placed them around his elbows nonetheless. Meanwhile, Brent explained the exorcism and introduced Owl.

“My apprentice, Tatters, is outside. We can take care of this corpse and the one out by the hay bales as part of the package,” said the gravedigger.

“Sven,” the boy guessed sadly.

“That would be fitting. Label the grave ‘the Stone Monkeys.’ But make it fast. The truce is broken,” said Tashi. Noting the holy symbol, he asked, “Are you a walker of the Path?”

Owl shook his head sadly. “I know that it works, but the following is hard. I only know the funeral rites, and the cleaning.”

Tashi nodded. “A good man at your business, too, I see. The gods are going to have a lot of cleaning up to do before this is through. Be off to your duties, and we’ll talk after the ceremony.”

When the gravedigger was gone, Tashi disappeared into the treasure vault. Brent moved the last of the traveling gear he’d packed up for the survivors into the pile by the door. They had one backpack extra now with Bjorn gone. Tashi huled Owl’s gold payment beside the pile. When they finished, Brent admitted, “To get Zariah’s spirit to leave, I had to promise to free Serog.”

“As long as she stays, I think the Door can be reopened. Without her, this whole place would collapse. It’s already falling apart in places,” argued Brent. “Closing this Door could be her penance.”

“A good point. Where do we send her where she can do no harm?” asked Tashi.

Brent whispered. “I think she should be with her last daughter, out to sea. They’ve both been through a lot. What could she hurt way out there?”

Tashi moved the unconscious woman to the top of the heap of treasure bags while he pondered this.

Having no better idea, Tashi eventually agreed. Standing before the dragon, Brent addressed her first. “Serog, your daughter broke the truce. As penance for that, you must agree to shut this Door when you leave as permanently as you are able and never open it again.”

“Agreed, when I leave,” Serog hissed so softly only the two could ever hear. “You, lawyer, have played me fair.”

Tashi continued. “As penalty for shedding of innocent blood in this holy place, we of the holy orders revoke your guardianship of this shrine, and command you never to return again. We condemn you to wander the Inner Sea. You shall live free from the pain of this crime as long as you never touch the shores of men again.”

Wind howled through the room. “I curse you, sheriff. I hold you responsible for the loss of all I held dear these last four decades. There will be a reckoning.”

Tashi remained motionless. “Say the word or face trial by your peers.”

The wind sped up to gale force as the Door squeezed steadily shut. Loose papers and blankets whirled around in small cyclones. The bell overhead rang fiercely and repeatedly.

“Say it!” said Tashi, anchoring himself and the boy in place.

The bell swung upward so forcefully that the belfry ripped free of the roof and sailed out over the streets. Wind shrieked in their ears. Lean-tos at the fringes of the ramshackle town collapsed. Tatters and Owl were tossed like cherry tomatoes in a salad as the rules of physics governing the room switched briefly.

Jotham swayed as he crossed an ornamental footbridge that left the capital. Jolia meant to catch him, but momentarily lost her sight in the invisible lightning strike that ripped through the sky. In the orphanage named after her, the half-breed children woke from their naps and complained of headaches.

Sandarac dropped thourglass he had been holding and stared as the sands poured out the rupture.

Ripples crossed the sea through the undergirding as a tremor.

At the Imperial College of Wizards, at the Center, the blind sage of Muro sat patiently in the dean’s waiting room. When the dean’s favorite perpetual-motion machine fell off its rocker, and his crystal decanter set fell off its sesterina tray, the sage stood. “My task is done.”

The minor clerk in the room said, “Sir, I pray you’re not offended. The dean will see you eventually. I know it’s been a few days, but he’s a busy man.”

The blind man smiled. “Boy, what I came to warn him about, he now knows for himself. Fear will war with chaos until we are one with the silence. If you think he’s been busy up till now, just wait.”

****

The face of the carved stone dragon turned to sand and melted off. Hissing began all around them in the now-closed Temple of Sleep. “The bags are over here,” Brent said running.

Tashi jogged alongside the boy. “You’re well prepared for catastrophe.”

When they reached the front door, the ceiling was already rumbling ominously, plaster falling all about them.

“I knew our journey would start again soon,” the boy said, lifting two packs. Tashi dragged the woman and the third pack out one of the giant double doors. By the time he returned for the treasure bag, the walls were already falling inward. He managed to grab the sack of gold before the avalanche of dust and debris forced him choking out into the street.

Owl and his louse-infested assistant Tatters returned about the same time the dust settled. Brent was giving water to the woman, bringing her around, while Tashi scanned the horizon. Both had been shaking the small brass bells to avoid detection from any followers of Sleep remaining. Tashi said, “The Pretender’s men are coming in fast. We’d best move along now. Here’s the gold we promised.”

“Much obliged,” said the dark-eyed Owl, taking the sack. He briefly considered the notion that he could have carried more, but not far.

As the gravedigger gave his final condolences in preparation for leaving, Tashi said, “There’s more where that came from.” That got the attention of both diggers. “Would you honor a
geas
, a holy favor, from a priest of the Traveler?”

Cautious, Owl admitted, “’Tis technically against the law of Kings. But seeing as I’ve used His name so often in my work, I’d be a poor businessman and a sorry gentleman if I refused. What would the favor be?”

Tashi shook his head. “You know the rules. Accept or decline with no other information. If you say no, there will be no ill will; however, I will be forced to take that holy symbol away from you.”

“And more treasure if we agree?” asked the professional skulker.

“If you survive, what is mine is yours. I will withhold no material treasure you have more need of than I. This is also the way,” said the sheriff.

The two gravediggers stepped aside and whispered to each other for a while. Brent caught snatches like “live like Kings” and “retire.” Greed and morality warred with common sense. Then Owl came back. “Sir, no offense, but how do we he rule ye are truly a priest of that nature?”

Tashi watched the horizon instead of his companions. “Brent, go touch his friend for me.”

The boy obeyed, and Tatters let out a squeal. Every insect on the wretched man’s body jumped off at once, scattering on the ground.

“That was gross,” said the woman sitting beside him.

“This is better than falling oxen,” said the boy. Realizing that the woman was conscious, he turned to address her. “My name is Brent.”

The woman hesitated to take the miracle-charged hand. “I know who you are. I could listen most of the time; I just couldn’t control anything.”

“How long has Zariah been in control?” asked the sheriff.

“Since I was nine. I was a slave in the South, and I found this funny rock . . .”

Tashi nodded and held up a hand to avoid the long version. The sheriff turned to the boy and said, “I see no reason to punish her. But we can’t afford deadweight if we’re going to catch up with Jotham. I say we leave her here.”

“How hard did that beast hit you in the head?” the dispossessed woman asked. She felt uncomfortable in her new body. It was taller than when she’d left it and more ample in every respect. She could feel men’s eyes on her when she moved. The added weight and width threw off her sense of balance. Only her voice felt normal. She sounded like herself, only older.

“Why does everybody keep asking me questions like that?” wondered Tashi.

Brent tried to be polite. “Since she’s not really the High Priestess of Sleep anymore and she can’t control all those Somnambulists, leaving . . . um, I don’t know what to call you, miss . . .here alone would probably be a death sentence.”

“The language, and one of them is
me
,” she insisted.

“First, they’re rich now. Second, they have useful talents. Third, they’re younger men accustomed to the rigors of the road,” said the sheriff.

Sarajah ticked off the points on her fingers, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. “First, the light gemstones in my pockets are worth more than that untouchable is carrying in metal. Second, I have all sorts of knowledge you may need. Third, how dare you call me old and lazy, you sanctimonious, sexist . . .”