Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams Page 10

  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.

  Chapter 12 – Problems in Paradise

  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?”

  “I’m offering forty-five of them.”

  Sajika, who had been eating a pickle off Pinetto’s plate, nearly choked.

  The seeress haggled him up to fifty stones.

  “Brent, go fetch my pack and we’ll count them out,” the builder noted.

  The ambassador was in awe. “You carry that much?”

  He shrugged. “My wife and I kept half of our wealth liquid at all times in case we had to flee. I should send word to sell the rest and have my laborers join us. There’s a lot of work for them to do here.
Although, they might not be able to cross the border until the avalanches are cleared.”

  When the gemstones clattered onto the table, the ambassador fanned herself.

  “What’s the big deal?” asked Sarajah.

  “The loan I just signed with the bank is for two hundred gold weeks at 10 percent interest. We haven’t received word from the eastern army in weeks. There’s a rumor that the Prefect is dead or taken prisoner by the Pretender, and no one wants to take a risk on me.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” snapped the seeress. “I’ll renegotiate that for you. Your holding here is worth at least a hundred years. You qualify for the best rates.”

  “You’d do that for me?” asked Sajika.

  The seeress shrugged. “You’ve taken us all into your beautiful home and requested nothing in return.” Pausing, she added, “Now that I have money, I could pay you ten years’ worth for the wing we’re using. When we leave, you can buy it back at the same price.”

  “Okay,” murmured Sajika.

  “You’re supposed to suggest a higher price,” Pinetto whispered.

  “Fifteen?” said the ambassador weakly.

  “If food is included and you finish the repairs,” said the seeress.

  “Certainly,” the ambassador said, giddy at the amount of money she’d have to renovate her palace.

  “I can get my own food,” noted the builder, “but I’ll need to use your extra space and the barn to house my people as they arrive from Reneau. I’ll pay the same. That will leave me with fifteen stones to buy construction supplies and feed my workers.”

  “How . . . many men?” asked the ambassador, struggling to cope with the new information.

  “Fifty. They can send for their families once we build houses. I’ll need to get some decent homestead property from Legato.”

  “I can arrange that,” agreed Sajika. “I happen to know that his government has no money other than what they confiscated from collaborators. However, ask soon; there are refugees from the Final Temple and Mud Springs pouring over the border.”

  Brent perked up. “Any spies or healers?”

  “Probably both,” admitted the ambassador.

  “Since the refugees were at the falls after the battle, maybe some of them have heard about the smith,” Pinetto suggested.

  Sajika locked eyes with the seeress. “We can ask around, love. What did you want to do with all this money?”

  “Get another scribe. Maybe I could start a school of magic,” he proposed.

  “People will pay you for that,” said the seeress. “Think bigger.”

  “I want to run some experiments while we heal. Among other things, I think that lenscraft can be used to bore holes for the mine.”

  Simon noted, “There’s a stone shed on the shore at the edge of the property. That may be a safe place to use if we take precautions.”

  “No explosions,” begged Sajika.

  ****

  Each morning over the course of the week, Sarajah masked off targeted sections of the Book of Archanos and had the two scribes copy alternating pages so that no one person would see all the text. The wizard helped her organize the resulting parchment pages into categories and added notes to the margins. At first she was resentful of his criticisms, but soon she realized how much was missing from the document. The young wizard was excellent at building logical, step-by-step progressions like mathematical proofs. He could also cut the raw material like a jeweler to make the result shine its best. In the end, she decided she could tolerate his help.

  While the scribes worked, Pinetto interviewed the members of the group about their supernatural knowledge. This filled in gaps in the document. He seemed to think that magic, theology, and mathematics tied together into a single fabric.

  In the late afternoon and evenings, he proved this theory by controlling his energy flow better every day. He learned how to focus his energy into a furnace for making glass. Whenever he came for dinner, he wore thick, protective goggles and a pensive smile. The goggles helped hide the white sigils over his eyes. His brow was singed and soot covered. Wary, the workmen left the room when he entered.

  “Why are your fingers pink?” asked Brent.

  “From doping the mixture,” Pinetto said as he downed his share of the stuffed cabbage leaves at the kitchen table. “I’m making special lenses that focus the light of the Compass Star. My problem is I need a hole that will let starlight in without letting in rain and snow. The hole in the shed roof lets out the excess heat fine but doesn’t quite let in enough light after sundown.”

  Simon seemed to wake up at the challenge. “Let me take a look. No one has an appointment for advice for another hour.” Brent tagged along, eager to learn.

  As they walked to the shed, Pinetto attempted small talk. The experienced lord intimidated him a little. “So how much do you pay your maid?”

  “Pay?”

  “Yes. We give ours sixteen silver hours a week plus room and board. I’m worried that’s low because they’re always so cranky.”

  “Ingrid sings as she makes reindeer stew,” Brent volunteered. “They never ask for money. We thought it was the local friendliness like all the food you got the first day.”

  “They?” asked Pinetto as he unlocked the shed door.

  “The local widows take turns cleaning our wing and making meals. The ambassador worked out a schedule,” said the boy.

  Simon tried to change the subject. “The semi-domesticated herds of reindeer the nomads maintain are fascinating. They even use them to draw sleds, I’ve been told.”

  Pinetto opened the creaky door to the shed.

  When the boy saw the cascaded layers of lenses, bubbling pots, and the glowing furnace, he shouted, “Wow!”

  “Don’t touch!” both adults said at once.

  Then Simon saw the black, metal covering on the hole in the ceiling. “You have the opening protected. Why am I here?”

  Once he sealed the door against intrusion, the wizard explained, “Gods can disguise themselves as humans to sneak up on us.”

  Simon smiled at perceived absurdity, but Brent said, “Dad, they can shift shapes; I’ve seen it.”

  The builder stopped smiling as Pinetto added, “Kiateros did it to Tashi, Baran, and me.”

  In the heat of the workroom, he pointed to the apparatus. “That’s when I decided that I needed a method of telling whether a person is human or not. Sarajah can usually tell them from humans when they draw on their otherness, but the determination can take days. Gods are smarter than people and always scheming.”

  Simon blinked. “You can do that?” He looked at the young Imperial wizard with fresh respect.

  “There are some tests that can be done on the flesh with materials like sesterina.”

  “I doubt gods would let you attack them in such a manner.”

  “The why is more instructive than the act itself. Your son confirmed that the Dawn folk can change shapes in the presence of the Doors to Eternity.”

  Brent nodded. “They translate into dream and back again.”

  “The gods inhabit several dimensions above us. Our world is flat by comparison, like that wall. According to the Book of Archanos and my discussions with Kiateros, when the gods manifest a body here, it’s like projecting a shadow puppet.” Holding his fingers in front on the bright furnace, he caused a giant rabbit to appear on the wall. Making it hop and wiggle, he said, “They can look realistic and interact in our flat world, but humans don’t stand much of a chance against them.” He made a wolf puppet with his other hand and it swallowed the bunny. “To fight them, we have to get between them and the light of the true sun.” He pulled a letter opener out and its shadow stabbed the wolf to death.

  “I see . . .,” said Simon, backing toward the door.

  Brent’s face animated. “That makes sense! Since sesterina is multidimensional, it can block the projection in our world.”

  “Exactly,” Pinetto agreed. “So how do we use this knowledge to deter
mine what we need to know? If you can shape-shift, you can heal almost any wound. I’ve seen Dawn creatures pick up a hand and reattach it.”

  “Now you’re scaring me,” admitted the builder.

  “Because the Dawn folk can also feed directly from the invisible sun, they have fantastic healing abilities even away from Doors. My ordeal in the mines enabled me to collect several exotic blood samples on my cloak. I preserved them with a touch of wine to prevent clotting.”

  Pointing to a step stool, he told Simon, “Look through the eyepiece up there.”

  A telescope-like device was focused on a glass bowl in the center of the table. “Shouldn’t this be pointed up?” Simon asked.

  The wizard shook his head. “The seeress described this invention in her tome. The Dawn folk use this to magnify blood samples in the plague-lands to see if someone is a carrier. My version isn’t that strong, but it shows what happens clearly enough. I take a dried blood stain, over a week dead, add a few drops of water . . . What do you see?”

  “Red soup.”

  “That’s how human blood stays, but watch closely. Brent, throw that lever to open the iris on the ceiling.” Around the iris, there was an array of nine pink lenses. The lenses focused the beams on a darker lens over the bowl.

  Simon fell backward off the stool. Pinetto helped him regain his balance. The builder was shaken. “I could see it swelling and clotting!”

  The boy jumped up on the stool but couldn’t reach the eyepiece. “Aww.”

  The builder slapped the lever shut, cutting off the rays of the invisible sun. “Stay away from that abomination!” he told his son. “How dare you risk us all like this? That creature might be able to sense the light striking its blood and be drawn here.”

  “No worries. That’s not the sample from the Crystal Grotto Mine,” Pinetto whispered. “It’s about a tenth as active as the pure Dawn creature. This was from something different, someone with the taint or in the process of becoming. I have to tell someone in case I die so there’ll be someone to protect Sajika.”

  “Why? What’s this sample from?”

  “Tashi. Indoors, he’s healing from his injuries at twice human rates.”