Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Page 9

  Ekvar pulled wood slivers out of his hands and knees. As he finished wrapping his injured palms, someone rang a gong. Bjorn spotted a brace of unused spears nearby and anchored the sash rope to the window jam using Jotham’s iron-hard staff across the narrow frame. Brent helped to make sure the knot would hold. By the time the summoning gong rang again, Bjorn was halfway down the wall, dangling at the end of his rope. Swinging in a gentle arc, he caught hold of a large piece of masonry in the parsonage wall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get the rest of the way down because he couldn’t keep his grip on the ledge and untie the rope at the same time. Seeing his predicament, Brent reluctantly turned the staff and slipped the knot off the bottom. Freed from his lifeline, Bjorn resumed his climb down.

  Jotham looked up at the Great Eye above him to find out how the sooth-saying trick had been accomplished. What he saw there turned his blood cold. Where normal pilgrims here saw thin layers of ancient stone, Jotham’s finely tuned senses perceived something quite different—scales. The scales belonged to an enormous snake body curled into the shape of a circle. Jotham heard the Stone Monkeys moving around the stage area, eager to help him. Too late, he tried to wave them off. The Eye turned to gaze straight down at him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Zariah as she strode through the main temple door in torn clothing covered with mud.

  “The Viper has a warning for us,” began the chief handmaiden.

  “Forget the Viper, who’s awakened the guardian?” she demanded.

  Upon hearing her voice, Jotham knew that Zariah had the relic cards and had used them often in her rise to power. He started to warn the others when the world turned inside out.

  Tashi’s last wish reached him through the open Door.

  Thunder rolled.

  Jotham lost his balance. Fourteen years crowded around him like mourners at a funeral. But this time he was ready for them. They were gentle friends who lowered him lovingly into the light.

  ****

  Suddenly, Jotham was falling through heavy smoke. As before, he rolled with the forces, taking little damage other than to his dignity. When he stumbled to the bottom of a great staircase, there was a shadowy form in black robes awaiting him. The Tenor wasted no time in pouring some water from his canteen into a spare sackcloth and wrapping it about his face and head. Upon examination, the figure had the form of the boatman from Semenea. Jotham approached the figure and said boldly, “Why are you wearing that sad body like a hand puppet?”

  “We wished to present you with a form you called friend,” Archanon said, a little awed at the ease with which the priest was adapting.

  “I call all men friend and embrace all who have suffered in prison. Take whatever form uses the least energy,” said Jotham.

  “You see.”

  “Hmph. For all the good it does. Fortunately, I also have patience,” said Jotham.

  The archfiend became a haggard-looking student of philosophy in his school robes. “You’re wise.”

  “So far I have only proved that I can read and remember. Judge me wise when I achieve my aims, which are I expect the same as thine,” said the priest, coughing. The archfiend bowed low. “Why do you honor me?”

  “The swordsman did not exaggerate. You passed the portals without discomfort and descended with more grace than I. I feared your entire quest was as damned as that sheriff.”

  “Not damned, only damaged. As are we all, sir, each in his own way. Rise.”

  “You free me to be myself. It is good after so long.”

  Jotham held up a finger. “Not yourself, I expect better than that. Would you do me the courtesy of explaining why you brought me here?”

  “Not I.”

  “Tashi?”

  “You illuminate your own path, wise one.”

  Jotham sighed. “The Holy Mountain?”

  The fiend nodded. Jotham squinted through the ashen smoke. “Pity, I would have given much to enjoy the view and walk your ancient avenues. Even the shadow of your splendor inspires. There are many questions that I long to ask.”

  Again the archfiend shook his head in the negative. “Not for three generations can we help mortals again under the ancient guidelines of petition.”

  Jotham pondered this for a moment and pretended indifference. “Well, I shall complete my pilgrimage and bother you no further.” So saying, he knelt in a patch of earth and pulled the muddy cloth from his pouch. After unwrapping the delicate bloom he’d carried from the city of sleep, he planted the multi-hued white flower near the holy Stairs.

  p height="0" width="29">“A ghost rose,” noted Archanon. “Very rare. Do you know what it means?” As one of Imperial blood, Jotham had heard the tale. The ghost rose was rumored to be the first living thing that appeared on the islands of the Inner Sea after their formation.

  “Hope,” Jotham announced. “My offering to the gods.”

  “I accept your offering. It pleases me greatly. You came in friendship, giving gifts. In return, by the ancient rule of hospitality, I grant you the blessing of safe passage from my home.” There was muttering behind the curtain. Archanon smiled and spoke to the listeners as well as the priest. “I haven’t been forbidden to physically aid you, only commanded to rebuff your questions. To allow you to perish here would be a stain on us all.”

  So saying, the fiend took off his cloak and grew into the shape of a golden giant. He wrapped Jotham in the cloak and carried him under his arm like an infant in swaddling. Ignoring the heat of the coals and kiss of the fire, Archanon ran to the edge of the ancient stairway that descended the mountainside. Gaining speed, he launched himself into midair when he reached the place where the stairway had been destroyed.

  “Since Sandarac removed my path, he’ll provide the replacement.”

  The mighty leap carried the giant to the roof of the new palace itself. Tiles shattered as the giant and his cradled bundle tumbled through the ceiling of one of the many waiting chambers adjacent to the throne room. Dust filled the room, obscuring all sight. The giant who had shielded him from most of the impact whispered in Jotham’s ear. “No one else may see me, and I must be gone. But may my blessing and your wisdom see you safely to your goals.”

  As sunlight began filtering into the waiting chamber from both window and ceiling, Jotham stood gingerly and took inventory of his injuries. He had many minor bruises and scrapes, but nothing that would prevent him from running if necessary. The first important thing he noted in the room was that Archanon had left the black cape. This could not have been an accident. Jotham scooped up the cloak at his feet and immediately draped it over his own shoulders. He felt no different after the simple action but knew that it would fall somehow under the category of physical aid. The second important thing he noticed on the white-marble tile was a display case that had been knocked over, spilling a large tome onto the floor.

  Upon closer examination, the item on display turned out to be only the first half of a book. The book had been propped open to a highly illuminated page bearing a prophecy in a shattered frame. Jotham read the page, and shook his head in disgust. “The Book of Dominion. Sitting out on display like this, it’s a danger to the world.” The priest gathered the severed book gently, placed it in his satchel, and strode toward the nearest exit.

  Chapter 11 – The Emperor’s Court

  A patrol of seven armed Keepers, known as a hand, had come to investigate the noise of the palace roof caving in. They blocked Jotham’s path to the exit. “Halt! What’s your name and purpose on this holy ground?”

  The priest in Archanon’s cloak bowed in respect. “I’m a pilgrim from afar, paying my respects. Having visited, I seek only to leave.” He was grateful for the leather pouch around the tome. Artifacts like the Book of Dominion had a lot of history around the, and he didn’t want to be stuck in a trance when the soldiers arrived. Material like leather or wool, having been alive so recently, provided the best buffer for his talent.

  “You may not pass,” said the nearest
Keeper.

  “You can’t detain me.” They could sense the rightness in his words without being able to explain why.

  The older guards seemed confused. The young one in front explained, “All threats to the emperor must be apprehended.”

  Jotham smiled. “I bear no weapons, not even a staff. My only shield is the book of Law I carry at my side. If that threatens your emperor, he’s not fit, and you wouldn’t be his guards.”

  The senior Keeper, after glancing at the broken ceiling, happened to discover a peculiar spot on the marble floor. His mouth dropped open in wonder. When Jotham followed the man’s stare, he understood. The force of the fall had imbedded the giant’s hand print in the stone. “Did you make that?” asked the Keeper.

  “No,” Jotham said, hoping to avoid a full explanation.

  “But you know who did.”

  “We both know what that mark means,” Jotham admitted, without informing his entire audience.

  “The hand of the gods,” blurted someone. The statement hung in the air, rather like, “I thought you locked the tiger cage.”

  “You’ve spoken to them and returned,” said the senior Keeper with conviction.

  When the priest nodded, several of the Keepers began to kneel. “Have you come to lift the Great Silence?” asked one.

  Jotham shook his head. “There is an Answer I must find first.”

  The young man lowered his blade and said softly, “Be that as it may, we can’t allow you to leave the palace through this door, or we and all our families will die.”

  “Then stay here and I'll leave a different way,” the priest offered. “You’ll fulfill your duty and be spared. But be aware that you won’t always be able to serve two masters.” As he left through the far door, all of the Keepers held their heads low.

  The next room held a score of minor emissaries waiting for their turns to lobby the council for various trade laws, tariffs, monopolies, and favors. When Jotham asked the last man in line how to leave the palace, the man explained, “Back the way you came unless you get to the audience chamber. There are two doors, one on each side of the throne, depending on whether the response is favorable. If you’re eager to avoid a debtor, I hear there’s even a special exit from the final waiting area for those who give up hope when they hear the emperor is in a bad temper. He modeled it after the Great Palace . . .”

  “In Center, the largest of the Inner Islands,” Jotham deduced.

  “You’ve been?”

  The priest th="0is head. “I’ve only visited by touching ancient drawings. What business brings you here?”

  “Rumor has it that the emperor is announcing an engagement soon. Our silk shop wishes to provide the bride with free wedding clothing and a fine trousseau in exchange for a royal decree making us her sole fabric provider for the next seven years,” the business mogul confided.

  “You’ve been kind, so I’ll return the favor,” Jotham said. “The emperor will be in a foul mood for some days hence and not likely to grant any such deals. You’d be better served meeting the young lady first and approaching her with the idea.”

  The businessman doffed his plush cap in thanks as Jotham departed following the right path. The next chamber was filled with a few bored guards and a dozen impoverished, hopeless-looking souls. Jotham spoke to an unarmed clerk who explained the room’s purpose. “This is the Chamber of Mercy. They all had severe judgments against them. Courts in the outer provinces tend to favor the rich, and these men are not. The law, however, has an ancient provision that allows an appeal directly to the emperor. If he agrees to hear it, and you can afford the wait, his word can overturn the ruling. The five successful appeals from last year are posted on the walls.”

  The priest squinted to examine the signature at the bottom, along with the phrase justice for all. “Why is the writing so small?”

  “His Highness doesn’t like to waste parchment. It’s a holdover from his prison days,” explained the clerk meekly.

  Jotham opened the tome in his possession a crack to compare the style of the writing with that on the wall. They were nothing alike. The inks used in this Book of Dominion were costly and varied. The ink on the wall was cheap and thin. He knew that this book hadn’t been hand-copied by Sandarac. Someone else had copied it from the golden tablets at the College of Wizards, or stolen the work from the library of a former emperor. In short, Sandarac hadn’t fulfilled even the most basic prerequisite for a legitimate reign.

  The priest considered the sheer numbers of petitioners and did some math. Only five out of a few hundred would prevail. “What if he decides against them?” he asked.

  “Death,” the clerk said with a shrug. “But most have nothing left to lose by now. What’s your story?”

  “I’m a priest looking for the prayer room.”

  The man thumbed the exit behind him bearing the Sun symbol, and Jotham passed by unchallenged. Following the sun symbol through a few more intersections, he had no trouble locating the priests’ chamber.

  The benches in the Chamber of Prayer seemed abandoned today. All of the loyal priests were out burning the Holy Mountain or questioning suspects. The sole occupant in the room was an extremely thin and bony man reading a treatise containing several detailed, anatomical charts of a cow. There were cloud-filled murals on the walls and domed ceiling, but Jotham paid them little heed as he hastened toward the final entry chamber.

  From halfway through the prayer chamber, Jotham could clearly see his goal. It was a narrow room dominated by a huge set of open, ornate, mahogany, double doors with a guard in full parade regalia standing to each side. On the other wall were plush, upholstered chairs, scores of paintings, and three petitioners. At the back, behind a large bronze bust of Sandarac, stood the small, blue door that led he palace.

  For his part, the bony reader paid no attention until the priest of the Traveler reached the threshold between rooms and glanced back. Their eyes locked for an instant: both men froze. The bony man began screaming. “Stop him! An abomination comes to kill the Son of Heaven.”

  While ranting, the skeletal man threw a large, iron coin through the air at Jotham. Wire from the man’s wrist unraveled behind the coin. Jotham rotated his shoulders slightly and leaned to one side, causing the coin to bounce harmlessly off the wall.

  Footsteps sounded in the waiting area beyond. Petitioners moved away while one of the guards approached to investigate. As the leech pulled his wire back in with a grim smile, Jotham realized that this man was a ki mage from the Final Temple.

  At the ki mage’s next cast, Jotham dove to the side with a fluid grace unexpected for one so gray. Instead of its target, the tiny missile struck the arriving guard full in the chest. The wire glowed silver and the guard collapsed, clutching his heart. The leech was unable or unwilling to let go of the wire once the transfer had begun. Twin shouts of agony ripped through the halls. Every pain experienced by the victim was shared by the mage the consuming his life-force.

  The petitioners ran out the blue door in panic, but the priest couldn’t take his eyes off the suffering guard. Jotham knew he should use the moment of confusion to flee as well; however, he could not abandon the innocent stranger to his doom. Using the shield dropped by the tortured guard, the priest flipped the iron coin and the attached wire back to its source, abruptly shorting out the circuit of life flow. The leech collapsed, stunned by the interruption.

  As the Tenor helped the injured guard to his feet, Jotham muttered, “Be careful when you arrest him. Even bound, his kind can be lethal. The life transfer generally happens through the palms, but I’ve seen it pass through the mouth as well.”

  The guard’s partner looked down at the leech and said, “I’ll take care of it from here.” Other guards began to pour from the small, blue door. Jotham had no chance to exit undetected. Options spun through his mind. Killing so many men was not an option. He could bluff his way through, but the guards would almost certainly touch him repeatedly to search for weapons. Any touch c
ould cause mana to flow out of or unwanted life experiences to pass into the priest. If any could read, they might also confiscate the Book of Dominion. Jotham could afford neither. He released himself to the flow.

  The priest bowed politely and abruptly turned heel back the way he had come. Perhaps he could find a way to climb out through a hole onto the tile rooftops and beyond. Unfortunately, he met more guards coming the other way that forced him to make an unfamiliar turn. Before he knew it, he was at the entrance to the women’s wing. Two new guards framed this portal. Both were women wearing the odd combination of ring mail and long dress gloves.

  “What’s the uproar back there?” asked the left guard, who had a poorly healed broken nose.

  “A new priest in the Chamber of Prayer touched off some kind of religious dispute,” Jotham explained.

  “I’ve got no use for that sort.”

  “I know how you feel,” said the new priest in question. “I was wondring if I might pass through here.”

  The right guard brightened when she heard Jotham’s high voice. “Eunuch?”

  He nodded.

  “One of the Seven families?”

  “The lowest rank,” he admitted.

  “Figures. Civil service?”

  “Most of my life. Recently, I’ve been a personal instructor of sorts. No offense, but I’ve noticed that you’re both women.”

  The female guard on the right patted him down with her kid gloves and groped the area where his testicles had once been. Jotham blinked but said nothing. “That’s because members of the court would have a man killed for doing this. What’s in the leather case?”