CHAPTER
5
BOOK TWO
Treia gazed about the Shrine. A large hole in the roof, like an eye, stared down at the people crowded inside. The Priest-General conducted the service, which was extremely long. He stood on a spiral wooden staircase that placed him above the heads of the crowd so that everyone could see and hear him. His voice was loud and carrying. His exhortations roared through the building, his voice reverberating off the stone wall and rumbling down like thunder from the ceiling. The worshippers around her paid close attention and would often raise their voices in glad shouts.
Treia asked someone if they knew where she might find Warrior-Priest Raegar and was told he was near the altar, which was at the front of the hall. The warrior-priests served as honor guards to the Priest-General. Treia was in the back, near the door, wedged in among a flock of novices.
Her head began to ache from the noise and the heat of all these bodies packed together. She stopped listening to the sermon and thought about her sister.
Aylaen, always Aylaen! Beautiful, free-spirited, temper-blazing Aylaen. Not Treia the weak-eyed, Treia the dried-up virgin, Treia the homely.
Before Raegar had come into Treia’s life, no man had ever loved her. No man had so much as looked at her. The thought of losing Raegar filled her with dread. She could not bear life without him. She had to think of some way to make him keep loving her. Some way to make him give up his desire for Aylaen.
Treia looked up at the eye in the ceiling staring down on those below. Aelon had permitted her to enter his sacred shrine. He needed her. Well, now she needed him.
She fixed her eye upon his eye and waited. As if in answer, the words of the Priest-General rang clear, as if he were speaking directly to her.
“None of the other gods, certainly not the gods of Raj or the worn-out gods of the Vindrasi, have the power of bringing the dead back to life,” said the Priest-General. “Only Aelon!”
“Praise to Aelon!” cried the worshippers.
Raise the dead, Treia repeated to herself. She smiled. If that was truly possible, her problem with Aylaen was solved.
After what seemed an eon, the service ended. The faithful filed out, their faces glowing, basking in the light that shone on them from above. Treia kept near the entrance. Time passed and Raegar did not come. Eventually she was the only person in the building, which seemed immense now that it was empty.
At last, she saw Raegar come striding across the floor toward her, tall and imposing and handsome in his priestly robes. His bald head gleamed in the light; his eyes glistened with excitement.
“My love!” he said, and he greeted Treia with a kiss on the cheek and took her by the arm.
“What happened last night?” Treia asked. “With Skylan and the others. The tattoos of Aelon,” she added, seeing Raegar looking blank.
“Oh, that.” He snorted and made a dismissive gesture. “Skylan tried to fight the god’s will, of course. He paid dearly for his rebellion. Over time, he will learn. Or the god will kill him,” he added with satisfaction.
“What of Aylaen?” Treia asked.
“She tried to defend that daemon spawn, Wulfe, but gave up in the end when she witnessed Aelon’s power. As for the boy, my priests took him into custody. I have not received their reports this morning, but presumably the boy is being held in a prison cell especially designed to resist the foul magicks of the fae. I will deal with him later today, after our meeting with the Priest-General.”
Treia forgot about Wulfe and Aylaen. “We are meeting with the Priest-General?” she asked, as shocked as if he had said they had been invited to meet with Aelon himself.
“The Priest-General does us both a great honor,” said Raegar.
Treia looked up at the eye as she walked beneath the hole in the domed ceiling. The light shone steadily and she was reassured.
They walked past the altar, which was probably beautiful. She had no idea. She was too nervous to pay heed to it. Behind the altar, double doors made of bronze on which was engraved the winged serpents led to the offices of the Priest-General. Two Temple guards stood in front of this door. Other guards ranged along either side. At Raegar’s approach, the two guards crossed their spears to block his entrance.
“The Priest-General is expecting me,” said Raegar.
One of the guards told them curtly to remain where they were and entered. Another guard immediately took his place. Treia had her hand upon Raegar’s arm and she could feel him trembling with excited anticipation. She trembled, too, but not with anticipation.
The guard returned and told Raegar they could enter. He and his fellow stepped aside. Treia expected some magnificent chamber to lay beyond it. Instead, they entered a long and shadowy passageway lined with rooms, at the end of which was another set of double doors, these made of steel.
Treia looked curiously at the rooms as they passed. Inside one, priests sat upon tall stools writing on wax tablets or scrolls of papyrus. In another, several priests sat cross-legged on the floor. In front of each was a large silver bowl, plain and elegant, filled with water. Each priest concentrated fixedly on his bowl. Occasionally a gout of flame would rise up from the water, and when this happened, the priest leaned closer; he seemed to be listening.
“Those are the Watchers,” said Raegar. “Any priest of Aelon anywhere in the world may send a message through fire and water to the Watchers, who will send it on to its destination.”
As he spoke, one of the Watchers rose to his feet and glided silently over to a priest who sat in a chair in the center of the room. He spoke something in the priest’s ear. He listened, ruminated, then nodded. The Watcher returned to the bowl and began to speak. The gout of flame wavered and danced as his breath touched it.
“Have you done this?” Treia asked in a whisper.
“Of course,” said Raegar. “How do you think the Legate knew where to find the Venjekar?”
Treia was impressed, even awed. She began to think more highly of this god, Aelon, who could perform such wonders.
They continued on and eventually reached the set of steel doors at the end of the passage. These were not as imposing as the bronze doors, being plain and unadorned. A warrior-priest stood in front, not Temple guards. The warrior-priest raised his hand in formal greeting.
“Aelon is pleased. You may enter,” he said.
“Aelon himself guards this door,” said Raegar. “Inside is the treasure vault. The priests must pray to the god for access.”
The vault was vast and resplendent with light that shone from a ball of fire hanging suspended from the ceiling, as if Aelon had captured the sun and tethered it to the roof. The light gleamed off gold and shone on silver and sparkled in the myriad jewels with a brilliance that hurt the eye. Treia was dazzled. Beautiful, valuable objects were jumbled together, piled on tables or stacked on the floor or spilling out of wooden chests. Statues (some life-size), chalices, bowls, necklaces, rings, belts, arm bands, coins, and more—all made of precious metals, many encrusted with gems—filled the room.
“Here you see proof of Aelon’s greatness,” said Raegar with a proud gesture.
Raegar was watching her eagerly, waiting for her reaction. Treia would not disappoint him. She knew what to say. She had known what to say all those years kneeling on the wood plank floor, bruising her kneecaps, chanting prayers to a block of wood carved into the shape of a dragon goddess.
“Blessed is Aelon and those who worship him.”
“Well said, Sister.”
A man entered the room through the steel doors. At his command, the doors closed behind him.
“Priest-General Xydis,” Raegar said, “this is the woman of whom I have spoken. Treia Adalbrand, Bone Priestess of the Vindrasi.”
“Your servant, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia, having been told in advance the proper form of address. She bowed low.
Zyprexa Xydis was short and well-built, with muscular arms and a thick neck and body, appearing as strong and enduring as boulder, as if the waves of life might crash into him and never wear him down.
His complexion was swarthy, his shaved head covered with tattoos and with jewels embedded in the skin. His face was clean-shaven. The blue shadow of his beard outlined his jutting, squared-off jaw. His eyes were dark and keen.
Xydis stood straight as a spear shaft and wore an air of command; he had been a soldier before he became a warrior-priest. He wore a purple robe, the border trimmed in gold. He radiated power like the sun radiates heat, and Treia could feel Raegar tense and quiver in the man’s presence.
Xydis studied her for long moments without speaking, shrewdly taking her measure. She met his gaze, refusing to quail before him, enduring his scrutiny with cool aplomb. He liked this, apparently, for he gave her an approving smile.
“Raegar said you were a remarkable woman,” said Xydis in his deep, booming voice. “He was right. Come with me.”
He walked off, moving rapidly. Treia was startled and a little alarmed by his abruptness. Xydis was a man of few words. He found mindless “palaverings,” as he termed them, annoying and had been known to rudely cut short the vague ramblings of the Empress. He was blunt and pugnacious, preferring action to talk.
The Priest-General led the way through the fabulous clutter to a wooden table near the back of the vault. He stood in front of the table and, clasping his hands behind him and rocking forward on his feet, he gestured with his head and regarded her expectantly.
“Well, what do you think, Bone Priestess?”
The table held two objects. The gleam of gold came from one, but, with her weak eyesight, Treia could not make out precisely what she was looking at. The other was plainer, simpler.
“I must . . . look more closely, Worshipful Sir,” Treia murmured apologetically. “My eyes . . .”
He nodded and stepped aside, crowding near her, dividing his gaze between her and the prizes. Raegar remained standing behind, looming over her.
Treia looked first at the object of gleaming gold and her heart stopped beating. She knew immediately what it was. She pretended she did not, however, for her mind was in turmoil. She must have betrayed her emotions, however, for she was acutely aware that Xydis’s eyes narrowed. To cover her confusion and to give herself time to think, she concentrated on the other object.
“This is a spiritbone, the bone of a dragon,” she said.
“So Raegar told us,” said Xydis. “He said you are a Bone Priestess. Can you summon this dragon?”
“I know the ritual to summon the dragon,” said Treia cautiously, not wanting to commit herself.
“Could this ritual be taught to another?” Xydis asked. “Suppose, for example, I wanted to summon this dragon myself. Could you teach the ritual to me?”
“I could,” Treia said. “The ritual is not difficult to learn. But that does not mean you could use it to call the dragon, Worshipful Sir. The summoning is a pact made between the dragon and the summoner and the Goddess Vindrash. Even then, the dragon has free will. The beast must want to answer.”
Xydis picked up the spiritbone, the plain one. The bone seemed to nestle in his hand.
“This dragon will answer,” he said. “This dragon came to us of her own accord.”
Treia stared, astonished. “This dragon is a follower of Aelon?”
“She is fond of jewels, it seems,” said Xydis dryly.
Treia thought of the Dragon Kahg arrogant and smug and self-satisfied like all of his kind, considering themselves so superior. It seemed dragons were susceptible to what they would term human weaknesses.
“I could teach you the ritual, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia. “Or the dragon could teach you herself.”
“Excellent,” said Xydis. He watched her closely and said softly, his gaze going to the other spiritbone, the one adorned with gold, “What about this one? Tell me about it.”
Xydis had brought her here to see this, Treia realized. He already knew about the other spiritbone. He needed only her confirmation that it would prove useful. This was the prize.
Treia’s mouth went dry, and her lips felt brittle and rough. She moistened them with her tongue and wondered desperately what to do, what to say. She was tempted to pass this off as nothing, merely a spiritbone adorned with gold. She glanced at Xydis and saw that he knew this object was extraordinary, that there was something special about it.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“Never mind—” Raegar said impatiently.
Xydis frowned at Raegar, who flushed, chastened, and kept quiet.
“Is it valuable?” Xydis asked, not answering.
“Oh, yes,” said Treia, her voice tight.
“It is the bone of a dragon—”
“Not an ordinary dragon,” Treia interjected. She felt smothered, unable to draw enough air into her lungs. “This is the spiritbone of one of the Vektan Five.”
Raegar sucked in an astonished breath.
Xydis looked from one to the other and he frowned. “What does that mean?”
Treia marveled at the beautiful object. Golden bands twined around the bone like the tail of a dragon. Golden wings spread from the bone with a golden chain attached to the tips of each of the wings. The head of the dragon reared up from the bone. The largest emeralds Treia had ever seen adorned the spiritbone, placed above the head. Two smaller emeralds were embedded in the wings.
“How did you come by this, Worshipful Sir?” she asked again.
“The bone was a gift from one of your gods,” Xydis replied.
Treia nodded. She was not surprised.
“Was it Hevis?” Treia asked, naming a god known to be rebellious, one who chafed under Torval’s rule. One who had, long ago, seduced a Kai Priestess into summoning one of the Vektan Five—with disastrous results.
“I believe the name of the god was Sund,” said Xydis, off handed. The names of gods slated for destruction didn’t much matter to him. “It seems this god, Sund, looked into the future and saw that Aelon would be victorious. Sund feared his own destruction and he traded the spiritbone for survival.”
Sund, the God of Logic, of rational thought, of far-sight. If Sund had switched sides, he must have seen the old gods were doomed. Treia was not surprised at Sund’s betrayal. The gods of the Vindrasi were known to be self-serving, caring only for their own pleasures and concerns, little for the mortals they ruled.
“Tell me what is so extraordinary about this dragon,” Xydis said.
Raegar hastened to answer. He was excited, beaming and rubbing his hands. “The Vektia dragon is an immensely powerful dragon, Priest-General. Such a dragon can set entire cities aflame with a single breath.”
Xydis looked at Treia, leaned toward her, drew nearer, talking to her as if this was confidential between the two of them.
“Does Raegar speak the truth, Sister?”
“Yes,” said Treia.
“But there is more to this dragon than the ability to burn cities, isn’t there? You are a Bone Priestess. You tell me about this dragon.”
Treia hesitated. Not because she was wondering which side to take. She was as coldly calculating as Sund, and though her vision might be blurred, she could see the battle was going poorly for the old gods. Like Sund, she planned to be on the winning side. Treia hesitated because she was trying to figure out how much to reveal.
Treia had been expecting Xydis to ask her to summon an ordinary dragon, such as the Dragon Kahg. Instead, Xydis was going to want her to summon one of the Vektan Five! This was the reason Aelon needed her. Treia had to figure out how to take advantage of this unbelievable opportunity to further her own ambition. And Raegar’s, of course.
“The Vektan Five are not ordinary dragons. They are made of the crest of the dragon, Ilyrion, the Creator of the World. Her essence is embodied in these five dragons.”
Treia paused, waiting for Xydis’s reaction to her words. He gave a perceptible start. His brows raised. His eyes widened.
“You are saying that these dragons are made of the essence of the Creator. These dragons are . . .” He stopped, thunderstruck, and stared at Treia.
“The Vektan dragons are not true dragons. They merely take the form of dragons. They were born of creation,” said Treia. “They are the embodiment of creation. Whoever controls the Five gains the power to create whatever he wants—life, moons, stars, suns . . .”
Raegar was not impressed. “What does Aelon need with a dragon for that? He is all powerful.”
“No,” said Treia, “he is not.”
“You speak heresy—” Raegar began, his face red.
“Oh, shut up, Raegar,” said Xydis impatiently. “Proceed, Bone Priestess.”
“One day Aelon will be worshipped by every person on this world,” Treia said. “But even then, Aelon will never be the true ruler of this world. The old gods, the Gods of Vindrasi, will always rule.”
“These old gods are too weak to rule a dunghill!” said Xydis, scoffing.
Treia shook her head. “You may weaken them. You might even manage to slay them, as you did the Goddess Desiria. But the old gods can never be destroyed so long as they still control the Vektan dragons—the power of creation.”
“Aelon is all powerful!” Raegar repeated angrily. He looked to Xydis for confirmation, and when Xydis did not respond, Raegar faltered. “Isn’t he?”
Xydis remained silent.
He knows the truth, thought Treia. He doesn’t want to admit it. The truth is that these wandering gods such as Aelon and the Gods of Raj are trying to take over this world because they lack the power to create worlds of their own.
Xydis took out his frustration on Raegar. “You should have told me this bone was of such immense value!”
“I did not know, Priest-General,” Raegar said.
“He could not have known, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia, coming to her lover’s defense. “Not many of the Vindrasi know the truth about the Vektan dragons. One person knows the secret to the ritual used to summon the dragons into being. That person is the Kai Priestess. She keeps her secret until she passes it on to her successor when she is on her deathbed. At that time, she tells the new Kai Priestess the ritual.”
Xydis regarded her intently. “Where is this Kai Priestess now?”
“She is dead, Worshipful Sir. She died before she could tell anyone the secret of the ritual.”
Xydis eyed her shrewdly. “Then how do you know so much about the Vektan dragons?”
“Draya talked to the Goddess Vindrash,” said Treia. “They had a very close relationship. She took all her problems to the goddess, talked to her incessantly. And I was there with her, a novice, for servant.”
Treia did not conceal the bitterness in her voice. Even after all these years, she remembered the bone-numbing cold, the mind-numbing boredom.
“I was forced to wait on the Kai Priestess, forced to listen to her discussions. I had to kneel beside her on the floor, shivering, my knees bruised and aching. I heard everything she said. She talked often of the Vektan Five; of the great dragon, Ilyria; of the power of creation. She wanted to know if there was some way to use this power to ease the suffering of our people.”
“And you heard all this,” said Xydis. “Even though it was supposed to be secret.”
“I was just a child,” Treia said, shrugging. “Draya probably thought I wouldn’t understand. But I did understand. I often imagined, as I knelt there on the hard floor, that I was the Kai Priestess and I had control of one of the Vektan dragons. The first thing I would have done was order it to kill Draya.”
Raegar coughed and frowned. Treia thought she had perhaps gone too far and she cast a nervous glance at the Priest-General. He was gazing intently at the spiritbone and seemed not to have heard.
“You say there are five of these dragons and each had its own spiritbone,” Xydis said abruptly. “We have one. Where are the other four?”
“I know where to find two of them,” said Treia. “You have one. The ogres have another.”
“Ogres!” Xydis exclaimed, aghast.
“Blessed Aelon!” Raegar said in a low tone. “I had forgotten about that. This is a calamity.”
Xydis stared intently at Treia. “You are saying, Priestess, that the ogres have one of the Vektan bones?”
“Yes,” she said. “They stole the bone . . . It is a long story. . . .”
“The ogres worship our foes, the Gods of Raj. And now the ogres have one of these powerful dragons in their possession.” Xydis glanced at Raegar. “You are thinking what I am thinking.”
“Now we know the reason why the ogre army is sailing to invade Sinaria,” Raegar said grimly.
Treia was appalled. “Ogres? Coming to Sinaria?”
“We have been wondering why the ogres would think they are powerful enough to attack Sinaria,” Xydis explained. “Now we know. They have a Vektan dragon.”
“They are coming here?” Treia asked. “How do you know?”
“We have spies in the ogre kingdom,” Xydis said. “They reported to the Watchers that the ogre fleet set sail over a fortnight ago. There was great celebration. Their shamans spoke openly of attacking Sinaria, made sacrifices to their gods.”
Xydis held his hand over the spiritbone, as he might have held his hand over a fire to warm himself.
“Would the two Vektan dragons fight each other?” he asked.
Treia shivered at the thought. “The only time a Kai Priestess tried to summon one of these dragons, Worshipful Sir, she could not control it. The dragon went on a rampage, killing any living thing in its path. Hundreds, maybe a thousand Vindrasi died. Entire clans were wiped out.”
“That does not answer my question,” said Xydis, displeased.
Treia trembled, not at his displeasure. She knew what was coming and she was braced for it. “These dragons are forces of nature, Worshipful Sir. Does the hurricane care about the ships it sinks? Does the volcano weep for those who die in its fiery lava flows? These dragons have no care for anything, much less each other. The thought of two of them battling—”
“We must chance it,” said Xydis. He clasped both hands behind his back. “You heard your Kai Priestess talk of these Vektan dragons. Therefore I assume you know the ritual to summon such a powerful being.”
Treia shook her head. “I fear I do not, Worshipful Sir. The ritual is a secret the Kai Priestess guards very closely. Draya never spoke of it.”
“But you know the ritual to summon other, lesser dragons,” Xydis argued. “They must be the same.”
“Even if the ritual is the same, which I doubt, there would be secret parts to it that only the Kai Priestess would know.”
Xydis pondered this, then smiled. He had a solution.
“You are a Bone Priestess. Go to your goddess, pray to her, convince her to tell you.”
Treia said nothing.
“You can do this, my love,” said Raegar, prodding her.
Treia remained silent.
Xydis drew close to her, spoke to her softly, intimately, using her name. “You must discover the secret, Treia. We need the Vektan dragon to fight the ogres. Here is the spiritbone. Imagine yourself summoning the dragon, sending it to do battle with our foes. Imagine yourself, the heroine of Sinaria. All of Oran would be at your feet!”
Treia could imagine. She saw herself lauded, showered with wealth such as what was in this treasure vault. She would have a palace, every comfort. She saw the Priest-Mother and those giggling novices bowing before her. She saw, most importantly, Raegar as her adoring husband. She would achieve this, but she had to do it her way.
“It would be my honor to serve you, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia in regretful tones, her heart beating fast. “But I cannot do what you ask. I cannot pray to Vindrash.”
“Of course, you can!” said Raegar angrily. “Priest-General, let me talk with Treia. She can be stubborn, but I will convince her—”
Xydis raised his hand. He did not take his eyes from Treia. “Why not?”
“During the time Raegar and I have been together, Worshipful Sir, he has told me of the glories and blessings of Aelon. The god has shed his light upon me. I am a devoted follower of Aelon. The dragon goddess will not heed my prayers. Vindrash has turned her back on me.”
Xydis almost smiled. Poor Raegar was gulping and floundering and flopping about, trying to find some way out of this predicament. He had done his job of converting her well, far too well.
Treia came to her lover’s rescue. Before she was finished with Raegar, he would be deeply in her debt.
“The goddess will speak to my sister, Aylaen,” said Treia.