Dream Seeker

By J. A. Ferguson

Legendary quests of passion and courage have saved their world before . . .

Will they be the first lovers to destroy it?

Lajila's world is silent. She is a shapechanger who does not possess the magic of dreamsinging. How can such a weakling serve the ruler--the Tiria--of Gayome in a battle to restore the once-magnificent land to its former glory? In the midst of her doubts, a remarkable stranger appears in her village, and, to her shock, she can hear his thoughts.

Kallen is one of the Palim, an ancient race whose gift is the ability to keep balance between Gayome and the rest of the universe. He's on a quest to find another of his kind--a search he fears might prove futile.

From the moment they meet, Lajila and Kallen are bound together--but for good or evil? The strange alchemy between their mismatched gifts combines with undeniable passions that produce desires so hot that fire--real fire--is a result, leaving the Tiria's village in ruins and all food supplies destroyed. The lives of the people depend on Lajila and Kallen's strength to conquer the dangerous force that threatens them.

Will they be the instrument of Gayome's final destruction . . . or vanquish the magical land's enemies in the ultimate victory?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Jan 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611944389

Book preview

Dream Seeker

Kallen gave her a wry smile. I will do my best to avoid listening to your innermost secrets, Lajila.

To be honest, I need to focus on the balance instead of keeping my thoughts where they belong, he continued.

Can I ask you one question, Kallen?

Of course.

You know when the balance is shifting, and you know when it is back as it should be. How? Seeing him hesitate, she gave him an uneasy smile. We are going to be traveling together, and if the balance goes awry again . . .

He perceived what she was hesitant to say. She had barely escaped death when he took her in his arms . . . and lost total control.

The best way I can describe it, he said, picking his words with care, is that the balance is a great tapestry. Each thread is woven through to make the pattern. If even one thread is snagged or pulled out of shape, the structure starts to warp.

She raised her hands. I see. Everything is connected, part of the Eldest Ones’ design. If one part of it buckles, the rest is in peril.

The smile that tipped his lips was one he had not worn in longer than he could remember. A genuine smile offered to someone who comprehended the truth that frightened so many others. He barely resisted reaching for her again. They both knew where that led.

It was going to be a very interesting trip. He glanced down at the creature on her belt.

Very interesting.

Other books in J.A. Ferguson’s Dream Chronicle series

Dream Singer

Dream Shaper

Dream Master

Dream Traveler

Dream Seeker

by

J.A. Ferguson

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-438-9

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-409-9

ImaJinnBooks is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2014 by Jo Ann Ferguson writing as J.A. Ferguson

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Art © M. C. Krauss

:Esde:01:

Dedication

For Eileen Nauman

A fellow veteran and amazing author. You know there is more than what we see with our eyes . . .

Prologue

SEEKING PERFECTION. Finding it is what each of us desires, for in the perfection we come closer to the Eldest Ones. And to our true selves. But perfection is elusive. We are blinded to it by daily obligations and other needs. Amidst the hubbub of life, how does one seek perfection? When there are so many byways along life’s path, how does one know which will lead toward perfection and the Eldest Ones?

One must trust in the songs surging through one’s soul. Dreamsongs are the most precious gift bestowed upon the people of Gayome by the Eldest Ones. Many songs await beneath the trees and within hidden valleys and through mountains still unexplored. Each song bides the silent passage of time. The song is patient, for it has been waiting for the one who needs to hear it. We cannot choose our songs; they choose us. We must let the song guide us to places we once imagined only in our dreams. Only then we will know the truth of who we truly are.

From The Dreamsong Chronicles of Durgan Ketassian

Chapter One

WE NEED TO find someone to make us better cushions for this seat, or, I swear by the First Dream, I shall not ride another league.

Kallen Elfodd tried to ignore the complaint. He wanted to tell his companion to be quiet, but Garod Walcon seldom heeded anyone else’s requests or advice. Why was it so difficult to focus today? Garod’s prattling never used to bother him. But it had since . . . To the dreams’ depths! Thinking about the past would force him even further out of balance.

He scanned the sky. The sun was exactly where it should be for this late afternoon hour. Somehow, he was holding onto the balance, in spite of the chaos in his head. He should have parted ways with Garod earlier in the season, but Kallen still drove the wagon that took them from place to place.

They had encountered no other person for almost a nineday, and their supplies were so low that the last crumbs would be gone before the next nineday passed. Hunting was out of the question. Garod was dangerous with a bow in his hands, not to the beasts but to himself and anyone else who stood nearby. Kallen was competent with a bow, but he found hunting hazardous to his concentration. Since . . . since that incident, he had avoided anything that might make his mind waver from its task. But he could not starve. He had to find some way to survive. He must not die until he found another able to shoulder the burden entrusted to his family by the Eldest Ones. His one hope that he had found such a person had swiftly turned from anticipation to disaster.

So he had to concentrate on keeping himself—and Garod—alive. Even if the person he sought was not nearby, at least they should be able to get some food from the cleverly-hidden settlement. Kallen said nothing as he steered the horse toward the gate he had seen among the trees. Garod had not noticed yet that the closed wagon had changed direction. For once, Kallen could not fault him. The walls ahead of them were constructed to appear to be another section of the forest. Kallen had seen the gate when he realized something was out of balance with the trees. There must be a house within it.

He chuckled silently to himself. Garod seldom took note of anything but the chance to dazzle another group of unsuspecting people into giving him their precious supplies in exchange for viewing his tricks. At that, he excelled. With everything else, he thought only of himself. Kallen had never met a more selfish man or one more skilled at obtaining what he wanted. Garod was a fraud in so many ways.

As Kallen was.

He growled a curse under his breath. He was what he was. He had made his choices with his eyes wide open. Dwelling on recriminations was worthless. With Garod, he had not suffered an empty belly, and he had a dry place to sleep each night. The wagon was cramped, but there was enough room on the floor for his blanket while Garod slept on the short bed nailed to one wall.

Now he needed to get the wagon through that narrow gate between two thick trees. Leaving it outside the walls was an invitation to thieves, and he was tired of guarding it. He had done so every night since they last stayed at a holding almost two ninedays ago. Garod refused to take a turn at watching for thieves and forest beasts. Even if he had offered, the old man fell asleep over his supper every night.

Why are you slowing? Garod asked.

Instead of answering, Kallen clenched his teeth as he held the reins tightly. The pair of horses were used to his easy hand, so they must have understood the importance of staying on a straight path while the wagon slipped through the gate. On either side, there was so little room he could not have put his fingers between a tree and the wagon without them being crushed.

By the Eldest Ones’ ears, gasped Garod as they emerged into a courtyard.

Kallen shared his shock. The interior of the compound was far larger than he had guessed. A great house fronted with columns stood at the far end, but between it and the wagon was a vibrant, bustling community. Children ran about at their games, and their elders were working with laundry or animals or a myriad of other tasks.

People turned to stare as Kallen drew back on the reins, slowing the wagon, and he saw hands reach for knives. That was to be expected. Nobody in Gayome trusted strangers. Even before the invasion from Elasia which had begun with the death of the old Tiria, people had been untrusting. The old Tiria had had her spies everywhere, and death hovered over the land like a black cloud. Then, in the wake of the war that still smoldered, people guarded what was theirs.

This shall be very rewarding. Think how much food and supplies they will be able to give us. Garod, the metal rings decorating his bright green sleeves glittering in the sunshine, waved as enthusiastically as a hero returning from glorious battle.

You must be at your best, Kallen answered in barely more than a whisper.

When am I not at my best while performing?

He did not bother to answer. Garod was right. No matter how foolishly self-serving the old man acted, when he had an audience, he was generous in his attempts to entertain them.

The children rushed toward the wagon, drawn by the flashy colors painted on its sides. Kallen eased the horses to a stop, not wanting any youngster to get trampled. Not likely because the two horses were as exhausted as he was.

The children clapped with enthusiasm as Garod called, Who wants to see magic?

Several protested when their mothers tried to draw them back. Maybe the people within these walls were wiser than some of the other holdings he and Garod had visited.

And preyed upon. He silenced that thought. A man had to make a living or starve. He had tasted starvation, and he did not want to do so again. These thoughts were stupid. He had to eat because he had to stay alive. The alternative was too frightening to consider.

Garod jumped down and flung out his hands. My friends! His smile broadened. What a wonderful surprise to find so many Gayomians gathered together. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Garod Walcon. Even as he bowed, he reached into his full sleeve and drew out what appeared to be fresh spring flowers.

As the children squealed with delight, Kallen glanced around the courtyard, wondering what they could ask for in exchange for Garod’s entertainment. He was disappointed to discover, on closer examination, how shabby the courtyard and the great house appeared. The house was large, but what remained of the paint was peeling from its front. The stone steps leading to the front door were worn with the passage of many feet, and, as a pair of children came running down them, he saw one riser rock beneath their feet.

The animals in the compound were well-tended, but few in number. Maybe there had been a recent butchering to go with the harvest of the empty gardens taking up more than half of the grounds. The people looked well-fed, and their clothes, even though threadbare, were clean.

A smile tipped his lips when he noted new boots on the feet of the children. There must be many runners in the forest surrounding this hidden community. If he and Garod were able to get some new boots, he . . .

All thoughts of trading vanished when he saw a tall, red-haired woman standing by herself. She wore an expression of astonishment, but she did not hurry forward to watch Garod’s performance. In fact, she looked away and bent to scatter something for the chickens.

Someone who was not taken in by Garod’s patter was someone Kallen needed to learn more about. Such clear-sightedness could be troublesome when he began to negotiate the payment for the performance. He must not reveal how anxious they were to get food and supplies for the next portion of their trip through the foothills.

Kallen climbed down from the wagon’s high seat. Patting the darker horse on the rump, he smiled when it looked toward him, its upper eyes already closed. Its middle pair of legs were drawn up close to its belly, and he doubted he could persuade either horse to continue until they were rested, fed, and watered. He understood, for he was tired, hungry, and thirsty himself. But before he could ease that discomfort, he needed to gauge the atmosphere in the compound.

No one seemed to be paying him any attention, and that was the way he liked it. Garod wore the garish clothes to catch every eye while Kallen remained in the background.

He walked toward the woman who had turned her back on Garod’s antics. He watched her spreading food for the chickens which rushed toward her with the anticipation of children coming to view Garod’s performance. She was as tall as he. That surprised him, for he was accustomed to towering over everyone he met. There had been a man at a holding several seasons ago who matched his height, but that man had been so skinny he looked as if he had been stretched through a keyhole.

This woman was well-proportioned. Very well, he admitted with a smile, for full breasts were outlined against her tunic, and her narrow waist teased his hands to curve around it. Even her red hair fit her. She had tied it back with a simple ribbon, and generous waves fell along her dark green gown.

She did not look at him as he walked closer. He wondered why she was so intent on her task that she had not glanced over her shoulder at the cheers and applause from Garod’s audience. And he wondered if her face was as enticing as when he had caught sight of it.

Greetings, he said.

She continued to feed the chickens, paying him no mind.

Kallen frowned. He was accustomed to being in the background, but he was not used to being ignored. Except by Garod, but that was something else altogether. He had hoped the woman would be as interested in him as he was in her.

He repeated his greetings, adding, Can you tell me the name of this place?

Again the woman did not answer.

Can you tell me the name of the person in charge here? he asked, not willing to get enmeshed in whatever game she was playing. In his seasons of traveling, he had gotten tired of coy women. She would have to find someone else to be her pawn. He had a task to do.

She still acted as if he were not there.

Fine, he muttered. He did not like walking away from such an attractive woman, but he was too tired and hungry. Let her have whatever her strange idea of fun is, he thought.

The woman whirled to look at him, wide-eyed. Those eyes, he saw, were the brown of her boot’s runner hide, a warm, rich color that seemed a part of the forest around the house.

Did you say something? Staring at him, her expression suggested she had never encountered anything like him.

And he could not help staring back. When he had caught the glimpse of her, he was intrigued. Now he realized a quick look had not been enough. Those warm eyes and her lush lips invited a man to let his own gaze linger before sweeping along the rest of her.

I spoke a greeting to you. He hoped his own features were blank.

Yes. She squared her shoulders as if pushing aside an invisible burden. Greetings, stranger. Welcome to the hide-house.

Kallen smiled. Hide-house was the perfect description for this cleverly concealed compound.

A motion from the large house caught his eye. Reluctantly he looked away from the redhead and choked back his astonishment as he saw a woman walking down the steps. Her hair shimmered like untarnished silver, and, even from where he stood halfway across the compound, he could see her eyes were the remarkable blue of a still pool. She was a generation older than he, but she moved with a grace that would be the envy of a young woman.

This is the Tiria’s (May she live forever!) compound? he asked as he fell to his knees.

The redhead did not answer.

Looking at her, he was amazed she still stood. The grain she had been giving the chickens dribbled through her fingers as she regarded him with astonishment. Then she smiled, and he hastily checked the sky, for the sudden brightness suggested the sun was high above instead of sinking toward the horizon.

The sun was exactly where it should be, and he let a sigh of relief sift through his lips. A woman with such a brilliant smile was a distraction he did not need. Yet, he could not let her be punished for not showing respect to the Tiria. The Tiria! If he had suspected Gayome’s leader was within these simple walls, would he have driven past in hopes of finding another settlement before they starved to death?

He had no time to think of that now. The red-haired woman remained on her feet. He took her hand and tugged hard. She winced as her knees hit the hard ground. Yanking her hand away, she started to stand. He put his hand on her shoulder to hold her in place. When she tried to shake it off, he tightened his grip. Maybe the woman was weak-minded, and the Tiria would have compassion for her.

Let me go, she ordered.

Have you lost your mind? he asked.

Let me go. There was no emotion in her voice. Only a simple assumption that he would obey.

That irritated him as much as anything. If she had any idea who he was . . . He refused to let that thought form. To these people, he must be only Kallen Elfodd, partner to the wizard Garod Walcon. Nobody needed to know more.

He grabbed the red-haired woman by the shoulders and put his face close to hers. Stay on your knees. The Tiria (May she live forever!) passes.

A superior smile curved along her lips as she tore herself from beneath his hands. Coming to her feet, she walked toward the Tiria.

Kallen held his breath. Would the Tiria call upon storm clouds to bring lightning and strike the woman dead? If she created such clouds out of the empty sky, he must be prepared. He had been warned how such a request could unbalance everything throughout Gayome.

The breath burst out of him when the Tiria paused and smiled at the redhead. He watched in disbelief when the Tiria put her hand gently against the young woman’s cheek as they spoke words too low for him to hear.

He stretched out his arm to halt a child rushing past to watch Garod. Before the little girl could squirm away, he bent and asked, Isn’t that the Tiria (May she live forever!)?

The little girl glanced at the two women. Nodding with a child’s disinterest, she said, Yes, that is Nerienne. Do you want to speak with her?

No!

His vehemence startled the child, and he saw a couple of adults turn toward him with expressions of astonishment. Forcing a hasty smile, he gave the child a gentle shove toward where Garod continued his performance.

Nerienne was the Tiria’s name. Kallen again appraised the large house at the edge of the courtyard. The Tiria lived far more roughly than her predecessors as she faced the challenge of rebuilding Gayome from the ashes left by the war with Elasia. When he was young, he had heard his parents speak of the Tiria and her mate, the dreamsinger. They had spoken of the days when Nerienne had been the First Daughter living in a glorious compound leagues from here.

Now she lived among her people who did not bow when she passed by. As he came to his feet, he knew he needed to consider how he could make this situation work to his advantage. He was not sure how, but there must be a way.

And he would find it.

Chapter Two

WHO IS THAT man with you? Nerienne asked.

Lajila Tocho resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder. To turn away meant she could not watch Nerienne’s mouth form words. Without being able to see that motion meant missing what the Tiria was saying to her.

He is one of two strangers who came with that wagon into the compound a few minutes ago, she answered.

When Nerienne watched the performer without comment, Lajila had to halt herself again from turning to discover what the other stranger was doing. Strangers were not unexpected in the hide-house, but neither were they welcomed without questions. The flames of war that had burst into life before she was born still simmered on the far side of the Ring Mountains. No place in Gayome was safe in spite of the efforts of their Tiria, Nerienne, and her mate to secure peace for the land.

A hand on her arm brought her attention back to Nerienne. Hoping she had not missed too much of what had been said, for she hated asking the Tiria to repeat herself, she asked, Yes?

I want to let Durgan know about the arrival of these two men.

That did not surprise her, for Nerienne always consulted with her mate, Durgan, as he did with her. They were two very different people, but they were part of a single whole when they made decisions about Gayome and its people.

Bidge can, can’t she? Lajila peered at the dark shell hooked to Nerienne’s belt sash. Even though she had seen Bidge her whole life, Lajila was uncertain what the little creature living in the shell was.

A silvery tuft of hair between two pointed ears came out of the shell. Two bright feline-like eyes focused on Lajila. She stared back, wishing she could hear what Bidge sounded like. Both the Tiria and the First Daughter, Dariana, had tried to explain to her. She had struggled to understand how a voice could be heard only within one’s head.

Until now.

This time, she could not keep from looking at the stranger who was watching her and Nerienne with unconcealed curiosity. Let her have whatever her strange idea of fun is. Those words had appeared in her mind. How? She had not heard anyone speak since she was barely more than a baby.

When Nerienne cupped Bidge, who was hanging from her sash by the little creature’s sole foot, Lajila looked back at the Tiria. Nerienne wore an indulgent smile as she said, Bidge tells me that Durgan is busy. That is what she says when she does not want to be bothered seeking out his thoughts.

If you would like me to find him, Lajila said, I shall.

No, I will do that after I get a closer look at this impromptu show which seems to have delighted the children and most of their elders. Nerienne again looked past her, but kept her face toward Lajila as she added, Did I see you having a conversation with the other stranger?

It was not exactly a conversation, but yes, I did speak to him. She did not add that she had struggled to understand his words. With those she knew well, she could read lips with little effort. Strangers with their unique ways of speaking always proved a challenge for her.

While I learn more about the performer and let Durgan know we have newcomers among us, why don’t you find out what you can from the other man? She smiled. I doubt he will be as talkative as his companion, but you may be able to discover something that has nothing to do with sleight-of-hand tricks.

Wanting to say she would prefer to wrestle a burrower with her bare hands, Lajila nodded. She had no reason to refuse the Tiria’s request other than the man had treated her as if she had no mind of her own. In recent seasons, she had traveled often on the Tiria’s business, and she had