Garden of Dreams: The Goddess Cycle, #1

By Alex Ludwig

A Goddess's secret' a hero's atonement, and a cursed woman's courage. Will they be enough to save the world?

 

When a Goddess needs her guidance to find the hero who cursed her, Marun has to leave the life she built to save the world from a slow, but inevitable demise.

 

Thirty years ago, the boy Marun loved betrayed her and the Gods and brought a curse upon her that changed her life forever. Without any hope that the Gods might take pity on her and cure her, she built herself a new life far away from home. But when a strange girl with even stranger powers shows up in her tavern and tells her that the fate of the world depends on finding the man who took her chance at a normal life away, Marun has to find out whether she can overcome past wrongs to give the world a future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Ludwig
• Release date: Mar 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393701057

Alex Ludwig

Alex Ludwig writes erotica, romance, fantasy and science fiction, usually with queer protagonists. She has been writing stories ever since she was able to spell out words. She is also a trained translator and librarian. Alex Ludwig currently lives in a town in the middle of the Alps, and her alpine surroundings and heritage are often reflected in her work – especially in the fantasy worlds she creates. Alex loves to read and write about fantastic creatures, from the ethereal to the scary and everything weird and wonderful in between. If you liked this story, please consider leaving a review online or recommend it to a friend! You can also follow Alex on twitter @WriterALudwig!

Book preview

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

About the Author

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

Garden of Dreams: © 2021 by Alex Ludwig

Cover design © Alex Ludwig

Published by Alexandra Mitterer (writing as Alex Ludwig), Dr.Stumpf-Straße 130a, 6020 Innsbruck, Austria

Ebook ISBN: 9781393701057

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by international copyright law.

A Goddess’s secret, a hero’s atonement, and a cursed woman’s courage. Will they be enough to save the world?

When a Goddess needs her guidance to find the hero who cursed her, Marun has to leave the life she built to save the world from a slow, but inevitable demise.

Thirty years ago, the boy Marun loved betrayed her and the Gods and brought a curse upon her that changed her life forever. Without any hope that the Gods might take pity on her and cure her, she built herself a new life far away from home. But when a strange girl with even stranger powers shows up in her tavern and tells her that the fate of the world depends on finding the man who took her chance at a normal life away, Marun has to find out whether she can overcome past wrongs to give the world a future.

For my grandpa, Opa Fred

Because you opened my heart to the power of stories

I will always miss you

GARDEN OF DREAMS

BOOK 1 OF THE GODDESS CYCLE

ALEX LUDWIG

Chapter 1

The blister was still open, oozing yellow liquid, not quite pus, onto the surrounding skin. Marun grimaced and tied a fresh piece of linen around her wrist. She had burned herself on the soup kettle days ago. It was definitely not the first time she had burned herself; in a tavern burns and cuts from broken pottery were a quite natural occurrence and after running the White Lion for more than two decades Marun was sure that every part of her hands had been cut or burned at some point.

It was just strange that, three days after the fact, the wound still had not closed. She would have to see Old Ala soon to get some herbal paste for it. The wound didn’t appear to be infected, but she did not want to take any risks. Enough people had died from fever after an apparently harmless wound.

The tavern wasn’t as full as it would have been just weeks ago at this time of the day. Spring had finally broken properly, after a long winter, and the village was busy tilling and sowing, repairing broken fences and refortifying houses, and with the cows and sheep starting their calving and lambing fewer people had time or inclination to come in for a pint of ale at the end of the day. It didn’t bother Marun much; they would be back and she would soon have enough to do tilling her own little vegetable garden. And soon enough the first travellers would start coming through their village, labourers searching for work on the fields and craftspeople peddling their wares on the road. Some of them had been on the road for as long or longer than she had owned her tavern and there seemed to be a never-ending supply of new youngsters fresh out of their apprenticeships, trying to find their luck or at least a decent supper.

She took two tankards from their shelf and filled them with foaming beer to carry them outside into the public room, where only two people were sitting. Eno, the retired owner of the Wheat Height farm, was sitting on his usual spot on the long bench that took in most of the far side of the public room, straddling the bench with his leg stretched out and rubbing his knee while he was talking with the old blacksmith.

Is your knee bothering you again, Eno? Marun asked as she put the two tankards down in front of the men. Eno looked up, his already wrinkled skin pulling into a frown that made his eyes nearly vanish under the folds of his forehead.

Stepped on a rock yesterday. No idea why it’s still hurting. Not like it’s the first time that happens, but it’s usually gone in an hour. I must have pulled something… He took his tankard and took a few deep gulps, making his thin wrinkly neck expand like that of a goose being stuffed with every swallow.

It’s the moon, I’m telling you, said the old smith, sipping his own beer thoughtfully and getting foam all over his thick moustache. I had to slaughter one of my goats yesterday because she got herself bit by another one and the wound wouldn’t stop bleeding for days. Made my dog completely crazy. Good milk goat, too.

Everything’s the moon, in your opinion, Marun answered. If the chickens lay too few eggs, it’s the moon. If the beer’s not foaming, it’s the moon. If your nephew complains because there aren’t enough wars to fight in, it’s the moon. If a horse won’t let itself get shod, it’s the moon too.

It is the moon, though, the smith said.

Marun sighed and made to explain to him that not even the priests of the Moon God believed that he was in any way responsible for the well-fare of chickens or goats or the healing of wounds when the door suddenly opened with the creak of heavy wood. She turned around, expecting another retired farmer or maybe one of the farmhands coming in for a quick drink, but instead a small figure in the clothes of a travelling artisan, buckskin trousers, a simple brown tunic girded with a sturdy leather belt, and a green travel coat, was standing in the door. With the vision in her left eye having been completely clouded for years, and her right eye also not being as good as it used to be, she couldn’t see the person’s face, but judging by the short build and the mass of brown curls clouding around the head like the seeds of a withered dandelion, it was more likely than not a woman.

Welcome, she called to the stranger. Take a seat, please. She walked towards the woman while the strange guest looked around and finally settled on a table by the window.

What can I get you? Marun asked, just before she stepped close enough to actually get a good look at the woman.

She looked so young that it took Marun aback for a second. Her face was round and her lips thin and rosy as those of a girl before her first change. Her skin was pale but covered with freckles. Both her nose and her chin were small and round, making her look even more like a babe with no business to be in a strange town or wearing a journeyer’s clothes.

But when she looked up at Marun with eyes of an unnervingly vibrant green, like a meadow right after a summer rain, she wondered whether she was really so very young or just cursed with the kind of face that just wouldn’t age with its owner.

Do you have anything to eat? the stranger asked, and again Marun found herself surprised. This was a tavern; wouldn’t a journeying crafter know that you could always get cheap food in a place like this?

Of course, she said, trying to keep her surprise out of her voice. There’s cabbage soup on the stove. A bowl of that with some bread is two coppers. Or I could get you some cheese and bread for one copper.

Cabbage soup sounds wonderful, she answered, producing two coppers out of the purse tied to her belt. What a strange accent, Marun thought while pocketing the money. A city girl, perhaps? Her voice had a nearly singing quality that she hadn’t heard from anybody around here, and neither from any traveler she could remember.

She went back into the kitchen and ladled a helping of the soup she kept heated on the big stone stove into a bowl, then she cut a large chunk of brown bread. She’d baked it yesterday morning, so it wasn’t as fresh anymore as it could be but it would still go well with the soup. With the wooden plate holding the bread in one and the bowl of soup in the other hand, she returned through the open door back to the public room.

There you go, she said as she set down the food.

Oh, thank you very much, the girl said, over-emphasizing the ‘very’, before she took her spoon.

Marun went back to the long table where the two old men were drinking their ale and watching the girl who was now shoving things around in her soup bowl with the strangest look of rapt fascination on her face.

Strange accent she’s got there, Marun murmured low enough that she could be fairly certain the girl wouldn’t hear.

She looks like she’s never had cabbage in her life, too, said Eno, face half hidden behind his tankard.

Did none of you notice she’s got no pack with her? That’s plenty more strange to me than her accent or her cabbage-poking, said the smith and Marun had to admit that he was right; she had not noticed it until now. Now that she looked, she saw that the only kind of bag the girl was wearing was the little pouch on her belt; and even for a travelling seamstress that would have been by far not enough to survive on the road.

Maybe she got herself a place on a barn-floor and left her things there? ventured Eno.

If she got herself a place with one of the farmers, she could have worked for her bread with them instead of coming here and paying good hard coin for a meal, Marun said. Teerla knows how well anybody would like an extra hand right now.

A bit early to invoke Teerla yet, isn’t it? answered the smith. Gold Day is more than a month away. You take credit away from Avena and your little vegetable garden is going to stop giving you cabbage until the grain comes in.

Marun rolled her eyes a little at his piety. Everybody knew that nobody was as exacting about the annual circles of worship as a smith, and old smiths with nothing to do all day but sit and drink and think about harvest festivals they had attended thirty years ago were even worse. Marun was rather sure that neither Teerla nor Avena would care very much if she invoked the wrong one in a simple throwaway sentence.

She of all people should know best that the Gods weren’t terribly interested in the goings-on of this plane, anyway.

She left the two old men to their talk and stepped out of the tavern for a moment. The air was warm, even at this hour so close to sunset, and this together with the dark clouds billowing over the jagged mountain tops of the East told her that they would likely have a spring storm tonight. The snow that still covered most of the mountains and would cover them until well into summer made a stark contrast to the muddled grey. This snow had kept the village contained for all of winter, making the mountain passes untraversable, but the snow had already started to melt, as proven by the swelling waters of the river that ran in a silver band through their valley and by the presence of their strange guest in the tavern.

She walked up to the fence surrounding her small, square vegetable garden. The carrot green was thick already and her herbs were coming in very nicely. Thick round cabbages and scraggly lettuce nestled in the shadow of the tall shrubs she had planted right on the inside of the fence to keep even those animals away that might be able to slip through the wood. Several of the shrubs were already heavy with flower buds.

Beyond the vegetable garden, the street coming up from the lowest farms of their village was winding its slow path through the green hills of their valley. As she looked down towards the farms, her old eyes were unable to see any of the people working. She only saw the brown and gray silhouettes of the farm houses and the dark green mass of the forest where the road disappeared in a tight bend.

She pulled her knitted shawl tighter over her shoulders as the wind picked up. Better to make sure that all the windows were well shut tonight.

When she returned to the public room, the smith had gotten up and was putting on his overcoat. Eno was finishing the last sips of his ale and then he too made to stand up, though it was quite a struggle, what with his awkward position straddling the bench and the stiffness in both of his legs.

Time for dinner, Eno said as he grabbed his own coat.

I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then, Marun said as she took their tankards.

Believe me, not even five grown bulls could keep me away, Eno said as he struggled into his jacket. Once he had put it on and had tied his scarf around his neck, he leaned in to Marun. And if you find out anything more about that strange little guest of yours, make sure to give us all the details tomorrow.

Nosy old man, she said with a little shake of her head, then she nodded to both of them before she walked back into the kitchen.

She hoped the two of them would get home before the rain. Looking out of the kitchen window, she saw that the clouds had rapidly taken over nearly half of the sky; it would not take a long time before they would reach their part of the valley.

She grabbed a wet rack and washed out the tankards while she kept watching the clouds. The last rain had been two weeks ago, the first time it had rained this year. It would be a blessing for the young vegetables in her garden and in the vegetable gardens of everybody else, and it would make it easier to till the soil that still needed tilling.

A dark rumble came to her ears from the east.

A proper thunderstorm, however, might uproot fruit trees and might lead to premature lambing.

She just hoped the thunder would stop before it reached them.

The soup was very good, a voice behind her suddenly said, and Marun dropped the tankard and the rag as she whirled around, her heart jumping into her throat in surprise.

Oh, she pressed out when she saw the girl standing behind her, her soup bowl in her hand. The door to the public room was closed behind her; she hadn’t heard it fall shut, even though it was heavy and sturdy, and it took a small rock to keep it open.

The rock was lying right where she had put it to keep the door open. Just that the door was no longer open.

I don’t much like my guests to come in here, Marun said, her voice shaking slightly from being startled, and bent down to pick up the tankard. I’d rather you stayed in the public room. If you need a room for the night, there are some chambers upstairs.

That’s not really why I am here, said the girl.

Marun frowned. Then you might want to leave my kitchen again.

The girl tilted her head just a little, making the cloud of curls around her head shift. Her green, large eyes were even more uncanny in the dimness of the kitchen, with the sun setting on the other side of the tavern.

I would not want anybody to overhear what I am going to tell you, so I think this is a better place for it, she said, her voice lilting up and down like the boughs of a storm-beaten tree.

Marun put the tankard to the other ones on the shelf, keeping her good eye on the girl.

And what is it that you want to tell me? she asked, ignoring the beating of her heart as well as she could. A pit had formed in her stomach, a dread that didn’t seem warranted by such a harmless little person. If you want to burgle me, you are rather out of luck. I have hardly any money here, with the winter being so recently over.

Those words seemed to amuse the girl greatly; her round child’s face spread in a brilliant smile, and then she let out a laugh that sounded like the twitter of a dozen blackbirds.

An icy shiver ran down Marun’s spine.

What… What do you want from me?, she whispered. Images were flashing in her mind, the memory of incredible nausea, of a headache like nothing she had ever known, of the last morning she had awoken from a good night’s sleep just to realize the horror that had befallen her.

Don’t be afraid, said the girl, still smiling, but gentler now. I need to find Araan of the Blue Sheath. I have come to you because you are the only one who knows where he is.

I do not know what you are talking about, Marun said, cold fear hardening her voice. I have nothing to do with any Araan, neither of the Blue Sheath or the pink sword or whatever.

The inner corners of the girl’s delicate eyebrows lifted. Please don’t try to lie, she said, pity in her voice now. I know that you know where he is.

Marun grit her teeth and crossed her arms in front of her body.

Why should I help you? What makes you think I would lead just anybody to him? He deserves to be where he is and he deserves to stay there.

That smile again and a head-tilt to the other side. You know that I am not just ‘anybody’. You are one of the few people who would know. And I cannot say what Araan deserves, but I know that I must find him, because even the Gods do not know what he knows. I need him to lead me to the Garden of Dreams, for the sake of every living being.

She had heard stories of the messengers of the Gods walking among humans, spirits that walked between the planes to do the bidding of those who had created the world. But it was old stories; the kind of stories nobody really believed anymore. If the Gods could send messengers, why did all of humankind have to turn to priests, no less human than any peasant, to hear their will?

You could be lying, she said. You could just be out to free him and find the Garden to gain the same powers he did. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t let anybody repeat the damage he has caused. Never. Never again.

I see that it would be hard for you to believe me, said the girl, her smile widening again. But I have all the powers that I need. That is not the reason why I need to find the Garden.

Marun didn’t answer. If she had dreamed of anything else than unspeakable horror in the last twenty years, she would have thought she was dreaming. She could not believe that this girl in front of her had been sent by the Gods. Why would the Gods come to her now, after so many years? Why would they send somebody to find Araan now, when they had never cared about him before?

I see, you need proof, said the girl, and before Marun could react, she reached out with both of her hands; and just a moment later, her hands were glowing like stars, so bright that they were hurting Marun’s eyes. But just when she wanted to turn around to shield her eyes from the brightness, the light vanished and in its stead vines were flowing out of the girl’s hands, raking their way up her arms, flowering in an instant, dressing her in a gown of blue and yellow and pink petals.

Then another pulse of light ran through her body and the vines faded into nothingness.

Do you believe me now?

Chapter 2

Lightning flashed through the window, bathing everything in white for a moment. Complete silence followed as Marun tried to find a way to react to what she had just seen. Thunder came just moments later, shaking the world to its core and returning the ability to move to her.

She fell back on the hearth bench like a dropped sack of potatoes. Her hands were shaking.

I do not know what you want me to say to that, she said, her voice weak.

When she looked up, the girl’s face was softer than before. She thought she could see pity in her eyes.

Just say that you will take me to Araan, she answered gently. I did not lie when I said that this is for the sake of all living beings. Something terrible has happened and the only way to stop it is for me to find the Garden.

Marun frowned and wrung her hands to keep them from shaking.

What has happened that is so terrible? What do you mean?

A flicker of something ran through those spring-green eyes, of doubt perhaps, or apprehension—or fear. Then she turned her head to the side and looked out of the window.

I cannot tell you. It is not a mortal’s place to know.

Of course, Marun answered, her frown deepening. I am supposed to leave my home and risk my life on the open road to find the man I despise most in the world, but it is not my place to know why. Of course.

How she wished she had never had any dealings with the Gods. No being, she thought, could be more selfish and more cruel than those who hadn’t known birth and would not know death. Of course, everything that could die was replaceable to them.

The girl turned her head again and looked at her for a few moments with eyes so full of pain that Marun felt her chest tightening until she could not breathe.

I am very sorry, she said.

The room fell silent again. Marun could hear the wind howling against the walls of her tavern.

I will need to find somebody to take care of the tavern, she said, her voice hollow to her own ears. And the… the place where Araan is… To get there, we will have to travel through dangerous parts. She looked up at the girl with her childish face and her soft, small body. Can you fight?

The girl shrugged her shoulders. My body cannot be destroyed or even damaged, so there is no real reason for me to fight.

"Well, my body can be destroyed and damaged, said Marun, sucking her teeth as she stared at the wall, thinking. But the only people I have any chance fighting are old drunkards. The smith has a nephew who is a mercenary. We should ask him to accompany us. I should have enough money to pay him for the time it should take to get there."

The girl was smiling again. I am very glad that you changed your mind.

Annoyed with both the girl’s presence and with herself, Marun looked at her again. It isn’t as if I had a real choice, do I now?

The girl shrugged again. You could also decline and just let all living beings suffer.

Marun sighed and stood up from the hearth bench. As I said—no real choice. She poured herself a mug of ale and emptied it in two long draughts. If I find somebody for the tavern and if the smith’s nephew agrees, we can be on our way the day after tomorrow. I’ll need to pack and clean this place up and the boy will surely have work to finish at home and-

I would rather we left as soon as possible, the girl interrupted her. I do not know how much time we have and we really should not waste any of it.

Marun looked at her with all the displeasure she could muster.

Of course, drag me off on an errand that the Gods can’t go on themselves and don’t even give me time to get my things in order before I die for some greater good, she muttered before she grabbed her rag and cleaned her ale mug. Louder, she said: "Well, we will not depart in the middle of the night.