The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) by Dorian Hart Page B

she had been a mistake. For those who had wanted to see the White Anathema expelled, Abernathy’s summons had provided the perfect excuse.
    Worst of all, there would be no appeal to authority. The High Priestess Rhiavonne was the mortal leader of the Ellish religion in Charagan, and for sisters her decrees carried as much weight as the laws of the kingdom itself.
    A roiling anger filled her. Her armor of composure shattered under a blow like none she’d ever faced.
    She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. “I need to speak to Abernathy. Alone.”
    Morningstar stormed from the dining room and rushed to the secret chamber with the crystal ball. “Abernathy!” she demanded. “I need to speak with you.”
    The glass ball filled with mist, and after a minute Mister Golem’s face appeared. The thing’s emotionless visage enraged her. “Not you,” she snapped. “I want to talk with Abernathy.”
    “Is this an emergency severe enough to require his immediate attention?”
    “Yes. I want his immediate attention.”
    “One moment, please.”
    Mister Golem’s face vanished into the fog of the crystal ball. Soon Abernathy’s aged face looked out at her. His stringy white hair was plastered to his cheeks with sweat, and his torso heaved with heavy breath, as though he had sprinted up several flights of stairs to answer her call.
    “Morningstar,” he panted. “What has happened? Quickly, please.”
    Morningstar held up the letter. “What is this? What have you done?”
    Abernathy’s face grew larger in the crystal ball. “Is that a letter?”
    “It’s from my temple! It allows me to go out during the day running your errands.”
    “Er…oh. That was faster than I had expected. I’m pleased to hear it!”
    Morningstar nearly hurled the crystal ball against the wall. “Pleased to…Abernathy, you’ve effectively had me thrown out of the temple! Kidnapping me was one thing, but this…this is…you’ve ruined my life!”
    Abernathy’s wrinkled face grew grave. “You were thrown out of your temple? That was not my intent, dear girl. I only requested that you be given more latitude in your work for me, so that your obligations would not clash with those of your religion.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. “Now, I don’t mean to belittle your anger, but is there some disaster or problem such that you truly need my immediate help? Because I need to return to my work right away.”
    “No.” She spat the word, her fury blunted though hardly diminished. “Go back to what you were doing. Keep your prison door closed.”
    She walked haltingly down the stairs and wished there were someone else nearby deserving of her rage. Tor looked up from his coins, and without thinking she said, “Tor, I had a dream about you last night. A Seer-dream.”
    Tor immediately reddened.
    “Hey, I had a dream too!” said Dranko. “But not everyone in it was fully clothed, so you might not want to hear about it.”
    Goddess, but the goblin was relentlessly vile.
    “What’s a Seer-dream?” asked Tor.
    “A dream that is prophecy.” This was good to talk about. It was something else to talk about. She willed herself into a semblance of calm.
    “Dreams are prophetic?” Dranko showed a tusky grin. “Then I know one fellow who’s gettin’ lucky sometime soon, if you know what I mean.”
    Morningstar ignored him, and looked Tor in the eyes. “There are sisters of Ell who are Dreamseers. They are tasked to interpret the dreams of others, but sometimes they have their own dreams that mark the future.”
    “And you’re one?” asked Tor.
    “No,” said Morningstar. “I’m not a Dreamseer, or wasn’t until today. But last night I dreamt the future, and you were in it.”
    “Neat!” said Tor. “What happened? What’s my future?”
    “Do you mind if the others hear?” She could at least offer him the choice of privacy.
    “No, I don’t mind! Tell me!”
    And Morningstar did, including every detail she