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This night, as many before, Riana dreamed. She flew high above the world, like a falcon, exhilarated by the breezes and the currents of the air. Reveling in the feel of the wind through her fingers and the sound of it as it flew past her head, she paid little attention to the happenings on the ground far below.
�Riana, look.� A voice spoke to her out of the breeze, and she felt compelled to direct her view to the ground below. The scene below her expanded before her eyes, yet she didn�t feel the rush of descent. As the earth approached, an orange glow caught her attention. Focusing on it caused the glow to draw nearer and brighter. Smoke and flames soon drew her eyes. She could feel the heat of the fire, although the choking odors of the smoke never entered her perceptions. Among the flames, buildings soon appeared, surrounded by city walls. She could see a river flowing into the city, and it too carried the orange-red heat of the flames along its current.
Still far above the scene, the heat of the flames was enough to roast her alive. She held a hand before her, aware that she wasn�t harmed by the heat. The people in the city were not so fortunate. Their screams of pain and death ascended to her ears. The entire city was ablaze, and no mortal force could abate the agony of the dying. Only death, with its charred finality delivered the inhabitants from the searing pain of fire. The stonework of the outer walls seemed to be the only thing not consumed. Everything inside the city was slowly being consumed by the unquenchable force of the fires below.
Descending still farther, she could make out the remains of buildings, stone framework now catching fire where the wood was already completely consumed. No longer did the voices of the dying reach her ears. The silence of the dead was all that remained. Even the fires seemed to have lost their voice. The flames reached high, causing her to flinch in the increased heat, then suddenly died.
She gazed briefly at the blackened rubble and slag; shimmering in the heat, the melted and charred towers and walls coalesced into their former glory. People, who moments before had been crying in death, went about the daily business of city life. No sign of the former destruction could be seen. Wondering at the change in the vision, she began to wander the streets. Her feet made no noise on the cobbled roads, nor did anyone acknowledge her presence. Guided by some inner voice, she traversed the streets of this city until she came to a large building. The details of the structure escaped her notice, as her attention was focused upon one man within.
He seemed ordinary; one would not have noticed him in the busy streets of such a large city. Nothing stood out, nothing distinctive to separate him from the press of humanity. Still, she felt compelled to notice this man, and remember. No voice whispered to her to do so this time. The realities of the vision had taken over her senses. She no longer was aware that this was a dream. The draw of this one person in such a city overpowered all reason. Nondescript features were framed by brown hair and beard, streaked with grey. Soft, grey eyes gazed at the world around him. She knew that she would recognize him again immediately, but knew of no reason why he seemed so important. Still, she had to seek him out.
The man faded away, followed by the city. She stood upon a barren plain. Above her, a falcon cried; the high scream pierced her to the center. Following the sound with her eyes, she saw the bird, white wings catching the sun and scattering its light in all directions. The bird was circling, descending in a tight spiral as she watched. Soon it came to rest on her outstretched arm. She gasped as its claws dug into the tender flesh of her forearm.
�A gift for you, Riana, use it well. This creature will serve you faithfully, as you have served me.� The voice came to her mind again; she could as easily taste or feel the words as hear them. As she looked for the owner of the voice, sight, sound, and sense faded away, and she fell into unconsciousness.
* * * * *
She woke to the sun streaming through the window, lighting her face and causing her to quickly shield her eyes against the brightness. Dawn had come and gone; her morning chores yet to be accomplished. She rose from her bed, little more than wooden shelf, straw pallet, and blankets. Her dark hair was trapped within the tunic she pulled on, and she reached back to withdraw it from its confinement. Settling the tunic into place, and smoothing out the worst of the wrinkles, she left her small room, and padded downstairs to the main hall of the temple.
Her morning routine was simple; it took her very little time to sweep the hall, and to change the linens on the altar. The four doors were thrown open, to let in the breeze. She stood briefly in the north doorway, letting the wind blow through her hair. Often she felt that the wind would speak to her as she stood there. The feeling was exhilarating. The chill of the breeze made her shiver, and she proceeded with her morning tasks. Breakfast had to be prepared; Pachus would be waiting. He was a good man, and a kindly master; still, breakfast had better be on time. She unconsciously touched her side and her neck as she thought about Pachus. The memories may stay buried, but years of habit have their effect.
Breakfast was simple as well: bowls of porridge and water to drink. Life in a temple was never luxurious; in a small village like Hamath, it was more meager than ample.