The Last of the Wilds

16

A salty breeze told Emerahl she was approaching the coast long before she saw the sea. Yet it was only when she crested a rise and saw the wide gray strip of water in the distance that she felt she was close to her destination.

At the sight of water, she sighed with relief. She sat down on a fallen log while she caught her breath. Two months of walking had made her lean and given her stamina, but the hill she stood upon was steep and it had been a long, relentless climb to get to this place.

Rozea wouldn’t recognize me now, she thought. It was not just her age that she had changed. She kept her hair dyed black now and wove it into a simple braid each morning. The dress she had on was plain and practical and over it she wore an eclectic mix of tawls, drapes, beaded jewellery and embroidered pouches. The aromas of herbs, essences and other ingredients for her cures surrounded her.

It had never been necessary to mention her trade to anyone. She simply entered a village or town, enquired of the first person she met if there was safe and decent accommodation to be found, and by the time she had settled into the suggested place the first customer arrived.

Most of the time, anyway. There had always been, and always would be, places where strangers were treated with suspicion, and healer sorceresses with outright hostility. The first priest she had met had been unfriendly, which hadn’t helped to ease her fear of being found by the gods. To her relief he had simply ordered her out of his village.

For days afterward she had expected to find herself being hunted again, but nobody had followed her.

However, in most places she was welcome. Village priests and priestesses did not usually have strong Gifts or more than a basic knowledge of healing. The best of their healers worked in cities, and Dreamweavers were rare, so there was a great demand for her services. Having the appearance of a thirty- to forty-year-old woman also helped - nobody would have believed she had much healing knowledge if she’d remained a beautiful young woman.

The road ahead wove in and out of sight behind hills and forests. She traced it to the sea’s edge. Buildings clustered around the middle of a bay like stones in the bottom of a bucket. According to the owners of journey houses, helpful drinking companions, and a copy of a rough map given to her by a trader, this port was called Dufin.

It had grown and prospered in the last forty years due to its position near the Si border. Or rather, due to the Toren people’s inclination to ignore the border and settle wherever they saw good fertile soil or mineral deposits. The “inlanders” she had spoken to had told her gleefully how the White had forced the Toren king to order his people out of Si. It would be interesting to see what effect - if any - these orders had made on the people of Dufin.

Hearing a sound behind her, she turned to regard the road. A single arem was pulling a small tarn up the hill toward her. She stood up. Though the driver was too far away for her to read his expression, she was sure he was staring up at her. She could sense his curiosity.

She considered how far away he was, the lateness of the hour and the distance between her and Dufin. Sitting down, she waited for the tarn to reach her.

It took several minutes. Long before then, when the driver was close enough to see, she had exchanged a smile and a wave. As the arem hauled the tarn up to the rise, Emerahl stood up and greeted the man.

He was in his forties, she judged. His weathered face was pleasant - plenty of smile wrinkles. He pulled the arem to a stop.

“Are you going to Dufin?” she asked.

“I am,” he replied.

“Have you room for a tired traveller?”

“I always make room for fine young women in need of transportation,” he said jovially.

She cast about, as if looking for another. “Where is this woman you speak of? And how selfish of you to leave a tired old woman by the side of the road in favor of a more youthful companion.”

He laughed, then gestured to the tarn. “It is no grand covered platten, but if you don’t mind the smell you could sit on the furs.”

She smiled in gratitude, then climbed on board. As soon as she had settled onto the furs he urged the arem into a walk again. There was a distinctly fishy smell underlying the animal odor of the furs.

“I am Limma Curer,” she told him. “A healer.”

He glanced back at her, his eyebrows rising. “And a sorceress, I guess. No ordinary woman travels these parts alone.”

“A fighting woman might.” She grinned and shook her head. “But I am no warrior. Who might you be, then?”

“Marin Hookmaker. Fisherman.”

“Ah,” she said. “I thought I could smell fish. Let me guess: you deliver fish to inlanders and bring back furs and...” she looked at the rest of the tarn’s contents “... vegetables, drink, wood, pottery and - ah - a pair of girri for dinner.”

Marin nodded. “That’s right. Makes a nice change for me and the inland folk.”

“I used to live by the sea,” she told him. “Caught my own dinner plenty of times.”

“Where’d you live?”

“A remote place. Didn’t have a name. I hated it. Too far from anything. I left and travelled to many places and learned my trade. But I always like to be near the sea.”

“What brings you to Dufin?”

“Curiosity,” she replied. “Work.” She paused. Should she begin her search for The Gull now? “I’ve heard a story. An old story. I want to discover if it is true.”

“Oh? What story is that?”

“It’s a story about a boy. A boy who never ages. Who knows everything there is to know about the sea.”

“Ah,” Marin said, the sound more like a sigh than a word. “That is an old story.”

“Do you know it?”

He shrugged. “There are many, many stories about The Gull. Stories of him saving men from drowning. Stories of him drowning men himself. He is like the sea itself: both kind and cruel.”

“Do you believe he exists?”

“No, but I know people who do. They claim to have seen him.”

“Tall tales? Stories of old folk grown fanciful in their retelling?”

“Probably.” Marin frowned. “I’ve never known Old Grim to tell something any way but as it was, and he says he crewed with The Gull as a boy.”

“I’d like to meet Old Grim.”

“I can arrange that. You might not like him, though.” Marin looked back at her and grimaced. “He has a foul mouth.”

She chuckled. “I can handle that. I’ve heard some words come out of the mouths of women in childbirth that would burn the ears of most folk.”

He nodded. “So have I. My wife’s a quiet one most of the time, but when she’s in a fury...” He shuddered. “Then you know she’s a fisherman’s daughter.”

They had reached the bottom of the hill now. Marin was silent for a while, then he gave her another fleeting glance.

“So you want to discover if The Gull exists. What would it take for you to believe in him?”

“I don’t know. To meet him, perhaps.”

He laughed. “That would prove it.”

“Do you think it’s likely I’ll meet him?”

“No. What would you do if you did?”

“Ask him about cures. There are many cures that come from the sea.”

“Of course.”

“I might never find him, but I’ve got plenty of time. So long as there are people there are always people who need cures. I’ll work my way along the coast, perhaps buy passage on ships.”

“Most likely you’ll meet some lucky man, have lots of pretty children and forget all about The Gull.”

She grimaced. “Hmph! I’ve had enough of foolish romance.”

He chuckled. “Have you, then?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. As the tarn turned between two smaller hills and the buildings of Dufin came into sight, Emerahl shifted into a more comfortable position.

“So tell me some of these stories about The Gull,” she prompted.

Marin, as she’d guessed, was happy to oblige.

Auraya leaned against the window frame and looked down. The Temple grounds were striped and patched with the long shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. Where the rays touched the gardens they set bright drifts of autumn leaves glowing. Juran, as First of the White, occupied the rooms of the Tower’s topmost floor. The view was little different to her own, the extra height only giving a slightly greater vista.

“Try this,” Juran murmured.

She turned away and accepted a goblet from Juran. Inside was a pale yellow liquid. As she sipped a familiar tartness filled her mouth, followed by the flavor of spices.

“It tastes a little like Teepi,” she said.

Juran nodded. “It is made from the berries of the same tree the Siyee use to make Teepi. When the first Toren settlers entered Si, the Siyee treated them as visitors. The Toren took particular interest in Teepi, and learned to make a stronger version of their own.”

As he handed the other White glasses of the drink, they each took a sip. Dyara grimaced, Mairae smiled, and Rian, who had no liking for intoxicating drinks, shrugged and set the glass aside.

“It’s simpler,” Auraya said. “There’s no flavor of nuts or wood.”

“They brew it in bottles, not barrels. Which is just as well. Wood is scarce in Toren.”

“So they plan to continue making it?”

“Yes. One of the more enterprising of the settlers took a few bottles to Aime. The wealthy have acquired a taste for it, and since there’s not much about it is selling for a high price. Many of the settlers brought cuttings and saplings of the tree back with them, which are also selling for a high price.”

“Good. Many of these Torens ordered to leave Si have left nearly all their assets behind them. This trade will ease the trials of displacement,” Dyara said quietly.

“And end any opportunity of the Siyee selling Teepi to the Toren,” Auraya added.

“It is not the same drink,” Juran said. “The Torens may come to like Siyee Teepi too. There is a demand here that the Siyee could still take advantage of.”

Auraya nodded slowly as she began to consider how she might suggest this idea to the Siyee, but something caught her attention and suddenly she was aware of the magic about her. A familiar presence drew close and she felt an equally familiar anxiety returning.

:Good evening, Auraya.

:Chaia.

:Why so anxious!

:You distract me - sometimes at the least convenient moment, she confessed. As soon as her mind formed the words, she felt ashamed and apologetic. A bubbling wave of amusement came from Chaia, but it did nothing to dispel her unease.

:Do not fear to think, Auraya. Your reaction is spontaneous, so how can I be offended by it? I prefer you to treat me like a mortal companion. Or one of your fellow White.

:But you’re not. You‘re a god.

:That is true. You will have to learn to trust me. You are free to be angry with me. Free to question my will. Free to argue. I want you to argue with me.

And he wants more than that, she thought.

This time she felt herself flush with embarrassment, and she turned back to the window to hide her reaction from the other White. There was no hiding from Chaia, however. Another wave of amusement washed over her.

:That is also true. I like you, Auraya. I’ve been watching you for a long, long time. I have been waiting until you had grown enough that I could tell you without causing you distress.

This isn’t causing me distress? she thought wryly. She remembered the kisses she’d evaded. For a being that had no physical form, he could be surprisingly sensual. He often drew close to her as if to compensate for his lack of body. His touch was the touch of magic, yet it was not an unpleasant sensation.

It’s not causing me as much distress as it ought to, she thought. I should just admit to myself that I miss Leiard. Not just his company, but the... nights. Sometimes it is so tempting to let Chaia have his way.

She suddenly felt intensely uncomfortable. How could she feel desire for, of all things, a god! It was wrong.

:Don’t I get to decide what is right or wrong? Chaia asked.

She felt a tingling along the side of her face and caught her breath. It was a brief touch. She sensed his attention shift abruptly.

:I must go, he said.

The luminous presence flashed away. She had an impression of incredible speed, leaving her with no doubt that he could cross Ithania in a heartbeat.

“Auraya!”

She jumped and turned to look at Juran. To her surprise the others had gone. They had left, and she hadn’t even noticed.

Juran stared at her, clearly annoyed. She grimaced in apology and his expression softened.

“What is going on, Auraya?” he asked quietly. “Your attention has been straying of late, even during important meetings. It is not like you.”

She stared back at him, unsure what to say. I could make up some excuse. It would have to be a good one, though.

Only something important could justify how I’ve been lately. As the silence between them lengthened she realized she could not think of an excuse good enough - except the truth.

Still, she hesitated. Would Chaia want Juran to know he spoke to her all the time?

:Chaia?

As she expected, there was no answer. The god was nowhere near. Juran watched her expectantly.

He never said I should not tell Juran, she thought. She took a deep breath.

“It’s Chaia,” she murmured. “He talks to me. Sometimes at... inconvenient times.”

Juran’s eyebrows rose. “Since when? And how often?”

She thought back. “Two months, and at least once a day.”

“What about?”

He looked annoyed. She was not surprised. He was the leader of the White. If Chaia was going to favor anyone with daily visits, surely it ought to be Juran.

“Nothing important,” she said hastily. “Just... conversation.” As Juran frowned, she realized this had not helped. It sounded too evasive. “He advises me on the hospice,” she added.

Juran nodded slowly and she was relieved to see he was mollified by this. “I see. That would make sense. What else?”

She shrugged. “Just friendly conversation. I think... I think he’s trying to get to know me. He had over a hundred years to get to know you. Even Mairae’s been around for twenty-six. I’ve only been here a short time.”

“That’s true.” Juran nodded and his shoulders relaxed. “Well. That is a revelation. What you didn’t hear me say was that a trio of Siyee have been sighted flying toward the Tower. The others have gone up to the roof to greet them.”

Auraya felt her heartbeat quicken. “Siyee? They would not fly this far without good reason.”

He smiled. “Let’s go up and find out what it is.”

It was only a short climb up the stairs to the roof. The sun now hung just above the horizon. Auraya looked beyond the other White and scanned the sky. Three figures were gliding toward the Tower.

The White were silent as the winged trio drew near. Two of the Siyee were middle-aged, Auraya saw. The other was a little younger and wore a patch over one eye. The Siyee formed a line and landed in unison. The younger man stumbled, but caught his balance. They were clearly exhausted.

Three pairs of eyes fixed upon Auraya. She glanced at Juran, who nodded. Smiling, she stepped forward to greet the arrivals.

“Welcome, people of the sky. I am Auraya of the White.” She indicated each of her fellow White, introducing them. The Siyee with the eye patch made the sign of the circle.

“Thank you for your welcome, Chosen of the Gods,” the man replied. “I am Niril of the Sun Ridge tribe. My companions are Dyni and Ayliss of the Bald Mountain tribe. We have volunteered to remain here in Jarime as representatives of our people.”

“We will be honored to have you among us,” she replied. “You must be tired from your journey. I will escort you to rooms where you can rest, if you wish.”

Niril inclined his head. “We would be grateful for that. First I have news that the Speakers are anxious for me to deliver. Ten days ago a black ship was seen off the coast of southern Si. The Siyee who investigated sighted several groups of Pentadrian men and women disembark and travel inland. They saw the star pendant on some of the Pentadrians’ chests, and they saw birds.”

Auraya felt a chill run down her back. The Siyee had lost too many fighters in the war. Did the Pentadrians know this? Did they think the Siyee vulnerable?

“That is bad news,” she acknowledged. “But it is fortunate your people saw them arrive. That gives us time.” She glanced at Juran and the other White. “We will decide what can be done about it.”

“Yes,” Juran agreed. “We will meet at the Altar. Auraya will take you to your rooms first. We will discuss our conclusions with you when you are rested.”

Niril nodded, his shoulders dropping with weariness. Auraya smiled in sympathy and beckoned.

“Come with me.”

17

Imi floated in a forest of sea-bell trees. They swayed softly, stirred by a current. Glowing, tiny bells moved in dizzying patterns around her. She reached out to touch one. The delicate cup swayed closer, as if eager to be plucked.

Then rows of teeth appeared, and the bell lunged toward her hand.

She snatched her hand away, horrified. A shadow slid over her, smothering all but the glowing bells in darkness. Dread gripped her. She looked up.

The hulk of an enormous ship loomed overhead. Ropes descended like snakes, seeking her out. She wanted to flee, but could not move. Only when the ropes had tangled about her did she regain control, but by then it was too late. The ropes drew her upward, and her struggles made no difference.

Still she fought them, knowing what awaited her on the surface. Raiders were there. Cruel, cold men. In comparison to these landwalkers, the fishermen who had caught her taking the sea bells had been kind and generous. The fishermen would have let her go once she had finished harvesting the bells for them.

Once free she would have swum to the sea floor to retrieve the bells she had collected for her father before heading home. She wouldn’t have given them to him straight away. He would be too angry at her to enjoy them. No, she would have accepted his punishment for slipping away and been thankful that she had escaped.

That wasn’t what had happened. As the ropes drew her to the surface she braced herself for the memory of what had come next, but before she broke free of the water, something hard rammed into her ribs. The pain jolted her awake. She gasped and opened her eyes.

Light filtered down through a wooden roof. From the cool sensation around her legs she knew there was more water sloshing around her than there had been when she had fallen asleep. Her nose caught the smell of fresh fish. As always, the crew moved about at their tasks, visible through the open section of the deck. One stood in the hull, facing her. Her ears registered a rough male voice barking at her. The words were strange, but she knew their meaning well.

Back to work.

Her hands found the bucket and she stooped to fill it. The man stopped barking. She poured the contents into another bucket hanging from a rope through the hole in the deck. Something dropped from the man’s hands into the water at her feet. He climbed up onto the deck to bark at the crew instead.

Imi looked down. Two small fish floated in the seawater. She managed to grab and eat them without pausing in her task.

Raw fish had been served to her many times before in the palace, but it had always been sliced up into delicate pieces and accompanied by salted seaweed or pickled kwee bulbs. Nobody had ever shown her how to scale a fish and she had no sharp object to help her. She had learned to strip off the scales with her teeth and spit them out again.

It wasn’t healthy to live on raw fish alone, just as Teiti had told her she couldn’t live on just sweets. Teiti had always said a healthy diet was one with many different kinds of foods, including many Imi didn’t like. Thinking of her aunt make her heart ache. She missed Teiti so much. Her heart ached more whenever she thought of her father. How she wished she hadn’t left the city. She should have bought her father something from the market. She should have listened to Teiti.

Imi worked steadily. The hull of the ship let in water slowly and the raiders didn’t seem to mind how fast she scooped it out, so long as she, and whoever hauled the other bucket up out of the hull to empty it, kept at it. They didn’t care that she splashed herself from time to time, or slept in a pool of it at night. Without the constant immersion in water her skin would have dried out and she would have suffered a slow and painful death.

After the raiders had pulled her out of the sea they had tied her up in the open at first. The hot sun had been unbearable. Her skin had dried out and she had suffered from a terrible thirst despite the water they had given to her to drink. Pain had begun in her head and spread to the rest of her body until she could only lie slumped on the wooden floor.

The next thing she remembered was waking up in the hull, water swirling around her body as the ship rocked back and forth. Terrifyingly loud sounds came from outside the ship, deafening her. Rain, which she had seen only twice before, and the occasional wave cresting the deck, had begun to fill the hull at an alarming rate. Several of the raiders had begun bailing out the water, and when one pressed a bucket into her hands she had joined them, terrified the ship would sink and she would drown, tied to it by the rope around her ankle.

Later a raider came and tossed fish at her. She had been so hungry, she had eaten the scales, bones and flesh.

Slowly she had recovered some of her strength. The raiders’ leader had made it clear he wanted her to keep bailing out the water. She had refused at first. She was a princess. She didn’t do menial work.

So he had beaten her.

Shocked and frightened, she had given in. He had watched her work for a time, menacing her if she slowed. Finally, satisfied she was cowed enough, he had left her to it.

It was endless, tiring work and she was always hungry. They gave her so little food. Her body was thin. Her arms looked like muscle, skin and bone, and nothing more. Her shift hung from her, dirty and torn. She didn’t know how long she could keep doing this. So many days had passed. She clung to the hope that her father or one of the young fighters of her home would rescue her. It was better not to think too much about it, however. If she did, she could see too many reasons why rescue was unlikely.

Something will happen, she told herself. I’m a princess. Princesses don’t die in the hulls of ships. When my rescuer comes, I’ll be alive and ready.

The five walls of the Altar met above the White. Juran spoke the ritual words to begin the meeting and Auraya joined the others to speak the short phrase that was their part. When all were silent, Juran looked at each of them, his expression troubled.

“We are here to discuss what to do about these Pentadrians in Si,” he began.

“Does this mean we are at war again?” Mairae asked.

Juran shook his head. “No.”

“But the Pentadrians have invaded one of our allies.”

“They have trespassed,” Juran corrected. “As far as we know, they have not harmed anyone within Si.”

“Because the Siyee aren’t foolish enough to approach them,” Auraya pointed out. “We must find out why they are there.”

“Yes,” Juran agreed. “That will take time. I will send the priests who have recently arrived at the Open to meet them.”

“Priests?” Auraya repeated, surprised. “Why risk their lives and subject the Siyee to such a delay? I can reach Si in a day.”

Juran exchanged a glance with Dyara before meeting Auraya’s eyes.

“That may not be wise.”

Auraya blinked in surprise. She glanced at Mairae and Rian, who looked as puzzled as she. “How so?”

He placed his hands on the table. “We know the Pentadrian leaders are powerful sorcerers. We know the remaining four are close to us in strength.”

“The one they call Shar - the vorn rider - is weaker than I,” Rian interjected.

“Yes,” Juran agreed. “You are the only one of us to face a Voice in single combat.” He paused, looking at Auraya. “The only one who has faced a still-living Voice, that is,” he added. “Fortunately, Rian overcame Shar. We can’t test ourselves against the others without risking that one of us will prove weaker, and be killed.”

“Then I will not approach if I see either of the two more powerful Voices,” Auraya said. “The weaker two should not be a problem.”

Juran smiled grimly. “Your courage is admirable, Auraya.”

“Why? We gained some idea of their strengths during the battle.”

“Some, but not a definite idea. We don’t know if the weaker two were engaged in defenses we were unaware of at the time. They may be stronger than they seemed.”

She shrugged. “If Rian could defeat Shar then I can too. We know the bird woman - Genza - is next in strength. I’m willing to take the risk that I can overcome her alone.”

“And could you defeat them both at once?”

She hesitated as doubts rose.

Juran spread his hands. “Do you see the danger now? Think of our own vulnerabilities.” He looked at them one by one. “What if you were all absent, and the remaining four Pentadrian leaders attacked Jarime? I could not stop them alone. What if they are watching our movements, planning to ambush and kill us individually if we separate?” He shook his head. “When we are alone we are vulnerable.”

Mairae made a small noise of disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean for us all to stay in Jarime from now on? How can we defend other lands? What of our alliance agreements?”

Auraya nodded in agreement. Travelling to Si was a risk, but one worth taking. What do you think of this, Chaia? she found herself thinking.

Juran grimaced. “Our priests and priestesses can deal with most threats. We will send them out to gather information before tackling anything ourselves.”

“That’s hardly going to work in Si,” Auraya pointed out. “They’d never arrive in time.”

“When we have Siyee priests and priestesses that will no longer be a problem.”

“Which won’t happen soon enough for this threat. It will be years before any are—”

A sudden shift in the corner of her eye distracted her. She looked around and realized the movement was not physical, but magical. A familiar presence brushed her senses.

:Hello, Auraya.

She suppressed a sigh. Her celestial admirer had returned, and as usual it was at a time when she didn’t need the distraction.

“What is it, Auraya?” Dyara asked quietly. “What do you see?”

Auraya looked at Dyara. “You don’t sense him at all?”

Dyara shook her head. Auraya quickly glanced at Mairae and Rian, who looked bemused. Juran was frowning. Then all expressions changed to awe and pleasure and their eyes shifted to a place behind Auraya. She looked over her shoulder to see a glowing figure standing there.

:Juran, the god said in greeting. Dyara, Auraya, Rian and Mairae.

“Chaia,” the others replied reverently, making the sign of the circle. Auraya hastily followed their gesture. She had grown so used to Chaia’s presence, it was easy to forget the formalities the White usually followed when any of the gods appeared.

The god began to walk around the table slowly.

:As you know, we prefer to allow mortals to choose their own paths most of the time. Occasionally we steer your course, as we have a responsibility to guide your actions when they do not agree with our purpose. He stopped and looked at Juran. I must intervene now.

Juran’s eyebrows knitted together. He looked down at the table.

:Your purpose is to protect our followers, not only yourselves, Chaia said.

Juran flinched. “Protecting ourselves at the expense of others was not my purpose,” he said, looking up at the god. “It is the long-term protection of Circlians that I am concerned with. If one of us dies, all Northern Ithania will be vulnerable.”

Dyara nodded. “I agree. If Auraya dies in Si it may lead to more deaths in the long term.”

Chaia smiled.

:If Auraya dies, then we will chose a replacement - though I doubt we would find another so talented or Gifted.

Despite the praise, Auraya felt a chill. She had thought herself ready to risk her life for the Siyee. Now, knowing that the gods had intended her to take that risk, she felt fear stirring somewhere deep inside her. She felt... expendable.

Just like any soldier, she thought. Well, that’s what we are. Powerful, immortal, Gifted soldiers in the service of the gods. The irony of what she had just thought struck her. We are called immortals only because we do not age. If we face the sort of conflict Juran fears - if we must constantly risk our lives in order to protect Circlians - then we may prove shorter lived than ordinary mortals. She straightened her back. So be it.

“I chose to serve the gods and I don’t intend to stop anytime soon, though it would be a joy to join them” she told the others. “I will not take any unnecessary risks. And remember - I can be back here in a day if you need me.”

Juran met her eyes and held them, then nodded and turned to Chaia.

“Thank you for your wisdom and guidance, Chaia,” he said humbly. “I will send Auraya to Si.”

The god smiled, then vanished. Auraya felt him move out of the reach of her senses. When she looked at Juran again he was regarding her with an unreadable expression.

“The gods have favored you with unusual Gifts,” he said. “I should have seen that they intended you to use them. Be careful, Auraya. It is not just your unique abilities we would sorely miss if we lost you.”

She smiled, touched. “Thank you. I will.”

Juran looked at the others. “That is decided. We had best inform our guests.” He looked at Auraya.

“I’ll tell them,” she said.

As they rose and the sides of the Altar began to unfold, Auraya thought of Chaia’s appearance. She had wondered what he would think of Juran’s argument. Had she called to him without realizing it? Had he been close enough to hear their conversation before then while still beyond the limit of her senses?

These were questions she would have to think about later. For now, she had best consider how to approach these Pentadrians in Si without putting herself, or the Siyee, in danger.

Old Grim looked up as the woman entered the room, and kept looking. High cheekbones, hair black as night, a good figure - though it could do with a bit more flesh on it. As the lamplight caught her eyes he saw that they were green. Wrinkles appeared around them, betraying her age as she smiled at her companion.

Would have been a beauty when she was younger, he thought. Who’s that she’s with? Ah, Marin. Can’t help himself. Got to have a look at anything new. I can remember him picking over the beach as a boy, looking for things washed up by the tide.

Marin introduced the woman to his regular drinking companions but didn’t stop. To Grim’s surprise the man looked up at him, winked, then guided the woman across to Grim’s table.

“Evening,” Marin said. “This is Old Grim,” he told the woman. “Grim, this is Limma Curer.”

“Evening,” Grim said, nodding at the woman. She smiled easily. He caught the smell of herbs and something earthier. The family name was probably an accurate description of her trade.

“Limma is interested in stories about The Gull,” Marin said. “I told her you’d met him. She actually believes me.”

“Does she?” Grim felt an old resentment begin to simmer, but when he tried to glare at the woman his anger faded again. She met his eyes steadily. There was something about her manner. She wanted something from him. He couldn’t imagine he had anything to offer - apart from his story.

Intrigued, he lifted his goblet. “A long story needs a wet mouth.”

Limma laughed and reached under her tawl. He glimpsed many pouches underneath and the smell of herbs and cures grew stronger. Turning to the drinkhouse owner, she tossed him a coin. He caught it neatly, and nodded as she told him to keep their cups full. Marin and Limma settled onto the bench opposite.

“So you’ve met The Gull,” she said. “How long ago?”

Old Grim shrugged. “I was young, barely more than a boy. Thought I’d see a bit of the world, so I got work on boats moving up the coast to Aime. When I got there, I found work on a trading ship. It wasn’t what I expected. It’s always hard work, but I learned then that the bigger the boat, the more concerned people get about making sure everyone knows who takes orders from who. I was pretty low in the beating order, so to speak.” He grimaced at the memory.

“There was a boy on the ship. He didn’t have a name. Everyone called him ‘boy.’ One day it came to me that nobody ever bothered this boy. He gave them no reason to, but on this ship being quick at your job didn’t save you from a beating.

“I started watching this boy. He was a fair lad, but none of the bullies had a go at him. In fact, they acted like they were scared of him.

“One day he sat down beside me during the meal break. He told me this wasn’t the right ship for me. He said I needed a smaller boat and I’d make a good captain. I was better off setting myself against the sea than other men.

“Deep in my heart I knew he was right, but I wanted to see the world, you see, and he was just a boy. What did he know? So I stuck it out.

“A few weeks later, when we were about to leave the port of Aime, he spoke to me again. He pointed to a smaller ship and said they were looking for crew. I thanked him for telling me, but stayed on. Others got off and I felt proud of myself for not giving in.”

Old Grim stopped as a serving boy placed three fresh goblets on the table. He drank deeply, sighed, then scratched his head.

“Where was I?”

“The boy warned you a second time,” Limma said.

He stared at her in surprise. She smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Grim wiped his mouth and continued on.

“We were only out at sea a few days when the sky turned black and the wind began to scream at us. We couldn’t see more than a few strides. I heard the boy telling the captain that they were headed for rocks and should hove to starboard. He said it with such... authority. The captain cursed the boy and told him to get below decks.

“Next thing the boy appeared right in front of me. I could see he was angry. Furious as only an adult can be. It was such a strange thing to see in the face of someone so young.”

Grim paused. The memory was so vivid. He could still feel the ice in the wind and the fear in his guts, and see the boy’s face. Gulping a mouthful of drink, he concentrated on the comforting warmth it brought. The two listeners waited patiently.

“The boy dragged me to the dinghy. When I realized he wanted me to help him cut loose, I protested. He straightened up and looked me in the eye...” Grim mimicked the boy, fixing the woman with what he hoped was a convincingly firm stare, “... and he said: ‘I’ve warned you twice. I will warn you only once more. Leave this ship or you will not live another day.”

“And at that moment one of the bullies - a big hulk of a man - saw us. He gave a roar and went to strike the boy. His fist never found its target. The boy made the smallest movement, and the bully went backward. His head hit something and he stayed down.”

Grim smiled. “I stood there gaping at the boy. He gave me a big shove so I fell into the dinghy, then the ropes went and untied themselves. Next thing the dinghy and I were falling. We hit the water. I just lay there, more than a little stunned, looking up at the boy as the dinghy moved away from the ship like something was pushing it.”

Old Grim shook his head. “Never saw him again. The next day a flock of gulls followed me as I rowed to shore. That’s when it hit me who he was. Later I heard that the ship ran up on the rocks. Most of the crew died, but no one saw any boy. Not dead or living.”

The woman was smiling now. It gave Old Grim a bit of pleasure to see that. She enjoyed my story, he thought. I guess it doesn’t matter if she believes it or not.

“You’re a lucky man,” she said.

He lifted his mug and drank. “That I am. My luck changed from that day. By the time I’d worked my way home I had enough to buy a boat of my own.”

“So you did become a captain, after all,” she said, raising her mug to her mouth.

“Sure did.”

“But nobody believed your story.”

“None but my wife.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you never encountered anybody at all who knew the truth of your tale?”

He paused as he realized what he’d said was not entirely true. “There have been a few who seemed to take my word for it. Travellers, mostly. A young sailmaker told me recently he’d heard a trader up north tell a story like mine.”

“This trader met The Gull, too?”

“So he said. Reckoned he was attacked by raiders and a boy saved him.”

“Did he give you the trader’s name?”

“No, but the sailmaker lives up the coast from here.” He leaned forward. “Why are you so interested in The Gull?”

She smiled. “I want to find him.”

He laughed quietly. “Good luck. I get the feeling he’s the type who finds you, not the other way around.”

“I hope so.”

“What d’you want from him, then?”

“Advice.”

From her expression, he could tell she wasn’t going to say any more. Shrugging, he held up his empty mug. “Another drink, and I might remember the names of more travellers who believed me.”

As he’d hoped, she laughed and turned to wave at the server.

18

As Reivan followed Imenja onto the balcony she saw that the other Voices were already there. All but Nekaun were seated in the reed chairs, sipping cool drinks, and all but Nekaun were accompanied by a Companion.

He had not chosen one, yet. Only two months had passed since he had become First Voice and a Companion ought to be chosen carefully, Reivan reasoned. It wouldn’t be fair if he chose and dismissed Companions until he found someone he liked and trusted.

Nekaun turned to nod at Imenja as she sat down, then his eyes shifted to Reivan and he smiled. As always, he smiled as if she was a friend he was happy to see, which always made her feel a little self-conscious. She felt flattered such an extraordinary man paid her any attention at all.

Everyone adored him. He was charming and thoughtful. When he spoke to people he gave them his full attention. He laughed at their jokes, listened to their complaints and always remembered their names.

I guess it only seems like he remembers, Reivan reminded herself as she took a seat beside her mistress. He doesn’t have to memorize anyone’s name. He can pluck it from their minds whenever he needs to.

The way the Voices behaved as a group had changed. While she had never seen Nekaun angry or forceful she had no doubt that he was in control. He always sought the others’ opinions and advice, but ultimately decisions were made by him.

Of course, the others can’t object when they gave him the advice that led to his decision, she mused.

When Imenja had handed the responsibilities of leadership over to him she expressed neither relief nor regret. Since then she had said little about Nekaun’s actions. If she found fault with Nekaun’s decisions, Reivan had seen no sign of it.

She can’t say anything to me. He would read it from my mind. She won’t tell me anything that she doesn’t want him to know.

Nekaun had begun to pace the railing. Now he shot her an unfathomable look. She felt her face flush.

What am I thinking? I’m being cynical again. I must stop that. I hope he knows it’s just a habit and I don’t actually think there is fault in his decisions or—

“Since we’re all here, we may as well begin,” Nekaun said.

“Yes,” Imenja agreed. “Who will - or should I say where will - we consider first?”

Nekaun smiled. “Shar and Dunway first, I think.”

The handsome blond Voice cleared his throat. He had brought one of his tame vorns with him and the beast lay panting beside the chair. “The shipwreck plan appears to have worked so far. The survivors are being treated well. The second boat is still trapped in Chon’s harbor. As we expected, the Dunwayans are reluctant to allow our people to disembark.”

Nekaun nodded. “Genza?”

The fourth Voice flexed her lean, muscular arms. “My people have been travelling for eleven days, but even with the help of our birds in surveying the land their progress is slow. They have seen Siyee in the distance a few times, but the flying people do not approach them.”

“No sign of the one they call Auraya?”

“No.”

“Good.” Nekaun turned to Vervel. The stocky man shrugged.

“My Servants have arrived. The Torens don’t seem to care about their nationality, so long as there’s something to buy from them. A pragmatic people. The second boat has not yet reached Genria.”

Nekaun turned to Imenja. “And your Servants are still at sea?”

She nodded. “Yes. They were delayed, along with yours, by that storm. Now that the weather has cleared they should arrive in Somrey in a few days.”

“Is it wise for our people to arrive at their destinations at the same time?” Vervel asked. “The Circlians may notice and grow suspicious of our intentions.”

“If they are paying attention,” Nekaun said. He looked at Genza. “It is unlikely that your people will remain unnoticed, since people enter Si so rarely. However, the Siyee have no priests or priestesses of their own, so they may prove easier to sway.”

“It will not be as easy finding potential Servants among normal humans,” Vervel said. “My people tell me that nearly all Skilled men and women of Northern Ithania become priests or priestesses.”

Nekaun smiled and glanced at Reivan. “And no unskilled do. That rule has been our weakness in the past, too. Would unskilled Northern Ithanians abandon their heathen gods and embrace the true gods if they knew there was a chance they might gain power and authority by becoming Servants?”

The others looked thoughtful. “The power and authority you offer is only valued here,” Imenja murmured.

“For now.”

“How many unskilled will you allow to become Servants?” Vervel asked. “How will you choose?”

“I would not set a number to begin with,” Nekaun replied. “They would have to prove themselves worthy.”

“Good. We don’t want to make a mockery of the gods by ordaining complete fools,” Genza muttered.

“No,” Nekaun agreed. He suddenly looked at Reivan. “We are in no danger of that yet. What do you think, Reivan?”

She blinked in surprise. “I... uh... I can’t help thinking there must be an easier way to convert Northern Ithanians. The Circlians believe our gods aren’t real. They would flock to us if you proved them wrong.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps only the sight of the gods would convince them.”

He smiled crookedly. “We may call upon the gods for guidance or approval from time to time, but even then they do not always appear at our request. It is unlikely they would agree to appear and demonstrate their powers for every doubting Circlian each time a Servant requested it.”

Reivan looked down. “No, that would be too much to ask. But... it is a pity the Circlians did not see Sheyr appear when we emerged from the mines. If they had seen that magnificent sight, they might not have fought us, but instead joined us. Would the gods agree to appear before a gathering of Circlians?”

“I guess if that were possible they would have done it already,” Imenja said.

“What prevents them?” Reivan asked.

Silence followed. She forced herself to look up at the Voices. To her surprise, the Voices wore thoughtful expressions. Nekaun was frowning, as if troubled by her words. His gaze shifted to hers and he smiled.

“Ah, Thinkers. They have a way of asking unanswerable questions. We all wish to understand the gods, but I doubt any of us ever will. They are the ultimate mystery.”

The others nodded. Nekaun rubbed his hands together and glanced around the room. “Shall we move on to other matters?”

“Yes,” Genza agreed. “Let’s.”

“I hear there has been another duel between Dekkan nobles.”

Genza rolled her eyes. “Yes. Same old families. Same old grudge.”

“We must do more to prevent these confrontations.”

“I’d love to hear any suggestions you have.”

Relieved that their attention had moved from her, Reivan picked up a glass of water and drank deeply. Nekaun often asked for her opinion during these meetings, whereas he rarely spoke to the other Companions. Though it was flattering that he sought it, she did not always enjoy the experience. Sometimes, like today, she suspected she had made a complete fool of herself.

Fortunately, the others did not appear to mind. Instead they discouraged reticence. Reivan had shied away from giving her opinion once and Nekaun had pursued her with a ruthless patience until she gave in.

They were disturbed by my question, though, she thought, looking at the other Voices. It seems I am not the only one who wonders why the gods are so reluctant to show their power or influence more. If they had, would we have lost the war? Would they have advised us against attacking the Circlians? Surely Kuar would not have led us into battle unless the gods had approved.

After all, Sheyr would not have appeared and encouraged the army to fight if he knew the battle was a hopeless cause. I can only conclude that he either knew we’d lose, or couldn’t discover enough about the enemy to see the danger. Either way, he must have known there was a risk of failure.

Reivan shook her head. At least I’m not the only person mystified by the gods. Even the Voices don’t know everything about them.

Mirar stood before the wall of falling water. He reached out and touched the sheet of liquid. The smooth, rippling surface broke around his fingers and cold droplets ran down his bare arms, chilling him.

Get it done quickly, Leiard suggested.

Closing his eyes, Mirar leaned forward and plunged his head into the water.

The water was bone-chilling cold. He scrubbed at his scalp and beard, moving quickly to combat the chill and hasten the rinsing. A step backward and he was back in the air again, water trickling down his bare chest as he straightened.

Running his hands through his hair, he was pleased to find none of the stickiness of the dye was left. He didn’t relish the thought of ducking into the cold water again. The prospect of it had discouraged him from reapplying the color for several days.

“Don’t forget your eyebrows,” Emerahl had said. “If people see pale eyebrows and dark hair, they’ll know you’ve been using dye.” He smiled at the memory as he carefully washed the remaining dye away with water cupped in his hands. She hadn’t said anything about dying the hair on his chest, or anywhere else, but who would see it anyway? Nobody, while Leiard had any say in it.

A piece of cloth was ail he had to dry himself with. He started back into the cave, rubbing at his skin to warm it.

“Wilar?”

He stopped and turned back to the fall. The voice was familiar. A Siyee was silhouetted in the entrance.

“Reel?”

“It is Tyve.”

The brother, Mirar thought. They sound so alike. “Give me a moment,” he called.

He hurried into the cave, quickly finished dressing, then returned to the fall with his bag of cures. A young Siyee male was waiting at the gap between the edge of the fall and the rock wall. He grinned as Mirar appeared.

“Have we come at a bad time?”

“No,” Mirar assured him. “Your company is always welcome.”

The Siyee hid a smile. Their language had come back to Mirar quickly, but he did not always understand the words or phrases they used. He suspected he used an old-fashioned way of speaking that they found amusing, and that the puzzling phrases and words they used were recent inventions of the last century or so.

He’d met the pair some weeks ago, giving them the explanation he and Emerahl had come up with: he had agreed to meet her here and she had communicated the way to the cave via dream links, but when he arrived she had already left.

They understood what a Dreamweaver was. He was pleased to learn that the Siyee still remembered Mirar through stories in which he was a benevolent healer and wise man. To his amusement, they assumed all Dreamweavers were male and magically powerful.

He and Tyve walked out from behind the fall and down to the edge of the pool, where another young Siyee was waiting.

“Greetings, Wilar. I brought you some food,” Reet said, holding up a small bag.

“Thank you,” Mirar replied. He lifted his bag. “Have you come for more cures?”

“Yes. Sizzi says your remedy worked. She wants some more. Speaker Veece’s joints are paining him now that it’s getting colder. Do you have anything that would help?”

Mirar smiled. “He didn’t tell you to ask, did he? You’re asking for his sake.”

Reet grinned. “He’s too proud to ask for help, but not so proud he doesn’t complain about it all the time.”

Sitting down on a rock, Mirar opened his bag and considered the contents. “I’ll have to make something up. I have the wound powder and pain ease here.” He drew out a carved wooden jar and a small bag of pellets. “The pain ease is in the bag. Use no more than four a day, and never more than two at once.”

Reet took the bag and jar and stowed them in a pouch strapped to his chest. Mirar picked up the bag of food. It was surprisingly heavy, and he heard the faint sound of liquid sloshing inside.

“Is there... ah!” He drew out a skin of Teepi.

“A gift from Sizzi,” Tyve explained.

Mirar regarded the two Siyee. “Are you in a hurry to return?”

They shook their heads and grinned. Unplugging the skin, Mirar took a sip of the liqueur. A tart, nutty flavor filled his mouth. He swallowed, savoring the warmth that filled his stomach and began to spread to his limbs. He handed the skin to Tyve.

“Any news?” he asked.

Tyve drank and handed the skin to Reet. “Priests have reached the Open. They’re going to teach the Siyee who want to become priests and priestesses.”

Mirar sighed. The Siyee had been free from all but Huan’s influence for centuries, and the goddess hadn’t meddled in their lives much since she had finished creating them. Once the Siyee had priests and priestesses they would be encouraged to worship all five gods, some of which were more inclined to mess about with people’s lives.

“You don’t look pleased to hear it,” Reet observed.

Mirar looked at the young man, then shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I... I don’t like the thought of the Siyee being ruled by the gods, and their landwalker servants.”

Tyve frowned. “You mink that is what will happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Is this a bad thing?” Reet asked, shrugging. “The gods can protect us.”

“You were safer when you were apart from the rest of the world.”

“The world invaded us,” Reet reminded him.

“Ah, you’re right. The Toren settlers did, in their fashion. I guess you could not have remained separate or safe forever.”

“You do not worship the gods?” Tyve asked.

Mirar took the skin from Reet and put it aside. He shook his head. “No. Dreamweavers do not serve gods. They help people. The gods... don’t like that.”

“Why not?”

“They like to be worshipped, to control all mortals. They don’t like that Dreamweavers don’t worship or obey them. When we help others, they think we reduce their influence on those we help.”

Tyve frowned. “Do they punish you for it?”

Memories of crushing stone and a crippled body crept close. Mirar pushed them away. “They ordered Juran of the White to kill our leader. At their urging, Circlians turned against Dreamweavers. Many were killed. Though this does not happen now, those few of my people who brave the life of a Dreamweaver are scorned and persecuted by Circlians everywhere.”

The two Siyee regarded Mirar in dismay. “The Circlians are our allies,” Tyve said. There was neither defensiveness nor alarm in his voice. “If you’re an enemy of the Circlians, then are you our enemy, too?”

“That is up to your people to decide,” Mirar said, looking away. “Most likely this alliance will do your people much good. I would not sow doubts in your minds.”

Liar, Leiard accused, his voice a whisper in the back of Mirar’s mind.

“Why don’t you worship the gods?” Reet asked.

“For several reasons,” Mirar told him. “Partly it is because we feel we should have a choice in the matter. Partly it is because we know the gods are not as good and benign as they would like mortals to believe they are.” Mirar shook his head. “I could tell you of the exploits of the gods in the past, before their war reduced them to five, that would make your skin turn cold.”

Just exploits of the five remaining gods, in their bad old days? Leiard asked.

No, Mirar replied. That would be too obvious. I’ll mix them with stories of other gods.

“Tell us,” Tyve said seriously. “We should know, if we are going to be ruled by them.”

“You might not like what you hear,” Mirar warned.

“That depends whether we believe you or not. Old tales are usually just exaggerations of the truth,” Reet said wisely.

“These are not stories. They are memories,” Mirar corrected. “We Dreamweavers pass on our memories to our students and each other. What I tell you is not an exaggeration or embellishment, but true recollections of people long dead.”

Or not so dead, Leiard added.

Mirar paused. Are you admitting I am the owner of this body?

There was no answer. The two Siyee were watching him intently. He could sense their curiosity. What am I doing? he thought. If these tales spread among the Siyee, the gods will take note of them and seek the source.

Stories were powerful. They could teach caution. The thought of Siyee becoming priests and priestesses and of the gods controlling and changing them spurred him on. They should not accept such a fate without knowing some of the truth.

“I will tell you tales of dead gods as well as those of the Circle,” he said. “Have you ever heard of the whores of Ayetha?”

The young men’s eyes brightened with interest. “No.”

“Ayetha was a city in what is now Genria. The most popular god or goddess of that city was... no, I will not speak her name. The people built a temple for her. She held power over them through an exchange of favors. Any family that needed her help must surrender a child to the temple. That child - male or female - was taught the arts of prostitution and made to serve those who came and donated money to the Temple. They did not even need to be full grown to begin service. If they ever tried to leave their temple, they were hunted down and killed. The babes born of these women... they were sacrificed to this goddess.”

The interest in the young men’s eyes had changed to horror.

“This was before the War of the Gods?” Reet asked.

“Yes.” Mirar paused. “Do you wish to hear more?”

The pair exchanged glances, then Tyve nodded. Mirar considered their grim, determined expressions, then continued.

“She was not the only god to abuse her followers. One seduced young girls from all over Ithania. Some parents feared him and kept their daughters hidden, but in vain as the gods can see the minds of all people, everywhere. Others valued the regard of a god too much and foolishly dreamed their own child might be chosen.

“This god favored innocence and craved complete devotion. When he found a girl who fulfilled his requirements, he pleasured them with magic in a way that left them unmoved by ordinary physical sensation. They lost interest in eating and neglected themselves.

“Innocence dies easily and the girls inevitably questioned what had been done to them. When they did, he abandoned them. They did not live long after. Some killed themselves, some starved, some became addicted to pleasure drugs. I tended some of these girls, and was never able to save one.”

“You?” Tyve asked. “Surely this was before the War of the Gods, too.”

Mirar shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was speaking as the one whose memory I have called upon.”

Reet was frowning. “It is strange.”

“What is?”

“The gods... they are not physical beings. Why would one want...” He flushed. “... girls.”

“There are many tales of the gods falling in love or lusting after mortals. They may be beings of magic, but they crave physical closeness. There was a famous tale of a goddess - old even a thousand years ago - who fell in love with a mortal, and struck down any woman he happened to see and feel the briefest admiration for. Eventually he went mad and killed himself.”

“So if they feel love, do they feel hate?”

Mirar nodded. “Oh, yes. You would never have heard of the Velians. That is because one of the gods hated them so much he had his followers slaughter them, right to the last half-breed child. It took centuries, but he destroyed that race completely.”

Tyve shuddered. “If the gods can destroy a whole people, it would not be wise to become their enemy.”

“You do not have to be their enemy to suffer from their meddling. The Dunwayans were a peaceful race of farmers and fishermen until a war god decided to turn them into warriors. A long century of starvation followed because so many of them had become fighters that too few were growing crops or raising stock. Many thousands died.”

“Not all gods are bad, though,” Reet pointed out.

“No,” Mirar agreed. “There were some good ones. Like Iria, the goddess of the sky. She could be called upon to predict the seasons, and would appear to warn of unfavorable weather or impending disasters. There was a sea god, Svarlen, who helped sailors navigate or warned them of storms. And Kem, the beggar god, whose followers cared for those without homes or anyone to care for them. It was a terrible thing, losing them.”

“They died in the war.” Tyve frowned. “Who killed them?”

Mirar held the young man’s eyes for a short while before answering.

“Who knows? The victors, perhaps.”

Slowly Tyve’s face changed as he comprehended what that meant.

“The five,” he gasped. “Surely not! These good gods must have been killed earlier in the war by someone else. The five might have killed their killers.”

“That is possible,” Mirar agreed. “It is also possible that one or more of the five killed them.”

“They wouldn’t have,” Tyve insisted. “They are good. If they were evil, the world would be a terrible place. It is peaceful now... it is in Northern Ithania, anyway.”

Mirar smiled. “Then we are all safe,” he said. “But remember this: two of the first gods I mentioned - the ones whose abuses I listed - are still with us. Perhaps they have changed their ways, but knowing what I know I will never trust them to have mortals’ best interests at heart.”

The pair looked distressed. Mirar felt a pang of guilt. Is it fair of me to shatter their illusions about the gods? What choice do they have?

He picked up the skin and handed it to Tyve. “Drink, and forget what I’ve told you. It is all in the distant past. As you said, we are in better times now. That is all that matters.”

19

Once the servants had left her rooms, Auraya began to pace. In a few hours she would be in the air, heading to Si. There were only a few arrangements to make before she was free to go.

Mischief romped around the room, infected by her excitement. She hoped this burst of energy would tire him out and keep him quiet later. As a presence touched the edge of her senses, she glanced at the veez. He didn’t react. As far as she could tell, he was completely unaware of Chaia’s visits.

:Are you ready? Chaia asked.

:Yes. I’ve been up since dawn, driving my servants to distraction.

:That’s unlikely. You’re taking little with you, so there was barely any packing for them to do. They did not even dress your hair.

:No point, she replied, touching the clasp that bound her hair into a tail. It will only come out in the wind.

:You could protect it from the wind with magic.

:I like the feel of the wind.

:I like how you look with your hair dressed.

She felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment.

:It is a mere physical detail. You cannot see it, she pointed out.

:I see it through the eyes of others.

:Ah, she replied. Do you like it because they do, or—

A furry shape leapt onto the table. She turned in time to see the veez seize a circular object in its teeth.

“Mischief!” she gasped, leaping toward him. “Put that down!”

The veez’s ears flattened against his head. He evaded her easily, jumped off the table and darted behind a chair. She followed and found him crouching in the narrow gap between the chair and the wall, staring at her defiantly.

“Mnn,” he said around the ring.

“Not yours,” she said firmly. She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“Nf yrs,” the veez mumbled. Mine! he sent telepathically, giving up on trying to vocalize around the ring.

“Give,” she ordered. “Now.”

The veez blinked at her. She shuffled forward and reached toward him. As she expected, he darted away, behind another chair.

She stood up and sighed. Testing her like this was his current bad habit. Mairae assured her all veez did this and eventually grew bored with the game, but in the meantime Mischief’s behavior was annoying. Most of the time Auraya managed to ignore it, but this morning she didn’t have the time to indulge him.

He was moving around the room now, avoiding her. She did not like to use magic on him. It was always better to use persuasion.

“Give Auraya ring or Mischief no fly,” she said.

There was a pause, then a muffled word. He did not emerge.

I have used that threat before, she thought ruefully.

“Auraya go away,” she said. “Not take Mischief. Leave Mischief alone long time.”

The pause was longer, then there was a whimper that twisted her heart, and he came bounding out. He raced across the room, ran up her circ and wrapped himself around her neck.

She held out her hand. The ring dropped into it. Mischief’s head drooped onto her shoulder and he sighed.

“Owaya stay.”

“Auraya and Mischief fly,” she said.

“Fly now?”

“Later.”

She moved to a chair and sat down. At once he climbed down into her lap and demanded scratches. As she obliged him with one hand she held up the ring in the other. Abruptly she remembered Chaia. She could still sense him.

:Sorry about that.

She felt a wave of amusement from him.

:I am used to interruptions, he replied.

She considered the ring.

:What happened to the old ring? she asked Chaia.

:The Pentadrians still have it. They do not completely understand its properties, or they would have used it against you.

She shuddered at the thought. It had been bad enough witnessing the Siyee spy harried out of the sky by the Pentadrians’ black birds into the enemy’s midst. She could imagine how much worse it could have been. If the wearer was tortured, for example. She did not have to watch, but knowing that something like that was occurring because of her would be awful.

:Can you destroy the ring? she asked.

:Only through another. Its power will diminish eventually.

:Can you speed up...?

A knock at the main door interrupted her. She reached out to the mind of the person behind it and smiled. Drawing a little magic, she willed the door open.

Danjin stepped inside.

“Good morning, Auraya of the White,” he said, making the sign of the circle.

“Good morning, Danjin Spear,” she replied. “Come in and sit down.”

He moved to one of the chairs. Mischief looked at the adviser, his whiskers twitching, then curled up and went to sleep.

“I’ll be leaving in a few hours,” she told Danjin. “Before I go, I have something to give to you. Catch.”

She tossed the ring toward Danjin. He caught it neatly. As he examined the ring his expression remained mild, but she could read the lingering misgivings in his mind.

I can’t help feeling reluctance at having someone in my head again, even though it’s only Auraya. This is a necessary requirement of my position, however. He slipped the ring on his finger.

“It will shield your mind from Dreamweavers who might try to invade your dreams,” she told him.

He looked at her. “So I can work with them on your behalf.”

“Yes.” Auraya thought of the hospice, and felt a nagging worry return. “It won’t be as difficult a job as you might expect. Dreamweavers and healers alike are being as cooperative as possible. I have another task for you. The Siyee ambassadors have asked for someone to teach them our language and we need people here who can speak theirs. Would you like to be one of those people?”

He smiled. “Of course. I managed to pick up a few words during the weeks before the battle.”

“Mairae is translating for them,” she told him. “Which is keeping her busy. You’ll be her favorite person in all Jarime if you learn fast.”

“I consider myself warned.”

Auraya laughed. “Don’t set your hopes too high.”

“Me? I’m not nearly pretty enough for Mairae. Besides, my wife would kill me.”

“She would. How is she?”

He nodded. “Well.” His smile widened. “You know your life is good when it wouldn’t make a thrilling tale. I’ve come to relish that.”

“I hope it stays that way. Now, is there anything you think I need to do before I go? Anything that can be done in an hour, that is.”

As Danjin considered he turned the ring around and around. Auraya felt a twinge of guilt. She had not told him the entire truth about it. The ring would blanket his mind from all minds but Auraya’s, which was not exactly what had been intended. It wasn’t supposed to shield the wearer’s mind from the other White, but it did. The White and the welcome-tree tenders had never tried to make a ring like this before, and by the time they had realized the error it had been too late to grow another one. The decision had been made for Auraya to leave for Si and she needed the ring now.

Juran had told her to keep the flaw from Danjin. He might still work it out, Auraya thought. Circumstances might make him realize the other White can’t read his mind.

:I doubt he would take advantage of the situation, Chaia said. He can be trusted.

:Yes.

:Even so, the ring should be destroyed when you return.

She smothered a sigh. Once again she would have to visit the grove every day, no matter the weather or how busy she was, to encourage the growth of another replacement link ring.

“The only matter we haven’t dealt with is Mischief,” Danjin said suddenly. He looked down at the veez. “Would you like me to visit every day, as before?”

She grinned and shook her head. “He’s coming with me.”

“Really? That will be a treat for the Siyee.” His voice was heavy with irony.

“And for him.” She picked up Mischief and put him on the seat, then stood up. “Thank you for your help these last few days, Danjin. If there’s anything else, speak to me via the ring.”

“I will,” he replied. They moved to the door. “Have a safe journey and be careful in Si.”

She opened the door. “Of course.”

He smiled and stepped outside. Closing the door, Auraya turned to regard the room. She didn’t know how long it would be before she returned to it. At least this time she would not have to worry about poor Mischief pining away on his own - or tormenting Danjin.

He looked up at her, whiskers twitching.

:Fly?

“Yes, Mischief,” she said. “We have a long way to travel and it’s time we began.”

Whenever Reivan had the chance she explored a part of the Sanctuary she was not familiar with in the hopes that she would eventually know all its corners and routes. She was glad that she had this morning. A fast route from the Baths to the Star Room obviously hadn’t been a priority for anyone involved in constructing the Sanctuary buildings. There were two choices: a long but less convoluted route down to the Servants’ quarters then back up to the Middle Sanctuary, or a twisting route through storerooms, the kitchens, a minor library and what smelled like a tannery.

Why she was headed to the Star Room was a mystery. The messenger hadn’t explained. There was probably another ritual about to take place that Imenja needed her to attend.

As she drew closer to her destination she felt her stomach flutter. Though she had been in the Star Room many times she always felt a thrill when entering it. Turning a corner, she saw the narrow entrance to the room ahead and paused to take three slow breaths. Straightening her back, she smoothed her robes and moved through the entrance.

Standing within the silver star set into the floor was a handsome black-robed figure. Reivan’s heart lurched as Nekaun looked at her and smiled. He motioned toward a group of Servant-novices. As she moved to join them she looked around the room, noting the Servants and Dedicated Servants lining the walls. Seeing Imenja standing among them, she felt a moment’s relief.

Then it evaporated as Nekaun began to address the room.

“Today eight men and women are to be ordained as Servants of the Gods. These Servant-novices have worked hard, each earning the right to serve the gods to the best of their abilities. They have passed the required tests and satisfied their teachers. Today they will take the vow we have all spoken. Today they will wear the symbol of the gods over their hearts. Today they join us as sisters and brothers.”

He turned to the novices and spoke a name. A man stepped forward. Reivan realized her mourn was open and closed it quickly. She had been gaping at him in surprise. Now she felt her stomach flip over.

They’re making me a full Servant!

But it took years to become a full Servant. She looked at the Servant-novices around her. They were all in their early twenties - closer to her age. The entrants that had begun their training with her were all in their mid to late teens.

Magic is the reason, she thought. Or my lack of it. Drevva did seem to be running out of other things to teach me. I guess all the years of training must be mostly in Skills.

“Servant-novice Reivan.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she looked up to find Nekaun beckoning. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward into the center of the star.

“You have been a novice for only a few short months,” he said, “but your knowledge of Pentadrian laws and history has proven to be exemplary. We have decided you are ready to take on the full responsibility of a Servant of the Gods.”

Why didn’t Imenja warn me that they were planning this? She glanced in the Second Voice’s direction and saw the woman’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Servant-novice Reivan,” Nekaun repeated. “Do you wish to dedicate your life to the service of the gods?”

She met his eyes. “With all my heart.”

“Are you willing to sacrifice all for the Five?”

“I am.”

“Would you forfeit love, wealth and even your life for them?”

“I would.”

“Then take this symbol of their power and unity. Wear it always, as it is your link to the gods and their Servants.”

He opened his hand. On his palm lay a silver five-pointed star. A chain ran through one of the points and was now spilling through his fingers.

Reivan reached out and picked up the star. It was lighter than she had expected. Taking the chain, she lifted it up and draped it over her head.

“My eyes, my voice, my heart and my soul are for the Five,” she said.

“May you serve them gladly and truly,” Nekaun finished.

The young man who had been ordained before her now stood on the other side of the star in the floor. Reivan moved to join him. As she watched the next Servant-novice come forward to face Nekaun she felt a strange sensation. Something was tickling her brow. She scratched her forehead, but the sensation was coming from somewhere within her head. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the sensation. At once it became something she understood.

:Welcome, Reivan.

She opened her eyes and turned to stare at Imenja. The voice was definitely that of the Second Voice, but she knew she hadn’t heard it with her ears. The Second Voice smiled.

:Yes, we can speak to your mind now.

Imenja’s mouth had not moved.

:I... I can talk to you in return?

:Yes.

:So this is what using magic is like?

Imenja’s smile widened.

:It is, and it isn’t. Nobody is truly devoid of Skills, Reivan. The pendant relies on you having some magical ability to work. Everyone has magical ability, even those we consider unskilled. You are not consciously drawing magic or willing it to fulfil this task, and you have not needed to practice a Skill in order to do this, so in that way it is not like using magic at all.

Reivan nodded.

:You could have warned me.

:About the ceremony? Then you would have had a sleepless night. I need you to be awake and alert this afternoon.

:You do? What do you have planned?

:Oh, just another boring meeting with a Murian diplomat.

The last of the Servant-novices had received her star pendant. As she joined the group around Reivan, Nekaun spoke again, welcoming all the new Servants. When he had finished those standing around the room came forward to offer congratulations. Though Reivan was welcomed by all the teachers she’d worked with, she noted there wasn’t the warmth they offered to the other new Servants.

There just hasn’t been time to win them over, she thought wistfully. Even if they didn’t resent me, I haven’t had the chance to make friends.

Then Imenja approached and she was amused to watch the change in their manner. Some became quiet while others gushed. The Second Voice thanked them for their hard work in teaching the Servant-novices.

Why aren’t I intimidated by Imenja? she wondered.

:Because fawning isn’t part of your nature, Imenja’s voice said in her mind. You’re much too clever for all this nonsense.

:If everyone was the same you’d never get anyone to follow your orders.

:No. So why do you follow my orders?

:I don’t know. You’re a Voice. You‘re wise and, er, sensible. You’d burn me to a pile of ashes if I didn’t?

Imenja chuckled, mystifying the other Servants. She said something about needing Reivan’s help and somehow neatly extracted them from the crowd. As they left the Star Room Imenja chuckled again.

“I think you follow my orders because I am the closest thing to the gods you have,” Imenja said quietly. “You are drawn to the gods not just out of a wish to serve, but because you are - or were - a Thinker. Mysteries fascinate you.”

Reivan nodded. “I guess it’s a good thing that I can’t solve this mystery or I might get bored and look for something else to wonder about.”

Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed.”

“But I’d still...” Reivan stopped. Something stirred at the edge of her mind, distracting her. She wondered if she imagined it even as it resolved into a distinct feeling of another presence. A presence that she did not recognize.

:Welcome, Servant Reivan.

In the next moment the presence was gone.

“Wh... what was that?”

She looked around the room, then at Imenja. The Second Voice was staring at her in surprise. Surprise was not an expression Reivan had often seen on Imenja’s face.

“I believe Sheyr just indicated his approval of your elevation to Servant,” the Second Voice murmured.

Sheyr? One of the gods spoke to me? The corridor seemed to tilt, then right itself. Reivan looked at Imenja. She felt utterly overwhelmed. What does this mean?

Imenja smiled. “I think you may need a little celebratory drink. Let’s find ourselves a domestic and send for a bottle of Jamya.”

“Jamya? I thought that was only served during ceremonies?”

“And sometimes after ceremonies.” With one hand still resting on Reivan’s shoulder, Imenja steered her toward the Upper Sanctuary.

20

For a long time now Imi was sure that something had changed. The ship no longer rocked as much and she had bailed all but a shallow puddle of water out of the hull. The muffled shouts of the raiders were different. They held a note of anticipation.

Wondering and listening had taken her mind from the ache in her arms and shoulders. Yet she feared what the change meant, and instead of boredom and exhaustion making the hours turn gradually, fear and anxiety now made their passing unbearably slow.

Suddenly the ship lurched. She dropped the bucket and fell to the floor. The seawater was warm, but welcome. Closing her eyes, she gave in to weariness.

She must have fallen asleep. When she woke again the piles of boxes and large pottery jugs stored in the hull were gone. She listened to rapid footsteps and shouted orders above. By the time the sounds subsided the patch of sky she could see had changed from blue to orange to black. It was quieter than it had been in weeks. She felt herself drifting toward sleep again...

...then she jerked awake as light filled the hull. Dragging herself up, she grasped the bucket and stooped to fill it. A pair of legs appeared, moving down the ladder into the hull. She felt her mouth go dry as she saw this was the man who led the raiders. The hull was empty except for her. What did he want?

When his feet reached the hull he stepped back. He looked at her, then back up at the deck. Another pair of legs were descending. These were covered in cloth as black as seatube ink and belonged to a man she had never seen before. As this stranger stepped off the ladder onto the uneven floor he swayed unsteadily, obviously unused to even the gentle movement of the ship.

He looked at her and his eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned at the raider. The pair began to talk as they made their way toward her.

They stopped a few steps away. She averted her gaze, disturbed by the way the stranger stared at her. His eyes moved from her feet to her head and back again. The conversation grew more animated. Suddenly the pair grasped each other’s wrists. They turned their backs and walked away.

As they disappeared onto the deck, Imi let the bucket go. She sighed and collapsed into the puddle again.

Sounds came from the ladder again. Two of the raiders entered the hull and came toward her. She scrambled to her feet, heart thundering as they loomed over her. One held a bundle of roughly woven cloth.

The other grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. As the first held out the cloth in both hands she realized it was a sack and that they intended to put her in it.

She tried to wriggle out of the first man’s grasp, but his hands were large and strong and she was too weak. Dizziness overcame her and she lost her balance. The sack went over her head. Strong hands held her as it was pulled down to her ankles. She was lifted in the air and felt the bag drawn closed below her feet.

They carried her between them. She had no energy left to struggle.

Where are they taking me? Do I care? Somewhere different to here. Perhaps somewhere better. Couldn’t be much worse than this.

Blood rushed to her head as they turned her upside down, probably to carry her up to the deck. Cooler air reached her through the sacking. She heard the sounds of footsteps on wood change to footsteps on a harder surface.

The sound of many, many voices came to her, growing louder until they were all around her.

A musty stink followed. She was dropped onto a hard surface and a door was closed, muffling the voices. Someone close by said something tersely. There was a mumbled reply then footsteps moved away.

A voice barked a word. The surface below her shifted abruptly, then she felt motion. Whatever she lay upon began to sway gently. It was nothing like the ship’s movement. She drifted into a half-conscious state, too tired to pay attention to the strange noises around her. So many voices could only mean she was among many, many landwalkers. She ought to be frightened, but she had no energy left for fear.

The voices slowly died away. For a long time there was only the sound of rhythmic steps close by. The sound of doors opening and closing eventually roused her. She felt hands lift her up, then lower her to the ground again.

Silence followed. She was vaguely aware of something fussing about near her feet. The cloth around her pulled tight, lifted her up, and she gave a yelp of surprise as she slid out of the bag.

She plunged into cool, welcome water. It helped to clear her head. Surfacing, she took in her surroundings. She was in a round pool in the middle of a round room with a domed ceiling. In the center of the pool was an odd little sculpture of a woman with a fish tail instead of legs. Like landwalkers, she had hair growing from her head.

A fish woman. Is this supposed to be an Elai? She snorted with disgust.

The man the lead raider had brought down into the hull to see her was standing nearby, smiling. Raising his arms, he gestured to her surroundings. She couldn’t guess what he meant.

He gazed at her for a while, then backed away through an arched entrance. Reaching to one side, he grasped a gate made of metal bars and swung it closed. Still smiling, he walked away.

Imi waited until his footsteps had faded away completely, then she hauled herself out of the pool. It was not easy - the level of the water was an arm’s length below the floor and she was so tired. The effort exhausted her and she lay on the floor, panting, until her head stopped spinning.

Eventually she dragged herself to her feet and walked to the metal gate. Grabbing it, she pushed. It did not move. She examined the latch. It was held closed by some kind of metal lock. All was dark beyond it.

Of course, she thought. Sinking to her knees, she turned to regard the pool and its ridiculous sculpture. This is my prison now. I’m a decoration, like that statue. The staring man will probably come to look at me all the time.

She crawled to the edge of the pool. There was nowhere shallow to lie. If she tried to sleep in there, she would drown. She would have to wake every few hours and wet her skin, or risk drying out and... She reached down and cupped some water in her hand. Bringing it to her mouth, she sipped.

Plain water, she thought. I wonder how long it will be before I start to sicken.

She shook her head. I’m too tired to think about it. Lying down on the cool stone floor, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Looking up from her work, Emerahl squinted into the fine rain. A dismal day, she thought. But the captain is happy. We netted a fine catch.

The high wall of the Toren cliffs loomed over them on the right. They had been much farther out to sea when they had passed the lighthouse the day before. Looking at the distant white tower, Emerahl had expected to feel regret. She had spent so long living in that remote ruin. Instead she felt repelled.

All those years living in isolation with only lowlife smugglers for neighbors. I don’t know why I didn’t die of boredom. It’s so good to be among decent, hard-working people again.

Emerahl began to turn back to the fish-gutting but a light caught her eyes and drew her attention back to the cliff. As a fold of the rock face drew back, more lights appeared. This was their destination. Yaril.

There - so she had been told - lived a young man who had been saved from drowning by The Gull but six months before. She had heard many tales of the mysterious sea boy now. Everyone who lived on the coast knew someone who could relate an encounter with The Gull. These same tales were repeated in every town. Perhaps nobody was related to the heroes and the tellers were just claiming to know them in order to tell a better tale, but these towns were small and it was possible they all knew each other, even if distantly.

In fact, it was amusing to think of them all linked by these stories.

Yaril was in plain sight now. To the fishermen it was merely a good place to sell their catch. She turned her attention back to gutting the fish. The captain had only agreed to take her to Yaril if she made herself useful. She didn’t mind the work. It kept her hands busy while she thought about all she’d learned.

As the boat drew closer to the town, the crew left the preparation of the catch to Emerahl while they navigated into a shallow bay. She hurried through the last of the fish then rose and gathered her belongings. Her clothes stank of fish and her skin was sticky from sweat and salt water. As soon as she was ashore she would book a room and wash herself and her garments.

The crew guided the boat up to a short jetty. The moment it was close enough, she leapt off. Turning back once, she gave the captain a nod of thanks before striding into Yaril.

Unlike most of the towns on the coast of Toren, Yaril did not sit at the top of the cliff. Behind the fold in the rock wall a narrow river had worn the sheer drop into a steep, broken slope. Houses had been built on this out of the same stones as the cliffs - right up to the edge of the cascading river.

It was a town with no roads, just staircases going up and down and narrow paths running across the slope. Emerahl paused to smile at a man walking down the stairs who was staring at her with open curiosity.

“Good day to you. Would there be lodging for travellers here?”

The man nodded. “The Widow Laylin has a room for rent. Number three, third level. That’s the next level up. It’s on the right.”

“Thank you.”

She continued up the stairs and turned on to one of the narrow walkways. Stopping at a house with a large number three carved into the door, she knocked. The door opened and a large middle-aged woman looked Emerahl up and down.

“I hear you have a room to let,” Emerahl said. “Is it available?”

The woman’s eyes brightened. “Yes. Come in. I’ll show it to you. What is your name?”

“Limma. Limma Curer.”

“Curer by trade as well as by name,” the woman observed.

“That’s right.”

The widow led her into a long, narrow room with a view of the bay. It was simple, but clean. Emerahl haggled the price down to a reasonable rate, then asked for water to wash in.

The woman sent her daughter away to fetch it, then turned to regard Emerahl with shrewd eyes.

“So what brings you to Yaril?”

Emerahl smiled. “I’m looking for a young man named Gherid.”

“Gherid? We have a Gherid here. Use to fish with his father until all on the boat drowned but he. Now he works for the stonecutter. Is that the one?”

“Sounds like it.”

“What you want him for?”

“I hear he tells an interesting tale.”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “Used to. He got fed up with people picking holes in his story and won’t say a word now.”

“No?”

“Not a word. Not for money or favors.”

“Oh.” Emerahl looked around the room as if wondering what she was doing there.

“You’ve come a long way,” the woman soothed. “You may as well try. Perhaps you’ll get something out of him. I’ll take you to see him when you’re done washing.”

She left the room and the girl arrived with a pitcher of water and a large bowl soon after. Emerahl washed herself and changed into her second set of clothes, then washed her first set and dried them by drawing magic and using it to warm and stir the air around them.

When they were dry, Emerahl draped them on a chair, then tied her collection of pouches around her waist, wrapped her tawl about her and left the room.

The next room was as narrow as hers, but even longer. The space was divided into sections by screens and the farthest proved to be hiding a kitchen. There she found the widow.

“Ready?” the woman said.

Emerahl nodded.

“Come along, then. He’ll be at the stonecutter’s place.”

She followed the woman to the door, then out into the cold air. The houses, built of the same black stone, seemed to hunch against the rock wall as if afraid they might slide off into the sea below. It gave the town a sinister, anxious look, yet all the people Emerahl and the Widow Laylin passed smiled and greeted them cheerfully.

The staircase grew steadily steeper as they neared the top of the cliff. The widow had to stop three times to catch her breath.

“Wouldn’t think I lived here, would you?” she said after the third rest. “You’re doing well enough.”

Emerahl smiled. “Travelling makes you fit.”

“Must do. Here we are at last. They live at the top because it’s easier to carry his wares down than to bring them up again.”

Instead of a road there was a rubble-strewn “yard.” Emerahl followed the woman through this to where two gray-haired men were chipping away at large slabs of rock.

“Megrin,” the Widow said.

One of the men looked up. He appeared surprised to see Emerahl’s companion.

“Widow Laylin,” he replied. “Don’t often see you up here. Need any work done?”

“No, but my guest wants to have a chat with Gherid about The Gull.”

The man looked at Emerahl and straightened. She smiled as she sensed his admiration. The second man had turned to face them. He had a surprisingly young face, though it was set in a scowl. Emerahl looked closer and had to suppress a laugh. The gray in his hair was dust. He was just old enough to be considered a man.

“This is Limma,” the widow continued. “She’s a curer.”

Megrin turned to regard the young man, whose scowl deepened.

“Why do you want to talk about The Gull with me?” Gherid asked.

Emerahl met and held his eyes.

“I heard you met him.”

“So?”

“I would like to hear your story.”

“Go on, Gherid,” the widow urged. “Don’t be rude to a visitor.”

He looked at the woman, then the stonecutter. The older man nodded. Gherid sighed and shrugged in resignation. “Come with me... Limma, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She followed him back to the stairs, then upward. Intense emotions began to spill from him as they climbed. Guilt and fear combined. She caught snatches of his thoughts.

... I can’t kill her! But I must, if she ...

Alarmed, she hesitated, then drew magic and formed a shield around herself. Why would he think he might have to kill her? Did he think she would try to harm him? Or take something from him? Surely he didn’t think she could force him to give up any information he didn’t want to give.

I’m a curer. A sorceress. Both might mean I have the power to make him tell me things he doesn’t want to, either through drugs or torture.

Either way, he obviously had something to protect. They reached the top of the cliff. He walked along the edge, saying nothing. Emerahl watched him closely. She sensed he was taking a precaution of some kind. When they stopped, she realized they had moved past the edge of the town. She now stood above a precipice. Does he plan to push me off?

“So, what do you want to know?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “Is it true you’ve met The Gull?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Everybody knows that.”

She sensed that he was telling the truth and felt a pang of sympathy for him.

“Nobody believes you, do they?”

“And you do?”

She nodded. “But that’s not why you don’t tell the story any more, is it?”

He stared at her, his anxiety and guilt increasing. No amount of talking was going to reassure him. She decided to take a gamble.

“You made a promise,” she stated. “Did you break it?”

He flushed. She began to guess how it had been for him. Saved by a mythical being and needing to explain what happened, he had told as much of his tale as he knew it was safe to tell, until one day he had let some detail slip that he hadn’t intended.

“Why do you want to know?”

She frowned as if in worry. “I don’t want to know, I need to know. The Gull’s secrets must be safe.”

His eyes widened and he turned pale. “I thought you... They didn’t understand what I told them. I’m sure they didn’t understand.”

“What did you say?”

“I... I told them about the Stack. They put something in my drink.” He looked at her pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t tell them where it was. You don’t think they can find it on their own, do you?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know where the Stack is. We all end up with different secrets to keep and that was yours. Have you warned him?”

His eyes widened. “How?”

She blinked as if surprised. “You don’t have a way to contact him?”

“No... but I suppose if I went back... but it’s so far away and I don’t have a boat.”

“Neither do I, but I could buy one.” Shaking her head, she turned toward the sea and pretended to think. “You’d better tell me everything, Gherid. I’m a long way from home and my way of contacting him doesn’t work here. We need to get a message to The Gull. It may be that the only way we can do that is for me to go to the Stack and leave a message for you.”

The surge of gratitude that spilled from him sent a pang of guilt through her. She was manipulating the poor boy. It’s not like I have malicious intentions, she told herself. I want to find The Gull so we can help each other.

He moved to a nearby rock to sit down. “It’s a long story. You’d better sit down. Have you sailed a boat before?”

Emerahl smiled. “Many, many times.”

21

Devlein slipped the last slice of fruit into his mouth then licked the sweet juice off his fingers. One of the three servants standing nearby stepped forward and held out a tray made of gold. Taking the neatly folded damp cloth from it, Devlein cleaned his hands, then dropped the cloth back on the tray.

The sound of running footsteps echoed in the courtyard. A servant raced up to Devlem’s table and bowed.

“The shipment has arrived.”

Only two days late, Devlein thought. If I threaten the dyers a little I may make the market before Arlem does - but only if the stock hasn’t spoiled.

He rose and strode out of the courtyard. An arched corridor took him through to the front of the house. He followed a paved path to the plainer buildings that housed his wares.

Tarns waited outside. Men were already carrying the large rolls of cloth inside, watched by his overseer.

Entering the building, Devlein ignored the servants and examined the shipment. The waterproof wrapping of one bolt of cloth was torn.

“Open it,” he ordered.

Servants hurried to cut the wrapping away.

“Careful!” Devlein bellowed. “You’ll damage the cloth!”

Their movements became slower and more cautious. As they worked they cast nervous glances in his direction. Good, he thought. The whipping I ordered has finally taught them to be more respectful. They were getting more like Genrian women every day, whining and complaining.

The wrapping parted, revealing clean, undamaged cloth. He moved closer as more began to appear.

“Master Trader!”

The room echoed with running footsteps. He glanced up, annoyed at the interruption. The intruder was one of the lawn clippers. She was ugly for an Avven woman and he had sent her out to work in the garden so he didn’t have to look at her.

“Master,” she panted. “There is a monster in the pool house!”

He sighed. “Yes. I put it there.”

She bit her lip. “Oh. It appears to be dead.”

“Dead?” He straightened in alarm.

She nodded.

Cursing in his native Genrian tongue, he strode past her out of the warehouse and hurried toward the gardens. The pool house was at the center of a large lawn. The lawn clippers had gathered in a crowd around the entrance.

“Get back to work!” he ordered.

They turned to stare at him, then scattered. As he reached the gate of the house he drew out the key to the lock. Inside, he could see the youngling sea creature lying on the floor.

He hadn’t had much time to examine his purchase closely last night. The raider had claimed it was a girl child, but the only evidence of that was the lack of male organs. Devlein had ordered his servants to remove the dirty rags that had hung off the creature’s shoulders. Looking her over, he decided the raider was right, and wondered if she’d develop breasts like humans.

Perhaps, when she was mature, he would purchase a male. If they produced offspring he could sell their young for a fortune.

The lock clicked. He pushed the gate open and walked over to the creature. Why had she climbed out of the water? Crouching down, he saw that she was still breathing.

The more he looked at her, the more concerned he grew.

Her breathing was labored. Her skin was dull and cracked. If she had been human, he would have said she was dangerously thin. She also smelled foul. All animals smelled bad and he had assumed that the reek was natural, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He took her chin and turned her head so he could examine her face. At the touch her eyes fluttered open, then closed again. She gave a faint moan.

I paid a lot of money for her. He rose and stared down at her. If she’s sick I need to find someone to cure her. Who will know what’s wrong? I could bring in an animal healer, but I doubt they’ve ever seen one of the sea people before. I doubt anyone has. Unless...

He smiled as he realized there were people in Glymma who might know about the sea people. Turning away, he quickly locked the gate and hurried toward the house, shouting for a messenger.

Mirar lifted a rock. Nothing. He put it down again and lifted another. A creature scurried away. He made a grab for it, but it shot straight into a crack between two much larger and heavier boulders.

Curse it. How does Emerahl catch these shrimmi? If I could just—

“Wilar! Dreamweaver!”

He jumped in surprise and looked up. Tyve was circling above him. Mirar caught a powerful feeling of anxiety and urgency from the boy. Standing up, he shaded his eyes and watched the Siyee land.

“What is it?”

“Sizzi is sick. So are Veece and Ziti. Others are sickening, too. Can you come to the village? Can you help us?”

Mirar frowned. “Did the Speaker send you to me?”

“Yes.”

This was not entirely the truth, if the uneasiness Mirar sensed in Tyve was any indication. He narrowed his eyes at the young Siyee.

“Did he really?”

Tyve shot Mirar a guilty glance. “Not exactly. He is too sick to speak. I suggested to the rest that I ask you for help, since you’re a healer. They agreed.”

This, Mirar sensed, was the truth. He nodded. “I will come. What are the symptoms?”

“You’ll see when you get there,” Tyve said impatiently. “We should leave now, if you’re to arrive before... It’s a long way.”

“Therefore a long way to return to get the right cures,” Mirar pointed out. “I need to know what this illness is so I can pack my bag. Tell me about it.”

Tyve described what he had seen. As he did, Mirar felt his stomach sink. It sounded like a disease called Hearteater which occasionally spread among landwalkers. Most likely a Siyee had caught it during the war and brought it back to the tribe. Mirar hadn’t considered that diseases might be an inevitable consequence of the Siyee mixing with outsiders. He cursed the White silently.

You can’t be sure the White knew this would happen, Leiard reminded him.

But there’s no happiness greater than having someone to blame, Mirar replied.

“I know this illness.” he told the young Siyee. “I can help your tribe overcome it, but I cannot promise that all will survive.”

Tyve went pale. Mirar laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll do all I can. Now give me a little time to pack my bag, and you can guide me to your village.”

The Siyee sat down on a rock to wait, his expression anguished. Walking up the river, Mirar considered his store of cures. When he had left the battlefield with Emerahl he had been carrying his Dreamweaver bag, but it had been near empty. It was full now. First Emerahl then he had spent many hours in the forest finding and preparing cures, drawing on their knowledge of the plants there. Not all of the cures were as potent or acted in quite the same way as those they replaced. Some were more effective, some less so.

Moving behind the fall, he walked down the passage into the cave. He looked at the objects piled or stacked around the walls. Rope would be essential but bedding would be too cumbersome to carry. He would sleep in his clothes on the ground, which meant he would need some warmer clothes now the weather was turning cold.

Food, too, Leiard reminded him.

Of course. He smiled crookedly and moved around the room, gathering what he would need. When he had finished he gave the cave one last look.

Will I return here soon, or will this crisis of the Siyee lead me away indefinitely? He shrugged. I don’t mind either way. If Emerahl is right, being among people will do me good.

Turning away, he hurried out to rejoin Tyve and begin another arduous journey through the Si mountains.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Auraya saw the Open in the distance. She had not flown as fast as she’d intended, having discovered that Mischief grew apprehensive if she flew beyond a certain speed. He would shiver and mew in terror, but so long as she kept below this speed he was happy to crouch within the bag strapped between her shoulder blades.

Because of the delay, she had not stopped to talk to any of the Siyee she had seen once she reached Si. They hadn’t attempted to meet her either; they could probably see she was moving too fast for them to intercept. Now, as she slowed to approach the long stripe of exposed mountain slope that was the main Siyee gathering place, the sky people flew up to join her.

She felt Mischief shift position on her back.

“Fly!” he declared. “Fly! Fly!”

He had no words to tell her of the strange winged people gliding around and behind her, but she could sense his excitement.

“Siyee,” she told him. “They’re Siyee.”

He fell silent for a moment.

“Syee,” he said quietly.

Some of her impromptu escort she recognized, some she didn’t. She exchanged whistled greetings with them all.

Their thoughts were full of relief and gladness. They knew why she was here, however, and worry made their welcome subdued compared to previous ones.

She descended steadily, heading for the large, level area in the middle section of the Open known as the Flat. Several Siyee stood around the outside of this and she could hear the sound of greeting drums. Two white-clothed men drew her eye. Like most landwalkers they were nearly twice the height of the Siyee and their white priest robes made them doubly conspicuous.

She turned her attention to a line of men and women standing near the outcrop known as Speakers’ Rock. As she drew closer she made out enough detail to identify each of them. All were Speakers - leaders of a Siyee tribe - but only half of all Speakers were present. That was no surprise. Some would not want to leave their tribe while invaders roamed within Si, and others lived too far from the Open to travel here for every unplanned meeting. Representatives of each tribe lived in the Open, however, and would be waiting among those at the edge of the Flat.

Speaker Sirri, the Head Speaker of all tribes, stepped forward as Auraya dropped to the ground. She smiled and held out a wooden cup and a small cake. As Auraya took them Sirri spread her arms wide. Sunlight filtered through the membrane of her wings, illuminating a delicate tracery of veins and arteries between the supporting bones.

“Welcome back to Si, Auraya of the White.”

Auraya smiled in return. “Thank you, Speaker Sirri, and thank you to the people of Si for their warm welcome.”

She ate the sweet cake then sipped some water before handing the cup back. Sirri’s gaze flickered to Auraya’s shoulder and her eyes opened wide.

“Syee,” Mischief whispered at her ear.

Smothering a laugh, Auraya gave his head a scratch.

“Speaker Sirri,” she said, “this is Mischief. He’s a veez. The Somreyans tamed them long ago, and keep them as pets.”

“A veez,” Sirri said, coming forward to stare at Mischief. “Yes, I remember catching sight of this animal in the war camp.”

“They can speak, in a limited fashion.” Auraya looked at Mischief. “This is Sirri,” she told him.

“Seeree,” he replied. “Syee Seeree.”

Sirri chuckled quietly. “He is an appealing animal. I had better make sure none of the Siyee decide he will make a nice meal.” She straightened. “The Speakers have requested that I call a gathering in the Speakers’ Bower as soon as you arrived, but we could delay if you are tired.”

Auraya shook her head. “The Pentadrians travel deeper into Si every moment that passes, and I’m as anxious to deal with them as I am sure you all are. I will meet with the Speakers now.”

Sirri nodded in gratitude, then gestured to the other Speakers. As they moved forward to join Sirri, Auraya looked toward the two priests. They made the sign of the circle. She inclined her head in reply.

Seeking their minds, she saw that they were eager to talk to her, though neither had any matter they urgently needed to discuss. Though they had found the Siyee welcoming, they also felt their ways were a little strange.

They need reassurance from me that they’re doing well, she realized.

Turning away, she followed Sirri into the forest, the other Speakers and tribe representatives following. They passed many of the Siyee bowers - frames of wood with a membrane stretched between, built around the bases of the enormous trees growing around the Open - and many curious Siyee. Sirri did not hurry, despite the other Speakers’ impatience. She knew that her people would be reassured by the sight of the gods’ Chosen One.

Once they entered the unoccupied forest around the Speakers’ Bower, the Head Speaker quickened her pace. They wound through narrow paths to a large bower and filed inside. Carved tree-stump stools had been arranged in a circle. The Speakers took their places. Auraya set her pack down on the floor beside her. Mischief peered out, then decided it all looked uninteresting and curled up to sleep.

“As we all know,” Sirri began, “a Pentadrian ship was seen off the coast of southern Si fourteen days ago. Several Pentadrians landed and separated into groups, which have been travelling inland. It appears they are using their birds to guide them toward Siyee villages.” She looked at Auraya. “We sent a request for help to the White and Auraya has come back to us. Before we begin discussing how to deal with the Pentadrians, do you have any questions, Auraya?”

“How often have you received reports on the Pentadrians’ movements?”

“Every few hours. My son, Sreil, has organized for groups of watchers to follow the Pentadrians and report back regularly.”

“Have any of these watchers seen one or more of the Pentadrian sorcerer leaders among them?”

“No.”

That doesn’t mean they’re not with them. Auraya drummed her fingers together. “Have the Pentadrians harmed anyone?”

“Not yet.”

“Have they spoken to anyone?”

“No - all Siyee have been told to keep away from them.”

“Have they attempted to make a permanent settlement?”

The Speakers looked surprised. She read from their minds that none had considered the possibility.

“The watchers say they have been travelling constantly,” Speaker Dryss replied.

Auraya considered all that they had told her. “I have no more questions for now. Does anyone have questions for me?”

“Yes,” one of the representatives replied. “What will you do?”

She brought her hands together and interlocked her fingers. “Advise and assist you. I am not here to decide a course of action for you. I will protect you if they attack, and drive them out of Si - if I can - should you decide I must. I will also translate for you if they wish to communicate. It is possible they wish to make peace with you.”

The Siyee exchanged glances, many scowling.

“Never!” one of the representatives hissed.

“Do not dismiss the possibility,” one of the older Speakers told the young man. “The Pentadrians are not a people about to die out. Better we be at peace with them than not.”

“So long as we are not forced to compromise too much for it.”

“Of course not.”

“There is another possibility,” Auraya continued. “One that disturbs me. They may hope to convert Siyee to their cult.”

“They will be disappointed,” Speaker Sirri said firmly. “There is not one Siyee who does not grieve the loss of a family or tribe member. None would betray us to join the enemy.”

“I believe that is so,” Auraya replied. “If they come with such intentions, it is best all are alert to the possibility and prepared to resist sweet words of persuasion.”

“They will not have a chance to utter them,” the young representative declared. “They will go home or we will kill them.”

“We will send them home, whatever their intentions,” Sirri agreed. “Even if their purpose is peaceful, it is too soon after the war for us to welcome Pentadrians in Si.”

The other Speakers voiced their agreement.

“If that is what you mean to do,” Auraya said, “the Pentadrians need to hear it from you, not me. They need to know it is your decision and that you are not merely doing what the White tell you to do.”

Silence followed her words. She sensed their fear and reluctance.

“What if they attack us?” a Speaker said in a min voice.

“I will protect you. We will retreat and, when you are safe, I will return to drive them away.”

“Must we all go?” Speaker Dryss said. “I am not so quick with the winds these days and I fear I may hamper you if we need to retreat quickly.”

“There is no need for you to all go,” Auraya said. “Choose three from among you.”

Sirri cleared her throat. “I would prefer to ask for volunteers.”

As she glanced around the room, Auraya noticed many averted gazes. The young representative did not flinch away. Auraya felt her heart sink as he straightened in preparation to speak. He’s a bit headstrong for this.

“I’ll go,” he offered.

“Thank you, Rizzi, but this is a task for Speakers,” Sirri said. “How seriously will these Pentadrians take our words if they aren’t spoken to by tribal leaders?” She spread her hands. “I will go. If no others volunteer, I will be forced to call for nominations, or have names drawn from—”

“I will go - if I am not too old.”

The volunteer was a middle-aged Speaker, Iriz of the Green Lake tribe.

Sirri smiled. “There are many years in you yet, Speaker Iriz.”

“And I,” another Siyee woman offered. Auraya recognized the Speaker of the Sun Ridge tribe, whose members had been attacked by the Pentadrians’ trained birds months before the battle.

“Thank you, Speaker Tyzi,” Sirri said. “That makes three.”

The relief of the other Siyee washed over Auraya. She resisted a smile. Sirri slapped her knees decisively. “We will leave at first light tomorrow. Are there any other matters to raise with Auraya?” She looked around the room, but none of the Siyee spoke. “Then this gathering is over. Speakers Iriz and Tyzi, could you stay? We must discuss preparations for the journey.”

As the Siyee filed out of the room, Auraya looked down at Mischief. He was still asleep. She smiled and turned her attention to the remaining Siyee. At once she felt a twinge of apprehension. If she found herself facing one of the more powerful Pentadrian sorcerers it would not be easy to protect these Siyee. She must ensure she had a good look at the intruders before they saw her.

For now, she must show the Siyee no sign of her own doubts and fears.

22

The sea surged under the boat as if it regarded the vessel as an irritating pest that it must shake off. As a wave threatened to capsize it, Emerahl drew magic and used it to press the hull back against the water. A gust of wind drove rain into her face and she cursed.

She realized she was cursing the sea in a language long forgotten, from a time when fishermen and sailors worshipped gods of the seas. It was easy to imagine the thrashing expanse of water was still ruled by a greater mind - one who wanted to be rid of this trespasser - especially when she considered how quickly the storm had blown in.

Emerahl snorted. The old gods are dead. This is just bad weather. I should have taken the boat seller’s advice, bought a bigger boat and waited a few weeks for the season to change.

She had once known this stretch of coast well and had been able to read the signs of bad weather. Much could change in a thousand years, however. The currents as well as the weather were different. Even the shape of the shoreline was unrecognizable in places. As she had travelled along the Toren coast she had experienced an odd succession of familiar and unfamiliar sights. Fortunately the hills that marked the border between Toren and Genria were still where they ought to be. From there she had turned her back to the coast and sailed straight out to sea, as Gherid had instructed.

A wave broke over the boat, soaking her. She scooped the water out of the hull with magic. The rain was so thick now she could barely see the other end of the vessel. There was nothing for her to do but endure. She could not raise the sail in these conditions. She could not see where she was, let alone find her destination, or return to the mainland.

She cursed again as another wave nearly toppled the boat. The wind sounded like an inhuman voice. She could not help feeling a twinge of superstitious fear. Perhaps she should not be cursing the god of the sea.

Why not? He can’t harm me, she thought. He’s dead. Like all the old gods. Well, all but the Circle. Could it be that one of the remaining five had learned to influence the sea? Was one playing with it right now?

The thought was not comforting. If the gods were causing this, what purpose did they have? Were they aware of her? Were they trying to stop her reaching her destination? She clung to the rudder. Though rain and cloud lay thick between herself and the sun, a thin gray light struggled through to her. Suddenly the light failed and she moved into shadow. She looked around, holding back a growing dread. When she saw the source of the shadow her heart froze. Something tall and dark loomed over her.

Fear melted away as she realized what it was.

The Stack!

Through sheer luck, the boat had been driven by the storm to the very place she wanted to be. Now, however, the current was drawing her away from it. Casting about, she considered the oars clipped to the sides of the boat.

No. They’ll be of no use. I was lucky the sea didn’t throw the boat against the Stack. Even if I manage to row closer, I can’t tie up the boat. It’ll be dashed to pieces. This calls for magic, and a lot of concentration.

Drawing in a good deal of magic, she sent it out around the boat. She would have to act quickly once she had hold of the vessel or the next wave would wash right over her.

Lift.

Her stomach sank as the boat soared upward, carrying her with it. She stared ahead, where she knew the Stack stood, now hidden by the rain.

Forward.

It was not a smooth ride. Moving the boat demanded the unwavering focus of her mind. Every gust of wind or shift in her thoughts caused the boat to tilt or sink. Even her relief at seeing the Stack emerge from the rain caused the boat’s movement to waver.

Closer.

She stopped when she could see the rocky surface before her.

Higher.

The sound of the churning waves crashing against the rocks diminished as she lifted the boat up. Tufts of hardy sea grass appeared, growing in cracks and nooks, then a blanket of it became visible. She had reached the top of the Stack.

Forward.

She moved the boat over the sea grass, then, several paces from the cliff edge, lowered it to the ground.

There was no time to feel relief. The wind threatened to toss the boat back off. Jumping out, she removed her belongings, turned it over, rammed pegs into the ground and lashed the vessel to them.

When she was sure it was secure, she straightened and looked around. It was possible she had just landed on a promontory of the coast and not the Stack the boy had described. Leaving the boat, she walked carefully to the edge. The sea below was hidden by the dense rain.

She marked her position by pulling up three handfuls of grass to reveal the pale sandy soil beneath, then she paced around the edge. After fifty paces, she found the uprooted grass. To be sure she hadn’t encountered a natural repetition of her marker, she walked away from the edge. The boat appeared, and she nodded to herself.

I’ll know this is the Stack the boy described if I find the cave.

She walked around the cliff edge again, looking for the beginning of the staircase that led down to the cave, but found no sign of it. After the fifth circuit of the island, she gave up and returned to the boat.

Sitting down, she drew enough magic to form a shield against the rain. Her clothes were soaked and heavy. She channelled a little more magic to warm and dry herself. As the water misted out of her clothes and hair she shivered.

This had better not be one of those three-day storms, she thought. If it goes for more than a few more hours, I will try to find that staircase again.

And if she didn’t find it? She would have to stay and wait the storm out. Even if she used magic to keep the boat afloat and propel it through the water, she still had no way of knowing which direction to go to return to the coast.

With a resigned sigh, she opened her bag and brought out some dried fruit to chew on while she waited.

Early morning sunlight set the membrane walls of the bower glowing. Auraya looked around the little house and sighed with pleasure. It was good to be back in Si.

Why does this place feel like home? she asked herself. I feel better today than I have for months. And I had no nightmares last night, she realized. She felt as if she had left a lot of troubling things behind her. Nightmares. The hospice. I hadn’t realized how much the hospice was bothering me.

She thought back to her previous stay in Si. She’d always woken up feeling good here. But was that because of my dream links with Leiard? she suddenly thought.

Leiard. Did she imagine that the pang of hurt that always came at the thought of Leiard was weaker? He seemed a part of someone else’s life now. Perhaps soon she would feel nothing at all.

:I hope not, a familiar voice spoke into her mind. It would be terrible indeed for you to feel nothing. Neither joy nor sorrow. Neither pleasure nor pain.

I meant feel nothing about Leiard, she told Chaia. You know that.

:You will always feel something in regard to him. lime will dull the pain. There is nothing that eases it as well as immersing oneself in new feelings.

Yes, she thought. New challenges. Like getting these Pentadrians out of Si.

:That wasn’t what I had in mind.

She smiled crookedly. I thought not. But as they say: work before pleasure.

:I’ll hold you to that.

His presence abruptly vanished. Auraya shook her head. Sometimes she did not understand Chaia, but then he was a god and she wasn’t. She rose and moved to the hanging that covered the bower entrance.

“Owaya fly?”

She looked back at Mischief, who had decided one of the baskets hanging from the bower roof was an acceptable sleeping place. Only his nose was visible over the lip.

“Yes. Auraya fly alone. To a dangerous meeting. Mischief stay here. Safe.”

Mischief considered this for a long moment, then his nose withdrew from sight. Since being kidnapped before the battle, he took all warnings of danger seriously.

“Msstf stay,” he murmured.

Relieved, Auraya moved outside and took a step toward the Speakers’ Bower. At once a small crowd of Siyee children erupted from the forest and surrounded her. She laughed in surprise as they showered her with flowers. A few daringly reached out to touch her hands. Suddenly one gave a piercing whistle and they scampered away. Auraya caught enough from the jumble of their thoughts to learn they were prudently fleeing the approach of an adult. She turned to see Speaker Sirri walking toward her.

The Siyee leader was smiling. “You’ve become a figure of legend since you last visited. The singers among us have made up a song called ‘The White Lady,’ in which you defeat the Pentadrians single-handedly.”

Auraya chuckled. “That’s a little unfair on the other White.”

Sirri shrugged. “Yes. It certainly looked like you struck the killing blow, however.”

“It was more... complicated than that,” Auraya told the Speaker. “The others were attacking in less visible ways. It just happened to fall to me to take advantage of the enemy’s mistake.”

“When the sorceress became distracted?”

“Yes.” Auraya saw Sirri’s crooked smile and looked closer. What she saw amused and surprised her. “Tryss was the distraction? He attacked her?”

Sirri nodded. “So he says, and I have no reason to doubt him.”

“How incredibly brave,” Auraya breathed, thinking of the shy young inventor of the Siyee’s hunting harness.

“Not many know of it. He does not want to be treated like a hero when so many died. The war has changed him. I think he feels guilty for having made something that enabled the Siyee to join a war that killed so many of us. I try to tell him it was not his fault, but...” She looked up at Auraya and frowned, suddenly wondering whether Auraya, too, felt the burden of guilt. When Auraya met her eyes Sirri looked away. “I’ve come to tell you that the volunteer Speakers are waiting in the gathering place,” Sirri said.

Auraya frowned. “Am I late?”

“No. They are early. Anxious to get it over with, I suspect.”

“Then let’s oblige them.”

Sirri led Auraya to the edge of the forest then leapt into the air. Auraya followed and they glided down to the Flat, where the two speakers, Iriz and Tyzi, waited. Several hunters wearing harnesses waited nearby. Sirri had decided they should accompany them in case the Speakers were separated from Auraya, and the Pentadrian birds attacked.

Iriz and Tyzi radiated both fear and determination as they exchanged greetings with Auraya.

“Which Pentadrian group will we meet first?” Iriz asked.

“Which do you think we should approach?” Auraya asked in reply.

“Whichever is closest,” Tyzi answered. “The sooner we tell them to leave, the better.”

“The one travelling northeast then.”

“The north group is closer to a tribe,” Iriz pointed out. “If the Pentadrians decide to attack, we might not be able to send a warning in time.”

“The north group won’t know what the other group is doing,” Tyzi said. Then she looked at Auraya doubtfully. “Or will they?”

“They have a way of communicating with each other as Circlian priests and priestesses do,” Auraya said.

Tyzi frowned. “Then we should meet the north group.”

“By the time we get there, the Pentadrians travelling east will be close to a tribe, too,” Iriz said.

“Scouts are watching the enemy,” Sirri said. “All Siyee know to avoid them, and have made preparations to leave their home if they have to. No tribe is going to sit and wait around to be attacked.”

Iriz and Tyzi nodded in agreement. “The closest tribe then,” Iriz said.

“We should reach them by this afternoon,” Tyzi added.

Auraya looked at Sirri. “And return tomorrow, if all goes well.”

The Speaker smiled grimly. “Let us delay no longer.”

She moved to the lower edge of the Flat, where a short drop divided the rocky slope. As Sirri leapt off the edge, the other Speakers and hunters propelled themselves after her. Auraya drew magic and sent herself up to join them.

As she drew level with Sirri, she felt another presence at her side.

:You’re back.

:I am, Chaia said.

:Do you know what these Pentadrians are up to?

:Yes.

:Are you going to tell me?

:No.

:Why not?

:It is up to you to find and deal with them.

:So you won’t even tell me where they are.

:There is no need. You will find them easily enough.

:What’s the point in talking to you if you won’t tell me anything useful?

:Does there have to be a price? Isn’t my company enough?

She sighed.

:Of course there doesn’t have to be a price. I just wish I knew how dangerous these Pentadrians are. I would not like these Siyee to be hurt or killed.

:Then you should be taking every precaution. Chaia’s tone was no longer playful. Do not be complacent just because I am present now and then. I cannot be everywhere at once, or with you all the time. If I could, and if the world was full of highly Gifted mortals willing to do my will, we would not have needed to make you what you are. He paused. Have you taken every precaution?

:I have, she answered. At least, I hope so.

As he moved away, she felt a twinge of anxiety. Once more she started to consider all the possible outcomes of this meeting with the Pentadrians.

Dedicated Servant Renva grasped the hand of Servant Vengel and held tightly as he hauled her up over the top of the ridge. He steadied her as she struggled to stand. The ground was a mess of grooves and sharp protruding stones and there was no flat surface to stand on.

When she had caught her balance, she looked around. The ridge was high enough to give her a view of the terrain ahead. She groaned as she saw exposed ridges and shadowed ravines extending toward the mountains ahead.

This is a nightmare! she thought. Surely only winged creatures can live here. It’s as if the land is doing its best to repel us.

She wished she could oblige it, but she had her orders to follow. The Siyee were primitive folk, she had been told. Simple people with simple ways were easy to impress. Whether she could persuade them to worship the Five Gods depended on how impressed they were with the Circlians and their false gods.

But we’ve got to reach them first.

It would be much easier if they came to her. She had glimpsed them in the distance from time to time. Often she had the feeling they were watching her and her companions, yet they never came within hailing distance.

Simple people are often fearful, she reminded herself.

We were their enemy a few months ago. They will regard us as invaders.

Turning away from the view, she began making her way along the ridge top.

“Dedicated Servant Renva,” Vengel called.

She turned to see him staring into the distance. He glanced at her, then pointed. Looking in the direction he indicated, she searched the sky, but saw nothing.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Siyee,” Vengel replied. “Flying low. Between the trees and us.”

She looked lower, but it took some time before she saw them. Flying shapes too large to be birds glided among the tree tops, too far away for her to make out details. There were more than ten of them and they were coming directly toward her.

“I see them.” She considered her position. Whether the Siyee were coming to talk or fight, she ought to be with her people. Since the others wouldn’t make it to the ridge in time, that meant returning to the narrow ravine below.

She walked back to Vengel’s side and leaned over the edge.

“Go back down,” she called to the Servant climbing the rope. The man frowned and started to descend. She looked at Vengel. “Stay here and see if you can get their attention, but be ready in case they attack.”

Vengel nodded. His face was grim, but he said nothing as she started to descend. He had enough Skill in magic to protect himself from arrows.

Once she had reached the floor of the ravine, Renva gathered the others together.

“There is a group of Siyee heading our way,” she told them. “They may be coming to meet us; they may not be aware of us at all. We should be prepared for an attack, just in case.”

The unskilled carriers and less Skilled Servants moved to the center of the group. All were silent as they waited. Vengel gave a shout and all looked up to search the sky.

Winged shapes flashed behind the tops of the trees.

Renva caught glimpses of eyes staring down at her suspiciously. They circled overhead, their confidence not a little intimidating. She saw a larger figure - wingless and white - and her throat went dry.

The White sorceress. Nekaun warned me that she might come. She touched the star pendant hanging against her chest.

:Nekaun!

The pause that followed was short, but felt like an eternity.

:Renva. I see you have met the Siyee.

:In the process of meeting, she corrected. The White sorceress accompanies them.

:That is no surprise. So long as no violence is done, she won’t attack you. Proceed.

Renva swallowed. I hope he’s right. She took a deep breath and forced herself to call out.

“People of the Sky. Siyee. We do not wish to harm anyone. Come down so we may speak to you.”

The forest echoed with the flying people’s whistles. Strange words were mixed with the piercing calls. They were talking, she guessed. She did not expect them to understand her, but hoped, they’d hear peaceful intent in her voice. The White sorceress probably did understand. It was said they could read minds.

“I am Dedicated Servant Renva and these are my companions. We have come a long way in the hopes of becoming your friends,” she told them. “We have...”

Leaves stirred as three of the Siyee dove through the tree tops. They landed on branches high above and stared down at Renva and her people. She heard a voice behind her.

“If your intentions are peaceful, why did you not learn the local language before you came?”

Renva spun around. The White sorceress stood on a lower branch of a tree, not far away.

“There was no one to teach us,” Renva replied. “Or we would have.”

The White sorceress looked upward and spoke a string of strange words. One of the Siyee above replied. The White sorceress smiled faintly, then met Renva’s eyes again.

“I am here as protector and translator only. Speaker Sirri, leader of the Siyee, wishes to know why you have entered Si uninvited.”

Renva looked up at the Siyee who had spoken. A woman leads them. Interesting. “We come to make peace with the Siyee.”

The White sorceress translated. Or at least I hope she is, Renva thought. How will I know if she mistranslates my words in her favor?

:Take care how you phrase your questions, Nekaun advised.

The Siyee leader spoke.

“Speaker Sirri says: ‘If you wish to make peace, leave us be. Leave and do not return,‘ ” the White sorceress said.

“Will you not give us a chance to mend the rift between our people?” Renva asked.

Another of the Siyee responded.

“The rift is too wide. How can you expect us to forgive those who invaded our allies’ lands and murdered so many of our fathers and sons, mothers and daughters?”

“Must we then remain enemies always?”

“Friendship must be earned,” the Siyee leader replied. “Trust is not gained when an enemy enters a house uninvited.”

“How may we win your trust? How can we even learn your language if we can’t... Will you come to Avven instead?”

The Siyee exchanged glances.

“Perhaps one day, if we were sure we would be safe.”

“I swear, on the Five Gods, it will be so,” Renva said earnestly.

At that the Siyee looked uneasy. The older man spoke. The White sorceress looked surprised, and paused before translating.

“Speaker Iriz says: ‘If you attempt to persuade any Siyee to worship your gods you will fail. Huan created us and we will never turn from her.’ ”

They believe their gods created them? Nekaun murmured.

:It appears so, she replied.

:Do as they say, he told her. Leave.

:Yes, holy one.

Renva bowed her head. “Friendship was our reason for coming here. To prove our trustworthiness, we will leave as you bid us. I hope, in the future, another chance will come to make peace between us.”

The White sorceress translated, then the Siyee voiced their approval. They leapt from their perches and swooped out of the trees. The White sorceress lingered a moment, watching Renva as though measuring her up.

“Scouts will watch you,” she warned. “We will know if you do not leave.”

She floated upward, gaining speed so quickly that the leafy canopy of the tree vibrated at her passing. Renva shook her head in awe. It was incredible that someone could be so skilled in magic that they could defy the pull of the earth.

And depressing knowing what we’re going to have to travel back over to get to the coast again.

:Take your time, Nekaun said in her mind. Your situation may change between now and then.

I hope not, she thought. She felt a little guilty at thinking this. She was supposed to be willing to face and endure anything in order to serve the gods.

:But you don’t have to enjoy it, Nekaun told her, his communication light with humor. She laughed. As her travelling companions turned to stare at her, she composed herself again.

“We’ll retrace our steps until dusk,” she decided, “then find a good place to stop for the night.” She looked up at the ridge. “You may as well come down,” she called to Vengel, who was leaning over the edge, peering down at her. “We’re going home.”

23

Pain and movement assailed Imi as she woke. Her skin burned, her joints ached, and her stomach clenched. Someone was lifting her. A voice drew her attention - a male voice speaking quietly and soothingly. It sounded like her father.

She jolted toward full awareness. Could it be? Had he come to rescue her at last? Opening her eyes, she stared up at a strange face. The man’s skin was pale and fur grew from both face and scalp.

He was a landwalker, but not the landwalker who had put her here. He stared back at her, the two furry lines above his eyes drawing close together as he frowned. There was a sloshing sound below her and she realized he was standing in the pool. He began to lower her. She felt a moment of panic and struggled weakly. The pool was too deep and she had no strength to drag herself out again. She would drown.

A moment after she felt water on her back she felt the solid surface of the pool’s bottom. The landwalker let her go, but remained squatting beside her. He began to splash water over her. It stung her skin, then cooled it. There was a good smell in the air - the smell of the sea. It came from the water. She lifted a hand to her mouth and tasted it.

Sea water. They’re trying to make me well again.

The thought ought to have been a relief, but it brought only fear, heightened by the realization that she was naked. Where was her shift? Would they give her new clothes? What would they do with her once she was healthy? What would they make her do? Maybe it would be better if she didn’t get well. Maybe it would be better if she died.

No. I have to get well, she told herself. I have to get better and be ready when father comes... or when I get a chance to escape by myself.

The landwalker stopped splashing her with water. He stood up and moved to the side of the pool. Picking up a large platter, he sloshed back to her side.

He began to speak again, his voice quiet and cheerful. Taking something from the platter, he held it out to her.

It was raw fish. She grimaced. At once he returned it to the platter.

Next he offered her a piece of cooked fish. She felt her stomach growl and reached out to take it, then hesitated.

What if it is poisoned? she thought. She looked at the man suspiciously. He smiled and murmured more strange words. Trying to reassure her.

What does it matter? she thought. If I don’t eat, I’ll die anyway.

She took the morsel and put it into her mouth. It tasted wonderful. She swallowed and a deep relief spread through her body.

The landwalker offered her more, piece by piece, then set the tray aside. She was still hungry, yet her stomach felt too... busy... for much more. He moved closer. She felt a stab of fear as he kneeled in the water beside her. He spoke earnestly, then glanced over his shoulder at the closed metal gate of the room. Turning back, he stared into her eyes and spoke again. This time his voice was quiet, but strong with emotion. She recognized anger, but knew it was not directed at her. He gestured at the room. He pointed at her, then himself, then waggled his fingers like two pairs of walking legs.

The meaning swept over her like a current of cool water. He was going to rescue her.

She felt tears come to her eyes. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she threw her arms around him and began to sob. At last. He might not be her father, but he was going to rescue her. She felt hands patting her back like her father did when she was hurt or upset. The thought brought more tears.

Then she felt his back stiffen, and he gently pushed her away. She wiped tears from her eyes. As her sight cleared she saw a figure standing outside the metal gate, and her blood went cold.

It was the landwalker who had put her here, and he was scowling.

Had he heard the nice landwalker talking of rescuing her? She searched the nice landwalker’s face. He patted her gently on the shoulder and gestured at the tray, inviting her to eat more, then he turned to face her captor. They exchanged words. The nice landwalker climbed out of the pool and walked to the gate.

They exchanged more words. She could hear the restrained anger in their voices. Lying down in the water, she felt her hopes begin to shrivel up as the two men’s voices rose in what was clearly going to be an argument.

Thunder grumbled ominously in the distance as Auraya, Speaker Sirri and the other Siyee landed in the Open. They were welcomed by an anxious crowd, including the Speakers and tribe representatives who had stayed behind.

“The Pentadrians are leaving,” Sirri announced. Whistles and cheers followed and she had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise. “They claim to have entered Si in order to make peace with us, but Auraya saw in their minds their true intent. They wished only to persuade us to worship their gods. We have sent them away.”

“How can we be sure they will not turn back and attack us?” a Speaker asked.

“We can’t,” Sirri answered. “We have scouts watching them. We are as prepared to deal with an attack now as before, except we now have Auraya’s help.”

Auraya managed to avoid frowning at this. Now that the Pentadrians appeared to be leaving would Juran want her to return to Jarime? As the Speakers crowded around she leaned closer to Sirri.

“They’ll want the whole story,” she murmured to Sirri, “but you, Iriz and Tyzi are exhausted. Why not suggest we gather later tonight to tell the tale over dinner?”

Sirri glanced at her and smiled crookedly. “Good idea,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “It has been a long journey,” she said to the crowd. “For now, I think my fellow travellers would appreciate some time to rest and refresh themselves. Shall we meet again after dinner, in the Speakers’ Bower?”

The tribal leaders nodded and murmured agreement. Auraya sensed a wave of relief from friz.

“We will speak to you then,” Sirri finished.

The crowd began to disperse. As Auraya started toward her bower Sirri joined her.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Sirri admitted when they were out of the crowd. “I’m not used to travelling long distances. My position keeps me here.” She paused. “Despite that, I doubt I’ll sleep at all.”

“I wouldn’t sleep well if my son was leading the scouts watching the Pentadrians. However, Sreil is a sensible young man. He will not take any risks.”

Sirri looked at Auraya anxiously. “Do you think the Pentadrians will leave?”

Auraya shook her head. “I can’t be sure. I caught a mind conversation between the leader and her superior. His orders were to leave, but he did warn her that his orders might change. I do not think it likely. I doubt they’d start another war by attacking Siyee, but I would not dismiss the possibility completely.”

Sirri sighed. “I don’t like that we won’t know of an attack for days.”

Auraya nodded. “I don’t like it either.”

“The sooner we have priests and priestesses the better.”

“Yes.”

They had arrived outside Auraya’s bower.

“Do try to rest at least,” Auraya told the Siyee leader gently. “Even if you have to slip away to a hiding place to get some peace.”

Sirri chuckled. “Might have to.” She glanced around. There were few Siyee around. “Yes. That’s another good idea. I’ll see you after dinner.”

Auraya smiled as Sirri strode away, heading deeper into the forest. She pushed past the hanging of her bower and stepped inside. As she moved toward the seats in the center of the room she focused her mind on her ring.

:Jur—

Something fell onto her shoulders. She jumped, then gasped in relief as a high voice spoke uncomfortably close to her ear.

“Owaya! Owaya! Owaya!”

“Yes, Mischief,” she said, unwinding him from around her neck. “I’m back. I’m alive and safe.” He clutched her arm, whiskers quivering. “And, yes, I’d like to play with you, but right now I need to talk to Juran.”

As she sat down he let go of her and curled up in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she sought Juran’s mind again.

:Auraya? I thought that was you.

:Yes. I have just reached the Open. Juran had watched the confrontation telepathically. I thought about what I learned there all the way back. Are you free to discuss it?

:Yes. So what were you thinking?

:This woman we met believes her superior - Nekaun - is the leader of the Pentadrians. They have elected a replacement for Kuar already.

:It appears so, Juran agreed. Either the Pentadrians breed powerful sorcerers at a frightening rate, or they have elected a less powerful sorcerer in order to regain their people’s confidence.

:The latter does seem more likely. These Pentadrians were sent to Si to befriend the Siyee in order to turn them from the Circle of Gods to their own five gods. Would he have sent similar groups to other Ithanian lands for the same purpose?

:It is possible. We will have to be watchful.

:I would say they had little chance of success if I was sure the Pentadrian gods did not exist. Have the gods discovered anything more?

:They have not spoken of it. What of Chaia? Is he still “chatting” with you?

:Yes. He has said nothing on the subject, however.

:Have you asked him?

:Yes, but he is remarkably good at ignoring questions he doesn’t want to answer.

:He would tell you if he could.

:Do you think so? He can be a frustrating companion at times.

:You are fortunate that he favors you with his presence so often. He regards you highly, Auraya. Enjoy it; it may not last forever.

She winced. Was she being ungrateful? She couldn’t reveal the reason she found Chaia’s visits so... so... She could not think of a word to describe the mix of annoyance and curiosity she felt.

It’s all very well for Juran to tell me to enjoy Chaia’s visits. He’s probably never had a god murmuring seductively in his ear before, she thought. Then she frowned. Or has he? She shook her head. Get back to the subject, she told herself.

:I would like to stay here until we are sure the Pentadrians have left Si.

:Yes, you should.

She sighed with relief. After his earlier resistance to her going to the Siyee’s aid she had expected him to order her back to Jarime.

:I will return when they are gone.

As she drew back from Juran’s mind, she paused to scratch Mischief. She should see how Danjin was faring next. Something in the room had changed, however. Just as she realized what it was, a voice spoke in her mind.

:Danjin is busy, Chaia said. And as you said yesterday, work comes before play. You have done enough for now - or are you going to work without pause for the rest of eternity?

Auraya smiled.

:Not unless you want me to.

:That was never my intention. Our Chosen ones ought to enjoy themselves from time to time. Even better if we enjoy each other’s company.

She felt a fleeting touch of magic on her shoulder. It sent a shiver down her spine. It was impossible not to think of the potential such sensations might have if they were stronger, or if they roamed from her neck to other places...

:You need only ask, and I will show you.

She thought of Juran’s words. You are fortunate that he favors you... Enjoy it; it may not last forever.

But he could not have meant this.

:No, but he is right about one thing: I do favor you as no other.

An invisible finger touched her lip and slowly traced a line down her neck and chest to her stomach... then faded away. She found she was breathing quickly.

A god, she thought. Why not? Am I resisting just because I don’t want to attract another inappropriate lover?

:Not inappropriate, Chaia corrected. Unusual, perhaps, but nothing to be ashamed of.

Not like Leiard, she thought. But still... complicated.

:Not as complicated as you fear. I will not run away from you as he did, Auraya.

She felt his touch on her shoulders and closed her eyes.

:Send him to the past to be a memory you can look back on fondly, Chaia whispered.

His invisible fingers ran down the sides of her breasts.

:Come with me into that place between dreaming and waking...

She felt his mouth against hers. At first it was the faint touch of magic, but it became something more tangible as she sank into the dream trance.

:... and begin a new time with me.

:Yes, she whispered, reaching for the luminous figure before her. Show me how it could be.

A wave of pleasure more intense than she had ever experienced swept over her.

24

Reivan yawned as she pulled out the chair behind her desk. She’d stayed up late helping Imenja access a trade agreement and now she was late starting her duties of the morning. A nagging headache remained from the previous day and the constant whine of the dust storm outside - which had been blowing for days - was beginning to annoy her.

Becoming a full Servant might have ended her training, but the time she’d spent in lessons was quickly taken up by new duties. Imenja had given her more responsibilities. She now organized Imenja’s schedule. This involved interviewing people who wanted an audience with the Second Voice and deciding if their purpose, or status, was important enough to allow a meeting to take place.

She was given a room near the front of the Sanctuary in which to interview these people. It had two entrances: a public and a private one. The private one allowed her to come and go without being accosted by the people waiting outside the public one.

She had also been given an assistant, Servant Kikarn. He was an ugly man, so skinny he looked perpetually stern, but she was discovering that he had a sharp wit and intelligence. As she sat down he placed a particularly long list on her table and she suppressed a groan. The corridor must be crowded today, she thought wryly.

“What did the wind blow in this morning?”

Kikarn chuckled. “Everything from gold dust to litter,” he replied. “The merchant Ario wishes to bribe - er, give the Second Voice a large donation.”

“How much?”

“Enough to build a new Temple.”

“Impressive. What does he want in return?”

“Nothing, of course.”

She smiled. “We’ll see. What else?”

“A woman who was a palace domestic in Kave claims the High Chieftain’s wife has taken to worshipping a dead god. She says she has proof.”

“She must be sure of it, or she wouldn’t approach Second Voice Imenja.”

“Unless she is ignorant of the Voices’ mind-reading skills.”

“We shall see.” She looked down the list and stopped at a familiar name. “Thinker Kuerres?”

“He is here to see you.”

“Not Imenja?”

“No.”

“What does he want?”

“He won’t say, but he insists that it’s an urgent matter. Someone’s life may depend on it.”

Someone’s life would have to be at stake before the Thinkers deigned to speak to me again, she mused.

“And the others.”

“Not as important as the first two.”

“The first two will take some time. Send Kuerres in. I’ve never known him to exaggerate or lie. Most likely they want to know what I did with my books and instruments.”

Kikarn bowed his head. As he moved to the door she considered what she knew of Kuerres. He was one of the quieter Thinkers. He’d never been unkind to her, though he hadn’t paid much attention to her either. She frowned as she searched her memory for facts that might prove useful. He had a family. He kept a menagerie of exotic animals.

That was all she could remember. She recognized the middle-aged man who entered the room, but his manner was nothing like she remembered. He glanced around the room nervously, his face pale and his hands clasped together.

“Thinker Kuerres,” she said. “It is good to see you again. Sit down.”

“Servant Reivan,” he said, tracing a star over his chest. He eyed Kikam, then stepped forward and dropped into the chair.

“What brings you to the Sanctuary?” she asked.

“I... I have a crime to report.”

She paused. She’d assumed he was nervous about being in the Sanctuary and talking to people of importance. Now she began to wonder if he’d got himself into some kind of trouble.

“Go on,” she said.

He took a deep breath. “We - the Thinkers - were approached by a trader yesterday. A rich trader who wanted information and was willing to pay generously for it.” Kuerres paused and met her eyes. “He wanted to know about the Elai.”

“The sea people? Some of the Thinkers don’t even believe they exist.”

“Yes. We told him all we knew, but he wasn’t satisfied. He asked if any of us knew much about keeping wild animals and I offered my services.”

Reivan smiled. “Let me guess: he’d bought some kind of large, strange sea creature and thought it might be the origin of the legend?”

Kuerres shook his head. “Rather the opposite. I offered to help him. I was curious. He took me to his home. What I found there was...” he shuddered “... horrible. A sick, frightened child - but a child like none I’ve ever seen before. Thick black skin. Entirely hairless. Large hands and feet with webbing between fingers and toes.”

“Feet? No fish tail?”

“No fish tail. No gills either. But definitely a... a being of the water. I have no doubt this child is one of the Elai.”

Reivan felt a thrill of excitement, but suppressed it out of habit. Thinkers did not allow their reason to be overtaken by emotion. It was too easy to convince oneself of something if one wanted to badly enough.

“Did this merchant say where he found her?”

“No. He complained that she’d cost a fortune and talked about her like she was an animal.” He shook his head in disgust. “She is no animal. She is a human. He is breaking our laws by buying and keeping her.”

“Enslaving an innocent.” She nodded. “Who is this trader?”

His nose wrinkled. “Devlein Wheelmaker. He is a Genrian. He changed his name before the war.”

Reivan nodded. “I know of him. I will bring this to the Second Voice’s attention later today and I’m sure she will have someone—”

“You have to do something now!” he interrupted. “I’m sure he suspects that I will report him. He might get rid of her - kill her - before you get there!”

He stared at her earnestly, obviously deeply concerned for the safely of this sea girl. Reivan pressed her palms together and considered.

If the merchant believed the child was an animal he would reason that he hadn’t committed any crime. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t take the risk that others would come to the same conclusion as Kuerres. The punishment for enslaving an innocent was to be enslaved. He’ll either kill her or move her somewhere else, depending on how much she cost him. Either way, the faster we act, the more likely it is we will find the girl before he does anything to her.

But leaving the Sanctuary to rescue a child wasn’t part of her duties, and she didn’t have the authority to search the man’s property. She needed Imenja’s help. Was this important enough to interrupt the Second Voice?

Am I simply curious to know if this child is an Elai?

Whether she is an Elai or not, she is being kept like an animal. Imenja will want to do something about that.

Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand on the pendant and closed her eyes.

:Imenja?

She waited, then called again. Not having much Skill in the use of magic, it often took several attempts before she managed to get the pendant to work. Finally an answer came.

:Is that you, Reivan?

:It is.

:Good morning. What has you calling me so early?

:A report of a crime.

:Tell me.

She related Kuerres’s story of the sea girl.

:That is appalling. You must free her. If the girl is not there, bring the merchant to me. I will read her location from his mind.

:I will. I think I may need assistance.

:Yes. Take Kilcarn. Contact me as soon as you find her.

:I will.

Opening her eyes, Reivan found Kuerres staring at her. She smothered a smile at his curiosity.

“We will deal with this right away,” she told him. Servant Kikarn made a small noise of protest. She guessed he was thinking of the visitors still waiting to be seen. “Servant Kikarn. Tell the Dekkan domestic to wait until I return but let the others know I have urgent and unexpected business to attend to and will see to them tomorrow morning. Assure Ario he will be first.”

He smiled and bowed his head. Reivan rose and Kuerres jumped to his feet.

“Do you want to accompany me?” she asked him.

He hesitated. “I should return to my home,” he said doubtfully.

She moved around the desk. “Then go. I will send news to you when we return. I will use an ordinary messenger, not one from the Sanctuary.”

He looked relieved. “Thank you, Reivan - Servant Reivan.”

She smiled. “Thank you for bringing this information to the Sanctuary, Thinker Kuerres. You are a good man and I hope this action doesn’t work against you.”

“There are those who will support me,” he assured her. He turned to the door, then paused and looked back. “Just as there are those who support you.”

Surprised, Reivan watched him leave, wishing she could bring herself to ask who her supporters were, but knowing he would say no more.

* * *

With Tyve constantly advising him on the terrain ahead, Mirar had been able to travel faster than he and Emerahl had during their journey into Si. The boy circled above, warning of dead-end ravines and guiding Mirar to valleys that provided easy travelling. Each night Tyve slipped away to visit his village and each morning he returned more worried than ever. More of the tribe had fallen ill. A young baby had died, then its mother, weakened by a difficult birth. Veece was failing fast. At each report Mirar grew more certain the Siyee were facing a plague. He travelled from first light to dusk, stopping only to drink and eat, knowing that the situation in the village was worsening every hour.

He had seen many plagues before. Injuries, wounds and minor diseases were easy enough for a sorcerer with healing knowledge and magical strength to treat, but when a disease spread quickly it was not long before there were too few healers capable of fighting it to treat all victims - when they were not battling the disease themselves.

And here in Si you are the only one, Leiard added.

Mirar sighed. If only I could have prevented Siyee from leaving the village and spreading the disease.

He’d sent this advice ahead, but the news Tyve brought back had been alarming. Some families had fled to other villages already. Messengers had been sent to the Open.

They’re already panicking, Leiard said. You’ll have as much work dealing with their fear of disease as the disease itself.

Mirar didn’t answer. The rocky slope he was descending had become an enormous, roughly hewn staircase that took all his attention. He jumped from rock shelf to rock shelf, each landing jolting his entire body.

The steps became steadily shallower as the trees around him grew larger. Soon he was walking on smooth leaf-covered ground, surrounded by the trunks of enormous trees. The air was moist. A stream trickled slowly nearby, dividing and rejoining and forming pools here and there.

It was a peaceful place and would have made a pleasant camping site - apart from the lingering smell of animal feces. The area must be a thoroughfare for forest creatures. Remembering the reason for his journey, he quickened his pace again.

Then he heard a Siyee whistle a call of warning and he halted.

Looking up, he blinked in surprise as he saw that platforms had been built between many of the tree branches overhead. Faces peered over the edges of these, gazing down at him, and he sensed fear, hope and curiosity.

He had reached the village.

From the right a Siyee glided down to meet him. It was Tyve.

“Some have hung ropes for you to climb,” he told Mirar. “Others are too suspicious. They’ll change their minds once they hear you’ve cured some of us.”

Mirar nodded. “How many are ill now?”

“I don’t know. Ten the last time I counted.”

“Take me to the sickest, then fly to all the people and find out how many are sick or are showing the first signs of it.”

“Yes. I will. Follow me.”

Tyve walked through the trees for several hundred paces. A rope hung down from one of the platforms. Mirar tied the end of the rope to the handles of his bag.

“Who lives up here?”

Tyve swallowed and looked up. “Speaker Veece and his wife and her sister.”

The old man. Mirar smothered a sigh. Even among landwalkers, Hearteater most often claims the old and the very young.

He took hold of the rope and began to climb.

It was a long climb. Halfway up he looked down and considered what would happen if he slipped and fell.

I’d definitely be injured. Probably badly. Probably to a point that would kill mortals.

But he would not die. His body would repair itself, though gradually.

Like it did after they took me out from under the ruined Dreamweaver House in Jarime. I was a bag of broken bones, not quite dead, not quite alive. Mirar shuddered. A mind fixed only on keeping alive enough to regenerate, parts of me decomposing while others healed...

Think of something else, Leiard suggested.

Mirar drew in a deep breath and concentrated on hauling himself upward. When he reached the top he pulled himself onto the platform and lay on his back, panting. Once he had caught his breath he rolled over and found two elderly Siyee women hovering nearby.

They have it, Leiard observed.

He was right. Their faces were pale and shone with sweat, and their lips were tinged with blue. Despite the name of the disease, it actually attacked the lungs. As it ate away at them the victim was less and less able to breathe, causing their blood to weaken. In some places it was known as the White Death.

He stood up. A bower had been built on top of the platform. From his high position he could see bowers on most platforms - and many Siyee watching him. He looked at the two women.

“I am Dreamweaver Wilar. I will try to help Speaker Veece, if you wish me to.”

They exchanged a quick glance, then nodded.

“Thank you for coming. He is inside,” one croaked. She lapsed into a wracking cough.

Mirar nodded. “I will bring up my bag of cures, then I will go in and see what I can do for him.”

He turned away and began to haul on the rope. It seemed to take hours to bring up the bag. Untying it, he carried it inside the bower.

On a blanket in the middle of the room lay the Speaker. Though Mirar hadn’t met the man before he doubted he would have recognized him if he had. Pale, bloodless skin stretched over the man’s bones. His lips were a deep blue and his breath came quickly and painfully.

He’s near death, Leiard murmured.

Yes, Mirar agreed. But if I don’t save him, will the rest of the tribe trust me?

Maybe. Maybe not. You best get to work.

Mirar opened his bag and began sorting through its contents. A thump outside distracted him. He looked up to see Tyve standing in the doorway.

“Twenty are sick, twelve are feeling ill, and the rest say they’re well,” the boy reported.

Mirar nodded. I wish Emerahl had remained here. I could do with her help. “Stay close,” he told the boy. “I might need you to...” He frowned and looked at Veece’s wife. “Where do you get your water from?”

The woman pointed at a small hole in the floor. Next to it was a bucket and a coil of rope. “We bring it up from the creek below.”

He thought of the winding path of the creek and the smell of feces.

“Where do you put your bodily wastes?”

She pointed downward again. “It washes away.”

“Not quickly enough,” he said.

Her shoulders lifted. “It used to, but a slide upslope diverted some of the water away.”

“That should be cleared, or you should move the village,” he said. “Tyve, fetch me some water from far above the village. Don’t use the same vessel as any that has been in the stream.”

The boy nodded and flew away. Mirar sensed annoyance from the woman. He met her gaze.

“Better to be sure,” he said.

She lowered her eyes and nodded. Turning away, Mirar moved to Veece’s side and began his work.

25

The crowd surrounding the two priests consisted mostly of children. From the minds of the few adults present, Auraya read that the pair were a great source of entertainment for the youngsters in the Open, but the adults also listened attentively, conscious that what these landwalkers were teaching would influence their people’s future.

Sitting behind the priests were four Siyee, all listening attentively. They noted not only the stories and lessons, but the way in which they were told. The oldest was a woman of thirty-five, the youngest a boy of fifteen. All had hopes and ambitions of becoming priests or priestesses.

Auraya felt a surge of pride. If they learned well and passed the tests, their dreams would come true. They would be the first Siyee priests and priestesses.

The priest who was speaking - Priest Magen - finished his tale and made the sign of the circle. He glanced at Auraya, then told the audience that their lesson was over. Disappointment flowed from the children, but as they rose and began to discuss with their guardians what they might do next the feeling dissipated.

Auraya walked forward to greet the priests. They made the formal two-handed sign of the circle as they greeted her - something the trainee priests and priestesses noted with curiosity.

“A bigger crowd today,” she noted.

Danien nodded. “Yes. A few new children from a visiting tribe, I believe.”

“Come inside,” Magen urged. “Have you eaten yet? A woman just sent us several roasted girri as thanks for treating her broken ankle.”

“I haven’t,” Auraya replied. “Is there enough?”

Magen grinned. “More than enough. The Siyee are nothing less than generous.”

The priest beckoned to the trainees then led them all inside the large bower that had been provided for the landwalkers. They sat on wooden seats in the center of the room and passed around the food.

“You’ve learned the Siyee language quickly,” Auraya observed.

Danien nodded. “When you know a few languages it gets easier to pick up new ones. The Siyee tongue is not that hard once you see the similarities between it and landwalker tongues.”

“We were assisted by a young man here - Tryss,” Magen told her.

“Ah, Tryss,” Auraya said, nodding. “Clever boy.”

“Your advice about taboos, customs and manners was helpful, too,” Danien added. “I was thinking of—”

“Auraya of the White?”

All turned to the doorway. Speaker Sirri stood in the opening, radiating concern. A young Siyee male stood beside her. He had brought bad news, Auraya read. A sickness...

“Speaker Sirri,” Magen said, rising. “Welcome. Will you and your companion join us?”

The Speaker hesitated, then stepped inside. “Yes. Thank you. This is Reet of the North River tribe.” The young man nodded as each of the occupants was introduced.

“Come and sit down,” Magen said, rising to usher them to seats.

Sirri did not smile as she sat down. “Reet has come to the Open seeking help,” she told them. “His people have sickened with an illness they have never heard of. Our healers have not seen such a malady either, so we have come to ask you if you know it.”

“Can you describe it, Reet?” Auraya asked.

She concentrated on the young man’s mind as he told of the illness that had come upon his family and relatives, and felt a chill as she recognized the symptoms.

“I know it,” she interrupted. The boy stared at her hopefully. She turned to regard Magen. “It is Hearteater.”

“The White Death,” Magen said, his expression turning grim. “It appears among landwalkers from time to time.”

Sirri looked at Auraya. “Do you have a cure?”

“Yes and no,” Auraya replied. “There are treatments that ease the symptoms, but they do not kill the disease. The patient’s body must do that. Magical healing can help boost a patient’s strength, but it cannot kill a disease without the risk of harming the body.”

“Babies and young children are in the greatest danger as well as the elderly and weak,” Magen added. “Healthy adults spend a few days in a fever, then slowly recover.”

“But they’re not,” Reet interrupted. “My second cousin died the day before yesterday. She was twenty-two!”

The room fell silent as all exchanged looks of dismay. Danien turned to Auraya. “Could Hearteater have grown more potent?”

“Perhaps. If that is so, we must be extra careful to make sure it doesn’t spread,” she warned. “Has anyone from the village other than you left it? Have outsiders visited since the illness began?”

Reet stared at her. “Other than me? Two families left after it started. One went to the North Forest tribe. The others came here. We’d had no visitors, when I left.”

The newcomers among the children! Auraya thought suddenly. A moment after the danger occurred to her she heard Magen’s indrawn breath and knew he’d thought of them too.

She looked at Sirri. “You need to find this family and isolate them from others, and find out who they’ve met since they arrived and isolate those Siyee too.”

Sirri grimaced. “They may not like that. What of the North River and North Forest tribes?”

“Send someone to the North Forest tribe to see if anyone is sick. As for the North River tribe...” Auraya considered. It would be better to treat them in their village, but could she leave the Open? What if the Pentadrians attacked? Any report of an attack would come to the Open first. She looked at Danien and Magen. They could contact her through their rings. “I will go to them,” she said. “Danien and Magen will be my link to you. Anything you want me to know, tell them. They will communicate it to me.”

Sirri nodded. “I will. When will you leave?”

“As soon as I can. You may need me to help you explain to the families the reason they must isolate themselves. I would like to gather some medicines. You have some that will help.”

Sirri rose. “Tell me what you want and I’ll send someone for them. You had best come with me now. The sooner we isolate these families the better. What of Reet?”

Auraya turned to regard the boy.

“You, too, may carry the disease,” Auraya said gently.

“It is spread by touch,” Magen said. “And by the breath. Who have you spoken to since you arrived, Reet?”

“Only Speaker Sirri. I didn’t touch her.”

“Will I have to isolate myself?” Sirri asked. “Who will direct the tribe in my place?”

Auraya considered. “If you are careful not to touch anyone... Magen can put a magical shield around you so your bream doesn’t reach anyone. In a few days, if you haven’t developed symptoms, you can conclude you haven’t caught it. The same applies to everyone here.” She looked at the trainees. “Reet may have infected you, if he has the disease. Keep away from others unless you have a priest shielding you.”

“Can I return to my tribe?” Reet asked.

“I can’t see why not,” Auraya said. “So long as you stay there.”

“Rest and eat something first,” Magen said.

“Yes.” Auraya stood up. “I had better get started.” She nodded at the priests in farewell, then hurried out of the bower with Sirri.

* * *

Though Imi had been in the room for hours she knew nothing about her new surroundings. She had hoped her eyes would grow used to the darkness, but they hadn’t. The way sounds echoed suggested a room as large as the hull of the raiders’ ship. The floor was cold stone, but she hadn’t gathered the strength yet to find out if the walls were too.

She could only assume hours had passed. It was impossible to measure the passing of time here. In her home her people could tell what time it was by looking at a time lamp. The oil reservoir was marked at every hour. Or they could use the many tide measures to calculate the time. Wherever there was a tidal pool there was a time measure carved into the side.

Her stomach rumbled. She thought back to the platter of food the nice landwalker had fed her from. He had left it there and she had slowly finished off the contents over the next few hours. The salt water had soothed her skin. She had begun to feel better.

Now she only had a large pot full of salt water to splash herself with. It stood next to her in the darkness.

Why? she thought. Why am I here?

She thought of the argument between the nice landwalker and the nasty one. The nasty landwalker must have seen or heard the nice one planning to rescue her. He had moved her in order to keep her for himself.

But why does he want to keep me? Does he want me to work for him, like the raider and the sea-bell fishermen?

At the thought of sea bells she felt a stab of pain. I hope I never see a sea bell again, she thought. I hate them. I shouldn’t have left the city. How could I have been so stupid? She rolled onto her back and blinked back tears. I should have thought about the dangers outside the city. That’s my problem. I don’t think before I do things.

I’ve got plenty of time to think now. She frowned. Maybe I can think my way out of this. How likely is it that my father, or some handsome warrior, is going to find me? He doesn’t know where I am. Neither does that nice landwalker. I should stop waiting for someone else to rescue me, and rescue myself.

She sighed. But what can I do? I don’t even know where I am. All I know is that I’m in a mom somewhere.

Maybe she could find out more if she explored the room. Maybe if she made a noise, someone would come and find out what it was.

Slowly she pushed herself into a sitting position. She was still terribly tired. Forcing herself to her feet, she staggered forward. It was hard to keep her balance in the darkness and she nearly fell several times. Finally her outstretched hand met a hard surface.

It was stone. Feeling around, she noted channels in the stone and guessed they were mortared gaps between bricks. Around the room she went, feeling the surface for any change. After passing two corners, she came upon the door.

This was wooden. She could feel metal hinges on the inside. Drawing in a deep breath, she let out a yell that echoed deafeningly in the room. At the same time she pounded on the door with her fists.

A few yells later she had to stop. He head was spinning and her arms ached. She slumped against the door.

From outside came the sound of approaching footsteps.

Hope flared inside her and strength came back. She yelled with renewed enthusiasm. There were voices just outside the door. It vibrated as the lock was worked. She backed away as the door opened. Two men appeared.

Her heart sank. One was her captor, the other was a stranger. As the newcomer stared at her with inhuman, greedy eyes all hope fled. Her legs buckled. She flinched as her knees met the stone floor.

The two men ignored her and began to talk in low voices. Her captor gestured at something on the floor outside the room. The greedy man stooped to pick it up.

It was a sack. As he started toward Imi, she shrank away, but there was nowhere to go. When she struggled he cuffed her, speaking with words she didn’t understand but in a warning tone she did. Once she was inside the sack, he picked her up and carried her away. She felt herself moving upward, then saw sunlight through the weave. She was put in a dark place again and the floor began to move.

Dizzy with weakness, she listened to the strange sounds about her. They multiplied and grew louder. Voices overlaid everything. She felt a surge of terror. Landwalkers surrounded her. It was too easy to imagine they were all like the raiders and her captor, greedy and cruel.

The nice landwalker was different, she reminded herself. There must be more like him out there. Perhaps in this crowd. What if she yelled for help? What if she managed to get out of the sack and the vehicle?

She struggled against the sack and felt her leg touch something. That something recoiled, then slammed into her calf. She gasped in pain. A voice muttered something angrily.

If she yelled he would hurt her again, but it might be worth it. She gathered her strength for another effort but paused as she felt the floor stop moving.

Another voice came from close by. It and the greedy man talked cheerfully. Hands grabbed and lifted her. She recognized the smell of the sea at the same time as she heard the too familiar creaking and splashing of a ship.

They carried her upward, then downward, then put her on a hard floor. She lay still, conscious of a familiar rocking motion. It made her feel queasy. Above her people were shouting. People on ships were always shouting. She heard the footsteps draw closer. The sacking moved, then drew back. She struggled free, eager for fresh air.

Looking up, she froze in surprise.

Instead of the greedy man, two women stood over her. Both wore many-layered black clothes and silver pendants. They smiled at her.

“Hello Imi,” the older one said. “You are safe now, Imi.”

Imi stared at her in astonishment. She spoke my name? How does she know my name? And how can she be speaking Elai?

The woman leaned forward and extended a hand. “Nobody is going to hurt you any more. Come with us and we will help you.”

Imi felt tears spring to her eyes. At last, her rescuers had come. They didn’t look anything like what she’d imagined. Neither was her father, or a great warrior - or even the kind landwalker. Just two women.

But they’d do.

26

The sky was every color. At the horizon it was a pale yellow. A little higher it gained a warm blush. Higher still, unexpected colors formed; greens that deepened into blues then shifted into an intense dark blue that stretched overhead and became the black, star-prickled night sky.

A pretty sunset is supposed to be a sign of good weather, Emerahl mused. Better be or I’m in for another rough ride.

The storm that had raged these last few days had been the kind that could easily have wrecked ships. When it eased a little she had searched for and found the staircase. It was steep, narrow and overgrown. Descending, she had wondered if she would find someone in the cave Gherid had told her she would find. Perhaps a victim of the storm. Perhaps The Gull himself.

The cave had been empty. The storm had worsened again, but no refuge-seekers had arrived, nor The Gull. It trapped her there, but she did not mind; she was in no hurry. The cave was not luxurious even by a poor man’s standards, but it was dry. She could imagine The Gull here. She imagined she could smell him - a mix of sweat, salt water and fish - in the crude furniture made of driftwood and sailcloth.

The Gull himself. Immortal. Mysterious. A fellow Wild.

It was possible he was aware that his sanctuary had been invaded and was staying away. It was tempting to wait a little longer and see if he turned up. There was a store of dried foods in the cave and she could fish.

But she did not want to touch the stores. Gherid had told her this place was a refuge for those The Gull saved. She was no stranded shipwreck survivor so she felt she had no right to use any of the supplies here.

No, it is time I moved on, she thought. The chance that he might happen by while I was here was slim anyway. I will do as I planned: leave a message and continue on my way.

She considered the contents of her message. Not being much good at riddles, yet reluctant to write anything too specific - even in an ancient dead language - she had opted for symbolizm she hoped The Gull would understand. She had gathered up a hank of the stringy white weed called “old woman’s hair” and twisted it into a rope. Onto this she had strung a moon shell with markings in the shape of a crescent moon. Knotting the rope into a loop, she had hung it on the wall at the back of the cave.

The string was meant to tell him: “I am The Hag,” and the shell indicated the phase of the moon she would return at. Sometimes she thought it was a tad obvious. Other times she worried whether he would understand it. Or even find it.

The sky was now mostly black with a warm glow at the horizon. She crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the cave entrance.

Many things had occurred to her while she had been here. For a start, Gherid’s mind and the minds of others who had met The Gull were not shielded. Anyone able to read their minds would know The Gull still existed. That meant the gods knew he was alive. So why hadn’t they killed him?

Perhaps because he is too hard to find, she thought. They need to work through a willing human. If he can evade their human servants, he can avoid them.

Or perhaps they’ve decided he is no danger to them. They may even approve of him, since he does save the lives of Circlians and has never encouraged mortals to worship him.

She frowned. Is he any different to me, in that regard?

I heal people. I’m no real threat to the gods. I have never wished to be worshipped. Maybe I fear them for no reason. Maybe they’d let me live if they knew where I was.

If that is true, why did the priests hunt for me when they found there had been a suspiciously long-lived sorceress living in the lighthouse? Why did the gods give a priest the ability to read minds, so he could better find me?

They might not have intended to kill her, just question her.

Not likely. She snorted softly. The gods hate Immortals. They always have. Which brought her to another matter she had been considering. A question she had asked herself many times in the past.

Why do the gods hate us? They have nothing to fear from us. We can’t harm them. We might work against them, but our efforts have rarely had much effect. Could it be that they have a reason to fear us?

She shook her head. It was easy to read more into the gods’ hatred of immortals than was actually there. They kill us because they want complete control over mortals. They want their followers to go to priests and priestesses for cures, not me or Dreamweavers.

A brightness had appeared at a different stretch of the horizon. She pushed all thought of the gods aside and watched the half-moon rise. When it had floated free of the sea she looked around. It gave her enough light to sail by. She picked up her bag, gave the cave one last look, then started up the staircase to the top of the Stack.

It was narrow, and where it turned out of the light of the moon darkness blotted out all detail, forcing her to create a small light. The grassy surface of the top seemed much smaller now it was not veiled by rain. To her relief, her boat was still there. The ropes had kept it in place throughout the storm. She untied them, pulled out the pegs and dragged it to the side of the Stack. Stepping inside, she took a few deep breaths and cleared her mind.

Taking in magic from the world, she lifted the vessel into the air, out over the edge of the cliff, then slowly down to the water.

When she felt the caress of the sea on the boat’s hull she released it. At once a current began to draw her away. She watched as the Stack slowly diminished in size, thinking of the message she had left and wondering if The Gull would believe it.

And if he does, will he answer it?

Moderator Meeran of the Somreyan Council drew in a deep breath and let it out again. The meetings of the council often left him exhausted these days. He did not like this sign of his encroaching old age and always forced himself to remain and chat with those who lingered afterward.

The grand old Council building faced toward the port of Arbeem. Tall windows allowed a grand view of the city and bay. Tiny lights moved on the water, each cluster indicating the position of a ship. Two figures stood by one of the windows, talking quietly.

Meeran blinked in surprise. A white circular garment hung from the shoulders of one of the figures. The other wore humbler clothes: a leather vest on top of a plain woven tunic. Meeran narrowed his eyes. It was not often that the Dreamweaver and Circlian Elders of the Somreyan Council were seen together. Usually those two coming together resulted in the need for his hasty intervention. This time, however, they appeared to be chatting amiably.

Appearances could be deceiving, and could rapidly change. Meeran decided it would be prudent to investigate. Nobody intercepted him as he crossed the room. His suspicion that this was because others had noticed the pair at the window was confirmed when Council Elder Timbler caught his eye and smiled sympathetically.

As he neared the window Arleej turned to regard Meeran. She smiled crookedly.

“We were just discussing our new neighbors, Moderator,” she said.

He glanced out of the window and saw the object of their attention. A large ship was tied up to the docks. Its hull and sails were black. Distant figures were moving off the vessel, each well burdened.

“They are fools if they think they can convert Somreyans so soon after the war,” High Priest Haleed muttered.

Meeran looked at the old man. “So you do believe that is why the Pentadrians are here?”

“Why else?” Haleed replied sullenly.

“Of course it is.” Arleej gave Haleed a mocking glance. “They are convinced their gods are the only true gods. We already know how single-minded those with such beliefs can be.”

Haleed’s chin rose. “They will fail,” he said. “Our gods are real. Theirs are not. They must be more forceful or clever to convince others to join them. In the attempt they will cause much trouble.”

Arleej made a disbelieving noise.

“You disagree?” the priest asked.

“I agree that they will cause strife here,” she said. “What I wonder is how you can be so sure their gods aren’t real.”

“Because the Circle has told us they are the only ones.”

Her eyebrows rose. “The only ones to have survived the gods’ war, that is. Perhaps the Pentadrians’ gods have risen since.”

“The Circle would have noticed.”

“Perhaps they didn’t.”

Meeran raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, though the conversation did not appear to be leading to an angry exchange. “We could argue this all night. I am more interested to know what you both think the consequences may be of the Council’s decision to allow them to settle.”

Haleed looked down at the ship and scowled. “Trouble, as I said. First we allow them to enter our country, then what? Will we give them a place on the Council?”

Arleej smiled. “If they gather enough followers to become a legitimate religion we cannot refuse them a place. It is our law and tradition.”

“Perhaps it is time we changed that law,” Haleed said darkly. “Or increased the required number of followers.”

A shadow passed over Arleej’s face. She’s concerned the hatred of Pentadrians would convince Somreyans to agree to that, Meeran realized. The Dreamweavers are few in number compared to the potential number of Pentadrians that might come here. A law like that would rob her of her place on the Council but not prevent the Pentadrians gaining power.

“The people will never agree to that, no matter how frightened they are of our visitors,” Meeran assured them.

“So we’re stuck with them,” Haleed growled.

“Not necessarily,” Arleej said quietly. “They have only to undertake one act of aggression and we can throw them out. We get to decide what an act of aggression is.”

Haleed looked at her, his expression one of begrudging respect. She smiled back at him. Meeran looked from one to the other, then shook his head. Their strengths had been refined through years of resistance to each other. The thought of what they might do united was more than a little disturbing.

“They do claim to be here to make peace,” Meeran reminded them. “Dubious as that claim may be, I think we should at least give them a chance to prove it.”

The two Elders looked at him, and though their faces clearly showed that they disagreed, both nodded.

There was snow on the northern mountains already, Auraya noted. Small patches of it reflected the light of the moon, giving the mountains a dappled look. Soon those patches would grow in size, join together and the mountains would be clothed with white.

She frowned as she considered the effect an early and hard winter might have on the Siyee if they were weakened by Hearteater.

It will not be so bad if I can stop the disease spreading, she told herself.

But that was not always easy. While healer priests and priestesses understood a little about plagues, ordinary people regarded the spread of such illnesses with fear and superstition. She had discovered today that the Siyee were no different.

The family that had left the North River tribe had refused to leave the Open voluntarily, despite being offered bowers close by and assurances that they only need stay away long enough for all to be sure they weren’t sick. When Sirri ordered them to leave they had obeyed, but resentfully.

The Siyee living about the Open had mixed reactions to the situation. Some reacted fearfully, and Auraya suspected Sirri would have her hands full keeping those people from leaving. Others thought the North River family was being treated unfairly and did not hesitate to voice their anger.

Fortunately, none of the visitors showed signs of the illness. The messenger, however, was feeling more wearied by their journey back to the North River tribe than he ought to. She looked across at Reet and frowned.

He must have left the priests’ bower not long after I did, she remembered. I can sense that he’s hungry. He could not have eaten much and didn’t rest at all. Perhaps weariness is all that is wrong with him.

He had left hours before she had, but she had caught up with him easily. Now she was torn between flying on ahead and remaining with him. What if the sickness came over him quickly? What if he passed out and fell to his death?

What if he was just tired and she arrived too late to save one of the tribe?

It was an impossible choice. If only she knew what was happening in the village - if anyone would suffer because of the delay.

Perhaps there was a way to find out. There was someone she could ask. He might not answer her call, he might not even answer her questions, but she could only try.

:Chaia.

She waited for several heartbeats then called again. When no familiar presence touched her senses she sighed and thought about her dilemma again. Perhaps she should consider what she did know about the situation she was in. All I know is that Reet is dangerously tired. So she must decide based on that.

I will stay with him, just in case, or until I know more. Chaia may still turn up.

She felt a shiver run down her back at the thought of being in the god’s presence again. So much had changed in the last few days.

I don’t miss Leiard any more, she thought, smiling. Chaia was right about that.

She had never felt such pleasure before. Her experiences with Chaia were like a dream link, but far more sophisticated. Dream links relied upon the memory of physical pleasure. Her time with Chaia was one of discovery and of ecstasy she hadn’t felt before. His touch could only be the touch of magic, but that changed when their mind and will united. Magic could become sensation. He was able to respond to her slightest desire, yet at the same time he could stimulate her in ways she had never imagined were possible.

She had expected the world to seem subdued in comparison to her encounters with Chaia, but instead it was as though her senses had been enlivened. Every object was fascinating. Every living thing, beautiful and vibrant.

Fortunately this effect faded. She did not want to be distracted by the beauty of an insect while trying to discuss important matters with the Siyee. Seeing them with her senses awakened had only strengthened her wish to protect them.

Yet she was also more conscious of the differences between them and herself now. Her height and winglessness. Their mortality. Being so conscious of the differences between herself and them saddened her. Had she come closer to a god only to move further from mortals? It was a disturbing thought.

But it is nice to look forward to night again, she thought. And there’s not much point worrying about it right now. Smiling to herself, she put all worries aside and drifted into daydreams of her next encounter with Chaia.

27

“Tarn Genrian!” Devlein Wheelmaker shouted. “You can’t do this to me!”

“You may be Genrian,” Reivan replied calmly, “but while you live in Avven you must live by our laws. You have resided here long enough to know we forbid the enslavement of any but criminals.”

“She isn’t human,” he insisted. “She’s an animal - a creature of the sea. You only have to look at her to see that.”

She stared back at him. “You have only to speak to her to know she is human. And what a tale she tells about you.” She shook her head sadly. “It is you I’d describe as inhuman.”

A cry of rage broke from him. He lunged forward. Reivan flinched backward, but his groping hands never reached her. They met an invisible barrier.

Magic. Reivan looked at Servant Kikarn. His disapproving expression softened as he met her eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. Recovering from her surprise, she nodded in gratitude.

“You can’t make me a slave!” Devlein bellowed. “My family has links with the noble houses in Genria!”

“Send in Servant Grenara,” she ordered.

The Sanctuary slave-keeper was small in stature, but every step and gesture suggested he was a man who was used to being obeyed. He made the sign of the star to Reivan and Kikarn then turned his attention to Devlein, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the merchant.

“Come with me, Devlein Wheelmaker.”

Devlein glared at the man. “If you think I’m going to just follow you out of here like a mindless arem you’re... you’re...”

The man shrugged. “That is up to you. Some accept it with dignity, others have to be tied up and dragged.”

At the word “dragged,” Devlem’s angry glare faltered. He took a step back from the slave-keeper, then straightened his back and stalked out of the room. Grenara followed him out.

When the door had closed, Reivan let out a long sigh.

“Thank you, Servant Kikarn,” she said.

He looked at her in mock puzzlement. “For what, Servant Reivan?”

She smiled. It seems I’ve earned myself an ally here.

“That’s more than enough work for today. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Kikarn inclined his head and made the sign of the star. Leaving him to tidy the room, she left by the second door.

The corridors of the Lower Sanctuary were all but empty. Most of the Servants had retired for the evening. Though Reivan longed for rest she did not head toward her rooms.

Several corridors and stairs later she reached the Upper Sanctuary. Torches lit the way to the main courtyard. Emerging into the night air, Reivan paused to muse at the sight before her. In the center of the yard, where a fountain cooled the air during the day, a large tent now stood. Lamps inside the tent cast the shadows of a woman and child on the cloth walls. Voices within formed strange, highly pitched incomprehensible words. Reivan moved to the tent flap.

“May I come in?” she called.

“Yes,” Imenja replied. “We were just talking about Imi’s home. It sounds like a fascinating place.”

Reivan pushed aside the door flap and stepped inside. The Elai child was resting her elbows atop the wall of the fountain, which was now full of sea water carried up by slaves. Her skin looked even darker in the lamplight. When Reivan recollected the drawings of sea folk in the Thinkers’ books she was amazed at their inaccuracies. This child had no fish tail or flowing locks of hair. She was completely hairless and had a pair of normal legs.

Almost normal, Reivan corrected. Imi’s hands and feet were disproportionately large, and between her fingers and toes was a thick webbing. Other distortions in the girl’s body suggested further differences. Her chest was broad for a child. Reivan would not have been surprised to learn that the Elai had much larger lungs than normal humans.

The artists who had drawn such fanciful illustrations would have been disappointed by Imi. All in all, the distortions and hairlessness did not make for an attractive race. Not even the pretty tunic she now wore could hide that. As the girl smiled, displaying slightly pointed white teem, Reivan had to suppress a shudder.

“Reivan,” Imi said, speaking slowly.

“Imi,” Reivan replied. “How are you feeling?”

Imenja translated. The girl glanced at her peeling skin and a look of sadness clouded her face as she replied.

“She is feeling stronger,” Imenja told Reivan. “She has certainly been through a lot. Captured by fishermen then by pirates, both who made her work for them. Then she was sold to the merchant - is it done?”

“Yes. He claims she is an animal, so he wasn’t breaking any law. He left with the slave-keeper.”

“Good. Stupidity is no excuse for cruelty. None of her captors attempted to talk to her. They fed her only raw fish and left her to dry out. The Elai—”

Imi said something. Imenja smiled and spoke to the girl, then turned back to Reivan.

“The Elai need to spend some time in salt water each day. They eat a variety of food, like we do. Not just produce from the sea.” She paused. “You’ll never guess who she is.”

Reivan chuckled. “No, I’d say that’s unlikely.”

Imenja turned back to regard Imi. “She is the daughter of the Elai king.”

Surprised, Reivan looked down at the child. The girl smiled uncertainly.

“How did she come to be captured by humans?”

“She slipped away from her guardian to go looking for a gift for her father.”

“Does he know she was captured?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What is certain is that he won’t be the only Elai celebrating when she is returned to her people.”

“Unless her capture was arranged by his enemies.”

Imenja frowned. “That is possible.”

“You’ll have to be careful when you return her.”

“Me?” Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Why do you think I’ll be taking her home?”

“Because she is a king’s daughter. She was sold to someone living in our land. If she returns and tells her story, we will be blamed in part for her ordeal unless a great demonstration of apology is made. And,” Reivan smiled, “because the Elai were never involved in the war, there is no lingering resentment barring you from introducing them to the Five.”

Imenja stared at Reivan in surprise and approval. “You’re right.” She looked at Imi and smiled. “I should take her back myself. And you will have to come with me. I’ll have to convince Nekaun, of course, but the possibility of gaining an ally will probably sway him. If we are successful nobody will dare object if I make you my Companion.”

Imi stared back at Imenja. She spoke, her strange words forming a question. Imenja’s reply brought a relieved smile to her face.

“She is tired,” Imenja said. “We should let her rest.” She spoke a farewell to the child, then rose and led Reivan out of the tent.

“I will speak to Nekaun now. You may as well go to bed. If he agrees you’ll have a sea voyage to organize for us in the morning.”

“More work!” Reivan groaned, pretending to be dismayed by the prospect. The Second Voice laughed and shooed her away. Smiling, Reivan started toward her rooms.

I’m going to see the land of the Elai, she found herself thinking. The Thinkers are going to be so jealous!

* * *

Mirar took a deep breath and jumped off the platform. For a fraction of a heartbeat he dropped downward, then he felt the rope about his chest and back tighten and take his weight. The thicker rope that his sling was attached to flexed, bouncing him up and down. When it had stopped moving he began to pull himself along it.

Hanging ropes between platforms had been Tyve’s idea. The boy’s impatience at the time it took for Mirar to climb down from one platform and up to another had led him to consider several ideas for transporting a landwalker between trees quickly. His first idea had been to have several Siyee fly across, carrying Mirar in a net, but he’d realized how implausible it was when he discovered how much Mirar weighed.

The boy had been determined to find a way. He’d kept muttering things like “Tryss could do it” and “What would Tryss do?” Tryss - the Siyee who had invented the hunting harness - appeared to be Tyve’s hero and inspiration.

Ropes had been hung between most of the trees now. Making them had kept the healthier Siyee, confined to their platforms, occupied. Tyve was the only one Mirar allowed to move about, and then under strict instructions to neither touch others nor come close enough to risk breathing in the infected air exhaled from their lungs.

Not that it would have made much difference. Most of the Siyee were now ill.

None had died so far. Speaker Veece had come closest, but Mirar had brought him back from near death with magical healing. The old man’s body was still disinclined to fight the disease, however. This left Mirar with a dilemma.

It was better for the patient if his or her body learned to fight the disease. Mirar could use magic to ease the symptoms and give the patient strength, but he was always reluctant to use it to expel the disease itself. If he did, the patient was vulnerable to catching the disease again. In a village where the disease was spreading so easily, that was a likely fate. If a patient’s body was incapable of learning to fight the disease, magical expulsion and then isolation was the only option. Mirar would do it, if he must, but only as a last resort.

He was nearing the other end of the rope now. Lamplight illuminated a small platform supporting a single bower. The previous platform had been larger, and sat a little higher than this one. As Mirar reached it, he found himself hanging just above the wooden floor. He raised his arms and let himself slip out of the loop.

At the thump of his landing a child rushed out of the bower. She stared at him, then grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

A woman lay on a mat on the floor, her eyes closed. Tyve was sitting beside her, holding her hand. A bowl of water steamed nearby, its surface swirling with oil. The sweet, crisp smell of brei essence filled the air.

“How is she?” Mirar asked.

“Her breathing is doubled,” Tyve said. “It sounds a little bubbly. Her fingers are cold and her lips are starting to turn blue. I’ve given her some mallin.”

He’s learning fast, Leiard noted.

Mirar could not help smiling, but he quickly smoothed his expression as Tyve looked up at him.

“I know you said not to touch anyone, but she took my hand. I didn’t mean it to happen. When it did, it was too late already.”

Mirar nodded. “Compassion is a strength in a healer, never a weakness.” He looked pointedly at the child holding his arm. “Just remember to wash your hands.”

He extracted himself from the child’s grip and kneeled beside the woman. Placing his hand on her brow, he slipped into a healing trance and sent his mind out into her body.

Her body was fighting it, he saw with relief. She just needed a little help. Drawing magic, he used it to ease some of the inflammation in the lungs and encourage the heart to beat faster in order to send more blood to her extremities.

Though her body was fighting the disease, he could not guess whether it would have won without his help. Hearteater did not have such a devastating effect on landwalkers. Was it a stronger version of the disease? If it was, landwalkers would face a terrible plague if it spread beyond Si. The Siyee could be more vulnerable to Hearteater, however. The disease had spread through land walkers’ lands before, but this might be the first time the Siyee had encountered it. Did that mean a race of people could become used to a disease?

It was an interesting idea, but not one that bode well for the Siyee.

He drew his mind from the Siyee woman’s body. She was breathing easier now and her face was no longer pale. Tyve caressed her hand.

“Her fingers are warm,” he said, looking up at Mirar in wonder. “How do you do that? It’s... it’s...” He shook his head. “I’d do anything to be able to do that.”

Mirar smiled crookedly. “Anything?”

Tyve glanced at the woman and nodded. “Yes,” he said.

Here we go again, Mirar thought, remembering similar moments over the centuries. Young men or women caught up in the wonder of helping save lives. Later, when the elation died and he told them what the life of a Dreamweaver involved, most changed their minds.

If Tyve doesn’t, will you teach him? Leiard asked.

There’s not much else to do here, Mirar replied. It’ll keep me occupied while I’m trying to stay away from the White.

What about Jayim?

Mirar winced as he thought of the boy Leiard had begun training in Jarime.

Arleej will have arranged for someone to finish the job. I certainly can’t do it.

No, but if you are forced to abandon this boy’s training you cannot rely on Arleej to take over, Leiard pointed out.

I could. Arleej might not like it much, but I could send Tyve to Somrey. She might curse me for giving her another student, but she will recognize the advantages of having Siyee Dreamweavers.

The White won’t like that much, Leiard warned. If the gods hear that a Dreamweaver is training a Siyee, they will investigate. They will realize that Tyve is being trained by someone whose mind they can’t see, and grow suspicious about your identity.

Mirar considered. Should Tyve decide to become a Dreamweaver he will have to understand and accept that it must be a secret, and that I may be forced to send him to Somrey to complete his training.

Where it would no longer need to be concealed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like the White to discover that while they were making themselves the first Siyee priests and priestesses, you were making the first Siyee Dreamweaver.

It would be satisfying, Mirar admitted.

“Wilar?”

He looked up at Tyve.

“What do I have to do?” the boy asked.

Mirar smiled. “I will tell you, but not now. We must continue with our work.”

Tyve nodded. He looked at the girl child, who was sitting cross-legged to one side.

“She is showing the first signs. What should we do?”

Looking at the girl, Mirar beckoned.

“Come here, little one. What is your name?”

28

Aglow warmed the eastern horizon but the air was chill. Auraya turned to look at Reet, but he wasn’t beside her. She felt a stab of alarm and searched all around. He was flying below her. To her relief he wasn’t succumbing to weariness or Hearteater, but was descending toward their destination.

She followed him down, dropping through a gap in the leafy canopy of the forest and dodging branches of enormous trees.

A whistle burst from Reet. A few weak replies came. Looking around, Auraya saw bowers built upon platforms high among the tree branches. The messenger swooped down toward one of these.

He chose the tribe leader’s bower. Landing a moment after the young Siyee, Auraya smiled as an old woman shuffled out of the bower. She was the Speaker’s wife, she read from the woman’s mind. Her smile faded as she recognized the symptoms of disease.

“I have brought help,” Reet said tiredly. He turned to Auraya. “Auraya of the White has come to help us. This is Speaker Veece’s wife, Tryli.”

The old woman smiled wearily. “Welcome, Auraya of the White. Veece would welcome you in the traditional way, but he is ill. So it falls to me to thank you for coming.”

Auraya nodded. “How many are ill?”

“Most of us, but we have not lost anyone since the healer came.”

Reet straightened and grinned. “Tyve persuaded him to come!”

Auraya blinked in surprise. Looking into the woman’s thoughts, she read that a man had come to treat the sick.

“A landwalker?” she asked, alarmed. Had one of the Pentadrians remained? Had the Pentadrians given the Si the disease?

“Wilar,” Tryli said, nodding. “He arrived the day before yesterday and has worked two nights and a day without rest. Your arrival is well-timed. I feared what would happen to him if he did not stop to rest, but also what would happen to us if he did. And Tyve—”

Her words were lost behind a piercing whistle. All turned to watch as a young Siyee swooped toward them.

“Tyve!” Reet called, relief giving his voice strength. As the newcomer landed, Auraya smiled. Even if she hadn’t been able to see Reet’s thoughts she would have known the approaching Siyee was his brother. They looked so alike.

“Reet!” Tyve replied. “You made it. Wait!” He held out his hands to stop his brother from embracing him. “We have to be careful. I’ve been around many of the sick. I might have picked up the disease. I wouldn’t want to give it to you.”

Reet stared at Tyve in horror. “You have it...?”

Tyve shrugged. “I don’t think so, but Wilar says we have to be careful not to touch or breathe on each other, just in case.” His eyes slid to Auraya. “Welcome, Auraya of the White. Have you also come to help us?”

Auraya nodded. “I have. Tryli was just telling me of the healer who is helping you. Would you take me to him?”

Tyve grinned. “Of course. Follow me.”

As Tyve dove off the edge of the platform she leapt after him. Ropes had been strung between the platforms and they had to swoop over and under them. Reading his mind, she learned that he had come up with the idea of a sliding sling that allowed the healer to move from one platform to another easily.

A familiar updraft enabled Tyve to soar a little higher. He swooped around a branch and glided to a large platform with three bowers. Landing, he paused to wait for her to arrive, then led her to the entrance of one of the homes.

The interior was dimly lit, the only source of illumination a single lamp. Two Siyee children lay in low-slung beds and a woman lay in another behind them. Standing before them, with his back to Auraya, was a Dreamweaver.

Of course, she thought. He had to be a Dreamweaver. Who else would bother travelling into wild and distant places to heal others?

There was something strange about him. It took a moment before she realized what it was.

I can’t read his mind! I can’t sense anything from him! I can’t...

The man turned to face her and she froze in shock.

Leiard!

His hair was black and he was clean-shaven. He had put on weight. But it was definitely him. Her stomach sank, yet at the same time her heart lifted. Somehow a part of her managed to remain detached enough to find this contradictory reaction amusing. Am I happy to see him - or not?

She did not need to read his thoughts to see he was dismayed to see her, however. His stare was cold. His mouth had slowly twisted into a humorless smile.

Tyve gestured toward him. “This is Wilar the Dreamweaver,” he said, enjoying the importance of the introduction. “Wilar the Dreamweaver, this is—”

“Auraya of the White,” Leiard said quietly. “We’ve met.”

Tyve radiated surprise and curiosity. “You know each other?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Though he went by a different name then.” And his hair wasn’t dark, she added silently. It does not suit him.

“A name I have put behind me,” he replied. “Along with the mistakes I made. I would prefer you did not use my old name,” he told her. “I am Wilar now.”

“Wilar, then,” she said. Mistakes? Does he mean our affair, or his unkind method of ending it by fleeing into the arms of a whore? She felt a sullen anger rising, but pushed it aside. It doesn’t matter. I’d prefer the Siyee did not know about our past, so if he wants to be called Wilar that’s good enough for me. I’ve hardly got the time to dwell on it anyway. There are sick Siyee to attend to. They are more important.

She crossed her arms. “So, Wilar the Dreamweaver. What state is this tribe in, and where would my help be of most benefit?”

A strong southwesterly wind had sent Emerahl along the coast of Genria in what she would have said was good time, except she was in no hurry and had no particular destination in mind. The steady wind seemed to want her to speed along in that direction, and she was still reluctant to spend more than a day or two in any seaside town, so she had given herself up to its will. Her only concern was that if she travelled too quickly, and The Gull, having found her message, was following her, he might not be able to catch up.

The sun was baking her from high above when Aime appeared around a bluff ahead. Like Jarime, the city had grown around an estuary, but this was a river mouth of a much larger scale. The tributaries of the river were too wide for bridges - or at least nobody had been successful at building one since the last time Emerahl was there. As more of the estuary came into sight she saw that the water was just as crowded with ferries as it always had been.

On each point of land was a cluster of buildings. She could only suppose that matters were still the same here: with each cluster so independent of the others that they may as well be considered cities themselves. Each had its own docks, market, laws and ruling family.

As another group of buildings appeared Emerahl smiled in recognition. The Isle of Kings hadn’t changed, though there might have been a few more buildings in the garden area. Colorful banners painted with an ancient design told her that the King of Genria still lived in there, though it looked as if there was a different ruling family in charge.

Everything looks the same, she thought. I expect the language has developed, as the Toren one has. The money-changers will give me a terrible exchange rate - that never changes. What is...?

She sat up straighter as something completely unfamiliar appeared. A large ship with black sails was moored in the estuary. On its side had been painted a large white star.

Pentadrians! What are they doing here? She directed her little boat toward the strange vessel. Maybe the Genrians had captured it. As she drew closer she saw two black-robed men on deck, talking to four well-dressed locals. Tied close to the hull was a smaller Genrian vessel. Workers were lowering boxes from the ship into the boat.

This is some kind of trade, Emerahl mused. Less than a year since the war and already everyone’s friendly enough for a business transaction or two. Changing direction, she headed toward the nearest docks. Maybe not that friendly, she amended. The ship is a long way from land. The king may have forbidden them to dock. His position might not be strong enough for him to outlaw trading with the Pentadrians, however. I wonder which family decided to, and if they did so because the goods are worthwhile or just to annoy the king.

She directed her boat toward the leftmost edge of the city, selecting one of the smaller mooring areas where wooden piers had been built for minor craft like hers. Several fishing vessels were tied up and all was quiet, since their occupants would have left for the markets hours before. As she neared the wooden structure a cheerful-looking round man stepped out of a building and walked to the edge of the pier.

“Good morning,” she called. “Would you be the master of moorings?”

He grinned. “I am. My name is Toore Steerer.”

She smiled. “Greetings, Toore Steerer. How much for a mooring?”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “How long you staying?”

“A few days. I’m hoping to earn some money with my healing skills before I move on.”

Toore’s eyebrows rose. “Healing skills, eh? I’ll put the word about that you’re here. What’s your name?”

“That’s kind of you. My name is Limma. Limma Curer.”

He chewed on his lip some more. “Two coppers a day. Mind you, don’t tell anyone, though, or they’ll come asking why I’m selling moorings so cheap.”

She put a finger to her lips. “Not a word of it will escape these lips.”

Toore grinned. “Can I give you a hand up?”

“Yes, thank you.” Stuffing the last of her belongings into her bag, she took his hand and let him help her onto the pier. She slung her bag over her shoulder and started toward the shore, the dock master beside her.

“How much for your services, lady?” he asked. “Do you think you could do anything for my leg?”

She turned to regard him. “What happened to it?”

“Got caught between a ship and the wharf, a long time ago. Managed well enough until these last few years, when it gets to aching.”

“I can sell you something for the ache,” she told him. “Maybe do a bit of healing on the leg, but I won’t know if that’ll work until I see it.”

They reached the end of the pier and stopped. Looking out at the estuary, she saw that the Pentadrian ship was putting on sail. The man followed her gaze and frowned.

“About time they left,” he muttered. “Nobody’s been happy with them around, like a black cloud over the city. Hope they never come back.”

“They will,” she said.

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Why are you so sure?”

“They found a buyer for whatever they brought. I saw them loading it as I came in.”

The man scowled. “Against the king’s command! Who was it, did you see?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t been to Genria in years. I wouldn’t know a member of the ruling families if I tripped over one.”

“What were the boat’s colors?”

“It had blue and black stripes around the middle of the hull.”

“Aha! The Deore family. Of course.” He looked at her and smiled. “They’re a powerful lot. Only ones powerful enough to defy the king.”

Deore was a family name she hadn’t heard of. It was probably a new branch, less inclined to follow tradition and ambitious enough to stir up trouble. “I hope I haven’t visited Aime at a bad time.”

He laughed. “No, this is normal life here. The ruling families are always trying to aggravate each other. You’re only staying a few days, anyway.”

“Yes,” she said. “Do you want me to look at that leg now?”

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “And if the price is right, maybe we can skip the mooring fee.”

She chuckled. “That depends on the treatment. Let’s sit down and have a look.”

Tyve landed just as Wilar emerged from the bower. The Dreamweaver did not look at Tyve, but glanced around at the other bowers.

He does that all the time now, Tyve thought. Always looking for Auraya. Tyve had taken messages back and forth between the Dreamweaver and the White all morning. The two landwalkers hadn’t spoken to each other since she arrived. They don’t appear to like each other, and Wilar seems annoyed that she is here. I wonder... should I ask him about it? I get the feeling it’s not something he wants to discuss. And I don’t think I should ask a White such personal questions, though she seems friendly.

Tyve took a step toward Wilar, then stopped as a wave of dizziness upset his balance. He drew in a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Something caught in his lungs and suddenly he was coughing.

“Tyve. Sit down.”

Steady hands held him as the world spun around him. He sank to his knees. The urge to cough gradually subsided, but the discomfort was replaced by dread. He looked up at Wilar.

“I’ve got it, haven’t I?”

Wilar nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Looks like it. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you die.”

Tyve nodded. “I’m not worried.” In fact, he wasn’t as frightened as he thought he’d be. It helped that he understood more about the sickness and knew he’d probably survive it What he felt most was disappointment.

“I can’t help you any more, can I? I’ll spread the disease to others.”

“No, but not for that reason. There’s not one family here that doesn’t have a sick member now so there’s not much chance anyone is going to escape it. We just had to slow down the spread in order to have time to treat them all.”

“So I can help you?”

“No. You’re going to lose strength rapidly. What if you passed out in mid-flight? You might drop to your death.”

Tyve shuddered. “It’s good Auraya’s here, then, or you’d have no helpers.”

The Dreamweaver’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“I’m not sure she’d make a good helper. The White aren’t good at taking orders, except from their gods.”

There was bitterness as well as humor in his voice. Tyve felt himself flush at his mistake.

“I meant Auraya can help—”

“I know what you meant,” Wilar assured him. He looked away and sighed. “Your village needs all the help it can get. The drawbacks of having her here are mine alone. The damage, if any, is done. For now...” He turned back to regard Tyve again. “For now I need to find another messenger. Do you have the strength to fly back to your family’s bower, Tyve?”

Tyve considered. “It’s downward a little. I can get there mostly by gliding.” He rose, took a few steps and turned. No dizziness bothered him. “Yes, I can make it.”

“Good. Go there and rest. Sent Reet to me when he wakes up - if he is well.”

Tyve moved to the edge of the platform. He glanced back to find Wilar watching him closely. “Perhaps when you come to treat me, you can tell me how I can become a healer.”

Wilar’s eyes brightened, though he did not smile. “Perhaps. Don’t expect Auraya to like the idea, however.”

“Why not?”

The Dreamweaver shook his head. “I will tell you later. Now go, before I come and push you off myself.”

Tyve grinned. Turning away, he leaned forward, stretched his arms out and felt the rush of air over his wings as he glided away.

29

I mi eyed the platter and decided, regretfully, that she could not eat another mouthful. She looked at the servant standing nearby and gave a little dismissive wave at the food - a gesture she had seen Imenja make. The woman stepped forward, picked up the tray, bowed, and carried it away.

Imi sighed contentedly and sank back into the pool. She was feeling much better now. It wasn’t just the food and the salty water. These black-robed people were so nice to her. It felt much better to not be frightened all the time.

The flap of the tent opened. Golden light from a setting sun silhouetted a familiar female form. Imi sat up and smiled as Imenja walked to the edge of the pool.

“Hello, Princess Imi,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.”

“Are you strong enough to walk?”

Imi looked at her in surprise. Walk? Imi flexed her leg muscles. I probably could, if we didn’t go too far.

“I could give it a try,” she said.

“I’d like to take you somewhere. It’s not far,” Imenja told her. “First Voice Nekaun, the leader of my people, wishes to meet you. Would you like that?”

Imi nodded. She was a king’s daughter. It made sense that the leader of this land would want to meet her. But her eagerness withered as she imagined herself meeting this important man. Suddenly she wished she was older and more grown up. What should she say? What shouldn’t she say? Nobody had ever taught her how to behave around other countries’ leaders.

I guess father didn’t think I’d ever have to.

Slowly she got her feet under her and stood up. Her legs felt a little weak, but no worse than when she had first been in the raiders’ ship. She stepped over the edge of the pool onto the dry pavement, then looked expectantly at Imenja. The woman smiled and offered her hand. Imi took it and they walked out of the tent side by side.

The courtyard looked no different to how it had when she had first arrived, except now it was nearly night. Imenja led her to a balcony on one side and through an open door. The interior was cool. Pools of light from lamps filled a long corridor. They walked down this to some stairs. The climb was short, but Imi found herself breathing hard by the time she reached the top. Imenja paused by an alcove to tell Imi about the special technique used to make the carving inside it. When they moved on, Imi was able to breathe properly again.

Another corridor followed. Stopping at a large, arched doorway, Imenja gestured inside. “The First Voice is waiting in here,” she murmured. “Shall we go in?”

Imi nodded. They stepped through the doorway into a large room with a domed ceiling. Imi drew in a quick breath in amazement.

The roof, floor and ceiling were painted in vibrant colors. The dome was blue with clouds and birds and even some odd-looking Siyee. The walls were different landscapes, and the floor was half garden, half water. Pictures of landwalkers in gardens and houses, travelling in boats or being carried by slaves, were everywhere. Animals both familiar and ordinary, unfamiliar and fantastic, occupied gardens, forests, seas and rivers. Imi looked closer and saw that the pictures and designs were actually made up of countless tiny fragments of a shiny substance.

Hearing a sound, she looked up and jumped as she saw that a man was standing in the center of the room. Dressed in the same black robes as Imenja’s, he was admiring the pictures, but as Imi noticed him he looked up and smiled.

“Greetings, Princess Imi,” he said in a warm, pleasant voice. “I am Nekaun, First Voice of the Gods.”

Not knowing what to say, she copied his manner of speaking. “Greetings, Nekaun, First Voice of the Gods. I am Imi, Princess of the Elai.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said.

He nodded and his eyes seemed to twinkle like stars. “I am glad to hear it,” he told her. “I was going to visit you tonight, but I thought it might be more pleasant, if you were strong enough, to show you this place. There is something here I think you may find interesting.” He beckoned.

She walked toward him, concentrating on being dignified and all too conscious of her large feet and hands.

“I’ve only recovered thanks to Imenja and Reivan,” she told him as she reached his side. “And thanks to yourself, for allowing me to stay here.”

He met her eyes and nodded, his expression grave. “I must apologize for the ill treatment you suffered before Imenja found you.”

She frowned. “But that was not your fault.”

“Ah, but I do bear some of the responsibility for what happens to visitors in my lands. When the laws we make to discourage wrong-doings fail, then we have failed too.”

Her father would probably feel the same way if a visitor was harmed by his people for no reason - especially an important visitor. She decided she liked this man. He was kind and treated her with respect, as if she were an adult.

“Then I thank you for your apology,” she said, wondering at how grown-up she was sounding. “What do you want to show me?” she asked.

He pointed at the floor. “Do not be offended; it is the fancy of an artist who had never seen your people.”

She looked down. They were standing on a picture of the sea, shown from above on a day so still the water was perfectly clear. Fish filled the blue space, some swimming on their sides to show off their colors. Corals and weeds grew inaccurately from the edge of the shore. At their feet was a landwalker woman with a fish tail instead of legs. Her hair was a pale yellow color, and it swirled around her body to hide her breasts and groin.

This is what they think we look like? A giggle escaped her and she quickly covered her mouth.

Nekaun chuckled. “Yes, it is very silly. Few landwalkers have ever seen Elai. All they know is that you live in the sea, so they imagine you are half-fish, half-human.” He shook his head. “That is why the man who bought you treated you as something less than human.”

She nodded, though she didn’t understand why this drawing would make a person think another person wasn’t human. Surely if they had fingers, wore clothes and could talk they were human. She had never mistaken a landwalker or Siyee for an animal.

Nekaun took a step to one side. “Come this way. There is something else I want to show you.”

Imi walked beside him as he strolled toward a doorway in one of the walls. Imenja followed a few steps behind.

“People of other lands believe strange things about my people as well,” he told her. “They see that we keep a few slaves so they assume we enslave anyone we wish. We only enslave criminals. To enslave an innocent is a serious crime. The punishment is slavery. The man who bought you was not of this land, but he knew the law.”

“Is that what happened to him? Was he enslaved?”

“Yes.”

She nodded to herself. Her father would approve.

“We have other customs foreigners misunderstand. Some of our rites require that we respect the privacy of the participants. Because we keep these secrets, foreigners think the rites must be of a disgusting or immoral kind.” He looked at her, his expression sad. “Remember this, if you hear such rumors about us from other landwalkers.”

Imi nodded. If any other landwalkers told her Nekaun’s people were bad, she would tell them otherwise.

They passed through the door into a plainer room. The pictures on the walls were of groups of people. Each contained a man, a woman and a child. Each wore slightly different clothing and had different skin and hair coloring. One family had large feathered wings. Suddenly she understood why the Siyee in the other room had looked odd to her. She put a hand to her mouth.

“Yes,” Nekaun said, though she hadn’t made a noise this time. “We only recently learned how wrong that picture is. I’m considering whether to have it fixed or not.” He looked down. “Though that is not what I brought you in here to see. Look down. This floor design is a map of all Ithania.”

She did as he said and drew in a breath of wonder. Large shapes floated in the center of a blue floor. The shapes were filled with pictures of mountains, lakes, strange cities open to the air and dry roads between them. Nekaun pointed at a large shape like a spearhead.

“That is Southern Ithania.” He walked over it to the place where the spearhead shape met a much larger shape and pointed the toe of his sandal at a city. “This is where we are: Glymma.”

“Where is Borra?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was hoping you could tell me.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen the world from above. It’s all... I’ve never seen something like this before.”

He frowned. “Then we may not be able to return you to your home as quickly as we hoped.”

“Why don’t you ask the raiders where they found me?”

He chuckled. “If only we could, but we have seen no sign of them in Glymma’s port. Either they left after selling you, or news of your rescue and the trouble it caused your buyer warned them to keep away. We need you to tell us where your home is, Imi.”

She examined the map closely, looking for anything familiar. Pictures of Siyee in an area covered in mountains caught her eye. She moved to the coastline. Si was a few days’ swim from Borra.

“Somewhere in the ocean south of Si,” she told him.

“South is that direction,” he said, indicating.

Looking at the vast area of blue, she felt her heart sink.

There weren’t any islands marked. How was she supposed to tell them where Borra was if it wasn’t on the map? But of course it isn’t on the map, she thought. If it was they wouldn’t have to ask me to find it!

“Have your people met the Siyee?” Imenja asked.

Imi looked up at the woman and nodded. “We trade with them.”

“Would they know where your home is?”

“Maybe. If they don’t, I could wait with them until the next visit by Elai traders. I... I don’t know how often they travel there.” Imi looked down at the map and felt a pang of longing. She had come so far, and now she was free to go home she wasn’t sure how to get there.

“Then that is what we shall do,” Imenja said.

Imi felt hope returning. “Will we?”

“Yes. We’ll get you home, Imi,” Nekaun assured her. “As soon as we can. Imenja says you’ll be recovered enough to leave in a few days.”

She looked up at him eagerly. “That soon?”

Nekaun smiled. “Yes. Imenja will take you on one of our ships. She will do everything she can to reunite you with your father and your people.”

Blinking back tears, Imi smiled at Imenja and Nekaun, overwhelmed by gratitude.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much.”

The man’s breathing was painfully labored. Auraya sat back on her heels and let out a long breath. She had expected a stronger version of Hearteater, but not one this virulent. Every member of the tribe was or had been seriously ill. Some had overcome the worst of it, but only with help from Leiard.

Wilar, she corrected.

Now that she had recovered from her surprise at finding him in Si she had started to question his presence here. He could not have known about this plague before he entered Si. The Siyee had been sick no more than a week or two, and it would have taken him months to reach the village from outside Si. He must have been here already.

Why? I can understand him staying away from Jarime and Juran, but surely he didn’t need to change his name and appearance and live in one of the most remote places in Northern Ithania? Did he fear that our affair would become common gossip and people would try to harm him? Did he fear that I would seek to punish him for his infidelity?

She wanted to ask him so many questions, but that meant bringing up painful subjects. The answers ought to have been easy to learn. She should have been able to read his mind, but she couldn’t. His mind was shielded. She had never encountered anyone who could do that. Had he always known how to do it, or learned it recently? Could other Dreamweavers learn it from him? What if all Dreamweavers learned to hide their thoughts? An advantage the White had over them would be lost.

Remembering the hospice, she felt a pang of guilt Knowing that she was working toward disempowering Dreamweavers made it harder to face Leiard. It was another reason she had avoided him, sending messages via Ty ve then Reet.

She had been sending for Leiard more often than she wanted to. One of the medicines Leiard was using worked better at breaking up the mucus in the lungs of victims than any she had brought. A few hours earlier a patient, delirious with fever, had insisted on being treated only by “the dream man.” Now she must send for him again.

The patient before her, a middle-aged father, was sinking fast. His body’s struggles to fight the disease were pitiful. She expected him to die soon and it seemed prudent to reassure the Siyee that the healer agreed with her assessment. If a patient she was attending died, they might all decide they, too, only wanted to be treated by the Dreamweaver.

Hearing a thump behind her, she turned and looked out of the bower. Reet stood on the platform outside, coughing quietly. His attention was on Leiard, who was hanging from a sling looped around the thick ropes stretched between the platform and another somewhere to the right. The Dreamweaver was hauling himself along by grasping the thick rope and pulling. As he reached the platform, she saw that his hands were red and raw. His bag hung from a rope around his waist.

Reet helped him up onto the platform then out of the sling. Wasting no time, Leiard marched into the bower. His eyes met Auraya’s for a moment, but his grim expression did not change. He crouched beside her, placed a hand on the man’s forehead and closed his eyes.

Unbidden, a memory rose of the few times she had watched him sleeping. A forgotten longing crept over her and she gritted her teeth. It is just an echo of the desire I once felt. I don’t love him any more. She made herself think of the nights of pleasure Chaia had given her. Then she shook her head. That was too distracting, and she ought to be concentrating on her patient.

Looking down, she felt a thrill of surprise and hope. The man’s skin was still pale, but the blue tinge had gone from his lips and fingers. His labored breathing had changed to a slightly easier, deeper sound.

How is this possible? she thought. I gave him what strength magic can provide, but his body wasn’t fighting the disease. It had ravaged him. Leiard can’t be creating new flesh where it has been eaten away. He can’t be making the body fight the disease. He can’t be killing the disease itself...

Or could he? The Dreamweavers’ healing skills were greater than Circlians‘. Leiard had only taught her about cures when she was a child, not of the healing methods of Dreamweavers. Since then no opportunity had presented itself for her to observe a Dreamweaver treat a man as sick as this.

She felt a thrill of excitement. If Dreamweavers knew how to re-create damaged flesh, make a body fight a disease or kill the disease itself, her priests and priestesses could learn the skill from them. Circlian healers could save countless lives.

Maybe I shouldn’t be avoiding Leiard, she thought. Maybe I should be recruiting him... again. She grimaced at the thought. It is a pity I can’t read his thoughts, or I would know right now what he has done and I could continue avoiding him.

Leiard drew in a deep, slow breath and let it out. Removing his hand from the man’s brow, he stood up. From out of the shadows, where she had been waiting quietly, the man’s wife appeared. The woman had barely recovered from the disease herself. In her hands was a round, flat loaf of bread.

“Eat, Wilar,” she said to him. “Reet tells me he hasn’t seen you eat or rest once.”

Leiard looked at the woman, then glanced at Auraya. The woman followed his gaze.

“You too, lady, of course,” she added.

Auraya smiled. “Thank you.” She looked at Leiard critically. Dark shadows lay under his eyes. “He does look like he needs it.”

Leiard hesitated, then turned to Reet.

“Check on Veece,” he ordered. The boy nodded and flew away.

As the Dreamweaver sat down the woman broke the bread and handed pieces to them both. It was stale. No doubt she hadn’t had a chance to cook for days. Many of the Siyee would be running out of fresh supplies.

We must do something about that, Auraya thought.

“What can I do for him?” the woman asked, looking at her husband.

“Continue applying the essence,” Leiard told her.

“Will he live?”

“I have given him a second chance. If he does not improve, I might have to isolate him until the rest of the tribe are recovered.”

“Why?” Auraya asked.

He turned to regard her. “He will be in danger of catching it again.”

She held his gaze. “So you are killing the disease in his body?”

“Only when it is necessary,” he said, with obvious reluctance.

“I know of no other healer who can do that. You’re more skilled than I was aware of.”

He looked away. “There are many things you do not know about me.”

At his sullen tone, the woman’s eyebrows rose. She rose abruptly and left the room. Auraya regarded Leiard. His aloof expression annoyed her.

“Like what?” she asked. “Or should I ask: what else?”

He turned to regard her, his eyes cold, but as she stared back his expression softened.

“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I knew you would look for me. I should have been more... considerate about how and where you might find me. It was the only way I could be sure you would not approach me. I did not trust... myself. I did not trust myself to have the will to leave.”

She stared at him in surprise.

He was apologizing. And what surprised her more was to find herself accepting it. Not that it didn’t still hurt that he had run from her, that he had run into the bed of a whore, but now she had to admit that she had understood all along why he had done it. She had been as incapable of ending their affair, despite knowing the harm it would bring.

Am I forgiving him? And if I am, what does this mean for us? She looked away. Nothing. We cannot start again. We cannot be together. Why would I even want to? I have Chaia.

Leiard was watching her closely. The room was tense with expectation.

Movements in the next room reminded her of the Siyee woman’s presence. Can she hear us? Auraya concentrated and sensed curiosity and speculation. The woman didn’t understand the little she had heard.

“I... understand,” she said. “It is in the past. So... Lei—”

“Wilar,” he interrupted.

“Wilar, then. Why is your mind blocked?”

His expression was suddenly guarded. To her annoyance she felt a small thrill of attraction. It is his mysteriousness, she thought suddenly. It intrigues me. Everyone else is so easy to read. I can know everything about them, if I want to, but with Leiard I always had this sense there was more to discover about him even though I could read his mind. Now that I can’t read his mind I’m even more curious.

“An old friend taught me the trick. I never felt it necessary to use it until recently.”

An old friend? She smiled as she guessed who he was talking about. “Is Mirar still lurking in the back of your mind?”

His lips twitched into a wry smile. “No.”

“Ah. That’s good. You wanted to get rid of him.”

He nodded. He was watching her closely. A thump outside the bower drew their attention. Reet stood outside.

“Veece is failing again.”

Leiard frowned and rose.

“Thank you for the food,” he called to the woman. Then, without a word of farewell he strode outside, stepped into the sling Reet had held up for him, and slid away.

30

The room Reivan had been given as a full Servant was twice the size of her previous one - which meant it still wasn’t particularly big. It was late and she longed for sleep, but no sooner had she entered her rooms than a knock came from the door. She sighed. It had been a day of interruptions. Returning to the door, she opened it, determined to tell whoever was out there to come back in the morning.

Nekaun stood outside. She stared at him in surprise.

“I have a few questions for you, Reivan. May I come in?”

She gathered her wits and held the door open. “Of course, holy one.”

As he walked into her room she felt an unexpected thrill of excitement. What would other Servants say about her prestigious visitor? Her stomach sank as she realized they might suspect an amorous encounter. She glanced over her shoulder as she closed the door. Nekaun was even more good-looking in the light of the single lamp she had used to light her way through the Sanctuary. Her heart began to race. What if he has come for more than just to ask questions? Would I mind?

She shook her head. Don’t be ridiculous - and stop thinking about it! she told herself. He can read your mind, you fool. Embarrassed, she hurried to light a second lamp, filling the little room with a reassuring brightness.

“Please sit down, First Voice,” she said. “Would you like some water?”

“No,” he replied as he folded himself onto her only chair. “Thank you.”

She poured herself a glass of water then perched on the edge of the bed. He smiled at her warmly and she looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

“I wanted to ask you about the Siyee,” he said. “It appears they believe they were created by one of these Circlian gods. Do you think they would ever be persuaded otherwise?”

Reivan frowned. “Perhaps. It will be far more difficult to convert them, but with effort and time they may see the error of their belief.”

“Effort and time. A long investment of effort or a better-timed effort?”

She looked at him. “I suppose eventually the rest of Ithania will be worshipping the Five. It would be easier to coax the Siyee out of their heathen ways then.”

Nekaun’s gaze was thoughtful. “It might be worth the wait, so long as they don’t prove a threat to us in the interim.”

“What else could you do?” she asked.

He paused, then abruptly rose and began pacing the short space of floor between the chair and door. Two steps there. Two steps back. “Many Siyee died during the war. They are vulnerable right now.”

“You would attack them?” she asked, surprised. This was uncharacteristically direct and warlike for him. His plans so far had been subtle and bloodless.

“I’d rather not,” he said. “Not least because it might start another war.”

“It might start a war?” She shook her head. “It would start a war.”

He stopped pacing and turned to regard her with narrowed eyes. After a moment his face relaxed and he smiled.

“Ah, Reivan. Imenja was right to single you out. You are so refreshingly frank. I am tempted to take you as a Companion for myself.”

She felt her face warming and looked away, her heart racing at the thought. Me! An unskilled woman! Companion to the First Voice!

But it wasn’t just ambition that set her pulse racing. Breathing slowly, she willed herself into a calmer state.

“I’m... flattered,” she said. “It would be a great honor.”

He chuckled. “Imenja is determined to keep you and is taking you away with her to Elai. I will have to find someone else to provide frank and direct opinion when I need it.” He moved toward her and held out his hand. She took it and was drawn to her feet, but he did not step back to make room for her. Standing so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, he smiled. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.”

Her voice froze in her throat. She nodded, avoiding the eyes that sought hers. Her heart was beating quickly again, but this time she was unable to calm it. He reached out and touched her cheek lightly.

“I will not keep you up any longer. Good night, Reivan.” Letting go of her hand, he strode across the room to the door. He opened it, paused to smile at her, then stepped outside.

As the door closed she slowly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. There is absolutely no chance that he doesn’t know how he affects me, she thought. She laughed wryly at his words. ‘Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.’ Had he been making a joke?

She sighed and sat down. What are the odds that I can make myself get over this infatuation while I am away? Surely a few months at sea will be enough for me to come to my senses.

It better be, she told herself. Or this is going to make life in the Sanctuary very, very uncomfortable.

I must be crazy, Mirar thought as he slid along the rope. I should have realized Auraya would come here the moment news of Hearteater reached her. I should have left before she arrived.

But would you have? Leiard asked.

Mirar frowned. It would have meant abandoning the Siyee. Those who cannot fight the disease would have died without my help.

Yes. Which is why you stayed after she arrived.

I wouldn’t have got far. She would have found me. And if I’d left before she arrived she would have heard stories of a Dreamweaver and come looking for me.

She would have been too busy healing Siyee to look for you, Leiard pointed out. Just as she will be if you leave now. So why do you stay?

Mirar sighed. The damage was done. Auraya must have noticed my mind was shielded the moment she met me. She ought to have been suspicious.

She wasn’t. She was puzzled, but not suspicious. Your explanation satisfied her. She doesn’t understand the significance of the mind shield.

Either the gods haven’t told her or she’s hiding her suspicions well.

Why would she do that?

Because she needs me. All she knows is that I’m capable of hiding my mind.

And can heal magically in a way only immortals can. Why did you reveal that?

Because the only other choice was to let someone die. Again, she seemed amazed by the healing, not alarmed. I don’t think she understands the significance of it either.

But the gods do.

Yes. But they only know I’m a Dreamweaver who happens to be powerful enough to heal magically. They don’t know if I have actually learned to stop myself aging as well. If I behave as if I have something to fear they’ll guess I know more than I should. That’s why I can’t run. He started pulling himself along the rope again.

They won’t take the risk that you haven’t become an immortal, Leiard warned. They’re biding their time. You’re useful to them right now, but the moment the Siyee are safe the gods will have you killed.

By who? Auraya? It would be a bit much to ask their newest White to kill her former lover, don’t you think?

You are taking an immense risk. If she knew your true identity she would not hesitate to kill you.

And I’m not foolish enough to tell her. Neither am I foolish enough to stay here longer than I need to. Once the Siyee are well I will leave.

Reet, as always, was waiting for Mirar at the next platform. As Mirar hauled himself along the rope the boy hovered at the edge, then when he reached the platform the boy stepped forward to help him up.

Abruptly, Reet turned away and a rough sound escaped him. Mirar placed a hand on Reet’s shoulders and felt them shake with every cough.

“Go inside and rest.”

Reet grimaced. “If I lie down I might not get up again.”

“That will be true if you don’t rest.”

“Who will check on people? Who will take messages to Auraya?”

“There are other Siyee well enough to take over the task. Now, let’s see how your brother is faring.”

“He’s better,” a voice said from the bower.

He turned to find Reet’s mother slouched against the entrance. Shaking his head, Mirar walked toward her.

“You should be resting, too,” he told her.

“You said I was recovering,” she replied.

“Not that quickly.”

“Someone has to feed the boys.”

He took her arm and guided her back inside, helping her climb back into her bed. When she had settled he left Reet talking to her, and moved into the other room. Two sling beds hung to one side, one empty. The boy in the occupied one was sleeping, his breathing slow and unhampered, his skin pale but not bluish.

It appears your prospective student has overcome the disease, Leiard said.

Yes, Mirar replied. He turned and called to Reet.

Reet’s footsteps were hurried. He looked at his brother anxiously.

“He has beaten it,” Mirar told him. “In a few days he’ll have recovered his strength enough to walk.” He pointed to the empty bed. “Now it’s your turn. Rest.”

Reet hesitated, then reluctantly climbed into the sling. Moving closer to Tyve, Mirar pretended to examine the sleeping boy while he watched his brother. Reet sighed, coughed a little, then his breathing slowed and he sank into an exhausted sleep.

“Has Reet got it?”

Mirar jumped at the voice. He looked at Tyve and found the boy watching him.

“Do not fear for him,” he murmured. “I will make sure he recovers.”

Tyve nodded. He closed his eyes and a faint smile crossed his face. “I know.”

“You’re past the worst of it,” Mirar told him.

“I’m so tired. When will I be able to fly?”

“In a few days you can start building up the strength in your arms again.”

Light footsteps brought Mirar’s attention to the room’s entrance. The boys’ mother entered, carrying a bowl of water. He sighed and crossed his arms.

“What will it take to make you stay in bed?”

“How long is it since Reet ate?” she countered.

He felt a pang of guilt; he did not know. She searched his face and nodded.

“I thought so. The White lady brought food and fresh water. I hear she is not as good a healer as you, but she can fly. That’s... useful.”

Mirar took the bowl from her. “How do you know what the villagers are saying?” he asked, worried that people had been visiting each other secretly.

“Reet has been carrying gossip as well as messages for you.”

He chuckled and turned back to Tyve. The boy took the bowl and drank all the water thirstily. It appeared to give him some strength.

“How is it you knew Auraya before now?” Tyve asked.

“That is something I wish to keep private,” Mirar replied.

Tyve’s eyebrows rose, then drew together into a frown. “You don’t like her.”

Mirar found himself shaking his head. “That’s not true.”

Taking the empty bowl, Mirar handed it to Tyve’s mother. She left to gather more.

“You hate her, then?”

“No.”

Nosy, isn’t he? Leiard observed.

“What do you think of her?”

Mirar shrugged. “She is a capable woman. Powerful. Intelligent. Compassionate.”

Tyve rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. If you don’t hate her, what do you feel?”

“Neither friendship nor animosity. I suppose I feel respect.”

“So you do like her?”

“If ‘respect’ means ‘like,’ then I guess I do.”

Tyve made a small, dissatisfied noise and looked away. His eyes narrowed.

“If I was your student would I get to travel the world?”

Mirar laughed. “Who says you’re going to be my student?”

“Nobody yet. But if I was, would I meet more important people like Auraya?”

“I hope not.”

The boy frowned. “Why wouldn’t you want me to?”

“Important people are always either beset by troubles or are the source of strife themselves. Keep away from them.”

You sound like me, Leiard injected.

Tyve’s eyes brightened. “Is that what happened to you? Did Auraya bring you strife of some kind?”

Mirar took a step toward the door. “That is none of your concern. I hope you recover your respect for elders and visitors when you recover your strength, Tyve. Otherwise I fear you’ll turn into a shameless gossip.” He turned away and walked to the door, and heard Tyve’s bed creak as he sat up.

“But—”

Looking over his shoulder, Mirar placed a finger to his lips and looked at the sleeping form of Reet meaningfully. Tyve bit his lip, then subsided into his bed with a sigh.

Mirar met the boys’ mother in the next room.

“You’re right,” he said. “Tyve is better. I fear you’ll have trouble keeping him in bed. Try to stop him from flying until his strength is fully returned.”

She nodded. “And Reet?”

“Watch him closely.”

“I will.” She moved past him with the refilled bowl.

Stepping outside the bower, Mirar moved to the sling. He paused to consider who was well enough to replace Reet as messenger. From behind came the thud of feet on wood. He turned to see Auraya standing a few steps away.

“Lei-Wilar,” she said. “Speaker Veece is failing again. He needs your help.”

Mirar found himself simultaneously dismayed and pleased. He was concerned by her news, and at the same time not sure why he should be happy that she’d sought him out. Perhaps only because she had acknowledged that his skills were greater than hers.

No, Leiard said. That’s not it. You’re vain, but not that vain. It’s because she’s no longer avoiding you. You like her.

“I’d better get myself over there,” he muttered. Moving to the sling, he shrugged into it. In his mind he plotted a path to the Speaker’s platform. It was at least three rope journeys away. He realized Auraya was still watching him.

“I’ll meet you there,” he told her.

She nodded, then moved to the edge of the platform and leapt off. Though she did not have to, she glided in an imitation of the Siyee’s graceful flight, reaching the Speaker’s bower in moments. She did it so easily, so naturally, that he could not help feeling an echo of his old, abandoned admiration for her.

Not yours, Leiard corrected. Mine.

I admired her, too, he retorted. Just not to point of becoming a besotted fool.

Dropping off the platform, he began to pull himself toward the next. It was an uphill climb, and soon he was breathing heavily with the effort. His hands hurt where they had been rubbed raw on the harsh rope.

Still, it’s better than climbing up and down ropes all day and night, Leiard pointed out.

Reaching the next platform, Mirar slipped out of the sling and moved to another rope. Shrugging into the second sling, he slid down to a smaller platform. From there it was a harder journey to the Speaker’s home. Auraya was watching him, which only made him conscious of how awkward and graceless he must look. He settled into the third sling and started hauling himself along.

Suddenly the sling began to move of its own accord. Looking up, he saw Auraya standing on the platform ahead, one hand outstretched.

Moving you with magic. Now why didn’t you think of that? Leiard asked.

I was concerned the ropes would be damaged if I travelled too fast, Mirar retorted. You know that.

Fast or slow, the wear would be the same, Leiard said. I know you know that.

Mirar scowled. You win. I didn’t think of it. I’m an idiot. Satisfied?

As he neared the platform he saw that Auraya was smiling. He felt his stomach flip over.

She is wonderful, Leiard murmured.

Don’t start this again, Mirar warned.

Then his feet were on the platform and Auraya was helping him out of the sling. Her smile was gone, replaced by a frown of anxiety.

“His body just can’t fight it,” she told him. “This may be one of those times of last resort you spoke of.”

He nodded. “I agree.”

“I...” She paused, then shook her head.

He turned to look at her. “What?”

She shook her head again, then sighed. “I have to ask. When I think of how many lives might be saved, I can’t let... other things... get in the way.” She straightened her shoulders. “Would you teach me how to kill a disease within a body?”

He stared at her. She held his gaze.

She can’t know the significance of the healing, he thought.

No, she must think that what she’s asking for is one of the Dreamweavers’ greatest secrets, Leiard said. I think she’d understand if you refused.

Yes, Mirar agreed. But can I? When I think of the future... The Circlians are here to stay, whether I like it or not. There is only one of me in the world and I am not free to go where I am needed. She is right that she could save many lives. I would not be revealing anything more about myself than she knows already.

But surely the gods will not allow it!

Why not? She’s already immortal. He paused. They must have some other way of making her ageless. If she can defy time as we immortals do, then she should already be able to heal magically.

So if her immortality is gained by other means than ours, you can’t assume she’ll be capable of healing magically, Leiard concluded. Perhaps that is why the gods have not already given her this Gift. Which is strange. Surely being able to heal people would be a great advantage to a White. There may be a reason why they don’t want them to, and if you teach her it might anger them and...

Auraya was frowning now. He realized he had been staring at her for some time, and looked away.

“I... I will consider it,” he told her.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Then she turned to the bower and led him in to see Speaker Veece.

31

Aime had been a profitable place for a healer to visit. Emerahl had not expected it to be since there were priests aplenty, the Temple was not far from the market and she had even seen a few Dreamweavers about. It appeared few of either were female, however. Her customers had been women of all ages, too shy or embarrassed to consult a male healer about their more personal ailments, or women who simply preferred to be treated by another woman.

She had rented a room from the master of mooring, who had been keen to help her out after she had freed up the blood flow in his leg where scar tissue had restricted it. After several days she had a purse heavy with coin, but the moon had waned and appeared again as a thin crescent, and she had to leave in order to make it back to the Stack in time.

Last night a short storm had forced her to seek shelter in a bay. It was large enough to support a substantial fishing village, where she rented herself a room. She was making her way back to her boat when she felt a tug on her sleeve.

She turned, expecting to find a customer had approached her. The skinny, dirty boy in well-patched clothes at her elbow was not what she was anticipating.

“How can I help you?” she asked, hiding her dismay. This was obviously a street child and it was doubtful he, or whoever he might be approaching her on behalf of, would be able to pay her.

“Come see,” he said, still tugging at her sleeve.

She smiled. “See what?”

“Come see,” he repeated, his gaze overly bright.

All she detected from him was purpose and urgency.

“Is somebody hurt?” she asked.

“Come see.” He continued tugging at her sleeve.

She straightened. He might be a simpleton, sent by someone to find a healer. The bags of cures on her belt were a clear advertisement of her profession that even an idiot child would recognize.

She nodded. “All right. Show me.”

He took her arm and led her away.

It was just as well she was leaving. Whoever had sent the child probably wouldn’t have any money but perhaps they could pay her some other way. Countless times in the past she had found that if word got around that she would cure the poor and helpless for no charge, hoards of sick and poor would somehow track her down. Soon after, customers that could afford to pay started demanding they get free healing too. It didn’t matter how small or large the town, the situation could become difficult in mere hours.

The boy had led her into an alley so narrow she had to walk sideways in places. In doorways she caught glimpses of thin faces and eyes noting her passing speculatively. She drew magic and surrounded herself with a light barrier.

They emerged in another street. The boy turned down this and they descended several staircases. A wider street followed then they emerged onto grassy dunes that followed the arch of the bay. He started down a track, still holding her arm, toward a rocky point.

As they drew closer, she grew aware of the booming of the sea. The boy took her off the path and let her arm go. He hurried toward the rocks, jumping from boulder to boulder.

Has someone hurt themselves falling off these rocks? she wondered. Or drowned, perhaps. I hope not. Sometimes those with limited minds didn’t comprehend when others were dead. They thought them merely sick.

The boy turned to look at her and beckoned. His voice was barely audible over the roaring.

“Come see.”

She lengthened her strides. He waited until she was closer before continuing on. The rocks grew larger and more jumbled. It took most of her concentration to make her way over them. The roaring of the sea grew louder. When she judged she was about halfway to the end of the point the boy suddenly stopped and let her catch up with him.

From a few steps away a spout of water roared from the ground.

It rose up twice the height of a man, floated for a second, then splashed back down into a wide depression where it drained down a hole in the rocks. Emerahl found she was stiff with shock, her heart pounding.

The boy was grinning widely. He moved to the highest of the surrounding piles of boulders and climbed up to the top. Sitting down, he beckoned to her.

Is this all he brought me here for? she thought.

“Come up,” he called.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside her annoyance and started climbing. When she reached the top he smiled and patted the rock beside him.

“Sit down, Emerahl.”

She paused, frozen by the shock of both hearing her name and the realization that he had spoken in a language long dead. As it dawned on her who this was, she found all she could do was stare at him. He smiled up at her. His overly bright gaze was not that of a simpleton, but of a mind much, much older than his body appeared.

“Are you...?” She left her question deliberately unfinished. No sense giving him a name to give back to her, if this was not the one she sought.

“The Gull?” he said. “Yes. Do you want me to prove it?” He cupped his hands together and whistled.

A moment later something whisked past her ear. A sea bird hovered over his cupped hands for a moment, wings beating, and she saw an object drop from its claws before it swooped away. He held up his hands. In them was a moon shell strung onto a rope of “old woman’s hair.” He picked out a strand of weed, then let it float away on the wind.

She sat down.

“We thought you were dead,” he said.

Emerahl laughed. “I thought you were dead. Wait... you said ‘we.’ Are there other immortals left from the past age?”

“Yes.” He looked away. “I will not say who. It is not up to me to reveal that.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“So why have you revealed yourself to me?”

Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly while considering where to begin. “I spent most of the last century living as a hermit. I’d still be there if a priest hadn’t decided to visit me. I slipped away and haven’t stopped travelling since.”

“The Circlians chased you,” The Gull said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Yes. How did you know that?”

“The gossip of sailors spreads faster than the plague,” he quoted.

“Ah. So you know I evaded them.”

“Yes. They lost you in Porin about the time the news came that the Pentadrians were invading. Where did you go then?”

“I... ah... I followed the Toren army.”

His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

“I joined a brothel. It was the best hiding place at the time.” She noted that there was no dismay or disapproval in his expression. “The brothel travelled behind the Toren army and I figured it was a good way to escape the city unnoticed.”

His eyes brightened. “Did you see the battle?” He sounded eager, like an ordinary boy excited by the idea of watching real warfare.

“Most of it. I left at the end after I met... an old friend. I spent some time in Si before deciding to seek you out.”

“Old friend, eh?” His eyes narrowed. “If you’ve been a hermit for the last century, this friend must be old indeed.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled. “Perhaps it is not up to me to reveal that.”

He chuckled. “Interesting. How ironic it would be if this friend turned out to be the same friend as mine.”

“Yes, but that’s not possible.”

“No? So more than a few of us evaded the gods.”

Emerahl nodded. “By different means.”

“Yes. For me it was easy. I have been hard to find for a long time. I simply became harder to find.”

She looked at the boy. “Yet you sought me out.”

“That’s true.”

“Why?”

“Why did you seek me?”

“To know if other immortals survived, and how. To offer help if you ever needed it. To see if I could ever ask for help in return.”

“If you have survived this long, I doubt you need my help,” The Gull said quietly.

She shook her head. “I cannot live like a hermit for the rest of eternity.”

“So you seek company.”

“Yes, as well as the possible benefits of powerful friends.”

He grinned. “You are not alone in that. I would like to count you as one of my powerful friends.”

She smiled, more pleased and relieved than she had thought she would be. Perhaps I am lonely, after all those years living by myself.

“However,” he continued, his expression suddenly grave. “I cannot say whether my friend would agree. If my friend disagrees, I will follow their advice. I value it greatly. You must gain their approval. Otherwise...” he grimaced apologetically “... we cannot speak to each other again.”

“How do I gain their approval?”

The boy pursed his lips. “You must go to the Red Caves in Sennon. If a day passes and you have not met anyone, approval has not been granted.”

“And if it is?”

He smiled. “You will meet my friend.”

She nodded. Sennon was on the other side of the continent. It would take months to get there.

“You don’t meet your friend often, do you?” she asked wryly.

“Not in person.”

“If they approve, how will I contact you again?”

“They will tell you how.”

She laughed. “Ah, this is all wonderfully mysterious. I shall do as you say.” She looked at him and sighed. “I don’t have to leave straight away, do I? We can chat for a bit?”

He smiled and nodded, his gaze somewhere in the distance. “Sure. In just a—”

His words were drowned out as water once again shot out of the ground. When it crashed down he chuckled.

“The locals tell visitors this is called Lore’s Spitbowl, but they have an even cruder name for the spouts of water.”

Emerahl snorted. “I can imagine.”

“They take it for granted that it will always be here. Eventually the water will wear away the rock, and there won’t be enough constriction in the cave below to force the water up. There was a spout in Genria once that dwarfed this.”

“Ah, I remember that.” Emerahl frowned. “What happened to it?”

“A sorcerer thought that by making the hole larger he’d create a bigger spout.” He shook his head. “Sometimes the greatest Gifts come to the greatest fools.”

Emerahl thought of Mirar and the antics he was famous for, and nodded. “Yes, they certainly do.”

Auraya climbed into the hanging bed and lay still until it stopped swinging. It was early evening, but signs that the Siyee village was stirring into life still reached her. Those that had recovered enough were resuming their old routines. Washed clothes snapped in the wind. The smell of cooking wafted to her nose. The laughter of children reached her ears. She closed her eyes and drifted toward sleep.

:Auraya.

At once her eyes were wide open, and her longing for sleep forgotten.

:Chaia! You’ve been gone for days.

:I was busy. So were you.

:Yes. I think the worst is over. We’ve isolated those whose bodies can’t fight the disease. Once everyone is cured, we’ll allow them to rejoin the tribe. They will still be in danger of falling ill again if anyone carrying the disease visits the tribe.

:You cannot stay here just in case they do, Chaia warned.

:I know. Leiard might stay, however.

:He was here when you arrived?

:Yes. She paused. I cannot read his mind. Why is that?

:He is blocking you. It is a rare Gift.

:His ability to heal is extraordinary.

:Yes. He is more than he first appeared to be. Such powers of healing are also rare.

:It is a pity he did not become a priest. Auraya closed her eyes. A powerful healer priest. He could have helped many more people. I have asked him to teach me this healing Gift. Do you approve?

Chaia did not answer straight away, then he spoke quietly.

:I must think on it. How do you feel about him now?

She frowned.

:Different. I’m not angry any more. He apologized. That changed more than I would have expected.

:How so?

:I don’t know. I like him better for it. I think... I think I would like us to befriends - or at least remain in contact.

:You are still attracted to him.

:No!

:You are. You cannot hide that from me.

Auraya grimaced.

:Then you must be right. Are you... do you mind that?

:Of course, but you are human. So long as you have eyes you will admire other men. That does not mean you will pursue them.

:No. I definitely won’t be pursuing Leiard. That is a mistake I will not make again.

:Good. I do not want to see you hurt. Now sleep, Auraya, Chaia whispered. Sleep, and dream of me.

32

As the tent collapsed, Imi felt a fluttering inside her stomach. She drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.

I’m going home!

As her excitement subsided she was surprised to feel a little regret. The Pentadrians had been so nice to her. If all of her time away had been like this she would not have wanted to go home immediately. She had discovered so many wonderful new things: delicious food, pretty things she’d never seen before, wonderful musicians and entertainers. The Elai palace was going to seem ordinary and boring in comparison, but she missed her father, Teiti, and the guards and children she played with.

Imenja moved away from the servants, who were now carefully folding the tent, and crossed the courtyard to Imi’s side.

“Are you ready?”

Imi nodded. “Yes.”

“You have all your belongings?”

Looking down, Imi pointed at the small box near her feet. Inside were the presents Imenja and Nekaun had given her. “I put them in there.” She bent to pick it up, but Imenja put out a hand to stop her.

“No, you are a princess. You should not have to carry your own luggage.” She looked up at Reivan, who smiled and bent to pick up the box. How Reivan understood what Imenja wanted, Imi could not guess. Sometimes she wondered if they had some silent code of gestures that they communicated with.

Imenja turned to a nearby door. “Let us depart.”

Many corridors and staircases followed. Most led downhill, to Imi’s relief. Though she was much stronger now, she still tired easily. They passed through a large courtyard and entered a hall full of black-robed men and women. Through the arches of the far wall she could see many landwalker houses beyond. She could hear voices - many, many voices. There must be a large crowd outside.

She dragged her attention away. A familiar man in black robes stepped forward to meet her.

“Princess Imi,” Nekaun said. “It has been an honor to have you in our Sanctuary.”

She swallowed and thought quickly. “First Voice of the Gods, Nekaun. I thank you for your hospitality and for rescuing me.”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling, and without looking away beckoned to the people behind him. Two men stepped forward carrying a large chest between them. They set it down beside her, then stepped back.

“This is a gift for your father,” Nekaun told her. “Will you accept it on his behalf?”

“I will,” she said, looking at the chest and wondering what was inside. “I will make sure he gets it.”

Nekaun gestured at the chest. Imi blinked as the lid opened by itself. No, by magic, she corrected. He can use magic, like Imenja.

She forgot all else as she saw what was inside. Gold cups and pitchers; fine, brightly colored cloth; jars of the sweet dried fruits she had grown to love; and beautiful glass bottles that, judging from the smells coming from the chest, were full of perfume.

“Thank you!” she breathed. She turned back to Nekaun and straightened her back. “I accept and thank you on behalf of King Ais of Elai.”

He nodded formally. “May your journey home be swift, the seas gentle and the weather fine. May the gods guard and protect you.” He moved his hands over his chest, tracing the pattern Imenja called a “star,” and the rest of the Pentadrians followed suit. “Farewell, Princess Imi. I hope to meet you again.”

“And I you,” she replied.

He gestured to the two men, who picked up the chest. “I will escort you to the litters.”

With Nekaun walking on one side and Imenja on the other, she moved toward the arched openings. As they stepped out of the building she caught her breath.

A wide staircase led down to a mass of people. They crowded between the houses, an endless sea of faces. As Nekaun, Imenja and Imi emerged, the people shouted and waved their arms, their combined voices a roar that was both thrilling and frightening. She had never seen so many people in one place before.

Imi hesitated, then made herself continue down the stairs. At the bottom, bare-chested landwalkers stood beside a glittering platform covered with cushions. Imenja smiled at Imi and ushered her onto the platform. As she lowered herself onto the cushions, Imi followed suit. Nekaun remained on the stairs.

The bare-chested men bent to take hold of poles jutting out from the sides of the platform. Another man barked an order and the platform rose. Imi clutched at the sides. Though the men moved smoothly and steadily she could not help feeling uneasy about being carried so far off the ground.

Now two columns of black-robed men and women descended the stairs and walked past the platform on either side. The crowd parted to allow the men to carry Imenja and Imi down the road. Imi looked back at Nekaun, who raised a hand in farewell.

As she began to lift her hand in reply a flurry of bright objects burst around her. She flinched, then laughed in delight as a shower of flower petals landed on the platform.

“Do they always do this?” she asked as more petals fluttered around her.

“It depends on the event,” Imenja replied. “People tend to gather here when they know there’s a chance of seeing one of the Voices, especially Nekaun. We don’t get flowers, however. They are in your honor.”

“Why?” Imi asked, flattered and amazed.

“You are a princess. It is a tradition to make a fuss of royalty. In times past, a monarch and his family were expected to throw coin in return, but that tradition ended when the last Avven king died almost a century ago.”

“You do not have a king?”

Imenja shook her head. “Not since then. That king had no heirs, and the people chose to be ruled by the Voices instead. We also rule Mur, to the north, through a Dedicated Servant that the local Servants elect. In Dekkar, which lies south of here, the people still follow a High Chieftain - though his successor is chosen by the gods, not by direct lineage.”

“How do the gods tell the people which man they’ve chosen?”

“The candidates must undergo tests of skill, education and leadership. The one who passes all the tests becomes High Chieftain.”

“So the gods make sure the one they like passes.”

Imenja nodded. “Yes.”

“I wonder why I never thought to ask about this before,” Imi said. “They seem like things a princess should know. I guess I’m not a good princess.”

“You are a wonderful princess,” Imenja told her, smiling. “You haven’t been taught to ask these sorts of questions because your father never expected you to need to.”

Imi grimaced as she thought of her father. “He’s going to be so angry with me.”

Imenja’s smile widened. “Why?”

“Because I broke rules and got myself into trouble.”

“I don’t think he’ll care about that at all. When he sees you he’ll just be happy to have you back.”

Imi sighed. “I’ll be happy to be home. I don’t care if I have to stay in my room or take extra lessons for a year, I’ll never break a rule again.”

The platform turned. Imi saw that they were being carried into a different street. In the distance she could see the sea and the tiny shapes of ships. Another shower of petals fluttered around her and she felt her heart lighten.

I wish father could see this, she thought. He might change his mind about landwalkers. They’re not all bad. Then she smiled. When he meets Imenja, he’ll find that out for himself.

Speaker Veece walked out of the bower as Auraya landed.

“Thank you, Auraya of the White,” he said, as she handed him skins of water and baskets filled with fruit, cold meat and bread.

She smiled. “We can’t have you dying of starvation after all the work we put in.” Bright, dappled sunlight covered the platform and bower, making it hard to see inside the dim interior. “How is everyone?”

“Well. Wilar says we are all cured. We must wait until the rest of the village has recovered before we venture out, and we must stay in the village and avoid all visitors until the disease is gone from Si.”

“He’s right.” She grimaced. “It is hard to be patient, but you can be sure that if any of you catch this disease again it will kill you. You have to be cautious, especially of visitors.”

He sighed and nodded. “We will be. We do not want your efforts to go to waste, as you said earlier.” Moving to the edge of the platform, he looked out at the other bowers. “You have saved us, you and Wilar. We owe you a great debt.”

She shook her head. “You owe me nothing. I—”

:Auraya?

:Priest Magen?

:It is I. How fares the North River tribe?

:They are recovering well.

:I have just received bad news. The Siyee have brought three sick children to me. All have Hearteater. It seems they visited their sick friends, the ones we isolated just outside the Open, and caught the disease. I fear they have spread it further.

Auraya sighed.

:Then I had best return.

:You may wish to take a detour, he added. A Siyeefrom the North Forest tribe arrived just now. He reported that his people are sickening, too. I haven’t been able to discern whether it is the same disease or not.

:This is what I feared. Very well. I will visit this tribe on the way back. Will you and Danien be able to deal with the outbreak in the Open?

:We will try.

:Thank you, Magen.

Turning back to Speaker Veece, she managed a grim smile. “I have to leave,” she told him. “The disease has emerged in the Open again and the North Forest tribe is also sickening.”

The old man paled. “What will you do?”

“Talk to Leiard - I mean Wilar. I will return.”

Moving to the edge of the platform, she leapt off. As she searched for Leiard she sent out a mental communication.

:Juran?

:Auraya. How do the Siyeefare?

:The North River tribe has almost recovered, but I have just received news of two new outbreaks. I’m hoping Leiard will agree to deal with one.

:It is fortunate, then, that you are both there - though I still wonder at his reasons for entering Si. Have you considered that he might have gone there in the hopes of meeting you secretly?

She felt her face warm. She had avoided mentioning Leiard to Juran for as long as possible, not wanting to face questions like this.

:He did not greet me warmly, and he has not attempted to renew... anything.

:Good. I must go.

Leiard had just emerged from a bower. She dropped down to land beside him and he jumped with surprise.

“I just received some bad news,” she told him.

“What is it?”

“The North Forest tribe has a sickness. They don’t know if it’s Hearteater or not.”

His expression was grim. “And you want me to go there.”

“Yes. It has also reappeared in the Open, despite the best efforts of Sirri and the priests.”

He frowned. “So you want me to teach you to heal magically.”

She paused. Until she had Chaia’s permission, she hadn’t planned to ask again. Still, if Leiard was willing and she had time to ask Chaia again... “Yes.”

“Have you considered the possibility that the gods did not give you this ability because you weren’t meant to have it?” Leiard asked.

She blinked at him in surprise. Had he learned to read minds as well as hide his own?

“It is possible. I would have to consult them.”

He nodded. “If they agree, I will teach you.”

Her heart lifted and she smiled. “Just give me a moment.”

:Chaia?

She waited for an answer. Leiard had taken a step back, and a look of dismay had crossed his face, to be replaced with resignation. She called again and felt a powerful presense stir the magic of the world.

:Auraya.

It was not Chaia, but Huan.

:Huan, she said, surprised. Thank you for answering my call.

:You wish to learn this Dreamweaver’s healing Gift, the goddess stated.

:I do.

:I wish it were possible, but we cannot allow it. Magic of this nature upsets the balance of life and death in the world. If people understood what it could achieve and knew the White could perform it, their demands on you would be unreasonable.

Auraya’s stomach sank with disappointment.

:But the Siyee...?

:Will not all die. It is an unfortunate price they pay in order that the balance of life and death be maintained. You can only act swiftly to prevent the spread of this disease.

:And Leiard? Does he upset the balance of life and death?

:Yes, but he is but one Dreamweaver and, unlike you, not in a position of authority. The damage is minimal.

:He could teach others.

:He would fail. Few are capable of learning this Gift. You may be, but the consequences would be far greater.

She sighed. Then I must refuse his offer.

:Regretfully, yes.

As the goddess’s presence moved away, Auraya looked up at Leiard.

“They refused,” he stated.

“Yes.” She grimaced. “You were right. I was not meant to have this Gift.” She shook her head sadly. “I will go to the Open. It will take someone of authority to stop the disease from spreading there. The North Forest tribe is closest to this one. You had best deal with it.” She noticed he looked troubled. “What is it?”

He looked away. “I was planning to leave Si.”

She smiled in sympathy. “Hearteater has spoiled my plans too.” Then she frowned as she saw wariness in his gaze. “You still mean to leave? Oh... you were leaving because of me.”

His shoulders rose. “I am under orders to stay away from you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She put her hands on her hips. “Juran would never want you to abandon the Siyee for the sake of... and I won’t be in the North Forest tribe anyway. Surely he didn’t tell you to leave whatever country I happen to enter.”

Leiard looked at the ground, then up at her. His eyes were hard. “Not exactly. He wasn’t all that specific.” He paused. “If I go to the North Forest tribe - if I stay in Si - will you promise me that I will not be harmed?”

She stared at him. Did he really fear retribution that much?

“Of course you won’t be harmed.”

“Promise me,” he said. “Swear it on the gods.”

She did not reply for several heartbeats, too dismayed at his distrust to speak. If this is what it takes for him to stay and help the Siyee...

“I swear, in the names of Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna and Saru, that while Leiard the Dreamweaver remains in Si helping the Siyee fight Hearteater he will not be harmed.”

Now it was his turn to stare at her. Slowly his face relaxed and he smiled.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he said. “For me.”

She let out a quick breath in exasperation. “I can’t believe you asked for it. Will you go to the North Forest tribe?”

He nodded. “Yes. Of course. I will pack my bags - and I had better tell Tyve.” He lifted a whistle hanging from a string around his neck to his lips and blew hard. Auraya hid a smile. Tyve appeared to be happy to be summoned thus, but she wondered how long that would last.

“Wilar!”

She turned to see Tyve swoop down to land on the platform.

“Pack your bags,” Leiard told the boy, smiling. “We’ve got another tribe to treat.” Tyve’s eyes widened as he comprehended what that meant. “Auraya must return to the Open and deal with the illness there.”

Leiard met her eyes and a faint smile curled his lips. She thought of the coldness that had been in his gaze when she had first arrived in the village.

I’m glad that changed, she thought. It is better we part friends.

“I will tell Speaker Veece of our plans,” she offered. “Take care of yourselves.”

Leiard nodded. “We will. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

She moved to the edge of the platform and leapt into the air.

33

Glymma’s towers and walls had disappeared in a haze of dust not long after the ship set sail. The low pale line that was the Avven coast passed on their left, while the right horizon was flat and indistinct. Reivan leaned on the ship’s railing and thought of what lay beyond.

The low mountains of southern Sennon, she thought. Then desert, then mountains, then the lush lands of the Circlians.

Not that all of Northern Ithania beyond the mountains was fertile, useful land. A dry wasteland existed at the center and the mountains of Si were near impassable. Circlians had far more usable land than the Pentadrians, however. Mur was crowded between the escarpment and the sea, Avven suffered droughts, and Dekkar’s riches came from cleared jungle, but the soil quickly turned to useless dust within a few years.

What will Imi’s homeland be like?

Reivan had picked up some information from Imenja. “Borra is a circle of islands,” she had said. “But they don’t venture out to them often for fear of raider attacks. They live, instead, in a city accessed by an underwater tunnel.”

So how are we going to get in? Reivan wondered.

“There is another entrance, above ground.”

Reivan jumped, and turned to find Imenja at her elbow.

“I see,” she replied. “That’s good to hear.”

“Oh, we probably won’t use it. The Elai don’t trust landwalkers, so I doubt we’ll be welcome in the city at all.”

“How will we meet the king, then?”

“On the islands, perhaps.” Imenja shrugged. “We’ll see when we get there.”

“Has Imi settled in?”

Imenja smiled. “Yes, she is in the pavilion, changing her clothes for something more comfortable. She’ll join us soon, I suspect. It seems even the Elai suffer from seasickness. How are you feeling?”

Reivan grimaced. She was trying to ignore the queasy feeling that nagged at her. “I could be worse.”

“You’ll be fine in a few days.” Imenja turned to face the sea. “I have a task for you.”

Reivan looked at her mistress in surprise. What could Imenja possibly want her to do? They were stuck on this ship for the next few months.

“What is that?”

“I want you to learn Imi’s language. It would be better for us all if I was not the only one who could communicate with the Elai.”

Relieved, Reivan smiled. “I can do that, though how well I learn it depends on how much time I have. Is Imi willing to teach me?”

Imenja nodded. “Yes. We’ve discussed it. It’ll give you both something to do while we travel.”

“And I brought all those books thinking I would have plenty of time to read,” Reivan said, sighing.

The Voice smiled. “There’ll be plenty of time for reading, too. You have to keep me from going mad with boredom as well.”

“Definitely can’t allow that.” Reivan looked at Imenja sidelong. “Being stuck on a ship with an insane Voice doesn’t sound at all pleasant.”

Imenja chuckled. She looked out at the sea again, then drummed her fingers on the railing.

“Imi hasn’t yet realized I can read her mind. She is puzzled that I knew her name and can speak her language, but she hasn’t worked out how.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Not yet. I suspect knowing I can read minds will make me seem even less trustworthy to the Elai than ordinary landwalkers.”

“It could. Although Imi may work it out in the future. She may think you avoided telling her deliberately in order to deceive her.”

“Yes.” Imenja frowned. “It would take a lot to shake her trust. I must come up with a plausible explanation.”

The ship suddenly heaved upward under a wave. Reivan felt her insides shift in an unsettling, uncomfortable manner.

“I think I may throw up,” she found herself saying under her breath.

Imenja laid a hand on her shoulder. “Keep your eyes on the horizon. It helps.”

“What am I supposed to do at night, when I can’t see it?”

“Try to sleep.”

“Try?” Reivan laughed, then clutched the railing as the ship plummeted down the other side of the wave.

“One other thing,” Imenja said. “Don’t lean too far over. You might lose your pendant. Or fall in.”

Reivan looked down at the silver star hanging from the chain around her neck. “You’d just make me another one, wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t,” Imenja said. “Inside each pendant is a tiny piece of coral, carefully grown by secret methods known only to Voices and a chosen few Servants. The coral’s natural habit is to send out a telepathic signal to other corals, on one night each year, triggering a mass release of coral seeds. We’ve bred one special type of coral that allows us to channel our own signals - or thoughts - on any day of the year. That is what allows us to communicate via the pendants.” Imenja chuckled. “I don’t have any spare pieces of coral on me, so don’t lose the pendant.”

Reivan lifted the star and turned it over. The back was smooth but for a small indentation in the center, filled with a hard black substance. She had often wondered what it was, but her old habit of investigation as a Thinker had lost against the fear of meddling with something sacred to the gods.

“Coral,” she said. “I wonder what the Elai would think of that?”

“They will not find out,” Imenja said firmly. “It is a secret, remember.”

“Of course.” Reivan let the pendant swing back against her chest.

Imenja drummed her fingers on the railing again.

“So, which books did you bring? They’re not all Thinkers’ books, are they?”

Rolling her eyes, Reivan took a step back from the railing.

“Come on, then. I’ll show you.”

Mirar chuckled to himself.

Feeling smug, are we? Leiard asked.

That promise I extracted from Auraya solves all our problems, Mirar replied. I don’t have to leave. I can stay and continue helping the Siyee. She won’t break a promise she made in the gods’ names.

Won’t she? I thought I was the overly trusting one.

You are. You wouldn’t have asked her to make the promise.

Because I know she would break a promise if the gods ordered her to.

A promise made in their names?

Who would know? There were no witnesses.

Auraya would know. They would lose her respect.

And you will still be dead.

Not unless I give them reason to kill me. So long as the Siyee are sick, I am safe. Once this plague has passed I will attempt to disappear again. And I have a chance of succeeding if Auraya is elsewhere.

Mud oozed up around Mirar’s feet at every step and it was growing deeper. The air stank of rot. He cursed Tyve under his breath. No doubt the boy had sent him into this ravine because it ran in the direction of the North Forest village or was otherwise easier going than the terrain around it. Unfortunately Tyve could not have seen past the dense vegetation to the boggy ground beneath.

Taking another step, Mirar felt his foot slip and grabbed a tree trunk to prevent himself sliding down into the mire. He found himself sitting in a shallow pool of mud.

He cursed again and clambered to his feet. Looking ahead, he saw an endless forest of thin trunks snaking out between tussocks of grass. The ground between glistened.

You have to go back, Leiard said.

Mirar sighed. The grass was floating on top of the mud, making the ground look more solid than it was. He looked down at himself. Mud caked his trousers and dripped from the lower edge of his Dreamweaver vest.

If Auraya could see me now... he thought.

... she’d have a good laugh at our expense, Leiard finished.

Yes. He found himself smiling. Shaking his head, he turned and started back the way he had come.

You like her, Leiard said.

I’ve never said I didn’t.

No, but this time you know it for yourself. You have come to that conclusion without my influence. You know these are your own feelings, not mine.

Mirar considered this and nodded.

Yes. I see what you mean.

The way forward became steeper. He thought of the slippery descent into the ravine and the trouble he’d probably have getting out, and groaned.

Auraya has probably already arrived at her destination, he thought wryly.

A memory rose of Auraya leaping off a platform, then speeding upward at an angle the Siyee would have found impossible to emulate. He had watched her until she had vanished behind the tree tops, wondering how it was that her ability could still amaze him.

You admire her, Leiard stated. That’s why.

Mirar shrugged. Yes.

It was not just the ease with which she used her unique gift, but the way she set out to do whatever she needed to do. Competent, but not vain about her skills. Efficient, but not without compassion.

She’s not unattractive, he added. But, of course, the White wouldn’t choose ugly people to be their representatives.

Yet her beauty wasn’t obvious. Some would say she was too sharp-featured.

People who prefer round, busty women, Leiard agreed.

She wasn’t all angles either. She had curves.

You noticed her curves, then? Leiard asked.

Yes. Mirar snorted. I’m a man; I notice curves. Are you jealous?

How can I be? I am you.

He felt a chill. Looking up, he made himself examine the steep slope of rock and plants before him. Everything was wet and slippery. He sought hand- and foot-holds and began to haul himself up.

If you’re me, then you don’t love Auraya, Mirar found himself thinking.

Ah, but I do.

He shook his head. So I do too?

Yes.

Climbing was like walking on hands and knees up a half-collapsed wall. Mirar shook his head in exasperation, both at having to climb it and at Leiard’s ridiculous conversation.

Why don’t I feel it, then?

You won’t let yourself. You’ve buried your feelings.

Oh, really? That’s a fine thing to claim. I could spend the rest of my life searching for feelings I don’t have, and you could keep using that explanation each time I fail to find them. Just look a little deeper, you’ll say. Just search a little harder.

But you haven’t searched for them, Leiard pointed out. You have the skill as a Dreamweaver to explore your subconscious, but you haven’t. You’re afraid of the consequences. What would it matter if I am right? You can’t pursue her anyway.

If you’re right it will only cause me pain. Why should I risk that?

Because you’ll never be rid of me until you do.

Mirar paused. He was close to the top now. I should be concentrating on climbing, he thought.

Instead he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He sent his mind into the dream trance, entering it slowly and reluctantly. He made himself think of Auraya. A stream of memories flowed into his mind. Auraya healing. Auraya flying. Auraya talking, debating, laughing. He saw the past, both distant and recent, even as he continued climbing. He remembered their conversations about peace between Dreamweavers and Circlians and felt respect for her. He recalled humorous moments when they had played with Mischief and he felt affection for her. He pictured her powerful and skilled and felt awe and pride. He saw her flying and... remembered a suspicion he’d once had about this ability. It almost distracted him from his purpose but he made himself push it aside. If he was to do this properly he must allow himself to relive only those moments of closeness they’d shared, like the experience of intimacy, of pleasure and exploration, of deeper feelings, a feeling of belonging, of not wanting to be anywhere else. Of connection. Of trust.

Of love.

He found himself standing at the top of the slope, gasping with exertion and a terrifying, exhilarating realization of the truth.

I understand. Emerahl was right and yet she was wrong, too. To become Leiard he hadn’t created new characteristics within himself. No, he had blocked those he felt were most identifiable to others. In doing so he had released others he had pushed aside for years. Leiard is me. I am Leiard. He is what I became when I suppressed those parts of my character that once held back feelings I thought were dangerous. Feelings like love.

Feelings he had learned to distrust. Love had only ever brought him - an immortal in a world of mortals - endless pain. By becoming Leiard, he had freed himself to love again.

I am Leiard. Leiard is me. He pressed his hands to his face. I love Auraya.

He laughed bitterly at the irony. Centuries ago he had built a hard wall around his heart to prevent himself falling in love with yet another mortal woman doomed to die. Now he had fallen in love with an immortal. An amazing, beautiful, intelligent sorceress with astonishing Gifts, who had once loved him in return.

“But she’s a cursed high priestess of the gods!” he shouted.

The sound of his voice jolted him out of the trance to a full awareness of his surroundings. He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

You did say it would be painful, he thought at Leiard.

No reply came. Perhaps Leiard was playing a little joke on him. He waited a little longer. Nothing.

Perhaps he is gone. He shook his head. No. Not gone, but no longer separate from me, or me separate from him.

He looked around, then started walking. There was nothing to do but keep going. Alone. He felt a pang of regret. Somehow he knew he would not be hearing from Leiard again.

I think I’m going to miss him. I can’t have Auraya and now I don’t have Leiard to talk to.

The thought should have been funny, but instead it left him feeling empty and sad.

In the topmost rooms of the White Tower, Juran paced. Each time he passed the windows he glanced down at the city. Long ago he had given up trying to keep a picture in his mind of the way Jarime had looked at the beginning, or at different times in the last hundred years. He might not age physically, but his memories were as prone to fading as any mortal’s.

Which was the source of his dilemma now.

:I can’t remember, he said. It has been too long. It’s like trying to remember what my parents’ maid looked like - and I probably saw her thousands of times more than I saw Mirar when he was alive. Why do you want me to remember what he looked like?

:A suspicion. Either Mirar lives, or we have another Dreamweaver in the world with abilities normally restricted to immortals, Huan said.

Juran felt his heart turn over.

:I’m not sure what would be worse. You do not recognize him, then?

:I cannot see him except through another’s eyes. I cannot recognize him unless the viewer does. You are the only person alive who can recognize him.

Surely you would know if he was Mirar from his mind...?

:I cannot see his mind.

Juran stopped pacing and a chill ran down his spine.

:Would this Dreamweaver be Leiard?

:Yes.

:Leiard can’t be Mirar! I’ve seen into his mind.

:A mind which is now completely hidden. If he can do that, he may have been able to conceal parts of his mind before. He can also heal in a manner that immortals can, Huan added. As Mirar could. And there is one more suspicious factor.

:What is that?

:He has Mirar’s memories and admitted to hearing Mirar’s voice in his mind.

:But he can’t be Mirar! I would have recognized him!

:I wonder if you can. A hundred years is a long time. We have not observed the effect of memory loss in immortals we have created until now. Are there any portraits of Mirar left?

:Most were destroyed, but there may be a few in the archives. But... We found his body.

:You found a body that had been badly crushed. It may not have been his.

:What if Leiard isn’t Mirar?

:He may be a new Wild.

:And that makes him dangerous!

:Yes.

:Is Auraya safe?

:Chaia is watching over her.

Juran moved to the window and looked down at the city again. If Leiard was a new Wild and they were forced to kill him, Auraya would be devastated. Perhaps not as grieved as she would have been when she was still in love with him, but she would find the gods’ reasoning that all Wilds were dangerous hard to understand.

:We did not find all of the Wilds. Those that evaded us haven’t caused us any trouble, he said.

:Not yet. Remember, power is a corrupting force. Immortals do not recognize our authority. They believe their souls will never need to transcend the death of their body, so they feel no need to obey us. They are powerful and can do great harm. Better to be rid of them now, than wait until they fulfil their potential.

:What would we do if a Circlian became immortal - without your help?

:Perhaps, if they were loyal, we would allow them to live.

Juran pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

:So we must execute Leiard. We have no choice.

:If he is, indeed, a new Wild.

:How are we to confirm it?

:We will watch him closely. Do not alert Auraya to the possibility that he is a Wild yet, or the other White. Leiard has offered to teach her how to heal magically. That would require a linking of minds that may allow us to see past the shield hiding his thoughts. We must know if he is Mirar before we strike.

:When will this happen?

:We haven’t yet decided. There are risks. We will seek other means to discover his true identity first. When we have decided, we will let you know. Good night, Juran.

Moving away from the window, Juran headed for the cabinet he kept drinks for guests in. He poured himself a glass of Toren tipli. Though it would not make him drunk, he tossed it down and poured another. The tart flavor was both bracing and refreshing.

:I hope, for Auraya’s sake, that you are wrong, Huan.

The goddess did not reply.