“Anyone suffering a head injury who displays strange behavior should be watched closely,” Kleven told her as he entered the room. He drew the blanket from Mal Toolmaker’s head, exposing the gag.
“What is this?” he said. Pulling the blanket away, he exclaimed as the bandages tying the man’s hands and feet were revealed.
“He attacked me,” she told him.
He looked at her sharply. “Are you all right?”
She shrugged. “Yes. He didn’t touch me.”
“You should have told me about this.”
“I was going to but…Mother distracted me.”
He nodded, then turned back to the unconscious man. A chill ran down her back as he began to untie the bandages. “Is that wise?” she asked hesitantly.
“Naen will watch him. How much sleepease did you give him?”
“Not much. A small spoon’s worth.”
The man’s eyes fluttered in reaction to Kleven’s touch. He wasn’t waking up, but he would soon.
“Stop,” she found herself saying. “You can’t let him wake up. You have to drug him again.”
Kleven turned to stare at her questioningly. “Why?”
She sighed. “It’s incredible, but you have to believe me. I was warned about him and ordered to immobilize him by…” She grimaced. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe—by Yranna.”
Kleven’s eyebrows rose. “The goddess?”
“Yes. She spoke to me. In my mind. And no, I don’t usually hear voices in my head.”
The priest considered her thoughtfully. She saw the doubts in his eyes, but could not tell whether he hesitated to believe her or to risk acting against a god’s orders.
“How am I to know you’re not making this up?”
“I can’t prove it, if that is what you mean. But I can point out that I have never acted with anything but good sense before—or shown signs of madness.”
“You haven’t,” Kleven agreed. “But it does not make sense that Yranna would speak to you but not the rest of us. If this man is a danger to the hospice, we all need to know.”
“That puzzled me, too,” she admitted. “Perhaps the danger has passed…but I’m not willing to take that risk. Are you?”
Kleven looked at the sleeping man dubiously.
“Can I offer any assistance?”
They turned to find Dreamweaver Fareeh standing in the doorway. Ella groaned inwardly. Kleven hadn’t finished untying the bindings, and as the Dreamweaver noticed them his eyebrows rose.
“A troublesome patient?”
Kleven looked at Ella. “In more ways than one.”
The Dreamweaver looked at the sleeping man, then at each of them, and nodded. He began to move away. Kleven sighed. “Ella here says she was instructed by Yranna to immobilize him.”
Ella turned to stare at the priest in surprise.
“Ah,” was all Fareeh said.
Why would Kleven tell him that? Slowly the reason dawned on her. If he doesn’t, Fareeh would know we are keeping something from him. That might change how he deals with us. She shook her head. This balance of trust and distrust between our peoples is so easily tipped.
“Do you believe her?” Kleven asked.
The Dreamweaver shrugged. “I do not believe what I cannot confirm with my own senses, so belief is irrelevant. Either she is wrong, or she is right. Either situation is alarming. I can suggest only that you bring both patient and priestess to the greeting hall so that we can all help to watch and deal with any trouble that arises from this.”
The older priest nodded. “Good advice.”
Ella watched anxiously as Kleven lifted the unconscious man with magic and carried him out into the hall. Visitors and healers alike, bored and eager for distraction, watched curiously as this stranger was laid upon a bench. But as time passed and the man did nothing but sleep, their attention soon strayed.
Watching the stranger, Ella wondered what he had planned to do. Were you going to attack us? Were you going to slip out of the room while we were distracted and open the back door to let your people in? Every time the man moved, Ella’s heart lurched.
When the man’s eyes finally fluttered open she rose, ready to face any kind of attack with magic.
“Sit down, Priestess Ella,” Kleven said calmly, but firmly. She obeyed.
The stranger struggled up onto his elbows, staring groggily about. His gaze fell on Ella, and he shuddered.
“Wha’ hap’n’d?” he asked. “Sh’, she t’tack’d me.”
“Stay calm. You are not in any danger,” Kleven said soothingly. “Take a moment to recollect yourself.”
The man’s gaze roamed the room. “Still here. Wh—…am I a pris’ner?”
“No.”
He began to struggle to his feet. Kleven stood and steadied the man.
“Let me go.”
“All in good time. You’ve had a small dose of a sleep drug. Just let it wear off.”
“Sleep…why’d you drug me?”
“One of us believed you intended us harm. Is that true?”
The expression that crossed the man’s face sent shivers down Ella’s spine. Guilt! she thought. He was planning something.
“No. I just came to…” He reached up and touched his brow, flinching as his fingers found the stitches. He drew in a deep breath and straightened his back, then stood up. He swayed a moment, then took a few steps. The drug was wearing off quickly, and nobody was moving to stop the man as he walked with growing confidence across the room and back.
“I’m right,” he said. “Can I go now?”
Kleven shrugged and nodded. “I can see no reason why we should keep you here…except that there’s a hostile crowd outside. You’ll get another one of those scratches, at the least, if you try to leave.”
The man looked at Ella pointedly. “I’ll risk it.”
Kleven shrugged. “We won’t stop you, we can only warn you. I will release the door.”
Nobody stirred as the man started toward the door. Ella frowned. She ought to be glad he was leaving, his plan foiled. But something nagged at her. Why would Yranna let this man go if he had threatened the hospice? Yranna had said…
Then she realized what it was.
“Stop!” she cried, jumping up. The man ignored her.
“Ella…” Kleven began.
As the man put his hand to the door Ella drew magic and sent out a barrier to stop him. He pressed the invisible shield and turned to glare at her angrily.
“Ella!” Kleven barked. “Let him go!”
“No,” she replied calmly. “Yranna told me to immobilize him. She didn’t say why. Maybe it was to prevent him harming us. Maybe it was to prevent him leaving.”
The man backed away from the door and turned to face her, his face contorted with anger. She felt Kleven take hold of her arm.
“Ella. We can’t…”
His voice faded and she heard him draw in a quick breath. A rapping came from the door. Kleven let her go.
“Drop your barrier, Ella,” he murmured. “Rian of the White is here.”
She did as he asked. The door swung open. A man wearing an undecorated circ stepped over the threshold. Rian, the red-haired White, regarded the stranger with ancient eyes.
“You’ve led us quite a chase, Lemarn Shipmaker.”
The stranger backed away, his face pale. A high priestess stepped into the hospice. At a nod from Rian, she gestured at the man. He walked stiffly past her and through the door, obviously guided by an invisible force.
Rian turned to regard the hospice occupants. “The troublemakers have prudently found other places to be. You can leave safely now. Or stay and continue your work or treatment, as you wish.”
From around the room came several sighs of relief. Kleven stepped forward and made the formal two-handed sign of the circle.
“Thank you, Rian of the White.”
Rian nodded, then looked at Ella. “Well done, Priestess Ellareen. We’ve been looking for t
his man for months. The gods are impressed with your loyalty and obedience. I would not be surprised if I heard you had been offered a timely high priestess position.”
She stared at him in astonishment. He turned away, obviously not expecting a reply, and stepped outside.
A timely high priestess position? Surely he isn’t hinting that…no, he wouldn’t.
But the Choosing Ceremony for the next White was only a month away. What other reason was there for a promotion to high priestess to be timely?
I have only to wait and see.
Feeling light-headed, she walked back into the hospice and returned to her work.
PART ONE
1
The constant rush of cascading water echoed between the walls. As Emerahl moved further down the tunnel the noise diminished, but so did the light. She drew a little magic and created a spark, then sent it forward to the end of the tunnel and beyond.
Everything was as she had left it: the rough beds in the center of the cave, made of logs lashed together and tough strips of bark woven into a tight net; the stone bowls Mirar had carved while stuck here last summer, waiting until he could master the skill of hiding his mind from the gods; the jars, boxes and bags of dried or preserved food and cures stacked against one wall, gathered over the months they had lived here.
Only one essential part of the cave could not be seen. Moving forward slowly, she felt the magic that imbued the world about her diminish to nothing and she smiled with satisfaction. Keeping her light burning with the magic she had gathered within herself, she continued to the center of the room, where magic once more surrounded her. She was within the void.
Sighing, she sat down on one of the beds. When she had returned here last spring, she had noted that the space devoid of magic had shrunk since her last visit over a century ago. Slowly the magic of the world was seeping back to fill it. That suggested the original void had been even larger before she’d discovered it, and would eventually no longer exist.
For now it would suffice. She had travelled through the rough wild land of Si, a journey which involved a lot more climbing than walking, in order to reach this place. At every second step she had cursed Mirar, her fellow immortal and friend, for talking her into teaching Auraya. Every other step she had cursed The Twins, immortals even more ancient than herself and Mirar, who she had finally met for the first time a few months ago, for agreeing with him.
:We must know what Auraya is, Tamun had said to her in a dream-link, the night after Mirar had made his request. If she becomes an immortal she could also become a valuable ally.
:What if she can’t do it?
:She must still be a powerful sorceress, Surim had replied with uncharacteristic seriousness. Remember, the gods do not like independent sorcerers any more than they like us immortals. If we do not help her they will kill her.
:Will they? Just because she has quit the White doesn’t mean she has turned against them, Emerahl had pointed out. Auraya is still a priestess. She still serves the gods.
:Her mind is full of doubts, Tamun said. The gods’ demand that she kill Mirar without trial weakened her regard for them.
Emerahl nodded. She knew this herself. Once Auraya had removed the ring of the gods’ power her mind had no longer been shielded. With help from The Twins, Emerahl had learned to mind-skim and had occasionally seen Auraya’s thoughts.
The trouble is, while Auraya’s loyalty toward some gods has been weakened she still feels a need to at least remain on good terms with them. If she discovers who I am, she will know the gods want me dead. And she doesn’t have a prior friendship with me to make her reluctant to strike, as she had with Mirar.
She had seen enough of Auraya’s mind to know the former White did not like killing. If their meeting went well the gods wouldn’t even know Emerahl was here. She looked around the room again. The gods were beings of magic, and so could only exist where there was magic. They could not enter these rare, unexplained voids, nor could they see what lay within unless they looked through the eyes of humans standing outside it. Once Auraya was here the gods would not be able to read her mind.
There was still a good chance Emerahl had travelled halfway across the continent for nothing. She could not make Auraya learn anything. She would have to be careful what she told the woman, too. If Auraya left the void before learning to hide her thoughts, the gods would read her mind.
Emerahl shook her head and sighed again. This is such a risk. It’s all very well for The Twins, safely hidden away in the Red Caves in distant Sennon, or Mirar in Southern Ithania. They don’t have to worry that Auraya will change her mind and decide killing immortals without due cause is acceptable.
But The Twins’ help was invaluable. Every day and night they reached out to minds across the continents, skimming thoughts, alert to the intentions and actions of powerful people. The pair had honed these skills over thousands of years. They knew mortals so well, they could predict their behavior with uncanny accuracy.
Mirar had always said that the Wilds—or Immortals, as The Twins called them—each had an innate Gift. Emerahl’s was her ability to change her age, Mirar’s was his unsurpassed ability to heal. The Twins’ was mind-skimming. The Gull’s…she wasn’t sure exactly what his was, but she was sure it had something to do with the sea.
And Auraya’s, Mirar claimed, was her ability to fly. Emerahl felt a twinge of interest ease her annoyance at being here. I wonder if she can teach it to others. Mirar taught me to heal, though I can’t do it as well as he can. Perhaps I won’t be able to fly as well as she can…actually, flying doesn’t sound like an ability one can safely do less well at. Ineptitude could be fatal.
She snorted then. It’s worth a try, though. There has to be some benefit in this for me. It would be easier to like the idea of teaching this girl if I’m compensated for having to put off my search for the Scroll of the Gods.
The Twins had told her that they’d picked up rumors of an artifact that described the War of the Gods from the viewpoint of a long-dead goddess. Emerahl had decided to find it. Such a record might contain information useful to the Immortals. Information that might help them evade the gods’ notice, or survive if they failed. It might even give them the means to fight back.
According to The Twins, scholars in Southern Ithania had been searching for the Scroll for decades. They had made progress lately, but were still lacking enough information to discover the Scroll’s location. The Twins had assured her that these scholars were not about to find it soon, however. She had time enough to teach Auraya.
She moved to the jars and pots and began looking over the cures and preserved food.
But first I need to gather some food. And then I have to figure out a way to get Auraya to come here, and persuade her to stay for a while, all without arousing the gods’ suspicions.
The ship climbed steadily up one side of a wave, paused for a moment at the crest, then plunged down the other side. Mirar gripped the railing, half terrified, half exhilarated. Spray constantly wet him, but he didn’t retreat below deck. The wind and water were a welcome relief from the heat in the small passenger compartment.
And the old man doesn’t need me around to remind him that he’s dying, Mirar told himself.
He’d treated Rikken in one of the small ports along the Avven coast. Tough and wiry, the old merchant had grown anxious at Mirar’s assessment of his failing health. It was not the news that he was dying that bothered him, but that he might not expire in his homeland.
So he had asked Mirar to accompany him on his final journey home to Dekkar, in the hope that having a healer on hand would ensure he returned alive. Mirar had agreed out of restlessness and curiosity. He had encountered no hostility toward Dreamweavers in Avven, but the unending sameness of the towns he had passed through had begun to bore him. The buildings were made of mud-coated brick like those in Sennon, but did not vary in color or design. The people, men and women, wore drab clothing and covered their faces with veils. Even the
ir music was monotonous.
I’m not looking for trouble, he told himself, remembering Emerahl’s accusation during their last dream-link. I like to travel and explore. It’s been a long time since I was free to do so. One of the crew hurried past Mirar, nodding and smiling as their eyes met. And these southerners are friendly, Mirar added, nodding in return.
He looked toward the coast again. A low rock face had appeared the day before and now it soared higher than the cliffs of Toren. Ahead its shadow abruptly ended, and he was beginning to make out the reason.
Time passed slowly, the ship only allowing a glimpse of the coast at the crest of each wave. Mirar waited patiently. Then, between one wave and another, the end of the cliff came into view.
The high rock face turned abruptly inland, its sheer sides dropping to a low, forested land fringed by gentle beaches. The change was extraordinary: bare rock to lush vegetation. The cliff continued to the east, folding back and forth into the distance, growing even higher than at the coast.
The sight was startling. It looked as if the land to the west had been levered up in an enormous slab, shifted forward and deposited on top of that of the east.
Is this natural? Mirar asked himself. Or did some being—god or otherwise—heave up the land long ago?
“Dreamweaver?”
Mirar looked for the source of the voice, and found the crewman standing nearby, a rope in one hand. The other hand pointed toward the forested land.
“Dekkar,” the man explained. Mirar nodded, and the crewman went back to his work with the speed of long practice.
So this was Rikken’s homeland. Dekkar, southernmost of all countries, was famous for its jungle. The cliff was a natural barrier and border between it and Avven. As if obeying some local law, the seas had calmed. The crew put on more sail, and their pace quickened.
For the next few hours Mirar listened to the men talking, guessing at the meaning of their words. An unfamiliar language was a difficulty he hadn’t needed to overcome in a millennium. The dialects of Southern Ithania were descended from a branch of languages far older than Mirar, and so there were few words recognizably related to those of the main continent. So far he had learned enough basic words of the Avven tongue to get by, and from the Dreamweavers he’d encountered he had gleaned most of what he needed to work as a healer.
Voice of the Gods Page 2