Priestess of the White aotft-1

by Trudi Canavan

  The boy did not hide his relief well. “Back to... where was it?”

  “Oralyn.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Near the Dunwayan border, at the base of the mountains.”

  Jayim opened his mouth to speak, but froze at the sound of knocking. “Someone’s at the door, Mother.”

  “Then answer it.”

  “But...” Jayim looked at Leiard. “I’m keeping our guest company.”

  Tanara sighed and stood up. She crossed to the main door, out of sight. Leiard listened to the slap of her sandals on the tiled floor. He heard the sound of a door opening, then female voices. Two sets of footsteps returned.

  “We have a customer,” Tanara announced as she entered the room. A woman wrapped in a generous swathe of dark cloth entered. The cloth was draped over her head, hiding her face.

  “I haven’t come for healing,” the woman said. “I am here to see an old friend.”

  The voice sent a shiver up Leiard’s spine, but he was not sure why. He found himself rising to his feet. The woman pulled back the cloth from her head and smiled.

  “Greetings, Dreamweaver Leiard.”

  Her face had changed. She had lost all the roundness of childhood, revealing an elegant jaw and brow and high cheekbones. Her hair had been dressed into an elaborate style favored by the rich and fashionable. She seemed taller.

  But her eyes were the same. Large, expressive and bright with intelligence, they gazed at him searchingly. She must be wondering if I remember her, he thought. I do, but not like this.

  Auraya had grown into a strikingly beautiful woman. It would never have been apparent in the village. She would have seemed too fragile and thin. The fashion of the city suited her better.

  The fashion of the city? She did not come here to be fashionable, but to become a priestess. At that thought he remembered his hosts. Knowing they had a Circlian priestess in their house might frighten them - especially a high priestess. At least Auraya had the sense to cover her priestess’s clothes. He turned to Tanara.

  “Is there a place the lady and I might talk privately?”

  Tanara smiled. “Yes. On the roof. It’s nice out there on a summer evening. Follow me.”

  The woman led them through the communal room to the staircase opposite the main door. As he emerged onto the roof, Leiard was surprised to find it was covered with potted plants and worn wooden seats. He could see neighboring apartments and other people relaxing in rooftop gardens.

  “I’ll get you some cool drinks,” Tanara said, then disappeared downstairs.

  Auraya sat down opposite Leiard and sighed. “I should have sent you a message warning that I was coming. Or arranged to meet you somewhere. But as soon as I learned you were here...” She smiled crookedly. “I had to come straightaway.”

  He nodded. “You need to talk about your mother with someone who knew her,” he guessed.

  Her smile faded. “Yes. How did she... ?”

  “Age and sickness.” He spread his hands. “Her illness took a greater toll as she grew older. Eventually it was going to defeat her.”

  Auraya nodded. “So that was all? Nothing else?”

  He shook his head. “It is easy, after a long time keeping a sickness at bay, to be surprised when it claims a person.”

  She grimaced. “Yes - especially when the timing is... unfortunate.” She let out a long sigh. “How is Father?”

  “He was well when I left. Grieving, of course, but also accepting.”

  “You told the initiate that you found the message in the hands of a drunken courier. Do you know why Priest Avorim has not contacted me?”

  “The courier claims he is sick.”

  She nodded. “He must be so old now. Poor Avorim. I gave him such a hard time during his lessons. And you.” She looked up and gazed at him, smiling faintly. “It’s strange. I recognize you, but you look different.”

  “How so?”

  “Younger.”

  “Children think all adults are old.”

  “Especially when those adults have white hair,” she said. She pulled at the cloth covering her. “It’s a bit hot to be so dressed up,” she continued. “I was worried that if people saw me arrive it would bring your hosts trouble.”

  “I’m not sure what it is like for Dreamweavers in the city.”

  “But you believe your hosts would be frightened if they knew who I was,” she guessed.

  “Probably.”

  She frowned. “I don’t want them to fear me. I don’t like it. I wish...” She sighed. “But who am I to want to change the way people are?”

  He regarded her closely. “You are in a better position than most.”

  She stared at him, then smiled self-consciously. “I guess I am. The question is: Will the gods allow it?”

  “You’re not thinking of asking, are you?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Maybe.”

  Seeing the bright glint in her eye, Leiard felt an unexpected affection for her. It seemed some of the curious, relentlessly questioning child remained in her. He wondered if she let her peers encounter it, and how well they coped.

  I can even imagine her drilling the gods about the nature of the universe, he thought, laughing silently to himself. Then he sobered. Asking questions is easy. Making change is harder.

  “When do you plan to leave?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I see.” She looked away. “I had hoped you might be staying longer. Perhaps a few days. I’d like to talk to you again.”

  He considered her request. Just a few days. Footsteps from the staircase hailed the return of Tanara. She appeared carrying a tray bearing pottery goblets and a dish of dried fruit. She lowered the tray and offered it to Auraya. As Auraya reached out to take a goblet Tanara gasped and the tray dropped.

  Leiard noticed Auraya’s fingers flex slightly. The tray stopped, the contents of the goblets sloshing, and remained suspended in the air. He looked up at Tanara. The woman was staring at Auraya. He realized that the cloth covering Auraya’s shoulders had slipped and the edge of her circ was showing.

  He stood up and placed his hands on Tanara’s shoulders. “You have nothing to fear,” he said soothingly. “Yes, she is a priestess. But she is also an old friend of mine. From the village near my—”

  Tanara gripped his hand, her eyes wide. “Not a priestess,” she gasped. “More than a priestess. She’s... she’s...” She stared at Leiard. “You’re a friend of Auraya of the White?”

  “I...” Auraya of the what? He looked down at Auraya, who wore a grimace of embarrassment. He looked at the circ. It bore no gold edging of a high priestess. It bore no edging at all.

  “When did this happen?” he found himself asking.

  She smiled apologetically. “Nine, ten days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was waiting for the right moment.”

  Tanara let go of Leiard’s hand. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to spoil the surprise.”

  Auraya laughed ruefully. “It doesn’t matter.” She took the tray and put it on the bench beside her. “I should be apologizing for causing you so much distress. I should have arranged to meet Leiard elsewhere.”

  Tanara shook her head. “No! You’re welcome here. Any time you wish to visit please don’t hesitate to—”

  Auraya’s eyes narrowed a fraction, then she smiled broadly and stood up. “Thank you, Tanara Baker. That means more to me than you can know. But for now I feel I must apologize for disrupting your evening.” She drew the cloth close around herself. “And I should return to the Temple.”

  “Oh...” Tanara looked at Leiard apologetically. “I’ll take you to the door.”

  “Thank you.”

  As the two women left, Leiard slowly sat down. Auraya is one of the White.

  Bitterness overwhelmed him. He had seen the potential in her. She was intelligent but not arrogant. She was curious about other peoples, but not contemptuous of them. Her ability to lea
rn and use Gifts was greater than any student he had taught.

  Of course they had chosen her. He’d even told himself that it was better that she had joined the Circlians, because with the restrictions of a Dreamweaver life much of her potential would be wasted.

  And how much better is it now that she is one of the immortal White? he asked himself bitterly. The world can benefit from her talents forevermore.

  And her loss will torment you for all eternity.

  The thought startled him. It sounded like his own mental voice, yet it felt like the mental voice of another person.

  “Leiard?”

  He looked up. Tanara had returned.

  “Are you well?”

  “A little surprised,” he said dryly.

  Tanara moved to the opposite seat. The one Auraya had been sitting in. “You didn’t know?”

  He shook his head. “It seems my little Auraya has come much further in the world than I thought.”

  “Your little Auraya?”

  “Yes. I knew her as a child. Taught her, too. She probably knows more about Dreamweaver healing than any priest or priestess.”

  Tanara’s eyebrows rose. She looked away, her expression thoughtful. Then she shook her head. “I can barely comprehend this,” she said in a hushed voice. “You’re a friend of Auraya of the White.”

  From behind them came a choking sound. Leiard turned to find Jayim standing on the staircase, his eyes wide in surprise at what he’d overheard.

  “Jayim,” Tanara said, leaping up and pushing her son back inside. “You can’t tell anybody about this. Listen—”

  Leiard rose and followed them down the stairs, going into his room. His dirty clothes still hung over the back of a chair. His bag was half empty, its contents spread over the bed. Sitting down, he swiftly stowed everything away again. As he placed the dirty robe in the top of his bag, he heard footsteps and turned to see Tanara stop in the doorway. She glanced at the bag and her expression hardened.

  “I thought so,” she muttered. “Sit down, Leiard. I want to talk with you before you run off to your forest home.”

  He lowered himself onto the bed reluctantly. She sat down next to him.

  “Let me just check what I have heard. You said you taught Auraya when she was a child. You mean Dreamweaver lore?”

  He nodded. “I had hoped she might join me.” He shook his head. “Well, you can see how that turned out.”

  Tanara patted him on the shoulder. “It must have been frustrating. Strange that the gods would choose her, then. Surely they must know she was taught by a Dreamweaver.”

  “Perhaps they knew where her heart truly lay,” he muttered bitterly.

  Tanara ignored that. “It must have been odd talking to her again, even when you thought she was merely a high priestess. You sounded like you were getting along well enough when I arrived. Obviously you didn’t notice any change. You would have if this Choosing had turned her into someone different.”

  “I know I said we were friends,” he replied. “But I said that to reassure you. Until today I hadn’t seen her in ten years.”

  Tanara absorbed that silently.

  “Consider this, Leiard,” she murmured after a while. “Auraya obviously wants to continue to be your friend. One of the White wanting to be friends with a Dreamweaver ought to be impossible, but it clearly isn’t. And if Auraya of the White is friends with a Dreamweaver, maybe other Circlians will treat Dreamweavers better.” Her voice lowered. “Now, you’ve got two choices. You can leave and return to your forest, or you can stay here with us and keep this friendship going.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he argued. “There are risks. What if the other White disapprove?”

  “I doubt they’d do anything more than tell you to leave.” She leaned closer. “I think that’s worth the risk.”

  “And if the people decide they don’t like it? They might take matters into their own hands.”

  “If she values your friendship she’ll stop them.”

  “She might not be able to - especially if the White will not support her.”

  Tanara leaned back to regard him. “I don’t deny there are risks. I only ask that you consider. You must do what your heart tells you.”

  Standing up, she left the room, drawing the door shut behind her. Leiard closed his eyes and sighed.

  Tanara is ignoring one simple fact; the gods would not have chosen anyone sympathetic to Dreamweavers, he told himself.

  But they had chosen Auraya. Either she had developed a dislike of Dreamweavers, or they were playing a different game. He considered the possibilities. If they took an intelligent and Gifted woman who was sympathetic to Dreamweavers and caused her to turn against them, she might bring a new and fatal force to the Circlian hatred of heathens. She might be the one to destroy us completely.

  And if he ran away and left her, alone and grieving, he might be the first to give her a reason to resent his people.

  Curse the gods, he thought. I have to stay. At least until I know what’s going on.

  4

  The heat from the summer sun was stronger on the upper slopes of the mountains. As Tryss felt sweat beginning to run down his brow again, he straightened and shook his head. Droplets landed on the frame of the harness and were quickly absorbed by the dry wood. He pulled off his string-reed vest and laid it aside. Then, bending closer, he carefully stretched strips of flexible gut between the harness joints.

  Much of the harness lay in pieces. He was trying to duplicate the lever system so he could carry four spikes instead of two. Already he was beginning to doubt that he could get off the ground while carrying something this heavy. Perhaps he would have to haul it up a tree or a cliff before launching himself into the air.

  That wouldn’t impress people, however. He had decided he wasn’t going to show anyone this new harness until he’d had several successful hunts. Whenever he brought a creature down he would let it sleep off the drug, but when the time came to prove himself he would butcher his catch and carry meat back to the Open. When the other Siyee saw his family feasting, their jeers and mockery would stop.

  He paused to sigh. If only his cousins had followed him quietly instead of telling other Siyee what Tryss had claimed to have done. Then only they and Drilli would have been present when Tryss arrived to find the yern gone. Since that day the story of his wild claim had spread throughout the Open. He was teased constantly, sometimes by Siyee he didn’t even know.

  A prick of pain stung his arm and he jumped. The gut string slipped from between his fingers and flicked away. He cursed and examined his arm. A small red dot had appeared. Had something stung him? He looked around, but could see no insect buzzing nearby that might have made such a bite.

  Just as he was searching the ground for crawling insects he felt another sting, this time on his thigh. He looked down in time to see something small and round fall to the ground. Bending closer, he noticed a winnet seed among the stones of the rock face. They were bright green and hard to miss, especially as winnet seeds weren’t found this high up in the mountains. The small tree grew alongside creeks and rivers, not on dry rocky slopes.

  A small click brought his attention back to the harness just in time for him to see another seed fall from the frame to the rocks, then roll away. He slowly disentangled himself from his invention and stood up, casting about. In the corner of his eye he saw a movement and felt a sting on his shoulder. He spun around and started toward a large rock near where he had seen the movement.

  Then he heard his name whistled from above.

  Looking up, he felt his heart jump as he recognized Drilli’s wing markings. He searched the sky quickly, but there was no sign of his cousins. His heart began to beat faster as she circled lower.

  There was a broad grin on her face. “Tryss!” she called. “I think I lost...” Her gaze shifted away and he saw her smile change to a look of outrage. At the same time he felt another sting, this time on his cheek. He cursed in pain and put a hand
to his face.

  “Fools!” she shrieked. Tryss caught his breath as she dropped into a dive and landed beside the rock he had been heading toward. She disappeared and Tryss heard a slap, then a Siyee staggered out from behind the rock, arms raised to protect his head as Drilli swiped at him again and again.

  Ziss! Tryss heard laughter from behind him and turned to find Trinn climbing up the rock shelf toward them. Drilli stormed over to him and snatched something out of his hands.

  “I told you not to use them on Siyee!” she said. “What if you tore his wings? Stupid girri-brain! If I’d known you’d do something like this I’d never have made them for you.”

  “We wouldn’t have got his wings,” Trinn said. “We’ve been practicing.”

  “What on?” she demanded.

  Trinn shrugged. “Trees. Rocks.”

  “Girri?”

  He looked away. “No.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it? And you watched me spend half the night weaving string-reed mats to console Aunt Lirri. She thinks her girri died from neglect.”

  “She was going to eat them anyway,” Ziss protested.

  Drilli whirled around to glare at him. “You two disgust me. Go away. I don’t want to see you again.”

  The cousins exchanged a look of dismay, though it was clear Ziss wasn’t as bothered by her words as Trinn. He shrugged and turned away, running a few steps then leaping into the sky.

  “Sorry,” Trinn offered. When Drilli turned to glare at him he winced, then followed his brother.

  Drilli watched them until they were small dark marks against the distant clouds near the horizon, then she turned to Tryss and grimaced.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is,” she replied, anger returning to her voice. “I know what they’re like. I shouldn’t have shown them what the pipes were for, let alone made them a set.”

  He looked at the object in her hand. It was a long piece of reed. “Pipes?”

  “Yes.” She smiled and held the tube out to him. “A blowpipe. We started using them in our village to hunt small animals. You put a missile in here and—”