She had never seen him so angry before.
“Come in, Auraya,” he said in a low, tight voice.
To her surprise his fury did not frighten her. Instead, she felt a surge of affection for him. She knew him well enough to be sure he would never allow anger to override reason. He did not like violence. The few times he had referred to killing Mirar, he had always expressed regret at the necessity.
I trust him, she thought. I even trust that he would never harm Leiard, despite what he now knows.
But Leiard wasn’t in the tent, and the bag that he kept with him at all times was missing.
“Juran,” she said calmly. “Where is Leiard?”
He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“I sent him away.”
She looked at him; held his gaze. “Why?”
“Why?” Juran’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I haven’t discovered your affair? Or do you think I’d allow it to continue?”
Auraya crossed her arms. “So you get to approve my lovers, then?”
His gaze wavered. “When I learned of... this... I asked myself the same thing. The answer was simple: my first duty is to our people. As is yours.” He shook his head. “How could you do this, Auraya, when you must have known what the consequences would be when you were discovered?”
Auraya took a step closer to him. “I can accept that our people do not embrace change quickly, that improvement in attitudes happens over generations. I intended to keep our affair private only to avoid testing the people’s tolerance. I knew I could not keep it from you forever. Nor did I intend to. You have long disliked Dreamweavers, and I did not know how long I should wait before telling you. I doubted you had put aside all prejudice. How long would I have needed to wait before you did? Years? Decades? Centuries? I am in love now, Juran. Leiard is growing older. He will die one day. I cannot wait for you to get used to the idea that a Dreamweaver might be worthy of me.”
He gazed at her intently. “My views are not the issue here, Auraya. You are one of the White. Your first duty is to guide and protect the people. You may have lovers, but they must not come between you and the people. If they do, you must give them up.”
“He won’t come between—”
“He will. He already has. I saw it in his mind. You have broken the law against dream-linking. What next?”
“I’ve accepted Dreamweaver healing before, Juran. There is a similarly ridiculous law against that too. You’re not so foolish as to think this is a sign that I do not respect the laws in general.”
“You must appear to be lawful,” he replied. “Or you will lose the respect of the people. Just learning of your affair will damage your standing in their eyes.”
“Not as much as you think. Not all people dislike Dreamweavers.”
“The majority distrust them.” He paused, then sighed. “Auraya, I wish I did not have to ask this of you.” He grimaced. “I do not wish to cause you pain. But you must give up Leiard.”
Auraya shook her head. “I can’t, Juran.”
“You can,” he said firmly. “Eventually you will look back and see it was the right thing to do, even if it was painful at the time. You have to trust me on this.”
Trust? This has nothing to do with trust. Everything he’s said comes from fear. Fear that a Dreamweaver will have too much influence over me. Fear that if I offend just one prejudiced Circlian, the rest will stop respecting us all. Most of all, he fears change.
She managed a smile. “I do trust you, Juran. I expect you to trust me in return. I will not let Leiard come between me and the people. They will barely know he exists.”
She turned away and strode to the door flap.
“Auraya.”
Pausing in the entrance, she looked back.
“He can’t come back,” Juran told her. “I gave him an order, and I don’t think even he will disobey it.”
She smiled. “No. He wouldn’t. Doesn’t that tell you something, Juran? Doesn’t that tell you he isn’t someone to be afraid of?”
Turning away, she stepped outside and launched herself into the air.
40
Clouds were slowly creeping down from the north, blotting out the stars one by one. Bellin yawned, then turned his attention back to the gowts. Most had folded their long, spindly legs beneath themselves and were dozing. A few remained alert, their slender heads moving from side to side as they kept a watch for predators.
They were clever animals. They accepted him as an extra form of protection, and allowed him to milk them in return. Yet they never lost their natural wariness. Despite his presence, they took turns as lookouts throughout the night.
Which is just as well, he thought. I can’t help falling asleep or being distracted now and then.
He leaned back against the rock wall and drew some magic. Converting it to light, he sent a glow into the space before him, then he began to shape it.
First he created a gowt. That was easy; he spent all his time with them so he knew how they looked. Moving the gowt was harder. He got it to walk, then run, then leap from rock to rock.
When he grew bored with that he started shaping another familiar form. Old Lim. The wrinkled old face looked right, but the body was too straight. Old Lim was bent like a wind-twisted tree.
There. That’s better. Bellin made the figure scratch its rear - something Old Lim did all the time. He chuckled, then felt a small pang of guilt. He shouldn’t make fun of Old Lim. The man had found him abandoned in the mountains and raised him. Lim didn’t know who Bellin’s real parents were. Bellin didn’t even look like most of the people who lived in these parts. The only clue he had to his past was a scrap of material with a symbol stitched onto it. It had come from the blanket he’d been wrapped in when Old Lim found him. There had been a gold amulet, too, but Lim had sold it to pay for food and clothes for Bellin.
Bellin occasionally wondered where he had come from, and even thought about setting off on an exciting journey to find his parents. But he liked it here. He didn’t have to work hard, just watch the gowts and gather their wool when they moulted. When Old Lim died the safety of these gowts would be his responsibility. He couldn’t leave them unprotected.
Bellin sighed and considered what he could make next. Old Lim had taught him how to make the light pictures. They helped keep away predators as well as kept Bellin awake.
The pictures weren’t the only Gift the old man had taught Bellin. If fanrin or leramer were bold or desperate enough to approach the gowts, he chased them away with little balls of fire.
“You’re lucky you’ve got me,” Bellin told the gowts. At the sound of his voice, several of the sleeping gowts started awake. Which was odd. They were used to his voice.
“Old Lim can barely sting them, but I could kill one if I wanted to,” he said in a soothing voice, hoping to reassure them. “I could...”
He paused, then frowned. His back felt odd. The rock wall he was leaning against was vibrating.
Leaning forward, he discovered that he could feel the same vibration beneath his buttocks and feet. The gowts were climbing to their feet. Their narrow ears were twitching in fear.
Slowly, Bellin stood up, turned and placed his hands on the rock wall. The vibration seemed stronger now. Something struck his head lightly. He yelped in surprise and looked up. Dirt and bits of stone were raining down. He backed away hastily.
When he was several strides away he found he could see a crack widening at the top of the wall. He stared at it and slowly realized that the rock wasn’t splitting; the dirt that had accumulated in the crack was spilling out. It cascaded down, forming a growing mound of earth where he had just been sitting.
The vibration under his feet was growing stronger. Then he heard and felt a concussion of air. A plume of dust and stones escaped the crack. He ducked and threw his arms up to protect his head as they scattered over the surrounding area.
The sound stopped, then a whistling began. He looked up to see that the gras
ses atop the rock wall were all bent toward the crack. Air appeared to be rushing into the fissure.
The ground had stopped vibrating. He glanced behind and felt his heart freeze.
The gowts were gone.
Forgetting the disturbing behavior of the mountain, and the strange whistling of air being sucked into the crack, he created a ball of light and started to search for the tracks of his beloved gowts.
Leiard looked back at Jayim and felt a pang of guilt and sympathy. The boy was pale and in obvious discomfort. Arems were not the most pleasant of mounts, and even less so without a saddle. Free of the tarn harness and urged to a faster pace, they had settled into a trot that they could keep up for hours, but which made for an unpleasantly jolting ride.
It could not be helped, though. Juran had ordered them to leave immediately, and remained to ensure they did. They had grabbed some food and their bags but it was clear Juran’s patience would not stretch to them dismantling the tent, packing the tarn and harnessing the arems.
Leiard felt another pang of guilt. The arems had been bought by Arleej. She had also bought a few spare arems in case one became sick or lame, so she would not be forced to abandon the tarn.
He’d had no time to see her, or even leave a note to explain his sudden absence. Watchers in the Dreamweaver camp would have seen Juran arrive and had probably seen him leave again soon after Leiard and Jayim. Arleej would guess what had happened. She would be worried. So am I, he admitted. What will this mean for the rest of the Dreamweavers? Will they be safe?
One thing is sure, he thought. Juran won’t want the world knowing that one of his own was bedding a Dreamweaver, so he’ll keep that a secret.
Leiard was surprised that he had been singled out. He had expected Juran to order all of the Dreamweavers to leave, even if only to conceal the fact that his ire had been directed at a single man. Perhaps even Juran recognized that he would need the Dreamweavers after the battle. The army was huge. Though Circlians were supposed to refuse Dreamweaver healing, they rarely did when desperate. There would be too many injured soldiers for the priest healers to deal with when the battle was over.
Jayim will miss a great opportunity to increase his learning, he thought. He looked at the boy and felt guilty again. Jayim had been terrified by Juran’s anger. Leiard knew the boy had been all too aware that the man who had come to deal with his teacher was also the man who had killed Mirar. Jayim’s relief when Juran had ordered them to leave had been obvious.
When fear passes, he will be angry, Leiard thought. He will ask what right Juran has to send us away when my only crime is loving Auraya.
He’ll blame you, a familiar voice added. He’ll wonder why you let yourself get into this situation in the first place. He’ll wonder why you didn’t get out of it when you realized what it would lead to. When it becomes clear that you still plan to see Auraya, he’ll wonder if you care about your people at all.
Mirar, Leiard thought wearily. You must be happy at this turn of events.
Happy? No. This is what I was afraid of. Do you really think Juran will be content with sending you away? You’ve reminded him of what he hates most about Dreamweavers. Our influence over people. Our abilities. I was known as a great seducer. You will replace me in his eyes. If you continue the affair, he will know. He will find other ways to punish you, through harming our people.
Leiard shivered. No. Auraya will not allow it.
He is her leader. She is a servant of the gods. If they command her to obey him, she will. You know this.
She will do anything to prevent bringing harm upon Dreamweavers.
Anything? Would she leave the White? Give up power and immortality? Would she defy the gods she loves? You know she would never disobey them.
Leiard shook his head, but he knew the last was true. The air had become heavy and cold, and he was not surprised when it began to rain. He allowed the drops to fall on him and soon his clothes were saturated.
Far ahead he saw lights. He pulled his arem to a stop and stared at them. He had been following the road for hours. The army was far behind. Who were these people? Had Juran changed his mind? Were there priests waiting here to apprehend him?
As he watched he caught the sound of galloping hooves in front. As the rider drew near, Leiard opened his palm and created a small light. The stranger wore the uniform of a high-ranking member of the Toren army. The man grinned as he passed. His mood of smug contentment touched Leiard’s senses like a waft of heady scent.
Leiard understood, then, that the lights were those of a travelling brothel. He sighed with relief and urged his arem back into a trot.
Auraya loves you, Mirar whispered. And you love her.
Leiard frowned, wondering at this change of tack.
You say she will give up anything to protect our people. I don’t believe you, but if it is true then consider this: should you ask her to? Should you demand that she give up what she has?
The road descended. Leiard felt his heart sinking with it.
It might not come to that.
It will. I know Juran. He will demand she make a choice. Do you think you’re a fair exchange for the gods she loves so much? Can you give her what they do?
Leiard shook his head.
Do you want to see her grow old and die, and know it is your fault?
Each of Mirar’s words felt like the jab of a knife.
Love is thrilling, especially forbidden love, but passion fades and becomes familiarity. And familiarity becomes boredom. When the thrill has gone between you, do you think she will never look back at what she was, and what she might have been, and wish she had never met you?
Leiard felt his throat tighten. He wanted to argue that it wouldn’t be like that, but he could not be sure.
If you love her, Mirar urged, free her. For her own sake. Let her live on to love again and again.
And if she doesn’t want to be freed?
You must convince her. Tell her you do not want to see her again.
She won’t believe me. She can read my mind, remember.
Mirar was silent for a moment. The lights ahead were brighter now.
Then let me do it.
Leiard shivered. He was cold all over, and he knew it was not just the rain soaking his clothes that was chilling him.
She is bound to track you down tonight. I will remain only as long as it takes to convince her to leave you.
He was so tired. Tired of the risk and the secrecy. He looked up at the dark sky and felt the rain sting his face.
I’m sorry, Auraya, he thought. There can be no happy ending for us. Mirar is right: the longer this goes on the more harm it will bring.
He drew in a deep breath, then breathed out a summons.
“Mirar.”
When the first rays of dawn lightened the eastern sky, Auraya felt her hopes dim. She had flown in every direction from the Dreamweaver camp as far as a rider could travel in a day. She had returned to the Plains of Gold. She had roamed the foothills of the mountains. She had followed the road almost all the way to the pass.
She had found no sign of Leiard.
As she had flown, she had kept her senses open for human thoughts. While she had sensed the minds of soldiers and villagers, herders and prostitutes, she hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Leiard’s mind. He had all but disappeared.
Like the Pentadrians, she thought wryly...
She now hovered high above the ground, unsure what to do next.
Perhaps I missed something. I could return to the Dreamweaver camp and start again. This time I’ll fly in circles, moving steadily outward...
Before she had even finished the thought she was speeding across the sky again. When she reached the place the Dreamweavers had camped, they were already gone. She could see them in the distance, travelling along a narrow, overgrown track.
A lone figure followed them. She caught weary thoughts and a familiar personality.
Jayim.
The boy crested a rise
and reined in his arem. As he saw the Dreamweavers far ahead, he felt a rush of relief. It was followed by guilt and uncertainty. He looked over his shoulder to the southeast.
I shouldn’t have left him... but he wouldn’t listen to me. The way he spoke... something’s wrong. I have to get help.
He urged the arem into a trot, thinking that if he caught up fast enough Arleej would be able to return to the brothel camp before Leiard moved on. He pushed all thought aside but the need to reach them. Auraya watched him go, fighting a rising dismay.
The brothel camp?
She had flown over more than a few. The presence of prostitutes was an accepted consequence of having a large army travelling across the country. She had mixed feelings about them. While she could see that bedding a whore might boost a soldier’s confidence, or soothe an agitated mind, there was the spread of disease to worry about. She also didn’t like how some of the men believed they weren’t being unfaithful to their wives by sleeping with a whore during a war.
Which was why she hadn’t looked too closely at the minds in these camps. Which probably made the camps the perfect place to hide from her. Did this mean Leiard was hiding from her?
No. He’s hiding from Juran.
She started flying toward the closest of the camps she could remember encountering last night. As she did she forced her mind away from unpleasant possibilities. I trust him. He went there to hide from Juran, not me.
He was not in the first of the camps, nor the next two. She remembered the direction of Jayim’s backward glance and flew farther southeast. A half-day’s ride from the army she found another. Searching the minds of those below, she glimpsed Leiard’s face in one of the whores’ thoughts.
And reeled from the thought that accompanied it.
... at those buttocks. And I thought him scrawny last night. Definitely not scrawny. If I had my way, I’d give him this night for free. Who’d have thought a Dreamweaver would be so good at...
Auraya tore her mind away. Hovering above the brothel, she stared down at the tents in disbelief.
I must be mistaken. The girl must have been thinking of another Dreamweaver. One who looks like Leiard.
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