“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—”
“I know how they work,” Tryss said, then winced at his own terseness. “But I haven’t seen one used before,” he added in a more encouraging tone. “Could you show me?”
She smiled and plucked the tube from his hands. Taking something from her pocket, she slipped it into the pipe. He heard a faint click as it met with something else inside that must have prevented it from coming out the other end. She turned and pointed.
“See that rock over there that looks a bit like a foot?”
“Yes.”
“See the black stone on the top?”
“Yes…” He glanced at her doubtfully. It was a long way away.
She put the pipe to her lips and blew into it quickly. Tryss barely saw the missile, but a moment later the black stone bounced off the rock and disappeared over the other side.
Tryss stared at Drilli in surprise. She’s not just pretty and strong, he thought. She’s clever as well. She looked back at him and grinned, and suddenly he didn’t know what to say. He felt his face beginning to heat.
“So is this where you disappear to?” she asked, her gaze sliding to the harness.
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
She moved over to the harness and gazed down at it. “This is how you caught the yern, isn’t it?”
So she believed he’d actually caught one. Or was she just saying so to be nice.
“Um…yes.”
“Show me how it works.”
“It’s…it’s…” He waved his hands uselessly. “I’m changing it. It’s all in pieces.”
She nodded. “I understand. Another day, then. When you’re finished.” She sat down beside the harness. “Mind if I watch you work?”
“I suppose. If you want.” He dropped into a crouch and, conscious of her attention on him, rummaged in his pockets for more gut strings. She watched silently, and soon he began to feel uncomfortable.
“How long have your people been using blowpipes?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Years. My grandfather came up with the idea. He said we have to go backward instead of forward. Rather than trying to find a way to use swords and bows like the landwalkers, we should go back to simpler weapons.” She sighed. “It didn’t help, though. The landwalkers still drove us out of our village. We got a few with poisoned darts and traps, but there were too many.”
Tryss glanced at her sideways. “Do you think it would have turned out differently if you had been able to attack them from the air?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe; maybe not.” She looked at the harness. “Don’t know until we try. Are you…are you going to the Gathering tonight?”
Tryss shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’ve heard a landwalker arrived last night. Climbed over the mountains to get here. He’ll be at the Gathering.”
“They didn’t kill him?” Tryss asked, surprised.
“No. He’s not one of the people taking our land. He’s from far away.”
“What does he want?”
“Not sure exactly, but my father said something about this man being sent by the gods. To ask us to join something. If we do, other landwalkers might help us get rid of the ones taking our lands.”
“If they can do that, then they can take our lands themselves,” Tryss pointed out.
Drilli frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. But the gods sent him. Surely Huan wouldn’t allow that if it meant we’d all be killed.”
“Who knows what the goddess intended?” Tryss said dryly. “Maybe she’s realized making us was a mistake, and this is a way to get rid of us.”
“Tryss!” Drilli said, shocked. “You shouldn’t speak of the goddess so.”
He smiled. “Perhaps not. But if she is watching, she will have heard me thinking that. And if she can hear me thinking that, then she can see that I don’t believe what I said.”
“Why say it then?”
“Because the possibility occurred to me, and I need to speak of it in order to realize I don’t believe it.”
Drilli stared at him, then shook her head. “You are a strange boy, Tryss.” She nodded at the harness. “Are you taking that to the Gathering tonight?”
“This? No. They’d laugh at me.”
“They might not.”
“I’ve shown people before. They think it’ll be impossible to fly with it, or that it will make flying clumsy and dangerous, and even if I prove them wrong they won’t believe it’s possible to hunt with one. And at the moment I’m not sure it’s going to work anyway. Two spikes don’t seem like enough. I’ve been trying to change it so it carries more, but…but…it’s complicated.”
“It looks it. But I’d give it a try. I wonder…could you make something that would allow me to use the blowpipe while flying?”
He looked at the pipe in her hands, then at the harness. She’d need some sort of frame to hold the pipe steady and a way to reload it with missiles. She could suck the missiles into the pipe from out of a bag. And the missiles were much smaller and lighter than spikes, so she could carry more…He sucked in a breath. But that was brilliant! As possibilities rushed through him, he felt his hands beginning to shake with excitement.
“Drilli,” he said.
“Mmm?”
“Can I…can I borrow that pipe?”
Auraya watched, fascinated, as her new pet chased an imaginary spider up the wall. He was a veez—a small, slim creature with a pointy nose, fluffy prehensile tail and large eyes that gave him excellent night vision. His soft toes splayed out across the painted surface, somehow allowing him to cling effortlessly to the wall—and now the ceiling. Stopping just above her, he suddenly dropped onto her shoulder.
“No fug,” he said, then leapt onto a chair and curled up with his speckled gray fluffy tail across his nose.
“No bug,” Auraya agreed. The animal’s most remarkable trait was the ability to speak, though he talked only of the matters that concerned a small creature, like food and comfort. She doubted she’d have any enlightening philosophical discussions with him.
A knocking came from the door. “Come in,” she called.
Dyara stepped inside. “Auraya. How are you this morning?”
“Owaya,” a small voice repeated. Dyara’s gaze shifted to the veez. “Ah, I see the Somreyan Council of Elders have delivered their customary gift for a new White.”
Auraya nodded. “Yes. Along with an amazingly elaborate array of toys and instructions.”
“Have you named him yet?”
“No.”
The older woman moved to the chair and extended a finger toward the veez. He sniffed, then cocked his head to one side and
allowed Dyara to scratch behind his tiny pointed ears.
“Once you’ve learned to link your mind with his you’ll find him useful. Just show him a mental picture of an object and he’ll fetch it for you. He can find people, too, though it’s easier if you give him something they’ve touched to catch a scent from.”
“The instructions said they make good scouts.”
Dyara smiled. “Scouts being the polite term for spies. When you link with his mind you’ll be able to see what he sees—and since their night vision is excellent and they can get into places humans can’t, they do make good, ahem, scouts.” The veez’s eyes were closed in bliss at her scratching. “But you’ll find you’ll appreciate them as much for their nature. They’re affectionate and loyal.” She stopped scratching and straightened. The veez’s eyes opened wide and he stared up at her intently.
“Scatch?”
She ignored him and turned to Auraya. “We’ll be—”
“Scatch!”
“Enough,” she told him firmly. He ducked his head like a chastised child. “They can also be a bit demanding at this age. Just be firm with him.” She moved away from the chair, then looked at Auraya sidelong, her expression unreadable. Not for the first time, Auraya wished she could read the other woman’s mind as easily as she could now read most people’s.
“You said last night that you had visited an old friend in the afternoon,” Dyara said. “There are more than a few ‘scouts’ in the city who are anxious to prove themselves and gain work from me, who take it upon themselves to report what they see. This morning one of them claims that this friend you visited is a Dreamweaver. Is this true?”
Auraya regarded Dyara carefully. What should she say? But she would not lie to one of the White. Nor would she pretend to feel guilty for visiting her old friend.
“Yes,” she replied. “He is Dreamweaver Leiard, from my home village. I haven’t seen him in ten years. He brought the message of my mother’s death to the Temple. I wanted to thank him for that.”
“I gather he will be returning to his home again now that the message is delivered.”
“Probably.” Auraya shrugged. “I doubt he’ll stay here long. I can’t imagine city life would suit him. He has always been a solitary type.”
Dyara nodded. “The others will be at the Altar by now. We should not keep them waiting.”
Auraya felt her stomach flutter with both anxiety and excitement. For the first time she would sit with the other four White as they discussed their duties and responsibilities. They might give her a task to perform. If they did, she expected it would be a minor responsibility. Even if they didn’t, it would be interesting to hear what worldly matters they were involved in.
Dyara’s circ flared as she turned on her heel and strode to the door. Auraya followed. The cage was waiting for them. As they descended Auraya considered the “scouts’ Dyara had spoken of. She was disturbed by the news that strangers were watching her, but wondered if they truly had done so voluntarily. What was worse: that they had spied on her out of their own initiative, or that someone had asked them to?
Are my fellow White keeping an eye on me? If I arrange to meet Leiard again, will they try to discourage me? Should I let them? As the cage settled at the bottom of the stairwell, Auraya followed Dyara out. The gods chose me. They knew everything about me, including my friendship with Leiard and sympathy for Dreamweavers. If they hadn’t approved, they would have chosen someone else.
Or would they? Perhaps they tolerated that one aspect of her character in order to make use of others. However, until they told her not to, she would continue associating with Dreamweavers.
She shivered. When the news of her mother’s death had arrived she had feared the gods were making a point—that they were making it clear they disapproved of her use of a Dreamweaver’s services by killing her mother.
Ridiculous, she thought. The gods don’t work that way. When they want something, they tell you. Despite knowing this, she hadn’t been able to shake the fear until Leiard had assured her that her mother’s illness had been the cause of her death.
The air outside the Tower was warm and the sun’s heat promised a hot day to come. Dyara’s pace quickened. They reached the Dome, entered it and strode toward the dais and Altar at the center.
The other three White were waiting for them, seated at a circular table. Auraya felt her pulse racing as she drew closer, and memories of the Choosing Ceremony flashed through her mind. She followed Dyara onto the Altar.
“Welcome, Auraya,” Juran said warmly.
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Juran.”
As Dyara slipped into a seat, Auraya took the remaining chair. The five sides of the Altar began to move, hinging upward until their triangular points met. The walls glowed with a diffuse light.
Auraya glanced at the other White. Rian sat straight in his chair, but his gaze was distant. Even when he looked at Auraya, and acknowledged her with a nod, he seemed distracted. Mairae looked exactly as she had ten years before when she had come to Oralyn to negotiate with the Dunwayans. This evidence of the White’s immortality sent a shiver down Auraya’s spine. One day, she thought, someone will look at me and marvel at this sign of the gods’ powers.
Meeting Auraya’s gaze, Mairae smiled, then turned to look at Juran. The leader of the White had closed his eyes.
“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. Once again, we thank you for the peace and prosperity you have brought. We thank you for the opportunity to serve you. We thank you for the powers you have given us, that allow us to guide and help the men and women, old and young, of this world.”
“We thank you,” the others murmured. Auraya joined them, having been taught the ritual by Dyara.
“Today we will use the best of our wisdom in your service, but should we err in our judgment or work contrary to your great plans we ask you to speak to us and make your wishes known.”
“Guide us,” Auraya recited along with the others.
Juran opened his eyes and looked around the table.
“The gods have made it known to us that they wish for all of Northern Ithania to be united,” he said, looking at Auraya. “Not by war or conquest, but through a peaceful alliance. They wish for all the lands to choose and negotiate the terms of their alliance with us. Those lands that are not predominantly Circlian are more likely to ally with us for reasons of politics and trade rather than obedience to the gods. Peoples like the Siyee and Elai, who are suspicious of landwalkers, need to learn to trust us. Those peoples who are predominantly Circlian would obey an order from the gods, but if they felt an alliance was not fair or beneficial they would cause trouble for other lands.”
Juran looked at Dyara. “Let us discuss those allies we already have. Dyara?”
Dyara sighed and rolled her eyes. “The Arrins of Genria and the King of Toren are still antagonizing each other. Every time one of the Arrin families produces a son—which they seem to be doing every few months—Berro puts restrictions on imports from Genria. The royal high priest reminds him of the terms of the alliance, but it always takes several weeks for the restrictions to be lifted.”
“And the Genrians? How are they taking this?”
“With gritted teeth.” Dyara smiled. “It’s hardly their fault that Berro hasn’t produced a male. So far there have been remarkably few retaliatory moves. Every family with a boy is anxious to avoid offending the gods. Evidence, perhaps, that they have realized that Guire chose Laern as his successor because he was the only prince who hadn’t tried to murder another. But someone is making sure Berro hears promptly of the birth of every Arrin male.”
“Sounds like that someone ought to be found,” Juran said.
“Yes. The royal high priest is also encouraging Berro to adopt an heir, even if it is a temporary arrangement until he sires one. That might settle him down for now.”
Juran nodded, then turned to Mairae. “What of the Somreyans?”
Mairae grimaced. “They turned us d
own again.”
He frowned. “What was their reason this time?”
“A minor detail of the alliance terms. One member of the council protested against it, and others supported her.”
“It’s a wonder their country doesn’t fall apart,” Dyara said darkly. “Their council never agrees on anything. What was it this time?”
“The restriction that their Dreamweavers must only treat their own soldiers.”
“And this council member who protested is the Dreamweaver representative?”
Mairae nodded. “Yes. Dreamweaver Elder Arleej.” Auraya knew that this Dreamweaver elder was not only a member of the Council of Elders in Somrey, but the leader of the Dreamweavers. “I was surprised that others supported her. It is a minor point, and most of the council are keen to see this alliance signed. Keen enough to overlook something like this.”
“We knew Somrey would be difficult,” Rian said. “We can’t please every member of the council. Doing so would mean making too many compromises. I say we stand firm on this.”
Juran frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand. We haven’t asked them to change any of their ways. Why can’t they do the same for us?”
The others shrugged or spread their hands helplessly. Juran looked at each, then his gaze settled on Auraya and his expression became thoughtful.
“You knew a Dreamweaver during your early years, didn’t you, Auraya?”
His question was not accusatory, or even disapproving. She nodded slowly, aware that Dyara was watching her closely.
“You probably have a better understanding of their ways than the rest of us. Can you explain why they’re resisting this term of the alliance?”
Auraya glanced around the table, then straightened.
“All Dreamweavers make an oath to heal any person who needs and wants it.”
Juran’s eyebrows rose. “So this term of the alliance requires Dreamweavers to break their oath. The council doesn’t want to force them, so they refuse to sign the treaty.” He looked at Dyara. “Does Auraya have time to read the proposed treaty?”
Dyara’s shoulders lifted. “I can make time for it in her schedule.”
[Age of the Five 01] - Priestess of the White Page 8