The Last of the Wilds aotft-2

by Trudi Canavan

  “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 im
agine 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.”