[Age of the Five 03] - Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  “And have some of them come to the conclusion that my Choosing justifies violence against Dreamweavers?”

  “I can’t see why they would have. No, I think there may be other factors at work, though I can’t tell you what they are. That’s what we must discover.”

  “What would convince people to harm Dreamweavers, despite it being a crime? Do they pay us and our laws any attention at all?”

  She looked genuinely distressed, though he wasn’t sure if it was at the harming of Dreamweavers or the breaking of laws. “There will always be people who think they know better, who believe laws don’t apply to them. Or who twist the meaning of what the gods and White decree until it suits them better, so they can still believe they are working for the gods’ benefit while doing what they want to.”

  Ella sighed and looked away, her expression full of frustration. Following her gaze, he was surprised to see a spindle and a basket filled with fleece on a side table.

  Her work? he wondered. From the look on her face I’d say so.

  It seemed a ridiculously domestic task for one of the Gods’ Chosen, but it was clear from her expression that she wished she was doing it. Perhaps it was a link to her past, work that kept her humble in the face of the fame, power and responsibility of her new position. She turned back to him, looking suddenly determined.

  “What do you suggest I do to stop the violence?”

  He considered the problem.

  “Understand your adversary. If these people have always hated Dreamweavers, then why have they begun attacking them now?”

  “Auraya’s resignation? Are they blaming Dreamweavers for that?”

  “I doubt it.” He looked at her closely. “I can see no connection, though that doesn’t mean others won’t. Have you seen any in people’s minds?”

  She frowned. “I should confront the next crowd of protesters at the hospice and try a bit of mind-reading.”

  “Yes, but that won’t necessarily help you understand your adversary. You need to read the mind of those inciting the protests, or planning to murder a Dreamweaver. Since the mind-reading abilities of the White are well known, I doubt the people you want to find are going to be at a protest.”

  “So how can I find them?”

  “They must visit the area around the hospice from time to time, or send someone else to scout the area and select victims. If you were there, watching, concealed from sight, you might catch them at it.”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes. Though…it will be time-consuming.” She sighed. “I wish ordinary priests and priestesses could read minds. We’d find our murderers and conspirators faster if more of us were looking.”

  “If mind-reading was a Gift that priests and priestesses could possess, it would also be a Gift non-Circlians could have—and use for great evil.”

  She looked at him appraisingly. “Yes. You’re right. Any other advice?”

  He nodded. “There is a man in Jarime’s prison who murdered a Dreamweaver a month ago. I believe Dyara read his mind to confirm his guilt. If you read his mind you may learn to recognize the mind of a killer more easily from among the general populace.”

  Her eyes widened. “Read a murderer? I…I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?” he offered.

  “Do you want to? It could be unpleasant.”

  He shrugged. “I once accompanied Auraya on a similar visit.”

  Ella’s eyebrows rose. “Why did Auraya visit the prison?”

  “A Dreamweaver was accused of manipulating someone’s dreams.” Ella watched him unblinkingly as he explained. Bemused by the sudden intensity of her interest, he considered and dismissed the possibility that it was the Dreamweaver’s story that aroused such interest. No, he thought, she’s curious about Auraya. “She found him innocent,” he added.

  She straightened abruptly, her manner suddenly composed.

  “Could you arrange for me to visit this murderer?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “Would you like me to do that now?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, then rose to her feet and rubbed her hands together. Standing up, he followed her to the door. “What time would be suitable for you?”

  She considered. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “I will see what I can do.” He made the sign of the circle. “Good day, Ellareen of the White.”

  He stepped outside and started down the stairs. As he descended he considered Ella’s interest in Auraya. There had been more than curiosity in her manner.

  Perhaps jealousy, he thought. But what does she have to envy? She has everything that Auraya had…except the ability to fly. He smiled, remembering her obvious discomfort at the view from the Tower window. I doubt she covets that.

  If it wasn’t jealousy, what was it? She had been frowning. Surely it had not been disapproval. What reason did she have to disapprove of Auraya?

  He shook his head. Now I’m reading too much into her manner. If I start thinking in that direction I’ll end up like the city gossips, believing every rumor of scandal in regard to Auraya.

  Ellareen was merely curious about her predecessor, that was all.

  “That’s it?”

  Auraya stared at Jade in disbelief. The woman smiled, her green eyes glittering with amusement.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I thought you would teach it the same way Mirar taught me to heal—through a mind link.”

  Jade laughed. “If only that were possible. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to see into a shielded mind, so I can’t show you what I do to shield mine.”

  “So I’ve just got to work it out for myself? I don’t need anyone’s help?” Auraya frowned. “Then why am I here?”

  “You need someone able to sense your thoughts to tell you if they’re hidden or not.”

  Auraya nodded. “But you can only read my mind while mind-skimming. Are you planning to spend the entire time in a dream trance?”

  “All immortals can sense emotions,” Jade told her. “When I can no longer sense your emotions, I’ll attempt to skim your mind.”

  This was a new and interesting piece of information. Mirar must be able to sense emotions, too. He hadn’t been able to sense hers when she was a White, but he would be able to now. And she couldn’t read his mind any more.

  How the tables have turned, she mused. It’s just as well he isn’t here.

  “As I said,” Jade continued, “imagine drawing a veil across your mind. You can see out but nobody can see in.”

  Auraya tried. She pictured the veil over and over, even pictured a heavy sack over her head, but no matter what she did Jade could still sense her emotions.

  Soon she was feeling such strong frustration she knew even a Giftless mortal would have detected it. The hours dragged past. Eventually Jade sighed and put down the basket she was weaving.

  “That’s enough for tonight. It is late. Get some sleep.”

  Auraya smothered a smile at the woman’s dismissive manner. She lay on her bed and listened as Jade walked to the back of the cave and began rustling among the supplies.

  For a while she lay there, worrying. Tyve had told her that the priests in the Open had tried and failed to contact her through her priest ring. She had explained that hers was not working properly, though she didn’t tell him that the void was the cause.

  I have to hope that none of the White try to contact me, she thought. The sooner I can leave here the better.

  So…a veil over my mind, she thought. Sleep is sometimes described like that. So is it like falling asleep? She closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander. Slowly she relaxed and felt the tension of striving with her mind fade away. I’m more tired than I thought I was. It’s so good just letting my mind rest.

  :Auraya.

  The voice tugged her reluctantly back toward consciousness. For a moment she felt only annoyance, then she realized she knew the voice.

  :Mirar?

  There was a pause.

&n
bsp; :How are you faring?

  :You’re dream-linking…how is that possible? My priest ring doesn’t work in the void.

  :I don’t know, but I guess the ring must require unbroken magic between itself and another. Or perhaps the ring relies on a link to the gods to work.

  :So dream-linking and mind-skimming don’t require unbroken magic?

  :No. So, how are you faring?

  :If you mean at shielding my mind, then not well at all. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just stumble upon it by myself in a few days. She felt the frustration of the day shift into anger. Do you realize the risk you’ve forced me to take? The position you’ve put me in? The gods allowed me to resign and remain a priestess on the condition that I do not hamper them or ally myself with their enemies. It’s quite clear they consider you an enemy. I should have left here as soon as I knew that Jade was your friend, even if that meant the gods would discover her, even if that meant the gods might find you.

  :But you didn’t.

  :No. You’ve both taken advantage of me. Forced me to learn to hide my thoughts in order to protect you.

  :We’ve forced you to learn something that might save your life.

  :Or end it.

  :So you believe the gods will kill you if they can’t read your thoughts?

  Auraya paused. Anger and weariness were making her say illogical things.

  :No. It will just make matters worse between us. Is this your way of avenging yourself? Are you punishing me or trying to force me to turn from the gods?

  :Neither! I want to help you by teaching you to protect yourself. I want you to be all that you are meant to be—deserve to be! A powerful sorceress. An immortal. He paused. Don’t you want to be immortal?

  Auraya felt a shiver go through her. Do I? Of course I do. But I don’t want to be immortal if it means turning from the gods. I don’t want to be a Wild, hunted and hated.

  She felt anger deepen, but this time at the gods. Why does it have to be like that? I can be immortal and still worship the gods. Why must they stop me from becoming all I can be, when it is of no threat to them?

  Perhaps Chaia would allow her that freedom, but Huan never would. Huan wanted unquestioning obedience from her worshippers. I’ve already lost her regard by proving myself unworthy, she thought. Perhaps eventually she’ll forgive me. In the meantime it would be better not to give the goddess any further reason to distrust me.

  :Jade says when you taught me to heal you taught me enough so that I could discover the secret of immortality for myself, she said to Mirar. Perhaps one day I’ll be in a position to try it without offending the gods. But for now it’s pointless. What you call immortality isn’t true immortality. I can still be killed. And I will be, if I defy the gods again.

  Mirar was silent for a long time before he replied.

  :The gods can hold grudges for a very long time, Auraya. They might not use magic to kill you, but they can make sure age does it for them. And remember this: if I thought becoming immortal was the only reason the gods might kill you, I’d never have risked teaching you to heal.

  And with that, he was gone.

  6

  Older people are supposed to be the cautious ones, Ranaan thought as he followed Dreamweaver Fareeh down the dark alley. Younger people are the ones that rush into danger. So what’s wrong with us? Why is my teacher the one willing to take risks while I’m the one who’s scared out of his wits?

  They reached the end of the alley and Fareeh stopped to peer around a building into the larger street.

  Because I’m a coward, Ranaan told himself, and Fareeh isn’t. It’s easier for him, too. He’s Gifted and he’s big. I’m a skinny runt, and I know I haven’t even learned enough Gifts in six months to defend myself from an attack of dartflies.

  The big man stepped out into the street. Taking a deep breath, Ranaan forced himself to follow. They walked purposefully but kept to the shadows as much as possible. In this part of the city the only lamps that burned were those maintained by the occupants of the houses. The moon, however, was bright and round.

  Ranaan glanced at his teacher. The Dreamweaver’s quiet confidence reassured patients at the hospice. He was everything they liked about Dreamweavers: sturdy, calm, knowledgeable and patient. He made these trips out to visit sick people despite the dangers because he was a nice person.

  I just wish he didn’t insist I come with him.

  Ranaan grimaced. I am not a nice person. I’m a coward who’d rather let someone die than risk a beating. I don’t deserve such a good teacher.

  A door opened ahead. Ranaan’s heart began racing as three men stepped out, laughing. Fareeh did not even check his stride. He walked around them, Ranaan following.

  The young Dreamweaver’s legs were shaking as he and his teacher continued down the road. He strained his ears for sounds of pursuit. There were footsteps, growing quieter. Was that because the men were making an effort to make less noise?

  He looked behind. The men were walking in the other direction.

  “Nearly there,” Fareeh murmured.

  Ranaan glanced at his teacher and caught a knowing smile. He felt his face warm and said nothing. They turned into a lane. Fareeh paused and created a spark of light to illuminate the directions on the slip of paper he carried. He nodded, extinguished the light, and continued down the lane.

  The way turned around a protruding section of a building then ended. Fareeh slowed and began looking up at the buildings around them.

  “It says they have left a light in the…”

  His quiet words were lost behind the bang of a slammed door. Footsteps sounded behind them. Ranaan turned and felt his heart begin to race again. He counted eight, maybe nine figures fanning out to surround him and his teacher.

  “What are you doing here, Dreamweaver?”

  The accent was typical of the poor quarter, but there was something about it that sounded wrong to Ranaan.

  Fareeh gave the windows of the buildings one more quick glance.

  “Discovering that I am in the wrong place,” he replied. “The directions I was given appear to be incorrect.”

  “You’re right about that,” another voice said. Ranaan looked at the speaker. The man’s high voice did not match his heavy build.

  “We will trouble you no longer,” Fareeh said. He took a step toward the gap between two of the men, then stopped. The men had moved closer together to block him.

  Ranaan held back a groan of dismay and fear. His legs were shaking and he felt ill. He wondered if his heart could beat any faster. If it did, it might just leap out of his throat.

  A spark of light appeared, illuminating the palm of Fareeh’s hand. It brightened and Ranaan looked beyond to the faces of the men. His mouth went dry as he understood why the poor-quarter accent had sounded wrong.

  This was no street gang of the area. The accents had been faked. Though the clothes the men wore were plain, they were well made—casual wear for outdoor sports. Their smiles revealed near-flawless teeth. The high-voiced man was not muscular, but wore the fat of one who lived an indulgent life.

  One, a blond with immaculately trimmed hair, took a step forward.

  “You’re right,” he said. “You’re definitely not going to trouble us again.”

  Then the lane contorted with magic. Ranaan heard Fareeh tell him to stay within his shield. He huddled against his teacher as attacks came from all sides.

  All of them. They’re all Gifted. How can this be? Are the rich buying magical training for those sons who do not become priests?

  Fareeh gave a small grunt of anger. He reached behind and gripped Ranaan’s arm. Pulling his student around, he leaned close.

  “I’ll hold them,” he murmured. “You go. Go to the hospice. Get help.”

  Ranaan staggered as Fareeh propelled him away. He saw the strangers turn to attack him and felt a rush of terror. His legs found their strength and he fled. Nothing stopped him. No one stepped out from the darkness to block his path.
At the end of the street he threw himself around the corner and ran.

  A few streets later he realized he wasn’t being followed and the feeling of panic subsided. He stopped as his mind began to work again and he realized two things: Fareeh wouldn’t have sent Ranaan for help if he’d thought he could free himself alone. He must be outnumbered.

  Of course he’s outnumbered. There were eight of them!

  The hospice was several streets away. Fareeh couldn’t possibly hold eight sorcerers off long enough for Ranaan to return with help.

  I should go back and help him, he thought.

  Don’t be stupid. What can you do? Recite herb cures to them?

  Indecision paralyzed him. Suddenly he realized he could hear voices behind him. Laughter. Crows of delight. He recognized the high-pitched voice of the fat man and shuddered.

  Realizing he was standing right in the pool of light cast by a lamp he spun around, searching for a hiding place. The closest was the shallow alcove of a doorway. He dashed into it and pressed himself against the door-frame, trembling.

  The voices grew louder. Words like “easy” and “pathetic” and “good work” reached him. Then one of the men told the others to shut up.

  They quietened. Urgent discussion followed, then footsteps. Ranaan held his breath as the men strode toward his hiding place.

  “Hurry up!”

  The steps quickened. Two men ran past Ranaan. They disappeared down the end of the street. Other footsteps faded away as the men separated and headed in different directions.

  Ranaan then listened to the sounds of the street: the tiny rustlings of what he hoped were animals, the faint voices of an argument somewhere inside the house he stood beside, the trickle of water or sewage somewhere below.

  Caution and fear fought the need to discover Fareeh’s fate. Finally, certain that the attackers were gone, he emerged from the doorway. He crept along the wall to the corner and peered into the lane. There were too many shadowed places there for him to be sure no one waited for him. With heart hammering, he forced himself to step into the lane.

  His breathing seemed unnaturally loud. He reached the protruding building and peered around it. The lane was dark, but as he stared at the ground he began to make out a man-sized shape.