Looking back out, he regarded the dark waves that surged around the stack. He could see no sign of the shipwreck. Even had it been a bright, clear day he wouldn’t have been able to see that far. But he stilled his mind and reached outward.
Silence.
The Gull shook his head and sighed. They had probably all drowned. The irony was, he had intended to sink the raider ship himself, but at the right time. Once he’d had time to get to know the crew, to sort the ill-fated from the ill-natured.
He hadn’t had time. If he hadn’t been asleep he might have sensed the approach of the Elai and been able to warn or help those of the crew who were worth saving. But he needed to sleep, just as any mortal did.
Yet he didn’t waste effort in annoyance at the Elai. Their attacks on the raider ships were justified after all they had suffered. He did worry where their newfound confidence and taste for killing would take them, but he wouldn’t try to steer it. Though he and the Elai were both famous for their relationship to the sea, they had no other connection. For millennia he had been a legendary figure of the folklore of landwalkers, whom the Elai hated. The Elai were a young race created by a goddess who hated immortals.
Huan, he thought darkly. He frowned as he remembered the strange distorted creatures, dead or barely alive, that he had chanced upon long ago. They kept appearing, for over a century. Only when the early ancestors of the Elai appeared toward the end of that century had he found an answer to the mystery. The twisted creatures had been the experiments and failures of the sorcerers fulfilling Huan’s great ambition to create a people adapted to living in the sea. She and her followers didn’t suffer as the animals and people did. At least the people chose their fate, though I’m sure they didn’t expect to be cast out to sea or left to die when the work failed.
Eventually Huan had succeeded. Out of a goddess’s vision and mortals’ willingness to do her bidding had come two miraculous peoples, the Elai and the Siyee. Out of cruelty had come beauty. This was the way of the ocean, too. Sometimes the most beautiful creatures were the most deadly. Starfan fish were brightly colored, but so venomous one prick of their spines could kill in a few breaths. The doi was a playful, intelligent creature, loyal and affectionate. Sailors believed that doi swimming in the prow wave of their ship was a sign of good luck. But The Gull had seen doi treat their own kind with a cruelty he had otherwise only observed in humans.
He shrugged. The gods had once been mortals. They were driven by the same emotions and needs. Therefore it was no surprise they could be as cruel as humans. The trouble was, while the occasional human was inclined to behave badly, all of the gods had dealt cruelly with humanity at some point.
No, not all, he corrected. The old gods weren’t all bad. Is it so strange that those remaining are cruel? They were the ones willing to murder the rest.
His mind was beginning to wander in old and familiar circles. He didn’t mind that, but he had agreed to contact The Twins tonight. Moving to the back of the cave, he lay down on some old blankets. He closed his eyes and sent out a mental call.
:Gull, Tamun answered. You’re late.
:Ignore her, Surim added. She’s grumpy.
:Oh? Why is that?
:Everything is happening too fast. It scares her.
:I am not scared! Tamun protested.
:Not a bit, Surim agreed unconvincingly.
:What is happening too fast? The Gull asked.
:Emerahl wants us to go to Diamyane, Surim explained. And you, too.
:She wants to attempt to kill the gods?
:Only if an opportunity arises. She has rightly pointed out that it would be a shame if one does and we are not there to take advantage of it.
:That is true.
:Are you willing to go to Diamyane, hang about in the middle of a battlefield with all the risks of being discovered that it entails, just in case Auraya somehow manages to escape and decides to help us kill her precious gods?
The Gull considered. He could see the advantages of being in the place where the White and the Voices clashed. The gods were sure to be present. They might be able to kill several at once.
Yet he could also see that the chances that everything would fall into place were slim.
But if there was even a slim chance...
:Yes, he said. If I remain hidden in the water, discovery is unlikely.
Tamun cursed.
:Sorry, sister, Surim said. Emerahl wins this time. We had better start packing.
:And I have a long way to travel, The Gull added.
:Will you make it in time?
:Yes, if I leave tonight.
:Then travel well. We will speak to you again tomorrow night, Surim finished.
Opening his eyes, The Gull stared up at the roof of the cave. He rose and moved to the cave entrance. Closing his eyes again he sent out his mind, seeking a familiar pattern of thought.
It did not take him long to find it. Slow, male and calm, the mind roused at his familiar presence. He posed a query; it answered with an affirmative.
Pleased, The Gull waited.
Some time later he felt the same mind’s anticipation of arrival. Looking down, he saw the great head of the roale, as large as a fishing boat, surge up out of the water, turn and crash down again. One eye glinted in the starlight.
:Thank you, he said to it. We will swim south together, where the water is warm and full of fish.
:Yes, the roale replied. Food.
Stretching out his arms, The Gull leapt from the stack and dived into the sea.
Every time the Voices gathered without Nekaun present Reivan felt uneasy, yet she no longer felt comfortable in his presence either.
The other Voices weren’t conspiring against him, yet in his absence they were more likely to voice their opinions. It didn’t help that they often discussed ways to lessen the impact of his mistakes, or verged on complaining about his methods.
Today they were discussing the Sanctuary’s remaining honored guest, the Dreamweaver Mirar. Though Reivan had seen him several times now, she found it hard to believe this man was over a thousand years old. It wasn’t that he looked no older than thirty - Imenja was far older than she appeared as well, but she had a bearing that suggested the confidence and wisdom of an older woman. Mirar lacked the aura of power Reivan had expected. He seemed too humble to be a great sorcerer of legend and the founder of a cult as old as the Dreamweavers.
The Voices were concerned with more important matters.
“So can Mirar read minds or can’t he?” Shar asked.
“He can’t,” Genza replied.
“But your test worked. He reacted.”
“He sensed a threat to himself, but not its nature,” Genza explained. “If he had known what the threat was he would never have stepped into the alcove. That indicates he has an ability to sense the mood of those around him, not read minds.”
“If I’d been observing people for a thousand or so years I would be able to sense moods too,” Vervel said. “Is it a magical ability or good observation?”
“The assassin was out of sight,” Genza reminded him. “This isn’t observation, it’s a Skill.”
“There is one final test I’d like to make,” Imenja said. The others turned to regard her. “A test that would surely betray his ability.”
“What is that?”
“Allow our Companions to know the true nature of the relationship between Mirar and Auraya.”
The other three Voices exchanged glances.
“If he can read minds, he will know we know,” Vervel pointed out.
“Yes. But he will also read that it only improves his position. That we have something to offer in exchange for his help in the battle. So long as he knows we are willing to make that offer, we will have his cooperation.”
“But we may lose it if Auraya dies,” Genza added.
“Most likely,” Imenja agreed. The Voices exchanged long looks, then she nodded. As she spoke her gaze moved from one Companion to the ne
xt.
“The gods have told us Mirar and Auraya were once lovers. It is more likely that he wishes to rescue her than kill her.”
Lovers? Reivan straightened in surprise. Surely not!
“She worships the gods who want him dead!” Vervel’s Companion, Karkel, protested.
Reivan remembered something else. “Mirar said Auraya tried to kill him. Was that a lie?”
“Probably,” Shar replied.
“Does this mean he is a spy for the White?” Vilvan, Genza’s Companion, asked.
“The gods did not say so.” Imenja spread her hands. “They just warned that he would try to rescue her.”
“By asking if he can deliver the news of the White’s defeat to her, he ensures she lives a little longer,” Genza said.
“By suggesting we’ll give her to him, we ensure he does help us during the battle,” Shar added.
Genza frowned. “We’re not actually going to give him Auraya in exchange for his help, are we?”
Imenja sighed. “If we want to stay on good terms with Mirar, we must consider it. I don’t like the idea, but once the White are gone Auraya would be of little threat to us. Nekaun does not agree. He’ll keep her alive only so long as Mirar is useful.”
Vervel chuckled. “I feel a bit sorry for Mirar. He seems a good man.”
“If Mirar is a good man, he will not want to endanger his people through his actions,” Shar added darkly.
Vervel grimaced. “If he still loves Auraya, incredible as that may be, he has a difficult choice ahead of him. He may have to choose between his lover and his people. Now I feel even more sorry for him.”
Shar snorted. “I can’t feel sorry for anyone who has such bad taste in women,” he muttered.
Imenja’s lips twitched into a smile, then her expression grew serious. “I don’t think we should force such a choice on Mirar. Dreamweavers are a people of great usefulness who are of little threat to us. We should not risk spoiling our friendship with them because of a personal dislike of Auraya or our desire for revenge. Then we would be no better than the Circlians.”
“I agree with you,” Vervel said. “This may be why the gods want her alive.”
“For now. If Auraya proves a nuisance, we can get rid of her later. And she is, after all, only mortal,” Shar said.
“But what of Nekaun?” Genza asked. “We all know how much he wants to kill her.”
Imenja paused, then lifted her head and looked at each of them in turn. “If we are in agreement on this, we can persuade him otherwise.”
The room fell silent. Reivan’s heart was racing. Imenja was suggesting they unite against Nekaun. Until now the others had never been willing to stand against the First Voice.
“I will at least try,” Vervel said.
“And I,” Genza added.
Shar shrugged. “He would not defy the gods, but if he tries, I will give you my support.”
Silence followed. Imenja bowed her head.
“Thank you.” She drew in a deep breath, then stood up. “Reivan and I will now test whether Mirar can read minds. If not, I should still be able to ensure Mirar doesn’t attempt to rescue Auraya and spoil our plans.”
“How will you do that?” Genza asked.
Imenja smiled. “I will merely let him know that if he helps us win this war, we will give him Auraya to do with as he wishes afterward.”
Shar chuckled. “He’ll think we’re playing right into his hands. Unless, of course, he can read minds.”
“I guess we’re about to find out,” Genza concluded.
46
As Auraya woke she recalled where she was, and groaned. The trouble with regaining some strength was that she was able to feel and think with more energy. Mostly she felt boredom and frustration. She had returned to her mind-skimming, but it seemed the only subject on the minds of people outside the hall was war.
War, war, war, she thought. I can’t blame them for being so caught up in it, but I so wish they could think about something else or at least get it over with. This waiting is unbearable.
Yet every moment brought her death closer. Was she so keen to die?
It would be much more comfortable than this, she thought wryly. And perhaps then Mischief would leave me and find his way to a safe place. She felt a pang of anxiety. He hadn’t appeared since Nekaun’s last visit, when the Servants had first treated her with their cures. Reaching out with her mind, she called his name.
:Mischief?
A familiar mind touched her own, sending a formless reassurance, and she sighed with relief. Wherever he was, he was not frightened or hurt.
:Mischief doing what?
:Hunting, he told her.
She smiled. He had become proficient at it, dragging birds and small creatures down into the hall. Sometimes he offered them to her, but even if she could have brought herself to eat them it would be almost impossible to do so without her hands. She might have managed to swallow the smaller of them whole, but the thought made her stomach turn.
Satisfied that the veez was well, she closed her eyes and sent her mind out. First she searched the minds in the Sanctuary for signs of Mirar. She saw news spreading among the domestics awake at this early hour. Mirar had agreed to join the Voices in the battle. He would lend his strength to their defense, but as Dreamweavers abhorred violence he would not join any attack on the enemy.
How clever of you, Mirar, she thought.
:Auraya?
Surprised, she slipped into a dream-link.
:Mirar? Did you hear me thinking?
:No. What were you thinking about?
:You.
:Really? I hope they were good thoughts.
:I just heard the latest gossip. The legendary Mirar has agreed to help the Voices, but only in defense.
:Ah. Yes. A compromise. I’m... sorry. If I could do this without harming your former colleagues I would.
She paused as she realized what he was referring to. If he helped the Voices, the White would probably be defeated. Juran, Dyara, Mairae and Rian would die - and the new White, Ellareen.
I can’t blame him for deciding to take this path, she thought. He must stay on good terms with the Voices for the sake of his people. And if the White win, Dreamweavers in Southern Ithania will be treated as they are in the north. Even though the situation is improving in the north, it will take years for people to come close to respecting Dreamweavers like the Pentadrians do. And they may never do so.
Yet she did not want the White to die. Or for Northern Ithania to be taken over by the Pentadrians. The thought of Nekaun ruling the north made her feel nauseous.
:We are leaving Glymma today, Mirar told her. It will take less than a day to reach the Isthmus. Last night Second Voice Imenja promised me that they would give you to me in exchange for my help, after the battle. I have no idea how long this battle will last. The Isthmus will lessen the numbers of soldiers that can face each other at once. The Dunwayan fleet and Pentadrian warships don’t have that problem, of course, so maybe it will be a sea battle. Then there’s the White and the Voices. Will they fight at the same time on the ships or Isthmus, or wait until later?
:If the Voices have the magical advantage, they will force the White to fight them from the start, Auraya said. Fewer of their own people will die.
:True.
:If your help brings about a quick conclusion, at least you will be saving mortal lives.
:I hope so. He hesitated. I have sent out a message to my own people subtly suggesting they use their magic in defense of whichever side they wish to support, Pentadrian or Circlian.
:How will the Voices react to this? They will suspect you ordered it!
:I will point out that while I can’t give them orders, I also can’t prevent my people emulating me. I could hardly forbid them to do something I am doing. And the advantage is still the Voices’ because I and the Dreamweavers here are stronger than those of my people defending the Circlians.
:You are too clever for your
own good, she told him.
:Am I? You must tell Emer—... wait. Someone is knocking on my door. I must go.
:Good luck.
:You too.
Then he was gone. Auraya stared at the floor and felt her heart twist.
I hope he knows what he’s doing. If he dies... She swallowed hard. I think I’d actually regret it. And not just because the last of Leiard dies with him. Or that I’ll probably die, too. I think I’d actually regret knowing Mirar the Wild no longer existed.
The wide Parade outside the Sanctuary was well-suited for assembling an army. Thousands filled the space. Servants dressed in black robes stood in neat, disciplined rows on one side, soldiers in black uniforms with shining armor stood in rigid formation on the other. Highly decorated litters for the Voices and their Companions and advisers waited before the stairs. Larger four-wheeled tarns laden with supplies were lined up at the distant rear of the assembly.
It was an impressive sight. If Mirar hadn’t seen entire armies perish before handfuls of sorcerers, he would have thought the Pentadrians sure of victory.
If it weren’t for a handful of sorcerers, urged on by their gods, would these people even be here? he asked himself. It was an impossible question to answer. The world had never been free of gods, so who could guess how mortals would behave without them? He had seen wars waged for reasons as flimsy as revenge for an insult, or simple greed. Mortals did not need gods to order them to kill each other. They were quite capable of finding reasons to do so themselves.
First Voice Nekaun stepped forward to address the crowd. Mirar stopped listening after a few sentences. He had heard it all before.
“What are you thinking about?” a voice said softly at his shoulder.
He turned to find the Second Voice regarding him.
“The futility of war,” he replied.
Imenja smiled. He found her likeable, but she had lived long enough to have refined her skill at putting others at their ease so well it was undetectable.
“You think this war is futile?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Even if you kill the White and defeat the Circlians, the Circle of Gods will still exist.”
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