Reivan looked at Imenja, surprised and horrified to learn that she had not been the only Servant to experience Nekaun’s idea of “thrilling” lovemaking.
“I think we should apply the strictest of our laws,” Genza said. Vervel and Shar nodded.
Imenja spun around to face Nekaun.
“Nekaun, formerly First Voice of the Gods, I hereby charge you with the rape of a Servant, of which I know you are thrice guilty. What do you have to say in your defense?”
Nekaun had slowed to a stop, his expression incredulous. Reivan glanced at all the Voices’ faces, heart pounding with both dread and a dark hope. Surely they wouldn’t... but they weren’t going to tolerate Nekaun as their ruler now that they didn’t have to.
Recovering from his surprise, he sneered at Imenja.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I am daring,” she told him.
“The gods will never allow it.”
“The gods are dead, Nekaun.”
He rolled his eyes. “You really are a fool if you believe that. Even if it were true, nobody is going to believe it - or this charge. They’ll think it’s nothing but a convenient lie invented to get rid of me. The people voted for me, remember. They won’t like you defying their decision.”
Imenja looked at the Elai king. “Your majesty, would you do me the favor of thinking of a word. Don’t speak it aloud.”
He frowned, then shrugged.
“Rebellion,” Imenja said. “Am I correct?”
The king nodded.
“Think of another.” She paused. “Treaty,” she said. The king nodded again. After repeating the exercise three more times, Imenja looked around at the Voices, Servants and advisers. “Are you all satisfied that I can still read minds?”
All nodded.
“Do you believe me when I say Nekaun is guilty as charged?”
All nodded.
“Will you testify to this, if this is ever contested?”
All nodded. Satisfied, Imenja turned to regard Nekaun.
“If I could charge you with incompetence and get the same result, I would,” she told him. “But the charge of rape of a Servant is much more serious, and it would not be fair to the women you harmed to deny them justice.” She looked at her fellow Voices.
Vervel nodded. “A single charge is punishable by ten years of slavery. A second earns a lifetime of slavery. A third—”
“- is punishable by death,” Nekaun finished. He crossed his arms. “You don’t stand a—”
Heat seared Reivan’s face. She heard Imenja utter a cry of fury and the air filled with light and sound. Then all was quiet. Reivan stared at the scene around her. Several Servants lay on the ground, some groaning, some still. Imenja, Vervel, Genza and Shar stood over a charred body, still twitching.
Nekaun, she thought. He’s not going to recover from that. The thought brought an unexpectedly powerful relief, but as she looked at the burned flesh her cheek began to hurt. A lot. Imenja looked up at her and her expression softened into sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Reivan,” she said, hurrying over. “I didn’t protect you in time. I expected him to strike at the Voices, not the Servants.”
Reivan shook her head. “It’s nothing.” She looked at Nekaun’s body. It had stopped twitching. “I guess you’ve made a fine example of him.”
Imenja gasped out a laugh. “Oh, I think we have. You’ve got to make a few examples on the road to ruling the world. I can’t think of a better one to start with than our former First Voice.”
Reivan looked closely at Imenja, but she couldn’t decide if her mistress was serious or not. Imenja glanced at her. “What is it?”
“You... you don’t seem that upset about the death of the gods.”
“Oh, I’m upset,” Imenja said with feeling. “And angry. Yes, and getting angrier. But I haven’t decided what to do about that.”
“Hunt down Auraya and kill her?”
“I’m not angry with Auraya.”
Reivan lifted her eyebrows in surprise. It caused the skin on her cheek to stretch, and she winced.
Imenja frowned. “I’ll explain later. We have to get you to a Dreamweaver.” She looked at the Servants on the ground, then at those still standing. “Go back and get help,” she told them. “Don’t rely on your pendants working.” Two of the Servants nodded and hurried away.
King Ais cleared his throat. “If you do not need me, Second Voice, I will return to my people.”
She looked at him and nodded. “Yes. Thank you for your assistance, King Ais. It was very much appreciated.”
He smiled faintly. “I am guessing it is no longer required.”
“No. But we would be honored to continue working with your people in the future.”
He bowed slightly. “As we would be honored to work with you and yours. Goodbye. And good luck.”
All watched him move to the edge of the road. He slid out of sight down the embankment, then a moment later they heard a faint splash. Imenja turned to Reivan and smiled.
“We have much to do, and I hope you’ll help me do it.”
“Of course I will,” Reivan said. “Whatever happens, I’m still your Companion.”
Smiling broadly, Imenja took her arm and they both started along the Isthmus, toward home and a new and unexpected future.
The White walked slowly and silently back to Diamyane, their heads bowed and their faces lined with grief and shock. None of the other advisers approached them, so Danjin did not either.
He did not understand what had happened. Questions crowded his mind. What had Auraya done? Were Mirar and the Dreamweaver woman who had run forward despite Arleej’s protest a part of it? Why was Auraya so upset when she left?
He remembered how Mirar had comforted her, then guided her off the Isthmus to a boat, and he felt anger stirring. There was something between them still. That was obvious.
At last the White reached the end of the Isthmus. High priests and priestesses waited expectantly, ready for the battle to begin. The White stopped and exchanged glances. Juran looked back at the advisers and Dreamweavers who had followed them to the meeting with the enemy, then raised a hand to indicate the other White should wait.
When Danjin and the others arrived, Juran surveyed all who were watching.
“The gods are dead,” he said. “Both the Circle and the Five are gone. There will be no battle. Pack up and prepare for the journey home.”
A stunned silence followed, then questions burst out. The White ignored them. They exchanged a few words, then parted, each heading in a different direction. Seeing Ella heading toward the docks, Danjin sprinted after her.
“Ellareen!” he called as he neared her. She paused and looked around at him. He stopped, shocked, as he realized that tears ran down her cheeks.
“Hello, Danjin,” she said, wiping her face.
“What happened?” he heard himself demand.
She looked away. “Exactly what Juran said. The gods are dead.”
“How?”
“Auraya...” Ella’s voice was tight with emotion. Her eyes were fixed on the Isthmus. “The other Wilds. They trapped them. They killed them.”
Shocked, Danjin could say nothing. Auraya did betray us, he thought. But not by joining the Pentadrians, as we feared. By joining the Wilds.
Ella started down the dock toward a group of Dunwayans working on a ship they had hoisted up out of the water. She didn’t turn to see if he followed. Looking beyond, he realized that every ship sat at an angle, their decks awash with water. Further from the shore a forest of masts had replaced the warships of the Dunwayans.
All sunk.
The Elai were the only people who got to practice their fighting skills in this war, he found himself thinking. The Dunwayans will be disappointed to hear the battle is not going to happen now.
The war had been abandoned. He ought to have been relieved at that, but instead he felt empty. Ella stopped and he managed to catch up with her.
“Th
e Elai,” she muttered, staring out at the water. “Must do something about them.”
Then she strode away again. Looking in the direction she had been staring, Danjin saw a distant shape. A tiny boat, three figures aboard. Something flashed a vivid blue.
Auraya, he thought. The Wilds. The gods were right all along. They are dangerous. If they can kill gods, what else can they do?
He shivered, suddenly cold. Thrusting his hands under his vest, he felt something hard in one of the internal pockets. Reaching inside, he pulled it out.
A smooth white ring lay in his palm. He felt a chill spread to his bones. It was Auraya’s link ring. Ella hadn’t asked for it back the previous night, so Danjin had pocketed it until he had a chance to give it to her.
Memories arose of the first time he had met Auraya. He had thought she would make a good White. Later he had come to love her like a daughter, and admire her for her compassion and intelligence. He had worked hard for her. He had worried about her while she was imprisoned in Glymma. He had never doubted her.
She betrayed us, he thought. She turned on the gods. She killed them.
Closing his fingers around the ring, he drew back his arm, moved to the water’s edge, then threw it with all his strength. It disappeared into the murky water.
Then, turning away, he started back toward the town.
Neither Mirar, Emerahl or Auraya said anything during the journey to the Sennon shore. Mirar watched Auraya closely. She stared at the bottom of the boat, her expression closed and distant.
I will have to tell the others of Huan’s trickery, and that Auraya learned too late that Chaia didn’t try to kill her, he told himself. And that he killed himself and the others. They won’t understand why she grieves, otherwise.
He couldn’t feel the same sorrow. Chaia had done terrible things in his time. The world was better off without him. But Mirar knew he would not be able to express such an opinion to Auraya. Ever.
Finally the bottom of the boat scraped against sand. Auraya looked behind at the shore, then braced herself as Emerahl used magic to push the vessel high up out of the water, next to another.
The three of them rose and stepped out. They were in a small bay. Sand dunes hid them from the sight of all but passing boats. Three more figures waited, sitting on the beach. They had lit a small camp fire. Mirar caught the smell of cooking fish.
“This is a fine welcome,” he said.
“The Gull provided the fish,” Surim said. He handed Mirar a mug. “I brought the kahr.”
Mirar drank a mouthful of the strong liquor. “Ah!” he sighed. “I needed that. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to contribute.”
“You brought us Auraya,” Tamun said.
They all looked at Auraya, who remained silent, staring into the fire.
“So, what will we all do now?” Surim asked. He filled another mug with kahr and handed it to Emerahl. “Any plans?”
Emerahl shrugged. “I have always wanted to start a school of sorcery and healing.”
Mirar looked at her in surprise. “I thought you decided you never wanted to be the center of anything again, after being worshipped as The Hag?”
“I never meant that to happen, and I spent all my energy trying to escape it. Maybe if I start something myself, and put my energy into controlling it, it will work out differently. Besides,” she lifted her mug in salute to him, “I’ve got an expert to consult on founding and controlling a group of sorcerers. What are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Help Dreamweavers recover from the last hundred or so years. This time I have two continents to roam. I always knew my people spread into the south; I don’t know why I never visited them before.”
“Because the gods were doing worrying things in the north,” Surim answered.
“What about you two?” Emerahl asked, looking at Surim and Tamun. “What will you do?”
Surim looked at his sister. “Stop hiding, for a start. I’d like to travel.”
“I don’t want to go back to being famous,” Tamun said. “How can we give people advice, anyway? We don’t know how the death of the gods will change things.” She looked at her brother. “I don’t want to travel yet, either. I think...” She paused to consider. “I think I’d like to settle somewhere. A place where people make things. Craftspeople. Artists. That sort of thing.”
“And I will visit you - maybe I’ll sell what your people make!” Surim exclaimed. “I could become a merchant!”
The Gull chuckled. “I guess I’ll be seeing you on the water.”
“You’re not going to change anything, are you?” Emerahl said.
The boy shook his head. “The sea is my home. It took me a thousand years to find it, and I see no reason to change.”
They fell into a thoughtful silence. A thousand years before he became The Gull, Mirar thought. And he was a legend before I became immortal. How old is he?
“I’m going back to Si,” Auraya said. They all looked at her. Mirar felt his heart lift. She’ll be all right, he thought. In time she’ll forget about the gods, and Chaia. And she has plenty of time to do so.
Auraya frowned. “After I retrieve Mischief,” she added. She touched the blue cloth wound around her body. “And pay that merchant for this and the food I took.”
Emerahl chuckled. “You’ll need some money, then.”
Auraya looked up. “Yes.”
“I have the next best thing. I buried it not far from here, actually.”
“The treasure,” Surim said.
Emerahl smiled. “Yes. I think I can spare a little for Auraya. After all, she couldn’t have turned up in rags - or with no clothes on. That just wouldn’t have been right.”
“I don’t know...” Mirar disagreed.
“Mischief,” Surim said. “Didn’t he free Auraya? Who is this man?”
“A veez,” Mirar said.
Surim looked at Mirar in surprise, then grinned. “Do you mean that, after all you did - or failed to do - to free Auraya, it was a veez that managed it?”
“Yes,” Emerahl replied.
Surim laughed. “I wonder if this poor creature realizes it spoiled any chances you had that Auraya would fall into your arms in gratitude.”
Emerahl snorted. “For the sake of women everywhere, tell me you wouldn’t have done that, Auraya.”
The corner of Auraya’s mouth twitched upward. “I might have. I might not.” She looked at Mirar. “I guess we’ll never know.”
He shrugged. “The past can’t be changed. But the future looks good. Full of endless possibilities.”
Looking away, he saw that the others were exchanging smug grins before they quickly smoothed their expressions.
“And no gods,” Emerahl added.
“But still plenty of mortals,” The Gull said. “Don’t underestimate them. They can be as dangerous as gods. More dangerous, as the gods were limited by the need for willing followers to do their work.”
The others considered this silently.
“We should stay in contact,” Emerahl said, looking around. “Visit each other - and perhaps meet once a year.”
“Yes,” Surim agreed. “Perhaps at Tamun’s new empire of artists.”
Mirar was pleased to see Auraya nodding.
“I’ll visit you all, so long as you let me know where you are, as I travel around the continents,” he said. He looked at Auraya. “Will I be welcome in Si?”
She almost smiled. “Of course.”
Mirar felt his heart stir with hope. Careful, he told himself. Don’t jump to any conclusions. You mustn’t rush her. She needs time to recover from everything that’s happened.
Emerahl rose to her feet. “If we’re going to get this treasure, we’d better do it before we drink too much.” She looked at Auraya. “Would you help me carry it?”
Auraya shrugged, then rose and followed Emerahl into the sand dunes. Looking at her wasted body, Mirar felt a pang of concern. Help her carry it? I don’t think so. He got to his feet and
followed.
He caught up with Auraya soon after. She was out of breath, and had stopped. Emerahl’s tracks led away, over the top of a dune. Auraya turned to smile ruefully at him.
“Your healing method does have its limitations,” she told him.
He nodded. “You can only draw upon the resources you have. But a few meals should help fix that.”
Auraya nodded and looked at the ground, frowning. Concerned, he moved closer.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up, then smiled and, without warning, stepped close and kissed him on the mouth. It was more than a mere friendly kiss, but it was brief.
It left him frozen in surprise, heart pounding.
“What was that for?” he managed eventually.
“A thank you,” she said. “All through my... my captivity you kept me company. You gave me hope and courage.” She paused. “And as you said, the future is full of endless possibilities.”
She smiled and, not waiting for him to say anything in return, turned away to determinedly follow Emerahl’s footsteps up the sand dune.
Mirar watched her disappear over the top, then followed, knowing he was grinning like a fool, and not caring.
Epilogue
The man that walked hesitantly through the door was thin and lean. His clothes were simple but the cloth was not poor quality, and his sandals were new. Despite his nervousness, he walked with the ease of a man confident of his place in the world. His hair was gray and his skin wrinkled, but his gaze was direct and sharp.
Propped up on pillows, the Emperor of Sennon assessed the man out of old habit and with skill learned over his long life. Though he saw intelligence and confidence in this man, he also noted with relief the absence of a certain hardness of demeanor he had come to recognize in men who were ambitious, greedy or cruel.
But the man is a fanatic, he decided. I can spot them a hundred paces off.
The man took in the bed, the emperor and his companion in one quick glance, then dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor.
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