Priestess of the White

by Trudi Canavan

  “The shield I taught you to make last time will hold off most types of attacks,” Dyara said, her voice taking on a now-familiar lecturing tone. “It will deflect projectiles, flame and force, but it won’t stop lightning. Fortunately, lightning is naturally attracted to the ground. It will take the easiest route—through you. To prevent that you have to give it an alternative route, and you have to do it quickly.”

  Dyara held out a hand. A tortured ribbon of light flashed from her fingers to the ground and a deafening crack echoed across the field. A burn marked the grass. The air sizzled.

  “When do I get to do that?” Auraya breathed.

  “Only when you’ve learned to defend against it,” Dyara replied. “I will begin with small strikes, aiming at the same place. You must try to alter its course.”

  At first Auraya felt as if she had been ordered to catch sunlight in her hand. The lightning strikes happened too quickly for her to sense anything about them. She noticed the wriggly line of light was never the same. It must have a reason to follow a different path. Something about the air.

  :Dyara? Auraya? a voice said in Auraya’s mind.

  Dyara’s head snapped up. She had obviously heard it too.

  :Juran? she replied. Auraya glanced toward the field, but the two riders were no longer there.

  :Rian has found the Pentadrian. Focus on his mind through mine.

  Dyara looked at Auraya, then nodded. Closing her eyes, Auraya sought Juran’s mind. As she linked with him she sensed Mairae and Dyara, but Rian’s thoughts demanded attention. From him came sounds and images. A forest. A half-ruined stone house. A man in black clothing standing in the doorway. She drew in a breath in wonder as she discovered she could see what Rian was viewing as clearly as if she were standing in his place. She could also sense him drawing magic in order to feed the shield of protection around him.

  The Pentadrian was watching Rian approaching. Vorns were all around him. He reached out and stroked the head of one sitting beside him, murmuring in his strange language.

  Rian stopped and dismounted. He sent an instruction to the mind of his Bearer. It galloped away.

  The sorcerer crossed his arms. “You come to catch me, priest?”

  “No,” Rian said. “I have come to kill you.”

  The sorcerer smiled. “That not polite.”

  “It is what you deserve, murderer.”

  “Murderer? Me? You speak of priests and men, yes? I only defend myself. They attack first.”

  “Did the farmers and merchants you killed attack you first?” Rian asked.

  :I can’t read his mind, Rian said. His thoughts are shielded.

  :Then he could be dangerous, Juran said.

  :As powerful as one of the immortals of the past Age. This will be an interesting fight, Rian replied.

  “I not attack farmers and merchants,” the sorcerer said. He scratched the head of a vorn. “My friends hungry. They not given respect or food. You people not polite or respect me and my friends from day I here. Now you say you kill me.” He shook his head. “You people not friendly.”

  “Not to murderers,” Rian said. “Perhaps in your land savagery is no crime, but in ours it is punishable by death.”

  “You think you can punish me?”

  “With the gods’ blessing and power.” Auraya felt the surge of adoration and determination that Rian felt. He is utterly dedicated to the gods, she found herself thinking. In comparison the rest of us are merely loyal. Yet the gods must find that acceptable, or all White would be like Rian.

  The sorcerer laughed. “The gods would never bless you, heathen.”

  “Not your false gods,” Rian replied. “The Circle. True, living gods.” He drew magic and channelled it out, shaping it into a streak of white heat. The air before the sorcerer suddenly became a wall of violent ripples. A wave of warm air washed back over Rian. The sphere of protection Rian had set about himself buckled inward. He strengthened it instinctively, warding off the force buffeting it. Auraya heard the snap of wood as the trees around Rian bore the brunt of reflected power.

  Rian attacked again, this time shaping magic into darts that assailed the sorcerer from all sides. The Pentadrian’s defense held, and he returned with strikes of lightning that Rian guided to the ground.

  So that’s how it’s done, Auraya thought.

  The ground beneath Rian bucked and jumped. He sent magic down, steadying it. At the same time he drew air from around the sorcerer, trapping him in a vacuum. The sorcerer wrested air back.

  :He’s testing me, Rian observed.

  :I agree, Juran replied.

  Rian felt a force envelop him, pressing upon the protection around him. He fought it, but it grew ever stronger. Auraya was not surprised to see that the sorcerer was standing with one hand extended and curved into a claw, just as he had during the fight with the priests.

  :Now comes the test of strength, Rian said. He resisted the crushing, matching force with force. At the same time he watched for other forms of attack. Time slid by. The sorcerer’s attack grew steadily more powerful. Rian slowly increased the strength of his defense.

  Abruptly, the crushing force eased.

  Though Rian reacted quickly, a great wave of force rushed out from him. Trees shattered. The ruined house flew apart. Dust and rocks filled the air, obscuring all. Rian threw out a gentler magic, pushing the dust to the ground.

  The sorcerer was gone. Casting about, Rian saw a huge black beast loping away, carrying a man. He sent a bolt of lightning toward it, but the energy skittered around the fleeing sorcerer and sank into the ground.

  “Gods strike him,” Rian hissed as the man and beast disappeared into the trees. He sent a mental call to his Bearer. The mount was not far away.

  :Take care, Juran warned. Follow him, but be wary. He is powerful, and a surprise attack could be deadly.

  Auraya felt a chill run down her spine. Deadly to Rian? But surely nothing could harm him.

  :Not as powerful as I, Rian replied, his thoughts dark with anger and determination. There will be no opportunity for ambush. I will not sleep or rest until I know he is dead.

  Then his thoughts faded from Auraya’s senses. She opened her eyes. Dyara met her gaze.

  “That was enlightening,” the woman said dryly. “We have not encountered an enemy this powerful for a long time.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look puzzled.”

  “I am,” Auraya replied. “Is Rian in any danger?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did Juran warn him to watch for a surprise attack? Surely he cannot be killed.”

  Dyara crossed her arms. “Only if he makes a foolish mistake—and he won’t. I taught him well.”

  “So we’re not invulnerable. Or immortal.”

  Dyara smiled. “Not exactly. Most would say we’re close enough to it. We do have limitations. One is access to magic. Remember what I taught you: when we draw in magic we use up some of what is around us. If we use a lot it becomes harder to draw in as the magic around us thins and we have to reach farther from our position to get to it. Magic will flow back into the place we have weakened, but it happens slowly. To gain a fresh, strong source we must move to a new position.

  “It is rare for us to use that much magic,” Dyara continued. “But the most likely situation to cause us to is battle with another sorcerer—an exceptionally powerful sorcerer. The depletion of an area may cause you to weaken at an inopportune moment.” She paused and Auraya nodded to show she understood.

  “Your own ability to learn and use Gifts is your other limitation. The gods can only enhance our Gifts. Each of us is as strong as the gods can make us. That is why we are not equal in strength. Why Mairae is the weakest and Juran is the strongest.”

  “Is it possible for a sorcerer to be stronger than us?”

  “Yes, though sorcerers of such strength are rare indeed. This is the first one I’ve learned of in nearly a hundred years.” She smiled grimly. “You have joined us during interesting times, Auray
a. Lack of training is another limitation, but one I’m sure you’ll overcome quickly considering the rate at which you’re learning. Don’t worry. We would never send you out to deal with a sorcerer of such strength until your training was complete.”

  Auraya smiled. “I’m not worried. And I had wondered how we could be invulnerable when the gods aren’t.”

  Dyara frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Many gods died in the War of the Gods. If gods can die, then so can we.”

  “I suppose that is true.”

  Hearing the beat of hooves on the ground, they both turned to see Juran and Mairae riding toward them. As the reyer came to a halt Auraya realized that neither wore reins. She remembered what Dyara had told her: that Bearers were directed by mental commands.

  Juran looked down at Auraya.

  “I have a question for you, Auraya. Mairae tells me you’ve finished looking over the Somreyan alliance proposal. Would you make any changes to the terms?”

  “A few, though I suspect even more changes need to be made. As I was reading I found that I didn’t know as much about Dreamweavers as I thought. I know how they’d treat woundrot, but not how they fit into Somreyan society. I began to wish I had an expert to call upon, and a possible solution came to me. Perhaps what we need is an adviser on Dreamweaver matters.”

  Juran turned to regard Mairae. “You tried this, did you not?”

  Mairae nodded. “I could not find anyone with the appropriate knowledge.”

  Auraya felt her heartbeat quicken a little, but did not pause. “Did you try a Dreamweaver?”

  “No. I did not expect them to cooperate.”

  Juran’s eyebrows had risen, but his expression was not disapproving. “You believe they might, Auraya?”

  “Yes, if they felt our purpose was not contrary to their well-being. The alliance isn’t, as far as I can see.” She smiled crookedly and touched her forehead. “And we have our own safeguards against the possibility that their purpose is contrary to ours.”

  “Which they will be quite aware of.” Juran reached forward and rubbed his Bearer between the ears, around the stub of one horn. “I would be surprised if any agreed to it, but I can see the advantages we will gain if one did.”

  Mairae smiled. “The Somreyan Dreamweaver elder would not so easily defy one of her own.”

  “No,” Juran agreed.

  “We would be admitting they have power and influence,” Dyara warned.

  Mairae shrugged. “No more power than they actually have. No more than we have already acknowledged in the terms of the alliance.”

  “We will signal to our people that we approve of them,” Dyara persisted.

  “Not approve. Tolerate. We can’t pretend they don’t have power in Somrey.”

  Dyara opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head.

  Juran looked at Auraya. “If you can find a Dreamweaver willing to do this, then I will send you and Mairae to Somrey together.”

  “But Auraya has barely begun her training,” Dyara protested. “This is too much to expect of her so soon.”

  “The only alternative I see is to abandon negotiations.” Juran looked at Auraya and shrugged. “If you fail, people will assume it was through inexperience rather than a fault in our strategy.”

  “That’s hardly fair on Auraya,” Dyara pointed out.

  Auraya shook her head. “I don’t mind.”

  Juran looked thoughtful. “If Mairae were to behave as if she didn’t expect to gain any ground, but has taken you there to educate you in other systems of government…Let them underestimate you.” His attention returned to her. “Yes. Do it. See if you can find us an adviser.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind?” Mairae asked.

  Auraya paused. “Yes. The Dreamweaver I knew as a child. He is living in the city temporarily.”

  Juran frowned. “An old friend. That could be unpleasant for you, if he proves troublesome.”

  “I know. However, I’d rather work with someone I know well, than not.”

  He nodded slowly. “Very well. But be careful, Auraya, that you do not compromise yourself for the sake of friendship. It is far too easy to do.” His tone was regretful.

  “I will be careful,” she assured him.

  Juran patted his Bearer’s neck and it pawed the ground. Auraya resisted the urge to back away. They were such big creatures.

  “We must return to our training,” Juran said. As he and Mairae rode away, Auraya wondered what had happened to cause him to feel such obvious regret. Perhaps she would find out, one day.

  There was so much she didn’t know about her fellow White. But there was plenty of time to learn about them. Maybe not all of eternity, but, as Dyara had said, close enough.

  7

  Five sat on benches within the communal room of the Bakers’ house. Another Dreamweaver, Olameer, had arrived that morning. She was a middle-aged Somreyan journeying south to gather herbs that would not grow in the colder climate of her homeland. Jayim had been quiet for most of the meal.

  “Have you visited Somrey, Leiard?” Tanara asked.

  Leiard frowned. “I am not sure. I have memories of it, but I do not recall where they fit into my past.”

  Olameer looked at him closely. “They sound like link memories.”

  “Probably,” Leiard agreed.

  “But you are unsure,” Olameer stated. “Do you have other memories that you are not certain are yours?”

  “Many,” he admitted.

  “Forgive me, but what are link memories?” Tanara interrupted.

  Olameer smiled. “Dreamweavers sometimes link minds in order to communicate concepts and memories to each other. It is quicker and easier to explain some things that way. We also occasionally use links as a part of our rituals and a way to get to know another person.” She looked at Leiard and her smile changed to a thoughtful frown. “We tend to accumulate memories that are not our own, but usually we can tell which are ours and which are not. If a memory is old, however, it is easier to forget that it was not ours. And in rare instances, where a Dreamweaver endures a traumatic event, his or her memories will mix with link memories.”

  Leiard smiled. “I have not suffered such an event, Olameer.”

  “None that you remember,” she replied softly.

  He shrugged. “No.”

  “Would you…would you like to perform a linking tonight? I could examine these link memories and try to find the identity behind them.”

  Leiard nodded slowly. “Yes. It has been too long since I have performed the ritual.” He noticed Jayim staring at him and smiled. “And Jayim should join us. He has remained untrained since his teacher died six months ago.”

  “Oh, don’t put yourselves out for me,” Jayim said hastily. “I’ll only…get in the way.”

  Tanara stared at her son in surprise. “Jayim! You should take advantage of such a generous offer.”

  Leiard looked at Olameer. Her expression was knowing.

  “I can’t. I’m visiting a friend tonight,” Jayim told his mother.

  Millo frowned at his son. “You did not mention this earlier. Are you planning to go alone? You know it’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Jayim said. “It’s not far to Vin’s place.”

  Tanara’s lips pressed together. “You can go in the morning.”

  “But I promised,” Jayim protested. “He’s sick.”

  Tanara’s eyebrows rose. “Again?”

  “Yes. The breathing sickness. It gets worse in summer.”

  “Then I had best go with you,” Leiard said. “I know many treatments for illnesses of the lungs.”

  “I—”

  “Thank you, Leiard,” Tanara said. “That is kind of you.”

  Jayim glanced from his mother to Leiard, then his shoulders slumped. Tanara stood and started gathering the dirty dishes. Olameer yawned delicately, then rose to help.

  “Just as well,” she murmured. “I am probably too tired to be of
any use to you, Leiard. I never sleep well on ships.”

  He nodded. “Thank you for the offer. Perhaps another time?”

  “I will be leaving in the early morning, but if you are here on my return we will perform the ritual then. In the meantime, be well.” She rose, then touched her heart, mouth and forehead. Leiard returned the gesture, and saw in the corner of his eye Jayim hastily following suit.

  As Olameer left the room Leiard rose and looked expectantly at Jayim.

  “What does your friend do for a living?”

  The boy glanced up, then stood. “His father is a tailor, so he’s learning to be one too.”

  “Will his family protest if I come to their house?”

  Jayim hesitated, obviously considering this opportunity to be rid of Leiard, then shook his head.

  “No. They won’t mind. My teacher helped them since Vin was a baby. That’s how I met him. I’ll just get my bag.”

  Leiard waited as Jayim fetched a small bag from his room. Once outside, the boy set a rapid pace. The street was dark and quiet. The windows of the houses on either side were bright squares of light and Leiard could hear the sound of voices and movement inside.

  “Why did you decide to become a Dreamweaver, Jayim?” Leiard asked quietly.

  Jayim glanced at him, but it was too dark to read his expression.

  “I don’t know. I liked Calem, my teacher. He made it sound so noble. I’d be helping people in ways the Circlians never can. And I hated the Circlians.”

  “You no longer hate them, then?”

  “I do, but…”

  “But?”

  “Not like I did then.”

  “What has changed, do you think?”

  Jayim sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Sensing that the boy was thinking hard, Leiard remained silent. They turned into a narrower street.

  “Maybe it isn’t all the Circlians I hate. Maybe it’s just a few of them.”

  “Hate for a person is different than hate for a group of people. Usually it is harder to hate a group of people once you have realized you like an individual from that group.”