“Like Auraya?”
Leiard felt a strange thrill at the name. He had met with Auraya twice since her initial visit. They had talked of people they both knew in the village, and of events that had happened since she had left. She had told stories of her time as an initiate and then as a priestess. At one point she had admitted she was still surprised that the gods had chosen her. “I didn’t always agree with my fellow Circlians,” she had said. “I guess that’s your fault. If I had grown up in Jarime I’d probably have turned out as narrow-minded as everyone else.”
“Yes,” he said. “Auraya is different.”
“But it’s the other way around for me,” Jayim continued. “I can see now that I don’t hate all Circlians just because some of them are bad.”
And I don’t hate Circlians—just their gods, a voice said from the depths of Leiard’s mind. He drew in a quick breath at the surge of intense emotion that came with it. Why have I buried such hatred? he wondered. Why has it only surfaced now?
“I…I’m having doubts, Leiard.”
Leiard dragged his attention back to the boy at his side.
“About?”
Jayim sighed. “Being a Dreamweaver. I’m not sure I want to anymore.”
“I guessed as much.”
“What do you think I should do?”
Leiard smiled. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want from your life, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. Do you want love? Children? Wealth? What about fame? Or power? Or both? Or do you want wisdom and knowledge more? What are you willing to work toward, Jayim? And what would you forsake in pursuit of it?”
“I don’t know,” Jayim gasped despairingly. He moved into an alley. It was narrow, forcing Leiard to walk behind the boy. The sour smell of rotting vegetables filled the dark, close space.
“Of course you don’t. You’re young. It takes time for anyone to…”
A feeling of threat swept over Leiard. He caught hold of Jayim’s shoulder.
“What?” the boy said tersely.
A wheezing exhalation echoed in the alley, then spluttered into a laugh. Two more voices joined in this merriment. As three shapes appeared in the gloom, Jayim cursed quietly.
“Where are you going this time of night, Dreamer?”
The voice was young and male. Leiard let these strangers’ emotions flow over him. He felt a mix of predatory intention and cruel anticipation.
“He’s got a friend,” a second voice warned.
“A friend?” the first boy scoffed, though his thoughts were immediately tempered by caution. “Dreamers don’t have friends. They have lookouts. Someone to watch in case a person happens upon them while they’re seducing other people’s wives and daughters. Well, that’s too bad for you, Dreamer. We got here first. You’re not going anywhere near Loiri.”
Seducing wives and daughters…An image flashed through Leiard’s mind. He faced two men, both angry, both holding weapons. In a window above, a woman appeared. Though her face was in shadow he knew she was beautiful. She shouted angrily, but not at him. Her curses were directed at the men below.
“I’m not here to see Loiri, Kinnen,” Jayim said between gritted teeth. “I’m here to see Vin.”
Leiard shook his head as the image faded. Another link memory? He could not remember ever being so intent on seduction. Something like that would surely stick in one’s memory. But then link memories also did that.
“Vin ought to know better,” a third voice said, “than to associate with Dreamweavers. What’s in the bag, Jayim?”
“Nothing.”
Jayim’s voice was steady, but Leiard could feel his fear increase abruptly. As the three bullies drew closer, Leiard channelled a little magic into his palm. Light blossomed between his fingers, setting his hand aglow. He stepped past Jayim and uncurled his hand.
The light filled the alley. To Leiard’s dismay, three Circlian priests stood before him.
No, he corrected himself. Initiates. They’re not wearing rings.
They stared at the light, blinking rapidly, then their eyes shifted to his face. Leiard regarded them impassively.
“I am unsure what your intention is by meeting us here in this manner. Jayim has informed you of the identity of our host and assured you that we are welcome. If that is not enough to satisfy you, then perhaps you should accompany us to our destination. Or…” he paused, then lowered his voice “…did you meet us here in order to acquire our services?”
The boys exchanged alarmed looks at the suggestion.
“If you have,” Leiard continued, “and the matter is not urgent, we can arrange to visit you tomorrow. Would you prefer we came to the Temple or your homes?”
At that, the three boys began to back away.
“No,” the first said stiffly. “That’s fine. We’re fine. No need to visit.”
After several steps they turned and swaggered off, making a show of indifference. Jayim let out a long, quiet sigh.
“Thanks.”
Leiard regarded the boy soberly. “Does this happen often?”
“Now and then. Not for a while, actually, but I think they’ve been busy with all the visitors who came to the Choosing Ceremony.”
“Probably,” Leiard agreed.
“You frightened them off, though,” Jayim said, grinning.
“I bluffed them. It will not work again. They will remember that the law is against anyone using our services. You need to learn to protect yourself.”
“I know, but…”
“Your doubts have prevented you seeking a new teacher.”
“Yes.” Jayim shrugged. “I have Dreamweavers like you, who come to stay with us. They all teach me things.”
“You know that is not enough.”
The boy bowed his head. “I think becoming a Dreamweaver was a mistake. I wanted to be someone.” He looked down the alley. “Like them, but not a priest. They would have made my life terrible. And…and Father kept pushing me to be a scribe, like him, but I wasn’t any good at it.” He sighed. “Becoming a Dreamweaver only made things worse with Kinnen’s lot. And my parents.” He gave a bitter laugh. “They were so eager to show they’d accept whatever choice I made that they turned our home into a safehouse.” He sighed. “So I can’t stop now.”
“Of course you can,” Leiard told him.
Jayim shook his head. “Kinnen’s lot will think I gave in. And my parents will be disappointed.”
“Which is not reason enough for you to be allowed to continue wearing the vest.”
Jayim frowned, then his eyes widened. “You’re…you’re here to kick me out!”
Leiard smiled and shook his head. “No. But I see much about you that concerns me. By our laws, if three Dreamweavers of each of the three ages agree that another must be cast out, it can and must be done.” He let his voice soften. “You are full of doubts, Jayim. That is reasonable in a boy of your age, in your situation. We will give you time to consider. But you cannot neglect your training while you consider, and you have taken no steps to acquire a teacher.”
Jayim stared at the light in Leiard’s hand. “I see,” he said quietly.
Leiard paused, then put aside the last shreds of his fading need for solitude. “If you decide to remain with us, Jayim, and you wish it, I will take up your training. I cannot promise that you will always remain in Jarime, so you must be prepared to leave your parents and accompany me into an uncertain future. But I will promise that I can make a Dreamweaver of you.”
The boy’s gaze shifted to Leiard’s, then he looked away, his thoughts in turmoil.
Leiard chuckled. “Think about it. Now we had best visit this sick friend of yours.”
Jayim nodded, and pointed along the alley. “We go in the back way. Follow me.”
Flying over the Open, Tryss felt a shiver of excitement. A great half-circle of lights had formed near the center where a sheet of rock
known as the Flat provided space for many Siyee to stand together. The leaders of every tribe—the Speakers—stood above this, along the edge of a low natural wall of rock. The air was thick with Siyee arriving for the Gathering.
As his father began to descend, Tryss followed. His mother was a presence not far behind. They joined the Siyee circling down and, once their feet were on the ground, quickly moved out of the way to allow others room to land. As they joined their tribe, Tryss looked for Drilli’s. They stood close by. Drilli caught his eye and winked. He grinned in reply.
There were fifteen tribes of Siyee this year. One less than the last. The West Forest tribe had been butchered by landwalkers last summer. The few surviving members, unable to return to their territory, had joined other tribes. Drilli’s people, the Snake River tribe, had been driven from their village, but enough members had survived for them to still be considered a tribe. They had settled temporarily among other tribes until a new village site could be agreed upon.
Tryss looked up at the Speakers. A strangely garbed man was sitting among them. His clothing covered his arms, but this only drew attention to the absence of membranes between his arms and body. No Siyee could ever wear clothing like that.
His size more than made up for his lack of wings. Tryss could finally see why these landwalkers, despite their inability to fly, were such a danger to his people. The man was sitting on the rock ledge, yet his head was on an equal level to the Speakers.” His arms were thick and his legs long. His body was a great barrel, made even bigger by the thick layers of clothing he wore.
He was enormous.
His head, however, was small. Or was it? Tryss did a quick comparison to one of the Speakers, then nodded to himself. The landwalker’s head was the same size as a Siyee’s. It just looked smaller because it was attached to such a large body.
The Speakers were moving now. They formed a line along the ledge and each gave a piercing whistle. The landwalker, Tryss noted, winced at the sound. The Siyee quietened.
Sirri, the Speaker of Tryss’s tribe, stepped up onto an outcrop known as Speakers’ Rock. She lifted her arms and spread her wings wide.
“People of the mountains. Tribes of the Siyee. We, the Speakers, have called you here tonight to hear the words of a visitor to our lands. He is, as you have heard and can see, a landwalker. A landwalker from a distant land called Hania, not a landwalker from among those who have killed our kin and taken our lands. We have spoken with him at length and are satisfied that this is true.”
Sirri paused, her eyes moving from face to face as she judged the mood of the Gathering.
“Landwalker Gremmer has climbed our mountains and crossed our rivers in order to reach us. He has come alone, on a journey that, for a landwalker, takes months. Why has he done this? He has brought an offer of alliance. An alliance with the White, the five humans that the gods have chosen to be their representatives in the mortal world.”
The Siyee stirred, exchanging glances. Talk of a group of landwalkers chosen by the gods had been repeated among the Siyee for years. Over the last century individual Siyee had been visited by the goddess Huan, who had spoken of the Gifted humans who had been selected. In time, the goddess had promised, these chosen ones would help the Siyee defend themselves from invaders.
In the last five years the landwalker incursions had increased dramatically, prompting many to hope that these promised protectors would arrive soon. A whole tribe was lost last summer, Tryss thought. They’d better hurry up, or there might not be any of us left to protect.
“Gremmer has spent many days with us now,” Sirri continued, “and has learned a little of our language. He wishes to speak to you tonight, to tell you of the Gods’ Chosen.”
Sirri turned and nodded to the landwalker. The man slowly rose and stepped up onto Speakers’ Rock. There was a murmuring among the watching Siyee, half wonder, half fear, as his full height was revealed.
The landwalker moved to the edge of the outcrop and smiled self-consciously at the crowd. He towered over all. Then, to Tryss’s surprise, Gremmer sat down, crossing his legs like a child.
He did that deliberately, Tryss mused. To look less imposing.
The man was holding a piece of paper in his large, stumpy fingers. He looked down at it and coughed quietly.
“People of the sky. Tribes of the Siyee. Let me tell you of the men and women the gods have chosen as their representatives.” His way of speaking was strange, and it was obvious that he was taking care with every word.
“The first was Juran, chosen a century ago. He is our leader and the one who gathered the first priests and priestesses together and called them Circlians. The second was Dyara, chosen to be the law-maker. Then Rian, the pious one, joined them; and Mairae, a maid of beauty and compassion, followed. The last was chosen but a month ago. I do not yet know his or her name as I left before the Choosing Ceremony.”
Gremmer looked up from his sheet of paper. “For a hundred years Hania has seen good work from the Gods’ Chosen. Law and justice have been fair. Those who meet with misfortune are helped. Those who fall ill are cared for. Children are taught to read, write and understand numbers. There has been no war.”
He straightened now, and his eyes moved across the faces of the Siyee before he looked at his notes again.
“Circlian priests and priestesses have served in many lands since the beginning, but Hania is the only land the White rule. Toren and Genria in the east have been our allies for over fifty years. Dunway, the warrior nation in the northwest, became an ally ten years ago. The White are negotiating with the Council of Elders in Somrey, and now we bring an offer of alliance to Si.”
He smiled and glanced up at the Siyee. “I have found you to be a noble, peaceful people. I know the White can help you with your troubles. Your land is being taken by Toren settlers. Laws need to be made and enforced to stop them. You need to look to your defense. If you cannot stop Toren settlers, how would you ever stop an army?
“The White protect their allies. In return, they ask that allies send fighters to help them if they are invaded. Since they are powerful and bring peace wherever they go, that help will probably not be needed.
“If Si and the White were allies, we could help each other in many ways. You know of Huan and a little of the other gods. Our priests and priestesses can teach you more. They can also increase your knowledge of magic, writing, numbers and healing. If you wished, the Temple would send a few priests to Si to live among you. Siyee might come to the Temple to become priests and priestesses themselves. There are many advantages to this. Messages can be sent telepathically by those priests and priestesses, so you would know what is happening in the world outside. Reports of attacks upon Siyee would reach the White quickly and be dealt with. People—landwalkers—would understand the Siyee better, and Siyee would understand landwalkers, too. Understanding brings respect and friendship. Friendship brings peace and prosperity.” He smiled and nodded several times. “Thank you for listening.”
The Siyee remained silent as Gremmer stood up and backed away from the edge of the outcrop. Tryss found that his heart was racing. We could learn so much from these landwalkers, he thought. Things we lost when we came to the mountains. Things the landwalkers have invented since. But Tryss read doubt in the faces of his people. Sirri stepped forward.
“We, the Speakers, will now talk with our tribes.”
The Speakers leapt off the outcrop and glided down to their tribes. As Sirri landed and joined Tryss’s tribe several people spoke at once. She raised her hands to stop them.
“One at a time,” she said. “Let us sit in a circle and speak our minds in turn.”
Tryss’s mother and father sat down and he settled behind them. Sirri nodded to the man sitting to her left, Tryss’s uncle, Till.
“It is a good offer,” he said. “We could use their protection. But we have nothing to offer in return. Gremmer speaks of fighters. We have none.”
Sirri turned her attention to the n
ext Siyee in the circle. He repeated the same doubts. As the rest of the tribe spoke, Tryss felt frustration building. Then Tryss’s aunt spoke up.
“Does it matter?” Vissi said darkly. “They are the Gods’ Chosen. Who would dare to fight them? Gremmer is right. We would probably never need to fight. We should agree to this alliance.”
“But what if there is a small war? Between countries allied with the White. Or a rebellion,” Tryss’s father asked. “What if they ask for our help then? Do we send our young men and women to a certain death?”
Vissi looked pained. “Not certain. Possible. It is a risk, yes. A gamble. We are losing young men and women to these settlers all the time. And older men and women. And their children. We will keep losing them—and our land, too. That is more certain than the chances of us being called to war.”
There were reluctant nods from the gathered Siyee. Tryss bit his lip. We can fight, he thought at them. You keep thinking that you have to fight like landwalkers. We have to fight like Siyee—from the air. With my hunting harness. With Drilli’s blowpipe.
“Perhaps we will learn how to fight before then.”
This had come from Sreil. Tryss felt his heart lift. Had Sreil remembered Tryss’s harness?
“If landwalkers come here, they can teach us,” Sreil added. Tryss’s heart sank.
“But then we will have to admit we can’t fight,” Vissi warned.
“I think we must be honest with these White,” Sirri said. “After all, they are closer to the gods than any mortal, and the gods can see our minds. They will know if we are dishonest.”
The tribe was silent. Then Tryss’s father spoke.
“Then they will know that we cannot fight with sword or spear. They would not have asked this of us, if they felt we had no value to them in war.”
The meaning behind his father’s words struck Tryss like a physical blow. He felt a rush of cold, and shivered. Slowly he lifted his head to stare up at the stars.
Have you seen my mind? he asked. Have you seen my ideas? Is this what you mean to have happen—for me to give my people a way to fight?
Priestess of the White Page 12