He held his breath. What if the gods answer? he suddenly thought. That would be…wonderful and terrifying.
But no answer came. Tryss felt a moment’s disappointment. Had they heard, but were ignoring him? Did this mean he shouldn’t continue with his inventions? Or were they just not paying attention?
I could go mad thinking like this, he decided. They didn’t say “yes.” They didn’t say “no.” I’ll take that as meaning they weren’t listening, or don’t care, and do what I want.
All he wanted was to perfect his harness and see the Siyee using it to hunt. If his inventions led to the end of his people’s troubles…well, that would be even better. He’d be famous. Respected.
Tomorrow, he decided, I’m going to finish making my changes. After that I’ll test it. When I’m sure it’s working perfectly, I’ll present it to the Speakers.
8
Jarime was a city with many rivers. They carved the city into districts, some more affluent than others, and were utilized by watercraft carrying people and goods. Water was drawn from them for use, then channelled away to the sea through underground tunnels.
One half of the Temple boundary was formed by a river, and a tributary of it flowed through the holy ground. There were many pleasant leafy places along this tributary where a priest or priestess could find quiet and solitude for contemplation and prayer. The mouth of it was guarded to prevent outsiders disrupting the quiet, but if a visitor carried the right permission token he or she could ride the shallow Temple boats into the grounds.
Auraya’s favorite place on the river was a small whitestone pavilion. Stairs led down to the water on one side, where bollards allowed boats to be tied up. At the moment a veez was balancing on the rounded top of one bollard, investigating it closely. He looked up at the next post and Auraya caught her breath as he sprang toward it. Landing neatly, he leapt again, jumping from one bollard to the next.
“I do hope you can swim, Mischief,” she said. “One mistake and you’re going to fall in the river.”
Having reached the last bollard, he stood up on his hind legs and blinked at her.
“Owaya,” he said. In a blur of movement, he jumped down from the post, bounded to her seat and leapt into her lap.
“Snack?” he asked, gazing up into her eyes.
She laughed and scratched his cheeks. “No snacks.”
“Tweet?”
“No treats.”
“Food?”
“No food.”
“Titfit?”
“No titbits.”
He paused. “Niffle?”
“No nibbles.” She waited, but he stayed silent, gazing imploringly at her. “Later,” she told him.
The veez’s sense of time was limited. He understood “night” and “day,” and the phases of the moon, but had no understanding of smaller units of time. She could not tell him “in a few minutes” so she made do with “later,” which simply meant “not now.”
He was a strange and amusing companion. Whenever she returned to her rooms he bounded up to her, saying her name over and over. It was hard to resist such a welcome. She tried to find an hour each day to work on his training, as the Somreyans recommended, but she was lucky to manage more than a few minutes. Yet he learned quickly, so perhaps this was enough.
Finding a name for him had been a challenge. After she had heard that Mairae’s veez was named Stardust she decided she must find something less fanciful. Danjin had told her of a rich old lady who had named hers Virtue—apparently so she could always end a conversation with “but I do treasure my Virtue.” Now, when Auraya discussed her plans each morning with Danjin, he always smiled when she told him: “I must put aside some time for Mischief.”
This morning, however, her reason for bringing Mischief with her was not to continue his training but as a distraction if the conversation she was planning proved awkward. She was curious to see how the veez would react to her visitor, though he had a habit of pronouncing judgment of people loudly while in their presence, which she hadn’t yet managed to break.
Opening her basket, she took out an elaborate toy from the collection the Somreyans had provided. Setting it down, she began reading the instructions on its use. To her surprise it appeared to be a toy designed to teach the veez how to unpick locks with its mind. She wasn’t sure what was more amusing, that the creature was capable of it, or that the Somreyans thought it an appropriate trick to teach it.
She heard a splash and looked upriver. A punt drifted into sight, guided by two pole men. As she saw the passenger, she sighed with relief. She had not been sure if Leiard would accept her invitation. They hadn’t met in the Temple grounds before, but in quiet and private places in the city. Knowing how all things Circlian made him nervous and fearful, she had wondered if he would dare enter the Temple again.
But here he was.
Which was just as well. If he had been unable to bring himself to enter the Temple he would not be able to perform the role she wanted to offer him. She watched the punt draw closer. Mischief leapt out of her lap and scampered up a post of the pavilion into the roof. The pole men maneuvered the punt out of the current, and when the craft neared the stone steps one jumped out and tossed ropes around the bollards.
Leiard rose in one graceful movement. He stepped ashore and climbed the stairs. Watching him, Auraya felt a wistful admiration. There was something appealing about his perpetual air of dignity and calm, and the way he moved with unhurried ease.
Yet as she met his eyes she saw that this impression of calm was only external. His gaze wavered, leaving hers and returning only to slip away again. She hesitated, then looked closer. Fear and hope warred in his thoughts.
She was glad she had insisted that she meet him alone. Dyara had wanted to supervise, as always, but Auraya had guessed that the presence of another White would intimidate him. Especially one who radiated disapproval at the mere mention of Dreamweavers.
As she observed she saw that hope appeared to be winning the battle with fear. Leiard saw in Auraya a potential for change for his people that made dealing with the fear the Temple aroused in him worthwhile. She noted his trust only extended to her. He believed she would not harm Dreamweavers willingly. Nor would she be happy should the other White do so. She was the best opportunity for peace the Dreamweavers had encountered.
However, she saw that he did not entirely believe this. Circlians cared only for their gods and themselves. They despised and feared Dreamweavers. He wondered if he was a fool for trusting her. It was frustrating being unable to sense her emotions. She might have changed since becoming a White. This might all be a trap…
Auraya frowned. She had seen hints that he had an ability to sense emotions with his mind when they had met before, but this was the first time he had thought about it specifically, confirming that it was true. He had never mentioned this ability previously, not even when she was a child.
So he didn’t tell me everything back then, she thought. That isn’t surprising. The villagers would not have liked the idea he could sense something of their thoughts, even if only emotions. I wonder if other Dreamweavers have this ability, too.
All this flashed through her mind as he climbed into the pavilion. She smiled as he stopped a few steps below her, his eyes level with hers.
“Auraya,” he said. “Auraya the White. That is how I should address you, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “Officially, yes. Privately you can call me whatever you feel comfortable with. Except dung-breath. I’d take exception to that.”
His eyebrows rose and his lips twitched into a smile. Seeing the pole men raise hands to cover their mirth, she turned and waved at them.
“Thank you. Could you return in an hour?”
They nodded, then made the two-handed gesture of the circle. Unwinding the ropes from the bollards, they stepped back onto the punt, picked up their poles and guided the craft downstream.
Auraya moved into the shade of the pavilion, conscious of Leiard
as he followed her.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Well,” he replied. “And you?”
“The same. Better. I’m glad you changed your mind about leaving the city.”
He smiled. “As am I.”
“How are your hosts?”
“Well. Their son’s teacher died last winter and he found no replacement. I have taken on the task, for now.”
She felt a small pang of envy. Or was it simply longing for the past? Whatever the reason, she hoped the boy realized how lucky he was having Leiard for a teacher.
“I’d have thought it would be easier to find Dreamweaver teachers in the city than out of it,” she said. “Surely there are more here than you and this boy?”
Leiard shrugged. “Yes, but none were free to take on a student. We do not teach more than one at a time, and even those of us that like to teach need some time free from the constant demands of a student.”
Constant demands? Did this mean Leiard was going to be occupied for the next few years?
“So will this new student take up all of your time?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not all.”
“Will he keep you in Jarime?”
“Not if I decide to leave. A student goes wherever his teacher does.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of visiting Somrey, would you?”
His eyebrows rose. “Why?”
She made her expression sober and her voice businesslike. “I have a proposal for you, Leiard. A serious proposal from a White to a Dreamweaver.”
She watched him react to the change in her manner. He leaned away from her and his expression became wary, but his mind was full of hope.
“Don’t feel you have to accept it,” she told him. “If what I propose doesn’t suit you, it might suit another Dreamweaver. If you don’t think any Dreamweaver would agree to what I’m proposing, please tell me. Either way, I’d appreciate your advice.”
He nodded.
“The White are seeking an alliance with Somrey,” she told him. As she explained the situation he said nothing, only listened and occasionally nodded to show that he understood. “Juran asked me to look over the terms of the alliance,” she continued, “and I realized I didn’t know as much about Dreamweavers as I thought. The questions I had…” She smiled. “I wished you were there to answer them for me. I realized that what we need is a Dreamweaver adviser. Someone to tell us which terms of the alliance are likely to cause offense. Someone to help us negotiate. Someone who might come to negotiate on behalf of Dreamweavers everywhere.” She paused and watched him closely. “Would you be our Dreamweaver adviser, Leiard? Will you come with me to Somrey?”
He regarded her silently. As he recovered from his surprise he began to consider her offer, debating with himself.
This is the opportunity Tanara thought might come. I can’t let it pass by. I will accept.
No! If you do this you will have to enter the White Tower. Juran will be there. The gods will be there!
I can’t let this opportunity pass out of fear.
You must. It is dangerous. Let her choose another. Find her another.
There is nobody better than myself for this position. I know her. She knows me.
She is a slave to the gods.
She is Auraya.
It was strange to be watching someone else’s internal struggle. Reason and hope were winning the fight against his fear, but she saw that the fear ran deep. What had caused this powerful terror of the gods? Had something happened to him to fill him with such dread? Or was this fear common among Dreamweavers? The stories she had heard of times when the Dreamweavers had been brutally persecuted were enough to make anyone’s skin prickle with horror.
He would have to fight this fear every time he entered the Temple. Suddenly she knew she could not ask this of him. She would have to find another Dreamweaver. She could not ask a friend to face this terror.
“It doesn’t have to be you,” she told him. “You may be too busy training this boy, anyway. Can you recommend another Dreamweaver?”
“I…” He paused and shook his head. “Once again, you have surprised me, Auraya,” he said quietly. “I thought, at first, that you only wanted advice on this alliance. Your offer is too great a thing to decide without spending some time in consideration.”
She nodded. “Of course. Think about it. Let me know in…well, I’m not sure how long I can give you. A week. Maybe more. I’ll let you—”
They both jumped as something dropped onto her shoulder.
“Tweet!” a shrill voice trilled in her ear.
“Mischief!” she gasped, holding a hand to her pounding heart. “That was not polite!”
“Tweeeeeet!” the veez demanded. He leapt off her shoulder onto Leiard’s. To Auraya’s relief, Leiard was smiling broadly.
“Come here,” he said, slipping his fingers around the veez’s body. Mischief gave a mew of protest as Leiard lifted him down and turned him onto his back. As the Dreameaver began scratching his belly, the veez relaxed and closed his eyes. Soon he was lying, limp, in one of Leiard’s hands, his little fingers twitching.
“That’s pathetic,” she exclaimed.
He grinned and held the veez out to her. For a moment his gaze met hers over the creature. She felt a strange delight at the sparkle that had come into his eyes. She had rarely seen him look so…playful.
Suddenly she remembered something her mother had said, years before. That the women in the village were worried she fancied Leiard. That he was not as old as he appeared.
I can see why they were worried. I thought he was ancient, but then I was a child and only saw the white hair and long beard. He can’t be older than forty, and if he shaved and cut his hair I think he’d be quite good-looking, in a weathered sort of way.
The veez roused himself from his trance and lifted his head.
“More scratch?”
They both chuckled. Leiard set the veez down on the seat. It began to beg for food again so Auraya opened her basket and brought out refreshments for them all. Then she read aloud the instructions for the toy and they speculated on the wisdom of teaching such tricks to the creature.
Too soon, the punt reappeared. Leiard waited until it was tied to the bollards before standing. He paused and looked down at her.
“When do you sail for Somrey?”
She shrugged. “That depends on whether I find an adviser. If I don’t, Mairae will probably go alone in a month or so.”
“If you do?”
“Sooner.”
He nodded, then turned and walked toward the punt. After a few steps he paused and looked back, smiled faintly and inclined his head.
“It was a pleasure talking to you, Auraya the White. I will accept this position you have offered me. When would you like me to meet with you?”
She stared at him in surprise. “What happened to spending some time in consideration?”
His shoulders lifted. “I just did.”
She looked at him closely. There was no sign of the turmoil that had filled his mind earlier. It seemed reason had overcome his fear, now that he’d had a chance to think about it.
“I’ll tell Juran you have accepted. When I need you to come to the Tower, I’ll send you a message.”
He nodded once. Turning away, he stepped down to the punt and folded himself onto the low seat. She nodded to the pole men, who tossed ropes onto the craft and stepped aboard. Soon they were pushing their way upstream, Leiard sitting calmly between them.
Watching them, Auraya considered the doubts she’d had. She’d feared he wouldn’t meet with her, but he had. She’d worried that the meeting would be awkward, but she’d felt as at ease with him as she always had. At the same time, she had anxiously wondered what his answer would be.
Now she had only to fret about the possibility that this whole arrangement might ruin their friendship.
When the punt had moved out of sight, Auraya called to Mischief, picked up her b
asket and started back toward the White Tower.
Fiamo swallowed the last of the spicewater and leaned back against the mast. He was feeling particularly pleased with himself, and it wasn’t just the effect of the liquor. Summer always brought bigger catches, but today’s had been better than the season’s average. He’d made a good sum of money.
He smiled to himself. Most would go to the crew when they got back—and his wife. But he had a mind to put a little aside to buy presents for his sons when he next took a trip northeast.
For now there was nothing to do but lounge around the pier of Meran. The wind had dropped off, and probably wouldn’t return until late afternoon. In the meantime it was promising to be one of those warm, lazy afternoons good for nothing but drinking with his crew.
His men were neighbors and family. He had worked with them for years, first as crew working with his father, now as captain since his father had died of lungrot five years before.
Fiamo felt the boat tilt fractionally and heard the sound of boots on the gangplank. He looked up and grinned as Old Marro stepped onto the deck, carrying an earthenware jug and a large flatloaf of bread.
“Supplies,” the man said. “Like you ordered.”
“About time,” Fiamo said gruffly. “I thought you’d—”
“Captain!” This came from Harro, the youngest of Fiamo’s crew—a neighbor’s son. Fiamo looked up at the boy, hearing uncertainty and warning in the young voice. Harro was standing at the prow, his eyes fixed on the small village.
“Eh?”
“There’s a…there’s a hunt of vorns coming down the road. Maybe ten of them.”
“There’s what?”
Fiamo clambered to his feet, and for a moment his vision blurred from spicewater and the sudden movement. As his sight cleared he saw what the boy had noticed. Meran was the largest port a local could reach in a day’s sailing, but it was small as far as villages went. A road began at the end of the pier and climbed steadily up into rolling hills. Coming down that road was a surging, leaping mass of black creatures.
“Gods protect us,” he gasped, and made the one-handed symbol of the circle. “Untie us. Ring the bell.”
Priestess of the White Page 13