Priestess of the White

by Trudi Canavan

  A wall of dark sand lay within arm’s reach.

  Not a wall, she corrected, but the beach. Looking around, she saw the cliff wall to her right and the sea to her left. She was floating.

  How is that possible?

  Thinking back, she considered the thought that had passed through her mind. I wanted to stop. To stop moving.

  It was more than that. She had seen herself moving in relation to what was around her. Not specifically the cliff or sea. Everything. The world.

  And I did. She shook her head in amazement. And I’m still doing it. Can I make myself move again by willing myself to change position in relation to the world?

  She hesitated, afraid that by examining this new Gift she would lose it and drop the rest of the way to the beach. Not a fatal fall, but a disappointing one.

  But, she reasoned, if this ability—this Gift—had taken a lot of thought I would have been aware of it from the start. No, this was unlike any Gift she had learned before. This was like learning to walk. Something she didn’t have to think about.

  If learning a Gift is like learning to play an instrument, then this is like singing.

  If she could move herself, it would be like flying. That thought sent a thrill through her body.

  I have to try. Me in relation to the world. I want to turn over and face upward.

  She rolled over sideways in three abrupt movements. Above her was the cliff. She thought about moving higher and began to rise. Slowly, then with greater speed, she lifted herself upward. To be vertical would be better, she decided. Slowly she pivoted until she was upright. She passed the edge of the cliff and stopped as she found herself looking down on the watch-house.

  Abruptly she remembered the sorcerer and her elation died. Smoke was escaping from the hole she had blasted in the side of the house. Villagers were hauling buckets of water from a well to the building. She felt her stomach knot with fear as she searched for the sorcerer. If he was still there she would have to retreat until Dyara arrived.

  Moving over the village, she looked for him in vain. Then she saw a dark figure riding northward on a reyer. She searched for his thoughts and found none. She sighed with relief.

  He must have assumed I’d died. And Juran and Dyara must be wondering what happened. She smiled. They’re not going to believe me.

  :Juran.

  :Auraya? You’re alive. What…? Where are you?

  :Over Caram.

  :I don’t understand…

  :Neither do I. The gods couldn’t make me stronger, so instead they have given me a new Gift. I can see the sorcerer. He is leaving. Should I follow him? Or meet Dyara?

  :Don’t put yourself in danger. Meet Dyara. You must both return.

  :We can’t let the sorcerer get away! Dyara protested.

  :We must. You are stronger than Auraya, but we don’t know if you are strong enough, and until Auraya has completed her training we should not set her against such dangerous sorcerers—even with assistance. Meet Auraya and return to Jarime.

  Auraya surveyed the buildings below. Smoke was no longer curling from the house. As she watched, Borean emerged, and from his gestures she guessed he was telling the villagers the water was no longer needed.

  :Where are you, Dyara?

  :On the road, not far away now.

  :I’ll come south and meet you.

  Breaking the link, Auraya willed herself into motion once again.

  13

  The first thing Leiard noticed when Danjin Spear opened the door to Auraya’s rooms was how pale the adviser was. The man’s fear of heights wasn’t as well suppressed as usual, but added to it was amazement and wonder.

  “Dreamweaver Leiard,” Danjin said, a little breathlessly. “Mairae said I should send you to the roof. The stairs will lead you there.”

  “Thank you, Danjin Spear.”

  Cool air gusted out of the room. Leiard paused and glanced over Danjin’s shoulder to see a pair of workmen standing before a window empty of glass.

  So that’s the source of his heightened fear. He’s all too aware that nothing lies between him and the drop outside. But why is the glass missing? Has someone fallen through it? He could sense nothing from the adviser or the men to suggest that.

  His view of the room was obscured as Danjin closed the door firmly. Leiard shook his head and began climbing the stairs. The mystery would probably be solved when he spoke to Auraya.

  The Herald had returned to Jarime three days ago, and Leiard to the Bakers’ house. News of the signing of the alliance had travelled faster and Tanara had already had a celebratory dinner arranged. She invited other Dreamweavers and sympathetic friends. Not all were as sure as she that this was the beginning of peace between Dreamweavers and Circlians, but all agreed that there had been a marked lessening of harassment of “heathens” in Jarime during the last few months.

  Jayim had been silent and thoughtful that evening. Later, he had questioned Leiard on his role. Leiard had sensed that the boy was close to deciding his future. He did not nudge him toward a choice. Jayim needed to sort this out by himself.

  This morning a feeling of resolution had imbued the house. Jayim had been tense and quiet, clearly waiting for an appropriate moment to speak. At the end of the morning meal he had asked if Leiard still wanted to teach him. A few words later Leiard had gained himself a pupil.

  Tanara had barely enough time to grasp what had transpired when the summons to the White Tower had come. Leiard had left the boy grinning and his mother planning another celebratory meal. Now, as he climbed the stairs to the roof, Leiard asked himself if he was happy with the arrangement. Jayim was intelligent and Gifted. With training and maturity he would make a good Dreamweaver. So why did he feel this lingering regret? Did he crave solitude? Or simply not to be encumbered by a student? Or did he still hope, deep down, that Auraya would come back to him?

  I’m a fool if I do.

  The end of the staircase appeared. A small door stood half-open, swaying gently. Leiard felt cool air on his face.

  As he stepped outside, something swooped in and out of sight just beyond the edge of the Tower. He stopped and frowned. It had been too big to be a bird. He’d had a brief impression of human proportions. Had a Siyee come to Jarime? His heart beat faster at the thought. As far as he knew no Siyee had flown this far before. He hurried toward the railing at the edge of the Tower.

  Looking over the edge, he saw the figure clearly. This was no Siyee, but a human of normal proportions. Impossibly, this human—this woman—had no wings. A white circ flared out from her shoulders. She was turning slow loops in midair. As her face turned upward he felt his heart jolt.

  Auraya!

  He stared at her in disbelief. How is this possible?

  With magic, obviously, a voice in his mind replied.

  He had never seen it done before. Though plenty of sorcerers had tried, no one had ever achieved it. Until now he’d had no idea it was even possible, but here she was, defying the pull of the earth.

  Flying!

  He considered what it had cost the Siyee to be able to take to the sky, and suddenly it hurt to watch her. It was not the only pain he felt, but emptiness, as if the last of his hopes were draining out of him. No matter how disillusioned with her life Auraya might become, nothing would ever lure her away from this.

  She was grinning widely, all her attention on the acrobatics she was performing, albeit slowly.

  “Leiard!” She had noticed him. “Look what I can do!” she called. She turned another loop. Her circ flared and he noticed she was wearing trousers beneath it rather than the usual long tunic. No doubt the latter had proved awkward to fly in—at least with any dignity.

  He couldn’t help smiling. The childlike glee in her voice reminded him of the girl she had been. Her gaze shifted past him and her grin relaxed into a smile. She swooped down and he turned to watch as she dropped to the roof.

  A priest was walking toward them. The man had a dignified bearing, but wore an expres
sion of friendly concern. There was something familiar about him.

  It’s him, the voice in the back of Leiard’s mind said.

  Who? Leiard asked. No answer came, but he didn’t need one. This priest’s circ was plain, and there was only one White he hadn’t met.

  “Juran,” Auraya said. “This is Dreamweaver Leiard. Leiard, this is Juran of the White.”

  A memory flashed into Leiard’s mind of Juran’s face set with determination. With it came a surge of fear. Leiard managed to suppress it. There was no getting out of this meeting. Juran has no reason to harm me, he told himself.

  The White frowned, no doubt catching Leiard’s thoughts, but then his face relaxed.

  “Dreamweaver Adviser Leiard,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Thank you for your help with the Somreyan alliance. Auraya and Mairae tell me your assistance was invaluable.”

  Leiard inclined his head in reply. “It was a pleasure to assist them.” He glanced at Auraya. “And it appears the gods are pleased with Auraya’s efforts.”

  Juran smiled. “They could have warned us,” he said ruefully, but with no hint of reproach. His expression became serious again. “Auraya has told me about link memories. She says you have many of Mirar’s.”

  Auraya’s smile disappeared. She frowned at Leiard in concern.

  “It is so,” Leiard replied. “I have no idea where or from whom I picked them up. It had been many years since I participated in a memory link.”

  Juran nodded. “How recent are these memories?”

  “They are fragmentary,” Leiard replied truthfully. “It is hard to know what time they relate to. Some are old, as the landmarks within them are not as affected by time. Sometimes it is impossible to tell.”

  Juran opened his mouth as if to say more, then shook his head and turned to regard Auraya. “We have much to do today, and I’m sure your adviser would appreciate it if we chose more comfortable surroundings than the Tower roof in which to discuss your time in Somrey.”

  “Then perhaps we should meet in your rooms,” she suggested. “I have arranged for a window in mine to be made into a door. It’s a little…drafty.”

  Juran’s eyebrows rose. “My rooms, then.” He glanced at Leiard. “Let us delay no longer.” With a polite gesture, he indicated that Leiard should walk beside him back to the stairway door.

  As he fell into step beside the White’s leader, Leiard felt a nagging misgiving. Do not trust him, the other voice in his mind whispered. Taking a deep breath, Leiard did his best to ignore it. The sooner he started teaching Jayim to link, and so could assert his own identity on a regular basis, the better.

  This time the ritual words Juran recited at the beginning of the meeting in the Altar stirred gratitude as well as loyalty in Auraya. The two short phrases she contributed were spoken with more feeling than ever before.

  “We thank you.”

  Her thanks now included the extraordinary Gift the gods had given her. Juran had called her to the roof early, to see if he could master the skill. Though she explained it as clearly as she could, and even projected her understanding of it to him mentally, he could not emulate her.

  “Perhaps I should throw myself off the Tower,” he had murmured once. As he looked over the railing to the ground, he had shuddered. “No, I think some risks are not worth taking. It would not be a pleasant way to discover this is a Gift meant solely for you.”

  Which was an interesting possibility. Would the others be given their own unique Gifts? Perhaps the gods would explain today…

  “Guide us.”

  At these words her thoughts shifted to the other reason they had gathered here and her mood darkened. They were to discuss her encounter with the Pentadrian sorcerer.

  The brief ritual over, Juran regarded the other White soberly.

  “Two black sorcerers,” he said. “Both Pentadrians. Both powerful. One who claimed to be Kuar, the leader of their cult. If he is their leader, why did he come here alone? Why did the other Pentadrian come? Are they a danger to Northern Ithania?” He paused and looked at each of them expectantly.

  “The answer to your last question is clear,” Dyara said. “This man called Kuar bested Auraya in a plain battle of strength. She is stronger than Rian and Mairae. That means he is a danger to at least three of us. The first Pentadrian showed us how dangerous they are to the people of Northern Ithania.”

  “Kuar did not kill ordinary people,” Juran reminded her. “We should not judge all Pentadrians by the actions of the first sorcerer we encountered. That one may have been abusing his power while outside the control of his superiors.”

  Dyara frowned and nodded. “True.”

  “We can be sure they regard us with contempt,” Rian said. “Both called us heathens.”

  “Yes,” Auraya agreed. “Kuar urged me to call on the gods, as if he didn’t believe they would protect me.”

  :It’s obvious that religion is their main grudge against us, and that they are dangerous, Mairae said. Even through the telepathic link Auraya could sense the woman’s impatience.

  :I want to know what they’re capable of, and if they’re planning any further attacks.

  “We must send more spies,” Dyara said.

  Juran nodded. “We have some there, but it is time to increase their number. We need more priests to speed communication.”

  “They don’t like Circlian priests,” Rian warned. “Every priest or priestess who has travelled to Southern Ithania has been sent home.”

  “Then the ones we send now will adopt a disguise.”

  “If they are discovered, they will be killed.”

  Juran grimaced. “That is the risk we must take. Find volunteers among the priests and priestesses and make sure they are well informed. I won’t send anyone who does not choose to face such danger.”

  Rian nodded. “I will.”

  Juran rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Kuar did not attract attention to himself initially. Not in the way the first Pentadrian sorcerer did. Both appeared to be testing our defenses and strength. I hope they found us too powerful a people to consider any aggressive move.” He sighed. “It is clear that none of us should face one of these Pentadrian sorcerers alone. We will have to keep our own movements less public, so only a trusted few know when one of us is separated from the others.” He frowned. “Let’s hope these two do not return together.”

  Auraya shuddered at the thought, earning herself a sympathetic look from Dyara. The woman’s attitude toward Auraya had changed markedly. She was less critical, and almost companionable. Auraya hoped it was her success in Somrey that had brought this about, but suspected that Dyara was simply being supportive in case Auraya was upset by her confrontation with Kuar.

  “Where is Kuar now?” Dyara asked.

  “He was seen travelling north for a day after Auraya’s encounter, then, like the previous sorcerer, he stole a boat.”

  “What of this sorceress seen in Toren?” Rian asked.

  Juran shook his head. “She is no Pentadrian. From the reports I’ve had, she has been living alone in an old lighthouse, selling cures to the locals. The village head took exception to this and called on a priest to drive her out, but she fled before he arrived. The priest would have left it at that, but the stories about the woman worried him. The villagers claim she has been there for over a hundred years. He is worried she might be a Wild.”

  “An old woman? Could she be The Hag?” Rian asked.

  Juran shrugged. “People can live longer than a century, and the tales of the past may be exaggerated with each generation. We are obliged to check all reports of Wilds, however, so I have given the priest the task of finding her.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Auraya asked. “If she is a Wild she would be more powerful than he.”

  Juran nodded. “That is a risk the priest has chosen to take. We certainly don’t have the time to hunt for her.” He shook his head. “If he confirms that she is, we will…”

  His voice
faded to silence and they all looked around in surprise as the five sides of the Altar began to unfold. Slowly they rose to their feet.

  “What does this mean?” Auraya asked.

  “The gods are here,” Rian breathed, his eyes bright with religious fervor. Footsteps suddenly echoed in the vast Dome.

  Dyara rolled her eyes. “If they are, they’ve taken a humble form today. No, we are about to be interrupted, and it must be important.” She nodded and looked pointedly past Rian’s shoulder. As one they turned to see a high priest hurrying toward them.

  “Forgive the intrusion,” he gasped as he reached the dais. “Two ambassadors have just arrived.”

  “What land are they from?” Juran asked.

  “From…from Si.”

  The Siyee! Auraya drew in a quick breath and heard Dyara make a small noise of surprise. Juran glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, then stepped away from his chair.

  “Then we had best meet them,” he said.

  They left the Altar and hurried toward the edge of the Dome. Hundreds of priests and priestesses had gathered outside to stare upward. Following their gaze, Auraya felt her heart leap as she saw the tiny winged shapes circling the Tower.

  “They probably don’t know we’re down here,” Dyara said. “Should we greet them at the top of the Tower?”

  Auraya smiled. “I could save you the trouble.”

  Dyara looked at Auraya, her expression unreadable. Juran chuckled.

  “Every moment the gods’ intent becomes clearer,” he murmured. “Go, Auraya. Greet them on their own ground, so to speak.”

  Auraya concentrated on the sense of the world around her and her position in relation to it. Drawing magic, she moved herself upward, increasing her speed until the wall of the Tower rushed past. In the windows she glimpsed faces. The Siyee did not notice her approach until she was almost upon them. Startled, they swooped away.

  Slowing to a stop, she held herself suspended in the air and watched as they began to circle her at a distance. From this close she could see that all she’d been told of the Siyee was wrong. Except what Leiard had told her, she corrected herself.