The king frowned. “By showing this to you? I intend to place it here. You will see it each time you enter this chamber.”
“Yet I will not have an opportunity to stand and admire it, your majesty. My attention will always be on more important matters.”
The king smiled. “That is true.” He stepped away from the urn and strolled toward the throne. “I did not know you were an appreciator of art.”
“I am merely an appreciator of beauty.”
Berro chuckled. “Then it is a great irony that you have turned my city upside down looking for an ugly old hag.” The king settled onto his throne. His expression became serious and his fingers drummed on the throne’s arm. “How much longer do you intend us to continue with this search?”
Ikaro frowned. He could not read the king’s mind—he was only able to read minds when Huan was present—but he did not need to. The king was not hiding his impatience. The usual reassurances would not placate Berro this time. He was not sure what would, except…
“I will ask the gods.”
The king’s eyes widened. The men and women exchanged glances, some skeptical.
“Now?”
“Unless this is an inconvenient time,” Ikaro added. “I could use the palace Temple.”
“No, no,” Berro said. “Speak to them, if that is what you feel is right.”
Ikaro nodded, then closed his eyes.
“Join me in prayer,” he murmured, putting both hands together to form a circle. As he spoke a familiar chant of praise he was grateful to hear many voices quietly echoing him. He drew courage from them. At the end of the chant he paused, then drew a deep breath.
“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. I ask that one of you speak to me so that I may receive instruction.”
He waited, heart racing. His skin prickled as an energy filled the air.
:High Priest Ikaro.
Gasps echoed through the chamber. Ikaro opened his eyes and glanced around. There was no sign of the owner of the voice, but he could see from the expressions of everyone in the room that they had heard it.
“Huan?” he asked.
:It is I.
He bowed his head.
“I have done as you bade, but I have not found the sorceress. Should I continue searching? Is there any other way I might locate her?”
:Let her think you have given up. Call off the searchers. Stop checking people at the port and main gate. Instead, have these exits watched by a priest in disguise. If she believes the search has ended, she may take the opportunity to leave the city. I will be watching for her.
Ikaro nodded. “If she can be found this way, I will find her,” he replied with determination.
The goddess’s presence faded. Ikaro looked up at the king, who wore a thoughtful expression.
“Is it only recently that the gods have spoken to you in this way?”
“Yes,” Ikaro admitted.
The king frowned. “No doubt the goddess knows I am grateful that the restrictions on my city will be lifted, but I will include my thanks in my prayers to be sure. Much as I do not want a dangerous sorceress roaming free in my city, I am concerned that my people will suffer if trade is restricted. Will you need any assistance following her instructions?”
Ikaro shook his head, then hesitated. “Though perhaps you should inform the guards that beggars around the gates are to be left alone.”
“Beggars, eh?” Berro smiled crookedly. “Original disguise, that one.”
Ikaro chuckled. “And if it would not be inconvenient, a few guard’s uniforms might come in handy as well.”
Berro nodded. “I’ll see that you get them.”
For all of the last day and most of the morning, Auraya and Zeeriz had flown over impressively rugged mountains. She had lived most of her childhood in the shadows of the range that divided Dunway from Hania, but those mountains were mere hills compared to these high, jagged peaks.
Looking down at the steep slopes and broken ground, and the tangled limbs of trees and sharp spires of rock she could see how difficult it would be to travel into Si by foot. The “ground” was vertical more often than horizontal, and every bit of soil had been claimed by plants, from sharp grasses to enormous trees.
Wide, rubble-filled rivers cut through the forest. High eroded banks scattered with enormous dead trees hinted at an impassable spring flow. These rivers surged toward glittering blue lakes, then spilled out to form two huge, sea-bound rivers.
They had flown directly southeast from Jarime, then turned south to fly between a gap in the mountains. That night they had camped in a cave furnished with a fireplace and simple beds, stocked with dried food. In the morning she woke to the smell of fried eggs, and was surprised to find that Zeeriz had flown out to raid a few nests at dawn. Obviously the Siyee were not squeamish about eating other winged creatures.
They had flown southeast all morning. Now, as the sun rose to its zenith, her attention was drawn to a long, exposed stretch of rock on the side of a mountain.
“That is the Open,” Zeeriz explained. “Our main gathering and living place.”
She nodded to show her understanding.
:Juran?
:Auraya.
:I am nearing my destination.
:I will alert the others. They’re eager to see it.
Auraya sensed a little of his excitement and smiled. Even Juran, normally so serious, was thrilled by the prospect of seeing the home of the Siyee.
Not long after, a shadow passed over her. Looking up, she saw three Siyee flying above. They stared at her, fascinated. She flew closer to Zeeriz.
“Should I stop and greet them?”
“No,” he replied. “If you stop to greet every Siyee who comes to gawk at you, we won’t reach the Open until nightfall.” He looked up at the newcomers and grinned. “You’re going to attract quite a crowd.”
As they continued on, she occasionally glanced up to smile at the Siyee above. Soon more joined them, and then more, until she felt as if she was being followed by a great, flapping cloud. Drawing closer to the Open, she began to make out Siyee standing on the rocky ground—and they began to notice her. Some leapt into the air to investigate. Others simply remained on the steep slope, watching.
At the back of her mind, Auraya was conscious of her continuing link with Juran. One by one the other White joined that link, and she allowed them to view what she was seeing. The steep rock face that was the Open was like a giant scar on the side of the mountain. Longer than it was wide, it was surrounded by forest. The trees of that forest were enormous, and would no doubt be even more impressive viewed from the ground.
The rock face was uneven, broken into three levels. In the middle section a group of Siyee adults were standing in a line. These, she guessed, were the tribal leaders: the Speakers.
From below a pounding began, drawing her attention to several drums arranged on either side of the Open. Suddenly Siyee began darting in front of her. Seeing that they were wearing identical clothing and were all adolescents, she understood this aerobatic display was a show put on to impress her.
They dived and swooped back and forth, their movements synchronized. The patterns they formed were intricate, yet they managed to keep pace with her as she and Zeeriz descended toward the waiting Speakers.
The drums stopped and the fliers streaked away. Zeeriz swooped down to the ground. As he landed lightly before the Speakers, Auraya dropped down beside him. A woman stepped forward holding a wooden cup in one hand and what looked like a small cake in the other.
“I am Speaker Sirri,” the Siyee said.
“I am Auraya of the White.”
The Siyee offered Auraya the cup and the cake. The cup was full of clear, clean water. Zeeriz had told her of this ritual of welcome. Auraya ate the cake, which was sweet and dense, then drank the water. She handed the cup back to the Speaker. No thanks were to be offered, Zeeriz had told her. All Siyee of all tribes welcomed visitors with food and water, since no Siyee could ca
rry much of their own. Even enemies must give and receive refreshment, but the silence prevented words of thanks sticking in anyone’s throat.
Sirri stepped back and spread her arms wide, exposing the membranes of her wings. This, Auraya read from the woman’s mind, was a welcome reserved only for those the Siyee trusted. The Siyee trusted the gods, so in turn they trusted the Gods’ Chosen.
“Welcome to Si, Auraya of the White.”
Auraya smiled and copied the gesture. “I am delighted to receive such a warm welcome from you and your people.”
Sirri’s expression softened. “It is an honor to receive one of the Gods’ Chosen.”
Auraya made the sign of the circle. “And it is an honor to be welcomed by the gods’ most wondrous and beautiful creation.”
Sirri’s eyes widened and her face flushed. Auraya noted the other Speakers exchanging glances. Had she said something wrong? She was not sensing offense from them. She read a mixture of thoughts, and slowly came to understand that, as a people, they wondered about their place in the world. Did their existence have a purpose? Or had their creation simply been a passing folly, an entertainment for the goddess who had made them? Her words had suggested that, perhaps, part of their purpose was simply to be an expression of beauty and wonder.
She would have to be careful here. These people could read meanings into her comments than she didn’t intend. She must be sure to explain that she knew no more than they when it came to the gods’ deeper purposes. After all, they hadn’t even spoken to her since the Choosing Ceremony.
“We have called a Gathering in order to discuss your proposed alliance,” Speaker Sirri told her. “Messengers have been sent to all tribes asking for their Speakers or representatives to come. It will take two or three days for everyone to arrive. In the meantime, we have arranged a small welcoming feast to take place tonight in the Speakers’ Bower, beginning at sunset.”
Auraya nodded. “I look forward to it.”
“There are many hours left before sunset. Would you like to rest, or see more of the Open?”
“I would love to see more of your home.”
Sirri smiled and gestured gracefully toward the trees on one side. “I would be honored to show you.”
20
As the water in the bowl stilled, Emerahl examined her reflection, tilting her head so she could see her scalp. Her natural, youthful hair color was just beginning to show, though only on close examination. It was a less vivid shade of red than the dye she had applied a few days ago, but she would be able to hide the change by using a weaker dye solution as it grew longer.
She straightened and considered herself. A young woman with dazzling green eyes, lightly speckled pale skin and hair the color of a sunset looked back at her. Her long tunic was a faded green that might once have matched her eyes, but the neckline was provocative—and would be more so once she put on some weight.
The small smile the girl in the mirror was wearing disappeared and was replaced by a frown.
Yes, I definitely need to regain my curves, she thought. I’m a scrawny wretch.
Unfortunately, she had used up almost all her small income from her first customers by renting a room for a few nights. The price of accommodation had increased quite a bit in the last hundred or so years. As had other things. She hadn’t realized until it was too late why the fishermen hadn’t haggled too fiercely. She had assumed desire for her had made them malleable, when the truth was they had got themselves a bargain.
Clothes had been her first priority, however. Her price for lying with the fishermen had included a dirty old tawl she had spied in the cabin. It had covered her until she could buy herself the tunic and find a room. That night, after cleaning herself up, she had ventured out to replenish her purse.
Customers did not warm to her that evening and she made barely enough money to pay for food and another night’s rent. On the third night the man she brought back to her room stared at her white hair and treated her roughly. When he left, he all but reeked of vengeful satisfaction. She wondered if the woman he wanted to hurt knew how much he hated her.
She had skipped a meal so she could buy hair dye. The next night she had no trouble picking up customers. There weren’t many red-haired women working the streets of Porin. She was a novelty.
Emerahl ran a comb through her hair one more time, then turned toward the door. She silently cursed the priest who had chased her from her home, then straightened her back and left.
She did not have to travel far. Her accommodation was situated in an alley off Main Street, the main thoroughfare of the low end of town. Anything could be bought or arranged here: whores, black-market goods, poison, a new identity, someone else’s possessions, someone else’s life. Competition was fierce among the whores and her presence had been quickly noted and challenged. As Emerahl took her place at the alley corner, she looked for now-familiar hostile faces. The dark-skinned twins standing just past the other corner of the alley had tried to intimidate her into leaving, but a small demonstration of her Gifts had convinced them to leave her alone. The sharp-nosed girl across the road had attempted to befriend her, but Emerahl had turned her away. She was not going to be here long enough to need friends, and did not intend to share her customers or income with another.
A chill rain began to fall. Emerahl drew magic and shaped it into a barrier over her head. She noted how the dark twins huddled close under a window awning. One cupped her hands and red light began to spill from between her fingers. The other twin wrapped her hands around her sister’s.
Across the street, the sharp-nosed girl quickly became soaked, turning her from a young woman into a bedraggled child. To Emerahl’s amusement, the girl’s clinging wet clothes attracted a customer. She nodded to herself as the pair disappeared. Though she did not want the girl’s friendship, she had enough fellow-feeling for these street whores that seeing them courting illness bothered her.
The rain became heavier. Pedestrians grew fewer, and most barely spared the street girls a glance. Emerahl watched as a pair of young men swaggered down the opposite side of the road. One looked up at her, then nudged his companion with an elbow. The other began to look in her direction, but as he was about to see her something blocked their view.
Emerahl frowned at the covered platten that had pulled up in front of her. Then she saw the man looking at her from behind an opening in the cover. Middle-aged, she noted, but well dressed. She smiled. “Greetings,” she said. “Are you looking for something?”
His eyes narrowed and a wry smile curled his lips. “Indeed I am.”
She then sauntered up to the opening.
“Something I can help you with?” she murmured.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I was looking for a little company. Some stimulating conversation.”
“I can offer you stimulating and conversation,” she replied.
He laughed, then his eyes strayed to the magical shield above her.
“A useful Gift.”
“I have many useful Gifts,” she said slyly. “Some are useful to me, some may be useful to you.”
His eyes narrowed, though whether at the warning or invitation she wasn’t sure. “What is your name?”
“Emmea.”
The opening in the platten cover widened. “Get in, Emmea.”
“That will cost you at least—”
“Get in, and we’ll negotiate out of the rain.”
She hesitated, then shrugged and climbed inside. If the price was too low, or he proved to be troublesome, she could easily use her Gifts to break free. All she would risk was a walk in the rain and, as she settled onto the soft cushions piled upon the seat beside him and noted the gold rings that graced her customer’s fingers, she knew that was a risk worth taking.
The man called out and the platten jerked into motion. It travelled slowly. Emerahl eyed her customer. He stared back at her.
“Thirty ren,” he said. She felt her heart skip. Generous. Perhaps he could be pushed furth
er. She feigned disdain.
“Fifty.”
He pursed his lips. She began undoing the ties on the front of her tunic. His eyes followed every movement of her fingers.
“Thirty-five,” he offered.
She snorted softly. “Forty-five.”
He smiled as she spread open the cloth of her tunic, revealing the length of her body. She lay back on the cushions and saw the desire in his eyes intensify as she ran her hands down her body, from her small breasts to the fine triangle of red hairs at her groin.
He breathed deeply, then met her eyes.
“Heybrin will not protect you from disease.”
So he had noticed the smell of the herb. She smiled thinly. “I know, but men don’t believe me when I tell them my Gifts can.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “I do. How does forty sound?”
“Forty it is, then,” she agreed, sliding across the seat and reaching for the fastening of his finely tailored pants.
He leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue down her neck to her nipples, and his fingers slid down into her pubic hair, caressing. She smiled and pretended to be aroused by this, hoping he wasn’t thinking she would forgo the fee if he gave a little pleasure in return.
She turned her attention to his body, and soon he was more interested in his own pleasure. Once he was inside her, she let the instincts of her body keep time with his movements and focused her mind on his. Emotion, mostly lust, came to her like drifts of smoke. She was getting better at sensing it.
His movements became more urgent, then he sighed into a climax. Like most men, he drew away after only a moment’s pause. She sighed and relaxed against the cushions. This is definitely better than a hard brick wall against my back.
When she looked up at him, he was regarding her curiously.
“Why is a beautiful young woman like yourself working the streets, Emmea?”
She managed to stop herself looking at him as if he was an idiot.
“Money.”
Priestess of the White Page 27