Priestess of the White

by Trudi Canavan

  The old woman strode back to the doors. She laid a hand on the handle, then turned to regard Imi suspiciously.

  “Be a good girl, Imi. Don’t go anywhere. For your own safety, stay here.”

  “I will.”

  “If you’re not here when I return, I won’t tell you anything,” she warned.

  “I told you, I will stay here.”

  Teiti’s eyes narrowed, then she turned away and left the room. As the doors closed behind the old woman Imi raced into her bedroom. She ran to a carving on one of the walls and slipped her hand behind it. After a little groping around she found the bolt. She pulled it back and the carving silently turned outward like a door.

  Behind it was a hole. Her father had shown her this hole many years ago. He had told her that if any bad people should invade the palace, she should crawl through the hole and wait until they were gone.

  He hadn’t told her that this hole was the beginning of a tunnel. She had discovered this one night when boredom overcame her fear of venturing into an unknown dark place. Pushing a candle before her, she had only managed to crawl a short way before encountering a wall of stone and mortar.

  It wasn’t a completely solid blockage, however. The adult who made it must have had little room to move, and had done a poor job. She had been able to hear voices beyond it, filtering through cracks and holes in the barrier. Voices she couldn’t quite understand.

  So for a month she slipped into the hole every night, long after she ought to have been asleep, and chipped away at the blockage. The dust and crumbs of mortar she tipped into the privy. The larger stones she smuggled out in her clothing.

  Now, as she climbed up into the hole, Imi congratulated herself again for her discovery. Once the blockage had been removed she had crawled on to find a small wooden door, latched on the tunnel side. She had opened it to find herself in a small cupboard. Beyond that was a room lined with pipes.

  She had guessed at once what this was. Her father had told her that he had a device that enabled him to speak or listen to people in other parts of the city. He had described the pipes that carried sound.

  He didn’t know that she knew where it was, or was using it herself.

  Coming here was the most delicious fun. She always made sure she knew he was busy somewhere late at night before she crawled through to the room. There she pressed her ear to the ear-shaped openings in the pipes and listened to conversations between important people, quarrels between servants, and romantic exchanges between secret lovers. She knew all the gossip of the city—and the truth as well.

  Reaching the wooden door, Imi listened for voices then pushed through. She hurried to the pipe she knew came from the king’s audience chamber and pressed her ear to the opening.

  “…of the benefits of trade. The art I see here in this room, the jewelry you wear, tell me you have talented artisans here. These artisans could make goods to sell outside Borra. In exchange you might enjoy some of the luxuries of my people, like the beautiful cloth produced in Genria that sparkles like stars, or the bright red firestones of Toren.”

  The voice was a woman’s and was strangely accented. She spoke slowly and haltingly, as though searching for and considering every word. Imi caught her breath at the description of sparkling cloth and burning stones. They sounded marvellous, and she hoped her father would buy some.

  “There is also a world of spices, herbs and exotic foods that you might like to try, and I know there are people in the north who would pay a fortune for the opportunity to try new flavors and produce from Borra. Do not think we have only luxuries to trade. My people have many cures effective in treating all kinds of diseases, and I would not be surprised to discover that you have cures we have never encountered. There is much that we could exchange, Lord.”

  “Yes, we have.” Imi felt her heartbeat quicken as she heard her father’s voice. “It is a fair speech you make, but we have heard it before. Landwalkers once came here claiming that they wished only to trade with us. They stole from us instead, taking sacred objects from this very room. We hunted them down and retrieved our property, and swore never to trust landwalkers again. Why should we break that vow and trust you?”

  Landwalker? Imi thought. This woman is a landwalker! How did she get into the city?

  “I understand your anger and caution,” the woman said. “I would do the same if I had been betrayed in such a manner. I would urge you to retain that caution if you were to open your doors to traders. They are not always the most honest of people. But I am no trader. I am a high priestess of the gods. One of the five chosen to represent them in this world. I cannot stop duplicity in this world any more than you can, but I can work to prevent it, or make certain it is punished. An alliance with us would include an agreement of mutual defense. We would help you protect your lands from invaders, if you would agree to help us in return.”

  That seems a bit silly, Imi thought. There are only a few of us and lots of landwalkers…

  “What help could we possibly offer you, a sorceress of great strength, in command of great armies of landwalkers?”

  “Whatever help you could give, Lord,” she answered calmly. “The Siyee have just made such an agreement with us. They may not be large or strong in body, but there are many ways they can help us.”

  Silence followed. Imi could hear her father clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as he always did when thinking hard.

  “If you are what you say you are,” he said suddenly, “then you should be able to summon Huan now. Do that, so that I may ask her if you speak the truth.”

  The woman made a small noise like a smothered laugh. “I may be one of her representatives, but that doesn’t give me the right to order a god around.” She paused, and her voice became so quiet that Imi could barely hear her. “I have spoken to her of your people recently, however. She said this was for you to decide. She would not interfere.”

  Another silence followed.

  “You know this already, don’t you?” she added in a tone of mild surprise.

  “The goddess has said as much to our priests,” the king admitted. “We are to decide this ourselves. I see it as a sign that she trusts my judgment.”

  “It would appear so,” the woman agreed.

  “My judgment is this: I do not know enough about you, landwalker. I see no reason why we should risk our lives for the sake of a few trinkets. Your offer of protection is tempting, as I’m sure you know it is, but how can you defend us when you live on the other side of the continent?”

  “We will find these raiders and deal with them,” the woman replied. “Any other threat can be tackled by ships sent from Porin.”

  “They would never get here in time. Next you’ll suggest mooring a ship here. Then you’ll want to start a settlement for the crew. That is unacceptable.”

  “I understand. An alternative will be found. If we discuss this—”

  “No.” Imi recognized the stubborn hardness that came into her father’s voice when he had made a decision. She frowned, disappointed. It had sounded so exciting, all this talk of trade. Surely the easiest way to get rid of the raiders was to pay someone else to do it.

  “Imi!”

  She jumped at the voice. It was Teiti’s, and it was not coming from within the pipe. It was coming from the hole in the cupboard. Her teacher had returned. Imi’s heart skipped. The only reason Imi could hear the woman was because she had left the carving—the door to the hole—open! If Teiti discovered the hole, Imi’s visits to the pipe room would end.

  Imi dived into the cupboard. She closed the door behind her, then climbed into the hole. The wooden door was harder to close; she had grown a bit lately and there wasn’t much room to reach back and close the latch.

  Crawling forward as fast as she could, she stopped just within the hole and looked out. Teiti was in the next room, roaming about. As the woman looked under a chair, Imi choked back a laugh. Teiti thought she was hiding.

  “Imi, this is naughty
. Come out now!”

  The woman started toward the bedroom. Imi froze, then, as Teiti paused to look inside a cupboard, quickly reached out and pulled the carving back over the hole.

  She listened as Teiti roamed around the bedroom, her voice all trembly. Imi frowned. Was Teiti angry? Or just upset? The voice faded as her teacher returned to the main room. Then Imi heard a quiet snuffling sound. She flushed with guilt. Teiti was crying!

  Pushing aside the carving, she slid out of the hole as quietly as she could, then carefully bolted the carving back in place, before running into the other room.

  “I’m sorry, Teiti,” she cried.

  The woman looked up, then gasped with relief.

  “Imi! That was not funny!”

  It wasn’t hard to look guilty. Teiti might be a strict teacher, but she could also be fun and generous. Imi liked to play tricks on her friends, but only to make them laugh. She didn’t want to hurt anybody.

  “This must be serious,” she said.

  Teiti wiped her eyes and smiled. “Yes. There’s a landwalker in the palace. I don’t how she got here, or why, but we’d better stay put in case there’s trouble.” Teiti paused and frowned. “Not that I think you’re in any danger, Princess. She doesn’t even know about you, so I think you’re quite safe.”

  Imi thought about the woman she’d overheard talking to her father. A sorceress and priestess of the gods, who wanted the Elai and her people to be allies—which was another word for friends. She didn’t sound like someone to fear.

  Imi nodded. “I think so, too, Teiti.”

  The moon was a cheerful grin of white. When Tryss had first seen it, he could not help thinking how it was a good omen. Now, several hours later, the pale crescent seemed more like a mocking smile.

  Or a murderous blade, he thought. He let out a long breath, sending mist billowing around him, then shook his head. Superstitious nonsense, this. It’s just a big rock stuck in the frozen water of the upper sky. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “I don’t believe it. He’s pacing. Calm, serious Tryss is pacing.”

  Tryss jumped at the voice. “Sreil!” he whispered. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” the older boy said. “It just took a little longer to cut through the wall than I thought.”

  Two figures emerged from the shadows, their footsteps dulled by the snow. Moonlight lit both faces, but Tryss saw only one. Drilli, wrapped in a yern pelt. His heart flipped over as he saw her face. Her eyes were wide. Her expression…hesitant. Anxious.

  “Are you sure—”

  “—about this?”

  They’d spoken the same words, together. Drilli grinned and he found he was doing the same. He stepped forward and took her hands, then touched her face. She closed her eyes briefly, smiling blissfully. He pressed his lips to hers. Her answering kiss was strong and confident. He felt his entire body flush with heat. All the chill of winter seemed to retreat from around them. When they parted, his heart was racing and every doubt had evaporated.

  Or I’ve completely lost my senses, he added. It’s what they say about young men, after all.

  He turned to Sreil.

  “Where now?”

  Sreil chuckled. “In a hurry, are we? I still think Ryliss is the best choice. He has camped a little farther from the Open than everyone else. You know what these Temple Mountain types are like. All serious and seclusive. Follow me.”

  Tryss took Drilli’s hand and they followed Sreil through the forest. It was a long journey; they had to skirt around the top of the Open. The dark shadows of the trees blocked the moonlight and snow blanketed all. Tryss and Drilli tripped over obstacles.

  Drilli made a small sound.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “My feet hurt.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Couldn’t we have flown?”

  “I’m sure if we could have, Sreil would have chosen to.”

  “I guess this is hurting him as much as us.”

  She fell silent, then after a few minutes squeezed his hand.

  “Sorry. How romantic of me to complain about sore feet on my wedding night.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll give you a romantic foot-rub later, if you like.”

  “Mmm. Yes, I’d like that.”

  When a bower appeared among the trees ahead, Tryss felt a surge of relief. Sreil told them to wait while he checked to see if Speaker Ryliss was alone. Tryss felt his stomach beginning to flutter. Sreil moved to the entrance of the bower. A shadow within came to the doorway. The hanging was pulled aside, then Sreil turned and beckoned to them.

  Drilli’s hand was tight around his as they hurried toward the bower. They stopped just outside the door. Speaker Ryliss regarded them thoughtfully, his eyes shadowed by thick gray eyebrows. He waved a hand.

  “Come in.”

  They went inside. A fire was burning to one side, the smoke rising to a hole in the roof. Its heat was welcome. Ryliss gestured to log seats, and as they sat down he settled into a hammock chair.

  “So you two want to get married tonight,” he said. “That is no small thing. Are you both sure of it?”

  Tryss glanced at Drilli, then nodded. She smiled and murmured a “yes.”

  “I understand this is against your parents’ wishes.”

  “Drilli’s parents,” Tryss answered. “Mine wouldn’t protest.”

  The old man regarded them soberly. “You both should know that while you may choose to marry each other without permission from your parents, doing so means your tribe is not obliged to provide a feast or give you any gifts. Your parents are not obliged to accommodate either of you in their bower.”

  “We understand,” Drilli replied.

  The Speaker nodded. “I cannot refuse you this rite, if you request it formally.”

  Tryss rose and Drilli stood by his side. “I am Tryss of the Bald Mountain tribe. I choose to marry Drilli of the Snake River tribe. Will you perform the rite?”

  “I am Drilli of the Snake River tribe. I choose to marry Tryss of the Bald Mountain tribe. Will you perform the rite?”

  Ryliss nodded. “By law I must grant your request. Tryss must now stand behind Drilli. Please take each other’s hands.”

  Drilli grinned as they did as they were told. Her eyes were bright as she looked over her shoulder at him. She looked both excited and a little frightened.

  “Last chance to get out of it,” she whispered.

  He smiled and tightened his grip on her hands. “Only if you can get loose.”

  “Quiet, please,” Ryliss ordered. He frowned at them both. “This is a serious undertaking. You must remain together for the next two years, even if you come to regret your decision. Raise your arms.”

  He opened a small pouch strapped to his waist—the pouch all Speakers wore—and drew out two brightly colored pieces of thin rope. He began to tie one pair of their hands together.

  “I am Ryliss of the Temple Mountain tribe. I bind Tryss of the Bald Mountain tribe and Drilli of the Snake River tribe together as husband and wife. Fly together from this day.”

  He moved to their other clasped hands. “I am Ryliss of the Temple Mountain tribe. I bind Drilli of the Snake River tribe and Tryss of the Bald Mountain tribe together as wife and husband. Fly together from this day.”

  Tryss looked at their hands. If they had been flying this close together, they’d have to be conscious of each other’s every movement.

  I guess that’s the point.

  Ryliss stepped back and crossed his arms.

  “In choosing to bind yourself to each other, you have committed yourselves to a partnership. You are responsible for each other’s health and happiness and for the upbringing of any children produced from your union. As this is your first marriage, you have also chosen to step into the responsibilities of adulthood. You will both be expected to contribute to whichever tribe you choose to live with.”

  He paused, then nodded. “I declare you married.”

  It’
s done, Tryss thought. He looked at Drilli. She smiled. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her arms across her body.

  Sreil cleared his throat. “There remains only one last step.”

  Tryss looked up at Sreil in dismay. What could there possibly be…?

  “That is true.” The corner of Ryliss’s mouth twitched, the closest he had come to a smile all night. He looked at Tryss, then Drilli. “I will be back in the morning. Please do not make a mess.”

  With that, he strode out of the bower and disappeared. Tryss looked at Sreil, confused.

  “What step?”

  Sreil’s grin widened. “I don’t believe you asked that.”

  “Oh!” Tryss felt his face beginning to heat as he realized what Sreil had meant. Drilli giggled.

  “Sometimes I wonder how someone so clever can be so silly,” she said.

  “Me too,” Sreil agreed. “Well, then. I’m sure you’ll have no problems finishing off the ritual. You don’t need my help, so I’ll head back.”

  “Thank you, Sreil,” Drilli said.

  “Yes. I owe you,” Tryss added.

  Sreil feigned innocence. “I had nothing to do with all this.”

  “Nothing at all,” Tryss replied. “Go on, then. We won’t say a word.”

  Sreil chuckled, then backed out of the bower and pulled down the hanging. Tryss listened to his footsteps crunching in the snow. They faded into the distance. Drilli lifted a hand and regarded the ropes, then raised an eyebrow.

  “I do hope Ryliss hasn’t tied these too tightly.”

  32

  The brothel’s caravan was an impressive sight. Twelve tarns stood before the building, each pulled by two arems. The first six tarns were brightly painted, their sides bearing Rozea’s name. The sturdy covers were trimmed with matching colors. The last six were plainer and servants hovered around them, the women waiting beside one of the vehicles, the men adding a few sacks and boxes to another.

  Brand and Tide made appreciative noises, their breath misting in the air. They started toward the fourth cart with Emerahl and three other girls. An hour before, waiting in the dance hall, they had been asked to form groups of six, then Rozea had selected cart numbers for them by taking marked tokens out of a bag.