Voice of the Gods

1

The constant rush of cascading water echoed between the walls. As Emerahl moved further down the tunnel the noise diminished, but so did the light. She drew a little magic and created a spark, then sent it forward to the end of the tunnel and beyond.

Everything was as she had left it: the rough beds in the center of the cave, made of logs lashed together and tough strips of bark woven into a tight net; the stone bowls Mirar had carved while stuck here last summer, waiting until he could master the skill of hiding his mind from the gods; the jars, boxes and bags of dried or preserved food and cures stacked against one wall, gathered over the months they had lived here.

Only one essential part of the cave could not be seen. Moving forward slowly, she felt the magic that imbued the world about her diminish to nothing and she smiled with satisfaction. Keeping her light burning with the magic she had gathered within herself, she continued to the center of the room, where magic once more surrounded her. She was within the void.

Sighing, she sat down on one of the beds. When she had returned here last spring, she had noted that the space devoid of magic had shrunk since her last visit over a century ago. Slowly the magic of the world was seeping back to fill it. That suggested the original void had been even larger before she’d discovered it, and would eventually no longer exist.

For now it would suffice. She had travelled through the rough wild land of Si, a journey which involved a lot more climbing than walking, in order to reach this place. At every second step she had cursed Mirar, her fellow immortal and friend, for talking her into teaching Auraya. Every other step she had cursed The Twins, immortals even more ancient than herself and Mirar, who she had finally met for the first time a few months ago, for agreeing with him.

:We must know what Auraya is, Tamun had said to her in a dream-link, the night after Mirar had made his request. If she becomes an immortal she could also become a valuable ally.

:What if she can’t do it?

:She must still be a powerful sorceress, Surim had replied with uncharacteristic seriousness. Remember, the gods do not like independent sorcerers any more than they like us immortals. If we do not help her they will kill her.

:Will they? Just because she has quit the White doesn’t mean she has turned against them, Emerahl had pointed out. Auraya is still a priestess. She still serves the gods.

:Her mind is full of doubts, Tamun said. The gods’ demand that she kill Mirar without trial weakened her regard for them.

Emerahl nodded. She knew this herself. Once Auraya had removed the ring of the gods’ power her mind had no longer been shielded. With help from The Twins, Emerahl had learned to mind-skim and had occasionally seen Auraya’s thoughts.

The trouble is, while Auraya’s loyalty toward some gods has been weakened she still feels a need to at least remain on good terms with them. If she discovers who I am, she will know the gods want me dead. And she doesn’t have a prior friendship with me to make her reluctant to strike, as she had with Mirar.

She had seen enough of Auraya’s mind to know the former White did not like killing. If their meeting went well the gods wouldn’t even know Emerahl was here. She looked around the room again. The gods were beings of magic, and so could only exist where there was magic. They could not enter these rare, unexplained voids, nor could they see what lay within unless they looked through the eyes of humans standing outside it. Once Auraya was here the gods would not be able to read her mind.

There was still a good chance Emerahl had travelled halfway across the continent for nothing. She could not make Auraya learn anything. She would have to be careful what she told the woman, too. If Auraya left the void before learning to hide her thoughts, the gods would read her mind.

Emerahl shook her head and sighed again. This is such a risk. It’s all very well for The Twins, safely hidden away in the Red Caves in distant Sennon, or Mirar in Southern Ithania. They don’t have to worry that Auraya will change her mind and decide killing immortals without due cause is acceptable.

But The Twins’ help was invaluable. Every day and night they reached out to minds across the continents, skimming thoughts, alert to the intentions and actions of powerful people. The pair had honed these skills over thousands of years. They knew mortals so well, they could predict their behavior with uncanny accuracy.

Mirar had always said that the Wilds - or Immortals, as The Twins called them - each had an innate Gift. Emerahl’s was her ability to change her age, Mirar’s was his unsurpassed ability to heal. The Twins’ was mind-skimming. The Gull’s... she wasn’t sure exactly what his was, but she was sure it had something to do with the sea.

And Auraya’s, Mirar claimed, was her ability to fly. Emerahl felt a twinge of interest ease her annoyance at being here. I wonder if she can teach it to others. Mirar taught me to heal, though I can’t do it as well as he can. Perhaps I won’t be able to fly as well as she can... actually, flying doesn’t sound like an ability one can safely do less well at. Ineptitude could be fatal.

She snorted then. It’s worth a try, though. There has to be some benefit in this for me. It would be easier to like the idea of teaching this girl if I’m compensated for having to put off my search for the Scroll of the Gods.

The Twins had told her that they’d picked up rumors of an artifact that described the War of the Gods from the viewpoint of a long-dead goddess. Emerahl had decided to find it. Such a record might contain information useful to the Immortals. Information that might help them evade the gods’ notice, or survive if they failed. It might even give them the means to fight back.

According to The Twins, scholars in Southern Ithania had been searching for the Scroll for decades. They had made progress lately, but were still lacking enough information to discover the Scroll’s location. The Twins had assured her that these scholars were not about to find it soon, however. She had time enough to teach Auraya.

She moved to the jars and pots and began looking over the cures and preserved food.

But first I need to gather some food. And then I have to figure out a way to get Auraya to come here, and persuade her to stay for a while, all without arousing the gods’ suspicions.

The ship climbed steadily up one side of a wave, paused for a moment at the crest, then plunged down the other side. Mirar gripped the railing, half terrified, half exhilarated. Spray constantly wet him, but he didn’t retreat below deck. The wind and water were a welcome relief from the heat in the small passenger compartment.

And the old man doesn’t need me around to remind him that he’s dying, Mirar told himself.

He’d treated Rikken in one of the small ports along the Avven coast. Tough and wiry, the old merchant had grown anxious at Mirar’s assessment of his failing health. It was not the news that he was dying that bothered him, but that he might not expire in his homeland.

So he had asked Mirar to accompany him on his final journey home to Dekkar, in the hope that having a healer on hand would ensure he returned alive. Mirar had agreed out of restlessness and curiosity. He had encountered no hostility toward Dreamweavers in Avven, but the unending sameness of the towns he had passed through had begun to bore him. The buildings were made of mud-coated brick like those in Sennon, but did not vary in color or design. The people, men and women, wore drab clothing and covered their faces with veils. Even their music was monotonous.

I’m not looking for trouble, he told himself, remembering Emerahl’s accusation during their last dream-link. I like to travel and explore. It’s been a long time since I was free to do so. One of the crew hurried past Mirar, nodding and smiling as their eyes met. And these southerners are friendly, Mirar added, nodding in return.

He looked toward the coast again. A low rock face had appeared the day before and now it soared higher than the cliffs of Toren. Ahead its shadow abruptly ended, and he was beginning to make out the reason.

Time passed slowly, the ship only allowing a glimpse of the coast at the crest of each wave. Mirar waited patiently. Then, between one wave and another, the end of the cliff came into view.

The high rock face turned abruptly inland, its sheer sides dropping to a low, forested land fringed by gentle beaches. The change was extraordinary: bare rock to lush vegetation. The cliff continued to the east, folding back and forth into the distance, growing even higher than at the coast.

The sight was startling. It looked as if the land to the west had been levered up in an enormous slab, shifted forward and deposited on top of that of the east.

Is this natural? Mirar asked himself. Or did some being - god or otherwise - heave up the land long ago?

“Dreamweaver?”

Mirar looked for the source of the voice, and found the crewman standing nearby, a rope in one hand. The other hand pointed toward the forested land.

“Dekkar,” the man explained. Mirar nodded, and the crewman went back to his work with the speed of long practice.

So this was Rikken’s homeland. Dekkar, southernmost of all countries, was famous for its jungle. The cliff was a natural barrier and border between it and Avven. As if obeying some local law, the seas had calmed. The crew put on more sail, and their pace quickened.

For the next few hours Mirar listened to the men talking, guessing at the meaning of their words. An unfamiliar language was a difficulty he hadn’t needed to overcome in a millennium. The dialects of Southern Ithania were descended from a branch of languages far older than Mirar, and so there were few words recognizably related to those of the main continent. So far he had learned enough basic words of the Avven tongue to get by, and from the Dreamweavers he’d encountered he had gleaned most of what he needed to work as a healer.

His own people were more numerous here than in the north. They did not exist in the numbers they once had, but the general populace appeared to accept and respect them, as they did the followers of other “cults.” Even so, he had avoided the few Pentadrian Servants he had seen. Though local Dreamweavers assured him that Servants were tolerant of heathens, he was also a northerner. Those sick Pentadrians who had learned where he had come from had either refused his help, or reluctantly accepted it if he was in the company of local Dreamweavers. He did not expect the priests and priestesses of their religion to feel any differently.

The cliff that was the edge of Avven loomed over the forest like a great wave that threatened to crash down on Dekkar at any moment. As they sailed further south it withdrew slowly to become a bluish shadow as straight as the horizon. At intervals, buildings appeared along the coast. Standing on high stilts, they were constructed mainly of wood and connected by raised walkways, though here and there, usually in the midst of a town, a stone structure stood out. These stone edifices were painted black with the star symbol of the Five Gods outlined prominently in white.

The sun hung low on the horizon when the ship finally turned toward the shore. It tacked into a bay crowded with vessels and surrounded by the largest gathering of buildings Mirar had seen so far. The broad platforms the houses were built upon connected with neighbors via bridges of rope and slats or, occasionally, brightly painted wood.

Catching the talkative crewman’s eye, Mirar glanced toward the town questioningly.

“Kave,” the man told him.

This was Dekkar’s main city and Rikken’s home. Mirar started toward the hold. The old merchant was being kept alive as much by his own determination as Mirar’s help. Now that he was home, it was possible that his determination might fade too quickly to get him to shore.

So he stopped, surprised, when Rikken stepped out of the hold on wobbly legs. Yuri, the man’s servant and constant companion, was supporting one arm. Mirar stepped forward to take the other.

The old man’s eyes sought the town and he gave a small sigh.

“The Sanctuary of Kave,” he said. Mirar recognized the word “sanctuary,” but could only guess at the mumble that followed. Yuri was frowning, but he didn’t speak as Rikken moved to the rail. From somewhere a crewman produced a stool, and Rikken lowered himself onto it to wait.

The ship worked its way into the bay, dropped anchor, then much fuss was made of lowering Rikken gently into a boat. Mirar collected his bag from the hold and joined the old man.

Crewmen swung down to pick up the oars, and the little boat began to move toward the city. When they reached the wharf, Mirar and Yuri helped Rikken disembark. Mirar noted that the stilts the houses were built upon were whole tree trunks and together they looked like a sturdy, leafless forest.

Yuri arranged for two of the sailors to carry Rikken up a staircase to the platform above. Two others lifted up a litter that had been stowed on the boat. Once they had reached the interconnected platforms of the city, Rikken slumped onto the litter and the four sailors lifted it up. Mirar watched as they started in the direction of the Sanctuary. He bade the old man a silent farewell.

As if hearing Mirar’s thoughts, the old man looked back at him and frowned. He croaked something and the men stopped.

“You come with us,” Yuri explained.

Mirar hesitated, then nodded. I’ll accompany him as far as the Sanctuary, he told himself. After that I’ll take my leave and seek out the local Dreamweaver House. He followed as the crew carried Rikken from one house veranda to another, watched by the inhabitants of Kave.

A maze of verandas and bridges followed. The sailors could not carry the litter across the less stable rope bridges, so they were forced to take a winding path. Over an hour passed before they reached the Sanctuary.

It was a massive stepped pyramid, rising from the muddy soil below. Though squat, it had a heavy, sober presence which made even the more robust wooden houses seem small and temporary. Several Servants hovered around the outside. Mirar moved closer to the litter.

“It has been an honor—” he began.

Rikken turned to look at Mirar. His face was deathly pale and glistened with sweat. Mirar’s farewell died in his throat as he realized the old man was close to having another seizure. Yuri gave a low gasp and began urging the sailors to hurry.

As the group hastened toward the Sanctuary entrance, Mirar sighed and followed them. I guess it’s time to find out how these Pentadrian Servants are going to react to a northern Dreamweaver.

Servants moved to intercept then guide the merchant into the Sanctuary. Once in the cool interior the litter was lowered to the floor. The old man was clutching his chest now. Yuri looked at Mirar expectantly.

Mirar crouched beside Rikken and took his hand. Sending his mind forth, he sensed that the man’s heart was failing. Normally he would let the man die; his only malady was age. But he had been asked to ensure the man reached his home, and he was conscious that many black-robed men and women were watching him.

He drew magic and used it to strengthen the heart a little - enough to steady and restore its beat, but that was all. Rikken’s face regained its color and his pained expression eased. He took a few deep breaths, then nodded at Mirar gratefully.

“Thank you.”

Looking up, Mirar found a circle of Servants regarding him and Rikken curiously. Then an older male Servant stepped through the others and smiled at the merchant. He spoke rapidly in Dekkan, and Rikken muttered a surly reply. The Servant laughed, then began ordering the other Servants about.

Clearly he’s in charge around here, Mirar mused.

A chair was brought and Rikken helped into it. From the friendly manner of the old Servant and the merchant, Mirar guessed they knew each other well. He stepped back and looked around the room.

As he did, he could not help feeling a thrill of appreciation. The walls were covered in pictures made up of tiny fragments of glazed pottery, arranged so artfully that they suggested greater detail than they truly gave. The room was five-sided, each wall depicting one of the Pentadrian gods.

Sheyr, Hrun, Alor, Ranah and Sraal. Mirar had learned the names from the Dreamweavers he’d met. Unlike the Circlian gods, these preferred to keep to themselves, only appearing at momentous occasions. They let their followers run their own affairs, so long as they didn’t stray too far from the central tenets of their religion.

Which makes one wonder how the Pentadrians came to invade Northern Ithania. Did they make that decision themselves, or is waging war one of those central tenets? They do train their priests in warfare, so I suppose the latter isn’t impossible.

He frowned. If that’s true, then it doesn’t bode well for Northern Ithania’s future.

“Dreamweaver,” Yuri called.

Mirar looked up and realized the old Servant was regarding him. The man began to speak, but Yuri interrupted him apologetically. The Servant listened, then his eyebrows rose and he looked at Mirar again.

“You from Northern Ithania?” he asked in Hanian.

Mirar blinked in surprise at the man’s use of the northern language, then nodded. “Yes.”

“How long you been in Southern Ithania?”

“A few months.”

“Do you like?”

Mirar smiled. How could any visitor to another land answer that question in any way but favorably?

“Yes. Your people are welcoming and friendly.”

The priest nodded. “Dreamweavers not welcomed in north, I hear. Now it is more bad.” He looked at Rikken and smiled. “Here we are not so fools.”

“No,” Mirar agreed. More bad? Maybe I should contact Dreamweaver Elder Arleej tonight and ask if that’s true - and why.

“You do good work with this man. Thank you.”

Mirar inclined his head to acknowledge the thanks. As the priest turned to Rikken his expression became solemn. He spoke in the local tongue, then traced a star shape in the air. Rikken looked down like a chastised child and nodded with acceptance.

Taking a deep breath, Mirar let it out slowly. The Servant had been friendly and even respectful, despite knowing Mirar came from the north. Perhaps being a Dreamweaver was enough to make up for being a foreigner from an enemy land. Perhaps Servants were more sensible about these matters than ordinary Pentadrians.

Most likely there are just as many Servants inclined to be suspicious of me as ordinary Pentadrians. I’ve been lucky enough to meet one who isn’t. He smiled grimly. And the longer I stay in Southern Ithania, the better the chances I’ll encounter one who is.

2

Snow still clung to the highest peaks in Si, but everywhere else the effects of warmer weather were plain to see. The forest was a riot of new growth and flowers. In narrow valleys and on natural tiers along the sides of mountains crops were green and thriving.

The last few days had been the hottest Auraya had endured. In the past she had visited Si during the cooler months of the year. Si experienced both warmer and cooler seasons than she was used to - colder because it was mostly mountainous, warmer because it lay further south than Hania, on the same latitude as the desert land of Sennon.

Flying could provide some relief. The air high up was always chilly. But today she flew low. Her Siyee companions could not tolerate flying for long in a cold wind. The chill stiffened their muscles and taxed their strength.

She looked at the man flying beside her. Though an adult, he was half her size. His chest was broad and his legs muscular. The bones of his last three fingers made up the frame of his wings, supporting a membrane that stretched to the sides of his body. She had spent so long with Siyee now that she had to consciously make herself notice the differences between them and herself. When she did she was amazed that they had offered her, a “landwalker,” a permanent home in their country.

Not that she didn’t give them anything in return. The magical Gifts she had retained since resigning from the White were constantly in use for their benefit, most often flying and healing. She was just returning from a mission to heal a wounded girl in another Siyee village. And if not for those Gifts, many hundreds would have died from plague.

The pale stretch of exposed rock that was the Open - the main Siyee village - was visible ahead of her now. Auraya felt her heart lift. She could make out the Siyee’s homes around the edge of the exposed rock face - bowers made of membranes stretched over a flexible wooden frame fixed to the trunk of a massive tree. She could also see two familiar figures standing on the highest rockshelf, looking up toward her and her companions: Speaker Sirri, the Siyee leader, and Sreil, her son.

Auraya swooped down and landed a few strides away, her companions following. Sirri smiled.

“You’re back early,” she said. “How did it go?”

“I was able to heal her arm,” Auraya replied.

“It was incredible!” the youngest of Auraya’s companions exclaimed. “The girl flew straight after!”

Auraya grimaced. “Which I strongly warned against. I wouldn’t be surprised if that girl’s recklessness leads to worse than a broken arm in the future.”

“Her mother’s a drunkard.”

Auraya glanced in surprise at the man who’d spoken. The Speaker for the girl’s tribe had kept mostly silent until now. He met her eyes and shrugged. “We try to teach the girl some discipline, but it is not easy when her mother allows her to do anything she wants.”

Auraya thought back to the hysterical woman who had hovered over the child protectively. “Maybe that will change now.”

“I doubt it,” the man murmured. Then he shrugged. “Maybe. I should not - what is that?”

She followed his gaze and smiled as she saw a small creature bounding toward her. His pointed ears were folded back and his fluffy tail furled out behind him like a banner.

“That is a veez. His name is Mischief.”

She bent down and let the veez scurry up her arms. Mischief sniffed her, then curled up around her shoulders.

“Owaya back,” he said contentedly.

The tribe leader stared at the veez in astonishment.

“It said your name. It can speak?”

“He can, though don’t expect stirring conversation. His interests usually relate to food or grooming.” She scratched Mischief behind the ears and he proved her point by whispering: “Scratch nice.”

Sirri chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave that to his minder again soon. A messenger arrived from the North Forest tribe this morning. He says he encountered a sick landwalker woman a few days ago. She has requested you treat her.”

Auraya blinked in surprise. “A landwalker?”

“Yes.” Sirri smiled grimly. “I asked if he suspected she was a Pentadrian. He’s sure she isn’t. In fact, he says she’s visited Si before in order to get out of harm’s way when the war started. Would you like to question him yourself?”

“Yes.”

The Speaker looked at Sreil. “Could you fetch him? Thank you. In the meantime,” she turned back to look at the Siyee who had accompanied Auraya to the Open, “you are all welcome to join me for refreshments in my bower.”

As they began to walk toward Sirri’s home, Auraya considered the possibility that this landwalker was a Pentadrian sorceress in disguise. It was likely that news of her resignation had reached Southern Ithania, and that one of their five sorcerers had come here seeking revenge for the death of their former leader, Kuar, whom Auraya had killed in the war.

She had retained her ability to fly and heal since resigning from the White, but she’d had no opportunity to test whether any of the fighting Gifts the gods had given her in order to defend Northern Ithania were still hers. I have no idea how strong my Gifts are now, but so far they don’t appear to have reduced by much. I guess I’ll find out how much if this woman does prove to be a Pentadrian assassin!

She could only assume she was no longer immortal. It would be a few years before signs of age confirmed that she had lost that Gift. Had it been worth it? She looked around the Open and nodded to herself. With her ability to fly rapidly from village to village, coupled with the healing Gift Mirar had taught her, she had prevented many hundreds of Siyee deaths during the spread of Hearteater through the country. Not all deaths, however. She could not be in two places at once, and when the plague had been at its worst there had been too many sick Siyee for her to reach.

Though the official reason for her resignation from the White - the plague in Si - had passed, she found she did not miss her former position. She was content to live out the rest of her life helping the Siyee. Juran had allowed her to remain a priestess and had even sent a priest ring and circs, brought to Si by one of two priests who had joined the pair already in the Open.

Juran was the only White who still communicated with her. She had heard nothing from the others. The gods no longer visited her either, though occasionally she had sensed something in the magic around her that suggested Chaia’s presence.

I wonder if he’s watching me. He must know whether this landwalker woman is a Pentadrian or not. I wonder if he’ll warn me if she is.

She missed his visits. Sometimes at night she longed for his touch and the sublime pleasure he had brought her when they were lovers. But that had just been sensation, not affection. What she missed most was having someone to confide in. To share her worries with.

Even if that someone is the source of the worries, she mused.

Reaching the edge of the forest, Sirri led them to her bower. It was a little larger than the average bower, allowing her to host gatherings of visiting Siyee. Once inside they sat down and began to eat the bread, fruit and nuts Sirri laid out on the table for them. After several minutes Sreil returned with the messenger, a young man he introduced as Tyve, who looked familiar.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Auraya asked.

The Siyee nodded. “Yes. I was helping Dreamweaver Wilar when you came to my village last year.”

Wilar. At the name Auraya felt a shiver run down her spine and a face flashed into her memory. Wilar was the name Mirar had been using while among the Siyee.

Wilar. Mirar. Leiard. I wonder if he goes by any other names. She had been appalled to discover that the man she had learned magic and cures from as a child, whom she had loved and trusted as an adult, was actually the famous Mirar, immortal founder of the Dreamweavers. The deception had angered her at first, but she hadn’t been able to sustain her fury once he opened his mind to show her the truth about his past.

It was impossible to imagine what it had been like for him, crushed beneath a building then existing without a memory while his crippled body slowly healed over many, many years. He had invented the personality that was Leiard and suppressed his own in order to hide his true identity from the gods.

It is a miracle he survived, she thought. I can’t help admiring him for that.

By the time she had encountered him in the North River village, Mirar’s true self had regained control, but only by somehow combining with the persona of Leiard.

I’d just started to like him again when the gods ordered me to kill him.

“Do you remember?” Tyve asked tentatively.

She dragged her attention back to him. “Yes. I do. Sirri tells me you’ve met this landwalker woman before?”

He nodded. “Yes, at the same place we first met Wilar. I think they know each other.”

Auraya’s heart skipped a beat. Could this be the friend she had glimpsed in Mirar’s mind when he had opened his thoughts to her?

“What does she look like?”

“Tall, hair the color of bloodsap, but lighter. Pale skin. Green eyes.”

Auraya nodded. The woman in Mirar’s memory had red hair. “Did she give you her name?”

“Yes. Jade Dancer.”

“And what ails her?”

“She doesn’t know. Something inside her belly.”

If the woman was Mirar’s friend, why had she come to Si? Was she looking for Mirar? Had she come looking for his help only to find him gone? Auraya frowned. Is the illness real or a deception to bring me to her? Why would she want to meet me?

If the woman was Mirar’s friend, the gods probably didn’t approve of her. Are any of them listening now? She searched the magic around her but felt no sign of them. The last thing I want is the gods asking me to kill someone again. The sooner I meet this woman and send her on her way, the better.

“Will you help her?” Tyve asked. “She’s nice,” he added.

Auraya nodded. “I will.” Even if she isn’t ill, I want to know how she came to be in Si. And perhaps she’ll have news of Mirar.

Faint scraping sounds and a clink of chains echoed in the stairwell as the cage Danjin stood within moved upward. He watched as the many levels of the White Tower passed. Sometimes it felt as if the cage was still, and the Tower was moving up or down around it. At those times he wondered if Auraya had the same impression when she was “flying.” She had described her ability as moving herself in relation to the world. Did it sometimes feel as if she was moving the world in relation to herself?

The cage slowed and stopped level with a wide step in the staircase beyond. The door swivelled open, no doubt pushed with magic directed by the woman standing beside him.

He glanced at Dyara of the White, second-oldest and strongest of the Circlian leaders. Moving forward, Dyara led him out of the cage and across the staircase to a wooden door.

As she knocked, Danjin felt a twinge of apprehension. This had been Auraya’s room. He had visited it many times as her adviser. Now it belonged to her replacement, Ellareen of the White.

Being Auraya’s adviser had been a challenging task, but one made easier because he had liked and respected her. Was it too much to hope it would be the same with the newest of the White? At the same time as wondering if he would like her, he worried whether she would like him. It won’t help if I constantly compare her to Auraya, he told himself. He knew he would not be able to help himself sometimes, and she would not be able to help reading it from his mind...

The door opened. A tall, slender woman stood in the opening. Her hair had been set in an elaborate style and she was wearing a white tunic and circ of the finest-quality cloth. She looked elegant and poised, yet she was not beautiful, he noted. Not unattractive, either. She appeared to be older than Auraya, but only by a few years.

“Ellareen,” Dyara said. “This is Danjin Spear.”

“Come inside,” the new White responded, stepping back.

He watched her as she ushered them to chairs, then brought them glasses of water. His investigations had revealed that she was originally from Somrey. Her father had been employed by a wealthy trader and her family had moved to Jarime when he was chosen to manage the Hanian side of the business. Ella had joined the priesthood at twelve and eventually became a healer. She had worked at the hospice since it had opened. Something had happened at the hospice a short while before the Choosing Ceremony which had impressed the White enough to promote her to high priestess.

And she must have impressed the gods, too, because now she was a White.

She radiated a calm self-assurance despite the magnitude of the responsibilities she had suddenly been given. This surprised Danjin. Auraya had been a little overwhelmed by her Choosing the first time he had met her.

Dyara began praising Danjin’s abilities and he pretended to deny all - just as they had each done when she had introduced him to Auraya, he remembered. Ellareen’s mouth twitched up at one corner, then she lifted a hand to interrupt.

“I know Danjin Spear is the best man for the job,” she said, smiling at Dyara. Her eyes shifted to his. “After all, he is the only one who can claim prior experience working with a new White.”

Dyara shifted in her seat slightly, perhaps a little annoyed at the interruption. “That is definitely an advantage.”

“Indeed.” Ellareen turn to regard him. “What was it like working with Auraya?”

He paused, surprised by the frank question. Naturally she would be curious about her predecessor, but he had expected the new White to avoid the subject. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps only because of the rumors surrounding Auraya’s resignation.

“Hard work, but enjoyable,” he replied.

“You liked her,” she stated.

He smiled. “Yes.”

She raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to say more.

“She is able to empathise with others, though I think that made her work as difficult as it made it easy.”

Ellareen nodded. “It would. As a healer, compassion can be a weakness as well as a strength.”

He smiled at this reminder that Ellareen had been a healer priestess. Perhaps that work had taught her to be composed no matter what the situation. “What do you believe are your own strengths and weaknesses, Ellareen of the White?”

“Just call me Ella,” she said, then pursed her lips as she considered his question. “I don’t know... my faith in the gods, perhaps. When there is no obvious answer, I do what the gods tell me.”

That sounds like a personal mantra. Interesting. “A wise policy.”

She glanced at Dyara, who smiled faintly, before looking at him again. “Though the gods never told me to do anything until recently,” she told him, “I always gave them a chance to - before sorting out my messes myself.”

He chuckled. “They appreciated that, I’m sure. Not that I’m suggesting you’re going to make any messes now.” He looked at Dyara. “You have plenty of experienced helpers to call upon.”

“Yes. Including yourself. Dyara tells me you have spies all over Ithania.”

“Spies?” Danjin laughed. “Hardly spies, just people I know in courts and old trading friends.”

“Tell me about them.”

Taking another sip of water, Danjin leaned back in his chair and began to regale her with stories of the people he knew, in both high and low places, as well as how they had helped him in the past and could do so again. She appeared to be genuinely amused at the more humorous of his anecdotes. That was a good sign. Her sense of humor was a good counterbalance to the almost unnerving confidence she exuded.

She’ll make a good White, he decided. Let’s hope she lasts a little longer than Auraya did.

3

Auraya had glimpsed the waterfalls in the distance the few times she had flown to the North River tribe village. Now, as the young Siyee guide descended toward them, she saw that there were several falls, each plunging over a step in the land into a pool from which a shallow river flowed to the next fall.

Tyve swooped down to land beside one of the falls and Auraya dropped down beside him. The air hissed with the sound of falling water as Auraya looked around. It was a pretty place. She saw no sign of the landwalker woman.

Tyve gestured to the cascade. “She lives in there, behind the water. You can get in from the side.”

Auraya nodded. “Thank you, Tyve. You’d better go home. If I need anything I’ll drop in to your village.”

He nodded, ran lightly across the exposed rocks at the river’s edge, up onto a boulder, and leapt into the air. Watching him glide away, Auraya remembered something about the boy.

He wanted to become a Dreamweaver. She’d read it from his mind back when she had been helping Mirar treat his village. Mirar hadn’t said he would teach the boy, but he hadn’t refused either.

His dreams would have been dashed when Mirar fled Si. Still, it’s for the best. If he turned from the gods to become a Dreamweaver his soul would be lost when he died.

The idea of Siyee becoming Dreamweavers disturbed her. It was ironic that while she had been setting up the hospice in Jarime - which might ultimately reduce numbers of Dreamweavers by drawing prospective students to the priesthood - a Siyee had been on his way to becoming a Dreamweaver.

It was almost a relief to no longer be responsible for the hospice. Juran had reported good progress. It was nice to know it continued to benefit the people of the city while improving Circlian healing knowledge. But she had never been comfortable knowing that, even though it saved souls by encouraging those who might have joined the Dreamweavers to join the Circlians instead, she had been working toward the demise of the Dreamweavers.

The Siyee were her only concern now. Putting all thoughts of the hospice out of her mind, she started toward the waterfall.

The rock face behind the fall formed an overhang, and she found that she could slip behind the water into a cave. While the water allowed enough light through to illuminate the front of the cave, the back was shrouded in darkness. She drew magic and created a light, revealing a tunnel, then started forward. A light appeared ahead leading her on, around a corner, to a larger cave. Pots and jars stood by one wall and some rudimentary furniture was arranged in the middle.

A woman was sitting on one of two rough beds with her back to Auraya. Her clothing was plain, but the hair that spilled over her shoulders was a rich red. Her arms moved at some hidden task.

“Are you Jade Dancer?” Auraya asked, using the Siyee language. The woman must be able to communicate with the sky people in order to send Auraya a message.

The woman looked up from her task, but didn’t turn.

“Yes. Come in. I am making some hot maita. We have much to discuss.”

“Do we?” Auraya moved forward.

The woman chuckled. “Yes.”

Something about this place made Auraya uneasy. She felt vulnerable, though she could see nothing threatening in the room. Stopping, she drew magic and created a barrier about herself.

The woman turned to look at Auraya curiously. “Why so wary? I do not mean you any harm.”

Auraya stared back, looking for clues in the woman’s expression. She had a beautiful face, but lines around the eyes and mouth indicated she was well into her middle years. They were lines of humor, but also of grief or bitterness.

“Why am I not convinced of that?”

Jade’s eyes narrowed and she regarded Auraya thoughtfully. Then she beckoned. “Come a few steps closer.”

Auraya hesitated, then obeyed. As she did her barrier faltered. She reached for more magic, but none came to her.

As she realized what her senses had been telling her all along, she felt a rush of terror. There was no magic around her. She was as vulnerable as any Giftless mortal. She backed away and found herself surrounded by magic again.

“What you are sensing is a void. It is only a few steps deep. See?” The woman waved a hand carelessly and a spark of light appeared before her. “You can gather some magic first to protect yourself as you cross it.”

Auraya considered the woman. If she wanted to take advantage of my moment of vulnerability she would have done so. Drawing magic, she created another barrier and fed magic into it as she walked across the room. Now that her attention had been drawn to the void it was easy to sense. Still, she did not feel at ease until she was out of it again.

Jade regarded her with a knowing smile and gestured toward the other bed.

“Have a seat.”

Auraya sat down. Between the beds was a large rock with a smooth, round hole carved into it, filled with boiling water. Jade ladled out the water into a bowl. The grains in the bowl dissolved to make a dark red liquid, and the distinct smell of maita reached Auraya. The woman poured it into two small cups and handed one to Auraya.

“Mirar slept on that bed last year,” she said.

Auraya nodded slowly. “So you’re the friend. I suspected as much.”

“That was before you tried to kill him,” Jade continued, ignoring Auraya’s comment. “But you couldn’t do it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“I had my reasons.”

The woman’s gaze was direct. “He opened his mind to you, and showed you the truth. That’s why. He risked a lot in order for you to know it.”

“Or simply to save himself.”

Jade’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you think? Did you not consider he did it for love?”

Auraya met the woman’s stare. “Love had nothing to do with it. He wanted me to know the truth, but he would not have revealed it if I hadn’t been about to kill him. He would have continued deceiving me.”

The woman nodded. “But you must know he loves you. Do you love him?”

Auraya felt conflicting feelings returning and pushed them aside. Why was Jade asking these questions? Why did she want to know if Auraya loved Mirar? Was she jealous, or just a protective friend? Auraya considered different answers and how Jade might react to them. A denial might anger her, and Auraya did not want to risk that. An affirmation might be tested, however.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I doubt it, since I don’t really know him - or rather, I know only a part of him. Do you love him?”

“As a friend.”

“You helped him regain his identity.”

“Yes.” Jade looked down at her cup and frowned. “I brought him here after the battle. He was quite a mess. Wasn’t sure who he was. Leiard one moment, Mirar the next.” She grimaced. “He eventually sorted himself out. I thought he’d be safe here in Si, but he has a talent for getting himself in trouble. First you nearly kill him, then he narrowly avoided the White in Sennon, and now...” She shook her head.

Auraya looked at Jade skeptically. “Since you so obviously want me to ask: where is he now?”

The woman’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Do I? But I can’t tell you, or the gods will read it from your mind when you leave the void.”

“When I leave...?” Auraya frowned and looked around the cave, though she didn’t expect to see any visible clue to confirm her suspicions.

“The void surrounds us on all sides. The gods are beings of magic, so they can’t reach us here.”

Auraya considered this news. If Jade told her where Mirar was... but if Jade knew then the gods could take the information from her mind when she left the void anyway. Unless... unless Jade could hide her thoughts, as Mirar could. Auraya resisted the urge to stare at the woman. How powerful is she? Could she be another immortal?

“When I leave they will know you are here,” she observed. “They will read that from my mind, too.”

Jade spread her hands. “Yes. But why would that concern them? I am just an old curer with dubious friends.”

“If Mirar feared revealing your existence, then you have reason to fear it.”

Jade’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re not stupid. That’s good.”

“How do you plan to stop me leaving?”

“By making you an offer too good to refuse.”

“And if I refuse it and leave?”

“You will never see me again.”

The woman sounded confident. If she is an immortal, she has managed to evade the gods’ notice for over a hundred years. Keeping away from me shouldn’t be hard for her.

“What is your offer?”

Jade smiled. “To teach you how to hide your thoughts from the gods.”

So I was right. She can hide her mind. After all, she must be able to do it to be able to teach it.

“Why?”

“Why would I teach you or why would you agree to learn it?”

“Both.”

Jade leaned forward. “What if I told you Mirar was in trouble? That he needed your help? What would you say to that?”

“I would tell you I cannot help him,” Auraya replied without hesitation. Huan’s voice repeated in her mind: If you set yourself against us or the White, or if you ally yourself with our enemies, you will be regarded as our enemy. “What sort of trouble is he in?”

“Mortal danger.”

Auraya’s heart began to race. Was this woman testing her, or was he truly facing death? What if he is? She couldn’t - wouldn’t - help him if it meant making an enemy of the gods. Refusing to kill him had already cost her so much.

Abruptly, Jade stood up and moved away, walking to the pots by the wall.

“I’m glad I don’t have such a choice to make,” she said. “Though I never had a choice offered to me. I’ve always been despised by the gods.” She picked up a jar and turned to smile at Auraya. “Mirar is in Mur, in a little seaside town called Bria, where Dreamweavers are accepted by the locals for all their skills. He is in no danger.”

Auraya sighed with relief, but suspicion quickly returned. “You’re lying, at least about his location. You wouldn’t have told me where he was until I had agreed to learn to hide my thoughts.”

Jade unplugged the jar and sniffed the contents.

“Wouldn’t I?” She set the jar down again. “Are you willing to risk that it’s true, and be the cause of his demise?”

Auraya shook her head. “You haven’t answered my questions. Why do you want me to learn this?”

“Mirar asked me to teach it to you. He believes you are in danger and I fear he will come here himself if I don’t do it.”

“You risked exposing yourself on a whim of his?”

Jade’s expression became serious. “Not a whim, I’m afraid.” She walked back to the beds. “You are in danger.”

“How so?”

“From the gods, you silly girl. You defied them. You are too powerful. The only reason they didn’t kill you when you resigned was because you were still useful to them. Now that the Siyee are well they’ll be looking for any excuse to get rid of you.”

Auraya thought of the conversation between the gods that she’d overheard after she’d announced her intention to resign.

:Give her what she wants, Saru had said. Then we can get rid of her.

:Only if she turns against us, Chaia had replied.

“Any excuse?” she said, standing up. “Like learning to hide my thoughts from them. Like associating with yet another Wild.” She stepped around Jade and started toward the cave entrance. “Tell Mirar the best he can do to protect me is stay away and stop meddling in my affairs.”

She heard Jade’s footsteps behind her.

“Mirar is a besotted fool. That’s why he taught you to heal, even though he knew you would eventually work out that it is the same Gift that makes us immortal. He gave you an escape route.”

Auraya caught her breath and slowed to a stop. If what Jade was telling her was true, Mirar had deliberately taught her something that could lead to her becoming immortal. No wonder the gods had forbidden Circlians to learn magical healing. Yet the gods had let her learn it...

“He saw the potential in you - and so did the gods,” Jade continued. “Why do you think they gave you such impossible choices? They know your weaknesses. They manipulated you neatly into leaving the White, leaving their followers believing you sacrificed all for the Siyee. Now you can tragically die and nobody will question it.”

Auraya turned to stare at the woman. She shook her head. “You’re lying.” She must be lying.

Jade laughed. “If only I was. Can you take that risk?”

Chaia’s face rose in Auraya’s memory. Even if Jade was right, she was only partly right. Not all of the gods want me dead.

If she refused Jade’s help she risked that Huan and her allies would kill her, despite Chaia’s opposition.

If she accepted she risked losing Chaia’s support - if she still had it.

Auraya turned away. As she started toward the cave entrance again she expected Jade to follow. Instead the woman called after her.

“You’re a Wild, Auraya. The gods know it. They’re just waiting for the right moment to kill you.”

“I’m not immortal yet,” Auraya tossed over her shoulder. She sensed she was approaching the void and drew magic to maintain her barrier. “I don’t have to become immortal, even if I have the potential to.”

“You don’t have to hide your thoughts either. But if you know how, then if Mirar’s concerns prove valid you may find the Gift useful.”

Auraya slowed and stopped within the void, turned, then stepped back inside the barrier. Jade regarded her soberly.

If there is no crime in having knowledge that can lead to immortality, then there is no crime in knowing how to hide my thoughts, she thought. And if Mirar returns because I refused to learn from Jade, it will cause all manner of trouble.

“How long will it take?” she asked.

Jade’s expression softened. “A few weeks. Less, if you’re a fast learner.”

“The Siyee will come looking for me.”

“We’ll tell them you’re staying only until you’re sure I’m well.”

“Ah, yes. The mythical illness.” Auraya strode toward the woman. “Expect to heal quickly, Jade Dancer, as I don’t intend to be here any longer than necessary.”

The woman snorted. “I assure you, neither do I.”

No matter how many times Reivan rode in a litter, she could never get used to the movement, especially when the carriers were jogging. Or was it the fact that the four slaves had her dignity and well being in their hands which made her uneasy? Like all slaves they were criminals, but these had been chosen for this task by the Servants of the Gods for their reliability, coordination and willing cooperation.

But whoever chose them probably assumed any Servant riding a litter has Skills to call upon if they ever need to defend themselves, or the slaves dropped the litter. She didn’t even have enough Skill to stir up the still, hot air to cool herself. Usually one could only become a Servant if one had Skills, but she had been an exception. Being ordained as a Servant of the Gods had been Reivan’s reward for saving the Pentadrian army from becoming lost in the mines of Sennon... was it really less than a year ago?

She sighed and tried not to look at the sweat running down the backs of the slaves. The signs of their discomfort only made her more uncomfortable. And these black Servant robes don’t help, she added, plucking at the neckline.

The slaves turned onto the Parade and wound their way through the crowd toward the Sanctuary. The sprawl of buildings that made up the main Pentadrian Temple looked like a giant staircase. Imenja had ordered Reivan to return as quickly as possible, and the thought of ascending up through most of the Sanctuary to reach her wasn’t a welcoming one.

At the wide stairs of the building, the slaves set the litter down. Reivan paused to nod in thanks to the slave master, then started her journey upward.

A wide, arched façade welcomed visitors to the largest Pentadrian building in all Ithania. Stepping through one of the openings, she entered a large, breezy hall. Servants hovered around, ready to greet visitors. Beyond the hall there was a courtyard, which she skirted so she could stay in the cool shadows.

A wide corridor followed, taking her through the Lower Sanctuary. Servants were everywhere, their black robes like ink stains against the white walls. The corridor split several times as it branched out into the Middle Sanctuary. As she hurried along the route to the Upper Sanctuary, Servants stepped out of her way and nodded politely.

Their respect roused a smug satisfaction within her. They’ve been like this since Imenja and I returned from negotiating the agreement with the Elai. There had been no protest when Imenja had made Reivan her Companion. Even so, I can’t help looking for signs that the Servants’ acceptance of me is wearing off.

The corridors in the Upper Sanctuary were wide and quiet. The walls were decorated with artworks, and mosaics covered the floors. Doors led to private courtyards, where fountains kept the air cool. She now had a suite of rooms decorated in the same austere but luxurious fashion the Voices enjoyed.

I suppose if you’re going to spend eternity serving the gods you may as well be comfortable while doing so, she mused. I may not be immortal, or need a suite of rooms all to myself, but I appreciate them as much for being an acknowledgment of all the work I do as for their comforts.

:Are you far away? a familiar voice spoke into Reivan’s mind.

It might have been Reivan’s imagination, but Imenja’s mental call seemed strained with anxiety. Reivan frowned.

:No. I’ve two corridors to go, she replied.

Now concern added to her discomfort. Small incidents and hints had led Reivan to suspect her mistress and Nekaun, the First Voice, had grown to dislike each other. She had noticed that Imenja frequently disagreed with Nekaun, and that the First Voice often overrode Imenja’s decisions. Both did so while using the politest of language.

There were subtler signs, too. Whenever in the same room, Imenja never faced Nekaun directly. She often crossed her arms or leaned slightly away from him. He smiled at her frequently, but his eyes always expressed some other emotion than good humor. Sometimes anger; sometimes a challenge.

I’m probably just reading them badly, Reivan told herself. But she could not help feeling disturbed. Any sign of conflict between the Voices, no matter how small, is enough to make anyone uneasy. Even if one could forget the immense magical powers they could wield, there is the long-term welfare of the people to consider. The Voices have to put up with each other for eternity. It is better they get along.

On a personal level it bothered her further. She liked Imenja. The Second Voice treated Reivan like a friend as well as a Companion. She also liked Nekaun, but in an entirely different way. He didn’t treat her like a friend, though he was friendly. Whenever he turned his natural, habitual charm on her she couldn’t help feeling a rush of hope and excitement.

Reivan had hoped a few months at sea would cure her of her attraction to Nekaun, but it hadn’t. Yet the journey had boosted her confidence and determination not to make a fool of herself. She could not do her job and avoid him, so she had decided she simply had to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and the distracting thoughts he stirred until she had been around him so much that he was ordinary and unexciting.

Reaching the beginning of the corridor that gave access to the long balcony on which the Voices liked to meet, Reivan paused to catch her breath. She smoothed her robes, wiped her face, cleared her mind and set forth again.

The sound of chatter drew her to the end. Several woven reed chairs had been arranged where the view over the city was best. All Voices and their Companions were sitting except for Nekaun. As always, he stood leaning against the railing, looking down at his fellow rulers and their advisers.

Reivan made the sign of the star over her chest and nodded respectfully to all the Voices. The Fifth Voice, Shar, was sipping flavored water. His pale skin and long pale hair was a stark contrast to Genza’s warm brown skin and cropped hair. Vervel, the stocky Third Voice, was heavier and older in appearance than his companions. As always, Genza had brought one of her trained birds, and a vorn lay by Shar’s feet. On Shar’s feet, Reivan noted. The beast panted in the heat of the day.

Avoiding Nekaun’s gaze, Reivan looked at Imenja, the Second Voice. Her mistress was slim and elegant, appearing to be in her late thirties. She smiled at Reivan and gestured to the empty chair beside her.

The conversation had stopped on Reivan’s arrival, but attention had not shifted to her. All were regarding Nekaun expectantly.

He smiled. “Now that we are all here, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Heshema Guide. He has just returned from Northern Ithania, where he has been researching a little recent history for me.”

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Reivan saw that Imenja was frowning. Her expression of disapproval vanished as footsteps echoed in the corridor. Reivan turned to see a middle-aged man enter the balcony.

She had expected someone with such a typical Sennon name to have the distinctive thin build and sun-browned skin of that race, but Heshema was an unimpressive-looking man. If she’d been asked to describe him, she would have been hard put to think of a feature that might single him out among others. He is quite bland, she mused. But if he’s been gathering information for Nekaun in Northern Ithania, that makes him a spy, and a spy hardly wants to stand out or be memorable.

“An honor to meet you all,” Heshema said in a deep, melodious voice.

As the Voices murmured replies, Reivan smiled. His voice is his distinctive feature, she thought. Though I expect he has learned to adopt a less memorable one when needed.

“I have asked Heshema to tell you what he has learned,” Nekaun said. “Some of you will already know part of it, but you should all learn something new.”

As the First Voice looked at Heshema expectantly, the man nodded.

“I arrived in Jarime in late winter,” the spy began. “The cold there encourages the common people to meet at drinking houses to share the warmth of a fire and exchange gossip. Most of the talk was of Auraya the White’s resignation. The official explanation is that she left in order to devote herself to helping the Siyee, who were suffering great losses to a plague.

“Many admired her for sacrificing immortality and great magical power for such a noble cause, but some questioned the truth of the explanation, speculating that perhaps their gods had banished Auraya from the White for some crime or mistake. The error they considered most likely was her sympathy to the Dreamweavers. She had arranged for Circlian healers and Dreamweavers to work together treating the needy in a building in the poor quarter they called a ‘hospice’. It was an unpopular move, especially among the wealthy citizens.

“Other ideas circulating included an affair with a Dreamweaver, and that she had neglected her duties as a White in favor of helping the Siyee. There were even a few who thought she might have turned Pentadrian.”

The Voices chuckled and Heshema’s lips thinned into a smile.

“There was also speculation that Auraya hadn’t left the White at all,” he continued, “and this was some ruse to lure us into battle. The rash of promotions among Circlians suggested otherwise to me. Only high priests and priestesses are eligible to become a White. Their gods apparently make the final choice, but the White ensure there are plenty of candidates.”

His voice was curiously devoid of skepticism, Reivan noted.

“Did you see anything to make you wonder if their gods are real?” Imenja asked.

Heshema glanced at Nekaun. “Nothing to make me certain of it.”

“That is not what I sent Heshema to discover,” Nekaun interrupted.

“No?” Imenja turned to smile at Nekaun. “Of course not, but he might have noticed something.” She looked at the spy. “Go on with your tale, Heshema.”

The man inclined his head. “I doubted the White would take kindly to me questioning them, so I sought other sources of information. I posed as a Genrian trader in order to meet Auraya’s former adviser, Danjin Spear. He believed the official explanation to be the true one. According to him, the Siyee had stolen Auraya’s heart the moment she first met them. I am sure he was keeping some secret about his former mistress, however. Something personal. He spoke as if something she had done had disappointed him.”

“An affair?” Genza asked.

Heshema shrugged. “That is possible.”

“You said there were rumors of an affair with a Dreamweaver,” Vervel pointed out.

“Yes. I didn’t give them much credence until I questioned the Siyee. I heard that there were a handful of the winged people in Jarime, some acting as ambassadors and others there in training to become priests and priestesses. They have a remarkably low tolerance for intoxicating liquor, and the pair of initiates I spoke to were only too happy to tell me of the rumors in Si concerning Auraya’s last months there as a White.

“She returned to Si in response to your Servants landing there, but stayed due to the outbreak of a plague. When she arrived at the first village to succumb to the disease she found a Dreamweaver already there. She knew this Dreamweaver and those who observed the two of them together said it was clear there was a grudge between them, but they had settled their differences and were friendly by the time Auraya left the village.

“What happened afterward is a mystery that the Siyee would dearly like to solve. The Dreamweaver left Si without explanation and Auraya returned to Jarime and quit the White. They believe both events are connected, but don’t know how. When I suggested an affair, however, they were certain that couldn’t be the reason.”

“Sounds like an affair to me,” Genza said.

“Sounds like the sort of gossip that would naturally arise in that situation, so we shouldn’t assume it is true,” Imenja warned. “Did the Dreamweaver return to Si after Auraya quit the White?”

“The Siyee initiates did not know,” Heshema replied. “They were shocked by the hatred some Hanians felt toward the Dreamweavers. They might have decided to keep the return of the Dreamweaver a secret as a result.

“The Hanians’ dislike and fear of Dreamweavers appeared to be getting worse while I was there. Their paranoia had grown so strong that a rumor that the Dreamweaver leader, Mirar, isn’t dead and has returned to make mischief was circulating just before I left.”

Shar chuckled. “If only he had. We could recruit him.”

“Dreamweavers abhor violence,” Imenja reminded him. “But I expect a man of his Skills and experience could make a lot of trouble for the Circlians - if only he was alive.”

“These rumors are also circulating here,” Nekaun said. “A few of my friends have sought the source of them, and it appears the rumors have originated among the Dreamweavers themselves, all over Avven, Dekkar and Mur, at about the same time.”

“Interesting,” Vervel murmured.

“Yes.”

“So the White are only four, and one of their former enemies may have returned,” Genza said. “Can we take advantage of this?”

“No.” Nekaun’s answer was firm and his expression serious. “The rumors that Mirar is alive are just rumors, and our people in Jarime reported that a replacement for Auraya was chosen yesterday. Her name is Ellareen Spinner.”

The others absorbed this in silence for a moment, then Vervel made a low noise. He looked at Nekaun, then at the spy.

Nekaun nodded. “Thank you, Heshema. We must now discuss this in private.”

The spy made the sign of the star, then left the balcony.

“So,” Vervel said when the man’s footsteps had faded, “if Auraya is still an ally of the White, they now have the advantage.”

“Yes.”

“Will they invade us, do you think?”

“We can’t risk that they won’t,” Nekaun replied. “We must find a way to tip the balance in our favor again.”

“If only Mirar had returned,” Shar said wistfully.

“Even if he had, a sorcerer who will not kill is of no use to us,” Imenja said. “Not when Auraya is willing to, as she so effectively demonstrated in the battle.”

“We must find another way,” Nekaun said - for once in agreement with Imenja, Reivan noted. “I want you all to think about this carefully. My spies are gathering as much information as they can about the new White. I would like to know what Skills and strength Auraya has retained.”

The Voices and their Companions nodded. After a measured silence, Nekaun smiled and, without warning, looked at Reivan. A thrill ran through her body and she felt herself flush.

“Now, to other matters. Tell us, Reivan, how many raider ships have our Elai friends sunk this week?”

4

Stopping before the bridge, Mirar looked up at the two-story stilt house and smiled. He hadn’t visited a Dreamweaver House in a century... if he didn’t count his visit to the one in Somrey, when he had been Leiard. They had long ago disappeared from Northern Ithanian cities and towns so it had been a pleasant surprise to find they still existed in Southern Ithania.

He crossed the bridge, approached the door and knocked.

Footsteps sounded on a wooden floor inside, then the door opened and a middle-aged woman in Dreamweaver robes looked out. Mirar hesitated, sure that he had missed something, then realized he had been expecting to hear the rattle of a lock being opened.

The Dreamweavers in Southern Ithania don’t even lock their doors!

“Greetings. I am Dreamweaver Tintel,” the woman said, smiling and opening the door wider. What she said afterward was incomprehensible to him, but he sensed friendliness and her gesture told him she was welcoming him inside.

“Thank you. I am Dreamweaver Wilar.” He stepped into a small room. Pairs of sandals sat neatly at the edges. Removing shoes while indoors was a local custom. He could hear the sound of many voices somewhere beyond the walls.

Reaching into his bag, he took out the pouch of coins Rikken’s assistant, Yuri, had given him. When Mirar had refused to take the large payment for his services, Yuri had told him to give the money to the Dreamweaver House instead.

“For the House,” Mirar said in the Avven tongue as he handed it to Tintel, hoping she understood.

The woman took the bag and looked inside. Her eyebrows rose. She said something he did not understand. When he frowned and shook his head, she stopped to consider him, and he saw comprehension dawn in her eyes.

“You are a foreigner?” she asked in Avven.

“Yes. From the north.”

“We do not often get visitors from there.”

That does not surprise me, he thought. He bent to remove his shoes. When he was done the hostess opened another door, revealing a much larger room. Tables ran the length of it and many of the chairs were occupied by Dreamweavers.

“We are near to eating dinner. Join us.”

He followed her in. Tintel spoke loudly and the Dreamweavers turned to regard her and Mirar. He guessed she was introducing them and made the formal gesture of touching heart, mouth and forehead. All smiled and a few spoke a greeting, but none returned the gesture. After Tintel had led him to a chair the Dreamweavers returned to their conversation.

The atmosphere was relaxed and though Mirar couldn’t understand them he was reassured by their laughter. Servants brought a meal of flat toasted bread laid on top of bowls full of a spicy stew, and a milky drink that, to Mirar’s relief, eased the burning of the spice. Most of the Dreamweavers were young, he noted. Their talk quietened and grew more serious as their bellies filled. Tintel had joined them when the food had been served, and now she looked at Mirar.

“What do you know of the trouble in Jarime, Wilar?” she asked in Avvenan.

He frowned. “I know crowds of Circlians have gathered to speak out against the... the hospice.” He used the Hanian word, unable to think of an Avvenan equivalent.

Tintel grimaced. “It is worse. Dreamweavers have been beaten. Killed. A Dreamweaver House was burned.”

“There is no...” Mirar stopped as he realized what she must mean. There were no Dreamweaver Houses in Jarime, but there were a few safehouses - homes of people who were sympathetic to Dreamweavers and offered them accommodation.

People like Millo and Tanara Baker. He felt a chill as he thought of the couple he had stayed with while in Jarime. Only locals and friends had known their home was a safehouse - until I came along. Then I became Dreamweaver Adviser to the White and a lot more people would have known about the Bakers’ safehouse. I hope it wasn’t their house that was burned.

“I had not heard about this,” he said. “I will link with Northern Dreamweavers tonight to find out what I can of my friends there.”

“What brings you to Dekkar?” a young man asked.

Mirar shrugged. “I like travelling. I wanted to see the south.”

“Not to escape the killings?”

Tintel made a warning sound and gave the man a disapproving look. Mirar smiled.

“It is a fair question,” he said. “I did not know it would get so bad there so quickly. I am happy it is good here, but I wish I could help my friends.”

The men and women around the table nodded in sympathy.

“It is good here for Dreamweavers,” one of the young men said.

Mirar nodded. “I found the Servants...” He searched for the right word. “... friendly.”

“They don’t know healing like we do,” a young woman said. “They pay well, too.”

“The Servants let you heal them?” he asked, surprised.

The Dreamweavers nodded.

“I heard linking is forbidden in the north. Is that true?” the young woman asked.

“It is.” As Mirar looked at her, she smiled. Something about the smile made him look closer. As he recognized the subtle messages in her posture and expression he felt his pulse quicken.

Ah. This one knows what she likes in a man and isn’t afraid to seek it, he thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if she sought him out later. The question was, what would he do if she did?

“Dreamweavers don’t link at all?” someone asked.

He turned to nod at the young woman. “We do, but we don’t tell Circlians about it.”

A murmur of amusement came from the Dreamweavers. The young woman continued to smile at him.

“You must not have many chances to link, if you travel a lot. We could link tonight.”

It’s not mind linking she means, he found himself thinking. But mind linking would be a great risk. I have too much to hide... though now that Emerahl has helped me regain the ability to shield my mind I should be able to listen to them without revealing myself. But not tonight.

“Thank you, but I need sleep more,” he told her.

The others did not look offended. Instead, Tintel frowned at the young woman then grimaced apologetically at him, as if she was worried he might have taken offense.

“Forgive Dardel, she speaks too soon. You may join a link if you wish, but if you don’t we will not question it. The north and south are enemies, and it may be that you know something that, should it spread through a link and reach the wrong people, could bring about conflict or war.”

Surprised by her perceptiveness, Mirar thanked her for her consideration. Attention moved from him and he tried to follow the conversation as the Dreamweavers talked of other things, slipping back into the local language. Finally they rose from the table and began to clear the plates.

“I will take you to your room,” Tintel offered. She led him into a corridor then up a steep flight of stairs. “Tomorrow night, if you are still here, you are welcome to join us after dinner.”

“Thank you. I may not have much to say. There is still much of the Avven language I don’t understand, and I am new to Dekkan.”

“How long are you planning to stay in Kave?”

“I don’t know. How long should I allow to explore the city?”

She smiled. “Some people say you need to stay a full year to know Kave well, others say an hour. If you have the time, stay as long as you want.” She stopped before an open door. “This is for you. Sleep well.”

He thanked her again, then moved inside and closed the door. The room was narrow, containing only a bed, some shelving and a small table. He set his bag beside the shelves then sat down at the bottom of the bed. It was still early to be sleeping, but he wanted desperately to contact Arleej. She would know what was happening in Jarime.

Standing up again, he began to undress. He had removed only the vest when a knock came from the door.

Opening it, he smiled as he found Dardel standing outside.

She was not beautiful, yet she wasn’t unattractive either. Some women were simply appealing. It was a combination of an honest and bold interest in sex and a curvaceous, womanly body that invited enjoyment. You’ve got to like a woman who knows what she wants and knows how to ask for it.

She was carrying a large bowl and a jug of water. “For you,” she said. “To wash off the travelling dirt.”

“Thank you.” He took them from her and turned to take them inside.

“If you need help...?”

Help to wash myself? He smothered a laugh and turned to regard her. She was leaning against the door-frame now, arms crossed under ample breasts. A sly smile curled her lips.

I must talk to Arleej, he reminded himself. I must find out if Tanara and Millo Baker are alive and unhurt.

“I will be fine,” he told her.

Her smile faded, but only a little. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, stepping away from the door. Somehow she made it sound like a promise. “Sleep well.”

As the door clicked shut he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. How can I be interested in this woman when...? No. How can I be asking myself such a stupid question? I’m alive. I like women. Leiard is gone and can’t stop me. Why should I turn this woman away because of Auraya?

Yet he had. He wasn’t that tired and he could have contacted Arleej later.

This is stupid. I love Auraya and I could ignore all other women for her, but I can’t have her. I’m not even sure she loves me in return. She’s had at least one other lover, too. So why shouldn’t I?

He shook his head. Because of the whore she saw me with after the battle. At the time it seemed justified, but I know it hurt her badly. I don’t want to risk that in the future. If we ever manage to be together without the gods killing one or both of us, it would be ironic and annoying to find I’ve gone and spoiled it all again.

Emerahl had expected Auraya to be difficult to teach. A former White ought to be full of her own importance, too proud to take orders from another - especially a Wild. But Auraya had followed every instruction without complaint, and her only questions had been sensible and reasonable.

I should be relieved, but instead I’m finding it irritating. The temptation to test Auraya’s tolerance by asking her to do something ridiculous and humiliating was strong. It also disturbed Emerahl. She didn’t like the thought that she might be capable of being such a tyrant.

Auraya sat cross-legged on the bed Mirar had once occupied. Her eyes were closed and her hands sat loosely in her lap, resting on the fabric of her white tunic. A priest ring encircled her finger; a priestess’s circ hung from a screen nearby. Emerahl had never expected to find herself teaching a Circlian priestess, let alone a former White. The irony that she was teaching a priestess to hide her mind from the gods wasn’t lost on her either.

Watching Auraya, she couldn’t deny that the woman was attractive. Physically, Auraya could not have been more different to Emerahl. Her face was narrow and angular, whereas Emerahl’s was broad. She was tall and slim; Emerahl was short and curvaceous. Her hair was straight and glossy brown; Emerahl’s was red and curly.

If this is what Mirar likes... she began to think, then nearly laughed out loud. Am I jealous? Is that why I find her so irritating? She suppressed a sigh. I’ve had good times with Mirar, we’ve been lovers, but I’ve never been in love with him. Not in the way normal people fall in love, become a “couple” and all that. I’ve never been jealous of the women he sleeps with. Mirar and I are just friends.

So why the resentment? Maybe it was simple protectiveness. Mirar had saved her, from others and herself, more than once. Would he do it again, if it came to a choice between her and Auraya?

He’d probably choose Auraya, she thought. And then she’d kill him. She’s still a follower of the gods. This is crazy! Why am I here, taking such risks?

Because Mirar had asked her to, and The Twins had backed him up. Auraya was capable of becoming immortal. She might never take that step for fear the gods would reject her, but there was a chance something - or someone - would change her mind. If she became an ally the risks and gamble would pay off.

So I had better not make an enemy of her, Emerahl thought.

Auraya’s breathing had been slow and regular for some time. She had surprised Emerahl by revealing that she knew how to enter a dream trance - to deliberately put herself into the mental state required to link with another via dreams - though she admitted she found it difficult sometimes. All mental links were forbidden to Circlians, but Auraya thought it an impractical law that few took seriously. She and Leiard had used dream-links to communicate during their affair.

Closing her eyes, Emerahl slowed her breathing and gradually guided her mind into the dream state. When she was ready she called out Auraya’s name.

:Jade? Auraya replied.

:Yes, it’s me.

Emerahl sensed relief from the other woman and guessed it was at achieving the dream trance.

:In a dream-link we can communicate with each other, she told Auraya, but only if we’re both in a trance or have slipped into a dream state from sleep. I am going to teach you to reach out to conscious minds. You won’t be able to communicate with them, but you can see what they are thinking.

:So Wilds can read minds?

:Yes, but only when in a trance. It requires concentration and practice and can be exhausting. The thoughts you detect are often incomprehensible at first, but you learn to interpret them. We call this “mind-skimming.”

:So this isn’t a lesson in hiding my mind?

:No, but it will help you comprehend the same concepts. Reach out with your mind to the left. It is both an advantage and disadvantage being in Si. There are fewer minds to skim, but those that exist stand out because of their isolation.

It took Auraya several long minutes to sense anything.

:I am sensing something... Ah. It’s a Siyee. He’s hunting.

:Good. I see him too. You can see that his thoughts aren’t ordered like speech. They come in snatches, as much image as thought.

:Yes. This is just like mind-reading.

Emerahl felt a flash of irritation. How could I have forgotten that she used to be able to read minds? She already knows how thoughts work.

:Seek another mind.

Auraya paused only a moment before she responded again.

:I see Tyve. He’s approaching the waterfall - he’s carrying a message for me. I...

The link broke as Auraya’s concentration faltered. Emerahl woke from the dream trance and wasn’t surprised to find Auraya rising from the bed.

“Stay there,” Emerahl warned in a murmur. “You must remain in the void. Tyve will have to come in and talk to you.”

Auraya sat back down. She looked at Emerahl. “You had best pretend to be sick,” she replied.

Another flash of irritation went through Emerahl. She lay down and pulled a blanket over herself. Footsteps echoed from the passage and she turned to see a young Siyee step into the entrance of the cave.

“Tyve,” Auraya said, standing up and beckoning. “Come in. What brings you here?”

His gaze shifted from her to Emerahl. “I have a message for you.”

Auraya beckoned again and the boy approached. He smiled at Emerahl. “How are you, Jade? Feeling better?”

“Yes,” she said. “Thanks to Auraya.”

The boy moved closer to Auraya and murmured something. Auraya looked down at her priest ring then shrugged, and her reply was quiet. What were those two discussing that they didn’t want Emerahl to hear?

Auraya’s voice rose again as she thanked Tyve.

“Tell Speaker Sirri that I must stay and watch over Jade, but I will return soon. Fly safe, fly fast.”

The boy nodded, then said goodbye and hurried away. When his footsteps had faded Emerahl looked up at Auraya, who was frowning.

“What did he have to say?”

Auraya sighed and sat down. “I think Sirri is surprised that I didn’t just heal you and return.”

“How long until they grow suspicious?”

Auraya shrugged. “A week. We can put them off for a while, but if something happens that they need me to attend to and I refuse to leave here...”

“Our cover will be as done as a whore with an empty purse,” Emerahl finished.

Both of Auraya’s eyebrows rose in amusement, then she grew serious.

“If the gods were watching through Tyve, they will have seen us both when he entered the cave. They will also have been forced to leave him when he entered the void.”

Emerahl nodded. “Yes. I suppose you could have prevented them discovering the void by speaking to him from the edge of it, but the gods would have still seen us both and not been able to read our minds and grown suspicious because of that.”

“Or they might not have been watching at all.”

“Do you think they were?”

“I don’t know. They haven’t visited me in months, but that doesn’t mean they’re not watching.” She looked at Emerahl, her mouth set. “Shall we return to the dream trance?”

Emerahl chuckled at her determination. “Let’s have some lunch first.”

5

Ella was standing by the window when Danjin entered. He suppressed a shudder and tried not to think of the dizzying drop to the ground far, far below. The newest of the White took a step backward from the window and turned to face him. There was something in her expression, a wildness about her eyes as she met his gaze. She smiled crookedly, and suddenly he understood what it was. He felt a wry pang of fellow feeling.

She, too, wasn’t that fond of heights. Probably not as utterly terrified by them as he was, but still unsettled by them.

“Thank you for coming to visit me on such short notice,” she said, gesturing to a chair.

He sat down. “No need to thank me. It’s part of my job.”

She smiled again. “That’s no reason for me to be ungrateful.”

“How can I be of assistance?”

The smile faded. “My fellow White and I met at the Altar today. Juran gave me my first task. It’s a small one, but not an easy one, and I’d like your advice on how to approach it.” She frowned. “He wants me to stop people attacking the hospice and Dreamweavers.”

Danjin nodded slowly. “It makes sense that he gave you this task. You have worked at the hospice. You have dealt with Dreamweavers and protesters before.”

“Juran says the attacks on the hospice have lessened since I was Chosen,” she told him. “But the attacks on Dreamweavers have increased.”

Danjin nodded. “By choosing a healer from the hospice the gods suggest that they approve of it.”

“I doubt that is the only reason they chose me, or my usefulness would expire once the threat to the hospice ended.”

“Of course it isn’t.” He smiled. “But these are the sorts of conclusions the average mortal comes to about such matters.”

“And have some of them come to the conclusion that my Choosing justifies violence against Dreamweavers?”

“I can’t see why they would have. No, I think there may be other factors at work, though I can’t tell you what they are. That’s what we must discover.”

“What would convince people to harm Dreamweavers, despite it being a crime? Do they pay us and our laws any attention at all?”

She looked genuinely distressed, though he wasn’t sure if it was at the harming of Dreamweavers or the breaking of laws. “There will always be people who think they know better, who believe laws don’t apply to them. Or who twist the meaning of what the gods and White decree until it suits them better, so they can still believe they are working for the gods’ benefit while doing what they want to.”

Ella sighed and looked away, her expression full of frustration. Following her gaze, he was surprised to see a spindle and a basket filled with fleece on a side table.

Her work? he wondered. From the look on her face I’d say so.

It seemed a ridiculously domestic task for one of the Gods’ Chosen, but it was clear from her expression that she wished she was doing it. Perhaps it was a link to her past, work that kept her humble in the face of the fame, power and responsibility of her new position. She turned back to him, looking suddenly determined.

“What do you suggest I do to stop the violence?”

He considered the problem.

“Understand your adversary. If these people have always hated Dreamweavers, then why have they begun attacking them now?”

“Auraya’s resignation? Are they blaming Dreamweavers for that?”

“I doubt it.” He looked at her closely. “I can see no connection, though that doesn’t mean others won’t. Have you seen any in people’s minds?”

She frowned. “I should confront the next crowd of protesters at the hospice and try a bit of mind-reading.”

“Yes, but that won’t necessarily help you understand your adversary. You need to read the mind of those inciting the protests, or planning to murder a Dreamweaver. Since the mind-reading abilities of the White are well known, I doubt the people you want to find are going to be at a protest.”

“So how can I find them?”

“They must visit the area around the hospice from time to time, or send someone else to scout the area and select victims. If you were there, watching, concealed from sight, you might catch them at it.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Though... it will be time-consuming.” She sighed. “I wish ordinary priests and priestesses could read minds. We’d find our murderers and conspirators faster if more of us were looking.”

“If mind-reading was a Gift that priests and priestesses could possess, it would also be a Gift non-Circlians could have - and use for great evil.”

She looked at him appraisingly. “Yes. You’re right. Any other advice?”

He nodded. “There is a man in Jarime’s prison who murdered a Dreamweaver a month ago. I believe Dyara read his mind to confirm his guilt. If you read his mind you may learn to recognize the mind of a killer more easily from among the general populace.”

Her eyes widened. “Read a murderer? I... I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” he offered.

“Do you want to? It could be unpleasant.”

He shrugged. “I once accompanied Auraya on a similar visit.”

Ella’s eyebrows rose. “Why did Auraya visit the prison?”

“A Dreamweaver was accused of manipulating someone’s dreams.” Ella watched him unblinkingly as he explained. Bemused by the sudden intensity of her interest, he considered and dismissed the possibility that it was the Dreamweaver’s story that aroused such interest. No, he thought, she’s curious about Auraya. “She found him innocent,” he added.

She straightened abruptly, her manner suddenly composed.

“Could you arrange for me to visit this murderer?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Would you like me to do that now?”

“Yes.” She nodded, then rose to her feet and rubbed her hands together. Standing up, he followed her to the door. “What time would be suitable for you?”

She considered. “Tomorrow morning?”

“I will see what I can do.” He made the sign of the circle. “Good day, Ellareen of the White.”

He stepped outside and started down the stairs. As he descended he considered Ella’s interest in Auraya. There had been more than curiosity in her manner.

Perhaps jealousy, he thought. But what does she have to envy? She has everything that Auraya had... except the ability to fly. He smiled, remembering her obvious discomfort at the view from the Tower window. I doubt she covets that.

If it wasn’t jealousy, what was it? She had been frowning. Surely it had not been disapproval. What reason did she have to disapprove of Auraya?

He shook his head. Now I’m reading too much into her manner. If I start thinking in that direction I’ll end up like the city gossips, believing every rumor of scandal in regard to Auraya.

Ellareen was merely curious about her predecessor, that was all.

“That’s it?”

Auraya stared at Jade in disbelief. The woman smiled, her green eyes glittering with amusement.

“What did you expect?”

“I thought you would teach it the same way Mirar taught me to heal - through a mind link.”

Jade laughed. “If only that were possible. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to see into a shielded mind, so I can’t show you what I do to shield mine.”

“So I’ve just got to work it out for myself? I don’t need anyone’s help?” Auraya frowned. “Then why am I here?”

“You need someone able to sense your thoughts to tell you if they’re hidden or not.”

Auraya nodded. “But you can only read my mind while mind-skimming. Are you planning to spend the entire time in a dream trance?”

“All immortals can sense emotions,” Jade told her. “When I can no longer sense your emotions, I’ll attempt to skim your mind.”

This was a new and interesting piece of information. Mirar must be able to sense emotions, too. He hadn’t been able to sense hers when she was a White, but he would be able to now. And she couldn’t read his mind any more.

How the tables have turned, she mused. It’s just as well he isn’t here.

“As I said,” Jade continued, “imagine drawing a veil across your mind. You can see out but nobody can see in.”

Auraya tried. She pictured the veil over and over, even pictured a heavy sack over her head, but no matter what she did Jade could still sense her emotions.

Soon she was feeling such strong frustration she knew even a Giftless mortal would have detected it. The hours dragged past. Eventually Jade sighed and put down the basket she was weaving.

“That’s enough for tonight. It is late. Get some sleep.”

Auraya smothered a smile at the woman’s dismissive manner. She lay on her bed and listened as Jade walked to the back of the cave and began rustling among the supplies.

For a while she lay there, worrying. Tyve had told her that the priests in the Open had tried and failed to contact her through her priest ring. She had explained that hers was not working properly, though she didn’t tell him that the void was the cause.

I have to hope that none of the White try to contact me, she thought. The sooner I can leave here the better.

So... a veil over my mind, she thought. Sleep is sometimes described like that. So is it like falling asleep? She closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander. Slowly she relaxed and felt the tension of striving with her mind fade away. I’m more tired than I thought I was. It’s so good just letting my mind rest.

:Auraya.

The voice tugged her reluctantly back toward consciousness. For a moment she felt only annoyance, then she realized she knew the voice.

:Mirar?

There was a pause.

:How are you faring?

:You’re dream-linking... how is that possible? My priest ring doesn’t work in the void.

:I don’t know, but I guess the ring must require unbroken magic between itself and another. Or perhaps the ring relies on a link to the gods to work.

:So dream-linking and mind-skimming don’t require unbroken magic?

:No. So, how are you faring?

:If you mean at shielding my mind, then not well at all. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just stumble upon it by myself in a few days. She felt the frustration of the day shift into anger. Do you realize the risk you’ve forced me to take? The position you’ve put me in? The gods allowed me to resign and remain a priestess on the condition that I do not hamper them or ally myself with their enemies. It’s quite clear they consider you an enemy. I should have left here as soon as I knew that Jade was your friend, even if that meant the gods would discover her, even if that meant the gods might find you.

:But you didn’t.

:No. You’ve both taken advantage of me. Forced me to learn to hide my thoughts in order to protect you.

:We’ve forced you to learn something that might save your life.

:Or end it.

:So you believe the gods will kill you if they can’t read your thoughts?

Auraya paused. Anger and weariness were making her say illogical things.

:No. It will just make matters worse between us. Is this your way of avenging yourself? Are you punishing me or trying to force me to turn from the gods?

:Neither! I want to help you by teaching you to protect yourself. I want you to be all that you are meant to be - deserve to be! A powerful sorceress. An immortal. He paused. Don’t you want to be immortal?

Auraya felt a shiver go through her. Do I? Of course I do. But I don’t want to be immortal if it means turning from the gods. I don’t want to be a Wild, hunted and hated.

She felt anger deepen, but this time at the gods. Why does it have to be like that? I can be immortal and still worship the gods. Why must they stop me from becoming all I can be, when it is of no threat to them?

Perhaps Chaia would allow her that freedom, but Huan never would. Huan wanted unquestioning obedience from her worshippers. I’ve already lost her regard by proving myself unworthy, she thought. Perhaps eventually she’ll forgive me. In the meantime it would be better not to give the goddess any further reason to distrust me.

:Jade says when you taught me to heal you taught me enough so that I could discover the secret of immortality for myself, she said to Mirar. Perhaps one day I’ll be in a position to try it without offending the gods. But for now it’s pointless. What you call immortality isn’t true immortality. I can still be killed. And I will be, if I defy the gods again.

Mirar was silent for a long time before he replied.

:The gods can hold grudges for a very long time, Auraya. They might not use magic to kill you, but they can make sure age does it for them. And remember this: if I thought becoming immortal was the only reason the gods might kill you, I’d never have risked teaching you to heal.

And with that, he was gone.

6

Older people are supposed to be the cautious ones, Ranaan thought as he followed Dreamweaver Fareeh down the dark alley. Younger people are the ones that rush into danger. So what’s wrong with us? Why is my teacher the one willing to take risks while I’m the one who’s scared out of his wits?

They reached the end of the alley and Fareeh stopped to peer around a building into the larger street.

Because I’m a coward, Ranaan told himself, and Fareeh isn’t. It’s easier for him, too. He’s Gifted and he’s big. I’m a skinny runt, and I know I haven’t even learned enough Gifts in six months to defend myself from an attack of dartflies.

The big man stepped out into the street. Taking a deep breath, Ranaan forced himself to follow. They walked purposefully but kept to the shadows as much as possible. In this part of the city the only lamps that burned were those maintained by the occupants of the houses. The moon, however, was bright and round.

Ranaan glanced at his teacher. The Dreamweaver’s quiet confidence reassured patients at the hospice. He was everything they liked about Dreamweavers: sturdy, calm, knowledgeable and patient. He made these trips out to visit sick people despite the dangers because he was a nice person.

I just wish he didn’t insist I come with him.

Ranaan grimaced. I am not a nice person. I’m a coward who’d rather let someone die than risk a beating. I don’t deserve such a good teacher.

A door opened ahead. Ranaan’s heart began racing as three men stepped out, laughing. Fareeh did not even check his stride. He walked around them, Ranaan following.

The young Dreamweaver’s legs were shaking as he and his teacher continued down the road. He strained his ears for sounds of pursuit. There were footsteps, growing quieter. Was that because the men were making an effort to make less noise?

He looked behind. The men were walking in the other direction.

“Nearly there,” Fareeh murmured.

Ranaan glanced at his teacher and caught a knowing smile. He felt his face warm and said nothing. They turned into a lane. Fareeh paused and created a spark of light to illuminate the directions on the slip of paper he carried. He nodded, extinguished the light, and continued down the lane.

The way turned around a protruding section of a building then ended. Fareeh slowed and began looking up at the buildings around them.

“It says they have left a light in the...”

His quiet words were lost behind the bang of a slammed door. Footsteps sounded behind them. Ranaan turned and felt his heart begin to race again. He counted eight, maybe nine figures fanning out to surround him and his teacher.

“What are you doing here, Dreamweaver?”

The accent was typical of the poor quarter, but there was something about it that sounded wrong to Ranaan.

Fareeh gave the windows of the buildings one more quick glance.

“Discovering that I am in the wrong place,” he replied. “The directions I was given appear to be incorrect.”

“You’re right about that,” another voice said. Ranaan looked at the speaker. The man’s high voice did not match his heavy build.

“We will trouble you no longer,” Fareeh said. He took a step toward the gap between two of the men, then stopped. The men had moved closer together to block him.

Ranaan held back a groan of dismay and fear. His legs were shaking and he felt ill. He wondered if his heart could beat any faster. If it did, it might just leap out of his throat.

A spark of light appeared, illuminating the palm of Fareeh’s hand. It brightened and Ranaan looked beyond to the faces of the men. His mouth went dry as he understood why the poor-quarter accent had sounded wrong.

This was no street gang of the area. The accents had been faked. Though the clothes the men wore were plain, they were well made - casual wear for outdoor sports. Their smiles revealed near-flawless teeth. The high-voiced man was not muscular, but wore the fat of one who lived an indulgent life.

One, a blond with immaculately trimmed hair, took a step forward.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re definitely not going to trouble us again.”

Then the lane contorted with magic. Ranaan heard Fareeh tell him to stay within his shield. He huddled against his teacher as attacks came from all sides.

All of them. They’re all Gifted. How can this be? Are the rich buying magical training for those sons who do not become priests?

Fareeh gave a small grunt of anger. He reached behind and gripped Ranaan’s arm. Pulling his student around, he leaned close.

“I’ll hold them,” he murmured. “You go. Go to the hospice. Get help.”

Ranaan staggered as Fareeh propelled him away. He saw the strangers turn to attack him and felt a rush of terror. His legs found their strength and he fled. Nothing stopped him. No one stepped out from the darkness to block his path. At the end of the street he threw himself around the corner and ran.

A few streets later he realized he wasn’t being followed and the feeling of panic subsided. He stopped as his mind began to work again and he realized two things: Fareeh wouldn’t have sent Ranaan for help if he’d thought he could free himself alone. He must be outnumbered.

Of course he’s outnumbered. There were eight of them!

The hospice was several streets away. Fareeh couldn’t possibly hold eight sorcerers off long enough for Ranaan to return with help.

I should go back and help him, he thought.

Don’t be stupid. What can you do? Recite herb cures to them?

Indecision paralyzed him. Suddenly he realized he could hear voices behind him. Laughter. Crows of delight. He recognized the high-pitched voice of the fat man and shuddered.

Realizing he was standing right in the pool of light cast by a lamp he spun around, searching for a hiding place. The closest was the shallow alcove of a doorway. He dashed into it and pressed himself against the door-frame, trembling.

The voices grew louder. Words like “easy” and “pathetic” and “good work” reached him. Then one of the men told the others to shut up.

They quietened. Urgent discussion followed, then footsteps. Ranaan held his breath as the men strode toward his hiding place.

“Hurry up!”

The steps quickened. Two men ran past Ranaan. They disappeared down the end of the street. Other footsteps faded away as the men separated and headed in different directions.

Ranaan then listened to the sounds of the street: the tiny rustlings of what he hoped were animals, the faint voices of an argument somewhere inside the house he stood beside, the trickle of water or sewage somewhere below.

Caution and fear fought the need to discover Fareeh’s fate. Finally, certain that the attackers were gone, he emerged from the doorway. He crept along the wall to the corner and peered into the lane. There were too many shadowed places there for him to be sure no one waited for him. With heart hammering, he forced himself to step into the lane.

His breathing seemed unnaturally loud. He reached the protruding building and peered around it. The lane was dark, but as he stared at the ground he began to make out a man-sized shape.

Fareeh...

Swallowing hard, he slowly made his way toward the shape. It was definitely a man, and the vest was a Dreamweaver’s. Ranaan’s boots made a small, wet sound as he reached the figure. He looked down and saw that the ground glistened faintly, and he recognized the tangy smell in the air. Blood.

The risk that the attackers might return suddenly did not matter. He concentrated and managed to produce a spark of light. The sight of Fareeh’s blankly staring eyes, and the great red pool of blood spreading out from behind the man’s head, shocked Ranaan so badly the light flickered out. He could not breathe properly. He found he was gasping out words as he stared at his dead teacher’s face.

“No. Not Fareeh. It can’t be.”

Then a hand touched his shoulder lightly. Ranaan jumped and spun around, terror suddenly returning. A man stepped back. Ranaan hadn’t heard the stranger approach, hadn’t even noticed the light from the spark hovering above the stranger’s hand.

But the face of the stranger did not belong to one of the attackers. It was a strange face, but the expression on it was one of sympathy. The man glanced over his shoulder.

“Someone’s coming. You’d best come with me.”

Ranaan hesitated and turned back to Fareeh.

“Nothing can help him now. Leave him, or you’ll end up the same.”

Ranaan’s legs obeyed him reluctantly. The stranger grasped his arm and drew him to a door. They moved down a long corridor and entered another lane.

A maze of lanes and passages followed. Time passed. Ranaan’s awareness of their journey came and went. At one point he collected his thoughts enough to ask for his rescuer’s name.

“Amli.”

“You’re from Sennon, then?”

“The south.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“You need it. Where I come from people do not abandon their fellow mortals to thugs or killers, if they can help it.”

Ranaan winced. “He told me to run and get help.”

“Ah. Sorry. I did not mean you, I meant myself. You could not have saved your friend. Neither could I, I must admit. There were too many of them.”

“He knew it. He knew I couldn’t get back in time.”

“That is likely. It is also likely he sent you away to save your life.”

Ranaan shook his head. “I should return to the hospice. I should tell them what happened.”

Amli stopped and placed a hand on his arm. “Those thugs will be waiting for you there. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were waiting outside wherever it is you stay when you’re not at the hospice, too. You are a witness. Did you get a good look at them?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can’t go back. They won’t want to risk that you will identify them.”

Ranaan shuddered. “Do you think the patient we came to see wasn’t real? That it was an ambush?”

“Were you there to treat someone?”

“Yes. We had directions.”

Amli looked grim. “Possibly. The sooner I get you off the streets the better.”

They started walking again. Ranaan could not help picturing Fareeh’s body lying in the laneway, abandoned. He couldn’t think beyond that image. When Amli stopped and opened a door, Ranaan let himself be ushered into the bright room beyond.

A middle-aged woman rose to greet Amli. He introduced her as his wife. She hummed with concern at Amli’s story, guided Ranaan to a chair and pressed a mug into his hands. The drink within was unfamiliar and alcoholic, but it tasted sweet and brought a comforting warmth that soothed the ache inside enough so that he could think clearly again.

“Thank you,” he said belatedly. “Both of you.”

The couple smiled. “I’ll put some bedding together for you,” the woman said, then disappeared up a staircase.

Ranaan looked around the narrow room. A brazier burned to one side, and benches were arranged around it, hinting that people gathered here from time to time. He guessed that there was a bedroom or two upstairs. It was a small house, but clean and tidy.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

Amli filled another mug with the drink. “Nearly a year. I have a stall in the main market. We import spices and pottery.”

A few strange ornaments adorned the walls. They looked out of place. Some of the pots near the brazier were oddly shaped. He examined the mug he was drinking from. The potter’s mark on the base was a picture of one of these odd pots, with a star marked on the side.

A star. Ranaan felt his skin tingle as a possibility occurred to him. His eyes fell to Amli’s neck. Beneath the collar of his tunic was a silver chain - a heavy chain for a heavy pendant.

“You said you’re from the south?” Ranaan said.

“Yes.”

“You’re Pentadrians?”

Amli did not reply straightaway. He regarded Ranaan solemnly, then took the mug from him.

“Why would you think that?”

“You don’t hate Dreamweavers.”

Amli chuckled. “So we can’t be Circlians. Therefore we must be Pentadrians.”

“Fareeh used to say you could tell a Sennon from a southerner because while Sennons tolerate other religions, they still like to pretend they don’t exist.”

“Not all Sennons are like that.”

“Which ones aren’t?”

Amli smiled. “The Sennonian Dreamweavers. And the Sennonian Pentadrians.” Amli refilled Ranaan’s mug. “We both know what it is like to be persecuted for our beliefs.”

“But you’re not persecuted in your own land.”

Amli smiled. “No.”

So he is a Pentadrian, Ranaan thought. He realized he was not bothered by that at all. Surprised, but not dismayed.

Amli handed Ranaan the refilled mug. “When we first came here, jealous traders put about the rumor that we were Pentadrians so that people wouldn’t buy from us. It convinced us we were right in claiming we were from Sennon.” He shook his head. “That is nothing to what they do to Dreamweavers. The Circlians are an evil lot.”

“And Pentadrians aren’t? Isn’t invading another country an evil thing to do?”

“Yes,” Amli agreed. He looked away and sighed. “It was wrong. Our gods had seen the evils of the Circlians and ordered us to stop them. We assumed war was the most effective way to achieve that, but we only ended up killing those we wished to save. And we paid the price for it with our own deaths.”

He looked terribly sad. Ranaan’s thoughts turned to Fareeh and he felt his heart wrench painfully. His teacher hadn’t been killed by Pentadrians, just thugs. Circlian thugs. Truly the Circlians were an evil lot.

“Tell me more about the Pentadrians. What are your gods like?”

Amli looked up and his gaze cleared. He smiled.

“What would you like to know?”

The roots Auraya was peeling were dyeing her skin orange. Jade hadn’t asked Auraya to do the task, she had simply handed her the roots and said “peel” in the tone of one who expected obedience. Auraya could see no point refusing; it kept her hands occupied while she tried to discover how to shield her mind.

At least Jade was willing to explain what the root was for. It was both a dye and a treatment for scalp disorders, though the latter worked best when the juice was applied fresh rather than as a powder mixed with water.

Other “cures” that Jade had prepared included a potion to liven a lazy heart made from insect poison, bark which produced a stimulant similar to but more powerful than those Leiard had once taught Auraya about, and mushrooms that Jade admitted were useful only for “recreational purposes.”

It was strangely logical to find that Mirar’s friend was as learned in cures and healing as he was. Preparing the different substances brought back memories of Auraya’s childhood, of helping and learning from Leiard. She felt a pang of regret. Things had been so much simpler then.

“Do you realize how much time you spend dwelling on regrets and worries?” Jade said suddenly. “I don’t know whether you’re chewing over leaving the White, agonizing over offending the gods or getting sentimental over your great lost love - or all three - but you certainly do a lot of it.”

Auraya looked up and managed a wry smile. Jade was constantly telling Auraya what she was feeling in order to let her know her attempts at hiding her mind were failing. “There’s not much else to do while peeling roots.”

“I must admit, self-pity wasn’t something I expected to sense so much of from a former White.”

“No? What were you expecting?”

The woman pursed her lips. “Arrogance. A self-righteous god-loving young woman with puffed-up notions of her own worth.”

“And that’s not what you found?”

“No. I could have lived with that. Instead I get to put up with ingratitude and self-pity.”

Auraya blinked in surprise. “Ingratitude?”

“Yes. I can sense your emotions, remember. There’s been little gratitude.”

“Gratitude can’t be forced. And it’s hard to maintain when your teacher is trying to be as unpleasant a companion as possible.”

“You haven’t done much to endear yourself to me so far either,” Jade retorted.

“Just proves your expectations were wrong. Though I think one was correct.”

“Oh?”

“I do love the gods.”

Jade stopped working and stared at Auraya, her expression unreadable.

“So I was wrong. Nice of you to point that out.” Her voice was flat, but Auraya could hear the suppressed anger and fear behind it.

“And you hate them,” she stated. “Why?”

Jade scowled and the cuts of her knife became more aggressive. “I could spend the whole day listing the reasons. I’ve had a thousand years to tally them up. But what point would there be in telling you? You won’t believe me, and even if you did, you would still love the gods. Love is blind, whether it be for a lover, family or the gods.”

“I know there was much to hate about the gods in the Age of the Many. That’s why the Circle fought the rest. You must have been pleased when so many were killed.”

Jade shrugged. “Mostly. Not all the gods were bad, though.”

“The Circle?”

“Baddest of them all.”

“Before or after the war?”

“Both.”

“What did they do after the war that was bad?”

“They executed Mirar.”

“Is that all?”

“No.” Jade’s expression darkened. “They killed other immortals. They persecuted Dreamweavers.”

“Does knowing that Mirar survived diminish your hatred at all?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “No. They ordered him killed. That they failed doesn’t change that. In fact, it makes it worse knowing the torment he went through afterward, as he recovered.”

Auraya nodded. “Why do you think they ordered him, and the other Wilds, killed?”

Looking at her knife, Jade ran her finger along the blade. “Mirar actively worked against their control of mortals, as did some other immortals. The rest of us... they knew we hated them. We know what they were like before the war. If we told the world of their true natures, mortals might not be so willing to follow them.”

“What did the gods do that was so terrible?”

Jade stared at the cutting board, her eyes focused far beyond it.

“Enslaved people and nations, or wiped them out completely in revenge for a small slight in the distant past. They made whores out of their followers and sacrificed children. They changed mortals into monsters just to see if they could make them fly or breathe fire or grow to abnormal sizes.”

Auraya felt a shock. “The Siyee? But they willingly allowed themselves to be changed by Huan.”

“Huan took advantage of them,” Jade said. “She took the most gullible of her followers, those willing to do anything for her, to work on. They could not have known what it was going to do to them.” She made a noise of disgust. “But when it came to seducing innocents, Chaia was the most gifted. He would select beautiful young women to be his lovers, and when they grew too old or they no longer adored him utterly, he would cast them aside. It was said the pleasure he gave them ruined them, as no mortal man could match it.”

Auraya stared at Jade. The pleasure he gave... no mortal man could match... She shivered. She thought of the nights she craved Chaia’s touch. She hadn’t attempted to lie with another man since. Was that because none interested her, or because she knew no man could? Have I been ruined as well?

Jade was watching her closely. Auraya made herself nod. “You’re right; I do find it hard to believe you.”

“Give it time,” Jade said. She put down her knife. “I just need to... take care of something. I’ll be back soon.”

As the woman rose and left the cave, Auraya picked up another root and began to peel it. She barely noticed what she was doing. Instead her mind returned to what Jade had told her of the gods.

When she had confronted Mirar, intending to kill him, he had argued that the gods had done terrible things. He hadn’t described those deeds, but Huan had all but admitted that the gods had been guilty of something.

“The Age of the Many ended long ago,” Huan had said. “The excesses of that time are forgotten.”

She did not know what Huan had done to her followers in order to make the Siyee. It was hard to see their creation as a terrible thing, when the result was hardly a race of abominations.

But breathe fire? Abnormal sizes? Did Huan try to make races other than the Siyee and the Elai?

She shook her head. How could she judge the gods for things they had done so long ago? She hadn’t witnessed them. She could not know the truth... unless Jade or Mirar agreed to show her their memories.

Mirar would, she guessed, but he was far away. Would Jade agree to it? I don’t think so. She likes to keep her thoughts to herself. Can’t blame her, really. I wouldn’t want to let anyone see my mind without good reason, either. I certainly wouldn’t want her finding out about Chaia and me, for a start.

Jade’s story about Chaia had disturbed Auraya deeply. Had the nights she had shared with him damaged her in some way? Had he been trying to bind her to him through pleasure? Perhaps she had been wise to end the affair when she had.

:My, my. That took courage.

Auraya started and dropped the peeling knife. The voice in her mind had been faint, but familiar.

How can I be hearing Jade’s thoughts? As the answer came she felt both anger and embarrassment. She is mind-skimming! Is that what she wanted to take care of? Looking into my mind? She felt herself mentally recoil, wishing there was a fog, or a haze of some kind, that could at least blur her mind.

Auraya stood up. She wanted to storm out of the cave, but she couldn’t leave the void. Instead she paced around the beds.

“I was projecting.”

Spinning around, Auraya glared at Jade as the woman entered the cave.

“How dare y—”

“I wondered at first if you saw past my mind shield, but then I realized I was projecting my words as one automatically does in the dream trance. I didn’t expect you to hear, because nobody can hear the thoughts of a mind-skimmer. Nobody but you. You’ve done it, by the way.”

“Done what?”

“Your mind is veiled. Can you sense what you have done?”

She stared at Jade, caught between wanting to voice her anger and the knowledge that she might be able to escape the void and Jade. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated and slowly came to see that she had created the haze she had wished for. Not a veil, a fog.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good. Well, that was an unexpected bonus. I was only looking for something I could use to persuade you to try harder. Now you just have to learn to keep your mind shield there, all the time, until you’re not even aware of it - like breathing. I will provide distractions to test your concentration.” She sat down, wiped the knife clean and picked up a stone. Spitting on the stone, she began to sharpen the blade. “You haven’t finished,” she pointed out, nodding at the bucket of roots.

“I can’t leave?”

“Not yet.”

Taking another deep breath, Auraya quelled her anger. She sat down, picked up the peeling knife and continued with her work.

“So Chaia was your other lover,” Jade said in a conversational tone.

As anger rose, Auraya felt the haze around her mind thin. She concentrated and was relieved when it thickened again.

Jade smiled slyly. “You did say you loved the gods. I didn’t realize you meant it so literally. I’m impressed - and I’m not easily impressed. So tell me: are the gods as good at lovemaking as the legends say?”

“I don’t know,” Auraya replied. “I couldn’t say.”

Jade’s eyebrows rose. “I saw it all quite clearly, Auraya. You can’t lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Auraya said. There’s no point denying it, so I may as well make the best of it.

“Oh yes you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” Auraya told her. “I have no idea what the legends say.”

Jade looked at her questioningly, then threw back her head and laughed.

The night was warm, heralding the coming summer. Reivan could smell it in the air. Though she rose early to attend to her duties, she found it hard to sleep on nights like these. There was a tension in the air, a feeling of expectation and dread. Soon the sun would blaze down and the nights would be too hot for comfort.

Tonight she had tossed and turned until restlessness sent her from her bed out onto the balcony. There the night breeze cooled her. She looked down at a city bathed in moonlight. Bright points of light outlined the main thoroughfares crisscrossing the city. Sanctuary lamps marked the edges of courtyards.

And in the courtyard directly below her room, a figure was strolling unhurriedly past. A familiar masculine figure. She held her breath, wondering if he had seen her, hoping he hadn’t sensed the thrill that had run through her at the sight of him.

Her heart lurched as he looked up at her and smiled. She raised a hand in reply.

Gods, I hope he doesn’t think I was watching him. Then she snorted quietly. Well, of course he does. He can read my mind. Oh, no.

He had changed direction and was now walking toward her. She forced herself to keep smiling, and to ignore the pounding of her heart. Stopping below her balcony, he looked up at her.

“The moonlight favors you, Reivan,” he said softly.

Her heart leapt into her throat, making it impossible to reply. He’s just being nice, she told herself. Flippant. Flirtatious.

His smile faded a little.

“I hope you aren’t allowing Imenja’s and my differences of opinion to spoil our friendship.”

Friendship? What friendship? I lust after him and he rightly ignores it. Reivan’s wry amusement eased the constriction around her throat.

“Of course not,” she replied, then impulsively added: “I’m just not used to flattery.”

His smile broadened again. “Then we shall have to amend that.”

She crossed her arms. “And what impression would that give people?”

“The right impression. You are an admirable woman.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and hope sent her heart racing again.

“Don’t tease me,” she said, then winced at the desperation in her voice. Embarrassed, she stepped back to hide her face.

“Forgive me.” His voice drifted up. “I did not mean to anger you.”

Angry? I’m not angry, I’m ashamed. Surely he sees that. Of course he does! She peered warily over the balcony again, but he had moved. Where is he now? She moved to the railing and searched the courtyard.

He had gone.

Feeling as if she had said something wrong, she returned to her bed to toss and turn some more.

7

Tyve had visited the cave twice more in the past week, apparently only to see if Auraya and Jade needed any food or help. Jade had thanked him politely and sent him away with a few of the cures she had made for people in his village.

We made, Auraya corrected as she continued grinding up the dried leaves Jade had left for her. Though Jade gathered the ingredients, venturing out for hours each day to find them, Auraya had spent much of her time preparing them. The woman was out foraging for cure ingredients now. Sometimes Auraya wondered if there was some special purpose for the growing supply of cures at the back of the room, or if Jade simply hated to be idle.

I wonder if she hesitates whenever she returns to the cave, trying not to imagine that I’ve betrayed her and one of the White is here waiting for her?

Auraya smiled, then sobered. Perhaps that was why Jade had skimmed her thoughts. Perhaps she had done it every time she was about to re-enter the cave, to ensure her student hadn’t betrayed her.

It was impossible not to worry about what Jade might have read from her mind. Having failed to extract a promise from Jade that she would not spy on Auraya’s thoughts again, Auraya was determined to achieve a strong, stable mind shield as soon as possible. She was finding it easier to hold it in place now, sometimes even forgetting that it was there. Soon she would be able to leave.

Before she did, however, she wanted to ask Jade some questions.

The jar of ground leaves was nearly full by the time Jade returned. The woman said nothing as she set her buckets beside the bed and sat down. She took a lump of what looked like rock from one bucket and began to break off and scratch out areas of a whitish substance into a jar.

“What is that?”

“Poison,” Jade replied. “At least in anything but the tiniest dose.”

“Do you often have a use for poison?”

“Surprisingly rarely. I’ve used poison only three times in the last thousand years. It’s the kind of death you reserve for truly unpleasant people.”

The other woman spoke so lightly, Auraya wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. She paused, then decided she didn’t want to know.

“So you’ve lived a thousand years,” she asked instead.

“At least.”

“You don’t know for certain?”

“No. I used to keep count, but after a while it became painfully obvious that the calendars people used to count the years were wrong, and then they made a great mess of recalculating. I moved around so much I lost count, but by then it didn’t seem to matter any more.”

“What is it like, living that long?”

Jade looked up at Auraya and shrugged. “Not as thrilling as you might think,” she said. “Most of the time you don’t think about it. Your thoughts are taken up with immediate concerns: what you will eat today, where you will sleep. You take the knowledge you’ve gathered over the years for granted. When you need it, it’s there, and you don’t often think back to when you learned it.

“Now and then something makes you stop and consider the past, and that’s when you are most conscious of your age. You are aware of changes that no one else notices, not even historians. You also see that some things never change. People will always fall in and out of love. Ambitious men and women will always crave power. Greedy men and women will always hoard wealth. Mortals will be mortals.”

“So can immortals change in ways mortals can’t?”

Jade looked thoughtful. “Yes and no. Immortality doesn’t make us smarter. Experience does. We try not to make the same mistake twice, but memories fade and some memories fade faster than others. And there are always new mistakes to make.” She grimaced. “Sometimes we want to make the same mistakes. Love, for instance. In falling in love, mortals always risk great pain; for immortals that pain is guaranteed. Either love dies, or those you love do.”

A hint of bitterness had entered Jade’s voice. Auraya felt a pang of sympathy.

“Is the pain worth enduring?”

Jade smiled humorlessly. “Yes, so long as you don’t suffer too often. I’ve borne children and watched them die as well. That was even more painful, yet I’ve done it more than once.”

“So immortals can have children?”

“Of course.” Jade frowned. “Why wouldn’t we?” Then her eyes widened in realization. “The gods made you unable to conceive while you were a White, didn’t they?”

Auraya shrugged. “We couldn’t have devoted ourselves to our work if we were bearing and raising children.”

“The gods aren’t ones for recreational time, are they? Still, children would have made you vulnerable. Believe me, I know how vulnerable children can make you, if they’re used against you.”

“What happened?”

Jade shook her head. “I would rather not speak of it. Some memories are best kept buried.”

Auraya nodded and considered how she could change the subject. “Were your children sorcerers?”

“A few. Some had little Gifts at all. None became immortal. Not strong enough. I don’t think any immortal has borne an immortal child.”

“Not even if both parents were immortal?”

“I’ve not heard of any who had such a parentage.”

“Perhaps that would make the difference.”

Jade shrugged, then she turned to stare at Auraya. “Are you planning any such experiment soon? I had the impression you weren’t that enamoured of Mirar.”

Auraya frowned at the woman, wondering at the sudden change in her mood.

“No.”

“Does Mirar know about you and Chaia?” Jade asked.

“Of course not.”

“Do you intend to tell him?”

“Do you?”

Jade put down her work. “Yes. Mirar deserves to know that you don’t return his feelings.”

“He knows,” she told Jade.

“If you don’t care for him, why would you care if he knew who your lover is?”

“Was,” Auraya corrected. “Because that information is private.”

“For better or worse, it’s no longer a secret. I may as well tell him before he finds some other stupid thing to do out of love for you.”

Auraya sighed. “Tell him, then. I’d hate to take the blame for his habit of getting himself into trouble - again.”

Jade’s eyes narrowed. “You really don’t care for him, do you?”

“I loved Leiard, not Mirar.”

“He is Leiard. Leiard is part of him.”

Auraya forced herself to meet Jade’s eyes. “Leiard was never real. I can’t turn from the little I have left of my life for a made-up piece of a person buried somewhere within a man I don’t know. And after all you’ve said about love being a mistake, I don’t see why you expect me to feel any differently.”

Jade stared at Auraya for a long time, then she looked away.

“I think what infuriates me is that I agree with you,” she said in a fierce, quiet voice. “I would do the same. I think I want you to love him simply to ease my fears. If you did, you wouldn’t harm us. Instead I have to believe Mirar. He swears you will not. Fool that he is, he has never misjudged anyone in the past - not even when dazzled by love.” She raised a finger in warning. “Don’t prove him wrong.”

Auraya said nothing. Dropping her rock back into the bucket, Jade sealed the jar of white powder. She rose and placed it among her supplies, then turned to regard Auraya.

“I’m going to find us some dinner.”

After the woman had gone, the cave was oppressively silent. Auraya couldn’t help feeling she had let Jade down somehow. She is only disappointed that I don’t love Mirar, she thought. And there’s no reason I should feel guilty about that.

Looking around the cave, she sighed. I feel lonely, she realized. I wonder how Mischief is. She missed his company, his unquestioning loyalty. Why are veez like that? It’s not like attaching themselves to humans is good for their kind... except, I suppose, that they don’t have to hunt for food and have a good chance of a safe home and a warm bed... I think I just answered that question for myself.

He’d never liked it when she went away. If only she could communicate with him somehow.

I wonder... would I be able to find him through mind-skimming?

It was worth a try. Lying down on the bed, she closed her eyes and slowly settled into a dream trance. When she judged herself ready, she reached out in the direction of the Open.

Some time later she found the minds of three Siyee making their way back to their village after a successful hunt. Next she found a village, and paused to skim the mind of a female Siyee cooking a complicated meal. The woman’s hunger made Auraya notice her own.

She found several more Siyee and was relieved when she recognized the Open through a man’s eyes. Finding Mischief among the multitude of Siyee minds wouldn’t be easy. Eventually she saw her own bower through a Siyee child’s eyes and that gave her the clue she needed to find him.

Reaching toward the structure, she concentrated hard, expecting that the mind of a little creature like a veez would be somehow smaller and fainter. She sensed an animal mind focused intently on a task. Fascinated, she watched as he drew magic as easily as he drew breath, and used it to move a mechanism of some sort, then she felt the animal’s greedy satisfaction as he succeeded. He seized something edible, dragged it out of the container it had been sealed within, and began to eat.

I think Mischief may have just broken into some food container, she thought, amused. I’ve never watched him use magic...

Then something else caught at her attention. Something much closer. A voice spoke and she reeled as far stronger minds overwhelmed her senses and sent her rushing back to a place somewhere outside the cave.

:... send one of the Siyee Watchers with orders for her to meet me at the Temple. If Chaia is right, she won’t dare to disobey us.

:And if she does?

:We will all know Chaia is wrong.

The first speaker was Huan; the second took Auraya longer to recognize. As he spoke a second time she realized the voice was Saru’s.

:And he can’t stop us having her killed.

Auraya felt her blood go cold. Were they talking about her?

:He’ll still try, Huan said.

:Yes. Why do you think he’s so determined to keep her alive?

:Lust. She’s just another one of his little infatuations.

:If she was he wouldn’t think twice about casting her off as he did the others. This is different.

:In all the worst ways. She’s not some pretty doll he wants to play with, like the other girls. She’s too powerful. Huan’s voice darkened. He must have plans for her.

:Too powerful to kill?

:Not yet. Not while she is ignorant of her true strength. Which is why I do not like her vanishing into the void to treat this woman. If my suspicions are correct, that woman is no mere curer. Auraya could be learning everything we don’t want her to learn.

:You encouraged her by allowing her to learn to heal magically.

:That was meant to convince the others that she was too dangerous.

:It convinced me. What do you think would sway Lore and Yranna?

Huan was silent a moment.

:The confirmation of my suspicions. If she comes out of that void knowing what she shouldn’t, only Chaia will be opposed to her death.

:He will be outvoted at last.

:Yes.

:And if she comes out knowing nothing?

:We will find some other way to persuade them. Eventually Auraya will defy us again. It is only a matter of time.

:And her executors?

:Let’s check...

With dizzying speed, the two minds flashed away, leaving Auraya dazed by her brief contact with them. She roused herself into full consciousness. Lying on her bed, she heard the gods’ words repeating in her mind ... encouraged her by allowing her to learn to heal magically... meant to convince the others that she was too dangerous... only Chaia will be opposed to her death.

Huan wants me dead, Auraya thought. She has since before I refused to kill Mirar! She is so determined to kill me, she will even manipulate her fellow gods to achieve her aims.

She felt a wave of nausea. It doesn’t matter that Chaia opposes her. The others will eventually outvote him. Sitting up, she stared at the wall of the cave.

The knowledge made her head spin. They would outvote him soon, because the moment she left the void the gods would know she’d learned to hide her mind, whether she actually hid it or not. It didn’t matter that she had never intended to hide her mind from them. Just learning such a thing had damned her.

Why? She felt a surge of curiosity and bitterness. Because I’m too powerful? How powerful, I wonder?

Powerful enough to frighten the gods.

She felt a thrill, but it quickly faded. I may be powerful enough to worry them, but I doubt I’m powerful enough to survive if they decide I must be killed.

Except that Mirar and Jade had both survived. If they could, she could too.

Standing up, she paced around the void and considered this. I have two choices, she decided eventually. Either I submit to the gods’ judgment and let them kill me, or I resist them. I doubt Huan or the others would take my soul when I die, but Chaia will. Would he still take it if I resist the others, and fail? Surely he wouldn’t abandon it to fade out of existence. How much defiance would he be willing to forgive?

Could she fight Huan and the other gods, and not Chaia?

I don’t want to defy Chaia, she thought. Then I must put this decision in his hands. I will fight the others or submit to death, according to his will.

The decision brought relief, but it did not completely erase the fear. Could she really submit to execution if Chaia decided she must? He won’t. And that brought her to another question. Who were the executioners Saru and Huan had spoken of?

The answer was painfully obvious: the White.

A noise interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to find Jade entering the cave carrying two girri. The woman lifted the birds high.

“We eat well tonight,” she said.

Auraya managed a smile. She wasn’t hungry any more. Her stomach was twisted in knots. Jade gave her an odd look.

“You look as though you’ve just received bad news.”

Auraya looked away. “Mind-skimming is much like mind-reading. Sometimes you find out things you wish you hadn’t.”

“Ah.” Jade dropped the birds onto the cooking stone between the beds. “Believe me, knowing too much is a familiar curse to us immortals.”

“Like knowing the secret of immortality?”

Jade’s eyes rose to meet Auraya’s, then narrowed. “No, that’s one piece of knowledge I don’t regret having.” One of her eyebrows lifted. “And it’s one you have, too. You just need to spend a little time thinking about it.”

Jade was right. The gods already considered her knowledge of magical healing to be almost as damning as knowledge of immortality. And Huan had allowed Auraya to learn magical healing in order to persuade the other gods to kill her.

“Thinking time? That’s all it takes?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled. “Consider everything Mirar taught you about healing a body with magic. All you need do is apply it to your own. Begin a constant state of renewal and you need never age or die. Mirar said you learned to heal easily; this should come just as naturally. But don’t think about it now,” she added, her tone suddenly practical. “I need you to pluck and gut these feathered darlings while I fetch some vegetables.”

The house smelled faintly of stale sweat and mold beneath the tang of cleansing herbs. Danjin started up the stairs, trying not to breathe too deeply.

Ella had hired a few rooms in a house across the road from the hospice. The condition of it couldn’t be helped. They needed to be in sight of the people passing the hospice and since the hospice was in the poor quarter most of the buildings were squalid. Ella didn’t appear to be bothered by the smell. She didn’t touch the food brought by the wife of the house’s owner, however, and Danjin took that as a warning not to be ignored. If someone who could read minds avoided eating something, it was always wise to follow suit.

Ella had assured Danjin that the owner and his wife would not gossip about their guests. Having seen the mobs that gathered outside the hospice, and heard of Dreamweaver murders, their hosts weren’t going to risk bringing any attention to themselves.

The alley behind the house was kept clear of the homeless and loiterers. Ella and Danjin arrived each day in an ordinary platten, entered the house via the rear door and for a few hours Ella sat by the window watching the people on the street below. She had seen a plan to block the hospice’s entrance in someone’s mind yesterday and managed to prevent it by stopping messages to supporters reaching their targets.

News of the most recent murder of a Dreamweaver and disappearance of his student had left her angry and disappointed. She had known and respected the Dreamweaver, though she did not remember much about his student. Danjin knew she was frustrated. They had hoped that by watching people around the hospice she would be able to prevent such crimes. Ella’s expression while watching had grown more intense since the Dreamweaver’s murder.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Danjin walked to the last door and knocked. There was a click and the door swung inward. Ella was sitting by the window as usual.

“Come in, Danjin Spear,” Ella said.

Closing the door, Danjin turned to find Ella rubbing her temples.

“You look pained, Ellareen of the White.”

She grimaced. “All this mind-reading is disorientating.” She straightened. “I have come to a few conclusions. Sit down and tell me what you think.”

He settled onto a chunky wooden chair made only slightly less uncomfortable by a few mean cushions. She looked out of the window again and her eyes narrowed. “Remember how I said that the murderer we questioned not only hated Dreamweavers, but he feared them? I’ve been looking for what people fear about the Dreamweavers. It’s been interesting. They don’t fear individual Dreamweavers, nor Dreamweavers in general. Dreamweavers have always been too few in number and lacking in influence or ambition to be a threat. What people fear is that this will change.” She looked at Danjin. “They fear that Mirar’s return will make the Dreamweavers dangerous.”

“So when this rumor dies the hospice will be safe again.”

Ella shook her head. “It won’t die. Mirar has returned.”

He stared at her in shock. Mirar, the immortal leader of the Dreamweavers, alive? Now he could understand how those who believed the rumor must feel. Who would not feel a stirring of fear at the knowledge that the legendary immortal enemy of the gods still lived? To be immortal, a sorcerer must be immensely Gifted. Juran, the most powerful of the Gods’ Chosen, had been given the task of executing Mirar. All believed he had succeeded. Had that been a lie, or had Juran been deceived?

“How did he survive?” he asked Ella.

“Mirar was buried and his body crushed, but with his healing magic he nurtured enough of himself that he was able to recover later. He suppressed his own knowledge of his true identity, and was able to hide from the gods.”

Hidden for a century. Waiting for his chance to... to what?

“Why reveal himself now?” Danjin asked, as much to himself as to Ella. “Did he mean to?”

Ella smiled. “No.”

“What happened?”

She looked away. “I’m not free to tell you that. Yet.”

Danjin smiled and nodded. “But there is more to tell.” He would consider that later. For now he could only give her advice based on the information she had given him. “Most people will not be sure if the rumor is true or not,” he said, thinking aloud. “Your concern is with those who believe it and hate the idea so passionately that they attack Dreamweavers and the hospice.”

She nodded. “People fear Mirar deeply. Some even fear to seek Dreamweaver help in case the one they encounter turns out to be Mirar. Perhaps we could have artisans paint pictures of him so people know that the Dreamweaver they consult is just an ordinary man.”

“The people who visit the hospice are not the people you need to be concerned with,” he pointed out. “I doubt the troublemakers would ever consider seeking Dreamweaver help. You said people feared a change in the Dreamweavers under Mirar’s influence. That is the fear that drives them to kill.”

“How can I fight that?” she asked, frowning. “I could tell them that we’ll easily be able to stop the Dreamweavers if they turn on us, but why would they believe me? If they had any faith in us they wouldn’t be attacking anyone now.”

“It helps, sometimes, to remind people they’re safe. A little reassurance now and then never goes astray.”

Her frown faded and she looked thoughtful. “Won’t it seem as if we expect the Dreamweavers to turn on us if we say we’re ready for it?”

“Maybe. Maybe it isn’t a bad thing that they’re becoming more suspicious of Dreamweavers. I might have suggested you find a way to reassure people that Mirar can’t or won’t influence Dreamweavers, but I fear that would be foolish. I expect Mirar will take control of his people again.”

Ella scowled. “He won’t live that long.”

Her confidence was both reassuring and disturbing. “I’m glad to hear it.” He paused. “And perhaps this is what people need to hear... unless there is a chance his execution will fail again.”

She looked at him, her eyes dark.

“It won’t. Unless he can rejuvenate his body from ashes.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “But we have to find him first, so we’d best not mention killing him just yet.”

8

Outside the cave the tops of the trees glowed with the last rays of the sun. Emerahl set her back to the rock wall, far enough away from the waterfall that her clothes wouldn’t end up saturated from the spray.

It was the same place she and Mirar had once rested and discussed their futures. At the time she had been full of optimism at the idea of searching out other immortals. Mirar had been struggling to acknowledge the part of him that was Leiard. The part that loved Auraya.

A good thing he hadn’t known then that she doesn’t return that love, Emerahl thought. It would have made it much more difficult for him to accept the fragment of his personality he’d created. Why accept Leiard if it meant suffering a broken heart?

He was whole now. Stronger. He could cope with the bad news that Chaia had been Auraya’s lover. At least she hoped he could. There was a small danger he’d fragment into a split persona again.

Auraya probably hadn’t considered that. Or maybe she had. Maybe this was why she was reluctant to tell Mirar.

Emerahl sighed. She had meant what she had said to Auraya. Put in the same situation, Emerahl would probably feel the same way about Mirar. She’d feel distrustful of any lingering feelings she had for someone who had turned out to not be who she thought he was. Even the prospect of meeting that man would make her wary. What else would prove to be untrue?

While Leiard was a part of Mirar, he would never again exist as the man Auraya had known. What had she said? “I can’t turn from the little I have left of my life for a made-up piece of a person buried somewhere within a man I don’t know.”

Beneath the defensiveness there had been something raw. Emerahl drew in a sharp breath as she realized what it was.

She’s actually grieving for Leiard. To her he is dead. And she feels tricked and cheated for having fallen in love with an illusion. Why didn’t I see that before?

It had turned into a big mess that did neither Auraya nor Mirar any good. Even without all this complication, the chances of Auraya and Mirar being happy together weren’t great. Auraya was still loyal to the gods (and while Emerahl thought little of this, she had to allow the woman had the right to follow the gods if it pleased her). Mirar hated them and the feeling was mutual.

The sooner those two were relieved of the source of their misery, the better. It would hurt Mirar more, but he’d got over unrequited love plenty of times before. Auraya would recover from her grief for Leiard more easily without him reminding her of what she’d lost.

Emerahl sighed. I was hoping Auraya felt something for Mirar so we immortals could feel a little safer. She chuckled. Making her hate me certainly isn’t going to do us any good. I should be more sympathetic.

She shifted into a more comfortable position. Closing her eyes, she let herself sink toward sleep. The pull toward full unconsciousness was strong, but she resisted.

:Mirar, she called.

There was no answer. It was early evening where he was and he probably hadn’t retired to bed yet. She turned her thoughts toward other minds.

:Tamun. Surim.

:Yes, Emerahl?

Sometimes The Twins spoke as one during links. It was disconcerting. The pair were so different in nature. The impression they gave when united like this was of a personality more complicated than an ordinary human. Something greater than human. Something inhuman.

At times like these she knew why they had been so revered in their time.

:How are you two faring?

:As well as always, Tamun replied. Surim is getting all moon-eyed over a swamp girl again and I am endeavoring to put up with it.

:Tamun expects me to gather food and materials for her weaving, but she won’t let me have some fun in the process, Surim complained. It’s not fair an—

:How is Auraya doing? Tamun asked.

Emerahl felt a wave of amusement at Tamun’s sudden change of subject.

:She’s only let the shield around her mind slip once or twice since discovering how to raise it.

:Mirar did say she was a fast learner, Tamun said. Maybe it is because of her youth. She hasn’t had time to become set in her ways of thinking.

:Maybe, Surim agreed.

:Something happened tonight, Emerahl told them. She saw something while mind-skimming that bothered her.

:She didn’t tell you what it was?

:No. I don’t think I should stay here much longer.

:But you have not taught her immortality.

:I will offer to, but I’m sure she’ll refuse - and if she is as smart as Mirar says, she will work it out for herself.

:You’re right, Tamun said, but that was what Mirar sent you there for. He may be disappointed.

:He will have to live with that. I won’t force her to learn it if she doesn’t want to.

:If she does, will you teach her to change her age?

:Mirar says it is my innate Gift, and no other can learn it.

:Mirar may be wrong about innate Gifts. His is supposed to be magical healing, but he has taught it to others.

:But no other can use it as well as he. I wouldn’t have been able to survive being crushed, as he did.

:You don’t know that. But if an innate Gift is one that an immortal can do better than others perhaps Auraya will be able to change her age but not as well as you can. Perhaps you can learn to fly, but not as well as she.

:Flying is not a Gift you’d want to have less ability for. Failing could be painful or fatal. I’ll hardly be able to take up the Quest for the Scroll again if I’m stuck in Si, healing from multiple bone fractures.

:True. What do you think Auraya will do once you leave?

:Return to the Open. Carry on as if nothing has happened.

:If she can do so will be up to the gods to decide, Surim said, suddenly serious. They will not be able to kill her easily, but they may use her trust in them to trap her.

:When they fail, Tamun continued, she will have only us to turn to for help.

:She will be a powerful ally, Surim finished.

:For all your claims the future can’t be predicted, you two certainly like sounding as if you can do just that, Emerahl observed.

:I don’t, Tamun said. But when Surim gets all dramatic I feel I must support him.

:You love it as much as I do, Surim told his sister. Go on. Admit it.

:I get no pleasure from unwarranted exaggeration or theatrics, Tamun declared. But it would b—

:Are you certain the gods will turn on Auraya? Emerahl interrupted. No doubt in your minds?

:There are always doubts, Surim admitted. The future can’t be predicted, only guessed. The gods have a habit of killing immortals, but there is always a chance they’ll stay their hand for one of their followers.

:Especially when that follower is one of Chaia’s lovers, Emerahl pointed out.

:Ex-lover, Tamun corrected.

:I think it’s time Mirar knew about that, Emerahl told them. I think it’s time he learned how Auraya regards him.

The Twins were silent a moment.

:Yes. Tell him. He is among good people. They will support him, Tamun said.

:And one there is quite willing to provide comfort if he asks for it, Surim added.

Comfort? Emerahl thought, amused. The Twins regularly skimmed the minds of anyone near Emerahl and Mirar, keeping a watch for anyone intending harm. It hadn’t occurred to Emerahl what else they might notice. So Mirar has an admirer in the Dreamweaver House. How well timed, she mused.

:I will tell him tonight, she said.

:Gently, Tamun advised.

:Of course. What do you think I am?

:Someone who has known him a long time. You have known him when he was made of tougher stuff. He is not the same person now. Remember that.

:I will, Emerahl assured her.

:Good. Good night. Travel well.

As The Twins’ minds faded from Emerahl’s perception, she turned her thoughts to that of an old friend.

:Mirar, she called.

There was no reply. She roused herself enough to open an eye. The sky was dark, but still glowed where the sun had set. It was still too early.

Go to sleep, Mirar, she thought. Don’t you know how annoyingly suspenseful it is when you’re waiting to deliver bad news?

The dining hall of the Dreamweaver House had been full this night. Mirar had allowed himself to be recruited as a helper in the kitchen. He had listened to the constant chatter of the Dreamweavers there and during the meal, enjoying the relaxed, unworried mood of the house - and concentrating on trying to pick up more of the local language.

Being able to pick up emotions made it easier to understand these people, but it was a barrier as well as a boon when it came to learning the languages they spoke. It was easy, sometimes, to guess what they were saying from what he sensed rather than from the actual words they spoke. He must make himself note the words and work out what they meant.

It also helped that a fellow Northern Ithanian Dreamweaver with some knowledge of the southern languages had arrived the night before. Dreamweaver Moore was in Dekkar to collect or buy cures.

“Genrians have a crazy idea that the more exotic and distant the origin of a cure, the better it must be,” he had told Mirar. “They’ll pay us a lot of money for them, which we then put to good use providing perfectly adequate local cures for less affluent patients. There are many cures unique to Dekkar’s jungle, though the last time I came here there was more of it. These people seem set on cutting the whole jungle down.”

There was a mood of anticipation among the Dreamweavers. Mirar had guessed that a ritual or celebration was going to take place. After the meal he helped clear the table and clean up. When all was in order, the Dreamweavers followed Tintel down a corridor and out onto a balcony. Tintel had shown Mirar this place the morning after he had arrived. It was like a wooden courtyard, but was raised above the ground. Potted plants and low walls were arranged in a large circle in the center, and the curved triangular spaces left by this formed small gardens with limited privacy.

The scent of flowers filled the humid air and the whir and creak of insect calls was so constant and powerful he could almost feel the heavy air vibrating. Mirar hadn’t grown used to the heat: it made him sleepy during the day and unable to sleep during the night. The local Dreamweavers were affected by it, too, but not as much as he.

They formed a circle. Recognizing the beginning of a link ceremony, Mirar felt a twinge of anxiety. He considered again the possibility that his mind shield might allow him to join a link without revealing his own thoughts. He wouldn’t know until he tried, but if he failed his identity might be revealed.

The Dreamweavers linked hands and bowed their heads. Mirar felt a pang of frustration and longing. Except for the link he had joined in Somrey, it had been a long time since he had experienced the sense of belonging a link could bring.

It is a cruel irony that I, the man who invented this ritual, who founded these people’s way of life, should now hesitate to join them, he thought. But there is much I can learn from them, and about the people of Southern Ithania. It is worth the risk.

He felt the grip of the man holding his right hand tighten, then the hand on his left twitched. Carefully, keeping the shield about his own mind strong, he sought the minds of those around him. Soon he could hear voices and see snatches of memories.

He saw the memory of a Dreamweaver who had examined a sick baby. The infant had underdeveloped and deformed organs, and could not be cured by any ordinary Dreamweaver. The father was a Pentadrian Servant, Mirar saw with a shock. The Dreamweaver had given the man the bad news. The Pentadrian had accepted it, saying that if a Dreamweaver could not cure the child, nobody could...

... taxes were raised this year, probably to pay for the construction of the bridge. A Servant of the Gods had examined the House’s records and was satisfied, and only asked for a small bribe. He was still grateful for the advice given to him and his wife about their marital troubles. Doesn’t realize how common that...

... water lapped at the edges of the platform the Dreamweaver House was built upon. The flood had threatened to spill into the building last year. What would it be like this year...

... where there had been enormous trees there were now charred trunks surrounded by crops. Memories of the former forest and of the new fields overlaid each other. Shocking, but the locals need to eat. Trouble is, he hadn’t been able to find that little plant with the pink flowers again. Hope that wasn’t the only place it...

... she is so beautiful. Glimpse of naked body hastily pushed aside...

... then where would he go? North up the gulf? Not likely. Back to the west? Doubt it. What if he went south? What if he’s here somewhere? He could be in this very courtyard now...

... thinking about these stories that Mirar has returned. Not even sure I believe them. If Mirar’s back, why haven’t any of us seen him? No...

Mirar suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. Even during a mind link, the Dreamweavers were still gossiping about his return. But then he sobered. They were watching for him. He must be careful.

Or must he? Would it be so bad if he allowed his identity to be known?

He listened and watched as the link continued. As always, one person’s memories attracted the attention of the others. Advice was bestowed, or assurance given. At one point a Dreamweaver delved into memories of a recent festival in the city, and the others watched with interest. Nobody appeared to react to his own thoughts, and then he heard Tintel noting that he hadn’t joined the link. It worked, he thought with relief.

Then Tintel called for the end of the link. Minds withdrew as Dreamweavers brought their awareness back to themselves, asserting their own identity as they did. Mirar opened his eyes and let go of the hands he had been holding. Dreamweavers around him did the same. He noticed one watching him.

Dardel. She smiled and winked at him, as subtle as ever. He smiled in reply. Something plucked at his thoughts. He sought it, but it was gone.

I think someone is trying to dream-link with me.

Some Dreamweavers were lingering, talking in small groups. Others were saying their farewells. Mirar slipped away, made his way to his room and closed the door. In the relative silence, he felt the tug at his mind again.

Lying down on his bed, he guided his mind into a dream trance. There he drifted for several minutes. Just when he began to wonder if he had been wrong, a familiar voice spoke at the edge of his thoughts.

:Mirar?

:Emerahl.

:At last! What’s keeping you up so late?

There was a hint of slyness to her tone. He found himself thinking of Dardel, then felt a twinge of guilt.

:A link ceremony, he told her.

:A link ceremony? I thought you were going to avoid them?

:Only joining in. I was able to listen to their thoughts.

:Learn anything useful?

:Perhaps. How is Auraya?

:A good friend would ask how I was first.

:I’m not a good friend. How are you?

:Better. I will be leaving soon.

:You’ve taught her the secret of immortality?

:Yes and no. I’ve told her, not taught her. I can’t make her learn it if she doesn’t want to. And she doesn’t.

:I suppose not. He felt a nagging disappointment.

:I think she’ll work it out for herself, if she ever changes her mind.

:She will. And she’ll manage it easily.

:I’m sure she will, Emerahl agreed.

:So you’ve changed your mind about her?

:I never said she wasn’t smart.

:But you like her better now.

:What makes you think that?

:You’ve stopped calling her “god-loving” and “self-pitying.”

:Have I? Maybe I’m sick of repeating myself. I should come up with some better insults.

:You should.

:Or maybe it’s your turn. I have some bad news for you. I promised The Twins I’d break it to you gently, but I’m not sure how to do that.

He paused. It was hard to tell whether she was setting him up for some joke, or was serious.

:I’m used to your bluntness, Emerahl. What news do you have that is so terrible?

She didn’t speak for a moment, then when she did it was quietly.

:Auraya doesn’t love you, Mirar. She loved Leiard. Though she knows he is a part of you, that’s not enough. You’re a stranger to her and she doesn’t trust you. I can’t blame her. I’d feel the same.

He said nothing. There was no lie in Emerahl’s words. No way he could have confused what she’d said. He felt suddenly empty. There was a hollow place now where there had been something wonderful and bright. A curl of smoke where a fire had been smothered...

Oh, listen to yourself! he thought. So your heart is broken once more. Are you going to try your hand at poetry again? I’m not sure the world could survive that. Though it might be a fine way to torment the gods.

But sarcasm and self-mockery didn’t help. It never had in the past. This was something he would just have to endure for now. Eventually he would forget Auraya.

Though that might be a little hard if she’s immortal. If every time I saw or heard about her I went through all the hope and pain again. And if—

:Mirar?

:Oh. Emerahl. Sorry.

:Are you all right?

:Of course not. But I’m not about to throw myself out of the window either. Do you think there’s a chance, in the future, if Auraya and I somehow spend some time getting to know each other again, she might—

:I wouldn’t put your hopes on it. There is something else you need to know. She’s had another lover.

:I know. I read that from her mind when I was teaching her to heal.

:Did you find out who it was?

:No. A feeling of dread began to close in around Mirar. Was it Juran? That would be understandable. I could accept that.

:It wasn’t Juran. She paused. As the silence lengthened Mirar grew impatient. Was she being theatrical, or was she truly reluctant to tell him?

:It was Chaia.

He felt his whole being go cold. A memory rose of helpless parents and a thin, wasted girl. It had been possible to see hints of the beauty that had once been in that young woman’s face, but there was madness in her eyes. She had been bound to her bed, because if freed she constantly rubbed and clawed at herself, most often at her breasts and between her legs.

In those times there were no laws against dream-healing. He had linked with her mind. He had expected to be confronted by something unpleasant. But what he saw had multiplied his hatred for the gods tenfold.

Chaia.

The god had chosen this girl as his lover, using magic in a way that generated exquisite pleasure. What he got from her in return Mirar had never been able to discover. When Chaia had tired of her he had left her like this, craving a pleasure she could never gain naturally from her own body.

Mirar had only been able to restore her sanity by blocking some of her memories. From then on she ate begrudgingly and never regained any sexual interest, and she was in a constant state of boredom. She became incapable of feeling any sort of pleasure. He had almost wished he’d let her die.

:It’s in the past, Emerahl assured him. She doesn’t appear to have suffered any of the usual consequences.

He had not detected any sign of madness when he had taught Auraya to heal back in Si. But then, not all Chaia’s victims had lost their minds - just their ability to enjoy life, and sex.

Little wonder Auraya feels nothing...

:Mirar? Are you all right?

:Of course I’m not, he said, a little too sharply. Sorry, Emerahl. I will talk to you later.

He drew away from her mind, opened his eyes and stared at the wall before him.

Chaia. Of all the lovers she could have chosen... if she’d had any choice at all...

There was a light tap at the door.

He slowly looked up. The same hopeful tap had come every night. Quiet so as not to wake him. Never repeated, as if it was only to tell him she was still interested.

Dardel.

He should ignore it. But what alternative was there except to lie awake all night thinking? What good would that do?

He rose from the bed. When his hand touched the door handle he paused, but his conscience remained silent. Instead he found his thoughts returning where he didn’t want them to go.

Chaia.

He opened the door and drew a smiling, pleasantly surprised Dardel into his room.

9

It was so easy.

Auraya paced the void. For the last hour she had walked in circles, slowly making her way around the edge of the magic-deficient boundary. Though her mind shield had become a constant habit she rarely thought about any more, she did not want to leave the void until Jade confirmed it was safe for her to do so.

So easy. I can’t believe it was that easy. And it hardly takes any magic at all.

After Jade had left for the morning, Auraya had done what the older woman had suggested: she had spent some time thinking about magical healing and how it might be applied to herself. Curiosity had led her to focus on her body, then cautiously experiment. Within moments the logic of what Jade had told her came to her.

A different reasoning had led her to take the next step and apply the knowledge. If she was damned in the eyes of the gods for just knowing how to become immortal, then she may as well become immortal.

It had been unexpectedly easy.

The realization that the same Gift could be used to heal herself from almost any injury had helped her make that decision. That Gift had enabled Mirar to survive being crushed under a building. If she was going to resist Huan, Chaia willing, she might need to do something similar.

The thought of ending up like Mirar, a hunted enemy of the gods, dismayed her, but she clung to the hope that she would remain Chaia’s follower.

He will forgive me when he learns that Huan allowed me to learn to heal magically in order to persuade the others to let her kill me.

“Getting some exercise, are we?”

Auraya turned to see Jade striding into the cave carrying two buckets. She shrugged, then followed Jade to the beds, curious to see what the woman had found this time. Jade set the buckets down beside the cooking stone.

“You’ll be happy to know you can leave the void now,” she said. “I haven’t sensed your emotions or been able to skim your thoughts in days.”

“I guessed it would be soon,” Auraya said. Both the buckets were full of clear water, but one had strange creatures swimming within it. “What are they?”

“Shrimmi. They’re hard to catch, but delicious. I thought we’d have a nice farewell dinner before I left.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

Auraya moved to her bed and sat down. She itched to tell Jade she had achieved immortality. There wasn’t anyone else except Mirar who might congratulate her rather than be horrified. And Jade had wanted her to discover it.

Yet that was what made Auraya hesitate. What if Jade had a secret, malicious reason to lure Auraya into learning the Gift?

I don’t know how much I can trust this woman. She says she has been helping me at Mirar’s request, but there could be another reason I can’t see.

It wasn’t difficult to see that by helping one of the gods’ followers learn Gifts they disapproved of, Jade was striking a small blow against them. But if causing strife between the gods and a follower was Jade’s intention, she had added little to a conflict that had already existed. Still, if that was Jade’s purpose, it would be better to know it than suspect it.

And Auraya couldn’t see any other way that immortality could be used against her. If there was, it would be better to know about it sooner rather than later.

“I had that long think you suggested I have,” Auraya told the woman.

Jade looked up, her eyebrows raised. “You did? What did you discover?”

“You were right. It was easy.”

“Easy, eh?” Jade shook her head. “One attempt. I’ve never known of anyone who learned so fast.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Auraya smiled, amused by the other woman’s suspicion. “Quite sure. But then, I already knew how to heal.”

Jade nodded and looked away. Picking up the bucket, she poured clear water into the hollow of the cooking stone.

“Are there other ways this Gift can be used?” Auraya asked.

The woman looked at her sharply. “Like what?”

“It occurred to me that it could be used to change a person’s appearance.”

Jade regarded Auraya thoughtfully. “Do you want to change your appearance?”

“Me?” Auraya chuckled. “One thing I learned from being able to read minds is that people are never satisfied with how they look. I’d like to fix a few things. I even considered trying it, but I didn’t have a mirror and I thought I should ask you in case I did something permanent.”

“That’s wise.”

“Then I thought, would I feel different if I changed how I looked?” Auraya continued. “If I felt different, would that mean I was a different person? And once I’d started, would it be tempting to keep changing things? Could I even turn myself into a Siyee?” She shook her head. “More possibilities kept occurring to me then. Could a person change their physical age or their gender? Could they make themself smarter? So is it possible to make such changes?”

Jade smiled. “You can change your appearance, but the rest... I don’t know. You are wise to hesitate. Appearance does affect a person’s identity, and Mirar is a good example of what can happen if you meddle with your own identity.”

Auraya nodded. “Can I teach you something in return for what you’ve taught me?”

The woman looked amused. “I ask only that you do not betray us to the gods.”

“That is reasonable. By ‘us’ you mean yourself and Mirar?”

Jade hesitated. “Yes.”

“So you wouldn’t be interested in learning how to fly?”

The woman regarded Auraya with an unreadable expression. “You would teach me that?”

“Yes. I’m curious to know if anyone else can do it.”

Jade looked down at the shrimmi, then back at Auraya.

“I suppose I could stay one more day.”

Dardel opened her eyes and experienced a moment of disorientation. The furniture in her room had been arranged differently. Things were missing. Then she saw the man sitting on the chair by the window and she smiled as she remembered she was in Dreamweaver Wilar’s room.

Wilar was watching her. He still had that haunted look about his eyes, but as he noticed she was awake his mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

“Tintel was looking for you before,” he told her.

She looked toward the window. From the angle of the sunlight, she guessed it was late morning. She stretched, enjoying the feeling of cloth against her bare skin. “I was wondering if I was going to get any sleep at all last night.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Not at all.” She sat up, drawing the bedding up around herself, and looked for her clothes. They were on the floor next to the bed. “In fact,” she found herself saying, “I’ve never encountered a man with such stamina. And I’m surprised at my own. I ought to feel worn out, literally, but I don’t.” She picked up her clothes, then paused and looked up at him. “Was this a once-only thing?”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “It is temporary, but how temporary depends on how long I stay here, and if we grow bored with each other.”

She chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll tire of you. In fact, I think I’ll be fussy who I bed from now on. You’ve given me higher expectations.” She shot him a mock glare. “You’ve probably ruined me for any other man.”

All amusement fled from his face and he actually winced. She immediately regretted her words. There was no doubt a reason for that haunted look, and she had obviously reminded him of it. A past lover, perhaps? It would explain his initial hesitation.

She let the bedding fall. His eyes dropped to her breasts and the strained look in his eyes disappeared. “Of course, if I found someone willing to learn, I’m sure I could teach him some of what you showed me,” she said as she began to dress.

That brought a smile. Good.

She lost herself in memories as she dressed. How could a man come to be such a good lover? At times he had almost seemed to read her mind. He obviously understood women’s bodies. Better than the average Dreamweaver male, who needed to understand more than the average male because he must treat women’s illnesses. Maybe better than she did, which had been disconcerting.

Obviously he had known many women. There could be no other explanation. Who would have thought this reserved, quiet Dreamweaver had such a past?

She glanced at him. He was looking out the window again, his expression distant. Now he looked old and sad. Sometimes he looked a little lost, but that was understandable. He was far from home.

Had he ever explained why he was here? She couldn’t remember. There was definitely something mysterious about him. But to her, having spent all her life in this city, every foreigner seemed exciting and mysterious.

He is also strangely familiar. Like a friend I haven’t seen since I was a child. There’s something about him...

As she slipped her Dreamweaver vest on over her tunic, she looked at him again.

“Shall I come by tonight?”

He smiled. “Let’s wait and see how we feel tonight. You may prefer to catch up on sleep.”

“Unlikely.” Winking, she turned and walked to the door. When she looked back before closing the door, he was looking out of the window again, smiling faintly. A strange, secretive smile.

Humming as she made her way to her room, she passed Nirnel and Teiwen, a young Dreamweaver couple. Both looked at her crumpled clothes and she gave them a smug smile.

“So the new Dreamweaver finally gave in, did he?” Nirnel asked.

“That took longer than usual,” Teiwen said. “You’re losing your touch, Dardel.”

“You’re quite right,” she replied. “It did take longer than usual. He lasted all night, in fact.”

The pair rolled their eyes. Dardel continued on, chuckling to herself. Wilar was exactly what she had always imagined Mirar to have been like. Knowledgeable, powerfully Gifted (she knew Wilar was - she’d heard Tintel’s stories), not too young, not too old and a good lover. Everything that had attracted her to Dreamweavers in the first place.

Halfway to her room she slowed as a possibility suddenly occurred to her.

What if he is Mirar? The younger Dreamweavers have been saying Mirar might have come south. What if he had, and is here pretending to be a traveller?

The idea set her pulse racing. Even if it wasn’t true, what harm was there in indulging a little fantasy?

Formal dinners of the Voices had an undercurrent of tension that never eased, though their guest, the Sennonian ambassador and nephew of the Sennonian emperor, appeared not to have noticed. Reivan took another piece of crystallized spice root and chewed slowly, listening to the idle chatter. Genza was relating an amusing piece of town gossip, with occasional injections of dry humor from her Companion, Vilvan.

When the others laughed, Imenja only smiled. If the ambassador had noticed that she and Nekaun had not exchanged a word, he didn’t show it. Imenja did occasionally join in conversations, but Reivan knew her mistress was participating only enough to show she was listening. She was the image of a polite guest, when she ought to be behaving like a host. Or matriarch. Or at least like someone who had a say in matters.

Nekaun laughed at the conclusion of the story and Reivan felt a shiver run down her spine at the sound of his voice. She resolutely forced her mind from considering why. Taking her glass, she drained the last of her water.

It’s late, she thought. And it doesn’t look like we’ll be turning in soon. Sometimes these dinners feel like they’ll never end.

Abruptly, Nekaun stood. “It is late,” he said, “and our guest has travelled far. He must be tired, and I know we,” he looked at Imenja and then the other Voices, “have much to do tomorrow. Let us retire for the night.”

Is that relief on Imenja’s face? Reivan wondered. She moved her chair back and stood, then waited her turn to bid the ambassador good night. When the young man had left, Reivan followed Imenja out of the room.

“Is there anything you need from me tonight?” she asked.

Imenja looked at Reivan and smiled, and this time it was a warm, genuine smile.

“No. There’s one small matter I have to attend to, but I shouldn’t need you for that. Go to bed, Reivan. You look tired.”

Reivan made the sign of the star. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Reivan turned back and walked to her rooms. Warm nights had made her sleep restless. Though she was eager to get to bed, she doubted she would rest any easier tonight.

Her doubts proved well founded. As soon as she lay down on her bed she knew sleep wasn’t going to come soon or easily. Sighing, she let her mind run over the work of the day and list the tasks for tomorrow.

Then a voice called her name.

It was a male voice. A little louder than a whisper, and coming from the direction of the balcony. She knew at once who it was.

I should ignore it, she thought. If I do he’ll go away.

But she didn’t want him to go away. And besides, he was the First Voice. You didn’t ignore the leader of the Pentadrians and the gods’ highest servant.

Standing up, she moved to the balcony and looked down. A figure stood in the shadows, barely visible.

Nekaun.

“Good evening, Reivan.”

“First Voice.”

“There is no need for formality now.”

“Isn’t there?”

“No. There is nobody here but the two of us. I’d prefer for you to call me Nekaun in private. Will you, for me?”

“If you wish.”

“I do.”

“Then I will, Nekaun.”

He tilted his head to one side. “You are so beautiful, Reivan.”

Her heart did something she knew to be physically impossible. She found she had pressed a hand over it unconsciously.

“Do you find me attractive, Reivan?”

What a ridiculous question, she thought. Anyone that good-looking knows that everyone finds them attractive, whether they can read minds or not. And he can read minds.

So why did he want her to say it?

“Sometimes, from the right person, hearing them say such a thing is...” He sighed. “... more real. Somehow it means more.”

She felt her heart twist. “I do, Nekaun. I find you attractive. Too attractive.”

His eyebrows rose. “Why ‘too’?”

“It is... it is awkward. I am Imenja’s Companion.”

“So you are. That does not mean we cannot be... friends.”

“No. But it is still awkward.”

“Let it be. There is nothing wrong with us being together. As friends. Or even something more.”

Something more. She found she could not speak.

“Reivan?”

“Yes?” Her voice was thin and breathless.

“Would you welcome me in, if I came to your door?”

She took several deep breaths.

“I would not turn you away.”

He moved away. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart was racing. What am I doing? I just invited him in. There was nothing subtle about what he just said. I’m no fool. I know it’s not just my room he wants me to invite him into.

Footsteps were fading away. She backed into her room and stopped. He’s coming to the door. Now.

This is a bad idea. What about Imenja? She won’t be happy about this. I know it. She cast about, then hurried out of the bedroom. The main door of her suite was a few strides away. She stared at it, heart hammering.

I have to turn him away. I’ll... I’ll tell him I changed my mind. Surely he’ll understand. I can’t do this.

He’ll know I’m lying.

The knock made her jump even though she was expecting it. Swallowing hard, she made herself walk to the door. She took hold of the handle, drew in a deep breath, and pulled.

He moved into the room like a gust of warm air. The smell of him enveloped her senses. He moved close and warm hands pressed against the sides of her jaw. She stared at his face, unable to believe this intense expression of desire was directed at her.

“I...” she began.

A frown of concern creased his forehead. “What is it?” he asked gently.

“I... haven’t done this before,” she said weakly.

He smiled. “Then it’s about time you did,” he said. “I can think of no better teacher than the former Head Servant of the Temple of Hrun.”

With those words echoing in her head, she could not gather her thoughts enough to protest any more. She did manage to laugh when he picked her up, just like in the silly romantic tales some women liked to read, and carried her into the bedroom.

I’m going to regret this, she thought as he shrugged off his robes and she hesitantly slipped off her nightdress. Then a little while later, as his lips and tongue descended to her nipples and his fingers trailed down over her belly, she began to change her mind.

No, I’m not going to regret this at all. Not one bit.

10

Emerahl watched Auraya’s face as they stepped out from behind the waterfall into the sunlight. The former White’s frown disappeared and she stopped to take a deep, appreciative breath of fresh air. Catching Emerahl watching her, she smiled.

“It’s good to be outside again,” she said. She stepped up onto a boulder and stretched. “I feel like I haven’t flown for months.”

“You enjoy it, then?”

Auraya grinned. “Yes. It’s so... unrestrained. I feel unbound. Free.”

As the younger woman jumped back down again, Emerahl chuckled. “That’s how sailing feels. Just me and a boat, and nothing to worry about but the weather.”

“Ah. Yes. The weather. It’s best to avoid flying in storms. There’s not just the cold and rain, but the risk you’ll be struck by lightning or fly into a mountain hidden in the clouds.”

“Sounds just as dangerous as sailing in a storm,” Emerahl noted wryly.

Auraya looked thoughtful, and nodded. “How shall we start these flying lessons, then?”

“I have no idea. You’re the one teaching, this time.”

“So I am.” Auraya looked around, then started toward a flat, clear area a little downstream. “And I have no idea how to teach this. The other White couldn’t do it, but I don’t know if that was because they were incapable or I’m a bad teacher.”

“I’d suggest you teach it by putting your pupil in the same situation you were in, except Mirar told me you discovered the Gift after falling off a cliff.”

Auraya looked back at Emerahl, her face serious. “We could do that.”

Emerahl gave her a level look. “Let’s consider it a method of last resort.”

“It wouldn’t be as dangerous as it sounds,” Auraya continued. “We’d need higher cliffs than those around us, though. You need time in the fall for the initial shock to pass, then to figure it out, then to apply magic to—”

“Actually, let’s consider it out of the question.”

“I’d catch you if it didn’t work. You’d be quite safe.”

Emerahl decided not to respond to that. She wasn’t sure she trusted Auraya that much. “How did you go about trying to teach the White? Did they throw themselves off the Tower?”

“No, they tried to lift themselves off the ground.” Auraya stopped as they reached the flat area.

“Then that’s what I’ll do.” Emerahl turned to face her. “Tell me what to do.”

“Can you sense the magic around you?”

“Of course.” Emerahl let her senses touch the energy all around them.

“Can you sense the world around you? It’s a similar feeling.”

“The world?”

“Yes. I find it easier when I’m moving. Then my position is changing in relation to it. That’s why falling was so useful. The world was rushing past me, or I past it, so I noticed the change in my position.”

Emerahl took a few steps while searching for a sense of her surroundings other than what she could see and hear. She paced around Auraya in a circle.

“I don’t sense anything.”

“It’s similar to sensing the magic around you.”

Circling Auraya again, Emerahl felt nothing like what Auraya had described. She shook her head.

Auraya frowned and looked around them. “Perhaps you’re not moving far or fast enough. If you jump off a boulder you’d move faster. The fall is short, so you’ll have to be concentrating.”

“I’ll give it a try.”

They moved toward the stream. Choosing a boulder as high as her shoulder, Emerahl clambered up. From the top it seemed higher than it had from the ground.

Auraya stepped back, giving Emerahl plenty of room.

“Concentrate,” she said.

Taking a deep breath, Emerahl made herself jump down to the ground. She landed off balance and staggered forward. Auraya caught her shoulders and steadied her.

“Sense anything?”

Emerahl shook her head. “Too busy thinking about how hard the ground was going to be.”

“Try again. Maybe if you do it often enough, you’ll forget about the ground.”

Forget to be scared, you mean, Emerahl thought wryly. She climbed up and forced herself to jump again. Before Auraya could ask anything, she turned and climbed the boulder once more.

After twenty jumps, Emerahl could land with practiced grace. She could even manage to remember to concentrate on “the world around her” as she fell. But she still sensed nothing.

“What happens next?” she asked, more for the opportunity to rest than any confidence in her readiness to move on.

Auraya’s eyes brightened. “You change your position in relation to the world. Using magic.”

Emerahl stared at Auraya, knowing her face expressed utter incomprehension but not caring. The woman’s expression changed to disappointment.

“The cliff might be the only way. It might just take rapid motion for a certain length of time in order for the mind to com—”

“I’ll keep trying,” Emerahl told her.

A while later Emerahl stopped. Her knees and ankles were hurting. Her body told her that hours had passed, but the world she was failing to sense somehow kept up the illusion of it still being early morning.

“This isn’t working,” she muttered to herself. “There’s got to be another way.”

“Maybe if we found a steep slope, we could carve out a gully for you to slide down,” Auraya suggested. “That would be almost like a fall.”

A fall? Emerahl felt her skin tingle with sudden excitement as an idea came to her. Turning, she regarded the waterfall. The pool was deep beneath the cascade. As a child she had loved to dive into the ocean...

“It’ll be cold,” Auraya warned, guessing Emerahl’s intentions.

“If I can stand the ocean in winter, I can put up with this chilly puddle,” Emerahl told her.

She retrieved a rope from the cave. The climb up to the top of the fall was not easy. Moisture had encouraged moss to form in cracks, which made handholds slippery. At the top, Emerahl secured the rope to a tree, then tied loops along the length for hand- and footholds.

Moving to the edge of the stream, she stepped out into the water. The flow pulled at her legs, trying to tug her off balance. At the edge of the fall the force of the water was insistent, working hard to convince her there was no way to go but over the edge.

This first time I’ll just concentrate on getting the dive right - and not knocking myself senseless on the bottom of the pool.

She closed her eyes and sent her mind back to a time when she was younger - much younger - and the imagined monsters living in the dark corners of her home had been more frightening than throwing herself off a cliff into the churning ocean.

Opening her eyes, she bent her knees, let herself fall forward, and sprang out into the spray-filled air.

The pool rushed up and slapped her with shocking cold. As the chill water surrounded her she instinctively curved her body forward and upward to shorten her dive. Her knees knocked against the pool floor.

Then she was swimming up to the surface. Sodden sandals dragged at her feet as she waded out. She drew magic and directed it to heat the air about her.

Auraya was sitting on top of a boulder nearby. She smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t even try,” Emerahl told her. “Wanted to get the dive right first.”

Auraya looked at the rope hanging down the cliff. She opened her mouth, then closed it again and shrugged.

Feeling warmer and not a little exhilarated by her dive, Emerahl kicked off her sandals and started toward her makeshift ladder.

If I have to jump off cliffs to learn this, she thought, I may as well have some fun at the same time.

Danjin opened the door and hesitated. The hair and clothes of the two Dreamweavers glistened with droplets of rain, and water was beginning to puddle around their boots. Raeli followed his gaze and smiled faintly.

A warm breeze touched Danjin’s skin. The Dreamweavers’ clothes began to steam. In a moment both were dry.

“We are here at Ellareen the White’s request,” Raeli said. “This is Dreamweaver Kyn, Dreamweaver Fareeh’s replacement.”

“Welcome,” he said. “Ellareen of the White is waiting for you.”

Danjin ushered the Dreamweavers in. Ella was standing beside the table, a few steps from what she had affectionately dubbed her “spying chair.” For a moment he saw her as these Dreamweavers must: a young Circlian healer they had once known and worked with, transformed by undecorated white robes, elegantly arranged hair and the gods’ favor into an imposing, powerful woman.

“Dreamweaver Adviser to the White, Raeli,” Danjin said by way of introduction. “And Dreamweaver Kyn. This is Ellareen of the White.”

Ella smiled at the pair. “Thank you for coming here. I apologize for the humble surroundings. Be seated, if you wish.”

As the pair settled into the chairs, Ella sat down on her seat beside the window. The room contained no other seats so Danjin remained standing.

The Dreamweavers looked calm and relaxed. He hadn’t seen Raeli much since Auraya’s resignation, not even in passing at the Tower. The male Dreamweaver with her was middle-aged, thin-faced and wore a short beard. He reminded Danjin a little of Leiard.

“What can we help you with, Ellareen of the White?” Raeli asked.

Ella smiled. “I was hoping I might be able to help you. A few weeks ago I was given the task of finding a way to end the violence against Dreamweavers and the hospice.” If this news pleased the pair, Danjin noted, they showed no sign of it. “At the advice of my adviser, Danjin Spear, I have been examining the reasons people might wish you and the hospice harm. That is why I have been using this room.” She glanced at the window. “To watch the thoughts of those passing the hospice.”

The eyebrows of the two Dreamweavers rose.

“Did you discover anything of use?” Raeli asked.

“I did. I don’t need to point out to you that some people of this city have an irrational dislike of Dreamweavers.” Ella’s expression was serious now. “That has been so for a long time and doesn’t explain the recent attacks. I suspected that something happened a few months ago that changed people’s opinion.” She paused, looking from one Dreamweaver to the other. “I believe the cause was the news that Mirar is alive.”

Raeli’s gaze sharpened. “A rumor,” she said. “That is all.”

Ella nodded. “A rumor some believe enough to start killing Dreamweavers.”

“You want us to deny the rumor?” Kyn asked. “They won’t believe us.”

“No,” Ella agreed. “Some people will never believe anything but what they want to. Most, however, are simply followers, as easily led astray into lawlessness as back to lawfulness. We must find the leaders, but also woo back their followers. To do so...” Ella paused and glanced at the window. She frowned and turned her attention back to the Dreamweavers. “To do that, we must assuage their fears. What they fear, I have learned, is what will happen if Mirar begins to influence the Dreamweavers again. They fear he will make Dreamweavers dangerous.”

Raeli pursed her lips as she considered Ella’s words. She looked at Kyn, who was frowning.

“You want us to assure people otherwise?” he asked. “They won’t believe that either.”

Danjin expected Ella to deny that, but she did not speak. He looked at her and found she was staring out the window again. When she turned back she wore a distracted expression. It quickly disappeared.

“No,” she said, meeting Kyn’s eyes. “I want you to declare that you won’t have anything to do with Mirar. That the Dreamweavers have got along without him for a hundred years and will continue to do so.” She turned to Raeli, who had opened her mouth to protest. “Have you found that missing Dreamweaver student yet?”

Raeli closed her mouth, then shook her head. “We believe he is dead.”

Ella grimaced. “Poor Ranaan.” She sighed. “I know my suggestion angers you, but I ask you: what is more important, the lives of your people or your loyalty to a man who abandoned you for a hundred years and now cannot be here to help you fight the violence his return has... Excuse me a moment.” Her eyes widened and she rose and turned to the window in one movement, then whirled about, strode to the door and left the room.

The two Dreamweavers looked at Danjin questioningly. He shrugged to indicate he hadn’t any idea what she was up to, then hurried after her.

She was already at the base of the stairs. As he started down she paused and looked up at him.

“Stay here, Danjin.”

Then she was gone. He returned to the room reluctantly. Raeli had moved to the window and was peering down at the street.

“I see nothing unusual,” she said.

As Danjin moved to her side she glanced at him and stepped away. Looking outside, he drew in a quick breath. Ella had emerged on the street. People were stopping and staring at her in surprise, but she ignored them. She walked up to a bread-seller lounging against his cart. As he realized she was approaching him he straightened and glanced to either side as if looking for an escape. Then he turned to face her, keeping his eyes to the ground.

Whatever she said to him brought a look of terror to his face. She turned and walked away. The young man hesitated, again glancing around. Ella looked over her shoulder and spoke again. The bread-seller’s shoulders slumped and he shuffled after her.

As the pair moved out of sight, Danjin stepped back. She must have caught some of his thoughts and seen in them something important. Something very important. Nothing else would make her risk revealing that she has been secretly spying on people outside the hospice.

The silence in the room was rapidly growing awkward. Danjin began to make polite enquiries of the two Dreamweavers. How had Raeli been since the war? Where was Kyn born? The male Dreamweaver was from Dunway, as his name suggested, but his mother was Genrian. It was an unusual heritage, and Danjin guessed that becoming a Dreamweaver had earned the man an acceptance and respect that his half-breed status would never have in Dunway or Genria.

When the sound of a door closing echoed through the house, Danjin paused to listen. He heard distant voices but could not discern what was said. Then a single set of footsteps drew closer.

The door opened and Ella stepped inside.

“Please excuse my abrupt departure,” she said. “I just found someone I’ve been looking for and couldn’t risk that he might move on before I had a chance to talk to him.” She sat down and adjusted her circ. “Now... well, I asked you to come here so I could tell you the results of my research.” Her expression became earnest. “I hope you’ll take my advice, but I’ll understand if you don’t. It is no easy thing to do. You can contact Mirar, if you choose to take my advice, and explain that it is necessary - and temporary.”

She smiled and regarded the two Dreamweavers expectantly. The pair glanced at each other, then Raeli looked at Ella.

“Thank you for giving us this information. It is reassuring to know the White are so concerned for our welfare. I will communicate your advice to Dreamweaver Elder Arleej and let you know what she decides.”

Ella nodded. She stood up. “Let me know if you need anything from us.”

The Dreamweavers rose and Danjin ushered them out. When he returned, Ella was standing at the top of the stairs.

“Someone you were looking for?” he prompted.

She smiled grimly. “Yes.” Crossing her arms, she drummed her fingers against her sleeve. “In a moment our guests will be out of the alley... there they go. Come on, Danjin. We’re going back to the White Tower.”

He followed her down the stairs and out into the alley, to the tired old covered platten they always arrived in. As she reached out to the door flap she paused and held a finger to his lips, before gesturing for him to enter.

Someone was in there, he realized. Two people. He climbed in slowly and cautiously. One of the men was the driver. The other was the bread-seller, bound, gagged, and looking terrified.

There was something disturbing about that. Danjin found himself imagining what had happened after Ella and the bread-seller had moved out of sight. Had she forced the man into the platten? Had she bound him? No, the driver must have done that for her.

Ella climbed in after Danjin. Her expression was grim as she regarded the prisoner. She gave the driver a nod, and he got out. The platten swayed as he stepped up onto the driver’s seat and urged the arem into motion.

“Bagem here has been paid to watch the hospice,” Ella told Danjin. “He was to note the movements of Dreamweavers in particular, and follow them if he could.”

And kill them? Danjin thought, giving the young man a speculative look. Though the bread-seller looked completely intimidated, that might simply be because he’d been caught by one of the White.

“He wasn’t to harm them himself,” Ella said. “But he knew it was likely his information would lead to more Dreamweaver murders. He can identify his employer, and others involved in the game. I think the other White need to see what I’ve seen in his mind, too.” She turned to look at Danjin, her eyes wide with distress. “Because if the men who paid Bagem weren’t in disguise, they must be priests.”

11

If Reivan’s assistant, Kikarn, had been puzzled by her behavior this morning he hadn’t given any sign. She had asked him to list all of the possible matters she could attend to until he came up with one that would take her away from the Sanctuary for the day. The way he had taken her break of routine in his stride had been almost unnerving.

Perhaps he simply understands that a person has to get away from the Sanctuary now and then to preserve their sanity, she mused.

Reivan had managed to keep her mind occupied on her chosen task for most of the day. Only occasionally did she find herself thinking back to the previous night, and then it felt more like a dream than a memory. Those moments of distraction were pleasant, but were soon spoiled when she found herself worrying about what Imenja would think. Or say. Or do.

Like dismiss me, Reivan thought. Send me away to be an unSkilled Servant in some remote place, spending the rest of my days translating scrolls. No, translating scrolls would be too enjoyable. More likely I’d end up doing unpleasant menial work or some boring administration job.

Avoiding Imenja all day had been a futile, childish thing to do, and had only gained her a few extra, anxiety-filled hours before the inevitable confrontation. When her task had been complete, and shadows had begun to envelop the city, she had dragged herself back to the Sanctuary.

All was quiet as she reached the stairway that would take her up to her rooms. She paused and looked through an archway to the courtyard outside. Everything was blue with the twilight, except where lamps cast orange pools on the pavement.

Will Nekaun visit me again tonight? she wondered. Her heartbeat quickened. I hope so but... I’m tired. Moving to the archway, she leaned against one side. It was so peaceful here. She felt the knots of tension inside her loosen.

Maybe Imenja won’t mind, she thought. Maybe this will prompt her and Nekaun to reconcile their differences. I could be the one who, inadvertently, makes peace between the First and Second Voice.

She snorted softly.

Not likely! What do I know of reconciling differences or making peace? I had a hard enough time convincing the Thinkers to even notice I existed, and they kicked me out at the first opportunity. The way the Servants reacted to me when I first came here made it clear they didn’t think I belonged. I still don’t even have any friends, so what chance is there that I can mend rifts between others?

“You have one friend,” a familiar voice said from behind Reivan.

Looking back, she grimaced apologetically at Imenja.

“Second Voice. I... ah... I... I’m sorry for—”

Imenja put two fingers to her lips, then beckoned and moved out into the courtyard. She turned to regard one of the pools. The water rippled, then a spout formed and droplets arched through the air. The courtyard echoed with the sound. Imenja sat on one of the benches nearby.

“There. A small measure of privacy. I would advise against raising your voice, however.”

Reivan nodded. Imenja patted the bench.

“Sit. As you know, we need to talk.” When Reivan obeyed, Imenja smiled. “What are you sorry for?”

“For... for hiding from you.”

“It was silly of you, but I see you know that. You don’t need to feel guilty about taking Nekaun to bed, Reivan. It’s hardly something to be ashamed of.”

“I know, but...”

“But?”

“You and he...”

Imenja’s nose wrinkled. “We haven’t been agreeing on much lately.” Her shoulders lifted. “That is between us, and shouldn’t stop you taking pleasure whenever you find it. Pleasure doesn’t happen along as often as it should.”

“There’s a ‘however’ coming,” Reivan found herself saying. “I can hear it in your voice.”

Imenja laughed, low and quiet. “Yes, there is.” She drew in a deep breath, and all humor vanished from her face. “It is possible that Nekaun does regard you affectionately. I don’t want to dash your hopes there. There is also the possibility that he is simply using you.”

“Well, it’s not like we can get married. I don’t expect that.”

Imenja shook her head. “Think politically, Reivan. You didn’t avoid me all day just because you thought I wouldn’t approve of you having a little fun.”

“Do you think he’s using me to hurt you?”

“I have to consider it a possibility. So do you.”

Reivan looked at the pavement. If Nekaun thought Imenja would object to him bedding her Companion, it would be a way to strike at her. It was a low and petty thing to do, with no purpose other than to annoy someone who was supposed to be one of his closest allies.

“Surely not. It wouldn’t gain him anything.”

Imenja sighed. “Nothing but to weaken me a little more.”

Looking at the Second Voice, Reivan saw a resignation in the woman’s face that had never been there before. She felt a pang of concern. What had happened to make her mistress distrustful of Nekaun? How could such a powerful woman look so defeated?

Imenja straightened and turned to regard Reivan. “If his intentions are harmful, he’ll find me tougher than he expects,” she said. “It is you I worry about, Reivan. Could you stand being humiliated and manipulated? Are you strong enough to endure a broken heart? It could be unpleasant for you, if Nekaun’s intentions are ill.”

Reivan stared at her.

“Do you think he could be that cruel?”

Imenja sighed. “Do I think he is capable of low, immoral tactics? Yes. I know it to be so. Do I think he truly regards you with the deepest of affection?” She smiled and shrugged. “You’re an attractive woman. Not beautiful, but you have a sharp wit and a good sense of humor that more than makes up for that. There’s much to love. So maybe he does.”

Reivan felt her mouth stretching into a smile, and tried unsuccessfully to stop it.

“I would never want to rob you of any chance of love or pleasure,” Imenja said. “But if it turns sour, remember I am your friend. If you need to talk to someone, I will listen. If you need to get away from him, I will send you wherever you wish to go. I will do all I can to prevent you from coming to harm, but I can’t save you from hurt feelings. You must be strong, too.”

“I will be,” Reivan promised.

“Good.”

Imenja stood up. “Now, I have a meeting to attend, so I’d best move on.”

“Need my help?”

“No. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

Reivan smiled. “You too.”

As the Second Voice disappeared into the archway, the fountain dwindled to a stop. Reivan drew in a deep breath, yawned, and headed for her rooms, feeling better than she had all day.

The sun hung just above the top of the trees, as if preparing itself to dive within them. Auraya looked up at the rope. She had strung it from the top of the cliff to the branches of the trees below, then made a sliding seat out of wood and more rope. It was a rough copy of the system Mirar had used to get from platform to platform of the tree-bound Siyee village she had found him in months before. She felt a sudden anger and clenched her fists.

What did he get in return for helping the Siyee fight the plague? she thought. An executioner. And now Huan wants to send one to me. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, while pushing anger aside. For the last few days she had found herself brooding over Huan and Saru’s conversation often. Too often. She lay awake at night, alternately furious at the gods’ distrust and betrayal and fighting a lurking, will-sapping fear that one of the White - probably Rian - would step into the cave and kill her and Jade.

“Here.”

Auraya roused herself from her thoughts and accepted the steaming cup of maita from Jade. Taking a sip, she sighed in appreciation as the hot liquid warmed her.

Jade sat down beside her and looked up at the swing. It had carried her swiftly and safely to the ground many times, but she still hadn’t succeeded in sensing her position in the world around her. Still, it wasn’t a particularly high cliff.

“We could probably find a higher cliff and make a longer rope,” Auraya began.

Jade shook her head. “No. I think it’s pretty clear I haven’t got this ability to sense the world that you have. I need to be on my way, as well.”

“You’re just going to give up? After only one day?”

The woman chuckled. “Yes, I am. Maybe I’ll have the misfortune of falling off a cliff some day. If that happens, I’ll remember your instructions and try again. For now I’m happy to have my feet firmly on the ground.”

Auraya smiled. “We could still try the cliff jump. It might work.”

“And it might not.”

“I’d catch you.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you...”

Auraya lifted her eyebrows.

“Well, yes, you’re right,” Jade admitted. “I don’t trust you enough for that. Even so, all my good sense tells me jumping off a cliff is a bad idea. Logic tells me that if I need to move in order to learn to sense my position in the world, moving horizontally should be just as effective as vertically. If I was capable of learning this, I would have discovered this sense of the world you describe by now.”

“You’re probably right.” Auraya sighed. “Or else I’m a terrible teacher. Or maybe Mirar is right. He keeps insisting this is my innate Gift.”

Jade looked at Auraya closely. “How often do you speak to him?”

“We’ve talked a few times in dream-links.”

“You talk to him? I thought you didn’t like him.”

Auraya smiled. “I never said I didn’t like him.”

Jade frowned, then looked away. All was subdued, as if the creatures of the forest must wait for darkness before they could gain the courage to make their calls. Auraya listened with her other senses, paying attention to what she usually ignored unless she was flying: the magic around her, the feeling of where she was placed in the world. Her senses had grown clearer since she had come here.

A faint whisper or vibration caught her attention. She focused on it and realized it was a mind. A Siyee was flying toward them. It was Tyve.

I’ll just make a quick visit before it gets too dark, he thought.

“You may as well take that down,” Jade said, apparently unaware of the approaching Siyee.

The rope! Tyve might fly into it. Auraya set her cup aside and jumped up. Drawing magic, she sent a thread of heat out to the end fastened at the top of the cliff. Fibers burst into flame as the heat quickly scorched through them. The rope fell to the ground, some of it sinking into the stream.

“It’s good to know you agree with me so heartily,” Jade said wryly.

“Tyve is coming. He might not see it.”

“Tyve? How do you know?”

“I saw his...” Auraya felt a shock as she realized what she was about to say. She concentrated on Tyve’s mind. To her surprise, his thoughts were clear. She looked at Jade.

“I can read minds again.”

The woman stared at her, then turned to look in the direction of the approaching Siyee. “I can sense anticipation and haste. Why has he come here?”

“Just to check on us.”

Auraya frowned. A feeling of anticipation and suspicion overlapped Tyve’s weariness and wish to be home. This duality of thought was strange.

:She’s emerged at last. Finally we’ll know what she’s been up to in there and if that woman with the hidden mind is who I suspect...

The thought ended abruptly and suddenly all she sensed of Tyve was tiredness. Something else came toward her. Something without form, rushing at her at incredible speed.

Huan.

The goddess rushed past her, followed by another. Auraya rocked back on her heels. The second god was Saru. They were behind her, searching...

:Where is she? I can’t see her!

“What is it?” she heard Jade ask.

I ought to let the shield around my mind drop to prove that I’m trustworthy, Auraya thought. But I don’t trust them.

Huan flashed back toward Tyve. The boy didn’t notice as the god’s mind connected with his. He was concentrating on descending and choosing a place to land.

:I cannot see her! Her mind is hidden!

Then the gods were gone, shooting away faster than Auraya could follow.

That’s done it, she thought. They know now. I wonder if this is the excuse Huan needs to kill me.

“What is wrong, Auraya?” Jade hissed.

Auraya shook her head, trying to think how she could possibly explain what had just happened. “Tyve wasn’t alone for a moment. Huan was with him, watching us through Tyve’s eyes.”

“Huan?” Jade’s eyes widened. “Here? Watching us?”

“Not any more,” Auraya assured her quickly. “They - Saru was with her - left to tell the others that my mind is shielded.”

Jade stared at her. “In all my years,” she murmured, “I’ve never encountered anyone who could sense the gods. Do the gods know you can?”

“Yes, but not like this. Before I could only do so when they were close.”

“And when did this change?”

“After you taught me to skim minds.”

Jade nodded. “Don’t let them know. Former White or not, they will kill you if they learn that you can spy on them. Don’t even tell Chaia.”

Auraya opened her mouth to protest that Chaia meant her no harm, then closed it again as Tyve landed. Jade gave her a meaningful look, then turned to greet the Siyee.

12

It took several seconds for Kalen to realize he was awake, then several more to remember where he was and why.

The Pentadrians’ house. Warm. Not hungry. Going to make me a Servant.

Waking up no longer brought a nagging dread over what the day might serve up to him. Not since he’d attempted to pick a man’s pockets and somehow found himself having a discussion with his intended victim about religion over a few drinks. The man had made him an offer too good to refuse: food and shelter in exchange for learning about his people.

A full stomach and safe, warm sleeping arrangements had been worth a few boring lectures, but Kalen found he got a buzz of excitement from being part of these secret followers of the forbidden cult of the Pentadrians. He’d been surprised to find himself learning beside, and being accepted as an equal by, people from all kinds of backgrounds. Like the young man sleeping on the next pallet, Ranaan, who used to be a Dreamweaver.

Who was breathing quickly as if he’d just had a fright.

“Nightmare?” Kalen asked.

A faint grunt of affirmation came in reply.

Talking helped after a nightmare, Kalen knew. It’s close to morning, I reckon. I’ll never get to sleep again, so I may as well talk.

“Ranaan?”

He heard the sound of the young man rolling over to face him.

“Yes?”

“Were you really a Dreamweaver?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you join the Pentadrians?”

Ranaan sighed. “After my teacher was killed, Amli helped me get away. Amli saved my life and gave me a place to stay until it was safe to go back.” He paused. “But it’ll never be safe to go back. Fareeh’s murderers know I can identify them. They’ll kill me.”

“Is that why you became a Pentadrian?”

“It’s too dangerous being a Dreamweaver.”

“And being a Pentadrian isn’t dangerous?”

“Not as dangerous. Not for me, anyway. I... I like what Amli teaches. Their gods don’t make them kill Dreamweavers.”

“That doesn’t matter to you now. You’re not a Dreamweaver any more.”

“Just because I’m not a Dreamweaver doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to them. Amli says that is the Pentadrian way. Dreamweavers don’t deserve what the Circlians do to them.” He paused. “Why did you come here?”

Kalen chuckled. “They feed me. I’ve got a warm place to sleep. I’m thinking all these boring lessons are worth sitting through if we end up joining in an orgy now and then.”

Ranaan burst out laughing. “Sorry to kill your hopes, Kalen, but they don’t have orgies.”

“They do so. Everybody knows they do.”

“It’s just a rumor the Circlians invented. Pentadrians have special rites for married couples that help them conceive children, but not orgies.”

“Amli might be telling you that in case you get offended.”

“Dreamweavers have known this for years, Kalen. There are Dreamweavers in Southern Ithania too, remember.”

“Oh.” Kalen cursed under his breath. “That’s the second bit of bad news I’ve had today.”

“Sorry.” Ranaan chuckled. “What was the first?”

“That they can’t make Giftless people Gifted.”

“Nobody can make their Gifts stronger,” Ranaan agreed.

“The Circlians would never make me a priest, but these Pentadrians don’t mind if I don’t have Gifts.”

“Do you think their gods are real?”

“Amli’s stories make them sound like they are.”

“Yes. They do. What’s that noise?”

They both lay silent, listening. The faint sound of hurried footsteps reached them, coming from above, below and beyond the wall that separated them from the alley outside. There was a cry of alarm, cut short. Kalen felt his heart start racing. He stood up and tiptoed to the window. Something was happening. Something bad.

“What are you doing?” Ranaan asked fuzzily.

He’s actually falling asleep again! Kalen shook his head. He might be Gifted, but he has no instinct for survival. Looking out of the window, Kalen noted movement in the shadows. The noises grew louder.

“What’s going on?” Ranaan sat up, fully awake now.

“I don’t know, but I don’t intend to wait around to find out,” Kalen told him. “There are people in the alley outside. From the sound of it, they’re upstairs, too. There must be another way out. Amli probably has a secret exit somewhere.” He started for the door.

A shout rang out, muffled by the floorboards.

“That’s Amli,” Ranaan said.

A bright pinpoint of light appeared, illuminating the room. Below it hovered Ranaan’s palm.

“Put that out!” Kalen hissed. “They’ll—”

Footsteps pounded outside their door. Kalen cursed and dived for the window. He felt hands clamp about his leg and pull him back.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ranaan said, standing up. “You could kill yourself falling from there. Or at least break a limb.”

“Worth the risk,” Kalen said. He looked past Ranaan’s shoulder. The door was open and two Circlian priests were striding toward them. One grasped Ranaan’s shoulder. The other took Kalen’s arm. Kalen sagged with resignation.

What’s the point of having an instinct for survival when it kicks in too late? he thought.

The priests escorted them out of the room and down the stairs. In the main room several of the Pentadrian converts stood in a huddle, surrounded by priests and priestesses. Amli and his wife faced another priestess, who was glaring at the couple.

“You disguised your men as priests and had them hire others to track Dreamweavers,” the priestess said. She spoke so confidently her words were more a statement than an accusation. “Then you had your men murder those Dreamweavers. You tried to make Circlians look bad in order to make Pentadrians appear better, when the truth was the opposite.” She shook her head. “I was told Pentadrians respected Dreamweavers. Was I told a lie?”

Ranaan made a small, strangled noise. Amli said nothing, just looked at the ground. The priestess stared at him, then shook her head. “If you found it so distasteful, why did you do it?” She paused. “Ah. Such loyalty is admirable, but it comes at a cost.”

“I am prepared to face the consequences,” Amli replied.

“I see that. Did you ever question whether a man with such low and dishonorable methods deserved your loyalty?”

“Ultimately it is the gods I serve,” Amli said, in a voice so quiet Kalen could only just hear him.

The priestess crossed her arms. “If your gods are real and as worthy of your loyalty as you think, would they allow such a man to rule your people? I think - ah! There he is, watching through your eyes from the safety of his home.” Her eyes flashed and she leaned closer. “You are a liar and a coward, First Voice Nekaun. Wherever your people are in the north, we will find them. And we will make sure everyone in the world knows of what you arranged here in Jarime. How will your people react when they know how low you’ve stooped?”

She blinked, then smiled and stepped back. Turning to another priest, she gestured at the Pentadrians. “Take them all to the Temple.”

As the priests began to herd everyone out, the priestess’s eyes moved around the room. Her eyes reached Ranaan and widened. Kalen’s heart sank as she walked over to his new friend.

“Ranaan,” she said quietly. “Why didn’t you come back to the hospice?”

Ranaan kept his eyes lowered. “I was afraid to, Priestess Ellareen - I mean Ellareen of the White.”

Her expression softened. “That’s understandable. You couldn’t have known you were saved by the people who had arranged your teacher’s murder.”

Ellareen of the White? As it dawned on Kalen that he was in the presence of one of the Gods’ Chosen he felt a rush of fear. The White are the Pentadrians’ enemies. She’s supposed to be my enemy, too.

The woman’s gaze shifted to Kalen and his stomach sank to the floor. I only joined them for some food and a bed, he thought at her. And for the thrill of it, he admitted. I’m so stupid. What was I thinking? They don’t even have orgies.

Ellareen’s lips twitched.

“Is it true?” Ranaan asked in a thin voice. “Did they kill Fareeh?”

The White turned back to him, her expression grave and sympathetic. “Yes. If you don’t believe me, I can introduce you to someone you will.”

“But... why would they do that?”

“To make Circlians look bad. To make becoming a Pentadrian more appealing.” She glanced around the room. Most of the Pentadrian converts had been taken out and the remaining priests were regarding her expectantly. “I will know more when I’ve had the chance to question everybody. I’m afraid you and your friend will have to come as well, but I’ll see you’re well treated.”

“Will... will we be locked up for this?” Ranaan asked.

She smiled. “Probably only for one night. Tomorrow we will know who has committed a crime and who hasn’t. You’ll be released then - and it will be safe for you to rejoin your people.”

Ranaan looked relieved. As the White stepped back and the priests began to usher them out, Kalen patted Ranaan on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, my friend. Even if the food isn’t as good, at least we’ll get a bed for the night.”

The flat bread Jade usually made each morning, of a local root pulped and flavored with spices, was surprisingly tasty. She had taught Auraya how to make it, and this morning Auraya had prepared the meal while Jade readied herself to leave. The bread baking on the heated cooking stone was nearly ready, so she busied herself making hot drinks.

Jade packed slowly and carefully, taking out and replacing several jars and bags along the back wall before deciding which to take. She had made many small pouches and tough clay jars that she fired to hardness with magic. These she filled with powders, dried leaves, fungi, roots, hardened resins, sticky gums and thick oils. Auraya realized she knew the uses most of these substances could be put to. During the preparation of her cures, Jade had explained what each was for, freely giving a little of what Auraya suspected was a great wealth of healing knowledge.

The bread was beginning to smoke as its crust toasted. Auraya removed it and poured hot water into two cups.

“Breakfast is ready,” she announced.

Jade straightened, then breathed deeply. “Ah, the smell of maita is so good in the morning.” She walked over to the beds and took the cup Auraya offered. Taking a sip, she sighed appreciatively.

“Will you come back here?” Auraya asked, breaking the bread in half and giving a portion to Jade.

“Eventually.” Jade looked at all the pots and bags. “Can’t let all that go to waste. You’re welcome to use it, too. No point in letting it go stale.”

“Thank you.”

Jade took a bite, chewed, swallowed and then sipped from her cup. “You still plan to go back to the Open?”

Auraya nodded. “My place is with the Siyee.”

“Well then, remember this: if you find the gods don’t agree, you have a place among us immortals, if you need it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that.” Jade chuckled. “You do realize we’ll be watching closely to see what the gods will do. They’ve claimed all immortals are evil for a century. If they accept you, they prove themselves wrong.”

Auraya smiled. “Assuming I’m not evil.”

Jade laughed. “Yes.” She turned away and moved back to her pack. Putting her cup down, she held the bread between her teeth and stowed a few more items with quick, decisive movements. Then she picked up the pack and returned to the beds.

“Good luck, Auraya the immortal,” she said.

Auraya rose. “Thank you, Jade. You took a risk coming here. I do appreciate it.”

The woman shrugged. “I did it for Mirar, remember. He’s the one you should thank.”

“Maybe I will, next time he interrupts my dreams.”

Jade’s eyebrows rose. “Dreams, eh? Like that, is it?”

Auraya laughed. “Not for a long time. Go on, then. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can return to the Siyee.”

The woman turned away and strode toward the cave entrance. She paused and looked back once, then disappeared into the shadows. Auraya regarded the entrance for a long time after the woman had gone.

She’s a strange one, she thought. Cranky, cynical, but also strong and determined. I imagine that’s what living so long does to a person. Will I get like that? I suppose there’s worse I could be. Underneath all the moodiness, there’s an optimism in Jade that reassures me. She can still laugh at things. Maybe that’s because she’s been through so much that she knows it’s only a matter of time before bad situations sort themselves out.

She had agreed to give Jade three days’ head start before leaving the cave herself. Auraya had no idea how far a land-bound person could travel in three days. Hopefully far enough to evade any Siyee scouts the gods might send after her.

She’s lived this long, Auraya told herself. I’m sure she can take care of herself.

Picking up her half of the bread, she began to eat.

Tintel was silent as she led Mirar from platform to platform. He sensed that her mind was occupied with planning and worrying, and he felt a pang of sympathy. A city Dreamweaver House was always a busy place, and the more Dreamweavers there were to organize, the more organizing there was to do. He couldn’t help her with that, only with the sorts of healing emergencies they had dealt with tonight.

If she hadn’t worked out that he was powerfully Gifted before, she knew it now. They had visited a woman bleeding profusely after bearing a child, and the only way Mirar had been able to save her was to heal her magically. Tintel had clearly been impressed, but hadn’t said anything.

She had also tried a method he had never encountered before in an attempt to stem the bleeding. He had noted a few other improvements in the local Dreamweavers’ knowledge since coming here, as well. Advances and discoveries ought to filter through to Dreamweavers everywhere through mind links, but clearly the restrictions and intolerance in the north had prevented or slowed the transferral of knowledge there.

They crossed the bridge to the Dreamweaver House. He opened the door for Tintel, and she smiled in gratitude.

“I wish the men of Dekkar had the manners of those of the north,” she said wryly. “Thank you for your help, Wilar.”

He shrugged and followed her inside. The smell of food filled the hall and his stomach grumbled.

“I’ll get someone to bring you some food,” he said, guessing that Tintel would go straight to her room to work.

“Thank you.” She nodded. “Don’t forget yourself.”

He smiled. “I won’t.”

A few servants and Dreamweavers remained in the kitchen. One Dreamweaver woman was preparing a meal for her infant daughter, while another was complaining about her husband’s snoring. There was soup and the local doughy bread left over from dinner. He asked the complaining wife to take Tintel a serve of both, then took a portion out to the hall.

Several of the younger Dreamweavers were sitting around the table. They all looked up as he arrived, then quickly down at their meals. An awkward silence followed and Mirar sensed a mix of suppressed amusement and speculation from them.

He set his plate on the table, sat down and began to eat.

The silence continued, now imbued with embarrassment. When one of the Dreamweavers cleared his throat to speak, relief spread among the rest.

“Forgive our silence, Wilar,” the Dreamweaver said. “Your arrival made us see we were gossiping.”

Mirar smiled. “People gossip. It is in their...” He searched for the right word for “nature” and one of the Dreamweavers supplied it. “What did I miss?”

They smiled and exchanged glances. His question had eased some of their embarrassment, but not the tension in the room.

“The newest talk is that you are Mirar,” the youngest Dreamweaver said in Avvenan.

The others frowned at the young man disapprovingly. He spread his hands. “He should know. What if someone takes it seriously? It could be awkward.”

Mirar laughed and shook his head. “Mirar? Me? Why? Is it because I am foreign?”

They nodded.

“Mirar came south,” another added. “He must be here somewhere.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” the older Dreamweaver pointed out.

“We don’t know anything for sure.”

They began to talk over each other, making it difficult for Mirar to understand them. Suddenly one of the Dreamweavers who had remained silent turned to him.

“So you’re not Mirar?”

Mirar paused. If he denied a direct question, then in the future, if he needed to reveal his identity, he would also reveal that he had lied to them. It was never good to lie. People resented it, even when they knew it was justified.

So instead he smiled coyly. “I am for someone here, and I don’t want to, er, spoil the illusion for her.”

There were laughs all around. One of the men rolled his eyes.

“Dardel, I bet.”

“But she was the one that suggested it to me,” said another.

“That explains everything.”

They laughed again.

The Dreamweaver next to Mirar leaned closer. “Lucky you,” he murmured.

“We should all tell her she’s right about Wilar, but let everyone else know she’s wrong,” the youngest suggested. “How long do you think we could keep the truth from her?”

“Tintel would tell her.”

“Don’t tell Tintel either.”

“She’d work it out.”

Mirar smiled and listened as they plotted their teasing of Dardel. They didn’t appear to be serious about carrying it out, which was a relief.

What would they do if they found out that she was right? he wondered. These Dreamweavers would probably welcome him with enthusiasm. More than enthusiasm. That was the trouble. It had been so long since he had moved among his own people, they now regarded him with awe.

It’s ironic. For a century the gods have spread the lie that we immortals encouraged people to worship us as gods, and now it appears that in my absence my people have begun to do just that.

They’d get over it, he thought. It is not my people I’d need to worry about, it is the Pentadrians. So far what I’ve seen has been encouraging. No Dreamweavers here have been able to think of more than a few conflicts between Dreamweavers and Pentadrians in the last few decades, and those were only about money.

Discovering that a powerful sorcerer with influence over the Dreamweavers had settled here might make the local Pentadrians feel threatened, however. He needed to know what they would do in response, and there was a way he could find out.

Dream linking was not banned in Southern Ithania. Even so, he would have to ensure he wasn’t detected. He would hardly endear himself to the Pentadrians if they discovered their dreams were being spied upon and manipulated.

Rising, he took his empty plate to the kitchen then ascended to his room. Before he could undress there was a familiar knock on his door. He smiled.

Dardel. I could ignore her, he thought, but she’ll be disappointed and I’m not in that much of a hurry to go dream hunting.

Hours later, as Mirar sank into the dream state, he let his awareness of Dardel’s weight and warmth slip away. Sending his mind forth, he found other dreaming minds. He sought their identities then planted the idea of his return into their thoughts.

Their responses were varied, but generally favorable. Some were suspicious of anyone who had power, but none imagined themselves taking action to get rid of him. Most others didn’t care what happened so long as their lives weren’t adversely affected. A few found the idea heartening. They appreciated the Dreamweavers’ skills and thought the return of Mirar could only improve them even further.

Hours passed and he felt excitement growing. He could do it. He could stop hiding and guide his people again. Yet one night of searching dreamers’ minds wasn’t enough. He must do this every night for... weeks? Months?

Then he remembered The Twins. They skimmed the minds of people everywhere, every day. They might already know how Southern Ithanians would greet the news that he had established himself in one of their lands.

He’d linked with The Twins only a few times before. Since he hadn’t met them, he had a more formal relationship with them than Emerahl had. He only contacted them when he had something important to discuss, and he suspected they treated him like the rulers, wisdom seekers and academics who had once sought their advice, long ago - with polite interest.

While he’d found their advice sensible and insightful, he was not as trusting of them as Emerahl was. Just because they were fellow immortals didn’t mean they would always be allies. There was one small oddity that bothered him. All of the joined twins he had ever encountered had been identical. Clearly Surim and Tamun weren’t. They weren’t even of the same gender. Emerahl had dismissed this, pointing out that immortality and the abilty to skim minds were just as uncommon. Still, it bothered him that The Twins might have been lying to her.

:Tamun? Surim? he called.

:Mirar.

It was Tamun. Her response was disturbingly prompt, as if she had been close by.

:How are you both? he asked.

:The same. Little changes here. I am skimming alone today. Surim is out hunting again. Her mind-voice always brought an image of a sharp-witted, wiry old woman to mind, despite Emerahl’s assurances that Tamun looked like a young woman.

:I have a question to ask.

:Wait a moment. I’ll see if I can get Surim’s attention.

:Isn’t he hunting?

:It’s more the sort of hunting you were just indulging in. He always falls asleep straight after... ah, there he is.

:Are you watching me again? Surim accused.

:Of course not. Mirar has a question for us, Tamun replied.

:Mirar! Surim exclaimed. How is life in Dekkar?

:It is good here, Mirar told them. Better than I expected.

:Yes, Pentadrians are a more tolerant people in some respects than those in the north, Tamun agreed.

:I’m tempted to reveal myself - to reclaim my position among the Dreamweavers again. How do you think the Pentadrians will react?

:If you’re expecting a parade, you’ll be disappointed, Surim said. Although I doubt the Voices will come after you with execution in mind either, though they will probably want to meet you just to make sure you’re not a threat to them.

:So long as you don’t challenge their authority or start converting Pentadrians, they’ll leave you alone, Tamun added. But you aren’t known for keeping silent when you disagree with those in power, Mirar. Could you stand by and not protest if you did not like the way they ruled their people? Or your people?

:I’ve just spent a hundred years being someone who did. I’ve learned caution and patience.

:You learned to run when you used to fight. That is not the same, Surim pointed out.

:No, he agreed. I’ll be aiming for somewhere between run and fight.

:You’ll compromise and negotiate? Surim sounded amused.

:If I have to.

:It is a risk to yourself and your people, and a change that you cannot easily reverse. What will you gain from it? What will the Dreamweavers gain? Tamun asked.

:They will have my knowledge to call upon and I think my return will give them hope and courage, especially in the north.

:They may expect too much of you. They may think your return will bring about the empowerment of Dreamweavers everywhere, Tamun warned.

:Dreamweavers do not seek power, and from what I have seen, they still don’t.

:We agree. There is another matter you should consider, Surim said.

:Yes?

:While we believe the Pentadrians will not object to you establishing yourself there, they are still not to be trusted. Have you heard from your own people regarding the attacks in Jarime and the Pentadrian involvement?

:No. What happened?

:Some of the Dreamweaver attacks and murders were organized by a Pentadrian group. They knew Circlians would be blamed for the violence, and took advantage of people’s disillusionment to recruit new followers.

:That is alarming.

:Yes, but the Pentadrians were not motivated by hatred of Dreamweavers but a ruthless practicality. In Southern Ithania there is no need for Pentadrians to harm Dreamweavers in order to find converts, but that does not discount the possibility they may use your people in other ways.

:That would always be a risk.

:And there is one more matter you should consider, Tamun added.

:What is it?

:If you have the Pentadrians’ good will, you may gain Auraya’s enmity.

Mirar paused to consider that.

:I already have it, he replied. So long as she follows the gods, she must regard me as her enemy. Even if that weren’t true, I cannot let Auraya’s regard for me influence my decisions in regard to the Dreamweavers.

:No. Surim and I do not agree about this. Auraya may not share the gods’ hatred of immortals, but she has little regard for the Pentadrians. Settling here may make a difference.

:I can’t help that. These people do not deserve her contempt. I won’t reject them for fear of offending Auraya. He paused. How is she? I haven’t heard from Emerahl for days.

:Emerahl has been waiting for you to contact her.

:Because she’s worried I will rebuff her for delivering bad news last time we spoke?

:Yes.

:Silly woman. She knows I wouldn’t do that.

:No, but we can’t help retaining old fears and habits, despite the years. It would be tactful for—

:Auraya has made herself immortal, Surim interrupted.

Mirar felt his heart leap.

:Emerahl thought she wouldn’t do it!

:Something changed her mind. She also revealed two unexpected Gifts. Firstly, she has regained the ability to read minds.

:But... no immortals have ever been able to... have they?

:Not in our lifetime, Tamun confirmed. The second Gift she revealed is the ability to sense and hear the gods. Apparently she can see them when she is mind-skimming, too.

:Emerahl wisely advised her to keep this from the gods, Surim added. I can’t imagine they’d be thrilled to know they can be spied upon.

:Auraya said the gods already knew she could sense them when they were close by, Tamun continued.

:That’s... Mirar shivered. That’s not just another innate Gift.

:No, Tamun agreed. It seems Auraya is no ordinary immortal. Perhaps it is the consequence of her being a White first. The powers the gods gave her imprinted themselves on her somehow.

:Except that they wouldn’t have given her the power to sense and hear them when she was a White. That is entirely new.

:No. It may be an unintended side-effect of her being linked to them previously, Surim suggested.

:Whatever the reason, she would be wise to keep it a secret. In a few days she will return to the Open. Then we will see how well the gods take the news that their former favorite has learned to hide her mind - and whatever else she allows them to know she has learned. We’ll let you know what happens.

Mirar felt a pang of anxiety. He had tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Auraya was out of reach and had no regard for him anyway. Trouble was, the part of him that couldn’t help worrying wasn’t inclined to listen to the part with a grasp of logic and practicality.

:Thank you for the news, he said. And your advice.

:Use it well, The Twins replied together. Then their twinned voices fell silent and he let himself drift off into his usual troubled sleep.

13

“Owaya!”

As a small fluffy blur streaked across the bower, Auraya crouched down and held out her arms. Mischief bounded up onto her shoulders and rubbed his whiskered cheek against her ear.

The female Siyee who usually looked after the veez, Tytee, stepped out of the side room Mischief had bounded out from.

“Welcome back, Priestess Auraya,” she said, smiling.

Auraya sensed relief from the woman. Mischief was making small whimpering noises as Auraya scratched him.

“Owaya back. Owaya back,” he murmured over and over.

“Thank you, Tytee. Anyone would think I’d been away for months,” Auraya said, surprised. She hadn’t seen him so emotional since after he had been snatched from her tent before the battle with the Pentadrians. “Has something happened to him?”

“No. He was fine until a day after you left,” Tytee told her. “He suddenly became distressed, saying ‘Auraya gone’ over and over. Then he became very sad. It was as though you had died and he was grieving. I carried him around with me, concerned he would pine away like old people sometimes do when their spouse dies.”

Auraya lifted Mischief down and looked at him closely. “I wonder.” She let the shield around her mind thin. At once a small, familiar voice spoke in her mind.

Owaya back! There was a fading sadness and puzzlement behind the delight of his words.

She felt a pang of guilt. Somehow Mischief must have forged a link to her mind. Once she had entered the void that link had broken. The only explanation he could have come up with was that she had died.

“Poor Mischief,” she said, hugging him close. At once his delight changed to irritation and he wriggled free. The veez climbed up to his basket and curled up inside.

“Msstf sleep.”

Tytee laughed. “If only we were all so easily satisfied,” she said.

“And forgiven,” Auraya agreed. “Thank you for looking after him while I was gone.”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t mind. He’s always amusing, and a lot less demanding than the children I look after. I must—”

“Priestess Auraya?”

They both turned to see Speaker Sirri standing in the doorway.

“Come in,” Auraya said, beckoning. As the Speaker entered, Tytee excused herself and slipped outside.

“Welcome back,” Sirri said.

“Thank you.” Sensing tension in the Siyee leader, Auraya looked closer. She saw that Sirri had grown concerned as Auraya’s absence had lengthened. The presence of an uninvited landwalker in Si had bothered her, too.

“How did it go?” Sirri asked.

“Very well,” Auraya told her. “Jade has left for home. I learned a great deal while I was with her. She has quite a knowledge of healing and cures.” Auraya gestured to the bag she had brought with her.

“Yet she was unable to treat her own illness?”

Auraya shook her head. “She sent for me because she couldn’t manage what she needed to do by herself.”

“So she’s better now?”

“Yes.”

Sirri nodded. “Good.” She smiled. “We have you all to ourselves again.”

“Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“Nothing drastic. Just a bit of an argument between tribe leaders.” Sirri sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t stop and explain. I was at a meeting between the leaders when the news of your arrival came. I called for a break, but I can’t stay away long. I must go back and try to knock some sense into the two of them.”

“What is the argument about?”

Sirri grimaced. “Mines. The Fire Mountain tribe claim that once the mines pass beyond the ridge that divides their territory then everything cut from them is theirs to sell.”

“Ah. That won’t be an easy one to settle. You have my sympathies.”

“Thanks,” Sirri said dryly. She moved toward the entrance.

“Come and tell me about it later, if you have time.”

“I will.”

Sirri slipped out through the door-hanging and hurried away. Alone at last, Auraya moved to a chair and sat down.

Everything’s back to normal, she mused. Then she shook her head. No, it just seems that way on the surface. My mind is shielded and my body is no longer aging. As far as the gods are concerned, nothing is as it was - or should be.

She had sensed nothing of the gods since Huan and Saru’s last visit. After the pair had sped away to find the other gods, Auraya had expected Yranna, Lore and Chaia to visit, even if just to confirm what Huan claimed.

Perhaps Huan didn’t tell Chaia, she thought. So much depends on Chaia. I need to talk to him. I need to know if he will accept what I’ve done.

She briefly considered calling to him, but that hadn’t always got his attention in the past. Instead she decided to try finding him through mind-skimming.

Closing her eyes, she slowed her breathing and let herself sink into a dream trance. At first she skimmed the minds of the Siyee around her, finding men and women engaged in domestic tasks and a group of children playing a game. Stretching out further, she let herself be aware of the minds in the world as points of thought, like tiny lights, and sought bigger, brighter presences.

She found an unfamiliar feminine presence and guessed she’d found Yranna, sure that she would have recognized Huan instantly. The goddess was not conversing with anyone else, and Auraya could not hear her thoughts. Confirming that she couldn’t actually read the gods’ minds was reassuring. Moving on, she found a masculine presence. It was not Chaia and she continued searching.

I’m doing this to find Chaia, not to eavesdrop, she told herself.

Finally she sensed a buzz like the sound of someone speaking just within hearing. Drawing closer, she felt a thrill of triumph as she recognized Chaia’s voice.

:... are in place. What do you think they’ll do next?

:Depends if they’ve heard about what happened in Jarime. They’d be fools to try the same thing. The second voice belonged to Lore.

:They’re not that stupid.

:No, but if they’re given orders what choice do they have?

:None, Chaia replied. It will be interesting to watch.

:Yes. Anyway, I came to tell you your favorite has returned to the Open.

:Ah.

:Huan will want us to decide now.

:Of course. You know how much Huan likes complications, dull bitch that she is.

Auraya felt amused surprise. She doubted Chaia would have spoken of Huan that way if he knew Auraya was listening in.

:There are interesting complications and there are dangerous ones, Lore warned.

:Auraya is not dangerous - or she won’t be if Huan stops manipulating her, Chaia replied.

:How will you know if Auraya is dangerous if you can’t see her mind?

:Because I took the time to get to know her. She won’t betray us unless we make her.

:She won’t betray you.

:No. Ironically, I have Huan to thank for that.

:So what will you do? Lore asked.

:I won’t let the bitch kill her.

:Even if the others outvote you?

:Especially not then. Things are only just getting interesting. Consider this: there are other ways of redressing the balance. I’ve always favored recruitment over extermination.

:I’m finding I agree with you more and more. I wonder if I could persuade Yranna...

:You’d have a better chance than I.

:I will try.

As Lore flashed away, Auraya began to pull her mind back. She had found answers to more than what she had sought.

:Before you sneak away, Auraya...

She froze.

:Chaia?

:Yes, I can sense you there, though you’re keeping quiet. How often have you spied on us like this?

:Only twice. The first time it was an accident. This time I came to ask you a question.

:Then ask away.

Chaia did not sound angry, only amused.

:Will you... How long have you known I was listening?

:From the moment you arrived.

:And Lore?

:Oblivious. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of, so he doesn’t watch for spies.

:But you knew, she pointed out.

:I suspected your abilities would develop, under the right circumstances. What made you decide to learn to hide your mind?

:What I heard the first time I, er, eavesdropped.

:Ah. And have you become immortal?

She paused. If she didn’t trust Chaia, she may as well abandon her loyalty to the gods completely.

:Yes. Huan said I was doomed anyway just for knowing how.

:I’m a little disappointed you didn’t consult me first.

:I would have, she said honestly, if you’d been around to ask. Do you forgive me?

:For becoming immortal or not consulting me?

:Both.

:We’ll see. You have not lost my love and support. I know I can’t stop you growing into your powers any more than a parent can stop their child growing up. Stay loyal to me, and I will stay loyal to you.

Auraya felt a wave of relief.

:I will.

:Don’t think it will be easy, he warned. Huan may like the world to be simple and straightforward, but her traps and schemes are not. The more powerful you get, Auraya, the harder she will try to destroy you. And the easier it will be for you to thwart her. He paused. Never forget that while she may not be able to harm you easily, she can harm those you love.

Auraya found herself thinking of Mirar. Though she did not care for him as she had cared for Leiard, she did not want him harmed because Huan thought she did. Fortunately he was out of Huan’s reach in Southern Ithania.

Who else might Huan harm? Mischief? That would be a low and petty thing to do. Danjin? Auraya liked him, but he wasn’t her adviser any more. Her father? She hadn’t seen him in years...

:How can I protect them? Huan can see their minds. She can find them.

:You can’t, Chaia said. You can only try not to give Huan anything which she can use to persuade the other gods to act against you. I will... He stopped abruptly. Go back, Auraya. And do not seek to speak to me this way again. Just as you can hear us talking, we can hear you talking, and it would not take much for your new ability to be noticed.

Abruptly he moved away, flitting out of reach of her senses. She withdrew to her own body again. Opening her eyes, she looked around the bower and felt a pang of loneliness.

So this is the price of learning what the gods did not want me to learn - instead of bringing harm to myself, I must ensure I don’t start to love anyone, for fear Huan will strike at them to get at me.

She stood up and began pacing. This isn’t fair! she thought. Then she let out a bitter laugh. Listen to me; I sound like a child.

But it wasn’t fair. And if Huan was willing to harm innocent people just to hurt Auraya, she was every bit as despicable as Mirar claimed she was. And if the other gods agreed with her? She let out an explosive sigh of dismay. Then I’m doomed. Ithania is doomed.

A whimper broke Auraya’s train of thought. Looking up, she saw that Mischief was watching her, his eyes wide and dark and his whiskers trembling. She sensed fear and concern. Her frustration and anger faded and she walked over to pat him and murmur reassuring words.

Lies, she couldn’t help thinking. I’m afraid everything isn’t all right, Mischief. But one thing is true: I won’t let anyone harm you.

The screech of birds echoed over the town and Servant Teroan cursed under his breath. He was late again. Though it was possible that the bird trainers had misjudged the release time for their charges’ exercise flight, it was unlikely.

About as likely as the sun misjudging the time to rise, he told himself. Dedicated Servant Cherinor has more sundials than anyone else in Avven.

It was said the man in charge of the town and the birds had even trained his favorite to squawk on the hour. And that his assistant Servant kept a schedule for Cherinor that was planned to the minute. And that Cherinor didn’t sleep.

I doubt he appreciates the pleasure of a long bath and conversation, Teroan thought sourly. If he does, I bet every minute is choreographed to ensure no time is wasted.

The path to the Baths was steep and he was panting by the time he reached the entrance. He paused to catch his breath. The view here was good and it was a shame the Baths had so few windows. They had to keep the warm air inside from escaping, he supposed.

From the doorway he could see most of the town. Klaff’s houses were the same color as the cliffs. The main road wound out of the town, through the valley, then straightened and thinned into the distance. Somewhere at its end was Glymma and the Sanctuary.

He’d cursed his luck when he’d been sent here. The capital cities of Mur and Dekkar were villages compared to Avven’s, and in comparison to them Klaff was a one-house hamlet. The troupes of actors he used to enjoy watching never came here. He had to order wine or any delicacy or luxury he craved from Glymma, at great expense, and his wife constantly complained about the noise of the birds. The only consolation was the Baths. They were as good as, if not better, than those at Glymma’s Sanctuary.

The hills around the town were riddled with caves and some contained springs. The water was not as pure as that at the Sanctuary but the locals claimed the red-brown coloring was from a mineral that was good for one’s health. The mineral was filtered out of the drinking water and sold throughout Southern Ithania as a rejuvenating mud that could be painted onto the skin.

Birds wheeled not far above, their screeching deafening. He winced and turned back to the door. Sometimes he couldn’t help agreeing with his wife. It was not a pleasant sound.

A domestic greeted Teroan, tracing the sign of the gods over his chest, and ushered him down a familiar corridor. Most of the doors they passed were curtained with hangings, but a few were uncovered. He glimpsed slaves in these, near naked, scrubbing the walls. A sharp smell stung his nostrils and made his eyes water. He wondered how the slaves endured it.

The domestic stopped at a door and waved Teroan inside. The room he walked into had been recently cleaned. Teroan thought it a shame, as the patterns that the green mold formed had made it easy for him to imagine he was soaking in some natural pool in the middle of a forest somewhere.

Still, the mold had smelled bad. The room now smelled like the ocean. He chuckled as he approached the room’s only other occupant.

“Sea salts again, Dameen?”

The man looked up and grinned. “Reminds me of home.”

Teroan peeled off the layers of his Servant robes and tossed them on a bench next to Dameen’s neatly folded ones. He stepped down into the tepid water, then lowered himself onto one of the ledges. The red-brown murk of the water did not quite hide his rolls of fat or the absence of his friend’s legs below the knees. Somehow Dameen had managed to keep his muscular good looks despite his injury. Teroan suspected the man maintained a routine of exercise out of habit, unable to completely put aside his warrior training.

They sat in silence for some time, content to relax in each other’s company.

“I had a strange dream last night,” Dameen said eventually.

“Oh?”

“I dreamed the leader of the Dreamweavers came to Southern Ithania.”

Teroan looked at his friend in surprise. “I dreamed of the same man last night. I suppose the rumors of his return are working on our minds. What happened in your dream?”

“I asked myself what I’d do if I was one of the Voices...” He paused and frowned. “Or maybe someone else asked me... I can’t remember.”

“The same happened in my dream. What did you decide?”

“That I’d do nothing, so long as he didn’t cause trouble.”

Teroan nodded. “Me, too. It could only be a good thing, if he returned. He made the Dreamweavers good at healing; he might make them even better. We owe them a lot for the help they gave us after the battle, too.”

“Yes.” Dameen looked down at the stumps of his legs and shrugged. “But then I’m biased. This morning I found myself thinking about it again. The Voices might not see it that way. They’d see a powerful sorcerer who might turn people against them.”

“What do you think they’d do?”

“Kuar would have made him an ally.” He frowned. “I don’t know Nekaun. I have no idea what he’d do.”

Teroan smiled. The warrior couldn’t help himself. He was supposed to have left his past behind him, but while his body might no longer be whole his mind was as lively as ever.

A waste, he thought. He couldn’t accept anyone in place of Kuar, so he wound up here, his potential as an adviser lost.

For that Teroan was selfishly grateful. If Dameen left Klaff, who else around here was interesting and intelligent enough to talk to? Certainly not the bird breeders. Or his wife.

“Do you think it strange that we had the same dream on the same night?” Teroan asked.

Dameen’s sharp eyes narrowed. “You suspect Dreamweavers of meddling in our dreams?”

Teroan shrugged. “Two people dreaming the same dream on the same night is only coincidence. If we find anyone else has had the same dream, perhaps there is more to it.”

“And if Mirar does appear in Southern Ithania?”

Teroan nodded. “Yes. That might convince me, too.”

Glowing coals were all that was left in the brazier. Cushions had been scattered before the hearth, and a woman lay sleeping upon them. Beside her was an empty cup and a jug. Danjin paused to admire the curve of her hip and fine angles of her face before walking toward her. He felt a warm affection. Truly he was lucky to have Silava as a wife.

There had been times he thought himself cursed, but they were long ago and best forgotten.

She stirred, probably at the sound of his sandals on the floor. Her eyes opened and she blinked at him, then smiled.

“Danjin,” she said.

“Silava. You weren’t waiting for me, were you?”

“Yes and no. I was having a private celebration. If you happened to turn up to join me, all the better.”

“What are you celebrating?”

“We,” she corrected, “are celebrating the birth of another grandchild. A granddaughter.”

He looked at her in surprise. “She arrived early?”

“Yes.” Silava hesitated. “I want to stay with Tivela a while.”

He nodded. “Yes. Help with the baby. When will you leave?”

Silava narrowed her eyes at him. “You aren’t displaying nearly enough reluctance or disappointment at the prospect of my absence for my satisfaction.”

“No,” he agreed, chuckling. “Though I have been led to believe that would go against all laws of nature and the gods.”

Her eyes narrowed further.

“I have some news of my own,” he told her quickly. “You may wish to hear it before you flay the skin from my body.”

“Oh?”

“Ellareen is going to Dunway and she wants me with her.”

“Oh.” She looked downcast, then she smiled and regarded him triumphantly as she rose to her feet. “See. That’s how one shows disappointment. It’s quite simple, and should be well within the abilities of an adviser. Why Dunway?”

“Hania is not the only county the Pentadrians have tried converting. They sent their Servants all over Northern Ithania - except Si, for some reason. Maybe because Auraya is there, though I have no idea why that would deter them.”

“They did send people into Si,” Silava said. “It was the reason Auraya went back there.”

He smacked his palm against his forehead. “Of course! I forgot about that. It seems like so long ago.”

Silava linked her arm in his and nudged him toward the door. “You miss her, don’t you?”

Danjin frowned. “I suppose I do.”

“You don’t like Ella as much, do you?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

“You don’t talk about her in the same way. Do you like her?”

He shrugged. “Ella’s likeable but... With Auraya I knew there were things she couldn’t tell me but it was easy to forget that. With Ella I’m reminded of it all the time.”

“Maybe she has more secrets than Auraya did.”

Danjin laughed. “More than Auraya? I hope not!” Or at least not such scandalous secrets. He couldn’t imagine Ella taking a Dreamweaver as a lover. He couldn’t imagine Ella taking anyone as a lover. Though as passionate about her work as Auraya, she was somehow colder and more distant.

But maybe that was only because it was taking longer for him to relax around her. Auraya hadn’t broken his trust, but he had been disappointed with her for having an affair with Leiard. He had never forgiven himself for not noticing something was going on. He hadn’t even had a chance to advise her against such foolishness. Now he couldn’t help watching Ella closely, ready to offer a sensible viewpoint if she faced a similar dilemma.

They reached the doorway and stepped out into the corridor. Silava yawned. “Or maybe Auraya is one of Ella’s secrets.”

He considered his wife. “You think there’s more to Auraya’s resignation, then?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Not that it would matter to anyone now. She’s gone. Ella’s taken her place. Hmm, you still haven’t told me why Ella’s going to Dunway.”

“The Pentadrians are up to something there.”

“Not murdering more Dreamweavers, are they?”

He shook his head. “We’re not sure what, which is why we’re going.” The shocking revelations about the Pentadrians’ plot in Jarime had spread through the city quickly, and the protests against the hospice and attacks on Dreamweavers had stopped. At the same time, dozens of people had been either dragged to the Temple, beaten, driven out of their homes or even murdered, at sometimes the mere suspicion of being Pentadrian. Ella had not been as dismayed by this as he had expected.

“People like having something to direct their hate at,” Ella had said. “The Pentadrians are far more deserving of it than the Dreamweavers.”

“But some of the people who have been attacked aren’t Pentadrians,” he’d pointed out.

“Yes, and we’ve compensated them - after we confirmed their innocence, of course.”

“Once this plot is forgotten, people will start worrying about Dreamweavers again,” he’d warned.

“Then we’ll have to keep reminding them who the true enemy is.”

Silava squeezed his arm, drawing his attention back from his thoughts. “I meant, why is Ella going, not one of the other White? She’s a bit new to her role to be given such a task.”

Danjin shrugged. “They must consider her capable enough. And the sooner she gains some experience of other lands the better.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. Months, probably.”

Silava sighed. “At least you’re not going to war. A warrior nation, but not a war.” She yawned again. “I’m too tired to think about it. Let’s get some sleep.”

He gave in to a yawn of his own as they went upstairs. News upon news. “Another grandchild,” he murmured. “A man could start feeling old.”

Silava’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. Her silence came as a surprise.

No teasing? She really must be tired.

He took that as a hint to hold his tongue and followed her into the bedroom. Despite his weariness he lay awake, his mind too full of matters he must take care of before leaving.

“Yes. The counters set. That’ll do,” Silava murmured suddenly.

“What?”

“Oh.” He heard her turn her head toward him. “Are you still awake?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Packing,” she said. “I have two lots of packing to do now.”

“You don’t have to pack for me.”

She laughed. “Since when have you packed for yourself? Go to sleep. And don’t worry. I’ll arrange everything.”

14

Shadows sat below Tintel’s eyes. The woman looked older than her years as she regarded Mirar with weary patience.

“What is it, Wilar?”

He took a step back. “You’re tired. I will return tomorrow.”

“No, come in.” She beckoned and turned away, giving him no chance to retreat.

“I’ll be brief then,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door.

She collapsed into a chair and waved toward another. “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t have something you needed to discuss. Have the boys been gossiping again?”

He smiled. “I don’t know. Probably.”

“If it bothers you I will tell them to stop.”

“Which would make no difference at all,” he told her. “They respect and admire you greatly, Dreamweaver Tintel, but trying to stop gossip is like trying to stop the tide.” He shook his head. “No, the only ill effect is that it will make what I have to tell you harder to believe.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Will it? What unbelievable news do you have, then?”

He looked at her and considered what he was about to do. It was a risk. There were benefits to remaining anonymous. None of the hassles of trying to please everyone, for a start.

Yet where would that leave his people? They were strong in this place, but not in others. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking he could help them, but when he looked at Tintel’s worn and weary face he felt a pang of affection and knew he had to try.

“They’re right,” he told her. “I am Mirar.”

She blinked with surprise, opened her mouth to speak, then paused and frowned at him thoughtfully.

“It is hard to believe,” she said. “Yet I find I can’t dismiss it completely.” She pursed her lips. “Nor can I accept it completely.”

He shrugged. “That is what I expected.”

“I need proof.”

“Of course.”

“And something else.”

“Oh?”

“Your forgiveness for doubting, if you do prove to be Mirar.”

He laughed. “I could hardly begrudge you that.”

She did not smile. “If you’re not Mirar...”

“You’ll give me a thorough spanking?” he suggested.

“This is not a matter to joke about.”

“No?” He sobered. “No, it isn’t. I have done all I can to ensure I do not endanger myself or my people by revealing my identity today, but it is still a risk.”

“A risk worth taking?”

“Obviously.” He leaned forward and held out his hand. “Link with me.”

Her frown vanished. She stared at him for a moment, then took his hand. He watched her close her eyes, then shut his own and reached out with his mind.

As her thoughts came clearly to his senses, he drew up memories for her. Old memories of the formation of the Dreamweavers. Memories of healing discoveries and memories of Dreamweavers long dead. Memories of civilizations that had dwindled to nothing long ago and of those that still existed.

He did not show her the gods or their work, his own “death” or his life as Leiard. This should be a moment of joy, not one of relived terror or pain. Drawing away from her mind, he opened his eyes and released her hand. Her eyelids fluttered open. She stared at him, then lowered her eyes.

“I... I don’t know what to say. Or what to do. How should I address you?”

“Just call me Mirar,” he told her firmly, disturbed by her almost subservient behavior. “I am a Dreamweaver, not a god or a king or even a second cousin of the nephew of a prince. I have never led my people by force, only guided them with experience and wisdom - though I have to admit to having failed in the latter more than a few times. Look at me.”

She obeyed. He hadn’t expected her to be so overwhelmed. Reaching forward, he took her hand again.

“You are the leader here, Tintel. That is how I arranged things. One Dreamweaver is chosen to maintain each House and lead those who stay there. They are the authority in that place, and all travelling Dreamweavers should obey them or move on. I am a travelling Dreamweaver. That means you have to order me around, or I’ve got to leave.”

The corner of her mouth twitched and he sensed her amusement.

“That could be a little difficult,” she said. “And the others... they will be in awe of you. They will worship you.”

“Then we’re both going to have to discourage them. My safety - our safety - relies on the Pentadrians thinking I am no threat to them. If I am worshipped like a god, they will consider me a threat.”

She shook her head. “Pentadrians are not Circlians, Wi— Mirar. They do not resent other religions.”

“Only because the gods of those religions do not exist. The one religion they do resent is the Circlians’, whose gods do exist.”

She frowned and he sensed her growing anxious. He squeezed her hand.

“I never wanted to be worshipped and I still don’t. It would be better if the Dreamweavers here regarded me more like a teacher than a god. I think, between us, we can manage that.”

She looked at him and nodded. “I’ll try.”

“I know you will.” He grinned. “This is like announcing an engagement, isn’t it? Who shall we tell first?”

Tintel snorted softly. “If you don’t want to be worshipped, why are you revealing your identity?”

“I want to be among my people again,” he told her seriously. “As myself.”

She nodded, extracted her hands from his and rose. Facing the door, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Then wait here. I’ll gather everyone in the hall and call you down when they’re ready.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Tintel.”

She walked to the door and opened it. Pausing to look back at him, she shook her head in wonder. Then, without saying a word, she left the room.

Mirar smiled to himself. Once they got over their surprise and awe, it would be just like the old days again. He could travel around Southern Ithania like he had once travelled around the north, meeting Dreamweavers and sharing knowledge.

And maybe this time he wouldn’t mess it all up.

Blowing out her lamp, Reivan stretched out on her bed and considered the day that had just passed. The news that the High Chieftain of Dekkar had died suddenly of a fever had rushed through the Sanctuary and stirred up Servants, ambassadors and other dignitaries as if they were leaves in a dozen whirlwinds. It left the inhabitants of the Sanctuary subdued and expectant.

One of the lesser Voices was to leave the next morning for the Dekkan city. He or she would lead the funeral rites and, once the official mourning time was over, arrange trials to select a new High Chieftain. The Trials were an old tradition. Any man or woman could enter them but, apart from a few occasions, they were always won by a man of “royal” bloodline. The entrants were tested on their strength and fitness, intelligence and knowledge, organizational and leadership skills, and dedication to the gods. Reivan assumed a mixture of privileged access to training and customising the tests to the candidates of “royal” blood explained the predictable outcome.

A flood of important personages, and those who merely thought they were important personages, had come to the Sanctuary to ask if they, or their messages of sympathy, might travel south with the Voice. All this had kept Imenja and Reivan occupied late into the night. Too late, Reivan had told herself, for any nocturnal visits by a certain First Voice. And besides, he was probably even busier than Imenja.

Maybe he’ll visit me tomorrow night, she thought.

Maybe he’d satisfied his curiosity, and had no intention of returning. If it meant nothing to him, he won’t visit a second time. And a second visit didn’t mean he was going to see her a third or fourth time, and so on. It didn’t mean he loved her.

Curse it! I’ve started thinking about him again. I’m never going to get to sleep at this rate.

Rolling over, she discovered she had tossed and turned herself into a tight tangle with the bedding. As she began to unwind the sheet from around herself she heard a quiet tapping from the other room.

From the main door to her apartment.

Freeing herself suddenly became more difficult than before. When she had finally unwound the sheet, she donned her Servant robes hastily and hurried out of the bedroom.

Finally reaching the door, she hesitated. There had been no second tapping. If it was Nekaun, surely he would have read from her mind that she was coming to answer the door. Surely he wouldn’t leave just because she hadn’t responded fast enough.

If it wasn’t Nekaun, or any of the Voices, the visitor might have given up and left.

Sighing, she grabbed the handle and pulled open the door.

Nekaun smiled at her. She felt her heart flip over.

“Good evening, Reivan,” he said, stepping into the room. “It has been an eventful day, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied.

He had stepped past her and moved into the center of the main room. Looking back at her, he beckoned.

“I have a serious question for you,” he told her.

A serious question! As he sat down she tried unsuccessfully to avoid thinking of what he might wish to ask. Was it about their relationship? Was it about Imenja? She moved to the chair opposite him. He rubbed his hands together, his gaze distant.

“The gods visited me tonight,” he told her.

She felt both disappointment and a thrill of amazement. This wasn’t about their relationship. Still, the gods had spoken to him and he had chosen to tell her.

“They said that the Thinkers are searching for an ancient artifact called the Scroll of the Gods. Have you heard of this?”

Reivan frowned. “No. I know there is a group of Thinkers in Hannaya that study and search for objects of antiquity. It sounds like the sort of thing they’d look for.”

Nekaun nodded. “The gods are concerned that if these Thinkers found this scroll - if it even still exists - they would remove it from its place of safekeeping or even damage it. They want me to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

She grimaced. “Telling the Thinkers to stop searching for it will probably only encourage them to continue.”

“Then I can see only one course of action. I will have to place a spy among them.” He looked at her. “Is there anyone here you would recommend?”

Reivan looked away. “I don’t really know that many people here. Not well enough to suggest anyone, that is.”

“Then what sort of person would you advise me to send?”

She paused. Helping Nekaun spy on the people she had once belonged among felt a little like betrayal. Then another thought occurred to her and she frowned.

“Why do the gods need you to send a spy? Couldn’t they watch the Thinkers themselves?”

He laughed quietly. “The gods can’t be everywhere at once, Reivan, nor would they want to be. This is the sort of chore best given to a mortal.”

“Ah.” There was no getting out of this. But what loyalty do I owe the Thinkers, anyway? she asked herself. They never accepted me. I never truly belonged. My loyalty is with the gods now. And Nekaun.

“Your spy will have to be intelligent,” she told him. “And show little or no Skills, because most Thinkers don’t have any and are jealous of those that do. He needs to be opinionated, too.”

“‘He?’ Why not a ‘she’?”

“Most Thinkers are male. Female Thinkers are ignored.”

“Being ignored would be good, for a spy.”

“They are also excluded from important work.”

“Ah.”

“Why didn’t you ask your Companion, Turaan?”

“I did.” He smiled. “The more advice the better. It gave me a good excuse to visit you.”

Her heart jumped and began to race. She looked up and met his eyes.

“You don’t need an excuse, Nekaun.”

His smile widened. “Old or young?”

She frowned, then realized he was talking about the spy again.

“I’m not sure. A young Thinker might gain a place among the searchers by being willing to do boring work. An old Thinker would need to offer something valuable. Useful expertise, perhaps. Something that would persuade the others to allow him to join them.”

“What nationality?”

“Probably doesn’t matter. If he is to bring useful information, there should be a good reason they haven’t found it yet. They are jealous of their knowledge and suspicious of convenient coincidences. Some see plots everywhere.”

“What if this spy was from the north? Would that make them even more suspicious?”

“No. Most Thinkers don’t hold the sort of grudges ordinary people hold against other races. Knowledge is everywhere, regardless of landscape or race. Instead, they look down on those less intelligent. They’re fond of saying, ‘Wisdom and knowledge is everywhere, but so is stupidity.’ ”

Nekaun chuckled. “Everyone needs someone to despise,” he quoted.

... and someone to love, Reivan finished silently.

He stood up. She slowly followed suit. Moving closer, he reached toward her. As his hand slid about her waist and he drew her against him she felt her pulse racing... and a whole lot of sensations his previous visit had introduced her to.

“Does my plan to spy on the group you used to belong to bother you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He smiled, then kissed her, and all thoughts of the Thinkers slipped from her mind.

15

Returning from the priests’ bower, Auraya noticed Speaker Sirri sitting among some children, laughing. The Siyee woman looked up at her and beckoned.

Walking over, Auraya dodged as several of the children suddenly dashed away, shrieking. Tiny missiles were streaking back and forth. At Sirri’s feet was a large basket full of berries. The Siyee leader’s mouth was stained dark red from the juice - and so were the faces of the children.

Sirri looked down at Auraya’s clothes and put a hand over her mouth. Following her gaze, Auraya realized that her white circ and tunic were splattered with red spots. Sirri stood up abruptly and called out to the children.

“That’s enough!” she said firmly. The children skittered to a halt and then gathered into a group, their eyes on the ground. “Don’t waste them,” Sirri urged, her voice gentle again. “Take a handful each and be on your way.”

The children obeyed, breaking into a run as soon as they were twenty paces from Sirri. The Siyee leader looked at Auraya and sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

Auraya shrugged and sat down beside the woman. “I have a spare.”

“Not any more. That’ll never come out.”

Examining the spots, Auraya shrugged again. “If magic doesn’t work I’ll just have to order new clothes - and I’m sure the Priests here have a few spares in reserve. How did your meeting with the tribe leaders go?”

Sirri grimaced. “Not well. Who’d have thought trade with landwalkers would make some of us turn greedy.”

Auraya said nothing. The difficulties the Siyee had endured in the past had forced them to look after each other or perish. The lands returned to them by the Torens had been developed in ways the Siyee hadn’t had the numbers or knowledge to try, and now they found themselves arguing over sudden and unevenly distributed wealth. It was not landwalkers that had made some turn greedy.

“I’ve been wondering if we should consult the gods on the matter,” Sirri continued. “Leave the decision in their hands.”

“Better to sort it out yourselves,” Auraya replied.

Sirri’s eyebrows rose. “Why is that?”

Auraya frowned as she realized she could not provide an answer Sirri would accept. Have I come to distrust the gods so much I would warn others to have nothing to do with them? I’m starting to sound like a Wild.

“The gods would expect you to do all you could before consulting them,” she replied. She looked at Sirri. “But I guess you’re telling me you have.”

Sirri smiled. “Yes. But maybe you’re right. Maybe we should try harder. Have some berries. They’ve just come in season.”

They both scooped up a handful and began eating. Auraya thought of Jade. She would have liked these berries. I suppose she is still making her way out of Si.

She was surprised to find she missed the woman’s company. Though domineering and moody, Jade had been full of interesting anecdotes and knowledge. Auraya smiled. Jade might have been immensely old, but Auraya had managed to surprise her a few times.

“I wonder if there’s a way to remove the void,” Auraya remembered saying one night. “Perhaps if magic was drawn from another place and released here it could be filled in.”

Jade had stared at her in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Finishing her handful of berries, Sirri began talking about the tribes fighting over the mines. Though she had heard it all the previous night, Auraya let the woman talk through it again, knowing Sirri simply needed to air her frustration.

:Auraya.

She jumped at the voice in her mind, then looked down at her priest ring. Juran was calling her through it. Well, I no longer have to wonder if shielding my mind prevents it working.

:Juran? she replied.

:Yes. Where are you?

:In the Open.

:Is Speaker Sirri with you?

:She is.

:I have something to request of her. Will you speak for me?

:Of course.

“Speaker Sirri,” Auraya interrupted. “Juran of the White wishes me to communicate a request to you.”

Sirri froze, mouth open. Then, as she recovered from the surprise, she straightened, smiled and nodded. “Tell him I’m listening - and give him my greetings and good wishes.”

:Give her my thanks, Juran said. Recently we have discovered a Pentadrian plot in Jarime in which citizens of our city were murdered and others tricked into converting to the Pentadrian religion.

Auraya relayed this to Sirri.

:We have unearthed Pentadrian plots in Toren and Genria, and are investigating other reports of their operations. Their aim has been to quietly subvert the rule of these lands, while luring Circlians into abandoning the gods and worshipping theirs by offering positions of power to those without Gifts. Have Pentadrians or suspicious foreigners been seen in Si recently?

“Not recently,” Sirri replied. “Not since last spring, when we requested Auraya’s help. We have kept a watch on our shores ever since. The only visitors have been Elai.”

:I hope you are right. We have long debated what action would be appropriate in response to the Pentadrian attacks in our cities. If we ignore them, they may grow bolder. They may attempt to reenter your land. They will certainly try to subvert others again. We must let them know they can’t attack us without retaliation. Will you help us?

“Of course,” Sirri replied. “What can we do?”

:Huan herself suggested we attack them in their own land. Speed and surprise will be essential, so your Siyee warriors came to mind straightaway. The target was then obvious: the breeding stock of the black birds.

Sirri’s eyes widened. “That would be a risky and... daring attack. I trust you know where the breeding stock are?”

:In an isolated town, far from major Pentadrian cities. We will send maps and information about the town, the daily routine of the breeders and their birds - everything your warriors will need.

Auraya realized her heart was racing. Juran was asking the Siyee to take a great risk. They would enter enemy lands. If they failed, nobody could help them.

“I will go with them,” she said.

Sirri frowned. “Juran will... oh! Of course. You were speaking for yourself, Auraya. Thank you.”

:You may go with them if you wish, Juran said. But the gods forbid you to use your Gifts to help the Siyee or hinder the enemy. This must be a strike made by the Siyee, not by a White or even an ex-White.

Auraya gave a gasp of disbelief.

:Do you really expect me to let them die if they are attacked? she asked silently.

:The gods do, Juran replied. This strike is as much a symbolic act as it is an attempt to hurt the enemy. If you cannot obey the gods in this you should not accompany the Siyee.

:Can I heal them if they’re injured?

Juran paused.

:I suppose that would not negate the symbolism of the attack.

Auraya scowled.

:I suppose it would be an even better symbolic gesture if the Siyee all died in the attack. A noble sacrifice, and all that.

:Of course it wouldn’t be better. To strike and escape would be much stronger proof of our ability to retaliate.

“Well?” Sirri asked.

Realizing she hadn’t relayed Juran’s words since he had revealed that she was forbidden to use her Gifts, Auraya grimaced in apology. “Sorry. The gods have decided I can heal the Siyee, but do nothing else. I can’t fight the Pentadrians.”

“Well,” Sirri said grimly, “that is better than nothing.”

:Will the Siyee go? Juran asked.

“As always I must consult the Speakers of the tribes,” Sirri replied. “Though I doubt they would refuse something we agreed to in our alliance. When will this attack take place?”

:Not for some months. We must get the maps and instructions to you first.

“I will let you know as soon as a decision is made,” Sirri promised.

:Thank you. Goodbye, Speaker Sirri, Auraya.

As his mind faded away, Auraya felt anger seething inside. Clearly the gods wanted her to stay behind. She felt a light touch and looked down to find Sirri’s small hand resting on her own.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way around their restrictions,” the Speaker said.

Auraya met Sirri’s eyes and nodded, though she could see the questions in the woman’s mind and longed to answer them.

Why are the gods testing her like this? Sirri wondered.

Because some of them hate me, Auraya replied silently, though she knew the woman couldn’t hear her. Then she smothered a curse. When Chaia said Huan might try to hurt those I loved, I never thought of the Siyee.

But surely the goddess wouldn’t harm the people she had created?

Sunlight filtered through the trees. Emerahl’s bag was full and heavy and she was fighting the temptation to lighten it by removing a few cures. She hadn’t been to Southern Ithania before, however, and wasn’t familiar with local ingredients. If she was going to pay her way she would need to bring her own supplies.

The distance between herself and her destination seemed immense. It would take her a month to get out of the mountains, then she had to cross the Plains of Gold to another range. Once through the pass she must cross the northern edge of the Sennon desert. At the coast she would buy passage on a ship sailing to the Murian capital, Hannaya. It would be a long journey.

According to The Twins, the Thinkers in search of the Scroll of the Gods based themselves there. She had two choices: try to find the Scroll on her own or attempt to join them. Both choices presented her with difficulties.

If she chose to search for the Scroll herself, The Twins would skim the Thinkers’ minds and pass on everything they learned. The Twins had more than just the Thinkers to watch. They were keeping an eye on people around Mirar as well as keeping up their usual skimming of minds in Ithania. Added to that, Emerahl couldn’t stay in a constant trance linked to The Twins. She would only find out what they had learned whenever she found time to communicate with them, so she might receive important information up to a day later.

If she joined the Thinkers she would find out what they discovered as they discovered it. The only problem was, they were notoriously jealous of their knowledge and disdainful of women.

The Twins doubted she would ever gain their trust. Instead, she would have to prove herself useful to them. She could read most ancient scripts. She knew a lot about history. She spoke ancient languages.

Coming around a curve of the steep mountain slope she was traversing, she stopped and cursed. The narrow fold in the rock she had been following abruptly ended a few steps ahead under a loose covering of boulders and stones. There had been a landslide further up the mountain.

Crossing that would be foolish, she thought. It’s likely to start sliding down the mountain all over again. She would have to go back and find a new route.

She cursed Auraya and Mirar under her breath. I might have already found this Scroll by now, if Mirar hadn’t insisted I come here and teach Auraya.

But he owed Emerahl a big favor now. She smiled at the thought. And it wasn’t so bad, anyway, teaching Auraya. The girl is likeable enough - if one ignores her loyalty to the gods. It would be a pity if that loyalty proves her downfall.

She had to admit The Twins were right. If Auraya did join the rest of the immortals, she would be a powerful ally. With the ability to sense and hear the gods, and read the minds of mortals, she could help them all survive.

It doesn’t hurt to have someone that powerful owe you a favor, either.

Thinking back, she considered how Auraya’s manner had changed once she was able to leave the cave. The woman appeared to relish being in the forest. She was relaxed in that way people are when they feel at home, Emerahl thought.

How could an ex-White feel at home in the Si mountains, with no luxuries, no servants, nothing to rule over?

Suddenly she saw Auraya in a different light. She likes wild places, Emerahl thought. Places untouched by humans. Oh, she is happy enough to be around people, and the Siyee clearly have a place in her heart, but I think it is more than just the Siyee that calls her to the mountains. Emerahl laughed quietly to herself. She might not be so comfortable if she had to climb up and down cliffs, tramp through mud and cut her way through dense undergrowth, however.

Was Mirar aware of this? He had always been attracted to cities - to the bustle of crowds. A memory rose of a conversation she’d had with Auraya.

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

Auraya had smiled. “I never said I didn’t like him.”

Emerahl sighed. She knew there was always a chance that like could become love. She’d seen it happen often enough. Not that it would, but Emerahl was always going to wonder if she had ruined that chance for Mirar by telling him about Auraya’s affair with Chaia. And now that I’ve met Auraya I’m no longer opposed to the idea of Mirar and her together.

What was done was done. Mirar was resilient. Better for him to know the quick pain of truth than the ongoing pain of a long-held false hope. Turning around, she retraced her steps and began searching for a safer route.