Last of the Wilds

15



The cave was dark when Mirar woke. Only a faint light was visible at the entrance. Emerahl usually woke earlier than he did and ventured outside to empty the buckets and bring in fresh water. He could not hear her breathing, so he guessed she had gone. Creating a spark of light, he strengthened it until the whole cave was illuminated.

Emerahl was still in bed.

At once he remembered. She was in the process of changing her age. He got up and moved over to her bed.

He could only see her face, but it showed subtle signs of change. Skin that had been fresh and firm with youth now hung slightly looser on her cheekbones. The faintest lines had formed around her eyes and mouth. Strands of hair had fallen out, forming a golden coating on the rough mattress she had made.

He picked up a few strands. There were stripes of variation along the first hand span of its length. Successive dying, he guessed. Weaker each time. Why would she have dyed her hair?

She said she had been an old woman before this, Leiard reminded him. Her hair could have been white. It must have stayed that way, despite the rest of her body changing to a more youthful form, but from then on it grew in her natural color.

Yes, Mirar agreed. He looked at the strand. She must have dyed the white, first with cheap pigment then with better dye that that brothel provided.

The brothel. He sighed and shook his head. She was so Gifted. Why must she resort to selling herself whenever she needed to hide?

Because she had no choice, Leiard said.

Of course she had a choice. Mirar scowled. She could have become a washer-woman or a fish-sealer.

The priests would have looked over all women’s trades that an old crone might take up. By practicing a trade only young women could practice she could be sure she would never be examined by a priest.

It made sense, but Mirar didn’t like it. The risk of discovery must have been small. Only one priest had been given the ability to read minds by the gods.

She didn’t know that, Leiard reminded him.

Mirar almost wished he hadn’t told her that the gods did not make a habit of giving priests that Gift. Now that Emerahl knew she was safe she wanted to roam about the world in search of other Wilds. He looked at her and felt a stab of concern.

I should go with her, he thought.

You can’t, Leiard pointed out. There’s a greater risk that I’ll be recognized than her. I’d only put us all in danger.

Mirar nodded in agreement. Even in sleep there was a strength in her expression. Or perhaps he only imagined that. She’ll be fine. I doubt she’s suddenly become a risk-taker, he told himself. No, she’ll be as cautious as she has always been. He sighed and looked away. And me? I’m supposed to seek out people in order to cure myself. How foolish is that?

Perhaps not overly foolish. He would seek out the Siyee—or most likely linger here until they found him.

What excuse will I give them for coming here? he asked himself. Why would a Dreamweaver come to Si?

To offer healing services, of course, Leiard replied.

Healing was what he had always done best. Even as a child he’d had an unusual understanding of healing. Years of study and work had refined the Gift. Each time he had thought he had reached the limits of his powers something caused him to stretch himself further and he discovered he could do more. One day it had all culminated in a sudden flash of understanding in which he comprehended how his body might be sustained in a healthy, youthful state indefinitely.

It had been the moment he had achieved immortality. Emerahl, too, had come to the same understanding. She did not have the intuitive aptitude with healing that he had. Instead, her innate Gift was this ability to change her age.

And the other Wilds? He thought of the extraordinary people who had once roamed free in the world. The Farmer had been famous for his understanding of growing and raising crops, stock and all manner of produce. His innate Gift had probably related to that somehow. The Seer’s ability had been to predict a person’s probable path in life, though she had admitted to Mirar once that she did not see the future, she just saw the nature of mortals too well.

The Gull had understood everything to do with the sea. He could find shoals of fish, warn against storms and was rumored to be able to change the weather to a limited degree. The Twins… Mirar had never been entirely sure what their abilities were. He had never met them, but someone had once told him they understood the duality of everything in the world, that they perceived connections and balances where nobody else could.

Where the magic was in that talent, he didn’t know. Most likely he would never find out. They had probably been killed a century ago, when the Circle of Gods had decided to tidy up their new world.

The gods are probably the only beings that know, he thought.

You could ask them, Leiard suggested.

He chuckled. Even if calling on them wasn’t likely to result in our death, I doubt we could trust their answer.

He looked at Emerahl again. She hadn’t moved while he’d been watching her, except to breathe. The rise and fall of her chest was so slow he had to watch patiently to see the change.

I’ll miss her. He frowned, surprised at the wistful emotion that came with the thought. It was not that he didn’t expect to feel this way, just that it was stronger than he had anticipated.

You didn’t feel like this about her before? Leiard asked. Do you love her?

Mirar considered. He felt affection and concern. He would not like her to be harmed or feel pain. He enjoyed her company, had always enjoyed her physical company the few times they had been lovers—but he was still sure he did not feel anything like romantic love. Emerahl was a friend.

Yes. You have missed the company of an equal.

Perhaps I have, he conceded.

Looking away, he considered the cave. He was hungry. She had told him there was enough food to last him for the few days she would be changing. It was mostly nuts, fresh and dried fruit, some dried meat and a few tubers.

Hardly inspiring fare, he thought. He glanced at the cave entrance, thinking of the shrimmi she had caught and cooked once before. I think it’s time I saw a little daylight. If the Siyee fly past and see me, so be it. I doubt they’ll be any danger to Emerahl. To be sure I’ll tell them she has already left. I don’t think I need to stay in here every moment of the next few days. Perhaps I can find her something decent to eat when she wakes up.

Picking up the bucket she had used when collecting food, he started toward the tunnel and daylight.


Erra considered the strange child curled up on the deck. She was completely hairless as far as he could see. Between the fingers and toes of her enormous hands and feet was a thick webbing. Her skin was unnaturally dark—a bluish black. It had been glossy yesterday, but now it looked dull.

“She bring trouble,” Kanyer warned. “She child. Adults come for her. Slit our throats in our sleep.”

“That’s what you said last night,” Erra replied. “No one came.”

“Why you keep her?”

“A hunch. My da used to say you can find something useful in everything that comes out of the sea.”

“How she useful? You think sea folk trade for her?”

“Maybe. I have another idea. Silse said he saw her taking the bells. Said she must have been there for a while.”

Kanyer looked at the girl with interest. “It true they breathe water then.”

Erra shook his head. “Nah. She hasn’t got gills. See the size of her chest. Big lungs. Prob’ly means she can hold her breath a long time.” He rubbed his stubbly chin. “That’d be useful to us.”

“You want her get bells for us?”

“Yes.”

“She won’t.”

“She will if we give her a reason.”

Erra strode across to the girl and cut the ropes around her ankles. She didn’t wake up so he nudged her with his foot. Her whole body jerked as she came awake and she turned her head to stare up at him. Her lips were cracked and the film across her eyes was red. He guessed that being out of the water was doing her harm and felt a small pang of guilt. Well, she shouldn’t have tried to steal my bells.

He reached over to the lamp ring and untied the end of the rope that tethered her.

“Get up.”

She moved slowly, her expression wary and sullen.

“Come over here.”

He tugged her to the baskets of sea bells and waved to the last empty one. He indicated the level of the full one next to it, then held his hand over the empty basket at the same place. She watched him intently. He pointed at her, then at the sea, then indicated the full level of the empty basket again. Finally he pointed to the ropes and made a cutting motion, then pointed to her and then waved out at the sea.

She glared at him, obviously understanding but not liking what he was proposing. Nevertheless, she did not resist as he tugged her over to the side of the boat. The crew watched, still chewing on their morning meal.

He turned her around and untied the rope binding her wrists. Then he tied a long length of new, dry rope around her neck. It would swell when it got wet, and be impossible to untie. He nudged her and pointed at the water.

She stared at him resentfully for a moment, then jumped into the water. At once she began struggling with the rope.

“Silse,” Erra called.

The swimmer strolled over.

“Get in the water and keep an eye on her. If it looks like she’s going to get free, let me know. We’ll haul her back out.”

The man hesitated. Using the girl like this probably pricked the fool’s conscience. Or was he worried about losing his share of the profits?

“What are you waiting for?” Erra growled.

Silse shrugged, then jumped into the water. The girl’s struggles stopped. She looked at Silse floating nearby. After staring at him for a long time, she suddenly dove into the gloom, the rope running into the water after her.

Silse watched her. After a moment he raised his head out of the water.

“She’s doing it, but she’s cutting them one by one.”

“Let her,” one of the other crewmen said. “It’ll save us some work.”

Erra nodded. There’d be less trouble later, when it came to dividing the profits, if the others couldn’t claim Silse had done less work than them. He pointed to one of the bags the swimmers had used to haul up the sea-bell plants.

“Give me that.”

They tossed it to him. He dropped it into the water beside Silse.

“When she comes up again, give her that,” he told the swimmer. He sat down to wait.

She reappeared sooner than he expected, but her hands were overflowing with sea bells. Silse awkwardly began trying to explain to her about the bag’s use. She ignored him. Tipping the bells onto the deck, she grabbed the bag and disappeared into the depths again.

Silse looked up at Erra and shrugged.

The crew began to lounge about. A few started a game of counters. The girl came to the surface about three or four times to take another breath. Each time the bag was emptied into the basket and handed back.

After the fourth time, Erra decided his idea was working well. He may as well have a drink and enjoy himself. He looked for the youngest of his crew, Darm, and found the boy was at the top of the mast.

“Darm!” he bellowed.

The boy started. “Yes capt’n?”

“Get down here.”

The boy uncurled his thin legs from the mast and began to climb down. Erra reached into his pocket for some smokewood.

“Capt’n?”

Erra looked up. The boy had stopped halfway down the mast and was pointing toward the bluff at one side of the bay.

“Sails,” he said. “Someone’s coming.”

At once all the crew were on their feet. Erra moved toward the mast, determined to have a look himself, but he didn’t need to. The bow of a ship was now gliding into sight beyond the bluff.

It was a battered but sturdy trading vessel, larger than the fishing boats. Erra narrowed his eyes. He could just see men on board, lined up along the side. As the rest of the ship came in sight, the strangers all raised their arms and waved.

Erra felt his stomach drop. They were waving swords.

“Raiders!” Darm yelled.

Erra cursed. Even if the sails had been hoisted and they hadn’t been cornered in the bay, his boats could never have outrun the ship. They would have to abandon them—but perhaps not their hoard. He turned to the crew. They looked pale and ready to bolt.

“We’ve got to swim for shore!” one cried.

“No!” Erra bellowed. “Not yet. We’ve got a bit of time before they get here.” He pointed to the baskets of sea bells. “Bind them closed, tie on weights and throw them in. Then we’ll swim for it. Anyone who doesn’t help, doesn’t get a coin.”

A flurry of activity followed. With heart pounding, Erra grabbed anything that would do as a weight and roped it to the baskets. He bullied the crew with feigned confidence. Two baskets splashed into the water, then another. They sank into the depths.

“They’re coming fast!” Darm wailed. “We won’t make it to shore!”

Erra straightened to look. The ship was approaching quickly. He judged the distance they had to swim.

“Right. Leave the rest. They’ll want to feel they got something, or they’ll come after us for sport. Swim!”

Not waiting for the others to follow, he dove into the water. Fear lent him strength and speed. When he finally reached the sand he dragged himself upright and glanced back. The ship was bearing down on the boats. His crew were emerging from the water. He cursed then started running toward the forest.

Only later, when he stared down at the smoking hulls of the boats from a rocky bluff, did he remember the sea girl. Had she been smart enough to hide or escape, or had they found her? He sent Silse back to look, but the swimmer found no sign of her. Only the cut end of the rope.

The small pang of guilt Erra felt was easily brushed aside. He had more important things to worry about now.

Like how he was going to get off this island.


The leaden sky leeched everything of color—except the blood.

The faces of the corpses were white, the hair either black or a bleached non-color. The weapons, still clutched in stiffened hands or wedged in flesh, lacked shine. The circs of the priests were a dull white.

But the stains on them were luridly bright. Thick crimson oozed from wounds and slicked blades. Pools of it gathered under the dead like a morbid carpet. Trickles of it flowed down folds in the earth. It gathered to form streams. Pooled. Soaked into the soil, so that it bubbled to the surface at every step.

Auraya tried to walk gently, tried to keep to the dry areas, but the blood welled up to coat her sandalled feet. The sickening mud sucked at her feet. She took a few more steps then found she could not move. The mud clung to her shoes. It gave beneath her. She felt herself sinking into it. Leaning on one leg to try and free the other only sent her deeper. She felt the cold moisture creeping up her legs and her heart began to race.

“You killed us,” hissed a voice.

She looked up to see corpses raising their heads to stare at her with dead eyes.

Not now, she thought. I’ve got enough problems.

“You,” another said, his partly severed head lolling on the ground. “You did this to me.”

She tried not to hear the voices, concentrating instead on getting free of the mud, which did not want to let her go. Red bubbles and froth foamed the surface. She leaned forward, desperately trying to find something to grab hold of to stop herself sinking. Something to use to lever herself out.

I’m going to drown, she thought, and fear surged up within her. I’m going to suffocate, my mouth and lungs full of bloodied soil.

There was nothing but a sea of corpses reaching out to her with clawed hands. She shrank away, felt herself sink further, then forced herself to reach out to them.

“It’s your fault I’m dead,” a woman hissed.

“Your fault!”

“Yours!”

:No.

Everything stilled. The corpses froze in position. The sucking of the mud stopped. Auraya peered around in confusion. The corpses’ eyes swivelled about in search of the voice.

This doesn’t usually happen, she mused.

:It is not her fault you are dead. If you must blame someone, blame me. Either way, you are wrong. Neither Auraya nor I dealt the blow that killed you.

A shining figure appeared. The corpses rolled or shrank away from him. He looked down at Auraya and smiled.

:Hello, Auraya.

“Chaia!”

:Yes.

He walked to the edge of the mud and held out a hand. She hesitated, then reached out to take it. Firm, warm fingers gripped her own. He pulled, and she felt the mud relinquish its hold on her legs.

:Let’s return to your room, he said.

The battlefield vanished. Suddenly she was sitting on her bed, Chaia beside her. He smiled and reached out to her face. The touch of his fingers as he traced them along her jaw sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned toward her, and she knew he was going to kiss her.

Uh oh, she thought, drawing away. It’s all very well conjuring him up to rescue me from the nightmare, but dreaming up erotic encounters is definitely going too far.

:You resist. You think this is wrong. Disrespectful.

“Yes.”

He smiled.

:But how can it be disrespectful, when I am the one kissing you?

“You’re not real. The real Chaia might be offended.”

:I’m not real? His smile widened. Are you sure?

“Yes. The real Chaia can’t touch me.”

:I can in dreams.

As Leiard had, she thought. The memory of him brought an uncomfortable rush of different emotions. Pain at his betrayal. Shame that she had taken to bed someone whom this god probably didn’t approve of. And despite this: longing. Her dream links with Leiard had seemed utterly real. She felt a flush of remembered pleasure, quickly followed by embarrassment and shame again as she remembered whose presence she was in—even if he was only a dream shadow of the god.

:Do not regret your past, Chaia told her. Everything you do teaches you something about the world and yourself. It is up to you to draw wisdom from your mistakes.

She considered him warily. He was so forgiving. But of course he was. This wasn’t Chaia. The real Chaia would… what? Scold her like a child?

Chaia laughed.

:Still convinced I’m a dream?

“Yes.”

He slid his hand behind her neck and leaned close.

:Open your eyes.

She stared at him. “What if I dream of opening my—”

He sealed her mouth with his. She stiffened with surprise. Suddenly he and her room disappeared. She was lying down, covered in blankets. In her bed. She saw only darkness. Her eyes were closed.

Awake.

But her lips tingled. She opened her eyes. A luminous face hovered over hers. The mouth widened into a smile. One eye winked.

Then the apparition vanished.