Last of the Wilds

PART TWO


16

A salty breeze told Emerahl she was approaching the coast long before she saw the sea. Yet it was only when she crested a rise and saw the wide gray strip of water in the distance that she felt she was close to her destination.

At the sight of water, she sighed with relief. She sat down on a fallen log while she caught her breath. Two months of walking had made her lean and given her stamina, but the hill she stood upon was steep and it had been a long, relentless climb to get to this place.

Rozea wouldn’t recognize me now, she thought. It was not just her age that she had changed. She kept her hair dyed black now and wove it into a simple braid each morning. The dress she had on was plain and practical and over it she wore an eclectic mix of tawls, drapes, beaded jewellery and embroidered pouches. The aromas of herbs, essences and other ingredients for her cures surrounded her.

It had never been necessary to mention her trade to anyone. She simply entered a village or town, enquired of the first person she met if there was safe and decent accommodation to be found, and by the time she had settled into the suggested place the first customer arrived.

Most of the time, anyway. There had always been, and always would be, places where strangers were treated with suspicion, and healer sorceresses with outright hostility. The first priest she had met had been unfriendly, which hadn’t helped to ease her fear of being found by the gods. To her relief he had simply ordered her out of his village.

For days afterward she had expected to find herself being hunted again, but nobody had followed her.

However, in most places she was welcome. Village priests and priestesses did not usually have strong Gifts or more than a basic knowledge of healing. The best of their healers worked in cities, and Dreamweavers were rare, so there was a great demand for her services. Having the appearance of a thirty- to forty-year-old woman also helped—nobody would have believed she had much healing knowledge if she’d remained a beautiful young woman.

The road ahead wove in and out of sight behind hills and forests. She traced it to the sea’s edge. Buildings clustered around the middle of a bay like stones in the bottom of a bucket. According to the owners of journey houses, helpful drinking companions, and a copy of a rough map given to her by a trader, this port was called Dufin.

It had grown and prospered in the last forty years due to its position near the Si border. Or rather, due to the Toren people’s inclination to ignore the border and settle wherever they saw good fertile soil or mineral deposits. The “inlanders” she had spoken to had told her gleefully how the White had forced the Toren king to order his people out of Si. It would be interesting to see what effect—if any—these orders had made on the people of Dufin.

Hearing a sound behind her, she turned to regard the road. A single arem was pulling a small tarn up the hill toward her. She stood up. Though the driver was too far away for her to read his expression, she was sure he was staring up at her. She could sense his curiosity.

She considered how far away he was, the lateness of the hour and the distance between her and Dufin. Sitting down, she waited for the tarn to reach her.

It took several minutes. Long before then, when the driver was close enough to see, she had exchanged a smile and a wave. As the arem hauled the tarn up to the rise, Emerahl stood up and greeted the man.

He was in his forties, she judged. His weathered face was pleasant—plenty of smile wrinkles. He pulled the arem to a stop.

“Are you going to Dufin?” she asked.

“I am,” he replied.

“Have you room for a tired traveller?”

“I always make room for fine young women in need of transportation,” he said jovially.

She cast about, as if looking for another. “Where is this woman you speak of? And how selfish of you to leave a tired old woman by the side of the road in favor of a more youthful companion.”

He laughed, then gestured to the tarn. “It is no grand covered platten, but if you don’t mind the smell you could sit on the furs.”

She smiled in gratitude, then climbed on board. As soon as she had settled onto the furs he urged the arem into a walk again. There was a distinctly fishy smell underlying the animal odor of the furs.

“I am Limma Curer,” she told him. “A healer.”

He glanced back at her, his eyebrows rising. “And a sorceress, I guess. No ordinary woman travels these parts alone.”

“A fighting woman might.” She grinned and shook her head. “But I am no warrior. Who might you be, then?”

“Marin Hookmaker. Fisherman.”

“Ah,” she said. “I thought I could smell fish. Let me guess: you deliver fish to inlanders and bring back furs and…” she looked at the rest of the tarn’s contents “… vegetables, drink, wood, pottery and—ah—a pair of girri for dinner.”

Marin nodded. “That’s right. Makes a nice change for me and the inland folk.”

“I used to live by the sea,” she told him. “Caught my own dinner plenty of times.”

“Where’d you live?”

“A remote place. Didn’t have a name. I hated it. Too far from anything. I left and travelled to many places and learned my trade. But I always like to be near the sea.”

“What brings you to Dufin?”

“Curiosity,” she replied. “Work.” She paused. Should she begin her search for The Gull now? “I’ve heard a story. An old story. I want to discover if it is true.”

“Oh? What story is that?”

“It’s a story about a boy. A boy who never ages. Who knows everything there is to know about the sea.”

“Ah,” Marin said, the sound more like a sigh than a word. “That is an old story.”

“Do you know it?”

He shrugged. “There are many, many stories about The Gull. Stories of him saving men from drowning. Stories of him drowning men himself. He is like the sea itself: both kind and cruel.”

“Do you believe he exists?”

“No, but I know people who do. They claim to have seen him.”

“Tall tales? Stories of old folk grown fanciful in their retelling?”

“Probably.” Marin frowned. “I’ve never known Old Grim to tell something any way but as it was, and he says he crewed with The Gull as a boy.”

“I’d like to meet Old Grim.”

“I can arrange that. You might not like him, though.” Marin looked back at her and grimaced. “He has a foul mouth.”

She chuckled. “I can handle that. I’ve heard some words come out of the mouths of women in childbirth that would burn the ears of most folk.”

He nodded. “So have I. My wife’s a quiet one most of the time, but when she’s in a fury…” He shuddered. “Then you know she’s a fisherman’s daughter.”

They had reached the bottom of the hill now. Marin was silent for a while, then he gave her another fleeting glance.

“So you want to discover if The Gull exists. What would it take for you to believe in him?”

“I don’t know. To meet him, perhaps.”

He laughed. “That would prove it.”

“Do you think it’s likely I’ll meet him?”

“No. What would you do if you did?”

“Ask him about cures. There are many cures that come from the sea.”

“Of course.”

“I might never find him, but I’ve got plenty of time. So long as there are people there are always people who need cures. I’ll work my way along the coast, perhaps buy passage on ships.”

“Most likely you’ll meet some lucky man, have lots of pretty children and forget all about The Gull.”

She grimaced. “Hmph! I’ve had enough of foolish romance.”

He chuckled. “Have you, then?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. As the tarn turned between two smaller hills and the buildings of Dufin came into sight, Emerahl shifted into a more comfortable position.

“So tell me some of these stories about The Gull,” she prompted.

Marin, as she’d guessed, was happy to oblige.


Auraya leaned against the window frame and looked down. The Temple grounds were striped and patched with the long shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. Where the rays touched the gardens they set bright drifts of autumn leaves glowing. Juran, as First of the White, occupied the rooms of the Tower’s topmost floor. The view was little different to her own, the extra height only giving a slightly greater vista.

“Try this,” Juran murmured.

She turned away and accepted a goblet from Juran. Inside was a pale yellow liquid. As she sipped a familiar tartness filled her mouth, followed by the flavor of spices.

“It tastes a little like Teepi,” she said.

Juran nodded. “It is made from the berries of the same tree the Siyee use to make Teepi. When the first Toren settlers entered Si, the Siyee treated them as visitors. The Toren took particular interest in Teepi, and learned to make a stronger version of their own.”

As he handed the other White glasses of the drink, they each took a sip. Dyara grimaced, Mairae smiled, and Rian, who had no liking for intoxicating drinks, shrugged and set the glass aside.

“It’s simpler,” Auraya said. “There’s no flavor of nuts or wood.”

“They brew it in bottles, not barrels. Which is just as well. Wood is scarce in Toren.”

“So they plan to continue making it?”

“Yes. One of the more enterprising of the settlers took a few bottles to Aime. The wealthy have acquired a taste for it, and since there’s not much about it is selling for a high price. Many of the settlers brought cuttings and saplings of the tree back with them, which are also selling for a high price.”

“Good. Many of these Torens ordered to leave Si have left nearly all their assets behind them. This trade will ease the trials of displacement,” Dyara said quietly.

“And end any opportunity of the Siyee selling Teepi to the Toren,” Auraya added.

“It is not the same drink,” Juran said. “The Torens may come to like Siyee Teepi too. There is a demand here that the Siyee could still take advantage of.”

Auraya nodded slowly as she began to consider how she might suggest this idea to the Siyee, but something caught her attention and suddenly she was aware of the magic about her. A familiar presence drew close and she felt an equally familiar anxiety returning.

:Good evening, Auraya.

:Chaia.

:Why so anxious!

:You distract me—sometimes at the least convenient moment, she confessed. As soon as her mind formed the words, she felt ashamed and apologetic. A bubbling wave of amusement came from Chaia, but it did nothing to dispel her unease.

:Do not fear to think, Auraya. Your reaction is spontaneous, so how can I be offended by it? I prefer you to treat me like a mortal companion. Or one of your fellow White.

:But you‘re not. You’re a god.

:That is true. You will have to learn to trust me. You are free to be angry with me. Free to question my will. Free to argue. I want you to argue with me.

And he wants more than that, she thought.

This time she felt herself flush with embarrassment, and she turned back to the window to hide her reaction from the other White. There was no hiding from Chaia, however. Another wave of amusement washed over her.

:That is also true. I like you, Auraya. I’ve been watching you for a long, long time. I have been waiting until you had grown enough that I could tell you without causing you distress.

This isn’t causing me distress? she thought wryly. She remembered the kisses she’d evaded. For a being that had no physical form, he could be surprisingly sensual. He often drew close to her as if to compensate for his lack of body. His touch was the touch of magic, yet it was not an unpleasant sensation.

It’s not causing me as much distress as it ought to, she thought. I should just admit to myself that I miss Leiard. Not just his company, but the… nights. Sometimes it is so tempting to let Chaia have his way.

She suddenly felt intensely uncomfortable. How could she feel desire for, of all things, a god! It was wrong.

:Don’t I get to decide what is right or wrong? Chaia asked.

She felt a tingling along the side of her face and caught her breath. It was a brief touch. She sensed his attention shift abruptly.

:I must go, he said.

The luminous presence flashed away. She had an impression of incredible speed, leaving her with no doubt that he could cross Ithania in a heartbeat.

“Auraya!”

She jumped and turned to look at Juran. To her surprise the others had gone. They had left, and she hadn’t even noticed.

Juran stared at her, clearly annoyed. She grimaced in apology and his expression softened.

“What is going on, Auraya?” he asked quietly. “Your attention has been straying of late, even during important meetings. It is not like you.”

She stared back at him, unsure what to say. I could make up some excuse. It would have to be a good one, though.

Only something important could justify how I’ve been lately. As the silence between them lengthened she realized she could not think of an excuse good enough—except the truth.

Still, she hesitated. Would Chaia want Juran to know he spoke to her all the time?

:Chaia?

As she expected, there was no answer. The god was nowhere near. Juran watched her expectantly.

He never said I should not tell Juran, she thought. She took a deep breath.

“It’s Chaia,” she murmured. “He talks to me. Sometimes at… inconvenient times.”

Juran’s eyebrows rose. “Since when? And how often?”

She thought back. “Two months, and at least once a day.”

“What about?”

He looked annoyed. She was not surprised. He was the leader of the White. If Chaia was going to favor anyone with daily visits, surely it ought to be Juran.

“Nothing important,” she said hastily. “Just… conversation.” As Juran frowned, she realized this had not helped. It sounded too evasive. “He advises me on the hospice,” she added.

Juran nodded slowly and she was relieved to see he was mollified by this. “I see. That would make sense. What else?”

She shrugged. “Just friendly conversation. I think… I think he’s trying to get to know me. He had over a hundred years to get to know you. Even Mairae’s been around for twenty-six. I’ve only been here a short time.”

“That’s true.” Juran nodded and his shoulders relaxed. “Well. That is a revelation. What you didn’t hear me say was that a trio of Siyee have been sighted flying toward the Tower. The others have gone up to the roof to greet them.”

Auraya felt her heartbeat quicken. “Siyee? They would not fly this far without good reason.”

He smiled. “Let’s go up and find out what it is.”

It was only a short climb up the stairs to the roof. The sun now hung just above the horizon. Auraya looked beyond the other White and scanned the sky. Three figures were gliding toward the Tower.

The White were silent as the winged trio drew near. Two of the Siyee were middle-aged, Auraya saw. The other was a little younger and wore a patch over one eye. The Siyee formed a line and landed in unison. The younger man stumbled, but caught his balance. They were clearly exhausted.

Three pairs of eyes fixed upon Auraya. She glanced at Juran, who nodded. Smiling, she stepped forward to greet the arrivals.

“Welcome, people of the sky. I am Auraya of the White.” She indicated each of her fellow White, introducing them. The Siyee with the eye patch made the sign of the circle.

“Thank you for your welcome, Chosen of the Gods,” the man replied. “I am Niril of the Sun Ridge tribe. My companions are Dyni and Ayliss of the Bald Mountain tribe. We have volunteered to remain here in Jarime as representatives of our people.”

“We will be honored to have you among us,” she replied. “You must be tired from your journey. I will escort you to rooms where you can rest, if you wish.”

Niril inclined his head. “We would be grateful for that. First I have news that the Speakers are anxious for me to deliver. Ten days ago a black ship was seen off the coast of southern Si. The Siyee who investigated sighted several groups of Pentadrian men and women disembark and travel inland. They saw the star pendant on some of the Pentadrians’ chests, and they saw birds.”

Auraya felt a chill run down her back. The Siyee had lost too many fighters in the war. Did the Pentadrians know this? Did they think the Siyee vulnerable?

“That is bad news,” she acknowledged. “But it is fortunate your people saw them arrive. That gives us time.” She glanced at Juran and the other White. “We will decide what can be done about it.”

“Yes,” Juran agreed. “We will meet at the Altar. Auraya will take you to your rooms first. We will discuss our conclusions with you when you are rested.”

Niril nodded, his shoulders dropping with weariness. Auraya smiled in sympathy and beckoned.

“Come with me.”