Last of the Wilds

27



“Tarn Genrian!” Devlein Wheelmaker shouted. “You can’t do this to me!”

“You may be Genrian,” Reivan replied calmly, “but while you live in Avven you must live by our laws. You have resided here long enough to know we forbid the enslavement of any but criminals.”

“She isn’t human,” he insisted. “She’s an animal—a creature of the sea. You only have to look at her to see that.”

She stared back at him. “You have only to speak to her to know she is human. And what a tale she tells about you.” She shook her head sadly. “It is you I’d describe as inhuman.”

A cry of rage broke from him. He lunged forward. Reivan flinched backward, but his groping hands never reached her. They met an invisible barrier.

Magic. Reivan looked at Servant Kikarn. His disapproving expression softened as he met her eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. Recovering from her surprise, she nodded in gratitude.

“You can’t make me a slave!” Devlein bellowed. “My family has links with the noble houses in Genria!”

“Send in Servant Grenara,” she ordered.

The Sanctuary slave-keeper was small in stature, but every step and gesture suggested he was a man who was used to being obeyed. He made the sign of the star to Reivan and Kikarn then turned his attention to Devlein, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the merchant.

“Come with me, Devlein Wheelmaker.”

Devlein glared at the man. “If you think I’m going to just follow you out of here like a mindless arem you’re… you’re…”

The man shrugged. “That is up to you. Some accept it with dignity, others have to be tied up and dragged.”

At the word “dragged,” Devlem’s angry glare faltered. He took a step back from the slave-keeper, then straightened his back and stalked out of the room. Grenara followed him out.

When the door had closed, Reivan let out a long sigh.

“Thank you, Servant Kikarn,” she said.

He looked at her in mock puzzlement. “For what, Servant Reivan?”

She smiled. It seems I’ve earned myself an ally here.

“That’s more than enough work for today. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Kikarn inclined his head and made the sign of the star. Leaving him to tidy the room, she left by the second door.

The corridors of the Lower Sanctuary were all but empty. Most of the Servants had retired for the evening. Though Reivan longed for rest she did not head toward her rooms.

Several corridors and stairs later she reached the Upper Sanctuary. Torches lit the way to the main courtyard. Emerging into the night air, Reivan paused to muse at the sight before her. In the center of the yard, where a fountain cooled the air during the day, a large tent now stood. Lamps inside the tent cast the shadows of a woman and child on the cloth walls. Voices within formed strange, highly pitched incomprehensible words. Reivan moved to the tent flap.

“May I come in?” she called.

“Yes,” Imenja replied. “We were just talking about Imi’s home. It sounds like a fascinating place.”

Reivan pushed aside the door flap and stepped inside. The Elai child was resting her elbows atop the wall of the fountain, which was now full of sea water carried up by slaves. Her skin looked even darker in the lamplight. When Reivan recollected the drawings of sea folk in the Thinkers’ books she was amazed at their inaccuracies. This child had no fish tail or flowing locks of hair. She was completely hairless and had a pair of normal legs.

Almost normal, Reivan corrected. Imi’s hands and feet were disproportionately large, and between her fingers and toes was a thick webbing. Other distortions in the girl’s body suggested further differences. Her chest was broad for a child. Reivan would not have been surprised to learn that the Elai had much larger lungs than normal humans.

The artists who had drawn such fanciful illustrations would have been disappointed by Imi. All in all, the distortions and hairlessness did not make for an attractive race. Not even the pretty tunic she now wore could hide that. As the girl smiled, displaying slightly pointed white teem, Reivan had to suppress a shudder.

“Reivan,” Imi said, speaking slowly.

“Imi,” Reivan replied. “How are you feeling?”

Imenja translated. The girl glanced at her peeling skin and a look of sadness clouded her face as she replied.

“She is feeling stronger,” Imenja told Reivan. “She has certainly been through a lot. Captured by fishermen then by pirates, both who made her work for them. Then she was sold to the merchant—is it done?”

“Yes. He claims she is an animal, so he wasn’t breaking any law. He left with the slave-keeper.”

“Good. Stupidity is no excuse for cruelty. None of her captors attempted to talk to her. They fed her only raw fish and left her to dry out. The Elai—”

Imi said something. Imenja smiled and spoke to the girl, then turned back to Reivan.

“The Elai need to spend some time in salt water each day. They eat a variety of food, like we do. Not just produce from the sea.” She paused. “You’ll never guess who she is.”

Reivan chuckled. “No, I’d say that’s unlikely.”

Imenja turned back to regard Imi. “She is the daughter of the Elai king.”

Surprised, Reivan looked down at the child. The girl smiled uncertainly.

“How did she come to be captured by humans?”

“She slipped away from her guardian to go looking for a gift for her father.”

“Does he know she was captured?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What is certain is that he won’t be the only Elai celebrating when she is returned to her people.”

“Unless her capture was arranged by his enemies.”

Imenja frowned. “That is possible.”

“You’ll have to be careful when you return her.”

“Me?” Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Why do you think I’ll be taking her home?”

“Because she is a king’s daughter. She was sold to someone living in our land. If she returns and tells her story, we will be blamed in part for her ordeal unless a great demonstration of apology is made. And,” Reivan smiled, “because the Elai were never involved in the war, there is no lingering resentment barring you from introducing them to the Five.”

Imenja stared at Reivan in surprise and approval. “You’re right.” She looked at Imi and smiled. “I should take her back myself. And you will have to come with me. I’ll have to convince Nekaun, of course, but the possibility of gaining an ally will probably sway him. If we are successful nobody will dare object if I make you my Companion.”

Imi stared back at Imenja. She spoke, her strange words forming a question. Imenja’s reply brought a relieved smile to her face.

“She is tired,” Imenja said. “We should let her rest.” She spoke a farewell to the child, then rose and led Reivan out of the tent.

“I will speak to Nekaun now. You may as well go to bed. If he agrees you’ll have a sea voyage to organize for us in the morning.”

“More work!” Reivan groaned, pretending to be dismayed by the prospect. The Second Voice laughed and shooed her away. Smiling, Reivan started toward her rooms.

I’m going to see the land of the Elai, she found herself thinking. The Thinkers are going to be so jealous!

* * *

Mirar took a deep breath and jumped off the platform. For a fraction of a heartbeat he dropped downward, then he felt the rope about his chest and back tighten and take his weight. The thicker rope that his sling was attached to flexed, bouncing him up and down. When it had stopped moving he began to pull himself along it.

Hanging ropes between platforms had been Tyve’s idea. The boy’s impatience at the time it took for Mirar to climb down from one platform and up to another had led him to consider several ideas for transporting a landwalker between trees quickly. His first idea had been to have several Siyee fly across, carrying Mirar in a net, but he’d realized how implausible it was when he discovered how much Mirar weighed.

The boy had been determined to find a way. He’d kept muttering things like “Tryss could do it” and “What would Tryss do?” Tryss—the Siyee who had invented the hunting harness—appeared to be Tyve’s hero and inspiration.

Ropes had been hung between most of the trees now. Making them had kept the healthier Siyee, confined to their platforms, occupied. Tyve was the only one Mirar allowed to move about, and then under strict instructions to neither touch others nor come close enough to risk breathing in the infected air exhaled from their lungs.

Not that it would have made much difference. Most of the Siyee were now ill.

None had died so far. Speaker Veece had come closest, but Mirar had brought him back from near death with magical healing. The old man’s body was still disinclined to fight the disease, however. This left Mirar with a dilemma.

It was better for the patient if his or her body learned to fight the disease. Mirar could use magic to ease the symptoms and give the patient strength, but he was always reluctant to use it to expel the disease itself. If he did, the patient was vulnerable to catching the disease again. In a village where the disease was spreading so easily, that was a likely fate. If a patient’s body was incapable of learning to fight the disease, magical expulsion and then isolation was the only option. Mirar would do it, if he must, but only as a last resort.

He was nearing the other end of the rope now. Lamplight illuminated a small platform supporting a single bower. The previous platform had been larger, and sat a little higher than this one. As Mirar reached it, he found himself hanging just above the wooden floor. He raised his arms and let himself slip out of the loop.

At the thump of his landing a child rushed out of the bower. She stared at him, then grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

A woman lay on a mat on the floor, her eyes closed. Tyve was sitting beside her, holding her hand. A bowl of water steamed nearby, its surface swirling with oil. The sweet, crisp smell of brei essence filled the air.

“How is she?” Mirar asked.

“Her breathing is doubled,” Tyve said. “It sounds a little bubbly. Her fingers are cold and her lips are starting to turn blue. I’ve given her some mallin.”

He’s learning fast, Leiard noted.

Mirar could not help smiling, but he quickly smoothed his expression as Tyve looked up at him.

“I know you said not to touch anyone, but she took my hand. I didn’t mean it to happen. When it did, it was too late already.”

Mirar nodded. “Compassion is a strength in a healer, never a weakness.” He looked pointedly at the child holding his arm. “Just remember to wash your hands.”

He extracted himself from the child’s grip and kneeled beside the woman. Placing his hand on her brow, he slipped into a healing trance and sent his mind out into her body.

Her body was fighting it, he saw with relief. She just needed a little help. Drawing magic, he used it to ease some of the inflammation in the lungs and encourage the heart to beat faster in order to send more blood to her extremities.

Though her body was fighting the disease, he could not guess whether it would have won without his help. Hearteater did not have such a devastating effect on landwalkers. Was it a stronger version of the disease? If it was, landwalkers would face a terrible plague if it spread beyond Si. The Siyee could be more vulnerable to Hearteater, however. The disease had spread through land walkers’ lands before, but this might be the first time the Siyee had encountered it. Did that mean a race of people could become used to a disease?

It was an interesting idea, but not one that bode well for the Siyee.

He drew his mind from the Siyee woman’s body. She was breathing easier now and her face was no longer pale. Tyve caressed her hand.

“Her fingers are warm,” he said, looking up at Mirar in wonder. “How do you do that? It’s… it’s…” He shook his head. “I’d do anything to be able to do that.”

Mirar smiled crookedly. “Anything?”

Tyve glanced at the woman and nodded. “Yes,” he said.

Here we go again, Mirar thought, remembering similar moments over the centuries. Young men or women caught up in the wonder of helping save lives. Later, when the elation died and he told them what the life of a Dreamweaver involved, most changed their minds.

If Tyve doesn’t, will you teach him? Leiard asked.

There’s not much else to do here, Mirar replied. It’ll keep me occupied while I’m trying to stay away from the White.

What about Jayim?

Mirar winced as he thought of the boy Leiard had begun training in Jarime.

Arleej will have arranged for someone to finish the job. I certainly can’t do it.

No, but if you are forced to abandon this boy’s training you cannot rely on Arleej to take over, Leiard pointed out.

I could. Arleej might not like it much, but I could send Tyve to Somrey. She might curse me for giving her another student, but she will recognize the advantages of having Siyee Dreamweavers.

The White won’t like that much, Leiard warned. If the gods hear that a Dreamweaver is training a Siyee, they will investigate. They will realize that Tyve is being trained by someone whose mind they can’t see, and grow suspicious about your identity.

Mirar considered. Should Tyve decide to become a Dreamweaver he will have to understand and accept that it must be a secret, and that I may be forced to send him to Somrey to complete his training.

Where it would no longer need to be concealed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like the White to discover that while they were making themselves the first Siyee priests and priestesses, you were making the first Siyee Dreamweaver.

It would be satisfying, Mirar admitted.

“Wilar?”

He looked up at Tyve.

“What do I have to do?” the boy asked.

Mirar smiled. “I will tell you, but not now. We must continue with our work.”

Tyve nodded. He looked at the girl child, who was sitting cross-legged to one side.

“She is showing the first signs. What should we do?”

Looking at the girl, Mirar beckoned.

“Come here, little one. What is your name?”