Last of the Wilds

45



Every night since Emerahl had entered the swamp, the local people had passed on a message to her. First there had been “follow the blood of the earth.” That had been obvious, since the red mud that stained some of the tributaries could hardly be missed. Once all the water was the same color “head for the flat mountain” had kept her moving in the same direction. Not that she could go in a straight line. She had to wind between islands as small as waterlogged tussocks to large hillocks of solid ground, at the same time avoiding water too shallow for her boat to cross. This morning she had been struggling to “fight the fastest current,” which, to her relief, followed a channel more than deep enough for her boat to move along without its hull scraping through mud.

Once the ground had become solid enough to support more than tussocky grass, the vegetation had grown tall, lush and dense. Trees grew thin and high, and creepers roped them loosely together. When they reached heights too ambitious for the sodden soil they slumped against each other or toppled completely, their enormous root systems flaring out of the soggy ground.

Imposing spires of rock occasionally appeared. Some were broad, some thin, and all were draped with vegetation. Once she had passed a spire that had fallen against its neighbor. The top half of the gap between them had been filled with the web of a spider the size of her hand.

It was beautiful and yet utterly inhospitable.

And there are no signs of caves, Emerahl thought. There’s just not enough rock around. I guess I have a long way to go.

Even as the thought passed through her mind she saw that she was wrong. The river had turned and before her was a wall of rock barely higher than the trees. At the base of it the water had washed out shallow hollows—none large enough to be a cave, but there was potential for it.

Her heart began to beat a little faster. The river continued to follow this low cliff. She resisted the temptation to push the boat at a greater speed. There were still snags and shallows hidden beneath the opaque red water.

The wall undulated, luring the river into a winding path. After over an hour of following its twists and turns, she rounded a corner and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

The river widened ahead, forming a large pool before a latticework of hollows and caves. Ripples in the surface of the pool revealed the path of the current she was following. It led directly to a larger cave entrance. Emerahl followed it. Just before she reached the cave she glanced up at the sky and smiled grimly to herself.

Caves. Why do we immortals always end up in caves?

The muted light of the swamp forest quickly faded. Emerahl created a spark of light and sent it before her. The roof of the cave dropped until it was so low the mast would have scraped it, had she not taken it down the previous day to stop it tangling in overhanging vines. Her light revealed openings to either side leading into a maze of natural, half-drowned rooms and passages.

She followed the current deeper into the wall of rock. There were no turns, just the constant ripple of water. The air was heavy with moisture and the silence was intense.

Suddenly the roof ahead curved up out of the reach of her light, and walls and columns on either side ended. She slowed and approached this void cautiously, brightening her light until it revealed a large cavern. Only the ripples from her boat’s passage disturbed the still water. The roof was a smooth dome. At the far side she could see a ledge just above the level of the water.

And on the ledge stood a large pottery pitcher.

I guess that’s where I’m supposed to disembark, she thought.

She directed the boat to the ledge, grabbed the mooring line and stepped off. The pitcher was full of clear water. Emerahl looked around. There were two cave entrances nearby. Above the larger one was a symbol—two small circles joined with a line.

Feeling a tug on the mooring line, Emerahl turned to see that her boat was drifting away in the current. Casting about, she realized there was nothing to tie the line to. She looked down at the pitcher, looped the line around it and stepped back, ready to grab it if the pot began to move. The line pulled tight, but the pitcher remained standing. Emerahl nudged it. It seemed secure enough. Stepping away, she approached the cave marked by the symbol. She moved her light through. It illuminated a small room beyond.

The room was round. The walls were painted in an elaborate pattern of dots. Another pitcher full of water stood in the center. From the ceiling moisture dripped into the vessel.

“Who are you?”

The voice spoke in a whisper, in a long-dead language, and she could not judge what direction it had come from. It sounded as if two people had spoken, but that might just be an echo effect of the room.

Emerahl considered what name to give. “I am…” They might not know her real name, she realized suddenly. “I am The Hag.”

“Why are you here?”

“To meet you,” she replied.

“Then drink and be welcome.”

Emerahl regarded the pitcher suspiciously. The water was so clear she could see the base of the pot inside. Was there anything here to fear? Surely The Gull would not send her into a trap. No, she was just being her usual overcautious self. The invitation was probably a ritual of good manners. Dipping a hand in the water, she lifted some to her lips and sipped.

Immediately her mouth began to burn. She gasped and backed away, as if that would stop the pain. The sensation began to spread. She touched her face again, alarmed to find that it was swelling rapidly.

“What…?” she tried to say, but her swollen lips could not form words.

The Gull said his friend would ignore me if he or she didn’t want to meet me, not kill me! Why would he…? Why would they…?

Shut up, she told herself. You’ve been poisoned! Deal with it.

Backing out of the room, she staggered to her boat and collapsed into it. A lethargy was spreading through her body. She had no strength left to cut the mooring line.

Closing her eyes, she sent her mind inward.

The poison’s effect was spreading from her mouth, throat and stomach. She halted its progress by blocking the pathways it was taking. Pushing as much as possible back into her throat, she forced it and the liquids it had mingled with out.

Spitting it out, she sent her mind after poison that had managed to contaminate her blood. A burning sensation led her mind through organs and limbs. She saw that it was too dilute to do much damage. Speeding her heart, she filtered the poison out through the waste organs, gathering it into a little droplet, which she guided out of her body.

Taking three deep breaths, she opened her eyes and sat up.

“Congratulations, Emerahl the Hag. You passed the test,” a female voice said.

“Surely you could have come up with something a little more… polite,” Emerahl replied, scowling.

A laugh echoed through the cavern. Male and young. So there are two of them, she mused. The voice held no malice, but plenty of irony. She still could not judge where it had come from.

“If we could have, we would have,” the man replied. “Please forgive us, Emerahl. We had to be sure you were who you said you were?”

Emerahl rose and stepped out of the boat. “I’d have preferred a riddle.”

The man laughed again. “Would you? I find them annoying and pretentious.”

She looked around. “I don’t even know who you are, though I have a few ideas. How am I to test you?”

“Come through the other cave,” a woman replied.

Emerahl moved to the entrance and paused.

“Don’t worry. We do not have any more tests for you.”

Even so, Emerahl kept her barrier strong as she stepped into the room beyond. It was empty. An irregular stairway led upward. She climbed slowly.

She emerged in the center of a large cavern. The floor was uneven, and there were holes here and there. On some of the higher levels cushions had been arranged, woven in bright colors. Alcoves had been carved into the walls, holding a variety of homely objects including reed baskets, pottery bowls and wooden statues. There was even a vase of flowers.

“Welcome, Emerahl. Or do you prefer The Hag?” a woman said from behind her.

Emerahl turned. A man and a woman sat within two alcoves on the back wall, both pale-haired, handsome and simply dressed. They were so alike they had to be related, confirming her suspicions about their identity.

“You are The Twins,” she said.

The man grinned broadly, while the woman’s smile was dignified and almost shy. The sides of their faces wrinkled, drawing Emerahl’s attention to scars that ran down their faces, necks and shoulders.

Scars? If they are immortals, they should not have scars.

Then she noticed that the scars, on the woman’s left side, matched those of the man’s, on his right side, and a wave of realization swept over Emerahl. These two had once been joined. The scars were deliberate, perhaps a reminder of their former union.

“We are,” the woman replied. “I am Tamun.”

“And I am Surim.”

“Sun and Moon,” Emerahl translated. “In ancient Velian.”

“Yes. Our parents thought it might bring luck.”

“Did it?”

The pair exchanged a glance, then Surim shrugged. “We grew to be unexpectedly Gifted. Some consider that lucky.”

“Somewhat,” Tamun agreed, smiling faintly. She looked at Emerahl and grew serious. “Are we forgiven for our little test? There are some tests only an immortal can pass, and we needed to be sure.”

Emerahl spread her hands. “I guess I might have done the same, if I feared deception.”

Tamun nodded. “We have heard reports of you from time to time over the centuries. Despite our rude welcome, we have been looking forward to meeting you.”

“And I you,” Emerahl replied. “It is odd that we should have lived so long, yet never encountered each other before.”

Surim shrugged. “It is not wise to flaunt one’s immortality, especially in this age. If we immortals all have one common trait, it is keeping to ourselves.”

Emerahl nodded. “And yet I have felt compelled to seek other immortals.”

“Paradoxically, it is the increased threat to our lives in this age that motivates us to seek our own company,” Tamun said.

“And support,” Surim added.

“So you, too, have sought out other Wilds?” Emerahl asked.

Tamun’s nose wrinkled. “Wilds. That is what the gods call us. We called ourselves immortals before, and so we should now.”

“Yes,” Surim said in answer to Emerald’s question. “We have.” He rose and walked to Emerahl. Taking her hands, he smiled warmly and gazed into her eyes. “We’ve been isolated from the world too long. We crave company.”

“For the last hundred years we have watched the world through the minds of mortals, but that is not as satisfying as walking among them,” Tamun agreed, standing up and stretching.

“Come sit down,” Surim said, drawing Emerahl across the room. He led her to a pile of cushions. Tamun settled down next to Emerahl. She drew a small loom close to her and began weaving, her fingers moving with the sure deftness of someone who had been practicing a skill for a long time.

“I always wondered what it was that you two did,” Emerahl told him. “The reports I heard suggested you were prophets. Like The Seer.”

Surim laughed.

“We never claimed to be able to see or predict the future,” Tamun said. “Not as The Seer did. She couldn’t, you know. She just used her mind-reading skills to learn what a person wanted to hear, then gave them ambiguous answers.”

“She wrote the most appalling poetry and called it prophecy,” Surim added, gesturing dismissively. “All this nonsense about lost heirs and magical swords. We all know swords can’t be magical.”

“Unless they’re made of the wood of a welcome tree,” Tamun pointed out. “Or black coral.”

“Which makes them utterly useless as a physical weapon.” Surim looked at Emerahl and smiled. “Ignore us, dear. We have been arguing like this for most of a millennia. Now, tell us about yourself, and the world. The Gull keeps us informed, but he hears only rumors and gossip. You have seen recent events with your own eyes.”

Sitting down, Emerahl chuckled to herself. “No doubt The Gull told you. I have seen a few things. And not of my choosing.”

And she began to relate how a priest had driven her from her lighthouse over a year before.


Auraya paced the bower.

For the last few weeks she had flown about Si to all the villages suffering from Hearteater. In each place she had ordered three bowers to be built, as Mirar had done at the Blue Lake tribe. She had taught Siyee in each village how to prepare cures and how to judge when a patient probably needed magical help in overcoming the disease. Now, whenever she visited a village, she could attend to those who needed her most before flying on to the next village.

But Juran had contacted her this morning to tell her the gods would be delivering their judgment later that day at the Altar. It had forced her to remain in her bower for hours, knowing that sick Siyee needed her help and at the same time giving her nothing to distract herself with. Suddenly she realized she was wringing her hands, as her mother used to do when anxious. She threw her hands apart and sighed in exasperation.

Oh! Enough waiting! I wish the gods would announce their decision and be done with it!

Her stomach fluttered as she paced the room. She remembered Chaia’s words: Know that you have made an enemy of one of the gods. One of the gods. Not two. Of all the gods, she had given Huan and Chaia most reason to dislike her. Was disobeying Huan likely to make her an enemy? Probably. Was spurning Chaia’s love likely to? Possibly.

She had considered the revelation that the gods did not agree about her fate many times. What side had each god taken? Chaia had hinted that Huan was the most angered by her refusal. What did the other gods think?

Auraya?

Her stomach clenched as she recognized Juran’s mental voice.

:Juran? Is it time?

:Yes. Mairae and I are at the Altar.

She nodded, forgetting that he could not see her, and moved to a chair. As she sat down Mischief scrambled out of his basket and climbed down the wall of the bower. He curled up in her lap. Now that the weather was growing chilly he was constantly taking advantage of any warm body that remained still for more than a few moments.

Concentrating on Juran’s mind, she closed her eyes and let what he was seeing reach her. He was in the Altar. The walls had folded up. Mairae was in her seat. Auraya sensed Dyara and Rian link with Juran. When all were ready, Juran began the short ritual.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. Once again, we thank you for the peace you brought to Ithania, and the Gifts that you have given us. We thank you for your wisdom and guidance.”

“We thank you,” Mairae murmured. Auraya heard Dyara and Rian speak the words mentally and said them herself.

“You have indicated that you are ready to deliver judgment for Auraya’s refusal to execute Mirar. Please appear and be welcome among your humble servants.”

“Guide us.”

From Juran’s viewpoint Auraya saw four patches of air around the room begin to glow. The lights slowly took shape, forming the figures of Huan, Lore, Yranna and Saru. She wondered where Chaia was, then Juran turned his head and she saw that the god was standing at Juran’s right.

:Juran, Dyara, Rian, Mairae and Auraya, Chaia said. We have chosen you to represent us and act on our behalf in the world of mortals. Until now we have been satisfied with your work.

:We have taken care to give you only those tasks you are capable of, Yranna added. She looked at Juran. Once, long ago, we were forced to ask one of you to act against his heart. Recently we had no choice but to ask the same of one of you again.

:Only this time, the task was left unfulfilled, Lore rumbled.

:Twice we ordered for it to be done; twice we were denied, Saru said.

Huan’s gaze met Juran’s and Auraya shivered as she realized the goddess was not looking at Juran, but at her. She felt herself trembling. Fear ate away at her resolve. How could she pit herself against the will of the gods, who she had always adored?

How can I worship beings that can so easily throw away the laws and justice they established?

:We acknowledge that Auraya is new to her responsibilities, Huan said, but her inexperience should be no encumbrance to her ability to carry out her duties. Some of you believe that the task we gave her was unsuited to her character. We expect you all to perform unpleasant tasks when needed.

:Auraya believes our decision unjust, Lore said. We laid judgment upon Mirar a century ago and that judgment has not changed.

Auraya resisted the urge to protest. He has changed, she thought. He is not the same person.

:Time, even a century hiding behind another identity, does not negate the crimes he has committed in the past, Huan said.

They were crimes too minor to justify the punishment of execution, she thought. But she stayed silent. The gods knew her mind. There was no point speaking out.

:Auraya demands justice for the sake of her own conscience, Saru added. You cannot do this every time we ask you to execute a criminal.

:You must trust us at times like these, Yranna said softly. When the need is urgent and the justice in our actions difficult to see.

Huan’s gaze shifted upward and Auraya guessed she was looking at Chaia.

:We have decided that Auraya must return to Jarime, Chaia said. Was it her imagination, or did he sound weary and reluctant? She must not leave Jarime for a period often years, unless Northern Ithania is invaded and she is accompanied by her fellow White.

Chaia paused. Auraya waited for more.

:That is our judgment, Chaia finished.

Surprised, she let herself relax. That’s it? They did not take away my Gift of flight? I suppose ten years is a long time to be stuck in one place…

:Auraya must leave Si tomorrow and return to Jarime, Huan said.

Tomorrow? Auraya went cold.

:What of Hearteater? she found herself asking. Who will heal the Siyee when I am gone?

:They will have to deal with it themselves, Huan said. It kills only one in five. That is regrettable, but survivable.

Aghast, Auraya could not think of anything to say to that.

:Will you accept your punishment? the goddess asked.

Auraya felt ill. So many Siyee would die. All because of her.

:Auraya.

She dragged her attention back to the goddess.

:If I must. Yes, I will return to Jarime.

Huan nodded, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. Then, without another word, the gods vanished.


Etim stood straight and stiff before the king. In one hand he held his spear, in the other he grasped the mallet and chisel the Pentadrians had given him.

“What did they ask for in return?” the king asked.

“Nothing, sire,” Etim replied.

King Ais scowled. He turned to look at the young woman by his side, who had laid a hand on his arm. This must be the Princess Imi, Erim decided. She looked older than he had expected. It wasn’t just the adult clothes, but the maturity in her gaze as she smiled at her father.

“Imenja could probably have sunk that ship herself, father. She asked our warriors to do it to prove a point. We can fight them without great risk to ourselves.”

The king’s brows sank even lower. “Your priestess has forced us into a war. Once the raiders know we destroyed one of their ships, they will come here in force.”

They don’t know! Etim thought. But he couldn’t say that unless invited. Frustrated, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The king noticed the movement. He looked at Etim and narrowed his eyes.

“You disagree?” he asked, his voice dark with warning.

Etim decided it would be better to simply state the facts than offer an opinion.

“We left none alive. None to tell the tale.”

“None but the Pentadrians,” the king finished.

“They won’t,” Imi said. “But I want the raiders to hear about it. I want them to fear us. I want us to cut holes in their ships and the fish to feed on their bodies and the city to be enriched by their loot.” She smiled. “I want us to be respected by traders and feared by thieves. We can be that, with the Pentadrians’ help.”

The king stared at his daughter, but Etim could not tell if it was with amazement or dismay. After a moment the king looked away. He rubbed his chin, then looked up at Etim.

“What do you think of these Pentadrians, warrior?”

Etim considered how best to answer.

“I would prefer to be their friend rather than their enemy,” he replied honestly.

A faint smile touched the king’s face.

Imi chuckled. “That’s what I want people to think of us.”

“And in the meantime, we must trust these Pentadrian landwalkers,” the king replied sourly.

Imi shrugged. “Even they cannot stop us boring holes in the hulls of their ships.”

The king’s eyebrows rose. Etim might have been mistaken, but he thought he saw a spark of interest in the monarch’s eyes. Imi reached out and touched her father’s arm again.

“Did you consider my suggestion?” she asked quietly. “Did you list all the terms you would want in an alliance?”

“They will not agree to them,” he replied.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But you won’t know that until you ask them.”

The king looked at her, then drew in a deep breath and let it out. He looked up at Etim.

“Bring me the First Warrior.”

Wondering if he had just witnessed a great decisive moment in Elai history, Etim hurried from the room.