Last of the Wilds

48



“Ah, here he is,” Tamun said, looking away from her loom toward the cave entrance.

Emerahl turned to see Surim climbing the stairs. Around his neck was an enormous snake, its body as large as his thigh and so long he had draped it around his shoulders twice. He carried it to the side of the cave where they always prepared meals, and shrugged it off his shoulders.

He looked at Emerahl and grinned. “Dinner. We will have a fine feast tonight.”

Emerahl regarded the snake in horror.

“A fine and boring one, if that’s all you’ve brought us,” Tamun replied.

“I have more,” Surim said defensively. He reached into a woven bag that had been concealed by the snake and drew out several objects, all of plant origin, Emerahl noted with relief. She looked at the snake, lying motionless on the floor.

“Have you eaten takker before?” Surim asked.

Emerahl dragged her eyes from the reptile. “No.”

“They’re delicious,” he told her. “Rather like breem in texture, but slightly meatier in flavor.”

“You should have caught something more conventional,” Tamun said disapprovingly, her eyes not leaving her work. She glanced at Emerahl and smiled. “You don’t have to eat it. It took us a while to adapt to this place, but we’ve grown accustomed to some unusual additions to our diet. You are our guest, and,” her eyes narrowed as she turned to regard Surim, “should not be expected to eat such things.”

One of his eyebrows rose cheekily. “No, she should be treated with special generosity. Given the best. Rare delicacies like roasted takker, for example.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Emerahl said quickly, hoping to head off another endless argument. It wasn’t that their banter was hurtful, but it could and often did go on for hours. “And if I don’t like it, I’ll happily eat the vegetables instead.”

Surim smiled broadly. “Thank you, Emerahl. Or you might like to try this instead…”

From the bag he drew a spider at least twice the size of his hand.

“You are kidding me,” Emerahl found herself saying.

“He is,” Tamun growled. “Stop it, Surim.”

He pulled a face. “But it’s so much fun. I haven’t had anyone to play with for so long. Tricking someone as old as you isn’t easy.”

Emerahl looked at Tamun. “You’ve put up with this for how long?”

“Nearly two millennia,” she replied calmly. “You’d think after all this time he’d realize his pranks aren’t funny. It’s like being told the same joke over and over. Some would call it torture.”

“Being old doesn’t mean I have to lose my sense of humor,” he told her. “Unlike some people.”

“I’m amused by you every day,” she said dryly.

Emerahl shook her head. “You two never stop, do you?”

Surim grinned. “Not for a moment. Not even after we separated ourselves.”

The Twins paused to look at each other, their faces open and full of affection. Emerahl glanced from one to the other, wondering…

“A century ago,” Tamun said suddenly, turning to meet Emerahl’s eyes. Her expression was serious. “To escape the gods’ determination to rid the world of immortals.”

Emerahl stared at her in dismay. “Did you just…?”

“Read your mind? No.” Tamun shrugged and returned to her weaving. “But we know that expression well.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re not offended by your curiosity. Ask away.”

Emerahl nodded. “How did separating save you?”

“The gods, as you may already know, cannot easily affect the physical world,” Surim told her. He had dragged the snake up onto a table and was gutting it. “They must work through a mortal, preferably someone Gifted in magic.”

“So they need their priests and priestesses to do their work,” Tamun continued. “After Juran dealt with Mirar, he went after the rest of us. The Seer was easy to find…”

“Bet she didn’t predict that,” Surim muttered.

“… and The Farmer was taken by surprise. We learned of the gods’ orders too late to warn him. The only immortal we were able to warn was The Gull.”

“He is older than all of us,” Surim said, pausing in his work to meet Emerahl’s eyes. His expression was full of respect.

“His habit of moving about constantly, concealing his identity and appearing to be nothing more than a scrawny ship’s boy saved him.”

“And folk of the sea protect their own,” Tamun added.

“We, on the other hand, were both well-known and particularly recognizable. Of course we tried to hide—and succeeded for a while. Then the gods declared that people like us are ‘abominations’ and should be separated or killed at birth. All joined twins of all ages were taken to Jarime. Most attempts to separate them failed.”

“But there were a few successes,” Tamun said with deliberate brightness. “Or so we told people. The fact that we had been separated suggested that we’d been examined by Circlians and found acceptable, so we could not possibly be the famous Twins.”

Emerahl scowled. “Cursed gods.”

“Oh, don’t be angry on our behalf,” Tamun said, smiling. “We’d always meant to do it. We just didn’t have the courage. What if we didn’t like it? What if we couldn’t put ourselves together again?”

“We have no regrets,” Surim assured Emerahl. “And some good did come of the separations. Healer priests and priestesses are better at it now. More children survive.”

“But the ones they kill…” Tamun frowned and shook her head. “For that, I hate the gods.”

“Among other things,” Surim muttered.

Emerahl sighed. “I, too, though they have done no more to me than force me into hiding. I hate them more for what they did to Mirar.” Emerahl sighed. “If only we could be free of them.”

“Well, they can be killed,” Tamun said.

Emerahl turned to stare at the woman. Tamun shrugged. “Before the War of the Gods there were many gods; after it there were five.”

“Ten now,” Surim corrected.

Tamun ignored him. “So the question is: Is killing a god something only another god can do?”

“And if it is, can we persuade, bribe or blackmail a god to do it for us?” Surim chuckled. “Tell her about the scroll.”

“Ah, the scroll.” Tamun smiled. “Over the last century of skimming minds we’ve occasionally encountered rumors of a certain scroll. It is said to contain the story of the War of the Gods, told by a goddess to her last servant before she was killed.”

Emerahl felt her heart quicken. “Where is this scroll?”

“Nobody knows,” Surim said, his eyes widening theatrically.

“But certain scholars in Southern Ithania have collected hints and undertaken searches over the years. Of all people in the world, they would be the ones most likely to find it.”

“Unless someone else finds it first.”

Both Surim and Tamun turned to regard her, their faces both wearing the same expectant, meaningful expression. Emerahl laughed.

“When it comes to giving hints, you’re both as gentle as a Dunwayan war-hammer. You want me to find it.” She paused as a delicious smell caught her attention. “Is that takker I can smell cooking?”

Surim chortled. “It might just be.”

“Smells good.” She shifted into a more comfortable position and turned to Tamun. “So what else can you tell me about this scroll and the scholars of Southern Ithania?”

* * *

The island was farther out to sea than the islands of Borra. Several rocky islets had led the way, each reminding Reivan of tiny drowned mountains. Now, as the ship sailed into the sheltered lagoon the Elai king had chosen as their meeting place, Reivan suddenly realized they were sailing into a crater not unlike those she’d seen in Avven. These islands were drowned mountains. Like soldiers standing in lines, the great mountain range that divided Northern Ithania stretched not just from Dunway to Si, but into the ocean.

A narrow beach edged the lagoon. At the center stood a small crowd of dark figures.

“Imi is among them,” Imenja said.

Reivan smiled. “Good. I was hoping we’d see her again before we returned home. Even if just to make sure she’s safe and well.”

“We know she’s safe and well.”

“Yes, but I can’t read minds.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

Reivan chuckled. “Of course I do. But that’s not like seeing it for myself. It’s like someone telling you something tastes good, but not tasting it yourself.”

Imenja looked at Reivan sideways. “Like bulfish?”

Reivan decided she didn’t need to answer that. She nodded toward the beach.

“Is the king there?”

“Yes.”

“What does he make of all this?”

“He’s still suspicious of us, but he can see advantages. He’s pleased with himself for gaining the restrictions he wanted, too. And he’s both proud and a little scared of Imi.”

“Scared?”

“Yes. Her adventures have changed her. It’s hard for him to accept that his little girl came back all grown up. He’s the sort of man who doesn’t like change.” She paused. “There’s another with him. A priestess. She is wondering if the king will change the treaty in the way she suggested.”

“How?”

Imenja smiled. “She fears the Elai will be seduced by our gods, so she wants him to forbid us from teaching their ways.”

“What will you do?”

Imenja didn’t reply. The captain was approaching. He told Imenja the boat was ready. The Second Voice nodded and looked at Reivan.

“Do you have everything?”

In reply, Reivan lifted the oilskin bag she had packed with parchment, ink and various scribing tools.

“Then let’s go and make a little history.”

They climbed down into the boat. As soon as they had settled the crew began to row. Nobody spoke. When the hull scraped against sand the men jumped out and hauled the boat from the waves. Imenja and Reivan stepped out. The crew waited by the boat as they strode toward the Elai.

As on their previous meeting with him, the king stood within a ring of warriors. Imi waited beside him and an old woman stood at his other side. The stranger wore gold jewellery and fine clothes, and Reivan might have mistaken her for a queen if she hadn’t known Imi’s mother was dead. No, this must be the priestess. Another man stood a few steps behind the king. At his feet were two slabs of stone.

“Greetings, King Ais, ruler of Borra,” Imenja said.

“Welcome, Imenja, Second Voice,” the king replied.

Imenja turned to Imi. “Greetings, Princess Imi. How are you settling into your home and life again?”

Imi smiled. “Well, Second Voice.”

Imenja glanced at Reivan and smiled. “That is good. Now, shall we discuss the terms of our treaty?” she asked of the king.

He nodded. Reivan listened carefully as they began to examine the issues of warfare and trade. As they decided how to word each part of the treaty she wrote notes on small pieces of parchment with a gray stick. Each point was considered carefully and it took some time before the subject of religion came up.

“My people are content to follow Huan,” the king told them. “But we also understand that the new can be seductive, and that even small religious disagreements among a people can cause strife. I must also ask that you do not attempt to convert any Elai, neither by endeavoring to teach the ways of your gods, nor by granting any request for such lessons.”

“My people will keep their practices to themselves,” Imenja assured him.

Reivan managed to stop herself glancing at Imenja in surprise. She touched the pendant around her neck.

:If you agree to that, Nekaun will not see much value in this treaty.

:No, but he will see, in time, that the more forbidden something is, the more certain individuals will want it.

“I have my own restriction to place on this treaty,” Imenja said aloud.

The king’s eyebrows rose. “Yes?”

“Certain of my people at home have expressed concern that your people might seek to rob traders, either by waiting until raiders have attacked merchant ships before attacking the raiders themselves, or by attacking traders directly. I have assured them that you will not, but they want your promise on this.”

“They have my word that any of my warriors found to be indulging in such practices will be punished.”

Imenja bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Change ‘warrior’ to ‘Elai’ and specify the punishment and they will be satisfied. And also note that, if we discover your people have begun preying upon non-raiders in this manner, this treaty will be considered broken by my people.”

The king nodded. “That is reasonable.”

Imenja held his eyes. “I will learn of it,” she told him. “In the same way I learned that the merchant who bought Imi from the raiders was guilty, and your warriors were following my ship, and that there is a second entrance to your city, where watchers keep a lookout for raiders. What I cannot see with the Skills the gods have given me, they tell me of themselves. I will know if your people turn into thieves.”

The king’s frown slowly faded as he realized what she was saying. He turned to Imi, who suddenly looked a little frightened. The girl straightened.

“I told you she was a sorcerer,” Imi said to her father.

“But you didn’t know this,” he muttered.

She shook her head.

The king turned back to Imenja and narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you won’t return with more ships and take my city?”

Imenja smiled. “I have no interest in taking your city. Not only is it too great a distance from my home, but what use would an underground city the size of an Avven village be to us? I can see the value of trade, and of keeping these seas safe for it.

“We both have taken a risk in doing this,” she continued. “For you, it is trusting that we have no interest in harming your people. For us, it is that you won’t turn what we teach you to ill use. I think it worth the risk.”

The king nodded. “I had my doubts. I admit I still have them. But my people cannot remain as they are, and they are willing to take this risk.”

He turned to the man behind him. Reivan saw that one of the stone slabs was covered in Elai writing. “Bring them forth and we shall watch you carve our words into promises.” He looked at Imenja. “We will set down our treaty in both languages.”

“And in the manner of both peoples,” Imenja agreed. She glanced at Reivan. Nodding at the unspoken order, Reivan opened the oilskin bag and drew out parchment, ink and a board to write against.

“That will never survive the water,” the Elai scribe murmured.

Reivan smiled and drew out a message tube, oilskin wrapping, wax and a coil of rope. “Yes it will,” she assured him.

He looked unconvinced. With a shrug, Reivan settled cross-legged on the sand and began to write.


Between Mirar and the thin spread of trees at the edge of the forest was a smooth, steep blanket of snow. The easiest way to descend would be to cross back and forth, he decided. Going straight down would make it hard to keep his footing.

Would that be such a bad thing? he asked himself. It might be faster to slide. He looked at the trees below. Though smaller than those deep within the forest, their trunks were just as hard. Sliding out of control and in a flurry of snow, he might not get a clear view of his path. He might not see a tree in time to use magic to stop himself crashing into it.

Yes, he told himself. That would be a bad thing.

Looking back up at the mountain, he sighed. Few times in his long life had he ventured into such high, inhospitable places, and always in the company of others. The views had been breathtaking, but the way had been treacherous in places. It had taken mere brute magical force to get out of the buried cave, but avoiding falling into snow-covered crevasses had been a much greater challenge.

Starting out across the open slope, he moved slowly. The snow was lightly packed but not deep. It cascaded down the slope at each step. Halfway across, he paused to look around.

After a moment he realized he was still moving. The whole slope was moving.

His heart skipped a beat then began to race. The smooth surface began to ruck and ripple. The instinct to flee turned him around and sent him hurrying back, but his path was all but obscured as snow above it folded over the snow below.

It tangled his legs. He struggled to stay upright and failed. As he landed on his side and began to slide, snow swept over him like breaking waves.

Don’t panic, he told himself. It’ll just carry me to the bottom. The only danger is suffocation and those trees below.

Drawing magic, he surrounded himself with a barrier, adding extra space around his face so he could breathe. He felt himself hurtling downward. Then his descent abruptly slowed and he stopped. Snow covered him. The weight of it against his barrier grew.

I’m being buried.

Memories of being crushed flashed into his mind. From somewhere deep within a terror began to rise. He fought it, forcing himself to breathe slowly. The pressure on his barrier felt powerful enough to crush him. If he lost concentration for one moment the barrier would fall and…

Why not let it?

A numbness began to replace fear.

Why not let go of this life? Find out what’s beyond. The gods’ servants might find and kill you in a few weeks, when you reach the coast. Why let them do the deed? Die here and deny them the satisfaction. Imagine how they will always wonder where you got to…

The cold of the snow was nothing compared to this empty despair.

What’s there to live for? My people are dwindling, and I can’t let them know me without endangering their lives. The woman I love is as far from my reach as any could be. This is the Age of the Five, and I have no place in it. I should just…

“Stop being so bloody melodramatic,” he said aloud.

Closing his eyes, he pulled a great stream of magic into himself, then channelled it. There was a dull boom. The whiteness above him flew upward and fragmented to all sides. As it pattered down around him he sat up and looked at his surroundings.

He now lay in the middle of a large crater. Standing up, he climbed one side of it and turned back to regard his handiwork. The hole was quite impressive. He smiled.

Then a shadow streaked past his own and his smile faded. Looking up, he glimpsed two Siyee gliding away.

Sighing, he turned away and began trudging toward the forest.