Last of the Wilds

7



As the platten slowed again, Danjin let out a long sigh.

“To think that I used to enjoy the Summer Festival,” he muttered. “How do the priests and priestesses endure this?”

Auraya chuckled. “We allow four times as much time to get anywhere as we normally do. Haven’t you encountered festival crowds before?”

“On foot,” he said. “Revellers don’t block the streets where I live—or surround and stop every Temple platten when it passes.”

She smiled. “We can hardly complain about that when their intention is to make a donation.”

The clink of a coin in the platten’s donation box emphasized her point.

Danjin sighed again. “I’m not complaining about that. I just wish they’d leave their donation at the Temple like everyone else, instead of holding up Temple plattens.”

“Donate at the Temple like the wealthy and important?” she asked. “Poor drunken folk rubbing shoulders with rich drunk folk?”

His nose wrinkled. “I suppose we can’t have that.” He paused, then his eyes brightened. “There should be a donation day for wealthy donators and another for the rest.”

She shook her head. “If there was, there would be such a large crowd in the Temple you’d never be able to leave the grounds. When people started approaching plattens years ago it was because the Temple was too crowded. It would be worse now.” She shrugged. “Drunken revellers have always been gripped by a spontaneous need to give us money or gifts. It’s hard to discourage them and trying usually means a longer delay. That’s why we had the donation boxes attached to our platten. It is the best solution.”

“But what would we do if we had to get somewhere urgently?”

“I’d lower the cover and ask them to clear the road.”

“Would they? Half of them are drunk and delirious.”

She laughed. “Yes, they are. It is a celebration, after all.” Tugging aside the flap, she peered outside. “It’s so heartening to see so many happy people. It reassures you that not everyone died in the war, and that people can be cheerful again.”

Danjin subsided into his seat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I guess I am too impatient.”

Abruptly the platten began moving faster. It turned and the sound of coins entering the boxes ceased. Danjin lifted the platten flap on his side of the vehicle.

“At last,” he muttered. “We’ve reached civilization.”

On either side were mansions of the rich. The road to the Temple was the one thoroughfare the city guard kept clear of revellers. Instead it was filled by a long line of highly decorated platten. The wealthy disdained donation boxes, preferring instead to make a great show of their personal visits to the Temple.

“There’s the Timer family,” Danjin said, concern in his voice. “Look at the size of those trunks! They can’t afford to be giving so much away!”

Auraya peered over his shoulder. Extending her senses she read the minds of the old couple in the Tither platten.

“The first trunk is full of pottery, the second of blankets and the third is oil,” she told him. “Fa-Tither carries a modest amount of gold.”

“Ah.” Danjin sighed in relief. “It is all show then. I hope the gods do not mind.”

Auraya laughed. “Of course not! They have never demanded or expected money from their followers. People came up with the idea themselves. We’ve told people that sacrificing income to the gods doesn’t guarantee a place at their side after death, but they still do it.”

“Just in case.” Danjin chuckled. “The Temple would find it difficult if they didn’t, though. How else would they feed, clothe and house priests and priestesses—and undertake charitable projects?”

“We’d work something else out.” Auraya shrugged. “There are other benefits to the tradition, too. One of the farmers in my village gives most of his earnings to the local Temple in summer, then asks for most of it back when he needs it in winter. He says he’d spend it too fast otherwise, and that putting it in the care of the priest is his best protection against robbery.”

“Because priests are likely to be more Gifted than anyone else,” Danjin said.

He looked more relaxed now, Auraya noted. They had come from the hospice, in one of the poorer districts of the city. As a member of the city’s upper class, he had good reason to be uneasy there. If he had been alone, dressed as he was, he would probably have been robbed.

At this time of year he had even more reason to be cautious. The Summer Festival was also referred to as the Festival of the Thieves. Robbers, muggers and pickpockets took advantage of worshippers when they could, either waylaying them on their way to make a donation or breaking into homes in search of the savings stored in preparation for the festival.

The previous year a cunning young thief had made himself a fortune by climbing in under the Temple plattens, drilling a hole into the bottom of the donation boxes, and pocketing the coins. His first successes has inflated his confidence and on the last day of the festival, after stories of the thefts had circulated, he had been caught and beaten to death by enraged worshippers.

“We can’t be far away now,” Danjin muttered, peering out of the platten cover again.

Auraya closed her eyes and searched the thoughts of those around them. From the driver’s mind she read that they were nearing the Temple entrance, then she caught a snatch of anger from a vehicle in front. Looking closer, she learned that the occupant was Terena Spicer, matriarch of one of the most wealthy and powerful families of the city. Auraya was amused and a little disturbed to find the woman’s anger was directed at herself.

Intrigued, she watched as the woman’s thoughts churned. She barely noticed when Danjin informed her that they had passed through the arch and entered the Temple. Only when the platten stopped did she break her concentration. They climbed out. The paving before the Tower was crowded with plattens. Terena Spicer hadn’t emerged from her vehicle yet. Indicating that Danjin should follow, Auraya strode into the Tower.

The enormous hall inside was full of priests, priestesses and the usual crowd of wealthy families talking and gossiping after having deposited their donations. As always, the entrance of a White sent a thrill of excitement through the crowd. Auraya kept her pace swift and her eyes on the room where the donations were presented. Despite this, a man stepped forward, intending to intercept her. To her relief, a priestess moved into his path to prevent him.

Danjin followed, full of unspoken questions. She considered stopping to explain, but there was too little time. As she neared her destination, she briefly looked into the minds of those within the donation room. A family had just made their contribution and were about to leave. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Her arrival caused the room to fall silent in surprise. A high priest and four lesser priests sat before a long, sturdy table. The family stood just within the door. Auraya smiled and nodded to all.

“Please continue.”

“Fa Glazer was just leaving, Auraya of the White,” the high priest said mildly, making the sign of the circle. “Having made a most generous donation.”

“Indeed, I am,” the older man of the family said with dignity. He made the formal sign of the circle with both hands, then ushered his family out. As the door closed, the priests turned to regard Auraya.

“I’m here to observe a visitor,” she told them, moving to stand to one side.

The high priest nodded. Two of the lesser priests rose and, lifting the chests left by the family with magic, sent them floating through a door on the other side of the room. Auraya turned to Danjin. He could not stay here. The donations were meant to remain a secret.

“You had better wait in there,” she told him, nodding at the door the trunks had been taken through. “I want you to listen, if you can.”

He nodded and strode across the room to the door. It closed firmly after him. From his thoughts, she saw that he had pressed his ear to the crack of the door.

Three more visitors came and left before Terena Spicer entered. The woman’s face was tight with disapproval. She strode forward and dropped a single small chest on the table with a thump, then she lifted her chin, swept her eyes imperiously over the priests and opened her mouth to begin the speech she had prepared.

As her gaze shifted to Auraya her haughty expression melted into one of horror.

Auraya smiled and nodded politely. The woman swallowed, looked away, then took a step backward from the table. The high priest leaned forward and opened the chest. His expression did not change, but the eyebrows of the other priests rose. One gold coin lay within.

Terena’s mind was in turmoil. Clearly she could not give the speech she had planned now. Auraya’s presence had reminded her that by protesting against a White’s work she might be protesting against the gods’ will. A small struggle followed, and the reason to stay silent won a narrow victory over her reason to speak out.

Auraya watched as the priests uttered their usual thanks. Terena murmured replies. The ritual over, she turned to leave.

Not so fast, Auraya thought.

“Ma Spicer,” she said, keeping her voice gentle and concerned. “I could not help but sense your agitation on your arrival. I also sense that you intended to discuss the cause of your agitation with the priests here. Please do not hesitate to express your concern. I would not like you to harbor ill feeling toward us.”

Terena flushed and reluctantly turned back. Her gaze flickered from priest to priest, then to Auraya. As the woman gathered her courage and anger, Auraya felt a wry admiration for her.

“I did intend to speak my mind,” she said. “I have reduced my donation this year in protest at this Dreamweaver place you are building. Our sons and daughters should not be associating with those… those filthy heathens.”

As the priests turned to regard Auraya expectantly, she laughed inwardly at their eagerness. This must be the most exciting event that had happened to them in days.

She walked forward until she was a few steps from the woman. “Leave us,” she said to the priests. They rose and filed into the donation store room, unified in their disappointment. Once they were gone, Terena allowed her apprehension to show. She would not meet Auraya’s gaze. Her hands were shaking.

“I understand your concern, Terena Spicer,” Auraya said soothingly. “For a long time we have encouraged Circlians to avoid Dreamweavers. In the past this was necessary in order to reduce their influence. Now there are few who would choose that life, and Dreamweavers pose no danger to Circlians true to the gods.

“Those that do choose that life are often disillusioned or rebellious youth. Now, if these people are at all tempted by the life of a Dreamweaver, they will come to the hospice to see them. When they do they will see priests and priestesses as well. They will see that our healers are as skilled and powerful, if not more so, than Dreamweavers. If they are given a chance to compare, they will realize that one life leads to the salvation of their soul and the other does not.”

The woman was staring up at Auraya now. She found herself approving, though reluctantly, of what Auraya was suggesting.

“What of those who still want the Dreamweaver life?”

“After seeing all that?” Auraya shook her head sadly.

“Then they would have sought and found it anyway. This way we can continue to seek their return. We will gently but persistently call them back, giving them no reason to hate and resist us. If they sought the Pentadrian way of life, however…” She let the sentence hang. Some people needed to hate others. Better they directed their animosity at the Pentadrians than at the Dreamweavers.

Ma Spicer lowered her eyes, then nodded. “That is wise.”

Auraya lifted a finger to her lips. “As is keeping this to yourself, Ma Spicer.”

The woman nodded. “I understand. Thank you for… easing my concerns. I hope… I hope I have not offended you.”

“Not at all.” Auraya smiled. “Perhaps you will be able to enjoy the party outside now.”

The corner of Terena’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “I think I will. Thank you, Auraya of the White.”

She made the formal sign of the circle, then walked to the door, her shoulders stiff with pride again. Auraya of the White had confided in Terena Spicer. But then, why wouldn’t she?

Auraya chuckled as the door closed behind the woman. She didn’t believe for a moment that Terena Spicer would be able to resist relating what she had just heard to a few close and trusted friends. In a few days the story would be all over the city.

She moved to the side door and tapped on it. Danjin stepped out, his expression neutral. From his mind she confirmed he had heard most of what had been said.

The priests followed, a little miffed that Danjin had been allowed to eavesdrop, but trusting that Auraya had her reasons for asking him to. Auraya thanked them, then left the room.

“Are you sure you want people to know that?” Danjin murmured as they skirted the crowd and made their way toward the circular wall at the center of the hall.

“Ordinary Circlians won’t accept the hospice unless they feel there is an advantage in it for us,” she replied quietly.

“Plain old peace and tolerance isn’t reason enough. Neither is the assumption that whatever I do is approved of by the gods.”

“What if they hear of it?”

“The Dreamweavers?” Auraya smiled grimly. “They have already accepted my proposal. They voted on it, and won’t go to the trouble of organizing another vote over a mere rumor. I’m hoping they’re smart enough to realize that my lie about us being as skilled at healing means that we can’t possibly have these intentions. If our aim was to prove ourselves better rather than equal to them, we would not set up this hospice.”

“Unless your healers become as skilled as they. Do you really think they won’t see that danger and guess at your true plan.”

Auraya grimaced. “They will feel safe so long as we do not seek to learn their mind skills. By the time we do, in years to come, they will have become secure in the success of the venture and the danger will be long forgotten.”

Danjin’s eyebrows rose. “I hope you’re right.”

“So do I.”

They reached the wall at the center of the hall. It encompassed a raised floor with a hole in the center through which large chains hung. To one side a staircase spiralled upward, but Auraya ignored it. She nodded at the priest standing at the bottom of the stairs. He made the sign of the circle.

Soon the chains began to move. A large disc of metal descended through the stairwell. As it passed the level of the ceiling the rest of a large iron cage slowly came into sight. The heavy chain it was suspended from extended up into the heights of the Tower. As the cage stopped the priest stepped forward and opened the door for her and Danjin to enter.

“Have you had any dreams about the hospice?” Auraya asked Danjin as the cage began to rise.

“Dreams? Do you… do you think they would try to find out your intentions from my dreams?” He looked appalled. “That would be breaking a law!”

“I know. So have you dreamed of this?”

Danjin shook his head.

“I have to consider the possibility that they might try. After all, I would risk it if I were in their position,” she said. “I’ve spoken to Juran about it. I suggested that when we make a link ring to replace the ones the Pentadrians took, we include a shield for the wearer’s thoughts in its properties. A shield that doesn’t block my mind, of course, or there’d be no point in making the ring at all.”

“So you intend for me to wear this ring?” He was unable to hide his discomfort.

Auraya resisted a smile. Since returning from the war, Danjin had enjoyed a renewed intimacy with his wife. He wasn’t aware how often his thoughts drifted into reverie, and she didn’t have the heart to point out that a link ring wouldn’t reveal any more than she’d already read from his mind.

“Yes, the ring is for you,” Auraya replied. “Though I may need you to pass it to others from time to time.” The cage slowed to a stop. She opened the door and they stepped out. “Don’t worry, Danjin.” She winked at him. “I’ll respect your privacy.”

He flushed and hastily looked away. Auraya smiled and crossed to the door of her rooms.


Emerahl concentrated on Mirar’s mind. At first she detected nothing, then a feeling of impatience and uncertainty touched her senses.

“I can sense you,” she said. “You let your shield fall out of boredom.”

He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. “How long are we going to do this for? I’m getting hungry.”

“The shield can’t be temporary. You have to get to the point where it is there all the time, where you can hold it unconsciously. Now try again.”

He groaned. “Can’t we eat first?”

“No. Not until I can’t detect your emotions at all. Do it again.”

She sensed frustration, then stubbornness, then something strange happened. For a moment his emotions faded to nothing, then she sensed puzzlement. He shifted position from half-lying on the bed to sitting straight.

Mirar never sits so… so symmetrically, she thought. He always lounges about. Looking into his eyes she saw wariness and resignation.

“Leiard? Is that you?”

“It is I,” he replied. Even the way he spoke was even and considered.

“How?”

His shoulders lifted. “I believe he wanted to not be present.”

“He ran away?” She felt mirth well up inside her and let out a laugh. “Mirar fled from my lessons. Ha! What a coward!”

The corners of Leiard’s lips lifted slightly, the closest he came to a smile. She sobered and considered him thoughtfully.

“I do not wish you to think I do not enjoy your company, Leiard, but I can’t have Mirar playing truant like this every time he finds my lessons difficult. We are going to have to make sure he doesn’t do this again.”

Leiard’s eyebrows rose. “How do you expect to persuade him otherwise?”

“By getting you to tell me about him. Tell me things he would not like me to hear. What terrible deeds has he been up to?”

As Leiard’s expression darkened she felt a thrill of interest. Obviously there was much to tell.

“To do so would be to confess to my own… folly.”

She blinked in surprise. “You? Folly? You do not seem the type to indulge in foolishness.”

“Ah, but I have, and he will enjoy hearing me relate it, which will hardly achieve your goal.”

She leaned forward, intrigued. “We can get to that later.” She remembered the conversation she had overheard just before they had arrived at the cave. “Is this about a woman?”

Leiard started and frowned at her.

“He has told you.”

“No. I’m a woman, remember. We sense these things. There’s nothing like love to lead a man into folly. Perhaps…” She let her flippant tone rest. “Perhaps a woman’s ear might be more sympathetic to your tale. I can’t imagine Mirar would make a good listener.”

Leiard let out a quiet snort. “He did not approve at all.”

Mirar not approve of a woman? Interesting. “What would this woman’s name be, then?”

The Dreamweaver looked up at her. His tortured expression was one she had never seen Mirar wear, and it made him look like a stranger. He considered her for a long time before he spoke again.

“You must swear to never allow another to know of it.”

“I swear,” she replied solemnly.

He looked down at his hands. She felt herself growing ever more tense as she waited for him to speak.

Tell me! she thought.

“The woman I loved… that I love…” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper “… is Auraya of the White.”

Auraya of the White! Emerahl stared at him. She felt a rush of cold, as if someone had just poured icy water over her head. The shock rendered her incapable of thinking for a moment. One of the Gods’ Chosen! No wonder Mirar did not approve!

Now that the name had been admitted to, a dam against words within Leiard broke. The whole story flooded out: how he had been Auraya’s friend and teacher when she was a child; how he had travelled to Jarime and been enchanted by the woman she had become; how she had made him Dreamweaver Adviser to the White, and the night of “folly” before she left for Si. He told of his resignation in order to preserve their secret; the growing presence of Mirar in his mind, the danger of terrible consequences should the affair be discovered, yet being unable to stop reaching out to her in dreams. He spoke guiltily of the resumption of their affair when Auraya joined the army, then of Juran’s discovery of it, of fleeing and Mirar’s suggestion he take over their body. Then discovering Mirar had hidden in a brothel camp. Finally he told of the dream link which had revealed that Auraya had seen him with a prostitute and now believed he had betrayed her.

When he had finished, he lapsed into a glum silence.

“I see,” Emerahl said, for the sake of saying something. She needed time to consider this incredible story. “That is quite a tale.”

“Mirar was right,” he stated firmly. “I endangered my people.”

Emerahl spread her hands. “You were in love.”

“That is no excuse.”

“It is excuse enough. What I don’t understand is… Auraya must have seen Mirar in your mind. Surely this alarmed her.”

“She knew the link memories in my mind had manifested into a personality I would occasionally converse with. She did not believe Mirar truly existed. She never observed him taking control.”

“I can understand her wanting to believe that. Love makes us tolerate things we might not normally stand for. Juran, surely, would not have accepted it.”

Leiard shrugged. “He did. Perhaps only because I was useful to him and Mirar did not show himself capable of taking control until later.”

He obviously didn’t recognize Mirar’s body, Emerahl thought. Has Juran’s memory faded that much over the last hundred years? Had Mirar looked so different as to be unrecognizable? She shuddered as she realized how close Mirar had been to discovery. The gods must have looked into his mind, perhaps several times, yet they didn’t recognize him. Unless… unless the gods did, but are unconcerned because they know Leiard is the true owner of his body.

Even so, they would not have approved of this affair between their chosen one and any Dreamweaver. Why did they allow it? Maybe they feared to lose Auraya’s trust and loyalty. Maybe they expected Leiard to confirm their low opinion of Dreamweavers. Auraya may now hate them because of Leiard’s “betrayal.”

She frowned as something else occurred to her. “You say she discovered you with a prostitute, but Mirar was in control. Surely if she hadn’t observed him in control before, she should not have recognized you. Or rather, she should have realized it was him in control—not you.”

He frowned. “I had not considered that. It is… puzzling.”

“Yes. You must be alike enough for her to recognize both of you as the same person,” Emerahl said slowly. “She might have noticed differences given the chance, but at that moment she would have been so shocked by what you had done. She may have decided she didn’t know you as well as she thought.”

“I would not have done what he did,” Leiard stated, a little defensively.

Emerahl regarded him thoughtfully. “No. You are quite unlike Mirar in that regard.”

“Why do you like him when he is so despicable?”

She laughed. “Because he is. He’s a rogue, there’s no denying it. While his morals may be a little questionable, he is a good man.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know that, I think.”

He looked away, frowning. “I know he was once more… restrained when it came to women. I think time made him change. He seeks physical sensation in order to assure himself he is still alive. That he is still a physical being. Not a god.”

She stared at him in surprise, disturbed by what he was suggesting. The gods had accused Mirar of pretending to be a god. Now Leiard believed Mirar behaved as he did to reassure himself he wasn’t a god.

“I believe you when you say joining the brothel was necessity,” he added. “You believed the priests were more dangerous than they were. I also wonder if you unknowingly seek the same kind of assurance that Mirar seeks. You seek a reminder that you are a physical being, not a god. Whoring—”

“Mirar,” she commanded. “Break’s over. Come back to me.”

He stiffened, then relaxed. As his gaze focused on her again his eyebrows lowered and he smiled at her slyly.

“I’m a rogue, eh?”

To her surprise, she felt her pulse quicken. No, that’s no great surprise. Mirar has always been able to stir my blood. It seems he still can, even after all this time. Or perhaps because so much time has passed.

She could still sense his emotions, however, and could see he was just being playful. Trying to delay her from recalling her real purpose—mind-shielding lessons. She schooled her expression.

“Enough chit-chat,” she said. “I don’t intend to stay in this cave forever, so unless you want to end up stuck here by yourself, eating whatever insects find their way in, you had better get back to work.”

His shoulders sagged. “Oh, all right then.”