Last of the Wilds

by Trudi Canavan

  “If it does not suit you, find a domestic to clean it,” Drevva said. She turned on her heel and walked away, then paused and looked back. “Come to my room at the morning bell tomorrow and I will arrange for a Servant to begin your tests.” Her eyes dropped to Reivan’s bag. “What is that?”

  “My belongings.”

  “Which are?”

  Reivan shrugged. “Clothes, instruments, books…” She thought of the books she had sold the previous day and felt a pang of loss. She had doubted the Sanctuary would appreciate her bringing a small library with her.

  Drevva strode back and took the bag from Reivan. “Servants do not keep personal belongings. You will have all you need here at the Sanctuary. Clothing will be provided, and if you succeed in becoming a Servant-novice you will need no more than the robes.”

  “But—”

  The woman silenced her with a stare. “But what?”

  “But what if I fail the tests?” Reivan asked.

  A tiny smile pulled at the woman’s lips. “I will keep your bag in my room. It will be returned to you when you leave.”

  When you leave. Reivan watched the woman stride away, then sighed and went in search of a domestic. Her search took her a long way from her room, and she only realized she had reached the Servants’ rooms when she finally found a domestic sweeping a corridor.

  “I need someone to clean my room,” she told him.

  He gave her a sullen look. “All the domestics are busy cleaning out rooms of dead Servants,” he told her, then turned his back.

  She would have cleaned out the room herself but it was clear from Drevva’s response that Servants considered such tasks beneath them. If the unSkilled newcomer behaved like a domestic she would be treated like one, Reivan guessed.

  The domestics continued to claim their other tasks were more urgent. Eventually she followed a child domestic to a washroom where she bullied him into cleaning out her room and replacing the bedding. She felt a bit guilty about it, but knew from her extensive reading of philosophers and famous healers that to sleep in a grimy room was to encourage sickness in the body and mind.

  This took the rest of the day. By the time the child had finished it was late and she was hungry. She went in search of food. Catching the aroma of cooking, Reivan followed it to a large hall full of Servants. Only a low murmur of voices could be heard and she decided that there must be a general rule against noise. Her footsteps drew several frowns as she entered. She looked around and was relieved to see one of the tables was occupied by young women and men in plain clothes. They must be other entrants. She took an empty place. The entrants regarded her curiously but said nothing.

  A domestic thumped a bowl of a thin soup in front of her. She noted, with disappointment, that only a few crumbs of bread remained in the basket in the center of the table. When she had finished eating she met the eyes of the young man beside her.

  “Is there a rule against talking?”

  He nodded. “Only while we’re in mourning.”

  At one end of the room several Dedicated Servants sat at a long table. She examined each of them as best she could. In a month’s time, Servants from all over the world would choose one of the Dedicated Servants to be the new leader of the Pentadrians. Drevva was at the table. The woman glanced at Reivan, then looked away.

  This is hardly the reception I was hoping for, Reivan thought. These Servants are so cold they make even the Thinkers seem patient, kind and friendly.

  There were several empty places at the table. Reivan felt a chill as she realized why. The Dedicated Servants who had claimed those seats were probably dead, killed in the war.

  Perhaps this is why everyone at the Sanctuary is so unwelcoming, she mused. Defeat and loss has made them grumpy and distracted. She could hardly expect them to be warm and cheerful toward her when they were grieving lost friends and colleagues.

  A bell rang to mark the end of the meal, and Reivan followed the entrants back to their quarters.

  Taking a firm grip of an outcrop of stone with his left hand, Mirar turned his attention to his legs again. Bending his left knee, he searched for a good place to wedge the toe of his right boot. He found a firm ledge and carefully shifted his weight onto it.

  The constant pull of the rope around his chest eased as Emerahl played it out.

  “Nearly there,” she called, her voice unexpectedly close.

  He paused and looked down. His feet were almost level with her head. She smiled.

  She’s so beautiful, he found himself thinking. The thought was Leiard’s, however. So was the small pang of guilt that he might find a woman other than Auraya attractive.

  She is beautiful, he told Leiard. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating that.

  And you don’t? Leiard asked.

  I do. But I’ve known her so long that she no longer dazzles me.

  You’re friends, Leiard stated.

  In a way. We have become…familiar with each other. We have mutual concerns.

  You were lovers once.

  Briefly.

  Leiard fell silent. Mirar shook his head. It was a strange situation, being with Emerahl. Like introducing two friends, one of whom he had already told everything he knew about the other. Which was a little unfair for Emerahl.

  But it was nice to see her through fresh eyes.

  Talking to Leiard made Mirar feel a little disorientated, however. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, then continued his descent. Only when both feet were on the ground did he relax again.

  Emerahl untied him, then let one end of the rope go and pulled on the other until it slithered down to tangle in the vegetation at her feet. She coiled it quickly and efficiently, swung it over her shoulder, then started along the bottom of the ravine. Mirar shouldered his pack and followed.

  They were both familiar with climbing now. He had lost count of the number of times they had scaled walls of rock. This was typical Si territory. The mountains were steep and cracked, full of vertical slices of rock. They looked as if someone had dropped huge mounds of clay onto the world then stabbed at them repeatedly with giant knives. Even on a small scale the surface of exposed ground was fractured in this way, making walking difficult and dangerous. The bottoms of valleys and ravines were easier to traverse, as the cracks and crevasses had filled with soil over time to make a smoother floor. There they had only to navigate through the dense undergrowth of the forest.

  No human had made tracks through this land. Not even the Si, who did not like to live this close to landwalker habitations. Animals occasionally did, and they had worn narrow, winding paths through the vegetation. Still, it was slow-going. He and Emerahl had been travelling for a month but had ventured only a little way into the northern part of Si. Before the Siyee had been created, this part of Ithania had been known as The Wilds.

  Now that’s what Emerahl and I are classified as, according to the gods, Mirar mused. “Wilds.” I wonder if they mean to imply that we are undomesticated? Uncivilized? Barbaric, perhaps.

  Maybe unrestrained, disorderly, violent, dangerous, Leiard suggested.

  None are true, Mirar replied. In their day, he and Emerahl had represented great skill in magic. His Dreamweavers had provided order in a chaotic world. They were peaceful, non-violent and certainly not dangerous. Emerahl had been revered for her healing and wisdom.

  There was another meaning for “wild.” It could be a random force that could upset plans in either a beneficial or disastrous way.

  This, perhaps, is the true reason the gods chose that label for us, Mirar thought. Upsetting the gods’ plans sounds like a worthwhile reason to exist. Trouble is, I have no idea what their plans are so how am I to upset them?

  The ravine had widened. He could hear the sound of water. Lots of water. They must be nearing a river. There was a lightness to Emerahl’s steps now. He saw her emerge into sunlight ahead, turn to the left and smile.

  She’s definitely pleased about something, he thought. Lengthening his str
ide, he caught up with her. She was standing at the edge of a drop where the ravine ended abruptly. Following her gaze, he saw what she was smiling at.

  A waterfall. Two steep slopes met far above it, channelling the river to a cliff edge. Water cascaded down into a wide, deep pool before chuckling eagerly over a rocky riverbed that curved below them, then away to their right. Mist billowed up from the fall, keeping the air dense with moisture.

  “How pretty,” he observed.

  Emerahl gave him a sidelong look. “It is, isn’t it? Let’s find a tree to wind this rope around.”

  After several minutes they had both climbed down the drop, after first lowering their packs with magic. Emerahl crossed the river by jumping from rock to rock. When she started toward the waterfall, Mirar hesitated before following. After travelling through this rough country for a month and seeing plenty of grand and attractive natural scenery, he didn’t feel any inclination to explore a waterfall. He’d rather reach their destination sooner and have a good long rest.

  Emerahl moved closer and closer to the fall of water. The pounding was loud in his ears. She began to climb the smooth boulders beside the fall. He stopped to watch her. Looking back, she smiled and beckoned.

  Shrugging, he followed. Scaling the boulders took all his attention. When he had reached a narrow length of flat pebbly ground he looked up and found her grinning. Then he saw what she had discovered. Behind the waterfall was a cave.

  She moved inside. Feeling a mild curiosity, he followed. The cave dripped with moisture. It was larger than he expected, the back hidden in darkness.

  He turned to look out at the wall of water. The constant, unvarying movement was hypnotic.

  “Mirar.”

  Dragging his eyes away, he turned to find Emerahl looking over her shoulder at him. She had created a light and he could see his first impression had been wrong. There was no back to the cave. It was the beginning of a tunnel.

  Curiosity grew and deepened. He moved to her side.

  “You know this place?” he said.

  “I’ve been here before.”

  “Is this our destination?”

  “It might be. Or it might be a good place to stay for the night. Now, no more questions.”

  Her last words were firm. He smiled at her tone, then walked beside her as she moved down the tunnel.

  Out of habit, he counted his steps. He had passed three hundred when they reached a large cavern. Emerahl’s shoulders were tense as she started toward the center. Her steps slowed and she appeared to be listening to something.

  After a moment she smiled. Her pace did not quicken, however. She moved steadily forward. Reaching the center of the cavern, she turned to face him.

  “Did you sense it?”

  He frowned. “Sense what?”

  She took his arm, drew him back the way they had come for about ten steps, then stopped.

  “Try to use one of your Gifts. Make a light like mine.”

  He reached for magic. Nothing came. He tried again with no success. Alarmed, he stared at her.

  “What…?”

  “It is a void. A place in the world where there is no magic.”

  “But how is that possible?”

  “I don’t know.” She put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back toward the center of the room. He yielded reluctantly. Looking up, he noticed that her spark of light still floated above them.

  “How are you doing that then?”

  “I drew the magic for it before we stepped into the void,” she told him. “Now try again.”

  He reached for magic and felt it flow into him. He channelled it out to form his own light.

  “Good,” she said, nodding. “It is still the same. There is magic in the center of the room. It is ringed by a void. The gods, who are beings of magic, can’t cross the void, so they can’t see you here. Not unless they look through the eyes of someone standing outside the void.”

  He moved around slowly. Now that she had drawn his attention to the void he could sense it easily. He started moving across to the other side.

  “Don’t leave!” Emerahl warned. “Come back. Now that you know what this place is, you can’t leave it. If the gods are watching they might read your mind and…and…”

  Her brow was creased with worry. He walked back to her side. “If they were watching me arrive, they’d know where I was anyway.”

  Her gaze was intense. “Do you think it’s likely they were watching you?”

  He grimaced and turned away. “It’s possible. I don’t know…”

  “You still can’t leave. If they don’t know what this place is, I’d rather they didn’t find out.”

  “You mean to keep me in here forever?”

  She shook her head. “Only as long as it takes for me to teach you to hide your thoughts from them.”

  He considered her thoughtfully. He had learned that skill long ago, but had fogotten it when he lost his memory. It was difficult to relearn without the help of someone who could detect thoughts or emotions. Now was a good time to relearn it.

  “And then?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. You asked me to take you away. You didn’t say why or where. I guessed you wanted to go somewhere safe. I’ve taken you to the safest place I know.” She smiled crookedly. “I’m also guessing that you need to sort out a few things in your mind. If you want help with that, I’ll do what I can.”

  He looked around the cavern. It was not the cozy hut in the middle of the forest that he had been hoping for, but the void made up for that. It would have to do. Slipping the straps of his pack off his shoulders, he set it down on the hard stone floor.

  “Then I guess we had better start decorating.”

  4

  It was night. It was always night.

  An eerie light hung about the ground. She could not see its source. It made the faces around her appear even more ghoulish.

  Her path was blocked by a corpse. She stepped over it and moved on.

  I’m looking for something. What am I looking for?

  She thought hard.

  A way out. An end to the battlefield. Escape. Because…

  Movement in the corner of her eye set her heart racing with dread. She did not want to look, but did. All was still.

  Another body blocked her path: a priest, his upper torso and head blackened and scorched. She stepped over him reluctantly.

  Don’t look down.

  Something below her moved. Her eyes were lured downward. The priest stared up at her and she froze in horror. He grinned at her, then before she could step away, his scorched hand grabbed her ankle.

  :Owaya!

  She jumped at the urgent, unexpected shout in her mind. Suddenly she was staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her heart was pounding. Her skin felt hot and sweaty. Her stomach was clenched.

  “Scare Owaya?”

  A small form leapt onto the bed. With the moonlight behind him, she could see the distinctive fluffy tail and small ears of her veez twitching with concern.

  “Mischief,” she breathed.

  “Owaya ’fraid?”

  She drew herself up onto her elbows. “Just a dream. Gone now.”

  Whether he understood or not, she couldn’t guess. Did veez grasp the concept of dreams? She had seen him twitch and mutter in his sleep, so she knew he had them. Whether he remembered them, or understood that they weren’t reality, she couldn’t guess.

  He moved across the bed and curled up beside her legs. The pressure of his small body against hers was comforting. Lying back down, she stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

  How long will I have these nightmares for? Months? Years?

  She felt vaguely disappointed at herself, and at the gods. Surely being a White meant she didn’t have to endure bad dreams as a consequence of a war in defense of Northern Ithania and all Circlians? Though the Gifts that they had given her protected her from age and injury, they did not appear to include protection against nightmares. Surely
the gods didn’t mean for her to suffer like this?

  Dreamweavers could help me.

  She sighed again. Dreamweavers. Now there was a matter to prick her conscience. She knew removing the Dreamweavers’ influence over people by encouraging priests and priestesses to absorb their healing knowledge was ultimately the right thing to do. She would save the souls of people who otherwise turned from the gods. It just seemed too…too sneaky.

  After the meeting at the Altar she had decided she’d better find out if any healer priests and priestesses were willing to work with Dreamweavers before approaching Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli. She had told herself she was being efficient—she could ask if any were willing to travel to Si at the same time—but she knew she was putting off the moment when she would have to start being sneaky.

  Several volunteers had come forward. She had been expecting enthusiasm for the post in Si, but had been pleasantly surprised by the numbers interested in working with Dreamweavers. All had been impressed and humbled by what they had seen in the aftermath of the battle. Many were eager to learn from Dreamweavers, though for some it was out of a determination to match or surpass the heathens in knowledge and skill rather than because of any newfound respect for the cult.

  She had delayed further by finding a location for them to work in. It needed to be a place where neither Dreamweavers nor Circlians had greater influence. She had found a disused storeroom near the docks, not too far from the edge of the poor area of the city. She had only to arrange for the building to be cleaned up and appropriately furnished and stocked, and decide what to call it.

  Before then, however, she needed an answer from the Dreamweavers. Unable to put it off any longer, she had arranged to meet with Raeli.

  Auraya rolled onto her side. She was wide awake now and doubted she’d get to sleep again for hours. Her heart was no longer pounding but it was still beating a little too fast.

  She thought of the question she had asked Juran. “What of the whole range of mind-healing skills—of mind links and dream links?” He obviously did not like the idea of priests and priestesses learning those skills, but if Circlians were to replace Dreamweavers they would have to adopt all the heathens’ practices.