Last of the Wilds

by Trudi Canavan

  The girl shrugged. “That’s what the priests say.”

  “How interesting.” Reivan hoped she looked more thoughtful than alarmed. Her heart was now beating a little faster. Had Nekaun known of this? Surely, if he had, he would not have thought Imenja taking Imi home in an attempt to woo the Elai was worth the trouble.

  If Imi had thought about it, he or Imenja would have known about it. So if they don’t know then Imi must not have thought about it—or at least not in their presence. Despite all that had happened to the girl, her mind must not have turned to her god often during her stay at the Sanctuary. Perhaps religion wasn’t important to the Elai.

  “Do you pray to this god?” Reivan asked.

  Imi’s nose wrinkled. “Not unless the priests make me. I used to when I was little, if I wanted something, but the priests say Huan is too busy to arrange for little girls to get the presents they want. I decided I’d only pray if I needed something important.”

  “Did you pray when you were a prisoner?”

  “A few times.” Imi’s expression was sad. “I guess I was out of practice. Father doesn’t pray much—and sometimes he says angry things like if Huan cared about us she would stop the raiders keeping us from living on our own islands. He says she abandoned us years ago.”

  Reivan nodded in sympathy. She opened her mouth to voice her agreement, but stopped. How could she frown upon the inaction of another god—even if this god did not exist—when her own gods had allowed her people to be defeated in war?

  “The gods are mysterious,” she found herself saying instead. “We don’t always understand their reasons for doing—or not doing—something. Their view of the world is like that of a parent. Sometimes the actions of a parent seem cruel and unfair to a child, but later they understand those actions were for their benefit.”

  Imi nodded slowly, her face tight with the intensity of her thoughts.

  “Ah! Company!”

  The voice was Imenja’s. Reivan turned to find the Second Voice walking toward them. Imenja pointed above their heads, at the sky.

  “They’re coming to inspect us,” she said.

  Imi glanced in the direction Imenja had pointed and gasped. Following her gaze, Reivan saw five large birds gliding toward the ship.

  Not birds: Siyee.

  “You had better conceal yourself, Imi,” Imenja said as she reached them. “We don’t yet know how they will react to us—or to you for associating with us. Let’s not reduce your chances of gaining their help.”

  The girl reluctantly allowed the woman to usher her into the pavilion at the center of the ship. Imenja returned to Reivan’s side. The Siyee were close enough that Reivan could see the ovals of their faces.

  “Imi just told me the Elai believe, as the Siyee do, that the Circlian goddess Huan created them,” Reivan told her.

  “I know,” Imenja replied.

  “You do?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m surprised Nekaun allowed us to make this journey, then.”

  Imenja laughed quietly. “Nekaun doesn’t know.”

  Reivan stared at Imenja. She doubted Nekaun would regard Imenja favorably for neglecting to tell him something like this. “Why not?”

  “You said yourself, Imi is a princess and she should be escorted home with great fuss and ceremony by someone no less important than a Voice.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Not exactly those words, but the meaning was the same.”

  “That’s not the reason you’ve concealed this from him, is it?”

  Imenja smiled. “Who’s the mind-reader here?” Then her smile faded a little. “I am not as easily dissuaded from exploring a chance at alliance with the Elai. They may be small in number and they may worship a false god, but until we have met them we cannot know their full potential. Consider the Siyee and how effective they were in battle. We might benefit as much or more from sea-warrior allies. Who cares what they worship?”

  “Our gods would surely—”

  The whoosh of wings drew Imenja’s attention upward. The Siyee had reached the ship. They circled, their fierce faces creased with frowns of suspicion. The contraptions strapped to their chests looked flimsy, but Reivan knew well how lethal they could be.

  “They are brave coming so close,” Imenja breathed.

  Reivan glanced around the ship to see that some of the crew were holding bows.

  “Do not attack or retaliate,” Imenja called out. “Unless I give the order.”

  After circling the ship three times, all but one of the Siyee swooped away toward the shore. The remaining man flew directly toward Imenja and Reivan. An object shot from the Siyee’s harness. Reivan took a step backward but Imenja remained still. The missile landed with a thud, embedding itself in the deck at Imenja’s feet. The Siyee flapped hard to avoid the rigging, then curved away toward the mountains.

  Imenja nudged the dart with the toe of her sandal. “What do you make of that?”

  “A warning,” Reivan replied, her voice wavering a little. “And a reminder. We are not welcome in Si.”

  “I agree,” Imenja said. “The trouble is, we have to get Imi to shore if she is to find out where her home is. How are we going to do that?”

  “Perhaps we should ask her.”

  Imenja looked at Reivan and smiled. “Of course. We’ll discuss it with her tonight.”

  35

  Sitting down, Mirar rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists and thought about Auraya.

  Until she had visited that morning, he had not seen her for two months. While he had hoped they would encounter one another again as they battled Hearteater, he also knew there was nothing to be gained from a meeting except danger. The hopeless infatuation for her that had come with accepting Leiard as a part of himself wasn’t easy to live with. In fact, it was a great nuisance. He constantly told himself to get over it—the sooner the better. Yet when she had called out to him, when she had walked into the bower, his heart had performed all manner of acrobatics, and he knew it would take more than two months’ separation before he had full control of it again.

  The last thing he had expected was for her to come seeking his magical healing technique. Since leaving the North River tribe, Mirar had cursed the gods many times for not allowing her to learn it. As the disease attacked Siyee in more and more tribes, many, many Siyee had died that she might have saved.

  Why now? he asked himself. Why have they changed their minds?

  The answer was clear. The disease had become a plague. Perhaps the Siyee had heard of his healing ability and started to wonder why the Gods’ Chosen did not have it.

  If that is so, why don’t the gods teach her?

  He’d pondered that question all day. The only conclusion he could come to was that they couldn’t. They were beings of magic. Perhaps beings with no physical body could not heal physical bodies, even through a willing human.

  There was a danger in teaching her this technique. It was similar to the method all Wilds used to prevent themselves aging. Auraya might realize this. The gods certainly would.

  I can’t bring myself to believe she will harm me if she suspects I am immortal. A suspicion is not a truth, and she is not one to act on mere suspicion. She promised I would not be harmed. Also, she will feel she owes me something in return for giving her the ability to save lives. Perhaps only the chance to leave Northern Ithania.

  When he had told Emerahl, through dream links, of his encounter with Auraya, she had urged him to abandon the Siyee and flee. She suggested he go to Southern Ithania, where Dreamweavers were tolerated and even respected. When he had told her he had offered to teach Auraya his healing method she had called him an idiot, but she couldn’t come up with a reason why he shouldn’t—other than those he had already considered.

  He heard the sound of feet meeting the ground. Looking up, he saw only darkness, then Auraya came out of the gloom like a beam of moonlight taking form. Mirar felt a shiver run down his
spine. The hem of her priestess’s circ flared outward as a breeze stirred it. Her unbound hair blew across her face and she lifted a hand to catch and hook it behind one ear.

  Look away, he told himself. If she catches you gazing at her she might suspect you’re still smitten.

  He drew in a deep breath and rose.

  “Greetings, Auraya of the White.”

  One of her eyebrows quirked upward in amusement at his formal manner.

  “Greetings, Dreamweaver Wilar.”

  He directed her to one of two blankets he’d set on the ground outside the bowers. She sat down and watched as he moved to the middle tent. Inside, Tyve was sitting beside a Siyee man lying unconscious on a stretcher. The boy stood up, stooped to pick up one end of the stretcher and helped Mirar carry it outside.

  After they had placed the stretcher on the ground between Auraya and the other blanket, Tyve returned to the bower. Mirar sat down.

  Auraya leaned forward and placed a hand on the man’s head. Her eyes grew distant as she accessed the Siyee’s condition. A grim twitch of her lips told Mirar she had seen the damage the disease had done. She looked up at him expectantly.

  “What now?”

  “I could explain to you in words and guide you toward discovering the Gift for yourself, but that would take months, or years, and neither of us have the time to spare. We must engage in a link.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “A mind link?”

  “Not exactly. We will link hands, but unlike a mind link there will be no need for you to open your mind. It is similar to a dream link, but easier since you do not need to be in a trance or part-asleep. Physical contact removes the necessity for that. I will project my instructions to you. You will answer in the same way. Are you willing to do this?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched upward as she considered. After a moment she nodded to herself and held out her hands to him. He was not surprised. She had accepted dream links before, despite their illegality, and would have decided what he was going to teach her was worth bending the law for.

  He took her hands and closed his eyes, then sought and found a sense of her presence before him. From her came a feeling of both anticipation and uncertainty.

  :Auraya.

  :Leiard? Or should I call you Wilar?

  :Whatever you wish, he answered.

  :I don’t think of you as Wilar, so I’ll call you Leiard. But…you seem different.

  :I am changed?

  :Yes and no. You seem more yourself. That sounds strange, I know, but before you were so…so uncertain of yourself. Now you are not.

  He felt oddly pleased about that.

  :It is true. I am not the person I was.

  :I was probably the source of all that uncertainty, she continued sadly. Perhaps we should not talk of it.

  :Perhaps. Perhaps not, he answered. It could do as much harm as good.

  :True. She fell silent, then before he could think of a way to change the subject she spoke again.

  :I forgave you, she told him. I was angry, but not any more. Not since we worked together at the North River. I would like it if we could be friends.

  :I would like that too, he told her, perhaps with too much feeling.

  :Do not fear that it will bring you or your people any trouble. The gods know where my heart lies now.

  Mirar felt a twinge of surprise. She had found another lover? He struggled to hold back a feeling of jealousy. No, he told himself. Accept it. He examined the feeling then pushed it aside. Better that she is happy. Better that I am not making her miserable, anyway.

  Then he realized that she might not have been referring to a lover at all. She might simply have meant her heart was for the gods. There was one way to find out…

  :I hope he is worthy of you, he said.

  A wave of embarrassment came from her. He smiled; he had guessed correctly.

  He was only sensing embarrassment, however. She ought to be betraying some feeling of happiness or joy. She wasn’t. It won’t last, he found himself thinking with satisfaction. This time he did quash his feelings. It was time to direct their attention elsewhere.

  :Magic can be used in healing in many ways, he told her. Dreamweavers divide these into three levels of difficulty. The first level is the simplest: the use of magic to hold or heat or move. The second uses the same Gifts but in more challenging situations as well as using magic to boost a body’s strength. The third is so difficult it requires great concentration and a sure knowledge and experience of all processes of the body. It enables a Dreamweaver to influence tissue within a body to a degree of detail where flesh and bone may be realigned and persuaded to heal immediately.

  Mirar paused. No feeling of confusion came from Auraya, so he continued on.

  :What I will try to teach you is a step beyond the third level. It does not require drawing a great deal of magic, or even gaining a great knowledge and experience of bodily systems. What it requires is a mind capable of sensing and understanding the body from the finest detail to the greater whole. Once you understand, you can influence.

  He guided one of her hands down to the Siyee, setting it upon the man’s chest.

  :Watch.

  To show her he had to lower the shield around his mind that prevented her seeing his thoughts. He took care to let it fall only while he was concentrating on healing, opening and closing the shield like a shutter and passing what he saw and did to Auraya in images and ideas.

  The man’s body filled his awareness. The damage within it, and the effect it was having on the whole, was obvious. He detected something out of place—the tiny but dangerous life that should not be there, and he communicated all that he sensed to her.

  :Now you.

  She did not send what she was perceiving to him. For a long time she was silent, then he felt a thrill of excitement from her.

  :I see it! I can see the disease! Show me how to kill it.

  He concentrated on the man again, showing her how to focus magic in a way that killed the intruding malaise but did not harm the body. Now he saw her actions by watching the effect she had on the Siyee. He was surprised and pleased to see that she had understood everything he had told her.

  Her attack was not ordered, however, and he found himself demonstrating how to work systematically through the body so she left no trace of the disease alive. They began working together, each responding to complement or support the other’s actions. It was like a dance. It was exhilarating.

  She does this naturally, he thought suddenly. It is like an innate Gift. She must be Gifted enough to become immortal without the gods’ assistance. The thought of what they could have been sent a thrill through him. Immortal lovers…But that’s not going to happen. It would make her an enemy of the gods she loves. And I am the hated Mirar. Even if she could forgive the deception…

  She was engrossed in the healing. He let her continue alone while he watched. Since this healing method was new to her, she could not be using it to stop herself aging. Perhaps the gods, through the ring she wore, were keeping her from aging without her being conscious of how it was done.

  I wonder how long it will be before she makes the connection, he wondered. Is that why the gods do not teach the White to heal?

  :The disease is gone! she said.

  He examined the Siyee closely.

  :Yes, he told her.

  :That was…easier than I thought. This way you have of sensing the body is…amazing. And logical. I cannot understand why I have never done this before. But…this man is still dying.

  Yes, there is more to do.

  He led her attention back into the Siyee’s body. Taking energy from stores of fat, he used them to help speed the regrowth of lung tissue. She followed suit. With the lungs restored, the blood began to improve and then the strength of the heart. Circulation enlivened, the fingers, toes and other extremities warmed. He could sense Auraya’s amazement and joy.

  Finally he moved to the man’s hand. A finger had been broken and badly
set long ago. Mirar carefully straightened it, shuffling the fibers of the bone into new positions. The amazement he sensed from Auraya changed into a bright excitement.

  :You could heal anything this way, she said. You could give sight to a man who had been blind all his life. You could restore a cripple. You could revive a dead man.

  :Yes, but with the last it must be immediate. Memory deteriorates within minutes of death and cannot be restored.

  :Can I heal myself the same way?

  :Of course, he told her. He needed to steer her away from this chain of thought. You’ve learned exceptionally fast and well.

  :You thought this would take longer.

  :I did. As always, you’ve exceeded expectations. If only all my students learned so quickly.

  :If that is all I need to know, then I should return to the Temple Mountain tribe immediately. There are many there who may die tonight if I do not bring them this healing.

  Then I won’t delay you any longer.

  Their hands parted and the sense of her presence vanished. Opening his eyes, he found her looking at him, smiling broadly. He felt his heart skip a beat and quickly looked down at the Siyee.

  “Thank you, Leiard. Every life I save with this Gift will be a life you have saved.”

  He glanced up at her. “Don’t go telling the gods that. They can be unpleasant to be around when jealous.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, then her eyes dropped to the Siyee.

  “He’s awake.”

  Mirar looked down at the man, who was regarding them curiously.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Auraya and I have cured you, but you will have to live in the first bower until the rest of the village is well. You will be tired for a day or two. Sleep and regain your strength.”

  The man nodded weakly and closed his eyes again.

  Auraya climbed to her feet. “I’ll help you carry our friend here back into the bower, then I must go.”

  Together they lifted the man and carried him to the bower of cured Siyee. Auraya stepped outside again. Standing in the entrance, Mirar watched as she walked a little way from the bowers. She smiled at him once, then rose up into the air and disappeared into the night.