Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  “I was told once that all the lamps and lights of Jarime make them seem dimmer.”

  “I have never slept out of doors before this journey. It is pleasant, though I can imagine it wouldn’t be if it were raining or cold.”

  “No,” he agreed, thinking back to a few uncomfortable nights in his youth, and during the trek to the battle with the Pentadrians.

  “The Siyee live in tents all the time, don’t they?”

  Danjin nodded. “Larger and more resilient than these, of course. They call them bowers.”

  “Bowers,” she repeated, glancing toward the tents of Yem, Gillen and the servants. “Good,” she murmured. “They’re asleep.”

  “That’s quick,” Danjin said quietly. “Gillen must not be feeling the hard ground as much as he claims.”

  She smiled, but her expression quickly became serious again.

  “I have bad news for you, Danjin. Auraya has joined the Pentadrians.”

  He blinked, then stared at her in shock.

  “No,” he found himself saying. “She wouldn’t have. Not willingly.”

  “She has, though I do not know on what terms.”

  Danjin looked away. Auraya and the Pentadrians. It wasn’t possible. She resented them as much as any Circlian did for daring to invade and causing the death of so many—especially the Siyee.

  There had to be a reason…

  “The gods must have asked her to,” he concluded aloud. “She would never turn against them.”

  Ella smiled. “Your loyalty is your strength and your weakness, Danjin Spear. Do you have the same faith in me?”

  He met her eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

  “But in Auraya your trust is misplaced. She has already disobeyed the gods once.”

  He looked away. “I know you’re referring to her resignation. I accept that there are details I don’t know. That you cannot risk telling me.”

  “Risk? No. I did not tell you because I did not want to disappoint you,” she said gently. “I could see that you regarded her with a similar pride and affection that you feel for your daughters. Any ill doing of hers would hurt you.” She sighed and straightened. “But it is time you knew the truth. If she has truly allied herself with the Pentadrians your loyalty is a trait she can exploit.”

  He felt a stab of fear, then smiled at the irony. Now that he was going to learn what Auraya had done he didn’t want to. Ella was not going to take pity on him, however.

  “You know of her affair with the Dreamweaver Leiard,” she began. “What you don’t know is that he is not who he claimed to be.”

  He frowned. “Who is he?”

  “Mirar.”

  He stared at her for a long time, expecting her to smile and admit to a joke. But she didn’t. She returned his stare with grim determination.

  “But…that’s not possible,” he finally said. “Juran would have recognized him!”

  She grimaced. “Somehow he suppressed his true identity to the point that neither he nor the gods were aware of it. But when he regained it the gods were able to identify him. Juran says his memory of Mirar had faded, and Leiard looked very different.”

  “I doubt the gods were happy about this.”

  “No. They sent Auraya to kill him.”

  Danjin drew in a sharp breath and stared at her, appalled. “And she couldn’t.”

  “No.”

  “So they threw her out of the White.”

  “No. She resigned, having rightly concluded that an inability to obey the gods is a weakness a White should not have.”

  He winced. “They couldn’t expect her to kill someone she loved. Couldn’t someone else have done it?”

  “He isn’t the man she loved. He is Mirar. And he was in Si. No other White could get to him as quickly as she.”

  “Oh.” I bet she was cursing her flying ability that day, he thought.

  “Leiard was a temporary personality behind which Mirar hid. She would not have been killing her former lover. She knew that.”

  Danjin sighed. “I’m sure she did. Even so, I wouldn’t find it easy to kill the likeness of someone I loved.”

  “Being a White is not meant to be easy.”

  He nodded at that. She was right, but he found her ruthless judgment hard to accept. Surely she was being too hard on Auraya. But how could she feel sympathy for Auraya when she hadn’t yet faced such a dilemma herself?

  Then how is it that I can sympathize with Auraya? Is Ella right? Am I too blindly loyal?

  He sighed. “So she returned to Si…” He frowned as he realized what that might have meant. “Was Mirar still there?”

  “No. He escaped to Southern Ithania, where the Pentadrians have welcomed him.”

  The Pentadrians. And now Auraya was there. Danjin’s heart sank. “Is she now Mirar’s lover?” he asked with difficulty.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “So her joining the Pentadrians has nothing to do with him?” he asked hopefully.

  Ella looked away and frowned. “I don’t know. But there is something else you should know. Auraya met with a mysterious woman a few months ago. We believe she was a Wild, and taught Auraya forbidden Gifts. The ability to shield her mind from the gods…and perhaps the secret of immortality.”

  “Auraya is a Wild?”

  “Possibly.”

  He shook his head. “So that makes her an enemy of the gods?”

  Ella glanced at him and looked away again. “No.”

  She didn’t elaborate, and it was curious to see her looking so uncomfortable. Perhaps only because she didn’t have the answer to this.

  Danjin considered all he had learned. The gods hadn’t rejected Auraya. Ella had said Auraya was possibly a Wild. Perhaps the gods’ acceptance of her meant she wasn’t.

  Or perhaps the existence of immortal sorcerers doesn’t bother them so long as those sorcerers worship them.

  Ella turned to regard him again. “So, as you will see once you get over the surprise of these revelations, if the Pentadrians have a Wild’s strength to call upon they will be considerably stronger. Add to that the knowledge Auraya has of Circlian strengths and weaknesses and any thought of future conflicts is alarming.”

  “Yes,” Danjin agreed.

  “She knows us too well, but you know her better than anyone. I want you to consider all the ways she could use her knowledge of us against us, and how can we use our knowledge of her against her.”

  He nodded. “Very well. I could do with something to occupy my mind on this journey.”

  She gave him an odd look. “You are not distressed by the thought of plotting against Auraya?”

  He smiled. “Another advantage of my loyalty. I don’t mind imagining her doing it because I don’t believe she will.”

  Ella shook her head. “If that’s what it takes, then I won’t shatter any more of your illusions.” She rose. “Good night, Danjin Spear.”

  “Good night.”

  25

  A soft mattress meant a bed, and a bed meant Auraya was in her room in the Tower…but that couldn’t be true.

  Auraya opened her eyes and groaned as she remembered everything: the failed Siyee attack on the Pentadrian birds, her agreement with Nekaun; that she was in the Sanctuary, the enemy’s home. She was instantly awake, her mind going straight to the day ahead and what must happen soon.

  I have been here nearly one night and day. If Nekaun keeps his word a Siyee will go free.

  And if he doesn’t?

  Then she would leave—if she could—and try to find a way to free the Siyee.

  As she got out of bed she heard a small, sleepy noise of protest. Looking down, she saw Mischief blinking up at her. He stretched, the end of his tail quivering.

  “Fooaaawwwd,” he said at the same time as yawning.

  “I’ll see what I can arrange,” she told him.

  Servants had brought her a mountain of clothing the day before. She had selected a simple shift to wear while sleeping, then cleaned and
dried her circ and the trousers and sleeveless tunic she had arrived in. Changing into her priestess clothes again, she moved to the window.

  It gave a splendid view of the city and the roofs and courtyards of the Sanctuary. The rooms she had been given were probably for important guests. I wonder who has stayed here before. The rooms are large, but they’re not highly adorned. There isn’t much furniture. Kings and such would probably stay somewhere bigger and fancier.

  Mischief leapt up onto the sill, his ears pricked and his nose twitching.

  “Stay here,” she warned. His ears dropped in disappointment, but he settled into a crouch with his tail wrapped around his body, his mind all acceptance.

  A knocking came from the next room. She froze, then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Walking away from the window, she moved to the double doors of the main room. When she opened them, Nekaun’s Companion, Turaan, bowed his head to her, as did the crowd of servants behind him.

  Not servants, she reminded herself. Domestics.

  “Good morning, Priestess Auraya,” Turaan said. “I bring food and water.”

  She stepped aside. The domestics filed into the room, each carrying something. The man ordered them about. Several set their burdens on a table, then lifted woven covers to reveal elaborately prepared and arranged food, including fruit and bread. Two enormous pottery jugs were set on the floor, then a small crowd of men poured water from pitchers into them until they were close to overflowing.

  Other domestics disappeared into the bedroom. Looking inside, she watched them tidy the bed with practiced efficiency, gather up the clothes she had slept in and those she had ignored, then file out of the room again. They did not touch her pack, and didn’t appear to notice Mischief sitting on the windowsill.

  One, a young woman, turned to face Auraya, eyes downcast. She pointed to the tiled room, then at the jugs of water.

  Auraya shook her head, though not without a twinge of regret. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed a hot bath, but she would not be able to relax knowing she would soon be playing guest to Nekaun.

  “Priestess Auraya.”

  She turned to face Turaan.

  “The First Voice asked me to tell you he will be with you shortly. Please eat and be refreshed. You will accompany him to the roof to witness the release of a Siyee.”

  She nodded and then watched the servants file out of the room again. Though they were quiet and reserved, their minds were full of curiosity, resentment and fear. She was the enemy. She was dangerous. Why was Nekaun treating her like a guest?

  When the doors had closed behind them, she moved to the table and examined the food. Last night she had considered the possibility that Nekaun would try to poison her. She hadn’t tested her healing Gift on poison yet, but when she had considered how she would deal with such a threat she felt her confidence rising.

  Taking fruit and bread, she moved to the window to eat it. A small thump drew her attention back to the table. Mischief was sniffing at one of the plates. As he began to nibble at one of the morsels she felt a stab of apprehension. What if he ate something poisonous? She could probably heal him, but what if she wasn’t there when it happened?

  I’ll just have to take him with me everywhere.

  She finished eating, then retrieved her pack from the bedroom. There was little inside. Just an empty water skin, some cures, a spare tunic and pair of trousers.

  Emptying it, she shook sand and dust from it and set it aside. Then she sat down to wait.

  Not long after, another knock came from the door. This time Nekaun stood beyond, Turaan behind him.

  “Greetings, Sorceress Auraya.”

  “Priestess,” she corrected.

  “Priestess Auraya. It is time I honored my side of our bargain,” Nekaun said, smiling.

  “Just a moment.” Picking up the pack, she called to Mischief. The veez bounded over to her and leapt up into her arms. Used to this routine, he dived straight into the pack. She hitched it over her shoulder and turned to face Nekaun.

  “I’m ready.”

  He nodded, then ushered her out into the corridor.

  “What do you call that creature?”

  “It is a veez,” she told him. “From Somrey.”

  “A pet?”

  “Yes.”

  “It speaks.”

  “They learn the words they need to express their wants or concerns, such as food, warmth and danger—which doesn’t make them stimulating conversationalists.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose it wouldn’t. Did you sleep well?”

  “No.”

  “Did the heat bother you?”

  “Partly.”

  “You did choose the hottest part of the year to visit us,” he reminded her.

  She decided not to respond to that. He led her up a flight of stairs.

  “Was the food to your liking?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Anything you would like to request?”

  She felt Mischief stir inside the pack. He was uncomfortably warm inside, and a little stifled.

  “Raw meat for Mischief,” she replied. “And that all food be removed from my room when I leave it. I do not want him eating anything unsuitable.”

  He’ll like the meat, she thought. And if he is poisoned I will know the attack was directed at him in order to harm me, rather than him taking food meant for me.

  “That will be arranged,” Nekaun told her. “Here we are.”

  He led her up a narrow staircase through a hole in the ceiling. They emerged into bright sunlight, on the roof of a building. She had seen seats and potted trees on many of the Sanctuary rooftops, indicating that they were treated much like courtyards.

  Four Servants stood near another hole in the roof. They looked at Nekaun expectantly. He spoke a word and they turned to look down into the hole.

  Auraya’s heart twisted as a Siyee climbed up onto the roof. He winced, then blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. Rope bound his wrists together, which must have been uncomfortable as it pinched in the membrane of his wings. His head moved from side to side as he took in the rooftop he was standing on. When he saw Auraya beside Nekaun and Turaan he stilled.

  I’m the first, he thought joyfully. Then he felt a wave of guilt. The others…I don’t want to leave them behind…but I must. If I don’t, it might end this deal Auraya has made.

  A Servant cut his bonds and another held out a water skin and a parcel of food. The Siyee examined them suspiciously, then tucked them away in his vest.

  He looked at her, his mind full of gratitude. She nodded to him.

  Just go, she thought at him.

  As the Servants stepped away the Siyee turned his back on them and broke into a run, leaping off the building and gliding away.

  Auraya slowly let out the breath she had been holding. The winged figure arced away from the Sanctuary, circling the hill and heading south. She watched him until she could no longer see him.

  Then Nekaun turned to her and smiled.

  “Now you must keep your side of the bargain, Sorceress Auraya, and I have much to show you.”

  Rain and heat assailed Kave in successive waves each day, so the air became thick with humidity. Washed clothes refused to dry and dry clothes were wet with perspiration as soon as they were worn. The stink of the refuse below the city rose to cover all in a layer of foulness. Biting insects swarmed in clouds, forcing the city’s inhabitants to stay indoors, so Mirar and Tintel saw few people as they walked toward the river.

  Tintel wiped her brow with a wet cloth and sighed.

  “I so love this time of year,” she said dryly.

  “How long does this last?” he asked.

  “Up to four weeks. Once it went for six. Anyone who can afford to leaves Kave for the summer. Even if they can bear the heat, there is the summer fever to avoid.”

  Mirar thought of the increasing number of sick people coming to the hospice. The other Dreamweavers had explained that this
was a yearly occurrence, and soon the whole House would be filled with beds occupied by the sick. The fever was rarely fatal, however.

  Ahead the houses ended abruptly a few hundred paces from the river’s edge. Narrow wooden staircases descended to the muddy ground below, where a temporary road of planks led away to the water’s edge.

  Mirar and Tintel stopped. They could see a barge tied up to pylons, surrounded by Servants. Men dressed only in short trousers were carrying boxes and chests on board, their backs slick with sweat.

  “I have a parting gift for you,” Tintel said.

  Mirar turned to regard her.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Wait and see,” she told him sternly. “You will need this gift.”

  Opening the bag hanging from her shoulder, she lifted out a clay jug with a narrow neck. The top was sealed with a lump of wax from which a string protruded. Grabbing the string, she pulled the wax plug free.

  “Hold out your hands.”

  Mirar did as she asked. She tipped the bottle and a yellowish oil filled the hollow of one palm. It smelled pleasantly herbal and zesty.

  “Rub this into all exposed skin,” Tintel instructed, tipping oil into her own hand. “It helps keep the bugs and summer fever at bay.”

  “So the bugs bring the sickness?” he asked as he rubbed the oil over his hands then onto his face.

  “Maybe.” Tintel shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a convenient side effect of the oil. It does help to cool the fever.”

  “It is surprisingly refreshing. Makes the heat a little more bearable.”

  She stoppered the bottle and replaced it, then drew out a small wooden box. Opening it, she showed him that it was full of candles.

  “They’re scented with the same extracts. Use them sparingly and they should last you the journey to the escarpment. We sell both oil and candles each summer, for the cost of making them. We are the only ones who make it, even though we give the recipe away to anyone who wants it.”

  “So anyone seeking a profit can’t compete with you. Do you ever have a shortfall of oil and candles?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “Would you have us make a profit on a cure?”