He nodded, then watched as she walked down the slope to join her fellow White.
A soldier limped out of the valley toward him. He glanced at Auraya again, then hurried over to help the man.
For a long time now, Tryss had struggled to make sense of it. For hours he had lain in a daze, listening to the sounds of men and women murmuring in languages he didn’t understand. There was a desperation to their voices. Only much later did he realize that what he was hearing was praying.
It went on and on. Eventually most of the voices faded away. He wondered if the gods had answered. He hoped so.
A new voice had started, but this one did not speak the names of gods. It spoke a more familiar name.
“Tryss! You’re alive! Tryss! Wake up! Talk to me!”
It was so familiar. And comforting, somehow. Yet he wasn’t about to do what it said. Waking up meant pain. He’d had more than enough pain today.
“Tryss...” There was a long pause, then a choking sound. “Tryss. I have something to tell you. Wake up.”
He felt a stirring of curiosity. It wasn’t enough. The memory of pain was too frightening. He let himself drift.
Then pain came seeking him.
It was not like before - a distant, constant ache. It came in brief stabs. Each time it shot through his body it was followed by a sudden absence of pain. He felt himself dragged out of the comfortable place. The voice will be happy, he thought grumpily. I’m waking up; just what it wants. I’ll open my eyes and...
Suddenly he was staring up at a face. A man leaned over him, frowning with concentration. The face didn’t match the voice.
“Tryss! Oh, thank you!”
The exclamation came from Tryss’s left. He began to turn his head, but it hurt too much. So he rolled his eyes. He could see a blurred face. A female face.
She leaned forward and recognition came like a bolt of lightning.
“Drilli.”
I spoke, he thought. Perhaps I’m not dying after all. He looked at the man again. A Dreamweaver. Tryss felt another stab of pain followed by numbness. Rolling his eyes to the right, he saw and felt the Dreamweaver’s hands on his arm.
He felt movement inside his arm. Bones and flesh shifting. The sensation was peculiar and nauseating. Tryss decided it would be better not to watch. He looked at Drilli.
She was so beautiful - even covered in mud, sweat and blood. She was grinning at him, her eyes all glittery.
“So what is it?” he asked.
She blinked and frowned. “What is what?”
“That you have to tell me.”
To his amusement, she paused. “So you heard that.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps we should wait until later. When you’re healed.”
“Why?”
“It’s... too early.”
“Too early for what?” He tried to lift his head and gasped as pain ripped down his back.
“Tell him,” the Dreamweaver said quietly.
Drilli looked at the man, then nodded. “Just remember that these things often go wrong in the first few months.”
Tryss sighed and rolled his eyes. “What things?”
She bit her lip. “I’m - we’re - going to be parents.”
“Parents?”
“Yes. I’m carrying...”
A baby. She’s pregnant. Tryss felt a thrill of excitement. The next stab of pain hardly bothered him. He grinned at Drilli.
“That explains why you’ve been sick all the time. I thought it must be all those spices you like in your food.”
She pulled a face.
Tryss opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the Dreamweaver slid his hands behind Tryss’s neck. Pain shot down his body, then numbness. The Dreamweaver remained still for a long time. Slowly, feeling returned, but no pain. The Dreamweaver’s hands finally slid away and Tryss felt the man turn his attention to his other arm.
“That was... amazing,” Tryss managed.
“Keep still,” the Dreamweaver said.
Drilli shifted position to Tryss’s right side. He found he could move his arm. Lifting it, he was amazed to see there wasn’t even a scar left to mark his skin.
He was able to turn his head now, so he began to watch the Dreamweaver working. The sight of his other arm bent at a strange angle was disturbing, but as the Dreamweaver’s hands slowly moved over it, his elbow bent back in the right direction. Tryss felt a growing awe. He had heard of Dreamweavers’ legendary abilities, but nothing like this.
I was dying, he thought. And this man has done what should have been impossible: made me whole again. He has saved my life.
The Dreamweaver sat back on his heels and regarded Tryss critically. Then he rose and turned away.
“Wait.”
Tryss hauled himself to his feet. Belatedly he realized what he had done, and paused to look in wonder at his arms and body. Then he hurried after the Dreamweaver, Drilli following.
“Wait. Thank you. You’ve saved my life.”
The man’s eyes roved about. He muttered something. Tryss frowned and moved closer.
“No. Not safe there. But Jayim. No. Forget. You must leave before he returns with Arleej.” The Dreamweaver paused and his voice became thin and weak. “One more. One more.” Then he shook his head. “Enough. The sun is rising. It is time.”
The Dreamweaver was talking to himself. Were they always like this? Perhaps only when they were working. Tryss hoped so. There was something disturbing about the idea of being healed by a madman. Shaking his head sadly, Tryss returned to Drilli.
“I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if he can,” he told her.
She nodded, and her eyes roamed over his body. “What he did... it was amazing. Do... do you think you can fly?”
He grinned. “Let’s find out.”
She frowned with concern. “Wait. What if it’s too soon...”
But he was already running. Racing across the battlefield with his arms spread wide. He felt a light wind catch his wings and he leapt into the air.
As Drilli joined him, he whooped with joy and soared up into the sky.
* * *
After walking for an hour the White stopped on top of a low hill. Auraya looked back. Thin trails of smoke were the only clue to the camp’s location. They moved to form a wide circle.
“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru,” Juran spoke. “We thank you for giving us the means to defend Northern Ithania. We thank you for protecting our people from the Pentadrian invaders.”
“We thank you,” Auraya murmured with the others.
“We have fought in your names and we have won. Now, as we face the aftermath of this battle, we need your guidance even more.”
“Guide us.”
“We ask that you appear now, so that we may ask for wisdom.”
Auraya held her breath. She could not help it, even now. A glow filled the circle. It coalesced into five figures.
All five, she thought. I haven’t seen them all together since my Choosing.
The gods’ features appeared. They were smiling. She could not help smiling too. Chaia stood facing Juran.
:We are pleased at your victory, he said. You have all done well. And Auraya... The god turned to regard her. You have surpassed even our expectations.
Auraya felt her face warming. She lowered her eyes, amused by her own embarrassment at his praise.
:What is it you wish to ask? The question came from Huan.
“We have allowed the remaining Pentadrians to surrender and return to their lands, as you instructed,” Juran told them, “but we fear the consequences of doing so.”
:The Pentadrians may regain their strength and invade again, Lore said. If they are determined to, they will. Killing this army would not stop another coming.
“Then if they invade again, perhaps we should not only drive them away, but rid the world of their cult,” Rian said.
:There may come a time when that is unavoidable. You are not yet ready for that battle, Chaia replied.
/> “When Auraya witnessed the Pentadrian army emerge from the mines, she saw what appeared to be a god,” Dyara said. “But that is impossible. What was it? An illusion?”
:It is not impossible, Yranna replied.
“But there are no other gods.”
:None of the old ones survived but us, Yranna agreed. But new ones can arise.
“Five of them?” Dyara asked.
:It is unlikely, Sara murmured.
“But not impossible.”
:No. Chaia looked at the other gods. We will investigate.
They nodded.
Chaia turned back to Juran.
:For now, return to Jarime and enjoy the peace you have fought so hard for. We will speak to you again soon. He glanced at Dyara, then his eyes met Auraya’s. His smile widened for a moment, before his attention moved to Rian and Mairae.
Then the five glowing figures vanished.
Juran sighed and broke the circle by moving toward Dyara. “Let’s hope they find nothing.”
“Yes,” Dyara agreed. “Though if the Pentadrians do follow real gods, they must be feeling a bit unhappy with them now. They lost.”
“Mmmm,” Juran replied. “Will they again?”
“Of course they will,” Mairae said lightly. She smiled as they all turned to regard her. “We have Auraya.”
Auraya sighed. “Will you stop saying that, Mairae? I didn’t do anything extraordinary. The Pentadrians made a mistake, that’s all.”
Mairae grinned. “The enemy is going to take back stories of the ferocious flying priestess who killed their leader.”
“I didn’t fly during the battle.”
“That hardly matters. Think what a deterrent for invasion that will be. Your name will be used to frighten children into obedience for generations.”
“How wonderful,” Auraya said dryly.
“If I don’t get some breakfast soon you’ll find out how ferocious a priestess can be,” Dyara growled.
Juran gave Dyara a bemused look. “That must be avoided at all costs. Come on, then. Let’s go home.”
The Dreamweaver robes Emerahl had stolen were a bit big for her, but they had kept her sufficiently safe from priestly notice while she tended the sick. She had kept to the Pentadrian side of the battleground, which reduced the number of Circlians she treated. There had been no sign of the White for hours. They were probably discussing the battle among their allies.
She had no bag of medicines, but managed well enough with magic. It was satisfying work. She hadn’t been free to use her Gifts in this way for... a long time. Just before dawn she had decided it was time to leave, but at the edge of the battlefield she had discovered a Siyee still clinging to life and stopped to help him.
By the time she had finished, the sun had risen. Delicate light filled the valley. She had wanted to leave the field when it was still dark, but it shouldn’t matter if anyone saw her go. The Dreamweavers might wonder why one of their kind was abandoning the field, but they were probably too involved in their work to notice. No one else would know enough about Dreamweavers to wonder why she was leaving.
She glanced around. Only one Dreamweaver stood nearby, his back to her. He was looking up at the sky. She frowned. There was something familiar about him. Perhaps he was one of the Dreamweavers from the group she had run into.
A voice reached her, low and strained. She moved closer and felt a shiver run down her back.
I know that voice.
But it could not belong to the man she had known. What was he saying, anyway? She stepped over a corpse and crept closer.
“- must go. No. She can help. No. She will only make it worse. I can’t—”
The voice changed from high to low, weak to forceful, stranger to familiar. He was ranting at himself like a madman. As he cast about he turned to face her and she gasped.
“Mirar!”
It was impossible. He was dead. But as she said his name his gaze cleared and she saw recognition in his eyes.
“Emerahl?”
“You’re... you’re...”
“Alive? In a way.” He shrugged, then his gaze became keen. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled crookedly. “Long story.”
“Will you... can you help me?”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“I need you to take me away from here. No matter who I turn into. No matter how I protest. Using all your magic, if you need to.”
She stared at him. “Why would I have to do that?”
He grimaced. “Long story.”
She nodded, then closed the distance between them. He had aged. She had never seen him so thin and wrinkled. His hair was so light it was nearly white, and she could see from the untanned skin around his jaw that he had only recently removed a beard. If it weren’t for the recognition in his eyes, and the little mannerisms she had once known so well, she might not have recognized him at all. But here he was, changed but alive. She would ponder the impossibility of this later.
Taking his arm, she led him away.
Epilogue
Auraya walked the battlefield.
Around her were twisted bodies. The pale, staring eyes of the dead filled her with horror. She was afraid to look into them, yet she could not stop herself. Blue lips opened and rasping voices pleaded for life. She tore her gaze away only to be caught by another corpse ranting at her. Accusing.
“It’s your fault I’m dead.”
She hurried away, but the sea of corpses was endless. They lay thick on the ground. She had to step over them. They tried to grab her ankles.
“We had to fight! We had to!” she protested. “You know that!”
Ahead she could see a light. Suddenly she was standing before it. A table and two stools had been set in a gap between the bodies. On the table was a game of counters - a game already begun. The set was beautifully made of black and white veinstone.
The corpses had fallen silent. She stepped over the last of them and looked down at the board. The two sides were caught in stalemate. No wonder they had abandoned the game.
A figure stepped out of the shadows. She felt a stab of pain as she recognized him.
Leiard.
He looked at her searchingly, then down at the board.
“What an interesting dream you’re having. Why did you feel the need for me to join you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you here.”
“You called me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
She glared at him. “Why did you answer then? I thought you preferred whores.”
He blinked in surprise. “So you know about that?”
“Yes.”
He looked thoughtful. “Probably just as well. You won’t be tempted to look for me.”
She felt a stab of hurt. “Oh, there’s no chance of that now.”
“You might find this hard to believe, but I didn’t want to hurt you. My people were in danger. Leiard’s weak and humble nature was meant to protect us, not lead us into danger.” He looked down at the board. “There are five white pieces and five black left. Which side do you want to take?”
She looked at the board. “White, of course.”
“Then you have won.”
One of the pieces had changed. It had been engraved with a gold circle, representing a priest, which made it a stronger piece than it had been.
“What happened? That’s not how it was before.”
Leiard smiled. “No?”
“Why did it change?”
“I don’t know. This is your dream, Auraya of the White, and I want no part of it. Goodbye.”
She looked up.
He had vanished.
Glossary
VEHICLES
platten - two-wheeled vehicle
tarn - four-wheeled vehicle
PLANTS
dembar - tree with magic sensitive sap
felfea - tree of Si
florrim - tranquilizing drug<
br />
formtane - sophoric drug
fronden - fern/bracken-like plants
garpa - tree. Seeds are a stimulant.
heybrin - cure believed to protect against stds
mytten - tree with wood that burns slowly
rebi - fruit found in Si
saltwood - wood that is resistant to decay
shendle - plant on forest floor
velweed - cure for hemorrhoids
wemmin - fleshy flower
winnet - tree that grows along rivers
yan - tubers on forest floor
ANIMALS
arem - domestic, for pulling platten and tarn
ark - predatory bird
breem - small animal hunted by Siyee for food
dartfly - stinging insect of northeast mountains
fanrin - predator that hunts gowts
garr - giant sea creature
girri - wingless birds, domesticated by Siyee
glitterworm - insect that glows in the dark
gowt - domestic animal bred for meat and milk, resides in mountains
kiri - large predatory bird
leramar - predator with telepathic ability
lyrim - domestic herd animals
moohook - small pet
ner - domesticated animal bred for meat
reyer - animal for riding and pulling platten
shem - domestic animal bred for milk
tiwi - insects that make a hive
veez - cute, telepathic pet that can speak
vorn - wolf-like animals
woodfish - tasteless fish
yern - deer-like, limited telepathy
yeryer - venomous sea creature
CLOTHING
circ - circular overgarment worn by Circlian priests and priestesses
octavestim - garb of the Priests of Gareilem
tawl - overgarment worn draped over shoulders, fastened at throat
tunic - dress for women, shirt for men
undershift - undergarment for women
FOOD
wafercakes - fried, flakey pastry
firespice - spice from Toren
nutmeal - paste made from nuts, Si
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