[Age of the Five 01] - Priestess of the White

by Trudi Canavan

  Mairae chuckled. “One day you might, when you realize how many long, boring meetings you’re going to have to sit through in the future.”

  Auraya could think of nothing to say to that.

  A servant hurried out onto the stern and made the gesture of the circle. “Midday refreshments are ready,” she said. “Shall I bring them up here?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Mairae replied. She rose and looked down at Auraya. “I guess we’re about to find out how well your adviser is dealing with sea travel.”

  Auraya smiled and lifted the veez onto her shoulder. “I guess we will.”

  10

  There is a particular kind of tension that comes over people near the end of a journey. For the crew of the Herald it had to do with preparing for the subtler task of directing the ship into a port already crowded with vessels. For the passengers it was anticipation of leaving the discomfort of the seacraft behind, balanced by mingled hopes and doubts for what they might experience at their destination.

  Leiard considered Auraya’s adviser, who was standing on the other side of the two seated White. Danjin Spear was intelligent and knowledgeable, and had been respectful toward Leiard, though occasional comments had betrayed his dislike of Dreamweavers in general.

  He turned his attention to Mairae. Of all the White, apart from Auraya, she was the most friendly toward him. Her warmth appeared to be a natural part of her character rather than something practiced, but it was clear she preferred highborn company. While she sympathized with the poor and praised the hard-working merchants and artisans, she didn’t treat them the same way as she did the rich and powerful. He guessed she regarded Dreamweavers somewhere between the poor and artisans, and probably pitied rather than despised them.

  Unlike Auraya, who neither pitied nor despised Dreamweavers. Leiard looked down at her and could not help feeling a little glow of pride. It was hard not to when he considered what she had achieved. The other White had accepted him and his advice, though some obviously did so begrudgingly.

  They’re relying on me to make this alliance happen. Who would have guessed? The Gods’ Chosen relying on a Dreamweaver.

  A gust of cold air swept over them, taking the ship ever closer to the city. Arbeem’s square whitestone houses were built on a slope that dropped steeply toward the water. They looked like a jumble of oversized staircases. Occasional patches of green broke the endless white. Somreyans loved gardens.

  In the center of the port an enormous statue stood upon a massive column. The weathering it had suffered suggested immense age and rendered the face almost unrecognizable. A memory flashed into Leiard’s mind, jolting him with its strength. It was of the same statue, but less weathered. A name came with it.

  Svarlen. God of the sea.

  This had to be a link memory—and an ancient one. Leiard gazed up at the colossus as the ship passed it, allowing the old image of a newer statue to overlay the reality of it now. He heard a horn blowing and turned to face the city again.

  A boat was moving forward to meet them, propelled by rowers. It was wide-berthed and spectacularly decorated, the emblem of the Council of Elders painted on its sail.

  The captain of the Herald called an order. The sail was furled and the ship drifted to a halt. As the council boat pulled alongside, both crews threw ropes to the other vessel and secured the craft together.

  Three important-looking individuals stood on board the boat, each wearing the gold sash of a member of the Council of Elders. To the left was a robust, gray-haired high priest. His name was Haleed, Leiard recalled. To the right was a middle-aged woman in a Dreamweaver vest. This would be Arleej, the Dreamweaver elder. The leader of his people.

  He had been looking forward to meeting this woman. In the messages sent between the council and the White via priests in both lands, Leiard had seen hints of a sharp-minded, proud woman. Pride was not a characteristic Dreamweavers were encouraged to display, but neither was judging too quickly, he reminded himself. The leader of the Dreamweavers would need to be strong in this age.

  The third man on the boat, standing between the others, was thin and elderly, but though he carried a walking staff his eyes were clear and alert. This, Leiard guessed, was the council’s Moderator, Meeran.

  Rising from their seat, Auraya and Mairae thanked the captain of the Herald then crossed to the welcoming craft. Leiard and Danjin followed, the adviser carrying Mischief in his cage. A sulky muttering came from the veez. During the journey Auraya had taught her pet to endure imprisonment in exchange for generous rewards. Despite this, his tolerance for the cage lasted no longer than an hour.

  As soon as the White were aboard, Meeran stepped forward.

  “Welcome to Somrey, Chosen of the Gods.” He bowed slightly then made the formal sign of the circle. “I am Moderator Meeran. It is our pleasure to see you again, Mairae Gemshaper, and an honor to be the first foreign land to receive Auraya Dyer.”

  Arleej’s eyes slid to Leiard’s. Her stare was intense and questioning, and he sensed doubt and suspicion. He inclined his head, and she dropped her chin once in reply.

  “We are delighted to be visiting your fair islands, Moderator Meeran,” Mairae replied, “and I am pleased to be renewing my acquaintance with you and all the council members.” She looked at Haleed and Arleej. The pair inclined their heads and murmured a reply.

  “I have been looking forward to meeting each of you,” Auraya said, smiling with enthusiasm. Arleej’s lips curled upward in response, but her smile did not extend to her eyes. “I have heard much about the beauty of your land, and hope to see some of your country,” Auraya added, “if I have time.”

  In other words, if we settle this quickly, Leiard thought.

  “Then we must arrange a tour for you.” Meeran’s smile was genuine. His gaze then shifted past Mairae to Danjin. “This must be Danjin Spear. I had the pleasure of trading with your father, in my younger days.”

  Danjin chuckled. “Yes. He spoke both admiringly and scathingly of your bargaining skills many times.”

  Meeran’s smile widened. “I imagine he did, but I like to think those skills are put to better use now, for the benefit of the people.” His gaze flickered to Auraya, and Leiard wondered if she had noted the subtle warning in the man’s words. Then Meeran’s attention turned to Leiard. “And you must be Dreamweaver Adviser Leiard.”

  Leiard nodded.

  “Have you visited Somrey before?”

  “I have memories of this place, but they are old.”

  Arleej’s eyebrows rose fractionally.

  “Then welcome back, Dreamweaver,” Meeran said. “I look forward to hearing how you came to be in this unique and promising position of Dreamweaver adviser to the White. Now,” he turned and clapped his hands, “we shall offer you refreshments.”

  The boat had pulled away from the ship, the rowers’ backs flexing as the oars cut through the water. Meeran ushered the visitors to seats and made polite conversation while servants brought glasses of a warm spiced drink called ahm.

  A high wall ran along the entire length of the city. On top of it was a long line of people, those in front sitting with their feet dangling over the edge. As the welcoming craft drew closer the calls of these people grew audible. Auraya and Mairae waved, rousing a cheer from the crowd.

  The craft did not dock in front of this gathering, but moved on. Leiard saw armed guards keeping the people from straying beyond a certain section of the dock. After this only a line of priests and priestesses waited and it was toward these people the ship moved.

  Solid wooden walkways had been built all along the dock wall. As the boat’s hull settled against one, the rowers drew up their oars. Some secured the boat to the dock, while others set down a carved and painted bridge for the visitors to cross.

  Meeran led them off the welcoming craft and up a stairway. At the top of the wall, the priests and priestesses stared at Mairae and Auraya, their awe and excitement strong enough for Leiard to sense it without effort. Tw
o high priests stepped forward to be introduced by Haleed. Looking beyond them, Leiard realized he stood within Arbeem’s Temple. The building was a humbler style than those in Jarime and was built in the same fashion as most of the city structures—single-story and plain.

  Hearing his name spoken, Leiard brought his attention back to the introductions. The high priests regarded him with suppressed curiosity and doubt. When all had been introduced, Arleej announced that she must depart.

  “I must return to the Dreamweaver House. We are performing the spring link tonight,” she explained. She turned to Leiard. “Would you like to attend, Dreamweaver Leiard?”

  His pulse quickened. A link, and a chance to consult another Dreamweaver about his strange memories. “I would be honored,” he replied slowly. “I may be needed here, however.”

  “Not tonight, Leiard,” Auraya said. She met his eyes levelly, and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Meet your people, her expression seemed to say. Let them see that you can be trusted. “But we will wish to consult with you tomorrow morning,” she added.

  “Then I will attend,” he announced. “And return tonight.”

  Arleej nodded. “I look forward to meeting you all again tomorrow,” she said, nodding politely. The others murmured replies. As she turned away, a priest stepped forward and offered to guide them through the Temple.

  The Dreamweaver elder was silent as they followed the priest. After a short journey they stepped out of the building into a courtyard. A covered four-wheeled tarn and driver waited nearby.

  “The high priest was going to send us out of the main gates,” she said, “but I insisted we leave this way. A crowd was bound to gather out the front, which would have made our exit difficult.”

  Leiard nodded. Was she implying that the crowd was likely to be dangerous, or that it would simply block the way? While Somrey was the nation most tolerant and supportive of Dreamweavers, there were always small groups with views contrary to the majority in any country.

  The tarn was simple and undecorated, and the driver a hired man. Leiard settled next to Arleej on the seat. The Dreamweaver elder told the driver their destination, and soon they were travelling along the narrow, crowded roads of the city.

  As the tarn neared the Dreamweaver House, Arleej considered her companion. He was not what she had expected, but then her expectations hadn’t been specific. Just someone less like a Dreamweaver and more like a Circlian.

  Leiard was, if anything, more Dreamweaver-like than she. The way he answered her questions reminded her strongly of her teacher. Keefler had not known his year of birth, and had lived for most of his life in a remote location. He, too, had been quiet and watchful.

  The answers to her questions about his relationship with Auraya of the White had startled her into silence. He had begun teaching the woman as a child in the hope that she would become his student. She had joined the Circlians instead. If Arleej had suffered such a disappointment she doubted she would have been able to face her former student without struggling with resentment. Leiard appeared to have accepted Auraya’s choice and her elevation to the White. He described her, of all things, as a friend.

  It all seemed too good to be true. That the gods had chosen someone who had been taught by and sympathized with Dreamweavers was incredible. That they tolerated any thought of their people working with Dreamweavers was even more so. Had they finally come to accept the existence of heathens?

  She doubted it. A century of persecution had lessened Dreamweaver numbers, but not eliminated them. The early years of violence after Mirar’s death had encouraged the compassionate to sympathize with Dreamweavers and the rebellious to join the cult. Now, perhaps, the gods sought to woo heathens to them by appearing to be generous and benevolent.

  They will fail, she thought. So long as Dreamweavers pass link memories from generation to generation there will be no forgetting the true nature of the gods.

  The tarn turned a corner and pulled up in front of a large building. The street was busy, and people moved constantly in and out of the building. Leiard looked up at the symbols carved into the façade.

  “The only Dreamweaver House still standing in Northern Ithania,” Arleej said. “Come inside.”

  He followed her into a generous hall. Three elderly Dreamweavers stepped forward to greet Arleej, speaking Somreyan. When she introduced him as the Dreamweaver adviser to the White, their expressions became wary.

  Leiard greeted them in Somreyan. Arleej stared at him in surprise. “Your grasp of our language is impressive,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I know many languages.”

  “The spring link is about to begin,” a voice called.

  Arleej glanced at Leiard and noted a glint of intensity in his gaze. He was looking forward to this, she decided. She started toward the corridor. Leiard followed and the three elderly Dreamweavers came after, uncharacteristically silent, Arleej thought. No doubt it has occurred to them that he will join us, and they’re deciding if that is for good or ill. It is a gamble. He may learn much about us, but they must realize that we may also learn of his, and the White’s, intentions in regard to the alliance.

  Had Auraya realized this when she had allowed him to leave her side for the evening?

  The corridor ended at a large wooden door. Arleej pushed it open and stepped out into a round, sunken garden. The air was cool and moist. Several Dreamweavers were already present, forming a broken ring. Leiard glanced around, a look of mild puzzlement on his face. As if he recognized the place.

  Arleej joined the circle, stepping aside to allow room for Leiard. The elderly Dreamweavers from the hall took their places. Arleej waited until all was quiet, then a little longer to allow the stillness of the place to calm her thoughts before she spoke the words of the ritual.

  “We gather tonight in peace and in pursuit of understanding. Our minds will be linked. Our memories shall flow between us. Let none seek or spy, or impose a will upon another. Instead, we shall become one mind.”

  She lifted her arms to either side and took hold of the hands of her neighbors. Two minds touched her senses, then dozens more as all of the Dreamweavers linked hands and minds. There was a shared feeling of elation, then a brief pause.

  Images and impressions quickly overwhelmed all sense of the physical world. Memories of childhood mingled with those of recent events. Images of well-known faces followed those of strangers. Snatches of remembered conversations echoed in the thoughts of all. She didn’t move to guide them; she let the mingled thoughts move where they would.

  Slowly the inevitable happened. All were curious about the newcomer. As some wondered who he was, those that knew revealed his identity. Leiard’s response was slow, beginning with his acknowledgment of his position as Dreamweaver adviser, then shifting to include many layers of thought. Arleej understood that he hoped to help his people. She also saw the affection and admiration he felt for Auraya. At the same time, he revealed his fear of the White and their gods.

  Arleej watched with amusement as his thoughts now began to run in circles. Every time he considered his distrust and dislike of the gods and the White, the thought of Auraya brought reassurance. While he believed she would not willingly harm him or other Dreamweavers, he was not foolish enough to think she would not do so if ordered by the gods. He felt this worth the risk.

  All were relieved to see he was working with Auraya for his people’s benefit, not the gods’ or even Auraya’s. Being around any Circlian other than Auraya stirred a deep fear in him, however. Such fear came only from experience. Had something terrible happened to him? As Arleej considered this, Leiard’s thoughts turned to other matters that worried him. Strange memories came to him unbidden, he revealed. Sometimes thoughts sprang into his mind that did not feel like they were entirely his own. The curiosity of the other linked Dreamweavers rose.

  In response, these memories began to spill forth.

  She saw the Guardian in the port. The statue was not as weathered, and she sudden
ly knew what it represented. A god—and not one that the Circlians now worshipped.

  She saw a smaller Arbeem, with a half-constructed dock wall. She saw the Dreamweaver House as a new building painted in bright, welcoming colors.

  She saw the face of an elderly Dreamweaver man and knew him to be her predecessor from centuries earlier. A thought came with it, and it was nothing like Leiard’s internal voice.

  A proud one, that Dreamweaver elder. I had to talk him out of withholding care from the Moderator, though the man deserved it. That was the last time I visited Somrey. Wasn’t much of a kingdom then—not even considered part of Northern Ithania. Who’d have thought it would become the only refuge for Dreamweavers?

  Arleej’s heart was racing. Leiard is right, she thought. These aren’t his thoughts. They are Mirar’s.

  She had encountered similar link memories before. Most Dreamweavers had fragments of Mirar’s recollections, gained during links. Mirar been linked with other Dreamweavers for so long, there were plenty of his link memories still around. There was something comforting about the thought that the ritual Mirar had begun in order to encourage understanding and speed teaching should also keep part of him alive in the minds of his followers.

  However, Leiard carried more than just fragments of Mirar’s memories. His mind was full of so many recollections that a sense of Mirar’s personality had emerged. It was like knowing someone so well, you could predict how they would behave or speak.

  Arleej sensed the excitement of the other Dreamweavers. She could feel them greedily prodding for more memories, but the flood had abated now as Leiard contemplated the source of them. Arleej could see that he hadn’t known or even guessed the truth. He was not even sure who he had picked the memories up from. Probably his teacher, though he had no strong memory of the man—or woman.

  And that was something that had also bothered him. Why were so many of his own memories so hazy?

  :You have many link memories, she told him. And you have spent long years in isolation. With time, it is easy to forget which recollections are yours and which are not. The boundaries have blurred, so you must re-establish them. Linking is the best method. The assertion of your identity at the end of a link strengthens your sense of self.