She felt a surge of panic and hacked at the net. Something caught the blade and it slipped from her grasp. She twisted and grabbed for it, but her fingers closed on water. Sunlight flashed on the blade once before it sank out of sight.
The net tightened on her legs as she was hauled upward.
No! She shrieked into the water and twisted about to claw at her legs, but the next pull lifted her into air. She gasped in a fresh lungful then tried to reach up to her ankles again. Free of the buoyancy of the water, she didn’t have the strength to reach them. She heard voices above her. Angry voices. One of them barked a word.
Then hands were clawing and pulling at her. She struggled and struck out, shrieking in terror. The hard edge of the boat rolled under her, then she fell onto a flat surface.
The hands left her. She stopped shrieking and stared up at her captors, panting with fear. They stared back at her, their pale, wrinkled faces twisted with disgust.
Words passed between them. One narrowed his eyes at her, then barked at the others. They eyed him with sullen respect, then all but one moved away.
She guessed the barker was the leader. He began to talk with the one who’d stayed. Imi turned her attention to the net still tangled around her ankles. The rope had drawn painfully tight. If she could free herself, she had only to spring up and leap over the side of the boat to get away.
But the rope would not loosen. She felt a shadow fall over her and realized the leader was bending down. Seeing the knife in his hand, she shrank away, sure that he was going to kill her. She heard herself whimpering with fear.
The knife moved to her ankles. With a few careful cuts he freed her.
He was going to let her go. She felt a surge of relief and found herself thanking the man. He looked at the second man, who smiled.
It was not a friendly smile. Imi felt her stomach twist. The leader barked again, and one of the other men tossed him a short length of rope. As he moved toward her ankle again she realized what he was going to do. Relief evaporated and she tried to leap up, but his hand closed around her leg firmly. The second man grabbed her shoulders, shoved her down onto her back and held her there. She shrieked again, and kept shrieking as the leader tied her ankles together. They rolled her onto her front in order to tie her hands together behind her, then dragged her to the center of the boat where they tied her hands to a metal ring.
“What are you doing?” Imi cried desperately, struggling into a sitting position. “Why won’t you let me go free?”
The two men exchanged glances, then turned and walked away.
“You can’t hold me here. I’m... I’m the Elai king’s daughter,” she declared, feeling anger growing. “My father will send warriors to kill you!”
None of the landwalkers paid any attention. They did not know what she was telling them. They did not understand her words any more than she understood theirs. How could she tell them who she was?
One of the landwalkers nearby upended a bag. Its contents spilled out. She stared at the green mess, and as the men set to plucking small objects out of the tangle she realized that the limp strands she was looking at were the fragile branches and roots of the sea-bell plant.
The landwalkers had ripped the plants out of the sandy floor of the sea.
She felt a wave of nausea at the thought of what they’d done. There would be no crop of bells next year for this plant. They had killed the plant outright in their haste to harvest them.
How can they be so wasteful? she thought. And so stupid! If they left the plants intact, they could come back next year and gather more bells.
Her father was right. Landwalkers were horrible. She twisted her hands about, but there was no way she was going to be able to get to the knot to untie it.
Rissi, she thought. He’s got to tell father where I am. She struggled to her feet and searched the water. After an eternity she thought she saw something move. A head, perhaps.
“Rissi!” she screamed. “Tell father where I am. Tell him I’m a prisoner. Tell him to come—”
Something struck her face. She staggered to her knees, her face aflame. The leader was standing over her. He barked out a few words, pointing at her with his long, web-less fingers.
Though she could not understand a word, the warning was clear. Stunned, Imi watched him walk away.
Father will come, she told herself. He’ll save me. When he does, he’ll spear every one of these horrible landwalkers, and they’ll deserve it.
14
It was pleasantly warm outside the cave, now that the late summer sun had set. The sky was free of cloud, and the stars were a dense carpet above. Emerahl sighed with appreciation.
“That’s better,” Mirar murmured.
They had decided the rock wall was the most comfortable place to sit two nights ago, when Mirar had first ventured outside. Though she hadn’t caught a hint of Mirar’s thoughts for many days now, he wasn’t invisible to physical eyes so he only emerged at night. The Siyee thought she was alone and she did not want them to find out otherwise until she and Mirar had decided what they wanted to do next.
There was little to do at night but admire the stars and talk. She heard Mirar draw in a breath to speak.
“I’ve been thinking about the other Wilds today. It is possible some are still alive.”
She turned to look at him. His face was faintly lit by starlight. “I’ve been thinking about them, too. I’ve been asking myself whether it would be better or worse for us if we found them.”
“Worse if it leads to the gods discovering our existence.”
“How would they?” She paused. “Do you think the others would betray us?”
“They may not mean to. The gods may read their minds.”
Emerahl smiled crookedly. “If their minds were readable, the gods would have found and killed them long ago,” she pointed out.
Mirar shifted his position. “Yes. Probably.”
She looked up at the stars. “Still, the others might need our help.”
“I’m sure if they’ve survived this long they don’t need our help.”
“Oh? Like you didn’t need my help?”
He chuckled. “But I’m just a young fool a mere thousand years old. The other Wilds are older and wiser.”
“Then they might be able to help us,” she replied.
“How?”
“If I was able to teach you to hide your mind, imagine what they might be able to teach us. Perhaps nothing, but we can’t know that until we find them.”
“You want me to come with you on this search?”
Emerahl sighed. “I’d like you to, but I don’t think it would be wise. If you are right about ordinary priests not being able to read minds...”
“And I am.”
“... then I will be safe enough, unless I have a moment of exceptionally bad luck and bump into the priest with the mind-reading ability who was looking for me before.”
“While there are far more people who might recognize Leiard,” he finished.
“Yes.”
“If the gods are looking for me, they may have instructed priests and priestesses to call for them if they see me. Dreamweavers are probably also watching for me. The gods could be watching their minds, too.” He groaned. “There are so many people who could recognize me. Why did Leiard agree to become Dreamweaver Adviser to the White?”
“I’m sure he thought it was for the best.”
“Dealing with the gods never turns out for the best.” He sighed. “How long am I going to have to hide for? Am I going to have to stay in this cave until no one is left alive who might recognize me?”
“If you did, you’d never leave. Unless you plan to have someone assassinate the White.”
“Is that an offer?”
She smiled. “No. You are going to have to do what I did - become a hermit. Avoid all but the most ordinary, unimportant people.”
“So if I stay here for a lifetime I’ll only have the White to worry about.”
“Do you know of any other hiding places?”
“A few. I don’t think you can or should avoid other humans completely, however. You need people about or the rift in your identity might widen again.”
“I have you.”
She smiled. “Indeed you have. But I am a person who Mirar relates to strongly. I may be inhibiting your ability to accept Leiard. You need to interact with people who have no prior relationship with you. These Siyee will do you no harm. You said you hadn’t met any of them.”
“Who will I tell them I am? I can’t tell them I am Mirar.”
“No. You will have to pretend to be someone else again.”
“Leiard?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Give yourself a new name and appearance, but don’t invent new habits or personality traits to go with them. Be yourself.”
“What name should I use, then?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t choose a name you dislike.”
He chuckled. “Of course not.” She heard him drumming his fingers. “I’m still a Dreamweaver, so I’ll name myself after one. On the journey to the battle I met a young man not unlike myself. Opinionated and smart. His name was Wil.”
“Wil? Isn’t that a Dunwayan name? You don’t look Dunwayan.”
“No. I’ll add a syllable, then.”
She chuckled. “How about Wily? Or Willful?”
He sighed. “In a thousand years your sense of humor hasn’t improved much, Emerahl.”
“I could have suggested Wilted.”
He made a low, disapproving noise. “I will call myself Wilar.”
Emerahl nodded. “Wilar, then. Wilar what?”
“Shoemaker.” He lifted one foot. The sandals he had made were just visible in the faint light.
“Useful skill, that one,” she said.
“Yes. Leiard did learn some new ones for me. I never needed to make my own before then. People were always happy to give them to me.”
“Ah, the good old days,” she said mockingly. “How we miss the unending adoration and generosity of our followers.”
He laughed. “Except it wasn’t unending.”
“No. And I don’t miss it.”
They were silent for a long time. Mirar finally stirred, and she braced herself in preparation to stand up. But instead of suggesting they go back inside, he only turned to regard her.
“You are going to leave, aren’t you?”
She looked at him, and felt pulled in two directions. “I do want to find the other Wilds,” she said. “But it can wait. If you need me to stay, I will.”
He reached out and touched her face. “I want you to stay,” he told her. “But... you’re right about your effect on me. You’re an anchor that I’m afraid to let go of. I should do as you suggest and seek out other people.”
She took his hand and closed hers around it. “I can stay a little longer. There is no hurry.”
“No, there isn’t. Except I feel restless already. I think I’ll soon become unbearable to be around if I don’t find something to do. I’d come with you if I could. I wish you had a plan in mind that I could assist with, but I’m glad you’re trying to find them.” He paused. “We must stay in contact.”
“Yes.” As she said it, she felt her wish to find the Wilds harden into determination. “We will dream link. I can tell you how my search is going.”
“And keep an eye on me?”
She laughed. “Definitely.”
He drew his hand away and leaned back on the rock wall again. His head tilted as he looked up at the stars.
“So beautiful,” he said. “Will you change your appearance again?”
She considered. Being good-looking gave one an advantage when gathering information, but being beautiful - and young - usually proved a hindrance when travelling. People tended to notice and remember beautiful women. They asked too many questions or, if then, tried to seduce her.
“Yes. I’ll add about ten or twenty years I think.”
He murmured something. She caught the words “missed out” and smiled. It was nice to know he was still attracted to her. Perhaps once he had accepted Leiard and become whole again there would be another opportunity for a dalliance.
She smiled. The sooner I leave, the sooner he’ll sort himself out and the sooner we can explore those possibilities. If I have doubts about going, I’ll just remind myself of that. Still smiling, she rose and headed back into the cave to start preparing for the long process of changing her age.
Imenja poured another glass of water, then topped Reivan’s glass up.
“One more to go,” she murmured. “It’ll be over soon.”
Reivan nodded and tried not to look too relieved. When she had first entered the room and realized that she would be included in the final stage of an event as momentous as the election of the First Voice she had been dizzy with awe and amazement.
She had watched in fascination as each of the Voices closed their eyes, communicated with Head Servants in regions all over Ithania, and spoke aloud the tally of votes for each Dedicated Servant. The Companion for each Voice had marked the tally on a huge sheet of parchment. When Imenja had indicated that Reivan should do the same for her, she had been overwhelmed. As she’d taken up the brush her hands had been shaking with excitement.
At the end of an hour the endless repetition of the tallying had turned fascination to boredom. After two hours she was dismayed to find they had collected tallies for only a sixth of the regions on the parchment. It was going to be a long day.
Domestics brought an endless variety of delicacies and drinks as if to make up for the monotony of the day. All conversation was undertaken in quiet murmurs, so as to avoid distracting whichever Voice was collecting information.
“That is all,” Vervel said. “All votes are cast. Will you do the first count, Imenja?”
The Second Voice rose and moved to the sheet of parchment. She ran her finger down the first column slowly, her lips moving as she added up the numbers. When she reached the end of the column she took the brush and inked in a total, then she started counting the next column of numbers.
This was also a slow process, but Reivan felt a growing anticipation. When Imenja was done, they would know who was to be their new leader. She glanced at the Companions. They, too, were watching with rapt expressions.
Imenja’s finger made a soft scraping sound as it moved down the parchment. Each time she paused to ink in the result Reivan studied her face. Reivan had memorized the order of the names and knew which Dedicated Servant her mistress was counting the tallies of. She also knew from the tallies she had written down which candidates were most favored. But when Imenja’s eyebrows rose at one result, and frowned at another, Reivan could not guess whether her mistress was pleased, dismayed or merely surprised.
When Imenja had finished, she straightened and looked at Vervel. He returned her gaze, then shrugged. Karkel, Vervel’s Companion, half rose out of his chair, but sat down again as Vervel looked at him and shook his head.
So they’re not going to tell us now, Reivan thought. Will they tell us when the others have confirmed the count? Or will we have to wait until they make the public announcement?
Vervel now began to count the votes. Unable to stand the suspense, Reivan looked away. A plate of nuts and dried fruit lay on the table beside her. She began to eat, though she was far from hungry. The plate was half-empty by the time Shar announced his count finished. Imenja rolled the parchment up then smiled at the four Companions.
“Let’s go and give one Dedicated Servant some good news and a lot of people something to celebrate.”
The Companions stood. Reivan noted the expressions of resignation on their faces. So we have to wait like everyone else, she thought, smiling to herself. So much for being Imenja’s f
avored pet.
They followed the Voices out of the room. Two domestics approaching the door with trays of food paused and bowed their heads as the small parade of importance passed. Looking back, Reivan saw them exchange meaningful looks, then hurry away.
Soon she was noting other domestics and .a few Servants peering around corners or doors at them. She caught excited whispers and running footsteps. A feeling of growing expectation began to fill the Sanctuary. Distant shouts and calls could be heard, muffled behind walls or doors. A bell rang somewhere, then others. The Voices left the intimate passages of the Upper Sanctuary and started down the main corridor of the Middle Sanctuary. Reivan could see Servants ahead hurrying to join those waiting to hear the announcement. Others formed a small crowd that followed at a discreet distance.
The corridor of the Middle Sanctuary ended at a large courtyard. Imenja and the other Voices strode across this, the Companions following, and entered an airy hall. A crowd of black robes filled the room. Reivan recognized the faces of many Dedicated Servants. She wondered how long they had been waiting here.
The sound of chatter died and all heads turned toward the Voices, but the Pentadrian leaders did not stop. They crossed the hall and emerged at the top of the Main Stairs. As they appeared a roar of voices greeted them. The people of Glymma, and those who had travelled here to witness the election of the new First Voice, formed a great mass of upturned faces and waving arms.
The four Voices formed a line. Standing behind them, Reivan could not see their expressions. She closed her eyes and let the great sound of the cheering crowd wash over her.
“Fellow Pentadrians,” Imenja called, her voice rising above the noise.
The cheering dwindled reluctantly. Looking past Imenja, Reivan saw many overly bright eyes in the crowd, and bottles and mugs clutched in several hands. She chuckled quietly to herself.
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