The Last of the Wilds aotft-2

by Trudi Canavan

  Surprised, Reivan watched him leave, wishing she could bring herself to ask who her supporters were, but knowing he would say no more.

  * * *

  With Tyve constantly advising him on the terrain ahead, Mirar had been able to travel faster than he and Emerahl had during their journey into Si. The boy circled above, warning of dead-end ravines and guiding Mirar to valleys that provided easy travelling. Each night Tyve slipped away to visit his village and each morning he returned more worried than ever. More of the tribe had fallen ill. A young baby had died, then its mother, weakened by a difficult birth. Veece was failing fast. At each report Mirar grew more certain the Siyee were facing a plague. He travelled from first light to dusk, stopping only to drink and eat, knowing that the situation in the village was worsening every hour.

  He had seen many plagues before. Injuries, wounds and minor diseases were easy enough for a sorcerer with healing knowledge and magical strength to treat, but when a disease spread quickly it was not long before there were too few healers capable of fighting it to treat all victims - when they were not battling the disease themselves.

  And here in Si you are the only one, Leiard added.

  Mirar sighed. If only I could have prevented Siyee from leaving the village and spreading the disease.

  He’d sent this advice ahead, but the news Tyve brought back had been alarming. Some families had fled to other villages already. Messengers had been sent to the Open.

  They’re already panicking, Leiard said. You’ll have as much work dealing with their fear of disease as the disease itself.

  Mirar didn’t answer. The rocky slope he was descending had become an enormous, roughly hewn staircase that took all his attention. He jumped from rock shelf to rock shelf, each landing jolting his entire body.

  The steps became steadily shallower as the trees around him grew larger. Soon he was walking on smooth leaf-covered ground, surrounded by the trunks of enormous trees. The air was moist. A stream trickled slowly nearby, dividing and rejoining and forming pools here and there.

  It was a peaceful place and would have made a pleasant camping site - apart from the lingering smell of animal feces. The area must be a thoroughfare for forest creatures. Remembering the reason for his journey, he quickened his pace again.

  Then he heard a Siyee whistle a call of warning and he halted.

  Looking up, he blinked in surprise as he saw that platforms had been built between many of the tree branches overhead. Faces peered over the edges of these, gazing down at him, and he sensed fear, hope and curiosity.

  He had reached the village.

  From the right a Siyee glided down to meet him. It was Tyve.

  “Some have hung ropes for you to climb,” he told Mirar. “Others are too suspicious. They’ll change their minds once they hear you’ve cured some of us.”

  Mirar nodded. “How many are ill now?”

  “I don’t know. Ten the last time I counted.”

  “Take me to the sickest, then fly to all the people and find out how many are sick or are showing the first signs of it.”

  “Yes. I will. Follow me.”

  Tyve walked through the trees for several hundred paces. A rope hung down from one of the platforms. Mirar tied the end of the rope to the handles of his bag.

  “Who lives up here?”

  Tyve swallowed and looked up. “Speaker Veece and his wife and her sister.”

  The old man. Mirar smothered a sigh. Even among landwalkers, Hearteater most often claims the old and the very young.

  He took hold of the rope and began to climb.

  It was a long climb. Halfway up he looked down and considered what would happen if he slipped and fell.

  I’d definitely be injured. Probably badly. Probably to a point that would kill mortals.

  But he would not die. His body would repair itself, though gradually.

  Like it did after they took me out from under the ruined Dreamweaver House in Jarime. I was a bag of broken bones, not quite dead, not quite alive. Mirar shuddered. A mind fixed only on keeping alive enough to regenerate, parts of me decomposing while others healed...

  Think of something else, Leiard suggested.

  Mirar drew in a deep breath and concentrated on hauling himself upward. When he reached the top he pulled himself onto the platform and lay on his back, panting. Once he had caught his breath he rolled over and found two elderly Siyee women hovering nearby.

  They have it, Leiard observed.

  He was right. Their faces were pale and shone with sweat, and their lips were tinged with blue. Despite the name of the disease, it actually attacked the lungs. As it ate away at them the victim was less and less able to breathe, causing their blood to weaken. In some places it was known as the White Death.

  He stood up. A bower had been built on top of the platform. From his high position he could see bowers on most platforms - and many Siyee watching him. He looked at the two women.

  “I am Dreamweaver Wilar. I will try to help Speaker Veece, if you wish me to.”

  They exchanged a quick glance, then nodded.

  “Thank you for coming. He is inside,” one croaked. She lapsed into a wracking cough.

  Mirar nodded. “I will bring up my bag of cures, then I will go in and see what I can do for him.”

  He turned away and began to haul on the rope. It seemed to take hours to bring up the bag. Untying it, he carried it inside the bower.

  On a blanket in the middle of the room lay the Speaker. Though Mirar hadn’t met the man before he doubted he would have recognized him if he had. Pale, bloodless skin stretched over the man’s bones. His lips were a deep blue and his breath came quickly and painfully.

  He’s near death, Leiard murmured.

  Yes, Mirar agreed. But if I don’t save him, will the rest of the tribe trust me?

  Maybe. Maybe not. You best get to work.

  Mirar opened his bag and began sorting through its contents. A thump outside distracted him. He looked up to see Tyve standing in the doorway.

  “Twenty are sick, twelve are feeling ill, and the rest say they’re well,” the boy reported.

  Mirar nodded. I wish Emerahl had remained here. I could do with her help. “Stay close,” he told the boy. “I might need you to...” He frowned and looked at Veece’s wife. “Where do you get your water from?”

  The woman pointed at a small hole in the floor. Next to it was a bucket and a coil of rope. “We bring it up from the creek below.”

  He thought of the winding path of the creek and the smell of feces.

  “Where do you put your bodily wastes?”

  She pointed downward again. “It washes away.”

  “Not quickly enough,” he said.

  Her shoulders lifted. “It used to, but a slide upslope diverted some of the water away.”

  “That should be cleared, or you should move the village,” he said. “Tyve, fetch me some water from far above the village. Don’t use the same vessel as any that has been in the stream.”

  The boy nodded and flew away. Mirar sensed annoyance from the woman. He met her gaze.

  “Better to be sure,” he said.

  She lowered her eyes and nodded. Turning away, Mirar moved to Veece’s side and began his work.

  25

  The crowd surrounding the two priests consisted mostly of children. From the minds of the few adults present, Auraya read that the pair were a great source of entertainment for the youngsters in the Open, but the adults also listened attentively, conscious that what these landwalkers were teaching would influence their people’s future.

  Sitting behind the priests were four Siyee, all listening attentively. They noted not only the stories and lessons, but the way in which they were told. The oldest was a woman of thirty-five, the youngest a boy of fifteen. All had hopes and ambitions of becoming priests or priestesses.

  Auraya felt a surge of pride. If they learned well and passed the tests, their dreams would come true. They would be the first Si
yee priests and priestesses.

  The priest who was speaking - Priest Magen - finished his tale and made the sign of the circle. He glanced at Auraya, then told the audience that their lesson was over. Disappointment flowed from the children, but as they rose and began to discuss with their guardians what they might do next the feeling dissipated.

  Auraya walked forward to greet the priests. They made the formal two-handed sign of the circle as they greeted her - something the trainee priests and priestesses noted with curiosity.

  “A bigger crowd today,” she noted.

  Danien nodded. “Yes. A few new children from a visiting tribe, I believe.”

  “Come inside,” Magen urged. “Have you eaten yet? A woman just sent us several roasted girri as thanks for treating her broken ankle.”

  “I haven’t,” Auraya replied. “Is there enough?”

  Magen grinned. “More than enough. The Siyee are nothing less than generous.”

  The priest beckoned to the trainees then led them all inside the large bower that had been provided for the landwalkers. They sat on wooden seats in the center of the room and passed around the food.

  “You’ve learned the Siyee language quickly,” Auraya observed.

  Danien nodded. “When you know a few languages it gets easier to pick up new ones. The Siyee tongue is not that hard once you see the similarities between it and landwalker tongues.”

  “We were assisted by a young man here - Tryss,” Magen told her.

  “Ah, Tryss,” Auraya said, nodding. “Clever boy.”

  “Your advice about taboos, customs and manners was helpful, too,” Danien added. “I was thinking of—”

  “Auraya of the White?”

  All turned to the doorway. Speaker Sirri stood in the opening, radiating concern. A young Siyee male stood beside her. He had brought bad news, Auraya read. A sickness...

  “Speaker Sirri,” Magen said, rising. “Welcome. Will you and your companion join us?”

  The Speaker hesitated, then stepped inside. “Yes. Thank you. This is Reet of the North River tribe.” The young man nodded as each of the occupants was introduced.

  “Come and sit down,” Magen said, rising to usher them to seats.

  Sirri did not smile as she sat down. “Reet has come to the Open seeking help,” she told them. “His people have sickened with an illness they have never heard of. Our healers have not seen such a malady either, so we have come to ask you if you know it.”

  “Can you describe it, Reet?” Auraya asked.

  She concentrated on the young man’s mind as he told of the illness that had come upon his family and relatives, and felt a chill as she recognized the symptoms.

  “I know it,” she interrupted. The boy stared at her hopefully. She turned to regard Magen. “It is Hearteater.”

  “The White Death,” Magen said, his expression turning grim. “It appears among landwalkers from time to time.”

  Sirri looked at Auraya. “Do you have a cure?”

  “Yes and no,” Auraya replied. “There are treatments that ease the symptoms, but they do not kill the disease. The patient’s body must do that. Magical healing can help boost a patient’s strength, but it cannot kill a disease without the risk of harming the body.”

  “Babies and young children are in the greatest danger as well as the elderly and weak,” Magen added. “Healthy adults spend a few days in a fever, then slowly recover.”

  “But they’re not,” Reet interrupted. “My second cousin died the day before yesterday. She was twenty-two!”

  The room fell silent as all exchanged looks of dismay. Danien turned to Auraya. “Could Hearteater have grown more potent?”

  “Perhaps. If that is so, we must be extra careful to make sure it doesn’t spread,” she warned. “Has anyone from the village other than you left it? Have outsiders visited since the illness began?”

  Reet stared at her. “Other than me? Two families left after it started. One went to the North Forest tribe. The others came here. We’d had no visitors, when I left.”

  The newcomers among the children! Auraya thought suddenly. A moment after the danger occurred to her she heard Magen’s indrawn breath and knew he’d thought of them too.

  She looked at Sirri. “You need to find this family and isolate them from others, and find out who they’ve met since they arrived and isolate those Siyee too.”

  Sirri grimaced. “They may not like that. What of the North River and North Forest tribes?”

  “Send someone to the North Forest tribe to see if anyone is sick. As for the North River tribe...” Auraya considered. It would be better to treat them in their village, but could she leave the Open? What if the Pentadrians attacked? Any report of an attack would come to the Open first. She looked at Danien and Magen. They could contact her through their rings. “I will go to them,” she said. “Danien and Magen will be my link to you. Anything you want me to know, tell them. They will communicate it to me.”

  Sirri nodded. “I will. When will you leave?”

  “As soon as I can. You may need me to help you explain to the families the reason they must isolate themselves. I would like to gather some medicines. You have some that will help.”

  Sirri rose. “Tell me what you want and I’ll send someone for them. You had best come with me now. The sooner we isolate these families the better. What of Reet?”

  Auraya turned to regard the boy.

  “You, too, may carry the disease,” Auraya said gently.

  “It is spread by touch,” Magen said. “And by the breath. Who have you spoken to since you arrived, Reet?”

  “Only Speaker Sirri. I didn’t touch her.”

  “Will I have to isolate myself?” Sirri asked. “Who will direct the tribe in my place?”

  Auraya considered. “If you are careful not to touch anyone... Magen can put a magical shield around you so your bream doesn’t reach anyone. In a few days, if you haven’t developed symptoms, you can conclude you haven’t caught it. The same applies to everyone here.” She looked at the trainees. “Reet may have infected you, if he has the disease. Keep away from others unless you have a priest shielding you.”

  “Can I return to my tribe?” Reet asked.

  “I can’t see why not,” Auraya said. “So long as you stay there.”

  “Rest and eat something first,” Magen said.

  “Yes.” Auraya stood up. “I had better get started.” She nodded at the priests in farewell, then hurried out of the bower with Sirri.

  * * *

  Though Imi had been in the room for hours she knew nothing about her new surroundings. She had hoped her eyes would grow used to the darkness, but they hadn’t. The way sounds echoed suggested a room as large as the hull of the raiders’ ship. The floor was cold stone, but she hadn’t gathered the strength yet to find out if the walls were too.

  She could only assume hours had passed. It was impossible to measure the passing of time here. In her home her people could tell what time it was by looking at a time lamp. The oil reservoir was marked at every hour. Or they could use the many tide measures to calculate the time. Wherever there was a tidal pool there was a time measure carved into the side.

  Her stomach rumbled. She thought back to the platter of food the nice landwalker had fed her from. He had left it there and she had slowly finished off the contents over the next few hours. The salt water had soothed her skin. She had begun to feel better.

  Now she only had a large pot full of salt water to splash herself with. It stood next to her in the darkness.

  Why? she thought. Why am I here?

  She thought of the argument between the nice landwalker and the nasty one. The nasty landwalker must have seen or heard the nice one planning to rescue her. He had moved her in order to keep her for himself.

  But why does he want to keep me? Does he want me to work for him, like the raider and the sea-bell fishermen?

  At the thought of sea bells she felt a stab of pain. I hope I never see a sea bell a
gain, she thought. I hate them. I shouldn’t have left the city. How could I have been so stupid? She rolled onto her back and blinked back tears. I should have thought about the dangers outside the city. That’s my problem. I don’t think before I do things.

  I’ve got plenty of time to think now. She frowned. Maybe I can think my way out of this. How likely is it that my father, or some handsome warrior, is going to find me? He doesn’t know where I am. Neither does that nice landwalker. I should stop waiting for someone else to rescue me, and rescue myself.

  She sighed. But what can I do? I don’t even know where I am. All I know is that I’m in a mom somewhere.

  Maybe she could find out more if she explored the room. Maybe if she made a noise, someone would come and find out what it was.

  Slowly she pushed herself into a sitting position. She was still terribly tired. Forcing herself to her feet, she staggered forward. It was hard to keep her balance in the darkness and she nearly fell several times. Finally her outstretched hand met a hard surface.

  It was stone. Feeling around, she noted channels in the stone and guessed they were mortared gaps between bricks. Around the room she went, feeling the surface for any change. After passing two corners, she came upon the door.

  This was wooden. She could feel metal hinges on the inside. Drawing in a deep breath, she let out a yell that echoed deafeningly in the room. At the same time she pounded on the door with her fists.

  A few yells later she had to stop. He head was spinning and her arms ached. She slumped against the door.

  From outside came the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Hope flared inside her and strength came back. She yelled with renewed enthusiasm. There were voices just outside the door. It vibrated as the lock was worked. She backed away as the door opened. Two men appeared.

  Her heart sank. One was her captor, the other was a stranger. As the newcomer stared at her with inhuman, greedy eyes all hope fled. Her legs buckled. She flinched as her knees met the stone floor.

  The two men ignored her and began to talk in low voices. Her captor gestured at something on the floor outside the room. The greedy man stooped to pick it up.