“Have a safe journey, Rian. Don’t strain the ship too much.”
“Dyara would never let me come close to risking a leak,” Rian replied.
Juran chuckled. “No.”
Rian watched the White leader leave the ship, then nod to the captains of both vessels. An earlier discussion with Juran and Dyara came to mind.
“Together you will be strong enough to repel an attack by one of the Pentadrian leaders,” Juran had said.
“But not two,” Dyara had pointed out.
“If that should happen, call on Auraya. She is the only one of us who can reach you quickly.”
“And if she refuses to help?” Rian asked.
“She would never consider it,” Dyara said indignantly. “She may be a fool when it comes to Mirar, but she would not abandon us.”
“And if Mirar joins with the Pentadrians?” Rian asked.
Dyara and Juran had exchanged grim looks. “I feel that is unlikely,” Juran had said. “There was no sign of such an alliance in his mind. If there had been Auraya would have... behaved differently. But if such a situation occurs I see no choice for you but to flee.”
The two ships pulled away from the docks. The gods will warn us, Rian told himself. And Auraya will have no choice but to come to her senses, or betray us all.
42
The boat vibrated faintly as its hull scraped against the sand. An order was barked, and the rowers quickly stowed their oars, leapt out into the water, and began to haul the boat onto the shore. Reivan rose with Imenja and followed her mistress to the prow. They stepped onto dry sand then started toward the crowd of dark-skinned, hairless men.
It was not hard to distinguish the leader from the rest. The King of the Elai wore no clothing apart from a pair of short trousers made of a leathery material similar in color to his skin, but his body was draped and decorated with jewellery. From chains of gold hung medallions molded into the shapes of sea creatures, glinting with inset precious stones. Carved shells polished until they shone like rainbows had been linked together to form an impressive vest. The weight of the jewellery must have been considerable, but he held himself proudly, back straight and shoulders set. In one hand he held a spear that, despite embellishments of gold and jewels, looked as if it could easily withstand more than decorative use.
He was scowling.
Reivan suppressed a smile. Imi had warned them that her father was hostile to foreigners.
A protective circle of Elai warriors stood around the king, all wearing armor and frowns, and carrying spears. Imenja walked to the edge of this circle and stopped. The warriors nearest her stepped aside, allowing her and Reivan inside.
“Greetings, Ais, King of the Elai,” she said.
“Greetings, Imenja, Second Voice of the Pentadrians,” he replied.
“I have come here, as you requested. Did Princess Imi return to you?”
“Yes. She did.”
Imenja smiled. “That is good to hear. I would have escorted her all the way to you, but I understand that you have reason to dislike unexpected visitors.”
The king’s eyebrows lowered even further.
“I am grateful to you for her return,” he said stiffly. “I have asked you to meet me here so that I may offer my thanks to you for freeing her from those who meant her harm and for bringing her to us.” He lifted his free hand. “As a reward I have brought you this.”
The warriors behind him parted and several equally fierce-looking men stepped through carrying bundles. They moved past the king and stopped to unwrap their burdens, revealing an array of beautifully wrought gold and silver vessels, brimming with jewellery, unset gems, carved shells and, ironically, dried sea bells. Reivan felt a little thrill at the sight.
“These are beautifully crafted,” Imenja told him. “You are generous in your thanks, but I am not sure if I can accept this. We did not come here expecting such a reward. Seeing Imi returned to her home is reward enough.”
Both of the king’s eyebrows rose. “Then why did you not leave once she had returned to us? Why did you stay here and not sail home?”
“I wanted to be sure Imi was safe. I could not leave without knowing she had been reunited with her family. Now that I have seen that this is so, I will leave satisfied that I have done what I promised. Before I do, I have some belongings of Imi’s to return to her that she could not carry when she swam to the city.” She turned and beckoned to the waiting rowers.
They lifted the chest of gifts from Nekaun from the boat and carried it forward. Reivan smiled at Imenja’s claim they were Imi’s. If Imenja had told the king they were for him, he could easily have refused them. Now he couldn’t. Entering the circle of warriors, the rowers placed the chest before the king. One unlatched the lid and opened it, then all bowed to the king and backed away, returning to the boat.
The Elai king’s eyebrows rose again as he saw the contents of the chest.
“This belongs to my daughter?”
Imenja smiled. “Gifts from the leader of my people, First Voice Nekaun. It is a custom of my land that gifts be given to guests of royal blood. For Imi it was a pleasure to follow that custom. And though the crime of abducting her was not undertaken by my people, she did spend some time as an unwilling captive in our land. For that, Nekaun felt she ought to be compensated.”
King Ais nodded, his eyes still on the chest’s contents and his expression thoughtful. He looked up at Imenja.
“In my land a good deed is rewarded. Take my gifts to your leader and give them to him with my thanks.”
She smiled. “I will, and I offer thanks on his behalf. He will be as impressed by the skill of your makers as I am.”
Beckoning to the rowers once more, Imenja ordered them to bundle up the Elai treasures and carry them back to the boat. When the men had left the circle she looked at the Elai king again.
“Imi told me of the raiders that cause you so much trouble. I would offer our help, if I thought you would accept it.”
“How could you help us?”
“Perhaps by teaching you what we know of sorcery, warfare, or simply the construction of fortified villages. Perhaps by selling you weapons.”
“What profit would there be for you in that?”
“These raiders prey on trade ships travelling between Northern Ithania and my lands. Our merchants lose much to them. Establishing a fleet of patrol ships would be impractical and expensive even if there was a suitable port to use as a base. If your people became strong enough to defend yourselves, you may eventually become a force able to help us control these raiders. I know our merchants would pay a healthy fee for such a service.”
The king regarded her skeptically. “So you say. More likely they will rob us.”
Imenja nodded. “You are wise to consider that possibility. The threat of being mistaken for raiders would keep most merchants honest, but in such an enterprise you would need to be both cautious and clever.”
“Or not embark on it at all.” He lifted his chin. “Thank you for returning my daughter, Imenja of the Pentadrians. You must leave before the midday.”
“Then we will, of course,” Imenja replied. “If in the future you wish to negotiate, look for a black-sailed ship. There will be a Servant of the Gods dressed as I am on board who will relay a message to me.”
She turned and began walking away. Reivan followed, resisting the temptation to look back to see the king’s expression. He’s probably still frowning and puffing out his chest, she thought.
:That didn’t go too badly, did it? Imenja asked.
Reivan glanced at her mistress.
:I don’t know. What did you read from his thoughts?
:Suspicion, mostly. He distrusts all landwalkers.
:Even those who rescued and returned his daughter?
:Especially us. Distrust is his strength. But I know what his weakness is.
:What?
:His daughter. He blames himself for her kidnapping. She has seen more of the world than he
could ever imagine and returned better informed than he. Between feeling guilty, his old habit of indulging her, and realizing she will never be satisfied cooped up in the city, he is fighting quite a battle.
:A losing battle?
Imenja smiled.
:I’m counting on it.
The city of Karienne looked, in character, much as it had the last time Emerahl had visited. Buildings of all shapes and sizes mingled to form a sprawling metropolis on either side of a modest and dirty river. That sprawl had nearly doubled in size in the last few centuries, if what she could see of it from the water was any indication.
“Where would you like to disembark?” Emerahl asked, turning to regard the couple and their children.
Shalina looked at her husband.
“Won’t you be docking at the main wharf?” Tarsheni asked.
“I could, but it will probably cost me a hefty mooring fee. These smaller piers are usually less costly.”
“From what I remember, the main wharf is close to the Great Square, where the Wise Man speaks, and we would like to board near there if we can. If we pay for your mooring, will you come with us to listen to him?”
Emerahl considered. Part of her itched to sail up the river to the Red Caves as quickly as possible, but another part was curious to see this Wise Man. It had taken her months to get here, what difference would a half-day delay make?
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll come and see what the fuss is about.”
Soon they reached the edge of the main docks and found a mooring among the crowded piers and wharves. She helped the couple carry their belongings off the boat and into the city. The streets were narrow and many were covered to ward off the desert sun. They ran in all directions in a pattern that was unrecognizable to her or Tarsheni. Homes, warehouses, shops, temples and barracks mingled. None stood parallel to another, so all the streets varied in width.
Fortunately the residents were friendly and happy to give directions. Emerahl and the family emerged from a narrow, crowded street to find themselves in an open space.
The Great Square was not big compared to some in other cities, but it seemed large after the congested streets. A crowd had gathered at one corner. Tarsheni’s eyes glowed with excitement. The couple found a boarding house nearby and haggled down the price to a barely reasonable fee, impatient to finally see the man who had inspired them to travel so far.
With their belongings stowed in a room, they left the boarding house and strode across the square toward the crowd. Both adults were tense with expectation. Their son was merely overwhelmed by all the activity around them, and the baby blinked sleepily.
The crowd was thin at the edges. Tarsheni slowed and moved deeper. Emerahl could not see the object of the crowd’s attention, but she could hear him easily.
“We are all creations of the Maker,” he boomed. “You, me, the priest over there, the arem that hauls your goods and the reyner that you ride are its creations. The bird that sings and the insect that bites are its creations. The lowly beggar, the successful merchant, the kings and emperors of the world, the priests and followers of all gods, the Gifted, the unGifted, all are its creations. Even the gods themselves are—”
The voice stopped and Emerahl heard a fainter one.
“No!” the Wise Man continued. “That is not true. I have studied the texts and sought the wisdom of all religions, and no god has ever claimed to have created the world. But it must have a creator. A Maker—”
Emerahl almost caught the next question. She decided to move closer, leaving the family listening with rapt attention.
“The existence of the world is proof enough! Only a being of higher... Yes, that is right. The Maker made creatures that we consider evil. But why do we consider them evil? Because they kill? A carmook kills and eats other living things, and we keep them as pets. A reyner eats plants. They are living things as well. We fear the leramers and the vorns because they can kill us, but they do not do so out of malice, but hunger. We dislike them because they eat our stock. That is inconvenience, not evil.”
There was a pause, then a chuckle. As two men beside her shifted their weight, Emerahl unexpectedly caught a glimpse of a handsome young man standing on a wooden box, arms raised as he prepared to address the crowd again. She paused, surprised that the Wise Man was so young, then moved closer.
“... be evil, too. Why do we prey upon ourselves? I do not know. Why is the world not perfect? Why can we not comprehend and understand every part of it from birth? Clearly the Maker did not intend that. The Maker made the world changeable. Perhaps so that we have a reason to strive.”
Emerahl stopped as she found herself nearing several priests and priestesses. There was even a high priest in the group. While several of the Circlians were frowning, some were listening with interest.
“It has fallen to me to strive to understand the Maker,” the Wise Man continued. “All are welcome to join me. I do not ask you to give up anything. Not family, wealth, profession, power or even religion. Believe in the Maker and together - man and woman, rich and poor, Gifted and unGifted - we may strive to unravel some of life’s mysteries.”
He continued in the same fashion. Listeners moved on and others replaced them, and questions began to be repeated. Emerahl made her way back through the crowd to the family. She saw that the Circlians had left. A pair of Pentadrians were also departing. I don’t see any Dreamweavers, she noted. Tarsheni’s eyes were shining with excitement.
“I must get my inks and papers,” Tarsheni breathed. He turned to Emerahl. “What did you think?”
She shrugged. “An interesting idea.”
“So you said before.”
“I also said if he couldn’t prove it most people wouldn’t pay much attention.”
“Isn’t the existence of the world enough?”
“No,” she replied honestly. “I don’t think the Circlians like the idea that someone claims a greater being created their gods.”
Tarsheni grinned. “Who cares what the Circlians think, eh?”
Emerahl laughed. “Indeed.” She looked at each of them, then smiled. “I guess it is time for us to part.”
“It was a pleasure travelling with you,” Shalina said, with feeling.
“And you,” Emerahl replied.
“Thank you for transporting us,” Tarsheni said solemnly. “And for saving us from those thieves in the Isthmus tunnel.”
“If you hadn’t told me about the tunnel I’d have had to sell my boat,” Emerahl pointed out. “So you saved me from being robbed as much as I saved you.”
The couple chuckled. “Where will you go now?”
“Upriver.”
“A family matter?”
“You could think of it that way. I, like you, am hoping to meet someone I’ve heard much of but never met.”
“Then I hope you are as satisfied with your meeting as we are with ours,” Tarsheni replied. “Farewell, Emmea. May the winds always blow in your favor.”
“Farewell,” Emerahl replied. “And remember my advice. If he starts asking for your money, don’t give a coin more than you can safely afford. I’ve encountered false wise men before, and they can be cunning.”
“We’ll be careful.”
Smiling, Emerahl turned away from the family and started back to the docks and her little boat, and the last leg of her journey to the Red Caves.
43
For once Auraya wished she could fly into the Open without attracting a crowd of welcoming Siyee. Their reverence felt wrong. Misplaced. She was not worthy of it.
As she landed Speaker Sirri met her and offered the traditional water and cake. But before Auraya could eat them something streaked across the ground and bounded into her arms, knocking bowl and cake from her hands.
“Mischief!” she exclaimed. “That was rude!” The veez wriggled with excitement. It was impossible to scold him convincingly. She hadn’t seen him in so long, and it was suddenly so good to be the subject of simple, unconditional
adoration.
“Owaya back,” he said. “Owaya stay.”
“All right, Mischief. Auraya stay. Now - bleargh! Stop that!”
She’d had a glimpse of a pink tongue headed for her, but too late to avoid it. Grabbing the veez, she held him at arm’s length to stop him licking her face, then looked beyond him and saw that Sirri was holding a hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing.
Auraya chuckled ruefully, and looked around in surprise as the sound of laughter came from all sides.
“Sorry about that, Speaker Sirri,” she said. “I’ve neglected his training of late and he has a talent for picking up new bad habits.”
“I think he learned that from the children,” Sirri said apologetically, removing a hand to reveal a wide grin. “They adore him.”
Mischief began to struggle, suddenly intent on getting down to the ground again. Auraya let him go, but groaned aloud as he pounced on the piece of cake. At this the crowd of Siyee burst into laughter again. Auraya felt a wave of affection for them. Instead of insult at the interrupted ceremony they found humor in the situation.
“Are you staying?” Sirri asked. “Would you like to join me in my bower for a proper meal tonight?”
“I am, and I’d love to.” Auraya picked up Mischief and set him onto her shoulders. “How are things here?”
“Let’s discuss it on the way to your bower,” Sirri said, stepping away. Auraya fell into step beside her. Sirri remained quiet until they had moved out of the hearing of other Siyee. “Messengers of the Sand tribe reported that a Pentadrian ship had been seen off the coast, and that they had alerted you.”
Auraya nodded. “They did, but the ship was long gone by the time I got there.”
“We have had several new cases of Hearteater since you left. They came from the Temple Mountain tribe, saying you sent them here. They have been isolated and the priests are looking after them.”
Auraya groaned. “I told the Speaker to send only those who had been sick and had recovered away from the mountain. What of the other villages?”
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