She had to admit The Twins were right. If Auraya did join the rest of the immortals, she would be a powerful ally. With the ability to sense and hear the gods, and read the minds of mortals, she could help them all survive.
It doesn’t hurt to have someone that powerful owe you a favor, either.
Thinking back, she considered how Auraya’s manner had changed once she was able to leave the cave. The woman appeared to relish being in the forest. She was relaxed in that way people are when they feel at home, Emerahl thought.
How could an ex-White feel at home in the Si mountains, with no luxuries, no servants, nothing to rule over?
Suddenly she saw Auraya in a different light. She likes wild places, Emerahl thought. Places untouched by humans. Oh, she is happy enough to be around people, and the Siyee clearly have a place in her heart, but I think it is more than just the Siyee that calls her to the mountains. Emerahl laughed quietly to herself. She might not be so comfortable if she had to climb up and down cliffs, tramp through mud and cut her way through dense undergrowth, however.
Was Mirar aware of this? He had always been attracted to cities - to the bustle of crowds. A memory rose of a conversation she’d had with Auraya.
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
Auraya had smiled. “I never said I didn’t like him.”
Emerahl sighed. She knew there was always a chance that like could become love. She’d seen it happen often enough. Not that it would, but Emerahl was always going to wonder if she had ruined that chance for Mirar by telling him about Auraya’s affair with Chaia. And now that I’ve met Auraya I’m no longer opposed to the idea of Mirar and her together.
What was done was done. Mirar was resilient. Better for him to know the quick pain of truth than the ongoing pain of a long-held false hope. Turning around, she retraced her steps and began searching for a safer route.
PART TWO
16
When the horizon had taken on the form of an undulating shadow the previous day, Auraya had assumed she and the Siyee were headed toward low hills. Now it appeared the smooth, gentle lines of these landforms were much larger than she had first thought. Used to the jagged peaks of Si, she did not realize these were the mountains of western Sennon until their scale became apparent.
She could feel the excitement of the Siyee. They were looking forward to leaving the desert and just as their water carrier was burdened with a heavy load, so was she. Extra skins were tied to her back and, with Mischief safely curled up in her pack, she felt as if she was covered by a heavy, lumpy blanket.
The desert had served up more difficulties than they had imagined it could. At first they had flown directly across it, but a dust storm had blown them back toward the coast. Since the Siyee could not carry much, they relied on finding water along the way. Mischief had shown them where to dig for water a few times and they encountered a lonely well once, but these had not been enough.
They dared not land at any landwalker settlements. The Sennon emperor’s policy of allowing the practice of any religion in his country meant that Pentadrians could be living in the desert villages. If they were, a group of Siyee warriors seen heading south was sure to be noted and reported to the Pentadrian leaders. Even if there were no Pentadrians in the villages, it was still possible that an ordinary Sennon villager would decide there was profit to be gained in delivering the news to the nearest Pentadrian.
Most settlements were on the coast, so the Siyee kept inland. They had expected to find the occasional river but had encountered only one thread of muddy, near-undrinkable water. It probably flowed cleanly at other times, but in the middle of summer it had dwindled to a sluggish stream. Auraya hadn’t visited Sennon before, so she could not advise them. All she could do was fly back to the closest water source each morning to refill their skins.
The mountains ahead gave the Siyee hope, but Auraya wasn’t so optimistic. They associated mountains with water, but that was not always true. These peaks were well eroded, yet it looked as if rain hadn’t fallen here in centuries. The sparse vegetation was bleached a pale yellow. There wasn’t a hint of green anywhere.
The group had begun to descend, though no order had been given, toward the closest of these sprawling mountains. At the base was the winding indentation of a dead river, heading toward the ocean to their right. Between it and the mountain, the land had eroded into terraces.
Then Auraya felt amazement from one of the Siyee. Seeking his mind, she read that he thought the terraces were not natural. She looked closer and realized that he was right. There were roads as well, and tiny shapes that might be the remains of ruined buildings. The spread of them across the side of the mountain suggested a city. A long-dead city.
Other Siyee noticed the ancient metropolis and pointed it out to fellow warriors. To her amusement, the sight made them intensely curious. They wanted to land and explore. She watched Sreil consider.
Exploration of ruins isn’t the purpose of our journey, he thought, but if a city once stood here then there must have been water about. Perhaps only the river, but those terraces look like they might have been fields and how would they have brought water up to them? Perhaps there once was a spring up higher... well, there’s just as much chance of finding water here as anywhere else...
At his order to head for the city, the mood of the other Siyee brightened. While the desert tested their bodies, it offered little to occupy their minds. The whistling games they had played at the beginning of the journey had been abandoned when their mouths had dried out with thirst.
Auraya looked at the Siyee priest, Teel. He did not wear the circ as it hampered flying, but instead wore a smaller circle of white material tied closely about his throat. In her opinion, he had been prematurely ordained. He was inexperienced and had less grasp of magic than an initiate. Yet the gods had given him the task of reporting to Juran every day, not Auraya. She felt vaguely irritated by that. She was a former White and the Siyee’s protector. But he was a Siyee and she a landwalker, and that must matter more.
Of course it doesn’t, she thought. It’s just another way the gods are demonstrating their distrust of me.
Searching the magic around her, she was relieved to see none of the gods were present. Though Teel hadn’t been given specific orders, she suspected the only reason this young man had been ordained early was so that a priest could keep an eye on her during this mission.
Yesterday Auraya had heard a Siyee wonder aloud why the gods hadn’t ensured there would be clean water for them. Another had muttered annoyance that the gods didn’t at least guide them to sources. A third had observed that they probably would have died here if Auraya hadn’t accompanied them.
Teel had overheard and quietly told them the gods were not their servants. Auraya had smiled at that, but she suspected the gods simply couldn’t do either. They weren’t aware of anything in the world that wasn’t observed by a human or an animal, so if no human or animal was aware of sources of water nearby, or how to get to them, then neither were the gods.
The only humans who could have given the Siyee guidance, Sennon guides, couldn’t fly. Even if the White had trusted one enough to send him or her to meet and advise the Siyee, he would not have arrived in time to help them. The distance was too great.
One of the Siyee whistled their signal for “Tracks!” and Auraya followed the direction of his gaze. A line of stirred sand led from the city to the river then along the dry watercourse toward the sea. Or in the other direction. Perhaps the city was already host to passing visitors.
It was a good sign, though. No traveller would ascend into those terraces unless there was a good reason, and water was a likely good reason.
She caught up with Sreil.
“Shall I check if they’re still there?”
He whistled an assent. Auraya propelled herself into a dive, heading through the dry air toward the tracks. She felt Mischief stir awake.
The footprints wound along the river through strange p
innacles of rock that turned out to be buried towers, then up to the beginning of a road. There they grew difficult to follow, as the roads were not always covered in sand. She flew about slowly as if searching.
Which was all for show. She could sense no minds in the city, but she couldn’t tell the Siyee that without revealing to the gods that she had developed the telepathic Gift they had previously given to her when she was a White.
Flying back to the Siyee, she whistled the signal that all was safe. The Siyee circled around the city before landing, a cautious habit rather than any distrust of her assessment. Once on the ground, Sreil ordered them to set out in pairs to explore and search for water. Auraya shrugged off her pack and opened it. Mischief blinked in the sudden bright light.
She hadn’t wanted to take him on this journey, but couldn’t bring herself to force him to stay behind. Since she had returned to the Open he was constantly by her side, and had grown distressed whenever she made him stay behind in the bower. No longer able to sense her mind, being near her was the only way he could reassure himself that she was still alive. Fortunately he was content to remain curled up in the pack during flight, and he had proved himself both useful and entertaining to the Siyee.
Whispering in his ear, she sent him a mental impression of water. His nose twitched and when she set him down he trotted away. She followed.
The sunlight beat down relentlessly and reflected off stone to assail her with heat from all directions. She realized after a few turns that Teel had chosen to follow her, and she resigned herself to the inevitability of being followed everywhere by the priest.
“How old do you think this place is?” he asked after a while.
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Look.” He walked up to a large stone in a wall and pointed to markings. “Can you read this?”
“No.”
“You understand many languages, don’t you?”
“Yes. That doesn’t mean I can read them, though.”
“I should copy this,” he said. “If the priests in the Open don’t know what it says they might know someone who does.”
As he drew a scrap of leather out of a pouch she smiled, but her amusement quickly faded. He was a scholar at heart, not a warrior. She would not find it easy to forgive herself if he died in this attack, though she couldn’t be completely sure he was only here because of her.
Mischief had disappeared, not caring whether the priest followed or not. Auraya hurried around a corner and came upon a large archway that looked as if it had been carved into solid rock. The sound of her footsteps in the entrance echoed in a way that suggested a large space inside.
“Owaya?”
“I’m coming, Mischief,” she replied.
As she stepped out of the sunlight her eyes began to adjust. A short corridor led to a huge hall. At the far end an enormous figure was just visible in the gloom. A statue. She shivered at the size of it.
Drawing magic, she created a spark of light and sent it up toward the ceiling. Brightening it, she felt a thrill of wonder as the statue was illuminated. It had a muscular male body, but the face was a flat disk with one enormous lidless eye. Mischief stared up at it with wide eyes.
One of the old gods, she thought. Long dead.
She heard a gasp behind her and turned to see Teel gazing at the statue in horror. A look of disgust crossed his face.
“Things like that should be destroyed,” he said.
She stared at him, disturbed. The god was long dead. What threat did the statue hold now? To destroy something so amazing would be spiteful and pointless.
“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “such things should be kept to remind us of the Age of the Many, and of the chaos that enslaved mortal man until the Circle saved us.”
He looked at her blankly, then became thoughtful. “If the gods willed it to remain, I suppose it could be used to shock those with rebellious hearts.”
Auraya suppressed a sigh. There were zealots and fanatics in any race. It looked as if the gods had found one among the Siyee.
The buzz of thoughts at the edge of her mind suddenly grew louder. Other Siyee had found water - a great pool of it deep within another hall like this one. She let her light die and called to Mischief. A little shadow bounded out of the darkness into her arms and climbed up onto her shoulders. Auraya walked past the priest into the sunlight.
“Let’s see how the others have fared, shall we?” she tossed over her shoulder.
Rising from his seat, Danjin walked to the narrow window and looked out at what served as Dunwayan cosmopolitan life. Below him servants and traders hurried to finish their tasks before the night curfew, while warriors strode about with the confidence and arrogance of men who considered their position of power in society as their natural right. The stone houses they lived among were built in an orderly pattern between rings of high walls. Beyond the last wall he could see the Dey River winding away toward the distant ocean.
Chon was a fortress, but as the largest fortress in Dunway it also had the role of administrative capital. To get there, Danjin and Ella had sailed to the mouth of the Dey River where they were transported by barge to the fortress. Reaching Chon, they had been greeted with typical Dunwayan formality - brief and efficient - and were taken to the quarters the White always occupied during visits: a wing of the innermost part of the fortress.
The rooms were small and the walls bare stone. Furniture was simple and heavy, yet the rugs on the floors and walls were colorful and finely made, if a bit crude in design. Most depicted famous battles and Dunwayan leaders and warriors, always watched over by the god Lore.
I-Portak, the Dunwayan ruler, was neither hereditary king or elected counsellor. Danjin had never met anyone who knew all the complexities of the Dunwayan method of selecting their ruler. It seemed that anyone could declare themselves ruler, but holding the position depended on the agreement of important warrior clans. The claimant could be challenged by a warrior willing to fight for the position, yet if the challenger won and the warrior clans didn’t approve of him, he could not keep the position.
Despite this, when the last ruler had died the process of selecting a replacement had been free of challenge or argument. I-Orm’s son had taken his father’s place without a murmur of dissent from his people. At least, Danjin hadn’t heard of any. The Dunwayans were not ones to complain loudly. When the likely response to rebellion was a challenge to the death, one tended to keep one’s opinions to oneself unless sure of winning.
“The light is dimming,” Ella said. He turned to see her sigh and reluctantly put her spindle aside. “Another day gone and still no progress. How long do you think it will take before they let me do my job?”
“Subtract their respect for the gods and the White from the depth of their pride, add their eagerness for us to leave, and take some lingering resentment for the White’s attempt to dissolve the sorcerer Scalar over a decade ago, and you’ll have the moment they offer their reluctant cooperation.”
Ella chuckled ruefully. “You told me they were a straightforward and economical people.”
“Compared to other Northern Ithanian peoples, they are. You have to let the clans try to find the culprits for you. It’s a matter of honor.” Danjin moved away from the window. The air was quickly growing chilly. The Dunwayans believed heating and window coverings made one weak, that sickness was caused by too little action, food, sex, or either sleeping too much or too little.
Hmm. Maybe we can use that to our advantage, he thought. We could say Ella doesn’t want to remain cooped up and inactive too long lest she fall sick. But they might decide the solution to that is to send her out to one of the female warrior clans for a few bouts of fighting practice. I doubt she’d appreciate that.
“Well, at least I’m getting something done,” Ella murmured, looking at the basket beside her. Most of the fleece was gone, and the thread she had produced had been twisted together into yarn and wound into neat balls. Danjin had found the
deft movements of her spinning and twirling a little hypnotic to watch. He had no idea what she would do with it next.
During the day they were mostly left to themselves, but every night they visited local clan leaders or dignitaries of other countries. Ella took the opportunity to read the minds of everyone she encountered, including the servants.
“They’re more like slaves than servants,” she had told Danjin. “All they get for their work is food and a roof over their heads. They can’t marry and raise a family without their master’s approval, and their children work from the moment they can be put to use. Nobody taught me about this when I learned about Dunway as a priestess.”
He had to agree about the servants’ lives, but reminded her that the Dunwayans had lived this way since the god Lore had adopted them as his own people. “And how servants live is hardly a subject likely to capture the attention of a class of young initiates,” he had added.
She had shaken her head at that. “Injustice always captures the attention of the young,” she said. “But as we get older we discover how difficult it is to change the world, and we learn to turn our eyes away from what we can’t fix until we no longer see injustice at all.”
“Not all of us,” he told her. “Some of us still look for ways to make improvements.”
Ella rose and moved to the window. “The man we’ll be seeing tonight is well known for his cruelty toward his servants.”
She stared out silently, her eyebrows knitted together. He suspected she was scanning the minds of those below and said nothing, not wanting to distract her.
A knock came at the door.
“Gillen Shieldarm, Ambassador of Hania, has come to fetch Ellareen of the White and Danjin Spear, Adviser to Ellareen of the White, and take them to the house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” a voice bellowed.
Danjin smiled and walked to the door. The habit of yelling such a greeting from behind a door was Dunwayan, but the greeting had been spoken in Hanian. He opened the door to find Gillen grinning widely.
Voice of the Gods aotft-3 Page 18
