And a captive could always be freed. Perhaps I won’t have to fight the Pentadrians in order to free the Siyee.
Looking into the minds of the Pentadrians, she saw both triumph and surprise. Yesterday she had seen nothing in the thoughts of the townsfolk to suggest they were expecting an attack or planning an ambush. Now she saw that they had been ignorant of the ambush until moments ago, when they had been called here for a meeting only to witness First Voice Nekaun net the flying people.
First Voice Nekaun? Auraya felt her heart sink even further as she saw that one of the Pentadrians was looking up at her. She searched for his thoughts and sensed nothing.
Memories rose of Kuar, the former First Voice, holding her imprisoned with magic. She pushed them aside. Kuar is dead, she reminded herself. Still, this new First Voice may be as powerful as he was.
He could probably blast her out of the sky if he wanted to.
She drew back hastily, but he made no move to stop her.
:Juran.
:Yes?
:The enemy leader is here. I have to leave. But I will stay close. I’ll take any opportunity to free the Siyee, without fighting.
:Yes. Do that. I will discuss the situation with the others and let you know what we decide.
As she moved further and further away from the scene she felt the despair of the Siyee. They were running out of darts and the enemy were now tackling them one by one, extracting weapons and binding wrists together. Auraya reached the ridge she had begun watching from and set herself down.
She felt awful, as if she had abandoned them. But I can’t do anything yet. I have to think of a way to free them.
“Owaya?”
A relieved and frightened Mischief bounded up to her. He climbed onto her shoulders and sat quietly, trembling slightly. As she scratched his head she realized her hands were shaking.
“They’re alive,” she told him. “At least they’re alive.”
The sound of air on wings drew her attention away. The two Siyee who had escaped landed beside her. Their expressions were terrible.
“Are they dead?” one asked.
She shook her head and their relief washed over her.
“Prisoners, then?” the other asked.
“Yes.”
“What will you do now?”
Auraya sighed. “Whatever I can do without disobeying the gods. They said I must not fight. They did not say I couldn’t sneak up to a prison and set anyone free.”
They fell silent, staring down at the village. The magic around her roiled and she almost hissed out loud as two strong presences suddenly shot out of the town and into the two Siyee beside her. Her skin crawled as she recognized Huan, then she relaxed a little as she realized the other was Chaia.
:So what will your pet sorceress do next? Huan asked.
:Make a choice, Chaia replied. That is what you mean to accomplish, isn’t it?
:From this? No, this was merely retribution for the murders in Jarime and the attempts to convert Circlians, Huan said.
:For the murders of Dreamweavers? I didn’t think you liked them that much.
:I don’t dislike them as much as you do, she retorted. Besides, the White have decided to encourage tolerance of Dreamweavers for now. It makes sense to avenge Dreamweaver deaths.
:Yet you arranged for the Siyee to fail. How does that avenge anyone?
:It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Pentadrians know the White are upset with them.
:You’re taking unnecessary risks, Huan. Juran considered this attack a gamble. He’s not surprised it failed. Now he’ll wonder why you ordered it. He will doubt the wisdom of following your orders.
:A small test of his loyalty.
:Was it really? And why didn’t you consult the rest of us before you arranged it?
:I consulted. I didn’t need to consult you since all the others agreed.
:Lore would not have agreed to this.
:He did. You forget his fondness for war games.
:So why did you have the Siyee captured, not killed? That would stir the world into war more effectively.
:It is more interesting this way.
:Interesting? You’re not interested in war, Chaia said. You’re only interested in getting rid of Auraya. If this ambush of yours leads to Auraya turning from us, you will regret it.
:Is that a threat? Huan laughed. You can harm me no more than I can harm you.
With that she moved away, speeding toward the town. Auraya sighed with relief.
:That’s where she’s wrong, Chaia said to himself. He chuckled. Did you hear all that, Auraya? I hope so.
And then he too was gone, leaving her blinking in surprise. He knew she could hear the gods talking. Had he encouraged Huan to discuss the ambush with him?
Perhaps only to show me he wasn’t responsible... and that Huan was.
She felt her stomach turn over as she realized what that meant. Huan had betrayed the Siyee. She had not just arranged this mission as a test of Auraya’s loyalty, but she had ensured the failure of it as well.
Then she remembered Chaia’s warning. Huan would seek to hurt her by hurting those she loved. It seemed that Huan was willing to harm the people she had created.
She felt a hand on her arm.
“How can we help?”
Auraya turned to blink at the Siyee in surprise, then dragged her mind back to the dilemma she faced. At once she realized that if Huan wanted to harm the Siyee in order to hurt her, then it was better to get them as far away from here as possible.
“Go back to our last camp,” she told them. “I will meet you shortly. I’m going to get some food and water for you. You should leave some at the camp, and in the places we stopped on our way here, for any of the others that manage to escape.”
“You want us to go home?” one of the Siyee asked doubtfully.
“Yes.” She met the Siyee’s eyes. “This was a trap. They were expecting you. I will do what I can to free the others. You must ensure they survive the journey home.”
The two Siyee nodded. They knew she was right, but they were reluctant to leave their companions behind.
“Go,” Auraya told them. “Get yourselves home, at least. Speaker Sirri and your fellow warriors’ families should know what happened here.”
At that they bowed their heads in agreement. She watched them fly away, then turned her attention back to Klaff. There were quite a few public wells, and she had noted a small market on the edge of town. Even if Nekaun had been reading the Siyee’s minds as she had told them her intentions, she doubted he would get to the market in time to catch her.
Lifting Mischief off her shoulders, she put him on the ground.
“Stay,” she ordered.
His head drooped, but he obediently walked to a patch of shade and curled up to wait.
Satisfied, she stepped out into the air and propelled herself back to the town.
20
Heavy rain and fierce winds had roused Mirar from sleep several times during the night, but when he woke in the morning all was quiet. He looked outside his window. Cloud covered the sky, but in places it had parted to reveal patches of blue. Despite the rain it was still warm.
Though it was barely past dawn there was a smell of baking bread coming from the kitchen and Tintel was already in the hall, delicately slicing and eating fruit. She looked up at him and nodded in greeting. As he sat down in the hall to eat, the sound of heavy rain suddenly resumed.
“Not a pleasant day for the Trials,” Tintel said, joining him at the table. “I’d have thought the gods would arrange better.”
“I guess that depends on their own interpretation of the word ‘trial.’ ”
She chuckled. “Yes, I guess it does. Would you like me to accompany you today?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No - but thank you for offering.”
She nodded. He could sense her anxiety, though he could not tell if it were for his safety or that of all Dreamweavers - or both. If
this meeting between him and Fourth Voice Genza went badly, would it affect the good relationship between Southern Ithanian Dreamweavers and Pentadrians?
I will just have to ensure it does not go badly, Mirar told himself.
A knock came from the main entrance. Tintel rose to answer it and returned with a man and a teenage boy. Both wore ribbons of blue and white sewn all over clothing of the same colors, but neither looked as cheerful as their costume. The boy was supported by the older man, hopping in order to avoid putting weight on one leg.
Tintel called to one of the Dreamweavers in the kitchen, who emerged, took one look at the colorful pair, and led them away. Tintel returned to her seat.
“We’ll be seeing plenty of broken bones and twisted ankles today,” she said.
Mirar looked at her questioningly.
“Wet platforms can be dangerously slippery,” she explained. “During an exciting public event, people - particularly young people - have a habit of rushing about carelessly. Ah. Here’s your escort.”
Mirar turned to see a middle-aged woman dressed in Servant robes standing on the threshold of the room. The woman was red-faced and sweating. As Mirar rose, her gaze slid to his.
“You are Mirar, founder of the Dreamweavers?” she asked.
“I am,” he replied.
Her eyebrows rose. “I am Servant Minga. I am to take you to meet Fourth Voice Genza.”
Mirar turned to Tintel. “Good luck.”
“You too,” she replied quietly. “Watch your step out there today.”
He smiled, sure that she was not referring to wet platforms, and walked over to greet the Servant. The woman was short but her bearing was proud. She was used to being respected and obeyed, Mirar guessed.
He gestured to the door. “Please lead the way.”
She nodded to Tintel before turning away. Mirar couldn’t help marvelling at the little gesture of respect. A Circlian priestess would never have done such a thing.
I could really come to love this country.
They stepped outside into fat, soaking drops of rain, and Mirar’s enthusiasm was quickly dampened! He drew a little magic and shielded them both, earning a small smile of gratitude from his guide. Despite the rain it didn’t seem much cooler, but the upper level of Kave was gleaming with moisture and smelled of wet timber.
They walked slowly, making their way from platform to platform. Dekkans lounged in chairs under wide verandas, fanning themselves. They smiled and nodded as Mirar passed, and he took that to be a good sign. If the people of Dekkar liked him being here perhaps the Voices would, too.
After a few minutes, however, he heard the patter of several footsteps behind him and his heart sank as he imagined a mob of supporters following him to the Hall of Chieftains. That would only give the Voice the impression he had a strong influence over them - which she could hardly be expected to like.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder, then smothered a laugh. The crowd was a group of children, their eyes wide with curiosity. They grinned at him.
“Hello,” he said. “Why are you following me?”
“We like you,” a boy said.
“You healed Pinpin,” a girl told him.
“And Mimi.”
“And Doridori’s mother.”
“Are you going to the Trials?”
He nodded.
“We are too!” The children cheered, then as one they ran away, their feet pounding on the boards. Smiling, Mirar turned to find the Servant regarding him curiously. He shrugged and they continued on their way.
As they crossed a bridge Mirar caught a movement below and looked down. Tiny temporary shelters had been constructed on the ground below the platforms, on either side of a creek. He caught the smell of refuse and sewage. This was where the poorer residents of Kave lived, gathering what the affluent ones discarded. Those above complained about the smell from below, yet if the poor didn’t gather the garbage dropped from above and keep the creeks flowing freely the whole city would have smelled far worse.
Tintel had told Mirar that the poor lashed the walls of their shelters together to form rafts when the floods came. They tethered these to trees or platforms to prevent them being washed out to sea. Pentadrians had condemned to slavery three rich young men who had loosed several rafts as a prank the year before. A few of the families had been rescued by ships and had identified the men, but most were never found.
The closer they came to the Hall of the Chieftains, the more crowded the porches of Kave became. Everyone wore bright clothing decorated with ribbons or flowers. More blossoms bedecked the houses and platforms, though those unprotected from the rain were drooping with moisture.
The rain ended suddenly, but water continued to drip from rooftops. Sometimes the crowd was so thick the Servant had to clear her throat or ask loftily that people stand aside. At last the Hall of the Chieftains came in sight. Like Kave’s Sanctuary, it was made of stone. It was a squat pyramid of three levels, rising up from the muddy ground below. The sloped sides were of enormous staggered stone bricks, like an oversized staircase. In the center of the structure was a section of normal-sized stairs leading to the topmost level. A visitor must literally climb the walls to get there.
A pavilion had been erected on the first level. Several men and a few women sat on reed chairs beneath this. Servants stirred the air in the room with large fans. Their efforts were directed mainly at a dark-skinned woman in black robes sitting on a reed couch at the center of the pavilion.
Mirar’s guide led him across the bridge. She stopped by one of the corner poles of the pavilion and he waited beside her. The dark-skinned woman was talking to one of her companions. As he finished she looked up at Mirar and smiled, then rose and walked forward to meet him.
She’s tall, he noted. And she walks with the grace of someone who is fit. But she is lean rather than muscular, and her face is quite beautiful.
“I am Genza, Fourth Voice of the Gods,” she said in Dekkan. “You are Mirar, immortal leader of the Dreamweavers?”
“I am,” he replied. He felt a small shiver of apprehension at admitting to his identity so freely after all the years of hiding. “Though I am only their founder and teacher, not their leader,” he added.
Genza nodded once at the guide, who walked away. “Please join me,” she said to him, gesturing to the couch.
He sat down beside her, aware that sharing her couch was probably a great honor. Genza introduced him to the other men and women. Most were patriarchs and matriarchs of Kave’s wealthier families - Mirar had met a few during healing visits. Others included the local Dedicated Servants, war chiefs, and ambassadors from Avven and Mur.
“And here are our candidates.”
All turned to the front of the pavilion. Four men and one woman, all dressed in colorful clothing, stood before them. All traced a star in the air before Genza. The Voice rose and greeted each in turn, wishing them luck.
The first was a man in his late thirties, with a little gray showing in his hair. He gave an impression of maintained fitness and health, and his gaze was sharp.
Next came a younger man with broad shoulders and the muscular body of active youth. His eyes kept moving to someone behind Mirar and he appeared to be struggling not to grin.
Beside him stood another young man. This one was thin and serious. He did not have the fitness of the first two, but his face was prematurely marked with lines that suggested he spent a lot of time in thought - or worrying.
The fourth candidate was a woman in her thirties. She stood with a straight back and her expression was all suppressed defiance. The last was a man Mirar judged to be in his fifties, with a wiry body and a kind face. His clothing was as bright as the others’ but at close inspection was clearly of low-quality cloth.
At a word from Genza, the five contestants turned to face the crowd. She stepped past them, into the rain. A quiet slowly fell over the city.
“Today each of these men and women will undergo physical and ma
gical ordeals,” she said, her voice unnaturally loud. “Their knowledge, intelligence and morality will be questioned, then their reputation examined and their popularity weighed. They must pass all these Trials, but only the one with the highest score shall win. Wish them luck!”
A cheer rose from the crowd. Genza lifted her arms and they quietened again.
“The first Trial is that of physical strength, stamina and agility. A path has been set out that they must follow.” She paused. “Do not interfere with the candidates’ progress,” she warned. “Cheating or sabotage will be punished by death.”
She dropped her arms and turned to face the candidates.
“Are you ready?”
The five nodded.
A spark of light appeared above Genza’s head.
The spark flared.
“The Chieftain Trials begin now!” she shouted.
The city erupted in cheering as the contestants hurried away, descending the pyramid. Genza returned to her seat. A moment later Mirar glimpsed a contestant running under the houses. He noticed colored poles rammed into the ground, ribbons strung between them, and black-clad Servants standing beside them.
Genza turned to regard Mirar again. “So, Mirar of the Dreamweavers, how long have you been in Dekkar?”
“A few months.”
“You didn’t make your presence known for some time, then?”
“I was unsure if I would be safe here.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Am I?”
She smiled. “That depends on your plans. If you decided to rule Dekkar for yourself we would ensure it was the shortest reign of a Chieftain in history. And there have been some very short ones.”
“I have no ambition to rule any country. That is a task better suited to people such as yourself.”
“And what am I?”
He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Favored by the gods. Smart. Beautiful. People like leaders with those qualities.”
Leaning back, she regarded him through half-closed eyes.
“You are charming - and not so bad-looking yourself. I must admit, I was expecting an old man.”
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