Mirar felt his anger waver. If the gods could give the skill to the White, why not to a priest hunting a sorceress? He sighed. That did not make what she had done any less infuriating.
“So you became young and beautiful. A fine way to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”
She looked up at him and he saw her pupils enlarge with anger. “Are you suggesting I did it out of vanity? Or do you think I’m greedy, that I could not get enough of fine dresses and gold?”
He met and held her eyes. “No,” he said. “I think you could have avoided that life if you’d truly wanted to. Did you even try anything else?”
She did not answer. Her expression told him she hadn’t.
“No,” he said. “It is as if you are drawn to it, though you know it is harmful. I worry about you, Emerahl. I worry that you nurse some unhealthy need to hurt yourself. As if…as if you are punishing yourself out of…out of self-loathing, perhaps.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How dare you. You tell me it’s harmful and disapprove of me resorting to it again, but you have never hesitated to buy a whore’s services. I heard you once boast that you were such a regular customer at a particular whorehouse in Aime that they let you have every third night free.”
Mirar straightened. “I am not like their regular customers,” he told her. “I am…considerate.”
“And that makes it different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Other men are not so considerate. They can be brutal.”
“And I can defend myself.”
“I know, but…”
“But what?”
He spread his hands. “You’re my friend. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I don’t find it as miserable an existence as you think I do,” she told him. “It’s not the most enjoyable profession a woman can take—though some women do find it suits them well—but it’s also not the worst. Would you rather I’d sat in the gutter, begging, or worked in some sewer or dump all day for a scrap of bread?”
“Yes,” he said, shrugging.
She leaned forward. “I wonder what Leiard thinks.” She looked into his eyes searchingly. “What do you think, Leiard?”
He had no time to protest. By addressing Leiard, she freed the other mind. Mirar found he had no control of his body; he could only observe.
“I think Mirar is a hypocrite,” Leiard said calmly.
Emerahl smiled with satisfaction. “Really?”
“Yes. He has contradicted himself many times. He told me months ago that he did not want to exist, but now it appears he does.”
She stared at him. “He did?”
“Yes. You believe that he is the real person, and I am not. So now he does too.”
Her gaze wavered. “I’m prepared to accept that the opposite may be true, Leiard, but you must prove it.”
“And if I can’t? Would you sacrifice me in order to keep your friend?”
It was a long time before she replied. “Would you like it better that way?”
Leiard looked down at the floor. “I am of two minds.” He smiled briefly at the unintended joke. “It might benefit others if I no longer existed, but I find I do not like the former leader of my own people. I am not sure if it would be wise to inflict the world with his existence again.”
Her eyebrows rose, then she surprised both Mirar and Leiard by bursting into laughter.
“Looks like I’m not the only person here who hates themself! Are you casting your own shadows on me, Mirar?”
Mirar gasped with relief as control returned. Emerahl gave him an odd look.
“You’re back?”
“Indeed.”
“Saying your names does it. Addressing one or the other. Interesting.” She looked up. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t address Leiard often. That left me in control most of the time.”
“How am I supposed to help you if you aren’t telling me everything?”
“I prefer being in control.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Enough to destroy another person’s mind?”
He did not answer. He had given her enough reasons to distrust him already tonight. She would not believe his answer, and he was not sure he’d believe it either.
“I’m going back to sleep,” she announced. “And I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Lying down, she rolled over. Her back seemed to admonish him.
“Emerahl.”
She did not reply.
“Priests can’t read minds. They can communicate via their rings, but no more. You may have encountered an unusually Gifted priest, or the gods may have given him the skill, but once you were away from him you had no reason to—”
“Go to sleep, Mirar.”
He shrugged, lay down and hoped she’d have forgiven him by the morning.
7
As the platten slowed again, Danjin let out a long sigh.
“To think that I used to enjoy the Summer Festival,” he muttered. “How do the priests and priestesses endure this?”
Auraya chuckled. “We allow four times as much time to get anywhere as we normally do. Haven’t you encountered festival crowds before?”
“On foot,” he said. “Revellers don’t block the streets where I live—or surround and stop every Temple platten when it passes.”
She smiled. “We can hardly complain about that when their intention is to make a donation.”
The clink of a coin in the platten’s donation box emphasized her point.
Danjin sighed again. “I’m not complaining about that. I just wish they’d leave their donation at the Temple like everyone else, instead of holding up Temple plattens.”
“Donate at the Temple like the wealthy and important?” she asked. “Poor drunken folk rubbing shoulders with rich drunk folk?”
His nose wrinkled. “I suppose we can’t have that.” He paused, then his eyes brightened. “There should be a donation day for wealthy donators and another for the rest.”
She shook her head. “If there was, there would be such a large crowd in the Temple you’d never be able to leave the grounds. When people started approaching plattens years ago it was because the Temple was too crowded. It would be worse now.” She shrugged. “Drunken revellers have always been gripped by a spontaneous need to give us money or gifts. It’s hard to discourage them and trying usually means a longer delay. That’s why we had the donation boxes attached to our platten. It is the best solution.”
“But what would we do if we had to get somewhere urgently?”
“I’d lower the cover and ask them to clear the road.”
“Would they? Half of them are drunk and delirious.”
She laughed. “Yes, they are. It is a celebration, after all.” Tugging aside the flap, she peered outside. “It’s so heartening to see so many happy people. It reassures you that not everyone died in the war, and that people can be cheerful again.”
Danjin subsided into his seat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I guess I am too impatient.”
Abruptly the platten began moving faster. It turned and the sound of coins entering the boxes ceased. Danjin lifted the platten flap on his side of the vehicle.
“At last,” he muttered. “We’ve reached civilization.”
On either side were mansions of the rich. The road to the Temple was the one thoroughfare the city guard kept clear of revellers. Instead it was filled by a long line of highly decorated platten. The wealthy disdained donation boxes, preferring instead to make a great show of their personal visits to the Temple.
“There’s the Tither family,” Danjin said, concern in his voice. “Look at the size of those trunks! They can’t afford to be giving so much away!”
Auraya peered over his shoulder. Extending her senses she read the minds of the old couple in the Tither platten.
“The first trunk is full of pottery, the second of blankets and the third is o
il,” she told him. “Fa-Tither carries a modest amount of gold.”
“Ah.” Danjin sighed in relief. “It is all show then. I hope the gods do not mind.”
Auraya laughed. “Of course not! They have never demanded or expected money from their followers. People came up with the idea themselves. We’ve told people that sacrificing income to the gods doesn’t guarantee a place at their side after death, but they still do it.”
“Just in case.” Danjin chuckled. “The Temple would find it difficult if they didn’t, though. How else would they feed, clothe and house priests and priestesses—and undertake charitable projects?”
“We’d work something else out.” Auraya shrugged. “There are other benefits to the tradition, too. One of the farmers in my village gives most of his earnings to the local Temple in summer, then asks for most of it back when he needs it in winter. He says he’d spend it too fast otherwise, and that putting it in the care of the priest is his best protection against robbery.”
“Because priests are likely to be more Gifted than anyone else,” Danjin said.
He looked more relaxed now, Auraya noted. They had come from the hospice, in one of the poorer districts of the city. As a member of the city’s upper class, he had good reason to be uneasy there. If he had been alone, dressed as he was, he would probably have been robbed.
At this time of year he had even more reason to be cautious. The Summer Festival was also referred to as the Festival of the Thieves. Robbers, muggers and pickpockets took advantage of worshippers when they could, either waylaying them on their way to make a donation or breaking into homes in search of the savings stored in preparation for the festival.
The previous year a cunning young thief had made himself a fortune by climbing in under the Temple plattens, drilling a hole into the bottom of the donation boxes, and pocketing the coins. His first successes has inflated his confidence and on the last day of the festival, after stories of the thefts had circulated, he had been caught and beaten to death by enraged worshippers.
“We can’t be far away now,” Danjin muttered, peering out of the platten cover again.
Auraya closed her eyes and searched the thoughts of those around them. From the driver’s mind she read that they were nearing the Temple entrance, then she caught a snatch of anger from a vehicle in front. Looking closer, she learned that the occupant was Terena Spicer, matriarch of one of the most wealthy and powerful families of the city. Auraya was amused and a little disturbed to find the woman’s anger was directed at herself.
Intrigued, she watched as the woman’s thoughts churned. She barely noticed when Danjin informed her that they had passed through the arch and entered the Temple. Only when the platten stopped did she break her concentration. They climbed out. The paving before the Tower was crowded with plattens. Terena Spicer hadn’t emerged from her vehicle yet. Indicating that Danjin should follow, Auraya strode into the Tower.
The enormous hall inside was full of priests, priestesses and the usual crowd of wealthy families talking and gossiping after having deposited their donations. As always, the entrance of a White sent a thrill of excitement through the crowd. Auraya kept her pace swift and her eyes on the room where the donations were presented. Despite this, a man stepped forward, intending to intercept her. To her relief, a priestess moved into his path to prevent him.
Danjin followed, full of unspoken questions. She considered stopping to explain, but there was too little time. As she neared her destination, she briefly looked into the minds of those within the donation room. A family had just made their contribution and were about to leave. She opened the door and stepped inside.
Her arrival caused the room to fall silent in surprise. A high priest and four lesser priests sat before a long, sturdy table. The family stood just within the door. Auraya smiled and nodded to all.
“Please continue.”
“Fa Glazer was just leaving, Auraya of the White,” the high priest said mildly, making the sign of the circle. “Having made a most generous donation.”
“Indeed, I am,” the older man of the family said with dignity. He made the formal sign of the circle with both hands, then ushered his family out. As the door closed, the priests turned to regard Auraya.
“I’m here to observe a visitor,” she told them, moving to stand to one side.
The high priest nodded. Two of the lesser priests rose and, lifting the chests left by the family with magic, sent them floating through a door on the other side of the room. Auraya turned to Danjin. He could not stay here. The donations were meant to remain a secret.
“You had better wait in there,” she told him, nodding at the door the trunks had been taken through. “I want you to listen, if you can.”
He nodded and strode across the room to the door. It closed firmly after him. From his thoughts, she saw that he had pressed his ear to the crack of the door.
Three more visitors came and left before Terena Spicer entered. The woman’s face was tight with disapproval. She strode forward and dropped a single small chest on the table with a thump, then she lifted her chin, swept her eyes imperiously over the priests and opened her mouth to begin the speech she had prepared.
As her gaze shifted to Auraya her haughty expression melted into one of horror.
Auraya smiled and nodded politely. The woman swallowed, looked away, then took a step backward from the table. The high priest leaned forward and opened the chest. His expression did not change, but the eyebrows of the other priests rose. One gold coin lay within.
Terena’s mind was in turmoil. Clearly she could not give the speech she had planned now. Auraya’s presence had reminded her that by protesting against a White’s work she might be protesting against the gods’ will. A small struggle followed, and the reason to stay silent won a narrow victory over her reason to speak out.
Auraya watched as the priests uttered their usual thanks. Terena murmured replies. The ritual over, she turned to leave.
Not so fast, Auraya thought.
“Ma Spicer,” she said, keeping her voice gentle and concerned. “I could not help but sense your agitation on your arrival. I also sense that you intended to discuss the cause of your agitation with the priests here. Please do not hesitate to express your concern. I would not like you to harbor ill feeling toward us.”
Terena flushed and reluctantly turned back. Her gaze flickered from priest to priest, then to Auraya. As the woman gathered her courage and anger, Auraya felt a wry admiration for her.
“I did intend to speak my mind,” she said. “I have reduced my donation this year in protest at this Dreamweaver place you are building. Our sons and daughters should not be associating with those…those filthy heathens.”
As the priests turned to regard Auraya expectantly, she laughed inwardly at their eagerness. This must be the most exciting event that had happened to them in days.
She walked forward until she was a few steps from the woman. “Leave us,” she said to the priests. They rose and filed into the donation store room, unified in their disappointment. Once they were gone, Terena allowed her apprehension to show. She would not meet Auraya’s gaze. Her hands were shaking.
“I understand your concern, Terena Spicer,” Auraya said soothingly. “For a long time we have encouraged Circlians to avoid Dreamweavers. In the past this was necessary in order to reduce their influence. Now there are few who would choose that life, and Dreamweavers pose no danger to Circlians true to the gods.
“Those that do choose that life are often disillusioned or rebellious youth. Now, if these people are at all tempted by the life of a Dreamweaver, they will come to the hospice to see them. When they do they will see priests and priestesses as well. They will see that our healers are as skilled and powerful, if not more so, than Dreamweavers. If they are given a chance to compare, they will realize that one life leads to the salvation of their soul and the other does not.”
The woman was staring up at Auraya now. She found herself approving, though
reluctantly, of what Auraya was suggesting.
“What of those who still want the Dreamweaver life?”
“After seeing all that?” Auraya shook her head sadly. “Then they would have sought and found it anyway. This way we can continue to seek their return. We will gently but persistently call them back, giving them no reason to hate and resist us. If they sought the Pentadrian way of life, however…” She let the sentence hang. Some people needed to hate others. Better they directed their animosity at the Pentadrians than at the Dreamweavers.
Ma Spicer lowered her eyes, then nodded. “That is wise.”
Auraya lifted a finger to her lips. “As is keeping this to yourself, Ma Spicer.”
The woman nodded. “I understand. Thank you for…easing my concerns. I hope…I hope I have not offended you.”
“Not at all.” Auraya smiled. “Perhaps you will be able to enjoy the party outside now.”
The corner of Terena’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “I think I will. Thank you, Auraya of the White.”
She made the formal sign of the circle, then walked to the door, her shoulders stiff with pride again. Auraya of the White had confided in Terena Spicer. But then, why wouldn’t she?
Auraya chuckled as the door closed behind the woman. She didn’t believe for a moment that Terena Spicer would be able to resist relating what she had just heard to a few close and trusted friends. In a few days the story would be all over the city.
She moved to the side door and tapped on it. Danjin stepped out, his expression neutral. From his mind she confirmed he had heard most of what had been said.
The priests followed, a little miffed that Danjin had been allowed to eavesdrop, but trusting that Auraya had her reasons for asking him to. Auraya thanked them, then left the room.
“Are you sure you want people to know that?” Danjin murmured as they skirted the crowd and made their way toward the circular wall at the center of the hall.
“Ordinary Circlians won’t accept the hospice unless they feel there is an advantage in it for us,” she replied quietly. “Plain old peace and tolerance isn’t reason enough. Neither is the assumption that whatever I do is approved of by the gods.”
[Age of the Five 02] - Last of the Wilds Page 10
