26

   

Since demonstrating his harness, Tryss had been waking up early. Sometimes he rose quietly and slipped out to hunt; at other times he stayed in bed, listening for the sounds of his family starting their daily routine. Today he had decided to stay in bed. He’d stayed up late and all he felt like doing was dozing.

His thoughts strayed to conversations of the previous evening. Sreil, Speaker Sirri’s son, had told Tryss that the young men of other tribes were all eager to try out his invention, but their Speakers had ordered them to leave Tryss alone. They wanted to ensure no tribe was seen to be given favor over the others. Speaker Sirri had suggested that one man from each tribe be chosen to form the first group Tryss would teach. Those men would pass on what they learned to their tribe.

Tryss wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. It certainly wasn’t the fastest way to teach others and it might not be the most reliable. If one of those men didn’t understand him, mistakes might be passed on.

Nothing would happen until the alliance with the White had been signed, anyway. Last night the Siyee had held a second Gathering. This time all the tribes had agreed to an alliance with the White. The mood had been grim rather than celebratory. While most Siyee were happy with the decision, some clearly felt they were being forced to make a choice between the White and the White’s enemy in order to save themselves from the settlers. As if the priestess was to blame for the Siyee’s situation.

She isn’t, Tryss had decided. The White are as much to blame for having an enemy as the Siyee are for having their land stolen by invaders. It felt right that White and Siyee could now help each other out.

A faint noise drew Tryss’s attention. He listened carefully and decided that what he was hearing was his mother in the main room, probably preparing the morning meal.

I could go out and help her, he thought. Doesn‘t look like I’m going to go back to sleep.

He swung out of bed and washed himself before dressing. Stepping out into the main room, he grinned as his mother looked up at him. She smiled, then turned her attention back to a stone bowl.

“You’re up late.”

He shrugged. “It was a long night.”

“I saw you talking with Sreil,” she said approvingly. “He’s a smart boy, that one.”

“Yes.”

The water in the bowl began to steam, then bubble. She dropped nutmeal and dried fruit into it and the liquid stopped simmering. Tryss watched as she stared at the porridge until the liquid began to boil again. If Siyee were more Gifted, we might never have needed the harness, he thought. Most Siyee could manage this heating his mother was doing, but little more. From what he’d heard, most landwalkers had small Gifts too.

“I haven’t seen much of Ziss and Trinn lately.”

“Me neither,” he agreed. “Thank Huan.”

She glanced at him. “You shouldn’t let that little prank of theirs ruin your friendship.”

“It wasn’t a little prank,” he retorted. “And they were never my friends.”

One of her eyebrows rose. “Just be careful how you treat them now. You’re going to be getting a lot of attention, and they’ll resent you for that. It’s always better to avoid making enemies out of—”

“Hello? Anybody awake?”

The words were spoken quietly and came from beyond the bower entrance. Tryss recognized Speaker Sirri’s voice, and exchanged a glance with his mother.

“Yes. Come in, Speaker Sirri,” his mother called.

The door flap opened and the older woman stepped inside. She nodded respectfully at Tryss’s mother, then smiled at Tryss.

“The Speakers will be meeting to witness the signing of the alliance this morning. I would like Tryss to attend.”

His mother’s eyebrows rose. “You would? Well, I can’t see why not. Does he have time enough to eat?”

Sirri shrugged. “Yes, if he does not take too long.”

“And you?”

The older woman blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Would you like some nut mash? It is ready and I have plenty.”

Sirri eyed the bowl. “Well, if it is no trouble…”

Tryss’s mother smiled and spooned out the hot mash into four bowls. Sirri sat down to eat. From the look of relief on her face, Tryss guessed the Speaker had not found the time to eat anything this morning. The hanging across the door to his parents’ room opened and his father stepped out, his hair sticking up in all directions. He looked at Sirri in surprise.

“Speaker,” he said.

“Tiss,” she replied.

“Is that breakfast I can smell?” he said, turning to Tryss’s mother.

“It is,” she replied, handing him a bowl.

“You must be proud of Tryss,” Sirri said.

Tryss felt his heart swell with pleasure as his parents nodded. “He’s always been a clever boy,” his mother said. “I thought he would do well, perhaps become a bower-maker or arrowforger. I never guessed he would help bring about such changes for our people.”

“We couldn’t stay as we were,” his father added. “My grandfather always said adapting to and embracing change was the Siyee’s greatest strength.”

“Your grandfather was a wise man,” Sirri said.

Tryss’s mother nodded in agreement, then glanced at Tryss. “I only fear what any mother fears: that such changes will have a terrible price.”

Sirri grimaced. “I know that fear well. If we go to war with the White, as I suspect we will, I doubt I could keep Sreil here. Nor should I. It will be a difficult time.”

Tryss’s parents nodded again. They all ate in silence, then Sirri set her empty bowl aside and looked at Tryss.

“Change awaits no one, but alliance signings can’t happen without the Head Speaker. We must go. Thank you for the meal, Trilli. It is much appreciated.”

Tryss’s mother gathered the empty bowls and ushered them out. As Tryss and Sirri emerged into the sunlight he caught a movement from the next bower. His heart leapt as Drilli emerged. She saw him and grinned, but the smile faded as her father stepped out. He gave Tryss a warning look then strode away, Drilli following.

Tryss sighed, then turned to find Sirri regarding him.

“Your neighbors have been spending a lot of time with the Fork River tribe’s representatives. I did not think much of it until I remembered that a family from their own tribe had settled with the Fork River folk. I suspect Zyll hopes to persuade his daughter to marry into this other Snake River family. He’s keen to prevent the Snake River tribe becoming absorbed into other tribes.”

Tryss felt as though his heart was shrivelling up. When Sirri looked at him he shrugged, afraid that if he spoke his voice would betray his feelings.

“Of course, he can’t force her to if she is already pledged to another.” She shook her head. “I always thought that law a foolish one. It forces young people to choose who they marry too early. I don’t like the idea of fathers marrying their daughters off to young men they hardly know, either.”

She glanced at Tryss. “Come on.” Together they broke into a run, leapt and spread their arms wide. As Sirri’s wings caught the wind and she swooped upward, Tryss followed. Her words repeated over and over in his mind as they flew toward the top of the Open.

“… he can’t force her to if she is already pledged to another.”

Was she aware that he and Drilli had been seeing a lot of each, other until Drilli’s father intervened? She obviously disapproved of what Zyll was doing. Was she suggesting he and Drilli exchange a pledge of marriage?

It might be the only way he would see Drilli again.

But… marriage. It was such a grown-up thing to do. He would have to move out of his parents’ bower. The tribe would build them their own. He considered what it might be like to live with Drilli.

He smiled. It would be nice. A bower all of their own. Time together. Privacy.

Was she the right girl for him? He thought of the other girls he knew. The ones in his tribe, who he had grown up with, were like family members. A few were friendly, but they weren’t anything like Drilli. She was… special.

Ahead, Sirri landed and paused to wait for him. He dropped down beside her, then followed her along one of the trails to the Speakers’ Bower. Thoughts of Drilli were chased away as he realized he was about to participate in an event that was likely to become part of Siyee history. .

“Wha—what will I have to do?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just sit at the back and stay silent unless you’re spoken to,” Sirri told him.

Suddenly his mouth was dry. His stomach began to flutter disconcertingly. Sirri strode up to the entrance and pulled the hanging aside. As she stepped through, Tryss swallowed hard and followed.

The room was crowded with Siyee. All had looked up at Sirri when she entered, and were now regarding him with interest. The priestess was present, looking larger than ever in the close room. She met his eyes and smiled, and he felt blood rush to his face.

Sirri moved to an unoccupied stool. As she sat down, Tryss glanced around the room. There were no other stools. He sat on the floor, where he could see Sirri between two of the Speakers.

“Last night every tribe considered again the White’s proposal for an alliance,” Sirri said. “Last night all tribes made a decision, and all decided the same. We, the Siyee, will make this pact with the White. We will become allies of the Circlians.

“We debated long into the night the exact words of this commitment between us.” She looked at Auraya. “This morning Auraya of the White has scribed these words onto parchment in the languages of both Si and Hania. These two scrolls have been inspected by all.”

The White priestess held up two scrolls. Tryss noted that the wooden rods attached to the parchment were carved with Siyee patterns.

“All that remains is for each of us to sign it on behalf of our tribe,” Sirri finished.

She reached behind her stool and lifted a flat board into view. A small container of black paint sat within a recess of the board and a brush lay in another. Sirri placed the board across her knees.

The White priestess held the scrolls before her. She closed her eyes.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. Today your wish to see Northern Ithania united in peace comes a step closer to realization. Know that the people Huan created, the Siyee, have chosen to ally with the people you chose to represent you in this world, the White. We do so with joy and great hopes for the future.”

Tryss felt his skin prickle. He had no time to wonder at this as Auraya opened her eyes and handed Sirri one of the scrolls. The Speaker unrolled the parchment, picked up the brush and loaded it with paint.

As the brush-tip moved across the scroll, the bower was utterly silent. A shiver ran down his spine. He watched Sirri paint her name sign and tribe sign on the second scroll, then pass the board to the next Speaker.

Tryss realized this was no ritual refined by centuries of repetition. The Siyee didn’t have a ceremony for an event like this: they had never signed an alliance before. This was a new ritual, begun today.

The silence continued as the scroll passed from Speaker to Speaker. The White priestess watched all patiently. Tryss noticed that her gaze occasionally grew distant, as if she was listening to something beyond his hearing. Once she smiled faintly, but he saw nothing in the room to explain her amusement.

Finally the scrolls were returned to her. She signed slowly, obviously not used to using a brush to write with. When she was done, she handed the board and one of the scrolls to Sirri. The Speaker put the board aside, but kept hold of the scroll.

“Today our peoples have joined hands and hearts in friendship and support,” Sirri said. “May all Siyee, and our descendants, honor this alliance.” She looked at Auraya.

“Today the White have gained an ally we will value for all eternity,” Auraya replied. “In accordance with the agreement we have just made, our first act will be to effect the return of Toren settlers to their homeland. This will take time if it is to be achieved without bloodshed, but we are determined it will be done within the next two years.”

This brought triumphant smiles to the faces of the Speakers. The air of formality dissolved as one asked her how this might be done without spoiling future prospects of trade with Toren. The Speakers began talking with each other, and some rose and moved to Sirri’s side to inspect the scroll.

Tryss watched it all silently, but it did not take long before one of the Speakers noticed him. As the old man began to ask him questions about his harness, others joined in, and soon Tryss found himself unable to answer one query before another was thrown at him. He felt overwhelmed.

“Fellow Speakers, have some pity on the poor boy.” Sirri’s voice cut across the questions. She shouldered her way into the circle of men and women surrounding Tryss. “What you all want to know is when your tribes will get their own harnesses and when they will be trained to use them.” She looked at Tryss. “What do you think, Tryss?”

He glanced at the Speakers, then drew in a deep breath and considered.

“The harnesses have to be made first. I can teach two makers from each tribe, so one can correct the other if mistakes are made. I’ll start teaching them as soon as they arrive.”

“How does that sound?” Sirri turned to regard the Speakers.

The men and women nodded.

“Good.” Sirri patted Tryss on the shoulder. “Now, tell us what they’ll need to bring.”

As Tryss listed the tools and materials that he’d used to make his harness, a feeling of wonder began to grow. He’d done it. He’d convinced them, thanks to Sirri. She had listened to him when he had first wanted to demonstrate the harness. She’d seen the potential of his invention. She’d given him a chance. He glanced at the Speaker and felt a surge of gratitude. She even sympathized with him about Drilli—and had told him of a way they could be together again.

He owed her a lot. One day he hoped he might repay her. For now, the best he could do was train his fellow Siyee to hunt and fight.

Though now that he thought of it, he had never used the harness in battle. He had only his imagination to tell him it would be an effective weapon.

It’s not over yet, he thought. Even I have more to learn.

Since hearing how she had flown right over the Pentadrian sorceress weeks before, Auraya had paid more attention to the forest below her whenever she was flying. She had seen no black-clad landwalkers, thankfully, just an abundance of wildlife and a lot of trees.

The sorceress was long gone—or so the Siyee believed. She looked up and around at the mountains. Great spires of rock and snow rose on all sides. Forests clung to their steep slopes. In the valleys and ravines below, glittering threads of water wound down toward the sea.

Magnificent, she thought.

She felt buoyant. Lighter than air. It was not just her peculiar Gift, it was a mood that had stolen over her since she had first arrived, reaching its peak this morning when she had succeeded in her task of uniting Siyee and White.

That was not all. This morning she had woken from dreams of Leiard so full of love and passion that she had not wanted to wake at all. She longed to return to Jarime, yet sometimes she wondered if reality would prove to be disappointing in comparison to their shared dreams.

No, it will be better, she told herself.

Sirri changed direction slightly, so Auraya altered her course to match. The Speaker had been gradually gaining altitude for the last hour and the air had grown icy. Auraya drew magic constantly in order to keep herself warm. The Siyee seemed unaffected by the chill.

They had been flying for most of the day and the sun was dropping toward the horizon. Looking ahead, Auraya saw that they were heading toward a mountain peak slightly lower than the others. She had seen glimpses of their destination in the woman’s mind, and from them knew that they were heading for this peak and that she would find a Temple there.

Auraya had been intrigued to learn that the Siyee had their own Temple. Though they worshipped Huan, they were not true Circlians. They did not follow—or even know of—the rituals and traditions landwalkers had invented in order to express their worship of the five gods.

She had wanted to visit the Temple, but Siyee law forbade anyone to approach unless invited by the goddess or accompanied by a Watcher, the closest thing to a priest or priestess the Siyee had. This morning, Sirri had passed on one such invitation. Since then Auraya’s stomach had been fluttering with excitement. Did this mean they were finally going to speak to her?

If they are, why don’t they just speak to me? Why this invitation passed through others? Auraya found herself wondering, not for the first time. Maybe because they want the Siyee to note it. Had the gods simply spoken into my mind the Siyee would not know, or would have to trust that I told the truth. And if the gods appeared in the presence of the Siyee that takes some of the holiness out of this place, since it’s where they go when they commune with Huan.

They drew closer to the peak and Auraya began to make out details. The highest point was oddly shaped—cylindrical and rounded at the top. She saw a sliver of sky within the shape, and realized that it was hollow. Suddenly what she had glimpsed in Sirri’s mind made sense. A small pavilion Temple had been carved out of the stone peak.

She wondered how it had been built. Below the circular base, on all sides, was a near-vertical drop. Perhaps if a hollow had been made first, the structure could have been gradually carved from the inside. None but Siyee could have reached such a high, inaccessible place, however. She had not realized the Siyee stone-carvers were so skilled. As she drew closer she could see that it was a simple, underrated structure. Five columns supported a domed roof. The proportions were flawless, the surfaced polished to a shine.

Sirri flapped her wings to gain a little more height, then tilted them so that she landed neatly between two columns. Auraya abandoned all pretense of being subject to the forces of wind and the pull of the earth. She straightened and stopped, floating in midair, then moved herself forward until her feet met the center of the Temple’s floor.

Only then did it occur to her that the Temple had been made to landwalker proportions. She did not need to duck her head to avoid the ceiling.

“This is the Temple,” Sirri said quietly. “It has always been here. Our records say it was here long before the Siyee were created.”

“The Siyee didn’t create it?”

Sirri shook her head. “No.”

“Then who did?”

“Nobody knows. Huan, perhaps.”

Auraya nodded, though she was still mystified. The gods could only affect this world through humans, and then only through willing humans, so at least one human must have been involved. Perhaps Huan had given a stone-carver the ability to fly in order to have this place created.

“This is a sacred place. Even those of the Temple Mountain tribe, who keep watch over it, rarely visit.” Sirri gave Auraya a quick smile. “We don’t want to distract Huan from her work unnecessarily.”

Auraya ran a hand over a column. There was no sign of wear or age. “It is amazing.”

“I have one question, before I leave,” Sirri said. “The Speakers wish to know when you want to depart for Borra?”

“Want to? Not ever.” Auraya sighed. “But I need to—and soon. I must see if I can persuade the Elai to join us.”

Sirri smiled. “I wish you luck, then. The Elai distrust outsiders.”

Auraya nodded. “So you have said. Yet they trade with you.”

“We creations of Huan like to keep in contact. The Sand tribe trades with the Elai. You should meet with their Speaker before you go. I’m sure he can tell you more about the sea people than I can.”

“I will.”

The Speaker’s expression became serious. “For now, Auraya of the White, I must leave you.” She moved to the edge of the Temple and pointed downward. “See that river?”

Auraya moved to Sirri’s side and looked down. A ribbon of reflected sky wound down a narrow ravine.

“Yes.”

“When you are done, fly down there. The Temple Mountain tribe live in caves along the ravine.” She turned to give Auraya a smile, then leaned out over the edge and glided away.

:Auraya.

Her heart seemed to stop. The voice had spoken in her mind. It was distinctly feminine.

:Huan?

:Yes.

The air before her brightened. Auraya stepped back, her heart pounding, as a figure of light formed before her. She dropped to her knees, then prostrated herself before the goddess.

:Rise, Auraya.

As Auraya obeyed she felt herself trembling with a mixture of joy and terror. She was standing, alone, before one of the gods. Even though I am one of their Chosen, before them I am just another ordinary human.

Huan smiled.

:You are no ordinary human, Auraya. We do not choose ordinary humans. We choose those with extraordinary talents, and you have certainly proved to have more of those than we initially detected.

The goddess’s tone was approving, yet Auraya sensed a note of irony. She did not have time to wonder at Huan’s meaning as the goddess continued speaking.

:We are satisfied with your success in unifying Northern Ithania so far. I am particularly pleased to see the Siyee united with the White. You will find they are the easier of my two races to befriend, however. Your flying skills will not impress the Elai. They will be a greater challenge for you.

:How can I impress them?

:That is for you to discover, Auraya. The choice must be their own, so we will not interfere either by giving you instructions, or giving the Elai direction.

:I understand.

Huan’s lips twisted in a wry smile.

:I doubt it. You are young and have much to learn—particularly in matters of the heart. I do not disapprove of you enjoying the Dreamweaver, Auraya. It is up to your fellow White to decide what is acceptable or unacceptable to the people. However, heed this warning. Only pain can come of this sort of love. Be prepared for it. Your people need you to be strong. Falter, and they may suffer.

Auraya felt her face warming as surprise was followed by embarrassment.

:I will, was all she could think to say.

Huan nodded. The figure dissolved into a column of light, then shrank, faded and vanished.

Kimyala, high priest of the followers of Gareilem, donned his many-layered octavestim slowly, following the ancient ritual of his forebears with great care. As he arranged and tied each garment he murmured prayers to his god. It was important to remember every stage of the ritual, and every ritual of the day.

He had asked his master, the former high priest, why this was so. The great Shamila had replied simply that it was important to remember.

Kimyala had not comprehended at the time. He suspected he hadn’t wanted to, because of his youthful impatience with the endless and complicated rituals. Now he understood better. It was important to remember, because there were too few who did.

Too few believed. The Circlians thought Gareilem dead and scorned his followers. The Pentadrians believed this too and pitied Kimyala. The Dreamweavers agreed with both, but at least they treated him with respect.

Kimyala was sure of one thing: gods cannot die. This was one of the ancient secrets of the followers of Gareilem. Let the others doubt, but he and his people knew the truth. The gods were beings of magic and wisdom. They existed as long as magic existed, so Gareilem must still exist somewhere, in some form. Perhaps, one day, he would return. His silence may even be a test of their faith. He was letting his followers dwindle until only the most loyal remained.

The dressing ritual over, Kimyala left his room and climbed to the roof of the old temple. Gareilem was the god of rock, sand and earth. His temples had always been built high on the sides of mountains. Here, near the southern coast of Sennon, there were only a few hills. The temple was built on a small rocky outcrop in the midst of a sea of dunes, but the lack of vegetation taller than a saltbush meant it had an uninterrupted view of the surrounding area.

Reaching the roof of the temple, Kimyala let his gaze move across the land. The sun hung just above the horizon, calling for his attention. The ritual chant for the end of the day crowded his thoughts, but it was not yet time. There wasn’t much to see to the west. Just the swell of a few more hills along the coast. The Gulf of Sorrow stretched, blue-gray, before him. A little to the left he could see the Isthmus of Grya reaching toward the southern continent. At its base was the dark smudge that was the city of Diamyane.

The city was close enough that he could see the scribble of roads and the sprawling low houses between them. On a clear day he could make out the city’s denizens without even the use of a lens. Today a slight but persistent wind had raised enough dust to soften the details of the city. There was nothing interesting to see. Except… as he looked beyond he noticed something unusual.

“Jedire!” he bellowed. “Bring my lens! Quickly!”

He heard hurried footsteps as his acolyte, studying in the room below, responded. Glancing at the sun, Kimyala judged he still had several minutes before it touched the horizon. Soon all light would be gone and the land would disappear in darkness.

The sound of sandals slapping against the stone stairs heralded the arrival of Jedire. The boy reached the top and handed Kimyala the lens. The high priest held the tube up to his eye.

He searched for the city and from there found the Isthmus. The dark smudge he had seen took form. Columns of figures marched toward Sennon, some holding banners. In the center of each length of black cloth was a white five-pointed star.

“Pentadrians, ” he said in disgust, handing the lens back to his acolyte.

The boy raised the tube to his eye.

“What are they doing?”

“Don’t know. A pilgrimage, maybe. ”

“They’re carrying weapons, ” the boy said in a hushed voice. “They’re going to war. ”

Kimyala snatched the lens from the boy and turned to face the city. Raising the tube to his eye, he sought the Pentadrians again and examined the line of marchers closely. Sure enough, some were wearing armor. Heavily laden carts trundled in their midst. As he watched, the head of the black column reached the city.

He muttered a curse. He had already lost two boys to the Pentadrians. It was not easy keeping them when the Pentadrians were always about, flaunting their riches and powers. If that wasn’t enough to lure young men away, there were always the rumors about their fertility rites. It was said that they held orgies in which all participants were masked, and that sometimes their gods joined in.

“It’s an army, isn’t it?” Jedire asked. “Have they come to take over Sennon?”

Kimyala shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody is trying to stop them. ”

“If they aren’t here to invade us, who are they going to invade?”

He turned to regard Jedire. The boy’s eyes were bright with excitement.

“Don’t get any foolish ideas about running off to join Ewarli and Gilare, ” Kimyala warned him. “Boys die in battles. They die horribly, in terrible pain. Now take this lens below quickly. I have a ritual to perform. ”

As the boy hurried away, Kimyala turned his attention to the sun. The fiery disk was about to touch the horizon. It was time to ignore the ominous presence of the army below, and begin the ritual.