19

A feeling of suffocation woke Leiard. He sat up, gasping for breath, and stared at his surroundings. The room was dark and he sensed dawn was not far away. He could not remember the dream that had woken him.

Rising, he washed, changed and slipped out of his room. Creating a tiny spark of light, he crossed the communal room and made his way up to the rooftop garden. He stepped outside into the chill air and approached the garden seats where he held Jayim’s lessons.

Sitting down, he considered his dream. All that remained was a feeling of fear. He closed his eyes and concentrated on a mental exercise designed to retrieve lost dreams, but nothing stirred. Only the fear lingered.

The dreams he did remember were of Auraya. Some were pleasant, filled with joy and passion. He hadn’t had such arousing dreams since… so long ago he could not remember. Unfortunately, some of the dreams were full of unpleasant consequences, of accusation and retribution and terrible, terrible punishment.

You should have left. You should have reminded yourself of what she is, a voice said in his mind.

I did.

You should have reminded yourself harder.

This other voice in his mind—the thoughts that Arleej believed were a manifestation of Mirar’s link memories— spoke to Leiard often now. It was logical that, if he was going to be arguing with himself over Auraya, this illusionary Mirar would side against him having anything to do with the White. Mirar had been killed by one of them.

He had wondered, briefly, if Mirar had influenced him somehow that night in Auraya’s room. Leiard was wary of blaming this secondary identity for any of his own actions, however. There had been no voice encouraging him to seduce Auraya. Mirar had been silent until early the next morning, not speaking until Leiard left the Tower.

Auraya had kissed him goodbye, then asked him to keep their tryst a secret. A reasonable request, considering what he was. What she was. Had anyone seen him leave? He had seen no sign of servants, but had been prepared to behave as if nothing other than a late-night consultation had occurred.

The lie sounded implausible, however. Servants liked to imagine more exciting matters than political discussion went on behind doors late at night, especially if that consultation lasted all night. If they did suspect he’d bedded Auraya, the other White would have read it from their minds. If any of the Gods’ Chosen wanted to confirm it they had only to summon Leiard and read his mind.

No summons had arrived. He was hoping this meant his visit had not been noticed or speculated upon. When he thought of the consequences to his people if such a scandal became known, he shivered with dread. Yet whenever he wasn’t worrying he found himself planning ways to visit her secretly when she returned.

If she wants me to. She might regard me as a night’s entertainment. A lover she’ll cast off when she realizes how inconvenient he will be to keep around. If only I could find out what she wants.

There was a way, but it was dangerous. He could dream link with her.

Don’t be an idiot. If she reports you they’ll have you stoned.

She won’t tell anyone.

“Leiard?”

He jumped and looked up, surprised to find Jayim standing in front of him. The garden was now lit by the faint light of dawn. He had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed.

The boy yawned as he took the seat opposite Leiard. He had wrapped himself in a blanket. Winter is coming, Leiard thought. I should teach him ways to keep himself warm.

“Will we practice mind-linking again?” Jayim asked.

Leiard considered the boy. They hadn’t linked since the day Jayim had observed Leiard’s attraction to Auraya. He had been so disturbed by that, he had put off further lessons in the skill.

Now the thought of linking with his student filled him with fear. If he did, Jayim was bound to learn of Leiard’s night with Auraya. He would see, too, Leiard’s hopes to continue the affair. If Jayim knew that, there would be two people in Jarime from whom the White could read Leiard’s secret.

“No,” Leiard replied. “The air is chill this morning. I will explain the ways the body is affected by cold, and teach you how to counter it.”

High Priest Ikaro paused outside King Berro’s audience chamber. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Attendants, advisers and representatives of the greater trades stood about the throne. The seat was empty, however. The king was standing before an enormous urn.

It was decorated in the new style, Ikaro noted. A black coating covered the urn, then designs and figures had been scratched out of it, revealing the white clay beneath. The king glanced at Ikaro, then beckoned.

“Do you like it, High Priest Ikaro? It is of myself naming Cimro as my heir.”

“I do indeed,” Ikaro replied, moving to the king’s side. “There is grace and skill in these lines, and the detail is exquisite. You do me a great honor, your majesty.”

The king frowned. “By showing this to you? I intend to place it here. You will see it each time you enter this chamber.”

“Yet I will not have an opportunity to stand and admire it, your majesty. My attention will always be on more important matters.”

The king smiled. “That is true.” He stepped away from the urn and strolled toward the throne. “I did not know you were an appreciator of art.”

“I am merely an appreciator of beauty.”

Berro chuckled. “Then it is a great irony that you have turned my city upside down looking for an ugly old hag.” The king settled onto his throne. His expression became serious and his fingers drummed on the throne’s arm. “How much longer do you intend us to continue with this search?”

Ikaro frowned. He could not read the king’s mind—he was only able to read minds when Huan was present—but he did not need to. The king was not hiding his impatience. The usual reassurances would not placate Berro this time. He was not sure what would, except…

“I will ask the gods.”

The king’s eyes widened. The men and women exchanged glances, some skeptical.

“Now?”

“Unless this is an inconvenient time,” Ikaro added. “I could use the palace Temple.”

“No, no,” Berro said. “Speak to them, if that is what you feel is right.”

Ikaro nodded, then closed his eyes.

“Join me in prayer,” he murmured, putting both hands together to form a circle. As he spoke a familiar chant of praise he was grateful to hear many voices quietly echoing him. He drew courage from them. At the end of the chant he paused, then drew a deep breath.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. I ask that one of you speak to me so that I may receive instruction.”

He waited, heart racing. His skin prickled as an energy filled the air.

:High Priest Ikaro.

Gasps echoed through the chamber. Ikaro opened his eyes and glanced around. There was no sign of the owner of the voice, but he could see from the expressions of everyone in the room that they had heard it.

“Huan?” he asked.

:It is I.

He bowed his head.

“I have done as you bade, but I have not found the sorceress. Should I continue searching? Is there any other way I might locate her?”

:Let her think you have given up. Call off the searchers. Stop checking people at the port and main gate. Instead, have these exits watched by a priest in disguise. If she believes the search has ended, she may take the opportunity to leave the city. I will be watching for her.

Ikaro nodded. “If she can be found this way, I will find her,” he replied with determination.

The goddess’s presence faded. Ikaro looked up at the king, who wore a thoughtful expression.

“Is it only recently that the gods have spoken to you in this way?”

“Yes,” Ikaro admitted.

The king frowned. “No doubt the goddess knows I am grateful that the restrictions on my city will be lifted, but I will include my thanks in my prayers to be sure. Much as I do not want a dangerous sorceress roaming free in my city, I am concerned that my people will suffer if trade is restricted. Will you need any assistance following her instructions?”

Ikaro shook his head, then hesitated. “Though perhaps you should inform the guards that beggars around the gates are to be left alone.”

“Beggars, eh?” Berro smiled crookedly. “Original disguise, that one.”

Ikaro chuckled. “And if it would not be inconvenient, a few guard’s uniforms might come in handy as well.”

Berro nodded. “I’ll see that you get them.”

For all of the last day and most of the morning, Auraya and Zeeriz had flown over impressively rugged mountains. She had lived most of her childhood in the shadows of the range that divided Dunway from Hania, but those mountains were mere hills compared to these high, jagged peaks.

Looking down at the steep slopes and broken ground, and the tangled limbs of trees and sharp spires of rock she could see how difficult it would be to travel into Si by foot. The “ground” was vertical more often than horizontal, and every bit of soil had been claimed by plants, from sharp grasses to enormous trees.

Wide, rubble-filled rivers cut through the forest. High eroded banks scattered with enormous dead trees hinted at an impassable spring flow. These rivers surged toward glittering blue lakes, then spilled out to form two huge, sea-bound rivers.

They had flown directly southeast from Jarime, then turned south to fly between a gap in the mountains. That night they had camped in a cave furnished with a fireplace and simple beds, stocked with dried food. In the morning she woke to the smell of fried eggs, and was surprised to find that Zeeriz had flown out to raid a few nests at dawn. Obviously the Siyee were not squeamish about eating other winged creatures.

They had flown southeast all morning. Now, as the sun rose to its zenith, her attention was drawn to a long, exposed stretch of rock on the, side of a mountain.

“That is the Open,” Zeeriz explained. “Our main gathering and living place.”

She nodded to show her understanding.

:Juran?

:Auraya.

:I am nearing my destination.

:I will alert the others. They’re eager to see it.

Auraya sensed a little of his excitement and smiled. Even Juran, normally so serious, was thrilled by the prospect of seeing the home of the Siyee.

Not long after, a shadow passed over her. Looking up, she saw three Siyee flying above. They stared at her, fascinated. She flew closer to Zeeriz.

“Should I stop and greet them?”

“No,” he replied. “If you stop to greet every Siyee who comes to gawk at you, we won’t reach the Open until nightfall.” He looked up at the newcomers and grinned. “You’re going to attract quite a crowd.”

As they continued on, she occasionally glanced up to smile at the Siyee above. Soon more joined them, and then more, until she felt as if she was being followed by a great, flapping cloud. Drawing closer to the Open, she began to make out Siyee standing on the rocky ground—and they began to notice her. Some leapt into the air to investigate. Others simply remained on the steep slope, watching.

At the back of her mind, Auraya was conscious of her continuing link with Juran. One by one the other White joined that link, and she allowed them to view what she was seeing. The steep rock face that was the Open was like a giant scar on the side of the mountain. Longer than it was wide, it was surrounded by forest. The trees of that forest were enormous, and would no doubt be even more impressive viewed from the ground.

The rock face was uneven, broken into three levels. In the middle section a group of Siyee adults were standing in a line. These, she guessed, were the tribal leaders: the Speakers.

From below a pounding began, drawing her attention to several drums arranged on either side of the Open. Suddenly Siyee began darting in front of her. Seeing that they were wearing identical clothing and were all adolescents, she understood this aerobatic display was a show put on to impress her.

They dived and swooped back and forth, their movements synchronized. The patterns they formed were intricate, yet they managed to keep pace with her as she and Zeeriz descended toward the waiting Speakers.

The drums stopped and the fliers streaked away. Zeeriz swooped down to the ground. As he landed lightly before the Speakers, Auraya dropped down beside him. A woman stepped forward holding a wooden cup in one hand and what looked like a small cake in the other.

“I am Speaker Sirri,” the Siyee said.

“I am Auraya of the White.”

The Siyee offered Auraya the cup and the cake. The cup was full of clear, clean water. Zeeriz had told her of this ritual of welcome. Auraya ate the cake, which was sweet and dense, then drank the water. She handed the cup back to the Speaker. No thanks were to be offered, Zeeriz had told her. All Siyee of all tribes welcomed visitors with food and water, since no Siyee could carry much of their own. Even enemies must give and receive refreshment, but the silence prevented words of thanks sticking in anyone’s throat.

Sirri stepped back and spread her arms wide, exposing the membranes of her wings. This, Auraya read from the woman’s mind, was a welcome reserved only for those the Siyee trusted. The Siyee trusted the gods, so in turn they trusted the Gods’ Chosen.

“Welcome to Si, Auraya of the White.”

Auraya smiled and copied the gesture. “I am delighted to receive such a warm welcome from you and your people.”

Sirri’s expression softened. “It is an honor to receive one of the Gods’ Chosen.”

Auraya made the sign of the circle. “And it is an honor to be welcomed by the gods’ most wondrous and beautiful creation.”

Sirri’s eyes widened and her face flushed. Auraya noted the other Speakers exchanging glances. Had she said something wrong? She was not sensing offense from them. She read a mixture of thoughts, and slowly came to understand that, as a people, they wondered about their place in the world. Did their existence have a purpose? Or had their creation simply been a passing folly, an entertainment for the goddess who had made them? Her words had suggested that, perhaps, part of their purpose was simply to be an expression of beauty and wonder.

She would have to be careful here. These people could read meanings into her comments than she didn’t intend. She must be sure to explain that she knew no more than they when it came to the gods’ deeper purposes. After all, they hadn’t even spoken to her since the Choosing Ceremony.

“We have called a Gathering in order to discuss your proposed alliance,” Speaker Sirri told her. “Messengers have been sent to all tribes asking for their Speakers or representatives to come. It will take two or three days for everyone to arrive. In the meantime, we have arranged a small welcoming feast to take place tonight in the Speakers’ Bower, beginning at sunset.”

Auraya nodded. “I look forward to it.”

“There are many hours left before sunset. Would you like to rest, or see more of the Open?”

“I would love to see more of your home.”

Sirri smiled and gestured gracefully toward the trees on one side. “I would be honored to show you.”