He hoped she was right that the gods would not kill her for fear of weakening their followers’ trust in the White. He hoped he had not doomed her by opening his mind to her. It had been the only way to save himself, but he hadn’t done it purely out of self-interest. He had wanted her to see the truth. Wanted her to finally know him for what he was—and that he loved her.
Fool, he thought at himself. She’s one of the Gods’ Chosen. She can’t love you in return.
But she could, another part of his mind whispered.
He felt a stab of alarm. Was Leiard coming back? He sought a sense of other in his mind, but there was none.
I am Leiard, he reminded himself. I had better accept that his weaknesses are mine and make sure I don’t endanger others again. If I can’t have Auraya, I had better take myself as far away from her as possible.
The air in the steep, narrow ravine was humid and still. It set Mirar yawning and he considered stopping for a short sleep. He’d barely paused to rest since leaving the Blue Lake tribe and the weariness he’d pushed aside for so long suddenly seemed unbearable.
He stumbled. Looking down, he frowned as he saw the thin vines crossing his path. His heart stopped and he looked up and around, fear chasing away the muzziness encroaching on his thoughts.
The trees and forest floor around him were draped with sleepvine. Caught up in endlessly circling thoughts about Auraya and the gods, he hadn’t noticed what the ravine had led him into. The smell of rotting flesh turned his stomach. Somewhere under the lush carpet was an animal corpse or two, victims of the sleepvine’s Gift.
Now that he was aware of the insidious suggestion at the edge of his mind it was easy enough to block it. He started forward again, carefully stepping over the vines that crossed his path. It was a large, mature plant. The ravine was a natural corral and probably brought the plant many victims.
The ravine narrowed further, but the reach of the plant’s vines soon ended. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mirar made his way down the narrow crevice. He had to climb or squeeze past several rocky outcrops.
This better not lead to a dead end…
If only Tyve had been able to come with him. He was sure the boy would have. But Tyve’s mind was open to the gods and would have unwittingly betrayed Mirar’s location to them.
The rock walls ended on both sides several paces ahead. Mirar could also see that the ground dropped away there, too. Beyond he could see the tops of trees swaying in the wind. As he reached the end of the ravine he found himself standing at a cliff edge. It wasn’t a dead end, but climbing down would take time and a lot of concentration.
Before him rose mountains, and the climb he faced next was nothing compared to what he was going to have to tackle to cross those rocky slopes. Emerahl had suggested he head for the Sennon desert. Crossing the mountains was the shortest route. The easier route, though longer, would have taken him downriver from the Blue Lakes to the coast, but the coast was where the gods would expect him to go. It was where the Siyee would watch for him and the White would wait for him. They would not expect him to climb over a mountain then tackle a desert to get to Southern Ithania. At least he hoped they wouldn’t.
Sighing, he sat down to eat and examine the terrain ahead. Though the forest hid much of the ground beneath, he could plot an optimistic path past more obvious obstructions.
A shadow passed over him. A large shadow.
He looked up in time to see a Siyee glide out past the edge of the cliff, then curve back out of sight.
Few Siyee lived in this part of Si. It was still Blue Lake tribe territory, but with so much usable land near their lake the tribe didn’t need to roam far to find food or other necessities. They could be after something they can’t find locally, he thought. Rare plants, perhaps. Or maybe they’re patrolling their land.
Or maybe they’re searching for me.
Standing up, he backed into the crevasse. Whether seeking him or not, any Siyee who saw him might reveal his location to the gods, if they were watching. He paused, considering if he should go back instead of climbing down the cliff.
The cliff stretched a long way in either direction, a natural barrier between him and the mountains. He would have to tackle it or go a long way out of his way.
A winged shape glided overhead. He sensed a smug satisfaction, and patience. His stomach sank.
He knows I’m here.
So he may as well let the Siyee watch him descend. After that, under the cover of trees, it would be much easier to evade pursuit.
No black ships were visible on the horizon as Auraya neared the village of the Sand tribe. Siyee were everywhere: among the bowers, on the coast and in the sky. When she was close enough she searched their minds and located Speaker Tyrli.
By the time her feet touched the sand a crowd of Siyee had gathered. One of the women from the village had brought two bowls with her, and Tyrli offered these to Auraya. One was full of water, the other filled with tart berries.
Auraya accepted the ritual welcome.
“I received your message, Speaker,” she told him. “Where did you see the ship?”
He pointed a little eastward of south. “It was only visible from the air. The sails were marked with a star. My men flew out to it and saw Pentadrian sorcerers on board.”
Auraya nodded. “Has it been seen since?”
“No.” She caught a glimpse of a hairless, dark-skinned child in his mind. An Elai girl. He was worried that she might have encountered the Pentadrians, though it was unlikely. Auraya restrained her curiosity; there were more important matters to deal with.
“Did anyone follow the ship?” she asked.
He nodded. “At a distance, for as far as was safe. It sailed southeast, far out to sea. Toward Borra.”
“They did not land?”
“No. Are the Elai in danger?”
Auraya shook her head. “I doubt it. The Elai are no threat to them, and they are too few to be of interest to the Pentadrians as allies. I suppose they might try to convert them, but the Elai were created by Huan. I doubt they’d turn from her.”
Tyrli nodded in agreement.
That doesn’t mean the Pentadrians won’t try, she thought, remembering that Juran had told her of Pentadrians trying to settle in other lands. She sighed. “I should discuss this with Juran.”
The Speaker smiled. “Come to my bower. My daughter will make sure you are undisturbed.”
Auraya hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.” He did not know she had reason to be reluctant to communicate with the other White.
I can’t avoid it forever, she told herself.
By the time she had reached Tyrli’s bower she had steeled herself for what she expected to be an unpleasant argument. Tyrli’s daughter brought water and a more substantial plate of food, then left Auraya alone.
The walls of the bower glowed with the sunlight the membrane allowed through. Auraya took a deep breath, closed her eyes and sent her mind out.
:Juran?
There was a pause, then,
:Auraya. Where are you?
:On the Si coast. The Sand tribe reported seeing a Pentadrian ship a few days ago.
:Did the Pentadrians land?
:No. They said it headed southeast, toward Borra.
:What would the Pentadrians want with the Elai?
:I don’t know. There is no reason for them to attack, and the Elai are unlikely to embrace any offers of friendship. We know how suspicious they are of landwalkers.
:Yes.
:Should I investigate?
Juran was silent for several breaths.
:No. How well are the Siyee recovering from Hearteater?
:The disease has spread to all but the most remote tribes. The situation cannot get much worse.
He paused again.
:What are your intentions regarding Mirar?
Auraya felt her chest tighten.
:I can’t kill him if I believe he doesn’t deserve it.
:Not even if the g
ods order you to?
She hesitated.
:No. It makes all they represent—all we represent—worthless.
There was a long silence.
:Dyara and Rian are leaving for Si today. If they kill Mirar, will you feel they have rendered all we represent worthless?
Her stomach sank at the question.
:I might. I don’t know…
:I executed Mirar over one hundred years ago with as little evidence of his guilt as you have now. Have you lost your respect for me, knowing that?
She could not answer his question. To deny it would be dishonest, yet she still felt a great deal of respect for him.
:Our situations are not the same, she said. Mirar did not open his mind to you. When you faced Mirar the gods had only just begun laying down the laws that we live by. The laws and principles that they are asking me to break.
:They asked me to trust them. Do you trust them?
:Perhaps not as much as I did before, she admitted. I cannot help it. When they asked me to do something unjust, I lost my trust that they would never ask me to do something unjust. She felt a bitter amusement. If I kill Mirar I will hate myself and question the gods’ wisdom for all eternity.
:I fear you will now question the gods’ wisdom anyway.
She felt a cold stab of realization. He was right. There was no going back. She had lost a little of her respect for the gods and couldn’t make herself pretend that she hadn’t. I am a White. A White should not doubt the gods he or she serves! If I can’t regain my respect for them then…She shivered. Then I shouldn’t be a White.
:Auraya?
Her mouth was dry. She forced her attention back to Juran.
:What should I do? Should I return to Jarime?
:No. Stay in Si. There is no point you returning here when the sky people still need you.
He broke the contact. Opening her eyes, Auraya felt tears spring into them. All she had ever wanted was to be a priestess and use her Gifts to help people. To serve the glorious beings that were the gods.
The gods I love, she thought. But not as wholeheartedly now as before. That has been tainted. Ruined. Perhaps my love should be more robust. Perhaps I should be like Rian, willing to do anything, whether right or wrong, in their name. Am I being selfish? Does it matter whether I believe what I do is just?
But it had to matter whether the White cared if what they did was right or wrong. For it to be otherwise was frightening. And it did matter that the gods were good and just. Otherwise…what other abuses of power could the gods ask the White to perform?
If Mirar is right and the gods have abused their power plenty of times before, what would prevent them from doing so again? What if the gods had created the Circlians and White in order to to do whatever they wished in the world, unchallenged?
She felt her stomach clench. It was too frightening to consider. If the gods’ intentions were evil, where did that leave humans?
At their mercy.
The safest path for her was to stay in their favor—to kill Mirar and be an obedient servant. She should be as loyal as Rian, except her unquestioning obedience would be motivated by fear, not love or loyalty.
The thought made her feel ill. Living in a constant state of fear and lies, forced into actions she knew were wrong, would only lead to misery. An eternity of misery.
It might not come to that, she thought. No. The gods are not evil. They want Mirar dead because they fear he will harm mortals. Their viewpoint is too distant for them to see that he is no longer a danger. Mine is closer. I have seen inside his mind. I know better.
But how could that be so? The gods were supposed to be wiser than humans. If she believed they were wrong, then she must believe they could make mistakes. A White should not doubt the gods. She put her head in her hands and faced the simple truth. I am not worthy of this position.
The crew scurried about the deck of the Arrow as if their lives depended on them getting their tasks done as quickly as possible. Rian looked over to the Star. The crew of the other ship was as busy. Dyara stood at the prow. Though the two ships would sail together, he would not speak to her except mentally for the next few weeks.
Footsteps echoed on the deck. He turn to see Juran approaching.
“Rian,” he said. “Have you everything you need?”
“Yes,” Rian replied.
Juran paused as a young priest carrying a wooden box hurried on board. The man approached them nervously, placed the box on the deck, then made the sign of the circle.
“The copies you requested, Rian of the White.”
“Thank you,” Rian replied. “You may go.”
“So what did you ask the scribes to stay up all night to copy?” Juran asked.
“Sennon’s Code of Law, some histories of previous emperors and a few studies I commissioned on the many cults practiced there. I will need some reading material for the journey, and did not want to risk taking originals.”
Juran chuckled. “I would not have thought you’d have time for reading on the way to Si, with your mind occupied in speeding the ship through the water.”
Rian shrugged. “No, but once Mirar is dealt with we may return at a more leisurely pace.”
The White leader’s expression became grim and pained. Rian had seen that look before. It appeared whenever Mirar’s name had been spoken. He had guessed long ago that killing Mirar had been unpleasant for Juran. It must be frustrating to find that the heathen leader of the Dreamweavers had not died, and was manipulating mortals again. And immortals. The sooner he and Dyara rid the world of Mirar the better—for Juran as well as the world. However, talking about it was pointless and would only frustrate Juran further.
“I am beginning to think it will take years, perhaps centuries, to bring Sennon under our protection,” Rian said, bringing the subject back to that land. “These people will worship anything. Have you heard of this new cult of the Maker?”
Juran’s eyebrows rose. “No.”
“It is based on the idea that the world, even the gods, were created by some greater being for some high purpose. This being is known as the Creator. The man who leads the religion offers no tangible proof of this, but uses twisted logic to convince people of the truth. The cult is small now, but it is growing at a disturbing rate.”
“New cults usually do. Their followers’ enthusiasm fails when they realize there is no advantage to be gained from a non-existent god—especially when death is close.”
“Yes.” Rian sniffed in disdain. “So few of them worship simply out of awe or respect. Always they expect something in return.”
Juran smiled. “If awe and respect were all that was required, you could worship this Creator as easily as the true gods.”
Rian shook his head. “I still require proof of their existence.”
Juran’s gaze had sharpened now. “And their goodness? What would you do if they asked you to do something you thought was unjust?”
Leaning back against the railing, Rian resisted a smile. This was about Auraya, he guessed. “No task is unjust, if they ask it of us.”
“Even if it contradicts the laws and principles they have encouraged us to embrace?”
“They must have their reasons for contradicting themselves. There are always circumstances in which laws may be flexed.”
“And if this wasn’t one of those circumstances?”
“Then I would conclude that I do not know the true circumstances. If the gods do not offer a reason for acting against their law, I must conclude they cannot. I would have to trust that their decision was right.”
Juran frowned and rubbed his chin.
“So you would not require them to explain their full reasons to you?”
“No.”
Rian watched as Juran drummed his fingers against his arm, his expression thoughtful. Of the four White, Juran was the only one who welcomed religious debate. Dyara didn’t have the patience for what she called “fruitless speculation,” and the few times Rian ha
d attempted to draw Mairae into the subject she seemed uncomfortable. He hadn’t tried to talk to Auraya. Though the opportunity had come a few times in the past, he had let it pass by. It wasn’t that she gave the impression she wasn’t interested—more the opposite. But he suspected he would not find her opinions agreeable.
“Have the gods ever made a decision that you would not have agreed with, but you accepted only because you trust their wisdom?” Juran asked slowly.
Rian’s heart skipped a beat. Should he admit to that? Before he could decide, Juran smiled.
“I think I can guess that your hesitation indicates that they have.”
Rian nodded once. “But I came to see the wisdom of their decision later.”
Juran’s eyes narrowed. “You do not wish to tell me what that decision was.”
At first Rian began to shake his head, but then he reconsidered. In light of recent events, Juran might need to know this small thing.
“In the past it would have been petty to speak of it, but now it may prove important.”
“Yes?”
“I disagreed with Auraya’s Choosing.”
Juran’s eyebrows shot upward. “But you say you came to see the wisdom of it.”
“Yes, she proved useful.”
“You speak in past tense.”
Rian shrugged. “I cannot see the future. I do not know if she will be useful in the future.”
“It almost sounds as if you see her as…expendable,” Juran mused.
“I did not mean to.”
Juran looked away and sighed. “She has only been with us for a year. Was killing Mirar too much to ask of her?”
Rian frowned. “What time limit would you place on obedience to the gods? She vowed to serve them the day she was chosen—and before then: the day she became a priestess.”