Last of the Wilds

  But she suspected her father had insisted she must stay the whole time so that she would lose interest and leave him be. He was testing her resolve. Or perhaps he simply wanted her to begin learning how to run the kingdom. That thought filled her with both fear and anticipation. And sadness, because the day she took charge of Borra would be the day her father died.

  Her resolve hadn’t broken and her determination had finally been rewarded. She had realized that many traders and warriors, and even some of the courtiers, would have much to gain from a treaty with the Pentadrians, and she had pointed these reasons out to her father whenever he asked what she had thought of a visitor. When her father had decided to send the messenger to the Pentadrians, her heart had sung with victory.

  Now that she’d had time to think, doubts had begun to weaken her confidence. Imi stepped out of the pool and began to pace the room.

  What if the Pentadrians did prove untrustworthy? What if they came back and forced their way into the city somehow? What if her people were killed, and it was all her fault?

  Imenja would never allow it, she told herself. She’s a good person. And powerfully Gifted. Nobody would dare disobey her.

  When Imi was not worried about the future she had set in motion for her people, she worried if it would come about at all. The Pentadrians might not agree to the restrictions her father had placed on them. They might decide that the Elai had nothing worth trading, or that the Elai were too weak to be useful allies.

  Even if that is true, even if the alliance doesn’t happen, things have changed for us.

  She remembered the bright light in the eyes of the warriors who had sunk the raider ship. Father won’t easily stop them trying that again. Or trying out other ways to harm the raiders. He can order them not to, but they won’t like it. She frowned. Is that the only reason he sent the messenger? Is he afraid people will resent him, or even turn against him, if he refuses them this chance to strike back? Did he feel he had no choice?

  Is that my fault?

  No, she told herself. Even if he thinks he has to give in to the warriors, he doesn’t have to involve the Pentadrians at all. We don’t need them in order to fight the raiders.

  But if the raiders proved too powerful an enemy, the Elai will need an ally like the Pentadrians to help them.

  If this. If that. So many ifs.

  From the door came a knock. She watched as Teiti emerged from her room to answer it. As Rissi stepped past Imi’s aunt she sighed with relief.

  “Hello, Princess.”

  “Rissi,” she replied. Here was a welcome distraction. She wondered if he could stay long. Perhaps they could play a table game. Anything to keep her mind from these worries. She ushered him toward some chairs. “Teiti, would you send for something to drink? Maybe something to eat, too?”

  Her aunt narrowed her eyes at Rissi, then nodded and left the room. As Imi sat down, Rissi gingerly took a seat. There were dark, bluish patches on his arms.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “Practicing what?”

  “Fighting.”

  “What for?” She frowned. “You boys aren’t playing at wars again, are you?”

  He grinned. “No. Me and a few others are having warrior lessons.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

  He scowled. “No.”

  She bit her lip as she realized she’d offended him. Boys were like that. Always wanting to be older.

  “Of course you aren’t,” she said apologetically. “Is this something all traders’ sons do?”

  He looked away. “We have to be able to defend ourselves, if we go outside the city.”

  She looked at him closely. There was more to it than that. He glanced at her, then shrugged.

  “And besides, I don’t want to be a trader. I want to be a warrior.”

  Surprise slowly changed to alarm. If he became a warrior now, when warriors were going to be attacking raiders, he might be killed. And this, too, would happen because of her.

  “The First Warrior has promised me I will have a place among the recruits when I’m old enough,” he told her. “If I pass the tests. Father doesn’t like it, but he can’t stop me.”

  “Why?” Imi blurted out.

  He spread his hands. “Because he wants me to take over trading.”

  “No, I mean why do you want to be a warrior?”

  He stared at her silently, then slowly began to smile. “Because, Princess Imi, I’m going to marry you one day.”

  Teiti saved her from trying to think of a reply to that. The door to the room opened and the woman bustled in with a tray of food balanced on one hand and a jug held in the other. She placed both on a table next to Imi and Rissi, then straightened.

  “The king sent a message for you, Princess,” Teiti said. She always used and emphasized the titles when Rissi was visiting. “The messenger has returned from the Pentadrians. They have agreed to all terms.”

  Imi jumped up. “They have! That’s wonderful. I have to talk to father now!”

  And ignoring Teiti’s protest that she had just brought them food, and Rissi’s confident smile, Imi seized the opportunity to escape.

  Hurrying through the palace, she felt a flash of annoyance. I should be overjoyed, but Rissi’s gone and spoiled that. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never been so embarrassed! And where did he get the idea that becoming a warrior would mean he could marry me?

  Then she remembered. She had told him. She’d told him her father would probably marry her off to someone of royal blood, unless he decided a warrior leader of impressive standing would bring new blood into the family.

  It’ll take a lot to impress father, she thought. But he’s willing to give it a try.

  And that was quite flattering, she realized. Would any of her cousins, second cousins and distant relatives do that? She doubted it.

  Smiling, she slowed her stride and started considering where her father was likely to be.

  48

  “Ah, here he is,” Tamun said, looking away from her loom toward the cave entrance.

  Emerahl turned to see Surim climbing the stairs. Around his neck was an enormous snake, its body as large as his thigh and so long he had draped it around his shoulders twice. He carried it to the side of the cave where they always prepared meals, and shrugged it off his shoulders.

  He looked at Emerahl and grinned. “Dinner. We will have a fine feast tonight.”

  Emerahl regarded the snake in horror.

  “A fine and boring one, if that’s all you’ve brought us,” Tamun replied.

  “I have more,” Surim said defensively. He reached into a woven bag that had been concealed by the snake and drew out several objects, all of plant origin, Emerahl noted with relief. She looked at the snake, lying motionless on the floor.

  “Have you eaten takker before?” Surim asked.

  Emerahl dragged her eyes from the reptile. “No.”

  “They’re delicious,” he told her. “Rather like breem in texture, but slightly meatier in flavor.”

  “You should have caught something more conventional,” Tamun said disapprovingly, her eyes not leaving her work. She glanced at Emerahl and smiled. “You don’t have to eat it. It took us a while to adapt to this place, but we’ve grown accustomed to some unusual additions to our diet. You are our guest, and, her eyes narrowed as she turned to regard Surim, “should not be expected to eat such things.”

  One of his eyebrows rose cheekily. “No, she should be treated with special generosity. Given the best. Rare delicacies like roasted takker, for example.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Emerahl said quickly, hoping to head off another endless argument. It wasn’t that their banter was hurtful, but it could and often did go on for hours. “And if I don’t like it, I’ll happily eat the vegetables instead.”

  Surim smiled broadly. “Thank you, Emerahl. Or you might like to t
ry this instead…”

  From the bag he drew a spider at least twice the size of his hand.

  “You are kidding me,” Emerahl found herself saying.

  “He is,” Tamun growled. “Stop it, Surim.”

  He pulled a face. “But it’s so much fun. I haven’t had anyone to play with for so long. Tricking someone as old as you isn’t easy.”

  Emerahl looked at Tamun. “You’ve put up with this for how long?”

  “Nearly two millennia,” she replied calmly. “You’d think after all this time he’d realize his pranks aren’t funny. It’s like being told the same joke over and over. Some would call it torture.”

  “Being old doesn’t mean I have to lose my sense of humor,” he told her. “Unlike some people.”

  “I’m amused by you every day,” she said dryly.

  Emerahl shook her head. “You two never stop, do you?”

  Surim grinned. “Not for a moment. Not even after we separated ourselves.”

  The Twins paused to look at each other, their faces open and full of affection. Emerahl glanced from one to the other, wondering…

  “A century ago,” Tamun said suddenly, turning to meet Emerahl’s eyes. Her expression was serious. “To escape the gods’ determination to rid the world of immortals.”

  Emerahl stared at her in dismay. “Did you just…?”

  “Read your mind? No.” Tamun shrugged and returned to her weaving. “But we know that expression well.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re not offended by your curiosity. Ask away.”

  Emerahl nodded. “How did separating save you?”

  “The gods, as you may already know, cannot easily affect the physical world,” Surim told her. He had dragged the snake up onto a table and was gutting it. “They must work through a mortal, preferably someone Gifted in magic.”

  “So they need their priests and priestesses to do their work,” Tamun continued. “After Juran dealt with Mirar, he went after the rest of us. The Seer was easy to find…”

  “Bet she didn’t predict that,” Surim muttered.

  “…and The Farmer was taken by surprise. We learned of the gods’ orders too late to warn him. The only immortal we were able to warn was The Gull.”

  “He is older than all of us,” Surim said, pausing in his work to meet Emerahl’s eyes. His expression was full of respect.

  “His habit of moving about constantly, concealing his identity and appearing to be nothing more than a scrawny ship’s boy saved him.”

  “And folk of the sea protect their own,” Tamun added.

  “We, on the other hand, were both well-known and particularly recognizable. Of course we tried to hide—and succeeded for a while. Then the gods declared that people like us are ‘abominations’ and should be separated or killed at birth. All joined twins of all ages were taken to Jarime. Most attempts to separate them failed.”

  “But there were a few successes,” Tamun said with deliberate brightness. “Or so we told people. The fact that we had been separated suggested that we’d been examined by Circlians and found acceptable, so we could not possibly be the famous Twins.”

  Emerahl scowled. “Cursed gods.”

  “Oh, don’t be angry on our behalf,” Tamun said, smiling. “We’d always meant to do it. We just didn’t have the courage. What if we didn’t like it? What if we couldn’t put ourselves together again?”

  “We have no regrets,” Surim assured Emerahl. “And some good did come of the separations. Healer priests and priestesses are better at it now. More children survive.”

  “But the ones they kill…” Tamun frowned and shook her head. “For that, I hate the gods.”

  “Among other things,” Surim muttered.

  Emerahl sighed. “I, too, though they have done no more to me than force me into hiding. I hate them more for what they did to Mirar.” Emerahl sighed. “If only we could be free of them.”

  “Well, they can be killed,” Tamun said.

  Emerahl turned to stare at the woman. Tamun shrugged. “Before the War of the Gods there were many gods; after it there were five.”

  “Ten now,” Surim corrected.

  Tamun ignored him. “So the question is: Is killing a god something only another god can do?”

  “And if it is, can we persuade, bribe or blackmail a god to do it for us?” Surim chuckled. “Tell her about the scroll.”

  “Ah, the scroll.” Tamun smiled. “Over the last century of skimming minds we’ve occasionally encountered rumors of a certain scroll. It is said to contain the story of the War of the Gods, told by a goddess to her last servant before she was killed.”

  Emerahl felt her heart quicken. “Where is this scroll?”

  “Nobody knows,” Surim said, his eyes widening theatrically.

  “But certain scholars in Southern Ithania have collected hints and undertaken searches over the years. Of all people in the world, they would be the ones most likely to find it.”

  “Unless someone else finds it first.”

  Both Surim and Tamun turned to regard her, their faces both wearing the same expectant, meaningful expression. Emerahl laughed.

  “When it comes to giving hints, you’re both as gentle as a Dunwayan war-hammer. You want me to find it.” She paused as a delicious smell caught her attention. “Is that takker I can smell cooking?”

  Surim chortled. “It might just be.”

  “Smells good.” She shifted into a more comfortable position and turned to Tamun. “So what else can you tell me about this scroll and the scholars of Southern Ithania?”

  The island was farther out to sea than the islands of Borra. Several rocky islets had led the way, each reminding Reivan of tiny drowned mountains. Now, as the ship sailed into the sheltered lagoon the Elai king had chosen as their meeting place, Reivan suddenly realized they were sailing into a crater not unlike those she’d seen in Avven. These islands were drowned mountains. Like soldiers standing in lines, the great mountain range that divided Northern Ithania stretched not just from Dunway to Si, but into the ocean.

  A narrow beach edged the lagoon. At the center stood a small crowd of dark figures.

  “Imi is among them,” Imenja said.

  Reivan smiled. “Good. I was hoping we’d see her again before we returned home. Even if just to make sure she’s safe and well.”

  “We know she’s safe and well.”

  “Yes, but I can’t read minds.”

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  Reivan chuckled. “Of course I do. But that’s not like seeing it for myself. It’s like someone telling you something tastes good, but not tasting it yourself.”

  Imenja looked at Reivan sideways. “Like bulfish?”

  Reivan decided she didn’t need to answer that. She nodded toward the beach.

  “Is the king there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he make of all this?”

  “He’s still suspicious of us, but he can see advantages. He’s pleased with himself for gaining the restrictions he wanted, too. And he’s both proud and a little scared of Imi.”

  “Scared?”

  “Yes. Her adventures have changed her. It’s hard for him to accept that his little girl came back all grown up. He’s the sort of man who doesn’t like change.” She paused. “There’s another with him. A priestess. She is wondering if the king will change the treaty in the way she suggested.”

  “How?”

  Imenja smiled. “She fears the Elai will be seduced by our gods, so she wants him to forbid us from teaching their ways.”

  “What will you do?”

  Imenja didn’t reply. The captain was approaching. He told Imenja the boat was ready. The Second Voice nodded and looked at Reivan.

  “Do you have everything?”

  In reply, Reivan lifted the oilskin bag she had packed with parchment, ink and various scribing tools.

  “Then let’s go and make a little history.”

  They climbed down into the boat. As soon as the
y had settled the crew began to row. Nobody spoke. When the hull scraped against sand the men jumped out and hauled the boat from the waves. Imenja and Reivan stepped out. The crew waited by the boat as they strode toward the Elai.

  As on their previous meeting with him, the king stood within a ring of warriors. Imi waited beside him and an old woman stood at his other side. The stranger wore gold jewellery and fine clothes, and Reivan might have mistaken her for a queen if she hadn’t known Imi’s mother was dead. No, this must be the priestess. Another man stood a few steps behind the king. At his feet were two slabs of stone.

  “Greetings, King Ais, ruler of Borra,” Imenja said.

  “Welcome, Imenja, Second Voice,” the king replied.

  Imenja turned to Imi. “Greetings, Princess Imi. How are you settling into your home and life again?”

  Imi smiled. “Well, Second Voice.”

  Imenja glanced at Reivan and smiled. “That is good. Now, shall we discuss the terms of our treaty?” she asked of the king.

  He nodded. Reivan listened carefully as they began to examine the issues of warfare and trade. As they decided how to word each part of the treaty she wrote notes on small pieces of parchment with a gray stick. Each point was considered carefully and it took some time before the subject of religion came up.

  “My people are content to follow Huan,” the king told them. “But we also understand that the new can be seductive, and that even small religious disagreements among a people can cause strife. I must also ask that you do not attempt to convert any Elai, neither by endeavoring to teach the ways of your gods, nor by granting any request for such lessons.”

  “My people will keep their practices to themselves,” Imenja assured him.

  Reivan managed to stop herself glancing at Imenja in surprise. She touched the pendant around her neck.

  :If you agree to that, Nekaun will not see much value in this treaty.

  :No, but he will see, in time, that the more forbidden something is, the more certain individuals will want it.

  “I have my own restriction to place on this treaty,” Imenja said aloud.