After several days, tempers were thin and the stale air was heavy with unpleasant odors. When Priest Avorim wasn’t settling disputes among the villagers he was bolstering their courage. Each day he gave several sermons. Today he had told of the dark times before the War of the Gods, when chaos ruled the world.
“Priest Avorim?” a young boy asked as the story ended.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t the gods kill the Dunwayans?”
Avorim smiled. “The gods are beings of pure magic. To affect the world they must work through humans. That is why we have the White. They are the gods’ hands, eyes and voices.”
“Why don’t they give you the power to kill the Dunwayans?”
“Because there are better ways to solve problems than killing. The Dunwayans…” The priest’s voice faded to silence. His eyes fixed on a distant point, then he smiled.
“Mairae of the White has arrived,” he announced.
Auraya’s stomach fluttered. One of the White is here, in Oralyn! Her excitement died as the door to the Temple opened. Bal stepped inside, flanked by several warriors and his sorcerer, Sen.
“Priest Avorim. Qurin. Come.”
Avorim and Qurin hurried out. Sen did not follow. The radiating lines on his face were distorted by a frown. He pointed at the blacksmith’s father, Ralam.
“You. Come.”
The old man rose and staggered toward the sorcerer, hampered by a leg that had been broken and badly set years before.
The sacrifice, Auraya thought. Her heart began to race as she moved forward. Her plan relied on the Dunwayans being reluctant to break their customs, despite their intentions. She stepped in front of Ralam.
“By the edicts of Lore,” she said, facing Sen, “I claim the right to take this man’s place.”
The sorcerer blinked in surprise. He glanced aside at the warriors guarding the door and spoke in Dunwayan, gesturing dismissively at her.
“I know you understood me,” she said, striding forward to stand a pace from the sorcerer. “As did your warrior brothers. I claim the right to take the place of this man.”
Her heart was hammering now. Voices called out to Auraya, telling her to come back. The old man tugged at her arm.
“It’s all right, girl. I will go.”
“No,” she said. She made herself meet Sen’s eyes. “Will you take me?”
Sen’s eyes narrowed. “You choose freely?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
Someone among the audience shrieked her name and she winced as she realized it was her mother. Resisting the urge to look back, she followed the Dunwayans out of the Temple.
Once outside, Auraya felt her courage weakening. She could see Dunwayan warriors gathered in a half-circle around the gap in the village wall. Late-afternoon light set their spears glittering. There was no sign of Qurin or Priest Avorim. Bal stepped out of the half-circle of warriors. Seeing Auraya, he scowled and said something in his own language.
“She offered herself in exchange,” Sen replied in Hanian.
“Why didn’t you refuse?”
“She knew the ritual words. I was honor-bound to—”
Bal’s eyes narrowed. “We are the Leven-ark. We have abandoned all honor. Take—”
A warning was shouted. All turned to see a priestess standing in the gap in the wall.
The priestess was beautiful. Her gold-blonde hair was arranged in an elaborate style. Large blue eyes regarded all serenely. Auraya forgot all else but the fact that she was looking at Mairae of the White. Then Sen took her wrist in an iron grip and pulled her after Bal, who was marching toward the woman.
“Stay there, or she dies,” the Dunwayan leader barked.
Mairae regarded Bal intently. “Bal, Talm of Mirrim, Ka Lem of the Leven-ark, why are you holding the people of Oralyn prisoner?”
“Did your priest not explain? We demand you stop your alliance with Dunway. If you do not we will kill these villagers.”
“I-Portak does not sanction this action you have taken.”
“Our argument is with you and I-Portak.”
Mairae nodded. “Why do you seek to prevent the alliance when the gods want our lands to unite?”
“They did not proclaim that Dunway should be ruled by the White, only that our lands be allies.”
“We do not wish to rule you.”
“Why, then, do you ask for control of our defenses?”
“We do not. Your land’s army is and will always be for I-Portak and his successors to control.”
“An army without fire-warriors.”
Mairae’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Then it is the dismantling of the Sorceror Clan that you protest against, not the alliance itself?”
“It is.”
She looked thoughtful. “We believed dismantling the Sorceror Clan had the support of its sorcerers. I-Portak saw great benefits in sending Gifted Dunwayans to the priesthood. There is much that we can teach them that they would not learn in the clan house. Healing, for example.”
“Our fire-warriors know how to mend a wound,” Sen snapped, his voice loud in Auraya’s ear.
Mairae’s attention shifted to him. “Not how to cure a child’s illness, or assist in a difficult birth, or clear an old man’s sight.”
“Our Dreamweavers tend to those duties.”
Mairae shook her head. “There cannot be enough Dreamweavers in Dunway to tend to those needs.”
“We have more than Hania,” Sen said stiffly. “We did not seek their deaths as Hanians did.”
“A hundred years ago Dunwayans were as eager to be rid of the Dreamweaver leader, Mirar, as Hanians were. Only a few misguided Hanians sought to kill his followers. We did not order it.” She paused. “Dreamweavers may be Gifted healers, but they do not have the power of the gods to call upon. We can give you so much more.”
“You would steal from us a tradition that we have kept for over a thousand years,” Bal replied.
“Would you make yourself an enemy of the gods for that?” she asked. “Is it worth starting a war? For that is what you will do if you execute these villagers.”
“Yes,” Bal replied heavily. “It is what we are prepared to do. For we know that it is not the gods who demand the end of the Sorceror Clan, but I-Portak and the White.”
Mairae sighed. “Why did you not speak out earlier? The terms of the alliance might have been altered, had you approached us peacefully. We cannot accede to your demands now, for if others were to see that you had been successful, they, too, would threaten innocents in order to get their way.”
“So you will abandon these villagers to their fate?”
“That is on your conscience.”
“Is it?” Bal asked. “What will people think of the White when they hear they refused to save their own people?”
“My people’s loyalty is strong. You have until the end of the day to leave, Talm of Mirrim. May the gods guide you.”
She turned away.
“Our cause is just,” Bal said quietly. “The gods see that it is so.” He gave Auraya a disturbingly impersonal glance, then nodded at Sen. Auraya went cold as she felt Sen’s hand grasp the back of her head.
“Wait!” she gasped. “Can I speak before I die?”
She felt Sen pause. Mairae stopped and looked over her shoulder at Bal. The Dunwayan smiled.
“Speak,” he said.
Auraya looked from Mairae to Bal and drew up the words she had practiced silently for days. “This can go one of four ways,” she said. “Firstly, the Dunwayans could give in and let the White have their way.” She glanced at Bal. “That’s not likely. Neither is it likely that the White will give in and wait for a better time to make an alliance, because they don’t want anyone copying you.”
Her mouth was so dry. She paused to swallow.
“It seems like the White have to let the Leven-ark kill us. Then either the White or I-Portak will kill the Leven ark. We’ll all be seen as martyrs to our land
or cause.” She looked at Bal again. “Or will we? If you die, the Sorceror Clan will still end. You fail.” She looked at Mairae. “There must be another way.”
Everyone was staring at her. She forced herself to look at Bal once more. “Make it look as if the Leven-ark failed. You cast aside all honor and came here prepared to sacrifice your lives to save the Sorceror Clan. Are you prepared to sacrifice your pride instead?”
Bal frowned. “My pride?”
“If you let the White escort you out of Hania in shame—if you appear to have failed—then we need not fear others will copy you.” She looked at Mairae. “If he agrees, will you change the terms of your alliance?”
“To allow the Clan to continue?”
“Yes. Even I, living in this tiny village, know of the famous Dunwayan Fire-Warrior Clan.”
Mairae nodded. “Yes, if the Dunwayan people wish to keep it.”
“Alter the terms of the alliance—but not straightaway or others will still see a connection between the Leven-ark coming here and the change. Arrange for something else to prompt the change.”
Bal and Mairae looked thoughtful. Sen made a low noise, then said something in Dunwayan. At Bal’s reply he stiffened, but said nothing more.
“Anything else you wish to say, girl?” Bal asked.
Auraya bowed her head. “I’ll be grateful if you don’t kill my family and neighbors.”
Bal looked amused. He turned to regard Mairae. Auraya fought a growing suspicion that she had just made a fool of herself.
I had to try. If I thought of a way to save the village and didn’t try it, I’d…I’d end up dead.
“Are you willing to let the world believe you failed?” Mairae asked.
“Yes,” Bal replied. “My men must agree, though. If they do, will you change the terms of the alliance?”
“If my fellow White and I-Portak agree. Shall we consult our people and meet again in an hour?”
Bal nodded.
“You will not harm any of the villagers before then?”
“I swear, in the name of Lore, they will remain unharmed. But how can we trust that you will change the alliance after we have left?”
Mairae’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “The gods do not allow us to break our promises.”
Bal grunted. “We must be satisfied with that. Return in an hour. We will give you our answer.”
As Mairae entered the Temple the villagers fell silent.
“A peaceful solution has been found,” she announced. “The Dunwayans have left. You may return to your homes.”
At once the Temple filled with cheers.
Auraya had followed Mairae, Avorim and Qurin into the room. “You little fool!” a familiar voice cried. Her mother rushed forward to embrace her tightly. “Why did you do that?”
“I’ll explain later.” Auraya looked for Leiard but he was nowhere in sight. As her mother released her she suddenly realized that Mairae was standing beside her.
“Auraya Dyer,” the White said. “That was bravely done.”
Auraya felt her face heat up. “Brave? I was scared the whole time.”
“Yet you didn’t let fear silence you.” The woman smiled. “You demonstrated a rare insight. Avorim tells me you are an intelligent and exceptionally Gifted student.”
Auraya glanced at the priest, surprised.
“He did?”
“Yes. Have you considered joining the priesthood? You are older than our usual initiate, but not too old.”
Auraya’s heart sank. “I would love to, but my mother…” She glanced at her parents. “She is ill. I look after her.”
Mairae looked at Auraya’s mother. “The healers in the Temple are the best in the land. If I send one here to tend you, would you allow Auraya to join us?”
Feeling light-headed, Auraya looked back at her parents, whose eyes were wide with astonishment.
“I would not like to cause so much trouble,” her mother began.
Mairae smiled. “Consider it an exchange: a new priestess for a fully trained one. Auraya has too much potential to be wasted. What do you think, Auraya?”
Auraya opened her mouth and let out an undignified squeal that she would recall with embarrassment for years to come. “That would be wonderful!”
PART ONE
1
Though Danjin Spear had entered Jarime’s Temple on several occasions before, today he felt as if he were arriving for the first time. In the past he had visited on behalf of others or in order to perform minor services as a translator. This time was different; this time he was here to begin what he hoped was the most prestigious job of his career.
No matter where this led him, even if he failed or his duties proved tedious or unpleasant, this day would be imprinted on his memory forever. He found himself taking more notice of his surroundings than he usually did—perhaps in order to memorize them for future reflection. Perhaps only because I’m so anxious, he thought, this journey feels as if it’s taking forever.
A platten had been sent for him. The small two-wheeled vehicle rocked gently in time with the gait of the arem pulling it, slowly passing other vehicles, servants and soldiers, as well as rich men and women strolling about. Danjin bit his lip and resisted asking the man perched in the small driver’s seat to urge the docile creature into a faster pace. All of the Temple servants had a quiet dignity that discouraged most people from ordering them about. Perhaps this was because their demeanor reminded one of priests and priestesses, and one certainly didn’t order them about.
They were nearing the end of a long, wide road. Large two-and three-story houses lined both sides, a contrast to the jumble of apartments, shops and warehouses that made up most of the city. Houses on Temple Road were so expensive that only the most wealthy could afford them. Though Danjin was a member of one of the wealthiest families in Jarime, none of his relatives lived here. They were traders and had as much interest in the Temple and religion as they had in the market and their dinner: a basic necessity not worth making a fuss over, unless there was wealth to be made from it.
Danjin thought differently, and had for as long as he could remember. Value could be measured in things other than gold, he believed. Things like loyalty to a good cause, law, a civilized code of behavior, art, and the pursuit of knowledge. All things which his father believed could be bought or ignored.
The platten reached the White Arch that spanned the entrance to the Temple and relief carvings of the five gods loomed over Danjin. Grooves filled with gold did a pretty job of depicting the glowing light that spilled from them when they took their visible forms. I know what Father would say about this: If money doesn’t matter to the gods, why isn’t their Temple made from sticks and clay?
The platten continued through the arch and the full glory of the Temple appeared. Danjin sighed with appreciation. He had to admit he was glad it wasn’t made of sticks and clay. To his left was the Dome, an enormous half-sphere in which ceremonies were held. High arches around its base allowed access to the inside, and gave the impression that the Dome was floating just above the ground. Inside the Dome was the Altar, where the White communed with the gods. Danjin had not seen it, but perhaps in his new role he would gain the opportunity.
Beside the Dome stood the White Tower. The tallest building ever to have existed, it appeared to stretch up to the clouds. It didn’t, of course. Danjin had been in the highest rooms and knew the clouds were far out of reach. The illusion must make a strong impression on visitors, however. He could see the benefits of impressing and humbling both commoner and foreign ruler.
To the right of the Tower lay the Five Houses, a large hexagonal building that housed the priesthood. Danjin had never entered it and probably never would. While he respected the gods and their followers, he had no desire to become a priest. At fifty-one years of age he was too old to be giving up some of his bad habits. And his wife would never have approved.
Then again, she might like the idea. He smiled to himself. She’s always com
plaining I mess up her house and plans when I’m home.
A generous spread of open land surrounded the Temple buildings. Paved paths and garden beds had been laid out in patterns of circles within circles. The circle was the sacred symbol of the Circle of Gods, and some of the ways it had been incorporated into the Temple made Danjin wonder if the original designers and architects had been demented fanatics. Did they need to decorate the communal toilets with circular designs, for instance?
The platten rolled ever closer to the Tower. Danjin’s heart was beating a little too fast now. White-clad priests and priestesses strode back and forth, a few noting his arrival and nodding politely, as they probably did to anyone as richly dressed as he. The platten came to a halt beside the Tower and Danjin climbed out. He thanked the driver, who nodded once before urging the arem into motion again.
Taking a deep breath, Danjin turned to face the Tower entrance. Heavy columns supported a wide arch. He moved inside. Magical lights within revealed the entire ground floor of the Tower to be a densely columned hall. Here, gatherings were held and important visitors entertained. Since the White were the rulers of Hania, as well as heads of the Circlian religion, the Temple was as much palace as religious center. Rulers of other lands, their ambassadors and other significant personages congregated here on important occasions, or visited to negotiate political matters. This was a unique situation; in all other lands the priesthood was secondary to the ruling power.
The hall was filled with people and buzzed with voices. Priests and priestesses hurried about or mingled with men and women dressed in tunics made of luxurious fabrics, covered in generous tawls despite the heat, and glittering with jewelry. Danjin gazed around at the faces, feeling something akin to awe. Nearly every ruler, every famous, wealthy and influential man and woman of Northern Ithania was here.
I can’t believe I’m seeing this.
What had brought them to the Temple of Hania was a desire to witness the gods choose the fifth and final White. Now that the ceremony had taken place, they all wanted to meet the new member of the Gods’ Chosen.