Priestess of the White

  “I guess I should have just sent a message,” she added ruefully. “Rather than wake you up.”

  His lips twitched into a slight smile. “I don’t mind.”

  “I don’t just need to say goodbye. I need to thank you.” She paused, then reached for his hand. He hesitated, then lifted his hand to hers. Their fingers met. She drew breath to speak, but stopped as she met his eyes. His expression was tight and wary, as if he was struggling to control some emotion. She looked closer. His thoughts were in turmoil. Her touch had roused…

  She felt heat rush through her body. Her touch had aroused him. He was struggling to suppress desire for her.

  I hadn’t realized his admiration was so…but I guess it wasn’t or I would have seen it in his mind. This is something new. This has happened tonight. Now.

  Her heart was racing. Her own body had reacted to his desire. She felt a smile pull at her lips. I desire him. Now we’ve both discovered something.

  She was conscious of the tense silence between them. The only sound was their breathing. Neither of them had moved. His gaze hadn’t left hers. We should step away from each other and pretend this never happened. Instead, she reached out and touched his cheek, then traced a finger across his lips. He didn’t move away, but neither did he return the caress. She read hesitation in his thoughts.

  This decision has to be mine, she realized. He cannot forget who we are. Only I can make this choice.

  She smiled and lifted her lips to his. He returned her kiss gently, sending a shiver down her spine. Then they both moved together, reaching out to the other. She kissed him firmly and he responded with equal hunger and passion. Their bodies collided; she grasped his vest and pulled him close against her. His hands slid around her back, but his touch was dulled by the thickness of her circ.

  Vest. Circ. Reminders of who they were. She didn’t want to be reminded. Not now. These reminders must go.

  She laughed quietly. This is not like me, she thought. Leiard’s lips left her mouth and he began kissing her throat, and then her neck, his lips hot and firm. This is not like him either. She was discovering a side of him she had never suspected existed.

  And I like it. She chuckled. Winding her arms around his waist, she backed toward the door to her private rooms.

  Emerahl smiled and ran her hands over her body.

  It worked.

  But of course it had. She had never botched the change. Mirar had told her long ago that her ability to change her body was an innate Gift. He had a theory that all Wilds had a Gift that came naturally. Like musical ability came to those with true talent. Hers was the ability to change her physical age.

  Opening her eyes, she saw only darkness. The air was growing stuffy rapidly. Once she had roused from the death trance, she had created small tunnels to let air into the box. They weren’t enough now that she had brought her body out of the slowed state necessary to change her appearance, and she was breathing at a normal rate.

  She grimaced. A death trance was never pleasant, but it had been essential to fool the children and had allowed her to survive being buried underground. She did not know how many days had passed, but one thing was sure: she had to get out of her coffin soon or she would suffocate.

  She was not sure where the children had buried her, however. If they, or anyone else, saw her dig her way out of her grave, the story of it would spread faster than a winter cough, perhaps alerting the priest to her change of appearance. She would have to be careful.

  Closing her eyes, she sent her mind out and was pleased when she managed to sense the emotions of others nearby. It was not easy sorting through them, but she recognized the sleepy thoughts of children. She cursed. They were somewhere close by. She would have to be quiet.

  Slowly, Emerahl drew magic and used it to break through the box lid just above her head. She shifted the dirt above it down to the other end of her coffin to gather around her feet. The pale sky of near-dawn appeared above her sooner than she expected.

  They ought to have buried me deeper, she thought. But their ignorance has saved me some trouble.

  She enlarged the hole until it was big enough to allow her body through, then squirmed and pushed upward. Peering out, she saw that she was in the small yard at the back of the burned-out house the children lived under. She paused to think.

  I could bury myself again and wait until they all go out for the day. She considered. No. A few always stay behind to mind the place during the day. Better to go now while they’re asleep.

  Drawing her arms up, she grabbed the lip of the hole and pulled. She had to pause to catch her breath several times, and as more of her emerged into the morning light she saw why. The change had used up a lot of her body fat. Her arms were bony and wasted, her breasts almost non-existent. As she brushed dirt off the dirty white shift the children had left her in, she felt the hardness of protruding hip bones beneath.

  I’m weak and scrawny, she mused. A skeleton reborn from a coffin womb. I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking me some unholy, unwholesome creature today.

  At last she was able to get her feet under her and stand up. To her relief she had enough strength to stand, probably to walk, too. Stepping up out of her grave, she turned and considered the evidence of her rise from death.

  Better fix this mess.

  Drawing magic, she shifted and smoothed the dirt until the hole was filled and all sign of her emergence was gone. She smiled sadly as she saw the shrivelled flowers scattered over the ground. She wished she could do more for the children, but she had her own survival to think of.

  What next?

  She looked down at herself. Her hands and arms were covered in dirt and she was wearing only a stained shift. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, still the stiff white hair of an old woman. She needed a wash, then clothes and food, and something to dye her hair with.

  It was then that she realized the wallet she had strapped to her body was gone. She was not surprised; she had known there was a good chance the children would find it. After all, she could not hide everything inside her.

  She briefly considered sneaking into the house to look for it, but dismissed the thought straightaway. It was too great a risk, and the children had probably spent most of it already. Turning her back on her “grave,” she quietly walked past the house and out into the poor quarter.

  The thin gray light of morning slowly brightened. The streets were quiet but not deserted. She passed a pair of middle-aged washerwomen, who regarded her with distaste, then a younger man with a wooden leg stopped to leer at her. She felt self-conscious for the first time in over a hundred years.

  And people ask me why I, who can be any age I please, would choose to be old? Emerahl thought wryly.

  But then, there were definitely pleasures to be gained from being young again. She had always been attractive to men when in her younger form. Sometimes women, too. Some of her good looks obviously still showed despite her current wasted state. She only needed some regular healthy meals to regain her curves.

  But food cost money. She frowned as she considered the near future. With her wallet and her body fat gone, she needed to find a source of income quickly. Theft was a possibility, but she was long out of practice and didn’t have the strength to run if she was seen. Being caught might bring her to priestly attention.

  Priests were looking for a woman who sold cures, so she could not consider selling her knowledge and skills in that area either. She continued downhill, heading toward the sea. The direction she had chosen amused her. She had been born by the ocean, and had always been drawn to water in times of strife. When the flat, liquid horizon finally appeared, she sighed with relief and quickened her steps.

  Once she reached the water’s edge she followed the road that hugged the shore, looking for a more private place to wash. Most of the small bays were occupied. When she came to a small bay with a single pier she stopped. Two fishermen were working in their boat, one young, one old, preparing their catch for market. S
he considered them for a moment, then walked boldly down the pier.

  “Looks like a good catch,” she said as she passed.

  They glanced up, then stared at her. She smiled back at them, then turned away. Reaching the end of the pier, she stepped off.

  Cold water engulfed her and the shock of it drove the air from her lungs in a rush of bubbles. She felt sand beneath her feet and pushed up again. Coming to the surface, she sucked in air, then kicked away from the pier.

  “Lady?”

  She rolled over, then laughed as she saw the two fishermen peering at her from the end of the pier, both wearing worried expressions.

  “Don’t worry,” she told them. “I just wanted to get clean.”

  “You gave us a scare,” the younger man said reproachfully. “Thought you wanted to drown yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.” She swam toward them, noting how their eyes shifted from her face to those parts of her that came to the surface. The shift was half-transparent now that it was wet. “Thank you for thinking to save me.” She swam under the pier.

  She could hear them walking along the boards above her. There had been no mistaking their interest. She pursed her lips, considering. One way to solve her current dilemma had already occurred to her, and now an opportunity had presented itself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this sort of work before. In fact, she had always considered herself quite good at it.

  Looking up, she noted how the beams of wood crossed to form a narrow, slimy shelf. Hidden by the water, she reached under her shift, probed inside herself.

  This is one of the reasons some men call this part of a woman’s body a whore’s purse, she thought as she drew out a small bag. Among the contents was the sea bell, dembar sap pendant and some coins. The coins would not buy her much more than a few meals, and no jeweller would give her even a fraction of a fair price for such a valuable sea bell while she looked like she did now. No, she would have to work up to that. She put the bag up on the slimy shelf then swam out from under the pier.

  The fishermen’s attention snapped back to her. They walked alongside as she paddled toward their boat.

  “This your boat?” she asked.

  “My father’s,” the young man said, glancing at his companion.

  “Mind if I come aboard while I dry off?”

  The pair exchanged glances, then the older man nodded. “Why not?”

  She grinned at them, then swam to the vessel’s side. The younger man stepped onto the boat, reached down and took her hand, then hauled her up onto the deck. She noticed the father glancing about to see if anyone was watching, and smothered a smile. Thinking of your wife, are you?

  Stepping back, she drew magic and sent heat and air through her shift. The younger man moved away and regarded her with new respect. Though she knew she probably looked more exciting wet, these two potential customers needed to know she could not be easily cheated of her fee.

  When her shift was dry, she let out a sigh.

  “You’d think with all my Gifts I wouldn’t have ended up a whore.” She looked up at them and blushed. “I only just started, mind. And I won’t be doing it for long, either. Only until I can find a job.”

  The two men exchanged glances, then the father cleared his throat.

  “How much?”

  Emerahl smiled. “Well, I think such gallant men who thought to save a lady from drowning ought to receive a discount, don’t you?”

  And this, she thought wryly, is the other reason men call that part of a woman’s body a whore’s purse.

  PART TWO

  18

  The world was a great blanket of green tinted with the colors of autumn and rumpled where mountains burst through the fabric. Rivers glistened like silver thread. Tiny buildings, like scattered mosaic tiles, clumped here and there, connected by brown roads. When Auraya looked closely, a multitude of little movements revealed minute animals—and people.

  Auraya would have liked to fly closer to the ground, but Zeeriz preferred to keep well away from landwalkers, despite her presence. It was exhausting for him to remain in the air all day. Flying was not as effortless as Siyee made it appear, and Zeeriz was stiff and sore by the time dusk brought them to the ground. Auraya could not imagine how taxing Tireel’s journey was: he had flown on ahead to warn the Siyee of her coming.

  After several hours even the world below couldn’t keep her entertained. There wasn’t much to occupy her mind but the coming negotiating with the Siyee, and eventually she tired of worrying and planning for that. Instead she had learned to mimic her companion’s movements—to act as if wind, momentum and the pull of the earth had the same effect on her as they did on Siyee. By doing so she could better appreciate the limitations of their physical form.

  She had also drawn much from the ambassador’s mind about his people. His thoughts ranged from his responsibilities, fear of landwalkers, hopes for the future and memories of childhood. Most interesting was the suppressed resentment he felt when he saw her mimicking his flight. He wondered why the gods had given a landwalker access to the air with none of the restrictions and penalties the Siyee endured.

  That the Siyee had overcome the limitations and consequences of their creation was a source of pride. All Siyee were taught that their ancestors had willingly accepted pain, deformity and early death in order that the goddess Huan might create their race. They continued to pay the price even now, but the numbers of crippled babies had been decreasing over the centuries. Their population had been growing slowly. Only the Toren settlers threatened that.

  Something must be done about those settlers, Auraya thought. It would not be a simple task. Huan had decreed that the mountains to the east of Toren belonged to the Siyee. Land-hungry Toren settlers interpreted “mountains” as being any land too steep to cultivate and had slowly taken over the fertile valleys and slopes. She doubted the King of Toren knew of the activities of his people, and fully expected that if he did, he had no intention of doing anything about it.

  But he will, if the White insist that he must.

  She smiled grimly. The Siyee needed this alliance with the White. They wanted it, but feared they had little to offer in return. They believed they were neither strong nor skilled enough to be of use in war and had no resources to trade. It was her task to find something they could offer in return for the White’s protection—or simply convince them that whatever small help they could offer in war, trade or politics would be enough.

  She looked at Zeeriz again. He glanced at her and smiled.

  Little was known about their people. Auraya had learned much from Tireel and Zeeriz, but she would gain a greater understanding of the Siyee by meeting leaders and observing their everyday activities. That the White made the effort to visit a country always pleased its inhabitants. The two ambassadors were delighted that she was taking the time to see their homeland, and she hoped this sentiment would be shared by the rest of their people. If all went well, she would gain their respect and confidence on behalf of the White in the next few months.

  Looking toward the dark line of mountains in the distance, Auraya felt a thrill of excitement. In truth, she was as pleased to be visiting Si as the ambassadors were to be escorting her there. She was going somewhere few landwalkers had been, to learn about a unique race of people.

  I couldn’t be happier.

  At once she felt a familiar disquiet. It was not doubt in herself or fear of failure. No, it’s the thought of the mess I’ve left behind.

  “You have an interesting way of saying goodbye,” Leiard had said. A memory of sheets bunched up at the end of her bed flashed through her mind, then one of naked limbs tangled together. Then tantalizing earlier memories arose.

  Who would have thought? she mused, unable to help smiling. Me and Leiard. A White and a Dreamweaver.

  At that thought she felt her smile fade and her mood begin to sink toward a darker place. She resisted half heartedly. I have to face this. I have to do it now. Once I reach Si I’ll be
too busy to spend time agonizing over the consequences. Sighing, she asked herself the question she’d been avoiding.

  How will the other White react when they find out?

  Dyara came to mind first. The woman all but growled with disapproval whenever Leiard was around. Dyara would not easily accept him as Auraya’s lover. Mairae, on the other hand, might not mind it at all, though she’d probably prefer it if Auraya hadn’t chosen to bed a Dreamweaver. Rian wouldn’t like it. He had never suggested that the other White ought to choose celibacy as he had, but he was sure to dislike the idea of one of them bedding a heathen.

  And Juran? Auraya frowned. She couldn’t guess what his reaction might be. He had accepted Leiard as her adviser. Would he tolerate him as her lover? Or would he say this was pushing the White’s acceptance of Dreamweavers too far?

  No, he’ll tell me that the people won’t accept it. That it will undermine everything I’ve said or done to encourage tolerance of Dreamweavers. People will believe my opinion was based on love—or lust—rather than good sense, and they will remember that Mirar was a seducer of women. They will think I’ve been duped and make their feelings known by attacking Dreamweavers.

  It was too soon to expect them to accept this. Perhaps time was the key. She chewed on her lip for a moment. If she kept her affair secret it might give the White and the people time to grow used to the idea. It was not as if she was bedding every attractive, unmarried highborn male in Northern Ithania. If Mairae could get away with that, then surely Auraya could get away with sleeping with one Dreamweaver.

  She sighed again. I wish that were true. What chance do I have of keeping this a secret? Everyone knows about Mairae’s affairs, and if Dyara can’t keep her tragically chaste relationship with Timare secret from the rest of the White, how can I keep mine?

  Fortunately she was going to spend the next few months far from Jarime. A lot could happen in that time. She could come to her senses. Leiard might come to his.