Priestess of the White

  As she emerged from the trees, faces turned toward her and a shrill whistling began. This was their way of cheering. She smiled at them all, could not have stopped if she had wanted to.

  “Your people are so friendly,” she told Sirri. “I wish I could stay a little longer.”

  The Speaker chuckled. “Be careful, Auraya. While we would like to keep you for ourselves, we know how important you are to Northern Ithania, and to our own future. If you like it too much here, we may have to stop being so nice to you.”

  “It would take a lot to change my opinion of you and your people,” Auraya replied.

  Sirri paused to regard Auraya thoughtfully. “We have won you over, haven’t we?”

  “I’ve never been so happy as I have been here.”

  “You’re the only landwalker I have found myself constantly forgetting is a landwalker.” Sirri frowned. “Does that make sense?”

  Auraya laughed. “Yes, it does. I keep forgetting I am a landwalker, too.”

  They reached the first of the Speakers, who were standing in a line along the edge of the outcrop. Auraya spoke to each, thanking them for their hospitality if she had visited their tribe, and promising to visit their home in the future if she hadn’t. The Speaker at the end of the line was the leader of the Sand tribe, Tyrli. The somber old man and the few members of his tribe who had travelled to the Open for the Gathering would be guiding her to the coast.

  “I look forward to your company on our journey, and seeing your home, Speaker Tyrli,” she said.

  He nodded. “I am honored to be of assistance to the Gods’ Chosen.”

  She sensed that he was a little overwhelmed. Moving on, she stood beside Speaker Sirri as the Siyee leader turned to face the crowd.

  “People of the mountains. Tribes of the Siyee. We, the Speakers, have called you here to bid farewell to a visitor to our lands. She is no ordinary visitor, as you all know. She is Auraya, one of the Gods’ Chosen, and our ally.” She turned her head to regard Auraya. “Fly high, fly fast, fly well, Auraya of the White.”

  The crowd murmured the words. Auraya smiled and stepped forward.

  “People of Si, I thank you for your warm hospitality. I have enjoyed every moment of my time among you. It saddens me to leave you, and I know as soon as I depart I will be impatient to return. I wish you well. May the gods watch over you.”

  She made a circle with both hands. A few of the children in the crowd copied her gesture. The air vibrated with enthusiastic whistling again. Tyrli moved to her side.

  “Now we go,” he murmured.

  He leaned forward and, spreading his arms wide, leapt off the outcrop. The wind bore him upward. Auraya lifted herself into the air to follow. As she did, Siyee flew out of the trees and joined her, some still whistling. She grinned and laughed as these young escorts swooped playfully around her.

  As they flew farther from the Open some began to glance backward. Gradually their numbers dwindled as Siyee fell back, some giving one last whistle in farewell. Eventually only Tyrli and his people remained.

  Time seemed to slow then. The Siyee mostly remained silent while flying. If they communicated at all, the words they were most likely to use during flight—directions, commands—had long ago been replaced by whistles. To speak to each other while in the air involved flying closer together in order to make out words. Siyee did not feel comfortable flying close together. They felt crowded.

  So Auraya was surprised when Tyrli slowed and moved close to her in order to talk.

  “You wished to know more of the Elai,” he stated.

  She nodded.

  “They are ruled by a king,” he told her. “One leader instead of many.”

  “Do they have tribes?”

  “No. They did, once. One for each island. Few live anywhere but the main island now. In their city.”

  “Why is that?”

  “For many years, landwalkers have attacked them. It is not safe to live on the outer islands.” He glanced at her, his expression grave. “The Elai do not like landwalkers for this reason.”

  Auraya frowned. “Why did these landwalkers attack them?”

  “To steal from them.”

  She scowled. “Raiders.”

  “Yes. The Elai are in a much worse situation than the Siyee. Many have been killed by these landwalkers. There are many thousand Siyee, but barely a few thousand Elai.”

  “All living in this city. Have you seen it?”

  He looked almost wistful. “None but Elai have seen it. Only they can go there. It is a great cave reached by swimming through underwater tunnels. They say it is very beautiful.”

  “An underwater city. That would keep them safe from raiders.” How was she going to talk to the Elai if they lived underwater? Were the gods going to give her the Gift of breathing water?

  “Not underwater,” Tyrli said. He almost appeared to smile. “They may live in water, but they still breathe air. They can hold their breath for a long time, however.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “So the legends are wrong. Are they covered in scales? Do they have a fishtail instead of legs?”

  He laughed. “No, no.” She caught a glimpse of a figure in his mind: a near-naked, hairless man with dark, shiny skin and a broad chest. “Huan gave them thick skin so they can stay in the water for many hours, and big lungs so they can hold their breath for a long time. She gave them fins, too—but not like the fins of fish. Their fins are as much like fish fins as our wings are like bird wings. You will understand, when you see them.”

  She nodded. “Has any landwalker befriended them before?”

  He considered. “One. Long ago. He used to visit us, too. I heard he knew a secret route into Si, though not even Siyee know where it is now. Many people liked him. He was a Gifted healer. He could heal wings that were damaged beyond repair.”

  “He must have been a powerful sorcerer. What was his name?”

  He paused and frowned, then nodded his head. “His name was Mirar.”

  She turned her head to stare at him. “Mirar? The founder of the Dreamweavers?”

  He nodded. “A Dreamweaver. Yes, that is right.”

  Auraya looked away, but barely noticed the landscape below as she considered this revelation. Was it so surprising that Mirar had roamed these mountains long ago? Then she remembered: Leiard had told her he had memories of the Siyee. Were they Mirar’s memories? And if they were, did Leiard also have memories of the Elai?

  She pursed her lips. Perhaps tonight, if he spoke to her in a dream link, she would ask him about the sea people. Though it sounded as if the Elai were in even greater need of the White’s help than the Siyee, she suspected their resentment toward all landwalkers would make negotiating with them difficult. Perhaps Leiard knew how best to gain their confidence. She needed all the information she could get.

  Turning back to Tyrli, she smiled.

  “So how long has your tribe been trading with the Elai?”

  Drilli sighed and followed her parents out of the bower. They were going to yet another meeting of the fragmented Snake River tribe. The families living among other tribes were using the Gatherings as an opportunity to meet in one place and plan for their future. She glanced at Tryss’s family bower, despite knowing he would be away training other Siyee in the use of the harness. Not even his cousins were hanging about.

  As she turned back, her father caught her eye and frowned disapprovingly. She looked away, despite the temptation to glare at him, and obediently followed as he set off along a forest path.

  How could he do this to me?

  For months they had danced around each other. It had been a good-humored game at first. He would ask what she thought of some young man, and she would give some polite but dismissive answer. He would nod in acknowledgment and leave it at that.

  Then she had met Tryss. He was no stronger or better bred than any of the matches her father had proposed, but he was interesting. Most of the young men in her tribe sent her delirious wit
h boredom. Most of the older men did too. Except her grandfather…but he had died during the invasion of her home.

  Like her grandfather, Tryss was clever. He thought about things. Really thought. He didn’t pose or boast to get her attention. He just looked at her with those deep, serious eyes…

  Her father had lost all patience with her when he learned that she had been spending so much time with Tryss. He couldn’t come up with any good reason for his disapproval of their neighbor’s son, except that Tryss wasn’t of the Snake River tribe.

  To Zyll, the need to keep his tribe from being absorbed by others was more important than anything else—even his daughter’s happiness, she was discovering. He had forbidden her to speak to Tryss. He was taking advantage of these meetings to look for a husband for her.

  There was nothing she could do about it. Siyee law stated that parents could arrange their offspring’s first marriage. Marrying young had been essential in the past in order to increase the chances of more healthy children being born.

  I can always insist on a divorce, she thought. We only have to stay together for two years. That seemed like an eternity. By then, Tryss might have found someone else. And I might have children.

  She grimaced. I don’t even know if Tryss wants to get married. The trouble with being attracted to quiet types is that they aren’t good at letting you know what they want. She had no doubt that he liked her a lot, and that he was attracted to her—she was sure of that!

  A flicker of light caught her attention. Looking beyond her father she saw that several lamps surrounded a clearing ahead. Though it was only mid-afternoon, the trees here were so close together that little sunlight penetrated to the forest floor.

  One lamp stood in the middle. Several men and women were sitting in a circle around it. She recognized Styll, the Speaker of her tribe. Beside him sat her father’s latest proposed suitor for her, Sveel. The boy smiled at her and she felt a pang of guilt. He was obviously enthusiastic about the match.

  She looked at the woman sitting beside Styll and felt a mild surprise. Speaker Sirri and her son, Sreil, sat among her tribe. A mad thought came to her. Perhaps Sirri had come seeking a wife for her son, too. Perhaps Sreil and Sveel would have to battle for her. Drilli smothered a laugh at the thought. Too bad, Sreil. My father won’t accept anyone born outside the Snake River tribe, not even the son of the leader of all Siyee.

  Her family joined the circle, her father managing to direct her to the place beside Sveel. She made herself talk to the boy. There was no point being rude. If she must marry him, she may as well try to get along with him. He wasn’t a dislikeable person, just not interesting or particularly smart.

  “So why have you joined us, Speaker Sirri?” her father asked. “I have heard you do not agree with our marriage traditions.”

  Sirri smiled. “It is not that I disagree with them, Zyll, but that I think it is foolish for Siyee to marry so young. They haven’t fully developed as individuals at fourteen.”

  “Which is why it is best that their parents select a partner for them.”

  She shook her head. “If only that were so. I have observed parents make bad matches as often as good ones. While they may take great care with their choice, they are hampered by the fact that their sons or daughters haven’t yet become the person they are going to be. How can they decide who will make a suitable mate when they don’t yet fully know their offspring’s character?”

  Zyll scowled. “This is not just about character. It is about bloodlines and tribal connections.”

  She frowned. “Huan released us from our interbreeding laws over a century ago.”

  “Yet we don’t want to regress to a state where half of our children are born—”

  “There is little danger in that now,” Sirri interrupted, her eyes suddenly cold. Drilli suddenly remembered hearing that the Speaker’s first child had been born wingless and shrivelled, and had died an infant. “There are enough of us now that such occurrences rarely happen.”

  “I was not talking of inter-tribal connections,” Zyll said. “I was talking of links within a tribe. My tribe is scattered. If we are not careful, it will vanish in a few years.”

  Sirri’s expression changed subtly, somehow becoming thoughtful and dangerous at the same time. “You need not be worried about that anymore. The White will return your land to you, and you now have an effective means to defend it, thanks to young Tryss.”

  Zyll’s jaw tightened at the mention of Tryss’s name. “Even so, we need to strengthen the bonds between our families, or we will return only to find we are strangers to each other.”

  Her eyebrows rose, then she nodded respectfully. “If you must go to such lengths to reassure yourselves, then that is what you must do. I will miss your family’s presence here in the Open.” She looked at Sveel. “You’ve been training with the warriors, haven’t you? How are you finding it?”

  Sveel straightened. “It’s hard, but I’m practicing every day.”

  She nodded. “Good. You’ll need those skills to defend your land after you return. Which is what I wanted to talk to you all about.” She paused, then turned to look at her son. “Sreil, did you bring that basket?”

  The boy blinked, then his eyes widened. “No, I forgot. Sorry.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Well, go fetch it then. Bring some water, too.”

  “How am I supposed to carry all that?”

  “Take Drilli with you.”

  Drilli blinked in surprise, then looked at her father. He nodded his approval, though he did not look happy. She got to her feet and hurried after Sreil.

  Speaker Sirri’s son set a rapid pace, and soon the voices of her tribe had faded beyond hearing. He glanced back, then slowed so she could catch up.

  “So you’re going to be married,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Looks like it.”

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

  “Don’t I?” she asked dryly.

  “No. You don’t like Sveel, do you?”

  “He’s all right.”

  “But not who you’d like to be marrying, right?”

  She frowned at him. “Why are you asking?”

  He smiled. “It was pretty obvious who you favored at the trei-trei, Drilli. So why aren’t you marrying Tryss? He’s more famous than the founders.”

  Her stomach twisted. “Because I don’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you do.”

  She scowled. “Do I? I haven’t spoken to Tryss for weeks. He hasn’t even tried to talk to me. I don’t even know if he wants to get married.”

  “I could find out for you.”

  Her heart skipped. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.” He smiled, then chuckled in a self-satisfied way. At once she felt a stab of suspicion. She stopped and crossed her arms.

  “What’s in it for you, Sreil? Why help us?”

  He turned to face her, still smiling. “Because…” He paused and began to chew his lip. “I shouldn’t say.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Well…” He grimaced. “All right then. Your father is a tribal snob. It’s not just that he won’t even consider letting you marry someone whose invention might save our people and get him back his lands—though that just tops everything—it’s other things he’s said and done since coming here.” His expression changed from angry to apologetic. “Sorry.”

  She nodded. What he’d said was fair, though she did feel a little offended that this was how her family was regarded. Surely after all they’d been through…

  “Mother also thinks you probably contributed to Tryss’s success,” he added. “He might need you in some way, so it’s foolish to take you away from him.”

  She blinked in surprise and was about to deny it when she remembered that she was the one who had shown him how to use blowpipes. He had come up with the idea of using them as part of the harness, but if she hadn’t been there…

  “Ask him,” she said
. “But don’t tell him why. I don’t want him to marry me just to save me from marrying someone else. He has to want to marry me because he wants to.”

  Sreil grinned. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  28

  Millo Baker was a quiet man. Leiard had come to understand that Jayim’s father knew the value of being content rather than happy. Millo might not be overjoyed with his life, but neither was he unhappy with it.

  He rarely joined his wife, son and guest for the morning meal. Today, however, a bout of the usual winter head infection had forced him to rest. He had surprised Leiard by being unusually talkative, telling them of the news, official or speculation, that he had heard. But then the cure Leiard had given him sometimes had that effect on people.

  “Have you been to the Temple?” he asked Leiard.

  “Not since Auraya left.”

  Millo shook his head. “I’ve never seen so many soldiers. Must be the whole army in there. Didn’t know it was so big. The lines of men—and women—looking to join are so long they go out the arch and two blocks down the main road.”

  Tanara frowned and glanced at Jayim. “Just as well they don’t take Dreamweavers.”

  Jayim’s expression was guarded. Leiard sensed that the boy’s feelings were a mixture of relief, guilt and annoyance.

  “What do you know of these Pentadrians, Leiard?” Millo asked.

  Leiard shrugged. “Not much. Only what other Dreamweavers have told me. They are a young cult, only a few hundred years old at the most. They worship five gods, as the Circlians do.”

  “Real gods, or dead ones?” Millo asked.

  “I do not know. Their names are unfamiliar to me.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Sheyr, Ranah, Alor, Sraal and Hrun.”

  “Perhaps they are old dead gods who had different names in the southern continent,” Jayim suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Leiard agreed, pleased that Jayim would think of this.