The Last Of The Wilds (23 page)

“I’m sure he thought it was for the best.”

“Dealing with the gods never turns out for the best.” He sighed. “How long am I going to have to hide for? Am I going to have to stay in this cave until no one is left alive who might recognize me?”

“If you did, you’d never leave. Unless you plan to have someone assassinate the White.”

“Is that an offer?”

She smiled. “No. You are going to have to do what I did—become a hermit. Avoid all but the most ordinary, unimportant people.”

“So if I stay here for a lifetime I’ll only have the White to worry about.”

“If you want to avoid all people you can’t stay here. I told the Siyee I would return home now I knew the war was over,” she said. “They will keep coming back to check if I am still here.”

“Do you know of any other hiding places?”

“A few. I don’t think you can or should avoid other humans completely, however. You need people about or the rift in your identity might widen again.”

“I have you.”

She smiled. “Indeed you have. But I am a person who Mirar relates to strongly. I may be inhibiting your ability to accept Leiard. You need to interact with people who have no prior relationship with you. These Siyee will do you no harm. You said you hadn’t met any of them.”

“Who will I tell them I am? I can’t tell them I am Mirar.”

“No. You will have to pretend to be someone else again.”

“Leiard?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Give yourself a new name and appearance, but don’t invent new habits or personality traits to go with them. Be yourself.”

“What name should I use, then?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t choose a name you dislike.”

He chuckled. “Of course not.” She heard him drumming his fingers. “I’m still a Dreamweaver, so I’ll name myself after one. On the journey to the battle I met a young man not unlike myself. Opinionated and smart. His name was Wil.”

“Wil? Isn’t that a Dunwayan name? You don’t look Dunwayan.”

“No. I’ll add a syllable, then.”

She chuckled. “How about Wily? Or Willful?”

He sighed. “In a thousand years your sense of humor hasn’t improved much, Emerahl.”

“I could have suggested Wilted.”

He made a low, disapproving noise. “I will call myself Wilar.”

Emerahl nodded. “Wilar, then. Wilar what?”

“Shoemaker.” He lifted one foot. The sandals he had made were just visible in the faint light.

“Useful skill, that one,” she said.

“Yes. Leiard did learn some new ones for me. I never needed to make my own before then. People were always happy to give them to me.”

“Ah, the good old days,” she said mockingly. “How we miss the unending adoration and generosity of our followers.”

He laughed. “Except it wasn’t unending.”

“No. And I don’t miss it.”

They were silent for a long time. Mirar finally stirred, and she braced herself in preparation to stand up. But instead of suggesting they go back inside, he only turned to regard her.

“You are going to leave, aren’t you?”

She looked at him, and felt pulled in two directions. “I do want to find the other Wilds,” she said. “But it can wait. If you need me to stay, I will.”

He reached out and touched her face. “I want you to stay,” he told her. “But… you’re right about your effect on me. You’re an anchor that I’m afraid to let go of. I should do as you suggest and seek out other people.”

She took his hand and closed hers around it. “I can stay a little longer. There is no hurry.”

“No, there isn’t. Except I feel restless already. I think I’ll soon become unbearable to be around if I don’t find something to do. I’d come with you if I could. I wish you had a plan in mind that I could assist with, but I’m glad you’re trying to find them.” He paused. “We must stay in contact.”

“Yes.” As she said it, she felt her wish to find the Wilds harden into determination. “We will dream link. I can tell you how my search is going.”

“And keep an eye on me?”

She laughed. “Definitely.”

He drew his hand away and leaned back on the rock wall again. His head tilted as he looked up at the stars.

“So beautiful,” he said. “Will you change your appearance again?”

She considered. Being good-looking gave one an advantage when gathering information, but being beautiful—and young—usually proved a hindrance when travelling. People tended to notice and remember beautiful women. They asked too many questions or, if then, tried to seduce her.

“Yes. I’ll add about ten or twenty years I think.”

He murmured something. She caught the words “missed out” and smiled. It was nice to know he was still attracted to her. Perhaps once he had accepted Leiard and become whole again there would be another opportunity for a dalliance.

She smiled.
The sooner I leave, the sooner he’ll sort himself out and the sooner we can explore those possibilities. If I have doubts about going, I’ll just remind myself of that
. Still smiling, she rose and headed back into the cave to start preparing for the long process of changing her age.

Imenja poured another glass of water, then topped Reivan’s glass up.

“One more to go,” she murmured. “It’ll be over soon.”

Reivan nodded and tried not to look too relieved. When she had first entered the room and realized that she would be included in the final stage of an event as momentous as the election of the First Voice she had been dizzy with awe and amazement.

She had watched in fascination as each of the Voices closed their eyes, communicated with Head Servants in regions all over Ithania, and spoke aloud the tally of votes for each Dedicated Servant. The Companion for each Voice had marked the tally on a huge sheet of parchment. When Imenja had indicated that Reivan should do the same for her, she had been overwhelmed. As she’d taken up the brush her hands had been shaking with excitement.

At the end of an hour the endless repetition of the tallying had turned fascination to boredom. After two hours she was dismayed to find they had collected tallies for only a sixth of the regions on the parchment. It was going to be a long day.

Domestics brought an endless variety of delicacies and drinks as if to make up for the monotony of the day. All conversation was undertaken in quiet murmurs, so as to avoid distracting whichever Voice was collecting information.

“That is all,” Vervel said. “All votes are cast. Will you do the first count, Imenja?”

The Second Voice rose and moved to the sheet of parchment. She ran her finger down the first column slowly, her lips moving as she added up the numbers. When she reached the end of the column she took the brush and inked in a total, then she started counting the next column of numbers.

This was also a slow process, but Reivan felt a growing anticipation. When Imenja was done, they would know who was to be their new leader. She glanced at the Companions. They, too, were watching with rapt expressions.

Imenja’s finger made a soft scraping sound as it moved down the parchment. Each time she paused to ink in the result Reivan studied her face. Reivan had memorized the order of the names and knew which Dedicated Servant her mistress was counting the tallies of. She also knew from the tallies she had written down which candidates were most favored. But when Imenja’s eyebrows rose at one result, and frowned at another, Reivan could not guess whether her mistress was pleased, dismayed or merely surprised.

When Imenja had finished, she straightened and looked at Vervel. He returned her gaze, then shrugged. Karkel, Vervel’s Companion, half rose out of his chair, but sat down again as Vervel looked at him and shook his head.

So they‘re not going to tell us now
, Reivan thought.
Will they tell us when the others have confirmed the count? Or will we have to wait until they make the public announcement?

Vervel now began to count the votes. Unable to stand the suspense, Reivan looked away. A plate of nuts and dried fruit lay on the table beside her. She began to eat, though she was far from hungry. The plate was half-empty by the time Shar announced his count finished. Imenja rolled the parchment up then smiled at the four Companions.

“Let’s go and give one Dedicated Servant some good news and a lot of people something to celebrate.”

The Companions stood. Reivan noted the expressions of resignation on their faces.
So we have to wait like everyone else
, she thought, smiling to herself.
So much for being Imenja’s favored pet
.

They followed the Voices out of the room. Two domestics approaching the door with trays of food paused and bowed their heads as the small parade of importance passed. Looking back, Reivan saw them exchange meaningful looks, then hurry away.

Soon she was noting other domestics and .a few Servants peering around corners or doors at them. She caught excited whispers and running footsteps. A feeling of growing expectation began to fill the Sanctuary. Distant shouts and calls could be heard, muffled behind walls or doors. A bell rang somewhere, then others. The Voices left the intimate passages of the Upper Sanctuary and started down the main corridor of the Middle Sanctuary. Reivan could see Servants ahead hurrying to join those waiting to hear the announcement. Others formed a small crowd that followed at a discreet distance.

The corridor of the Middle Sanctuary ended at a large courtyard. Imenja and the other Voices strode across this, the Companions following, and entered an airy hall. A crowd of black robes filled the room. Reivan recognized the faces of many Dedicated Servants. She wondered how long they had been waiting here.

The sound of chatter died and all heads turned toward the Voices, but the Pentadrian leaders did not stop. They crossed the hall and emerged at the top of the Main Stairs. As they appeared a roar of voices greeted them. The people of Glymma, and those who had travelled here to witness the election of the new First Voice, formed a great mass of upturned faces and waving arms.

The four Voices formed a line. Standing behind them, Reivan could not see their expressions. She closed her eyes and let the great sound of the cheering crowd wash over her.

“Fellow Pentadrians,” Imenja called, her voice rising above the noise.

The cheering dwindled reluctantly. Looking past Imenja, Reivan saw many overly bright eyes in the crowd, and bottles and mugs clutched in several hands. She chuckled quietly to herself.

It was a long wait. I guess they had to entertain themselves somehow.

“Fellow Pentadrians,” Imenja repeated. “We have gathered the votes of Servants from all over the world. The day has been long, but this was too important a task to be hurried. The tally has been counted.” She held up the impressively long roll of parchment. “We have a new First Voice!”

The crowd cheered again.

“Come forward, Dedicated Servants of the Gods!”

From the hall behind, men and women filed down the stairs. They began to form a long line across the bottom, turning to look up at the Voices.

One of these people has convinced most of the Servants of the Gods that he or she will be a good leader
, Reivan thought. She considered all the histories she’d read, of philosophical discussions on the qualities of a good leader.
Do any of these candidates have the right qualities? What if none of them have? Would the gods intervene?
She frowned. That would be quite a slap in the face. It would imply that most Servants didn’t know how to choose a good leader.

Perhaps they don’t
. She suddenly felt uneasy.
How would they have chosen?
She considered what she would have done, if she had been a Servant living far from Glymma.
I guess I’d have dismissed anyone who’s caused trouble or made big mistakes. It would help if one of these people had proven his or herself capable of leading and making good decisions already. I think I’d prefer someone who’d fought in the war to one who hadn’t, but ultimately

I’d have to take a gamble, based on the information I had. I wouldn’t choose anyone I didn’t like. Nobody’s going to vote for someone they dislike.

The last of the Dedicated Servants joined the line. Imenja held up the roll of parchment. She waited until all was silent—or as quiet as a half-drunk crowd could manage. Then she let the parchment unroll.

“The Servants of the Gods have chosen Dedicated Servant Nekaun as the new First Voice. Come forward, Nekaun.”

As the crowd erupted in cheering again, Reivan felt her heart lift. She thought back to the man who had offered both congratulations and advice at her ordination, and smiled.

Oh, good
, she thought.

Peering past Imenja’s shoulder, she watched Nekaun step forward. He looked composed and calm, but his eyes burned with excitement.
I would have chosen him
, she thought.
He’s never made any great mistakes, has run the Temple of Hrun for a few years as well as fought in the war. He’s likeable and kind. And to top it off, he’s good-looking. That’s got to be an advantage in a leader.’ What more could the gods want?
She watched in admiration as he stopped a few steps before Imenja and made the sign of the star.

Imenja handed the parchment to Genza, who began to slowly roll it up again. From within her robe Imenja produced a star pendant. She held it up. The crowd slowly quietened.

“Accept this symbol of the gods,” she said, “and you accept an eternity of servitude to them and to their people. You will become the Voice with which they speak to mortals. You will become the Hand that toils for our benefit, and strikes down our enemies.”

He slowly reached out to take the chain, then bowed his head.

“I accept the burden and the responsibility,” he said.

He closed his eyes and draped the chain around his neck. Reivan saw him stiffen and an expression of wonder crossed his face. He straightened, looked up at Imenja and smiled.

“And the gods have accepted me.”

“Then take your place among us,” Imenja finished.

Still smiling, he stepped up beside her and turned to face the crowd. Imenja gestured toward him, while regarding the crowd.

“People of Glymma and beyond. Do you welcome Nekaun, First Voice of the Gods?”