The Last Of The Wilds (28 page)

“Next thing the boy appeared right in front of me. I could see he was angry. Furious as only an adult can be. It was such a strange thing to see in the face of someone so young.”

Grim paused. The memory was so vivid. He could still feel the ice in the wind and the fear in his guts, and see the boy’s face. Gulping a mouthful of drink, he concentrated on the comforting warmth it brought. The two listeners waited patiently.

“The boy dragged me to the dinghy. When I realized he wanted me to help him cut loose, I protested. He straightened up and looked me in the eye…” Grim mimicked the boy, fixing the woman with what he hoped was a convincingly firm stare, “... and he said: ‘I’ve warned you twice. I will warn you only once more. Leave this ship or you will not live another day.”

“And at that moment one of the bullies—a big hulk of a man—saw us. He gave a roar and went to strike the boy. His fist never found its target. The boy made the smallest movement, and the bully went backward. His head hit something and he stayed down.”

Grim smiled. “I stood there gaping at the boy. He gave me a big shove so I fell into the dinghy, then the ropes went and untied themselves. Next thing the dinghy and I were falling. We hit the water. I just lay there, more than a little stunned, looking up at the boy as the dinghy moved away from the ship like something was pushing it.”

Old Grim shook his head. “Never saw him again. The next day a flock of gulls followed me as I rowed to shore. That’s when it hit me who he was. Later I heard that the ship ran up on the rocks. Most of the crew died, but no one saw any boy. Not dead or living.”

The woman was smiling now. It gave Old Grim a bit of pleasure to see that.
She enjoyed my story
, he thought.
I guess it doesn’t matter if she believes it or not
.

“You’re a lucky man,” she said.

He lifted his mug and drank. “That I am. My luck changed from that day. By the time I’d worked my way home I had enough to buy a boat of my own.”

“So you did become a captain, after all,” she said, raising her mug to her mouth.

“Sure did.”

“But nobody believed your story.”

“None but my wife.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you never encountered anybody at all who knew the truth of your tale?”

He paused as he realized what he’d said was not entirely true. “There have been a few who seemed to take my word for it. Travellers, mostly. A young sailmaker told me recently he’d heard a trader up north tell a story like mine.”

“This trader met The Gull, too?”

“So he said. Reckoned he was attacked by raiders and a boy saved him.”

“Did he give you the trader’s name?”

“No, but the sailmaker lives up the coast from here.” He leaned forward. “Why are you so interested in The Gull?”

She smiled. “I want to find him.”

He laughed quietly. “Good luck. I get the feeling he’s the type who finds you, not the other way around.”

“I hope so.”

“What d’you want from him, then?”

“Advice.”

From her expression, he could tell she wasn’t going to say any more. Shrugging, he held up his empty mug. “Another drink, and I might remember the names of more travellers who believed me.”

As he’d hoped, she laughed and turned to wave at the server.

As Reivan followed Imenja onto the balcony she saw that the other Voices were already there. All but Nekaun were seated in the reed chairs, sipping cool drinks, and all but Nekaun were accompanied by a Companion.

He had not chosen one, yet. Only two months had passed since he had become First Voice and a Companion ought to be chosen carefully, Reivan reasoned. It wouldn’t be fair if he chose and dismissed Companions until he found someone he liked and trusted.

Nekaun turned to nod at Imenja as she sat down, then his eyes shifted to Reivan and he smiled. As always, he smiled as if she was a friend he was happy to see, which always made her feel a little self-conscious. She felt flattered such an extraordinary man paid her any attention at all.

Everyone adored him. He was charming and thoughtful. When he spoke to people he gave them his full attention. He laughed at their jokes, listened to their complaints and always remembered their names.

I guess it only seems like he remembers
, Reivan reminded herself as she took a seat beside her mistress.
He doesn’t have to memorize anyone’s name. He can pluck it from their minds whenever he needs to
.

The way the Voices behaved as a group had changed. While she had never seen Nekaun angry or forceful she had no doubt that he was in control. He always sought the others’ opinions and advice, but ultimately decisions were made by him.

Of course, the others can’t object when they gave him the advice that led to his decision
, she mused.

When Imenja had handed the responsibilities of leadership over to him she expressed neither relief nor regret. Since then she had said little about Nekaun’s actions. If she found fault with Nekaun’s decisions, Reivan had seen no sign of it.

She can’t say anything to me. He would read it from my mind. She won’t tell me anything that she doesn’t want him to know.

Nekaun had begun to pace the railing. Now he shot her an unfathomable look. She felt her face flush.

What am I thinking? I’m being cynical again. I must stop that. I hope he knows it’s just a habit and I don’t actually think there is fault in his decisions or
—

“Since we’re all here, we may as well begin,” Nekaun said.

“Yes,” Imenja agreed. “Who will—or should I say where will—we consider first?”

Nekaun smiled. “Shar and Dunway first, I think.”

The handsome blond Voice cleared his throat. He had brought one of his tame vorns with him and the beast lay panting beside the chair. “The shipwreck plan appears to have worked so far. The survivors are being treated well. The second boat is still trapped in Chon’s harbor. As we expected, the Dunwayans are reluctant to allow our people to disembark.”

Nekaun nodded. “Genza?”

The fourth Voice flexed her lean, muscular arms. “My people have been travelling for eleven days, but even with the help of our birds in surveying the land their progress is slow. They have seen Siyee in the distance a few times, but the flying people do not approach them.”

“No sign of the one they call Auraya?”

“No.”

“Good.” Nekaun turned to Vervel. The stocky man shrugged.

“My Servants have arrived. The Torens don’t seem to care about their nationality, so long as there’s something to buy from them. A pragmatic people. The second boat has not yet reached Genria.”

Nekaun turned to Imenja. “And your Servants are still at sea?”

She nodded. “Yes. They were delayed, along with yours, by that storm. Now that the weather has cleared they should arrive in Somrey in a few days.”

“Is it wise for our people to arrive at their destinations at the same time?” Vervel asked. “The Circlians may notice and grow suspicious of our intentions.”

“If they are paying attention,” Nekaun said. He looked at Genza. “It is unlikely that your people will remain unnoticed, since people enter Si so rarely. However, the Siyee have no priests or priestesses of their own, so they may prove easier to sway.”

“It will not be as easy finding potential Servants among normal humans,” Vervel said. “My people tell me that nearly all Skilled men and women of Northern Ithania become priests or priestesses.”

Nekaun smiled and glanced at Reivan. “And no unskilled do. That rule has been our weakness in the past, too. Would unskilled Northern Ithanians abandon their heathen gods and embrace the true gods if they knew there was a chance they might gain power and authority by becoming Servants?”

The others looked thoughtful. “The power and authority you offer is only valued here,” Imenja murmured.

“For now.”

“How many unskilled will you allow to become Servants?” Vervel asked. “How will you choose?”

“I would not set a number to begin with,” Nekaun replied. “They would have to prove themselves worthy.”

“Good. We don’t want to make a mockery of the gods by ordaining complete fools,” Genza muttered.

“No,” Nekaun agreed. He suddenly looked at Reivan. “We are in no danger of that yet. What do you think, Reivan?”

She blinked in surprise. “I… uh… I can’t help thinking there must be an easier way to convert Northern Ithanians. The Circlians believe our gods aren’t real. They would flock to us if you proved them wrong.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps only the sight of the gods would convince them.”

He smiled crookedly. “We may call upon the gods for guidance or approval from time to time, but even then they do not always appear at our request. It is unlikely they would agree to appear and demonstrate their powers for every doubting Circlian each time a Servant requested it.”

Reivan looked down. “No, that would be too much to ask. But… it is a pity the Circlians did not see Sheyr appear when we emerged from the mines. If they had seen that magnificent sight, they might not have fought us, but instead joined us. Would the gods agree to appear before a gathering of Circlians?”

“I guess if that were possible they would have done it already,” Imenja said.

“What prevents them?” Reivan asked.

Silence followed. She forced herself to look up at the Voices. To her surprise, the Voices wore thoughtful expressions. Nekaun was frowning, as if troubled by her words. His gaze shifted to hers and he smiled.

“Ah, Thinkers. They have a way of asking unanswerable questions. We all wish to understand the gods, but I doubt any of us ever will. They are the ultimate mystery.”

The others nodded. Nekaun rubbed his hands together and glanced around the room. “Shall we move on to other matters?”

“Yes,” Genza agreed. “Let’s.”

“I hear there has been another duel between Dekkan nobles.”

Genza rolled her eyes. “Yes. Same old families. Same old grudge.”

“We must do more to prevent these confrontations.”

“I’d love to hear any suggestions you have.”

Relieved that their attention had moved from her, Reivan picked up a glass of water and drank deeply. Nekaun often asked for her opinion during these meetings, whereas he rarely spoke to the other Companions. Though it was flattering that he sought it, she did not always enjoy the experience. Sometimes, like today, she suspected she had made a complete fool of herself.

Fortunately, the others did not appear to mind. Instead they discouraged reticence. Reivan had shied away from giving her opinion once and Nekaun had pursued her with a ruthless patience until she gave in.

They were disturbed by my question, though
, she thought, looking at the other Voices.
It seems I am not the only one who wonders why the gods are so reluctant to show their power or influence more. If they had, would we have lost the war? Would they have advised us against attacking the Circlians? Surely Kuar would not have led us into battle unless the gods had approved
.

After all, Sheyr would not have appeared and encouraged the army to fight if he knew the battle was a hopeless cause. I can only conclude that he either knew we‘d lose, or couldn’t discover enough about the enemy to see the danger. Either way, he must have known there was a risk of failure.

Reivan shook her head.
At least I’m not the only person mystified by the gods. Even the Voices don’t know everything about them
.

Mirar stood before the wall of falling water. He reached out and touched the sheet of liquid. The smooth, rippling surface broke around his fingers and cold droplets ran down his bare arms, chilling him.

Get it done quickly
, Leiard suggested.

Closing his eyes, Mirar leaned forward and plunged his head into the water.

The water was bone-chilling cold. He scrubbed at his scalp and beard, moving quickly to combat the chill and hasten the rinsing. A step backward and he was back in the air again, water trickling down his bare chest as he straightened.

Running his hands through his hair, he was pleased to find none of the stickiness of the dye was left. He didn’t relish the thought of ducking into the cold water again. The prospect of it had discouraged him from reapplying the color for several days.

“
Don’t forget your eyebrows
,” Emerahl had said. “
If people see pale eyebrows and dark hair, they’ll know you’ve been using dye
.” He smiled at the memory as he carefully washed the remaining dye away with water cupped in his hands. She hadn’t said anything about dying the hair on his chest, or anywhere else, but who would see it anyway? Nobody, while Leiard had any say in it.

A piece of cloth was ail he had to dry himself with. He started back into the cave, rubbing at his skin to warm it.

“Wilar?”

He stopped and turned back to the fall. The voice was familiar. A Siyee was silhouetted in the entrance.

“Reel?”

“It is Tyve.”

The brother
, Mirar thought.
They sound so alike
. “Give me a moment,” he called.

He hurried into the cave, quickly finished dressing, then returned to the fall with his bag of cures. A young Siyee male was waiting at the gap between the edge of the fall and the rock wall. He grinned as Mirar appeared.

“Have we come at a bad time?”

“No,” Mirar assured him. “Your company is always welcome.”

The Siyee hid a smile. Their language had come back to Mirar quickly, but he did not always understand the words or phrases they used. He suspected he used an old-fashioned way of speaking that they found amusing, and that the puzzling phrases and words they used were recent inventions of the last century or so.

He’d met the pair some weeks ago, giving them the explanation he and Emerahl had come up with: he had agreed to meet her here and she had communicated the way to the cave via dream links, but when he arrived she had already left.

They understood what a Dreamweaver was. He was pleased to learn that the Siyee still remembered Mirar through stories in which he was a benevolent healer and wise man. To his amusement, they assumed all Dreamweavers were male and magically powerful.