The Last Of The Wilds (4 page)

“They won’t,” he told her. “It’s not safe flying in these close parts of the mountains on moonless nights. Their eyesight is good, but not
that
good.”

She readjusted the speared breem on its supports over the fire. Sitting back, she looked at Mirar. He was leaning back against a tree trunk. The yellow light of the fire enhanced the angle of his jaw and brows and turned his blue eyes a pale shade of green.

As he turned to meet her gaze, she felt a thrill of mingled pain and joy. She had never thought to see him again, and here he was, alive and…

...
not quite himself
. She looked away, thinking of the times she had tried to question him. He could not tell her how it was that he was alive. He had no memory of the event that was supposed to have killed him, though he had heard of it. This made the claims of the other identity— Leiard—more believable. Leiard believed that he carried an approximation of Mirar’s personality in his mind, formed out of the large number of link memories of the dead Dreamweaver leader that he had received during mind links with other Dreamweavers.

But this is Mirar’s body
, she thought.
Oh, he’s a lot thinner and his white hair makes him look a lot older, but his eyes are the same
.

Mirar believed his body was his own, but could not explain why this was so. Leiard, on the other hand, thought it merely coincidence that he looked similar to Mirar. When Leiard was in control he moved in a completely different way than Mirar did, and Emerahl wondered how she had managed to recognize him at all. It was only when Mirar regained control that she was sure the body was his.

So she had asked Leiard about the link memories. If what he said was true, how had this come about? How had he gained so many of Mirar’s link memories? Could it be possible that Leiard, or someone Leiard had linked with, had collected Mirar’s link memories from many, many Dreamweavers?

Leiard could not remember who he had picked up the memories from. In fact, his memory was proving to be as unreliable as Mirar’s. It was as though they both had half a past each, but neither half filled the gaps in the other.

She had asked them both about the tower dream she had been having for months, which she suspected was about Mirar’s death. Neither had recognized it, though it appeared to make Mirar uncomfortable.

It was frustrating. She wasn’t sure what Mirar wanted from her. When she had found him on the battlefield he had been healing the wounded, just like all the other Dreamweavers, but obviously that disguise wasn’t enough or he wouldn’t have asked her to take him away. He hadn’t said where she should take him, however. He had left that choice to her.

Knowing how good he was at getting into trouble with the gods, she took him toward the safest, most remote place she knew of. Soon she had discovered Leiard. He seemed to have accepted her company only because he had no choice in the matter. She could sense both Leiard’s and Mirar’s emotions. The realization that Mirar’s mind was open and readable had been a shock to her. Belatedly she had remembered that Mirar had never been able to hide his mind as well as she could. It was a skill that required time and the assistance of a mind-reader to learn, and, like all Gifts, it must be practiced or the mind forgot it.

That meant that the gods would see his thoughts if they happened to look his way, and through him they could see her. Mirar knew who she was.

Of course, they might not have any reason to pay attention to this half-mad Dreamweaver at all. One fact she knew about the gods was they couldn’t be in more than one place at one time. Distances could be crossed in an instant, but their attention was singular. With so much to keep them occupied, the chance they would notice Mirar was slim.

If they did, who would they believe this person was? Leiard or Mirar? Mirar had told her something about the gods that she hadn’t known before. They did not see the physical world except through the eyes of mortals. After a hundred years there were no mortals alive who had met Mirar before, so none would recognize him. Even those Dreamweavers with link memories of Mirar from predecessors might not recognize him now. Memory of physical appearance was individual.

The only people who could recognize him now were immortals: her, other Wilds, and Juran of the White. However, the Mirar they remembered had looked much healthier than this. His hair had been blond and carefully groomed. He’d had smooth skin and more flesh on his bones. When she had commented on how changed he was, he had laughed and described himself as he had appeared two years before. He’d had long white hair and a beard and had been even skinnier than he was now.

He had said he was more concerned about being recognized as Leiard, though he didn’t say why. It appeared Leiard was as good at getting himself into trouble as Mirar had been.

Travelling was difficult and slow in the mountains of Si, but not impossible for those as Gifted as they. If they were being pursued their followers must be far behind them now.

Mirar yawned and closed his eyes. “How much longer?”

“That would be telling,” she replied. She had refused to tell him where they were going. If he knew, the gods might read his mind and send someone ahead to meet them.

His lips twitched into a smile. “I meant until the breem is cooked.”

She chuckled. “Sure you did. You’ve asked how long we have to travel every night.”

“So I have.” He smiled. “How much longer?”

“An hour,” she told him, nodding at the breem.

“Why not cook it with magic?”

“They’re nicer cooked slow, and I’m too tired to concentrate.” She looked at him critically. He looked weary. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s ready.”

His nod was almost imperceptible. She rose and went in search of more firewood. Tomorrow they would arrive at their destination. Tomorrow they would finally be hidden from the gods’ sight.

And then?

She sighed.
Then I’ll have to see if I can sort out what’s going on in that mixed-up mind of his
.

“These are beautiful,” Teiti said, moving to the next stall. Imi looked up at the lamps. Each was a giant shell, carved with tiny holes so that the flame inside cast thousands of little pinpricks of light. They were pretty, but not
precious
enough for her father. Only something rare would do. She wrinkled her nose and looked away.

Teiti said no more about the lamps. Her aunt had been Imi’s guardian long enough to know that trying to persuade her something was wonderful would only convince her it wasn’t. They strolled to the next stall. It was covered in dishes brimming with powders of all colors, dried coral and seaweed, hunks of precious stones, dried or preserved sea creatures and plants from above and below the water.

“Look,” Teiti exclaimed. “Amma! It’s rare. Perfumers make wonderful scent out of it.”

The stall-holder, a fat man with oily skin, bowed to Imi. “Hello, little Princess. Has the amma caught your eye?” he asked, beaming. “It is the dried tears of the giantfish. Very rare. Would you like to smell it?”

“No.” Imi shook her head. “Father has shown me amma before.”

“Of course.” He bowed as she turned away. Teiti looked disappointed, but said nothing. As they passed several more stalls, Imi sighed.

“I can’t see how I’m going to find anything here,” she complained. “The most rare and precious things would have gone straight to my father and he uses all the best makers in the city already.”

“Anything you give him will be precious,” Teiti told her. “Even if it were a handful of sand, he’d treasure it.”

Imi frowned impatiently. “I know, but this is his
fortieth
Firstday. It’s
extra special
. I have to find him something better than anything he’s been given before. I wish…”

She let the sentence hang unfinished.
I wish he‘d agreed to trade with the landwalkers. Then I could find him something he’s never seen before
.

That was something she wasn’t supposed to know about. On the day the landwalker sorceress came to the city, Imi had been locked away in her room. She had sent Teiti to find out what was going on—but also so Imi could do something without being seen.

Behind an old carved panel in her room was a narrow tunnel just big enough for her to slither through. It had been blocked originally, but she had cleared it long ago. At the end of this was a secret room, lined with pipes. If she put her ear to a pipe, she could hear what was being said at the other end. Her father had told her about it once, and explained that it was how he knew about people’s secrets.

The day the landwalker had come to the city, Imi had crawled through the tunnel to see if she could find out what had stirred up the guards. She’d heard this woman asking her father if landwalkers and Elai might become friends. Her people would get rid of the raiders that had killed and robbed the Elai for so long, forcing them to live in the underground city. In return the Elai would help her people if they ever needed it. They would also exchange other things. Her people would buy from the Elai, and Elai could buy from her people. It sounded like a good arrangement, but her father had refused. He thought all landwalkers were untrustworthy liars, thieves and murderers.

They can’t all be like that
, Imi thought.
Can they?

If they were, then the mainland must be a horrible place where everybody stole from each other and people were murdered all the time. Maybe it was, because they had lots of valuable things to fight over.

Imi shook her head. “Let’s go back.”

Her aunt nodded. “Maybe there’ll be something special next time.”

“Maybe,” Imi replied doubtfully.

“You still have over a month to find him a present.”

The market was near the Mouth, the big lake that was the entrance to the underwater city. As they came in sight of the great dark cave filled with water, Imi felt a wistful longing. She had ventured beyond the city only a few times in her life, but always with many guards. That was the trouble with being a princess. You couldn’t go anywhere without an escort.

She had learned long ago to forget about the armed guards that followed her and Teiti about. They were good at being inconspicuous and didn’t get in her way.

Inconspicuous
. Imi smiled. It was a new word she had learned recently. She said it under her breath.

They stepped out of the market into Main River. It wasn’t really a river, since it carried no water, but all of the ways in the city were named rivers, streams, creeks or trickles. The larger public caves were called pools—sometimes puddles if someone was mocking the neighborhood.

Main River was the widest thoroughfare in the city. It led straight to the palace. She had never known Main River to be empty, not even late at night. There was always someone on it, even if it was just a courier hurrying to or from the palace, or the night guards patrolling the palace gates.

Today the River was crowded. Two of the guards following her stepped forward to ensure people moved out of her way. The noise created by so many voices, slapping feet, music and singing of entertainers was deafening.

She caught a thread of melody and paused. It was a new song, called “The White Lady,” and she was certain it was about the landwalker visitor. Her father had banned anyone from playing it in the palace. Teiti caught Imi’s arm and pulled her forward.

“Don’t make the guards’ job any harder,” she said in a low voice.

Imi did not argue.
Can’t show too much interest in the song anyway, in case they guess I know about the landwalker
.

They reached the end of Main River. Teiti let out a sigh of relief as they stepped out of the crowd, through the gates and into the quiet of the Palace Pool. A guard stepped forward and bowed to Imi.

“The king wishes to see you, Princess,” the man said formally. “In the Main Room.”

“Thank you,” Imi replied, managing to suppress her excitement. Her father wanted to talk to her in the middle of the day! He never had time to see her during the day. It must be important.

Teiti smiled approvingly at Imi’s restraint. They walked down the main stream of the palace at a dignified but frustratingly slow pace. Guards nodded politely as she passed them. The stream was full of men and women waiting to see the king. They bowed as Teiti and Imi walked past to the open double doors of the Main Room.

As Imi stepped into the huge room she saw her father leaning on the arm of his throne, talking to one of four men sitting on stools arranged before him. She recognized her father’s counsellor, the palace steward and the head clothes-maker. Her father looked up, smiled broadly and opened his arms.

“Imi! Come give your father a hug.”

She grinned, tossed all decorum aside and ran across the room. As she leapt into his arms, she felt them wrap around her and the vibration of his laugh deep within his chest.

He released her and she settled on his knee.

“I have an important question for you to answer,” he told her.

She nodded, making her expression serious. “Yes, Father?”

“What entertainments would you like to see at our party?”

She grinned. “Dancing! Jugglers and acrobats!”

“Of course,” he said. “What else? Can you think of something particularly special?”

She thought hard. “Flying people!”

His eyebrows rose and he looked at his counsellor. “Do you think a few Siyee would agree to attend?”

She bounced up and down with excitement. “Would they? Would they?”

The counsellor smiled. “I will ask, but I can’t make any promises. They might not like being underground where they can’t see the sky, and they can’t fly in small places. There isn’t enough room.”

“We could put them in our biggest, tallest cave,” Imi suggested. “And paint the roof blue like the sky.”

Her father’s eyes lit with interest. “That would be a sight.” He smiled at her and she searched for more ideas that might please him.

“Fire-eaters!” she exclaimed.

He winced, probably remembering the accident that had happened a few years before, when an overly nervous new fire-eater had spilled burning oil over himself.