The Last Of The Wilds (65 page)

s the blizzard, he told Emerahl.
The noise of the wind must be so loud that my mind can’t help registering it even in my dreams
.

w lovely for you.

. How are you?

e reached the Red Caves. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve told my hosts all about you. They’re impressed at how you managed to change your identity for a century.

Mirar felt a twinge of apprehension. She had told them
that?
What else had she told them?

o I mind? he replied.
Well, that depends who your hosts are
.

e Twins.

Surprise nearly shook him from the dream state.

s that so?

. Have you ever met them?

, a long time ago. About fifty years before Juran was Chosen they warned me that the Dreamweavers would face bad times in the next century. I didn‘t believe them.

y say they see patterns in the world. They constantly skim the minds of mortals, watching the spread of ideas. They say human behavior is fairly easy to predict, most of the time.

, they’ve been skimming minds a long time, he reminded her.
I heard rumors of their existence only a few hundred years after I became immortal
.

, they’re older than that, she told him.
They’ve watched mortals for many, many centuries before they learned to see patterns in their behavior, and became famous for their predictions
.

t do they see happening in the near future? he asked.

y don’t agree. Surim thinks there is some great change about to happen. Tamun does not think it likely, so soon after the rise of the Circlians and the Pentadrians. And that is interesting, too. They say the two religions formed and grew simultaneously. Surim thinks that there is nothing more to it than powerful beliefs rising to fill the voids left after so many gods died in their war. Tamun believes there is more to it than that—that the religions are linked.

o they know if the Pentadrian gods are real?

y are. Too many Pentadrian worshippers can recall encounters with their gods for them not to be real. Nobody knows where these gods came from, however. They are different to the Circlian gods in that they rarely appear before mortals. They don’t like to meddle too much in the affairs of their followers.

t to tell them to invade Northern Ithania?

e Twins believe that was the decision of the former leader, Kuar.

. I like the idea of non-meddling gods, but if the result is mortals making decisions like that…

t tell me you’ve changed your mind and think we’re better off with gods than without.

. Never. But mortals can make astoundingly stupid and cruel decisions, too.

n your own followers? she asked.

f course not. Dreamweavers are always unfailingly sensible.

!

, most of them.

e you contacted Dreamweaver Elder Arleejl

s, he said.
She’s making the arrangements you suggested
.

w did she take the news about you?

e was surprised.

m sure she was more than just surprised. The Twins told me something you’ll find interesting and maybe even useful in the future. There are more voids in the world. Most are of no use to anyone, but there are a few in remote locations that might be good places for you to hide.

o they know what caused them?

. Only that a great magical event must have happened to drain that much magic from one place in the world. They had never heard of them before the War of the Gods.

t certainly qualifies as a great magical event, Mirar remarked.

. I’d always thought it strange that a war between such beings has never affected the physical world. All that changed for mortals was that gods no longer appeared, or they lost Gifts their gods had bestowed upon them.

:I wonder if the voids are dangerous to the gods. They are beings of pure magic, after all.

y if they blundered into one, I suppose.

. I wonder if we could arrange that.

Emerahl’s amusement came to him in a gentle wave of humor.

s gone quiet, she said suddenly.

Mirar paused and listened. It took a moment for the meaning of the silence to occur to him. The sound of wind had stopped. Either his subconscious had finally blocked it, or the storm had ended.

:I had best wake up and be civil to my hosts
, Emerahl told him.
Happy travelling, Mirar
.

s, he replied, thinking of the treacherous snow and rugged mountains he still had to cross.

Her mind faded from his senses. He drew in a deep breath and pulled himself into full consciousness. To his relief the wind
had
stopped screaming. Opening his eyes he saw only darkness, so he drew magic and created a spark of light. His relief changed to dismay.

The entire mouth of the enormous cave he had been sheltering in was completely blocked by a wall of snow.

That was why he couldn’t hear the wind any more.

A day after the Elai had sunk the raider ship, Imenja ordered her vessel to moor near a collection of little islets. Though more rock than anything else, those just beneath the waves were covered in bulfish. The islets were too far from Borra for the Elai to be relying on them for food, and too dangerous for anyone without magic to approach. Imenja had ventured out with a few daring crewmembers every day to collect bulfish, and they had feasted on the delicacy for two days.

All except Reivan. Unfortunately, she was the only person on board who didn’t like these bulfish. Some of the crew even preferred to eat them raw. Just the thought of that turned her stomach. The ship’s cook, however, had taken Reivan’s dislike as a personal challenge. Each night he prepared them in a different way, trying to find one that might win her over. Under Imenja’s watchful eye she had tasted them seared, roasted, in soups, and even mashed into a paste, but the strong, pungent, fishy taste left her gagging.

She longed for the ship to move on, but culinary pleasure wasn’t the only reason Imenja was dallying in this place. The Second Voice had to give the Elai warriors time to return to their city, give the king their news, and for a messenger to return—if the king decided to send one.

“I think I’m growing to like this life on the sea,” Imenja said. “Maybe I should put aside ruling the world and become a trader.”

Reivan turned to regard Imenja. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a great change for you. You’d still get to boss others around and negotiate with peoples of many nations. I think I prefer the simple comforts of the Sanctuary, though.”

“There’s much more room there,” Imenja agreed.

“And there’s no… oh, no. Here we go again.”

She had spotted the cook approaching the pavilion. He held a wooden board covered by an upturned dish.

Imenja chuckled. “He only seeks to please you.”

“Are you sure he’s not trying to make me ill?”

The cook entered the pavilion. He traced the star over his chest quickly, then lifted the dish off the wooden board with a flourish. Reivan sighed.

A shallow stone bowl lay on the board, filled with bulfish. Their shells had been removed and they steamed invitingly. A delicious smell of herbs reached Reivan’s nose, but it did nothing to boost her confidence.

The cook held out a fork.

“Try.”

Reivan shook her head.

“Just try it, Reivan,” Imenja said, in the tone of someone who would not be refused.

Sighing, Reivan took the fork and skewered one of the slimy-looking fish. She regarded it fatalistically, then forced herself to put it in her mouth.

The sickeningly pungent flavor she expected to assault her senses did not come. Instead, a mild flavor mixed with the pleasantness of the herbs filled her mouth. Surprised, she chewed cautiously, sure that doing so would release the flavor she disliked. It didn’t, and she swallowed almost reluctantly.

The cook was grinning. “You like it.”

She nodded. “It’s better. Much better.”

“Really?” Imenja took the fork from Reivan’s hands, then plucked a morsel off the board. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, and her eyes widened. “It is. It’s subtle and delicate. You steamed it?”

The cook nodded.

“Remember what you did,” she told him. “I wonder if we can get bulfish shipped home to—”

Her expression changed suddenly. With furrowed brows she waved the cook away, rose and stepped out of the pavilion. Reivan followed as her mistress moved to the ship’s rail and stared out at the sea.

“I think we are about to receive a visit from the sea folk,” she murmured. “Yes. There.”

She pointed. The water was all black shadows and the red light of the reflected sunset. Staring out at the waves, Reivan saw a head-sized object moving up and down with the waves. After a moment it disappeared. She sought another sign of the Elai, but in vain.

“Throw over a rope,” Imenja ordered a crewman nearby. He hurried to obey. As the rope unfurled, Reivan peered over the rail.

A head appeared and two milky eyes stared up at them. The inner eyelids of the Elai warrior slid back. He grasped the rope and began to climb.

When he reached the rail, he paused and looked at the crew nervously. He was older than the Elai warriors who had sunk the raider ship. As Imenja stepped forward to welcome him, he turned to regard her, his expression serious.

“I have come to give you a message,” he told her. “King Ais, ruler of Borra and the Elai, invites Second Voice Imenja, Servant of the Pentadrian gods, to consider this proposal.”

He spoke slowly and carefully, and had obviously memorized the message from the king. Reivan smothered the urge to smile in triumph as she realized this was a treaty proposal.

“The king suggests his people and yours meet to trade goods in the future, but not at the islands of Borra. Islands a few days’ sailing from Borra might be suitable, if they are not overrun by raiders.

“In return for help with Elai defenses, King Ais will help Pentadrians fight raiders, but only if the risk to his warriors is not too great. All valuables taken from raider vessels would become the property of the king. Training of Elai in fighting, magic or building defenses would also occur away from Borra.”

Imenja nodded. “Am I right to guess that the signing of such a treaty will occur on one of these remote islands as well?”

The messenger nodded. Imenja looked away as if considering.

t do you think, Reivan?

:I think this is the only offer we’ll get. There will be no discussion of these terms. If we attempt it, we will not hear from him again.

d what of the terms?

e only part that sounds unreasonable is that they get all the loot. It would not take long for it to occur to them that if they wait until a trader has been attacked, they will get more loot from the raider.

Imenja turned back to the messenger.

“I agree to these terms on behalf of my people. If you tell me the location of the islands you spoke of, we will sail for them tomorrow.”

The messenger looked surprised, but not displeased. He gave her directions, then, bowing respectfully, he bid them farewell and moved to the edge of the ship. Unlike the younger warriors, who had leapt into the water, he climbed down carefully and slipped into the sea with barely a splash.

Imenja beckoned to Reivan, who moved to her side.

“You still fear they’ll replace raiders as the greatest danger for traders in these waters,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry. I will make them think twice about that.”

A warm weight lay between Auraya’s shoulders. After long hours of flight, Mischief had grown bored, yet he understood, perhaps instinctively, that he could not leave the protection of her pack. Instead he did something she envied him for: sleep.

The night landscape below was coy about revealing its features. Different shades of darkness marked different areas: forest was darker than fields, water was blacker still. From time to time the moon found a gap in the clouds and Auraya was able to make out roads and houses.

Now there was an aberration below. An interruption of the natural pattern, poised at the meeting of land and water. As moonlight once again bathed the world it showed hard angles and a jumble of interconnecting lines. Two buildings caught the light and seemed to throw it back. The Dome shone like a second moon, half-buried in the ground. The White Tower stretched up, like an accusing finger.

Moving toward the Tower, she considered once again the reception she might receive. Would all four White meet her? Would they be sympathetic or angry? Would she be expected to apologize or explain herself? As she descended she braced herself for a meeting that was probably going to be awkward, if not unpleasant.

As her feet touched the roof her surroundings darkened. She looked up to see that the clouds had covered the moon again. No one stepped out to greet her. She waited for several heartbeats, then laughed quietly.

I assumed the gods would let Juran know I was coming. Looks like they didn‘t
. She moved toward the door, amused to feel a faint disappointment.
They might be waiting inside, or in my room
.

She entered the building, opening and closing the door to the roof quietly. Moving down the stairs, she did not meet anyone—not even a servant. Reaching the door to her rooms, she paused to listen. No sounds came from within. She opened the door and found her rooms dim and empty.

Putting her pack down, she created a spark of light. A sleepy Mischief crawled out. He blinked at her then jumped onto a chair and curled up. She patted him, then looked around.