The Last Of The Wilds (8 page)

Her brow was creased with worry. He walked back to her side. “If they were watching me arrive, they’d know where I was anyway.”

Her gaze was intense. “Do you think it’s likely they were watching you?”

He grimaced and turned away. “It’s possible. I don’t know…”

“You still can’t leave. If they don’t know what this place is, I’d rather they didn’t find out.”

“You mean to keep me in here forever?”

She shook her head. “Only as long as it takes for me to teach you to hide your thoughts from them.”

He considered her thoughtfully. He had learned that skill long ago, but had forgotten it when he lost his memory. It was difficult to relearn without the help of someone who could detect thoughts or emotions. Now
was
a good time to relearn it.

“And then?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You asked me to take you away. You didn’t say why or where. I guessed you wanted to go somewhere safe. I’ve taken you to the safest place I know.” She smiled crookedly. “I’m also guessing that you need to sort out a few things in your mind. If you want help with that, I’ll do what I can.”

He looked around the cavern. It was not the cozy hut in the middle of the forest that he had been hoping for, but the void made up for that. It would have to do. Slipping the straps of his pack off his shoulders, he set it down on the hard stone floor.

“Then I guess we had better start decorating.”

It was night. It was always night.

An eerie light hung about the ground. She could not see its source. It made the faces around her appear even more ghoulish.

Her path was blocked by a corpse. She stepped over it and moved on.

I’m looking for something. What am I looking for?

She thought hard.

A way out. An end to the battlefield. Escape. Because…

Movement in the corner of her eye set her heart racing with dread. She did not want to look, but did. All was still.

Another body blocked her path: a priest, his upper torso and head blackened and scorched. She stepped over him reluctantly.

Don’t look down.

Something below her moved. Her eyes were lured downward. The priest stared up at her and she froze in horror. He grinned at her, then before she could step away, his scorched hand grabbed her ankle.

!

She jumped at the urgent, unexpected shout in her mind. Suddenly she was staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her heart was pounding. Her skin felt hot and sweaty. Her stomach was clenched.

“Scare Owaya?”

A small form leapt onto the bed. With the moonlight behind him, she could see the distinctive fluffy tail and small ears of her veez twitching with concern.

“Mischief,” she breathed.

“Owaya ‘fraid?”

She drew herself up onto her elbows. “Just a dream. Gone now.”

Whether he understood or not, she couldn’t guess. Did veez grasp the concept of dreams? She had seen him twitch and mutter in his sleep, so she knew he had them. Whether he remembered them, or understood that they weren’t reality, she couldn’t guess.

He moved across the bed and curled up beside her legs. The pressure of his small body against hers was comforting. Lying back down, she stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

How long will I have these nightmares for? Months? Years?

She felt vaguely disappointed at herself, and at the gods. Surely being a White meant she didn’t have to endure bad dreams as a consequence of a war in defense of Northern Ithania and all Circlians? Though the Gifts that they had given her protected her from age and injury, they did not appear to include protection against nightmares. Surely the gods didn’t mean for her to suffer like this?

Dreamweavers could help me.

She sighed again. Dreamweavers. Now there was a matter to prick her conscience. She knew removing the Dreamweavers’ influence over people by encouraging priests and priestesses to absorb their healing knowledge was ultimately the right thing to do. She would save the souls of people who otherwise turned from the gods. It just seemed too… too
sneaky
.

After the meeting at the Altar she had decided she’d better find out if any healer priests and priestesses were willing to work with Dreamweavers before approaching Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli. She had told herself she was being efficient—she could ask if any were willing to travel to Si at the same time—but she knew she was putting off the moment when she would have to start being sneaky.

Several volunteers had come forward. She had been expecting enthusiasm for the post in Si, but had been pleasantly surprised by the numbers interested in working with Dreamweavers. All had been impressed and humbled by what they had seen in the aftermath of the battle. Many were eager to learn from Dreamweavers, though for some it was out of a determination to match or surpass the heathens in knowledge and skill rather than because of any newfound respect for the cult.

She had delayed further by finding a location for them to work in. It needed to be a place where neither Dreamweavers nor Circlians had greater influence. She had found a disused storeroom near the docks, not too far from the edge of the poor area of the city. She had only to arrange for the building to be cleaned up and appropriately furnished and stocked, and decide what to call it.

Before then, however, she needed an answer from the Dreamweavers. Unable to put it off any longer, she had arranged to meet with Raeli.

Auraya rolled onto her side. She was wide awake now and doubted she’d get to sleep again for hours. Her heart was no longer pounding but it was still beating a little too fast.

She thought of the question she had asked Juran. “
What of the whole range of mind-healing skills
—
of mind links and dream links?
” He obviously did not like the idea of priests and priestesses learning those skills, but if Circlians were to replace Dreamweavers they would have to adopt all the heathens’ practices.

She sighed. The nightmares she was having were proof of the need to have priests and priestesses learn dream-healing skills. She could understand why any ordinary man or woman would seek a Dreamweaver’s help in stopping dreams like these.

Perhaps I should seek a Dreamweaver’s help. I’m supposed to be convincing people they’re harmless. What would convince them more than if I used their dream-healing services?

She could not see Juran approving of a White allowing a Dreamweaver into her mind—or even an ordinary priest or priestess exploring her thoughts and discovering their secrets.

Perhaps if she watched the mind of a Dreamweaver performing a dream healing on another person she would learn the knack of it… and be able to pass the knowledge on to one of the other White… and they could…

Her thoughts drifted. She was talking to Mairae, but it was nonsense. The other White kept laughing and saying they didn’t understand. Frustrated, Auraya stepped out of the window to fly away, but she couldn’t quite control her movements. A wind kept blowing her sideways. She floated into a cloud and was surrounded by a chill whiteness.

Out of that whiteness appeared a glowing figure. She felt her heart lighten. Chaia smiled and moved closer. His face was so clear. She could see every eyelash.

My dreams are never this vivid…

He leaned forward to kiss her.

...
or this interesting
.

His lips met hers. It was no chaste, affectionate brush of magic. She felt his touch as if he were real.

Suddenly she was sitting up on her elbows in bed again. Her heart was pounding, but not from fear. Lingering feelings of elation melted away, leaving her disturbed.

What am I thinking? Gods, I hope Chaia wasn’t watching me!

She tried to gather her thoughts.
It wasn’t intentional. It was just a dream
. She couldn’t control her dreams.
Ah, if only I could!

She lay back down, patting Mischief as he gave a sleepy whine at her movement.

A dream
, she told herself.
Surely Chaia wouldn’t have been offended by that?

Even so, it was a long time before she fell asleep again.

It wasn’t easy staying awake. Imi stared at the ceiling, tracing the marks made hundreds of years before by the tools of cave-carvers.

From the other side of the room came a soft wheezing.

At last!

She smiled and slowly began to climb out of the pool. It was one of Teiti’s duties to stay close to her at night in case she fell ill or called for help. Curtains dividing the room gave Imi some privacy, but they did not block sounds.

Years before she had done something about that. She’d quietly complained to her father about her aunt’s snoring and suggested walls be built around the guardian’s sleeping pool. He had agreed, but she suspected only because Teiti had been the first guardian Imi had liked; he didn’t want to have to find her a new one.

A single curved wall had been built beside the guardian’s pool, not quite meeting the room’s wall. Imi had told her father she been hoping for a complete room, including a door, but he only smiled and asked how Teiti was supposed to hear Imi call out for help if she was completely shut away.

Imi found that the curved wall did block noises enough to allow her to creep about without waking her aunt. Ironically, Teiti had not been a snorer in those days, but had recently developed the habit. Now Imi had two reasons to be grateful for the wall.

She brushed droplets of moisture off her skin, then paused to listen for Teiti’s snoring. Earlier that day, Imi had sent her aunt on several errands—tasks that only the princess’s guardian could carry out—in order to wear Teiti out. As she’d hoped, her aunt had wanted to retire early and had quickly fallen into a deep sleep.

The soft wheeze of Teiti’s breathing continued. Imi walked over to a carving on the wall. Reaching behind, she found the bolt that held it fast and carefully pulled it aside. The carving swung outward like a door, revealing a hole in the wall.

A large box lay on the floor under the carving. She stepped on top of it, then climbed into the hole. Looking back, she wedged her webbed toes in a bolt loop on the back of the carving and pulled it closed.

It was utterly dark in the tunnel. Imi crawled forward, bothered less by the lack of light than by the closeness of the tunnel. She had grown quite a bit in the last year, and soon she would have trouble fitting into the small space.

When the sound of her breathing changed subtly, she knew she was near the end of the tunnel. She reached forward and touched a hard surface. Tracing her fingertips over it, she found the bolt and slid it open.

The hatch became visible as it opened and allowed in a faint light. She crept forward until her head was exposed. The inside of a wooden cupboard surrounded her. She paused to listen, then crawled farther forward so she could put her eye to the crack between the cupboard doors. The narrow room before her was empty and dim. Grabbing the frame of the hatch, she pulled herself out of the tunnel, unlatched the cupboard doors and stepped out.

She went straight to the door of the room and peered through the little spy-hole in its center. It was high up, and she had only recently been able to reach it. Before she had been forced to open the door a crack to check outside.

The passage beyond the door was empty. Satisfied, she turned to regard the room. The walls on either side were a mass of pipes. The end of each flared outward and were shaped like ears. Her father had told her long ago that he had a device that allowed him to listen into other people’s conversations. He had never shown her this room, however: she had found it herself.

What he
had
shown her, years before, was the hole behind the carving in her room. He’d told her she was to hide there if the palace was attacked by bad people. She didn’t know whether he feared attack by landwalkers or from bad Elai. The landwalker raiders that had robbed and attacked Elai in the past couldn’t enter the city. They couldn’t hold their breath long enough to swim along the underwater entrance.

If her father hadn’t meant for her to discover the room, she reasoned, he wouldn’t have shown her the tunnel behind the carving. For years now she had been venturing here every few weeks to listen in on conversations in and out of the palace.

Through the device she had learned a great deal about many important people, and that people in different parts of the city lived very different lives. Sometimes she envied the other children she overheard. Sometimes she didn’t.

Though she knew her father used this room, he had never discovered her here. She was also lucky that Teiti had never woken and found her missing, or caught Imi entering the hole behind the carving.

Moving to one of the pipes, she put her ear to it. The voices that came whispering down the tube were quiet, but soon her hearing adjusted and she began to make out the words.

“...
not
marry him, mother! He is more than
twenty
years older than me!”

It was the voice of her cousin, Yiti. Imi frowned. Had she chosen the wrong pipe? No, she was definitely listening to the one that came from the jewellers’ cave. She put her ear back to the opening.

“You will do as your father tells you, Yiti,” a woman replied calmly. “You will marry him, have his children, and when he dies of old age you will still be young enough to enjoy yourself. Now have a look at this one. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Young enough? I will be an old crone! Who will want me then?”

“You will be no older than I am now.”

“Yes. An old crone with nothing to…”

Imi pulled away from the pipe. Though she sympathized with Yiti, she couldn’t spend the whole night doing so. Her cousin and aunt must be visiting the jewellers’ cave in order to buy something for the wedding.

She had tried the pipe to the jewellers’ cave first because it was one of the places the traders might go to sell their wares. There was a good chance they’d talk about sea bells.

But they weren’t there. She considered where else they might be. At home, perhaps. Moving to a pipe that came from one of the trader’s homes, she listened carefully.