Priestess of the White

great strength. When our gift is accepted, another stage of our great task will be completed.”

He had paused then. Auraya had expected a longer speech. A silence had filled the hall so complete that she had been sure every man and woman was holding their breath. I was holding mine, she remembered.

Then came the moment she would never forget.

“We offer this gift to High Priestess Auraya, of the family Dyer,” Chaia had said, turning to face her. “Come forward, Auraya of the White.”

Auraya took a deep, shuddering breath as joy swept over her again. At the time it had been tempered by sheer terror. She’d had to approach a god. She’d been the focus of attention - and probably jealousy - of several thousand people.

Now it was tempered by the reality of her future. From the moment she had been chosen she’d barely had a moment to herself. Her days were filled with meetings with rulers and other important people - and the difficulties had ranged from language barriers to avoiding making promises the other White were not yet ready to make. The only time she was left alone was late at night, when she was supposed to sleep. Every night so far she had lain awake, trying to sort through all that had happened to her. Tonight she had paced her room, finally sitting down in front of the mirror.

It’s a wonder I don’t look like a wreck, she thought, making herself regard her reflection again. I shouldn’t look this good. Is this another of the gods’ Gifts?

She looked down at her hand. The white ring on her middle finger almost seemed to glow. Through it the gods gave her the Gift of immortality and somehow enhanced her own Gifts. They had made her one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world.

In return she gave her will and her now never-ending life to their service. They were magical beings. To affect the physical world they must work through humans. Most of the time this was through instruction, but if a human gave up their will the gods could take over their body. The latter was rare, as it could, if maintained too long, affect the owner’s mind. Sometimes their sense of identity was confused, and they continued believing they were the god. Sometimes they simply forgot who they were.

Best not think about that, she thought. The gods wouldn’t wreck the mind of one of their Chosen anyway. Unless they wanted to punish them...

She found herself looking at an old trunk that stood against one wall. The servants had obeyed her instruction to leave it unopened, and so far she hadn’t had the time or courage to open it herself. Inside were the few belongings she owned. She couldn’t imagine the quaint, cheap trinkets she had bought over the years looking anything more than tacky in the austere rooms of a White, but she didn’t want to throw them away. They reminded her of times in her life and people she loved or wanted to remember: her parents, friends in the priesthood, and her first lover - how long ago that seemed now!

At the base of the trunk was something more dangerous. There, in a secret compartment, were several letters she ought to destroy.

Like the trinkets, she didn’t want to. However, unlike the trinkets, the letters might now cause a scandal if they were discovered. Now that I have some time to myself I may as well deal with them. Rising, she moved to the trunk and kneeled in front of it. The latch clicked open and the lid creaked as she lifted it. Just as she had suspected, everything within it looked too rustic and humble. The little pottery vase her first lover - a young priest - had given her looked artless. The blanket, a gift from her mother, was warm but looked dull and old. She took these out, uncovering a large white circle of cloth - her old priestess’s circ.

She had worn a circ every day since she had been ordained. All priests and priestesses wore them, including the White. Ordinary priests and priestesses wore a circ trimmed in blue. The circ of a high priest or priestess was trimmed in gold. The White’s bore no decoration to show that they had put aside self-interest and wealth in order to serve the gods. It was also why people called the Gods’ Chosen the “White.”

Looking over her shoulder, Auraya regarded her new circ, hanging on a stand made for that purpose. The two gold clasps pinned to the edge marked where the top third of the circle folded back against the rest. It was draped around the shoulders, the clasps attaching to opposite sides.

The circ in her hands was lighter and coarser than the one on the stand. The White might not embellish their circs, she mused, but they do have them made from the best cloth. The softer white garments she had been given to wear beneath her new circ were also better quality. As with lesser priests and priestesses, the White could change their garments to suit the weather and their gender but everything was well crafted. She now wore sandals made of bleached leather with small gold clasps.

She put the circ aside. She hadn’t worn it for over two years - not since she had become a high priestess and received a circ with a gold edge. That had disappeared, whisked away by servants the day she had been chosen. Would this, too, be removed if the servants found it? Did she care? She had only kept it out of a sense of sentimentality.

Auraya turned back to the trunk. Taking out the rest of the objects within, she laid them on a seat nearby. When the trunk was empty she reached inside and levered open the secret compartment. Small rolls of parchment lay within.

Why did I even keep these? she asked herself. I didn’t need to. I guess I couldn’t make myself throw away anything that my parents sent.

Taking out a scroll, she unrolled it and began to read.

My dear Auraya.

The harvest has been good this year. Wor married Dynia last week Old Mulyna left us to meet the gods. Our friend has agreed to my proposal. Send your letter to the priest.

The next letter read:

Dearest Auraya.

We are glad to hear you are happy and learning fast. Life here is the same as always. Your mother has improved greatly since we took your advice. Fa-Dyer.

Her father’s letters were, by necessity, short. Parchment was expensive. She felt a wary relief as she read more of them. We were careful, she thought. We didn’t say exactly what we were doing. Except for that first letter I sent, in which I had to make it plain what I wanted Father to do. Hopefully he burned that one.

She sighed and shook her head. No matter how careful she and her father had been, the gods must know what they had done. They could see into the minds of all.

Yet they still chose me, she thought. Of all the high priests and priestesses, they chose someone who broke the law and used a Dreamweaver’s services.

Mairae had been true to her promise ten years ago. A healer priest had travelled to Oralyn to care for Auraya’s mother. Leiard could hardly continue treating Ma-Dyer, so Auraya had sent him a note thanking him for his help and explaining it was no longer needed.

Despite the healer priest’s attention, Auraya’s mother had grown sicker. At the same time Auraya had learned through her studies that healer priests did not have half the skill or knowledge that Dreamweavers possessed. She realized that by causing Leiard’s treatments to be replaced by those of a healer priest she had effectively doomed her mother to an earlier, more painful death.

Her time in Jarime had also shown her how deeply Circlians despised and distrusted Dreamweavers. She asked careful questions of her teachers and fellow priests and soon came to the conclusion that she could not openly arrange for Leiard or any other Dreamweaver to treat her mother again. She would meet resistance from her