Priestess of the White

within.

He knows. The knowledge rushed over her like a blast of cold wind. She saw the anger in Juran’s face. His entire body was tense; his hands were clenched at his sides.

She had never seen him so angry before.

“Come in, Auraya,” he said in a low, tight voice.

To her surprise his fury did not frighten her. Instead, she felt a surge of affection for him. She knew him well enough to be sure he would never allow anger to override reason. He did not like violence. The few times he had referred to killing Mirar, he had always expressed regret at the necessity.

I trust him, she thought. I even trust that he would never harm Leiard, despite what he now knows.

But Leiard wasn’t in the tent, and the bag that he kept with him at all times was missing.

“Juran,” she said calmly. “Where is Leiard?”

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“I sent him away.”

She looked at him; held his gaze. “Why?”

“Why?” Juran’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I haven’t discovered your affair? Or do you think I’d allow it to continue?”

Auraya crossed her arms. “So you get to approve my lovers, then?”

His gaze wavered. “When I learned of... this... I asked myself the same thing. The answer was simple: my first duty is to our people. As is yours.” He shook his head. “How could you do this, Auraya, when you must have known what the consequences would be when you were discovered?”

Auraya took a step closer to him. “I can accept that our people do not embrace change quickly, that improvement in attitudes happens over generations. I intended to keep our affair private only to avoid testing the people’s tolerance. I knew I could not keep it from you forever. Nor did I intend to. You have long disliked Dreamweavers, and I did not know how long I should wait before telling you. I doubted you had put aside all prejudice. How long would I have needed to wait before you did? Years? Decades? Centuries? I am in love now, Juran. Leiard is growing older. He will die one day. I cannot wait for you to get used to the idea that a Dreamweaver might be worthy of me.”

He gazed at her intently. “My views are not the issue here, Auraya. You are one of the White. Your first duty is to guide and protect the people. You may have lovers, but they must not come between you and the people. If they do, you must give them up.”

“He won’t come between—”

“He will. He already has. I saw it in his mind. You have broken the law against dream-linking. What next?”

“I’ve accepted Dreamweaver healing before, Juran. There is a similarly ridiculous law against that too. You’re not so foolish as to think this is a sign that I do not respect the laws in general.”

“You must appear to be lawful,” he replied. “Or you will lose the respect of the people. Just learning of your affair will damage your standing in their eyes.”

“Not as much as you think. Not all people dislike Dreamweavers.”

“The majority distrust them.” He paused, then sighed. “Auraya, I wish I did not have to ask this of you.” He grimaced. “I do not wish to cause you pain. But you must give up Leiard.”

Auraya shook her head. “I can’t, Juran.”

“You can,” he said firmly. “Eventually you will look back and see it was the right thing to do, even if it was painful at the time. You have to trust me on this.”

Trust? This has nothing to do with trust. Everything he’s said comes from fear. Fear that a Dreamweaver will have too much influence over me. Fear that if I offend just one prejudiced Circlian, the rest will stop respecting us all. Most of all, he fears change.

She managed a smile. “I do trust you, Juran. I expect you to trust me in return. I will not let Leiard come between me and the people. They will barely know he exists.”

She turned away and strode to the door flap.

“Auraya.”

Pausing in the entrance, she looked back.

“He can’t come back,” Juran told her. “I gave him an order, and I don’t think even he will disobey it.”

She smiled. “No. He wouldn’t. Doesn’t that tell you something, Juran? Doesn’t that tell you he isn’t someone to be afraid of?”

Turning away, she stepped outside and launched herself into the air.

40

Clouds were slowly creeping down from the north, blotting out the stars one by one. Bellin yawned, then turned his attention back to the gowts. Most had folded their long, spindly legs beneath themselves and were dozing. A few remained alert, their slender heads moving from side to side as they kept a watch for predators.

They were clever animals. They accepted him as an extra form of protection, and allowed him to milk them in return. Yet they never lost their natural wariness. Despite his presence, they took turns as lookouts throughout the night.

Which is just as well, he thought. I can’t help falling asleep or being distracted now and then.

He leaned back against the rock wall and drew some magic. Converting it to light, he sent a glow into the space before him, then he began to shape it.

First he created a gowt. That was easy; he spent all his time with them so he knew how they looked. Moving the gowt was harder. He got it to walk, then run, then leap from rock to rock.

When he grew bored with that he started shaping another familiar form. Old Lim. The wrinkled old face looked right, but the body was too straight. Old Lim was bent like a wind-twisted tree.

There. That’s better. Bellin made the figure scratch its rear - something Old Lim did all the time. He chuckled, then felt a small pang of guilt. He shouldn’t make fun of Old Lim. The man had found him abandoned in the mountains and raised him. Lim didn’t know who Bellin’s real parents were. Bellin didn’t even look like most of the people who lived in these parts. The only clue he had to his past was a scrap of material with a symbol stitched onto it. It had come from the blanket he’d been wrapped in when Old Lim found him. There had been a gold amulet, too, but Lim had sold it to pay for food and clothes for Bellin.

Bellin occasionally wondered where he had come from, and even thought about setting off on an exciting journey to find his parents. But he liked it here. He didn’t have to work hard, just watch the gowts and gather their wool when they moulted. When Old Lim died the safety of these gowts would be his responsibility. He couldn’t leave them unprotected.

Bellin sighed and considered what he could make next. Old Lim had taught him how to make the light pictures. They helped keep away predators as well as kept Bellin awake.

The pictures weren’t the only Gift the old man had taught Bellin. If fanrin or leramer were bold or desperate enough to approach the gowts, he chased them away with little balls of fire.

“You’re lucky you’ve got me,” Bellin told the gowts. At the sound of his voice, several of the sleeping gowts started awake. Which was odd. They were used to his voice.

“Old Lim can barely sting them, but I could kill one if I wanted to,” he said in a soothing voice, hoping to reassure them. “I could...”

He paused, then frowned. His back felt odd. The rock wall he was leaning against was vibrating.

Leaning forward, he discovered that he could feel the same vibration beneath his buttocks and feet. The gowts were climbing to their feet. Their narrow ears were twitching in fear.

Slowly, Bellin stood up, turned and placed his hands on the rock wall. The vibration seemed stronger now. Something struck his head lightly. He yelped in surprise and looked up. Dirt and bits of stone were raining down. He backed away hastily.