Priestess of the White

When he was several strides away he found he could see a crack widening at the top of the wall. He stared at it and slowly realized that the rock wasn’t splitting; the dirt that had accumulated in the crack was spilling out. It cascaded down, forming a growing mound of earth where he had just been sitting.

The vibration under his feet was growing stronger. Then he heard and felt a concussion of air. A plume of dust and stones escaped the crack. He ducked and threw his arms up to protect his head as they scattered over the surrounding area.

The sound stopped, then a whistling began. He looked up to see that the grasses atop the rock wall were all bent toward the crack. Air appeared to be rushing into the fissure.

The ground had stopped vibrating. He glanced behind and felt his heart freeze.

The gowts were gone.

Forgetting the disturbing behavior of the mountain, and the strange whistling of air being sucked into the crack, he created a ball of light and started to search for the tracks of his beloved gowts.

Leiard looked back at Jayim and felt a pang of guilt and sympathy. The boy was pale and in obvious discomfort. Arems were not the most pleasant of mounts, and even less so without a saddle. Free of the tarn harness and urged to a faster pace, they had settled into a trot that they could keep up for hours, but which made for an unpleasantly jolting ride.

It could not be helped, though. Juran had ordered them to leave immediately, and remained to ensure they did. They had grabbed some food and their bags but it was clear Juran’s patience would not stretch to them dismantling the tent, packing the tarn and harnessing the arems.

Leiard felt another pang of guilt. The arems had been bought by Arleej. She had also bought a few spare arems in case one became sick or lame, so she would not be forced to abandon the tarn.

He’d had no time to see her, or even leave a note to explain his sudden absence. Watchers in the Dreamweaver camp would have seen Juran arrive and had probably seen him leave again soon after Leiard and Jayim. Arleej would guess what had happened. She would be worried. So am I, he admitted. What will this mean for the rest of the Dreamweavers? Will they be safe?

One thing is sure, he thought. Juran won’t want the world knowing that one of his own was bedding a Dreamweaver, so he’ll keep that a secret.

Leiard was surprised that he had been singled out. He had expected Juran to order all of the Dreamweavers to leave, even if only to conceal the fact that his ire had been directed at a single man. Perhaps even Juran recognized that he would need the Dreamweavers after the battle. The army was huge. Though Circlians were supposed to refuse Dreamweaver healing, they rarely did when desperate. There would be too many injured soldiers for the priest healers to deal with when the battle was over.

Jayim will miss a great opportunity to increase his learning, he thought. He looked at the boy and felt guilty again. Jayim had been terrified by Juran’s anger. Leiard knew the boy had been all too aware that the man who had come to deal with his teacher was also the man who had killed Mirar. Jayim’s relief when Juran had ordered them to leave had been obvious.

When fear passes, he will be angry, Leiard thought. He will ask what right Juran has to send us away when my only crime is loving Auraya.

He’ll blame you, a familiar voice added. He’ll wonder why you let yourself get into this situation in the first place. He’ll wonder why you didn’t get out of it when you realized what it would lead to. When it becomes clear that you still plan to see Auraya, he’ll wonder if you care about your people at all.

Mirar, Leiard thought wearily. You must be happy at this turn of events.

Happy? No. This is what I was afraid of. Do you really think Juran will be content with sending you away? You’ve reminded him of what he hates most about Dreamweavers. Our influence over people. Our abilities. I was known as a great seducer. You will replace me in his eyes. If you continue the affair, he will know. He will find other ways to punish you, through harming our people.

Leiard shivered. No. Auraya will not allow it.

He is her leader. She is a servant of the gods. If they command her to obey him, she will. You know this.

She will do anything to prevent bringing harm upon Dreamweavers.

Anything? Would she leave the White? Give up power and immortality? Would she defy the gods she loves? You know she would never disobey them.

Leiard shook his head, but he knew the last was true. The air had become heavy and cold, and he was not surprised when it began to rain. He allowed the drops to fall on him and soon his clothes were saturated.

Far ahead he saw lights. He pulled his arem to a stop and stared at them. He had been following the road for hours. The army was far behind. Who were these people? Had Juran changed his mind? Were there priests waiting here to apprehend him?

As he watched he caught the sound of galloping hooves in front. As the rider drew near, Leiard opened his palm and created a small light. The stranger wore the uniform of a high-ranking member of the Toren army. The man grinned as he passed. His mood of smug contentment touched Leiard’s senses like a waft of heady scent.

Leiard understood, then, that the lights were those of a travelling brothel. He sighed with relief and urged his arem back into a trot.

Auraya loves you, Mirar whispered. And you love her.

Leiard frowned, wondering at this change of tack.

You say she will give up anything to protect our people. I don’t believe you, but if it is true then consider this: should you ask her to? Should you demand that she give up what she has?

The road descended. Leiard felt his heart sinking with it.

It might not come to that.

It will. I know Juran. He will demand she make a choice. Do you think you’re a fair exchange for the gods she loves so much? Can you give her what they do?

Leiard shook his head.

Do you want to see her grow old and die, and know it is your fault?

Each of Mirar’s words felt like the jab of a knife.

Love is thrilling, especially forbidden love, but passion fades and becomes familiarity. And familiarity becomes boredom. When the thrill has gone between you, do you think she will never look back at what she was, and what she might have been, and wish she had never met you?

Leiard felt his throat tighten. He wanted to argue that it wouldn’t be like that, but he could not be sure.

If you love her, Mirar urged, free her. For her own sake. Let her live on to love again and again.

And if she doesn’t want to be freed?

You must convince her. Tell her you do not want to see her again.

She won’t believe me. She can read my mind, remember.

Mirar was silent for a moment. The lights ahead were brighter now.

Then let me do it.

Leiard shivered. He was cold all over, and he knew it was not just the rain soaking his clothes that was chilling him.

She is bound to track you down tonight. I will remain only as long as it takes to convince her to leave you.

He was so tired. Tired of the risk and the secrecy. He looked up at the dark sky and felt the rain sting his face.

I’m sorry, Auraya, he thought. There can be no happy ending for us. Mirar is right: the longer this goes on the more harm it will bring.

He drew in a deep breath, then breathed out a summons.

“Mirar.”